Figuratively Literal

Smear your poop all over me. -Toilet Paper

You turn me on and make me gush. -A Shower

Why don't you stuff that big stallion inside of me? -A Small Barn

Pee in my gaping hole. -A Toilet

Squirt your syrup on me. -A Stack Of Pancakes

Lick your finger first and then open me. -A New Book

Fill me up with your meat and then eat me. -A Taco Shell

I could stay in your pussy all day. -A Tampon

I've got a huge donkey dick. -A Donkey

Lick my bean! -A Vanilla Plant That Became Ice Cream

Little boys make me wet. -A G.I. Joe Beach Towel

Don't worry baby, I'm sterile. -An Autoclave

I brought a friend, we can suck and blow at the same time. -A Leaf Blower and A Vacuum

My hot white foam is all over your upper lip. -A Cappuccino

Put your nuts in my mouth. -A Nutcracker

Please let me up your ass. -A Suppository

Go ahead, deflower me. -A Rose Bush

Put your meat inside of me.  -A Refrigerator

Put your meat inside of me.  -A Hotdog Bun

Put your meat inside of me.  -A BBQ

Put your meat inside of me.  -A  Meat Grinder

I'll swallow your seed. -A Parakeet

That pussy stinks like fish. -A Cat That Lives On The Docks

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HILT... can you dig it?

Who is the man
That can get you off with just one hand?

HILT... Can you dig it?


Who is the smooth mofo
That will leave you satisfied fo sho?

HILT...  You goddamn right.


He's the one packing purple heat
That drags on the ground between his feet!

HILT...  Right on


And who has the veiny neck
That can keep your appetite in check?

HILT...  You know I'm talkin' bout Hilt!


Hilt's the guy with the magic seed
Who gives the protein boost to all in need

Todd Hilt.



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Meat Whittling - Lil' Chub

Meat Whittling Man

Hi.  ..... uh...  Hi.   I'ma Meat Whittler.  That's what I do.  I ... uh .... Whittle Meat.  You.. uh. .. uh.. can whittle all kinds of meat.  Meat whittling is a proud and ... uh ..  proud tradition.  My great grandpaps ... uh ..whittled meat for the war.  My grandpaps won my ... uh .. grandmams heart with a fine .. uh ... whittled meat.  My daddy .. uh .. well, my daddy .. uh.. well, he... painted meat.  It's OK, while he was living, he would .... uh ... paint my meat whittles.

Steakses and roastses make  .. uh... great ... uh...  carving blocks.  But sometimes I like to branch out with other meats.

When I went to the corner store today.  I found a meat .. uh ... treasure.  It'sa Jack Links Lil' Chub.  A tiny Summer Sausage.  Summer Sausage makes for good ... uh ... whittling.

 See how the .. uh .. summer sausage is nicely shaped.  They are easy to ... uh .. whittle.  The meat is tender and fatty.  I use a freshly sharpened ... uh  .. pairing knife.

Like many .. uh ... sculptors, you have to see the shape and free it from your medium, with your tools.  I saw Michelangelo's ... uh ... David, when I looked at this sausage nubbin.

Do you see how I skillfully .... uh ... whittled art?  If my daddy hadn't .. uh ... asphyxiated himself, he would paint it and it would look exactly like a miniature ... uh ... person.

It'sa .. uncanny isnt it?  Like a miniature .. uh .. meat baby.

Don't let it go to waste.  Half the fun of the whittling is the ... uh ... eating.  Until next time!  Keep whittling your meat!



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Diary Of A Degenerate 3

At work the next day a pretty younger girl showed concern when I started coughing to the point of choking. I could tell by her eyes that she was desperate for some man to come along and love her, desperate enough to reach out to an older, fatter, balding man that she barely knew. But I would only use her up. And even though I would love every minute of it I couldn't shake the image of the crucifix she wore between her perfect breasts. I just didn't have the heart to prove to her that God didn't exist. So I assured her I was fine and went about my business.

When I got home I spent two hours trying to cry. I thought of all the horrible things I've done, contorted my face and made pathetic weeping noises, but didn't manage a single tear. I suppose I just wanted to have an emotion that wasn't contempt or anger, but maybe I am too far gone for it. Instead I drank straight from the bottle in my underwear and spent the evening listening to my neighbors scream at each other until I yelled at them to shut the fuck up. When Dave screamed back I threatened to kill him in the hallway and then stood outside their door until it was clear he wasn't coming. They were actually very nice people, normally. I went back to my apartment and finished the bottle before falling asleep on the couch.

