Welcome to Rob. Have a mint.

What? Chicken butt.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Some days a vagina just won't do.

INTERCOURSE!

In these days of loose morals and questionable ethics, I can understand a little slippage of the sexual norms. Hey, who doesn't like to mix up the positions and get a little wild. In my humble opinion, sex is outside the boundaries of decency anyway and shouldn't be bound by things like "who is watching" or "safety words". But there is a place where I draw the line. That line is the butt. But the places we will now venture are far more peculiar than traditional run of the mill bum-love. You might not have a part of you covered in the remains of yesterday's meatloaf and potatoes when you are finished, but nonetheless, they are incorrect.
To begin, let's start with something tame. Armpit sex. Yes, some gents want nothing more than to have their wangs lovingly encased in one of the more foul smelling, hairy and horrifying places a human body has to offer. If you don't believe that armpit real-estate is a hot market for penises, by all means, have a look. And don't worry, there aren't any pictures. http://www.armpit-sex.com/links.htm .
Now, now, it could be worse. There could be stranger things than that for people to be dreaming about while they're at work or driving the kids to school. Correct! There are some pretty fucked up things out there, the least of which is the now famous foot fetish. I just have to wonder what people find attractive about a foot. You can't even put your unit in there. Maybe if they had monkey feet they could give you a pretty good beat off, but then a foot fetish would be the least of your problems.
And the last one I think I'll tackle is a little bit less tame than the others. I specifically didn't go for the truly horrifying ones there because I didn't want to offend anyone, but if you're reading MY blog, you deserve to be offended. So here goes. Some people, including men, enjoy having various items insterted into their pee-hole. http://www.hottotrott.com/stretching_urethra.htm Have a look, if you don't mind the graphic descriptions of thermometers and the like being flaunted inside the urethra. Myself, it makes my anus tighten in an age old defensive reaction, not unlike one that would occur from being cut open, or watching a boat land on someone after a tragic sporting accident.
So in the end of all this, it brings up my question. Why the hell can't men be satisfied with the vag'? Yes, yes, no one can argue with a good blowjob, but my message to the entire internet is to keep your cacks away from things that smell like rotting meat, away from things that bathe in the sweat-sauna of our shoes, and away from anything like a pipe cleaner or swizzle straw. If you ever feel the urge, please, do not take the vag' for granted. It is God's gift to the penis, and if you pass it over in favor of an armpit, he will smite you.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Your main problem is that you're trusting the man

Well well well. I started my new job yesterday, and I must say, my laziness is battling with my sanity here. One side of me hates this job, while the other side loves the fact that I don't have to stand up all day. I am inherently a lazy man. I can admit that. So when I go to a job where I don't have to do anything but talk on the phone, papa like. But on the other hand, the phone calls I have to make are the most retarded kind of stupid. I suppose I'll live though, seeing as it pays me money which I can spend. So here I sit, in the few minutes I have before work, updating a blog. Oh well, perhaps tonight I'll find something entertaining to do. Otherwise, I guess I'll just update this thing again. Only next time I'll try to be more entertaining.

Monday, November 28, 2005

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if I slept with your mom?

SCIENCE!

Time travel is impossible. To go faster than the speed of light by slingshotting yourself around the sun like in Star Trek would only result in the crew of the Enterprise being charred to mixed racial cinders. BUT! I have accidentally achieved a method of going backward in time. I was walking along my usual Torontonian path, and stumbled upon a delivery truck driver behind the 7/11 who was talking excitedly to himself and holding what seemed to be a cup of some sort. He told me that is was the Holy Grail, and that he stole it from Jesus Christ while Jesus was busy playing a game of touch football back in 12 AD. AMAZING, I thought. He informed me that by drinking 27 Red Bulls, his body vibrated faster than light speed and took him into the past. Curious, I inquired further and learned that Cecil was delivering a truckload of these energy drinks and became tired on the road. Drinking 27 of the devils, physics was defied, and history was made. And unmade! So I killed Cecil, entered his truck and drank 46 of the Red Bulls. At first there was no noticeable difference, save a desire to shear off my own skin with a belt sander. But this is normal, even after drinking only one Red Bull. But as I lounged against the mangled form of Cecil, I began to twitch. Soon enough I was vibrating, and in a flash of light, I found myself in a convenience store in what appeared by the signage to be Germany! The calendars for sale proclaimed the date to be 1926! Astounding. As I approached the counter, I spied Adolf Hitler frying a child's balloon with his laser vision. He was reprimanded by his superior, who was also rendered into dust by the heat of the future Fuhrer. I was in a position to stop World War II years before it began! Wasting no time, I purchased a loaf of bread, some cold cuts and had a great pre-war sandwich. With my mission complete, I returned to the present date. I had succeeded in my ultimate goal; to eat a sandwich made in the 20's. Disposing of Cecil's body was unnecessary, his death was already blamed on gang violence. So I headed home, whistling a merry tune.

I do believe that lack of sleep is getting to me. No sleep at night, and a couple hours a day when I finally burn out is not enough for a person to sanely live on. So if you see me any time and I babble on about nonsense, refer angrily to things or people you know I've had no contact with, or profess to inventing urine, this is flagrantly false. I am delirious, and perhaps dangerous. Smile politely and walk away, or club me with a heavy stick. By all means don't look at me cockeyed, or dicknosed, or penisbrowed. That will only set me off, and I for one don't want another Seinfeld finale on our hands. Thank you and good day.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Attention Teenagers, Vote Gay Emperor!

