Archive for the 'savagery' Category

American Renaissance (Blog Format)

Pass the torch, little bitch.

Ah, the Olympics. What a chance for the world to prove to itself that humanity is real, that the human heart is alive and well. What a joke!

The new job has arrived, da-DING! Excellence.

What can I say after 2 months off the shit job, under the radar? Not much, to tell the truth.

And for some serious commentary…

Hillary has been exposed, and I stand corrected for my support for the feminazi wench. Now I must choose between an incognito Muslim and a crazy white boy! This one will be tough…

And as for the Stoneys, ouch what a sorry crew. What a pathetic excuse for camaraderie, what a tired effort in solidarity.

Keep up the good faith, ye uninformed jumble. Do not forget about the times when we almost had 1000 page views in one day, a number spurned higher and higher only by the sick twisted social machination of Roughtonius, who would fool a peasant schoolgirl into believing in the mythical Pegasus, if only to stroke his gay Irish ego. Pfffft.

And there you have it, the Great Blog Revival continues. I wanted to write more, but I am tired after stuffing envelopes all day. Where’s the beef?

Still Crazy After All These Years, Just not Gay Like Paul Simon

Writing stories, deleting, despairing into nothing. I just wrote a blog post, and then said, DOINK! Delete.

Last night, I heisted a car from a lady’s ex-boyfriend. It was her car, under her name, and all this other stuff, and he wouldn’t give it back to her or talk to her. She is a friend, so we went to his work, and I jacked his car. I can’t begin to imagine leaving work to find out your car is gone, and then finding out it was your ex just reclaiming her property, via a Stoney Navy Seal.

To be honest, I had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, my man-law instincts told me not to betray a man of his car while he’s at work. On the other hand, it wasn’t his car, and he is a big fat fucking toolbox.

At any rate, I made it home safe, and was tired the rest of the day. Each day, I get to work around 5:10 AM. It sucks. I’m tired all the time. Worst.

Once we got home from the carjacking last night (it wasn’t a real car-jack, I had a key to the car, title and registration), I sat back and watched our friend go through her ex’s cell-phone, reading all his text messages. It was kinda rough on my insides, on a number of different levels. First of all, I felt like I was the one getting busted, that I was the one getting my phone spied on, even though I wasn’t. Definitely some sympathy going on there. And then, I also felt terrible that the lady was actually going through it. It’s like break up and get on with it, and I was just sitting there, Not Stoned, feeling sorry for the guy who just got his car jacked, and also feeling sorry for the lady who was looking at the phone. It just kind of hurt.

In the end, though, I got up this morning at that special hour, 4:20 AM, brushed my teeth and went to work. I imagine that dude without a car did something like the same, as did his pissed off ex, who spent the night at our place. They were basically married for over 5 years, and now the relationship has been reduced to stealing, spying and general gay shittiness. Last Christmas, they gave us their Christmas card, and I still have it in my car, in the center console. It’s kind of weird.

Anyway, I definitely feel like I learned a big lesson about how not to break up with your girl. Lady T and the lady kept asking me what I would do if that happened to me, and I kept coming back to the fact that nothing like that would ever happen to me. I wouldn’t be driving around my ex-girlfriend’s car, mooching off her payments and shit in the first place. In the end, we all pay for what we get, big time karma style.

The car-jack represents the 2nd time in my life when I have designed and/or implemented a secretive attack mission, with the sole intent of harm, retribution, or outright thievery. In this case, the car was not actually “stolen” in terms of the law, but his cell phone and digicam sure as hell were. The other time I stole some shit was when me, iiiDog and Suityourself robbed our arch-nemesis of a half-ounce of buds, and then did it again less than a week later.

