As president, Trump is legally entitled to tattoo the Great Seal of the United States on his penis. Doing so would allow his wife Melania to symbolically felate the nation.
Think of all the positive changes that could happen if you were symbolically felated by the president’s wife. And his mistress. And the other one too.
A lot can be accomplished from the Bully Prepuce because symbols have power and so do penises–when they’re good and ready. And now with viagra they’re all ready even if they’re no good.
You could make a very high-quality porno if you found talented Obama-Trump lookalikes. Think of the possibilities. Trump has. Omarosa is his Michelle.
It should be fairly easy to find porn actors who look like Eric and Don junior. In fact, I think they all do.
Porno presidency is the next evolutionary stage. We’ve gone from radio presidencies to TV presidencies and Hollywood presidencies. Now we have a reality show presidency.
But Trump can’t just wait for evolution to happen: he needs to go the next level. Public Relations 101 says get ahead of a negative story, so if the release of a Moscow hookers sex tape is inevitable, it’s only logical that Trump should do his own preemptive porn movie, one where he controls all the variables.
And that’s where a presidential seal tattoo would serve him–and us–very well indeed. The crazy publicity resulting from Trump’s release of Hail to the Penis: Extreme Vetting #MAGA! would drown out any noise from the release of the Moscow footage.
A lot of these UFO abduction reports seem to involve sperm and egg removal so if you’re a man you’re better off keeping yourself on empty.
By any means necessary
In fact, if more men walked around empty the world would be a safer place even without the aliens. I know it’s nice to tote around a reservoir of energy, ready for action, but it causes conflicts, so if the action is not realistically coming, you’re better off running on empty.
You’ll say less stupid things. Load level and long term planning vary inversely to each other, so think ahead and let it go first.
Empty stomachs cause wars but empty wabs sooth the savage beast.
A mother bear with cubs will kill you but a male bear who’s just made cubs won’t give a shit.
Are you really in love with her? Hollow your rocks and then think about whether you still want to be with her. Do you? Then you’re in love.
The poet Heinrich Heine said that draining the well dried up his Muse—yeah, lighter balls lead to less Hiney poems, no shit.
That was corny because I’m running light. But I’m at peace too. I certainly don’t need that.
Not yet… I’m good for now and now is all you get in life.
When you’re fully empty and you see a beautiful woman your life does not become deficient. You’re OK with it. Less is more, see.
It’s hard to think about God or philosophy with a heavy sack. Priests should be required to auto-deflate in order to get closer to God. You can’t be spiritual thinking about that ass! So just go ahead and think about that ass and get it over with and then spend the rest of the day on your meditations and services, unencumbered by those mindless little single-celled organisms that take over your thinking and cause half the world’s evil.
Because sperm liberation is human liberation.
And it fucks with the aliens’ evil agenda. I’ve never been abducted.
For centuries these ruthless marauders from Scandinavia terrorized and dominated much of northern Europe and Russia.
They were the Vikings–and five percent of them (at least) were gay!
The first notable Viking raid was against the sacred British isle of Lindisfarne, a monastic castle known for its abundance of precious gold, fine silver, and doable choir boys. The results were horrific and shook straight Europe to its core.
“One of the tricks to being a Viking raider is to never be the last man ravaging a village while all your mates are back at the boat fitting to leave. And that’s why premature ejaculation has been genetically bred into modern Scandinavian men.”
I’m not sure how that relates, but the important question is: How did all these gay Vikings find love and fulfillment in an age which didn’t even know the meaning of “love and fulfillment,” much less gay love and fulfillment?
Some clues can be found in the epic poems chronicling Scandinavian history, called the Sagas. Of particular interest are that small subset of the Sagas which seem to deal with homosexuality, called the Fagas.
There once was a Viking from Norway
Who much preferred the back doorway.
His wife tried and she tried,
but he never could be plied
to stay home long enough to fuck her.
The failure of the last line to fully rhyme, or even rhyme at all, is typical of the Vikings, who were not great poets–hence their extensive use of the limerick. What’s important for scholars, however, is that these sections of the Fagas give us vital overlooked clues as to why the Vikings were such constant ferocious raiders, forever launching new, more far-flung adventures.
The sea is cold, violent, and ug-leey
But our wives are worse.
Next stop–gay Pareé!
