Monday, September 29, 2008
hi! do you want to explore the nudist community? i am 46 years old who enjoys living every day life in the nude seeking the same in a woman. i have gone thorugh a separation wwith my wife, but i have a cabin in a private nudist colony in eastern XXXXXXX county for the next week. i am seeking a woman to come enjoy, there are plenty activities from horses to nature walks to volleyball to parties on fri&sat. this is not about sexual nature, it is about being free and confident!how about you come join me race and size doesnt matter! brandon
One good thing about dating a nudist is you won't have to spend an eternity trying to figure out what to wear. Apparently the latest in stylish burglary gloves will do, and a helmet to make sure none of that nasty head hair gets mixed in with the abundant pubic hairs coating your soup.
There's really nothing wrong with nudity or this ad in general, it just seems spending a week at a nudist camp on a first date might rub most women the wrong way, just as I imagine riding a horse naked would. Chapstick anyone?
Most guys find that sharing a romantic dinner at a local restaurant on the first date might give a woman cause to remove her clothes. Hauling a woman 200 miles and exposing her to close-up views of your sweating, flopping genitals during a nude volleyball game likely won't have the same effect. She'll be wearing an Antarctic snowsuit inside an iron lung by the time you reach match point. But you have to remember, being nude isn't about sexuality. It's about freedom and confidence! So feel free to have the confidence there will be no sex with Brandon.
Personally, aside from sex or feverish, unscheduled masturbation, I only find one activity enjoyable while nude in front of strangers; sitting cross-legged with my hands cupping my genitals like I've entrapped an endangered songbird. My penis hasn't been in my "show-and-tell" inventory since I was 5. Size may not matter to Brandon, but that's easy to say when your cock could drink from a stream while your sitting on a freakishly tall horse. I'm hung like a frightened gnat in a cold shower. Thanks nature!
Luckily for women, most men won't request a first date take place at a nudist camp. Naked men worry too much that you'll judge them solely on their genitals rather than who they are as a person.
Wow. Does anyone smell irony in that last sentence?
Sunday, September 28, 2008
I'd like to make you an offer. I have slept with hundeds of women in my years and consider myself an aficinado of women. What I often find is that women don't shave themselves properly for there body style or look, and thats where I come in. If you send me a picture of your pussy or full body, I will analyze and recomend what style men would find most attractive on you. This includes a V shape, a triangle, a landing strip, or totally shaved or not shaved. I charge $5 but I will leave it up to you what you would like to donate for my services. Send your photos to marcXXX@XXXXX.com. I will reply within 1 day.
The staff here at WWHM often consider the work we do as a sort of "Special Olympics" for men trying to attract women, but it really isn't an accurate representation of what we do.
In actual Special Olympics events, the participants know something about the sport in which they are about to compete. Put a basketball in front of them and they know to pick it up, they know they need to bounce it, and they know that the point of the game is to get the ball into the hoop.
But in the WWHM Special Olympics, this really isn't the case. Put an actual woman in front of our participants, and they bow their heads and shuffle their feet. They retreat to a remote corner looking for juice and cookies, or cuddle into their mother's teet and beg to go home. Our participants will never win, because they have no idea how to play the game or what the game is even played with.
Which leads us to today's gold medal winner, Marc. Marc wants you to send him a picture of your "beaver", a term generally reserved for six year-old boys who pee in sleeping bags and use laser noises to open car doors.
Marc is 40 and still refers to a pussy as a "beaver." This suggests a man completely unfamiliar with a pussy and the species it's attached to, a spineless fucking twit who wouldn't know a real vagina if it walked up to him on the street and slapped him in the face with a buttered halibut and screamed "Hello. I'm a vagina."
He wants you to send him a picture of your pussy. So he can suggest how you should shave it. Oh, and he wants $5 for his professional opinion. Of your pussy.
I think this guy comes in second place to Tim's Hairy Snack Shack as possibly the most asinine fucking thing I've ever seen at WWHM Headquarters.
