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In The End, We Are All T.A.F. Friday, August 22, 2008 • read strip Viewing 594 comments:

There should be a Nobel Prize for Most Creative Way Something Can Go Terribly Wrong. There should be one just so Beef can win the lifetime achievement award. It should be disbanded soon after. These were important times, and important things people needed to know, and people will always remember them fondly.

A comment left by westacular was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by SnotGrumble, RobAngry, gilganixon)

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A comment left by sje46 was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by Lolsworth, BPMead, mercuri0us, greening_cow, perhapsmaybe, wombatroop, morbo)

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Although that is a thing very likely to happen to me, I have to apologize if this post was an accident. What happened, exactly, and why don't you have a name or avatar?

I thought you were trolling, which you still very well may be, but whatever. That's why I said that.

heroin. heroin is the answer here.

HEROIN IS THE KEY: UNLOCK THE DOOR, JULIE

Comment left by - ignored.

.....or rather, your username is technically "-" and your avicon is probably a similarly minute, white picture.

There was no option when signing up. This is Lie.

Experimenting with blank space? No; you're a troll and an asshole.

Comment left by - ignored.

You were experimenting with posting white space? Why? And why so much white space? Why not, I don't know, 2 or three lines? And why not, at least, at the end instead of the very first available space of the latest strip? Why not the end of some strip from 2004?

This makes no sense.

Sorry, why did you post at the beginning of the latest strip?

Comment left by - ignored.

That sounds like something an asshole would say.

No. You decided to post that white space, and it wasn't against your free will, and it doesn't matter if it was "artistic" or not. An artist can be a troll.

When you want to inconvenience people, you are a jerk.

Now go away.

*Ignore User* is your friend.

Well, it's my friend, anyway.

Don't tell me what to do!

*ignores biff*.

And tell Willy Loman to get a real job and stop being such a wimp.

(just kidding. I still like you. *ignores nameless guy*)

suck a dick

Me?

OH LOOK SOMEONE KNOWS ABOUT alt ­0173 :role eise:

"against my religion"

Are you... Muslim?

Palahnuik reference. Excellent.

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From this day forward, I'm going to lame every comment you make to compensate for this sheiste.

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Roast Beef is a made up cat. He cannot win a Nobel prize.

Non-lamed first post!

I'm pretty sure Nolan was once arrested for manipulating the visual drama of his own genitalia.

Except in that case, he'd dressed it up in Shakespearean garb and was performing the entirety of Hamlet.

You decide from whence the other characters sprang!

From the haunted loins of the Fever Witch?

Someone was going to go there. I kept thinking "Chemus Witch", and then I couldn't get it out of my head until I gave up on the idea.

The Chemus Witch, also known as a "female pharmacist"

Sigh

What news from the north?

I...I think you're doing it wrong.

Femalepharmacist! What news from the North?

That is essentially the definition of doing it wrong.

AND MY AXE.

Wait, what?

These knives?

I'm left wondering how he managed the "dick within a dick" aspect.

...what?

Hamlet famously has a "play within a play" scenario.

Yeah, it was pretty weak; sorry, I hadn't even been awake for an hour yet.

All of my comments on this page have been dick jokes...but I'm probably not the only one.

Yeah, that happens when I first wake up as well.

Try going to the bathroom.

Well, Roast Beef's being a dick about his dick. Maybe he borrows that scenario.

Oh my jolly goodness, such eloquence!

Ladies love a modern-looking thatch.

"trim the bushes, shave the boys", I always say...

A comment left by octafish was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by wneal, worldbelow, radarjammer, d3athcann0n, paul9)

I've been very surprised lately to hear about all of my female friends/acqueyntences* who go all scorched earth down there. Is this a thing everywhere?

*get it, middle englishers?

Chaucerian five!

Oh hell yes.

Ha ha nice.

please explain

"Queynte" is an archaic spelling of a currently quite offensive term for vaginae, although in the time that it was spelled as such it would have been much more acceptable. I'm guessing that this is the case, as it was used in the Canterbury Tales, which was originally written for recital in a courtly setting.

ha, niiice pun of the old school from the man who has a nappy or something as his avicon.

and to answer your queystion, yeah I guess I am one of those, me and my boyfriend are both bald in the bikini area

Its like you two are both pedophiles!

hellz yeah.

it is actually entirely not like that!

Perhaps this should be the next avatar picture you put up when you're drunk.

Perhaps not! Apart from the obvious considerations that that's disgusting, poor old Pogo's heart would definitely give way : (

We don't know that for sure.

yes we do. I can just imagine the scene.

HELP I made Pogo die of heart failure but I wanted to do a : ) (HURRY!)

Anyway hey you guys I just realised that now is the time when everyone stops talking about my vajayjay on the internet! Oh wow!

(I feel your pain.. but I'm still TOTALLY giggling right now.)

So about your vajayjay...

Kill Pogo

Yes, please try to kill me with bald bikini bumpings!

LL Cool Crotch

As a dedicated monogomist, I would restate stagnantdisplay's post thusly:

My wife doesn't like getting little hairs in her mouth any more than I do.

I'm intrigued by this notion of "modern" genitals, but I now wonder what "postmodern" genitalia would look like.

I want my postmodern junk to have a tattoo that shows, at full arousal, Christopher Walken sitting in a lawn chair while drinking a daiquiri.

As long as nobody performs any deconstruction on my genitals, we're OK.

The latest from Frank Gehry...

Modern Junk!


Erotic architecture, I dig it.

...erotitecture?

Archisexture.

Yeah, this one.

A comment left by smilebuddha was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by pamelushka, sleepyhead, perhapsmaybe)

The Statue of Puberty?

The Sydney Organ House?

The Guggengorgedenheim?

Bonehedge?

The Han cock Tower?

Henge.

...no jutsu!

jesus christ a naruto reference arrrrgh

It takes two people to deliver and understand a terrible reference.

"It takes two people to lie: one to lie, and one to listen"

No. No.

People stop saying this. It takes one person to lie. Not two. One. Whether the other person believes the teller is irrelevent.

It is a Simpsons quote and intended as a joke.

"Love means never having to say you're sorry."--movie

"No it doesn't!"--Lisa.

I thought it was a thing people said before that episode.

I am under the impression that this is... not the case.

If it's any consolation, I still think you are awesome.

(or rad. I should say rad, seeing how this is Achewood)

Oshkosh.

B'gosh

Your avatar and the previous image - pure gold.

That is an impressive erection. I notice that it also totally resembles a boner.


Your face speaks volumes.

lets try one more time

Ah, sweet, sweet penis.

if one wants to believe that your avatar is saying exactly that, one could.

I've been imagining that since the movie came out.

v-chubs all round!

I think I'd be more scared of Dada.

Or the cut-up technique.

Or Carvaggio.

I hear chiaroscuro makes it look bigger.

cubist would just look cuisinarty.
is there any possibility of sound-poetry style genitalia, or would that fit pornography better?

I think this has been taken as far as it can go.

Frahm. For women.

...their vaginas falling around their feet?

No, Frahm was for guys because the girls were being exposed. Therefor, Frahm for women would be shocked-looking dudes with their boxers around their ankles (and celery).

Deconstruction is a surgery on stage.

...wide-eyed as if suprised that someone had "summoned" him.

I would imagine it as a pastiche of old and new genitals - seemingly clashing, but in their clashing they achieve a perceived beauty that is as non-intrinsic as the entire piece is not intrinsically a singular genitalia, due to the pastiche. Or is it? Does it change things if it is or isn't? Why?

Fuck I hate postmodernism. I also love postmodernism.

Postmodernism fuck I. Hate I love, also postmodernism.





A comment left by sje46 was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by sdskyle, sleepyhead, gilganixon)

Bah, the "lack of content as content" thing is so overdone now

I agree--catgrl131 used to only post two empty lines...

With three lines, she's just crying out for acceptance: "pay attention to me!"

catgrl131 has totally jumped the shark.

You don't understand.
It doesn't matter if it's all said and done. The point is that it is shocking . She is the new Pollack and Dr. Manflesh, her illustrious peer, who reposts old fanfictions and the work of trolls. IT doesn't matter what you guys think. Your disapproval only encourages her. This is the voice of her soul.

Philistines.

Waaaaaaaaaaay too close to implying that catgrl is a troll.

I didn't mean "shocking" as in "offensive". I meant it how James Joyce's prose was shocking and rebellious to the literary world.

A comment left by catgrl131 was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by meddle, NeoNaoNeo, tibcoolbreeze, falseprophet, surfman_fish, perhapsmaybe)

but


why

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Please try to forget.

Sometimes, when you stare into the Abyss

It stares back.

With cateyes.

Oh, Catgrl, Catgrl.

They'll never understand.

This is at least as disturbing as that shaved cat down the page. I think most disturbing of all is not so much the content as is the writing style. I can't quite put my finger on it... it has this sort of grave serious melodramatic tone to it. It takes it's self so seriously. And it's totally incestuous. Manflesh, you have issues, do you hear me? You have issues!

smacks of kerouac and kierkegaard

Catgrl =/= Dr. Manflesh.

On the other hand, it is a medium with which Manflesh has worked extensively, first replacing the name with Assetbarbers, then with images, then with approximately 128 small fuzzy dogs.

The posts in question are pretty much the only ones I've ever seen that passed my Lame threshold of 100.

This is so worthy of chubbies that I gave it a lame.

Why not a chubby (I'm not complaining, just wondering)?

Postmodern reversal.

Coming in the Spring of 2009 from Capcom:

It's The Twentieth Century Western Canon Vs. Street Fighter!

Featuring Ryu, Ken, Chun Li, Guile, Sagat, Dhalsim, Zangief, Blanka, Sakura, Cammy, Bison, and Akuma

VERSUS

Jay Gatsby, Virginia Dalloway, Bigger Thomas, Stephen Dedalus, Quentin Compson, Holden Caulfield, Blanche DuBois, Tyrone Slothrop, Sethe Suggs, Ender Wiggin, Dr. Manhattan, and The Judge!

