“Manspreading”

First it was the seats on an airplane, fat people had to buy one or two extra all depending on their circumference to accommodate for their girth.

Now however, they’ve gone too far.

They are attacking innocent men who have no other option but to sit with their legs spread on the subway (manspreading), either that or run the risk of racking themselves.

When it comes to buying extra seats because you’re fat I’m all for it, because for the most part fat is something you can control, but having balls is not and one should not be penalized for it.

Of course one does not have to have their legs spread as wide as a trailer park tramp who accepts foodstamps for a good time, but there does need to be a gap just like in Michael Strahan’s teeth.

I’m all for standing so a woman could sit, but trust me another man would completely understand and not think twice about letting the spread happen as needed.

If anything a man sitting next to you might just get up to help a brother out, trust me I know because I’ve done it myself, us carriers of the jewels have to stick together.

And if need be, when I do ride the subway, I would have no problem buying one or two extra tokens, all depending on what kind of testicle day I was having,  just to make my wiener and meatballs feel comfortable.

As for all those people out there who are claiming it’s just an ego thing, which I’m sure are all women, don’t know the half of it.

I don’t partake in the manspread because I think I’m hung like a horse, but rather because I know the pain of having one’s balls squished, and believe me it doesn’t feel good.

Some of you may say if that’s the case then why do butch lesbians do it?

In all fairness though that is not an accurate comparison, because they are trying to be like a man, so they will take on certain mannerisms of ours to accomplish that task, even sitting like us.

If I want to be like a fish I would swim in the ocean, but that doesn’t mean I can breathe under water, understand?

The bottom line is that this “movement” isn’t really about our fellas and how much room we allow for them, but more so the fact that some men won’t vacate their seat for a woman.

I completely understand that, and as I stated before would be more than happy to do so, but in all reality this kind of behavior from the men of today is partially to blame on the women of today.

Relax, before you go all girl power on me, I’m just saying that you send mixed signals when it comes to what a man should and shouldn’t do for you.

You need to make up your minds and let us know, do you want us to act like complete gentleman, or let you be woman and hear you roar?

No matter what the outcome, just please keep the “kids” out of this.

They have nothing to do with all this nonsense and don’t deserve to be placed in front of the firing squad or in a vise-grip (ouch).

Well there you have it, my feelings on the spread and the men behind it.

Take it for what it’s worth but always remember, while yours can close shut like a clam, ours has to have plenty of breathing room like a blossoming flower.

MJM  

“1st and 10 Years: The Cheating Game”

This past Sunday, the call that made Cowboys fans rejoice and Lions fans go all Ray Rice on their television sets.

The infamous pass interference call in the 4^th quarter that could have changed the outcome of the game, but was reversed because of who knows why; we may need to call in the Scooby gang to figure this one out.

We can all argue our points as to whether it was or wasn’t the right call, but if we’re being honest here we will also admit that if it was our favorite team who just happened to be playing Detroit in that game we would have jumped for joy like someone in one of those old Toyota commercials when it was overturned.

Was it shady business?

Well they were playing in Dallas and according to TMZ a Mr. Dean Blandino (league’s vice-president of officiating) was partying like it was 1999 on the Cowboys party bus just days before the game, things that make you go hmmm indeed.

With me being an avid Giants fan, I do believe that the Cowbitches, sorry I’m trying to be professional here; the Cowboys did in fact pull a fast one and end up with an undeserved win.

However, in all fairness to Dallas that’s really only because I hate them with a passion and anything that makes them look bad I’m all for it, so take it for what it’s worth.

Now as far as cheating is concerned.

I have news for you, once there was money to be made in the sporting world there was cheating to be had, and yes even with our beloved football, and yes even in today’s game.   

From the referees (who are just a direction of stripes away from being behind bars) to the teams who do things like inform the obviously medically enhanced franchise player of a “surprise” drug test to take place after the big game to everything in between, cheating is as much a part of football as the ball itself…just ask Bill Belichick.

Some players, referees and even teams (well except for the New York Giants of course) are as crooked as politicians, the NFL is nothing more than Capitol Hill, and to believe otherwise is utterly ridiculous.