Any suggestions for what you might like to donate for his services, please post in the comments. And no, I'm not going to give you the email address. But seriously, I thought about posting it.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Do you love animals? I am an animal lover who is seeking a woman who is the same and does not eat them. I currently have four dogs (one on the couch with a cast!), seven cats (two kittens, whoops) 10 rabbits two birds, two snakes, a turtle, 5 lizards and I keep a very large collection of rare fish in a custom built tank. Hurting animals makes me extremely angry and I will probably love my animals more than you lol. Call Eddie at XXX-XXX-XXXX
Way to finish Eddie.
Women love to hear that they will always play second fiddle to a cold-blooded lizard that sits under a fucking heat lamp all day eating lettuce. Share a birthday with the rabbit? You're getting carrots, and only half a bag.
Anyway, welcome to violent vegetarian Eddie's personal ad, which ironically also mirrors any mid-town Korean lunch menu. If you love men and animals and refuse to eat either, here's your chance to kill two birds with one stone. But I don't recommend you actually kill his birds, because it sounds as if you'll end up injured like his dog, in which case you two will spend a lot of time together licking each other's casts.
Eddie doesn't tell us much about himself in his personal ad except that he has a propensity for violence, he doesn't eat meat, and apparently he owns a petting zoo license. I think this is because when you live with that many animals, you tend to be the center of attention and everybody loves you. Maybe he thinks women will love him unconditionally just as much as his animals do. Ha!
Women only love men conditionally Eddie, and those conditions are far more complex than the thick, viscous casserole of ornate poo stains that decorate your carpet like a Van Gogh shit exhibit. Animals love you because you feed their mouths; women love you because you feed their mouths, ears, minds, and pussies. And unfortunately for you, Purina doesn't make any shit called Emotional Balance- For Women.
If you piss off your new vegetarian girlfriend, you'll come home to a plate of jellied calico cat with a side of steamed bird beaks.
Go put your pajamas on, little boy. I've seen bigger shoulders on a remote logging road.
You couldn't beat up a fucking paraplegic tree sloth in a body cast if you had a barrel of steroids and a pair of brass knuckles.
Something tells me two minutes after you took this picture, your grandma grabbed you by the ear and made you wash the dishes.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
I'm a professional, good looking, athletic, and clean guy in XXXXXXXX. I'm looking for an openminded, fun woman to come over and watch me suck my own dick and take pictures/record. I can do this and would love someone there cheering me on and maybe even pushing my mouth further down my cock. I am very real, and looking for tonight. No games please. Matt
For all of us who have ever attended an amazing Las Vegas acrobatic show such as Cirque de Soleil, and at some point wondered to ourselves "I wonder if that guy can........um......you know......"
Yes, he can folks. Yes he can.
He's blowing himself like his cock is a flaming marshmallow.
According to a Kinsey study, fewer than 1% of males have the ability to auto-fellate themselves. Critics suggest the number might be a little low, since all men that can actually blow themselves haven't left the house long enough to participate in some stupid study that would interrupt their staying at home and continually blowing themselves.
As comedian Bill Hicks once said, "I can speak for every guy in this room here tonight. Guys, if you could blow yourselves, ladies, you'd be in this room alone right now... watching an empty stage."
Matt won the male spinal detachment lottery, and can suck on his own cock like an industrial chicken vacuum. And just like the cocaine-addled monkey that will snort blow until his heart explodes, Matt will likely continue to suck his own dick until his balls are drier than the sun-bleached asslips of a dehydrated Sonoran sun snake trapped in a bag of salt cubes.
Goodbye Lonelyville, hello Fellatiopolis!
But now Matt wants your company so you can help "cheer him on" as he feverishly fellates himself. Which, really, if you think about it, is just about as exciting as going over to someone's house to "cheer them on" as they mow their lawn.
But women will certainly cheer Matt on after he dumps his bag of grass clippings into his own mouth, makes the patented lemon face, and runs to the sink with his cheeks inflated with testicular discharge. "Eeeew," he'll cry, "it tastes like bleach."
