It’s day two at ConFab, and even though my blog is a bit broken right now, it still works enough to appreciate and show the love to my next guest poster. When I first saw comments by Mr. Lady, I wasn’t sure if it was a man who was a mom or a mother who thought like a guy. And it wasn’t until I purchased the DVD of her annual donkey show in Tijuana that I learned the truth. And now she’s hear to share some truthiness with you.

Avitable graciously offered me a little slice of heaven his blog for the day, and told me I could do whatever I wanted to it.

I can’t remember the last time I got such an offer. How could I resist, really? But then I remembered that he has a blog on which he waxes about the invitingness (is to a word), or lack there-of, of plastic blow up girls’ anal cavities. I have a blog where I worry about whether I’ve caught corner of my left eye cancer or not. We don’t exactly have a ton of things in common, and so our readerships most likely don’t either, and so I am totally fucked because I said I’d do this for him and now I have to and you all are going to stone him for it so maybe I should just talk about Jehovah or something.

Or I could write what I know. And what I know is motherfuckers.

People like to call Avitable a motherfucker, a lot, but the god’s honest truth is that he isn’t. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever once fucked anyone’s mom. And it’s a damn shame, that, because god lawdy that boy is missing out. There is nothing in the world more fun than fucking moms, this I know for sure.

Now, you may think that I’m just saying that to make myself feel better, to somehow reconcile myself to the fact that I’ve had kids for 11 years and have 15 more to go before the last one goes to college. You may think that I’m just some elitist mother fighting for the rights of womynkind who thinks her shit doesn’t stink, but you’d be wrong. I know my shit stinks, and so does everyone who stood within a 5 foot radius of my birthing bed. Also, I conducted an independent survey of several married, nice, and let’s face it, dead sexy male bloggers with kids and they unanimously agreed with me…moms are way better in the sack.

Why? Well, for starters, once you’ve pooped on a table in front of your husband and your doctor and god and everyone while pushing an entire live human out of you, well, there’s really nothing left to ever feel ashamed about doing. EVER. And once you’ve overcome the poop boundary and the shame factor associated with it, well, you know. We’ll probably let you have your fun; it really doesn’t matter to us anymore. Worse things have happened, and at least that way we’re pretty sure you won’t knock us up again.

Also, once you’ve had someone’s shoulders catapult out of your vagina, there are precious few things left in the world you can’t fit up in there. And after you have a midwife, three student ob’s, a pediatrician, 3 adult cardiologists, 5 pediatric cardiologists, 4 student cardiologists, 4 members of the NICU team and your mother in law all stick their faces in between your legs at the same time while the whole area looks like a rotten grapefruit, you stop being so particular about who sees what on you and when.

Many girls are intimidated by lingerie, so maybe you can’t get your lady-friend to wear the Frederick’s bra with the nipple holes, but she’ll wear her nursing bra. Same thing. And I’m told that breast pumps make your cock look huge.

A mom will always appreciate your, “This is my Pokemon Evolved Form” jokes. Or at least she’ll convince you she does. A mom is a master at feigning interest in things; teletubbies, Dora the Explorer, how you can chop a worm in half and it will still live. A mother has to convince every child around her that what they are saying and doing is the single greatest thing on earth, and don’t think that mastery of faking it doesn’t translate into other aspects of her life, kiddos. You won’t have to think about that, though….you’ll never know.

A mom can swallow anything after having swallowed someone else’s vomit, catch any old thing flung in her direction after having caught someone else’s vomit, and when you’re finished, a mom can clean her own face with nothing more than her own thumb and some spit. Better than a Mr Clean Magic Eraser, for reals.

And most importantly, when you’re really bad, no one appreciates a good spanking more than a mom does.

Since I’m in Lexington, Kentucky, this weekend, at ConFab, I lined up a few guest posters who will do their best to entertain you until Tuesday. First up is Ali from “Cheaper than Therapy”. She’s funny, sarcastic, she can’t poop in public, she loves Michael J. Fox, and she is apparently my Jewish evil clone. Or am I her evil clone?

