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– (continue reading…)

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.