Ravage the opponent with SUPER DECONSTRUCTION COMBOS!

Don't give up yet! Call in your teammate for the INTERTEXTUALITY ATTACK!

Parry and counterattack with the POSTMODERN REVERSAL!

And once your Motif Meter is at Level Three, team up and take 'em down with the SUPREME PASTICHE FINISH!

CAN YOU MAKE IT TO THE FINAL BOSSES, HAROLD BLOOM AND MICHEL FOUCAULT?!

It's The Twentieth-Century Western Canon Vs. Street Fighter!

[Press Start]

Away, down, forward, punch with Tyrone Slothrop is the special Rachetmensch attack that turns your opponent into a broadly drawn parody of Richard Nixon, completely out of context with the rest of the game.

I'd play the whole way, and then give up at Foucault, deciding that the game was always stupid and throw my controller at the screen after he keeps doing cheat moves and unblockable combos.

"FUCK this Foucault mother FUCKER with his FUCKING cheat moves, that's FUCKING BULLSHIT!"

And then I'd take the game back and want my money back, but the chick behind the counter who would also be my university Postmodernist Philosophy lecturer from my 3rd year would be like Have you played it all the way through? and I'd be like No way the last boss is way too much of a prat, and she'd be like Oh, obviously it's just because you don't get it, that's the only reason you'd disagree with him, and I'd be all It's all pointless nitpicking, not looking for a fucking solution! Just playing logic games picking out flaws and ultimately showing the implosion of the human mind, but with no real purpose to it SOCRATIC HEADBUTT! And then she'd be a bitch and not even give me my money back.

Every time you blocked one of his combos, Foucault would use a follow-up move to convince you that even though you thought you were countering his attacks, you were actually still being hit, and there is no way to avoid this; in fact, any attacks you launch will simply backfire and hit you instead. Then you will stand completely motionless as your lifebar drops to zero.

He can, however be defeated by executing an extremely complex buttsex combo, provided that you found the secret AIDS powerup in Stage 6.

Stephen Dedalus all walking along the strand, all picking his nose, all pleasuring himself to a mysterious girl bathing in the water, all urinating on a rock, searching for his father figure while visiting Dubliner prostitutes. God is a shout on the street and history is a nightmare from which I'm trying to awake.

Go take a shower, boy.

Please tell me you can unlock Baudrillard. "Simulacra and Simulate Me Kicking Your Ass!"

(I ain't no good at postmodernism)

Postmodernism is no longer an excuse for any fucking thing.

Comment left by - ignored.

My genitals don't believe that concepts like Fryeian mythology function as a complex system of interrelated parts.

<-- Fryeian?

Relating to the theories of Phillip J. Fry.

I would've figured you'd know that.

Man, I never noticed the connection between your avatar and Spinynorman's. I guess I need to study up on the Fryian texts a bit more.

Forgive me, O icons of Fryhood.

Something like this.
(do not click if you are at work or plan on sleeping ever again)

Whywhywhywhy did I click that.

That wasn't sufficient warning.

I feel like puking in horror.

As a dude who is a fan of tattoos, I check bmezine's "modblog" regularly. Things like split-in-half penis heads no longer even remotely disgust or surprise me. I think probably I am less human for this, or something.

Why would someone do that though? Why?!?!

And 2 girls one cup? WHY?!?!

That kind of stuff (and faces of death, Cannibal Holocaust) makes me hate humanity.

But... but... but.. JOHN SAXON!

You did mean Cannibal Apocalypse didn't you? Or are you actually refering to some sort of Cannibal Shoah that I missed in the news?

P.S. Cannibalism of the brain gives you BSE.

If you're thinking the movie with the impaled girl and "tortoise soup" you're thinking cannibal holocaust, which to my recollection was not titled cannibal apocalypse anywhere, however there's always a chance there was another grindhouse-era cannibal film called that.

or something.

[url]https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cannibal_Apocalypse[url]
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cannibal_Holocaust
I was referring to the latter.

Well if there is no John Saxon it has no redeeming value, QED.

I know not who John Saxon is.

The poor man's William Shatner.

I thought the poor man's William Shatner was William Shatner.

William Shatner is the poor man's Adam West.

That's just really funny. Not true? But really funny.

he was in MITTENS! I mean, MITCHELL!
wokka-cha-wokka-cha-wokka-cha

Roper in Enter the Dragon ("A woman like that could teach you a lot about yourself").

Didn't have as many good lines as Jim ("Bullshit, Mister Han-Man!") Kelly, however -- whose Afro, though pickless, was pretty tight, by the way.

Directed by Ruggero Deodato. Soundtrack by...

EUMIR DEODATO!

I don't know what BSE is. DO you mean kuru ?

Yes. Bovine Spongiform Encephalitis AKA Creutzfeldt-Jakob AKA kuru AKA Mad Cow Disease.

Yes I realise that eating a human brain shouldn't really be connected to the word Bovine, but it is close enough for government work.

It would seem they are different.

BSE = ICTVdb Code 90.001.0.01.004.

Kuru = ICTVdb Code 90.001.0.01.007.


Nowhere but on the Inter-Net would you ever be called on that. Except maybe the International Committee on Taxonomy of Viruses . If, like, you worked there or hung out there or something.

Also,

Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease (CJD) = ICTVdb Code 90.001.0.01.008.

I mean, they're all similar and stuff, but the mere fact that they affect different creatures means they're pretty different. Still, close enough for government work, I guess. And I wouldn't wanna eat any cows with BSE.

Heh, funny quote:

Quote:
The clinical signs in humans vary, but commonly include personality changes, psychiatric problems such as depression, lack of coordination, and/or an unsteady gait (ataxia).


Funny because it's somewhat vague clinical symptoms like this that make checking Dr Google for what's wrong with you to be a fool's journey.

Fools! It doesn't matter the classification. It is all just the work of the devil! Your attempts to classify the works of God is the work of Satan himself!

Hmmm, why does the ICTV classify these types of diseases? They aren't viruses. They should get their own committee!

big sexy eyes?

Wow. Right. That might be true. The image didn't freak me out immediately... but now... it - my imagination has taken hold of it... and - oh god. It won't go away.

Well then don't you DARE click your way over to "subincision"

Oooohhh, a wounded prawn jiggling defenceless in the middle of the swampy brine, and me desperately HUNGRY!

Quote:
A meatotomy will have little effect for most people penetrative sex from either the meatotomized person's point of view or their partners, although it will improve manual stimulation for those that enjoy urethral stimulation.


Quote:
urethral stimulation

Quote:
urethral stimulation

Quote:
urethral stimulation

Quote:
meatotomy

Quote:
URETHRAL STIMULATION

I discovered this word/procedure with a friend in a "book of oddities". He dared me to introduce it on stage with my band that night. I appropriately dedicated one of our heavier numbers...

The thing about the phrase "urethral stimulation" is not the initial shock and horror but the slow creeping sensation of utter dread that oozes up your spine the longer you think about it.

It is not the sharp, startling appearance of the monster from the shadows or the sewer grate but the tense, ever-tightening feeling of a noose being drawn around your neck, of knowing that the call is indeed "coming from inside the house," if you will, that the murderer may in fact be your best friend or lover or other entity previously above suspicion.

"Urethral stimulation" will not remove your head cleanly at the base of the neck. "Urethral stimulation" will begin with your toenails and work its way through your central nervous system, hitting every single nerve capable of sending the jolt that screams "Dear god in heaven, the pain" hurtling towards the central processing unit that is your horrified, unfathomable mind.

"Urethral stimulation" will leave you a gibbering wreck, begging for mercy when no mercy exists.

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Urethral Stimulation R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.


this may well be better than the actual strips

Fetch the space discus, human.

Fetch it, and gaze upon your ruined junk.

When I read this post, thebaddoctor, I began to hear it in the voice of Wesley from The Princess Bride , specifically the part where he explains what "to the pain" means.

Chubby.

As long as you imagine the Lovecraftian incantation at the end also done Cary Elwes-style, I am happy.

IA IA NYARLTHOTEP, BEAST OF A THOUSAND MEATOTOMIES!!

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!!

I am giving this entire thread thus far the Nobel Prize for Most Creative Way Something Can Go Terribly Wrong.

There is a little boy in my brain who is now rocking back and forth with dead eyes murmuring "meatotomy...meatotomy...meatotomy..."

Terms about dicks!

ISWYDT

Sometimes I don't really have anything specific to say, but I feel like a chubby is not enough, so I'll just say:

I am glad that this thing happened.


Comment left by - ignored.

Inhale.

Take in as much air as you can.

This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.

A friend of mine, when he was thirteen years old he heard about "pegging." This is when a guy gets banged up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have explosive hands-free orgasms. At that age, this friend's a little sex maniac. He's always jonesing for a better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some petroleum jelly. To conduct a little private research. Then he pictures how it's going to look at the supermarket checkstand, the lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier. All the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned.

So, my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients for a carrot cake. And Vaseline.

Like he's going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt.

At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down on it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except it hurts.

Then, this kid, his mom yells it's suppertime. She says to come down, right now.

He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty clothes under his bed.

After dinner, he goes to find the carrot and it's gone. All his dirty clothes, while he ate dinner, his mom grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring knife from her kitchen, still shiny with lube and stinky.

This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to confront him. And they never do. Ever. Even now he's grown up, that invisible carrot hangs over every Christmas dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost carrot is hovering over all of them.

That something too awful to name.

People in France have a phrase: "Spirit of the Stairway." In French: Esprit de l'escalier. It means that moment when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at a party and someone insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party%u2026

As you start down the stairway, then -- magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should've said. The perfect crippling put-down.

That's the Spirit of the Stairway.