I was twenty minutes late for work the next day, and got halfway through my shift before I realized it was friday. It was the last day for one of the receptionists there, and she was going to retire after finding out she was really sick. She told me what she had once, but I don't remember what it was. The staff were all signing an oversized retirement card with the words "Miss You Already!" scrawled across the front, and it made it's way onto my desk. When I signed it I could see that everyone was planning on meeting up later that evening to say goodbye. At least they had the good sense not to invite me, and I knew what bar to avoid that night. I hate seeing people that I know.

I went to the same bar from a few nights ago, and was drinking for some time until I noticed the whore was there again. Luckily she was with some other loser this time, trying her damnedest to make me jealous. But I had already been there, and it wasn't worth visiting again. Instead I flirted with the bartender until she gave me a free drink, the equivalent of patting a dog on the head to a lonely drunk.

After paying my tab the bartender offered to call me a cab, but I explained I would be walking. "But it's raining, mister!" she said. I assured her I didn't mind, and pretended I didn't have car keys in my hand. Male bartenders didn't give a shit if you killed yourself and a family of four out on the highway, but women will call the cops. I drove home carefully.

Walking through my doorway I stepped on an envelope that had been slipped under the door. Apparently my rent was late. I thought about calling the whore back but decided she probably had a dick in her mouth by now. I spat blood into the sink and it left a heart-shaped stain on the porcelain. How romantic.

 

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Fun and Profit - Domains

Today on Fun and Profit, we will present you with a few ideas to get your own highly lucrative website up and running.  The most important part of a website is the domain.  The web address at which your customers can find you on the endless tubes of the Internets.  Checking with a domain provider, I have found that all of the domains I am about to present are available for purchase forthrightly.

The top earning website is an "Internet Search" site.  Google.  You can find pretty much anything you are looking for on Google.com.  Why not take their idea and make it your own with a flashy new specialty "Internet Search" site?  A search aggregate that is focused on specific topics.  You could really corner a niche market and make billions!

Here are a few available domains that would be perfect for earning massive profits....


Are you always looking for the fattest tits on the Internet?  Well toil no longer because with www.FatTitSearch.com, you will never not find fat tits again!


Not into fat tits?  Why not try  www.DickMouthfuls.com?  Every mouth is full of a dick when you search with DickMouthfuls.com!


Do you consume endless amounts of news and information?  Are your current search methods failing miserably?  Why not start your own news aggregate?  With www.InformationWhore.com you can find anything about anything.  It's like Wikipedia and Google had a retard baby! 


Are you a nudist and are always having trouble finding nude friendly restaurants?  Well, worry no more!  With www.NakedLunchSack.com you can dine with your innies and outies exposed for all to see while you wolf down bowl after bowl of delicious Clam Chowder.  Clam Chowder, the nudists soup of choice!


www.DiarrheaBandits.com is the perfect place to view pictures of people having embarrassing diarrhea is public.  I know that your photo album is swollen to it's purple hilt with humiliating photos of bowels gone bad.  Put em to good use, why don't you!?


Are you a closet cannibal?  Do you have trouble locating human flesh for feasting?  Everyone knows that the tastiest type of person is a baby.  Now you can scratch that cannibal itch with www.DeliciousToddler.com.  Connect with other cannibals and share recipes!


Our last, but certainly not least domain idea is www.DentureBlowjobs.com.  Today's granny pornography is so fake and Hollywood looking.  DentureBlowjobs is your one stop shop for real, amateur, geriatric junk suckling.


You better act fast!  These domains will not be available for long!  Your Welcome!!


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Diary Of A Degenerate 2

I awakened again at around 10 o'clock, happy to see that the sun was down. I was much more comfortable knowing most people were sleeping in bed next to their spouse, their judgmental eyes closed to the sight of my disgraceful life. But without any liquor with which to enjoy myself I was at a loss. I brushed my teeth and bypassed a shower again, then ventured out to the bar.

"Double whiskey, and keep them coming." I told the barkeep. With a couple drinks in me and my hands occupied with cold glass I could sound like a genius to the common bar patron. Confidence and intelligence. Lying about both could get me laid most nights. Before long I was in a combination argument/flirting session with an increasingly beautiful older woman. She told me I was insufferable, I told her she smelled like a whore, then we kissed like we were trying to eat each other.

"Take me home" she said. But I hadn't drank my fill yet and I was willing to lose her over it. She understood and let me drink.

I had no idea what ghetto we were in, but she lived there. She tasted like cigarettes and other men, but I was happy to taste. I decided I would never speak to her again when she made a big phony spectacle during sex, screaming like she had something to prove to her neighbors. "Hear that? I'm getting fucked! And you all get to listen to it!" She wasn't massaging my ego, she was massaging her own. And for it she would win even more rejection, as I abandoned her used-up, snoring body and crept past her sleeping kids to make my escape.

