Diary Of A Degenerate 14

Seven hours into my incarceration I started sobering up, which was unfortunate. Just about the worst place in the world was in jail and sober, where the bars obstruct enough of your view for the eyes that are always watching to remain unseen but not enough to hide from them. At least I had drowned out a brief visit to the emergency room where I received a few dozen stitches and some bandages to tidy up my severed wrist from when the off duty cop tackled me onto my whiskey glass. I wanted to tear off my bandages and chew through the sutures like a freshly neutered dog. Laying next to me on the bench was a snoring drunk, one of those old men that have been in here enough times to feel comfortable enough to sleep. I envied him for his persistence, mostly because I planned to be long dead before counted as many miles as him.

The cops told me the man I hit was an off duty officer taking his daughter out for a drink on her day off from university. I guess young girls these days all dress like whores, but I wasn't sure I believed them. Cops always cover for each other. But regardless I was looking at a handful of serious charges that would probably grow by the time I saw a judge. They gave me a chance to make a phone call and I thought about giving Vanessa a ring, but I just told them to fuck off. Maybe she would assume I was screwing around on her and leave me.


I wasn't even able to finish my thought before the taller cop was opening the loud gate, causing the sleeping drunk to wake abruptly and grab my leg for balance. The cop gestured for me and I rose, expecting their unseen eyes had noticed the pinkness on my bandages and were getting me fresh dressings. It doesn't look good if a guy bleeds out in a jail cell. Too much paperwork. They didn't say a word as they cuffed me, led me through two doors, then unexpectedly took the cuffs off before turning around and leaving the room. Vanessa was there.


She drove me home in my own fucking car, crying the whole damn way. She told me she called the hospital and confirmed I was admitted to the emergency room, and threw a fit when they didn't buy her lie about being my wife and refused to give her details about me without ID. She assumed I was in jail. Lucky guess, I suppose. I asked how she got me released but she didn't give a clear answer, just assured me I didn't ever have to go back, that it was all a misunderstanding and there would be no trial. I didn't argue.


When we got home to my apartment there was a fresh bottle waiting for me, and I appreciated it. After pouring and emptying a glass I got up and turned the radio on for her. Vanessa cried and I held her in my arms until I was too drunk to feel her there.


 

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Sodomy Wars Episode IV: The Birth of Christmas

Hamtackle texted me the title to this post this morning as part of our Blog Buddies Bullshit.  Please enjoy whatever this turns out to be...

Shelly LerMane

Hey there, Shelly LerMane here, and have I got the perfect porno pitch for you!  This porn will be so fucking hardcore and action packed, people wont know whether to cum or to cringe.  We got spaceships, we got aliens, we got handsome boner smuggler's, loose lady princess' and Christian deitys.  I'm tellin' you this flick will win them fucking Academy Awards! 

Picture this.... At the top of the screen appears...

Once upon a time, in a galaxy filled with poon.

Then you get them rumbling trumpets and orchestra stuff blaring you you have "Sodomy Wars Episode IV: The Birth of Christmas" rolls up the screen.

Then, rolling after the title is like a bunch of words describing what people missed in the first three episodes that we have not made yet.  This is a galaxy ruled by the evil Emperor Poopingtime and his black leather clad, right hand man Ass Raider.  Ya see, in this galaxy, you defeat your enemies by fucking them in the ass.  Hot right?  But in space there is like sparks and shit.  It's like *POW* *BOOM* *SLAP* *SQUIRT*!!

Now fucking, um, Ass Raider is chasing this ship, see? And the ship has the gorgeous Princess LayMe.  This princess has the emperor's secret plans for a battle station that can blast the asses of an entire planet at once.  Global Fucking Sodomy!  Can you picture it?  This big, long, bulbous space station pulling up next to a planet and firing off millions of Anus Seeking Butt Lasers!?  Those things'll find a way to get where they want to go!

Have I peaked your interest?  No?!  Well, listen up cause it gets so much cooler.  So the princess is like, needing to get these plans to the Rebel Analiance.  The rebels are fed up with getting their asses fucked by the Poopingtime and his minions.  They want to be the ass fuckers in this galaxy.  So the princess enlists the help of the Christian God.  Now, now!  Wait!  Hear me out on this one. 

So, the Christian God hates sodomy, right?  You see where I'm going here don't ya?  That's right!  This story's finale takes place with Ass Raider getting the drop on our lord and trying to stuff his robot cock up God's ass!  Little does Ass Raider know that our lord and creator was not born of mortals and has no need of defication, therfore has no ass to fuck!  Mind Blowing twist, right!?  But God does have need of a cock!  A mighty cock of creation!

God whips out his glowing, blue rod and brandishes it as Ass Raider.  In response, Ass Raider's cock grows and glows red.  You know what's gonna happen right?  That's fucking right!  A glowing cock fight!  They'll be all *CHOOM* *SHRIMMM* *VROOM* *GUSH*.  All the friction causes God to end this epic battle with one mighty ejaculate.

God sprays his almighty seed like a super nova, destroying Ass Raider and the Battle Station.  God's mighty semen covers one of the escaping Anus Seeking Butt Lasers.  It drifts in space for centuries covered in God's bountiful goo. Until one day in came in contact with a small planet and it's auto programming takes over.  The damaged Anus Seeking Butt Laser crash landed into the middle east just over two thousand years ago.  It's targeting program damaged, the laser landed in a vagina rather that the anus of a young woman.  We'll have this hot scene of the Anus Seeking Butt Laser pounding this lady's hot virgin poon.  One thing leads to another and that's where Christmas comes from.

So what do you think?  Are we making a movie or what? 


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Molestros The Monster Rider

This morning I received a text message from my dearest co-blogger, Terlet. This message gave me the title of my next post as dictated by yesterday's announcement of our newest challenge, Blog Buddies! so I have written a short story to fit the title he gave me, "Molestros The Monster Rider". Now I need to think up an equally absurd topic for him tomorrow, as it will be his turn to answer the Blog Buddies Challenge! I do hope you enjoy...

The night was quiet except for the breathing of the tentacle beast that served as a trusty mount, and in the mind of Molestros, it was sorely missing the screams of forcibly manhandled children. There was a time that Molestros was known simply as Sullivan the bone carver, but those days ended when he accepted the mighty "Gloves of Inappropriate Fondling" as payment for the carving of a particularly intricate bone whistle. The elf that traded the gloves with him seemed eager to be rid of them, and now it was clear why.

When Sullivan the bone carver slid the gloves onto his calloused hands he was transformed into a man possessed of an insatiable urge to molest children, which quickly earned him the contemptible moniker "Molestros". After being run out of dozens of small villages in the area, many of them nearly leading to his involuntary castration, he decided that he needed to gain a swift and terrifying mount to dissuade his future pursuers.


That decision led him to undertake a dangerous quest to tame the feared swamp tentacle beast using a large quantity of hypnotic drugs which broke the wild will of the creature until it was accepting of a saddle and rider. Now he was considered the most fearsome child molester in the land, eclipsing even Gerald "Stinkfinger" McCallister and "Quelas of the Penetrating Tongue" as most prolific threat to the purity of children.