The trouble is even the French don't have a phrase for the stupid things you actually do say under pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think or do.

Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about.

Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks would find them, a towel twisted around the kid's neck, the towel tied to the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm everywhere. Of course the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look%u2026 better. Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad, teen suicide.

Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how guys in the Middle East jack off different than we do here. This brother was stationed in some camel country where the public market sells what could be fancy letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of polished brass or silver, maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, either a big metal ball or the kind of fancy carved handle you'd see on a sword. This Navy brother says how Arab guys get their dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole length of their boner. They jack off with the rod inside, and it makes getting off so much better. More intense.

It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases. Russian phrases. Helpful jack-off tips.

After this, the little brother, one day he doesn't show up at school. That night, he calls to ask if I'll pick up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because he's in the hospital.

He's got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says how they all have to share the same television. All he's got for privacy is a curtain. His folks don't come and visit. On the phone, he says how right now his folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy.

On the phone, the kid says how -- the day before -- he was just a little stoned. At home in his bedroom, he was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and flipping through some old porno magazines, getting ready to beat off. This is after he's heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how Arabs beat off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ball-point pen's too big. A pencil's too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle, there's a thin, smooth ridge of wax that just might work. With just the tip of one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle. He rolls it smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin.

Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit of his boner. With a good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work.

Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They've totally re-invented jacking off. Flat on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can't keep track of the wax. He's one good squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax isn't sticking out anymore.

The thin wax rod, it's slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can't even feel the lump of it inside his piss tube.

From downstairs, his mom shouts it's suppertime. She says to come down, right now. This wax kid and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much the same life.

It's after dinner when the kid's guts start to hurt. It's wax so he figured it would just melt inside him and he'd pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kidneys. He can't stand straight.

This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can hear bells ding, people screaming. Game shows.

The X-rays show the truth, something long and thin, bent double inside his bladder. This long, thin V inside him, it's collecting all the minerals in his piss. It's getting bigger and more rough, coated with crystals of calcium, it's bumping around, ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss from getting out. His kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood.

This kid and his folks, his whole family, them looking at the black X-ray with the doctor and the nurses standing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody to see, he has to tell the truth. The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote him from the Navy.

On the phone, right now, he starts to cry.

They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mistake, and now he'll never be a lawyer.

Sticking stuff inside yourself. Sticking yourself inside stuff. A candle in your dick or your head in a noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble.

What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater, sitting on the bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep breath, I'd kick my way to the bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I'd sit down there for two, three, four minutes.

Just from jacking off, I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I'd do this all afternoon. After I'd finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang there in big, fat, milky gobs.

After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each handful in a towel. That's why it was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty, my Mom.

That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, thinking she's just getting fat, then giving birth to a two-headed retard baby. Both heads looking just like me. Me, the father AND the uncle.

In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you.

The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool filter and the circulation pump. The best part was getting naked and sitting on it.

As the French would say: Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked?

Still, one minute you're just a kid getting off, and the next minute you'll never be a lawyer.

One minute, I'm settling on the pool bottom, and the sky is wavy, light blue through eight feet of water above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears. My yellow-striped swim trunks are looped around my neck for safe keeping, just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to ask why I skipped football practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I'm grinding my skinny white ass around on that feeling.

One minute, I've got enough air, and my dick's in my hand. My folks are gone at their work and my sister's got ballet. Nobody's supposed to be home for hours.

My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch another big breath. I dive down and settle on the bottom.

I do this again and again.

This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump that never ends. My dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee rubbed raw against the concrete bottom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from being so long in the water.

And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls.

It's then I need some air. But when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can't. I can't get my feet under me. My ass is stuck.

Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this way, sucked by a circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you're going to drown. Every year, tons of people do. Most of them in Florida.

People just don't talk about it. Not even French people talk about EVERYTHING.

Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt. Getting my other foot under me, I kick off against the bottom. I'm kicking free, not touching the concrete, but not getting to the air, either.

Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I'm maybe halfway to the surface but not going higher. The heartbeat inside my head getting loud and fast.

The bright sparks of light crossing and criss-crossing my eyes, I turn and look back%u2026 but it doesn't make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, blue-white and braided with veins has come up out of the pool drain and it's holding onto my butt. Some of the veins are leaking blood, red blood that looks black underwater and drifts away from little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails away, disappearing in the water, and inside the snake's thin, blue-white skin you can see lumps of some half-digested meal.

That's the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent, something that's never seen the light of day, it's been hiding in the dark bottom of the pool drain, waiting to eat me.

So%u2026 I kick at it, at the slippery, rubbery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out of the pool drain. It's maybe as long as my leg now, but still holding tight around my butthole. With another kick, I'm an inch closer to getting another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I'm an inch closer to my escape.

Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange ball. It's the kind of horse-pill vitamin my Dad makes me take, to help put on weight. To get a football scholarship. With extra iron and omega-three fatty acids.

It's seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life.

It's not a snake. It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call, prolapsed. It's my guts sucked into the drain.

Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute. That's about 400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we're all connected together inside. Your ass is just the far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps working - unraveling my insides -- until it's got my tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound shit, and you can see how this might turn you inside out.

What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels pain. The stuff you're digesting, doctor's call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme, pockets of a thin runny mess studded with corn and peanuts and round green peas.

That's all this soup of blood and corn, shit and sperm and peanuts floating around me. Even with my guts unraveling out my ass, me holding onto what's left, even then my first want is to somehow get my swimsuit back on.

God forbid my folks see my dick.

My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellow-striped swim trunks and pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible.

You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lamb-skin condoms. Take one out and unroll it. Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold it under water. Then, try to tear it. Try to pull it in half. It's too tough and rubbery. It's so slimy you can't hold on.

A lamb-skin condom, that's just plain old intestine.

You can see what I'm up against.

You let go for a second, and you're gutted.

You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you're gutted.

You don't swim, and you drown.

It's a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now.

What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating in the cloudy water of their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of veins and twisted guts. The opposite of a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital thirteen years ago. Here's the kid they hoped would snag a football scholarship and get an MBA. Who'd care for them in their old age. Here's all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm.

Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from the pool to the kitchen telephone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out the leg of my yellow-striped swim trunks.

What even the French won't talk about.

That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase. The way we say: "I need that like I need a hole in my head%u2026" Russian people say: "I need that like I need teeth in my asshole%u2026"

Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse

Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any coyote would tell you a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead.

Hell%u2026 even if you're Russian, some day you just might want those teeth.

Otherwise, what you have to do is -- you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind your knee and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You run out of air, and you will chew through anything to get that next breath.

It's not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss good night.

If I told you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari.

It's hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I'd got in trouble or how I'd saved myself. After the hospital, my Mom said, "You didn't know what you were doing, honey. You were in shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs.

All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me%u2026

I need that like I need teeth in my asshole.

Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all quiet and pissed off when I don't eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me. Baked ham. Anything that hangs around inside my guts for longer than a couple hours, it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or chunk light tuna fish, I'll stand up and find it still sitting there in the toilet.

After you have a radical bowel resectioning, you don't digest meat so great. Most people, you have five feet of large intestine. I'm lucky to have my six inches. So I never got a football scholarship. Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I've never weighed a pound more than I did that day when I was thirteen.

Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swimming pool. In the end my Dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned. The dead body got pulled into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the filter casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a watery hank of intestine with a big orange vitamin pill still inside, even then, my Dad just said, "That dog was fucking nuts."

Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my Dad say, "We couldn't trust that dog alone for a second%u2026"

Then my sister missed her period.

Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another state, after my sister's abortion, even then my folks never mentioned it again.

Ever.

That is our invisible carrot.

You. Now you can take a good, deep breath.

I still have not.

End

Comment left by - ignored.

I have never read a single work by Palahniuk, and yet I somehow knew this was him by the end of the first story.

Ditto

Comment left by - ignored.

INTERESTING STUFF!

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR MORE

TALES

OF

FUCK THAT'S TERRIBLE.

I thought this review from Salon was pretty hilarious:

"Imagine some crappy novels. Imagine that they're all written in the same phony, repetitive, bombastic style as this paragraph, all hopped-up imperatives and posturing one-liners. Imagine that they're sloppily put together. Imagine that everything even remotely clever in them has been done before and better by someone else. Imagine that each one flaunts the kind of "research" that can be achieved by leafing through a trade magazine for 30 minutes and is riddled with grating errors. Imagine that these books traffic in the half-baked nihilism of a stoned high school student who has just discovered Nietzsche and Nine-Inch Nails. Does it hurt yet? Now, imagine that every five pages or so the author of these novels will describe something as smelling like shit or piss because the TRUTH is fucking ugly, man. Imagine that he affects to attack the shallow, simplistic, dehumanizing culture of commodity capitalism by writing shallow, simplistic, dehumanized fiction."

...

Reading this is like being cornered by a dimwitted and semi-belligerent drunk possessed by an idée fixe he keeps reciting over and over again, jabbing your shoulder each time."

Ooooooh, ouch, burrrrrrn ! That is excellent and yeah I am glad it's not just that I'm not 'cool' enough to 'get' Chuckie P.

TO BE A COOL CRITIC: Exaggerate your target's writing style until it seems clownish and thumb-fingered. Add a caricature of what you think his typical fans are-- because obviously an author can't be any good if the people who like him are losers . Make references to other authors who have "done this before, only better"-- never, ever name them, however, or acknowledge any possible differences between them and this author that might have made him famous and them fade into obscurity. Remember, the idea is that you are so supremely educated in the history of writing you don't even have to back up your incredibly clever review with specific references-- the reader already knows that you have earned the right to vaguely mention "someone else" who was "better", you are a Critic and you are the Law.

fuck you man, it was a good story

Good in a very very specific way. A good author makes you want to be there. That story made me want to be anywhere else, and also catatonic.

