As most of you know October is Gay History Month and in an effort to help my community, I decided to enlist the aid of two of the most opinionated women I know –  the smart and sassy Elle the Pirate of Belle et la Brewski and my whack-a-doodle mother Lola — to share their hearts and their wisdom with my people. Thankfully, they both said yes, which meant I’ve only had to do 6 posts a week instead of 7 — bless you , ladies. As I’ve stated before, Elle’s comments are courtesy of the interwebz  while Lola’s responses are tape recorded and then transcribed by yours truly as a soon to be gone pesky cataract has made reading damn near impossible (she holds one hand over her left eye while attempting to read — a condition which further complicates her hunt and peck typing style). Please note that while I love them both dearly, neither one is a licensed professional nor should their advice be taken as either sound or good. In other words, this is purely for entertainment purposes. Don’t follow their advice. Never change lanes at an intersection. Always wait on hour before going into the water after eating. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Now, with those disclaimers out of the way, let’s get rolling…

Dear Elle and Lola,

I’ve been dating a woman for the last couple of months who I had instant chemistry with. Recently, she told me that she wants us to put on costumes and do role playing to spice up our sex life. I think our sex life is fine the way it is plus I would feel stupid dressing up and acting. I think we have something good but I’m worried if I give into this the next thing will be even more weirder. What should I do?

Vanilla Gal

Dear Vanilla,

Let me get this straight.  You will feel stupid dressing up and acting while having wild sex??  Squirrel, please.  Take it from a woman who has at LEAST 5 costumes in her closet and utilizes them ON THE REGULAR…..do….that….shit.  Everyday is Halloween up in this bitch.  Sexy fireman with boobies poppin’ out the top??  Yes, PLEASE! Tinkerbell with no panties??? I’ll take two!!! Pirate whore with her plastic sword?? Pillage THIS booty!!!  There is nothing wrong with role playing.  At all.  And dressing up does not lead to weirder stuff.  I mean, if you wake up one morning and you have a gag ball in your mouth and are surrounded by angry midgets wearing nothing but grass skirts and halos, that’s your own damn fault. Not that that has ever happened to me.  I’m just sayin’.

Now put on that Little Bo Peep outfit and bend over.  Oh yeah….mama likey.

Trick or treat THIS,

Elle

Lola says: …don’t dress up! What’s the matter with these goddamn people who have to spice up their love life? They know what they’re getting into when they sign up for that old shit to begin with and then they want to go and put on fancy clothes and pretend? Jesus Christ. I don’t understand what more spice that silly bitch needs — ain’t licking pussy enough spice? Bleech! I don’t even want to think about that. Next question…

* * * * *

Dear Elle and Lola:

my partner (38) and i (41) have been living together for 3 years. we have a very healthy sex life. One of the most imporant things for me is honesty and faithfully since I was cheated on by pass boyfriends. Last week, I went to check my mail and I discovered that my partner had been talking to men on line and having cyber sex (he left the computer on and left his mail open and i read it). I haven’t said anything yet but I am really hurt by this. i don’t care that it is with a guy he’ll probly never meet. If he is talking to men on line sooner or later he’ll met somebody local and fuck them and i’m mad that he gave the guy his e-mail when he knows that i have his pass word and could go into his mail and read it any time i want.

Dear HaCiC,

Ugh.  Seriously?

Ok….first off….I’m gonna go ahead and say what OTHERS are thinking but WON’T say….It’s “half the time”  not “have the time”.  ”Past”.  Not “Pass”.  ”Probably”.  Not “Probly”.  I won’t even bring up the smaller infractions.  Sorry to be The Grammar Bitch on you, but I’ve had a SHIT ASS DAY full of dirty snatch and FAKE ASS CRYING people that act like they give a shit about someone they ALL talked shit about mere months ago and THIS email put me over the proverbial edge, my friend.  You’re welcome.

And REALLY???  You need someone else to help you with this?  One of TWO things is happening with this whole bullshit scenario….

a) He doesn’t GIVE a flying fuckity fuck that you found out, hence him letting you have his password and whatnot.

2) He thinks you are a complete IDIOT and wouldn’t find out.

I hope ya’ll are using condoms because if not, you are fixin’ to take a sorrowful trip down “Let’s Guess What STD I Have Today” Highway.  He will, if he already hasn’t, CHEAT ON  YOU!!!  SAY IT WITH ME!!!!  HE IS A FUCKING CHEATER!

I say call him on his shit.  Grow some fucking CAJONES (that’s “balls” in espanol….who KNEW I was bilingual!!) and get in his fucking face and CALL HIM ON HIS SHIT!

I don’t think you will do this.  Shit…he KNOWS you won’t do this.  Which is ALL THE MORE REASON TO GET IN HIS FUCKING FACE AND BREAK BAD ON HIM!!!

If you choose not to, I say take a Sharpie marker and draw faces on his balls.  Then, when he asks why ON EARTH YOU WOULD DO SUCH a THING, you can reply, “Well since I’ve been letting SYBIL fuck me in the pooper for the last few years, I just wanted to get to know the multiple fucking shithead personalities, up close and personal, when your balls are smacking against my stomach.  Carry on.”

Idiot fucking porn surfin’ cheatin’ motherfucker.  Him…not you.

Bitter til the very end,

Elle

Lola says: …I don’t understand. Read that to me again. (Dirk reads it to her again) What’s “cyber-sex”? (Dirk explains) You’ve got to be shittin’ me! You mean to tell me some gay guy types “I’m gonna stick my pecker in your asshole” and the other gay guy gets hard over that? Je-SUS. I’ve heard of it all now. The first thing this guy needs to do is throw out that fucking computer. God only knows what nasty shit that other quuer’s gotten all over it. (Laughing) God-damn! Typing shit to make yourself cum. I never heard of such bullshit in my life.

Dirk: It’s mental stimulation…

Lola: It’s mental all right. Is that what you and Tristan do? “I wanna take my pecker and stick in your mouth?” Tell that guy to dump that computer nut and go get a real man. Go to a gay meeting or something. Maybe he can meet that other guy whose husband or boyfriend or whatever he is that was cheating. But if they get together, they need to get rid of the computers. Those goddamn things are nothing but trouble. That typing gay guy is gonna mess around and talk to that guy on “To Catch a Predator” and then he’ll be getting screwed in the ass in prison and he won’t have to type about it no more.

* * * * *

And so as Gay History Month comes to a close, so does this series of posts. A huge, huge, HUGE thank you to the immensely talented and funny as hell Elle for her participation in this as well as to Lola for…well, for being Lola. And a big thank you to everyone who sent in  questions — these ladies would be nothing without your problems.

Have a great weekend everybody!

