You must be at least this tall to ride this ride

::Tip Jar::


View My Stats

eXTReMe Tracker

Crusader for Christ Crusader against Islam

This blog is protected from memes by Grundir the Implacable

Creative Commons License
This work
licensed under
a Creative
Commons License


email me


Pat Dollard

James Lileks
(My Idol)

Sharp Knife
(My Other Hero)


Now With Best ofs!

Haunted Soldier

Curses & Chrome

All Atwitter

Maiden Magnetic

Random Bits of Pomposity


Vox Day



Doc in the Box

Protein Wisdom

Atlas Shrugs

Twenty Major




  • I Hardly Know Where To Start...

  • ::Past::
  • September 2002
  • October 2002
  • November 2002
  • December 2002
  • January 2003
  • February 2003
  • March 2003
  • April 2003
  • May 2003
  • June 2003
  • July 2003
  • August 2003
  • September 2003
  • October 2003
  • November 2003
  • December 2003
  • January 2004
  • February 2004
  • March 2004
  • April 2004
  • May 2004
  • June 2004
  • July 2004
  • August 2004
  • September 2004
  • October 2004
  • November 2004
  • December 2004
  • January 2005
  • February 2005
  • March 2005
  • April 2005
  • May 2005
  • June 2005
  • July 2005
  • August 2005
  • September 2005
  • October 2005
  • November 2005
  • December 2005
  • January 2006
  • February 2006
  • March 2006
  • April 2006
  • May 2006
  • June 2006
  • July 2006
  • August 2006
  • September 2006
  • October 2006
  • November 2006
  • December 2006
  • January 2007
  • February 2007
  • March 2007
  • April 2007
  • May 2007
  • June 2007
  • July 2007
  • August 2007
  • September 2007
  • October 2007
  • November 2007
  • December 2007
  • January 2008
  • February 2008
  • March 2008
  • April 2008
  • May 2008
  • June 2008
  • July 2008
  • August 2008
  • September 2008
  • March 2009
  • June 2009
  • July 2009
  • August 2009
  • October 2009
  • November 2009
  • May 2011
  • September 2012

  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

    This page is powered by Blogger.

        Sunday, December 31, 2006

    I Hardly Know Where To Start...

    I think the wife is trying to kill me. I woke up just a bit ago (yes, folks, that would be 10am on a Sunday...I take that 'day of rest' shit seriously) and already I am drinking the lovely whiskey she bought me yesterday, and chasing it with a fine pale ale.

    The tard's family paid her after work yesterday, and she felt compelled to gift me with a lovely bottle of 12 year old Canadian Club Classic. It's the only thing the Canadians do right. We export our acid rain to them, they import their lovely smooth whiskeys to us. I prefer a blend of Canadian whiskey to all others.

    By the way, I do not say 'tard' to be cruel to them. It is what they are. Deal.

    So, I woke up with two things on my mind: The Veggie Tales song, and no, I don't want to fucking talk to any fucking tomatoes; and a powerful urge to fuck a legless woman. Now, I think I have established myself as a leg and ass man, but really, don't you think legs just get in the way? I mean, how many times have I been kneed or otherwise thwapped in the nuts by some thrashing woman in the throes of her own pleasure...well, if I had a dollar...

    And no, I don't have some sort of fetish. I'm just being practical. Okay, I like to do a little light spanking, now and then, and now you know a little more about the wife than perhaps you wanted to. I blame the whiskey I'm having for breakfast. On an empty stomach.

    But seriously, I woke up thinking that if the wife died, or got transported to Heaven in a flaming chariot drawn by cherubim, that I would like to take in a young, legless super-model, some unfortunate beauty who had had an unfortunate encounter with a train, or who had learnt her lesson about trying to give some Italian a BJ whilst he attempted to negotiate tricky turns in his Ferrari.

    Huh? You with me, here? I thought so. I mean sheared off clean, like a mannequin, just below the snatch. None of that drawn up sausage-end scarring for me, no-sir. I would love her, and nurture her, and occasionally flip her out of the wheelchair and shag the snot out of her. Then she'd go fetch me a beer from the fridge, her hands flap flap flapping across the floor, leaving a trail like a slug...

    Sorry, that's just the whiskey talking. I'd get her a skateboard, or a mechanic's creeper, though those are a bitch to steer in a straight line. And then there's the problem of reaching the fridge handle, let alone getting up to the beer-shelf, not to mention finding the bottle opener...

    Okay, okay, I'll admit it, this plan needs some more thought, but try to tell me that you wouldn't let a legless Miss USA 'sit on it and spin', and I will call you a big fat hairy liar, that's for sure.

    Now, aren't you glad you dropped by? So, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go find some 'exploited black teen' porn, and prime the pump, so to speak. I think the wife is in heat, so I need to do my Kegels, and prepare, as it were.

    Happy Sunday!