I assumed that sirhan_duran found it on some amateur shock fiction forum, and I read it thinking, "Wow, this is almost as good as Manflesh's Voyager slashfic!"

no i found it on an amateur flash video forum >:[

I wish more stories had terrible endings that left you feeling gutted.

I'd prefer more comedic stories that make me bust a gut laughing.


Oooh I'm TERRIBLE!

exactly!

See, in my 24-hour lack of sleep, my first thought was, "Jesus, sirhan_duran has the most terrible experiences ever. I should send him a card."

This stupid fucking story keeps coming back to haunt me when I am not thinking of anything in particular. SO FUCK YOU GET OUT OF MY HEAD.

Well...that...I think I actually gasped about ten times.

At the mention of "blue-white and braided with veins" I gasped and slapped my hand over my mouth like Dakota Fanning in "War of the Worlds". I didn't scream though.

see... that was... why...
why would you think that?
why would you do that?
why would you post that?

DOgg - I know it's you. I recognized you from the avatar. I guess I am a stalker.
SHeezus.

Vomit in my mouth. You win, carpetbag, if that's what you were playing for.

Vomit in my mouth?

That's what SHE said...right before I got dressed and ran until I couldn't.

I keep seeing this and wondering why I asked someone to vomit in my mouth, but apparently I meant "THERE IS vomit in my mouth." All weekend.

I'm not sure about era -- all I know is my junk is anarcho-primitivist.
Can't take my beanbags out anywhere or they start ramificating on the evils of industrializaton.

Screw postmodern genitals - I've got wood!

This is somewhat ambiguous.

Merkin mullets

I actually saw some guy just the other day (on a web site) who had apparently gotten some odd graphic symbol inked on his equipage. It would be visible what ever degree of arousal, so lacked the aspect of surprise at full engorgement. I wondered, how the hell did they avoid piercing that dorsal vein? And what about the pain?!

I'm not one for piercings either. The first time I saw a Prince Albert - in a bathhouse in Denver some 35 years ago - I confess my courage failed me and I fled (the Prince Albert and the gentleman to whom it was attached, not the bathhouse).

I'm not a homo but I'm enamored with homo culture (seriously, most of my friends and social circles feature a ton of gay), and i commend you for being so old school you hung out in bathhouses back in the day. i'm honestly quite impressed.

My thanks for the props, JC! Of course, back in the day hanging at the baths wasn't old school; it was the coolest cool. Being mad rutty wasn't just an occasional diversion, it was a way of life, a calling. In a place like Denver, the baths were the maximum Church of Rut, with the most variety of mise-en-scene, the greatest potential of quantity and quality of worship.

When I moved to New York I found a much more developed Church culture. In retrospect I'm amazed I got anything at all done (like making something of a living), since an astonishing amount of my time was spent perfecting my Mad Rutty Skills. I say of myself in that time that it was like someone left the gate open and the dog got out.

It was a terrific time, even with all the horrific stuff that followed on its heels. Myself, I'm impressed I'm still around, navigating my way into curmudgeonly dotage.

EdwellEdwell...Ed... well?

Also wouldn't it be quite postmodern to be self-referential, so maybe one of your balls could be tattooed to look like your glans. Or something. Or would that be more Magritte-school surrealism?

Ceci n'est pas un penis.

...Except it totally is!

A comment left by nyu was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by InspectorGadget, tinyneutrino, IronDave, explodingbat)

How Meta! :D

What is a forcemeat?

A rich, highly seasoned paste containing meat or fish, herbs and vegetables finely minced and pounded, used as a stuffing or garnish.

What news from the forcemeat?


I just couldn't stop reading it like that, anxious archetypical English accent from the sweating brow of a bearded David Wenham or Sean Bean on horseback.

Use the forcemeat Luke.

The turkey will be delicious .

Yum, David Wenham or Sean Bean.

Amirite, ladies?

Hell, even I'd be willing to admit that. Them some well-proportioned and handsome manz.

Tell your friends: admitting other dudes are hot is the new being straight.

I'd let him plunder my One Ring any day.

Dwarf tossing?

I'd let him simply walk into my Mordor.

That is no orc horn!

(it's a v-chubbu)

Three responses, Hecci: and all dudes.

Not the response you asked for, but it's the one you got.

Man I'm so sick of white people accusin me of cookin my forcemeat in their daughters' ovens they need to recognize that there are ramifications to these false accusations which lead to making generalizations about my generation which has various implications in terms of forms of degradation and when you get down to it, it's a nation of player-hation because to wrongfully accuse a man of rape is another form of rape except for those crackas at Duke University man I know they did that shit but anyway We ain't came on no Plymouth Cock, Plymouth Cock came on us and if you need more proof of the truth of that well then flibberty gibbert and a rat-a-tat-tat

Bitch I ain't even got to make sense no more
Because I live in a country that's nonsense to the core
Y'all suckas talk about the fathers that went before
But it ain't relevant to me man it's all folklore
Before you say I'm the reason you're wife's pussy got tore
Ask yourself why your woman acts like such a whore
The only revolution comin to break down your door
Will spread peace and love, not blood and gore
Now I know I sound like Will Smith in days of yore
When he was with Jazzy Jeff and he was just a bore
(Well at least he had yet to get jiggy, which white Boomers adore)
But I need to get my point across before my throat gets sore:
We need understanding in order to reach an accord
From the same cup we'll sip, the same pitcher, we'll pour
So quit yellin about the flag pins some guy wore
And be glad that the man's got some plans in store

I like it when you keystyle, props.

Better watch our or he'll have to publicly disavow you.

I don't know how we got from forcemeat to some shit about Obama...

I'd force my meat on his Obama.

This week, on No Reservations , Tony gets punked up on jupiter oil in California, where he dives into the world of meatotomy (cutaway - Bourdain holding a chef's knife with a sheepish look on his face, saying "Just like fileting tuna...") and cuts his teeth on a terrified, asexual forcemeat. Only on the Travel Channel.

Insert obligatory shot of Tony with a flamethrower.

Fuck me, I want to vomit now.

I have myself never felt completely at ease allowing any sort of blade within three feet of my unmentionables.

Not even Inner-Thigh-Blades? Those are fairly standard.

What.

Maybe it's an assassin thing? I'm thinking Venture Bros.

I love how subtly molly's expression changes in the last three panels.

I have seen this same reaction many a time when I go on tangents about post-mortem examinations of my crotch (known as Kosmo).

Actually, I've never talked about anything even close to that. That was all a lie.

Did you lie about your pubic hair having a similar 'do as Michael Richard's character in Seinfeld? Did you lie about that ?

The name did not originate from this, but upon closer examination I see that it damn well should have.

I am hereby changing Kosmo's name to Cosmo.

I have the retarded desire to ruffle his little head.

That would be wrong of me.

Not on the couch, fellas.

Which one?

You should change its name to "Cosmos," because it's always expanding*, am I right ladies?

*this might not be in keeping with the lastest astronomical conventions...but like a chick's gonna know that am I right fellas?

...the only difference, ladies, is that this astronomical phenomenon ends with a Big Bang.

Oh man how did I miss [i]that?[i].

that that THAT THAT

I am filled with an anxious excitement at the potential photoshopping that someone's gonna do for this one.

(It is important to note here that the scene of a tall penis in brown suitpants and a yellow argyled cardigan bursting into Jerry's apartment and running his hand through his crazy hair in anticipation of his ridiculous sub-plot introduction dialogue is accompanied by the associated slap-bass theme song, as well as raucous applause and whooping when he comes through the door.)

I would like to hear in the background, at a barely audible level, Michael Richard's Comedy Club career-ender in it's entirety.

That would be some complicated photoshoppin', would it not?

She is slowly realizing that her love cannot change this man. She cannot simply undo all the damage of a life lived under the duress of an overbearing old woman -- of constant attempts to fulfill desires and try new things thwarted by a lack of resources both financial and familial -- by putting a couple of rings on their fingers and wearing matching cargo shorts. Beef is an experienced man who has been taught many wrong lessons in his life, a tragic perversion of what a bildungsroman ought to be, too depressing to garner empathy, too hilarious to be deeply moving.

His talk ain't come from a place of calmness anymore.

i always get an extra-special kick out of onstad's autobiographical pieces

Today's strip is sponsored by Freud!

When your fantasy autopsy needs to segue into cocaine-inspired horror .

https://www.straightdope.com/art/2002/020628.gif

Remember kids, cocaine cures all your ailments, and you are sexually attracted to your mother and want to kill your father. And that's a good thing.

oops.

is that grampa pickles?


Looks like him.

I wonder what pushed him over the edge

He was always a perv, "sprout".

I'm trying to imagine a cat's shaved pubic area.

No photoshops, please.

Or actual photographs.

[img]https://media.funlol.com/content/img/funny-looking-shaved-cat.jpgp/img]

Whew. Took me about 5 hours of googling "shaved pussy" and two dozen awkward explanations to my co-workers to find this but I think it's what you're looking for.

Oh fuck you assetbar. Since it's now Friday.

It looks surprisingly content.

Its nutsack looks like a tangled knot, or a female gymnast's velvet scrunchy.

"Scrunchie"? "Scrunchy"? "Sckrunntchee"? This has never come up before in my LIFE.

Jesus. Bill the Cat in the (shaved) flesh .

Ack. Thbbbt.

Ack Oop Barf.

Ooop Ack! TPshpsth.

*Billy and the Boingers style tongue solo*

I had the "Billy and the Boingers" Bloom County Collection growing up, which had the flexi-disc record in it with "U-Stink-But-I-(heart)-U" and "I'm A Boinger". Good times, good times.

DEATH BY ACNE.

I dunno. He looks pissed off to me, but maybe not as much as he could, considering.

Uhhh, thanks , but he's not exactly looking for your INput!

I'd also be content if I had such rad gloves!

Wait.

Five hours, eh?