As most of you know by this point, what with October being Gay History Month and all, I decided to enlist the aid of two of the most opinionated women I know –  the crazy ass Elle the Pirate of Belle et la Brewski and my insane mother Lola — to share their hearts and their wisdom with my people. Being longtime giver goddesses, they both said yes and from all appearances they are a hit. As previously noted, Elle’s comments are courtesy of the interwebz (hey, we live half a country apart people — we ain’t coffee klatching it after work every day, sharing girl talk and giggling about boys we think are cute!) while Lola’s responses are tape recorded and then transcribed by yours truly as a soon to be gone pesky cataract has made reading damn near impossible (she holds one hand over her left eye while attempting to read — a condition which further complicates her hunt and peck typing style). Please note that while I love them both dearly, neither one is a licensed professional nor should their advice be taken as either sound or good. In other words, this is purely for entertainment purposes. Don’t follow their advice. Always consult a doctor before embarking on any diet regimen. Don’t drink and drive. Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Yellow’s mellow, but brown goes down. Now, with those disclaimers out of the way, let’s get rolling…

Dear Elle and Lola,

For years my boyfriend was told by his previous partners how ugly and unappealing he was. As a result he developed a very negative self-image and horrible self-esteem. Over the 5 years we’ve been together I’ve made a point of telling him every day how beautiful he is inside and out. The problem is after years of positive affirmations, he took everything I said and went out and had several one night stands with anonymous men as well as a few of our friends.

Elle and Lola, I am emotionally devastated. I love this man and have built a life with him but now the sight of him reduces me to tears. I can’t eat, I can’t concentrate at work, all I can think about is how he has betrayed me. I don’t want to throw away 5 years but I don;t think I can ever fully commit to him again. What should I do?

Sleeping single in the guest room double bed

Dear SSITGRDB,

What the….? Are you serious? SUCK IT UP, SOLDIER! I don’t give a fuck if your man is Brad Pitt (yum, by the way) or Quasifuckingmodo……listen to ME.

He.

Cheated.

Numerous times.

That’s complete and utter bullshit and JESUS backs me up on this! Trust me! We talk. A lot.

That makes him UGLY on the fucking INFUCKINGSIDE and I want to punch him in the throat. Can you tell I’m bitter???? No???? Let me elabofuckingrate.

People who take your love, roll it into a fucking ball, and toss it off a fucking bridge into the River of Hate are no good. At all. I don’t GET that shit. If you’re NOT happy in the relationship you are in, given WHATEVERFUCKING reason…..LEAVE. There is NO need to get sneaky and fuck around and suck a strange dick and let them put it in your no-no hole why their LOYAL significant OTHER is clueless….at home….baking a fucking cake. Pack your shit. Get the fuck out. Go be a man-whore. Make that your life. But do NOT stay in a relationship and kill the very SPIRIT of the person who is backing you up, 24-7-365.

God, I’m all riled the fuck up on this because it seems like you are the one that needs a little LOVE and to have someone tell YOU that you are worth so much MORE than who you are right now.

Fuck that bastard.

And punch him in his ugly face on the way out the door. Fucking dirty herpes dick sucking hunchback pimply back havin’ cockmunching son of a bitch.

Oh….and you are a Super SUPER motherfucking man. Jot THAT down.

Totally high-fivin’ your dick,

Elle

Lola says: … First of all you shouldn’t have praised him and give him a big head. Men eat that shit up. Second of all, throw his ass out; that’ll straighten his ass up. He thinks he’s got a sure deal and you told him he’s handsome so now he thinks he can go lay up with anything with a dick. Sorry for you, my friend. I’d tell him my asshole was closed for business. Ain’t no man gonna go out chewing on strange peckers and then bring home crabs or some other shit to me. This guy don’t know what’s up them buttholes. Dump that fucker’s ass. There are other fish in the sea. And dicks, too! Surely he can find something better to tie up with. They’re plentiful as hell — everybody’s going gay on the tv. That guy must be a real damn man to sit around and whine until he builds up some stamina and then go knocking on every door he can stick a dick in. Put his shit on the curb and call for extra pick-up.

* * * * * *

Dear Elle and Lola,

I’m a 47-year-old lesbian who recently started dating a much younger woman (she’s 24) over the summer. We met at a gay marriage rally, went for a drink afterwards, and were in bed before the night was over. Ever heard the old joke what does a lesbian drive on her second date? A U-haul. Well, it’s true. After 2 weeks of constant togetherness, she moved in with me and it’s been pure heaven ever since.

The problem is the holidays are coming up and my son and his fiance will be coming to visit and I haven’t told him about this much younger woman who also happens to be a much younger woman he dated back in high school. My girlfriend says it’s no big deal, he’s engaged to be married so he’s clearly moved on but I think it might be awkward when he realizes that his mother is sleeping with the same girl he did (and yes, my girlfriend has confirmed they had a sexual relationship).

How should I handle this? I love this girl but my son is my life. Help!

Never happier, never more worried

Dear NHNMW,

SWEET!!!!!! Not only are you a LESBIAN but you’re a COUGAR LESBIAN!!! CAN I GET A WHAT WHAT????? Raise the ROOF, bitch!!! THAT’S AWESOME!

I think your son will be fine with it all. Totally. And if he isn’t, just send him to his old room for a good ol’ fashioned TIME OUT!! You are STILL HIS MOTHER, DAMMIT! I don’t care whose vagina you are bumpin’.

And really??? SERIOUSLY?? He’s got a fiance (say it like Holly Hunter in Raising Arizona….FY-ANCE) and he shouldn’t be worried about who YOU are lickin’ nowadays. We all have needs and yours just happens to be some hot young piece of ass he USED to date less than ten years ago. No big deal, right?

(Work with me HERE…)

And if all else fails, just lie and say she is his ex-girlfriend’s LONG LOST TWIN SISTER that he never knew about because she was given up at birth because she had a cleft palate and was sent to a third world country so she could get surgery for FREE because her parents didn’t have insurance and was then adopted by none other than Madonna!!!

It just might work!!!

Let me know!!

Totally jealous that you have a younger woman,

Elle

Lola says: …First of all, she’s a crazy bitch. Second of all, her son should have her ass committed. There is more to life that licking a goddamn ol’ pussy. If they want to be licking on something, why don’t they get a nice ice cream cone? Jesus. The more I hear about these women the more the make the rest of us look like sludgerats. People haven’t got no damn sense. I could just see if I was a gay ol’woman and you walked in on me with my nose buried in some ol’ fur patch. Jesus! I think that young girl needs to go back home to her mother and get some training — real training, not lesbian training — about how to act like a fucking lady. One night and you’re in bed together! That is so dumb. God forbid don’t let that 47-year-old lesbian get a dog! Oh don’t put that down — don’t give the damn pig any more ideas!

(Later that evening I received a call)

Lola: I been thinking about that old lesbian with the young girl and I say just tell the son that she’s robbing the cradle and it was one in his nursery. Nearly 50-years-old and got some little wet behind the ears bitch licking her pussy! No wonder these damn girls’ teeth are rotten. That young one must be homeless and she’s eating pussy to have a roof over her head. Either that or she’s still hung up on that son and she’s trying to get close to him again but I hate to tell the damn silly bitch that eating his mother’s pussy ain’t the way to do it. *Sighs* 47-years-old…when do these damn nasty woman quit with that sex shit? Here I have to suffer with this arthritis and she’s getting her snatch eat out…

* * * * * *

Dear Elle and Lola,

My boyfriend and I have been together for 6 years, living together for 4. He’s a good man who treats me with respect, works hard, will do anything to help our friends and family, and is fantastic in bed. I dearly love him except for one bad habit: instead of going to the bathroom to answer nature’s call he uses the kitchen sink as a urinal if he’s cooking or grabbing a snack. Every time I call him out on this, he tells me that urine is sterile when it comes out of the body and he rinses the sink afterwards so it’s no big deal. I disagree. I think it is unsanitary and just plain disgusting. What do you think? Am I over-reacting? If I’m not, what can I do to help change this behavior?

