This Has Nothing To Do With The New Year. This Is Just Some Huey Lewis...
Current mood: drunk

It's 3:30 in the AM, I'm drunk on leftover NYE wine, and I'm feeling very Huey Lewis right now. Just shut the fuck up and go with it.

BTW, in case you didn't notice, the song is playing on my profile. I'll put up a playlist later, but for now...



If This Is It

I've been phoning night and morning
I heard you say 'Tell him I'm not home'.
Now you're confessing, but I'm still guessing
I've been your fool for so, so long
Girl, don't lie just to save my feelings.
Girl, don't cry and tell me nothings wrong.
Girl, don't try to make up phony reasons.
I'd rather leave than never believe...

If this is it...
Please let me know
If this ain't love, you'd better let me know.
If this is it...
I want to know
If this ain't love baby, just say so.

You've been thinking
And I've been drinking
We both know that it's just not right.
Now you're pretending
That it's not ending
You'll say anything to avoid a fight.
Girl, don't lie and tell me that you need me
Girl, don't cry and tell me nothings wrong
Ill be alright one way or another
So let me go or make me want to stay.

If this is it...
Please let me know
If this ain't love, you'd better let me know.
If this is it...
I want to know
If this ain't love baby, just say so.

----------

"Do you like Huey Lewis and the news? Their early work was a little too new wave for my tastes, but when Sports came out in '83,I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost. He's been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far much more bitter, cynical sense of humor. In '87, Huey released Fore, their most accomplished album. I think their undisputed masterpiece is "Hip to be Square", a song so catchy, most people probably don't listen to the lyrics. But they should, because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself."

12:35 PM - 20 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Jesus 2: Electric Boogaloo
Current mood: Holy

Hey kids. It's me, Jesus Horatio Christ. Long time, no testify. I hope you've all had a lovely year thus far. I'm doing great. Dad has me working on this Peace on Earth project. It's pretty ambitious, but you know how it is when you're working for your old man - trying to live up to His standards and all that. And not to make light of your dad's car dealership or that real estate career or the whole propane sales biz, but my Dad made every single fucking thing in this plane of existence since the dawn of time. A lot to live up to there, right? It's okay though. I can handle pressure. I'm good in the clutch. Heck, I'm famous for it. Would you like to know how I got these scars?

That was my Joker impression. Ha ha. I thought you'd get a kick out of that. Heath taught me that one.

Anyway, I'm pretty busy right now, but I wanted to take a moment to wish everyone a lovely holiday and a merry Me-mas. As you all know, tomorrow is My birthday. Yay! I'm 2041 years young. As I recall, I was 33 when you jerks nailed me to a big wooden "T". Ha ha, very funny, you guys. But hey, it's all good. I'm not the type to hold a grudge. I know the "T" stands for "tough love". It would be nice though if just once, I could play craps again without the dice falling through the holes in my hands.

Anyway, I hope you're all remembering that whole "Be nice to other people" thing I told you about the last time we talked. And for those of you who seem to be confused about the semantics, let me be clear - that means ALL THE TIME. Like, even when you're drunk.

That said, I'd like to share a little something special with you all for this wonderful time of year. Being the sensational pop star that I am (2008 years and counting. You think Justin Timberlake would last that long on the charts? I don't think so), there are millions of examples of fan art about me. I thought I'd take a moment to comment on some of them. Ready, steady, go!

If there's any human on Earth who can walk on water besides me,
it's David Hasslehoff.

I taught Wayne Gretzky how to do a triple-deke. True story.

I know the economy is tough right now. If you're having trouble
catching up on bills, go ahead - sell a baby.



I think you hear Me knockin', and I think I'm comin' in.



It's true. Chuck Norris gave me the gift of Beard. Now you see why
The Chad takes his so seriously.

Every time I pop a Mento, I think about that Foo Fighters video.
Then I think about Kurt Cobain. Then he shows up and starts whining
about how Courtney made him do a double-barreled blowjob. Such a
downer, that Kurt.

I know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
know when to walk away, and know when to run.



It's true. I could totally see my house from up there.



Look, I'll be honest - I love a lot of people. But some of you ARE cunts.
Try to be a little less cunty, mmm'kay?



It's not you, baby.... it's me. I'm a ramblin' man.
I can't be tied down. Nailed down however....