PANIC!

The world has finally been corrupted. I speak not of the plaguelike AIDS problems in Africa or the wars in the Middle East, nor of the Avian Flu scare that has people shitting their collective pants worldwide. Not corrupt politicians doing anything possible to secure a vote, from threatening cute animals to performing oral sex on a full 20 million voters. Not the issues of violence in urban areas, or that of jello with horrible little pieces of pineapple in it. Oh no, this issue if far more vile and scandalous.
The Coffee Time down the street has gone from being open 24 hours, to... Being open until 11pm. This is a place of sanctuary for me. I drink their tea, I consume their oversized and delicious apple fritters in exchange for currency, and how do they repay me? By sexing my surprised hind end by closing early. I haven't been in there once before 2 am. So now I'm forced to walk another... Oh christ, it must be 200 meters to the Tim Hortons. Unacceptable.

On the upshot, I am starting a new job on Tuesday. I'll be in a cubicle from 9 to 5 every day, trying to convince businesses that my company will do a better job with their money than they will. I can't wait to see how long this one will last before I get fired for doing or saying something completely inappropriate. My record so far is three months, at Wal-Mart, but in the end when I was about to get fired, I used my last day to wrestle the Incredible Hulk display to the floor, nap under the electronics section desk and put the alarm strips face up all over the floor so that everyone set off the anti-theft alarm. That sealed the deal and got me fired alright.


So this weekend, I am hopefully headed home to the Dale of Mark to wind down from a tiring week of slacking off and snickering at funny looking people. If my mission is accomplished, I shall do more slacking, this time accompanied by beer, and maybe even a little lazing. The gents back home will hopefully give me a five star welcome, which includes not only a greeting of "Hey, when did you get here?" but accompanied by probably offering me a smoke or a glass of chocolate milk. But the quadrofacto of greatness shall be incomplete. The presence of Josh "The Thing" Mallinson will be sorely missed. By the way Sean, your tits look fabulous in that picture.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Trust a Scotsman today, lose your sister tomorrow


I woke up today at just after 6 Pm. Of course, I had been awake all the night before, and finally fell into a drowse at around noon. Upon waking, I noticed straight away that something was amiss. My breasts were no longer firm. My legs were no longer hairy! And my penis was no longer in existance!! Needless to say I was shocked. Whilst I slept, I had somehow turned into a 26 year old goth girl, army boots and all. A bustle at the door announced the presence of my brother coming home from work, he could not see me this way, something must be done.
Quick as a feminist's anger, I leapt across the room and snapped my brother's beefy neck. It was no easy task with these slim girlish arms, but I focused the parental disappointment that lived in the Beetlejuice stockings I wore and the deed was done. With that problem solved, I was free to relax in my new form. After gorging myself on kiwi fruit, yogurt and sliced meats, I became logey and tired again. Sleeping on the kitchen floor under a litter of trash, a change took course once more. I changed back into my current form. And this my friends, is why I was discovered sleeping on the kitchen floor in a short dress, stockings and hair extensions. And that's the true story, and if you believe anything else I shall kill you like my brother.

On a lighter note, I have rekindled a long-lost flame in that of an old chum. Kaz, or as he likes to be called, Mrs. Atwater Tamasauskas, has reappeared on the radar. A young gent with a penchant for cheeses and liquor, Mrs. Atwater T. has a flippant no-go-the-crumb(?) attitude and a jib whose cut many have envied. Brought back into my view by none other than "The Silver Wildebeast" himself, Joshua Mallinson. This giant of a man has been a source of fear and inspiration for years, offering both a shoulder to cry on as well as a readiness to point out the crumbs of bone dust in his goatee. These things make me a happier man in spite of the repeated sleepless nights filled with Yahoo chat and video games.

It's like there's a party in my mouth and everyone's invited. Except you.

NAP!
The great equalizer, used both by kings, and by the homeless who wander outside the king's palace. Invented by a great man 45 years ago in Mexico. The nap. Siesta. Sleep-break. Uh... I can't think of any more names for a nap. This man who birthed the nap in 1986 was named Armantogerro Ber-Nap, and soon became a billionaire after having a patent put on the nap. These days naps are free because the recipe was leaked onto the internet. But at the time he was hailed as a genius, and won the Nobel prize for Sleepistry. He barely won against such competition as the woman who invented the bedside table, and some guy who just slept a lot. So I partook of this rich gift, and slept on the couch for 2 hours. When I woke up I felt like canned ass. My hands were all puffy and stiff, my mouth tasted like 10 old people had just solved a jigsaw puzzle in there, and my eyes were covered in a thick crust with a hardness that would baffle scientists. Even though the after-effects were none too desireable, the nap was a success! I was no longer quite as tired as I was before! Armantogerro Ber-Nap would have been proud, had he not died in a sad accident involving ten thousand ants and a magnifying glass. He definitely should not have gone after that second Nobel prize.

Tonight I have finally come to grips with my raging insomnia. I can't sleep, so what. Don't judge me. I had a talk with a man at the grocery store tonight who had a big dent in his skull. He reccommended I take Zanax to sleep, he says it works, and now he can't sleep without it. I nodded politely while not staring at his dented head, and paid for my loaf of italian bread. I then proceeded to pour half a can of inexpensive RC Cola into his head dent and drink from it. For some reason it tasted like cabbage, but in a pleasant way. I wonder if The Flash used special socks, cause running super fast would render regular ones into dust.