At home I ate some canned sausages and crackers, watched a movie about a sled dog race that ended predictably in an inspiring moment of triumph, then went to sleep hoping I would accidentally swallow my tongue. But I woke up in the morning, disappointed.

My phone showed three missed calls and two voicemails. Fuck. I forgot I had given the whore my phone number. I brushed my teeth and washed my cock in the sink, then used the toilet. Upon inspecting the bowl I was not surprised to see the shit was dark like asphalt, reminding me that my ulcers would probably get infected and septic one day from all the drinking. A less-than-pleasant end to a less-than-pleasant life. But I was no quitter. With any luck I could manage a more epic and violent end.

I listened to the whore's messages, deleting the one where she was screaming and saving the one where she was crying. I didn't call her back, confident that a woman like her knew the look of a man's back when he was walking away. In all likelihood she was familiar with being rejected since her father climbed off of her when she was nine. I fed the dog for the first time in two days and got ready for work.

I worked 8 of 9 hours I was scheduled for, smiled at my coworkers like I gave a damn if they lived or died, then hit the liquor store on the way home. Two more missed calls on my cell, but the whore didn't leave any more messages. I decided to only drink enough to get to sleep, then finish the rest tomorrow after work. I wrote a story about a young boy that killed his school bully with a broken bottle, then slept like a baby.




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You Best Watch Yourself!

Bad-Ass

You best watch yourself, friend.  I am liable to put a mean wuppin' on your naughty bottom.  I have spent many of my years studying the mystic art of the orientals.  I feel quite confident that I am more than capable of dealing with a ruffian like you.  I will give you such a Juno Chop!  Your arms and other extremities will feel numbed and tingly from my acute nerve touchings.

Just imagine it.... My decades of study culminating in smacking you in your dirty mouth.  I could use my Krotty or Kong Foo to flip you around like a dusty rag.  A dirty dusty rag.  That is right buffoon!!

I happen to own many very scary weapons and sticks and such.  I could poke you in the ribs with my Bow Stuff or bonk your noggin with my Nonchalks.  You will beware the slice of my mighty Sords. 

I bet you know better now, huh Mr Fool?  You have been duly warned of my skill levels and power readings.  There was this one occasion when I was forced to display my learnings.  The person from whom I was forced to defend myself regretted his decision forthrightly.  I gave him such a tussle and even a bit of a jostling.

If you would like to spar, we could go back to my loft.  I have rustling mats and Krotty bath robes.  I could teach you many a thing about becoming a rough and tumble oriental master!  We can take turns being the victim or being the aggressor.  Whom soever pins the other in an official way, wins a prize.  If I happen to win, I would like a soft peck on my cheek from you.... Maybe two.  It will be such a gladdening of joy!

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Introducing The TFC!

From the producers of Toddlers In Tiaras and the industry leaders in child exploitation television worldwide, Authentic Entertainment, comes the newest advance in sports broadcasting. Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the TFC, the Toddler Fighting Championship!


You the viewer have proven that you can't get enough of the sexualization of america's youth with the timeslot-leading ratings for the syndicated reality television beauty pageant extravaganza that is Toddlers In Tiaras, so now get ready to cut your teeth on the newest violent sensation to strike MMA, the TFC! Watch as the nation's most dangerous two-through-six year olds battle to bloody victory to prove their preschool yard dominance.


The rules are familiar, but the faces are fresh and innocent. Victory comes by way of knockout, tapout, or ref stoppage, and all glory goes to the winner as we crown the first-ever TFC champion this Friday night at 9 eastern standard! In lieu of weight classes the fighters will be broken into categories by age, with the rattle division (2 and 3 yo), the sesame division (4 and 5 yo), and the heavy-hitting crayon division (6 yo)!


And there is seemingly no stopping the exploitation train when you see TLC's own Jonbenet Ramsey Ring Girls rile up the live audience and get them ready to watch the blood get shed and the baby teeth get flying! So remember that this Friday YOU have ringside seats reserved for the fighting spectacle of the century...


SEE YOU ON FIGHT NIGHT!!!!!!!




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Fuckable Pig

Fuckable Pig

Pardon me, sir?  Whoa!  No need to panic,... Yes, yes, I am a talking pig.  Amazing, I know!  I was just passing by and I happened to notice that your left hand is lacking adornment.  What I mean to say is, you are without a wedding ring and with that, without a bride?  Am I safe to assume that, you sir, are single?  You are?! 