At The End of My Rope
 

Dear ATEOMR,

Yuck.  Does he eat his own scabs too??  Sicko.

Before I get called out on this, I’m just gonna go ahead and throw my SELF under the bus and save someone else the trouble.  I, too, have peed in some strange places.  The first that comes to mind was quite recently and it was when Princess was here and we were sitting out back, drinking beer and talking mad shit about STUPID MEN and stuff and mid sentence, I got up….walked 10 feet to the dirt in my backyard, turned back around to face her, lifted up my sundress, squatted down and peed about 2 gallons of hot frothy urine. All the while, I was saying, “Giirrrrrrrllll, I can’t BELIEVE he did that shit and it just pissed me off DON’T LOOK AT MY PACHINA and does he even know who he is DEALING WITH?”  

She didn’t even flinch.

Then there was the (numerous) time I have peed in the bathroom sink.  The main reason I do this is because my CHILDREN like to fuck with me and sit on the toilet, long after they are done peeing and I am dancing around like, “COME ON I GOTTA GO” and they giggle and say, “I’m POOPING MOM!  GO UPSTAIRS” and um HELLO??  I don’t give a shit that there are THREE toilets in this house, I’m a SINGLE MOTHER and I’ve given birth TWICE out of my vagina and it HURT and my bladder doesn’t work all that well anymore (just ask anyone who has had the unfortunate opportunity to be on a trampoline with me) and CLIMBING stairs while URINE is pounding on my bladder is NOT a good idea.  But it only happened a few times and I totally felt bad about it for like….an hour.

That being said, here is what I think you should do….

-Make a nice big crockpot full of chili.  Yum!!

-Go into the bathroom.

-Thoroughly clean the toilet.  I’m talking bleach and Scrubbing Bubbles and Comet.

-Once it’s sparkling clean, take a nice long piss in said toilet bowl.

-Pour your AWESOME CHILI into the toilet.

-Hang a metal ladle on the side of the bowl.  Set some chili bowls on the sink.

-When your man asks “What’s for dinner, honey!!?” direct him to the bathroom.

When he starts to pitch a fit about OH EM GEE I’M NOT EATING OUT OF THE TOILET just look at him and say, “It’s ok, dear.  I peed in there first.  It’s completely sterile.”

Problem solved.

Love me some chili,

Elle

Lola says: …he is not over-reacting. Put that dumb son-of-a-bitch out the door and let him piss in the street. And throw the pots and pans out after him — God only knows what he did to those. That gay guy’s gonna end up in the hospital with e-coli from that urine gravy on piss chicken. Does this guy shit in the sink, too? That might not be chocolate pudding that stupid son-of-a-bitch is putting in front of him. How in the hell do you love somebody who pisses in the fucking sink? That’s not a love affair, that’s pure filth. God-damn.

And so ends another installment of Dear Elle and Lola. Tune in next Friday for what I hope proves to be an epic conclusion to the series. And if you haven’t done so already, there’s still time to ask these ladies for their help with your most pressing gay dilemmas. Send your questions and queeries (hee hee) to dirk.mancuso@gmail.com and be sure to include “Dear Elle and Lola” in the subject line. Deadline for submissals is October 28.

In honor of October being Gay History Month and all, I turned to two of the most opinionated women I know –  the crazy ass Elle the Pirate of Belle et la Brewski and my insane mother Lola — and asked them if they would share their hearts and their wisdom with my people. As luck would have it, they both said they would and judging from the number of hits they got last Friday, you guys like them — you really like them. As previously noted, Elle’s comments are courtesy of the interwebz while Lola’s responses are tape recorded and then transcribed by yours truly as a pesky cataract has made reading difficult (she holds one hand over her left eye while reading — a condition which further complicates her hunt and peck typing style). Please note that while I love them both dearly, neither one is a licensed professional nor should their advice be taken as either sound or good. In other words, this is purely for entertainment purposes. Don’t follow their advice. And for God’s sake, don’t try this at home. Blue and yellow make green. Just say no. All you need is love.. Now, with those disclaimers out of the way, let’s get rolling…

Dear Elle and Lola:

After a long search and a lot of dead ends, I met a wonderful man I’m crazy about and he’s crazy about me.  We dated, fell in love and we’ve lived together for about a year and one half.

He’s Italian and Irish but it’s clear the Italians are running the show!

He went away to college, lived alone- which was a good sign since he’s in his late 30’s.  He has a genetic syndrome that comes with physical issues and some learning difficulties.  In spite of that he went to college and now teaches elementary and college level art, photoshop etc.  I fell in love with this guy from day one.  He worked nights at a nursing home to be able to teach part time during the day.

He’s close to his family.  We go there for all holidays, birthdays and even just stop by to say hello.  I take his nieces and nephews to movies, festivals, amusement parks etc.

His grandmother passed away earlier this year, leaving his 90 yo great aunt alone in his grandmother’s farm house. His family pressured him for us to buy the house.  But it needs a lot of work, believe me, a lot of work. It’s too big and my guy is a pack rat, you know how “gays” can be, I’m sure.  The more space we have, the more crap he will save.  We went through a period of hell about this house.  I already drive an hour one way so that we can live together and so he can teach part time during the day.  I pay the largest portion of our bills because he worked three jobs just so he could teach part time or as a substitute.  He quit his 3rd shift job because I wanted him to take it easier and to have time to look for an opportunity to go full time, if not in his current school district then in another one.  I ran the numbers and I told him he could not pay 1/2 of the cost of owning a house until he has a full time teaching job.  I’m not willing to shoulder more than 1/2 of the cost of buying this house. I give a lot, have supported his effort to teach and work full time, but I’m not willing to put myself into financial jeopardy to buy a house I don’t like and which is too damned far for me to drive comfortably everyday. I thought it was settled but this past week-end we were asked to meet with his parents, again, about the house.  The one thing that struck me was being told I have to compromise so he’s happy, too.  What about my happiness? I’ve owned a couple houses.  We rent a nice townhouse at the moment.  He hasn’t saved anything as a down payment for this house, he works two part time jobs so that means I’d be covering the mortgage and expenses for who knows how long until he gets a full time teaching job.  And I’d be driving another 40 mins/day, so my overall commute would be getting too close to 3 hours.  I don’t want to do it because:

- Financially it’s just too much money for a 150 year old house that needs a lot of work.

- I don’t want to drive more than I already do (which is 2 hours/day).

- I won’t have time to exercise, which I must do for my joints, after a longer commute and when would I have time to work on any improvements?

- He’s a great guy, a sweetheart, but part of his disability is that things go in one ear and out the other.  Or are all men like that, Lola?  He says he’ll cut the grass and do repairs and paint etc. but as soon as he sees the TV he plops on his ass and is mesmerized.  It’s just how he is, but I know that and I don’t believe the promises.  I know better.

