It says something about my personal character that I don’t get offended by guys accidentally coming on my sheets anymore. I understand it’s natural and somewhat hard to control, and that you’re so totally caught up in the moment that you don’t have the common courtesy (or cognitive ability, arguably) to at least aim away from my side of the bed. I can sympathize with that, in a weird way.

What I cannot sympathize with is a guy who, after calling me and then coming over specifically for sex with another person, passes out drunk on my couch after rubbing one out to the sex scene in The Serpent and the Rainbow while I happen to be in shower. You know, while I was washing up for all the sex I wasn’t going to have. Goddamn it. GODDAMN IT.

What do you call a straight male who acts like a pussy, but whom you don’t want to compare to pussies for fear of insulting them?

A bitch? 

Everyone’s perennial favorite, “faggot”?

I can’t decide, but whatever it is, it’s what Adam is. Another thing he is is leaving very shortly. I just hope the poor cab driver has a strong back. When I shoved the dead-weight asshole off my sofa, his impact actually moved my coffee table from four feet away. He’s a pretty big boy.

Well, he’s tall, anyway. Not big in any sense that could possibly matter to me. Like I really want to sleep with someone who will almost certainly yank the covers off my shoulders to cover up his big-ass Yeti feet and who is actually endowed smaller than the shortest man I’ve ever slept with.

Adam, if you’re reading this, thanks for being such a dickhead. Thanks for the new recliner you bought me, too. 

Oh. Well, you should be getting credit card bill soon, anyway. Hope the missus doesn’t find out!


FIne, alright, I’ll put VP candidate Joe Biden in at number four on my list of people who are likely to nail Sarah Palin. Based on what little I saw of the debate–I was kinda busy, thanks–there was some definite Palin-Biden sexual tension, although there was also sexual tension between the candidates and the moderator. Something about working for PBS just pushes all my buttons, you know?

Fact: Sarah Palin is pretty.

Fact: Sarah Palin is from Alaska.

Fact: Sarah Palin is crazy with a capital Thorazine.

Unless you’re a model or something…or I don’t know, an olympic swimmer…it’s not okay to shave your ass. This goes for guys and girls, but it’s a little more understandable for women. We aren’t supposed to have hair back there. But again, if you go to all that trouble and you aren’t showing off your behind for money, you’re a stupid person. A stupid, stubbly assed person. Shame on you.

I can’t even imagine the flexibility required to shave one’s own ass. It’s gotta be awkward with all the bending and cheek lifting and what not, not to mention the possibility of catching something with the razor that wasn’t meant to be shorn. Yuck.

What about ingrown hairs? I get them on my legs and they hurt like shit, what about on your ass? What about under the cheek? Oh Gods I feel faint.

As promised–and since I’ve got nothing better to do–I bring you the top three candidates for tappin’ that ass. I should let everyone know that these are my top five most acceptable candidates, not necessarily the most probable. John McCain is nowhere on the list, for instance.

I took some liberties with who I chose, as well, in that they may not all be candidates for public office. They are all politicians, however, and who better to fantasize about plowing the future Mrs. Vice-President?

Without further ado…

#3 Slick Willy

I'm so fucking debonair. Damn.


I might take some crap for this choice, but I stand firm: Bill Clinton and Sarah Palin would make one raunchy porno. Her all being bitchy and skittish, trying to knife the cameraman for wearing a ponytail; him all smooth talk and “Aw shucks, baby, it ain’t nothin but a thang” while he rolls a fatty on her antique chaise lounge.

There’s just something so romantic and debonair about Slick Willy that whenever sex and politics comes up, so does his name.


#2 Mitt Romney

And when she took that thing off-BABLAM!

And when she took that thing off-BABLAM!

I bet that some of you are thinking “Oh Lord, she’s surely going to hell for this one”, but you’d be wrong. You’d also probably be toothless, from the American Southeast,  and the deacon of a church whose congregation know each other from famly reunions. Mitt Romney is almost the perfect choice for this job, and it isn’t entirely due to his being Mormon. It’s actually because he’s a man who-okay it’s because he’s Mormon. But he’s a handsome Mormon, right?



#1 Rudy Giuliani

You guys know why I dig chicks with pigtails?
You guys know why I dig chicks with pigtails?

What? Don’t look at me like that. Rudy’s awesome and nothing you say will ever change that. Not only do I think he’s the number one choice to nail Mrs. Veep, but I think he should do it while being President Giuliani.

He’s as tough as Palin, except with that city grit that country chicks love. Being from NYC should prepare his heart for the things Palin is statistically obligated to say in bed, and I’ll bet he don’t take no shit off no broad, neither. Rudy & Palin, all the way.

So those New York jet-setting fat cats are sweating a bit about the stock market, eh? Well, that’s what they get for being greedy, in my opinion. You make a million dollars, then you back the hell off whle you still have the chance. Waiting it out is a terrible idea, since the longer you sit there with your small fortune, the more you’ll want to go back and make it a large one.