But despite his near constant stream of youthful victims, Molestros was unable to quench his considerable thirst for them. And his urges stood little chance of ever being satisfied while the most sexually desirable child in the realm remained unfondled. The boy's name was Darrien Toberra, the son of duke Toberra the pure. The entire realm knew the boy would face the threat of every pedophile within range of the duke's hilltop fortress when he was born. There was none who laid eyes on him that could deny his sexiness, and even the most chaste priest had to avert their eyes to suppress their evil desires.


Many had tried to defeat the defenses of the duke's fortress just to be repelled by the high walls and plentiful archer support, but Molestros held an undeniable edge. The tentacles of his fearsome mount could scale any wall with ease, and it's tough hide would protect them from the piercing arrows of many volleys. It was time for him to strike and claim his prize, and he was eager to lay siege as soon as the next dawn broke.


At first light Molestros struck. With the ease of a lubricated member unto an unwilling orifice he penetrated the fortress walls and fell on the vulnerable living quarters of the duke and his son. But unable to define a recognizable entrance to their domicile, and driven by the call of the Gloves of Inappropriate Fondling, Molestros abandoned the tentacle beast and tumbled through a small window, ready to face any challenge. But once he rounded the first corner he saw a room dimly lit with a small fireplace, with a small but luxurious bed at it's center. And in that bed laid a child so perfect, so clean, and so pure, that Molestros was shocked into a tunnel vision of lust, the only object of his desire within the reach of his hungry, unholy gloves.


And there he paced forward silently with outstretched arms, careful not to wake the sweet, sleeping babe, when he saw a glimmer at the periphery of his vision. It was the duke, laying in wait to protect his undeniably sexy spawn. His broadsword split the air, cleaving Molestro's hands at the forearms and sending them tumbling across the floor into the waiting fire. No longer under the control of the gloves, it was Sullivan the bone carver, not Molestros the Monster Rider, that screamed in pain at his newly bloodied stumps. And looking into his welling eyes, duke Toberra the pure saw the change in this man's eyes. It was clear that it was the evil gloves that drove this victim to force himself upon countless children in the realm, and he laid before the duke as a helpless man in dire need of his mercy.


It was this thought that traveled through the mind of the duke as he swung the blade of his broadsword once more, separating Sullivan's head from his body, leaving a quivering mass of redeemed pedophile bathing in the soft light of the fire. And so it ended, with duke Toberra staking the head of the feared Molestros at the gates of his fortress for all to see, and as testament to the will of this father to protect his still very, very sexy young boy from any unwelcome buggering.

THE END

Blog Buddies - Name That Post!

Woo Hoo!  It's time for Blog Buddies, Motherfucker!  Blog Buddies is when Hamtackle and Terlet challenge each other to create something groundbreaking on their illustrious blog!  They are so amazing and creative!  Fuck!  I bet you can't wait to see what they do next!  Are you excited!?  Are you fucking pumped!  Well, hold on to your girly bits because here is the next Blog Buddies Challenge!....... NAME THAT POST!!

Holy Fuck!  I can't believe they are going to do Name That Post! This is soooo epic! You are in for a fucking treat, bitches!  Terlet is going to name a post title for Hamtackle to write about, and fucking vice versa!!  Can you fucking believe that shit!?

Tomorrow's post will be written by Hamtackle, but he will have to come up with something based off of whatever bullshit Terlet spits out.  The day after that, Terlet steps up to the fucking plate to riff off of Hamtackle's brain baby.  If Hamtackle comes up with "How My Love of Hitler Made Me a Better Pedophile", Terlet would have to write a whole post about it.  Classy concept, yes?

I can't wait to see what they fucking come up with!  Tune in for the next two days to find out!  Have we ever disappointed you before?  Bon Voyage, bitches!

Diary Of A Degenerate 13

Having another person in your bed every morning is a change for the average promiscuous bachelor, and was disturbing my sleep habits. I was sleeping three or four hours a night despite drinking six hours a day, and often woke up in that delirious state between inebriation and coherence, crowded in the corner of a bed that was once my personal pasture. But things were getting more tolerable with Vanessa backing off my less desirable habits and not hassling me about my lack of employment ambitions. The money still poured freely from her pockets and showed no sign of slowing, so I had every opportunity to channel my drunken thoughts into writing.

I wrote about the homeless, the hopeless, and the disenfranchised, stories about loss, lust, and violence. All things close to my heart. But my apartment felt as confined as my bed did now, so I started spending more time at the bar. I was in the middle of writing a paragraph that afternoon that featured a teenage runaway being raped by her former schoolteacher when I abruptly stopped and marched out the door, looking for a bar stool to warm up. I went two blocks west, across the empty lot near the pawn shop to the nameless bar that was known only by the neon white pony out front.


The place was as familiar with me as I was with it now, although not a single soul knew my name. They had the good sense not to ask around here. It was the kind of bar that was popular with anonymous strangers that wanted to stay that way, a windowless refuge with few patrons and fewer lights, where the flash of a cigarette lighter gave birth to long shadows that briefly populated the lonely corners. A great place to do some serious mid-day drinking.


The door squealed it's alarm and unwelcome light flooded in as I was finishing another whiskey and in walked a bald old man with a young whore in tow. It was only when the sunlight came in that you realized how thick the smoke was and it was revolting to me. I had almost every bad habit imaginable but I never understood cigarettes, even thought I tried hard to get hooked on them when I was a kid. The pair sat at a table behind me and loudly ordered a beer and a soda, then discussed how much nicer the bar would be if they added some more lamps and a jukebox. I was physically biting my tongue to avoid regurgitating obscenities all over them. So I decided to distract my mind with an ambitious amount of hard drink.


I had turned slightly on my stool to keep an eye on them, but couldn't hear a word they were saying now that they acclimated their volume to the silence around them. All I heard was whispers and the clinking of ice cubes from the girl's straw as she playfully swirled it around the glass. I wondered how young she was. She looked like a kid, and he was old enough to be her father. Or her schoolteacher.


They dominated my thoughts for the better part of an hour as I grew drunker, dwelling on his grinning face and her reciprocal half-hearted smile as this asshole made incoherent small talk. Before I knew it I was standing over him, looking down on his bald crown. I'm not sure what I said, but they both looked startled until the guy stood up and defensively put his open hands out between us. He was over six feet tall, not quite my height but tall enough that we would look like an even match if we ended up explaining ourselves to the police.


The already quiet room became noticeably more silent until the bartender grabbed me by the shoulders and said something that sounded to me like he was speaking underwater, and I momentarily lost my balance before regaining my full height. Then I hit the guy, sending him falling across the table in a symphony of crashing glasses punctuated by the wailing of his younger companion. I looked down and saw that I miraculously still had my drink in my hand, unspilled, and took a sip while I watched the young whore go to his aid. It was a good clean hit but I hadn't expected such a chaotic result, and was surprised when he started to get back up. But before he got upright he lunged into my hips and I crashed to the ground, a flash crossing my vision as the back of my head bounced off the wet concrete. Before I regained my composure I realized I was in handcuffs, and my attacker was pulling a long shard of glass out of my wrist from the whiskey glass I had been holding. And he was reading me my rights.