"Don't worry," they'll say, "it's good for your skin."
Looking for an older chick to have a casual encounter with or maybe even a regular thing. Must be D&D Free & below 35! I have ID to prove I'm really 18. Mail me on here for Pics & to chat with me. Thanx! jerry
If you're looking for an older chick to fuck your brains out like you're a common street whore, it's probably not a good idea not to dress up as Barney the Inexperienced Beaver.
Jerry, wear this around an older woman and she's not going to suck your dick and fuck you like a walrus in heat. She's going to read you "Goodnight Moon" and make you pee in a fucking plastic Bert & Ernie toilet.
We had wedding parties to go to, football games to attend, and eyeholes to cut into newspapers as we prepared to loiter at the bus stop outside a Barbizon Teen Modelling Workshop with a bin of margarine between our knees.
We also went to the mall to take some pictures at our favorite store- Glamour Shots! Do these pictures activate the mucous membranes in your fallopian tubes ladies? I bet they do! You're probably dropping eggs like a spawning salmon right now.
What is it that turns you on? Is it my cute halter top teasingly revealing the presence of a light, minty snail trail of man-belly hairs protruding from my gentleman's diaper? I bet it is, you horny foxes! Now stop salivating over my genitalia- these diapers may be absorbent, but they're not super-absorbent!
Unfortunately, I only got one picture taken before mall security told me I couldn't wear diapers on the property. Well that's age discrimination! Look at all these babies wearing diapers around the mall! Why don't they have to "wear pants" over their diapers? We'll let the judge decide, won't we you tough security mall officers? Hey, are you guys hiring?
Well, back to WWHM. We're back again folks, offering up the finest male personal ads the internet has to offer! Unable to open a woman's legs with their personal ads, these guys will forever grace the glossy pages of men's magazines with loads of their own sperm. I haven't seen that many confused swimmers since a Cuban refugee boat sank 200 miles off the coast of Miami.
Oh man, I just love watching sperm trying to impregnate an aluminum magazine-binding staple. Good times!
Well, as a horny horse once said, let's just do the posts!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Confident Male Seeks Strong Woman
I'm Craig, a 28 year old man with a bit of baggage, well not so much baggage as it is a Poltergeist on my ass. My last girlfriend ran off into the woods screaming about tentacle branches and tender areas. I'm looking to get into a really serious relationship, but that isn't saying I don't want a woman who will just grab onto my boomstick and blow away Mongolian demons. Maybe someone who wouldn't mind traveling through a time vortex to the dark ages and awakening an evil force. I want a woman who is an excellent cook, and knows her way around a graveyard. XXX-XXX-XXXX
A personal ad is a good way to determine whether you might be a good match for someone- whether you have the same hobbies, enjoy the same political ideologies, and sometimes whether or not you live in the same fucking solar system.
Craig admits he has baggage, and we might assume that baggage contains a strait-jacket, a bottle of Seroquel and the keys to a recently stolen blue hospital bus. Know your way around a graveyard? Good, now pick a plot.
The problem with dating a guy like Craig is the inherent unpredictability of schizophrenia. One day you may take a stroll down the beach together, musing about songbirds and the orientation of the stars in the sky. The next day, he'll accuse the cats of shooting mind-control laser beams into his French toast, and then proceed to construct a party hat for Oprah Winfrey using preserved Eskimo clitoris shavings and a basketball-sized wad of watermelon-flavored Dentyne chewing gum.
Craig complains his last girlfriend ran off into the woods screaming about "tentacle branches," but we must first understand Craig's last girlfriend was a goddamn fir tree. Maybe not a problem for an open-minded woman such as yourself, but don't call me when when you find your vagina crawling with a bad case of bark ants. Call an arborist, because you'll have to have your pussy crop-dusted at least twice a week.
