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So I had this dream last night where I was hanging around this construction site with Jason Lee. Jason and I got to talking about how fucked up the world has gotten and we came to the only logical conclusion: destroy it and create a new one.

Well, why not?

We rounded up a couple of heavy pipes (construction site, we didn’t have to look hard) and banged them together really hard in order to create the runaway nuclear fusion chain reaction necessary to destroy the universe. To my surprise, destroying the universe, while remarkably easy, is not any sort of instantaneous event. Rather than exploding in a giant white flash things just kind of get progressively less colorful and infinitely weirder.

For example, who would have imagined that total cosmic annihilation would not only leave me and Jason Lee as the only two males around during the slow winding down of everything but would also have the oddly convenient (for Jason) side effect of making every woman in creation maniacially, nay, rabidly horny?

So we’re hanging around (me and Jason Lee), waiting for shit to finish, uh, finishing and all these outrageously hot women from out of nowhere are draping themselves lanquidly all over Jason. And, since this is the end of the universe, these babes don’t have time to be coy. They make it quite clear that if Jason can’t fuck the living shit out of all of them before The END, then he’d damned best die trying.

In the meantime I, the other last man in the universe, am being utterly ignored. I’m thinking to myself what a prick Lee is, having so much pussy he’s literally drowning in it, and he doesn’t even think to kick a couple my way. Fucking movie stars.

Then the midget shows up.

Now when I say midget, I mean the perfectly proportioned but abnormally small variety of human. As opposed to dwarfs. They show up later. But the first midget to make an appearance in my dream was about 2′6″ and wearing a loden green body stocking made out of fuzzy wool, sorta like Bondage Heidi in a boiled woolen catsuit. She was standing on this column posing in ways intended to be provocative. Her attitude was not unlike the drunken slutty party girl who dances on the bar and acts surprised when she remembers she forgot her panties in the ladies room.

By this time in the dream, I’ve completely forgotten about Jason Lee, buried under his quivering mountain of top-shelf tail, as I find myself moving ever more rapidly through these twisting white corridors while a virtual freakshow of sex-crazed females pursues me, making increasingly aggressive sexual overtures that I am not at all eager to receieve.

So finally, here I am, being chased by the entire female cast of The Wizard of Oz, two of the Golden Girls, Olive Oil, Gilbert Grape’s mom and other even more bizarre examples of femininity (some even had fur), all of them shrieking at me to “FUCK ME! FUCK ME NOW! NO, FUCK ME!” when I slip and fall and they’re all over me like ugly on an ape. I have to hold them off with is this 14″ hard white plastic vibrator, like the one they used to sell in the cheap catalogs as a “massager.” I’m down on the floor, swinging the vibrator around like a Jedi Chow Yun Fat because there is no way in hell I’m going to let any part of me touch any of these harpies, much less enter any orifices. Every time I’d make contact with one of my admirers nether regions she would explode in this ridiculous screaming porn movie orgasm and fall away.

Unfortunately there were just too many of them and for every furry midget or flying monkey bitch I sated there were two more forcing their way toward me. Just as it seemed it couldn’t get any worse, one of the Golden Girls starts trying to jam her middle finger up my ass. And believe me, she’s really going to town with that fake pink painted claw, the whole time leering and asking me in that retired-to-Florida-oy-vey jewish accent, “Do you like it up the ass, sonny?”

Like any red-blooded American hetero male who’ll never admit to enjoying anal play, I’m desperately trying to clench my asshole into the Gordian Knot while screaming “NO YOU CRAZY FUCKING BITCH, I DON’T LIKE IT UP MY GODDAMNED ASS!” when I manage to lose my vibrator amongst the sweaty, flailing forest of lust-crazed limbs.

Of course you know who ends up with it. Yep. Bea Arthur. The last thing she says to me, before I woke up, is “Have you ever tried anal?” Then she smiles evilly and spins the vibrator from stun to kill.

Let me tell you, I have never been so happy to be woken up by a full bladder in my entire life.

P.S. Jason Lee is a total bitch. I hate that guy.

technorati tags:anal, nightmare, midgets, vibrator, funny, sick

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Freak’s told you I’m a geek. It’s true. And by now you should all know that when I’m not busy being an upstanding member of society, I’m a filthy pervert.