And I assumed you had safe search on?

Let's hope so, because searching "cat with shaved pubes" came up with enough unsavory results. And I assumed that would be kind of safe.

Alas, daidai, you're but a puritan who's yet to know the joys of :
MILF Gallery-
asian big boobs,
retard, shaved pubes.

One man's unsavory is another man's poetry.

I actually counted the syllables to make sure that wasn't a haiku. But now I feel the need to make one:

A shaved pussy (cat).
Beguiling feline eyes glare.
Google's twisted joke.

fin

Don't judge me.

Okay.

*backs away in fear*

I'm assuming one of the first results would be of a shorn beatnik-type character.

For future reference, his post was made 15 minutes after the previous one.

Well, maybe he was already searching for it before he saw my comment.

Although I don't know why it would take him 5 hours. It reminds me of my sisters who tried to find the naked picture of Vanessa Hudgins. They said that it was impossible.

(I didn't tell them they had safe search on.)

I require elucidation on your "sisters desperately searching for a naked Vanessa Hudgins" anecdote.

I don't know what to say. They were trying to look for that picture, and they didn't. I wasn't around.

Did they try typing "vanessa hudgins COME ON SHOW ME HER NAKED"?

That totally works, by the way.

Whoa, I never knew there was a whole collection of them.

(Interesting sidenote: I accidentally typed [/whoa] originally to end that link.)

Lame, they put stars over her junk.

Here .

Haha, fooled you all. That's child porn. Give me your addresses and I'll be over to arrest you.

She was like 17, right? And does that count (I don't think so)?

She was 18 when the pictures came out, perfectly legal. You fail at life.

Unfortunately.

Okay, I was kidding.
Besides, the pictures weren't pornographic anyway.

Well, at least now we know her input on the pubics debate.

Her feelings on that asset are: pro.

I'm pro as well.

I think she's pretty.

It was also made within maybe an hour of the strip being up.
I only point this out because in a year it will be impossible to see that he didn't spend 5 hours.

On the other hand, I don't know why I gave enough of a shit to post the last time. *shrug*

Funny. I always imagined Molly to be unconcerned with pubic hair length. This may have been to do with her stripey socks. Ahhh... sweeping generalisations...

What, you assume everyone from Elizabethan times didn't know how to get down? Shame on you, timecist.

I actually forgot who was reigning monarch of Molly's day.

A comment left by mattsolo was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by meddle, daidai, prius_chaser, asobi)

Really? 3? I love when Onstad gets absurdist and dense with his prose. I gave him a 5. I will join your 3 score and stare at you mockingly. I did not lame thee however.

The first three panels were going to make me throw up for an hour or so, and I was ready to give it a low score, but terrified asexual forcemeat changed all that.

Thanks, Terrified Asexual Forcemeat!

Oh I so agree. 'Terrified Asexual Forcemeat' dominated and destroyed any thoughts but an immediate and powerful need to rate this one a 5.

Terrified Asexual Forcemeat Dominates And Destroys My Thoughts.

That's not a half-bad phrase, that. Be a good title for a song.

CHORUS:
Terrified Asexual Forcemeat Dominates and Destroys My Thoughts
I am a Glen of Imaal Terrier and I'm Tearing Right Through it's Shorts!

Verse

'Subject appears to have disticnt lack of pubic hair
Apparently about his life he did not care
Autopsy result shows perforated balls
And thus another hero falls'

CHORUS

That's it, we're forming an Achewood filk band.

This is a conversation that should have been breached before the wedding. Eighty percent of mismatched Standard Genital-Area Appearance Expectations marriages end in divorce.

If you're looking into marriage, and wish to discuss pubics and future pubics with your chosen partner(s), please make sure a notary is there.

For the children.

As a Standard Genital-Area Appearance Expectation Notary, I would like to say, my suicide note is on the fridge.

But how will we know it's really yours? Did you invite a Supra-Standard Suicide Communication Relations Notary (Public Affairs Division) over before you put it there?

Did you file it with the proper authorities?? You know you need an S8-92.5 Rev B for that.

Ahhh but only if you have not first filled in form 371-C Notice of impending suicide

reminds me of my relationship

Beef is most definitely the win.

Oh, honey, no. No.

A stronger, loving Lawbot.

Oh hecci. I'm with you there.

I could hear the mild distress and maternal repetition in that voice...

This is the kind of Achewood strip that sends you to the dictionary, and makes you like it.


Now I know what longer means.

We should all be so lucky as to have fanciful notions about our ability to manipulate the visual drama of our own genitalia.

I feel like such a disappointment to my Jewish mother after reading that. And I'm not even Jewish, and haven't attempted any downstairs topiary.

This gave me huge jew-chuckles!

Those are some rough chuckles.

No, no, they totally go down (or come out??) smooooth like lokshen pudding, chicken soup and matzoballs and other things that God approves of. Lobsters - now that's rough.

And thus do we end our two-strip discussion on theology and religion, and enter once again into a discussion on dicks.

I can launch us into a heated discussion about how sexist it is that women are expected to trim, shave, or wax their pubes, while it seems silly and unreasonable to ask men to do the same. I mean, just, you know, if you're into, like, ideological arguments that breed hard feelings between Assetbarbarians. I can do that if you'd like.

Loneal: Barbed, For Your Pleasure.

It'd be hard to start this heated discussion with me, because I generally agree with you on discussion of gender roles, if you haven't noticed. It's just hard to make it known to people that I've studied feminism and gender roles (on my own time, so not university-level by any means), namely because I'm a dude and most dudes don't think about it. Being a guy in...well, any society, is kinda like being a Yankee white person who just moved to the South in the early 20th Century: you know the other people are oppressed and objectified, but life is so much easier for you that after a while it can start to eat away at you, until you've nearly become the very thing you were so adamantly against.

Did that make sense? I hope so.

So, you read a bunch of books on how to be an Terrified Asexual Forcemeat, but it didn't take? I'M KIDDING.

Also, in a completely unintelligent personal reference to the discussion, and not at all an example for the sake of a point of argument: I trim. It's easier to clean, feels better, makes my johnson look bigger (a plus for my self-esteem, the wife doesn't care), and the lack of little hairs to get caught in one's teeth makes it more pleasant for my wife (everybody wins this). I see no down-sides, except that if I trim it too short just above my man-rod then the sharp whiskers are right at clitoris height, but only for like a day, and we work around this.

I think that we can all come to an agreement that Pubes truly are God's One Mistake and that regardless of gender we should all feel like we are eleven "down there".

Young girls like it SHAVED!

...yeah. I dare you...

NOT APPROPRIATE PHOTOSHOP MATERIAL

I've never understood the phrase "shaved apes" until now...

I had a friend whose girlfriend convinced her to let him shave his balls. Every night for the next two weeks he would either call or IM me to complain about the horrible itching and chafing.

I think trimming the upper area is to be encouraged. But I can't even imagine how the shaving of the, um, pouch would go. I mean it's not exactly a level surface, nor is there any firm resistance. It'd be like a dude asking you to shave your labia.

Now I'm wondering if it's possible for a girl to have hairy labias. I do not like this conversation anymore.

DON'T HALF-ASS THIS.

GO FOR THE BALLS.

Seriously, with a straight razor and a good deal of caution (woe betide you if you attempt this with an electric razor) it is nowhere near as intimidating as it might seem to the average abecedarian.

Fair enough. Just don't expect sympathy from me when you're sitting in A&E*, a bludgeoned toy poodle with rigor mortis clamped to your left nut.

*ER

I feel that if this situation were to occur, I would deserve no sympathy.

I demand further explanation. Do you stretch it out piece by piece on a flat surface as you would do while sewing with a loom? What about the corners and creases where the razor head is too wide to reach? What about the grundle?

I... I... don't know if I can satisfy your curiosity about my balls, sir...

I just... don't... know.

Yes. He looms his balls. That is what he does.

Your scrotum has corners? That is some crazy shit right there.

Do you mean STRAIGHT razor, or a safety razor (as in not an electric?) Because if you mean a straight razor, holy crap. Holy crap.

That's the last place you want to unwittingly carve yourself a Glasgow smile.

Straight razor slashing open something (ie neck) is a Cuban Smile - If you're cool, they'll stick your tongue out your neck after. It's a Glasgow Kiss (headbutt) that you are getting confused with?

I thought the tongue thing was a Cuban Necktie. Anyway have you seen The Dark Knight ? The Joker has a Glasgow Smile .

No, I have not.

You totally should.

I'm assuming the same basic idea is in many cultures, with each naming it after their city/nation/culture etc, thinking they're entirely unique. Glasgow Smile and Cuban Necktie are the ones I've heard - I've also heard the headbutt known as the Edinburgh Kiss. Really depends who you talk to.

No, you're all wrong. It's a Chelsea Smile. That is the only thing my name has going for it, and yes I know it was named after the burrough of London but for the love of Christ let the Chelseas of this world have SOMETHING

Oh shit now we know autrepoupee's first name

Chelsea. That's such a beautiful name.

My fortune teller told me I would fall in love with a beautiful maiden called Chelsea from the Internet.

It has to be you.

(It's called a Glasgow and a Chealsea. Wikipedia exists for a reason, you know).

Wikipedia told me fortune tellers are all charlatans, and marriage is a sham.

:____(

So . . .so that's a no? I don't have a girlfriend. Sigh. I already sent the invitations out too.

Sounds refreshing, does it not?

Alright, that's actually pretty awesome. Finally, an easier way to get teens drunk! Stock in Schnapps and Coconut Rum would absolutely drop to hell.

All because of Chelsea!

Not really. You couldn't get drunk on that stuff, you would explode first. A-B got a lot of crap for it on the idea that it was beerish, but available to kids. Like a training beer.

But can we make exploding fashionable among the younger generations?

I am thinking that we can.