Well, that is just wonderful.  As you can see I am a very beautiful lady pig and I just happen to be without an escort this evening.  Could I possibly tempt you with a bit of inter-species experimentation?  .... What do you mean, what do I mean?  Tee-Hee, I guess I will just cut to the chase.  Sir, how would you like to fuck a pig?

Oh, come on!  You didn't even think about it.  I promise that it will be a night to remember.  I will let you do anything.. .ANYTHING.  That's right.  You can totally fuck me Piggie Style.  It's like Doggie Style but you are fucking a real pig.  I'll do things to you that you never knew you wanted.  I'll root around your ass-end like your butt is full of truffles.  I'll bet you've never had your salad tossed by the bacon before, huh?

I see that I have peaked your interest.  Why don't we go back to my sty and we can get to Makin' Some Bacon.  .... What's that?  Ah, you have noticed my turgid pig penis and swine balls.  .... Yes, I am a talking pig and also a proud transgender pig.  Now, don't let this dissuade you.  I can assure you that pig vagina is sandy, stinky and fucking disgusting.  Pig ass is the way to go.  My tight piggie hole don't ever quit.

Hmmmm?  Isn't bestiality illegal?  Well, yeah, of course.  That's only because normal animals can't consent to the lustful act.  But as you can hear sir, I can clearly voice my consent.  So let's make it official.  "Sir, would you please come back to my sty and fuck my pig ass and pig face with your quivering human wiener?  I grant you full access to all of my piggie orifices and freely invite you to pleasure yourself with my hot piggie body."  Good enough?  Excellent!


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Diary Of A Degenerate 1

I resented the power my parents had over me. They had the house, the money, and the reputation. I was destined to be a disappointment. I decided long ago I would never see them again and spare us both the awkwardness.

This was the thought going through my head as I lay back in my bed, masturbating for the third time that morning. Even in my fantasies I was pathetic and disgusting. It was a mystery even to myself why I haven't blown the barrel of the revolver in my end table yet. Probably because in the list of my many negative qualities is total cowardice. I came, wiped my belly off, then got out of bed. A good start to any day.

I brushed my teeth but didn't take a shower, then got dressed. Not that I had anywhere to go. The television was showing nothing but sit-coms, which was making me feel sick. I hate comedies because enjoying them means pretending to be happy, which I hadn't been for some time now. It made me uncomfortable to buy liquor before noon, but fuck it. The booze store clerk knew what I was anyway. There was no hiding my addiction anymore. My nose was swollen and red, my breath was sweet with last night's drunkenness, and I was sickly pale. There were probably dozens of other men like me that rang the bell attached to his doorway.

"Jameson please", I said. Funny how you feel the need to be polite to the man selling you death in a bottle. It was like tipping your hangman, not that I wasn't grateful.

Once I had downed half of the bottle I had the nerve to face the world. I climbed into my car and turned on the radio to the nearest politically divisive channel I could find. They always told the truth I wanted to hear, that the world was bad enough to justify my constant attempts to avoid it. Compared to the sound of their angry rants my vomiting was poetry. I wiped my lips, spat twice, then drove through the city fast enough to deserve the attention of the cops and the disdain of the other drivers. When they pulled up next to me at the lights I stared back. They always looked away when they saw the dead eyes I had for them.

When I got to the park I sat alone on a bench and read some Chinaski. It was the only thing that kept me awake, kept me walking through the desert. I looked up only to evaluate the bodies of the passing women, deciding whether I would fuck them. But who was I kidding? I would fuck them all if they would let me, or if it was up to me alone. "Fucking pig!" the fat lady with the baby carriage said under her breath, noticing my gaze. I just looked back at her. I couldn't disagree. Better yet, her comments made me desire her more. I thought about fucking her in the bushes that lined the bike path while she screamed. It made me smile for the first time today. I walked back to my car, hungry for the rest of my bottle.

While leaving the parking lot I drove up and over the curb and cut off the guy merging with traffic from across the street. He honked but I honked longer. I turned the radio up. The drunker I got the louder it needed to be to get through. I shamelessly mouthed the bottle as I drove, unconcerned with the odds of collision or capture.

Seemingly in the next moment I became aware that I was again alone in my room. All around me was the evidence of a sloppily devoured fast food meal and an emptied bottle, telling the tale of the three or so hours I spent blacked-out before taking an involuntary nap. I checked my cell to make sure I hadn't made any embarrassing calls or texts while I was down, and satisfied, I changed out of my piss-soaked pants and went back to sleep. It was 4pm.




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