Last night I went to an after-work work thing and by work thing I mean that the people in the cubicles close to me got together for some food (where I was forced to try things with foreign names like “dirty rice”) and drinks (where I didn’t drink pina coladas because for starters I don’t drink fruity drinks and there’s that whole “I will not get drunk in front of coworkers” thing…shit like that ONLY ends badly) to say goodbye to a co-worker who is leaving to go back to school. After she had several drinks, she went around the table and said what she’d miss about each of us.

When she got to me she said, “I will miss all of your stories. Because, seriously, you have the craziest stories!”

And now, at work, while I’m staring down at my blood-stained white shirt, I realize she is 100% right. I realized that one of the pins on my glasses was loose and so, instead of waiting to get home like a normal person would, I decided to try to MacGyver it myself, with a push pin. And it was all going swimmingly until I pierced my finger and started gushing blood all over my desk and my shirt. I almost wish I needed to make shit up for blog material…but alas, no, it just presents itself to me. Like a little bloody gift.

And when my unable-to-poop-in-public twin asked me to guest post, I tried to think of a story that I haven’t shared with the internet yet….and realized that I’ve never told, well, anyone the story of how I started manicuring my, um, special lady place. Not the Brazilian wax, because that is firmly documented, because, well, because my waxer’s name is Argentina, and if getting a Brazilian from someone called Argentina isn’t comedy gold, I don’t know what is. But, sigh, no, this story takes us way back, to the summer camp years.

Way back when we barely talked about shaving our legs, let alone the state of affairs of our pubic hair…I mean, I went to Jewish camp. We pretended we didn’t even have pubic hair. Denial is the Jewish way. So, let’s just say I was not into grooming back then. I didn’t even know that grooming was “a thing” BUT, grooming became a necessity after, um, a certain boy left me a little surprise in my bush….HIS GUM. I swear to god, I could not get that shit out. I remember coming back to my bunk and having to wake a friend up all “holy crap! [insert boy’s name here] left gum in my pubes! Help!” She suggested ice, which was not a viable option in a camp cabin in the middle of, um, nowhere. Then she suggested a razor. It was a last resort; I had no other choice. So, I cut the gum out. And then I kept cutting. And cutting. And cutting.

And then I stood there, all shaven in my nethers and smiled to myself because that dumbassed teenaged boy had done me the biggest favor he ever could…he introduced me to the world of the shaved pubis.

And I still thank him all the time.

Hey everyone – Avitable here. When someone emailed me and asked if they could use my blog as a forum to review sex toys anonymously, how could I have said anything other than yes? Please to enjoy:

I love to have sex.
And when I say sex?
I mean fuck your brains out sweaty slamming against the wall sex.
I don’t have anywhere else to write about my love of sex and with Adam being the lover of all things fuck has been gracious enough to allow me use of his space and Eden Fantasys has allowed me to try out a few new tools in my bedroom. What follows is my report on the Beginner’s Bondage Fantasy Kit along with the Whipper Tickler.

First of all, the bondage kit. The blindfold is pretty comfortable and seems to work well, it doesn’t have the typical gap at the bottom allowing for peeks at what’s about to happen to you which is good for anticipation. The cuffs are soft and for now seem strong enough to hold up to the hardest of struggles. The biggest drawback is my bed has nowhere to tie the straps to. Make sure you have a four poster bed to tie them to or a single bed so you can tie the straps together and run them under the mattress. I ended up having to just wrap the straps around his wrists and ankles, which made it hard to get between his legs and give him a proper blow job. And if I couldn’t get his legs apart enough to blow him? There’s no way I’m ever going to be satisfied with my ankles tied together.

It’s the vulnerability that makes S&M so hot.

The Whipper Tickler has a puff of feathers on one end and soft rubbery threads on the other (think Koosh ball.) The stick is made of hard plastic and on the back of the box it had the suggestion of lubing up the handle and “playing the violin” between your partners legs.

While we haven’t had the chance to reciprocate with the Whipper Tickler I can tell you the thought of being tied up, teased, tickled and played like a violin has my heart racing. While the whip part of this toy could be washed, the feather end would be rendered useless if it were to get lube or love juices on it, so keep use it to get your lover warmed up, not when they’re already hot, heaving, sweaty and begging for more.

With a combined price of less than $35 these two items are an amazing introduction into the world of bondage. Versatile and inconspicuous, they’re good in case you forget to put them away as they won’t going garner as much attention as say some kitty print whip with a mask. (Hardcore sex 101? Find somewhere safe to keep your stuff. If you think it’s safe, it’s probably not. Move it, especially if you have kids.)

