Wolfman's Got Nards!

Monster Squad.  Great movie.........  Great shitty movie.  Here is a Gif.  That is all.

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50 Shades Of Vanilla: Erotic Fiction Starring Mitt Romney

Ann was thinking of him. It was the night of the big convention speech and Mitt had just delivered a rousing performance to crowd of cheering sycophants. The thought of his body beneath his ever-present tailored suit was all the sweeter after hearing the ease with which he let the lies roll over his tongue, a tongue she would put to good use later. Mitt was out celebrating with his closest associates and subordinates and he would be home soon, drunk on caviar and too much honey-spiked milk. But tonight was no normal evening that would end in their typical routine of sitting across from each other at the table reading the book of mormon, for tonight Ann was giving a forbidden gift. They would make love in a hotel suite for the first time in their long marriage.

Many thought their union was one of passionless luxury where lovemaking was reserved only for the practice of creating life, but they knew not the depths of their lust. Ann was long past her childbearing years and things had only gotten better... They had embraced as man and woman literally several times in the last few decades. But things had to be perfect to set the mood in this unfamiliar place. Mitt was never able to perform away from the security of one of his 11 mansion bedrooms, and the mere presence of light caused his frail member to retreat back to it's home deep within his graying loins. But Ann was going to combat his sexual shame with her most powerful weapon for the first time in years. She would display her fully nude form to him.

The thought of the coming union had her in stitches as she noticed she was slightly less dry than the hours before, an encouraging sign for things to come. To grab his attention and direct him toward their eventual congress Ann left a trail of crisp 100 dollar bills from the suite foyer, through the den and viewing room, past the double showers and hot tubs, down both hallways, then finally to master bedroom where she stripped to sheer nothingness and laid across the silk sheets in the candlelight. He would be back soon.

The faint sound of the keycard lock beeping betrayed Mitt's presence to her. The soles of his italian leather shoes tapped lightly across the marble tile floors as he navigated his way to his prize, stopping every few moments to stoop down and snatch up the discarded bills. Then the doorknob turned and the hallway light shot through the room.

"Dear, you must be more careful with your pocket change. Do you have any idea how many poor people I had to fire to make that?" Mitt stated absent-mindedly as he obliviously marched past the bed, removing his $3,000 jacket and placing it neatly in the closet with all the others. It was then that he turned and saw her.

"Good gracious, Ann! Have you forgotten yourself? You're laying in our bed... indecent as the day you were born!" He shouted as he averted his eyes, clearly startled and embarrassed.

"Tonight's the night, Willard." She said softly. "Now let's make the maid staff earn their meager wages tomorrow!"

Mitt finally looked up, lust in his eyes. He could hardly believe his luck. Tonight he was introduced to america by dirty harry, and now this? He hastily removed his fine garments, taking careful effort to fold them neatly at the foot of the bed before crawling up to meet her. He took a few minutes of silent time kneeling over her, but not nearly as long as normal. Ann knew better than to look up. She knew he was busy trying to make it work, and her gaze would only make him nervous and frightened. The act would commence in patient time if she waited silently.

The warmth of his pasty flesh was all around her, and the soft, rhythmic grunting noises were her only cue that Mitt was in progress. The sweet smell of honey milk was breathing onto the canvass of the bed, making her yearn to taste it second-hand. He was an animal, unlike the mild-mannered man she married so many years ago. At one point Ann thought he might be trying to pull her hair, but it turned out his had was just awkwardly propped on the softness of the mattress.

Then the sturdy effort ceased as dramatically as it had started. Mitt leaned back and wiped his forehead only to find it yielded no sweat, then whispered his apologies and retreated to the master bath. Ann redressed herself in her jammies and climbed back into bed to the sounds of muffled sobbing through the bathroom door.

It was even better than she could have wished in her wildest dreams.



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Jenna Tull

Jenna Tull

Hey ya'll, it's me, Jenna Tull.  I knows what you're thinkin', what kinda a name is Jenna?  Well it's a cross 'tween my auntie and my grannie's names.  Jennie and Anna.  So they'sa call me Jenna.  Boys tell me my names exotic, that's just the kind a girl I am.  I'm all kinds of exotic. 

This one time, we all went to that there food court at the Shop N' Strut.  Mable, Dylan and Brandy all went to get some BBQ, but I said Nuh Uh!  I'm a get me some of that China Food.  They were so shocked that I thought they would burst.  But that's just the kind a girl I am.

This one other time, me and Darla were down at the Chug N' Hug, eatin' pretzels, when all of a sudden we saw us a man walkin' a ferret on a leash.  I thought I would die of the giggles.  My life is a roller coaster, ya'll!

