Mime

My mom was a mime, and yet somehow my dad would still tell her to shut the fuck up 20 times a day.

"But she's completely silent," I would protest.

"She's thinkin' ain't she? I can hear her fuckin' thinkin' and her fucking thinkin' ain't makin' me dinner."

"But it's 8:30 in the morning."

"What are you Captain Clock?"

Mom would just stay in character, silently being trapped in her invisible box. I would smile and Dad would grimace and spit, satisfied that his sputum always made it through her invisible walls.

"Why don't you mime your way into a wood box six feet underground you bitch."

I always thought that was a stupid thing to say since when she did speak mama always made her wish to be cremated very clear.

"I don't think you understand mime at all dad."

Hoosegow

I had some strange dreams the other night. I dreamt I was actually awake and throwing acid into the face of the priest who molested me, even though who could blame him really...did you see how adorable I looked in my cassock? Like a lovable little pope!

So after I dreamt I threw acid in his face and then urinated on him in order to "put the fire in his eyes out", I felt the policeman handcuff me. I asked him to pinch me cause I thought I was dreaming, and then added he could pinch me anywhere he wanted cause I could tell by his bulge pressing into my back that he liked me. Did I mention I was adorable?

Turns out that wasn't really his bulge though, but his nightstick, which he promptly clobbered me with.

Turns out I wasn't really dreaming one of those sleep dreams either, but it was more of a drug induced haze dream. The acid was real though. As were the assault with a deadly weapon charges.

But I've always been an optimist. When I was being raped as a lad I always said, "one day, if I dream it hard enough, I'll be able to throw acid in this fairy's face."

That dream came true, and I know my dream of having a really awesome cell mate will come true too. So now I have prison to look forward to, and from what I've read it's got a gym and a library and lots of interesting people with similar interests. It's kind of like a resort except you can't steal the towels and rape is prevalent.

But I don't have to worry about that cause I was already raped once, and I've heard rape is like lightning, you can't get struck twice.

Human Pretzel

Back in her circus days my Grandma was known as the "Human Pretzel". She didn't actually perform but was notorious for fucking multiple clowns at the same time on off days. They red nosed bastards got a big kick out of how the prim and proper circus accountant could contort her body, and urged her to develop an act for under the big tent. She insisted her first love was math however, and refused to use her flexibility for anything other than private pleasure, for her and her big dicked buffoons.

Grandma would come home from weeks on the road, back aching and giant shoe prints embedded in her ass. She was happy though. She said she was following her dream. Accounting paid the bills but being around performers who brought joy to children filled her soul with song, and those clowns knew how to fuck.

Needless to say Grandpa was none too pleased with the relationship. He was the circus Ringmaster and it really boiled his whip to see the glee in which those clowns would pile into their car after the big top emptied out and scoot over to Grandma's trailer. It was only a matter of time before he drugged the lion tamer just long enough to lead the lion over to the stuffed clown car after one show in Memphis.

I can still hear his cry of "Revenge!" echo through my head whenever I go to kid's parties even now.

"Revenge!" No matter how loud the wail of the police siren gets or how piercingly the children scream, and man those kids sure can scream, I can still hear my Grandpa's cry echo through my head again and again as I just keep running across that yard, wearing only a clown nose and carrying a whip, naked and free.

Bowling is Fun

A good way to get kicked out of a bowling alley is to throw a severed head down the lane instead of the ball. Sure you'll get a good laugh but unless the attendant is asleep or really into cleaning the shoes you're sure to get tossed. That's why it's best to do it on the tenth frame after you've already gotten your money's worth.

If you're really committed to staying you can try to make a case for yourself by pointing out that you're wearing regulation shoes and didn't step over the line. Those bowling alley people are real sticklers for that sort of thing and that might help calm then down a little.

Still when they look down that lane and see that severed head in the gutter staring back at them, (and it will be in the gutter mind you, throwing a strike with a severed head is darn near impossible!), they are more than likely going to be pretty strict and insist on your expulsion, even when you ask to see the bowling by laws that prevent heads from being tossed down lanes.