Think you’re too shy to tie your lover up? Let me tell you this. We all have “that girl” or “that guy” inside of us. That person who wants to scream, dig their nails into the flesh of their lover, that person who wants to be remembered as the best someone has ever had even if only for one night. Insecurities and inhibitions get in the way. But if your mate is tied up? Blindfolded? They will be unable to defend themselves or see you lose your “manners.” Go ahead, touch yourself and purr. They’ll never know until you are either dripping wet with desire or throbbing to get inside. Smack them with the whip and leave a mark they’ll remember at tomorrows boring business meeting. Want to sit on your partner’s face? Do it and thank me later.

Take control of your pleasure, go ahead, they have no choice but to obey.

Avitable here again. Thanks for the review! I think this might become a recurring feature, so we need a name for this anonymous reviewer. Any suggestions?

I am actually back in Orlando, but I’ve needed this respite from blogging. Normal posting will resume tomorrow, but, more importantly, tonight, after a two-show hiatus, “Clearly, you’re retarded” is back on the air! Tonight at 9 PM EST on Talkshoe, Britt and I will be talking about voting. Should someone have to pass a basic knowledge or skills test to have their vote count? What do you think?

I’ve saved the best guest poster for last. A cover model for Argyle Enthusiasts Weekly, voted one of the internet’s sexiest gay men who still live at home, and the famed creator of Super Viagra and Vagina Girl – please welcome Craig!

Well hello everybody! Craig from Puntabulous here. You may remember me from the debate I had with Avitable over which was better Star Wars or Star Trek. Oh, you do remember me kicking his ass? Good. Because I’m here once again to dominate.

You may be running through the list of things that makes me better than Avitable in your head. It goes on so long! But there may be one (very large) thing you’re leaving off. I don’t blame you, it’s something I don’t like to brag about, but it’s undeniable.

My cock is bigger than Avitable’s.

How do I know this, you ask? No, me and Avitable haven’t made sweet sweet love under a starry sky, as much as he’d like to, so I’ve never actually seen it. No, I know this because the evidence is irrefutable. And I’d like to run down it for you fine folks right now. I figured it was best to do this while Avitable was away, so he wouldn’t have to endure the humiliation in realtime.

1. There is photographic evidence:

2. It’s a known fact that gay men have larger dicks than their straight counterparts. It’s the reason we’re gay! We look down at the massive piece of junk dangling between our legs and recognize it as a thing of rare beauty. We can hardly believe ourselves! We need to see if other men’s dicks are just as big. And what do you know? They are! Because they’re also gay! Straight men on the other hand fuck women because they’re too embarrassed to show their tiny dicks to other men. I mean, comparing dicks and vaginas is like comparing apples and oranges (or more precisely bananas and beans) so they don’t have to feel shame. Sad but true!

3. The simple rule of proportions. While I’m a towering 6 feet and 4 glorious inches tall, Avitable clocks in at a measly 6 feet. That makes me approximately 5% taller than him, and therefore my dick is also (at least!) approximately 5% larger.

4. Look at that pussy up there hanging out with Adolf Hittler. What does he think, that makes him tough? Well guess what mother fucker, Satan is my homeboy. We spend eternities down in Hell just being two big-dicked, wild and crazy sodomaniacs. And singing showtunes. Because, you know, he’s also gay.

5. Blog names. What the fuck does Avitable even mean? It sounds a lot like “avoidable” as in “Stay away! You don’t want to fuck that guy! He has to wear 5 condoms just so his dick is big enough to fill up your vag!” Puntabulous on the other hand just goes to show how much punta I’m always getting with my big dick.

6. Lastly, he prefers Star Wars over Star Trek. Everyone knows that the lightsaber is a phalic symbol, meant to compensate for small dicked Star Wars fans all over the galaxy. They’re like the Hummers of the science fiction world. Phasers on the other hand are the sensible sedans for us (extremely) well-endowed folk of the world who don’t have anything to prove. Your schwartz is as big as mine? I don’t think so.

Sometimes people come into my office, see my action figures, my life-sized Yoda, my 30,000 comics and say, “Adam, could you be a bigger geek?” And I just point to today’s guest poster, Heather, and say, “Yes.”