- And now the real reason, Lola.  Nothing against them, they’re wonderful folks but I don’t want to live right in the middle of his parent’s house, his brother’s house, his sister’s house, his cousin’s house, his aunt and uncle’s house.  I’d be in the cross hairs every second and I just don’t want to live like that.  They also want his great aunt to continue living there while we live “upstairs” but look in on her, make her a meal occasionally etc.  I stuck by my gram and my dad and my mom to the end, but I need a rest, too.  And I’m not the “look in on” type.  I know what taking
care of an older person really means.

I love him Lola, and I love his family, but I don’t want to live in the middle of them.  I want us to enjoy our lives together.  It was really tough for both of us but we had already settled it between ourselves that it wasn’t for us but his parents just won’t let it go.  I still don’t want to do it.  If I’m forced into it, I will resent that house for the rest of my life, so I know better than to let myself get forced into it.

What do you think?

Sign me,

Location, location, location

Dear Location to the third power,

Um…..I’m not really understanding the question here.  I mean….you are WAY too damn vague and didn’t really give me enough information to go on.  I can’t work under these conditions.

Oh…and I have a friend who has a friend who has a sister and she’s married to a guy that works at Home Depot and he only has one leg but he gets around ok but he knows this dude who owns a tractor that is purple and HIS FATHER has a grandma who plays the harmonica and she spits a lot and anyway HER aunt only has one eye and it’s kinda gross but she owns a monkey who carries around a little bag and it has a cute little string type closure on it (IT’S SO CUTE) and it’s full of Xanax. I’m totally gonna hook you up.

Kisses,

Elle

Lola says: …he’s got to get firm with them people.I’d tell them I already got a house I’m happy in and I’m not buying another fucking house that needs all the fixing. Those in-laws need to keep their damn noses out of them 2 gays’ lives. If they want to buy that house that’s between him and him. And that one gay guy can’t be driving 3 hours a day! What about when it snows? What’s wrong with them damn people? Don’t they think about that shit? They need to be happy their son found a…gay whatever you want to call him…to settle down with. Hell, the straight people can’t hardly do that no more! And tell that gay guy I’ve lived with my in-law and I’ll tell him that will never fly. It will drive him to fucking drink! That old bitch mother of Old Boy’s did everything she could to get me to leave but I wasn’t about to let some senile old heiffer run me out. Always pretending she was having a stroke or a migraine when we wanted to go somewhere so that he’d stay home with her — and that dumb son-of-a-bitch would fall for it every time! I told him “it’s pretty funny your mother only gets those spells when we want to go out” and he’d say (pinches face up) “well, she’s pretty frail.” Pretty frail my fat white ass! That old bitch would walk to the grocery store and back in 100 degree heat in those wool stockings and that goddamn sweater you had to pry her out of to wash and she’d never even break a sweat. And she’d fight like a fucking cornered badger with me until he’d come home and then she’d plop her skinny ass in a chair and hold her head and do that fake tear shit and tell him “Lola’s been picking on me again” and he’d take her side every goddamn time. Oh, that used to burn me up! (Pauses to watch Nancy Grace for a minute) What does this gay guy want to know about again? (Dirk refreshes her memory) Oh! Don’t buy that house! Tell him he’s got a good gay guy and not to mess things up when they’re working. Those in-laws need to mind their own business and leave them gay guys’ business alone — it’ll only stir up trouble. That’s why I keep my nose out of your business…

* * * * *

Dear PFLHHS,

I don’t mean to diss your mom and shit but she sounds like a complete tool.  I think the only thing you can do is try and trick her.  Here’s the plan….

Start talking about labor.  How hard it was.  How you were screaming at the nurses for more drugs and shit because the PAIN OH MY GOD THE PAIN!!!  How when you pushed for 25 hours and finally gave birth, how rewarding the experience was the second you laid eyes on your sweet little bundle of joy.  Talk about the episiotomy you had to get so you wouldn’t tear your manhood.  Talk about having more kids. And then, if you DO decide to adopt again, just stuff your shirt with old clothes or better yet, get one of those fake stomachs and make her touch it and say, “OH MY GOD! DID YOU FEEL HER KICK????” and watch her face. It will be golden.  I promise.

I guarantee you she will be burping that little man in no time.  I even see her changing diapers and cooing and shit.

And just for shits and giggles, if you’re a white man and your partner is white, adopt a little black child.  Or vice versa.  That’ll spice things up.  Tell her, “OH EM GEE She looks JUST like you, mom!!” and smile.

Please let me know how this turns out.  I can’t fucking wait.

Was born a poor black child,

Elle (And I’m white and have two mixed babies so don’t call me a racist!!!!)

Lola says: …what makes that old bitch so goddamn superior to that little baby? Taking it out on a little child! She ain’t no grandmother — she’s an old bitch. That just gets me when they punish the poor little kids because their dad is fucking some other guy in the ass or their mom is licking that old pussy — those poor little shavers can’t help it their parents got the goddamn sex on the brain 24 hours a day! I’d tell her to stay away. Just stay the hell away from me and my baby and don’t come knocking on my door when you need a place to stay, either — my baby comes first. What the hell kind of mother was she to this gay guy? I shouldn’t even give her that title — mother — she don’t deserve it. What I want to know is how did these two get a baby and Elton John couldn’t get that one from Romania? That baby would be well cared for and have a nanny and not want for nothing. Poor little foreign shit. Probably still sitting over there in an orphanage with flies crawling on his face and eating that old shit they serve them in those old rusted metal cups. I just don’t get this world…

* * * * *

And so ends another installment of Dear Elle and Lola. Tune in next Friday for more of your letters, including a fruit with a problem you won’t believe (then again if you’re a gay man, maybe you will). And if you haven’t done so already, there’s still time to ask these ladies for their help with your most pressing gay problems. Send your questions and queeries (hee hee) to dirk.mancuso@gmail.com and be sure to include “Dear Elle and Lola” in the subject line. Deadline for submissals is October 23.

In honor of Gay History Month, I turned to two of the most opinionated women I know — Elle the Pirate of Belle et la Brewski and my insane mother — and asked them if they would share their hearts and their wisdom with my people. As luck would have it, they both agreed. Elle’s comments are courtesy of the interwebz while Lola’s responses are tape recorded and then transcribed by yours truly as a cataract makes reading difficult (she holds one hand over her left eye while reading — a condition which further complicates her hunt and peck typing style). Please note that while I love them both dearly, neither one is a licensed professional nor should their advice be taken as either sound or good. In other words, this is purely for entertainment purposes. Don’t try this at home. Never shake a baby. Don’t drink and drive. We’re all the same size laying down. Now, with those disclaimers out of the way, let’s get rolling…

Dear S in S,

Really?????  Like a giant zucchini?????  Dammit, you gay men have ALL the luck.

Seriously though….I say do the whole “Sneak Attack” thing.  Lord KNOWS that one has worked on ME quite a few times over the years.  One second I’m bending over picking up a rogue strand of tinsel and the next second, I have a penis in my ass.  

