Author: Sharkey

There once was teen whore from Japan, in eight months she fuck 800 man. But the whore underage, now her pimp in a cage and her junk’s just as coarse as the sand.

Jeez, I’m fairly crass once exhaustion hits. [ Linky ]

A second-hand dealer has been arrested for pimping a 17-year-old girl to a whopping 800 clients in eight months, police said Friday.

The man, Takayuki Miura, and a teen-age boy who worked under him, were arrested on charges of breaking the Child Welfare Law.

From November last year until July this year, 44-year-old Miura set a minimum quota of six men a day for the 17-year-old runaway girl. He pocketed some 12 million yen during the period but only paid 500 yen per day to the girl to cover her lunch expenses, police said.

KlfJoat probably made up a good third of her business, since I heard he raised his age minimum. *BA-DUM-CHING!*

With that cheap shot delivered, it’s time for bed. Tip your waitress.

Seriously Britain, you just keep digging yourself in deeper and deeper, don’t you?

A squirrel is spreading terror in a Cheshire town where it keeps attacking people.

Children have been attacked, grown men chased and residents of Knutsford, central England, are fearful of letting their kids out to play, the Times newspaper said.

Local resident Blanche Kellye said the problem was not funny. “Everyone round here is living in fear…it’s a vicious little thing. I’ll never trust squirrels again.”

*shakes head in shame*

Next thing you know they’ll be afraid of France. Fucking pansies.

The sun’s rising, and so it is time for me to hang up my webmasterin’ guns and take a siesta. But thanks to my newfound dietary regiment of caffeine pills and Bic White-Out, I’ll only need 1.25 hours of sleep before I’m up and ready to work on my next piece of savory web deliciousness. Or, I’ll wake up ready to murder and stumble into a bowl of Fruity Pebbles while collapsing in front of the television for a few hours, but hey, that’s the life of an independent contractor for you. Constantly on the go. …Shoot me now.

Or, save a bullet for someone more deserving, like say, a guy who would believe that a street magician turned him invisible and started robbing banks… then got his ass kicked. It’s really just too good to be bullshit my friends. See for yourself:

Customers at a Tehran bank quickly overpowered the deluded robber after he started snatching banknotes from their hands.

Appearing in court, the repentant thief said he paid five million rials ($625) to a man who gave him some spells and told him to tie them to his arm to become invisible.

“I made a mistake. I understand now what a big trick was played on me,” the would-be bank robber was reported as telling the judge. His name was not given.

I’d like to tell a few select Dell spokesjackasses that they’re intangible like Kitty Pryde, and can easily wander through traffic without fear of suffering horribly dismembering consequences.

Something seems a little suspicious about this “street sorcerer” fellow though. I wonder who else he’s pulled this bullshit scheme on…

Nah. It wasn’t a street magician that conned Winona. It was good ol’ fashioned blow. Just like momma used to make.

I don’t rightly care about your musical opinions, because I had fucking kickass seats for an Aerosmith concert down in San Diego tonight. They put on a grand show, and the opening act, Kid Rock, was actually fairly good. The guy does pretty well when half his material is covers of classic rock tunes. And apparently while I was gone, SOTD got farked. Odd, but uh… neat? Yeah, I think that’s the word for this Tuesday. Neat. Now we’re on to Wednesday, where the word for the day will be “ass”. Try using it in a sentence today, such as “That Nikki Cox is one piece of ass”.

Well, maybe 10 out of a few thousand of you can use anyway. There’s a very interesting article on gamegirladvance about the new Japanese game Rez. Apparently the game itself isn’t much to talk about, but the special edition comes with a hardware addition that gives an extra bit of value to your PS2. Dig:

But god damn, the trance vibrator started thumping like crazy in time with the music.

Well, what would you have done? I moved the vibrator into my lap.

…That’s why I was so excited by Rez’s trance vibrator, since it seems to have no other purpose than to act as a masturbatory aid. Its shape is pretty nice, it can slip easily under your skirt or in your panties, it comes with a protective “glove” which you can wash, and it emits a regular pulsating rhythm that gets ever more intense and thrilling the deeper you go into the game. Damn, by the end I was writhing on the floor! Synesthesia indeed.

Hrmm…

None on eBay. Shame. But I can’t think of a better way to indoctrinate a woman into gaming than something along these lines. And I thought that Dance Dance Revolution shit was the gateway to gaming goodness, but this takes the cake. Or the pie, whichever floats your boat.

I’m incredibly sluggish after my return from Humilityville, aka Vegas. Apparently aside from a large wad of cash, I’ve also been robbed of my standard cognative and analytical faculties. Example: while walking back to my car after lunch with some friends, I dropped into this magazine shop. As I was browsing around, a delighfully charming (by charming I mean damned dirty hippie) fellow turns a magazine around in front of my face and exclaims “DUH HUH! CHECK OUT THESE BEAUTIES!” I was greeting by the ocular pleasure of about 20 little mounds of weed. Now, I stood for just a second staring, because I knew in the back of my mind that my brain was performing it’s normal search of my database of nearly 30,000 random insults that will both baffle and humiliate any burnout (assuming he has the brain cells necessary to comprehend my well-timed verbal assault). However, today my poor grey matter balked at the task. I suppose I killed off one too many brain cells this weekend in Sin City, reducing me to low level chuckling just like my Birkenstock sporting neighbor. As this stupifying exchange of hyucks now made us idiot-buddies, I decided to vacate the premises before he decided to hit me up for money.

By the by, I’m not mocking dirty hippies or stoners as a culture, I’m merely mocking this particular dirty hippie stoner. Lord knows if I were in his position, I’d try to refrain from publicly advertising my illegal activities in one of the most cop-riddled towns in the US. To each his own, I guess.

What happens when you crossbreed French and Japanese creativity? Even after seeing it, I have no idea. But the music is fairly soothing.

Up a C-note, down a C-note, and back to even again. Such is the emotionally PMS-ing bitch goddess that is Vegas. No worries though, I factor food and lodging into the up/down equation, but not the copious amounts of free booze-ahol. If I did, I’d have the house by a good couple hundred dollars, and that coaster that I thought was a cookie.

Undoubtedly my tune will have changed by tomorrow morning, after I gamble away my last dollar and the souls of any unborn (or illigitimate) children I may have in a pitiful attempt to satiate my thirst for nickels and dimes.

Lord almighty is it hard to post on this thing when you’re trying to double down.

God dammit. I just reached peak gambling capacity (ie: clear urine) and I’m no longer in a casino. Oh well, there are worse places to be at 5am than Fatburger my friends. Besides, the lil woman and I are each up ten bucks, which covers dinner (or midmorning snack?) and a breakfast buffet apiece. Hooray for free drinks, ya jealous bastards!

He is a hideous beast. I call him Gamblor!

Sidenote: I never noticed that the Vegas Fatburger is right next to McDonalds. While midwest/eastern tourists may head straight for the golden arches, its completely unfair in regards to us So Californians. That’s like asking a guy whether he’d like to bang Christy Turlington or that Rocky Dennis kid from Mask. Not only is it a gross insult to one’s personal taste, but it makes you think of Cher, which if you haven’t vomited already, is enough to force your lunch through the esophagus at lightning speed.

Last minute road trip to Vegas. Mind your manners with the sitter.