When it comes to the players, above the law off the field but only if you’re having a winning season on the field, don’t believe me just ask Ray Lewis, Adam "Pacman" Jones, Michael Vick, Ray Rice, etc.

Bad calls, cheap shots and making it rain on players who are nothing more than a flash in the pan (Snickers anyone) all with the hopes of making it to the top of the mountain and bringing home the gold.

Now of course spending an exuberant amount on money for the so-called next big thing isn’t a crime in itself, but it sure as hell should be, especially after these bastards end up sucking more than Monica Lewinsky.

Obviously this past Sunday’s call/no-call pass interference fiasco wasn’t the first ever football what dafuq in the sports history, and trust me it won’t be the last, so just get over it and move on people…even if it does mean the Cowboys moving on (yuck).

So now that all the cards are laid out on the table, and we’re all on the same page here, enjoy the game and may the best (and sneakiest) cheaters win.

Here’s to Greenbay…at least for this upcoming weekend anyway.

To all those people who think that Tom Brady got a bum deal in the whole DeflateGate scandal...

The man is one of the most seasoned and decorated quarterbacks to play the game today, so to believe he wasn't aware of the deflated balls is just utterly ridiculous, we aren't talking about a rookie here. 

It's not so much that he was aware of it prior, but more so that he didn't bring it to anyone's attention while it was going on, so it's still cheating. 

I personally think he got off easy.

MJM

“Dear Santa Claus”

I am writing you to express my disappointment with you and the way you handle your business.

For thirty-eight years now I have been getting the short end of the candy cane, I’ve been treated like an outcast as if I was a toy from The Island of Misfit Toys.

My whole life I tried to be the best me I could possibly be, all with the hopes of ending up on your “nice” list, and avoiding your “naughty” list as if it was a homeless person begging for change.

Here is one example of what I am talking about.

When I was younger I would ask for Transformers, but to my dismay you never delivered, not even one of those crappy mini cars like Cosmos, that transformed into a frigging UFO.

Instead I would end up with something called Morphers, and they wouldn’t even transform into cool things like jets or cars, but rather lame things like chairs and pencils.

You couldn’t even give me GoBots for gosh darn sakes (pardon my language), which was just Transformers on meth.

I won’t even get into the whole G.I. Joe fiasco…G.I. Bob, what were you thinking.

Now I could go on and on about how you wronged me, but since you’re constantly watching me (perv) I’m sure you already know so I won’t bother.

My point isn’t to cry over your past mistakes, but to correct things moving forward so for once in my life when I wake up Christmas morning and I rush to the tree to see what you brought me I won’t be disappointed.

Is that really too much to ask for?

Considering the shape of the world today I’m pretty sure you’re not all that busy dropping off gifts for all the good girls and boys, honestly you could probably even keep your “nice” list on a Post-it note, so don’t even try it.

We also all know that most of the world just needs water and food, so as the saying goes, ”Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime”.

So with that being said, teach them to catch those flies that are constantly buzzing around their heads as if they were Mr. Miyagi and they’ll eat like kings.

As for water, I say to forgo altogether, because it’s highly overrated.

Give them all the Faygo they can drink, send the whole factory there if possible because no one really drinks that crap here anyways, well no one except for those crazy rapping clowns but who really cares about them.

So there you go, that solves that problem and frees up more of your time to spend on me.

If for some reason you still find yourself pressed for time, wear adult diapers like that psychotic female astronaut did when she was playing beat the clock on her way to open a can of whoop ass on some other chick, it obviously helped her.  

Losing a little bit of weight wouldn’t hurt either, replace that bowl full of jelly with a six pack and you’ll be surprised how much easier things will be on you.

And nose like a cherry, come on who are you trying to kid here, do yourself a favor and stay off the junk.

By the way, while I’m thinking about it.

Stop giving me clothes and other nonsense like that, because obviously if I wanted them I would go buy them myself, understood?

Just because I have gray hair and wince in pain when I bend down does not mean I want old people stuff, just keep the toys and video games coming, and I’ll let you know when to stop.