Works every time.

Takin’ one in the pooper for the team,

Elle

Lola: You ought to be stretched out if you are that goddamn dumb. Why do you men want to stick your dicks up another man’s ass? What do you think you are going to feel like later in life? I’ll tell you: RUINED. His asshole is going to be all stretched out and won’t close right and he’ll leak shit and have to wear a diaper. I worked with a woman whose husband used her asshole and she’d shit herself if she got to laughing too hard. Jesus Christ, if you have to stick that nasty fucking thing somewhere, stick it in your mouth, but don’t swallow that old nasty shit that comes out. I’ll tell you one thing: he wouldn’t be riding me like that in the first place. He needs to find a guy with a smaller pecker. That isn’t healthy.

*  *  *  *  * 

Dear Elle and Lola,

I’m a 57 year-old lesbian in a 27 year partnership. We are still very affectionate as far as hugging and kissing go but after 26 years of amazing sex, we have finally experienced Lesbian Bed Death. I am still very sexual woman and we have only had sex twice in the last year and a half which I find unacceptable. As a woman of a certain age, can you offer any suggestions that might help get my wife in the mood again? What gets you in the mood? I’m open to experimentation and anything that will get her sweet honey flowing for me once again.

Down But Not Licked Yet

Dear DBNLY,
WTF????  TWICE????  IN A FUCKING YEAR????  I just shed a fucking TEAR for you.  I have sex TWICE in a day. Albeit, it’s with MYSELF but STILL.  Ok….here’s the deal. You need to get some whipped cream, chocolate syrup, sprinkles, some fucking cherries and you need to make yourself a fucking ice cream sundae and eat the hell outta that bitch.  Then pack her=2 0shit and send her on her way because the DAY that MY PARTNER doesn’t want to LOVE ON MY LADY GARDEN is the day that I start whoring myself out for some oral.  That is complete and utter bullshit.

And what gets me in the mood?  That’s easy.  A 30 pack of Keystone Light and a man that makes homemade chicken wings.  You bring that shit to the table and I’ll ride you all night like fucking Seabiscuit.  Jot that shit down.

Somebody lick me, 

Elle

Lola: Sex once is one time too many for me, especially if it’s with another woman. I bet her old lips are chapped from licking that pussy. I gave it up permanently at 60. Damn. Get a life. I don’t blame that other lesbian — I’d smack her hand if she even grazed my pussy. At their age they ought to cleaning house and doing laundry and watching PRICE IS RIGHT. When are these lesbians gonna get that old twat lickin’ off their minds? Don’t nothing get me in the mood — it was always a “have to” case for me. Hell, if she really loves that other lesbian she ought to just tell her she’s going to the candy store and get a lick elsewhere. No, don’t tell her that — I don’t need no pissed off lesbian at my door because I told her girlfriend got some stray. What they both need to do is forget their pussies and read some nice Amish books.

* * * * * 

Dear Elle and Lola,

OK here’s my question…

I have recently started looking into beginning a Master/slave relationship.  How can I judge the quality slaves from the inferior ones that are really just wanting to be told what to do in bed? And should I start with just one slave or go ahead and get a whole harem?

Sincerely,

No more -bater for this master

Dear NMBFTM,

I say get yourself a harem of them there bitches.  I don’t know about YOU but once I start ordering people around and stuff, it’s kind of ADDICTING and you are just gonna wanna have ten or so in the long run so just jump the fuck right in.

Quality slaves have tramp stamp tattoos and they drink Coors Light.  Oh…wait….that ain’t right.  Um….quality slaves have GREAT pedicures.  OH OH!!  Quality slaves have fake boobies!!!!!  And they burp a lot.  Swear.  I read it in like, Quality Slaves for Dummies or something.  Thank me later!

Smack me once and call me your bitch,

Elle

Lola: …I don’t understand this question

(Dirk  explains Master/slave dynamic)

Lola: Why would you get a whole harem of men and beat on ‘em? This whole goddamn world has gone to hell in a fuckin’ handcart. Damn, what a bunch of kooks. Is that man nuts? He’d smack me once and that son-of-a-bitch would play hell drawing his next breath. What does he want a woman to beat on for?

Dirk: It’s 2 men. No woman.

Lola: Jesus Christ. When I was a kid gay meant happy. If you’re gay you ought to love on one another. I could just see you on all fours and Tristan beating on you. He pulls that shit, he’ll have me to answer to. I don’t understand wanting to beat on somebody you live with. You know you have to go to sleep some time and that slave or whatever is going to kick your ass and you’ve got it coming. Goddamn squirrelly men.

* * * * *

That’s it for this week, folks. Tune in next Friday for more of your letters. And if you haven’t done so already, there’s still time to ask these ladies for their help with your most pressing problems. Send your questions and queeries to dirk.mancuso@gmail.com and be sure to include “Dear Elle and Lola” in the subject line.

Hello fellow Blog readers!

Dirk asked me to fill in for him whilst he takes some time off to rest his brain. I thought I’d maybe get into some Philosophy. This is a dangerous area I know and I’m skating on thin ice. I’m one of those strange folks that truly believes in fate and that there are no coincidences. How many times have you been thinking about something that you haven’t thought about for in years and then you turn on the TV and they are discussing the exact same thing? Or have you gone to a place you know you’ve never been but feel strangly at home? I don’t think it is because you’ve lived before but because you are fulfilling your destiny. I think that some people are destined to find others but that not everyone is going to find a perfect match simply because it is not their destiny to do so.

It has become in vogue to say that God is dead or that He doesn’t even exist but I beg to differ. Go outside the very next night it is clear. Find a place away from the lights and look at all of the stars. So very far away and we are so small. Who is man that thou art mindful of him? Many people think there is no God because bad things happen to good people. In such a case God seems to be saying for us to recite the Lynn Anderson gem from a few years back,”I beg your pardon, I never promised you a Rose garden”. God doesn’t give us what we can handle, He helps us to handle what we are given. He didn’t promise us days without pain, laughter without sorrow, nor sun without rain, but He did promise strength for the day, comfort for the tears, and light for our pathway.

So I think we have a choice. We can choose to be happy or to be sad. We can see the glass half full or half empty. Being happy doesn’t mean everything is perfect, it means we choose to see beyond the imperfections. That goes for our jobs, our friends, our relationships. So take each day one at a time and don’t let tomorrows clouds block todays sunshine.

Thanks, Ed

Whilst my extended weekend getaway with The Fella continues, I have once more prevailed upon official TDtC, TCtI sidekick Ed to help out with the old posting duties. Take it away, Ed…

Hey people, Dirk asked me to do a guest Blog. These things aren’t as easy as they may seem. I’ve started it over again several times. Here is a Poem called “Old October” by James Whitcomb Riley. 