Well, so, I’m kinda looking at being intentionally unemployed here in the next sixty days or so and I’ve been kicking around some of my options for making extra cash. So far the candidates are:

1. Home inspection.
2. Plasmapheresis.
3. Exotic dancing.
   
4. Professional blogging and/or podcasting.
5. Designing, fabricating and selling sex toys.
6. And a secret idea related to #5 that I actually think could work, so I ain’t telling you what it is. So there.

Since I’ve got two ideas that relate to sex toys and one that relates to the Great Series of Tubes, I’m thinking that might be some kinda, I dunno, sign.

Or maybe not. But here’s a funny video of qDot (of Slashdong fame) giving a talk about open source teledildonics and Second Life If you find it funny, congratulations. If you find it interesting, you’re a nerd and a pervert (nerdvert?) just like me.

Blogged with Flock

Psst. Yeah, you. Wanna make some money with that dirty mind of yours?

Of course you do.

Well, you’re in luck, because LoveHoney and Orgasm Army are sponsoring a contest. The rules are simple: design a sex toy, if the judges like it, you get money and the knowledge that people all over the world are getting their rocks off thanks to your filthy imagination.

Blogged with Flock

The art of Brian Rawson, found via Fluffy Lychees.

Blogged with Flock

Bumpkeying, aka, opening almost any lock in seconds without damage or evidence.

Here’s a video.

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This vid gives a whole new meaning to driving a stick shift.

Not even remotely safe for work. Or the living room, unless your old lady’s into weird porn like you, you sick fuck.

PornoTube, via Fleshbot (who said registration required, but I didn’t have any such problem. YMMV)

technorati tags:porn, amateur, auto, cars, chick, hot

Blogged with Flock

Ite Gangstas, spec it: BadLib

I was on my way home from droppin pronoun mom and kid sister off at the proper noun, and I was eased back listening to some noun . On this particular noun , I was verb -ing my noun and looking out of the noun of my noun . I got to thinking about how adverb I had wanted to be a professionwhen I was a noun growing up in state . I really think that I could have been a adjective profession myself, had I not forsaken my talent and ambition almost number years ago.

Anyhow, seriously? I was driving home listenin to my new favorite terribly undermarketed comedian, Gary Gulman. Can I just say: This nigga is hilarious. Like Nick Cannon. I bout cried the first time he did the “Grape Vs. Grapefruit” bit. I highly recommend it. It’ll cure what ails ya. Far as I know, he gots a album called Conversations With Inanimate Objects

I took BBG to see Dane Cook at the Mandalay Bay a few months back, and Gulman opened. He killed! This guy has the flow of a Carlin and the angle of a Seinfeld, delving deep into simple everyday subject matter. Try “The Hierarchy of Cookies” to that end. But seriously, this dude needs an hour on primetime cable. I’m super serial.

And…

finally, today was the trading deadline for Major League Baseball. All teams had until 4 pm EST today to get the wheelin and dealin done. To clarify, based on a team’s record, and likelihood of them reaching the postseason, they become Buyers or Sellers as the deadline nears. Good teams wanna load up for the Stretch Run at October. Bad teams wanna offload Big Contracts in order to acquire Prospects and help in weak areas, usually trading offense for pitching. I am a Cubs fan, myself. Most years, the Cubs are Buyers, when everyone knows they should probably be selling. We fans appreciate this. It gives us hope and reminds us that the Ownership of the club are still dedicated towards winning. Ok, fine, towards trying, anyway.

This year, this day, the axe finally fell. They could lie to themselves no more. Today, with under two hours to go til the deadline, the Cubs became sellers. On this dark day, The Prodigal Son, The Mad Dog, The Artist, Greg Maddux, has left town. Gone West…..out Dodger way…..and as if the day wasn’t sad enough, insult to injury: Todd Walker gone as well. Again, to The West. This time our beloved left-handed bat is to be a Friar. San Diego is his home now. In return, the Cubs got Little Cesar Izturis from the Dodgers, and some pitching help for Walker, and it’ll most likely benefit the club in the end. Nevertheless, Maddux will be missed. The future Hall-of-Famer began his career with the Cubs in 1986, got his first win as a Cub, then got traded away to the Braves later in his career, but returned to Chicago pinstripes a few seasons ago, notching his 300th career win as a Cub again, and today, he is gone. Again. He will be missed. Thanks for everything, Mad Dog.

FreAk