 

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She-Mail - Love Letter Assistance

Do you have trouble talking to women?  Are you terrified to strike up a conversation with a lady?  Do you find woman as mysterious as they are majestic?  Do you need a simple way to break the ice? You need SHE-MAIL, The Love Letter Assistants!

We at She-Mail have a long and proud tradition of helping awkward men obtain the girl of their dreams.  All you need to do is write your own love letter for your potential lady friend.  Be sure to write from the heart, tell her how you really feel.  The She-Mail staff will then study your letter and recreate it in a manner that it will be irresistible to the ladies.

Before She-Mail

Nice try Mitch, but his letter definitely needs to be She-Mailed.  With a few simple tweeks, Mitch is going to make that cashier swoon. 

After She-Mail

Isn't it amazing?  She won't be able to resist Mitch's charm.  She-Mail is a modern day Cyrano de Bergerac.  Join now and you can two She-Mailed letters for the price of one!  Try She-Mail today!

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The Problem With Aircraft

We can all breathe a sigh of relief now that we know that the potential next first lady, Ann Romney, is safe and sound after her flight had an emergency landing in Denver after some elecronic difficulty. I'm sure we can all agree that situation would shake even the strongest among us, and I wouldn't wish that kind of stress on anyone. But now that the crisis is over we have a new statement from Mitt Romney that raises a very serious question about airline safety that has been somehow overlooked since the advent of commercial air travel. Could it be that our next president may have saved countless lives by raising concern about a glaring oversight in airplane design? Read his remarks below to decide for yourself.

"I appreciate the fact that she is on the ground, safe and sound. And I don’t think she knows just how worried some of us were. When you have a fire in an aircraft, there’s no place to go, exactly, there’s no — and you can’t find any oxygen from outside the aircraft to get in the aircraft, because the windows don’t open. I don’t know why they don’t do that. It’s a real problem." - Willard Mitt Romney

Son of a bitch! He is right! All this time I have been flying in planes and I never once noticed that the windows don't open! I mean, what if we needed more oxygen? Maybe some terrorist releases sarin gas in the bathroom and we need to renew our clean air supply, then what? And what the fuck are those stupid oxygen masks for that the flight attendant goes on about before takeoff? Did they seriously put oxygen masks in the plane and STILL not realize that all our problems could be solved with a simple latch, or maybe even a screen door?

Wait a second... I'm starting to remember something else the flight attendant was talking about... Didn't she mention that the oxygen masks would self deploy in the instance of a dramatic decrease of pressure in the cabin? And come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that the air is kinda thin at the cruising altitude of over 30,000 feet. Hold off on the medal ceremony for single-handedly saving lives by revolutionizing aeronautical design, folks. It appears Mitt Romney hasn't demonstrated his qualifications as an engineer, but may have just pointed out that he is retarded.

How could it be that a harvard-educated, bilingual, wildly successful businessman doesn't know that airplanes must maintain cabin pressure to prevent the loss of oxygen? He attended public high school for years before going to private schools, and is young enough to have been exposed to the concept of commercial flight for his whole life. And any high school student will tell you that opening a window on a moving plane is a fucking horrible idea. But I don't buy that Romney is THIS stupid.

Perhaps he has always lived with incredible wealth, and never was exposed to commercial flight where the attendant clearly explains all about cabin pressure. Think about it... He might only know air travel from the perspective of a private jet owner, where the in-flight staff don't interrupt your caviar brunch with silly safety announcements. Is he that far removed from the average person that he just hasn't shared such a basic experience with the rest of us? I think so. Either that, or he really is a robot with no need for silly human things like air.

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Popular Irony Mail Bag - Penis Advantage Scam

Hi folks, sorry it's been a while since we answered any fan-mail.  We have been extremely busy, as you can imagine.  I had a bit of down time today, so I decided to rummage through the mail bag a bit.  Normally it's just a bunch of asskissery and bullshit, but today I noticed something special.  Something I just had to share with our dedicated audience.

"Anonymous" left this comment today on the post entitled "Time For Beanylon 5". 

First, thanks for watching "Time For Beanylon 5".  I thought it was a piece of shit, but I'll accept any compliment.  I would just like to say, thank you Anonymous.  Really, I do appreciate the encouragement.  I am proud that you think we are the easiest thing to be aware of on the net.  That is a big accomplishment.  You seem to really understand what we are going for, we really get irked while people think about worries that they just do not know about, too.  I mean, it's infuriating, right?

We strive for quality here at Popular Irony, It's nice to hear that we managed to hit the nail upon the top with our content.  I agree, people can take a signal.  I hope you do come back for more, Anonymous.  I will surely check out your website "Penis Advantage Scam".  It sounds intoxicating.

Keep that fan-mail comin', folks!

Diary Of A Degenerate 12

It hadn't even been two full weeks since Vanessa moved in and already I was trying to lose her.  She had cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, starting with the mess she left me in the kitchen and only ending after every trace of my existence was scrubbed from the yellowed wallpaper.  I felt a sense of loss like I had been robbed of my filth.

So I sat alone in the living room and drank up all her money, speaking only when I needed something from her, sex or money.  Her bounds were being tested and she reacted as if she knew this game, like an old boxer that doesn't flinch the feint anymore.  She made my meals, restocked my liquor supply, and even sent off my bills for me without asking.  I became dependent on her for my daily life and I suspected that was how she wanted it all along.

Vanessa loved my music.  At first I played it loudly to drown her out of my life, but now I forced her to sit with me in silence out of spite.  I told her I had headaches and it felt good to regurgitate the lie I heard so often from other women looking to weasel out of fucking.  I needed distance so I told her I was going to look for a job, something I had abandoned as soon as she walked into my life, and filled my wallet with her money.  She offered to drive me because I was drunk but I got angry and tried to start a fight over the issue, but she gave up so easily that it frustrated me.

So to the bar I went, already drunk, and bought a round for the lonesome strangers that were propped on the stools next to me.  It was easy to throw around money when it wasn't yours, and I wanted nothing more than to find the bottom of Vanessa's pocketbook.  After a couple hard drinks I was approached by two lovely ladies that turned out to be one rather tired looking broad named 'Destiny' once my vision straightened, and after some discussion we found out that we shared some common interests, mainly Vanessa's money and fornication, which we decided to spend the rest of the evening enjoying together.  I'm not sure when it happened, but I emerged from my stupor with a second wind and ended up dragging this inebriated bitch around like a peg leg until I found my car parked out in the street.

On the way home I wondered silently how this would play out, fully aware that Vanessa was laying on my bed worrying that I was dead in a ditch or in jail, but I wanted to bring this whole bullshit situation to a head.  Either she was going to accept me despite my foulness or she would leave, and I wasn't sure which I preferred.  Destiny was trying hard to make with the sexy talk but she was terrible about it.  She said she liked it rough but struck me as the type to cry uncle just when you had a fistful of her hair, so I told her to shut the fuck up and kept driving home in silence.