“Old October’s purt nigh gone and the frosts is comin’ on little heavier every day–like our hearts is thataway! Leaves is changin’ overhead back from green to gray and red, brown and yeller with their stems loosenin’ on the Oaks and Elms and the balance of the trees gittin balder every breeze–like the heads we’re scratchin’ on! Old October’s purt nigh gone. I love old October so, I can’t bear to see her go–Seems to me like losin’ some old-home relative er chum–’Pears like sort o’settin’ by some old friend ‘at sigh by sigh was a passin’ out o’ sight into everlasting night! Hickernuts a feller hears rattlin’ down is more like tears drappin’ on the leaves below–I love Old October so! Can’t tell what it is about Old October knocks me out! I sleep well enough at night–and the blamedest appetite ever mortal man possessed, last thing et, it tastes the best! Walnuts, butternuts, pawpaws, Oiles and limbers up my jaws. For real service sich as new, Pork, spareribs, and sausage too–Yit, fer all, they’s somepin’ bout Old October knocks me out!”
 
Let me tell you about my Grandparents on my Mom’s side. Grandpa Edson was a giant of a man. He stood 6′ 7″ and it is said he could lift a model T Ford while it’s tire was being changed. My Granny was barely over 5 feet tall but full of spit and vinegar. Grandpa was a coal miner and a preacher. He laid on his back all day digging coal deep underground. He would walk to whatever church that God told him to preach at that Sunday. They had 4 children that survived to adulthood. One day my Grandpa took his oldest boy hunting along with my great uncle George. My Granny stayed with George’s wife Emma. It was the first day of Squirrel hunting in 1940. The Coal mines had bought Grandpa’s old farm and he had moved the house to this new area closer to town. He had big plans for the house but it never happened. Raymond the oldest boy was 10 years old and he got tired of hunting so Granpa took him back to George’s car. He was putting Raymond’s rifle under the back seat when his own shotgun fell and hit him in the face with a blast. George took him to the nearest town then they transferred him to an ambulance and on to the hospital. Half of his face was blown off. There was no plastic surgery back then. They let him catch his own blood in a pan until he got too weak. As soon as my Granny saw George she knew something was wrong and passed out. They took Granny to see Edson in a wheel chair because she was too weak to walk. Grandpa Edson passed away and Granny was left with four kids to raise. Times were hard but they got through. Granny used to have a coal stove and would walk behind the train cars picking up coal. Some of the train folks would knock coal off for her to pick up. She picked berries in the Spring to sell for 50 cents a gallon. She did washings for her neighbors. Granny died in 1974 I’m sure she is with Grandpa now. Another James Whitcomb Riley poem says, “he is not gone he is just away” I think that is true because I can still feel my grandparents watching over us.

Whilst I’m moving some more stuff (and getting my new futon delivered and my cable hooked up and alphabetizing the dvds and…), TDtC, TCtI’s official mascot Ed graciously offered to take up the slack and write another guest post for me. Enjoy!

…Hello friends of Dirk, it’s the Mascot ED again giving Dirk a break so he can recharge. I thought I’d remind you folks who still doubt that being Gay is inborn about my own personal experiences. I was 6 years old and my Uncle, my Mother’s brother still lived at home with my Grandmother. He was 17 and ready to sow his wild oats. I thought he was so cool and would tag along with him wherever he went. I’m sure I was a pest but he didn’t seem to mind. I watched him work on his car. It was a convertible. He would crawl under the car and bend over doing stuff under the hood and he never wore a shirt. I would sneak a peek at his butt crack when he bent over and he never wore underwear either. I would dream about seeing his butt and doing things with him but I didn’t know anything about sex yet so I never thought about that. We went fishing and hunting and trapping and berry picking together. After berry picking he would take us to a secluded lake of which there are hundeds of them here from the coal mining days. He would strip and jump into the water. I would often wade in the water up to my knees but I never took my clothes off. I didn’t/don’t know how to swim. Uncle often threatened to throw me in the water to sink or swim but he never did. I would watch him towel himself off and felt guilty about seeing him naked but couldn’t stop looking.

When I was older about 12 or 13 we went fishing and he gave me a book with pictures of naked women in it. They were all in black and white. I took it home and hid it. I took it out and looked at it real good. Not the women who looked strange to me but the ads in the back that said I could get a longer penis and be able to fuck for an hour without cumming and it talked about Jism all of which I had never heard of before. There were ads wanting me to call up women and talk dirty to them. There was one ad that stuck in my head. It read, “we have both girls and boys for you to talk to.” I so wanted to call the number but new it would show up on my parents bill and I’d have Hell to pay. They had rubber blow-up dolls with funny looking mouths. It had one male doll with a long hard dick. My mind was racing. Oh how I wanted that doll! If I had it I could stare at it’s penis as long as I wanted. I hid the catalog in the chicken house because I fed the chickens and gathered the eggs. I put it inside the wall whee it would be safe. One day I went to get it and it was gone. I panicked. who had found it? I expected a good beating but nobody mentioned it at supper. Later as I was cleaning out the feed room, I found a large Rats nest made up of chewed papaer. It was the magazine. Getting back to Uncle, he had a calendar in his bedroom with naked girls on it and a Steering Wheel Knob (remember when those were popular anyone?) with Marilyn Monroe on it. I was riding with him and staring at his bulging pants but he thought I was looking at the picture of Marilyn. He said, “like them big tits son?” My face turned red. He said, “it’s okay to like tits”. I was thinking, “if you only knew what I was really looking at.” Anywho, I was Gay before I knew about sex and nobody can tell me I choose to be Gay. I hated being Gay in school. My church told me that Gays go straight to Hell. I tried my best and prayed for help but God still let me be Gay. My teenage years were really fucked up but that is for a later blogpost.

Dirk, thanks for letting me post a blog and even though I’m not smart or witty like you I can’t wait to read your next post. – Ed

Hello everybody, I’m filling in for Dirk who is (was supposed to be) having a great time at IML. Let’s hope he doesn’t become a slave or pet dog and makes it home safe with lots of pictures and stories from the leather side of Gay life. (No worries there since I was unable to attend due to work and pressing housing issues. – Dirk) I thought I’d write about what it was like for a geek back in the 60’s in High School.

First of all, it was so different then. No computers, no cell phones, no air conditioning and lots of stairs to climb. The dress code might seem strange to todays youth. The boys could wear shorts in the warm months but long hair was a constant battle. Since the Beatles, every guy wanted to have the bowl over his head type hairdo. The powers that be wouldn’t allow it. If challenged a boy had to stick his finger in his ear. If his sideburns went past that they had to be cut. No hair could touch the shirt collar in the back. Girls couldn’t wear shorts or pants. Their skirt or dress had to touch the floor when they were on their knees. The task to see this was carried out was left to the girls P.E. teacher. She had hair like Paul McCartney and wore flannel shirts and what looked like men’s shoes. My Freshman year I had P.E. everyday and I hated every minute of it. I was the typical 98 pound weakling. I didn’t dare tell anyone I was gay. One day the P.E. teacher lined us all up for Jock strap inspection. It was on the list of things we needed but I didn’t know what it was so I asked my Mom, “What is an Athletic Supporter?” She said she thought it was high top gym shoes. The first day of P.E. I saw guys putting on this funny looking thing that left their Asses bare. I enjoyed watching them dress out of the corner of my eyes. Several of us didn’t have one but I heard the guys referring to them as Jockstraps. I went home and told my Mom I needed a jockstrap for P.E. class. She said, “What is that?” I told her it goes under my P.E. shorts. She said she’d see about getting one the first of next month because she had bills to pay this month and not enough money and if the school thought I needed one they should provide it. It was a few days later that the P.E. teacher who was also the football coach had his inspection. He lined us up in the Gym, as I said, and made us drop our shorts. he walked behind us even though It seemed more obvious from the front to me. He had a Ping Pong paddle and gave every bare butt a smack that didn’t have a Jockstrap. I was always a very sensitive guy and started crying. Many of the other guys made fun of me for crying. The next Saturday I robbed my piggy bank and went to the store and bought a jockstrap.

