Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Enrique Celebrates his Trust Fund
Doucheface, transparent shirt and red hat is no way to go through life son.
Paid-to-Pose Kathy has the soft tummy of gummi-bear tranquility. I would dance on marshmallow clouds dressed only in a mu-mu and a face burka just for the chance to pooch spackle her grandmother’s doilies.
Enrique recycles his fashions from his mother’s discarded bustiers.
Fuck!! My yellow fever just kicked in big time!!
That shirt = autogay.
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.Her fake tits and simpering smile = auto-high maintenance/pain in the ass.
Even wearing your mum’s unmentionables isn’t going to make your moobs any less henious! Unmentionables I says!!
Devo truly lived up to its name, “Devo”lution, when they welcomed this choad-monkey into their ranks.
She looks just like an oriental chick I banged a few years back, maybe 12.The only differences being this girl looks more Thai than Chinese, doesn’t have huge brown nipples, is fit and taller than my last chink. She is also younger and more beautiful with a darker complexion making her more Mulatto choco sexy. She probably doesn’t have a big hairy crab ridden bush either and I bet she costs more that $150/hour and doesn’t pretend she just had the best sex of her life.
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Unfaithful Bastards
I am like outraged that this gay guy gets to stand next to this woman that is paid to stand next to douchebags! Outraged I says. Cool button bra though. It’s like she’s got 40 nips on each boob.
^Devo. We used to shred the pools and parks when the snow melted rocking to Devo, Ramones, Dead Kennedy’s. Good times at 14.
This pic is like Christmas old. He’s probably balls deep in Hep C right now and she’s probably shaking down some Sailor Moon fan for some serious cash.
Jesus Kroeger, you’ve been to bed with some beautiful women but you’ve woken up with some fucking ugly ones.
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‘big hairy crab ridden bush’ FTW!
Incidentally, could PTP Kathy be a tranny?
I’d say this is from a Valentine’s Day shindig. She has so cleverly glued the candy hearts to her bra, and there’s no doubt all of those “EAT ME” messages are meant as a tease.
No wait, fuck ^that! She dipped her bra in some old Lucky Charms marshmallows.
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I stand corrected.
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Self-editors
She has Anchor Baby written all over her. And maybe tranny, too.
Kathy’s Diary that night:
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You and I circuited the garden – picturesque. After a while, the lights dimmed, but the glow of my facial oil lingered, grainy and soft like an old photograph. Bats darted overhead.
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“It’s nearly time,” you said.
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“Time?” Enrique queried as he plucked a sprig of lotus… I bit down on a petal and I placed another at the cleft of your chin. You opened, tasted it; your menthol breath warm on my fingertips.
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“I’ve had enough of being blind,” you said.
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I removed the goggles from your eyes.
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I saw your pupils blown open, like wells that glaciers grind in rock – deep and wide, breathing cold air.
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You looked past me.
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“Can you hear that?” you said. “A horse. The horse’s coming!”
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And you fell down at my feet.
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Vinyl tiles crushed beneath your designer Ed Hardy Jeans. I felt the greasy substrate of Prep H smear my palms as I reached to lift you by your shoulders.
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You were awake, though. Your eyes huge and swimming dark, your lips parted, smiling. The roofies and X had their way with your taut frame.
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“The horse comes for me,” you said.
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The horse came, indeed. I heard a horse stamp and breathe. I heard its stirrups echo off the hollow walls of the Musée des Douche-arts. I felt its virile pulse through the floor. I kept my face turned up for the camera.
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“Alas, the horse’s ass doth smell like pee,” you said.
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“Indeed,” I thought, as a tall dark man with mouse ears furtively darted through the emergency exit doors.
She so hawny.
Try saying “bats darted overhead” three times while bats dart overhead.
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I dare you
@ crucial head. Gold! In fact this bit ‘Alas, the horse’s ass doth smell like pee,” you said.
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“Indeed,” I thought, as a tall dark man with mouse ears furtively darted through the emergency exit doors.’ is 32k gold.
I miss you guys… oooooohhhh sooo much.
15 years from now, once the last of his brain cells is extinguished via that fateful huff of Elmer’s… Enrique will be sitting upright in his hospice bed with his head lowered, concentrating on trying to unpick his blanket.
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“I’m fine, thanks,” he says and then he stops the picking and commences to fold the corners. His hands are only quiet when the nurse covers them.
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When she walks past ten minutes later, he is still busy.
Having little time to dress herself, the night nurse scrambled into the psyche-ward waiting room to find Enrique neither reading or talking. Just standing there staring at the window – garbed in a cut-off traffic cone hat and shower curtains for a shirt. He was mobile, weaving around and at times delivering loud booming babble, spittle soaked and excited. Then he would grow quiet. They both stood and smiled in a brief moment of clarity.
*tap tap*
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Hellooooooooooooo!!!!!! {{echo}}
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Where have all the Regs gone?
In all the time I’ve been hanging around this site in between this and that and other things that I type, I have never mentioned my fetish for pregnant women and those who are being visited by Aunt Flo.