Previous historical theories on the expansion of the Vikings focused on overpopulation, agricultural shortages, and the general shittiness of Scandinavia. But now a new social mechanism can be added to the explanations:
Early societies create all-male militaristic organizations which also attract homosexuals. The gay warriors find a certain fulfillment in military life and especially in the freedom of life “on the road,” causing them to generally excel over their non-gay comrades, rising in the ranks. And of course there’s those in-built organizational skills which gay guys have. And their mastery of gossip etiquette. Rising to the top, however they do it, they gain control over the strategic decision-making of the group. The result: more raids and less time at home.
This same social mechanism was undoubtedly at work during the Crusades. But of course the gay history of the Crusades is much more well known–everyone knows about the strictly celibate Templars and the mostly celibate Hospitallers and the technically celibate Hand-Jobbers. But few people, even students of history, know about these gay berserkers from the north and their beards.
Plants are too slow. They need to get a move on.
We could have ten seasons a year but for their slowness.
If they breathed harder, we could lock away more CO-2.
But no, they never work themselves into a huff. And they never get gray leaves.
Trees are among the few creatures that look better when they’re old.
Even the ones that have been dead and snapped for several years have that jagged look.
Age is a positive selling point when it comes to tree sex.
It’s always the same story: young nubile sapling seeks near-dead old walnut.
But what kind of “survival strategy” is it for plants to just sit there and support everybody else?
If plants knew some more Darwin they’d have adaptified that. We should have stingy plants instead.
If in the end plants win the struggle for survival then Darwin’s theory of that struggle loses. The plants will look back on the fossils of their long-extinct fellow earthlings and say: “See, they weren’t generous enough.”
First, let me say that if I could wave a magic wand and make every man in the world except me gay, I would do it (as long as I didn’t look too gay waving a magic wand) because then I might finally get some female attention. And a decent haircut.
And if I could wave a magic wand and make every woman bi-sexual, I’d probably do that too.
So don’t call me anti-gay. Some of my best friends’ acquaintances are gay.
Also, I have nothing against the culture and personality-types commonly associated with homosexuality. In fact, I don’t think many heterosexual guys who saw Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady singing “Why Can’t Women Be More Like Men?” thought to themselves: “What the hell is he talking about it?”
Then again, not too many heterosexual men have sat through the entirety of My Fair Lady. Not unless they were pussy-whipped into doing so.
“You will watch My Fair Lady and you will like it!” “Yes dear.” “And we will dance all night!” “By dance all night, you mean sex?” “No!” “Yes dear…”
Now that I’ve insulated myself with ten pages of protective caveats and useless digressions, let me get to my main point–
–Ahh shit, I’m out of time!
My question concerns the biophysical mechanics of sodomy–too much sodomy. Yes, heterosexual couples also engage in sodomy, but, as everyone knows, women only give it up maybe once a year on your birthday when they’re drunk enough to take Rex Harrison’s advice, but by that point you’re so turned on to be finally getting it that you swell up too big to complete the mission.
And so you go back to the standard heterosexual way of doing things–regular sex done doggie-style while pretending to yourself that it’s sodomy. And that’s as good as it gets. Just the way God intended it.
Now the argument is often made that some or most gay men don’t really engage in sodomy any more frequently than heterosexual couples. Here’s why I doubt that, in geometrical proof format:
1. Men (and women, I suppose, but who the hell knows, really) desire the feeling of “intromission”–that is, the feeling of being inside another body.
2. Men (and women, I suppose) not only desire intromission, but vigorous intromission, and, eventually, very vigorous intromission.
3. For various bio-mechanical reasons (the gag reflex, teeth, braces, dental plates etc.) oral sex just doesn’t allow for the kind of vigorous intromission that regular sex provides. And, let’s face it (bad pun), even the high-quality manual supplementation given by oral sex artistes just isn’t the same as slam-bamming a pelvis.
4. The so-called “Socratic method”–between the thighs, etc.–is only a simulacrum of real intromission. Sooner or later, people want the real thing, The Allegory of the Cave notwithstanding.
Ergo, sodomy–too much sodomy.
And so I conclude with the question that started this article–is there anything wrong with too much sodomy? And I’m not talking morally wrong, or spiritually wrong, or religiously wrong–fuck that shit (another unfortunate pun)–I’m talking about physically wrong.
Anyone with a good answer or refutation is encouraged to reply here because, as Harold Ramis or his co-writers put it in the movie Stripes: “I’m willing to learn.”
But please, tell me, don’t show me.