Playing the stock market–for everyone who isn’t either a math genius or a controlling interest–is like betting your life savings on three hookers in a foot race. You can bet on any or all, but chances are you’ll go for the one that seems like the underdog. But why? Is it because you have faith in “Autumn” or “Crystal” to pull a win out of her pancake ass, beating the perennial favorite and bringing you a 10-1 payday?

No, it’s because that’s the cheapest one who doesn’t seem about to keel over from something so infectious the concrete she finally collapses onto  will actually get the sniffles. We won’t bet on the 100-1 dreamer–we’re smarter than that, don’t you know–but we’ll gladly put everything on “Lacy”, even though she’s clearly a heartbreaker. And in those kinds of races, everything running has the potential to lose it all. There’s no such thing as a sure bet.

My ex-father-in-law was a big bear for betting on the sad sacks. He lost his ass so many times in the ’70s that when Black Monday came around, he was actually ahead of all the other poor saps. He had been betting on losers so long that eventually he actually came out on the high side. No one ever bothered to tell him that losers win by accident.

I have an ex-boyfriend who’s sweating bullets right now, and I can’t help but laugh at him. He was Mr. Hot Shot only a few months ago, but now he’s a wreck. That’s what he gets for investing in anything other than season four of The Office.

Oh Gods yes...

Oh Gods yes...

Let’s face it: Sarah Palin is a flippin’ hottie. Gorgeous well-kept face, supple lips, thin tummy, and a high tight butt–the total package, and smart to boot. She’s also an ice-bitch mutant conservative, true, but I’m probably not alone when I say I wouldn’t mind losing my watch somewhere in those button-down Republican depths. Yowza.

There’s a dark corner of the internet solely devoted to making obscene couples of characters from popular fiction. It’s called slash-fic, and it’s wondrous. Some of the blandest television characters are transformed through the magic of the human imagination into sweating, striving, straining fuck-beasts–legendary heroes of epic Greco-Roman man-loving–and every so often the results are not even that terrible.



What if, God help us, someone were to write a slash-fic with Sarah Palin as the star? Who would she encounter on her sprawling, probably perpetually nude adventures? Who, besides yourselves, would you want to read about nailing the future Mrs. Vice-President? Would you prefer some made-up Prince Charming stereotype, some shining knight/muscular ranchhand endowed with gifts most women only dream about? Or would you rather it be someone a little more realistic?

If you guys are anything like me, you want to read about Mrs. Palin climbing on top of the turgid member of one of our country’s many high-profile politicians. Maybe even more than one of them, along with a cute little Asian aide de camp from the McCain/Palin party.

I guess what I’m admitting to you is that I want to read about (or see!) Sarah Palin getting her diamond-squeezing ass pounded to a quivering pulp by the biggest dicks in Congress. Gods, I swear would just melt.

Now that we’ve figured out what we want Mrs. Palin to do, we must hash out who she must be doing. This is where things get tricky. Do we want a dashing public figure? An old, decrepit Supreme Court Justice who has to keep his dick pump in the same bag as his nitroglycerin pills? A drunken, cocaine-fueled parade of Senators too cheap to bring their own lube?

Tune in for my run-down of the only candidates that really matter: the ones best suited to deep-dicking Sarah Palin.

See you next time!

Dirty novels and bad coffee.

September 16, 2008

Hello all!

My, my, my… so this is what it’s like to be a real-life blogger, eh? Hm. It’s not as glamorous as I’ve heard, but then not much is. Of course, this is considerably closer to glamor than my old job, which involved things about which we will not speak. Suffice to say that taking skimpy little barely-there things off for money is surprisingly less upsetting than doing the opposite.

I am an aspiring novelist, but not the sort you invite over to discuss literature and sign first editions of my Pulitzer-winning efforts. I’m looking to join the dark side, that shadowy underbelly of popular fiction known popularly as “adult erotica”.

I write about filthy, nasty, ugly sex and I would like to make money from it somehow. So far, I have written one (1) twenty six-chapter erotic novel that totals up to around 80, 000 words, most of which involve girl parts and boy parts in various arrangements. There is some murder and intrigue, but largely it’s all fucking. All kinds of fucking. Even the bad kinds.

I think it goes without saying that I am an intensely boring person in real life. I have practically no social life due to my desire to write about things your grandparents probably still do. Relationships with the opposite sex are plentiful, but unsatisfying. I suppose that could be expected, considering how much I over-hype every aspect of a relationship, thereby rendering it automatically disappointing.

But we’re not here to discuss any of that girly emotional nonsense. This isn’t LiveJournal, for the love of Pete. This is WordPress, where we discuss mature things like politics, religion and, you guessed it, fucking.