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I earned my Red Wings at around the age of fifteen after my girlfriend who was in her estrus told me we couldn’t do it because she was on the rag. Can’t do it you say Tami. Well her pants were already off so I gobbles up all of her effluent blood clots and chunky things that tasted like the chopped onions at McDonalds and pieces of tampon and shit. The tampon was thrown gladiator style in a random direction and was sliding ever so slowly down a vase. The brown vase in the brown-panelled red room with green shag carpet and the nicotine stained tile ceiling.It was kind of like Jeannie’s bottle without the tiny furniture inside. I hate the tampon strings so I gotta chuck ’em. The basement also housed my Cerwin-Vega mega speakers, and my Marantz electronics as well as many milk cartons full of vinyl and my doobie stash where my pregnant porn magazines were. You should have seen the bushes on girls back in those days. Holy fuck bloody stump beavers on the girls who wore pads.
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As dear Tami was pretending to reach orgasm she looked down at me and I at her. She sees my vampiric face and tells me she loves me and she wants to feel my hot spunk inside of her, since we had been using condoms, so I gets my red wings and spewed inside a girl sans rubber for the first time.
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In subsequent years I searched for girls on the rag for relationships and one-night stands. Saw some fucking gross drooping labia and chunky menstruation in my single years. Never ate out hookers of course cause I’m marrried and shit now.
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It is now five and a half years since I have eaten God’s delicious gift to men. The Mrs. got pregnant with the last rotten daughter and although the pregnant sex was great with her big protuberance crushing my lungs as I ate her pregnant bald peach while she sucked my Jesus-sized cock. Good pregnant sex I says. So months pass and I’m waiting fot Mother Nature’s chunky blood spigot to start pouring out again and nothing. She goes into hysterical instant menopause, or Von Sujiyama’s dilemna, and never has a period again. No more red wings. I can only dream of better times when my cock was engorged with the lust that can only be found with a ripe bleeding cunt.
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And I like to get peed on by women. But only nice looking women with an aversion to asparagus, beets, and garlic. And only if the are under 25 and charge me a few hundred dollars for it. And only if they are conservative, not Rush Limbaugh conservative but more like dearly departed Nancy Reagan conservative. But I’d like tohate fuck Anne Coulter if she was on the rag cause she’s the right kind ugly, n’mean. I’d eat her bloody labes and her venomous cunt bile and slapher with my huge cock screaming at her Sam Kinneson style ” Jimmy Carter is the greatest president ever you manly bonerack.
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Colleagues
Hey Crucial Head how’s it swingin.
That’s a beautiful story Reverend. I’m going to read that to my four year old before bed time this fine evening and remind her that life is like a bag of dicks.
Life is swinging the positive way for once. The news of BCS got my spine a jiggling and I realized how much I missed this establishment.
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IT Nazi’s have eased up a bit and my income has steadied. Mortgage accounted for. Kids accounted for. Marriage… in tact.
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My alcoholism has celebrated in kind.
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In short, FUCCEN TARMAL!
Like spring eternal, I sense an awakening.
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Years from now I will retell the stories of Vin and The Rev. (No disrespect intended towards any emeritus ‘hunters.)
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I will be jailed.
Doesn’t this bag look like Skeezy Jibbs?
@Rev,
I’m now nauseous after reading your post but the fact that you incorporated Marantz (Respect) into it makes it a little better. I got me one recently (a 2238B) for free. Marantz is the shit!!, son.
Perhaps, since he’s the dullest tool in the shed, Enrique didn’t know his shirt was see-thru under the glare of the red carpet lights. I don’t think I’ll be able to unsee Enrique’s nipppels.
I’m like new here and shit. Are menstruaton stories a daily type of deal? I threw up twice reading that. You people are sick! Anyway, other than that this place is hilarious.
Dammit Crucial it’s about time this joint had two architects!
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Salty fuccen tears.
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Glad YOUR marriage made it intact…
@ Louisville Hugger –
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Whatever you hear about a horse and forced equine micturation…it’s patently untrue.
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The same for irresponsible boating procedures.
No,he’s not gay,because that shirt and hat really don’t work well together. He’s just went into the wrong store at the mall.
I peed in Enrique’s chin.
Good to see you alive, well and sick, Crucial. Glad your marriage to a house is working.
Holy shit weasel, that bra’s made out of Smarties! Not the new pseudo-Skittle coated kind, but the old school; came wrapped like a stack of coins in a plastic wrapper; chalky pastel discs.
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I would treat her bra like I would a pack of Smarties when I was but a prepubescent lad: Crush it into powder with the back of a pen, cut it into lines, and lick it off the cafeteria table.
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This Asian bitch reminds me of the secret crush I had on one of the Star Trek DS9 characters. Yes, that’s right. Keiko. She was a right controlling bitch with two kids, married to Miles O’Brian, who was always more married to his job than he was to her.
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I would regularly fantasize about showering her with my affucktion juice while the chief was out, as she sternly warned me not to disturb the children napping quietly in the other room. I’d of course ignore her and even more forcefully ream that wooly Da Nang and lay down some flaming baby napalm all up in that steamy jungle Asian penis trap. Little Molly would walk in, rubbing her eyes with a teddy clutched under one arm wondering, “are you hurt mommy? Why are you screaming so loud?”