As a last ditch effort as your being manhandled towards the door try screaming out that the head belonged to a bad person, who didn't consider bowling a real sport. If the attendant is a true bowling lover with low self esteem he may grant you a reprieve.

Nervous Wedding Day

Did you ever wake up so full of vigor that you felt you could accomplish anything you ever wanted? Did you ever get so high that you shit in your shower and tried to take a shower in your toilet? Well I sure as shit didn't do that on the morning of my wedding, despite what some jealous and vindictive slut of a bride's maid might say.

In an unrelated note, don't you think that if you love someone, and are ready to spend your whole life with them, and keep the really expensive ring they gave you, that you wouldn't flip out just cause you rudely come into the bathroom without knocking and see a little feces on the tiles and your fiance naked with his ass in the air and head in the toilet, trying to get rid of his dandruff with Clorox?

At least I can say I had a fantastic bachelor's party.

Papa Tells Me Stories

My grandpa used to read me bedtime stories, but because he was both dyslexic and a drunk it turns out that he would just hold a book in front of his face and make shit up in a whiskey fueled haze til I fell asleep or he passed out, whichever came first. Thus I was 25 before I found out that Tinkerbell did not, in fact, live in Peter Pan's asshole and that he got his magical flying powers from the way her feathery wings would tickle his anus.

Seeing Hook was a real eye opener I can tell you that. I have a lot to be thankful to Julia Roberts for. Life has been grand since I've been disabused of the myth that Peter Pan had a fairy in his rectum, and that whores are generally mean and disease ridden. Some whores are pretty women, who wear pretty brown dresses and don't take any crap from that little fat dude from Seinfeld.

Carpe Diem

Amazing what you can accomplish with a gun and a hard on. Seize the day. Those Latin fucks knew what they were talking about way back when. When I woke up this morning I didn't think I would be having my first threesome before noon, but it just goes to show that if you put your mind to something, and you have a loaded revolver, you can really do a lot.

It's after lunch now and I'm having second thoughts. Should I really be bragging about a three way? Is it truly a menage a trois if it was rape? I knew making a bucket list before breakfast was a mistake. I just can't think straight on an empty stomach, but my cock can sure get hard! Why is that? I guess I'll leave that question up to the scientists and go pay a visit to my attorney.

Climb Every Mountain

I used to be shy at cocktail parties, felt like I didn't have anything interesting to say when people started bragging about their jobs, or spouses or children. So I thought I would sound more interesting if I said I had recently been raped.

Some jerk I didn't even know was standing near the fridge waiting for his hot pocket to heat up in the microwave and he started saying how he climbed Mt. Everest last year, thinking he was even hotter shit than his hot pocket. I put down the Tang mix and said, "Oh yeah? Well I climbed it last year too...twice...and I was raped by my Sherpa the second time."

That seemed to stun the assembled guests and I could tell that I had topped Captain Asshole's lame ass "I climbed Everest story once" right away.

After I heard someone murmur, "Who the fuck is that?" I continued with my awesome story to impress them even further.

"That's right, climbed it twice and right after I planted my flag on the summit my Sherpa knocked me down and planted his pole right into my asshole. He said it was revenge for my stealing his mittens earlier. My hands were nice and warm but I tell you my ass never felt hotter then when he started poking around back there!"

I paused to let the laughter die down but when I saw that no laughter had even started I hastily continued.

"So I guess you could say I joined the mile high club that day, and I didn't even get on a plane. Not many people can say that."

The microwave beeped and the guests seemed to take that as an excuse to leave the kitchen en mass. I was feeling pretty good about my story until a few weeks later when I received an email from my Sherpa in which he said he was going to sue my ass off for defaming him, and that he had never raped me, even though I did in fact steal his best mittens.

I was pretty shocked by that. How the fuck did he find out I had been spreading rumors about him being a rapist? Still I thought it a harmless little tale and replied as much, saying that by suing me he was figuratively raping me at least, and we should be even steven.

He replied that if he got a reputation as a rapist no one would want to use him to go to the top of the mountain.

I said you might be wrong about that, cause I found the contrast between the exhilaration of reaching the summit of the world's highest mountain and the degradation of being molested by a little brown man at the same time to be a rather unique experience, and one that made for an interesting story.