I’m not sure which one I feel worse about it. When I stole that weed, I justified my actions by telling myself that he had stolen my weed, plenty of times before, by selling us short-ass bags and being a bitch. Even though he sold us short-ass weak bags all the time, I kept buying buds from him, and I knew it was going to be short each time. It was a classic arch-nemesis situation, as we fed off each other’s disrespect for each other, until me and Suit reached our breaking point, and we took him for all that he had. He was rich, so it’s not like I stole his lunch money or anything. I stole his weed, his power. I took his nuts, and he knew it, and he couldn’t prove it. Only after a year did we even tell Dank, that’s how big a secret it was, because the dude was in our extended crew.

As time passed, and our relationship did not dissolve, the Great Weed Robbery became a huge, unspoken valley of emotions between me and my prey. I know that he knew that I took his shit, and I know all his friends know I did, too. But still, our proximity and similar interests led us to the same rooms, to the same parties, year after year, and I still have a rock in my chest, from what I did then. Maybe I’ll tell him one day, and maybe I won’t. More than anything, I am embarrassed of my childish selfishness, but then I also put myself in that state of mind, and everything feels right as rain.

As for the dude with the car, I feel much differently. It just happened yesterday, so I don’t understand it yet.

I imagine as time passes, a hypocritical mix of self-righteousness and guilt will blend peacefully on the canvas of my raging emotions.

World’s luckiest man?

I’m still nursing this busted ankle, and my friends have been kind enough to bring me food and beer this week to keep me alive.  I have delved deep into Dank status, having not left my apartment since Sunday afternoon.  I am hoping to get mobile soon, but it is not looking good for the near future. 

Well, being laid up like this I have had some time to cruise around the intenet, and as usual have not found anything of use.  Only (as Stoney puts it), “gay bullshit” that I will share to you readers.  I found this article today about a guy who can be considered either the world’s luckiest man, or the unluckiest.  Tomato, tomahto.  In a day where we are giving you readers a few things to decide on, I will shovel another pick toward you.



Whether you consider him lucky or unlucky, this man is a savage.

I think the moral of the story here is, Croatian modes of tranportation are about as useful as a sack full of squished up assholes.

About the time when Roughty drove to the hospital with reverse lock jaw drooling on himself, drunk

I paid 1.45 pence for my Radiohead download, which comes out to just over $3 bones.

Worth it, bitches. Download it for 99 cents if you want, I highly highly recommend it.

The revolution has begun, and I’m glad Radiohead is getting down with it. Within a week of announcing that they were releasing the new cd for free, Oasis and Jamiroquai both said they were doing the same. Both in my opinion are lesser bands, much lesser, but the fact remains that the music model is changing.

My boss the other day was arguing that without the current business model, there would be no music, because the artists wouldn’t be rewarded in full monetarily. I thought that was a fucking joke. A fucking savage musician is a savage musician, and demand for good music is definitely out there, and the two will connect. I will always be able to get new music, and I won’t have to spend my whole allowance on it every week, like I used to when I was a kid.

Today, I’m leaving work to go to court, for a ticket because I was driving with no insurance or registration. I have both now, and am heading to court at 1:30 PM. Apparently, I’m looking at anywhere from $500-1k for the ticket, and I have another one I have to go to before the year is out. Fucking worst.

It kind of reminds me of a Roughty story. Back in the good old days, Roughty was getting arrested like every other week, literally. I can remember, off the top of my head, 3 specific instances of Roughty getting picked up in jail and giving me a call in the middle of the night to come get him in the morning. On one occasion, he got into a fight with the cop while he was on the phone, and I could hear the cop threatening to hang up the call unless Roughty toned down his belligerence. Roughty told the cop to “Shut the fuck up, and stop being such an asshole.”

On second thought, 2 of the midnight calls were for jail, and 1 was for the hospital.

The two jails were simple enough. Roughty got too fucked up at the bar, and got arrested while walking home. Once was on his 21st birthday. I distinctly, distinctly remember being at the Greene Leafe bar, a black hole of foppery, homosexuality, sentimentality and NOVA, on R-dog’s big day. It was a Monday night if I recall, because it was mug night. I was like, “Roughty, please please please come home, you’re just going to get arrested.” Nope, the birthday boy wasn’t having it, and I had some D-rugs to inhale up my nose, so I was out. Roughty got picked up on the way home, as predicted by me a few hours earlier.

