Goodbye, Congressman Pervert!

People love their trivial distractions. When Congressman Anthony Weiner resigned today, the news media broke through the regular TV programming to announce his resignation over the lewd Twitter photos he sent. I happen to catch it before going out the door and running some errands in town.

When THE BREAKING NEWS thing flashed across the screen and the reporter said he was about to give everyone some important news, I was disappointed to find out it was only this bit of unworthy poop diddley. The way the reporter was frantically jabbering away, I thought the Chinese, the terrorists and North Korea were sending bombs our way or something.

But, no, just more hype over something trivial again. Boooooor-ring.

The reporter finally let loose with the potentially life-changing news by saying a politician was resigning over the erection Twitter pics he sent a young woman and they were going to show him doing his resignation speech on live TV.

To me, it might as well had been something as irrelevant as Charlie Sheen's maniacal rantings about winning or about Hugh Hefner's 25 year old fiancee calling off their wedding. That's what passes for news these days. I guess they figure people want to hear some shit that's more messed up than their own lives so they'll tune in, maybe even buy some crap because of the advertisements during the commercial breaks. Who knows? Big MEH!

I paused at the door just long enough to hear a heckler say, "Goodbye, pervert!"

At least the heckler, in the press conference area, was sending him off with a fond farewell, I thought. I stuck around for a few more seconds.

Then I had to laugh when the heckler asked the politician, Anthony Weiner, if he was more than 7 inches. That was funny. At least that part was a little surprising and offered some laughs.

I also read on the internet that CBS later bleeped that part out (the 7 inches) of the original video clip. That's too bad. At least it was actually funny. Hell, if you're going to distract people with nonsense, you should at least give them the full load. Wait. Maybe that didn't sound right.

The heckler said a few more things but then Weiner, the man that will always be known because of his infamous Internet boner pictures until the next big news comes along, stepped down from the podium.

Shrugging my shoulders, I went out the door and went into town, continuing my life as always.

Here's the uncut version of the BIG BREAKING NEWS.

Lion Tries To Eat Baby at Zoo

This is adorable. See the lion open up it's mouth real wide to... Well, I don't want to give too much away.



Lions are cute when they're that age. Wish I could say the same for that horrible little thing making all of that annoying noise.

The Spy Who Watched Me (again)

This is an oldie but goody kind of post. One I did a few years back when I was a complete nobody on the blogging scene. Hell, who am I foolin'? It's still that way, isn't it? Anyway, I thought I'd give ya a post that might have not gotten the attention that some of my most recent posts have gotten. Plus, I'm going to be too busy over the weekend to write up anything new. Aren't I the lazy fuck who doesn't give a proper shit? Speaking of crap, I hope you like this tasty offering.

Years ago, I worked at a hair care product distribution center. I'll refrain from giving up the name of this hell hole, not to protect the innocent, but because I don't want to encourage any shampoo/conditioner freaks, reading this, to buy this company's goddamn products.

While there, my co workers and I would pack product in kit boxes for salons, while the conveyor belt ran between the 40mph mark to a thousand (perhaps an exaggeration). If you didn't get your particular thing (shampoo, brush or whatever) in your box in time before it passed your sorry ass you would receive a hostile, verbal thrashing from the line leader, or worse yet, from the one above that position. The head honcho, herself. Nola. She had the pleasant face of a six hundred year old Shar Pei Dog. Wrinkles Ahoy, Matey!

If you happened to be daydreaming on the line about some hot babe and you also happened to be "sporting wood" or "raising the phallic flag" and Nola, happened to come out of the office and you caught sight of her, your wood would melt like butter or fall like a Oak Tree or just disappear, entirely. Poof!

I know from experience.

In one episode, during my time working there, some freak was wiping shit (his shit?) all over the men's restroom walls, stalls, floors and sinks. Most everyone agreed that it was someone that had an unhappy confrontation with Nola- which could have been anyone, actually. This Spreader of Poo made Nola very angry. It didn't really sit well with the rest of us, either. Our bathroom break times were shortened, for one thing. Plus, we were lectured by Nola every day for the next 2 weeks about the juvenile antics that we, supposed grown-ups, were not to engage in. Whoever the Crap Culprit was, he wasn't creative, in the least. He didn't spell his name or draw puppies on the walls with his poop, like some masterpieces I've seen in some gas station restrooms. But, I digress.