He agreed, but asked only that I change the story around so that I was raping him, thinking he could use the sympathy card to drum up more clients. A wily one that Sherpa!

The Moon is Jealous of Me

I've always loved the sunshine and blue skies. Never happier than when I'm at the beach on a sunny day or romping through a sun drenched parkland, feeling a summer breeze on my body and the golden rays on my face. I guess it's cause my priest always used to rape me at night. I would smell the stale sacramental wine on his breath and feel his body push me to the cold dark ground as I would look up into the midnight sky and see the moon looking down and laughing at me.

How I hate that moon. Mocking me as I was molested with it's pocked stupid crater face. I know it was jealous of my smooth white skin, so fair and beautiful and blemish free. I bet the priest wouldn't even want to molest you moon, even if he could, and that's why you laughed at me as his collar cut into my fresh soft neck.

Did those astronauts caress you moon? Did they call you their favorite celestial orb like my priest call me his favorite altar boy? I bet they stayed just long enough to collect rocks and then left you, cause you're ugly and dusty and not sweet smelling like I was.

Fun with the Doctor

I like to brighten people's days. That means I might sometimes give a stranger a compliment like, "I like your shoes", or, "your odor is pleasing". Other times I book appointments with attractive doctors and complain that I've been suffering from erectile dysfunction. I feign embarrassment and they are usually very comforting and professional at first, but the second they come in contact with me, or even just ask me to take a seat, I drop my pants to expose my raging erection and scream out, "I'm cured! You're a miracle worker!"

I figure they will feel a surge of pride to know they were able to cure me so quickly, and maybe repay my kindness with medical grade fellatio. So far though they have reacted to discovering their miracle healing powers with shock and threats of arrest. All that reading at medical school must make some of these bitches uptight.

Massage

I was feeling a little low so I went to a massage parlor in hopes of perking up. A young Asian girl led me into a little room and lay me down. I had heard the place provided happy endings and so when she asked in her broken English what I wanted I said I wanted one of those.

She nodded and immediately reached for my cock, which she began to stroke. I was rather shocked by this as she didn't look slutty at all. "What are you doing?" I asked.

She seemed surprised I was stopping her by holding her wrist. "You say you want happy ending yes?"

I nodded. "Sure I do, and I appreciate your efforts, but I don't see how you tugging on my dick is going to cure my cancer or bring my dog back from the dead. I don't think I'll be happy until those two issues are resolved."

She bit her lip in a cute befuddled way. "Not happy ending like that here. I jerk no?"

I shook my head. "That'll just make me tired and messy...and that doesn't sound too happy to me...I mean it's not like you rubbing my wang is going to make a genie come out to grant my wishes of a cancer cure and a dog who doesn't get run over by a laundry truck."

She started to slowly back away toward the door and I realized I was expecting too much from a strip mall shop named Shanghai Massage Happy Heaven. I left sad.

I like your uniform

I went to Catholic school as a boy. I wasn't religious, I just always had a fetish for girls in plaid skirts. It was a happy time, and I frequently showed up to school early and left late just so I could linger a little while longer among the Catholic school girls. I was in no hurry to grow up, and am glad to say I stopped to smell the roses while I was ascending into adulthood. By smell the roses I mean sniff the panties of the naughtier Catholic girls, who didn't always start too late, contrary to what certain portly Jewish troubadours might sing.

When I see Catholic school boys today I always see myself in their shoes, except for the ugly ones who I can't relate to at all. I sometimes stop to chat with them, and ask how things are doing, and if any of their classmates wear skirts shorter than the others.

They look at me funny and I get straight to the point, urging them to take advantage of of those catholic girls while they can, cause when you grow up to be a big boy they throw you in jail when you profess your admiration for the way they look in their uniforms.

Flowers

I went to the florist cause I saw on a sitcom the girl was really impressed when her guy got her flowers. I figured if I showed up with a dozen roses or something I would get fellatio, cause on the sitcom the girl and guy disappeared behind a door giggling and it seemed like she was ready to give him head, though you can't show that on regular TV so I had to just guess.