His only somewhat reasonable request appears to be that he would like to find a woman who is an excellent cook. If that describes you, that's fantastic. His favorite dishes are lasagne, broiled salmon, and his mother.
Can we really judge his beliefs in time vortexes, Mongolian demons, and purported ass ghosts? Maybe not, because this guy had a lot more sense than most guys that post personal ads.
He didn't post a shot of his cock, so he's not that crazy.
Well hung white man looking for a forked tongue hottie/beauty for a birthday blowjob (and yes it really is my birthday.) Ken
Awww.. looks like someone's mommy still buys him underwear for his birthday. How cute.
Now you just have to write "Tuesday" on the top with a black felt-tip marker.
You hung motherfucker, you!
Ken is hung like a...............................................(post in comments)
I usually use cats, but unfortunately cats are stupid, ignorant, selfish imbeciles, and have recently instituted a boycott against WWHM-The Blog. So if your cat is being a fucking asshole prick to you today, it's because you're reading WWHM.
Or maybe it's because it's a fucking cat. It doesn't give a crap about you anyway. And when you die, it will eat you. Ha!
So today, we're introducing some baby chickens instead. Aren't they cute? I think they're cute, but would be much cuter slathered with cheese and ketchup and served with curly fries.
Hopefully chickens won't hear about this, or you're likely to get attacked by cocks. I'll let you determine whether that's a good or a bad thing.
Anyway, you know what these cute little chickens will grow up to be? Then read the title of the next post......
Older mature man for young hot chicks 18+ - 76
I would like to meet some hot sexy chicks 18-24 yrs old. It has been a very long time since i have tasted something tight and wet. I would like to stick my cock in your pussy, and in your asshole, and then fuck your sweet little mouth until i blow my load. I can still get it up, and i can still get it hard. I may be older, but i can still fuck the shit out of you!
Young chicks only - i already got a tough old dried up bird at home. I'm George you can reach me at XXX-XXX-XXXX.
Today I'd like to introduce you to George, a 76 year-old man hoping to taste something "tight and wet." Apparently he told this to an orderly at the senior home, and the nurse tied a used Depends diaper around his face.
Tired of fucking his "tough old dried up bird at home", George has set what's left of his sights on girls between the ages 18 and 24. Apparently he doesn't realize girls between the ages of 18 and 24 can have sex with guys between the ages of 18 and 24, who not only have hard bodies and hard cocks, but also don't have genitalia that smells like a combination of scrambled eggs and PolyGrip.
Studies show that male sperm count can diminish by as much as 80% by the age of 60. George is 76, and I speculate his testicles usually contain around two sperm, both of whom are busy playing pinochle and trying to keep squirrels off the lawn.
Word around the Scrabble courts at Hillside Manor though suggest George did indeed have sex with a 57 year-old woman last summer, an act the guys term "putting the 'men' back in menopause." Introduced to her egg however, one of his sperm started showing pictures of the grandchildren, and the other one simply ordered pancakes.
It's nice to see that George still has an active interest in sex, but it's really not too nice to actually see it. You need to put that fossil away George before it ejaculates another cloud of dry dust.
If we want to see a cock cough, we'll hang out with a flu-addled chicken.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Remember guys, we're a community driven website, so send all your bad personal ads, YouTube videos, and abhorrent fucking douchebag webpages to me the minute you get them. Drop some links on your favorite sites and forums, and we'll make the WWHM army stronger than the musky odors emanating from the various crevices of the jackasses we make fun of.
Have a good weekend WWHM'ers, and let's do the fucking posts...............
I'll pound your f'ing pussy just like you like it all my exgfs keep blowing up me cellpone "yore the best" but I need sum new pussy. Good with my mouth, good with my hands, good with my tungue, great with my perfect dick.Got a perfect dick and body you'll beg for more pretty soon youll be calling me to hahaha. Tyler XXX-XXX-XXXX
Yeah, yeah, yeah…you’re the best. Never hear that one around the WWHM offices.
If sexual prowess was a cut of meat, every fucking spindly, dried chicken claw of a man would claim they were a cut of kobe beef.