According to the Japanese Minister for Weird Porn, the earthquake and tsunami of 2011 led to widespread shortages among the vending machines that sell used schoolgirl panties. Only a fraction of the shortages could be blamed on hoarding, since the long-term storage and preservation of that product line is notoriously difficult.
It’s a dirty little secret of disaster relief work that prostitutes charge much less after a natural disaster.
It’s not sexual harassment to grab some ass if you’re both caught in a mud-slide.
Living in the shadow of a volcano improves your sex life because sperm can sense danger. Hence Naples, Hawaii, and Iceland–all good places to get laid. I’ve been told.
Sperm are like rats on a ship–they know when it’s sinking before the captain. So if the person is in mortal danger, those little sperm bastards will want to jump and swim for it.
And that’s why if you ever find yourself horny all of a sudden for no apparent reason–check for mudslides (and something to grab). There might be a reason after all.
But it’s a horrible myth that displaced persons and war refugees are “easy.” Several UN studies have disproved these purported phenomena as statistically negligible.
The sex-worker discounts are real, however. So be altruistic and join up and come help wherever people are forced to like you by their horrible circumstances.
Unfortunately, I don’t dream about sex as often as I’d like. All I seem to get to are some heavy make-outs and then a stupid distraction. That Puritan ancestry on my mother’s side has really stunted my subconscious, but without the benefit of any so-called work ethic as compensation.
However, from the little “action” I’ve gotten, I’ve noticed something strange: whereas sex in real life feels better physically than sex in dreams (no one over fifteen has wet dreams), dream-sex has a much longer-lasting psychological effect.
Real sex can put a smile on your face for several hours afterwards. But sex in dreams puts a smile on your face the whole next day!
It seems that sex in dreams re-orders your entire subconscious in a way that real sex often does not. Sometimes, real sex can border on being a non-event, psychologically speaking. Yet even the most jaded libertine or burnt-out sex-worker can’t help but smile uncontrollably over breakfast after a romantic tryst with the Sandman.
Therefore, if someone could invent a pill that would cause you to have sex in your dreams, or even increase the likelihood of having sex in your dreams, sales would exceed those of Viagra and Cialis combined.
And the wor-rld will live as one
Never taunt an egg, just because it didn’t make it.
Don’t trust lizards–they’re much too talkative (Carlos Castaneda).
If you see a squirrel spitting out a nut, you better look behind you really quick.
Never use the same noose twice.
Whenever a bird shits on you, immediately buy a lottery ticket–don’t even pause to clean the mess off your shoulder and hair or you’ll ruin the magic.
Just as learning braille will cause you to go blind, and learning sign language will make you go deaf, and using a wheelchair when you don’t have to will cripple you, so too oral sex causes impotence.
A peach that talks back is usually not a blessing.
Pomegranates are the most reliable of the talking fruits.
Apples are the least, but they’re still much more reliable than lizards.
If a cloud starts to take the shape of an animal, you need to stop whatever you’re doing and stare at it. You’ve got to.
Don’t let the blue-jays steal your soul–why do you think bird shit is such good luck?
If you fall in love with Nature don’t let the god of Mammon and money find out about it–keep it on the down low.
If you really loved Nature you wouldn’t talk about her age all the time.
Don’t disrespect the other planets and never fart in the ocean when the tide is going out.
Sex during lightening on an exposed hilltop can put a new charge in your love life.
Masturbation during lightening on an exposed hilltop, however, is just asking for an ignominious death. Thor’s hammer is for lovers not loners.
If you scoff at a superstition hard enough, it will come true for you, even if it was never really true before. That’s how these things get started–not by believers but by the hyper-skeptics who get zonked.
Never taunt an egg but don’t over-empathize with them either just because you were one once–you need a good breakfast.
Call your doctor if you experience loss of vision–
“Doc, I can’t see anything and I still wanna fuck it!”
“‘No’ looks a lot like ‘now’ when you’re lip-reading”
Shits and giggles–
Or an erection lasting more than three hours.
Starting now, or when I first wanted it to go away?
Viagra is not for everyone–
Like this loser [picture of loser] or this douche-bag [picture: douche-bag] and all you fuckin’ chicks [picture: all chicks]
–But if you’re a young teenager who doesn’t pop wood while riding on a vibrating school bus early in the morning, you might wanna discuss Viagra with your cock doctor and your Mom.
When I was fifteen, Doc, I used to get hard every hour and semi-hard every half hour. But now I only get involuntaries first thing in the morning…right Mom?
[insert bonor joke here]