People protesting DOES NOTHING

protesterSo thousands and thousands of people marched for equal rights yesterday.  And guess what????  Absolutely nothing changed and nothing will change because people walked around with signs.

You know why?  Because Trump, his cabinet and his supporters don’t give a shit.  They won, you didn’t.  And they love it.

Politically, they will do whatever they want to do with no care for you and your protests.  You will have sore feet and a crotch rash and nothing will change for the better.

Stop posting how “proud” you are of everyone who walked around with a sign.  Your sign doesn’t mean jack, fucking, shit.  They only people who care about your protest were the people walking next to you.

You were preaching to your own choir, but you slept well last night.  And that’s all that matters.

Look, Trump is an asshole, this is true.  He’s a sexist, egotistical asshole and should never be anyone’s president, but he is.  And there are 60 something million people who voted for him and they are also assholes.gty-womens-march-washington-4-jt-170121_mn_4x3t_384

But Hillary sucked giant donkey balls too.  Don’t try to tell me differently, I’m stating facts.

Instead of making signs and chanting maybe you should do something else.

Like feed a homeless kid, volunteer at a domestic abuse shelter or help and old person cross the street.  Those are things you can actually do in your community that make a real difference.

You decry the evil that is Trump and then walk around with signs.  You are part of Duh’Merica, embrace it.

(Please comment and tell me how your protests/marches from yesterday did anything, please)

The Case FOR Premarital Sex (NSFW)

Sluts, whores and hussies are wonderful for so many reasons whether you like them or not.  Sex is not a bad thing, never has been.

In fact, sex is why we are here today and why we will be here tomorrow.

Why then are so many people concerned with telling others not to have sex?  The notion of not having premarital sex is completely insane to me.

Here’s a scenario for you:

Two young high school sweethearts have been going steady since their sophomore year.  They both made the promise to wait until marriage to have sex, signed the prom letter, wore the promise rings and all that good shit.  They fulfill the promise and finally get married.

On the honeymoon, he carries her over the threshold of the suite and goes straight for the bed.  After several seconds of passionate kissing, the moment is close. Continue reading

Observations from a Treadmill- the trainers

As I continue with my exploration into the world of Gyms and working out, I will begin calling these posts, “Observations from a Treadmill.”  I recently made the decision to be healthier and exercise more, mainly because I don’t want to end up as a diabetic and have my feet amputated later in life.

Anyway, my first Treadmill post called “Douche Bag Gym” was my observations of a few of the different types of people at the gym.  This post will concentrate more on the trainers and employees at the gym.

The Greeter: I arrived at the guy at 5:15 A.M. and I still had bits of sleep hanging in the corners of my eyes and even though I brushed my teeth, I’m sure my breath still smelled like old beer and smoky bar.

Essentially, I was sleepwalking into the gym that morning and everything was blurry.  As I handed my key chain scanner deal to the employee, she almost knocked me down with her ridiculous A.M. energy.

“GOOD MORNING, HAVE A GREAT WORKOUT,” she said in a voice that sounded like it was attached directly to my eardrum.

Holy shit, I couldn’t believe how alert she was at such an early hour.  How was this even possible?  Anyway, I made my way to one of the empty treadmills and started my cardio session.

The Trainer:  About three strides into my daunting 45-minute rapid walk, I could see him standing next to a guy who was flabbier than me.  Continue reading

God in Schools (the end is near)

letter-from-godIn traffic today I saw this bumper sticker:

“Dear God, Why do you let bad things happen in schools?” “Dear Son, I’m not allowed in schools.”

I almost crashed into the back of the car when I read this.  This is the kind of unintelligent, undynamic,  and unoriginal thought that has been and continues to ruin this country.

(Yes, I am aware that undynamic is probably not a word, but I like it)

Maybe I’m the idiot here, maybe I’m the dolt, the blockhead, the bonehead, the meathead, the lunk………..well, you get the idea.

I fail to see any logic with that bumper sticker.  I fail to see any logic at all.