Nola's plan was simple and moronic. She instructed her all-too-loyal and obedient assistant, Chris, to remain stationed in the men's restroom to watch, almost 8 of the nine hours of the day, the male employees pee and poo. Of course, we were given a tiny crumb of dignity. When our backs were turned, while pissing in the urinal, Chris the Brown Noser, refrained, thankfully, from peeking over our shoulders. Good thing, too, because it was rumoured Chris might be bi-sexual. He could have been in trouble for sexual harassment if he had done any peeky boo-ing. So Chris did, as he was told, without question. For him, Nola's word was his command. Nola's reasoning behind her plan? She believed Chris would somehow get real lucky and catch some disgruntled, but apparently, non constipated imbecile, painting walls with own excrement.

Maybe the nasty bastard would be caught.... brown-handed.

Moving on in this tale....

Diligently, Chris would watch our backs while we peed and checked inside the toilet stalls, after one of us exited, for fresh shit decor on the walls and so forth.

Being the considerate guy I am, I poked fun at the somber, serious Chris whenever I entered and left the restroom. This seemed to bring about a certain amount of good cheer to everyone who heard my words of wit, during that time. For instance, I would say to Nola's assistant, "Ah, the Poo Peeper, how nice of you to watch me squirt." Chris' face remained the same, showing consternation at my jovial remark.

After all, it was the kind of job one took seriously.

Bad Service, Truths and Perceptions

There's been a lot of false starts, bad service, unwanted absence and too much of that unwanted shit and not enough of that preferable shit going on around here.

I hate to complain (actually, I quite enjoy it since complaining acts a release valve on my usually bottled up seething rage) but as I found myself on the righteous track of coming back to the wonderful world of blogging, a series of incidents preventing me from making a triumphant stay in my own neck of the bloggy woods occurred once again.

Hell, for a couple days there, I was even able to put out a couple posts without anything falling out of the sky to cave in my head. I thought I was in a utopia or paradise or an island filled with beautiful women, cheerfully sucking my meat pole for all it's worth. And it's worth a great deal, let me tell ya. At least to me. Okay, so that part about me feeling like I was on an island filled with tasty gals slobbering on my knob was an exaggeration. But I was starting to feel not tormented for a change in life and it was pretty decent, to tell ya the truth.

My friend asked me to go to his place to wait on a cable repairman (that didn't come) while the friend went to work. I owed my friend a couple favors so I did it. Besides, I'm a helluva great buddy. It's true! Believe it or not!

But the cable guy neither called or came. So my friend calls up the company support number when he gets home, listens to instructions on pushing this numbered button for this department or reason or service which connects him to more instructions for more buttons to push until he finally reaches a real human being and then proceeds to talk about how unsatisfied he is with the service.

He has a helluva lot more patience than I do. He had been without cable service for three days and the company he was dealing with had been promising to send somebody and no one called or showed up.

So instead of being at home, I was at his place, listening to the radio, reading a book and not doing anything on my blog or visiting other blogs. It sucked. And I did this on Monday and Wednesday, for my friend, waiting for the repair dude. I know. I'm a great friend. I mentioned that, right? Of course, when my friend got home from work both of those days, he fed me. Monday, it was grilled steaks for my wife and I. Wednesday, it was a dinner at a good Mexican restaurant.

By the way, the cable repair dude finally showed up Wednesday. He ended up temporarily fixing the friend's TV reception but said that the problem was actually the tuner on his TV. In other words, it wasn't the cable company's fault for his shitty reception but they are at fault for giving him the runaround and not giving him service until he finally reached an upper management type person during that last phone call he made.

Now, Tuesday, I was without Internet service. This would be the day between the days I sat at my friend's house, waiting for an idiot repair guy. I called the tech support, as I was going through some severe withdrawal symptoms from not being able to go on the Internet and after pushing several buttons to direct me to this number or that number, I was finally told a message by an automated machine. It said: There is no Internet service (with the company I have it with) for the entire state (I was living in) for an indeterminate amount of time but our experts were working on the problem.

There was no apology for this situation but at this point I was thinking:

At least the voice was clear and not heavily accented by somebody in India or Russia or BumFuck, Egypt. Usually, when you contact tech support for whatever electronic fuck-a-ma-jig you own, you usually get some asshole you can't understand.

Bad service is getting to be like a contagious disease in this country from what I've read, heard about and seen, first hand.