Don’t remember the other jail.

The hospital call was a good one too. First of all, we were both under 21, but I was working as a bartender anyway because the owner never checked my ID, and I would serve Roughty his gold delight, illegally and for free (double illegally). Anyway, one day, we were playing Golden Tee at the bar, drinking Boddington’s, a savage pale ale. Roughty was toast, and I was too. It was time to go, but once again, Roughty wouldn’t take no for an answer. I left, he stayed.

“Come pick me up from the hospital,” was the message on my machine from 3 AM.

Roughty got too fucked up at the bar. So he went out behind the bar, and puked it up to make himself feel better (like Suit on my roof). Then, as he was puking, the force of his own mandibles was too much for his pussy skull, and his jaw snapped straight open, and wouldn’t shut.

Reverse Lock Jaw. So there he was, with his jaw stuck straight open, straight off a good up-chuck, behind a bar he was drinking for free at, underage. What does a good lad do? Of course, he walked around behind the back of the strip mall the bar was out, jaw sticking wide open, and got in his car, and drove himself to the hospital. With his mouth open, puke in between his teeth. Ever held your mouth open for a long time? What happens, is that you start to drool. So there he was driving down the road, wasted, with his jaw stuck wide open, drooling all over himself, on the way to the hospital.

I missed the call at night, but got the message in the morning. He had gotten himself a ride home somehow in the morning. He had medical tape wrapped under his mouth, and then over his head, like a cartoon character. Classic.

Anyway, the point of my story, was that one day, Roughty had to go to court for being a fucking idiot and getting arrested for something. At 1 AM the day before he had court a 8 AM, he ate a mushroom chocolate bar, and subsequently skipped court on account of exhaustion and hallucinations.

Months later, Roughty was walking to work with his flagrant flight jacket, sheep wool deluxe on. One of his buddies, a cop, saw his jackass, knew he was a wanted fugitive, and arrested him on the spot for being a stupid, drunk Irish bastard.

Roughty, sorry about the jail stories. I’m not strapped for material, but in honor of my court appearance, I was in the mood for some legal antics, and you are the king in that department. I also feel like it’s inappropriate to tell your own arrest story about yourself, which is obviously why I didn’t get into my own checkered past.

In conclusion, download the new radiohead cd, and don’t get in a car that Roughty is driving, ever.

Bitches…Based Upon a True Story

You are all a bunch of bitches. ‘boo hoo, i hold down the blog all on my own–sniffle, sniffle, nobody helps me out’. Now, no one is producing shit except for twitch’s brainless miney mo of football picks. the grand introduction you were afforded was quite undue. Stoney was apparently wrong in his fear of unleashing the savage that must have been. I was expecting more ridiculous puttering buttholes and second grade male teacher fantasies, but i guess the life of a savage cannot include the blog, though true savagery also does not recognize the 70 down genital coddling that is football. Yes, i love football and sports, and many unsavage things, but i do not and have never claimed to be a savage. Far from it, i am more a pinkie flipped, tea drinking, legs crossing, former weed smoker who has done everything in his power to reject savage lawless behavior for the groovy rewarding of responsibility (sarcasm).

twitch, i’m sorry for the blatant attack, but your work is limited to picking, often accurately, the upcoming weekend’s games. you offer no commentary and hardly any shittalking. i was expecting you to be ripping and stoney claimed to be anxiously anticipating the coming shittalking brought with football.

stoney, you’re gay. bucs suck, ‘your’ steelers are winning, and i can undoubtedly bet my entire net worth of -200 dollars that you have yet to watch a single play. well, maybe if i lose then me paying negative 200 dollars would actually mean i get paid 200 dollars!?! shit, why didn’t i think about that before? i think i might have a good case for wachode and chase you down a dark alley and beat you with a proverbial debt bat credit cards.

suit, simply said, thanks for the sushi dinner and getting me into academia where i certainly do not belong.