Let me go on the record right now and say that I never
endorsed his becoming President like he says. And in
case you didn't know, Dick Cheney is totally Satan.



See? I totally DO save!



Everybody thinks walking on water is cool.
But it does make taking baths rather problematic.



This is total bullshit, y'all. Robes don't have pockets.



"And lo, He came from the Heavens with a high-powered assault gun
and pwned Himself some bitchez." - Psalms 41



You know why Little Billy is going to Hell? Because he stepped
on my foot. On purpose. Fuck you, Billy.



"Boom! Headshot! LOLOLOL!!!"



This is awesome, but not entirely true. I'm a PBR man.



And you can be sure that there will be some people who insist on praying
to Rover's asshole too.



This was before the big steroid controversy, yeah.



I can haz vinegar sponge now?


Some people take Fundamentalism a little too seriously.
On the other hand, raptors do make wicked awesome pets.

Speaking of which, I could totally ride a dinosaur if I wanted to.
It wouldn't be a raptor though. Everybody knows that
Triceratops are the Cadillac of dinosaurs.

LOL. Jesus do love His kitteh pictures!



I made a delicious lamb curry out of him. And then Gordon Ramsay
called me a fuckin' donkey. Guess who's going to Hell's kitchen?



I'm all about gun safety.



(*sigh*) I hate it when people whip out my baby pictures.



This was the cover of the album from my last band - Jesus Christ Starship.



Don't fuck with a Jedi Master, son.



Sure, Quakers are pussies, but they make a good oatmeal.



Little known fact - I starrred in my high school production of "Fiddler".



WHY SO SERIOUS? Hahahaha!!!



It's true. I rock so hard.




I assure you, the Lord Your God is entirely fat-free.



Awesome picture, but I'm a Libertarian.



I'd fuck Me. I'd fuck Me hard. I'd fuck Me so hard.



This isn't even fan art. I just don't like having my picture taken.



Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord and all that.



If there's one thing I learned from "Bastard System Operator From Hell",
it's always save your data.



Contrary to popular opinion, not all dogs go to Heaven.
Just the ones that are house-trained and won't poop on the clouds.



Why is it that when I do miracles, people are shocked and refuse
to believe, but when David Blaine and Criss Angel do it, everybody's
all "oooh!" and "ahhh!"?



Jesus Facepalm: because sometimes just telling you how stupid you are isn't enough.

1:03 PM - 3 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

A Repost: Walken In A Winter Wonderland, aka. A Very Merry CHRISTopherWalkenMAS!
Current mood: bored

Greetings, children. It is I, Christopher Walken, posting on The Chad's blog to distribute tidings of good cheer. I don't have much time here as I'm very busy filling people roughly from behind with the holiday spirit, but gather 'round and I shall tell you a Christmas story that won't have you hiding uncomfortable hunks of metal up your ass... unless you like that sort of thing.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
For I bit off its head and shaved off its hair;
Stuck it in Timmy's stocking lovingly with care.

The children asleep, waiting for Santa to come,
While visions of sugar…wait…what the fuck is a sugar plum?
Grandma in her 'kerchief, Grandpa in his cap,
Had just settled in after their annual co-fap.

To say "just settled in" is a bit of a mistake,
Twelve years in those chairs, they won't soon awake.
I think that they're fun - you can move them about.
See? I just fisted Grandpa and frenched Grandma's mouth.

When out in the yard, there arose such a clatter.
I looked onto the lawn to see only bone and gray-matter,
The moon lit the moisture on the new-scattered flesh,
The blood yet to freeze, you could tell it was fresh.

Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But eight stupid little dogs … err … tiny reindeer,
Strapped to a driverless sleigh were these fawn,
And I knew Santa's remains were all over my lawn.

He always was a bit jolly, a little bit high,
And what's Christmas Eve without a DWI?
I took a seat in the sleigh, between seven large bags,
Peered over the front and read off the dogs' tags:

"On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer and Vixen!"
What fucking sicko names their stupid dog Vixen?
"On, Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!"
Your master is mangled and surely we'll miss him.

But Christmas goes on, with me at the reigns,
Sure beats hanging out here and cleaning up brains.
But the reindeer won't budge, kinda makes you wonder,
If they know that I was in The goddam Deer Hunter.

