Top 5 Reasons I’m not a lesbian

After I finally kicked my meth habit and divorced that ratfuck, Tan Peluski, a lot of ladies have been coming on to me in the check out line at the cigarette outlet store. Don’t get me wrong, I love tuna as much as the next bitch, but I’m not prepared to go chick’n of the sea for good, if you know what I’m sayin’. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. Every time I’ve let a liquored up sailor poke me in the nether regions with a half-wood, I’ve pondered what it would be like to dine on nothing but fuzzy pink tacos for the rest of my life. I could do it. I really could. Only these five factors are in between me and life of fisting happily ever after.

  1. Intelligence, or actually, the lack of it. I like to fuck stupid people. Let’s just say, I sure as hell don’t want to fuck somebody smarter than me. What’s the fun in that? Stupid people are more easily manipulated and misled. I like that in a person. Now, I hate to stereotype, but let’s be honest, if you’re goal is to nail something stupid and gullible, you want something with a dick.
  2. Looks. I like to fuck somebody uglier than myself. Now, again, I’ve seen some dykes out there that would give my grandpa a run for his money in a Wilford Brimley look-alike contest, so you know, just cause you have a dick doesn’t mean you’ve seen the fat end of the ugly stick. But it helps. Between the back hair, the nose hair, the ear hair and the fact that grooming yourself makes you appear gay, the odds are stacked against dudes in the looks department. Ladies are all, “does my butt look big in these jeans?” And guys are like, “I switched to suspenders so my gut could hang free.” Ladies wear makeup, perfume, heels and all manner of frocks while men just prefer to stay ugly, stinky and plain. For a woman as haggard and used up as myself, this is a definite perk. Next to most of the troglodytes I date, I shine like the Hope Diamond under track lights. Sparkly.
  3. Needs. Women have them in abundance. They need love, humor and understanding. They need romance and long walks on the beach. They need communication. They need affirmation. They need shopping trips and back rubs. Well I ain’t got time for all that shit. A man’s got one need and as long as I take care of it with one of my many orifices (or my hand if I’ve feeling fucking lazy or got a genital wart flare up), he’s fucking happy as shit. Men are the hamburger helper of relationships, you just add what you already had laying around.
  4. Dicks vs. clits. Let’s say you got one of them fancy new video games and you have your choice of controller. Would you want the one that fit perfectly in your hand, or would you want the one the size of a grain of rice? Yeah. Me too.
  5. Vaginas. Now again, don’t get me wrong here. Approximately 28 days out of every month, a vagina is a lovely soft, frilly little flower. But the other 3-5 days? A total fucking horror show. I know because I have one. It’s not just the blood people, but the blood in and of itself is enough to give a person pause. I mean really? If a man bled out of his dick every month I would have to think long and hard before I put it near my face, let alone in my mouth. But damn, it’s all the other crazy stuff that comes out of there. Chunky stuff. Gooey stuff. At least when you swallow a dude’s load you can position it at the back of the throat, but with a lady you’re just wallowing in it for God knows how long (see #3 and #4). No thank you, ma’am.

So, sorry lady with the amazing gray mullet from the cigarette outlet, but Marian Adcock is going to stick to cock and balls from here on out because she prefers to date stupid, ugly simpletons who tend to keep their blood inside the body.

Stop Clogging Me, Charlie Alan Kraft

guy who looks kind of like Charlie if he hadn't tatoooed his face

So here I was, minding my own business the other day, when this fat piece of shit Charlie Alan Kraft starts waddling towards me backwards with his pants around his cankles. I fuckin’ started losing it, man, cause see, I live in his apartment, and in the land of Kraft two things are accepted as fact. Chicks are all lesbians, and when Charlie takes a shit it’s like somebody just turned on a leaf blower full of wet barkdust and assorted beans.

So he hovers for a minute, appropriately sings a few bars of “Highway to Hell”, and with the force of a Sunday Sizzler congregation he plants his cheeks and introduces my bowl to a violent tornado of poorly digested beef jerky, some type of tomato looking shit, three or four broken crayons, and a condom filled with shaving cream. Oh, and as always, the dead, blood-stained grass.

You know the saying “don’t shit where you eat”? Well with Charlie it’s more like “don’t shit WHILE you eat.” Why not try shoving a tube up your ass, and hooking the other end up to your mouth? Hell, corn dogs were just classified as NEARLY EXTINCT because of this piece of shit. Just because you can see something doesn’t mean you need to eat it. A table full of food is not a sign from the heavens that you should cram it all down your throat. There’s this thing that most people have called a stomach, and the idea is to fill it with stuff that’s good for you and then wait a while so your body can use it. Then you poop out a little bit of leftovers. But no, this fucking moron just shovels it in. I mean that literally, THE MAN CARRIES A SHOVEL. Only corn is supposed to come out the same, but with this deuchebag EVERYTHING comes out the same. His body doesn’t even bother to digest, cause it knows there’s more on the way in a second!

Hey, cow man, do me a favor. STOP EATING SO GOD DAMN MUCH! Better yet, next time you decide to sit on me, crying about how your life is such a miserable failure between squirts, BRING A RAZOR BLADE. Not for shaving your ugly mug, I mean, what difference would that make for a guy that couldn’t score in the coma wing? Cut your fuckin’ wrists already, shit, I would do it for you but I was manufactured without any type of shit to manipulate the blade with. UP THE STREET, UP THE STREET. Fuck, bring a shotgun for Christ sake, put it in your mouth, and get one of your friends to pull the trigger. I mean, ANY OF THEM WILL GLADLY DO IT FOR YOU.

I’m so fucking tired of your shit. It’s just wave after wave after wave. Like imagine you’re playing Space Invaders, but instead of aliens it’s a bunch of random objects covered in shit. And instead of being a little spaceship with lasers to shoot the turds, all you have is a big open mouth the size of the screen for them to fall into. Dear God, what did I do to deserve this? Who the fuck is laughing? It’s not funny, you prick, it’s fucking disgusting! Oh, wait, am I not talking on your level? How about this? MOO MOO MOO MOOOOOVE SOMEWHERE ELSE!

Please someone help me. Please, I’m begging you. I can’t take it anymore. He spent all day drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon, and anyone that has been around him for more than 20 minutes can tell you what that means. DIARRHEA. Let’s just say that if I ever had the opportunity to take a vacation, the first thing I would NOT go see is Niagra Falls. I get that shit every damn day with this cocksucker. Please, I’ll send you a google map, you can come over while he’s hanging out at the hot dog cart. Make sure you bring a big ass mallet or sledgehammer. I’m on the second floor (what he calls “the place that’s harder to get to”) and I’m kind of a white colored bowl thing that looks like someone was baking brownies in it. Just bring the sledgehammer in and go to fucking town on me. Don’t hold back, just obliterate my ass. I can’t take it anymore. Please, spare me. I’m begging you! Don’t leave me hanging! Shit, I think I hear him coming, NOOOOOOO, HURRRRYYYYY!!!!!!!!!