Walking up the stairwell I could hear the radio playing, Vanessa getting a fill of music before I brought my sad silence back into her life, and calmly walked through the door dragging Destiny behind me.  It all happened so fast.  Vanessa rushed at me and beat a closed fist against my face like she was stabbing me with an invisible knife.  I took three or four licks until she focused her anger on Destiny, who had already turned to open the door, fumbling clumsily with the knob like an ape with a rubik's cube.

I didn't watch as the two fought savagely behind me, but both of them were audibly crying as I poured a fresh whiskey and drank deep.  I could tell, however, that Vanessa cried from fury and Destiny from pain.  Soon I heard the door slam and a muffled whimpering fade down the hallway as the victor gave the intruder a merciful escape.  I turned around expecting to face another beating to find Vanessa bleeding mascara tears, her broken fingernails tangled with long blond hair, and I never wanted a woman so badly.  Without speaking a word we attacked each other's tongues and shuffled into the bedroom where we fucked for hours.  It was fantastic.

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Rod Sirloin.com - A Website of Spite!

Back in September 2011, I made a post with a Leather Daddy chef using a very phallic kitchen tool called the Saladgasm.  I had to name my naughty chef, so with very little thought, I pulled Rod Sirloin out of the air.  After it was posted, I did not think about it again.  That was until "The Real Rod Sirloin" posted a comment stating that he invented the name "Rod Sirloin" waaaay back in 2004.  Hey, good for you sport!

http://www.popularirony.com/2011/09/chef-rod-sirloins-amazing-saladgasm.html 

HA!  This little angel must have been Googling his nickname.  The name Rod Sirloin meant nothing to me.  Does he really think he is the first person to think of combining those two words?  It seems to mean a lot to him.  How do I respond?  Comment back with a "Nuh-uh!" or "You're the rip, dickhead!".  That's not very much fun.  There was a much more classy response available to me. 

Supposedly I ripped this guy off, so I better own it.  Amazingly, RODSIRLOIN.COM was available.  I am excessively wealthy and am not opposed to purchasing a domain simply for spite..... So I did.

WWW.RODSIRLOIN.COM

I don't plan on updating the site or removing that horribly annoying, never-ending, Beyonce clip.

I can't wait for "The Real Rod Sirloin" to Google himself again.  If he loved the name so much he should have bought the domain.  I own Rod Sirloin, bitch!  Nice rip, ya rip off....

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Animal Activists: Pet Emancipation Team

Have you ever looked through a screen door and witnessed a dog yearning to be free? Have you ever seen the instincts of a house cat dulled by imprisonment? If you have, then we need your support. We are P.E.T., the Pet Emancipation Team, and we are here to fight for the honor and soul of domesticated animals everywhere.


Our crack team of high-tech commandos are trained in the ways of home invasion, security system manipulation, and even hand to hand combat to make the most effective animal rights champions the world has ever seen. Our goal is simple: To identify at risk domestic pets and emancipate them at any cost. We cut prison-like chainlink fencing, jimmy windows, or kick down doors to make sure we have acquired our target, then give them the freedom that they so richly deserve. There is no team like us anywhere in the world, and although we are the most capable animal militants the world has ever seen, we are asking for help.


Currently we have all the necessary gear to make most simple animal extractions possible, such as balaclavas and gloves, but we want to take things to the next level. We need to purchase digital tag scanners and basic surgical equipment to remove the identifiers that stand between the animal's freedom and recapture, and we would like night vision equipment and bulletproof vests to allow us to better navigate our target homes in the dark and protect us from greedy slave owners.


Not sure if you want to donate yet? We understand. P.E.T is an extreme organization and you may need to know more about our methods before any financial commitment. First we identify the most unfit animal "owners" by means of a thorough ten-point examination, then infiltrate their homes under cover of night to obtain any imprisoned animals. Once emancipated, we release the animals in the nearest city park to live a newfound life of complete freedom without any interference from human interaction. The cats and dogs are able to scavenge and hunt just as nature intended, and turtles, birds, or other commonly domesticated species are able to find their way on their own.


Still not convinced? Well look at these statistics: Of our last 300 emancipations the animals have an estimated 3% survival rate past 48 hours with literally dozens of animals still unaccounted for. And when confronted by homeowners we have resorted to violence on a mere 46 occasions! If these numbers don't impress you enough to open your wallet just a little, then you must be some kind of meat-eating child molester. So just write your checks out to P.E.T. c/o Walter Cumberbatch, any amount accepted, and you too can be a part of the new revolution!


.

Scum City Avengers - Sawed Off

My XBox took a shit last night right when I started playing Borderlands 2.  Do you know what that means?  That's right!  I bought a new fucking XBOX!!  My files are currently transferring to the new console.  So I am going to go work on that shit.  You know what that means?  It's time for a Cop-Out post!  SCUM CITY AVENGERS!!

This song is about driving around Boulder Colorado shooting people with a sawed off shotgun.  Classy, I know.  Enjoy!

You can listen to or own this song... For Free!! Holy Shit! Just click here.

 

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Diary Of A Degenerate 11

The next six days were touch and go. I figured I would never see Vanessa again, and I was probably unemployable. So I sat in my apartment and drank. I had 18 days left of rent and I was making the worst of them. She made a fucking mess of my place but I pushed the shards of broken dishes under the cupboard and walked along clean pathways through the kitchen, never giving a shit about the state of the place. But I eventually ran low on booze.

Frank was a good guy. He had loaned me $20 about six weeks ago and I never paid him back. He was either too big of a pussy to hassle me about it or he would never speak to me again. The only way to find out was by knocking on his door. He answered politely and let me in, we spoke about current events and the state of the economy for a few minutes, but he never mentioned owing him cash. I was able to convince him that I needed his money more than he did and he relented, so I walked out of his home thirty bucks richer. Just enough for a couple day's worth of booze. I converted his cash immediately into whiskey and didn't even bother hiding it when I got home and passed him in the stair well.


But when I got to my door I saw a message. "I have nowhere to go. I was afraid you rejected me but now I understand you just need distance. I respect that, I really do. If you can forgive me I will prove to you that I can be trusted. Really, I am ashamed at how I reacted when you have been nothing but good to me since I met you. I have a lot to make up to you but I am ready to prove myself if you can find it in your heart to let me back in. Please. Love, Vanessa"


I decided it would be better to get evicted and get on public assistance than to let that bitch back in my life, so I threw the note away. About two hours into my stupor on the couch the door started banging like a fucking madman. The landlady was on the prowl, already hunting for her rent even though it wasn't due for two weeks. She knew I was out of work and waiting for the inevitable, but fuck her anyway. We argued in the hallway until I slammed the door in her face, but not five minutes later she was pounding at door again. I opened it fast, ready to fist fight if I needed to, but It wasn't her. It was Vanessa.


"I'm sorry" She said. "I heard you yelling, and I spoke to your landlady and paid your rent. Cash. If you never want to see me again, I understand. But please, just please." She was more than a convenience fuck at this point, she was a resource. So I let her in.


