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22 March 2011

The Ass That Stopped Traffic. Literally.

So I'm driving back to Boston from a weekend up north. And all of a sudden, traffic hits a standstill. And it wasn't in one of the typical places either (i.e., the New Hampshire tolls, the Zakim Bridge, Ma Kessler's Handjob Ranch). So I figure it's gotta be an accident. And I sit and I stare and I crawl along and after thirty minutes pass I'm starting to wonder where the fuck this parade actually ends.

And then, up ahead, I see what's keeping us down. A car by the side of the road with a girl in impossibly tight pants bent over it, checking something in the trunk (no pun intended). People were literally slowing down to look at her ass, and I even saw a couple dudes in a Jeep in front of me taking pics with their phones.

Not too many people can say they have an ass that actually caused traffic to stop. This girl can.

Oh, and I totally stroked it the rest of the way home. Hey, anything to keep myself awake.

18 March 2011

Lipps, Inc.

There are certain things I can overlook in a relationship. Psychotic behavior. Rambling stories about the ex-boyfriend. Threatening me with an empty Heineken bottle. Having to be carried out of your best friend's wedding because you drank 15 Jaeger shots and proceeded to vomit on every inch of carpeting in the reception hall. Rambling stories about how the ex-boyfriend liked your blowjobs. Erratic, almost irresponsible driving. Refusing to tip the paperboy because he "seems Mexican." Throwing all my clothes out into the driveway because I was a half-hour late coming home, even though you knew I was tending to my sick aunt.

But one thing I can't overlook is a bad kisser.

And, man, they're out there.

14 March 2011

How To Win Any Argument With a Guy: A Useful Reference for Women

Ken [looking at a photograph]: Honey. Did you fuck Bob?

Kenette: Now why would I screw your best friend?

Ken: Not sure. But someone just mailed me these photos of you fucking Bob.

Kenette [glances about nervously, then...]: Hey! I totally want to blow you right now!

Ken: Really? Hot damn! [Tosses aside photo, pants.]

10 March 2011

As If They Needed Another Reason Not to Send Me to the Conference...

I find that whenever I'm at any kind of Conference, whenever there's a female speaker at the podium, all I can think about is how it would feel to go down on her.

Seriously. From the minute she steps on the stage to the minute she leaves, I just sit there, tracing the outline of her legs with my eyes, trying to pinpoint exactly where on her body I'd begin my descent, and mentally conjuring what her reactions might be.

Have I reached the point of irreversible perversion? Do other guys do this? Do women do this when watching men speaking at a conference?

04 March 2011

Not Much of a Boob Guy

Actual conversation [as best as I can recollect] between myself and a former Kenette, whom I recently met for a post-work drink:

Kenette: See that girl's boobs? That's the worst boob job I've ever seen. She should sue.

Ken [glancing up from beer]: Huh? Sue who? You're suing someone?

Kenette: My god, why am I even pointing this out to you. You wouldn't know a set of boobs if they hit you in the face.

Ken [keeps pulling from beer]: Huh? I like boobs.

Kenette: Ken, back when we were dating, you had your tongue up my ass before you'd ever even touched my boobs. That's never happened to me before. With any guy.

Ken [takes another sip]: You sure?

Kenette [nods as she takes a swig of her beer]: Rimmed me before you'd even felt me up. That's when I knew you were a sicko.

Ken: I notice you hung around for a year. I must have done something right.

Kenette: Part of it was fascination. How long will it be before this guy actually has his mouth on my boobs.

Ken [trying to think back]: I'm sure I did... at some point, right?

Kenette [shakes her head in mock disgust and finishes her beer.]

01 March 2011

There Goes My Morning Productivity

Today was supposed to be a big day for me. A couple reports to finalize. A last-minute conference call. Meeting with a vendor.

Then my buddy Raster sent me a link to a website called "Girls in Yoga Pants." And everything kinda unraveled from there.

So now if you'll excuse me, I have to go masturbate myself into a state of unconsciousness.

::Places "closed" sign in window.::