"C'mon silly dogs! I know you recall,
how to dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
That got them started, and to the house-tops they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys and the Angel of Death too.

So to all you naughty kids, don't ever fear,
I'm running the show, and this might be your year.
You might hear me cackle, as I swoop down like a hawk,
Howling "Merry ChristopherWalkenmas to all, and to all, more cowbell!"

Happy Holidays,
Christopher Walken

10:55 AM - 8 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

"This Is The New Shit" - ASL Video
Current mood: enlightened

For those of you who are curious about sign language as a means of interpreting music and lyrics, check out this video posted on YouTube by a deaf person performing Marylin Manson's "This Is The New Shit". Keep watching past the disclaimer to see the best ASL music performance/interpretation I've ever seen (actual video begins at 1:08).

It may not be what you're used to, but this is the new shit.



"This Is The New Shit"

Everything has been said before
There's nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same
You can ask for it by name

Babble babble bitch bitch
Rebel rebel party party
Sex sex sex and don't forget the "violence"
Blah blah blah got your lovey-dovey sad-and-lonely
Stick your STUPID SLOGAN in:
Everybody sing along.
Babble babble bitch bitch
Rebel rebel party party
Sex sex sex and don't forget the "violence"
Blah blah blah got your lovey-dovey sad-and-lonely
Stick your STUPID SLOGAN in:
Everybody sing,
Are you motherfuckers ready
For the new shit?
Stand up and admit,
tomorrow's never coming.
This is the new shit.
Stand up and admit.
Do we get it? No.
Do we want it? Yeah.
This is the new shit,
Stand up and admit.

Babble babble bitch bitch
Rebel rebel party party
Sex sex sex and don't forget the "violence"
Blah blah blah got your lovey-dovey sad-and-lonely
Stick your STUPID SLOGAN in:
Everybody sing along.
Everything has been said before
There's nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same
You can ask for it by name,
Are you motherfuckers ready
For the new shit?
Stand up and admit,
tomorrow's never coming.
This is the new shit.
Stand up and admit.
Do we get it? No.
Do we want it? Yeah.
This is the new shit,
Stand up and admit.

And now it's "you know who"
I got the "you know what"
I stick it "you know where"
You know why, you don't care.
And now it's "you know who"
I got the "you know what"
I stick it "you know where"
You know why, you don't care.

Babble babble bitch bitch
Rebel rebel party party
Sex sex sex and don't forget the "violence"
Blah blah blah got your lovey-dovey sad-and-lonely
Stick your STUPID SLOGAN in:
Everybody sing.

Are you motherfuckers ready
For the new shit?
Stand up and admit,
tomorrow's never coming.
This is the new shit.
Stand up and admit.
Do we get it? No.
Do we want it? Yeah.
This is the new shit,
Stand up and admit.

So,
LET US ENTERTAIN YOU
LET US ENTERTAIN YOU...
Blah blah blah blah everybody sing along.

Slainte'.
The Chad

12:25 PM - 13 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Don’t Drop The Soap (An Informative Blog About Shower Rape)
Current mood: cooky/wacky

While scrubbing myself vigorously in the shower this morning with my trusty black loofah (it's black, so that makes it masculine, right?), I accidentally dropped the soap. Whenever this happens, I am reminded of a warning given to young men throughout history by the generally humorless and homophobic when they find themselves in a situation in which they are showering with a large group of other men. Somebody will inevitably say "Don't drop the soap!", which is supposed to imply that if you DO drop the soap, one of your fellow bathers will promptly rape you. It only occurred to me today what a stupid thing to say that is. If somebody is going to rape you in the shower, it seems to me they are not going to wait for you to drop the soap to do it. They will probably just go ahead and rape you. Whether you manage to hold onto the soap or not is most likely beside the point. Because that's the nature of rape. It's not the kind of activity where an asshole presents itself and a fellow suddenly thinks to himself, "Hey I could totally rape that!" Unless, perhaps, you are showering with a bunch of rapists. Then maybe a person would have that thought. But if you ARE showering with a group of rapists, then I have to believe you are either a rapist yourself or you are the kind of person who has really bad judgment or luck. Either way, in that situation, there is a chance you are going to get raped. But like I said - probably not because you dropped the soap.

I could be wrong...

Then again, I've never been to a bathhouse...