 

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Top 5 Google Image Search - Celebrity Tits!

Aw shit!  Who wants to see some tits!?  Celebrity tits?!  I am going to put "Celebrity Tits" into a Google image search with the SafeSearch on moderate... let's see what we got.

First up is.. Carla Gugino.  Hey look!  She's got tits!  Celebrity tits!  At least I think she is a celebrity, I have never heard of her.

Hey... is that some nip?  Celebrity nip?

Next up is... Salma Hayek.  Yup.  Celebrity... check!  Tits.... check!  She qualifies!!

I can hear that shirt creaking.

Falling into third place is... Britney Spears!  Tits Tits Celebrity Tits! Sweaty Drunken Celebrity Tits!

Do I have to buy you a drink or can we just grab them now?

Fourth on the list for Celebrity tits is... Katie Price?  Another Celebrity Titeteer that I have never heard of.  I'm guessing porn or hotel heiress.  Probably both.

Who am I?  Who gives a shit.  Tits!

Last but certainly not least.  The person who should have been #1 on the chart.  The full chested southern belle, Dolly Parton.  Them some vintage Celebrity Tits!

She must have a steel spine.

 Thanks for joining me on this pathetically juvenile excursion into the squishy land of Celebrity Tits!

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Here is a Gif....That is all. - T-Rex & Old Lady

A clip from the UK TV series "The Wrong Door".  That is all.

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Popular Irony - Dramatic Drunken Porn Reading - Punish Me

Hey folks, Terlet here.  Tonight, Hamtackle and I recorded a randomly selected erotic short story to read out loud, for you, our friends.  Much booze was consumed and typing and reading is .... um... hardish?  The story Hamtackle selected is entitled "Punish Me" it's a classy bit of work that contained near innumerable spelling and grammar errors.  Only one take with no pre-reading...  We're fucking professionals.  Stroke on loyal reader.  

Click Here to be kinda aroused and mostly disgusted.

Audio Erotica at it's finest.

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YouTube Jihad

I have spent a good deal of my spare time offending christians. I consider those who identify themselves primarily by their religion to be dangerously ignorant, but since I live in america I generally only have direct contact with christians. And despite all my efforts I have never been threatened with physical violence. The truth is, violence among religious faith in the face of threatening speech only gains widespread acceptance among muslims.

Before I call down the wrath of liberal outrage, hear me out. I recognize fully that institutionalized violence is a long-standing tradition of virtually all religions, particularly christianity. And the jews don't get to play the victim anymore either, now that they attack civilians in palestinian settlements with nazi-like cruelty. But in this age of instant worldwide communication most religions have learned to develop a rather thick skin. They recognize that there is such a thing as an "internet troll" that will spew inflammatory statements specifically to get a reaction, and these "trolls" don't represent any real group of people but themselves. And if you"feed the troll" by reacting, you play right into their hands and give them an undeserved level of power.

And this is what we are witnessing today across the muslim world with protests in yemen, saudi arabia, iraq, libya, egypt, and so on. I realize there is a majority of muslims in the world that understand how the internet works and would never commit an act of violence in response to some inbred/illiterate douchebag's shitty youtube movie, but they aren't the ones getting any press right now. And it's not the media's fault. If the leaders of the arab world spoke out and proclaimed these protests to be counter-productive and embarrassing, their statements would certainly be front page news. But every one of them condemns the violence while simultaneously supporting the cause. I'm not saying they need to go out and round up protesters for prosecution, but you would be surprised how far a little ridicule goes towards deflating a meaningless movement.

It is even more offensive that the arab world chooses this idiotic point to gather up arms and take to the streets for. What about forcing women to wear beekeeper suits? How about the routine lynchings for people who wear revealing outfits or have the nerve to be born gay? They live in a part of the world with crippling social and economic problems and seem to have forgotten the massive support gained from the western world when they stood up for their interests during the arab spring uprisings. I was inspired and encouraged by those protests, and thought the muslim world might be climbing their way out of stone age mentality that they have been burdened with for so long. And now this shit.

These riots are a perfect demonstration of what happens when a culture overpopulates the intersection of religious fervor and ignorance. And the same problem exists here in the states, but most of us have the good sense to ridicule those people when we come across them, like when Pat Robertson wanted to start a christian crusade against the teletubbies for spreading the gay agenda. It's laughably irresponsible. Attacking an embassy in response to a youtube clip is the moral and intellectual equivalent of breaking into a person's home, raping their daughters, killing their dog, then burning their house down because they called you a "pussy" on facebook.

I only see two options to resolve this mentality, as the success of this particular internet troll will certainly inspire hundreds more to incite violence among these overly-sensitive childish protesters. They will either have to get the sand out of their collective vagina (not easy in that part of the world) and adopt the "joke's on you- I'm the one going to paradise!" attitude practiced by most other religions, or someone is going to have to revoke their internet privileges. Because when a baby starts misbehaving and breaking their toys, mommy and daddy have to take them away until they mature a bit.



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Diary Of A Degenerate 10

When I woke up I decided to gather all my shitty clothes and bloody sheets and take them to the wash. The place was full of mexicans so I had to stay the whole three hours while the machines ran, and I was glad I did after watching a woman with three kids go through half the discarded baskets and take her pick. On another day I might have kicked the shit out of her, but I was too damn tired to care. So I just watched while the dryer ran.

When I got home I called the phone number and left Vanessa a message and awkwardly told her that drinking alone made me feel like a goddamn drunk, which was a total lie. She clearly was attracted to me because I was so fucking broken, and feeding the fire would draw her in. When she finally knocked on the door I was sort of embarrassed because I was cooking a can of spaghetti that was shaped like characters from an animated tv show, but let her in anyway. She kissed and hugged me, and had the good sense to bring more liquor.


We talked for a few hours and ended up arguing about politics, but it was great because I didn't feel the need to lie to her and I knew she wouldn't leave. She told me that she had money and wanted to stay here for a while, which was perfect because she would keep the booze flowing and the rent paid. We fucked and then she asked me to get a bag out of her car downstairs. I brought the pistol but didn't need it.


It was only after I returned that I realized how goddamn hot and humid it was, and how much worse we made it with our sweaty fucking. It was as if the doorway was some kind of portal to a jungle hellhole complete with bands of malaria-infected nymphomaniac gorillas. I wanted a shower but was about four minutes too late, as Vanessa was already at it. I thought about joining her, but my wide shoulders made it a tight fit as it was. "Fuck it" I decided, I couldn't stand it another minute longer. I propped her bag against the chair, borrowed ten bucks from her purse, then headed out to the bar.


I walked down the block to Schmidt's, a familiar joint filled with old timers and depressing drifters, and ordered a several drinks in quick succession. The air conditioning was the only thing welcoming about the place. Even the waitress was bitchy, probably because she looked to be pregnant enough to not fit into her clothes anymore and apparently too poor to buy new ones. I didn't ever smoke but I made a point to buy a pack and blow them into her face when she passed, and jokingly offered to buy her a drink. She didn't have much of a sense of humor, but fuck her anyways. If she wasn't such a whore she wouldn't be knocked up, and if she wasn't such a bitch she would make better tips. I walked home shortly after she started crying.