Well there’s where I stand, and I’m really hoping that this letter has opened your eyes and moving forward you will do the right thing by me.

For whatever reason things don’t change, you can expect another strong worded letter from yours truly, and maybe even a reindeer head in your bed when you wake up the day after Christmas.

P.S. No milk and cookies for you until you get your act together you fat bastard, not hating, just saying.

P.S.S. Keep your elves, or as I like to call them Christmas midgets, away from me or I will pounce on them like a rabid dog. Nothing personal, they just freak me out.

MJM

“Racism”

With all the recent events that have unfolded lately spotlighting the issue of racism in our society I thought it only proper that we speak about it, and hopefully with a lot of hard work and dedication we can squash it all together and see past the color of a person’s skin and accept them for who they are on the inside.

Let’s call it like it is, we are all racist in one way or another, at one time or another we have all been guilty of being racist.

Have you ever told a racist joke and/or laughed at one, have you ever used a derogatory term to describe someone of a particular race and/or have you ever felt uncomfortable around a group of people who weren’t the same race as you, if so you’re racist.

Granted because someone tells a joke at another race’s expense doesn’t mean they are going home and lacing up their Doc Martens and hailing Hitler, but nevertheless it is still racism.

We as a whole need to change the way we think.

Racism is not as “black and white” as we are led to believe, there is a lot of gray area that needs to be rectified too, that’s if we ever truly hope to make headway in the battle.

Some people want to make themselves look good by saying all the right things at all the right times but then when safely home behind locked doors (for the lack of better words) letting their true colors show.

Turn on any cable news talk show and watch every last one on the panel being as politically correct as can be; they avoid ruffling and feathers or stepping on toes.

This does not solve anything, all it does it put a band-aid on the problem with the hopes of it sticking long enough until thing simmer down.

Then we have the people who cry racism every chance they get, whether it’s warranted or not, without knowing all the facts and/or looking at the big picture.

These kinds of individuals just know that people of different races are experiencing difficulties and they carelessly and without regard for their actions want to add more fuel to the fire.

Al Sharpton is a perfect example of this, a true trouble maker in every sense of the word; of course he wants things to boil over because it justifies his position as the self-appointed mouth piece for African American people.

This man doesn't care about the people, but rather the color, where is he when a white person is wronged and/or mistreated because of the color of their skin (believe it or not it happens)?

He is nowhere to be found, so in all fairness he himself is a racist, and part of the problem not the solution.

Finally we have the individuals who feel the need to riot and loot because they weren’t satisfied with a particular outcome, completely uncalled for and it does nothing to help the issue at hand.

All you’re doing is hurting other innocent people in the process who had absolutely nothing to do with the outcome, and does that make things better?

If you want to do something, help out the family who you feel was wronged, show them that they are not alone in their time off need and that there are good people out there who are willing to lend a hand to help them rebuild their lives for the better.

Trust me I am 100% certain that most people who just lost a loved one would rather have a shoulder to lean on for support over people vandalizing and destroying everything in sight all supposedly in the name of the deceased.

This type of behavior tarnishes the memory of those who you claim to be fighting for, leaves the masses angry and even more hate filled than before, so all in all it is not the way to go.

Think peace; follow the example of some of the great leaders of our time such as Martin Luther King, Jr. or Mahatma Gandhi, these men were able to get their points across in a nonviolent, but meaningful and powerful way.

They led with peace and love not by an iron fist and fear, the spoke of truth and equality not with a forked tongue...just something to think about.

Being a white man I can’t say that I have ever felt the magnitude of its power firsthand; for the most part I have always been on the outside looking in, however I can clearly see the devastation it is bringing upon our society and our people as a whole and that does not make me happy.

We must all work together to kill this monster, regardless of race, because otherwise things are only going to get worse.

MJM

“The Ayes ‘I’s Have It”

Here are some secrets that I never told anyone about myself, have fun reading them but please do me a favor and do not tell anyone else, just keep it between us…okay.

I…

…Sometimes cry myself to sleep, but that's only because I toss and turn a lot during the night, and unfortunately end up getting my boys wrapped up in the sheets.

…Think I'm built like a Greek god, well more like a Greek slob, but who's keeping score.

…Sometimes feel like an addict, a pumpkin spice junkie, if I could I would smoke it like it was crack…it sucks when it is no longer pumpkin season because then I’m stuck smoking yams, and they are nowhere near as good.

…Sometimes gangsta rap in the shower, sure I make as much sense as Mushmouth from Fat Albert and sound like Herman Munster on crack, but my imaginary audience loves it and that’s what keeps me pushing forward.

…Am racist when it comes to my porn, well actually more like jealous, because I can't watch anything with an African American male in it without experiencing a “sizeable” insecurity...but I'm okay with Asian men.

…Sometimes sneak into those big warehouse stores on the weekends and gobble up all the free samples I can, makes me feel like a real rebel…a rebel without a clue, but nevertheless still a rebel.

…Sometimes make-believe that I’m a badass, a real law breaker, but then I start thinking of getting banged in the booty by some big hairy inmate in the joint and I quickly get snapped back into reality.

…Sometimes talk to myself, and yes I also answer myself, because what would be the point if I didn't, otherwise I might as well be talking to a brick wall, or my parents…why didn’t you ever listen to me mommy.

…Still find myself laughing at certain words that aren’t necessarily meant to be dirty, but sound as if they are, for example duty, crack and wet…just to name a few.

…Once tried to see what I would look like as a woman while looking in the mirror, I tucked my junk between my legs and pushed my shoulders forward with my arms crossed in front to deliver the full effect, but I had to stop because I found myself getting turned on and grossed out all at the same time.

…Spend more time picking out my porn for my masturbation sessions than I do my clothes for work for the next day, but it doesn’t really make much sense since I know my body better than O.J. Simpson knows how to turn people into human Pez dispensers, so needless to say the party is over shortly after the first guest arrives.

…Find it rather difficult to order items off the menu in fast-food restaurants without laughing, mainly because the names they give their meals/sandwiches are just so stupid sounding it’s pretty hard not to.

…Sometimes fart in the tub and pretend it’s a Jacuzzi, just so I could see how the other half lives.

…Sometimes pretend to be a racecar driver when I’m in the car, like I’m in one of those Fast and Furious movies, but then I see a cop and the script quickly flips to Driving Miss Daisy.    

Well there you go, now you know more about me then you ever wanted to know, and I don’t know if it’s possible to think any less of me than you already do, but if so have at it and enjoy.

MJM

“Blog-to-Blog Sex Toy Salesman”

I used to be a door-to-door salesman, I sold sneaker insurance but no one was buying, I also sold vacuum cleaners that both sucked and blew but that wasn't paying the bills, so I had to get with the digital times and try something new.

I decided to become a blog-to-blog salesman, visiting blogs from around the web and trying to unload my goods and/or services with the hopes of turning a profit, and not getting any virtual doors slammed in my face in the process.

So now I have a mission, but I still need to figure out something to sell.

What do people need to that I could offer them, what could I bring to the masses that everyone could use and at the same time would enjoy using? 

I got it…I would sell sex toys!

I would sell used toys for the people out there who were cheap and nasty, you know the individuals who are always looking to save a buck and who are not too concerned about getting an STD in the process.

I would even sell some higher end merchandise like sybians, you know for those who like a little extra horsepower with their masturbation.

I would offer a wide assortment of butt plugs, plugs with colorful hair attached so that people could fulfill their fantasies of being a real My Little Pony, plugs that were also whistles so that if the plugie had to pass gas while wearing it the sound would be a little more pleasant.

I would sell dildos in all shapes, sizes and colors, some so large that they could substitute as a baseball bat for Paul Bunyan, and some so tiny they could be used by Charolette while she’s getting down and dirty on her web.

I would also sell blowup dolls that came with their own “in case of emergency” kits, which included a can of Fix-a-flat and a roll of duct tape; we can’t let the good times stop just because someone sprung a leak.

So it goes without saying that I would try to have a little something for everybody, gay or straight, man or woman, none of that matters as long as your credit card isn’t declined, it’s all good.

Now here are some of my success, and horror, stories for your reading pleasure.

Twitter: @SleepyBard

Here is Starr’s (from The Insomniac's Dream) recollection of that fateful day:

When MJM came knocking on the virtual door of my blog, I was beside myself.

  

“MJM has finally come to pick me up, whisk me off to a Comic-Con and then spend all night playing Marvel Legendary with me!” I foolishly thought.

No, the bastard only came by to try and sell me something.  I hate salesmen, and I especially hate anyone who knocks on my door and interrupts my day.

 

“I don’t want any,” I started to push the door closed, but MJM stopped it from shutting with his laughably large clown foot. 

“Starr,” he said, very seriously with intense and creepy eye contact, “You’re going to want to see what I have.”  He even wiggled his eyebrows.  What a fucking creeper.

With a sigh of resignation I stepped aside and motioned MJM into my foyer.  Moments later we were seated on the love seat, steaming mugs of coffee in hand (because I’m a fantastic hostess), and a large briefcase between us.  He assured me that, if I liked what I saw, there was more down in the car.

MJM opened the briefcase with a flourish and much fanfare, and the lights of Heaven shone out of that attaché, a crescendo of music fit for angels played, and my eyes opened wide in wonderment.  I shuddered as the chills crept over me.

“Just what I need,” I gasped.  “How did you know?”

MJM  just winked at me, and pointed to the brochure sticking out of the case, crammed in amidst all of the wonderful sex toys.   All sizes and shapes, in every color of the rainbow, those plastic and rubber phallic symbols beckoned me to play. 

I had to be patient.  I needed to see what else he had for sale, I needed to leaf through the brochure. 

After I had ordered one of everything, I couldn’t wait to get started playing with my new toys.  I was so excited, I could barely contain myself.  I was actually rubbing my hands together in anticipation, drooling with excitement of things to come.  (pun intended)

As I walked with MJM to the front door to retrieve my brand new Sybian from his car, I realized my folly.  What was I doing spending all of this money on inanimate objects for my afternoon of delight when I had a perfectly – well, mostly just okay – viral (somewhat) man in my presence?  MJ was the nerd I’d always lusted after, and here he was, in my house, and I was about to send him away for some alone time with buzzing replicas of the real thing.

“Wait,” I said.

MJM turned to look at me, and I smiled. 

“You wanna see my Harley Quinn costume?” I asked.  “I have a Joker costume you can wear,” I enticed.

MJM jumped on me, knocking me to the floor, and had his lips fused to mine faster than a fat kid attacks a cake. 

Eventually, we did make it back upstairs to play Joker and Harley, many, many wonderful and memorial (mostly just okay) hours (full disclosure, it was really just a few minutes) later.  In case you’re wondering, dear reader, we made use of those toys, too.

Twitter: @TToombs08

Here is Terrye’s (from Asshat Rants) recollection of that fateful day:

It was another hotter than hell day in the city that was built on the face of the sun, also known as Phoenix. The kid and the dog were both down with the screaming shits and I thought my day couldn’t get any worse. But as usual, it did. My cell phone began to ring and without checking the number I answered it. I should have known better; it was my mother-in-law. This is never, ever a good thing.

“Hello?” I answered, distracted by the fully loaded pull up I was holding at arm’s length as I carried it to the trash can.

“Hi, Terrye, it’s Kathy. I wanted to remind you guys that Meagan’s birthday is next week and she’s turning 30. We want to make it a big deal.”

My mother-in-law makes no effort to hide her favoritism. She never sends birthday presents or Christmas presents to me, my husband or our son. Yet, she insists that we shell out money for presents for people that never acknowledge our existence. Or recognize the gifts we send. If you can’t buy friends, you certainly can’t buy relatives.

“Nope, I haven’t forgotten. I found the perfect present for her and it’s going out in the mail tomorrow. No worries,” I lied my ass off, as usual.

“Oh good. I wish you all could be here for the big party. We rented a hall and got a local band, and…”

“I wish we could, too,” I cut her off, “but I have to go. Collin has the smelliest case of the shits I have EVER come across. It’s running down his legs and I need to get him into the shower before he gets it all over the place.”

“Ok. Don’t forget to send out Meagan’s present.” She may have said more, but I hit the “END” button on my phone and chucked it onto the sofa before turning to my attention to my son’s predicament. Yep, my day got a whole lot worse.

I finally managed to stem the tide of the unholy shit storm and decided to celebrate by jumping on the interwebs and checking my social networks. Quietly demanding my attention was an email with the subject line “Sex toys for your every need.” As I was about it send it to a spammy death, a little voice in the back of my brain begged me, perversely, to click on it. Who am I to say no to that?

This was the answer to my birthday present dilemma! A used butt plug with a happy “My Little Pony” rainbow tale! And they even gift wrapped for a small fee. Perfect. I was hoping that it came with a plethora of STDs as a bonus gift. I merrily placed my order and with a devious smile, hit the purchase and ship button. As an added special little touch, the enclosed birthday greeting read, “Our dearest Meagan, I hope the enclosed gift reminds you of all those sexual adventures you had in your teen years when your career as a porn star was beginning to take off. Happiest of birthdays! Love, Us!”

The perfect gift for an uptight, Mormon woman. MJM saved my day.

Twitter: @MandiCLBT

Here is Mandi’s (from Cellulite Looks Better Tan) recollection of that fateful day:

Today was anything but typical. I woke up early, and per my usual, reached over to pat Morty only to realize, like the last 124 mornings, that he’s not here and that he’s never coming back. I pressed my nose to his pillow and inhaled, searching for his unique musky scent. My mind may play tricks on me, but I swear I can still smell him in this house. I wiped my eyes and reached over to the nightstand, pulled out a Virginia Slim, pressed it to my lips and watched as the flame hit the end and the cherry burned orange. The only saving grace of Morty’s passing is that I can smoke again without his smug looks or pretend coughs. I took a long drag staring at the empty room, and tried to talk myself into getting out of bed. After two more cigs, I pushed myself from my bed and threw on my robe.

I walked into my kitchen, poured a double gin martini, sat down at my bar, and flipped open my laptop. Imagine my surprise when I typed in my URL imissmymorty.com and saw the orange light on my blog indicating someone had commented on one of my posts. My first comment!! I went straight to the comments and gasped when I read the first sentence.

Are you lonely?

I swallowed a big swig of gin and read on, nodding my head to the question. 124 days of solitude aside from the niceties of the people at the market and the liquor store. Yes, I’m lonely. Married for 29 years and then all of a sudden, my Morty gasps in the middle of our love making and dies on top of me. He suffered from a massive heart attack, and I only have myself to blame, myself and my raucous untamed libido. I continued to read.

When was the last time you had good sex?

I wondered why he was commenting these things on my blog dedicated to Morty’s memory, but my curiosity got the best of me, so I continued reading through the comment.

Would you like to have earth shattering orgasms again? Ask me how…

At first I was flabbergasted at the audacity of this person shaming me on my blog, asking me too personal questions. I slammed my lap top shut, chugged the rest of the martini, and stormed out of the room. I sat down on my sofa and turned on Guiding Light. In the opening scene, Jemma watched Maximus finish up his piano solo. When the crowd cleared, she sauntered to him, unbuttoning her blouse as she walked. As she reached him, he grabbed her tiny waist and pulled her onto the piano. He ripped her blouse away, revealing her ample breasts barely covered by a lacey bra and rubbed his chin over her collarbone. I began rubbing my legs together, squirming uncomfortably on my couch, realizing it had been quite a while since I had in fact had an orgasm. Grief and loneliness had enveloped me since Morty’s passing so much so that orgasms seemed selfish and frankly like too much work.

I ran back to my lap top, logged onto my blog and replied to the commenter.

Yes, I’m lonely. The last time I had good sex was 124 days ago. I would very much love to have an earth shattering orgasm right now, maybe even two.  How? Please, for the love of God tell me how…

I sat for a minute staring at my screen. Then the orange light lit up again.

All you need is a credit card and a delivery address. I sell sex toys. Anything you like. Would you like to view my online catalog?

I thought for approximately twenty-two seconds.

Nope, I don’t need to see anything. I’ll take three of the best vibrators you have. And throw in something to surprise me. Something the other ladies love. Can I get it overnight?

Another couple of seconds later.

You bet.

I smiled at my lap top with visions of Maximus’ chest pressed against mine in my head.

I’ll Paypal you. Thank you.

I lit another cigarette, poured myself another martini thinking, tomorrow I will start with day one again.  Then I went into my bedroom, stripped my bed, and washed my sheets.

Now that you've read what these three lovely ladies had to say in regard to their experience with me and my sex toys, make sure you go check out their sites and send them some love, they totally deserve it.

MJM

“The ABCs of Perversion”

Now this piece isn’t going to be about The Jackson 5 and their hit song “ABC”, or a trip down good old Sesame Street to get your learn on, so if you’re easily offended and/or looking for some of that wholesome humor that you would find on Lifetime you’re in the wrong place.

This is a list of the ABCs of Perversion, a list of things that would make Andrew Dice Clay blush, or at least feel a little uneasy about.

A is for ass, and not as in donkey or Obama, but rather the backside of an individual. Now some are nice and firm, and others are flat and nasty, but no matter how you cut it an ass is an ass.

B is for balls, and not the kind you bounce (ouch), but rather the kind that holds the ammo and fires when the timing is right.

C is for cock, and not the a doodle doo kind, but rather the kind that enjoys a good stroking every now and then, and when left to its own devices can get its human counterpart into a lot of trouble.

D is for dildo, which provides many females with pleasure without all the extra baggage and drama that comes with being with a man. And they don’t have to fake it when using one to avoid hurting its ego like they do when with a man.

E is for ejaculation, which is just about the best feeling in the world…enough said.

F is for fart, which can be both gross and funny all at the same time; it is the true laughing gas but also the original room clearer.

G is for grab, which is what I want to do to all those lovely lady parts I see walking around, but of course I refrain because I don’t want to get kicked in the nuts and/or thrown in the joint as a result of doing so. It’s also for gag, which is what I want to do when I see those nasty lady parts running around, especially here in Florida.

H is for hanky panky, which is what happens when two (sometimes more) people get together when their motors are running and sex on the brain.

I is for ice, which could be used to arouse and stimulate certain body parts when things get hot in the bedroom.

J is for Jergens, which can be used when your skin is dry, and when it requires a little extra lubrication to get things moving in the right direction, back and forth like the shake weight.

K is for kiss, which is not just for the lips, it can be done all over and often as you like, and even on the ass without the fear of being known as an ass kisser as a result of it.

L is for lick, which is what you want to do when you come across a freak with a body as sweet as candy, and just like an ice cream cone you want to make sure to do it all over.

M is for masturbate, which is a great way to pass the time and to help relieve stress, and just like in the movie Field of Dreams, if you stroke it, it will come…or maybe that was Jurassic Pork.

N is for nipple, which are a lot of fun to pinch, suck and flick, depending on the person you’re with.

O is for orifice, which in a way is like playing Whack-a-mole with your penis, aim to the right hole with your hammer and try to whack the mole. Boi oi oing.

P is for pink, which all the best parts on a lady are.

Q is for quest, which is what you feel like you’re on when you’re trying to bed the person you’re with, some quests are easier than others, that much is for sure.

R is for restraints, which can be very sensual if done right and not against your partner’s will.

S is for sex, which is really the only thing worth living for, and is great alone but better with a partner(s), kind of like playing video games.

T is for t-shirts, which make boobs look great, one chest at a time.

U if for undies, which are great to pull down, just not up because no one likes a wedgie.

V is for vagina, which is really the supreme ruler of the world, whatever the vagina wants it gets.

W is for wet, which is what you hope to have the female in your life when the time and mood is right.

X is for x rated, which is what all the good movies are rated.

Y is for yes, which is the word you love to hear when your motors running but you’re not sure if your partner’s is.

Z is for zipper, which is like pulling back the curtain to reveal the great and powerful wizard of Oz, except you’re not looking for a heart, courage or a brain behind the curtain.

Well there you have it, the ABCs of perversion brought to you by the crazy mind of a man whose brain is stuck on horny around the clock.

MJM