Stroking Horses “Cures” Homosexual Men

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Most of you probably don’t know this, but I spend the majority of my very valuable time trying to figure out how to get gay dudes to like vaginas.  Now that you know this, you’ll likely understand how sheepish I feel about the fact that the answer was right under my proverbial nose this whole time.

You might ask yourself, “Why, oh why, would someone as talented and awesome as Pete Puma spend so much of his time trying to figure out how to convert gay men into normal men?”  The answer is simple, people.  Gay men make a complete farce of the sanctity of the romantic relationship Our Lord was gracious enough to bestow upon us.

They also insult God at the most fundamental levels by using their Almighty-given reproductive organs inside the orifices of people who lack the ability to create a human life.

I also happen to know that gay men are sinners and that they will surely burn eternally in hell unless they repent and become vagina-lovers prior to their ultimate meeting with Our Creator.  We’re saving souls here, people.

As soon as I figure out how any of this homosexual activity affects me personally, I will have everything I need to write my new book How Gay People Are Destroying the Quality of Life of Straight People Who Probably Don’t Even Know A Single Uncloseted Gay Person.

Raymond Bell of The Cowboy Church of Virginia told Gay Star News recently that Equine Assisted Psychotherapy (EAP) is the answer for which we’ve been searching so diligently. When I first read this, I assumed that he was encouraging gay men to stroke the penises of well-endowed horses, hoping that they’d be scared enough of the sheer length and girth of the equine penis that the resulting fear would be commuted to all penises.

Boy, was I wrong.  As it turns out, the mere act of petting a horse’s body has the potential to purge the devil we all know as homosexuality (shudder), Brokeback Mountain not withstanding.  And who are we to doubt a man who heads up a religious establishment known as The Cowboy Church of Virginia?

You see, as Mr. Bell informs us, homosexuality is not genetic, but an addiction…an “addiction to cock,” if you will.  He claims it is not ‘curable’ as a disease because it is a ‘choice driven’ by the person.

The addiction is a result of some life-altering experience that threw a monkey wrench into the whole “penis goes in the vagina” wiring that we non-sinners have in our superior brains.  These life-altering experiences can be anything from rape, to abandonment, to lacking a male role model, to abuse, or even simply having low self-esteem.

Who knew that realizing you’re a dick could result in wanting one inside your bum?

The magical act of petting horses encourages these turd-burglars to be “more masculine,” and hence not gay, I guess.  I’m sure it’s more complex and scientific than I’m making it out to be.  Oh, wait, no I’m not.  I’m not sure at all.

Well, anyway, if you’re a parent who suspects your son is gay, I’d advise you to run out to the store right away and buy as many “My Pretty Pony” toys you can get your hands on.  Nip this stuff in the bud, people.  You’ll be glad you did.

Tips For Sending Penis Pics

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The man you see above this text is 45-year-old Daemon Johnson, who was dismissed from his 25-year job as a police officer for merely living up to his name and posting a picture of his schween on his girlfriend’s Facebook wall.

Johnson, who claims to have intended to send the photo privately to his girlfriend, apparently hit the wrong button on his phone and inadvertently treated his lady’s entire “friend” list to a close-up view of his porksword.

“I made a mistake on my phone keypad and I have paid for that mistake with my career,” he said.

Dismissal for questionable online conduct is obviously not unique.  In fact, earlier this year two Northamptonshire officers were dismissed for posting “inappropriate” messages to each other on Twitter.  Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve ever posted anything appropriate on Twitter.

Poor, poor Mr. Johnson though.  We all get a little distracted while playing with our ding-dongs, and I’d imagine it would be easy to fat-finger a button in our Facebook apps as he seems to have done.  So, here are a few of tips for would-be peen-pic-posters:

1. Never use the Internet to send your dick-pics.  Carrier pigeons are the answer.
2. Try to find a midget to put her hands on it before you take the pic.  It will provide a little “enhanced” perspective.
3. Don’t take your pic while fully flaccid, nor fully erect.  A halfie is the correct state; larger than normal, but not giving away its maximum potential.
4. Learn Photoshop so you can edit out those herpes sores I’m sure you have.
5. Remember that many women are not quite as visually stimulated as dudes.  They tend to like a little mystery.  So, while you want a glass speculum’s view of just about everything the female body has to offer, your lady may appreciate a subtler approach.  Try knitting a Batman costume for your little soldier.

I’m sure there are more, but if you’ve made it this far, your time must not be very valuable and, as a result, you are not worth my effort.  Have a nice weekend.

Along The Connecticut Shore – Sally Swatland

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PERCY: Wasn’t it nice of Dad to make us these neato outfits?
MONICA: It sure was, Percy.  I’m not sure how he concentrates so well while he’s singing all those show tunes.
PERCY: When I grow up, I want to be fabulous, just like him.  I’ve already learned all the words to “The Surrey With the Fringe On Top.”
JENNA: How ’bout giving Mom a little credit here?  She’s the best field hockey coach there is and she does the best Barry White voice in the whole wide world.
BOY: You know she’s not putting that voice on, right, Monica?
MONICA: Hey, I just found a crab shell!
BOY: Don’t bring it home.  Daddy’s always talking about how crabs’re a bitch to get rid of.
JENNA: Yeah, we’re not supposed to be looking for them anyway.  I’m looking for Daddy’s self-respect.  Mommy said he’s lost all of it.
MONICA: I’m looking for a piece of rug.  Daddy says Mommy’s favorite thing to do is munch it.
BOY: Speaking of munching, I’m famished.  Let’s go back to the blanket.  Daddy made us some petit fours that look absolutely scrumptious!

Pubic Hair Grooming Injuries On the Rise

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As I’ve always said, if you want your genitals to look like those of a 10 year old, you’re going to pay the price.  Well, I haven’t always said that, but it’s a fun thing for people to overhear at a cocktail party nonetheless.

Long gone are the days when a boy would open his father’s Club magazine only to have to squint at the models’ pubic regions to catch a glimpse of pink.  No, no, now all the models are offering a hair-free sight line into their uteruses, instantly making every horny teenage boy an amateur gynecologist.

Life has gotten so good that we are now able to use a Pantone color palette to discuss, at length, the relationship between the color of a lady’s facial lips and her vaginal ones.  To make matters even more interesting, we know with absolute certainty what a prepubescent girl with breasts looks like and I’ve no doubt we’re all much better for it, right?  Right?

Over the past decade, the number of emergency room visits precipitated by pubic hair “grooming” has risen 500%.  Now, with those figures, we’re left to ponder whether genital owners are getting increasingly clumsy, or if more people are ridding themselves of the tremendous burden of pubic hair.  In order to answer this question, I suppose we’d have to know what percentage of people were shaving their sexy bits ten years ago versus how many are doing it today.

Of course, we could do a little informal poll in the comments section where you let us know if:

1. I didn’t shave my bush 10 years ago, but I do now.
2. I shaved it 10 years ago, but I don’t now.
3. I shaved it 10 years ago and I’m still doing it.
4. I have alopecia.

56% of 2010′s 11,704 emergency-room-worthy genital slicing injuries were made by women.  So, I guess that means that 44% of them were dudes…and that astounds me, being one who has never entertained the notion of mowing his junk, or anyone else’s come to think of it.  I guess that probably cuts down significantly on the chances that I will be tea-bagged, but I’m strangely okay with that.

The age of the average patient was 30.8 years old, so you can probably stop assembling the mental image your grandmother’s, or grandfather’s, shaven bits now.

83% of the injuries were doled out by non-electric shaving razors.  I’m going to go ahead and assume that 17% were caused by scythes because that’s what I want to believe.

As far as I’m concerned, I can’t imagine even attempting to shave my wrinkly old ball sac.  In fact, I’ll likely have a nightmare about that tonight, thank you very little.

I am now going to take this opportunity to come out as a male who is not turned on by hairless vaginas, and as one who believes shaving his own junk would be a completely emasculating thing to do.  That said, I’m certainly not averse to a little bikini-line action for the ladies.  After all, I have no fantasies about jamming my schween into Fidel Castro’s face.

I may be totally wrong about all of this.  Perhaps all this hair removal is not an aesthetic thing at all, but people are simply harvesting organically grown pillow stuffing.

Sweet dreams, my lovelies.

Are You There, Santa? It’s Me, Marcus.

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Dear Santa,

First of all, I want to say thanks for all the presents you gave me last year.  The Legos were delicious, even if they hurt a little coming out the other end.  Totally worth it.  This year, I want to try to build an x-wing fighter with them inside my colon.

Oh, and the baby seal pillow pet you left under the tree was really soft and cuddly before daddy wiped his butt with it while we were camping.  Now it smells a little icky and the blood stains make it look like somebody clubbed it to death.

Second, I just want to tell you that I didn’t believe what Evan said about your not being ready for Christmas on account of your making porn movies with the elves all year.  I don’t know what a porn movie is, but Evan said it’s got something to do with pee-pees and stuff.  I’ve never even seen mine, but I can’t believe it would be a very good actor.

Anyway, so, this year, I’d like a new lunch box just like the one this little girl is holding:

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It’s from a movie called Two Girls One Cup that Evan says is what all the cool kids are watching.  They probably have it at Toys R Us or something.

Also, I want a wood LARPing sword, a Glee karaoke CD, a Star Trek calendar, Dungeons and Dragons pajamas, and 60 gallon drum of Cool Whip.

I know that’s a lot of stuff, Santa, but I’ve been reeeeeeeeeeeeeeallllllllly good this year.  I get daddy a beer whenever he wants it and I’ve stopped taking the batteries out of the magic wand mommy keeps in her nightstand.

Oh, and if you could manage to not get Evan anything, I’d appreciate it.  He gives my underwear skidmarks almost every day when he gives me my morning wedgie.

Love,

Marcus

PS – Some new underwear would be good too!

The Most Beautiful Singing Voice Known To Humankind

It’s unfortunate, but there will likely only be a handful of times in your life when your ears will be graced with a performance so flawless, so transcendent that you feel as if your body has been transported to an other-worldly state of nirvana.

I was fortunate enough to experience such a aural renaissance recently, and I would be remiss if I were not to share it with you and encourage you to share it with everyone you know and love.  This will be a gift to obscure all other gifts, no matter how extravagant, you have ever given in your life up to now.

Your life has been meaningless to the point of this blog post, provided you have never listened to what I am about to bestow upon you.

Don’t leave me in your will, though you will no doubt wish to do so.

It would be unfair and downright cruel for me to linger any longer; it would only be my toying with the beginning of the rest of your life.

Ladies and gentleman….I give to you…Yoko Ono.