From now on, it's no more of this:
And more of this:
Oh, and I got the Transformers DVD today in a case that transforms into Optimus Prime! SQUEEEE!!
Posts Tagged ‘underwear’
Hobo no mo'
Wednesday, October 17th, 2007Finally
Friday, August 3rd, 2007Firstly, after a week of working on a laptop, I'm finally back in my office again, on my new computer. It's a beauty, too. And once my second hard drive comes tomorrow or Monday, I'll have a full TB of storage. Plenty of room for midget porn and videos of people fucking horses. Of course, I still can't do my Saturday videos or scan my art. I also still have tons of software that was on the old computer that I have to find somewhere free so that I can "evaluate" it. And if I accidentally put in a serial number that I found somewhere and it becomes a full version, oops!
Secondly, thank Jeebus it's Friday. This week has just really seemed off. I don't know if it's the fact that last Saturday was when I was hugging the toilet after my Stuffed Crust Pepperoni Lovers' Pizza (mmmmm… I love it sooo much – why does it hate me?) at 4 AM and never went back to bed, and never got into the swing of the week, or maybe just that I have some flux with employees leaving and new ones coming soon and so I feel like a chicken with my head cut off, but I'm ready for the weekend. Saturday shall be spent nude, greased in baby oil, watching Dr. Who and Monk and Shark Week (why isn't it on Discovery HD, btw? That's retarded.)
Finally, I think I need new underwear. Since I have really sharp toenails that have never been trimmed, I have managed to slice holes in the crotches and legs of every fucking pair I own. They've all gotten so torn up that I can't even wear them around the house when people are here for fear of scaring them away! I tried on another pair of bottoms, but they didn't fit well. You can read about it here, if you haven't already.
Ok, fuckers. Have a good weekend.
It's not what it looks like
Wednesday, June 20th, 2007"So, what's up, dogfucker?" the voice in my ear smacked loudly and then exhaled as Britt sucked on one of her cancer sticks. She is so loud on the phone when she smokes that it literally sounds like Denis Leary's parody of smoking loudly.
"Not much, just working, like usual." I said, barely paying attention as I responded to an email and listened as one of my employees attempted to sell a client. "Amy's leaving early today to fly out of town for business, but that's about it."
"Well, blah blah blah blah," she talked for a while about things that you don't need to hear about – real estate, her job, her vagina. You know, the usual. (I'm NOT saying that this was boring, just that I'm not going to recount the entire conversation.)
"Mmmhmm, that's nice." I said, finally happy that the smoking sound had died down, only to be replaced by a peeing sound! "Are you peeing outside?" I asked, horrified.
"No, retard." Fluuushhhhh. "I'm at the mall – I was outside smoking, and now I'm going to go buy some stuff at Bath and Body Works. But ooh – Victoria's Secret is having a sale!" She squeeeed (it's onomatopoeia, fucker).
My email and employee seemed less important. My focus had shifted, and I was channeling all of my brainpower into creating the ability to see. through. the. fucking. phone. line. It didn't work. "So, what are you going to buy?" I asked, casually.
"Boobs boobs boobs Bra boobs boobs," she breathed sexily into the phone. Or something like that.
"Oh yeah?" Trying to sound cavalier, I cavalierly asked, cavalierly, "So, what are you, like a 33B?"
"No, fuckwit. I'm a 34C. Jesus Christ, haven't I shown you my boobs enough for you to know what size they are?"
"I am horrible with sizes. Remember how I said my penis was 43 feet long? I don't even know what my wife's bra size is, and I've been with her for eight years!"
"Really?" she judged, "that makes you a bad husband. You should find that shit out."
"Fine. I'll go be a good husband." I get up with the phone and walk across the house to the master bedroom. I go into the closet and rummage through my wife's underwear drawer, coming out with a plain white bra.
"Will it fit you?" she asked, giggling with that airy blonde lilt to her voice.
"Well, all I need to do is strip down, grab a pair of panties, and I'll have quite the sexy ensemble," I said, holding the bra up against my chest as I pulled the strap around to look at the tag. I do a little twirl in the closet and say "Wow, I think this would fit me! It looks like she's a size-" right as I turn to face my wife who had come home early to pack for her trip.
One leg at a time
Friday, April 27th, 2007Today's topic, gentle reader, is underwear. Or, as I call them, "manties".
I wear boxer briefs. They're comfortable, loose fitting, and I can wear them around the house, answer the door, get the mail, and even drive to McDonald's while wearing just my manties. They're the best parts of tighty-whiteys and boxers combined.
Anyways. Wednesday, after staying up too late chatting with my favorite bitches, I get very little sleep. Thursday morning beats me in the head and I stumble into the shower. An hour later, I emerge, feeling more awake, but still tired and mentally functioning on the same level as a retarded senior citizen with Alzheimer's.
I go to my bureau and open my manty and undershirt drawer. The undershirt goes on, and then I realize that there's only one pair of manties. This is strange, because I usually have 20 or so pairs, but then I remember that my wife was out of town the week before on business which means she didn't do the laundry, so I had no clean manties. "She'll have to get a beating once she gets home from work," I mutter to myself and make a mental note.
So, I pull out the pair of manties. They're a type that I used to buy but don't like anymore because they shrank too much in the wash, and now they're a bit tight. Nothing I can't handle for a day, but not something I'd wear if I had options. Unfortunately, I had no options.
I hold the manties down to the ground and step into each leg hole. The right one in first, and then the left one. The first thing that occurred to me was that this pair was really tight. Like, it was actually painful pulling them on my legs. They were clearly my underwear, but Jesus Herbert Walker Christ did that hurt!!
I'm standing there, manties halfway pulled up, and I have to bend over and pull on each of the legs to stretch the legs a bit. And then they made that snapping sound that cotton does when you stretch it and some threads break but it fits better. So I'm able to pull them all the way up and wow are they still crazy tight! I mean, it feels like there are invisible hands pushing on my crotch and my ass! It was still very uncomfortable, and the manties were fitting around my ass in a overly friendly groping way that really made me feel uncomfortable.
So I did what any smart man would do. I just grabbed and pulled. And once again, heard the sound of threads snapping, but it felt more comfortable. Except for the pinching around the waist and the searing pain on my balls and ass, that is.
And, like a man, I ignored it and went to work. And eventually, due to numbness, business, server problems, and retarded monkeys, I forget about it.
Until that evening.
When I go to the bathroom.
And pull down my manties to sit on the toilet.
But it still feels like I'm wearing something.
And I realize, after staring in the mirror in shock and horror.
That I was also wearing a pair of women's black thong panties.
They must have been stuck inside my manties, aligned perfectly with the legholes.
And they were now stretched, shredded, and wedged in my ass.
The. Fucking. End.
(I also got published on Drivl's front page. Go check it out.)
PEEE ESSS: If you think this is painful, you haven't seen anything yet. Go check out Britt's post about spelunking in her vagina!