Dear god yes that is what I meant safety razor is what I meant oh god oh god I need to go take a very cold shower and perhaps die a little bit inside from the horror of that possibility.



I feel bad for doing this but the kids need to know .

a shavea the face...
a trimma the beard...
a...OMIGAH

Stereo!

I have been waiting for you to turn up somewhere so I could let you know that Onstad posted 4 consecutive haiku in the paid section. I'm certain that you were the inspiration.

Re: straight razors. Kids, if you still have your hair cut at a barbershop, this is what a barber uses to shave the nape of your neck. It also appears in old blues songs as a main weapon of scorned lovers and people who are having a wild night.

Pfft, "barber shop". Get with the times, irondave. Everyone knows that all the cool kids just bring their iTrim to the rainbow party and sync the whole thing up to their MySpace.

I guess I thought people were going to salons nowadays. Apparently one of the problems with MySpace is that it's full of hair.

what about the ass hawk?

It's easy, you just need to stretch the skin out to make a flat surface, and go all around. You might nick yourself one or twice, but it heals up fast. And the itching gets less and less each time you do it. I'm now a fully-converted shaving devotee. Certain areas are just that bit more sensitive when not coated in hair.

But don't shave the triangle, no-one wants you to look like a 12-year old.

I concur, except that many guys actually do trim. Once they figure out it makes them look bigger, and that it makes a girl more apt to give them head, they come around. (Heh.) And those that don't, should. I'm totally with you on the shaving/waxing front for ladies though-- the trend towards being entirely bare kinda weirds me out. I mean, I was 10 once. But things have changed!

"With Brand Xsssssss, you can be 10... a'gin!!"

"Love that Joker"

* If I was not already late for work I would have photoshopped the Jokers face on a waxing kit. I am sorry for this.

Yeah, I am all for keeping things tidy, but things have changed, and you can never go back to those halcyon days without a bunch of creepy stubble and pedophilia vibes happening.

I agree with you both, bald lady parts do nothing for me, and are a little disturbing, but I am equally put off by the '70s style crotch fro that some girls feel the need to sport. Things should be kept somewhat neat and trimmed down there, and this is not just aimed at ladies. To any dude who wants his lady to trim or shave her crotchular region, but is unwilling to maintain his own: You are an asshole . The ladies appreciate a well-landscaped pubis as much as we do, and genitalia-related experiences will be much more enjoyable for all involved parties if proper grooming habits are practiced.

I noticed that my original post may have been a little long-winded, so here's a condensed version.

Most guys don't enjoy pearl diving in the Amazon, just as I'm sure ladies don't like it when they can't see the tree through the forest. Keep your junk coif neatly trimmed

I'll give you that first metaphor, but for the second "can't see the tree for the woods" is so much more satisfying.

Personally, I don't give a shit whether the lady shaves or not.

As I believe I've mentioned before, I think Fiona Apple is smokin' hot, and her unshaved pits don't detract from that. I mean, I know we're talking about genitals here and not armpits, but still. Kind of the same principle in context of this discussion.

Fiona Apple is insanely hot, but at the same time she has this really weird, scary vibe, like she might stab you for looking at her the wrong way, yet somehow this scary factor makes her even hotter. Please tell me I am not the only person who feels this way about her.

You are not alone in this.

Back in the late 90's, when that Criminal video was on MTV all the time, Fiona Apple had the body of an 11 year old boy. Not really my thing .

Otherwise, she's kind of attractive (nice, not my type), but I always thought a friend of mine who called her something similar to "insanely hot" was stretching it.

I'm afraid i'm with thorfinn and tekende on this one. Insanely hot. Her talent makes her hotter. Extraordinary Machine is an amazing album.

In that clip she's thin and she isn't well endowed but I don't think that makes her akin to a 11 year old boy. That's a little unfair to the naturally thin, flatter chested ladies. I'm sure you weren't tryin to be mean though.

Well, I was just always put off by the quick bit where you see her in her underwear. Normally, I'd be all for that, but my first thought was "man, that looks like my ass when I was 11." She also had that late 90's quasi-heroin chic look, another asinine trend that I was never fond of. There's a different between being thin and flat chested and looking emaciated and bruised.

Also, I thought and still think that her talent is overrated.

But hey, what's a guy to do?/I don't like Fiona Apple/but I don't want to judge you.

Your points are all valid. Although I'm starting to worry about all that time you spent craning your neck around awkwardly as an 11 year old. Sister outside the bathroom all yellin' "He's been in there for aaaaages". Your dad in another room kinda smirking.

I followed my imagination, and I should not have .

I chubbied you, and I regret it not.

We have discussed Fiona Apple on assetbar before somewhere!

I know not where, though your profile says you like Roison Murphy and now we're totally BFF, because Roison is to be my wife.

oh yay! her voice is sexual!

Yeah so I didn't mean necessarily you and me, I meant a more inclusive 'we', like 'we the assetbarbarians', you know. We the assetbarbarians have discussed Fiona Apple but in fact just after posting that I remembered it was in the context of Regina Spektor (yum):
https://m.assetbar.com/achewood/uuablCNhp#comment_462

A trinity of sexy sexy lady-voices.

The voices of Fiona Apple, Regina Spektor, and Tori Amos all go out for wild nights on the town, getting drunk in bars and just living it up.

Joanna Newsom watches from outside, her hand pressed against the glass of a cold window. She has not been invited. She will never be invited.

I can't believe I still had a chubby left.

Huge slam on Joanna Newsom out of nowhere

Was it really out of nowhere, though?? I mean.. she had to have known.

Joanna Newsom's voice always puts me in mind of a mother singing to her daughter as the daughter simultaneously sings to the mother. So no, not very sexy at all.

It was Tori Amos that made me decide that in my next life I want to be a piano bench.

Man, don't even through Joanna Newsom anywhere near that VH1-friendly, drama-chick-coddling, ivory-dry-humping masturbatory horse shit. Is there some RIAA by-law requiring every lable to have an unconventionally attractive piano playing kinda kooky(!) (but in that Borders kind of way) overwrought spastic on the payroll? Is this what people turn to when Vanessa Carlton and Vienna Teng go "too mainstream?"

I tried to respond to this discussion but I am on shitty, expensive, infrequent int0r wab connections in Israel, and I am too lazy to reconstruct my comment. Rest assured it was brilliant in its insight on Fiona Apple's hotness.

I think Regina Spektor is all kinds of hot.

I tried to respond to your brilliantly insightful review of Fiona Apple's hotness, but I was stuck at work, and unable to tear myself away for long enough to express my innermost thoughts on the subject. Though generations may suffer for my not having committed it here to writing, you may exist knowing that it not only complemented your own eternal thoughts, but also raised the standards of such comments, and of commenting itself, to a level unknown for years to come. It...was... breathtaking ...

Thank you for the opportunity.

LOL FNAz APLz IZ TEH HOTTTTT!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Axillary_intercourse

!

That's what that's called!

The wikipedia image for "Mammary intercourse" is so pricelessly hilarious.

I like the one for double penetration . It's like they tried so hard to find a non-pornographic "informative" illustration.

It is so incredibly difficult to take wikipedia seriously when it uses the term "The Shocker."

"Sometimes referred to as "two in the pink, one in the stink."

Tellingly, both oral sex illustrations are of gay couples.

The more you know

I can't believe you beat me to a "bagpiping" reference!

I thought that was one of my few gems of unique knowledge!

Damn you, and your ability to be two hours in the past!

i'm kinda drunk after a night of getting a horrible reception for trying to livin up a college bar by siging a kareokee version of "Lust for Life", so I'm not real sure what's going on other Beef thinks his man parts are gonna look like some weirdo Dr. Frankenstein monster shit if he trimes em up. I'll try reading this again tomorrow to make more sense of it.

Go drink another glass of water. Maybe some Berocca.

thanks i had a bottle of water, it was helpfull.


I bet they were all why is he singing that Carnival Cruise theme song and adding in all of these lyrics about hard drugs

This strip is thirty times better if you imagine the coroner's notes being read in a snooty, slightly effeminate British accent.

In other words, Eric Idle.

If you shave your Area, this dog will decide you're a huge pansy and thus fair game:


That dog will full ruin your shit if your trim your pubes.

You laugh. Don't laugh.

Do I amuse you?? AM I FUCKIN AMUSING TO YOU?!

grrrryowf!

There is no way that this dog can be Actual.

She definitely was NOT suggesting it because of the way it looks. Naughty thing. Nudge nudge. Eh whuat.

Dracula ain't got money for a haircut this week.

Molly wants Beef to get a reverse Merkin.

By the way, this is the second image result for 'forcemeat'.



Don't do it, kids.

Another day, another terrifying neurosis.

I like Beef, he's uncompromising in his neuroses. For everyone else, this is how the scenario should go:

Her: "Babe, can I give you a little trim "down there?"
You: "Yes. Yes indeed you may."

I wouldn't agree to that. If my girlfriend wanted to shave my Robert and Downey Jr's, I'd probably end up constructing a frowny face out of 'em to guilt her into giving up on the prospect.

Balls are the eyes, winky is the long, drooping nose. It's practically the face of comedic despair to begin with. All it needs is a pair of wax lips to round it off.

I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think your junk is upside down.

oh god oh god oh god oh god
oh god

Its okay, you're just like spongebob.


Damn. On the page anyway, it turns into a pecker and balls when you 'rub the mouse' over the image.

Spongebob lives in a bikini bottom.

Comment left by - ignored.

That is Spongebob's subliminal phallic imagery.

Really, thanks to the new avatar, I think you're exactly the person to tell him this.

Oh man yes I am totally going to refer to my genitals as my Robert and Downey Jr's from now on. Thank you.

I always preferred Linus and Charlie Browns.

Snipe and Wesleys.

Ben and Jerrys?

Barnes and Noble

Mills and Boon :D

Siegfried and Roys.

Benny and the Jets.

