Author: Sharkey

I hope so, because neither one seems like they’re ever going to finish again, after a guy killed his girlfriend and turned himself into an 32-year-old manchild after a car-fuck that drove them straight into a tractor. Now the poor dumbstruck bastard has to spend the next ten years of his life (according to his estimated mental age, that would be puberty) in prison.

Lesson learned, kiddies. If you’re going to screw in a car, do it sober. It’s hard enough compensating with your knees for the hand that’s smacking her ass and the other that’s pulling her hair while a naked chick obfuscates your view of the road. You’re going to need every synapse firing in such a situation, don’t count on luck to pull you through. Personally I like to think of luck as a bank, when you get a chick who likes to get down in a moving vehicle, I figure you’re already overdrawn. Now is not the time to bounce a check, as they might decide to close your account.

I just got an email from John who tells me that I should “stop slacking”. He’s probably right, I’ve been working on the backend shit for this site the last few days when I probably should have been posting. Lord knows I could have been mocking those Linux geeks trying to blackmail Microsoft or thanking my lucky stars that I was too lazy to go pick up Star Wars Galaxies the first day it came out (I learned that lesson from the sack-tap that was Tribes 2). But when readers like John send in a link regarding a guy getting the scrotum bitified, you know I’m going to have to break my silence.

The man from Whitwell Tennessee who had his scrotum chewed off by his so-called live-in housekeeper has decided to drop domestic assault charges.

The Sheriff said the couple got into a scuffle and the woman first bit Mr. Reese on the leg, then proceeded to bite his penis and scrotum. Ms. Burnette chewed off a large chunk of skin from Mr. Reese’s scrotum, then ran out to the front porch where she spit the skin to the dogs in the front yard, and one of them ate it according to Sheriff Burnette.

Call me crazy, but I’m the sort of guy that likes to keep business and pleasure separate. And even crazier, I have a definite affection for keeping business and tooth-to-sack contact separate. Particularly when it comes to my fucking housekeeper. Although I guess in the South, live-in housekeeper is just another word for “woman who cleans up your shit and takes your money”, aka: the wife. And just like the prison matron that is a wife, the live-in housekeeper can sometimes take out her aggression on the little Southerner, or his two best friends.

The best part about this article is the goddamn comments. If there wasn’t enough of a reason to napalm Tennessee, now we’ve got an overabundance.

Pie, pie, pie. Is that all you sad bastards can think about? Is that the only thing that makes your meaningless existences palpable? Might pie be the only thing which prevents you from shuffling your lazy asses right off this mortal coil?

Well good, same goes for me. I was just making sure none of you went queer on me while I was out of town. Have some LP-farmed Alexandra Kamp for your troubles.

Not much else to say about that. Oh, and somebody tell the damned Krauts that money is addictive all on its own, no need to stir up the pot.

www.mobileasses.com – Frankly I’m surprised that this took so long. Either nobody was on the ball or I’m getting too far out of the news loop.

I feel kind of bad that my only posts in the past week have been slices, but with internet access being this spotty, you should be thankful for every kilobyte I throw your way. Anyhow, here’s a return to the LP collection with Isla Fisher.

What a week so far. Golf, horseback riding, whitewater rafting, boozing, we’ve run the gamut. Unfortunately for Oregonians, the per capita of hot chicks is miniscule in comparison to that of Southern California, or Miami for that matter. Its pretty sad too, because if they had this many nature activities in So Cal, you could constantly be the witty guy with all the romantic shit to woo the ladies with. In my town, you’ve got a choice between a walk to the movie theater, or counting washed up needles at the beach. Stupid hot chicks and their migrating habits. But then again, if all the good looking folk go to one area, even though we realize their probable mental deficiencies, we follow. We follow because our wangs are like compasses, magnetized towards the pie. So who’s the real idiot? Id guess me, since the high altitude makes one drink like a bottle of 151.

I just lost this goddamned post, so if it lacks in the funny you can go screw yourself with chickenwire. Anyway, here’s a nice slice of The Hulk’s Jennifer Connelly.

You know, Jennifer here is one of my main problems with the flick. Not her exactly, just that the Hulk gets all calm and sedate at the sight of her. Judging from the rhumba that my wang does in my pants when she rides that horse in Career Opportunities, no man can calm himself within her general vicinity.

Since I’m away, I’m sure that you feel terribly, terribly lonely. That’s why I’m going to brighten you day with not one, not two, not three, Hell, not even four slices… Oh wait, yes it is four. Sorry if I got your masturbatory hopes up too high. Anyway, to celebrate what will probably a crappy movie with a highly paradoxical wank factor, lets start off with some new/updated galleries of Lucy Liu, Cameron Diaz, Drew Barrymore, and the hottest cradle robber around, Demi Moore.

So in case you didn’t guess, we made it to Oregon alright. This place is fucking awesome, golf, whitewater rafting, all kinds of goodness. Oregon, ie: the place outside the resort, is pretty lame. No liquor on sundays? Jesus drank wine way back when, I’m sure he’d be kicking back with some bourbon these days. Stupid Oregoniods, they even laughed when we expected our booze after 7PM. If were the idiots, why are you living in this shithole?

Vacation again, this time less of the boozin’ and more of the cruisin’ since were making a 15 hour drive to Oregon. I’m guessing that internet access will be nonexistent up in Sun River. I base this solely on the fact that my prejudgement of any area outside of Southern California denotes a visual not at all unlike Hooterville from Green Acres. Therefore, who is to say whether or not you’ll get any posts from me, so this is the part where I threaten the loyal staffers with painful torture and no dessert if they don’t pick up the slack.

Also, I finally got the future posting script installed, so there are a few saved up slices coming your way. I figure if there’s one thing that might take your minds off of the comedic black hole that exists around here, its titties.

Wow, two slices within a few hours? I’m fuckin’ spoiling you bastards. Next thing you know you’ll want me to be funny or love you or give you shelter. Well fuck off you bastards, you’ll get titties and like it. Thank LP on your way out the door for Nandini Mitra.

Again, not safe for work. Keep it in the pants, fellas.

Why do all rock stars have hot offspring? Well, that is a stupid question. Guys like Steven Tyler fuck hot hot supermodels and out pops some sort of exotically hot piece of ass like Liv Tyler. Although Liv is not our SOTD today, she does deserve an honorable mention. No no, today’s slice is the offspring of Mick Jagger, and we owe our thanks yet again to LP for slappin’ the gallery together. Enjoy a little bit of Jade Jagger, sucka.

I uh… I don’t have much else to say. That doesn’t really matter though, most of you have already left to check if that was a Not-Safe-For-Work gallery…. which it was.

And now we have the homosexuals, hetero women, and working stiffs who cannot get stiff on the job. Sorry bastards.