She and her husband have matching stormtrooper costumes that they’ve worn on multiple occasions. They met at space camp, and Heather has a geek’s eye for tearing apart the logic of a fictional situation. It’s just one of the many reasons that she’s so awesome.

There I was, trolling teh Interwebs for some kickass Lolcats action when I saw it. Staring at me was this really whiny tweet from Avitable about Oh poor, pitiful me! I have to go to St. Croix! *WAH!* I’ll be on the beach! *Boo hoo!* And I won’t have any Interwebs or Britt to kick me in the nuts! *Sniff!* And I forgot to draw a penis on my pitiful 7th anniversary picture! *Whine!* I just don’t know what to do! Could some of you guys write posts for me since I’m a big pussy and can’t pre-write my own shit? So, I took pity on the bastard. I told him to shut the fuck up and that I’d come up with something guaranteed to make you guys… click on another blog in your readers.

So, here it is. My interpretation of Adam’s need for a bigger schlong, told in the spirit of Adam’s stick-figure drawings. And since it’s October and close to Halloween, I added in a little Edward Gorey spice for good measure.

Amanda told me that she was going to write a post all about her breasts and post high-resolution photos of each of them for everyone else to enjoy while I was gone. I forgive her, even though she is a liar, because I think I’m going to buy several of the items she discusses below.

Hi everyone, I’m Amanda. I figured since most of you are used to seeing dolphin porn, snake porn, paint porn… well, let’s just say porn, here, I’d introduce you to a few other things the internet can be used for.

1. Finding funny, geeky new products. For example, the Dream Captcha (for spam-free sleep). This takes a dream catcher and updates it with Captcha letters, so that pesky spam won’t infiltrate your dreams.

2. Finding new and awesome geeky food-related inventions. For example, the keyboard waffle iron. This waffle iron makes waffles in the shape of a keyboard (obviously.) If you just can’t get enough of your computer, this is the breakfast food for you.

Speaking of breakfast food, here’s in single most exciting thing I’ve seen in quite a while. It’s the Wake n’ Bacon, and it’s an alarm clock that wakes you with the smell of freshly cooked bacon. The night before, you place frozen bacon in, and it cooks it while you sleep so it’s ready for you when you wake up. This will prevent other bacon related accidents, such as burning your foot on your George Foreman grill while trying to cook bacon first thing in the morning (a la Michael Scott)

3. Making connections. We all know about the joys of twitter and its one line conversations. What about taking it further, though? How about twitter friendships, dates, even proposals? I’ve seen at least two cases of this, both at Boing Boing and at Wired. I can’t decide if I think this is romantic, funny, or sad. It’s probably a combination of the three.

I hear you can also use the internet for things like reading the news and researching topics, but this has yet to be proven to me. Well, what about you? What do you use the internet for besides porn?

Today, I’m probably getting pretty sick of having no internet and being on the beach at a tropical resort. Yes, I’m weird, I know. According to Gina, though, I’m pretty awesome, too!

Hi! I’m Gina from, well, See Gina Blog. So I have been thinking hard about what to write for a guest post on Avitable’s blog. I read a bunch of his archived posts to get more of an idea of what would be a fitting post. I determined that I could write a post about boobs, porn, or masturbation. I could, but I thought instead I would talk about what makes Avitable so fab…

The Top 9 Reasons Why Avitable Rocks:

1. He will be featured in a hot blogger calendar.

2. He reads and comments on commenters’ blogs (mine, included!).

3. He will do guest posts for you if you ask and they will be hi-larious, guaranteed.

4. He throws an annual party and invites all of his blogger friends to join the fun.

5. He loves and adores his wife, clearly, and knows how to treat a woman right.

6. He is the kind of friend everyone should have in his or her life, ask his best friend.

7. He is the boss we all wish we had (Movie Fridays? Yes please!).

8. He is funny as hell.

9. He understands that tact is for pussies.

Hopefully I will meet Avitable in person one day, perhaps some year for the annual festivities.

My next guest blogger, RW, doesn’t like you. Really. And he doesn’t want you to come visit his blog. He especially doesn’t want you to comment. And that’s why I love to fuck with him by encouraging all of you to go over to his site and leave him comments showing how much you love him and think he’s amazing!