In my Sophmore year not much happened but being a geek I spent lunch hour in the Library. Everyday as I headed upstairs to where the Library was I passed a guy and girl who were hugging. The girl was always crying. The guy would glare at me as I passed. They were both red faced and now looking back I think they were fucking right there in the stairwell. They were there almost every day.

My Junior year a revolution of sorts took place. The Superintendent’s son had long hair and looked like Mick Jagger. Several students marched into the Superintendents office and demanded that either his son gets a hair cut or nobody has too. The rule was no longer enforced and the next year it was omitted from the handbook.

My Senior year was the only year I enjoyed. I had perfect attendance that year. The seniors got preferential treatment, even the geek ones, they got the best lockers and sat in the front at all convocations. There were a few guys I learned to avoid. Everytime one of us geeks came within reach of one of these bullies we would get either a kick or punch in the stomach or tripped or books knocked out of our hands. It seemed to amuse the crowd to see us roll into a ball and hold our nuts after getting hit there. I still hate to watch AFV’s on TV where they seem to think it is funny as well. Every guy was required to take Health & Safety and every girl had to take Home Economics. The same guy who was my P.E. teacher taught the Health class. He put me and two other geeks in the back table in the Home Ec. room. But, the table seats four. Who else would be seated there? OMG! it was Jim Dill the meanest bully of them all. He was in hog heaven. He told me to bring him a Suzy-Q for the next day but I told him I didn’t know what it was. He asked Billy, a little fat kid, if he knew what a Suzy-Q was and he said yes. So he made him bring him one. The next day Billy sat down and I saw his books but no Suzy-Q. Jim came in and sat down and asked, “where’s my Suzy-Q?” Billy started shaking and I knew he hadn’t obeyed Mr. Dill. Jim hit him in the stomach then the coach came in so I hoped it was over. Wrong, Mr. Dill put a stick pin through an eraser and stuck it in Billy’s arms and legs several times. He was bleeding and he cried out and the Coach asked if anything was wrong and Billy shook his head no. Mr. Dill never asked him for anything else and seemed to admire him for not ratting on him. One day I was in the only boys restroom for the whole school, and Jim came in while I was at the Urinal. He pushed the back of my head and said, “Good Job!” I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then he said, “Hey little gurl I want to see you out by my van at lunch time”. He had his sidekick Ray with him who was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. I knew if I went out there that I would be in trouble but if I didn’t go I might be in trouble as well. There was only one teacher I liked and she had said if we had any trouble to come and talk to her. I went to her room and told her what Jim had said and that I was afraid he was going to beat me up. Much to my surprise she sent for Jim and had him to come in the room while I was there. She told him that she had heard he was a bully and she wasn’t going to stand for it. She said if anything happened to me he would be expelled. He agreed to watch out for me and make sure nobody touched me. I thought it was all talk but about 2 or 3 weeks later a guy pushed me up against the wall a prelude to hitting me in the nuts. Somebody grabbed him by the nape of the neck and he turned around starting to swing until he saw who it was. Jim said, “Leave my buddy alone!” The guy said sorry and hurried off. Nobody ever bothered me again.

That’s some of the highlights of my High school years. I hope you found them interesting. I’m not witty and sharp like our Dirk, I want to thank him for trusting me with his Blog and I hope you’ll continue to read it and not hold my ramblings against him, Thank You, Ed.

If you’re a regular reader, you probably know that the 2 people most instrumental in the creation and evolution of this blog are Paul (who guest posted Wednesday) and today’s guest blogger, Laurie of BELLE ET LA BREWSKI (formerly known as Beauty and the Beer). What can I say about Laurie that hasn’t already been said on the stalls of mens rooms across this great country of ours? I could tell you that she drinks more than the Bush twins at Happy Hour or that she possesses the uncanny ability to work “fuck” into damn near every sentence that passes her dainty rosebud lips, but that would bely the amazing heart and singular voice that is hers. Suffice it to say that I am honored to have her here today (which is really the least she could do since I guest posted for her last year…) and I really think she may have outdone herself with this entry in the much loved “Shank Tuesday” series. Take it away, Laurie…

Hi everybody!!!! It’s Elle, from Beauty and the Beer!!!! I don’t give a shit if you don’t know me but I totally want you to like me because I’m needy like that. I know I’m in NEW territory but I’m here because Dirk cried and stuff and it was really heartwarming so I said, “OF COURSE, SUGAR!! I will TOTALLY guest post for my MAN!”. Try not to be jealous of our love. It’s hard…I know.

I’d like to give a shout out to Ed…..Kickin’ rocks, deuces, bitch!

Since this is a special occasion, I thought I would pull out one of my secret “things”…..The Shankings of Yore. It’s been awhile…I might be a little rusty…I suck….I know…..but in my mind, I rock serious socks and city blocks! Let’s do this!!!

Patient Who Threw Up on My Arm Last Week – Dear Asshat….I looked at you when you walked in and one whiff later, I realized you were drunk off your ever lovin’ ass. Great. I put you on the special “INCLINE TABLE” and started my “testing”. If it weren’t bad enough that the smell of your crotch put my senses on meltdown, I had to stare on your jacked up fucking toenails as well. I hate you. About five minutes into your exam, I saw the tell tale look of “I’m about to blow chunks all over this bitch” written all over your face and before I could get out of the way in a timely manner, you unleashed the contents of your liquor ridden stomach all over my fucking arm!!!! That’s right. You threw the fuck up….on me. Before I could get a “AW HELLS NO” out of my mouth, the contents of MY FUCKING stomach made their way up into my throat and my barely chewed Egg McFuckingMuffin splattered all over your FUCKING LEG!!!! There are no words to describe my deep seeded hatred for you at that particular moment in time. None. Then you had the GOD DAMN NERVE to break BAD with me?????? FUCK YOU!! You were muttering, “Oh man….oh….oh…you threw up on me” and I looked you straight in your yellow eyes and whispered, “You threw up on me first, SIR” and you shook your head from side to side, denying the evidence that was CLEARLY smeared on my cute little right arm. I don’t know what you ATE, but I’d re-think my fucking food intake, if I were you. I think I saw a dead lizard, some half chewed biscuit and a pair of pliers!!! I FUCKING HATE YOU! I wanted to jump on that fucking table, wrap my cute little French tips around your scraggly throat and choke the fucking LIFE out of you!!!!!!!! Here’s a thought….if you suck down a combination of Vodka and orange juice right before you go to your testing appointment, it might be a good idea to bring a sword because the next time I see your fucking face up in my place of employment, I am going to smite your drunk, piss smelling, slobbery, stank dick havin’, crusty toenail motherfucking ASS with a fucking Sharpie!!! Die in a fire. Fucker.