Don't ya just love the push button routine you have to go through with these companies? If you're lucky, they might give you a number to push to speak to a representative. But it's usually not the case. Especially when you want service within the next 24 hours.

I could go on and on about bad restaurant service but I'm sure you've had your own unfair share of that, too. Like when they don't give you a refill on your drinks. Or don't get your order right. Or bring your salad, main entree and dessert, all at once.

Since I'm back for the moment and terribly paranoid now about attempting to actually research a subject and write up a real post without something else happening, this post will have to do for now. Please enjoy the rest of these images, featuring truths and perceptions. Good day, good weekend and I'll try to catch up on all your blogs later after I get some shit done around here.

I thought I'd offer a wonderful clue at this point in the post: If you can't make out what you're ssseeeinng, use your fucking mouse to click and enlarge the image.

I'm always the Good fucking Samaritan. I tell ya.

I really liked the not-so-subtle truth that can be found in this Saturday Night Live skit. I know it's an exaggeration but there is a bit of truth and a big heaping helping of humor to be found while watching this. Heh heh.

The Incident At St. Mary's

Uncle Martin, Aunt Liv and their nephew, Tyler were sitting in their pew at St. Mary's Church, with hands folded in prayer. The priest, Father Wilkem, asked the parishioners to offer prayers, wishes and thoughts to The Lord.

The only thing Uncle Martin could think of at the moment, with his hands folded, was the twenty-something year old blonde haired college girl, sitting directly across from him, with the short, tight, black skirt and size D-cup titties and perfectly round ass.

Aunt Liv closed her eyes and prayed for Oprah Winfrey. She REALLY loved Oprah and was blessing Oprah for all of her good, charitable deeds throughout life and for giving all of those tax deductible free cars to "random" folks in her audience. Liv was sad that Oprah's last show was several weeks ago and that she was moving on with other projects on her own network but Aunt Liv just knew that deep in her heart that the magical Oprah, Queen of Daytime Talk Shows, Woman of The Year, Fortune 500's Sweetheart of The Decade and gosh, The Best Actress The World Had Ever Set Eyes Upon would somehow make it. And really BE THERE for her and all of her faithful followers in upcoming shows on her new network. Gosh, that Oprah was a saint.

She just didn't understand why the Catholic Church wouldn't induct her in the Saints Hall of Fame. She shook her head. Someone thought they heard a marble rattling around.

Tyler, a junior in high school, wriggled uncomfortably next to his Aunt Liv and cut a slow, rumbling fart against the wood of his seat. "Amen," said Tyler, under his breath. Tyler smiled and looked across the pews and caught a glimpse of Cheryl, his classmate in English. He thought, What a babe!

Tyler began imagining several scenarios where he was banging Cheryl over the long fold out table at the school cafeteria. Everyone was staring at them. Some students were applauding. Before you could say, "Alakazam!", Tyler was pitching a sizable tent in his slacks.

Right after loosening his tie, trying to suck in a little more air for his brain, Tyler heard Father Wilkem ask his parishioners to please stand up. With his fantasy temporarily put on pause, Tyler and the rest stood up. A few more readings from the bible went by and then Communion Ceremony began.

Everyone formed two lines to go up to the Priest, before the altar, to receive the blessed body of Christ that was in the form of a very thin, white, unleavened piece of round bread. A wafer.

These wafers were actually quite tasty and much better than the way they are described. I used to eat 'em like cookies when I was in parochial school. They couldn't become Christ, though, until the priest waved his magical wand (not his penis) and did the incantations. Sure, they still looked like wafers after he was done saying, "Presto! Change-o!" or something like that but I tell ya what... they tasted just a wee little bit better when you knew you were eating an ancient carpenter from biblical times. Yessir! Oh, wait a minute... I'm in the middle of a story aren't I?

Moving onward...

Each parishioner slowly marched toward the priest, for the Communion Ceremony and said, "Amen" after the priest said his special words.

Note: The priest says his special words that require the secret password of AMEN so the parishioner may then receive the blessed, newly transformed wafer that looks basically the same as it did before the priest made his incantations to change it to bite sized, easily digestible pieces of Christ. I farted. Amen.

Still, moving onward...