When I walked through the door I was greeted by the sight of a wrecked kitchen. All my dishes were smashed on the floor along with the half-drunk bottle of whiskey Vanessa brought over. There was even a few holes in the wall. There was a small trail of blood on the floor amid the ceramic fragments, and for a few minutes I thought there might have been a break in. I walked into the bedroom half expecting to find Vanessa there, beaten bloody and raped. But when I saw the word "asshole" scrawled across a broken mirror in lipstick I figured it out. Vanessa was a crazy bitch. I didn't even bother cleaning up, just went to sleep on sheets that were wet from some unknown source, probably her piss. "God damn it" I thought. "I just washed these sheets."


 

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Scum City Avengers - No Attachment

The fetid bug of uninspiration has bitten me again.  With that, I present to you another smash hit from the long dead band, the Scum City Avengers.  This one is called No Attachement.  It's about not having attachment.... to something or something.

Click here to download or listen or whatever. Fuck.

I did a Google image search for "No Attachment" and got this.  What the fuck!?

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Never Forget Mountain Meadows: The Other 9/11

Everyone remembers the sad day back on September 11, 2001. It was the day that America was attacked by muslim extremists, and led to the instigation of two mostly ridiculous wars that still haven't been totally resolved. But few still remember the original 9/11 tragedy known as the mountain meadows massacre, the day our great nation was attacked by another group of religious fanatics... the mormons.

On this day in 1857 a large group of emigrants bound by wagon train to the prosperous lands of California from Arkansas were attacked in southern Utah. They had just traveled through Salt Lake City where they apparently drew some unwelcome attention from the local mormons, who planned a deceptive seige attack while dressed as native americans. The mormon raiders were surprised by the resolve of the wagon train, who fought back the savage attacks for a full five days before wearing down the raiders.

At this time the mormon militia, led by commander Wiliiam H. Dame, decided to abandon their native garb and approach the weary wagon train as friends. They convinced the group that they had nothing but good mormony intentions and claimed to have some nearby food and water to help sustain them, but when they led the group away from their fortifications they sprung their trap. Attacking from all sides, the bloodthirsty militia laid some LDS-style smackdown and murdered 120 men, women, and children.

Not wanting any more unflattering press after widespread mormon persecution, the militia buried their unfortunate victims in a mass grave, then auctioned off their valuables. But they made one mistake: they spared a small group of seventeen children which they assimilated into their society. Not surprisingly, these children remembered these people that shot, stabbed, and burned their mothers and fathers, and word got out about the crime. The federal government stepped in and prosecuted the only confirmed mormon murderer, a man named John D. Lee, who was promptly executed.

In the years since the incident, the mormon church has strongly denied any connection to the attacks despite claims that Brigham Young himself issued the orders to the militia, and they even maintain a monument to those who died at the site of the mass grave. But in 1999, while restoring the monument at mountain meadows, the church renewed interest in the issue when they accidentally dug up 29 of the 120 buried bodies. The federal government stepped in and gave a proper burial to the remains, but all further excavation was sealed and the curch quickly finished restoration and quietly slinked away.

But the massacre was a big deal back in civil-war era America, even warranting a mention by esteemed author Mark Twain in his book, Roughing It:

"The whole United States rang with it's horrors. A large party of Mormons, painted and tricked out as Indians, overtook the train of emigrent wagons some three hundred miles south of Salt Lake City, and made an attack. But the emigrants threw up earthworks, made fortresses of their wagons, and defended themselves gallantly and successfully for five days! Your Missouri or Arkansas gentleman is not much afraid of the sort of scurvy apologies for "Indians" which the southern part of Utah affords. He would stand up and fight five hundred of them. At the end of the five days the Mormons tried military strategy. They retired to the upper end of the 'Meadows,' resumed civilized apparel, washed off their paint, and then, heavily armed, drove down in wagons to the beleagured emigrants, bearing a flag of truce! When the emigrants saw white men coming they threw down their guns and welcomed them with cheer after cheer...."

So on this solemn anniversary of the tragedy of 9/11, let's put a little perspective into the persecution and warmongering against muslim countries worldwide. The christian right and hawks in the republican party might want to keep the notion that islam is an evil religion alive, and may be keen to remind all of us that we live in a world surrounded by those that would attack us because they "hate freedom", or some other nonsense. But our country once had these same claims about mormons. And now they are trying to elect one president... NEVER FORGET!



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Fishmonger

FIIIISH!! FREEESH FIIIISH FOR SALE!  Get your FRESH FISH HERE!  Hey there friend!  You like the fish!  I have fish for you!  Fresh fish!!  You come get fresh fish.  My family catch!  Is good, is fresh!

See look at fish.  I have Salmon!  Best Salmon!  See look at Salmon..

You no like Salmon!?  How you no like Salmon. Ok, ok... I have better fish for you.  Fresh fish!  You like fish stew?  You need fish head.  Fresh fish head!!  See look how so much meat on head.  So many fresh fish head.  You want?! You buy!?

No!?  No want make fish head stew?  You a tough customer, huh?  I like.  I find right fish for you. Fresh fish!  Best fillet come from flat fish.  You like fillet?  You in luck!  Fresh off of boat.  Freshest of flat fish.  I see you taste bud drool with my talk.  Let me show you.  So fresh that I have no yet even put in ice.  Freshest of fish!

No?!  How this be!?  How you not tearing into flat fish right now?  So tasty be the flat fish.  Ok, I have one more fresh fish for you.  Called Kippers but I call, Ready Lady Fish.  See look...  Aha!  You interested in Ready Lady Fish.  See it look like a Ready Lady.  Ready for body pleasure.  So fresh and so taste good.  You like?  You buy?!

You buy!  Yes!  Me sell fish.  Me am Fishmonger like father and father before.  Finally sale.  You eat Ready Lady now or home?  Home?  I wrap in paper.  Out of newspaper, toilet paper ok?  No?  Oh.. well.. Goodbye then.  FIIIISH!! FREEESH FIIIISH FOR SALE!  Get your FRESH FISH HERE!


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Diary Of A Degenerate 9

There's blood in the bed again. It has happened before, but never quite so much. Luckily the culprit was quickly identified when I felt my boxers spot-welded to my asshole. Hemorrhoids again. I swear, someday I will literally shit myself to death with these things. I got up and brushed my teeth then sat in the chair by the window to see if my neighbors were fucking. Sometimes I got lucky and caught them shamelessly copulating with the curtains open, but usually they just watched tv and ate themselves into obesity and beyond. After ten minutes I thought about about throwing a bottle across the alleyway to get their attention, maybe make them do something entertaining, but I didn't feel like talking to the cops today.

I decided to grab the cash Vanessa left for me and sneak some booze into a movie theater, just like when I was 13. First I hit the gas station, put exactly four dollars into the tank, then blew twelve bucks on a flask of rum. I always went to romantic comedies and sat all the way in the back where I could watch the girls with their boyfriends. It wasn't entirely sexual, either. Sometimes I just want to watch them laugh and cry in the dark, with only the projector lighting up their faces. I guess I was staring at one girl when I heard some snickering coming from across the aisle. It was some teenage douchebag trying to impress his girl by ridiculing the dirty old man in the back of the theater.