Unfortunately, nine times out of ten the guy that brags about his sexual prowess couldn’t excite a loyal dog after a six month vacation. The shy, nerdy guy in the corner reading a book about Indian pottery? He’ll fuck you so hard you’ll burp up a half-digested bedpost into a pile of shredded pillows while your vagina fills out the assault paperwork.
Tyler is just another boring braggart. “I can make a nun cum by reading Bible verses,” he’ll boast, as a line of ex-girlfriends behind him exchange Energizer battery coupons, and try to breathe a little life into their overused, high-mileage dildos with their arthritic fingers.
Just because you're a great lay to one girl doesn't mean you'll be a great lay to the next, Tyler. A bored, neglected virgin may feel a weak spark of excitement when you handle her pussy like you're buff sanding the cat scratches off the arm of an antique chair, but an experienced girl will be bored to tears. She might be there in spirit, but her G-spot is in the fucking kitchen having a smoke and watching Seinfeld.
I am an attractive male seeking some fun NSA this morning. I am looking for an attractive female or couple to have some fun with. If you are interested in having fun this morning, call me at XXX XXX XXXX
Um, excuse me sir, you appear to have some toilet paper stuck to your shoe.
Wait a minute...... that's not your shoe. What the hell is that?
Is that a fucking feedbag for your penis?
What do you feed it? Barley?
I don't know what's going on here. If you guys can figure it out, leave it in the comments.
Ok, so I'm I like being fucked and fucked hard. I like having things in my ass(dildos, vegetables). for the most part anything goes, please be discreet. My wife wont fulfill my wishes and i know she would tell her friends i cant have that happen please please respond. ted
Wow, that's weird.
I hear the Pacific Ocean, but I smell Cleveland.
A lot of guys turn to internet bulletin boards to find women capable of fulfilling their fantasies. Unfortunately for these idiots, they don't understand that women consider a handshake and a smile a good first impression, not an unwiped asshole and a tray containing a shit-stained cauliflower.
But Ted has a legitimate concern. Menstruation, terrorists, angry dogs, maps, vaginas- yeah, they all can scare the crap out of a man. But nothing strikes more primal fear in the heart of a man than seeing two or more women talking and giggling. It literally causes our scrotum to retract over our genitals until our pubic area resembles a miniature kangaroo pouch. Because we know you're talking about us.
Ted's correct in that a woman would tell her friends. And it would take place in one of these giggle-centric woman-circles that always form at parties. We know these fortified circles serve only one purpose- to tell your friends everything you promised us you'd never reveal to anyone. We may as well tell you our deepest secrets with a bullhorn and several graphical charts in front of a live studio audience.
"Oh, hey girls," you might say, "my pussy-ass husband over there likes getting his ass plowed like a Vietnamese rice field. And when he cums, he makes a face like a giraffe eating a bowl of lemons." Then you'd all giggle and sneak a look at the offending party innocently, although it couldn't be more obvious had you been glaring at us through a telescope large enough to see purely theoretical planets.
There's nothing you can do about it Ted. In your fantasy world, a woman's mouth would always be closed and her legs always open. But in the real world, a woman's mouth stays open and her legs remain closed. And when her legs do open, her mouth just opens wider.
Know it. Accept it. Respect it.
Now on to more important issues.......
You really need to stop eating green apples.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I am looking for a talented woman that knows what she is doing. What you see is what you get. Thanks Michael
There's something completely wrong with this picture. Can you spot it?
A single guy who actually placed a full roll of toilet paper on the toilet paper dispenser? Hahahaha!! Thanks again Photoshop!
Maybe next time, you can use Photoshop to create the illusion of yourself cleaning up the piss you sprayed all over the toilet seat like you had been urinating drunk during an earthquake while being attacked by a ferocious bear.