Your Secret Self

Hello, I’m RW and I’m pinch-hitting for Adam. I’d give you a link back to my site but if you don’t know where my blog is I think we’ll just keep it that way eh? I’m not a very nice person and can’t stand a lot of nameless running around. Too many people around gives me the heebee jeebees.

And to prove it I took this test and came up with my “secret self” and, yeah it’s pretty spot-on; even if I did write it myself. I made this test up several weeks back and put it on my blog. It’s been around a few blogs since, having gotten over 800 tries.

The idea is simple – you answer the prompts with the answer that would best express your IDEAL SITUATION regarding that question. The question gives you an aspect of your life, and you click on whatever it is that MOST REFLECTS your ideal version of that aspect. Not what it is now, not what it OUGHT to be, but what you would really really want in your heart of hearts.

What it then reveals is your “secret self”. The “you” you really are deep inside when you strip away all the facade and social automation. But a warning – in most cases, THIS WILL NOT END WELL. Like I said, I’m not a nice guy.

Here’s my results.

Serious Artist
Take Your Secret Self 1 Step Beyond today!
Created with Rum and Monkey‘s Personality Test Generator.

Going 1 step beyond I wear a beret and stand in doorways. I smoke for the way it looks. Your life is stupid and shallow and all the truth you can find in the world equals one big lie. Relationships are illusions and you mean nothing to me. My art is everything whether anyone understands it or not. It isn’t my fault you don’t get it. Take my picture and I spit upon you. I don’t know why. I have immaculate hair. Nothing matters.

Click the link and take the test yourself. You can tell us answers here, put the results on your blog, do both, or flip me the bird. Truly… I don’t care. As my results should have already warned you.

I’d never usually consider reading, much less falling in love with, a blog called “Attack of the Redneck Mommy“. I mean, it has “redneck” and “mommy” in the title! Luckily for me (and of course, even luckier for the author), I took a chance and my life hasn’t been the same since. She’s funny, she’s hot, and she’s a dirty, dirty pervert. Say hi to Tanis!

I spent an inordinate amount of time hanging around my best friend’s house as a child, primarily as a means to escape my big brother’s attempts to torture me by farting on my face or twisting my toes into a tangle of knots.

It helped that my best friend’s mom was never home, they had the fancy cable channels my parents were too cheap to fork out for and there was always an abundance of junk food in their pantry that no one seemed to mind if we gorged ourselves on.

My best friend’s parents became accustomed to tripping over me at all hours of the day and eventually adopted me as one of their own in their tribe. As such, I was invited to family functions and gatherings on a regular basis.

No one seemed to bat an eye at the gangly, knobby kneed blonde child who appeared to have no family of her own when she crashed other people’s family dinners.

One such gathering for my best friend’s cousin’s birthday celebration, my best friend and I blew off the grown ups and went to find a quiet spot to gossip about how hideously uncool said cousin was.

We quickly found our way into her aunt and uncle’s private oasis, the master bedroom. My friend immediately started snooping through their bookshelf, looking for a copy of the Joys of Sex; while I stood there paralyzed with fear of being found snooping.

My friend, not finding any sexy books other than a well dog-eared version of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, turned around to find me rooted to the floor with a strange look on my face.

“What’s the matter Tanis?” she whispered, worried I had maybe spotted something gossip worthy like a vibrator or a pair of handcuffs. (She was a horny teenager. I myself had no such interest in other people’s perversions. That didn’t come until much later. Wink.)

“There is a framed picture of MacGyver on the night stand! With a plastic rose laying beneath it!”

“Ya, my aunt has a thing for Richard Dean Anderson,” she quickly explained and then dismissed me to continue her hunt for some unknown treasure trove of sexual goodies.

It turned out that my friend’s aunt was Dicky’s biggest fan. She belonged to his fan club, never missed an episode of MacGyver and dreamed of him every night.

“Doesn’t your uncle mind having another man’s picture framed on the night stand beside his bed?” I asked. I was fairly certain my mom wouldn’t be able to get away with that shit in our house no matter how much she professed to love Elvis.

“Beats me. Now quit staring at MacGyver and help me get this shoe box down from the closet before we’re busted.”

We never were busted, nor did we find anything of interest other than the freakish photo framed on the bedside table.