There was this other time that Churly, Billy, Uncle Grand Dragon and the Filster sisters all had us one of them sex orgies atop this dark alter after the raffle in the church's basement.  We use a blood and semen sacrifice to obtain the blessing of the dark ones.  In the middle of it, Churly farted somthin' awful.  We all had us a good laugh at how red Churly's face got.  It got even redder when we bathed him in all that baby blood.  We are so silly!

This one time I was carvin' Black Runes into the flesh of this drifter.  He was all screamin' and beggin'.  When all of a sudden the doorbell rang.  I almost pee'd my pants I was so surprised.  Lucky for me it wasn't Sheriff Pilburn, it was a delivery guy.  And guess what?!  He brought me my new carvin' knifes!  What a happy day it was.  The runes glowed black in his wounds and I feasted on his insides while he was still a livin'.  I had such fun but I bet that there drifter wishes he didn't ask me for that change.

Well my break is almost over and I should really get back to the Slurp N' Burp.  It Double Dog Friday today.  Two hotdogs for the price of one!  I know right!?  What a freakin' bargain.



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Diary Of A Degenerate 6

I dreamed of an ugly woman that I was inexplicably in love with that helped me solve the murder of an unrepentant rapist, and woke up with false pride. It's amazing how little you can get done when you have no deadlines. I barely managed to get myself out of bed long enough to get to the liquor store let alone get another job. I thought I had it made until I called my former employer and realized they intended to challenge my unemployment claim. After ten years I thought they could offer me at least the courtesy of collecting a little free money.

Luckily under the laws of my state I was entitled to my final paycheck on my last day and was able to buy 30 days of leeway with my landlord before spending the rest. Predictably I wasted most of it on drink, spending the brief hours between intoxication shivering from nausea and reeling from the headaches. I kept my hands buried in the pockets of my jeans convinced that my fingernails would fall off and rattle like loose change. It was heaven.


But I knew that if I wanted to keep up this glorious lifestyle and avoid sticking my pistol in the face of some poor store clerk I was going to have to find a new job. I prepared to venture out into the job market the only way I knew how, with a coffee cup full of whiskey and a breakfast of dry toast and dill pickles. I checked every liquor store in the area for openings, but the ones that recognized me knew I couldn't be trusted with the stock, and the ones that didn't recognize me thought they did and guessed likewise. I downgraded my employment ambitions to basic labor, and filled out two applications for janitor positions, one at an elementary school and another at a church. Both were places I had no business anywhere near.


My brain was still swimming in the morning's booze and I wasted no time in drowning it again. I was sitting at an unfamiliar bar stool deciding if I wanted a ham sandwich or another drink when she sat down next to me. Her name was Vanessa and she was all smiles, leading me to the conclusion she was probably a prostitute. She wasn't ugly enough to be the type to approach me, but it didn't add up. A whore would notice that I was ordering only well whiskey, a sign of vagrant, and I certainly looked the part, and she even took it upon herself to pick up my tab. We drank together, I ate a sandwich that I sorely needed and she chain-smoked cigarettes. She had kids but made it clear they didn't live with her for some unspoken reason, and stared me down with her giant brown eyes while we chatted. When she got up to take a piss I watched her ass shake pleasantly and I wanted to bury my face in it. The bartender must have heard the thought go through my mind judging by his soft laughter as he shook his head. He was either jealous or he knew her all to well. Regardless I knew it was time to take her home.


At my apartment she wasted no time in tidying up the coffee table like she owned the place. I let her play house while I put some music on and drank on the couch. She was taking care of me. I wondered if she knew just how bad it was with me, or if she even cared, and decided that she was mothering me to make up for some maternal failure years ago as I slipped off to sleep. Unlike the other women I brought home I didn't want her to leave, and figured I had nothing of value to protect from her. Besides, if she wanted what little I had I might be willing to simply give it to her.


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Sad Soup

The first ingredient is tears.  Lots of tears.  Human tears expressed at the height of sorrow will comprise the majority of this soup.  Now here is the problem.  How to get them.  If you are making Sad soup you are obviously not sad.  How could you be?  Sad Soup is delicious to eat and exhilarating to prepare.  It is impossible and possibly illegal to frown while making Sad Soup.

Now then, There are many ways to get fresh human tears.  One of the easiest ways is to observe funerals.  Keep your eye out for inexpensive funerals with young crying widows.  Because the funeral is cheap, it probably means the widow is having financial trouble and could barely afford the funeral in the first place.  Bills are probably piling up and she would be much more apt to take your hard earned money in exchange for her constant grieving tears than a widow with a large inheritance.  Just keep offering her money to collect her tears and remind her about her husband any chance you get.

If trolling funerals isn't your bag, why not try Ebay?  I have purchased tears many times on Ebay, always from verified sources.  There are Sad Soup aficionados across the globe.  We are quite a friendly and welcoming community.  There is always Sad Souper with ingredients to sell buried within the tastiest depths of Ebay.  You just have to look.

