Tag Archives: anal sex

Jesus H.

Hello, buttketeers, I bring you a special weekend dispatch for Anal Sex Week. Actually, I may make this Anal Sex Month, as there is just so much material. Topical, like anesthesia, puttin’ yo ass to sleep*.

Do any of you suckers out there remember Dr. David Hager? He is the wingnut Ob-Gyn on the FDA Advisory Committee for Reproductive Health Drugs who wrote books like Stress and the Woman’s Body and As Jesus Cared for Women. He’s all up on curing PMS with prayer, and he’s against the morning after pill and basically any kind of hormonal birth control because these may cause abortionz.

Well, as it turns out, according to this Nation article, Jesus liked to put stress on a woman’s body through the back door, the world’s oldest form of birth control. The good doctor is accused by his former wife of sodomizing her against her will numerous times during their thirty-odd year marriage. He was apparently a fan of such seductive techniques as slipping it to her while she was asleep, or he’d pull the switch-up.

From the article: “He would say, ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to have anal sex with you; I can’t feel the difference,'” Davis recalls incredulously. “And I would say, ‘Well then, you’re in the wrong business.'”

So there you have it, one of those “marriages where the man does nothing but fuck his wife up the ass.” I’m not even saying such a thing would be a bad marriage, provided it’s, you know, consensual. This guy wins the sanctimonious creep award, explaining the breakup of his marriage by saying “Time spent ‘doing God’s will’ had kept me from spending the time I needed to nourish my marriage.” Oh yeah. With a little lube and a please and thank you, maybe.

*Apologies to Ice Cube.

You say Tomato, I say Tomato

Good morning, jerks. Lookit, I’m not happy to be up this early either. Why don’t you suck down some more of that flavored coffee that you like so much? What is it today, Cinn-a-Bon Surprise? You make me sick.

This really is a great week for assfucking, and I don’t just mean around my house in gay, gay Massachusetts. So as not to be too topical, I waited a few days before rapping at ya about this one, but hold on to your tinfoil hats! Our Monkey-in-Chief signed a bill that basically establishes a national ID card, but it was pretty well-buried in a military spending bill. Check out H.R.1268 for a minute (PDF). Do you see it? Scrolllll down. Yes, past the olde-tyme-y font. Past supporting the troops. Past helping the tsunami victims. Past Payment to Widows and Heirs of Deceased Members of Congress. Past REMOVAL OF TERRORISTS. Oh, oh, there it is: Real ID blah blah blah (hint: page 72).

CNet says Senate approves electronic ID card bill. CNN says Bush signs $82 billion war funds bill. See the difference? The bit about ID cards is touched on as “It also prevents states from issuing driver’s licenses to illegal immigrants.” They even quote Ted Kennedy (oh Ted) blah blahing about how the bill strengthens something or the other in Iraq.

Now I am not about to do any original thinking, and neither are you, so check out this article on How Real ID will affect you. Read all threeeee pages. Then you can get back to your coffee. Hazelnut Hoopla?

Is time long or is it wide

THIS WEEK IN ANAL SEX: Ann Coulter Heckled Over Anal Sex

OK, so this was last week. Didn’t I just finish saying I don’t traffic in the topical? You will take this old news and like it.

Here’s a response from the UT student who asked her “You say that you believe in the sanctity of marriage. How do you feel about marriages where the man does nothing but fuck his wife up the ass?” Yeah, hell yeah. Can you believe people do such unsavory things? Moderation in all things, people. I am pretty sure the pope is against this.

Ann Coulter seems to automatically make people think of anal sex. Witness I Fucked Ann Coulter in the Ass, Hard. Or not, it’s kind of gross. Obvs NSFW. Not like this site is.

But let’s talk about ME. I am still in my jammies, and there are empty wine bottles on the coffee table. Not from today. I had an antioxidant craving and a desire to protect myself from heart disease, and that’s how they ended up there over the course of several days.

