Category Archives: Fiction

Comedy, humor

Breaking News:Ronald Regan Declares War on ISIS

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AP-Washington

In a move that is shocking to most of the nation, since we’re so close to Christmas, Ronald Regan has declared war on ISIS from a brief televised interview at The White House.
Ronald Regan stood in front of reporters and stated “Mr. Goatatov, tear down that wall.” Referencing a figurative wall between the US and Middle East Relations that has been impeding US progress for years. “We need to be more vigilant in protecting our fine nations from terrorist and doing more, which why I have declared war on ISIS”

Ronald Regan closing out his speech, giving our troops a pep talk by quoting the movie “The Rock” with “Your “best”! Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen.”

It should be noted that Ronald Regan has been dead for the last 11 years. We will update this story as more develops.

Adventure, Erotica, Fantasy, Fiction, Sci-Fi

Best in Your Girl: The Novel.

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Chapter One

     The glass on the den windows vibrated from the strong winds pounding against it with an intensity reminiscent of a starship pulling out of warp speed and just barely colliding with an asteroid A powerful thud, but unscathed.

     I reached out and grabbed the large black remote from the coffee table turned on the television, pushing my way through boring show, after boring show, until I came upon the weather channel, which was still far better than whatever sitcom was popular. I muttered to myself, then allowed the meteorologist his say. His voice was thick and masculine, like a Russian who could speak English with the precision of a native. “Looks like you’re getting 18’ massive inches of snow, with gale force winds coming in off the oceans within the next hour.”

     I moved towards the window and stared into the black abyss that was the night, watching as the sky spurted little flakes of white snow, which slowly drifted downward and accumulated upon the window sill of my den. Chills ran up my back as Goosebumps were aroused on my forearms, sending me to the other side of the house to grab myself a towel, in order to clean up the snow that would most likely force itself through the tight window opening, without mercy, ravaging the beautiful hard wood floors with unsightly bumps and buckles, unless someone made sure to use the proper protective barrier to prevent such.

     Only a few moments had passed when a huge dong sprang forth from the living room, cutting through the tension of the night, saving me from the hardcore debauchery of loneliness that pillaged the inside of my mind, driving me to the brink of madness and all without the radiance of Edgar Allen Poe’s elegant prose to make the lingering pain of despairs engorged embrace upon my soul even more burdensome.

     Moving over towards the fireplace, I snatched the whiskey off the mantel, removed the cap and brought the long, glass handle to my mouth, allowing the sweet ambrosia to fill my mouth and swallowed a swing in one massive gulp. My face slowly grew flushed as my capillaries burst, giving forth the slow rise to comfort and the illusion of warmth, which became displaced by the wetness of my pants, nestling itself right between my legs, making my pajama bottoms cling to my inner thigh. I hadn’t noticed the sticky liquid that had been spilled upon my pants when I grabbed the towel from the bathroom. I was too buzzed from the whiskey to be even mildly annoyed by the inconvenient spillage. I curled my lip and undid my bathrobe as I approached the bookcase and pulled down on the book, opening up the doorway to the spiral staircase that descended into the depths of depravity that was my underground lair.

     I pushed through the spiral doorway into a room dimly lit rectangular room, which would have been all but an inkwell of darkness if not for the small amount of lighting, which expressed itself through six, square-shaped windows in the ceiling above, allowing the silken gold light to rain down and envelop the bed in its warm, passionate embrace, as if a beacon had descended from the heavens, carving a path to the siren that was my bed and enveloping it in a warm and passionate embrace, which would surely be the demise of my night if I was to succumb to the temptations which it proffered.

     Lights on, I command with the same “swagger” Ali Baba must have wielded outside the den of thieves an eon earlier. The lights turned on slowly, like a strike to the match that would fully engulf the head with a flame, hypnotically dancing in the dark. A large black book lay on the bedside table, which, was insipidity titled little black book. I sunk down into the bed as I sat upon it and opened up the book containing head shots of woman who I had met over the years, each one with name and number beside them, three hole punched for easy flipping through the binder and all labeled according to hair color, age, body type, sexual predilections and more. I flipped through pages upon pages of woman from which I had my pick, depending on my mood and desires, stopping on the last page of the book.