Instead of starting a big scene I just got up, walked over to them, and sat down right next to his girlfriend. I put my feet up on the seat in front of me and took a big pull off the bottle. "What the fuck, bro?" the kid whispered. I could tell he was a little scared. She was probably sixteen years old, blonde and a little overweight, but the kind of babyfat that would turn into curves in a few years. I leaned in and said "I bet he cries after he cums. That's what faggots do before they realize they are gay. He's gonna leave you for his best friend in a few months." She was halfway out of the theater before the shock wore off of her boyfriend and he took off after her. And there I sat alone until the shitty movie was over.


By the time I was driving home I was flying high, slightly drunk from ten or so shots in 90 minutes. I went straight back to my apartment and stared at the scribbled phone number Vanessa left for an hour or so, then went to bed.


 

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Fiordigusto

Are you hungry?  Well I sure am.  Hamtackle brought me a wonderful gift from his recent trip to Italy.  A bag a Gourmet Italian Pasta!  A very interesting variety..... Fiordigusto!

The Italians have so many different shapes and varieties of pasta, but I have never tried this one before.  I've decided to cook it up with some turkey meatballs and a gourmet jar of white sauce. 

 

First I'll get them balls goin'.  I mixed my ground turkey with bread crumbs, an egg, garlic, Parmesan and pepper.  They should be zesty and delicious!  Hmmmm 20 minutes at 350 should do the trick.

 

Now that the balls are warming up, I'll throw the pasta into the boiling water.

  

Ooooh.  Just look at it bubble.  10 minutes until pasta perfection.

 

Well, it's been 10 minutes, let's take a look.  Ah.... The pasta is tender and looks delicious and such and interesting shape.  I don't know what it is about this pasta but I am ravenous!

 

Balls are done!

 

Gently place the balls in your hand and put them in the pot with the drained pasta.

I'm too excited!  I can't do this slowly, I need to get a big handful.

 Did someone say white sauce!?

Fuck yeah!  Cream up them balls!  This pasta is going to be great.

You gotta mix thoroughly.  Make sure to get everything coated with that hot white sauce.

Would you look at that?  A culinary masterpiece.

Whoops!  I almost gagged on that last mouthful.  I was a bit too forceful getting it into my mouth.

 Well, that was simply delicious.  I don't know what it was about this pasta but I suddenly feel like a new me!  It's like I've been suppressing something for years and somehow I just confronted it through pasta.  I can't put my finger on it.... Oh well, I'll ask my wife what she thinks it means when she gets home.  Thanks Hamtackle for the delicious gift!

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Diary Of A Degenerate 8

I drove to the church first, secretly hoping they would deny my application right away. If they offered me the position I would be obligated to accept it and I would be scrubbing the holy shitter within the week. There was no one in sight when I walked in, so I just wandered around until I found the back office. A fat priest sat at the desk with a judgmental look on his face, his judgmental eyes peering over his judgmental bifocals until I cleared my throat and got his attention. He started explaining right away that they had no soup services until friday afternoon until I interrupted him and explained about the janitor job.

It didn't go well. He commented that he hadn't seen me before, which I understood was a bad thing since this was a supposedly "holy" place, and he could tell just by looking at me that I was one hell of a sinner. When he asked me which church I attended I stood up and told him to fuck off. I had enough of their guilt-laden bullshit as a child and I wasn't going to put up with it every fucking day just to pull a minimum-wage check. He seemed startled, which surprised me. I was sure assholes like him were told to fuck off pretty often.


On the way back to the car I looked in my wallet to see I had three bucks and some change to my name. And I still needed gas. This convinced me not to go home right away and try the elementary school about that job. After all, I probably only had a few mouthfulls of pissy vodka back home anyway.


Walking up to the front offices I was getting winded by the goddamn stairs. I already had my doubts about working at this place even before walking through the door. I approached the desk where a secretary sat behind a desk sorting some papers. The look on her face made it clear that she didn't think I belonged here. "How can I help you?" she asked. Not even a 'sir'.


"I'm here about the custodial position." I explained, trying hard to sound and look presentable. "I applied yesterday." "Oh, yes. Well, I haven't gotten around to reviewing all the applications yet. We got so many of them... the economy, you know?" she said through smiling teeth. "I could probably get you an interview, but maybe you want to come back a little later?" She was still sitting down so I was fighting the urge to stare down her blouse, even though they weren't that spectacular from the looks of things. "Why the fu... I mean, hell would I want to come back?" The moment I said it I realized it came out aggressive. "To freshen up. Frankly sir, you smell like alcohol."


I just walked out of there laughing to myself. She said ahe wanted my name to give me a call when they were ready to interview, but I knew she just wanted to pull my app and trash it. I drove home thirsty for whatever swill I could dig out of the discarded bottles in my apartment. When I opened the door I was depressed. Vanessa was gone, but she had cleaned my place like a fucking madwoman. I bet she didn't leave a single near-empty bottle in the garbage for me to salvage. Then I saw it. A fresh bottle of single malt sitting on the counter with a short note.


"I left a couple dollars in your end table drawer and there is some food in the fridge. You didn't have anything! Give me a call if you ever want to see me again- Vanessa"


There was $60 in the end table. I put the music on and laid into the bottle with a big smile on my face.


 

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The Return Of Bubba

You all saw it last night. A 66 year old former president took the stage in Charlotte North Carolina and tried to fuck our girlfriends. Sure, he made some speech about Obama or something, but we know what he was really up to. In between succinct statements that clearly demonstrated the absurdity of the republican campaign platform he was charming the drawers off your woman. Just remember what he is capable of. Back when he was president he did things with a cigar that most of us haven't yet accomplished with our penises, for god's sake!

At first I was like "Wow. He is expertly staking a democratic claim on America's future while simultaneously striking a familiar and pleasant chord with the undecided electorate..." But the it hit me. He is practically raping my girlfriend with his words. And my suspicions were confirmed when I caught her washing the couch cushions later that night, frantically hiding the evidence of her womanly juices.

Goddammit, how am I supposed to compete with this? In a mere 48 minutes he was able to undo all the work I put into my girlfriend over the course of seven long months, from paid dinners, romantic walks, and even three fucking twilight movies! And don't think this isn't your problem too, mister. Do you know where your girl is right now? Didn't think so. I know mine was supposed to come over after work today and that was four hours ago! She is almost certainly on the receiving end of an "Arkansas water slide" by now, and there is nothing I can do about it.

From what I understand, Bill Clinton has been sequestered in a dark room with only a bible and basic cable television for the last decade, allowed to leave only when representing his charity on the occasional world tour. And is it any coincidence that teenage pregnancy has been on a sharp decline since then? I think not. They don't call him "Panty-Dropping Presidente" for nothing.