When everyone began returning to their pews to sit down and quietly, devoutly place the wafers on their tongues to eat it or allow it to dissolve like a breath mint, the parishioners pretended like they were praying and thinking deep, holy thoughts and other good ideas. Even as Tyler received his magic wafer, even as he said his Amen in of front Father Wilkem, he was still thinking of plunging his meat sword deep into Cheryl's quivering cunt. Some of the church goers noticed Tyler was sporting wood but Tyler could care less as Father Wilkem placed the host wafer into Tyler's sweaty hands.

Suddenly, a dark haired man threw open the front doors of the church entrance. His name was Intenso.

Intenso stormed through the middle aisle of the church, determination on his face. Dressed entirely in a black cloak, Intenso raised his hand towards the buxom blonde that Uncle Martin had been having impure thoughts about less than twenty minutes ago.

Dana, the college girl that Uncle Martin had been ogling, began to squirm around. Soon, a slow, lingering moan escaped from her O-shaped mouth. Her temperature began to rise. Her pussy began lubricating, soaking her bright pink thong.

Dana stood up, abruptly and began tearing her clothes off. Heavy breasts were unleashed from her bra. Dana's fingers probed her cunt inside her thong. She ripped the rest of her clothing off and began spreading her thick, swollen piss flaps. Intenso slowly twisted his hand, an evil smile appeared on his face. Dana made a loud warbling sound come through her throat and out of her mouth.

Pussy juice gushed from Dana's cunt. Everyone in the parish church gasped, in shock and desire, as Dana fingered her clit with such blurring speed, that her eyes rolled to the back of her head. A banshee cry came out of the young woman's mouth as she spread her arms and legs. Intenso twisted his hand in the air the opposite direction. Now you could see Dana's clit, and cunt lips being pinched and fondled. Her nipples stood straight up, towards heaven, as Dana bent over backwards over the pew behind her.

Half of the parish was hard or wet from watching the spectacle.

Father Wilkem broke out into an award-winning prayer to The Lord.

Soon, Intenso turned his attention to the other female parishioners and began his routine of masterful telepathy and manipulation of genitals with them.

The parishioners moaned, allowing wave after wave of orgasm hit them. They all took off their clothes and their cries of pleasure, joy and intense emotions took them over. Pussy juice splattered on the floor. When some of the men saw this, they could control their lust no more. They instantly dropped their trousers and furiously wanked off, spurting streams of thick jism all across the church pews. An old man was hit in the eye with one blob of sperm and he fell, crashing his head into the small table in the middle of the aisle. The elderly gentleman's head was split open on the collection plate on the table. Blood soon ran everywhere and dribbled off the table's sides.

Father Wilkem asked for guidance from The Lord as he stroked his penis, uncontrollably.

Sister Bethany fell to her knees and screamed, suffering and enjoying waves after soul-enlightening waves of orgasms ripple throughout her body and hit her deep into her G-spot. Sister Bethany's nipples felt tingly, like they were almost on fire. A puddle of her pussy juice formed around her. There was enough there to baptize an infant, if one so desired.

Many of the parishioners were squirming and thrashing about. Various spots and puddles of human ejaculation and vaginal secretions were causing severe safety hazards during this unique Sunday church service. People began slipping and falling. A man in his mid thirties fell and cracked his head wide open on the top headboard of the old wooden pew. Blood soon gushed out of his forehead where there was a messy gash. Other people fell, as a result of slippage, often while moaning during the ecstasy and struggle of constant orgasms.

Intenso quickly whirled his arm around. The Master of Orgasms stood in the middle of church. Naked bodies writhed on the floor. Penises spurted heavy loads. Balls drained and filled up, magically, once again. Snatches dribbled and gushed their wetness. One man dipped his holy wafer into a small puddle of pussy juice, soaking it until is was soggy. He then gave thanks to The Lord, ate it and promptly rammed his penis into Sister Bethany's backdoor, her holy stink eye, if you will.

Her mouth made a funny noise right then.

While Tyler was jerking off, he contemplated the sound Sister Bethany emitted and thought it sounded like, "Moooo."

Some of the parishioners had tortured looks on their faces. Some expressed a mix of pain and pleasure. Either way, Intenso was satisfied. The man in the black cloak threw his head back and laughed, heartily.

And then, before you could say, "Hit me with your best money shot", Intenso left the church. A few minutes lurched by as the church goers' fever of seemingly unending lust finally subsided. They looked at each other, embarrassed and commenced to putting their tattered, wet clothes back on their trembling bodies. Many of the parishioners had passed out. A few died of cardiac arrest and stroke. Others were helping incapacitated others with their clothes.