Anyway, meet Michael. Michael's been a little lonely lately, and he decided he would like to meet the girl of his dreams. A nimble young blonde, perhaps, her hair smelling of loganberries and dolphin snout extract. A good cook, a tremendous lover, and an intellectual stalwart. "How," Michael asked himself, "do I attract such a woman?"
Easy to do Michael! First, put on a cheap brown golf shirt. Then take off your pants, go into the bathroom and throw some garbage and a plunger on the floor. Lift the toilet seat, sit down, and masturbate furiously. Once you're hard, snap a photo. Then write some romantic copy like "Milk this....." and "Thanks."
Think you got every woman's loins quivering like an epileptic seahorse now?
But I want to enroll in your sailing class, because every woman that read this ad just tied their fallopian tubes into triple-shank sheep knots that could hold a fucking cruise ship to a dock in Hurricane Ike.
Big Dollah looking fo down chick that know was up with this nas a stuff so if ur down for the get down holla and be reddy to gits dat azz split ups ya here. Gittin money gittin bitches gittin riches itz Big Dollah
I'm really fucking white.
So white, in fact, that apparently I only possess the equivalent threatening street cred of a four year-old girl with pigtails crying because she saw an ant.
Big Dollah here also made me feel very white in my pants. Say what you will about stereotypes, but Big Dollah's ad also contained a cock shot, and at first I thought it was a picture of a guy moving an air conditioning duct.
Compare that to my own picture, where it appears like I might use my penis to pierce the crispy skin of a holiday duck and report the temperature back to my knitting grandmother and her sick parakeet.
Big Dollah seeks a female, and from what I can grasp, he hopes that you are "up with nas a stuff" and that you are ready to "gits dat azz split up." I don't know what that means, but I theorize it doesn't involve shopping for petunias or playing Boggle by the hearth.
So what does Big Dollah really want? To find out, WWHM once again utilized the resources of the Urban Dictionary, a great online resource for ignorant white people such as myself to learn not only street dialect, but also the definition of "clambagging" which I was rudely threatened with this past weekend at a wedding.
Here is the literal, whitey, Republican translation of Big Dollah's personal ad:
To the ladies who would like to have sex,
Hello, Clarence Lackspoon here. I am looking for a lady who is agreeable to and knowledgeable of dirty, nasty sex. So if you would enjoy having some dirty nasty sex with me, please have your anus ready and spread for my penis, which I will place between your buttocks. Do you understand? I enjoy American currency, copulating with women, and material objects. I'm Clarence Lackspoon.
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.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Will you marry me? I don't want a typical married relationship. I prefer we don't live together, I don't like having my things messed with. Also women always seem to put things in the wrong places. I don't want to talk every day, just maybe a couple of times a week. You should enjoy doing laundry and cooking. Even though we don't talk daily, doesn't mean you can't feed me nightly. As for sex, YES. I won't make daily bj's mandatory, just highly encouraged.
So, if you are a great cook and can suck a golf ball through a water hose, hit me up.
Unfortunately, Paul chose not to post his picture. I suspect this was a wise decision, as his face likely repels vaginas like the cold, scaly hands of an obese gynecologist who puts your legs in stirrups and asks "Hey, you wanna have coffee later?"
But I felt a picture of a small, dick-shaped iceberg fit well, as it accurately portrays the environment his penis might find itself in soon after women read his personal ad: cold, isolated, and not at all worth exploring. Plus, it's an inviting habitat for an infestation of crabs.
Paul seeks a "marriage of convenience", and by convenience, he means "not your convenience." You will provide pants-folding skills, an oven and a closed mouth. He will provide a small rodent penis and copious quantities of unemployed ass sweat in the couch cushions. Seem like a dated relationship? It is, but you have to consider that the last time Paul saw a vagina, he threw a spear at it and fled.
If Paul wants his clothes washed, his stomach full, and complete silence, I suggest he move himself and a heavy bag of quarters into the laundry room of a library with vending machines. That takes care of everything but the blowjobs, which he states are not mandatory, but are highly encouraged. Believe me Paul, you'd have better luck encouraging a plump, fragrant and bleeding chicken to perform a fucking River Dance on the tongue of a starved alligator.