4:42 AM - 46 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

Ode To Angie Deux - Electric Boogaloo
Current mood: gallant

Some time ago, I wrote this poem for a certain lady who may or may not be named Angie (or whom may very well be a fugitive on the lam living under an assumed name for all I know).

"Ode To Angie"

I met her in a bar last night.
I never heard her name.
We spoke of old flames, new dreams, and women's gymnastics.
She was the girl I've been waiting for all my life.

Three pitchers of beer and eight Jagerbombs each later;
We were back at my place;
Doing what horny adults do on hot drunken nights;
Watching Spanish soap operas on Telemundo.

And then came the sex:
Messy, painful, bruising sex.
Bloody noses and wet spots everywhere;
To say she was a squirter just wouldn't be enough.

And in the morning, she was gone.
Along with my wallet, my tv, and my stereo.
In the end, she left me with nothing;
But a broken heart and a burning sensation when I pee.

So remember this, above all else - love hurts.
It tastes like bloody spurts and chalky Certs.

----------

I promised her a sequel, dumb eager-to-please bastard that I am. So tonight, direct from my drunken brain to yours, I present...

Angie: Ode Deux - Electric Boogaloo

I met her on a Friday at Ye Olde Liquor Store.
She bought enough Jack Daniels to intoxicate four.
I thought "My kind of woman! What else could one need?"
When she said "What's up, big boy? Follow me. Got any weed?"

We stopped at an ATM for me to get some cash;
When along came a hoodlum, our party to crash.
Like a rapper at The Source Awards, she whipped out a gun;
And like a bat out of Hell that pesky hoodlum did run.

Then off to her condo to restore the sexy mood.
We had a pizza delivered for we both needed food.
We began to cuddle, then grapple and frisk.
"This girl's freaky!" thought I whilst throwing a disc.

She landed spread-eagle as she leaped from her trapeze;
Her perfect dismount brought carpet-burn to my knees.
But as with all great things, the night had to end.
And to my great relief, she said "Let's just be friends"
"Let's do it again!

"You were awesome" she said, framed by morning's soft light...
And that, Dearest Angie, is what I told the judge last night.



Slainte',
The Chad

3:46 AM - 18 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Moving Out And Moving On...
Current mood: rejuvenated

Hey Hey *HEY* ! What's happenin', chicklets and cocksmen? The Chad has returned as promised with yet another report from the edge of the zeitgeist. I'm trying to ease back into the chaos of blogging, so I'm not including the usual subtle coding that makes my blog subliminally resonate frequencies that rape your eyes and massage your crotches. It also causes strokes in small Japanese children... but sadly, not today. I'm too distracted by how goddamn shitty the new "Knight Rider" television show is right now.

But today I bring some positive news for those of you who have been wondering both WTF and ZOMG vis-a-vis your good friend The Chad. For those of you who did not know, I found for a new apartment. For those of you who didn't know, my loop - let me show you it. I've moved.... a mere two blocks from where I used to live - the shithole duplex lovingly and ironically referred to as "The House of Payne". As stupid as it sounds to move a measly two blocks, I've actually traded up substantially - a much nicer apt, more square footage, no deadbeat roommates, no uncleanable spots of vomit in the bathroom - a veritable paradise. The reasons for my move however are more personal than just because I had a hard time cleaning other people's puke from the crevasses of my bathroom floor.

I needed a change. I needed to regroup and begin focusing on my future. I've spend most of this year looking out for other people in need who couldn't keep their own promises and whom put me deeper in debt. But no more. Now it's all about me - going back to school, finding a new full-time job, getting back to my queued-up graphic design projects, getting a new car, learning how to untangle my penis from it's personal tantric yoga workouts - all part of the process of a new beginning. I've spent a lot of time talking about my past and the drama and betrayals that underscored my life. For the longest time, I wondered whether I would ever be able to separate myself from my sordid past and move on. It wasn't until recently that I remembered the key to every successful attempt to drop the clinging echos of drama and bullshit from others - getting the fuck away from them and starting over somewhere else. Fortunately, my life has been pretty damn good in the past year and a half, so I see no reason to pack everything (or just let some evil psychotic bitch move in so she can steal all my shit) and move to another state just for the sake of "Moving On". Instead I focused on the key aspects of moving - a clean slate and a renewed sense of purpose. And so far, it seems to have worked.