I am getting beyond tired of this “blogging.” I am hell of busy with various schemes that are not to be talked about. I’ve got one good story left in me, and it stars a crackhead, a toothless alcoholic, and a vulgar phrase. So sit tight for that in the next few days, and then from there on I am planning to make this into a photo blog of pictures of myself taken in the mirror, or maybe I will post some movies of me yelling like a monster. Or I can just insult people. What would you like me to criticize about you today? I think you should moisturize your damn elbows. They are disgusting. Also: floss much?????

Holy god above mother of a monkey heaven swallow me up

One of these just ran by on the wall. And I was all oh you again, I thought I put you outside. It can stay until the cat notices it, but the cat is totally busy staring at that raccoon that’s eating a chicken bone up in the tree outside the window. The cat likes the raccoon, and she likes the skunk, but she does not like other cats. I live on Mount Trashmore*.

So uh what else. I am fresh out of ideas here. And the topical is sooooooo irrelevant. You all know that we are going to die, and that we live in a ridiculous socio-political construct, so why do you need me to rub it in? I can’t sustain a thought for that long anyway. Sometimes when I am driving around, I think “A.D.D. means America Deserves Doomsday.” I also think about how much art exists only as pixels and electrons, and I wonder if that’s a problem. I don’t use paper for anything but wiping. What was me saying?

I could talk about anal sex, or I could talk about going to the grocery store and how that is a bad, irritating place. Or I could talk like Hulk, because I am in such a cranky mood. See, Hulk off happy pills because Doctor say “Hulk, you want to make green strong baby, not SPINDLY WHITE BABY, right?” And Hulk say, “Oh, Hulk guess so.” Hulk not want to make baby anymore, this too much trouble. Hulk plan to adopt monkey cub and go back on sauce.

So what do you clams want me to talk about? Let me know, or suffer. Cuz I can vamp indefinitely. My current favorite wine costs $8. It is the 2001 Campo Viejo Rioja. We buy it by the bucket, and there is no accounting for taste. I could talk about apostrophes, because they get me so mad. Condo’s and Apartment’s. Sandwich’s. OK, anal sex it is; the people have spoken. I hereby declare this Anal Sex Week. I think that would be super, as do American teenage virgins and most people I know, except for my mother. How original. Call Katie Couric.

But seriously, Hulk hate the damn grocery store and the bad people one finds there. Hulk get flustered and purchase macaroni salad for some reason. Who wants to eat macaroni salad?

*Not true, but I have visited.

Wee paws for station identification

OMG, Internet, OMG. We’ve been on quite a spree around my place. The clocks are all flashing 11:11 at least twice a day, and the sink isn’t clogged anymore.

We went to my little nephew’s “parade” for Little League opening day. It was pouring rain, and we stood in it while hundreds of children swarmed around the block, led by a police car that occasionally flashed its lights. It was a real zen koan of a parade: Is it still a parade if no one is watching? This didn’t really bother my nephew, because he is a star. He is doing jazz hands in the group photo.

So what the fuck else. I’m learning Mandarin Chinese, and that’s tough. The inflections are a killer. You think I’m kidding, but I’m afraid I’m not. The more plausible something seems, the more likely I made it up. So if I’m telling you I brushed my teeth, I probably didn’t. Bought tickets to Easter Island? You bet!

I was having dinner with some friends the other night, and we were doing “roommate rundown.” I mentioned someone I’d lived with for three years, and idly wondered what happened to her. After dinner, we stopped at a bookstore, and her father stopped me in the Shakespeare aisle and gave me her phone number. Noo noo noo noo, twilight zone. But why is that if I say “I wish I had two billion dollars,” I never run into that in a bookstore?

Then today I think we impulse-bought a loft. We were just out for a walk, and then a little of this and a little of that, and some business cards were exchanged, and things were signed, oh boy. We should not be allowed out without supervision. My lawyer is gonna love this. Oh well.

Then I called to tell my parents about the loft, and somehow I ended up having a conversation with my mother about anal sex. For the record, she’s not that into it, but I suggested that she just didn’t give it a fair shake.