Is it me, or is John Lennon one mushroom cap short of a cock.   And Yoko, come on, grow that hair another foot longer to cover up those most shapeless of boobs; keep the bush, hide the National Enquirer mountain lady tits.

Not as nice as his song writing

The above being said, this is perhaps the best celebrity photograph I’ve ever seen.  You don’t see many living legends today pose for a picture with a semi and no cock bulb and gross pancake udders.   Hats off to you, Mr. Lennon, for having balls, squashed in-between your legs as they may be here.  Hats off to you, Yoko, for also having balls, most likely tucked back, up your ass, cleverly hidden from sight. (Tranny?)

Sometimes I have to remind myself why I do this, work in porn, when there are so many opportunities in the manual labor and data entry industries—then it hits me like a Van Damme roundhouse kick to the jaw—I do it for the almighty rump.  Ass, thou art as beautiful as thou art divine.

Take this clip from Her First Anal Sex Volume 11, for example.  Just look at this sublime rear work itself against steely cock and happy balls.  This is the reason I get up in the morning, brush my teeth and wash my face, resist the urge to booze before breakfast: bum, do what you do and I’ll do what I do.

You’d figure with all the protein in there, a bellyful of spunk would be a good lean-muscle builder.  Apparently, it’s not.  Apparently, it a calorie a tadpole.  Just check out Brittney here.  I think she’s swallowed one too many times.  All kidding aside, Photoshop, you never cease to impress me.

Yeah, I’d still hit it!

Yep, this could be Brittney in twenty years if she keeps pounding back those Martinis and cum-filled schlongs–not that a little weight wouldn’t look good on the girl!  Hell, I think most women could use an extra twenty lbs in the truck and on the chest.  To quoth the immortal Sir Mix A Lot, “Make ‘em Round.”  My good friends, that where I stand.  Take yours!

Photoshop, you are a cruel mistress!  But I accept that ‘cause the alternative is unthinkable!  Yes, science is pretty badass these days, but I don’t think we’re at the point where we can forge perfect dicks out of thin air and attach them seamlessly to hot young babes.  Or at least, that’s what I hope.  I’m too old to feel confused.

Block the thought from your brain! Block it now!

Yes, the future holds some terrifying possibilities, both awesome and unsettling.  I imagine we’ll see this kind of shit in our lifetime, the total blurring of the genders at a biological level.  What diverse gangbangs will herald the Age of Aquarius! What wonders!  What troublesome feelings!

All men are born with a pair of very apt masturbatory tools: they are called hands.  Sure, we use these instruments of cock-caress for other purposes too–building civilizations, opening pickle jars, operating machine guns—but god mostly intended them for two things: scratching balls and jerking shaft.

The above being said, all men enjoy variety, especially when it comes to busting nuts.  And yes, sometimes Palm-ala just won’t cut it.  That’s why one must MacGyver it when Mr. Thick Dick so demands.  Women go for the vegetable crisper in these situations; we men head to the garage.  I’m not–

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Like it or not, sexy-time ain’t what it used to be.  For better or worse, the face of fucking has irreversibly changed.  Gone are the gestures of lit candles, fresh flowers, and poetic ramblings.  What we have now are backstreet fingerbangings, ass-to-mouth stank cocks, and bathroom blowjobs, with or without nasty coilers bowl-side.  Yep, it’s a brave new world, as clearly shown in the below clip from Sexed-up Teen Coeds Vol. 18.

Personally, I’ll take a dirty washroom suck over a leisurely bedroom blow any day of the fucking week.  Sure, it may be a little cramped and uncomfortable in there, but having your nads drained by a bathroom skank is huge turn-on, especially if that bathroom skank is your wife/girlfriend/significant other and is generally a prude when not possessed by dick lust.  Now as for piss smell, the jury is still out on that one.

If fashion has taught us anything, it’s taught us that fur is cool.  Now, I know what you’re thinking: does beaver on beaver cancel each other out like two negatives?  The answer is no, beaver on beaver, even faux beaver, always equals more beaver, which is good!  Hell, even side beaver is a sacred thing, in my books that is.

This is my underwear before laundry day

Sure, bushwhacking requires a certain amount of know how, patience, ruthless enthusiasm, and a nose that appreciates the finer stinks: that being said, reward is nothing without sacrifice.  What’s a few hairs stuck in the old gullet when your dick is on bat for the sucking of a lifetime.  What’s a pelvis bashed beak compared to a pelvis shafted penis.  Straight up, fur isn’t murder; it’s padding.

Most of us have heard the stories: the dude that shot his cock up with cocaine or something equally as FUCKING RETARDED! If you know what I’m talking about, you know that these stories never end well. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, just think painful week-long erection followed by amputation.

Social Darwinism at work

Drugs are for brains and whores, not cocks. Cocks are for fucking and pissing and the occasional photo bomb, that’s it.  No feeding or watering required.  Just wash the thing off every now and then and you’re good to go.  Dick cheese like needling fucking your cock-shaft, is going to end up with you being disappointed.

Okay, granted, sometimes my marksmanship is not what it should be, especially when I’m drinking and/or using a public toilet, but I won’t emasculate myself by swatting every goddamn time I gotta empty the old piss tank.  It’s not in the cards, not in this lifetime, probably not in the next several lifetimes or hereafters.

Most urinated-on sign in the history of bathroom signs

I’m not saying that I drench the walls, fill the sink, and splash on the floor.  What I’m saying is that nature/god/aliens/the ancient ones/whatever equipped us dude to tinkle standing up and that’s exactly what I intend to do until Judgment Day, and with any luck the judger on that day will also have a swinging dick and no time for bullshit.

Don’t just make love, plough hole most heinously.  Ream that shit in, hard.  Have some other bitch harass your lay while you smash glorious nuts against tenderized clit.  Finger that asshole, not with your pinky, but with your whole goddamn torso.  And don’t forget to forget the lube.   That shit is for pussies, no pun intended.

The above clip is taken from the film Ravenous and is an excellent example of coitus correctus.  Ideal sex involves at least three people, two of which are female.  Perfect love involves puckered rectums meeting puckered kissers.  Outstanding relations begin with doggie style and end in chaffed cock-head, purple pussy skin, and yawning sphincters.  Hey, them the rules.  I’m just the messenger.