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All this was forgotten in my elder years, until I recently started watching the whole back catalog of DS9 episodes on Netflix, and did some quick research into the actress that played Keiko, Rosalind Chao. Not only did she play South Korean refugee Soon-Lee on M*A*S*H*, but then I found this.
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Hoouaalgh… I foresee a resurgence of some jungle warfare flashbacks.
And that was a beautiful story Rev. Takes me back to my teenage fumbling sexual encounters of days past. My first time was with a girl even younger than I (barely 16 at the time), in a tent at an SCA tourney. God bless those stuck up alcoholic wanna be Ren Fair period Nazis.
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She was 14, super petite, and button hole virgin tight. We minor-in-possession-drunkardly went at it for almost two hours with nothing to show for it but a lot of blood and broken condoms. I don’t remember much of those two hours, but I do very distinctly recall “prepping” the opening for surgery beforehand when I went down on her. I had a hell of a time finding the fabled clit, and didn’t quite to what to do with it once I had the locale nailed down, batting at it with my tongue like a blind kitten high on MDMA, not a truthful moan elicited from her narrow child-like lips.
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As I lapped away like a deliriously thirsty dog at her nub, I explored her femininity with my index finger. I was amazed by the tightness of it. It was at though her pelvic bones themselves were clamping down on me, preventing even a knuckle from making an unencumbered entry deeper into the exotic depths of impeding sexual congress. Then I hit rock bottom, and the crook of my finger had yet to feel the dampness of her sweating hole. How the fuck was I supposed to fit my teenage-hardened P-beam inside this shallow pit of pleasure? I decided quickly it needed more prep work.
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So my tongue traversed its way downward, to find the opening and gentle coax it open, and relax the muscles that threatened to pinch off my bruteness like a rubber cheerio. She began to ooze with pleasure, and her damp trickle became a torrent of viscous coital sweat, and I drank heavily of her elixir. And that’s what stuck with me the most, and I remember the most vividly to this day.
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The taste of that virgin, untouched by any male organ, hymen enclosed pussy juice. It was unlike any taste before or since, slightly sour, and maybe even not as pleasing to the taste buds as once fucked cunt, but I knew it was something to be savored. For even in subsequent days as we practiced our trade, honing our skills and learning how to properly orgasm together, the taste of her young slit was never the same. True, a little more sweet (and a little less painful for both of us), but the tartness of unravaged girl was gone.
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I kind of miss that sharp flavor, like I miss old school Smarties. And so we come full circle.
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Bitches.
Battle Hymn of the Tiger Bleeth. I would Tae Kwon Do her Moo Goo Gai Pan, kimosabe.
This line from Mr. Head, “Alas, the horse’s ass doth smell like pee,” you said.” Is pure poetry. Poetry, I says.
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And the Rev’s line about hate fucking Coulter had my morning coffee and bourbon shooting out of my nose.
I guess I didn’t want to breakfast anyway. This thread is demented and possibly been reported to the FBI.
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Crossdressers
Welcome back @Crucial Head.
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.Just the other day I wuz sayin’ to myself, “Self, there isn’t enough perversion on this site.”
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Now Rev Chad, DoucheyWallnuts, Vin and the Sock have someone to play with.
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.Cunning Linguists
Quick one. One time when Sam Giancana had one of his fuck parties for the Kennedy boys at Cal Neva, they banged Marilyn Monroe when she was on the rag and as a result left a Japanese Flag on the bed sheets. J. Edgar Hoover snuck into the room dressed as a chamber maid, which was one of his regular outfits, and took the sheet. He also had pictures of the gang bang.
Rubber Cheerio?
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J.D., thank you for my band’s new name, Sir. Huzzah!!!
@Choad the Wet Sprocket 6:30a, oh now I get it this is where dudes come to play with other dudes. Makes sense in an online bath house sort of way. Parade on then.
@J.D.
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You sir, make me hate my youth. How the grand children will stare in rapt attention, warmed by the gentle glow of the fire in the hearth, taken away to places yet unknown as you regale them with that slice of your adventure filled life. How their eyes will grow huge as untweaked nipples with each recounting. “Tell us another one Grandpa!” they will squeal, “Tell us about the English teacher with the hernia you used to carry around like a six-pack! Tell us about the time you bent your penis breaking in that teenage transgender from Bhudapest! Tell us Grandpa, tell us!”
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Future Sundays at the Doucheteau house. Would that we could all be there.
Dear taught tummied Kathy, please take off that ridiculous Bob Hope novelty chin so that I can admire your hotness. Okaythanx, D McC.
Welcome Back Crucial. You were missed.
I agree with an early poster – the chick in this pic is UBER high maintenance. Yikes.
I actually know these two…they’ve been dating for a couple years.
He’s always been super-douchey and promotes the cheesiest clubs for over 10 years.
She’s a sweetheart that unfortunately got corrupted by him when she was FOB from Northern Cali…oh well, another one bites the dust.
It’s bad enough that we nuked the Japanese … Do they have to keep on paying???