Well if that isn’t the damnedest title you have read today… you and I should be friends!!! The wacky world of behind the scenes porn is getting even weirder (and sadder) with the passing of Percy Foster – most noted for his striking resemblance to celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay.

Now, according to the UK rag The Sunday Sport, Foster was found in an underground lair populated by badgers. Yup you read that right. Apparently those kooky Brits were planning on gassing the entire infestation of badgers just days after the discovery of Fosters body. Your guess is as good as mine on why or what he was doing down there…

This is what can happen if you tell your significant other that you prefer Pippa Middleton’s Royal Butt to her’s.

I mean, DAYUM, that’s one angry woman.  I certainly wouldn’t be cruising the town like this.

TIP:  If you ROYALLY piss off your woman to the point she retaliates like above, mild detergent and warm water will take most of the paint off.  Also polish with acetone.  Just be careful with the latter to stop when you get to your vehicles paint.

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…)

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.

I’m not a political person.  Frankly, that shit gives me a headache.  That being said, every now and then I come across a cause that gets my attention.  Case in point: Masturbate For Peace.  Now that’s a crusade that’s not just mental or moral masturbation—it’s actual masturbation, which as you know, I’m a big supporter of.

Playing with guns

As turnkey solutions go, spanking the money has gotta be near the top of ready-to-go fixes.  It’s hard to fly a stealth bomber or nail pink-mist headshots with your dick flapping away in your hand (or so I assume, hope).  Furthermore, a sexually gratified man isn’t gonna fly off the handle and say, bomb a country back into the Stone Age.  Unless of course you’re a Republican.

So you’ve been banging the same chick for a good long while.  She may be your wife, your girlfriend, or just some strange you keep around, whatever the case may be, things are not as they used to be.  You find yourself thinking about Home Depot or Golf mid-coitus.  You can tell, more or less, that she’s in the same boat.  Bad News Bears! What to do, what to do?

Could be worse, I suppose… she could be a corpse

The solution to this conundrum is easy—ANAL SEX! “Drop it in her pooper,” my Uncle Fart used to say.  How right he was.  Straight up, ass fucking is the most potent antidote to bedroom malaise.   Nothing short– (continue reading…)

I don’t know how lesbian couples manage it, all those feminine emotions slurping and grinding off of each other in a stew of estrogen, pussy juice, and anxiety.  As much as I love—LOVE—the idea of girl-on-girl action, it’s hard for me to actually fathom their day to day bullshit, the clinginess, the bitchiness, and I won’t even mention the monthly double dose of PMS.

We're really really close, all the time

I know what you’re thinking: Who cares about lesbos when they’re not wrist deep in elastic hole!  Hey, I’m with you.  I’d rather not think about these banalities, but my curiosity, my need for a little context in my masturbation, demands I– (continue reading…)