     Her name was Christine Hernandez, She was a new addition, older and shorter than myself, with beautiful eyes that were gateways into her soul. The hues would change color and intensity based on her mood. One look could take you on an adventure and the next would destroy you where you stood. The same could be said of her hair, fiery red when she was temperamental and blue when she was sad. She couldn’t hide the nature of how she felt even if she tried, because they were as much a part of her as the blood in her veins. Connected as one, yet separate entities. One look at her and I was instantly hypnotized by how she seemed to transcend her humanity and yet was completely held down to earth at the same time. She was her own yin and yang and quite frankly, it drove me crazy with delight.

     Carefully, I removed the head shot from the top loader and grabbed the number on the back and dialed it into the phone. Pressing send, I watched as the seconds ticked up and the sound of the tone echoed in my ear, then a click, followed by a sultry voice on the other end and with a simple hello, I was reduced to rubble.

Comedy, Essays, Non-fiction

Kickstart my Heart.

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     It is that time of year, when men everywhere forget to make plans for that romantic getaway, woman weep because they’re single and I can buy a large box of chocolates for $45.00 that only comes with one piece of candy that I like and about 35 pieces that I do not like, which taste no better than a common candy bar at the store. Yes, the Christmas. Er, Valentine’s day is here again.

     I’m not opposed to love, If you manage to find love, fantastic! My main concern is wondering why we need a stationary day to express our appreciation for the person that we’re in love with. Call me crazy, but if you’re in love, finding a day to express appreciation for your significant other should be the easiest thing in the world. Why could you show love for them just as much on August the 15th as you could on February the 14th? The boot to the economy, that is why, plus snow. Fuck you, snow!

     Going outside seems to be a wicked pissah for anything that isn’t going to work or something else that isn’t obligatory in the winter time, but it can be just as fun as any and without the bullshit of macro holidays that have little meaning.

     Which brings me to my next gripe with Valentine’s Day. When everyone is doing it at the same time, doesn’t it lack any semblance of being a special day? There is no surprise factor. Much like a flu shot for the millionth year in a row, it is mundane and routine. I think Valentine’s Day should be randomly assigned to a specific day each year, so that it is slightly more interesting. So starting with 2016, that special day could just as easily be the 25th of May as it is the 14th of February. Watching people scramble only two weeks ahead of time lends to Valentine’s Day the same excitement as a football game or a car chase.

     This single handily increases the worth of the day tenfold, which is great, because the other reason for finding this holiday to be a pissah is walking down the street and seeing all those single zombies slushing by with a grocery bag filled with Häagen-Dazs ice cream to cry and slowly feed themselves to death over the fact they don’t feel worthy of love. That is just the men that I’m talking about, never mind the woman who keep tissues at hand more readily than a teenage boy and feel much worse and drives them to watch movies like Fifty Shades of Grey.

     Speaking of bad decisions, while I’m at it, Valentine’s Day should be put on the schedule list of drugs. “Scientifically” speaking, Valentine’s Day, much like cocaine or heroin, often leads to bad decisions and not just the hideously awesome sweaters that you’ll wear once a year, but choices made out of desperation, just to not be alone when everyone else has someone. Like using dating profiles or worse, binge watching romantic comedies on Netflix. What other worse decisions could possibly be made than watching Four Christmas’ two months after the fact? Come on government, these atrocities need to be prevented, because no American deserves to be tortured by Vince Vaughn’s “acting.” It is inhumane and cruel and unusual punishment on both the psyche and the body, all because someone is single?

     If Valentine’s Day has taught us anything, thought, it is that people need someone validating their “love” like it is a parking garage ticket, which is a shame, because true love should need no affirmation from anyone other than the two people involved.

     The best way to express your feelings for a person isn’t with an expensive hotel room or hundred dollar box of chocolate that comes with a wicked awesome 10ft teddy bear–which in no way have I bought for myself, ever!—but with a simple kiss of appreciation for what your partner brings to the table on any day of the year and not just once. Simple expressions throughout the year make for a lot more than once a year when you try to compete with the world to show people how in love you are. Much like a closeted homosexual, it is obvious to everyone that isn’t you that you aren’t in love.

     Oh well, at least the 15th of February rocks, because 50% off Valentine’s Day candy is the shit!

(Minor corrections on 15 FEB 2015)

Comedy, Drugs, Satire, Sex

Life’s a Bitch and then you Die.

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     “Life’s a bitch and then you die” says one Massachusetts doctor. Asking to remain anonymous, Doctor X has been studying the effects of life on humans for over twenty-five years now. “We’ve discovered that you start to die the minute you’re born.” he said, adding “and it sucks until then.”