Can't afford to pay a widow or Ebay?  Well, this is always a last resort for me.... There is always.... Kidnapping.  You won't believe how much a person cries when they've been kidnapped.  Nonstop.  I'm a big fan of the night vision goggles and dark room approach.  With your abductee comfortably tied to a chair, you can really get the waterworks flowing with the sound of a chainsaw.  I am also a big fan of sharpening knives and laughing.  Continue collecting the tears until you get enough for your recipe. Be sure to keep your tear supplier well hydrated!  Once you have enough tears, release your abductee unharmed far from your home and worry not.  Your abductee will have a great story to tell at parties for the rest of their lives.

The problem with kidnap tears, while easy and cheap to procure, is that they are mostly "Terror Tears", which is not exactly the same thing as "Sorrow Tears".  While they both taste very similar, a true gourmet would easily be able to tell the difference.

After procuring the precious tears you can finally make the soup!  Everybody has their own recipe.  I heat my tears to near boiling on the stove.  Do not boil, it will evaporate the sorrow.  Once an acceptable temperature is reached I garnish with a parsley sprig and serve.  Mmmm, lightly salty.....  During the holidays, I add a little clove instead of parsley, so festive.  Experiment away and come up with your own tasty recipe.  ~Enjoy

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Date Rape Cassanova

I don't generally like to brag, but I'm pretty much the cassanova of date rapists. That's right, I can basically bag any girl I want at any given time. If you put me in the same room with twenty beautiful women I will end up taking home the hottest one, guaranteed! But I don't really get the kind of credit and recognition that I think I deserve, just because I use unconventional methods. Instead of relying on charm, good looks, and charisma, I go with a meticulously-selected mixture of farm-grade livestock tranquilizers and an arsenal of psychological attacks designed to instill a sense of personal guilt while simultaneously fostering overwhelming sympathy for their attacker akin to stockholm syndrome.

The night usually starts with me approaching my victim sheepishly, plying her with compliments and free booze until she sees me as just a pathetic and lonely guy and lets her guard down. I clean up just well enough so that she doesn't feel ashamed to be seen speaking to me, but not so well that I seem overtly sexual. It is really a difficult balance, and a remarkably complex skill to master. Most guys would just walk up to her and "be honest", or "seem confident", but to my experienced eyes these dudes are just amateurs. To get a sure thing you have to MAKE it happen.

So I wait until she orders a round of drinks, something cheap that she feels obligated to buy me for being such a nice guy and picking up the tab for the last hour, then I spike it. Girls are way less protective of a drink when they ordered it themselves, as if it was the bartender they had to worry about. Ha! As soon as the drugs take hold I ask the bartender to call her a cab, you know, because I'm such a nice guy and all, and when he shows up I slip in the car and we're off for some non-consensual fun!

The trick is to keep the lights down and wait for her to get sick. When the carousel is spinning she has a hard time getting off the ride, if you know what I mean! Sure, sometimes that means it gets a little messy, but that's all part of the fun. If you wanted to have her at her best you would have to put WAY more effort in, building a foundation of trust and mutual respect, and so on, and so on... and a guy like me doesn't have that kind of time. So you make it quick, getting off before she has a chance to fully articulate herself and make a memory of a struggle stick through the drugs. It won't last long, but you will have the video to last a lifetime!

And if she has a strong constitution that gets her through the whole ordeal fully conscious, just make sure you're the one doing the majority of the crying afterward. Chances are she will pity you long enough to establish plausible deniability in the mind of a jury. And remember, if she doesn't make it to the hospital within 8 hours then you are pretty much home-free as far as the rape kit is concerned.

And there you have it, my friends. The trade secrets of one of the most experienced players in the rape game. I'm not sure why I'm giving up my methods to everyone who reads this, but I guess it's because not everyone can pull it off. Just because you see Tiger Wood's swing doesn't mean you can win the masters four fucking times, am I right?



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Who's In My Mouth!?

Hello friends and welcome to Who's In My Mouth!  The game show where you identify friends and family with only your mouth! I'm your host, Luis Lippley.  Let's get started...

Our contestant today is Sarah Whityled from Halifax, Novia Scotia.  She is a school teacher and her favorite hobby is drift wood whittling.  We have her seated on the contestants chair with the noise canceling head phones and blind fold already in place.


Sarah's first challenge is to correctly identify her best friend, Karen Marlihan, with only her mouth!  Karen please spin the Wheel of Body Parts! .......... Look at it go!  It's slowing down... and it landed on... Tits!  Karen please place your naked tits in Sarah's mouth, let's see if she can guess correctly!

Go on, Karen.  It's just a game show, no big deal.  Don't be shy.  Whip and your tits and shove them in her face.  ... This isn't what you expected?  The shows title is "Who's In My Mouth?"  What did you expect?  .... What's that?  Guessing different types of foods?  Seriously?  That's fucking stupid.  Seriously Karen, you are ruining this show and everyone is very disappointed in you.