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A Gentleman's Guide To Group Survival

Even the most discerning gentleman will find himself confronted with danger, panic, and chaos in his lifetime. How one responds demonstrates the difference between common street trash and people of privilege. Tonight we briefly discuss the proper handling of situations of potentially dire consequence.


1. Remember your elevated station in life when considering chivalry: You may be tempted to follow the age old adage of "women and children first", but consider the genesis of this famous line. This was mostly used in sinking ship scenarios between the mid 19th to mid 20th century, where all occupants were generally of aristocratic heritage and warranted equivalent treatment in times of peril. These days you are much less likely to find a fellow gentleman or social peer and therefore should not hesitate to flatten any obstructive personage, be they man, woman, or child. To think that you would allow some unwashed urchin to prevent you from sparing your fine garments exposure to elements such as fire or flood waters is simply foolish, and acting with authority will put you in line with like-minded people of wealth and status.

2. Hoarding resources is the way of the aristocracy: At the first sign of a stressful situation a true gentleman will claim for himself a proportional quantity of valuable resources. If unable to secure the lion's share of food or other resources you face an obligation to demand or seize said valuables from other survivors. Expect resistance, as the rabble tends to place undue value on their own meager existence and will likely demand access to whatever they have acquired for themselves. Do not hesitate to enlist force to secure your rightful claim.

3. Cull the herd to eliminate the weak: The sooner you can isolate the unfit from your group the better. When faced with a life or death ordeal the last thing you will need is to be saddlebagged with the impoverished or feeble. At the first opportunity you must smother the weak and sacrifice their young, as this is the way of nature. Maintaining a population of lesser individuals may be entertaining but is generally a drain on your resources, and once they have been eradicated the remaining few can benefit from their belongings. Don't let your inner humanity be a detriment to your survival. Many a good man lost their struggle due to their unwillingness to fashion a blanket out of the skin of starving toddlers.

4. Establish your dominance: There are many benefits to leading a group of survivors, and key among them is being seen as essential to the success of the greater good. Being of respectable blood you already have above-average judgement and intellect, and once others have identified such you will have an easier time convincing them to sacrifice themselves in your stead. After all, while the peasants fight for king and country the king fights for no one but himself. Consider the endgame of a heated match of chess. The pawns are the first to go in the interests of the good of the king.

5. Remember that history is written by the winners: No matter what manner of cowardice and selfishness is committed in the throes of stress, none of it is of any consequence once the ordeal is over. And as long as you are fit to loudly proclaim your heroic deeds the greater public will be none the wiser. To be sure, other survivors may be keen to proclaim your dishonor once the smoke has cleared, but as long as you have a louder bullhorn their cries will be drowned out. And besides, what right-minded person would believe a louse from lower social station than yourself in such a situation? Indeed, just make sure you are first to secure parlay with the covering media.


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Hank Williams, Jr. is accepting of all lifestyle choices.

You know those people that just hate gay people?  I mean HAAAAATE them?  They froth at the mouth when they spit the word "Faggot", there is such vitriol behind it.  But you know, in many circumstances, those same people turn out to be closeted, self hating homosexuals.  They only way they know how to deal with their sexuality colliding with their upbringing is to overcompensate.  The next time you see one of those bible thumpers holding a "God Hates Fags" sign.  Just think of him with a cock in his mouth.  It will all make sense.

That brings us to Hank Williams, Jr..  He is an outspoken country star who tends to voice his disgust with those who are different than him.  You think he may be overcompensating a bit?..... Hmmmmmmm?  In an incredibly childish manner, I have altered the lyrics to "All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight.".



I got semen on my blue jeans, someones cock in my hand,
Lord, it’s hard to be a secret gay man.
I got girls that can cook, I got girls that can clean,
But I'm no fan of girls, if you know what I mean,
I gotta get shaved, get my pubes cropped right,
‘cause all my secret gay friends are comin' over tonight.

Do you wanna drink, hey, do ya wanna get naughty,
Hey, Billy, this is ole Hank ready to get your thing started.
A clean tarp and lube on the ground, we got some beer on ice,
And all my furry bear friends are coming over tonight.

Now my party pad is out in the woods,
The ladies won't spot us and that is good,
'Cause I got some dirty drag queens spread out on the floor,
And a bunch of hairless twinks just walked through the door.

Got a little whirlpool just made for ten,
So take off your speedo, it's full of just men.
You can do anything that you wanna do,
But uh uh, don't you cum on my cowboy boots.

Do you wanna drink, hey, do ya wanna get naughty,
Hey, this is Sloppy Bottom Hank ready to get sloppy.
I'm like a pig on the ground, and it feels so nice
And all my Leather Daddy friends are coming over tonight.

Do you wanna drink, hey, do ya wanna party,
Hey, Hey, this is Candy' Ass Hank ready to get this gay orgy... started,
I'm all fours on the ground, my ass will need some ice,
Cause all my huge black friends are coming over tonight.

Hank "The Spank" Williams, Jr.

-

Diary Of A Degenerate 7

I woke up with an unfamiliar and pleasant scent in the air. There was a woman beside me and for once she didn't stink of stale sex from a night of fornicating. I reached down and grabbed my cock, it's lack of soreness confirming last night's chastity, then quietly scrambled out of bed to take a seemingly endless piss in the bathroom where I noticed she had done some essential decontamination last night while I slept. There was even a fresh roll of toilet paper hanging next to the shitter instead of being perched atop the sink counter, something that I hadn't seen in at least a few years. I made the uncharacteristic effort of washing my hands before returning, hoping the sound of running water would disguise my otherwise absolute filthiness.

When I returned to the bedroom she had already gotten up and was making coffee, nude, in the kitchen. From behind I could see the whisps of dark hair from below the base of her ample ass protruding slightly and I became aware of a morning erection.


"You don't have to do that, love" I told her, but she said she was happy to take care of me, and after all, I probably needed some coffee after last night's drinking. I turned on the radio and was happy to hear of some tragic shooting on the east coast. Dozens injured, at least three dead. She brought me a cup and sat at the table where she pulled another cigarette out of her purse and watched me drink it. She had her legs crossed high up as if to preserve some modesty despite her nakedness, and it was giving me fits. I drank the last of my coffee and walked over to her, snuffed her cigarette out on the table and dragged her into the bedroom.


We fucked for the better part of an hour, and she was making quiet whimpering noises that made me think she was either really enjoying herself or I was raping her. Either way it was great. I finished off, wiped my dick on the sheets, and lazily rolled onto my stomach while she ran her fingers over my back. She noticed the scars there and commented that they looked like I was an angel that lost my wings. "If I had wings they wouldn't be the kind that had feathers, babe" I replied, and avoided telling her the depressing truth that they were belt buckle wounds from a childhood event involving a broken window and a drunken father. There was a kindness in her that was foreign to me and it would be terribly irresponsible for me to poison it with my cynicism. I sat there while she petted me like some beaten dog until I abruptly sat up and got dressed. I told her I had to see about a job I applied for yesterday, which was partly true, but mostly I was trying to escape for some ridiculous reason that I couldn't identify. It was only after I started my car that I realized that I might never see her again.


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