In light of this metamorphosis, I now segue ham-handedly into my new goal for self-improvement. Now, those who know me might say "Again?" And yes, admittedly I have started down this road many times before. Specifically, about 15,662 times. And every time, I last about three weeks. Yes, I give you these points; although, I might add you said "Again?" in an excessively sarcastic tone. You'll get more bees with honey than vinegar, you know. I think that's how it goes. Something to do with bees and vinegar anyway. Maybe 'You'll get more vinegar with bees." But that doesn't make much sense. Whose vinegar supplies are that low that they'd need to recruit bees? I keep my pantry stocked with liters of vinegar at all times, and I can only assume others follow my lead. Fuck it, maybe it's a sex-type thing.

Where was I?

Oh yes. THIS time, my self-improvement scheme will succeed. Why? I'll tell you. In a word: stress. Every so often I decide I want a new, healthier direction in life. That my bad habits are many and varied (to date: drinking, smoking, eating fatty foods, biting my nails, loose women, lethargy, apathy, a poor work ethic, and, as I've been told, questionable hygiene). And so I set off on a new path - a path with small, healthy meals involving chicken breasts and brown rice, regular cardio at the gym, the lifting of weights, reasonable bedtimes, no more cigarettes or other illicit substances, no more beer, and so on - basically all those things most of us mock others for. And I do well for a little bit. Then BAM! Stress. Sudden personal obligations to write funny things for possible publishing, create awesome images for some band's promotional needs or someone's tattoo interests. Or my personal favorite - women.  And within a day I've reverted back to all my comfort vices to make things easier.

But this time... this time I'm prepared. I've learned from my mistakes and it has made me that much wilier. My plan is this: from now on, I will not have any stress. I will make a conscious pact that from now on, there will be no more surprises in my life. I will bar myself up in my apartment with a selection of soups and other non-perishable food items, begin a rigorous excersice regimen, and do away with alcohol, narcotics, and tobacco. I will bunker down until my life is fantastic and back on track.

...

Ok, fuck that. Maybe I'll just get drunk tonight and call up someone with a vagina to swing by and rock my motherfuckin' world. Who's with me?

Slainte',
The Chad

9:26 AM - 20 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

Change Is Coming... And Not The Bullshit Political Campaign Kind
Current mood: pensive

Y'know, I used to be pretty goddamn prolific with this whole blogging thing. But lately I've been neglecting that creative outlet while letting myself fall into the same trap I've found myself in so many times before.

A few years ago when I discovered the tragicomic joys of LiveJournal (before becoming a proper Myspace whore), I made a vow to myself that I would never write a run-of-the-mill-OMG-my-life-is-so-fucking-fascinating-you-have-no-idea bullshit blog. There’s just something about most blogs that just bore and piss me off in equal measures. Maybe its their staring-up-their-own-asses style in which the authors erroneously assume that every banal detail of their lives is in need of exhaustive documentation, but lack the wit to make it even moderately entertaining (although I confess, some people I know and love personally get a free pass on this since I care about them and want to know how they're doing... even if they ain't that fuckin' funny). There are a few people who do this with enough intelligence, humor, and style to make slice-of-life tidbits interesting. And I do enjoy those... even if they don't involve fantastic and fictitous acts of mayhem with Slash from Gn'R or police encounters involving the collective bloated corpses from Warrant.

But it's understandable that not everyone can pull off a good blog effectively. It could be worse - worse being all those stupid fucking quizzes which take a great medium of individuality and creative expression and turn it into one more homogenous idiocy parade where everything looks identical to everything else and it makes me weep for the repetitious stupidity of it all. There are some people who think that posting the same goddamn quiz every night before they go to bed will give the rest of the world a special sneek-peek into their pathetic attention-whoring lives that nobody actually gives a shit about.

Anyway.... due to my passionate and tumultous love/hate relationship with blogging, I’ve always wanted this blog to be as unblog-like as possible. I wanted to use it not to record every banal detail of my life, but for funny anecdotes and observations - not the painfully unfunny Seinfeld-ian kind, but more of the "encounter with a teenage alchoholic/pothead slut at a chinese buffet" variety... or at least mildly funny works of complete fiction (for example, I don't ACTUALLY have the corpses of Warrant at my house. I DO however have the cremated remains of Great White in a large Jagermeister tin on my entertainment center. Swerve!).