Just look at your friend there.  Sarah, all blind folded and deafened.  Her mouth looks so inviting doesn't it?  You don't want to ruin your best friend's big day, do you?  Now why don't you, calmly, take off your shirt, on camera, and place your nipples into your unsuspecting friend's mouth.

Fine, fine.... You can take another spin.  But if you'll look closely at the Wheel of Body Parts, you'll see that every category is Tits.  Well, tits and BANKRUPT  Every game show wheel needs a BANKRUPT.  So......??  Tits or no?

What do you mean "Is this a secret amateur porn shoot?"  I am insulted.  That is such a despicable thing to say.  But to avoid any possible lawsuits... Yes.  Yes this is a porn shoot.  A porn shoot with a chance to win a NEW CAR!!  WOOO!!!  I know!  All right, the shirt is off, that's the spirit Karen!  Smother her with tits!

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Diary Of A Degenerate 5

When I got home I finished the job I started at the adult book store, drowning out the world with a too-loud playing of Otis Redding's Tramp. I was hoping someone on the floor would pound on the wall and complain, but no such luck. I washed my hands and headed out to the bar.

I was two beers and three whiskeys in before I got the mojo going and started harassing the women. Two walked away before I found one with low enough self esteem to talk to me. I played the gentleman and complimented her. When she pretended to be modest and said she wished she had a chance to clean up after work before going out I leaned in and audibly sniffed her and said, "I disagree. You don't smell dirty enough" When she smiled I knew I had her.


I pumped drinks into her until closing time and then tried to convince her to come to my place and fuck. She resisted hard enough to indicate she thought I was some kind of serial killer or something, but I eventually got her into my back seat. Her breath fogged up the glass until the bar owner banged on it and told us to beat it. Luckily I came inside her before she had a chance to scurry out the passenger door and run off to her car. She was a good lay but she had kind of shallow pussy. It was either only four inches deep or took a hard left that stopped me cold in mid-thrust. On the way home I got all sentimental and thought about marrying her and having kids and shit. I make myself sick sometimes.


I spent the better part of sunday examining my dick and convincing myself she gave me herpes. It was probably just friction burns, something I suffered from weekly but was too paranoid to realize on the fly. Despite my distress I slept well. Well enough to barely make it to work in the morning.


My manager was waiting for me when I came in. He always stood up straight when we spoke, trying desperately not to be five inches shorter than me, and he had terrible breath. His breath was bad enough to inspire self awareness, and besides, he had a wife! There's no way he doesn't know about it. When I have booze on my breath I at least have the decency to exhale through my nose, for christ's sake.


"I need to schedule you for some overtime" he said. "And don't give me any grief, okay? This is coming all the way from corporate, so it's mandatory." Only assholes used the word "grief" like it was a proper curse word. And he was certainly an asshole.


"You know what Wayne?" I said. He went by Scott but his real name was Wayne. "Go fuck yourself!" I looked him straight in the eye when I said it. With a look that forced him to acknowledge that I was more powerful than he was. And more angry. He threatened me with his only power, an HR meeting, before I walked past him and gathered the shit from my desk and walked out. And that was the end of that career.


I celebrated the loss of employment with eight 2oz shots of hard proof rum and a three hour nap on my carpet. When I awoke I couldn't have felt better about it.


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10 out of 10

Police Briefing: 8/24/2012

Good morning everyone, let's get this briefing done quick so we can all get out on the streets and start protecting people.  Now then, first order of business, we received a bunch of those "Rate the NYPD" comment cards that the city has been giving out.  Big trouble people!  We got a bunch of 1 out of 10's on those comment cards.  Do you know how that makes us look?  I mean Officers, come on!

I want everyone giving 110% today!  We need to score some 10 out of 10's on those comment cards, not these measly 1 out of 10's!  So, for every jaywalking ticket you give out today, I want you to give out 9 more... 9 and 1 makes 10!  10's are what we are shooting for here people!

If you would normally give 1 speeding ticket, I want 10!  Catch 1 robber?  Not enough, 10!  If you help 1 little old lady across the road, I need you to help 9 more!  That's the way the game works now people!  You know what?  I am too damn excited to get started, let's skip the rest of the briefing and hit the streets!

..............

Oh crap, most of you have already left.  Oh well, I'll tell you guys and you just pass it on.  This 10 out of 10 thing does not apply when you shoot someone.  So, if you have to shoot 1 person today, you don't need to shoot 9 more.  I mean, I would really prefer if you didn't.  But for everything else, I am going to need that extra effort, capiche?

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Creepy Kix

What happens when you combine the music of Alan Silvestri from Predator with a 1953 Kix cereal commercial?  Well, this I guess....

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