I never understood why a grown woman could idolize another human being. I mean it’s one thing to hang posters of your heartthrobs on your walls as a teen but once you can legally vote, the posters should come down.

That was before one sunny afternoon when I stumbled on Avitable. Who was this handsome burly man who announced ‘tact is for pussies’? He spoke to the Redneck that lay deep within me. (Bound and gagged with duct tape and an old sock, sure, but she’s still in there.)

It didn’t take me long to realize Adam was the man blogger I had been searching for, what with his crass humour and penchant for posting naked pictures of himself. Here was a blog I wished I had the brass nuts to write myself. I found myself lurking, longer and longer every day, in the hopes of catching his attention.

When that didn’t work, I pulled out the big guns. I sent him a picture of some random Internet bimbo’s my boobs. That got his attention. And so marked the beginnings of a beautiful, slightly one-sided and clearly stalkerish relationship.

Call me Patty Bouvier, but Adam, you are my MacGyver.

I just wish my husband would stop throwing the picture I have of you on my bedside table into the trash.

Who wouldn’t want this mug staring at them when they wake up every morning?

I’ve known Faiqa since I was in 9th grade – she was a year ahead of me in the International Baccalaureate program and, just like the rest of us there, a huge nerd, dork, geek, and dweeb. Her guest post, a history lesson, shows that she hasn’t really gotten away from those labels even in her old age:

What You Need to Know About Pakistan

Obama and McCain have been going at it quite a bit over Pakistan, lately.

I wonder, though, how many Americans even know where the fuck Pakistan is and, much less, why we should give a shit? Avitable’s got smart readers, but here’s some quick talking points in case you need to brush up.

Geography

Pakistan is located in Central Asia if the newly elected former dictator of Pakistan shamelessly kisses America’s ass to get billions of dollars in military aid. When America finds out that those same billions of dollars were spent building nuclear weapons to aim at India instead of fighting Islamic militants in Afghanistan, then Pakistan is magically relocated to the Middle East.

Language

Pakistan is pronounced Paa-kiss-taahn, not Pack-is-tan. Some dipshit in the L.A. Times wrote that Obama should stop saying Paakisstaahn and “say it like everybody else.” Personally, I think people who say Paakisstaahn sound smarter. Then again, sounding smart may not be a good idea if you want to win over American hockey moms.

People

Pakistani women are really, really hot and cool. Especially when they are in high school. Avitable can verify this.

Why You Give A Shit.
Given that Pakistan is 61 years old, its had ample time to get its shit together in the tribal areas that border Afghanistan, a.k.a, the birthplace of Al Qaeda. It has failed miserably at this. Obama’s actually taking it easy on Pakistan by not suggesting that we kick their asses from here until next Friday just yet. He’s given them tangible goals to meet, and expressed willingness to help them achieve those goals. McCain will most likely continue Bush’s policy of compromising Pakistani borders without their permission or warnings because he thinks you “shouldn’t talk about these things out loud.” Basically, McCain’s intended policy suggests that dialogue is bad, and an illegal invasion is good.

What You Can Do for Your Country
Be assured, we’re not going to war with Pakistan anytime soon since Pakistan is still, unequivocally, America’s bitch in the region. Nevertheless, the war at home is just as important as the war we’re not fighting abroad. The best way to convert the hearts and minds of people is by making them feel like shit about who they are, while making ourselves look enormously cool. Addressing newly immigrated Pakistanis with the terms “Paki,” “Raghead,” or “Pakistaini” ensures a high degree of success in this area. If that doesn’t work, just ask them if they’re from India. That will really upset them. Camel jockey is for Arabs, and if you don’t know that, you’re a fucking moron.

And THE Most Important Thing All Americans MUST Know About Pakistan
Avitable’s great-great-great-great-great grandfather was a 19th century Portuguese mercenary who governed over what is present day Peshawar in Pakistan. He was enormously cruel, and, to this day, parents threaten their children with the transliteration of his last name, Abu Tabela. If you’re even remotely acquainted with Avitable, you don’t even have to fact check this one to know that this has to be absolutely fucking true.

*The author of this post does not assume any ideological responsibility for the statements made above. Any declarations of jihad or reading of fatwas should be directed at the primary author of this blog, Adam Abu Tabela Avitable.