Elvis Costello and the Attractions

Captain and Tennilles

George Clinton and the Parliament Funkadelic.

Johnson & Johnson?

The Smiths.

Tom and Jerrys: they're famous for terrible but hilarious antics in bed.

in your pants?

Civilisation and its Discontents

Savage and it's Inequalities?

Discipline and Punish?

The Princess and the Warriors?

Rum Sodomy and the Lash?

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly?

No! No! I'm sorry! None of those terms mean anything to me!

vchub. I think I still have one left, but Edwell hasn't done anything today and I just... I can't take the risk.

A comment left by fatfatcat was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by dasilodavi, IronDave, I_Love_Kate)

jesus, molly is boring. why does she even exist?

Foils don't need to be particularly interesting. All she needs is the vocal capacity to set Beef off. She's like the match. Her purpose is to burn briefly, before igniting the fuse which leads all the way
to
the
bomb.

oh shiiiiiiiiit

A comment left by niggar was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by aliiis, Thorfinn, Jhunter, fuzzyshoo, I_Love_Kate)

I feel like laming you would simply be playing right into your hands.

...But it still feels so good.

It's cool, I logged on to lame this.

To clarify: Not you, i_love_kate - but someone with the handle "niggar" who hasn't been through the archives and compares Achewood to QC..


The hell with being a cock to a stranger, that's lame material right there.


I get what he means (driving an odd notion pretty far), but "niggar" (or "parson of colar") is wrong. QC does not have a character of substance like Beef, nor the linguistic prowess to compare.

OH GOD why am I humoring a troll??

QC has more foils than a weed dealer.

THANK YOU! THANK YOU! You can catch me, Tim Heidecker and Niel Hamburger next week at the Rocklea Tavern.

Show me your genitals!

And now let's all examine why she offered to do it FOR him, instead of suggesting he do it himself.

The manscaping, I mean.

Because she thought that the idea of having her do it for him might be sexy enough that he would agree, whereas he would probably not agree to do it himself, and also telling him to do it himself might sound like she is unhappy with his junk as it is.

Molly should get him by now though and know he would put up a stink because it's a whole Thing To Do, and Extremely Correct. Or at least that's what I would figure. But her typical compassion does indeed come through in the way you described.

I really think one of the least sexy things a couple can do is shave each other, or really, any other hygiene activities. The absolute least sexual thing. As far as your partner should know, you wake up gleaming and flawless, ready to take on each new day with your freshly and mysteriously laundered genitals.

I've got to imagine most people agree with this, and use the "oh baby lets shave the night together!" as a gentle way of saying "TAKE THAT SHIT OFF YOUR SHAMEZONE FOR THE LOVE OF PETE"

Showering together can be very erotic and makes for wonderful foreplay, so I can't rule out all hygiene-related activities, but I agree that shaving each other is kind of weird. An ex-girlfriend talked me into participating in this activity once, it took me like half an hour to shave her because I was terrified that I would slip and cut her in her most delicate of areas, and eventually she gave up and finished it herself. On the other side of things, the speed with which she shaved me was both remarkable and scary. The novelty of bald naughty bits made the sexy times more fun initially, but that quickly wore off and was replaced by the horrible itching that comes a day or two after shaving off your pubes. Overall, the experience was not good, and I would not do it again.

Five hours, (and who can do it less in?)
By haughty Celia spent in dressing;
The goddess from her chamber issues,
Arrayed in lace, brocades, and tissues.
Strephon, who found the room was void
And Betty otherwise employed,
Stole in and took a strict survey
Of all the litter as it lay;
Whereof, to make the matter clear,
An inventory follows here.
And first a dirty smock appeared,
Beneath the arm-pits well besmeared.
Strephon, the rogue, displayed it wide
And turned it round on every side.
On such a point few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest;
And swears how damnably the men lie
In calling Celia sweet and cleanly.
Now listen while he next produces
The various combs for various uses,
Filled up with dirt so closely fixt,
No brush could force a way betwixt.
A paste of composition rare,
Sweat, dandruff, powder, lead and hair;
A forehead cloth with oil upon't
To smooth the wrinkles on her front.
Here alum flower to stop the steams
Exhaled from sour unsavory streams;
There night-gloves made of Tripsy's hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripsy when she died,
With puppy water, beauty's help,
Distilled from Tripsy's darling whelp;
Here gallypots and vials placed,
Some filled with washes, some with paste,
Some with pomatum, paints and slops,
And ointments good for scabby chops.
Hard by a filthy basin stands,
Fouled with the scouring of her hands;
The basin takes whatever comes,
The scrapings of her teeth and gums,
A nasty compound of all hues,
For here she spits, and here she spews.
But oh! it turned poor Strephon's bowels,
When he beheld and smelt the towels,
Begummed, besmattered, and beslimed
With dirt, and sweat, and ear-wax grimed.
No object Strephon's eye escapes:
Here petticoats in frowzy heaps;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot
All varnished o'er with snuff and snot.
The stockings, why should I expose,
Stained with the marks of stinking toes;
Or greasy coifs and pinners reeking,
Which Celia slept at least a week in?
A pair of tweezers next he found
To pluck her brows in arches round,
Or hairs that sink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like bristles grow.
The virtues we must not let pass,
Of Celia's magnifying glass.
When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't
It shewed the visage of a giant.
A glass that can to sight disclose
The smallest worm in Celia's nose,
And faithfully direct her nail
To squeeze it out from head to tail;
(For catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out alive or dead.)
Why Strephon will you tell the rest?
And must you needs describe the chest?
That careless wench! no creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner;
But leave it standing full in sight
For you to exercise your spite.
In vain, the workman shewed his wit
With rings and hinges counterfeit
To make it seem in this disguise
A cabinet to vulgar eyes;
For Strephon ventured to look in,
Resolved to go through thick and thin;
He lifts the lid, there needs no more:
He smelt it all the time before.
As from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus oped the locks,
A sudden universal crew
Of humane evils upwards flew,
He still was comforted to find
That Hope at last remained behind;
So Strephon lifting up the lid
To view what in the chest was hid,
The vapours flew from out the vent.
But Strephon cautious never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope
And foul his hands in search of Hope.

...

Thus finishing his grand survey,
Disgusted Strephon stole away
Repeating in his amorous fits,
Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia shits!

-Jonathan Swift, "The Lady's Dressing Room"

and THAT'S why you let a lady her privacy in the matters of personal care. Lest you want to learn the darkest of Ayesha's secrets.

But a man cannot evade these terrible truths all his life. Better to rid oneself of pretense and allow no mock defence than let oneself be shocked when it might have teeeeerrible consequences.

"Blood comes out of your vagina?! How could you hide this from me for so long?!"

oh jesus how many of you already have found out about the menstrual thing?!?

I long ago learned what a fine lubricant a woman's wombing-blood does make.

Bloobrication, yeah. Ugh.

CAR CRASH SEX! BLOOD EVERYWHERE! SUBTLETY GONE! CAPS OVERUSED! DEVASTATING SELF COMMENTARY WASTED! LAMES GUARENTEED!

v-chub, since I have been too friendly on this page, apparently.

I dunno. I couldn't help but chubby this. Maybe it's related to the car-crash-curiosity gene.

And asset-bar says I need to be nice to be lamer.

Thank you, for considering your options.

The correct term is "Crime-Scene Sex", and in some cultures you are not a man until you have had it, and by it left a bloody footprint on a motel wall or ceiling.

See, now I want a youtube of that just to see how the footprint gets on the ceiling. Is it a way out wonky gravity thing or something boring like lying on your back on a really high tressle-table?

Or even just a fake foot on a stick? That'd be pretty boring. Although ... the possibilities for amusement are quite promising.

I often suggest that a man not involve himself with a woman he cannot lift over his head.

That's pretty sound advice. Unless the man himself is of the more globular variety, then they probably make a cute couple.

Is it cute to know your children will be laughed at in gym class?

I imagine J. Walter Weatherman saying that. And I shouldn't be blamed.

So Strephon got from that: "Women smell bad." An ode to cooties if I ever saw one.

Cleanly and man lie used to rhyme?

You live and learn.

My feelings on freshly and mysteriously laundered genitals are Pro .

My wife and I's weekly tongue scraping parties are pretty much the only reason we stay together.

Oh, nasty.

[sexy scottish woman in a labcoat]

Studies show that tongue scraping parties reduce levels of dangerous tonguenoids by over 73%.
They have also found to increase instances of marital oral romanticism.


[/sexy scottish woman in a labcoat]

I cannot leave a Mitchell and Webb Look reference unchubbied.

Except for now, when I have no chubbies. Sorry, "lol."

As of right now there are six bands named "Asexual Forcemeat".

A comment left by gladi8orrex was marked lame too many times and excluded. (marked lame by nice-on-water, quaga, aerylor)

Oh come on .

The only thing I'll give you is

it woz ma penis. da fitin had gibin me and boner


I hurt inside.

IT'S TIME TO FIGHT: AN EPIC RECOLLECTION(?) OF MY TRIALS
The snow on the colosseum floor was melting as I stumbled around circling my opponent, the gladiator champion Gon. It is branded into my head like an image left too long on a plasma screen TV: blood from his last 4 kills dripping off the tip of his poison-tipped spear.

Glancing down to my buckler and gladius, I raise my arm to prepare for an attack but when I take a look(?) down, I see a bulge coming out of my gladiator kilt.

It was my penis, [i]the fighting had given me a boner.[/b]
Regaining my bearing, I looked back up at Gon to see where he was--when I was attacked by the spear of Gon--I quickly reacted and deflected the blow (for one hit of it would fatally poison me to death) and regroup my footing

The stars match renews

Tired of waiting, I now charge forth with a brutal charge and take Gon off guard and he stumbles. I make a quick slice at his arm and retreat back to my position, a smile forms on my mouth, I cannot help it. Angered by the attack, Gon comes at me with everything he has and strikes multiple times but I block every one with my buckler or gladius, when all of a sudden an opening opens up in his guard and I strike a death blow to his kidney. Overwhelmed with joy, I lower my buckler arm and he gets a strike in under my armpit as his last action on this planet and dooms me to a poisony death.

