Hello friends and family, our good pals over at Streetcarnage just posted a lovely little excerpt about a new Baconlube on the market!
Are you tired that your partner’s ass tastes like bean sprouts and his crotch smells like tofu? Would you prefer that veganism stay in the kitchen and out of the bedroom? Would you like to add something a little more red-blooded, American, and artery-clogging to your sex play?
Then pick yerself up a fat greasy tube of Baconlube, a pork-scented personal lubricant that will make your crotch and poop chute smell like a sizzlin’ pan full of fried hog fat on a cold winter’s morning.
Baconlube is especially helpful if your partner has “morning crotch” but can’t control their urges while the coffee’s still brewing. Slather some Baconlube on that mess, and you almost—almost—won’t be able to tell the difference between your lover’s genitals and a crackling-hot plate of delicious salted pork strips.
We eagerly await their Wafflelube and Pancakelube flavors.
I kind of need someone else to go process this website Alpha Male Lifestyle for me. I really wanted to give a thorough rundown of all the ways in which it’s killing me from the inside, and I keep being tempted to go back into the shit swamp with a helmet on so I can research it more thoroughly, but then I get distracted by another embarrassment, like “30 Beta Male Traits You Must Avoid,” and I have to close the browser window like it’s going to spill on me. I feel like I just accidentally came in my own mouth in front of my grandmother. I had to construct one of those toilet paper roll viewing glass things you make to look at an eclipse just to scroll down the sidebar.
Fucking terrible website after the jump. More shit, yo
A few years ago, I was invited to intern at a well-known men’s magazine. It didn’t work out so great. While I figured I could dumb down my writing and liberally pepper articles with references to “roots,” “V8s” and “tinnies” (it was an Australian magazine), I quickly realized that writing like a drunk and angry Steve Irvin is harder than it seems.
Keep reading after the jump. More shit, yo
This is not a prostitute so don’t sue us.
Unlike Snoop, I do love them hos. I admire their craftiness and ability to continually work despite serious occupational hazards, like throat herpes, which can leave its victims with a permanent T-Pain auto-tune voice. Unfortunately, most people hold negative stereotypes of prostitutes as drug-addicted heathens who will suck one’s balls off for the price of a Slurpee. Truth is a lot of hookers are sober and generally good, though money-hungry, people. I know, I lived with a prostitute.
Read on after the jump. More shit, yo
At the turn of the century, I shared a tiny office with the world’s most uncomfortable Jew. We worked together as software engineers, building trading systems at a gigantic investment bank that is now extinct. So it goes.
Keep reading after the jump! More shit, yo