This morning I woke up in a cold sweat screaming again. This time however, my night-terror didn’t involve any gay celebrities or nightmare-gremlins. It was much scarier than that. I had a dream that I was a blogger. Then I realized that I am a blogger! YIKES. A blogger that hasn’t blogged on his blog in a blog’s age. How terrifyingly embarrassing!
Right now there are blogless children in Africa forced to blog about celebrity gossip and LOST theories using pens and paper while I have a perfectly good online-diary that I don’t use.
Dear Red Cross, Please send more blogs.
Whatever. They wouldn’t know what to do with a blog if they had one. A child with a blogspot is like a dog with a chainsaw. Or a cat with a gun.
I can’t remember the exact saying, but you get the point: Pictures of cats with guns are cute and hilarious!
Unless you’re a confused, teenage boy. Then they are apparently terrifying and sexual. Case in point:
I almost considered not online-diarying about this since it has nothing to do with Hilarious Baby News or Retarded Tigers, but then I realized that this blog is apparently just about Scary Sex Toys now.
Sorry, mom. Your son is a blogger who blogs about sex toys. It’s not your fault though. I blame public schooling and rap music.
Anyways. I don’t know if this counts as a “toy” since toys should be fun and not painful, but I’ll let you be the judge of that. Except for you , mom. You should never, ever read this web-log. Please delete this site from your e-bookmarks. Actually you should probably delete all of the internets from your bookmarks, because they are scary places filled with scary people.
I usually don’t announce NSFW warnings because frankly the issue isn’t that this blog is Not Safe For Work. If anything it is Too Sexy For Work (TSFW, coined it). As the title to this online-diary entry suggests, I’m about to take you to some very sexy, very frightening places. This blog is an erotic journey and I am your guide. And we’re never going to make any sexual progress if you keep having to switch over to an Excel spreadsheet every time your boss walks by your desk.
Just tuck yourself back into your pants and wait until you get home. This blog will still be here later tonight. I promise.
Well this obviously doesn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. Performing magic is the fastest way to unlocking the gates to a woman’s Pleasure Kingdom. PERIOD. Well, that and blogging.
Favorite lines:
Woman: How do I know you’re not some sort of weirdo?
Weirdo: I’m not a weirdo.
You’re just going to have to trust him on that one, lady! Be careful though. I knew a girl that trusted a magician once. Want to know what happened to her?
No big deal, right? Just another boring story about lonely scientists smashing their (protected, well-lubricated) gentials against each other, in the darkness. Zzzzzzzzzz.
That’s what I thought too, until I reached this line:
The base only has a skeleton staff through the long winter
Whoops! Now you have my attention! All of a sudden this is the sexiest article I’ve read all day. Now I have a very fertile, very sexy imagination, so I have no problem visualizing this undead, erotic madness…But I realize that you babies are still developing and have problems understanding shapes and colors, so here’s a little help:
If I made love to a coyote in an alley last night and nobody heard…Does that mean it happened? Of course it did…And I have the bite marks to prove it
Just kidding…She was very gentle and VERY respectful with my body.
You see…Susan understands me like no one has ever before. She knows that just because I begin crying hysterically immediately after we make love, I am not sad. I just get very emotional and worried that there will be a separate heaven for humans and coyotes so we might not be together FOREVER.
Now some of you may be slightly confused, or perhaps even disgusted by this terrifyingly BEAUTIFUL union…Others may be too busy creaming their jeans over the very idea of it. For the curious, allow me to explain how it all began:
