Yes, Daddy

What is it about the latest societal trend of barley fertile women calling bearded men daddy?

I asked myself this question quite often lately. I’d be a liar if I said I don’t get a mammoth sized erection when I hear her utter those words though. But still, I just can’t quite grasp it.

You can make the argument that it’s a good representation of how all those rainbow haired ladies lacked a strong father figure and are compensating, you can chalk it up to submission play and kink. Honestly? I think most women just follow the linguistic degenerate trends in order to help better service our naughty parts.

But what does a “daddy” even do?

Well, what does a father do?

-Sets boundaries

-Educates and gives life lessons

-Punishes you when you mess up so you do better

-Protects you even when you’re a little shit

Ah shit, add aggressively fucks and bruises your esophagus and that’s a daddy.

In my experience anyway? Others will concur.

I guess in this decaying age of postmodern “men and women”, a daddy is necessary.

It’s hard work, but when she’s on her knees and begging to swallow your genetic load with a genuine smile and a glitter in her slutty eyes.. it’s worth it.

Fuck it all if that ain’t goddamn romantic to you.

Governments fall, people die, plants rot.. but memories of her spunk soaked face after you skullfucked her to tears? That’s eternal.

I need a shower. Make love, not oil wars.

Always wrap the willy.

I Could Have Fucked Cher

After an hiatus from “writing” and too much free time which resulted in excessive nut tugging, let’s tell the freshly squeezed tale of how my desire to climb up Cher’s skirt was foiled by two oddballs.

It was a warm-ish summer night when my friend and I decided to hit up the local pub armed with cigars and Zippo lighters for some good vibes and the potential of having our face washed with waxed cooch.

We sat down and lit up that Dominicano tobacco, looking extremely sexy and possibly menacing if you are a skinny twink passing by.

Suddenly, our waitress (?) arrived to provide service smelling the potential for tips and the masculine pheromones.

Instantly, I could tell I wanted to paint the walls of my house with her vaginal fluids. She was a fairly tall, mildly alternative looking chick with a cute face that desperately needed my wad over it.

I made random convo to break ice and bust balls (ovaries?), asked her name and introduced myself.

Her name was Cher. Like the singer but less cringey and probably better looking with a collar on.

I won’t bore with lame details of what was said, this isn’t a game site. I will say she seemed legit interested and not just tip whoring.

I sent her off to fetch me wine and then trouble came..

A mildly inebriated lad sitting near inquired about our cigars and tried to make convo. Seeing as I ain’t a cunt with ego, I indulged him and we chatted a bit.

He seemed harmless at first. Spoke Italian, former bartender. Odd looking but friendly. He drank about two liters of beer. He was with his Russian friend. A funny fat lad who screams instead of talking. Alright, they were entertaining. We let em join the table.

WHAT. A. FUCKING. MISTAKE.

What started as innocent cigar and travel talk turned into them yelling about politics and scaring off every women in sight. Including Cher. I went from baller mafioso to unwanted personality because I let myself be seen with those fuckers.

The Russian dude started ranting about blacks in front of the African workers and if it wasn’t for me he might have gotten stabbed.

Goddamnit. There I was talking to a beautiful goth-lite chick who produces techno that was probably up to swallow my kids in the bathroom and these fuckers scared her off.

They were so thrilled to be near us, I felt like a hassled celebrity. They even followed us to our car.

Was this how Sinatra had to deal with fans?

Anyway, I didn’t fuck Cher. I could have. Might go back there sometime soon and eat her asshole if possible. Hope this was good content.

Fuck off.

Sex Is A Drug, Drugs Are My Sex

Some people get high off pharmaceutical chemicals, some people get a high off purchasing large amounts of Gucci bags and Calvin Klein underwear.. Me? I get high off of getting pussy.

My drug of choice is the vagina, I’m addicted to the labia.

Popping off inside the warm confines of the vagine is my opioid, my heroin. It helps me forget about all my pain and woes.

When the sugar walls clamp on my moderately thick male member it’s as if I just took a big hit of some bomb ass kush. It makes me feel alive. When she rides me with conviction, I feel divine. When I see her raven black hair, her mischievous smile, I find peace. When I take a whiff and the smell of her lust reches my lungs, I don’t wanna die. Goddamn, I don’t want the high to ever stop. Fuck.

But the problem with all drugs is eventually you get hooked. Like a narcotic Wall St. broker looking to get his next fix of the booger sugar, all I can think about is when will I get my next dose and how.

To quote King Push:
“24/7, 365, pussy stays on my mind”

You’re my drug. Pale or tanned. Blonde or brunette. Busty or flat. I just wanna mate. Let me get you drunk and let’s get lost in a sea full of pubis. Make me come alive (innuendo intended).

And if I can’t get it then cannabis and benzos are pretty tight too. If only intercourse helped me sleep or digest food better though.

What Might Have Been

I been playing the good ol’ “What If?™” game in my head recently. Yes, that game where you beat yourself up for past mistakes and wasted opportunities.

I am not one for regrets, but I sometimes can’t help but wonder if I missed out on something life changing. If you guessed earlier that this is gonna be about women.. you are correct, jerk.

What If?™ that beautiful woman you never properly had the sack to hit it off with was gonna lead you to the best next six months of your life?

What If?™ you were gonna finally find your wholesome monogamy worthy lady and you never scared her off by posting videos of yourself doing drugs and fucking hoes on your Instagram?

What If?™ the woman you sent your sausage pics to was actually really into you and you blew it because now she thinks you’re a perverted fuck?

What If?™ I could stop and enjoy life for a moment and not piss off every person I meet?

What If?™ I was just another boring normative kid? One that has zero personality, a mediocre girlfriend that doesn’t love him and friends who pretend to like him? Just another idiot living in the Matrix, plugged in and too delusional to realize how fucked up his life is?

What If?™

It’s 1:37 AM, probably not gonna be able to sleep and dream of perky blondes. As usual.

Fuck.

 

Deep In The Trenches

Been a while since I posted here.. kept ya waiting huh?

I am gonna share with you some realizations I had in my mind recently after some conversations with my lovable yet clueless friends.

Men are easily the most masochistic gender. Not that they have that much competition in that department considering there are
only TWO genders, but yeah.

Men love to be hurt, that’s why they keep enlisting to fight in the great war that takes place in the battlefield that is love.

You march on to battle, armed with your slightly above average dong hoping for a victory only to be shot through the heart by a Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS looking broad. Yikes.

A rational man (get it?) would probably call it quits and never go into that battle again after such a nasty incident. He would retire. Get a nice house, a car, a 20 year old nympho secretary and a Gym membership, but noooo.

You see, men are not rational. Not most of em, anyway. Not the ones I meet in this soft ass generation. They ALWAYS keep coming back for more. They love the thrill of the fight. It’s not the crushing defeat and emasculating loss they like, it’s the fight itself and the potential of epic victory. A mighty war all in the name of pussy. They take the good with the bad all in the hope of conquering the infamous snatch and making it their own. Taming the lion and eating it out.

Problem is.. very few of the soldiers in this war are ready for such a task. You try to warn them but they never listen. Never have, never will.

Men are men. Boys will be boys. And boys will always lose to women on the battlefield of love. They might win the first act, maybe even the second..

But eventually some young big titty berserker will knock their ass back into submission and step on the balls they once had.

Oh how quickly does one go from busting down dem sugar walls to holding your masters purse at the mall. Love is a motherfucker. When it’s the love of a man at least.

GENTLEMEN, READY YOUR WEAPONS.. TIME TO GO ANOTHER ROUND. ON TO BATTLE!