I wanted to use my blog to share with you those various little chuckleworthy bits and bytes found on the outer fringes of Teh Intertubez. I wanted to use it to announce certain projects - graphics, logo designs, or t-shirts and cd album cover art for local bands or tattoo design work. I wanted it to be the opposite of the majority of other blogs. In short, I want it to be remotely entertaining and informative... or at least funny.

But as evidenced by my sporadic postings in the last few months, I’ve apparently gotten lazy on the blog front of late. Sure, I can blame having no net access at home lately and being stuck with having to type everything on a Sidekick cell phone or the intermittent and spordatic access provided by "Cuntcast". But the bottom line is that if you stop taking the time to write down your amusing anecdotes or funny random occurances every once in a while, you stop remembering to write them at all. And thus, the world at large is robbed of stories about you buying coffee, returning a watch, or contracting hepatitis in a port-a-john.

The solution is clearly that I need to kick my own ass into updating my blog more. I seem to have gotten out of the habit of staring up my own ass occasionally and recording the the echo. I need to get back on that blog-horse, even if I am confined to a 2" screen. It's not like I don't have any fresh material to draw from. I'm still The Chad and crazy random shit is still an everyday thing for me. There's a lot I've had on the backburner to catch up on and a few new recent stories to tell - including a disturbingly Tucker Max-ish (but actually true) tale about an eighteen year old who looked fourteen whom I recently fucked mercilessly and degraded the shit out of as punishment for lying and attempting to fuck with a ten year friendship between an old friend and I for her own amusement.

It ain't pretty, and it's definitely not going to elevate your opinion of me as a gentleman - especially among those of you who know me in real life and consider me Mr. Nice Guy. But for those of you who think of me as a debaucherous letch of unparalleled proportions, a drama or insanity magnet, or even as the evil codependent alcoholic junkie rapist of your bullshit fantasies, you're going to fucking love it. But more importantly, you're going to find out what happens when I stop being a nice guy and become a predator... and not the kind with the toothy vagina-mouth and dreadlocks either.

I'll be back in action real soon, so be afraid. Be very afraid. Or excited. Your tears will taste just as salty and delicious to me whether they're from fear or joy either way.

Slainte',
The Chad

P.S. Beard-A-Thon 2008 is STILL coming soon. Count on it.

10:12 AM - 21 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

To My Conceited Penis...
Current mood: nervous

This is a continuation of a previous blog entitled "A Guest-Blog Featuring My Penis". I would gladly provide you with a handy link taking you right to it so you can read all about what my penis has to say about life, the universe, and everything, but I'm typing all this from my Sidekick cellphone again and linkability doesn't happen to be part of it's sexy package deal. So.... look that shit up and feel free to get lost in the insanity of my other blogs while you're at it.

What's up, El Penis Duderino? It's been awhile since you and I had an open dialogue. I've been meaning to have this talk with you for awhile now. Ever since you guest-wrote that blog last year, you've become increasingly overbearing and domineering. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that you've been inserting yourself into the usual decision-making processes that come with day-to-day living for the both of us far more often than I find comfortable anymore.

Don't get me wrong - I still appreciate you as much as ever. You're a helluva fella and smart as all get-out. To my amazement, not only have you learned to take pictures of yourself, but you have figured out how to upload them on the computer AND post said pictures on your own Myspace page. And more impressively, you haven't succumbed to the lure of the Myspace Mobsters game. Even I couldn't pull that off.

However, having never met another penis as impressive as yourself, who can do things without knowledge or consent of anyone (including, sadly, myself), I thought I'd take a moment to explain to you how this works.

1) Believe it or not, you have an owner. That would be me. This is not sociological throwback to times of slavery or indentured servitude. I am more than the sum of my parts; and while you are a valued member of those parts (a significantly valued member at that), I'm running the show here. This is not a democracy, and I do not appreciate your regularly-attempted palace coups.

B) A conceited penis is the first place STD's run to. I'm not sure you've used the computer for anything other than begging for a little one-on-one wrestling action with random vaginas, but maybe the next time you sign on, you should Wikipedia that shit. Because I assure you, while I've yet to meet a woman with a miraculous vagina who speaks for itself, that's probably not something they, vaginas and women alike, want.

