Thursday, July 31, 2008
Boy did we miss you guys! So much so that today, we're going to wear our assless man-panties with a fishnet front, just for you. And stop that incessant drooling ladies, your filling up my Crocs with mucous.
Wait a minute, who steam-shrunk my turtle snapper in this picture? Oh, thats right, I passed out in a sub-zero beef locker last night. No wonder I'm frowning here- I'm concerned about all these sharp-beaked birds gathering in the willows, looking for that spongy snack cake hidden in my marble-pouch.
Anyway, we stopped by the office today to pick up some more Grade-C heroin from my intern Beulah, and thought, hey, why don't we post today since we might have to take off tomorrow for lands unknown?
So post we did- and rather than give you the same quickies we did yesterday, today you get the full-on fucking!
You can have a cigarette after the posts........ and tell me, was it as good for you as it was for me?
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
I'm a selfish prick. I'm a hot, rich, pampered intellectual with a big dick and a marathon tongue. I'm young enough to do it often, and old enough to do it right. I don't have time for emotional hysterics or petty drama. I do what I want, when I want. Respond with a pic.
Ah, yes waiter. I'm ready to order.
I'd like start to start by ordering two gerbil-sized testicles, and a miniature frankfurter. And please, can you dump a gallon of false male bravado over the top of those to obscure their size? Thanks. Oh, yes, and to drink, I'll have a huge glass of Insecura Tea.
False advertising. The bread and butter of men's personal ads. Only the bread is moldy and pecked by oily crows, and the butter expired last month.
A sexual dynamo promising to pound hail dents into your fallopian tubes until your health insurance triples.
A young, skilled bedroom artisan capable of spurring even the most conservative Baptist nun to scream "Fuck my ass Ponyboy!" during a pudding break at the senior center.
A man single-handedly capable of mustering up the sexual euphoria only thought possible during a five-way involving you, a young Brad Pitt glistening with lip moistener, and David Beckham wielding two shiny vibrating Rabbits, 24 fresh D batteries, and a really bad attitude.
What do you actually get?
An insecure pantywaist who shoots his swimmers faster than the coach of the Iraqi Olympic butterfly relay team after a loss.
A sexual tourist that has to stop and ask directions from you every two minutes, and still manages to run out of gas before you reach your destination.
A naive, bumbling carnival employee who couldn't find a way to put his dick through the St.Louis Arch without repeatedly stabbing the legs, and even if he does, to you it feels like someone just threw a hotdog down the hallway at the Bellagio.
How do I know this is a bait-n-switch?
Because this is a fucking form letter. He didn't write it, it was mass-produced. Just like the form letter the city sends me every time I plead guilty to indecent exposure. Please tell me I didn't just say that out loud.
Yes, it's a form letter, or a form personal if you will. I've sourced it here. Used by the "pick-up artist" community for years, it's now making the rounds on internet bulletin boards. The PUA community deems this ad as "the most effective personal ad available for men."
Because lord knows if they said something completely original- like the truth for example- they probably couldn't get their fucking dicks moist in a zero-visibility Nova Scotian fog bank.
Why do I reveal this secret?
Because I'm a selfish prick. A hot, rich, pampered intellectual.........
Me and my 3 friends want a slut who loves cum on her face. We are cool and nothing harmful. Just some cum on your face so you can eat it up. You know you want your face drowned in cum. North area preferred. My name is Blade if you want to contact me. (Don't worry, we prep with pineapple.)
Female WWHM'ers submit 3-4 "facial" ads a day.
Apparently, if eyeballs were ovaries, women could get knocked up faster than a 12 year-old at a Kentucky clown convention.
While men used to argue that cum cleared up wrinkles, women quickly caught on to the ruse. So unless you can figure out how to ejaculate fresh cucumber slices, they're pretty much sticking to Oil of Olay.
Then men turned to the argument that swallowing provided protein. Sure, but so does ham. And ham doesn't shoot at your face like an elephant sneezing with a trunkful of bleach-flavored yogurt.
As a last resort, men have now resorted to ingesting copious quantities of pineapple and/or Gatorade, in hopes women will appreciate the sweetened taste of their cum.
Unfortunately, if women wanted to ingest millions of tadpoles that tasted like pineapple, they'd much rather fly to Hawaii and suck on pond water.
What will men come up with next? Hurling a cup of tapioca pudding across the living room? Dunking their wives faces into a bowl of clam chowder at a seafood restaurant?
No one knows. All we know is if we ask, we'll get kicked in the balls so hard our children will come out looking like fucking xylophones.
"You try it!" they'll say.
So Blade, there's your answer. You try it. Now you just have to figure out which one of your friends enjoys a piping hot bowl of salty clam chowder gluing his eyelids shut.
And hey, if there's four guys, statistics say one of them will absolutely love it.
Maybe it's you.
(Ed note: WWHM Headquarters completely condones this activity, as it has been scientifically shown to trim 10 inches off your waist in as little as two weeks. Uh...no, we don't have the studies to prove it. Thats just the way it is. C'mon, everyone knows about it. Hey, why are you getting dressed?)
And believe me, it was really hard to masturbate when all I could picture in my mind was a mountain of dead kittens piling up somewhere in Nepal with my name plastered all over it.
She also used to tell me that every time I masturbated, God would take one minute off my life. Since I died today in my early 30's, she was absolutely correct. Damn you all to hell, Sears catalog.
So sure enough I was sent directly to the Gates of Hell, where not surprisingly, I found these guys.
Anyway, I was given three options:
1. Spend eternity in the "Snake Room", where I would find myslef forever stewing in a boiling hot cauldron of angry asps endlessly stabbing my anus with razor-sharp fangs and injecting my thorax with searing acids that melted my innards into molten steel, all the while being forced to watch Jay Leno perform an endless comedy monologue. Or:
2. Spend eternity in the "Room of The Condor", where I would find myself forever at the mercy of starved vultures, who would tear out my intestines in a feverish battle to satiate their never-ending thirst for flesh and warm blood. Meanwhile, diseased rats would slowly gnaw at my flesh, and According to Jim would play 24 hours a day on a 60 inch plasma TV. Or:
3. I could have my life back, along with $250 million in the bank and a harem of Penthouse Pets as wives. But first I had to spend three continuous minutes in a car with five guys from Secaucus, New Jersey. (Ed note: Youtube is apparently down so video may not appear. Believe me, it's fucking annoying.)
I chose The Snake Room.
And I'm very comfortable with that decision.
You have a normal orgasm face?
I've never heard of any guy having an orgasm face that didn't resemble a braying pack mule trying to dislodge a package of dried soup crackers from the back of its throat while getting knuckle-punched in the spleen.
That's a normal orgasm face, stupid.
But, hey, I'm sure women are turned on by your "I'm waiting for the bus" face.
My girlfriend hates sex and she always has dry snatch, and even if I try feeding her my cock, she won't suck my dick either. So i'm looking for a horny lady who has a wet pussy for me to fuck and a wet mouth for my cock. I'm good looking tall professional businessman in town looking for that quick fuck. Let's do some magic! Email me at erinX@XXXXXXXXXX.XXX
For his first magic trick, Erin will enter a convention hall full of ladies listening to erotica for women, and instantly transform their moistened vaginal walls into Triscuits simply by saying the magic word "snatch."
Erin, you need to understand some women unfortunately experience dryness from time to time, and according to the New England Journal of Medicine, this condition is often caused by a constriction of the mucous membranes lining the vagina, or in your case, the fact that she's in the vicinity of an inconsolable fucking douchebag.
I know infants more receptive to a spoonful of stewed beets than your girlfriend is to being fed your cock, which is why your cock spends most of it's time dangling in the breeze like a forgotten Christmas ornament.
Want to make her wet?
Leave the house.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
I'd really like to thank all the people who helped make this site a success over the past month. In the beginning, I never imagined people would find WWHM very funny. Maybe a few chuckles here and there, sure, but I never imagined receiving emails from people who told me stories of getting kicked out of their offices, spilling food onto themselves, spraying their computer screens with yogurt, you name it.
And for someone who aspires to write comedy for a living, but doesn't necessarily think what he writes is very funny at all, that was fucking nirvana for me. Knowing that you guys came here to get a laugh, it just puts me beyond words. I appreciate it, and I appreciate you letting me know it. Honestly, I can't express it enough.
The adjustment of posting 5 times a month to 3-4 times a week has been huge and I think the quality has gone down because of it, and bloggers out there have been letting me know it as of late. OK, OK, but realize it's difficult to be funny all of the time, and just like a stand-up comedian, I'm going to bomb sometimes. It happens. Luckily for me, I can just take them off the board. (And I've taken 23 posts off so far.) But lately, yeah, I've been overloaded.
The next couple weeks I'm enveloping myself in a very popular local sport, so I'll be travelling quite a bit, and posting less often. Hopefully after two weeks I'll come back fired up with some great stuff for you guys.
On a final note, after a long conversation with reader Sarah G from Australia, (man, we have a lot of Aussie readers.....thanks guys) she asked me "What are your favorite posts on WWHM?"
Hmmm, great question. It's never the ones you guys like, which is so weird. If I had to pick, the only ones that made me laugh were the following:
The Stocking Stuffer, Barf or Smile, Go Figgure, The Most Unromantic Writer in the World, Show-Off, It's a Dirty Job, Shit on Me, and This is Why Cocaine is Illegal.
Thank you again, and have a great weekend everyone. I'll be checking my email and the site as often as I can.
(And a special thanks goes out to the FHOTD, your support has been phenomenal. It keeps me going.)
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Mature Male Here To Lick Your Sweet Kitty till it Purr's.I'm a Mature White Male Experienced in Alphabet Sucking of Your Clit and Pussy Until Your Thighs Are Shakin Like Jello. My Goal is To Have You Leave Me With a Face Like A Glazed Dougnut. Let Me Part Your Swollen Lips With This Experienced And Talented Tongue. Lets make this happen love charles
Two common feline words we use to describe the vagina, but is it really an accurate description of what it looks like?
Maybe, if you happen to shave and your cat has cancer.
Anyway, throughout the ages, men have professed to be the masters of going down on a woman. In fact, even in the cave ages, men were known to mimic their cave drawings on a woman's clitoris.
"Oh, Frank tried the bison, the deer, and the yak on my pussy last night," cavewomen would say to each other, "what a no-dicked fucking plant-gatherer he is." As the dry-tongued men went out to hunt, women stayed in the cave and tried to make rocks vibrate.
This practice evolved into the modern day "alphabet" method, whereby mindless children like Charles, who wouldn't know a clitoris from a fucking bicycle basket full of engine parts, profess that spelling the alphabet over a womans clitoris will give her an orgasm. It won't, but spelling "I don't know what I'm doing," might give her reason to chuckle.
And just so you guys know, whatever you write, she can read it. A pussy is like a fucking braille pad.
So Charles, women already know you're tongue is better suited for postage stamps than pussies, so take your ass to Krispy Kreme donuts, spread your own lips, and glaze your own face.
That I'm sure you can do.
so i'm a slightly above average guy .. i'm taller than average .. bigger than average .. smarter and nicer too. Unfortunetly I'm also broke at the moment. Does anyone know of any jobs available on weekday evenings? I'm great at oral and love to please if that's what you need. Darrin.
Darrin, you know what what you and your personal ad both have in common? Neither of you work.
Let's go back to fifth grade and perform a dissection. Back then it was a frog, and today it will be Darrin.
Oddly, both reek of formaldehyde.
First, to judge an average woman's reaction, I invited my feverishly horny intern Beulah into the lab and posed this question: Beulah, would you rather pay this man to have sex with you, or eat a week-old squirrel waffled into the road? Beulah promptly scavenged around the lab for a bit, and left with a spatula, a bag of salt, and a tea straw.
What went wrong here? Why doesn't this ad work? Besides the fact that an unemployed Darrin snapped a grainy cellphone photo of himself in the basement of a back-alley Guadalajara abortion clinic while ensconced in his prized "forested penis" outfit?
The reason it doesn't work is as plain as that hummingbird leg he's holding in his fingers.
More commonly known as "the nirvana of female visual erotic stimulation," Darrin neglected to throw on a pair of dirty unmatched sweatsocks to complete the ad. Maybe next time Darrin, maybe next time.
On the bright side, I hear Gap Kids needs bra models.
"I'm uh gonna put some balls on my truck."
Enlightened, he fucked his sister twice and then climbed a nearby mountain as a thunderstorm approached.
"Listen y'all," he yodelled into the villages below, "I jus' done thinked of sumtin funny. We's all gonna put us sum ballz on our trucks.""
Some of the village men heard the strange calling, and immediately stopped ass-raping their neighbor's chickens.
"Howma gunna git muh balls back on if I put um on muh truck?" other male villagers asked, while dripping chipmunk innards out of their Swanson aluminum dinner trays onto the floors of their trailer homes.
"Not yer own balls, fake ones ya stupid," the 12 year-old village wives responded, as a constant stream of undernourished infants squirted out of their uteran canals unabated into a pile at the door of the town welfare office.
Henceforth, TruckNutz became a huge hit throughout the Great American South, and Thad Cornwall became a millionaire and bought a new swamp tractor with flames painted on the side.
If you would like to ensure your boyfriend/ husband never has an opportunity to sleep with another woman, buy him a pair of prominent chrome or electric Truck Nutz.
Available at www.gotnutz.net
any girl lucky enough to be with me will be flying the skies. you gotta be prepared for this ride because ladies anything is possible when you're with me. Richard.
China has millions of rabbit farms. Is this because China has a ravenous taste for the succulent meat of fresh roasted rabbit? Of course not, we know the Chinese eat nothing but BBQ pork and Tibetans.
China has millions of rabbit farms so your child can purchase a rabbit's foot from a gumball machine at Wal-Mart while you're shopping for porcelain frog candle holders and a trampoline for your cat.
When your child gets that rabbit's foot, he feels pretty lucky.
But ask that rabbit, and he might feel differently. After all, he used to have four of those lucky feet, and all he got was a life stuck in a tiny cage with his face firmly molded into the anus of another rabbit. His only lucky day came when he was fed Tibetans rather than BBQ pork. Dry Tibetan-themed farts were so much easier to handle, and significantly less juicy.
Which goes to show that where one person finds luck, another finds misfortune.
So while Richard may feel that you are "lucky" to find him, a 46 year-old man wearing a Dr. Seuss hat, a flowing superhero cape, and drying his balls with a humidifier, you must first think of all those poor ladies out there who now must suffer with a man in a suit and a Rolex, who dries his balls with a live cashmere goat lying on satin sheets.
So if you're the lucky lady who found Richard, enjoy that ride on the magic carpet. Who knows where it will go?
Maybe Wal-Mart. Because anything can happen with Richard, if you're lucky.
Monday, July 21, 2008
We're coming down off a mean heroin bender today, but we finally got that crack-smoking chimney of a transvestite hooker out of the janitorial closet, so we're ready to go to work. Give him/her three dollars and throw him/her in the dumpster, boys.
You know, people always want to know how I land more female birds than a coke-fueled housecat, when, on the surface, I have all the charisma of a discarded and mold-spotted sandwich bag.
Because folks, I wear clothes purchased from the catalogue of International Male magazine.
And today, as a special treat, I'm going to share with you some of my bird-bagging outfits that the ladies can't get enough of.
That's right, it's our first WWHM Fashion Guide, led by myself, the Weasel. It's a two-pager!
If you guys enjoy this first installment, please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org and let me know. If it's a success, we'll have another installment coming up in a couple months with your submissions! Let's roll!
OK, am I really looking for birds?
No, I just wanted to show-off my hand-crafted sword-dueling pantaloons with crotchular breeze vents.
Women love the way my tight, ample and perfectly symmetrical buttocks beg to be kneaded in these knickers. What am I ladies, just a bowl of bagel dough for your fingers to squeeze like so many firm, juicy melons?
I'm not a fruit stand, I'm a man with feelings and dreams.
Chicks are nothing but a bunch of horny mountain goats when they see me in these groin-snuggling suede 18th century barn workpants.
However I'm thankful someone finally developed pants that enable your genitals to breathe. If you could picture a pair of nuts hanging from the bow of the Titanic in Category 4 hurricane, then you’ve just imagined the comfort and freedom my testicles experience in these airy, lightweight chocolate trousers.
Ahhh....nothing cools and refreshes a dampened, musty taint like a stiff breeze.
Unfortunately, disassembling an aft sail for a China-bound schooner is easier than taking a piss in this pair of fucking puzzle-crotched brainteasing goddamn pirate relics.
Manuel’s such a nice little man with his pouty, willing lips and subserviant demeanor. Thank God I’m not gay, or he’d spend every day bent over fishing for urinal cakes in my steam room. Hmmm, I hope he doesn't think I'm gay. But why would he think that?
Anyway, I like to wear these when I fetch the mail or work in the yard, at least until my neighbor Chuck comes out and starts firing buckshot in my direction. He always says he’s gonna blast my “deer snout”, and I’ll tell ya, I have no idea what that means.
I also think this ensemble adds a light, breezy demeanor to the atmosphere when my girlfriend’s parents come over to visit us with their dogs, so I wear them every time.
Boy, those crazy dogs sure like the taste of the fabric in my stocking-sock. I look down and it's just tongues and saliva as far as the eye can see. What, did I wash these in salmon broth?
Anyway, her Dad, a conservative army sergeant, always brings me two avocados and a Mars bar stuffed into an old sweatsock and says “you should like this, it’s right up your alley.”
He’s right, I love avocados and candy. I just don't understand why he has to bring them stuffed tightly into that droopy old sock.
Maybe he just doesn't have a clue about what's proper.
So on the weekends, I like to lighten things up a little. I like to wear something billowy, fun and girlish, and this polyester man blouse does just the trick.
Hello Saturday! Hello Man-Blouse!
I'll throw it on, and take a little adventure out into a field of wildflowers, take a seat under a droopy willow and dip my quill feather pen in ink and scribe sonnets on parchment paper.
Often a sparrow will land on my shoulder, and we’ll giggle and tell secrets.
One time, we wrote a poem about a unicorn.
Other times, I will fill my old wood cart with fresh snow peas and market them in a quaint village.
I’ll chat with the townsfolk about the potato crop, how the chimney is going up at the old schoolhouse, and whether or not Mrs. Adams, the village bicycle, is still passing that horrible strain of gonorrhea around like spinach cake at a Pilgrim Thanksgiving.
And when the sun begins to set, I’ll head back into the city, where people at restaurants scream at me for more bread.
Hey look, that’s me. I’m the one pointing NNE.Anyway, guys should know that girls love a guy in Spandex, and you don’t even have to ride a bike.
You can just wear them around town, confident at all times that the pods are safe with the mother ship.
Does it look odd? No! Girls think it's cute! It's just like throwing a bedsheet over a cat.
But much sexier.
Women become so overjoyed when they see you in Spandex, they often breakout in spontaneous laughter. One lady was so delirious, she asked what I was doing with such a small package, and I wasn't even carrying anything. Crazy lady!
And they’re real popular with children, because the kids always point at them, whereby mothers cover their childrens eyes, probably muttering the obvious “I can’t afford those!”
Yep, they're not cheap.
Anyway, I knew I was becoming famous after this bike race when my friends and I went to a local German café.
I saw some women sitting at a table and feeling brave, I walked right up to their table and leaned on it. ”How’s the kielbasa here?” I asked.
Boy, they couldn’t even speak, and they didn’t even finish their meals.
But hey, they just saw me, a celebrity, in my sexy Spandex. I'd be speechless too.
Grandma, huffing that oven cleaner is making you crazy.
Do you own the sunhat adorned with apples and plastic warblers that was bought to match it?
I think not.
Plus, my manbreasts look full, pouty and ample when I wear this sweater, and Grandma’s look like someone left two old oven mitts wrapped in nursery school tracing paper on the wall.
Get your own wardrobe Grandma!
Anyway my ass sags like a laundry cord saddled with wet sleeping bags.
Women generally like to be able to bounce a quarter off your ass, and if you do that with me, kiss that quarter goodbye because you may have well thrown it into a deep vat of week-old coagulated oyster stew.
So I bought these briefs, armed with the lastest in ass-puffering technology, and boy, has my outloook improved.
Drop some change? Hey, let me get that for you.
Need me to climb up that ladder for you? Sure, but don't act like you're a wolf and my ass is a dripping hot basted turkey for your selfish mongrel-like devouring.
Women want to touch my ass like it's a baby. They want to grab it, rub it, and stick their face in it, just like my Scout leaders did back in the old days. Fond memories, I tell ya.
The only problem I've encountered is you can't sit down, because the gel packs will burst, leaving you a pantsful of pasty, skin-searing gelatinous waste.
Just blame the egg salad.
I know, I know, you've seen this something like this before. Where? Here!
(Ed Warning: Any guys click that link, you'll be instantly gay for 3 and a half minutes.)
Anywho, I love to wear this outfit on the deck of a sailboat on a late summer afternoon as I sip boxed wine and eat individually wrapped cheese slices.
Sometimes I'll put my foot up on the railing of the boat and point at pelicans in the distance, so the ladies can get a better gander of the cuffs on my pants that match the shirt.
Because nothing turns on a woman more than a guy that takes three hours to get ready to go out, and really plans out his look.
And see my pink shoes? That says one thing and one thing only to the ladies.
I'm gonna fuck your brains out!
In a highly organized and regimented fashion!
Sunday, July 20, 2008
First, my employees and I attended an erotic gifting party with the cast of The Facts of Life, followed by some low-intensity goatherding. Finally, we ended the night in an abandoned heroin den, where we all shot up $5,000 worth of China White with the same needle to symbolize our dedication to a team effort. Boy it was great, and you'd be amazed at some of the things my employees will do for more heroin! What a bunch of man whores!
Anyway, we did this as an experiment in "expanding our horizons". You see, WWHM is thinking of doing exactly that, expanding our horizons. Rather than focus solely on horrifying personal ads, we're gonna mix it up a little this week with some of the other god-awful shit my gender does to ensure that the only time they get within six inches of a pair of ovaries is when they're waiting in line at the bank.
Now, I'm not perfect. Far from it. I spend most my days kicking peacocks at the zoo and knocking ice cream out of children's hands. In fact, the last time I had any sexual contact with a female, it involved petroleum jelly and stern instructions to cough.
But there is some stupid, stupid shit out there that guys do, so don't be surprised if you see some of it popping up on WWHM.
Hey, since it's Monday, I'm busy doing the Dubuque Morning Daily crossword puzzle, and I need some help:
What's a five letter word for "Holds a fence up"?
I'm a 43 year old W female trying for the last time if there is a decent man in this world. You wanna screw me over go on to the next woman in here because I don't take shit from anyone. Seriously, I'm so sick of men's games I just want to meet a nice man who doesn't think with his dick all the time. You have to have a job, a house, a car (no more bus-riders!) and keep your dick in your pants. I want to travel so have some money, I love the beach!!! (Hawaii, Mexico, California) and gambling, walking and love animals! I'm serious don't respond unless you like these things, and can KEEP your dick in your PANTS.
Something is flowing heavily, and it's not my nose after a two-week cocaine bender.
(For safety reasons, WWHM did not use the actual photo of the woman that wrote this ad. So just picture this woman with anger, herpes, and a beachball.)
As a guy, we have some concerns here.
The first is STD's. Having been with as many guys as she claims, she likely has an easier time identifying guys on Craigslist by their cock shots.
And with this kind of rage, something tells me if you put your hands down her pants, you'd find crabs. Not pubic crabs mind you, but actual crabs. Deadliest Catch could shoot an episode in her mini-skirt and we'd be knee-deep in crabcakes for 40 years.
The second is her history of boyfriends. Obviously her last boyfriend lacked the resources for a car, and likely had no job, which indicates she doesn't really set the bar very high. More accurately, she never even picked up the bar, which is currently lying on the lawn next to her last boyfriend, who passed out last night after beer-bonging her cleaning solvents. Yet strangely, she finds herself featured in a blog that chronicles the mating habits of the exact type of men she's attracted to. Can anyone pour me a nice, cool glass of irony? Thanks.
Third, she appears to suffer from bi-polar disorder- angry one minute, while hopeful and inspiring the next. Or more commonly known in romantic parlance as the "ticking time-bomb."
One minute you're sharing giggles and making cookies, two minutes later she's chainsawing your dog in half.
One minute you're snuggling and watching a movie, two minutes later you find your face in a waffle iron.
No reason, no explanation.
Perhaps it's just the crabs.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The squealing, smoking tires in the mall parking lot in front of a group of unimpressed 18 year-old girls.
The revving of the engine at the stoplight when he pulls up next to you in your minivan full of children.
The Whyte Spyder guitar solos blaring so loudly from his Radio Shack speakers that it makes the toupe resting on his head vibrate like an epileptic ferret.
All reasons a 46 year-old man in a 1972 Corvette makes a woman's uterus constrict tighter than a whale's blowhole before a deep-sea dive.
The difference between a car and a woman, good sir, is that you might be able to turn on a car.
(P.S. People don't go to carnivals to win MegaLube and catch napkins.)
This is probably my 10th time posting and i haven't found one decent piece of ass? This may be my last post... so jump on me while you can. I just want a good quick fuck... NO BULLSHITTING. Kyle
This what happens when you put gin and unfiltred Chesterfields in your fifth-graders lunchbox.
Along with a note that says:
I hope you have a great day at school today! Make sure you bring your jacket home!
And by the way, I blame you for everything.
The Weasel woke up to a beautiful Saturday morning today. And what better to do on a sunny Saturday than go down to the beach and pick up some chicks?
I really like to use the indirect approach. Make them come to me. So I pulled on my white sweatsocks halfway up to my knees, grabbed a tight black speedo, and drove down to the beach in my lowered Honda Accord to show them my sweet new karate moves I just learned.
Because I know what chicks really like.
Ed note: This guy couldn't protect you from a shy bunny.
Friday, July 18, 2008
WWHM has had some busy days as of late, and if you look to the left there, you'll see we've cracked over 60,000 hits in our first 20 days of marketing the blog! We here at WWHM would like to thank everyone who's visited, and if you plan to visit our headquarters, we're offering free mints to those who have a good attitude with Doris, our front desk clerk. Watch it, because she can be a real bitch if you make a joke about her son being in rehab again. What a fucking loser!
Anyway, we have a few new posts up for you today PLUS some hate mail! Fun!
As you know, the WWHM offices are closed for the weekend, but we'll be back next week by the time you get back to work. So be sure to spread the good word to everyone about Why Women Hate Men- The Blog, and in return, WWHM will continue to act as your condom to the internet. Free of charge.
Let's do those fucking posts!
Thursday, July 17, 2008
sittin' here home alone. my friend gave me one viagra, just need someone to take it for!! Jeff
My steroid-abusing friend finally reached the point last week where his penis no longer worked. His best erections had all the rigidity of an octopus on Valium, and his cum was so dry during orgasm that rather than ejaculate, his penis would emit nothing but a high-pitched whistle.
He handed me a Viagra. "Take one of these," he said, " and do some push ups in your garden. You'll poke enough holes to have corn for miles."
My girlfriend and I split the Viagra, and boy was he right. I fucked her six times, punched a gloryhole into the drywall, and then helped my Vietnamese neighbor Moo-Ping sun-dry her bedsheets while I juggled apples.
And although my girlfriend didn't feel much of a difference sexually, now she chews Skoal and drives an 18-wheeler.
The problem Jeff, is that it's a generally accepted rule among men to keep your use of Viagra a secret. Women want to know they make your dick rock hard, not a blue pill designed to give you an erection when you hug your grandmother.
Remember that taking a Viagra is like hiring an illegal immigrant to mow your lawn. You can take all the credit for the fantastic job done, but you just can't tell anyone who really did all the work.
Dominoes Pizza is proud to present the new Cock Pizza.
Only available late night after the bars close, the pizza comes topped with drunk fraternity brothers, cheap Raider helmets, Rastafari boxers from MTV Spring Break 2006, and a fucking shitload of cheese.
But like everything from Dominoes, it ends up leaving a bad taste in your mouth, drops it's sauce all over your bedsheets, and you end up throwing it out 5 minutes after it comes.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Did I eat some old walrus meat today? Because suddenly I feel a bit nauseous.
I wonder if it's something I read?
Like maybe a heave-hearty, sappy personal ad?
An ad that simultaneously made me want to reach for an empty clam bucket, yet also run through a field of wheat with a bonnet on my head and a trio of giggling puppies nipping at my heels?
An ad that almost made me regurgitate food like a coastal seabird, yet also made me want to put on a little dress and dance on a teeter-totter with a rhododendron behind my ear?
Yup, I think it was this ad, but why the mixed feelings?
Because this man lives in a delusional world. Sure buddy, it's all hand-holding, cheeky kisses and sharing cupcakes for a few months. Enjoy it while you can.
Because pretty soon she'll be watching you sleep, but you'll be in the yard sleeping under a boat tarp in heavy sleet because she kicked you out for getting drunk.
You'll be holding her hand to prevent her from clocking you in the face with a harpsichord because you forgot to feed the dog.
And in 7 years, after you take out a $2 million dollar insurance policy on yourself, she'll be talking to a hitman and pointing at you, saying "That's him."
Just like you asked for.
im a young burly sexy man looking for anything i can get in.im somewhat portly and unkempt but that is made up with a huge wanger.im also with my band so if your down with 3 dudes inside you at the same time we can make that happen.lets make this happen sexy hoes.
Every time I click on a men's personal ad, I pretty much know whats gonna happen now.
And it won't be pretty.
At this point, I could probably sit down and watch the documentary "Cattle Saws: Modern Bovine Thorax Splitting and Organ Extraction" on a 60 inch plasma screen during dinner, happily shovelling food into my mouth like a Somalian child that's been subsisting on a diet of partial insect wings and Pennzoil for the past six months.And I'd enjoy it, simply because I knew the documentary wouldn't contain a close-up shot of a boil-spotted human erection shaped like a warped boomerang and lubed with a mixture of sandwich spreads.
Or a picture of a man's bloated, hair-matted belly oozing over his genitals like a dirt-covered room-temperature turkey breast sagging off the kitchen counter.
Why do these guys post these pictures?
Because when you live in your grandmothers garage and deliver pizzas you watch a lot of porn, and in porn all you need as a guy is dick, no matter which window in the house it points to. And in porn, it doesn't matter if the cellulite in your gelatinous abdomen creates more folds than an origami tse-tse fly. The chick still wants you.
Which brings us full circle to this guy, advertising that although he might be "somewhat portly and unkempt", it all doesn't matter because he still has a "huge wanger."
See, just like porn. Not only do you not care, but you'll love it. You sexy hoes.
I know this is probably a waste of time but its really a hard thing to find a nice hairy pussy to eat on a regular basis. Can you imagine if i set up a road side booth and asked all the ladies that stopped by if they had a hairy snack?
Somewhere along the way all you ladies shaved it off. Bad Bad Bad I do have pictures and truth be told im really not a bad looking dude. Ijust wanted a way to see some yummy hairy snacks.Tim
Tim, that is a great idea! I don't know why no one has thought of it before.
Let's set up a booth on the side of the road, and then put a big white sign on top of our booth that begs the question "Do you have a hairy snack?"
Why, we can call it the Hairy Snack Shack. Get it, Tim? It rhymes! And I'm not very good at rhyming, Tim, but it's kind of like your name rhymes with holy fucking shit you're a dickwad.
And what educated, smart, beautiful woman worth dating could possibly resist stopping by a small roadside shack haphazardy constructed with the pizza boxes leftover from your small rental studio in back of a fucking hog barn and manned by an impotent, weak, uneducated dolt sitting in a broken folding chair, twiddling his thumbs and rubbing his genitals with a jar of edible child's paste?
"Fuck Palm Springs, let's turn the car around", they'd scream, "because we're going to the Hairy Snack Shack to show our hairy vaginas to that proprietor Tim."
So no Tim, I don't think that idea would be a waste of time.
You fucking idiot.
It's a shame you choose to operate a blog that expends so much effort demeaning others and making fun of people incapable of defending themselves. How sad it is you put down these poor men.
What could have been an opportunity to provide elevated discourse on the relationships between men and women, you have chosen the lowest route by filling your blog with crude sexual remarks and humor I'd expect from 12 year old boys. You should be ashamed of yourself. I hope you find the joy you seek in putting others down to make yourself feel better.
I posted a remark on (website deleted) following yours informing others of the disgusting nature of this blog. I will try to get your link removed as well as I have contacted the owner of the website.
I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your loud plaid shirt, wooden clogs, and the clanging of the carpentry tools hanging from your toolbelt. Could you repeat the question?
KH, I want you to take a look at Tim, the CEO and President of Tim's Hairy Snack Shack in the post above this one. Tim has relegated you, a woman, to nothing but the amount of hair on your vagina. To him , that is all you are. You are not a woman, a person, and you have no intelligence, no emotions, and no aspirations, nothing. You have been reduced to an irrelevant being, qualified only by whether or not you shave your pussy. Make you feel good? You may have noticed my commentary was more angry than funny.
Then you write me a letter defending him, that I'm making fun of these "poor men". In ads like these, I'm defending you KH, you ignorant ass. My blog was created as a comedy outlet where I take pokes at everybody, but at the same time I can defend women against the pieces of absolute shit like Tim who feel entitled to treat you as nothing but a fucking pussy that should be crawling and begging him to let you have his cock after he treats you like a piece of fucking garbage.
Do you realize that now? I'm defending you KH. Every woman, like this one, should put up their own blog and plaster the real ads of some these fucktards all over the place to make fun of them, and maybe guys would start to realize that posting a huge picture of their cock and a note that says "come suck me you know you want it" isn't attractive. And for the record, the ads I put on here are nothing. I have seen ads that literally make me angry or want to puke. And I'm not fucking kidding.
In fact, the worst ones are lucky I don't show their faces, because under all legal avenues, I am allowed to show their faces. I didn't post their ads on the internet, they did, in public forums. But I don't want to be a person that ends marriages and ruins kids, because I guarantee 75% of these guys are married. How's your husband KH?
I don't even want to embarrass anyone. I just want to have fun.
In most of my posts, I simply mock the conventional stereotypes. I mock the nerds, the old men, the fetishists, the young boys trying desperately to get laid, the too-nice guys, the thick-in-the-head, the stereotypical middle-aged horny man who hasn't been in the game for a while, and guys who should probably think a little more about the pictures they put in an ad. It's all satire, I'm making fun of them, so what? They can't be identified unless they stand up and say "Hey! That's me! That's my ad!" And if they do, I'll take it down. No one knows who they are. Christ, you should see how pathetic I am when I'm trying to get laid.
So I'll make you a deal KH. You go ahead and put up your blog to "elevate the discourse on the relationships between men and women", and I'll provide you with a link to your fascinating website for all to see, and see what kind of traffic you get with your dry, terse analysis of a subject that fucking bores the shit out of everybody unless we spice it up with some fucking laughs.
See, some people, KM, are a little more open-minded than you. Some of us don't get excited at the absolute fucking hilarity you find in LOLcats.
In the meantime, stop visiting WWHM. You've logged on four times, so you must not hate it that much.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
lvl 8 ogre mage seeks moon queen or druid
I am a lvl 8 warrior seeking my adventuring companion for game play and fornication. I partake in only adventure/fantasy role play, no creepy goth stuff, it’s too weird. Only sanctioned spells allowed, costume dress optional but preferred. I have the body of a wandering Norwegian brawler and short brown hair. Please send pics, leves, preferred adventure type and spell list. We could go get dinner (under $20), and watch a movie. Also I’m allergic to cats.
So you answered an ad on a dating board. His name was Chris. You know two things about him: he's allergic to cats, and he's broke. You agreed to meet. The hair's up, black dress is tight, Jimmy Choos sparkling, and three squirts of Pussies In Heat on the back of your neck.
And now let's see how Chris prepares........................
Chris, or Drogar, First Guardsmith of The Seven Condors, gets ready in his pre-fabricated space pod module he built out of orange juice crates and refrigeration tubing.
"I must first release my flaxen manseed," he mutters to himself, jumping into the shower with a cutout of a forest green elf he extracted from a box of expired soup crackers, and some scented Jergens he swiped from his sister. He masturbates rhythmically to his favorite Viking tune, "Don't Fuck a Two-Headed Norseman."
Drying off with a fecally stained antelope pelt, Drogar prepares some jokes for conversation with his date. "That time I switched a 256 kHz band port tubing with a multi-platform fuse integrator," he ponders, "that story killed at DragonCon Omaha." She will not be able to resist such free-spirited antics.
Drogar prepares his Spiderman Underoos, combat boots and elongated moose hide for adornment, and sprays his chest with a steaming cup of fresh fox urine. His beard free of earwig parts, he trudges out the door.
He passes his father in the driveway, "Aye me Father, I am on my way to engage a fair maiden!"
His father ignores him, and continues shovelling the Ivy League law school applications addressed to his son into the garbage as he sobs uncontrollably.
The bus ride is empty, as the passengers ran screaming into the forest once he boarded the bus.
Stepping to your doorstep, he knocks twice and you open.
"Aye Fairest Maiden", he bellows "we shall ingest the finest meats and cheeses this evening until our Bellies are Splitting!"
You slam the door, then re-open it, and throw a stray cat directly at his face.
Dejected, bleeding profusely, and inflamed from hives, Drogar rides another empty bus home.
To whack it to the elf.
Whackin' it again to that goddamn motherfuckin' elf.
Thanks to the 13 people who submitted this ad! And RP'ers I kid, I kid! Suggested by an RP'er!
Ok, I have a bit of a problem I'm going on a first date with a girl that wants to have sex with me and she thinks I'm expereinced but im really not im a virgin. would someone help me Ive never touched a puusy i think i know what to do i well thanks for replying jeff
From 5-10 years of age, all I wanted in the world was a bicycle. When someone gave me a bike to use, I knew exactly what to do with it. I could have ridden that fucker to Guam.
From 10-15 years of age, all I wanted in the world was a vagina. When someone finally gave me a vagina to use, I had no more idea what to do with it than I would a delivery van stuffed full of irritated farm chickens.
What do I do with a vagina? Talk to it? Offer it a cool, refreshing beverage? Blow into the fallopians? Does this thing have an "Entrance" sign? Why is she crying like she can't find her cat?
Jeff will have the same problem. You could give him a fucking pussy or a Rubik's Cube, or tell him to build a kaleidoscope out of tangerine skins. It won't make a difference. He'll fumble around with it, become confused, and ultimately fail miserably.
And a note for his date tonight:
He's not trying to reset his wristwatch in your pants. He's trying to turn you on.
yung hussalah - seking females- 24
lookin 4 females, who wanna whale. blow dro, git money. im a laid back yung man, workin and hustlin in dese hard times and high gas prices, lookin 4 real hos who wanna team up wit a yungstar and do it movin ya dig. holla at me if u wanna get it jumpin. yeeee
The only way you will ever witness anything whiter than my face is if you somehow find yourself snorting six lines of pure Bolivian marching powder off the sun bleached asshole of an Arctic snow fox.
But when reader TR sent me this ad, I felt the pain of Yung Hussalah. Times are hard. Gas prices are high. And real hos do need to whale, blow dro and git money. I don't why they arent, and frankly, I don't know what that means.
Crazy ass ho's.
So, for you non-gangsta hos out there that may find Yung Hussalah's predicament appealing, I've transcribed his personal ad utilizing the Urban Dictionary (http://www.urbandictionary.com/).
I am Young Hustler.
I am looking for a woman with a huge ass. That smokes marijuana.
I am unemployed. I cannot afford gas.
Who wants to fuck me?
Call me. Fuck me.
And for the record, the staff here at WWHM hope to mock all races equally. So if you want to pull your "race" card, don't worry, we'll pull our "some of our best friends are black" card.
Hey girls, I'm a 24 yo grad , Just bought a condo in the north overlooking the golf course. Tonight is going to be beautiful out. Lets talk, exchange pics and then meet up at my place for a few drinks on the patio and make it go from there. I'm 5"10, nice brown eyes, decent shape, just a normal, down to earth dude.......
.....just a normal, down to earth dude.... who believes he will attract women by posting pictures of himself violently dry humping a Serta SafeSleeper box spring mattress and what appears to be a recently soiled hospital gown.
The good thing is if your date with him starts getting really hot and heavy, you won't be surprised when instead of making love to you, he starts buttfucking the toaster.
SWM avergage guy looking for a gal who thinks a guy in panties is hot.... are you out there?
(Sound of crickets.)
Something smells funny.
It smells like a hearty, meaty combination of unemployed mall security guard, chicken wing sweat, and whatever perfume the 12 year-old girl down the hall wears.
Sounds like a new recipe for Campbells Soups.
Mansack Soups. Just add nuts.
If you happen to respond to this personal ad, do me a favor and ask him long he had to sit in that chair before a bored swarm of Peruvian blue moths decided to cocoon his penis.
are you a cute, fit, fun, nice yet naughty FEMALE who's been curious about experiencing Figging?
if that's you, tell this cleancut, outwardly conservative, open-minded "educator" a bit about you & your interests.
The staff here at WWHM come across all kinds of interesting perversions while scouring the internet. Nothing shocks us, with the sole exception of men turned on by female bacon tracks.
In fact, just today, words like "pegging", "scat" and "gloryhole" were thrown all over the office, and that was just my grandparents talking about their trip to The Vatican last week. We had a good laugh until grandma demanded a golden shower after drinking too much Fresca. Damn you, Fresca.
Anyway, we didn't know what "figging" was. And because we knew from the ad that the writer was a Christian, a Republican, and a teacher, boy, we knew it was going to be disgusting.
It turns out "figging" is the act of inserting a freshly skinned piece of ginger into one's asshole, and then spanking that person so their anus constricts around the ginger, causing an extreme burning sensation. Or, as the Republican National Committee likes to call it, "lunch hour".
I have some advice to those god-fearing Christians who want to feel an unholy burning sensation in their ass- eat at Hot Wing Hut.
Seriously, get the 8-star wings, and you'll be subtley reminded to not let your mouth write checks that your asshole can't cash.
Sex For You 37 (east)
You want more than a man who uses your body to jerk off with. I can please you and wear you out when we get connected by my appendage. I can make you tingle all over and you'll climax repeatedly until you don't want me to put my junk in you any more. love jason
I was having a conversation with my friend Jen the other day about fantasies. She told me she had a fantasy about a tall, dark, muscular man dressed in armor riding atop a black stallion rescuing her from a beach. Could I, she asked, find a personal ad just for her?
Well, yes Jen, I can.
Except I've replaced "tall muscular dark man dressed in armor" with "short awkward man in tight nut-splitting white cut-offs", I've exchanged "stallion" with a "1986 Ford Ranger," and I've substituted "beach" with "Fresno."
A little different, but it's not going to change the fact that judging by the wording in his ad, when Jason is ready to make love to you, he's going to whisper softly in your ear "Baby, can I bump your moose knuckle?"
Look for Jason's new romance novel "Let Me Cockhump Your Mouth" at a Barnes and Noble near you in July.
Tonight however, I hope to go see Christian Lander speak, the man responsible for stuffwhitepeoplelike.com, a comedy blog that brought him 30,000,000 page views in three months, so I may not find time to post. But I will be thinking of you, my loyal readers, and probably in a dirty way just like your clergy.
And Suicide Girls, lately you're sending me a lot of hits, but I can't get on your website to thank you, so here you go..... thank you!
Please tell, blog, post and email everyone about WWHM today! Now on to those nasty posts you love, and here we go with a 1...2...3.....
Monday, July 14, 2008
This is not going to work out
I know this is not going to work out. Chicks are way too complicated. Sometimes I hate my creator making me straight. Guys are easy going. Just up for easy, clean, safe fun. No drama. Not with girls. There is always drama involved. Fuck it, call me if you want XXX-XXX-XXXX Tom
Jesus, Tom, who shit in your Rice Chex?
Let's analyze the intricate methodology in Tom's personal ad:
1. Start out by stating it won't work.
2. Blame women for being complicated.
3. Blame God for making you straight.
4. Essentially admit your gay.
5. When no one's looking, take a shit on a beach rock and pretend to look for sea otters.
So in summary, there are two types of women that might date you.
1. Desperate marine biologists.
2. Clay Aiken.
Yes. I went there.
How about 15% off everything at Walgreens?
Ladies, I know money can be pretty tight at times. I’m willing to help you if you help me. A mutually beneficial agreement. I can be slow and gentle or rough and kinky. I’m a technician working for Walgreens and would be willing to let you use my 15% discount every now and then for a little pleasurable company. I just really want to know who I’m dealing with cause there are some crazy people out here. I will be here for a long time, just think if you used me once a week for a whole year. How much would you be saving? Think about it and let me know, Carl
Hey ladies, you know when you get that mildly horny fantasy about blowing a 46 year-old miniumum wage shelf stocker, and then simultaneously have that sudden hankering for a 1000 ct. bag of cottonballs, some Aqua Net, and a fresh tube of Desenex?
Well you just hit the jackpot.
Meet Carl, a Walgreens "technician", which is corporate-speak for "the guy who rings up your Dentyne."
Anyway, Carl has a great deal for you today, and it's not in Aisle 6.
Because if you let Carl pound you relentlessly in the ass 365 days a year, he "might" let you use his 15% discount at Walgreens, or at least whenever he "feels" like it.
So instead of spending $8 on items, now you'll get them for $6.80, and a free yeast infection in the process.
But no worries. You're at Walgreens. You'll get 15% off your antibiotics.
If he feels like it.
i whant a fucking budy lets have fun im fantacy lover boy
i whant to suck you for head to toes i whant to suck on that puusy cat ontill i hit that balls but hoooooooo lovely women i whant a fucking budy i whant to suck and fuck today my balls
Ladies and gentlemen, I am a wordsmith.
Through my years of experience, I am able to parse meaning from the written word through a thorough and detailed analyses of syntax, dangling participles, and complex verbiage.
I retreated to my study tonight with my pipe and elegant long-haired cat, and painstakingly de-constructed the eloquent prose of this personal ad.
After a complete and extrospective analyses of his grammatical constructs, I determined exactly what Da Pretty Boi is trying to say:
He wants you to fucking suck you suck that puusy cat hit that balls lovely woman want fuck budy want to suck fuck and fuck my balls.
So, in conclusion, I must query:
Yo Pretty Boi, why didn't you just say that goddamn shit in the first place before I had to get all community college on your ass?
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Oh, and by the way, some readers are obviously confused. See that picture to your left? That's me, I'm a guy. I keep reading reviews where I'm referred to as a "really funny woman".
My ex-gf would agree, but I gotta stand my ground.
Want to play again! Want to play with me? 27m please be younger than me!
Try a fucking blueberry scone, you impotent assclown.
Opt for the 18 year-old cheerleaders, and you'll get a good taste of how many football players attended the keg in the forest last weekend.
Not that a 27 year-old guy who hangs out on his porch with a bowl of Wesson oil and reading a newspaper with two eyeholes cut into it has much of a choice anyway.
Interesting male seeks interesting female-I am 19 please be under 21
I'm a very interesting man who is very active in the LARP, video game and fantasy communities. I would like to perhaps meet a woman who shares these interests, so I guess you could say I'm looking for a nerdy girl lol. just like me.
If you don't know what LARP stands for, it stands for "Live-Action Role Playing".
Men active in the LARPing community generally like to dress up in chainmail, hang out in forests, have arguments in Olde English dialect, and pretty much anything else they can think of that will ensure they will never have sexual contact with a woman, unless of course she's also wearing a deer head, or has a pair of dead river beavers draped over her shoulders.
It is not known whether grown men shouting things like "Aye, fair ol' maiden of The Fields, let me release thine Pure Breasts betwixt me trousers for some finest of fornifications" causes the direct, complete, and horrendous neglect of the male genitalia, or whether it is the abundance of pungent squirrel innards ensconced in the beards of such men screaming these phrases.
(Ed Note: Thx to my friend Tim, a LARPer who encouraged this entry. We kid, we kid. Love LARPers.)
ONE GOOD BAD MAN FOR YOU ............................
YEAH I HAD MY MOMENTS WHILE GROWING UP WHEN I PLAYED MOSTLY ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE LAW, BAD HABITS,ILLEGAL OCCUPATIONS,FIGHTS,JAIL, YOU NAME IT. IM ROUGH AROUND THE EDGES , AND WILL EVEN ADMIT IM WRONG SOMETIMES. I AM VERY SENSUAL/SEXUAL ALSO LOVE BELLY PEIRCINGS AND CAN LOOK JUST AS SEXY IN JEANS AND A T-SHIRT AS THEY CAN IN A PARTY DRESS.I LIKE TO SHOP .ANY TAKERS?
Well, here you go ladies, here's your "bad boy".
Wantonly tearing those "Do Not Remove This Tag" tags off mattresses, brazenly taking seven items through the "Six Items or Less" line at Safeway, and then pounding 12-ounce cans of Diet Tab like it was fucking beer or something.
Look out dogs and cats! Look who's coming down the alley! It's THAT guy! I hope he's not on his way to go SHOPPING! Because he LIKES that shit! It says so in his bad-ass personal ad!
Let us get to the point ladies, and this one is for you too as well gents.
It's the unforgettable rule of the bar scene. It is infallible, and 100% true, and the women know this, so listen up.
The Weasel's Fifth Rule of Inserting the Phrase "Bad Boy" Into Conversation:
A true "Bad Boy" will never, EVER tell anyone that he is indeed a bad boy.
Every time I hear a guy in a bar tell a girl he is a "bad boy", I want to stick fucking carrot peelers in my ears and chew on a mouthful of nails, because I know he likes to eat warm cookies and watch Real World while sipping medicinal tea to soften his stool.
You're not a "bad boy" if you own a motorcycle or have a tattoo. That only means you're just another prissy dickhead with no originality and deep insecurities about your penis size.
However, if your boyfriend goes out for milk and calls you a week later from the Georgia State Penitentiary infirmary with Doberman bites on his ballsack and a airplane load of stolen emus high on heroin to explain, then you have yourself a bad boy.
Congratulations, and enjoy the chlamydia.
Friday, July 11, 2008
You know, we just started really marketing this blog about 10 days ago, and in the past 24 hours we've had over 25,000 hits here at WWHM Headquarters. Although our Atari servers have been bogged down, we'd like to thank you all for the visits and the hundreds of emails sent in.
And yes, if you're female, that owl is staring at your breasts.
Most of the great emails I've gotten have come from your places of employment, and in the spirit of further disrupting the economy, new posts will be up Monday by the time you get to work.
Have a great weekend, and if you laugh at this blog at all, you owe me a personal email at email@example.com.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
hola tengo 25 y busco una latina que sea caliente para vernos hoy. si quieres todo lo mantenemos en discreto . si quieres algo rico mandame un mensaje y nos vemos hoy mismo. busco de 18 a 45 que sea bonita y bonito cuerpo. bye.
I need a translator for the following question:
"Enrique, what did you do with my shoehorn?"
If you're wondering why this guy smells like a combination of old milk and last week's zucchini soup, it's because the last 3 women to date him used him to mop up the floor.
I wonder how he likes sleeping upside down in a bucket of Glass Plus.
The unfortunate truth is the closer men get to their sensitive, needy side, the further away their penis gets from a woman's fallopian and vaginal side.
For example, when a woman comes home and screams "Fuck me now, you useless prick", the proper dominant male response is to immediately throw her on a bench and fuck her so hard she sprains her anus.
This guy, on the other hand, would laugh nervously through his nose, wash his hands, jingle some loose dimes in his pocket, and start intricately folding his "Tuesday" Hanes briefs into Gap-like squares for proper storage. "Everything has it's proper place," he'd whimper, followed by a round of meek slap-petting of your shoulders like he was trying to wipe onions off a sandwich.
It's too late for you my friend, no woman is going to teach you how to fuck at 45. You'll have better luck learning how to drive a backhoe. But alas you have just entered a welcome demographic for this company:
When you fuck jelly, it won't criticize.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
read the post im doing all your chores around the house and your getting fucked that easy no strings attached :)
Because nothing screams complete female sexual satisfaction like a fat, awkward 19 year-old boy who begs you to mow your lawn for some ass.
I hate it when women show me their babies. "Look at my baby," they'll command, hurling the infant into my arms like it was on fire. Which, usually, I wish it was, because that way I could drop it without being charged with a crime.
Some guys do the same thing with their cocks. "Look at my cock," they'll squeal like a little girl who just found a pony in the glove compartment, "isn't this such a nice, beautiful cock?" And then they'll pull it out and offer it up for judgement like an intricate origami pterodactyl they took ten hours folding for a regional crafts fair.
Ladies, your baby isn't special. It's a baby. It stinks, makes noise, and has all the intellectual and communication skills of a mountain goat.
Guys, your cock isn't special. It's not an ornate cheese platter to be offered up to everyone passing you at the bus stop. It's a penis. It has a head, a shaft, a road map of veins that looks like an interstate highway map of Los Angeles, and if you're like Chuck, my friend with herpes, every once in a while it looks like a real life volcanic map of the Hawaiian Islands.
In the end, however, I do find cocks and babies are somewhat similar.
Pay them the slightest amount of attention, and they respond by spitting out a thick, bilious bodily fluid onto your favorite sweater.
Thanks for the submission HH.
My girlfriend wont let me give her oral so im looking for a girl to eat out between the ages of 18-25 im 6 and a half feet tall work wonders with my hands if you like a guy who goes to work and comes home with dirty and cut up hands im your guy! Sam
Sam, do you ever notice clicking noises when you walk around town?
You could tie those locked female legs to two horses and have them charge in opposite directions, and those legs would stay sealed shut like an Oscars envelope. You're that disgusting.
Luckily I'm quite a ladies man. Not in that they'll have ever sex with me, but I'm lucky to share in some of their intimate conversations on occasion as we have pillowfights, trade bras, and giggle over the latest issue of Teen Beat magazine. Oh, the things they tell me.
Did you know that if you shower every day but don't wash your balls, your taint will smell like someone put a bag of river smelt in a breadbox and left it out in the Cairo sun for a fortnight?
Did you know if you plug your tongue down her throat like your mining for bauxite in her spleen on the first kiss, you'll never even see her kneecaps in the light of day?
And finally, did you know women would rather gargle a glass of rusty fishhooks than let a man put his dirty, and for the love of God, cut up, hands inside of her?
Here's an idea. Try sticking your dirty, cut up fingers into your own ass, and watch it involuntarily pucker itself shut like a bank vault.
Friday, July 4, 2008
so if a bear shits in the forrest and no one is around, does it stink?
Also the song "vibin" from boys II men is a great song.
maybe we should chat more
But please have a va jay jay, thx Chrisoph
This personal ad reminds me of why several of my female friends often say “Sometimes I wish my boyfriend would just shut the hell up and fuck me.”
I think Christoph is one of these boyfriends. Good looking and well-built, with the charisma of a Wal-Mart carrot peeler, and the intelligence of a stale Saltine soup cracker.
When I meet guys like Christoph and the conversation turns towards politics or the arts, I notice their eyes usually start to wander off into space behind me.
Maybe they’ve spotted a rare owl, I sometimes think. Or maybe they’re analyzing a stalactite behind me, hypothesizing at the chemical composition of its striations.
And inevitably when I turn around, there is nothing but open, blank space.
Their blank stares reflect the horizons of their deepest thoughts; visions of peanut butter sandwiches, crayons, and how cool it would be to have a shiny new tractor.
Offering his views on philosophy and music, I’m not sure if this is indeed his personal ad, or his valedictorian speech for the Poughkipsee Campus of the DeVry Scuba Institute.
Either way, he closes the ad by using the word “va-jay-jay”, a word only acceptable when uttered by women, or by Tyra Banks.
You can re-read that last sentence if you want to.