     For such a bleak prognosis, surely there must be a cure. According to Dr. X, no cure is in sight. He explained “We’ve been looking for a cure for years. Life has a 100% mortality rate. You’re going to die and possibly sooner than you think.”

     Dr. X explained to this reporter that this need not be something to worry about. “Lots of people die, every day. The trick is to live before that happens.” he added. A tall order for some people, he knows, but when Asked about what people could do to make their life less of a bitch, all Doctor X had to say was “I find drugs help.”

     I inquired as to what type of drugs he has prescribed to patients in the past. “All of them.” he said. “Do as many drugs as humanly possible. I mean, odds are good that you’ll die tomorrow, so what the hell, right?” When asked if there was anything else he would like people to know, he said “Fuck and fuck often” Quickly adding “While on drugs.”

Adventure, Comedy, Fiction, retro

A Chance I didn’t Take.

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Writer’s Note* Wrote this as a school assignment when I was 22. Kind of old, but those who read it, enjoy it.

———

     There once was a chance I didn’t take. It was, oh, so long ago now. I was twenty-two and fresh out of college, when I met this beautiful woman, by the name of Allison. Allison was ten years my senior, but that didn’t matter to me. She had gorgeous ruby red lips, which resembled a fresh apple that commanded you sink your teeth into it. Her long auburn hair, which smelled of watermelon, and contrasted with her baby blue eyes, and had long sweet natural waves, that washed over her head like the sea against the beach on a clear, moonlight night. She had a little tattoo on her forearm, which was classy, more so than trashy. She could be the envy of any woman that might have had the misfortune to stand next to her.

     We met one night, after work, at the local bar. I all ready had a couple of drinks in me, and I was a bit tipsy. Thats’ when I turned around on the bar stool and saw her. I don’t know weather it was the alcohol or what, but I swear she had one of those slow motion entrances you only see in the movies. I fell out of my seat in front of her. She giggled and in a soft, tender voice, asked if I was all right. I pulled myself up, dusted off and said.”I’m fine” She gazed at me with a seductive look and said “You definitely are.” Now, I’m never one to be so bold, even when liquid courage is coursing its way through my veins, but in a low voice I managed to ask “Would you care to get out of here?” She said she would, then whispered in my ear. I grew excited and we left.

     Since I was all ready near inebriation, we took her car and headed to the local liquor store. I went in and grabbed the cheapest wine with the most expensive sounding name, so I could impress her and not break my wallet at the same time. I quickly paid for the wine and made a mad dash for the car. Allison peeled out of      the parking lot and we sped to the local park. Thankfully, no one was around, so we laid out a blanket she had in her trunk and shared the wine straight from the bottle. By this time I was fully smashed and ballsy to boot, so I kissed her. We proceeded to make out like two teenagers. But it must of been a mixture of the adrenaline and the booze, because I don’t remember what happened after that.

     I awoke the next morning in my bed, with a throbbing headache. My vision was slightly blurred, but I could still make out that the clock said 9:00 am. Being late for work, I had no time to change or shower, so I just went in with what I had on. As I entered work, my supervisor looked at me and said “Wild night, huh?” It must have been the smell of booze wafting off me, along with the ruffed up look of my clothes that tipped him off. I nodded to him, my head hurt to bad to speak.”Be sure to tell me all about it at lunch” he said. I nodded again in agreement and he went off on his way.

     The rest of the day went by slow. At about eleven, I was finishing off paper work at my desk, when I reached into my pocket to find a folded piece of paper. It was a note from Alison, which read “Call me tonight” and had her phone number on it. I quickly flipped open my cell phone and started to dial when I was interrupted by a delivery guy. He placed a package on my desk and handed me a clip board to sign. Thats when I noticed the tattoo on his forearm. The same koi fish. It looked to be the same tattoo Alison had. I was going to pass it off as mere coincidence, but curiosity got the best of me. As the delivery guy left, I punched in Alison’s number and hit send. At that same moment, the delivery guy answered his cell and a man’s voice answered on mine. I quickly hung up as fast as I could. Maybe it was a coincidence, but that was a chance I wasn’t going to take.

Analysis, Comedy, Educational, Essays, Non-fiction

Sexually Liberated Woman vs The Slut

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     There seems to be, at least to me, people confusing the idea of a sexually liberated woman and a slut as one and the same thing. This is just not true and is something that needed to be taken to task for a long time.

     I think these ideas of that just sleeping around is equality for woman, is something that is being passed onto younger females and it is a bad thing to be passing on. You’re teaching these girls that if men can sleep around, so can’t they. This argument isn’t logical and we don’t take the time to think about what it really means to be sexually liberated as opposed to being an outright slut.

     How often do you hear someone calling a woman a “slut”, when she may in-fact, not be one? A lot of woman use the term “slut” to denigrate other woman. Some use it as a greeting, much like black modified the dreaded N-word to great one another. Some use it as a joking poke: ”Oh, you’re such a slut” Granted, a lot of women oppose the idea of being a slut and some will even try to justify the behavior of a slut as a woman being “sexually liberated” yet, that isn’t true at all. We throw the term slut, around too lightly. Why, then, do we get riled up when our daughters grow up to become the later, rather than the former, all under the guise of being sexually liberated? Allow me to give you a clue as to what separates a slut, over the sexually liberated

     The slut, quite often, sleeps around and has many, many partners.The sexually liberated woman is one who may have had many partners in her past. So what separates the two? A little thing called personal responsibility. The sexually liberated woman exercises personal responsibility, where as the slut only exercises that hole between her legs.

     The sexually liberated woman will sleep with any man she wants or even none at all. The slut will also sleep with any man she wants. What is the difference? The Sexually Liberated woman will exercise discrimination, on who she sleeps with. The slut won’t discriminate and sleep with just about any man giving her attention.

     The sexually liberated woman uses condoms. She makes sure the man has one, and if not, she will provide her own. The slut is lucky if she even knows what a condom is, never mind how to use one.

     The Sexually liberated woman isn’t just looking for attention. She, like any man, desires physical pleasure as well. The slut will make out with anyone 10 feet from the closest camera. Remember, whores are not just whores in the bedroom; they are whores in all aspects of their lives, especially when it involves attention.

     The sexually liberated woman will get sexually transmitted infection testing every few months, to ensure her health and the health of her partners. If she is in a long lasting relationship, she may, of course, forgo these test, unless she has reason to suspect she might need one, do to her or her partners infidelity, or if they choose a swingers lifestyle, or some other valid reason. The slut thinks the STD test is something you have to take to get a job and is the equivalent to a high school diploma.

     The slut may go months, and months of unprotected sex, possibly accumulating many sexually transmitted infections along the way, and possibly infected many unsuspecting partners because of her own ignorance or her lack of respect for anyone she sleeps with, by just withholding the information back.

     We cannot blame the slut for passing all of the sexually transmitted infections in the world. We need to blame the man who didn’t exercise his personal responsibility by going for the quick piece of ass, rather than looking for better quality woman, who exercises her personal responsibility.

     Some more signs include:

     Where are you picking her up?
     If you’re picking her up in a bar, chances are someone you know did the same thing the night before. You won’t find sexually liberated woman making out with other sexually liberated woman in a club to shitty hip-hop to draw your attention to them. You’ll find them everywhere else, but clubs and bars. If you do happen come across one at the club, then that is a woman out of her element and you’re lucky or easily fooled.

     If you found her on Craigslist she is probably an emotional train wreck. These women are very dangerous. A lot of them are disgruntled over a past relationship, most likely, they are not fully over it yet and you’ll bear the brunt of it. Stay away, for sluts and emotional wrecks await ye at Craigslist.

     How many kids does she have?

     If the woman you are thinking about fucking has had a lot of kids, or does have a lot of kids, and the fathers vary, you’ll want to stay away. Sexually Liberated woman wouldn’t have a lot of children, and if they did, it wouldn’t be with multiple fathers, because they have respect for themselves and that is why they use caution with personal responsibility, to make sure unwanted pregnancy doesn’t happen. Yet, the slut may have many children, and usually, those kids are taken by the state, yet, they can’t keep their legs and continue to produce more offspring to make them feel better, entrap men and get free money from the system. The do not exercise personal responsibility at all, and you’ll be wise to stay far away from them.
Of course, the list could go on and on about the difference, but the best way to tell isn’t always by looking, but by a woman’s actions. If she appears to be irresponsible for her own actions, she will be this way in all her endeavors and you should stay away.

     Do you feel like your pee burns just from looking at her?

     If you can’t even look at a woman without your penis itching, or your pee burns just thinking of her, than you are in the presence of a bona fide slut, and not a sexually liberated woman. Congrats, you probably have aids now.

     In other words, sluts are men and sexually liberated woman are just that, woman.