I’m guessing that if kids in school prayed more there would be less teachers sending them texts of their cocks, tits and fucking them in detention.  And I mean true “fucking” in the sexual sense, not “fucking” them as in fucking them out of a decent education. Continue reading

deconstructed milf (a poem)

Marriage: Years 1-5

Each day, cotton candy fluffy marshmallow clouds

floating between comments of “I love you” and “You’re beautiful honey”

hubby home from work, healthy dinner served,

glass of $50 wine that is difficult to pronounce so it must be fucking great

Tongue down throat, barely make it to the bed, face in the pillow

deep, penetrating cock inside you like he “fucking means it” love making, so in love his sweat tastes like cupids own saliva

true, fucking, love

smile like a clown as you walk outside to get the mail,

waving stupidly at the neighbors with your “the world is mine” look

because your life is better, your BMW is newer, your skin is tighter

you still stay up past 11 each night

and don’t yet know about Lifetime movies

Years: 6-10

The cotton candy begins to stick to your fingers now,

damp from the low hanging clouds circling above

3 kids now and damn you are tired

Hubby still hasn’t responded to your “hope you had a good lunch” text

such a foolish ruse

when you really wanted to text “is she prettier than me, does she taste better than me?”

he sees directly through your less tanned, heavier hanging skin bull shit

it pisses you off, but you stay silent

Dinner, hit start on the microwave and watch the lasagna spin around like a good American,

but don’t get too close, the radiation may fuck with the botulism in your lips

“He used to kiss me all the time,” that voice whispers in your head as you stare at the cheese bubbling over the paper towel you placed on top

But then, a text!!!! Some excitement, a little clit tingle, just like old times

“Don’t forget to walk the dog, don’t want him pissing the rug again,” he typed

Crushed again

Hubby home, eats dinner on the couch watching Fox News and bitching about Mexicans, niggers and why Obama sucks giant donkey dicks

he takes his laptop in the bathroom for another 40 minute shit as you clean up behind him, you dive in to that box of Franzia wine the neighbor brought over for your birthday

you taste the plastic and cardboard grapes, but are indifferent

settle into the couch and watch “Cyber Seduction; His Secret Life”

cry yourself to sleep again

Years: 10-???

Kids don’t listen, hubby has more “meetings” than ever

random text from a 20-something hussy saying that your hubby’s cock tastes old and he’s a fucker, says he won’t leave your wrinkled ass like he keeps promising,

something about the kids or some other lame cheating excuse used a million times before by all the other pussy chasers

you hit “delete”, pretend the text was a mistake as you park your minivan and go in for you ass-bleaching appointment, no tears

next day, different doctor for mysterious soft tissue back injury to get that oxy prescription

at least the pills make the boxed wine taste better

two months since you’ve seen hubby’s dick,

Jesus the lawn guy is beginning to look like Erik Estrada now,

just like an old porno, ask him if he’s thirsty, invite him inside

bad carpet, bad music, face back in the pillow

it doesn’t count if you don’t kiss with tongue,

his sweaty hand on the back of your neck

“So this is what is used to be like,” that voice whispers “So this is what it used to be like.”

Email #10 (a poem)

Hi, it’s me again

I know, another email

Can I

be your friend?

just click “accept friend request”

it’s online, safe like your gated community

no realness, no weekend barbeques

no disjointed, clumsy

barstool meet n greet

where you flip

your bleached hair

5, 10, 15 times

and pretend to look into my eyes

between Miller Lites and Jameson shots

thoughts dusted with cigarette ash

no excited stumbling

back to my place

where soiled sheets don’t matter

your hooker skirt doesn’t matter

but your unbathed, glowing cunt

breathes freedom onto my cock

just click “accept friend request”

email #10

Habitual Masturbator (a confession)

doc-76818Would anyone like to share today?  Hello, my name is Tommy. (Hello Tommy, said the 20 people gathered in chairs in the small room at the back of the church.)  And I’ve been an addict for 25 years now. (loud congratulatory clapping, of hands)

I never thought I would have the courage to come to a meeting, but the other day I knew it was time.
I woke up on Saturday morning and it was just like any other Saturday.  But this time, I wanted the weekend to be different.  Instead of sliding my hand down over my new, Hanes boxer briefs and gently caressing the head of my penis, I jumped out of bed and got into the shower.

It was difficult because I knew how lonely Mr. Spickles (the name of my dick) is when I first wake up.  He always enjoys a good morning tug.

I turned the water on and left it as cold as possible.  I didn’t want the hot water to help elongate Mr. Spickles, I was trying so hard (no pun intended) to not jerk-off.  I grabbed my Pantene shampoo and immediately thought about those old commercials with Daisy Fuentes.

Oh shit, suddenly the shampoo turned into Daisy and she was blowing me kisses and rubbing her hand across her breasts.  Holy fuck, this is going to be difficult. Continue reading