Dizzy and feeling quite used up, the parishioners stumbled and lurched out of the entrance of the church. A few of them fell down the stone stairs, from a major lack of bodily fluids and low blood sugar. Some men were in pain due to severe semen drainage from their balls. They were light-headed, speaking in an unthinking, mumbling sort of way. The women stared, straight forward, zombie-like. Some of them, as well, tripped down the stairs. Leaves from the nearby trees were blown against their bare, sticky legs and stuck snugly to their slick flesh of their thighs and calves.

Passerby saw the people tumbling down the steps. A few ran to help them up and take them to the hospital or aid them in another positive way. Some only stopped to take pictures with their cell phones. Tyler smiled. He had just fucked Cheryl in the ass, while pinching her nipples over a church pew. Going to church wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be.

What started out as a normal, uneventful church service turned into quite an unforgettable day for the parishioners of St. Mary's Church.

Right On Cue

You're watching a movie at home, something supposedly bad happens to the supposedly likable female character. She starts to tear up. The sad music begins to play because the director wants to illicit a reaction from the movie's audience. The actress begins to cry. Right on cue, the sad music becomes louder, practically begging you to go for a Kleenex. After all, it is the intention of the director manipulate you into crying, feel sorry for the character, perhaps think of the situation happening to you for that personal response.

Or it could be a movie that's meant to be hilarious. Right on cue, there is music to set that mood, too.

You may or may not react but it's important to the producers of said movie that you do react. It is their intention that you purchase the movie later or do whatever they want you to do that usually involves you buying something in connection to the (product) movie.

You turn on the TV. There's Paris Hilton. "Dumb" rich blonde, always needing attention. She'll do the baby talk routine, show some skin for a sexual response from straight men and gay women, will act stupid, will promote her company's product, will do whatever it takes to get what she wants but never what she needs. Right on cue, she flashes a smile, craving attention from the media because, deep down, she has low self esteem. Cameras flash as she gets out of the limo. Heck, Paris might even pretend to forget to wear panties for some scandalous pictures that only add to the attention that is craved or for marketing purposes.

Is that Paris's pussy? Better zoom in for the possible genital warts. Either that or ignore that and her obvious act and read an interesting book, instead. Might I suggest Jon Stewart's Earth?

And it's nearly the same routine for a lot of the superficial folks in Hollywood. And it goes on and on. You got your Lohans, your Sheens, your desperate Reality TV " wannabe stars", your politicians and a puffed up, egotistical Donald Trump thrown in- just for good measure. Wants and insecurities. Putting on acts for a response or money. Blah fucking blah, blah, blah.

Or for another scenario: A friend or family member you know tells you "a deeply moving" story to get you to help them that involves you breaking your back or giving them money or causing you stress. Or something else you can probably think of. Put on your thinking cap!

How about the restaurant scene? The waitress at the restaurant is joking around with you, hoping you'll leave a big tip for her. She asks how you are, how your day is. The waitress smiles, laughs, maybe even flirts. Whatever it takes to make money. She plays as if she's been your friend for who knows how long in her act.

Personally, I'm just interested in getting some decent service while I'm eating the food, transparent food industry employee. I will give you a tip if the service is good. The tip amount will not be based on how exceptional your friendliness routine was. The end.

Commercials are painfully obvious with their agendas, as well. See this, they say and this will happen. Let us make you laugh or smile or nod in agreement. We want you to feel good about buying our product, because we care. If that doesn't work, maybe we'll scare you, subtly or not so subtly, into buying it.

And then there's the news programs. A reporter or anchorperson reads their script to get the intended response. Right on cue, his or her voice will waver, maybe slow their words for the effect on you. Or maybe they will infuse their words with faked excitement about an event or group or individual. And because you're the target, you are supposed to have pity, happiness or anger for this person or situation. What fun they're having! I'm wanking furiously in tribute to their supposed ingenuity. Either that or I'm shrugging my shoulders and moving on to something that's actually substantial and worthy of thinking about.

Those wacky fucks on TV will talk about a politician named Weiner sending a Twitter pic of his wiener. They will talk about the latest celebrity break up. They will say things that you've heard before too many other times. Different names. Same old shit. All because they want the response, ratings and/or money.

The images on the TV go by quickly. Our attention spans have dwindled to mere seconds.

Ugh! It's a blessing and a curse to see through people. This will sound cynical. This will sound paranoid. But it's the truth. Everyone has an agenda. I've said it before. I'm saying it again- because the superficiality of it all has bothered me almost from the very beginning of existence. I just want honesty, my fellow human wads of fuck. Tell me what you want. If it feels right for me, I'll give it to you, because I, as well, might have an agenda.

Ha! Ha! Ha! What silly shitting, eating, self-absorbed, needlessly manipulative, sometimes easily manipulated beings we are!

And here lies the truth, in the next paragraph. Watch your step! Please, don't trip over it or you may or may not acknowledge it.

When you hear or say the word "agenda" it conjures up something conspiratorial in one's mind but the agenda, itself, doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. Everyone has their own motives (agendas) or goals in life. This can be a positive objective like the good feeling you get from helping someone out. But people will deny that that wasn't their intention or it wasn't in the back of their minds before coming to somebody's aid. It doesn't matter, though. As long as they truly helped someone out.

I'm sure you can think of other agendas that can be positive. And some that are not, like some of those mentioned above.

I shall now step off of my soapbox, thus ending the lecture. Was I hoping to illicit a response to this topic? Nope. I just like stating the obvious (to me) and making observations. That's my thing. Manipulation isn't usually my game. I leave it to the experts. Besides, I find it boring and repulsive.

So right on cue, I say, "Have yourselves the dandiest of days!"

Sex Toys Should Come With Warning Labels

I’m so pleased that Kelly is allowing me to do a guest post for him, not just because he is awesome but also because there is no way I could ever post this story on my own blog without having to deal with a very disgruntled husband. So what better place to post this than here where limits and boundaries are promptly scoffed and violated?

So without further ado, today’s topic is sex toys and the bodily injuries that can sometimes result in their misuse.

I’ve been to a couple “contemporary Tupperware” parties. If you’ve ever been to one, you know the kinky shit that goes on at them.

I remember the first time I was invited to one of these parties. I was horrified when I learned that they had no intention of selling me Tupperware. Rather, this was a whole new set of collectable plastics!

After I got over the initial two minutes of embarrassment, I was like a kid in a candy store. I want one of those and one of those and oooo I like how that one tastes!!

My excitement quickly turned to terror when the rep pulled out the anal beads. “Wow, kewl!” It was like looking at a new age weapon that had the power to either strengthen or destroy your opponent. I watched hypnotized as the beads swung from her fingertips.

I hung on every word as she explained how they were used….

Anal beads are used by both sexes and all sexual orientations, and while they can be considered "kinky", they're not considered a fetish. They are, however, incorporated in many fetishes that involve anal sex, ass worship, spanking, enemas or anything involving the buttocks, anus, or the anal area.

The beads may also be used alone, as both men and women can find them very stimulating.
As with all anal sexual activity, the anal beads and the rectum should be well-lubricated with a sexual lubricant intended for such purposes.

Here’s where she lost the sale:

It is important to do this as the rectum can be easily ripped, torn or injured. It’s also important to count the beads after using them to ensure that all are removed from the anus.

(wait, what?)

There have been instances of the string being broken by intense rectal movements. If a bead gets stuck within the rectum and can not be pushed out naturally, surgical intervention may be necessary.

The last thing I want one of my sexual encounters to lead to is surgical removal of a foreign object from my ass or my partner’s ass, thank you very much. I just didn’t trust myself with that kind of power.
Unfortunately I ended up going home with an equally dangerous toy: The Jelly Sleeve!

The Jelly Sleeve will provide pleasure to both you and your lover’s hot spots! Insert your own bullet into the sleeve and then slide the ring around his penis. Both of you will enjoy sensational vibration and the feel of the soft nubbies while he’ll enjoy that perfectly snug fit. The Jelly C-Sleeve also brings non-vibrating bedroom toys to life!

Regrettably, the very basic instructions were lost on me. (Note to Self: Do not smoke pot at these parties. You may miss key instructions on how to use your new toy.)

I did not “slide the ring around his penis” as much as I did “drag his nuts through the hole”. I knew I had done something horribly wrong when his moans turned to tortured screams.

The results were damaging, not so much physically but, emotionally. It was a lot like when you accidentally slam your dog’s tail in the car door and he never gets quite as excited about car rides as he did previously.

I cringe to think what would have happened with the beads if I couldn’t even get the Jelly-Sleeve right!