Bleeding From the Crotchital Area Bitch – Dear Construction Worker Lady…..I know you’ve had a rough day. I, myself, work like a fucking dog on a daily basis. They don’t PAY me enough to deal with the shit I see day in and day fucking out. I get it. But…when I tell you to change into a gown, leave on the panties (because no one need be witness to a couple of trapped kittens in your underwear that you are trying to pass off as a “vagina”…but I digress) and I’ll be “right back”….please….for the LOVE of our Lord and Savior who died on a cross for our fucking sins….could you PLEASE refuckingschedule if it LOOKS like you’ve been stabbed in your pussy with a rusty knife???? I would greatly appreciate it. When I walked back into the exam room, cute as fucking EVER, I might add, and was bombarded by the smell of dirty copper and snatch, I wanted to throw my hands in the air and say “I QUIT THIS BITCH” and take my ass to Hardee’s and work the drive thru. I am NOT fucking kidding, you NASTY ass fucking bleeding in your underwear BITCH!!! GOD! Women are fucking SKANKS!!!!! Who doesn’t KNOW that they have started their CYCLE??????????? WHO?????? You, you fucking triflin’ whore. When you climbed onto the table and I saw the fucked up abortion on your panties, I wanted to bust you out in front of God and all of his HOLY CHILDREN!!!!! But no…..I swallowed some puke and performed the FASTEST exam in the HISTORY of exams!!!!! Couple the rotten snatch with the dirt that was on my transducer??? Yeah….I fucking HATE YOU!!!!!! Who comes to the doctor lookin’ like they just rolled themselves in a fucking PIG PEN?????? You. Whore. The best and yet most disconcerting part of this whole ordeal was the fact that your HUSBAND was sitting in the corner reading a fucking copy of HOME and GARDEN and he wasn’t even FLINCHING!!!! While I dry heaved as I had my gloved hand in your Satan Crotch, he was whistling “The Sun’ll Come Out….TOMORROW” from fucking Annie or some shit and I wanted to SCREAM, “DON’T YOU SMELL THIS BITCH????” but I couldn’t because everytime I opened my pretty mouth, I gagged to the point where my eyes watered and I was burping up stomach bile!! I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!! I. Fucking. Hate. You. When I finished, I left the room, closed the door, grabbed my own well lasered vagina in my little hands to hold the pee in that was making its way out because I was DRY HEAVING IN THE HALLWAY!!!!!! After you got dressed and left…guess who was left to clean up THAT shit?????? You got it. Me. I made someone help me and they had to leave the ROOM because all we smelled was trout and death. Thanks for making my day come to a complete and utter standstill because I couldn’t have another patient in there for 20 minutes because I was AIRING that motherfucker out. Oh….and you’re fucking ugly too. Bitch.

I love my job.

Redneck Bar Guys with No Teeth – No….I will NOT dance with you. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not fucking ever. I’m here to sing karaoke because I fucking rock the hell outta that shit. Poof. Be gone. Go “Joe Dirt” someone else.

Well, I know I’ve probably made SOMEONE sick. I don’t give a shit, really, because I have to see that fucked up BULLSHIT on a daily basis and I want someone ELSE to feel my fucking PAIN!!!!!!!

Sorry, Dirk. I totally white trashed your home. Forgive? Oh…and I took those vinyl couch covers off your shit. Do you KNOW how WONDERFUL cool leather feels on a naked ass????? Well…trust…it does.

Oh…and sorry about the beer cans.

Aaaaaaaaand….was I supposed to feed the cat? I don’t remember. Let me know.

Random Thought of the Day: I LOVE DRUNK ELLE!!!

Much Love, bitches.

Like most blogs on my blogroll, I can’t recall how I stumbled upon THE MANGINA MONOLOGUES, but I can tell you that once I read it, I was hooked. Sure, it didn’t hurt that the author — cb — is one hell of a sexy man, but it was his sense of humor and writing style that brought me back. From batshit crazy weddings to pouty pissing pups to masturbation sessions witnessed by the neighbors, there’s a lil something for everyone over at cb’s place. (Not to mention some incredibly *schwing!* inducing pics of the author’s gorgeous mug from time to time…)

I’ve decided that I want to get into bondage… sir.

I’ve been into leather for years– although much more for the “playing dress up” aspect than the actual lifestyle. Remember those cotton commercials from years ago ‘the look, the feel of cotton– the fabric of our lives”? That’s how I feel about leather– only add to that list “the smell”. And insert the word “sex” before “lives”.

Heh,heh… I said ‘insert’!

There’s just something about guys in leather that is hot. I propose a ‘man-law’ that everyone looks sexier in leather gear, just like everyone looks better wet. Perhaps its playing on the whole gladiator/slave fantasy look. Perhaps its because society tells us that men in leather are more masculine. Maybe its the danger/taboo/kinky aspect. I don’t know, but me likey!

One caveat– twink boys in leather. While they DO look hotter, I’m still not into them.

Anyway– I started collecting leather items and various accoutrement (can one actually USE the word accoutrement when describing bondage gear?) many years ago. For a long time, my collection merely included leather hot shorts, leather pants, combat boots, motorcycle boots, a cock ring, and a dog collar. The leather shorts, alas, no longer fit. But by golly they sure were fun when they did!

More recently (two years ago) I acquired a leather 5-point harness… from eBay no less! Even if it IS used, it still fits decently, and I probably saved 150 bucks. If anything, I’m a thrifty ‘ho. I also got a leather jock/pouch thingy online, too.

But it wasn’t until last weekend that I started expanding into bondage.

A guy that I’m seeing (we’ll call him “master” or “sir”) occasionally spills some details about his past– most of which include hot times spent tying guys up. These stories intrigue and, dare I say, titillate me just a bit? They got me thinking much more about the whole “being tied up and dominated” aspect of sex… and I must say that I found myself surprisingly up for it.

So I went shopping for more bondage gear at “The Cockpit Project” and “The Smitten Kitten”.

I purchased wrist cuffs and a blindfold and a ball stretcher (yikes!). “Sir” already has ankle cuffs, a paddle, and a gag of sorts. Oh, and he has the rope and nylon straps to effectively “secure” me. So far, only the harness, blindfold, and cockrings have come into play. I have tried on the ball stretcher, and- let me tell you- its a fucking workout just to get the thing snapped. But it is kind of fun to wear, and I look forward to wearing it ‘during’.

We have also discussed whether we will be using my 4-poster bed for the bondage, or whether the ropes will be run under the mattress instead in order to protect the wood. My master is nothing if not thoughtful. In addition, we have discussed the topic of a “safe word”. (Safe word??? Jebus, who IS this guy?) He seems to think my safe word should be “pussyboy” or something equally degrading.

I was thinking more along the lines of “OW-Bitch-Fuck-You-That-HURTS!!!”

Or “puppies”.

Regardless, I think Saturday is B-Day. The stage has been set, and the costumes are ready. I hope I survive and still have the ability to blog about it.

Sir.