on to me, i still can’t make any money with no bills to pay and working all the time. i’m a piece of shit who fights with his girlfriend all the time and watches sports rather than do anything else. i literally have to think about, no, draw up a spreadsheet of pros and cons whether to buy an iced tea for my smoldering ashtray asshole mouth. on a lighter note, i am happy to inform you all that i have been successfully mining green gold from the deepest caverns of the Upper Dank Nasal River, wiping them on and flicking them toward all unsuspecting victims. Be careful where you reach or grap for balance when leaning to pick up that damn elusive runaway pencil. there may be a boogie man lurking in the shadows–one of my minions of ectoslime.

roughty, well you a bitch ass nancy who can’t handle liquor. i guess this is as good a time as any to relate my recent visit to the confederate capitol in which nancy reagan, roughty-as he is first lady, resides. I arrived in his spacious 13 bedroom apartment to remember the all to familiar later 1420 A smell. yes, quite noxious. however, if you have not been depraved enough to cross the river of burnt matchsticks, pay the toll man, Mikey, and sneak past the snarling starving beasts willing to tear your flesh for its first meal since a woman had visited (rarely and never prolonged), to find the beasts’ litter box, then you can hardly imagine roughty’s. overflowing like a bloated pot of chili, the smell sticks to your skin and dampens your hair and cannot be removed by the sticky shower and mildewed-bottom of the pile towel you will be lent. after given the grand tour of his apartment modeled after a bunker in Fallujah and seriously debating wearing my flip flops in the shower, I air-dried for fear of putting the towel on my head, and then roughty and i set out to watch the mets inevitably blow it and hopefully find college football game on a nearby tv at the bar.

as everyone know the mets blew it, but not without a shimmer of hope for those unfortunate enough to confuse the ny mets for the recently swept phillies with a 13-1 shallacking on that day. well, we sat and drank beer and i ate a hockey puck with bacon and cheese, roughty in nothing out of the ordinary, drinking 1-2 more beers at the bar. This will come in to play soon, but everyone should know that roughty drinking 1-2 more beers with his typical diet versus mine would be no excuse for the ultimate shamery to come. we split the tab and went down stairs where i decisively defeated roughty in the first victory of the night-ping pong. when exiting the bar i wisely asked roughty if he had paid the second tab as he had lost the wager, moronically trusting the word of a drunken irishman. he walked out on that one and we moved to his sister’s boyfriend’s house where he exploded the tonic everywhere and left the floor adhesive. roughty made the drinks, one per person, and after thoroughly wearing out our welcome, we proceeded to dinner. both of us sitting slumped waiting for our respective lasagna and sub, i began to feel the stupor of Diana and Bacchus’s love union and looked across the table at the waning, leaning tower of a slurring man. Immediately upon finishing Roughty stood up and implored me to “get out of here” claiming we were done. Being the naive sentimentalist, I asked, ‘don’t we have to wait for the waitress? No? We can pay up front?’ this was the second, but failed attempt to walk out on a tab. He ended up begrudgingly paying the unfair tarif for both of us, saying, “you ive me sa money layter” i forgot.

well, we walked the few blocks home sandwich in tow knowing the state of affairs of any autonomous stonies’ kitchen. We arrived home and shortly after, i snapped this picture:


**will not upload-does not meet security guidelines**

i guess the material is too sensitive. a picture of roughty passed out at 8:30 p.m. would surely explode the head of any with knowledge of him.

so, he passed out and was eventually roused with threats of exposing his nanciness. in another failure of the night, roughty,quite out of character,did not shag the fly puerto rican girl that wanted his nutsack. instead, quite in character, he was content to be defeated in video games while she watched.

1st Victory- Ping Pong

2nd Victory- Drinking

3rd Victory- Madden (Roughty quit before half, I forced him to finish the half at least)

4th Victory- MVP 2005 (Red Sox defeat Mets at Shea-3-1. Big Papi eventual game winning homer in top 8th. )

5th Victory- Madden (again)

Roughty would only chalk his days losses to 0-4, but i assure you he was spent on drinking as i mixed up another gin. The next day i awoke to roughty going to work where i was going for a stoney style free brunch (remember the trellis? sweet) when my lady cracked the whip and was bitching, so i had to go home.

It was a very enjoyable trip. I only shit talk now because i have the god given right to make my friends feel bad for putting me up and paying for a dinner he wanted to walk out on. i only got slapped in the face once, which by anyone’s standards is another victory. i had a good time and a lesson in hopeless savagery. Now it’s time to get in my mom’s car and go eat McDonald’s and relay my exact gps coordinates to the wife.

signing off:


Halo 3, Tokyo Game Show, and my wishes

Today was a big day in the gaming world.  As the enormous, all-encompassing Tokyo Game Show is raging on, Halo 3 was unleashed upon the population.  See also: massive online complications with Xbox Live. 

By all accounts Halo 3 is what has been expected.  An unbeatable multiplayer experience with a good (not great) campaign mode.  However, the adequate campaign mode will get a pass from most gamers, seeing as most people will be playing the newest installment of Halo with friends, online or off.  See also: massive alcohol consumption, shit talking, and plummeting grades.


Nothing can stand up to me, Master Chief.  Not your mom, girlfriend, social life, or grades.

I have recently become the proud owner of an Xbox 360, yet I did not pre-order a copy of Halo 3.  It looks like I will have to wait a couple of weeks before I enter the fray, however I am not worried.  I am currently engrossed in Bioshock, and I do not need some other nonsense to take up the minimal free time I have left.  See also: me being absent from this shitstem.

Yet, with all the hype surrounding the release of Halo 3, I did not feel the itch to quickly grab myself a copy.  Everytime I went into the GameStop around the corner to look for a Wii, purchase, or trade in some games, I was constantly assaulted by the sales associates about pre-ordering myself a copy.  These motherfuckers can really put a guilt trip on you, especially when you tire of their bullshit and tell them you are not insanely excited about Halo 3’s release.  From the looks I was receiving from people in the store that day, I thought I was going to be excommunicated from the Church of Microsoft.


Welcome to GameStop.  How can we obliterate your bank account today?

Despite the looks I receive from most gamers, I really was not excited about Halo 3’s release.  I will buy the game, and I am positive I will enjoy myself immensely, yet I did not feel I needed to have it right away.  There are two games for the 360 however, that I will be going apeshit over, and will be purchasing the day they are released.


This game will be released this Novemeber, and it is being made by UbiSoft, the geniuses who brought my beloved Prince of Persia into the modern gaming age.  From initial accounts, Assassin’s Creed takes a lot of platforming (e.g. puzzle solving, wall climbing, environmental traversing) aspects from Prince of Persia and makes them better and more fluid.  If you have never played Prince of Persia, that is no easy feat.

Futhermore, this game is set during the Crusades in Jerusalem; an often overlooked time period in gaming.  According to UbiSoft, the combat system features over 14,000 different animations in which you can maneuver your character.  Not too much is known about the story, but I am extremely excited to get a hold of this game, and see what the minds at UbiSoft have created for a Crusades style assassin game.


If you have not played Ninja Gaiden for the Xbox, shame on you.  Shame, shame.  I got the first Ninja Gaiden the day it came out in 2004, and I still cannot put it down.  I have beaten a bunch of times, and have even bought the re-release which threw faster, more challenging enemies at Ryu Hayabusa.  There is not much more I can say about this game other than it is easily my favorite game in the last 15 years.

Naturally, with this kind of admiration for the first, I am eagerly awaiting the sequel.  Today I have seen the first video of gameplay from the Tokyo Game Show, and….WOW.  WOW.  The gameplay is fluid and beautiful as ever, and while I thought the graphics of the first already looked like the they were being churned out by the 360, I was amazed to see the strides made with this sequel.  And oh yes, it is much more grusome than the maddeningly grusome first, next generation installment.