I take 15 steps and die from the poison.

I am hungry for something fresh. Mom, would you please make me something tasty, what you make is the best. If you are tired, then just tell me one thing. Were you lying, or am I the best?

That was a poem I wrote, thanks, all of you.

Nothing can rationalize that or make it coherent. Good effort though.

A chubby to even out the lame you'll get from Gladi8orrex. Good translation, too.

Man so I love the anachronistic flavor of Roman-style gladiatorial combat being burned into one's brain like "an image left too long on a plasma screen."

It's the literary equivalent of Russell Crowe shaking his man-bush at you menacingly.

...whilst screaming "RUSSELLL!!!!"

For legal reasons, all Rex's stories take place on the Holodeck. However, the weapons are real .

I once, on a friday evening, left a picture of goatse as the desktop on all the university CRT monitors and turned off the screensavers.

My friend used to set it to the start page on every computer in the high school classrooms. Also, if someone was typing a paper in the lab and left to go to the bathroom, he would insert the word 'penis' at random intervals... come to think of it, he was kind of a dick.

There's a difference between lighthearted shenanigans and that. I would punch him in the face.

Everyone knows that you lock your workstation when you move far enough away you can't see it. Lest you come back and have autocorrect set to replace all definite articles and present tense conjugations of "to be" with random words like slutface, asshat, and rectovaginal fistula.

I knew a kid who would just type penis as you were actually typing. Here I am, tippy-tapping along on the keys, and then here is this guy, just going over my hands and typing penis. I don't know how he did it, or how he always managed to do it so quickly, but you'd be looking at your screen and -suddenly- penis.

That kid was a dick, no questions asked.

sort of a Zorro for the digital age

If Zorro had no ... purpose.

Honestly, does he?

Wasn't he doing the whole "Stickin it to'El Hombre'" deal?

But the guys he was doing it against were bumbling idiots that really didn't need sticking to. Waste of time, I say.

Interesting point - is it fair or honourable to confront and/or defeat The Bad Guy if same is a bumbling idiot? Should Batman only go after the Joker and leave the common crook in peace?


basically what i got, except:

* his eyes burn into my head

That was actually pretty good. I like the ending.

Chubby for living up to your name, (finally?)
Perhaps if I ever start posting about riding motorcycles or Motley Crue songs, I will earn the same.

Ching!

Haven't realised this before, but on reading it the first time it would be quite easy to mistake Roast Beef's line in panel three for paranoia that he could die from an error during manscaping.

Hilarious!

Oh damn and blast that I am not the first person here to use the phrase "manscaping".

Hehehehe...nice-on-water strikes again!

Hey, guys: What does T.A.F. stand for/mean?

terrified, asexual forcemeat

Terrified, Asexual Forcemeat

Terrified. Asexual. Forcemeat.

... T wice A lready F urnished

Terrific and friendly! :D

Terrible Anal Fester.

T hat's A ll, F olks!

Terrifyingly Aroused Falafel

Twin Asian Fellation

That's why I am looking forward to the end...

I would so read Terrified Asexual Forcemeat Task Force if it were a comic book. It'd be better than the Adventures of Space Roast Beef!

T.A.F.T Force



In color!

Color is Sooo overrated.

[i]So[i] overrated.

Whenever I type a space it turns into two italic "o"s. Don't worry; I fixed it.

Once more.

I know [i]something[/b] will go wrong with this.

Well {o}DUHHH!!!!!|-1|

i only have one story about diy-denuding. i had a gf who rolled up one day with a bottle of nair. i'm not sure how we had got to the idea in the first place but apparently that was her method of choice for removing all the stuff down there, left over from when she was on the swim team or something. not knowing much about it and never having seen her naughty bits in such a state i was of course pretty much willing to go along with anything at that point.

anyway i was looking at the bottle and they say stuff like you should test a small patch beforehand. luckily i was trained from an early age to follow this type of direction on an ointment so applied only a bit about the size of a quarter. she proceeded to do her thing and i just waited. anyway it's not really feeling that good to me but i've never used nair before so what do i know. after about 10 minutes though it feels like someone has poured lighter fluid over the area just above my stuff and set it ablaze. "is it..supposed to feel like burning?" i ask her and she's kind of laughing it off like i'm making it up or whatever. so i'm like, well, she seems cool with it so i gotta be a man about this and ride it out. but about 5 more minutes i can't take it anymore and basically i give up and wipe it off and lo and behold, it's smooth as a baby's bottom, one that has something between like a 2nd and 3rd degree chemical burn on it. exceptionally uncomfortable!

now she suggests some home therapy thing her mom knows about that you are supposed to put a piece of potato on a burn like that. i had to do a report in health class on burns and i never heard shit about this but well, i'm basically in excruciating pain, and she is from india and her mom seems like a smart lady, so i figure maybe there is some exotic home remedy about this and at this point i'm willing to try about anything. well, her mom is like a civil rights lawyer and yet would still surprise you by saying crazy racist shit about how pakistanis are very dirty so i guess that i should've known there was a good chance she wasn't right about all stuff, particularly about nair burns either since basically it made it go from "a painful burn" to "white hot blinding searing burn" .. anyway it took almost a week to heal, and would feel like someone shoved a knife in there any time my undies rubbed up against it the wrong way. then it would just itch uncontrollably for another week. but, i will say it was pretty sexy having that little bald spot on there after that.

I didn't realize until the penultimate sentence that you tried it out down there .

I really thought you tried it out on the back of your hand (there is hair there), that way it wouldn't be too unbearable.

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nope! never again! i'm pretty sure it hadn't gone bad i mean she had lathered up her entire crotch during the incident and it worked out fine. i think i'm just a bit sensitive or something.
and yeah i should've tried on my hand for sure lol

this whole post is awesome.
"so i guess that i should've known there was a good chance she wasn't right about all stuff" alone would have won you the chub.

https://digg.com/odd_stuff/A_Digger_s_experience_with_his_balls_and_a_bottle_of_Nair

Looks like a common mistake. Did you mix it with soap, because they claim that's a no no.

He's hung like a cranberry and it bothers her.

For an old time girl Molly sure is a SLUTT

Oh my lord. Just look at [url=https://www.menarebetterthanwomen.com]this[url]. This is one of the most hilarious things I have come across in a while. The guy who runs the site says he's not joking, but I refuse to believe this is for real. I mean:
"Women walk into a situation and before you know it they%u2019ve completely changed their wardrobe and mannerisms as if they%u2019ve joined a fucking cult. Men are not sheep. Everyone knows the word for a female sheep is ewe, but what about the male word? There isn%u2019t one because sheep is something men are not."
(From the Top Ten Reasons Men Are Better Than Women)
And look at some of the comments for "Why women hate sex":

Take a look, this stuff is hilarious!

The man has never driven a dodge? Hell, male sheep have the best most sexual name ever.

I completely roffled at that sheep thing.

If I look at that, I will have a brain aneurysm, and I will die.

I wanted to say "as opposed to a foot aneurysm" but apparently you are allowed to say "brain aneurysm". Now I got nothing. I'm still 80% telling you off though.

I learned that particular slice of my vocabulary from Jack Black, who is clearly a paragon of verbosity to be emulated in all my communicational endeavors.

Oh, Loneal. If you can't laugh at the idiocy of others, what is there in life?

Pizza?

Throwing rocks at idiots?

Ah, but aren't you laughing as you're doing so?

It's become more of a mission than a source of amusement.

It also depends on where I hit them.

It should be thrown real hard at their legs.

I'm pretty sure I saw that guy on Maury or some similar show, and he is pretty much as loud and ignorant as you would expect.

What kills me is "Because they are shy to ask a man for a blow job"

I would like to point out that my grandfather virtually invented the Glen of Imaal terrier, in (unsuprisingly) the Glen of Imaal, in Wicklow, Ireland in the 30s and 40s. So this is a hell cool reference for me.

They are a wicked breed, tough enough to go after a badger in its set. They fight mean and will tear your weenus right off and arf it down.

arf arf

The weenus?
The skin of the elbow?
https://www.amherstbulletin.com/story/id/91500132005/
(pretty sure I don't believe in it.
I mean it's not a scientific term for it)

Whoah, I went to college in Amherst? Are you from the Pioneer Valley?

I mean... ahem...I went to college in Amherst.

No, haha, I just did a google search.

I'm from NH.

My mom's from Springfield though.

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Anyone else think "Terrified Asexual Forcemeat" sounds like a Dethklok song?

Yes.

Potential Molly Sass: "'Mistook?' Hickory dickory dock, my man's got a shrub 'round 'is cock, I said ''Ey Beef! Time to go Van Cleef! Or ya'll be back to fuckin' a sock! OH!"

Where's your top-hat?

Beef simply cannot take anybody even mentioning his Junk without marking any possible action in the Is It A Shame department...

I KNEW THIS BAR WAS A LITERARY WANK FACTORY WAITING TO EJACULATE! I AM SOOOO GLAD I DROPPED OUT OF MY ARTS DEGREE AFTER THREE MONTHS.


be polite...

* Wankery

Holy crap this is a sweet comments section.

Verily!

What a bunch of wankers!

I don't see the problem here- if your girlfriend/wife/boyfriend/husband asks you to trim/shave "down there" you should do it!

Beef's got a point. Friend of mine with an exotic blood disease trimmed for his lady and got an ingrown hair, which eventually got pretty awful. He ended up with a staph infection that resulted in a piece of his rectum and leg getting chopped off, and then a jalapeno seed got stuck in the wound and he had to remove it with a water-pik.

this another one that gives me a wordgasm.