In any case I was all excited to give it a try but when I got to the flower shop I realized I didn't have a girl to give the flowers too. The florist was looking at me standing there with my money in my fist and asked if I needed help. It was then that I decided to eliminate the middle man, or in this case middle woman, who was actually young and seemed foreign, the two things I look for most in a girl.

Since I figured she wouldn't be too impressed with a gift of flowers, considering she is around them all day and probably gets an awesome discount, I thought she might be more keen to getting cash. I stuck the wad of bills in her face and asked if she would be so kind as to give me a blowjob.

That was the 4Th time I was arrested for solicitation, though I called it bargaining and getting to the point. The judge was not impressed with my "they're all whores" defense, and didn't care that I had asked for head so politely.

Arson is Fun!

I've always liked science, I guess that's why arson has always been my favorite crime. Simple assault with a deadly weapon is so crude, but when you put on a lab coat and goggles and take the time to mix chemicals and compounds in order to cause a massive combustion you get filled with a sense of awe and accomplishment.

I like to pretend I'm a professor and teaching a class when I set a building ablaze. Insurance fraud sounds so dull and lame, and you won't be so cool in prison among the murderers and bank robbers who always brag about their glamorous crimes. But if you commit your fraud by causing entire blocks of buildings to erupt in flame and burn to a million cinders then you can strut around the cell block like the prettiest peacock in the penitentiary. "Oh you shot a guy? Big deal. Any child with a finger and a thumb can pull a trigger and blow his best friends brains out in a tragic accident, but it takes knowledge and a love of science to put on cool goggles and mix chemicals and put them in just the right places so the building burns to the ground and the owners can cash in."

Those thoughts console me as I'm being pummeled and sodomized by the meaner inmates.

Bus Trip with my Girl

I was going through my girlfriend's purse on the bus the other day...by girlfriend I mean the woman who happened to be asleep in the seat next to me on the way to Kalamazoo. The way I saw it though, since there were a lot of empty seats and she chose to sit next to me, that kind of means she must have wanted to be with me, at least for the duration of the trip. Was it because I looked harmless and there was a weird bearded dude pissing himself in the back or was I looking sharp in my new hat?

Whatever the case, when she dozed off I thought I would be a good boyfriend and go through her purse so I could find out things about her, her likes and dislikes, so I could be a better mate, and we could have things to talk about when she woke up.

I found her vibrator. She was kind of shocked when she opened her eyes and saw it in my mouth. I tried to put her at ease by popping it out and saying the only reason I was sucking on it is cause I was thirsty and I didn't want to wake her and ask for change to buy a drink.

She just kind of froze and gritted her teeth. I then tried to brighten the situation by telling her that her toy was very juicy, and that is a sign of good health on her part. She snatched her purse back and started to rummage though it. "Where is my mace?" she asked.

I had already removed her mace and sold it to the drunk in the back, who was amusing himself with it. Anyway I figured she wouldn't need mace anymore cause now she had a boyfriend to protect her.

"Don't worry baby," I assured her, "I was watching some judo competition on tv last week, so you won't be needing mace. You want me to defend you from that drunk in the back? Just wait for him to attack and I'll use my judo."

She scratched my eyes and grabbed her vibrator back, which she then bonked me on the head with, causing the batteries to fly out and roll to the front of the bus.

She screamed but I tried to calm her down, even though my face was bleeding. "Don't worry about those batteries baby. Now that you have a boyfriend you won't need a sex toy anymore. Let's sell it to the drunk. I got a good price for the mace."

She screamed and scratched me again but the drunk had gotten wind of a possible vibrator purchase and came to my aid by spraying the mace. Unfortunately, most likely due to his inebriated state, his aim was off and the taste of her pussy in my mouth was replaced with mace taste. I started to gag but before I could vomit the bus jolted to a halt and I was seized by the driver who rudely tossed me off.

I suppose he didn't want his bus sullied with my sputum and so I found myself stranded on a lonely roadside, blinded and bleeding, 50 miles from Kalamazoo and single once again.

