personally i think penises are somewhat glorious. there’s really nothing like a beautiful cock jammed down your throat, really. why do you think they’re ugly?

The average dong looks like an H.R. Giger design that was discarded for looking too stupid. I’ll grant you that it’s a biomechanical marvel, but so is a sea slug.

Fortunately, taking pretty girls and shoving ugly things inside them is kind of a hobby of mine.

A Guide To Cranky Old Men

A lot of you want my attention. Very few of you have a clue how to get it, much less keep it. So here is a new installment of quick pro-tips that may (or may not) help you navigate into my orbit.

  1. Don’t be scared. You already know I’m going to hurt you, and if things go well, it’ll happen quite often. The more we trust one another, the worse it’s going to get. You even know how I’m going to hurt you: I’m going to take advantage of your weakness. And who knows your weakness better than you? Exactly. If you look deep inside, you can already see the worst things to come… so why be frightened?
  2. Understand that I don’t need you. I may like you. I may grow to adore you. I could even –in my misguided way— depend upon you. But you will always be the most disposable thing in my world. Act accordingly.
  3. Use your fucking blog to say something. Even if that “something” is just “Hey everyone, look at my ass!” I don’t want to wade through a wall of reblogs of random shit that someone else created… I want to see you, ya dumb bitch. And you want to be seen, right?
  4. Remember that you ultimately don’t matter. You’re only of interest to me if you can inspire me. That’s your job. That’s your purpose. If you can’t do it, then you’re fundamentally worthless. Perhaps I’ll end up attached to you and want you around for additional reasons, but the baseline understanding is this: be good for me, or begone.
  5. Your boobs are not that great. Well, okay, some of them are actually outstanding. But at this point, tit pics are to me as dick pics are to you. Show me the parts of you that you didn’t flash to every frat boy and horny dad on Chatroulette back in 2009. I’d rather see your outfit of the day than one more smartphone nipple snap.
  6. Keep your chin up. If I don’t care for your body, or your face, or your voice, or your thoughts, it doesn’t mean you’re ugly. It just means you’re ugly to me. Change my mind. Change yourself. Be better.

It’s sooooo cute how you tease women for having a feature they can’t help, “chewed up bubblegum” really? Around 50% of your followers have labia similar to that and you lost a lot of respect for it at least from me, I’m sure your dick Isn’t very attractive either.

Several thoughts:

1. Are you kidding me? The human cock is a ridiculous chunk of morphing gristle, mine included. (Hell, mine especially, if that makes you feel better.) If you’ve paid any attention at all to my writing, then you’re well aware that the only thing I find more disgusting than a woman is a man.
2. My blog features at least one post with a pinned-open twat that I compared to a Sarlacc Pit. So if the worst thing that I say about someone’s tortured and clamped flesh flaps is that they look like something that belongs between my teeth, I feel I’m being exceptionally generous.
3. I get that you’re insecure about how you look down there; I’ve got a broad assortment of hang-ups, too. But if nothing else, you know one thing this blog has confirmed for me? Sometimes, the very ugliest parts of you are the parts people treasure the most. Can’t speak for anyone else, but I find that comforting.

What do you do with a girl who isn’t broken, just cracked?

How are you defining your terms? Working from my usage of “broken girl” —a dumb little cunt who finds herself emotionally and sexually disgusting, and gets wet when a man tells her she’s right to feel that way— what does “cracked” mean?

Is it “a broken girl who thinks she can be mended?” If that’s the case, then I wish her the best of luck, offer my warmest regards, and caution her to always remember that her instincts will destroy her as surely as any man.

Or is it “a broken girl who’s clinging to the last scraps of her denial, counting on nuance and equivocation to protect her from the dawning realization that there’s not a single goddamned thing about her that matters more than her cunt?” To her, I offer the same warning— only with a knowing, annoyingly self-satisfied smirk.

Oh, and a punch card for repeat visits.