For those loyal readers, you will remember many times on this blog I refer to my ninja alter ego, ninja powers, or ninja activities; Ninja Gaiden is the inspiration for all that nonsense.  The other Stonies used to bust my balls about my love for Ninja Gaiden, however Stoney has recently become hooked on this game while in LA.  If he ever gets enough wiggle room in his weed budget and buys a 360, I am sure this will be the only game he will buy.

Behold, the greatest game that will ever be on the 360.  That’s right, fuck off Halo 3. 

It is a bit long at 9 minutes, but I assure you, once Ryu starts dismembering and eviscerating, you will hardly notice the time going by.

If you own an Xbox 360 by the time this game is released next year, PICK IT UP.  It is a challenging (really challenging), fast, fun game in an era when these games are becoming rarer.  Oh sorry Dank, I know you wouldn’t mind buying about the millionth World War II game to be released.

Serious Things May Dilute Your Enjoyment

This is what’s called a “Tour de Force.” I set it up yesterday with the Blind Melon, sick-nasty jizam, and I’m bringing it full force.

Earlier today, we find out why I am serious, stoned and scowling all the time. I can’t handle my shit.

Here is how our collective boy, Shannon Hoon, feels about taking things a little too seriously, and sheds some light on how he deals with that pressure. Please watch all the way, it’s only 1 minute.

Here is another video of Blizind Melon, from Woodstock.

Hem-Dog: Getting Fucked Up to Deal with It

Ernest Hemingway is my homie. Literally, we are connected in a deep way. For one thing, we have the same birthday, and that’s about all the real things I can think up.

Hem was a sick, sick writer, and if you don’t think that, then you are a retard. He was on the front line of savagery. If you don’t like him because he is too macho and manly, quit whining. If you don’t like him because you think he is a homosexual homophobe, you might be right, but you still can’t touch him. If you think he was a misogynistic drunkard buffoon living out his fantasies through the destruction of the people around him who loved him…you’re probably right. But, that still doesn’t change the fact that the words he wrote changed the way people think about stories and characters, and that he was larger than life, and that he changed my life in a huge way.

Shout out to my Hawaiian Home-Dog Captain Walt P. Wenska. WORD UP.

What the fuck was Hemingway doing? He went to war, but he couldn’t fight because he had poor vision “supposedly.” So he drives an ambulance, gets his leg blown the fuck up, and acts like a badass, dragging someone back to base out of the fight, Forrest Gump style. Savage acts of heroism in the face of death? CHECK.

After that, he went home to Minnesota and started working at a newspaper. His mom was a psycho religious bitch, and they hated each other, and he left. “Soldier’s Home”… I don’t remember the lines, obviously, I’m at work. But it is sick. Alienation, depression, talk about existential fucking dilemmas, Hemingway was down like Charlie Brown. Except it adds a little to the existential flavor when you have been covered with other people’s blood, seen bodies of young people ripped to shreds by machine guns (an exciting new invention of the times) and just had an overall mind-blowing, world-shattering experience.

Anyway anyway anyway, at the bottom of all these, we have Hemingway. What was his favorite past time, may I ask? Other than hunting, fishing and writing, Hemingway was a motherfucking Booze Hound. Key West, FL was his spot, and he would walk around town boozing it up, go writing and shit, and go out in the ocean fishing for sharks and other big ass fish. Basically, he lived the American fucking dream. He got paid a shit load of money to write about his adventures, and he became famous and well-read, despite his obvious, painful emotional difficulties and hang ups.

I’ll admit it. I can’t even get my head around this shit. Ernest Fucking Hemingway, I mean…he is the Man, hands down, no questions asked. No questions asked.

If and when I can come up with a cohesive argument about why Ernest Hemingway was the most savage writer of the last century, I will. But today, it’s probably not going to happen.

Instead, let’s go down the old road of putting up pictures to get a point across. Here’s what Ernest Hemingway was all about.









Making Babies


Talking Shit




Going on illegal rum-running and people-running missions between Cuba and Key West.


I’ll stop there. The last one, illegal people-running is some ridiculous shit. Let me tell you a story, about a story, that made me realize something about E. Dog. One of his short stories is about a guy in Key West who runs a fishing boat, who also knows people in Cuba. He splits his time between the two countries. When he’s in Cuba, he gets propositioned to do a people-smuggle mission from Cuba to FL, and he accepts. The deal was brokered by a shady Asian, and blablabla, we are on the boat, on the coast of Cuba.

The character (an obvious projection of E-Dog) pulls up to shore, and gets all the Cubans loaded onto the boat, there’s like 10 of them or so. Then, he goes out to a different boat to meet up with the Asian dude to get his money. The Asian dude gets on Hem’s boat and gives him the money for taking the people across to Key West.

Then, after Hem gets the money, he kills the Asian guy by strangling him to death, and then takes the Cubans back to shore (Cuba), and makes them get off the boat at gunpoint, because there’s no fucking way he is about to smuggle some goddamn Cubans back to America.



Last Try “sneaking in the back”

As a child I was fascinated with the idea of being in love. I believe my fantasies began in third grade when I started to imagine being in bed with my teacher. These fantasies were hardly sexual, as I only imagined us holding each other.

I grew older and my fantasy’s turned into reality (not with my teacher) with various girls also at the age where sexual experimentation starts to occur. I soon found that holding a girl was only the beginning.

With each passing day I took another step towards sexual enlightenment. I was always pushing the sexual barriers. Until finally I found a (Awesome) girl that felt daily intercourse was a good thing. Soon what had been daily turned into multiple times daily. [Insert number] We had fun!

One day while “going at it” I accidentally/tried to slip “it” into her rectum. Her eyes almost popped out of her head. As she pushed me off I realized that I might have made a big mistake.

She jumped off the bed and ran out of the room passing gas each step of the way.

You will find that I make some bold claims I want you all to know that what I write is what I feel to be the truth, that is to say, I’m not lying.

I would be lying if I said that I didn’t laugh. I have to admit that I found this young girl taking off like a sputtering rocket ship towards the door to be very funny.

Wouldn’t I be an ass to end it there?

Where does it end? Where is the line between wholesome and perverted?

Child rearing is the purpose of sexual intercourse. So isn’t having sex for any reason other than child rearing perverting the act?

Where’s the middle ground? What does the majority feel is normal sexual behavior? When does what you’re doing in the bedroom make you a weirdo?

Then I wonder how far one could take it, how deep and dark can one’s sexual desires be? Obviously too dark, as America has passed many laws punishing offenders, for what the majority deem to be inappropriate sexual acts.

A lot of times a governments involvement in the sexual lives of it’s citizens can be a good thing often protecting people/animals from physical and physiological damage but when are they interfering with our human rights?

I used to believe that a girl reached sexual maturity at the age of sixteen. I used many witty phrases, like if she’s old enough to drive a stick then she’s old enough to ride a stick.

Now I have a little sister who has reached the age of seventeen and I want to destroy any boy that looks at her. I can’t imagine the stress involved with fathering a daughter.

With today being September eleventh I feel it is important to remember what happened on this day in 2001 but we should not let it take our minds away from other serious domestic issues that occur daily in this country, issues that destroy more lives than any plane crash.

I feel that sexual abuse is one of Americas biggest and least discussed problems. Why are people so weird and why is it so hard to talk about?

wha wha what’s this (or) twitch arrives

Thats right folks, the SWS has a new member. As the newest addition I can only hope that my stories don’t suck are as bad (ass) as the rest of these yahoos.

Let’s start off with the hot topic of Religion. Now I don’t want to blow my load all in one place so we’ll start with just one religion, how about Christianity. Christianity is a monotheistic religion centered on the life and teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. Bob Loblaw. There is no god, deal with it.

A lot of Christians wear crosses around their necks. Do you think when Jesus comes back he ever wants to look at a fucking cross? -Bill Hicks