My New Cellmate is a Jerk

I had reservations about going to prison. When I informed the judge that I was somewhat wary of the notoriously poor prison food and the spectre of being anally raped by burly men he sort of looked at me funny and said that having reservations about prison was kind of the idea. If it was a pleasant place people wouldn't fear it and wouldn't worry about being sent there. That made sense I must admit. So I said to the judge, "that makes sense you cocksucker."

Somehow that didn't come out in the whimsical way in which I intended it to and the judge was not amused, adding more months to my sentence on the spot. I then asked if it were possible to request a cell with an ocean view. He did find that whimsical but refused to reduce my sentence, even when I told him my attorney would give him a blowjob.

My attorney quit soon afterwards, as I had not mentioned that part of my plan ahead of time.

When I got to my cell I was relieved to see that my cellmate was about the same size as me, and also seemed to share a fondness for facial hair. He said we should become best friends and to start off on the right foot I agreed when he said we should immediately have a handlebar mustache growing contest. I found that to be a super idea, cause it would be fun to pass the time and I bet it would make us a big hit around the cell-block, cause who doesn't love a handlebar mustache?

I had visions of the other prisoners giving us friendly nods and talking about us as we sauntered by in the shower..."hey, there go the handlebar mustaches guys...they're pretty cool."

Those dreams were dashed when my new cellmate informed me that since there was no mustache wax in jail, we would have to use semen to shape our staches. I did not find that idea all too pleasant but before I could object he pulled out his penis and immediately started jerking off, telling me through heaving breaths that he would let me have the first load since it was my first day.

I was finished shaving before he ejaculated, and told him I would not be a part of his contests anymore. He said he would not be my best friend if that was the case, and I said that's fine. Why would I want a best friend whose face smells?

Hot Dogs for Lunch

I was cooking for my kids the other day...man those kids say the darndest things sometimes...it's true they do....

So my youngest...little Tommy...looks up at me and says, "I LOVE HOT DOGS!"

I nod and say, "I know you do buddy!"

And he says, "I LOVE THEM CAUSE THEY LOOK LIKE PENISES!"

Now that's something you don't want your kid to say...that sort of spoils lunch...I didn't even ask if he thought hot dogs tasted like penises too...I didn't want to know his thoughts on that... sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

I pulled the plate from him and said, "Tommy...i think it's time you become a vegetarian."

Lesson learned! Don't cook naked in front of the kids...I mean I love it...love the freedom of cooking naked...so natural and beautiful...and it infuses the food with flavor...not in a gross pube way...but the effervescence of cooking free makes the food taste so good...

But it's not worth it when your kids says shit like that.

Happy ending to the story...not that kind of happy ending...after lunch i took Tommy to the adoption agency and they took him back no questions asked!

That was good news...I was worried they'd have a no return policy but when I pushed him to the secretary she just made me sign a quick form and I was out the door ...I guess they figure it's not good for the kids to hear things like "I no longer want this little freak cause he makes me feel bad about the way I cook."

Prison is Cliche

Rape has always puzzled me...not regular rape I mean...I get that...but prison rape.

People say you're going to get raped when you go to prison, or at least they say that to the average person they know who gets arrested. "Sorry I crashed the getaway car...you're gonna get raped in jail now."

But no one says this to big people I bet. Cause they assume those are the ones who are going to do the raping. That's why I used to take vitamins.

It's such a cliche that sometimes I think courtrooms are filled with bunch of burly homosexuals getting sent off to prison all the time for embezzling musical funds or stealing fancy pants. The judge whacks his gavel and a large menacing fellow announces eagerly with a lisp, "Oooo! Off to the hoosegow for me! Can't wait to make my uniform fabulous and fuck small straight guys in the ass!"

For strong large straight men the early days of prison must be disorienting. Getting used to the guards and your fellow inmates and the lack of freedom must be tough. How long before the convict looks around his cell and says, "Hmm guess I'll have a lot of time to work out...probably should start raping guys too."

Cause it doesn't work like that on the outside. If a guy is in a dry spell he doesn't start saying, "Wow. It's been months since I've gotten laid. If I don't get a girl tonight I'm definitely fucking the daintiest guy I can find."

I'm glad it's not like that on the outside. I don't buy Brawny paper towels just cause thoughts like that scare me sometimes.