Three) With your outstanding knowledge of the human world, you should probably do right by your owner (which would be me) and 'fess up on your extracurricular antics to clear my name. I will not be playing with you again until someone comes clean and explains to me what exactly happened. I saw the e-mails in my own inbox from HotAdultFun.com. You can deny it all you want, but I know that's YOU on the website's profile picture with my living room in the background (wearing Mac's tail wrapped around you like a pimp fur, no less). You're supposed to consult me on these things first, man. As we have clearly established from previous incidents, you don't have the most discriminating taste when my judgement is impaired and you are left to your own devices.

Pi) I understand penises go through an "active" phase every couple of hours, but you are suppose to eventually grow out of that. I'm 32 years old now and it's getting embarassing constantly having to hide you from company or whenever we go out. Considering the number of people you've been with and the amount of times you've done it, most would assume you'd be getting tired by now. You're not the 18 year-old you used to be. Our buddies, the balls, agree with me on this.

Now that we have the basics covered, I'll give you a fair amount of time to do what's right and start doing as I say, not as I do. Until then, I will not amuse you in any way, I will not please you either. I will sit here and wait and probably wondering how you got a picture from that angle all by yourself. Jesus, you ARE limber....

Slainte',
The Chad

P.S. (10 minutes later...) Dammit, I'm sorry for being so harsh. C'mere, gimmie a hug....

(*sigh*) I wish I could quit you.

6:45 PM - 18 Comments - 11 Kudos - Add Comment

A Quickie - Want It From Behind While You Play Super Mario Bros
Current mood: mischievous

Sometimes browsing the personals on Craigslist yields unexpectedly hilarious results. I almost want to contact this guy and find out if he had any takers.

WANT IT FROM BEHIND WHILE YOU PLAY SUPER MARIO BROS? - m4w
Date: 2008-07-02, 2:35PM EDT

Do you love to play Super Mario Brothers on the Classic Nintendo System?

Do you like to get tagged from behind while you do it?

This is the post for you then.

You must know your way around the game before we meet, must be open to anal sex, also able to fake an orgasm is a plus.

I will send you the address to a hotel and a room number. When you arrive the door will be open. Please come in close and lock the door and close the shades if they are still open. I will be in the bathroom and the door will be closed. Turn on the TV and the Nintendo. Remove all of your clothing. Turn off all lights in the room and kneel down on the bed so you are directly in the light of the TV. You need to be facing the TV with your butt in the air pointed toward the pillows on the bed.

Press the start button on the controller when you are ready. I will hear the sound and turn the light off in the bathroom and come out. You will not look directly at me, only look at the TV. When the first level starts I will begin to finger you and lick you. I will be using lots of lube as well.

When you reach the end of level one, make sure to trigger the fireworks. This is vital to the entire experience. I must hear the fireworks. When level 2 begins and Mario walks into the pipe, I will penetrate you. You may say things like, "MORE", "HARDER", "YES", "FUCK ME", but nothing else. I will continue having sex until the level ends. DO NOT take the secret level skip. If you die I will pull out and spank you until the level restarts.

When you reach the flag you must again trigger the fireworks, and also orgasm. I will pull out. When the 1-3 starts I will penetrate your ass. You are allowed to say something like "OH GOD", "YES", OR "IT HURTS" no other conversation is allowed.

When level 1-4 starts I will alternate between holes as I see fit. You may beg me to cum inside or outside of you, depending on what you want. When boss falls and you reach the princess I will pull out and blow my load where you have convinced me I want too. You may then say something like "Thanks", "It was great", "I loved it", "Don't stop".

If I am impressed you may continue playing and I will continue to pleasure you. If I am not, I will turn the Nintendo Off and return to the bathroom. At this time you may clean your self with the towel that is beside the bed. Turn the lights on, redress yourself and leave.

I may come back out and talk to you as you dress but the conversation will most likely be short and revolve around scheduling another time to get together.

So how about it, ladies? Who wants it from behind while you play GTS4? Rainbow Six Vegas 2? Katamari Damacy? WOW? The Sims? BurgerTime? Tron? Pong? Zork?

"Shall we play a game?"
- W.O.P.R from 'Wargames'

Slainte',
The Chad

7:23 AM - 18 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment