So when I go to moderate the comments for the website occasionally I find posts from people who actual read and enjoy my writing… Well the enjoy part is arguable. However, what I find most often are posts not unlike the one Tracy left for me most recently.

Copywriters can take your marketing materials to a whole new level by the way they craft their words eating hairy penis. They can write original copy, or refresh existing copy as well as edit and proof promotional or publicity materials for print or electronic publication busty mom blowjob.

I did the world a favor and removed the links from the text but you get the idea. I wish I had that kind of creativity.

Am I to believe that copywriters craft their words while eating hairy penis? and where does electronic publication busty mom blowjob fit in?

Cant wait to see how many search engine hits I get after this one.

Gotta go! Dinners ready and it smells like hairy penis again!

She smelled of sex. It was mind numbing. Her lipstick had pulled outside of the confines of her lips, dragged out onto her chin and various places it obviously should not have been. Her eyes lightly rolled back into her head leaving no doubt that she was under the influence of a litany of psychotropic drugs. Her chest heaved as she moved in my direction. she flipped her hair back. A flash of glistening metal. She had been modified. A shaft of medical grade stainless steel implanted directly behind the right ear. At specific intervals a dose of a high quality derivative of MDMA was injected directly into the ventral tegmentum. I’ve often wondered if Fritz Haber’s intent was to aid in the creation of mindless sexual automatons for the personal use of the rich and powerful in the 21^st century.

In my line of work I have often had the misfortune of running into individuals such as this young woman. She once had a life, plans, dreams and family. Now her dreams consisted of heavy petting and hot violent copulation. The first time I encountered one of these poor souls I was not aware of the reality of the situation until my pants were around my ankles and she was bent over the hood of my Chrysler. Her screams were, I’m sure heard in the next province as I took core samples. Once I understood that her advances were not made at the behest of my stunning good looks I was appalled and even a little hurt. I held her down and unscrewed the reservoir of drugs from her skull. I now know that there is no going back for these people. The unspeakable acts that are performed on these young women are only tolerated under the influence of massive quantities of massively expensive drugs. The girl I liberated is now spending the rest of her life in a maximum security mental institution. The last male guard assigned to her cell block was found with his cock manually removed and forced into his lower intestine. I suppose it’s arguable that she was better off before I got to her.

I was standing in one of worlds best known underground members only sex clubs. I struggled to keep the whiskey in my glass as a lovely young lady who may have once been a literature major savagely pawed at my meaty parts. Just another day at the office. Lawrence Bishop was a revolting meatball of a man. I smelled his cheap cologne before I saw him. The irony that this man could buy and sell entire countries and yet still insisted on wearing the most inexpensive cologne available was not lost on me.

“Stacy! Come here!”

Bishops voice was all at once commanding and nauseating. Stacy’s head snapped in his direction as her hand froze on my manhood. Her eyes again began to burn with unexplainable passion as she sauntered over to Bishop and ran her hands over his elephantine chest.

“You will have to excuse Stacy here. If it has a cock she wants a piece of it.”

“If she didn’t you might never get laid Bishop.”

Bishop threw back his head and his numerous chins jiggled as he let out a horrendous gurgling laugh. Stacy looked up at me hungrily as she pulled Bishop’s flaccid lesion covered cock out of his pants.

“That’s why I like you Evan’s you don’t pull any punches do you, you old son of a bitch?”

I turned away from repulsive scene next to me and looked at the bartender as I drank down the rest of my whiskey. I needed to get this over with and soon.

“McCarthy sent me Bishop.”

Bishop ran his meaty paw through Stacy’s matted hair while I watched reality sink into his thick skull. I caressed the handle of the knife in my jacket pocket.

“And what precisely does Mr. McCarthy want from me?”

The bartender poured me another drink. Bishop continued,

“You can tell him he can have his daughter back if that would make things right between us.”

I swallowed the whiskey feeling it warm my stomach. I turned to face Bishop trying to avoid taking in the vision of Stacy suckling at his mutilated cock.

“You and I both know it’s too late for Stacy to go back. She can never truly go back.”

In one deft move I pulled my blade from my jacket and plunged all ten inches into Bishop’s non existent neck. Blood sprayed across the room spattering various stunned rich and powerful men. He fell to the ground clawing at the crimson gash. I bent down and pulled the knife from his body allowing more of his vital juices to splash out onto the floor. I wiped the blade on his 10,000 dollar Fioravanti suit and lit up a 5 cent smoke. I made my way to the door as Stacy continued to ravish the corpse of what was once one of the most powerful men in the world.

Like most straight men with a set of testicles hanging from between their legs there’s a part of me somewhere that wishes I was capable of performing the ol’ fuck and flee on any pretty young girl which causes the blood to flow in all the right places. Unfortunately for me and fortunately for a few pretty young girls my parents chose to raise me with some respect for the fairer sex. It’s this engrained belief which has resulted in missing out on more than a few nights of filthy no-strings raunchy sex. On the second night of my first US tour I had one of the most painful experiences regarding my inability to treat women as objects. I had a girlfriend at the time and as if it’s not hard enough to be away from you significant other there also just happens to be all kinds of girls willing to offer their bodies for single serving use simply because you’re in a band. The show was in Seattle and there was a blonde girl with a figure that was capable of throwing babies into seizures. It was painfully obvious that this young lady was desperate to get a chance to try to damage my sensitive parts. And good god did I ever want them damaged. The way she presented it seemed like a perfect idea regardless of what any girlfriend’s, wives or priests had to say about it. Despite the fact that there was a part of me making a list of all the depraved acts I wanted to perform in, on, around and to her we had to leave that night to play Vancouver the next day. I proceeded to explain this to her and mentioned that she should ‘come on out’, as if it was just short drive across town to drop off some movies to the video store. I hopped in the van to leave certain that I would never see this girl again. However it seemed that this young lady was far more persistent than I gave her credit for. She did show up in Vancouver and this time she had brought back up. Between them, these three girls had enough curves to give a café racer wood for months. During our set I watched these predatory sex demons point at me while exchanging what I’m sure we’re tactical methods any army would kill for. After we had finished playing, they descended like vultures.

“We’ve got a hotel room a few blocks from here,” they told me “we’re just gonna go back and get naked. You should come over.”

‘Yes’ I thought, ‘I should come over. I should come right over. In fact we should leave right now. I’m not sure I have enough time to preform all the depraved acts I have written down in my note book here. Times a wastin!’

Although the reality the reality of the situation was that I didn’t say that in fact I didn’t say anything like that.

“Umm… That sounds really cool. I mean… I would love nothing more than to go back to your hotel where the three of you will be uhh… Naked. But I you know… Have a girlfriend”

I had figured that the unveiling of this information would be just cause for these ladies to relinquish their campaign. However, the one flaw in my rational was due to the fact that I had yet to learn one universal truth. That being that most girls wanna get laid as much as most guys do. The statements that followed were not unlike the ones I received later upon relating this story to many of my male friends.

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

“It doesn’t count if it’s in another area code”

“When are you ever going to get a chance to have sex with three girls at once?”

It was this last rebuttal which had almost caused me crumble. I’d like to tell you that I’ve had plenty of chances to have sex with three girls at once. Perhaps I have and just didn’t realize it but I can tell you this; none since have been served in such a blatant and enticing fashion.

The four of us went back and forth for a while I leaned on the flimsy crutch of an excuse that was having a girlfriend. Finally they relented.

“Look, we’re gonna go back to the hotel take all our clothes of and smoke some pot. If you decide you wanna come by here’s the room number”.

So I stood there holding the golden ticket watching them walk away while they pawed at each others asses which I’m sure were the flavor of some exotic candy the likes of which I would never taste. As regret washed over me like a punch to the groin a friend of mine walked over and asked me,

“What the fuck did you just do?”

As I explained to him what I had repeatedly told my hunters it started to sound even more ridiculous.

“You’re a jackass.” He declared as he snatched the hotel number from my hand and disappeared into the night. I didn’t see him til the next day when he showed up at my hotel room. I had tried desperately not to think of the kinds of things that had gone on in that hotel room but I knew there was no way he was going to let me live in comfortable ignorance. He walked right up to me with a satisfied and smug look on his face smiled and said,

“Wanna smell my fingers?”

I told him that I couldn’t. I had a girlfriend after all.

Invariably throughout ones life you will cross paths with individuals who’s very being could not have been scripted any better than if they had been created lock and stock by the most creative script writers the world has to offer. I have been fortunate enough to intersect with said persons on a regular basis in the course of my life. One such character was Stuart Richardson the Third. It seemed that from childhood Stuart was destined to be of the colorful variety. Perhaps, had he been allowed to keep his birth name which happened to be the decidedly bland Todd he may have been a less interesting character. However, as fate would have it he would have an entirely different destiny. It would happen that in his fifth year just as young Todd Richardson was begin to cultivate a stronger sense of self just as any child would do that death would intervene. Upon the death of Todd’s grandfather Stuart Richardson the First his parents, caught in the rapture of a sudden fit of irreparable sentimentality thought it best to carry on the family name. Rather than waiting until they brought forth a second son, (which they managed to do a few years later in Kyle Richardson) they chose to erase young Todd’s identity and begin anew.

“Your grandfather has died. Secondly you shall hence for be known as Stuart Richardson the Third.”

Granted this is some fairy heavy shit to lay on a five year old, however in the grand scheme of things I am sure that this event had no more damage on Stuarts psyche than any number of parental debacles which we all must endure as humans as a matter of course.

I met Stu in high school. It was at this point in his life when he began to sew the seeds of an interesting and sometimes entertaining internal dichotomy. It would seem that Stu was beginning to have a hard time marrying his fascination of lower class culture and his inarguable upper class up bringing. Perhaps this is why Stu was drawn to me. I could often glimpse a deep and unexplainable longing in his eyes whenever he came to my house and was presented without fail at least one dilapidated car in the driveway which did not run and which no one had the desire to make do so. I would listen as he spoke wistfully about someday renting a house with a car sitting on blocks in a dead and oil soaked front lawn, of filthy shirtless children running about unchecked and being looked down at by the neighbors. However, regardless of his deep infatuation with white trash ethos he still held strong allegiance to his parents who had reworked his identity for him so many years ago. He focused his attention to fine art of mechanichry of which his father hardily encouraged him. I’m sure assuming that it would be something that an adult Stuart would do with his time off from his well paid and secure state job which would offer him vast amounts of expendable income. Unfortunately for Stuart the Second this preoccupation would soon grow to be an obsession and a steadfast part of young Stuies identity.

When Stu wasn’t working on his cars we were going to see punk shows, drinking and smoking ungodly amounts of marijuana. In hindsight I find it incredible that were not arrested on a more regular basis. Even when Stuart wasn’t getting himself into situations which were unequivocally illegal he was finding his way into incidents which were amazing and often downright bizarre. Fortunately for my catalog of life experiences from which to write about I was there on more than a few occasions either watching mouth agape or actively participating.

More often than not while we were in high school the situations Stu found himself in were pertaining to the procurement of women and the hard fought battle to attain intercourse. There was not much within the bounds of minimal good taste that Stu wasn’t willing to do to get laid. Perhaps it the way in which he persistently requested a “Suckjob” or the frequency with which he pushed drinks on his victims in hopes to lubricate the path to intercourse which often left the young lady becoming “too drunk to fuck”. Regardless it would seem that he didn’t start getting enough of what he desperately desired until he stopped trying so desperately to make it happen.

One occasion which I found then to be endlessly amusing took place the night of a high school dance. Stu had managed to secure himself a date as had I so we chose to go together. His excitement was quite simply uncontainable and it radiated around him. Truth be told was quite happy for him and it seemed that his consistent badgering of the farer sex had paid off in a date with a lovely young lady. As we prepared ourselves for the evening I was at some points quite certain that Stu would burst with anticipation. He vigorously applied copious quantities of deodorant from armpit to elbow as he endlessly and nervously rambled on in regards to this young lady’s unequaled beauty and unmistakable desire “to fuck”. Once Stu had dressed himself in the finest threads a thrift store would allow he straightened his bow tie, slammed a couple of beers to sooth his jangled nerves and announced that he was quite ready to pick up his charge for the evening.

It was decided that we would pick up his date first. As I drove us to the girls house Stu continued to make the case that THIS girl was the ONE. Frequently turning to me with a devilish grin to tell me that, “she’s gonna get it!” Frankly I was starting to believe it. We stopped on the street in front her house. Stu grabbed the rear view mirror with a complete lack of grace and pushed around his grease soaked hair. I lit a cigarette and Stu was out the door. He was half way up the walkway before I could even begin to offer some advice on the way to go about greeting his date. After my first cigarette I got out of the car and lit another logically assuming he was inside meeting the girl’s horrified parents. I shivered as I imagined the terror I would undoubtedly feel if I were a father and some young greasy punk reeking of cheap booze and cheaper cigarettes came to take my little girl away from me with the obvious intention of relentlessly violating her.

Just as I began to shake my waking nightmare Stu came walking back down the walkway, alone. It looked as if he had been hit by a truck. In a matter of a few moments his entire demeanor had taken a three-sixty. The girls father, I rationalized had doubtlessly forbidden her to go any where with this primate. I felt a huge wave of sorrow for Stuart and of relief for the young girl which had unknowingly dodged the flesh bullet. As he walked toward me Stu held up a piece of paper. Flabbergasted he looked me in the eye and said, “She killed herself!”

I grabbed the paper from his hands and proceeded to read the poor young girls last words.

“Just my fucking luck” Stu said as he lit a smoke and leaned against the car, “I find one that wants to fuck and she goes and fucking kills herself.”

I looked up from the note and gave him the look I reserve for guys that ask me if I’d like to have sex with a baby.

“What!?”

According to the note it seemed as if the girl just could not go on any longer. It appeared sincere enough but just as I began to ponder the odd concept of leaving a suicide note to your homecoming date I got to the part where she informed Stu that unfortunately, she was not going to be able to attend the dance with him as she was planning to be deceased.

Stu spent the rest of the evening drinking massive quantities of Natural Ice and regaling anyone who would listen with his tale of woe.

Unsurprisingly we later found that the young lady who had ended her life so early was not only very much alive but apparently quite well adjusted. Well, just maladjusted enough to break off a date by feigning suicide.

There are hundreds of thousands of us stinking of desperation and cheap cologne, stuffed into hip little bars all over your town. Our inexplicable loneliness is matched only by our unending need for validation at the hands of the opposing sex. Look into our shallow vapid eyes. Do you honestly believe that anything but a “good hard fuck” will make us feel alive? Do you really think that intelligence or stimulating conversation has ever been on, or ever WILL make the list of requirements? Sure, It comes right after a huge set of tits and the four hour massive erection. The only thing that has EVER made us feel alive is the trading of poorly veiled sexual innuendos and the grinding of vile stinking flesh. We’ve dismissed the concept of cerebral stimuli to the realm of the glitterati intelligentsia. We are the culmination of the cultivation of the most base human instincts.