Get some binoculars and take a look in your pants Paul. Some women may be able to suck a golf ball through a water hose, but they'll never suck it through a fucking Burger King coffee straw. Women may sometimes "put things in the wrong places", but rest assured no women will put that 90% sucked Tic Tac in their mouths.
Why hello there ladies, I am a fiery redhead with a passion for all things sensual.
I wish to wine and dine you all night long.
Do you find me attractive?
Shhh... You don't have to answer now, my lovely.
Simply send me a message.
Damon, the ladies have sent you a message.
It reads "Please don't order the cheese, because we're fucking swimming in it."
To most of us, "suave" is defined as "an intrinsically gracious and sophisticated behavioral manner expressed by a worldly, educated and mature individual."
To 21 year-old Damon, suave means "Hey, check me out, I'm sucking down some fucking wicked grapes at Bennigans on top of the Cincinnati Holiday Inn. And hey, I washed my balls with soap this morning."
Hoping to plunge his autumn foliage colored genitals deep into the seasoned vaginas of the 30-something set, Damon attempts to create an aura of elegance and maturity. Unfortunately, the "Fainted Badger" hairstyle courtesy of the Sequoia Nation Supercuts doesn't help, nor does the $98 Men's Wearhouse church suit for boys.
Getting laid is tough enough for a clueless young man that looks like a shoo-in for the lead elf position at Nordstrom's Christmas Village, but Damon must also fight the uphill battle of possessing pubic hair that resembles a burnt Nevada mountainside.
Here's my advice Damon. Stop trying to portray yourself as some sophisticated, worldly intellectual. Drinking wine at 21 doesn't make you an intellectual, it makes you a goddamn pussy. At 21, you're supposed to be ramming house keys into a Keystone Light, chugging it, and vomiting on your Abercrombie and Fitch sweater. Believe it or not, in college that gives you a better chance of getting laid than posting an online ad with a picture of yourself ordering a steamed halibut with carrots.
Every woman over 23 knows you're going to treat her like a beer keg in bed anyway- you'll just pump away furiously until foam spews out of your tap.
And that, my friend, will never be suave.
Friday, September 12, 2008
I do have this fantasy, of being with mother. making love to her, fucking her, eating her sweet pussy. when i was very young, my mother would walk around the house naked. i would go into the bathroom while she was taking a bath. she had the most perfect body that i had ever seen. she was a large woman, not fat, but tall and large. she had perfect tits, big with large nipples, nice pretty hairy pussy. Please reply to Mack at XXXXXXXXXXX.
There's a reason your mother kicks you out of the womb after nine months.
She's tired of you squatting in her personal space, you eat all the food without asking, your presence turns her into an emotional wreck, and you don't have a job.
Which is basically the same reason she kicked you out of the house at 27.
Believe me, she doesn't want you back inside of either.
Having a mother/son fantasy is fine. Disgusting as hell, but ok, fine. Whatever floats your boat. Apparently amniotic fluid floats yours.
However, your personal ad may have been more effective if you just didn't include all those nasty details. Sure, you may have just been exploring your fantasy, but I haven't seen that many female knees slam shut since David Gest walked into a fertility clinic with his fly undone, an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue, and a test tube full of testicular discharge. Which, at his age, is likely composed largely of sawdust.
Man, I'm not going to be able to get my dick hard for a month.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
I'm an successful, attractive, kinky male, pretty down to earth guy open for a relationship. I enjoy beach combing, fire, hiking, playing with my dogs and cooking. I'm seeking a woman who likes the same, whose adventurous inside and out, and is loving and caring woman who wants a relationship longer than three months. Please note that this does NOT include money grubbing whores or fat women, and do NOT reply to this ad if you just want to leave me after a couple dates! I'm sick of women all bossy and rejecting! DO NOT REPLY IF YOU CANT MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND JUST USE SOMEONE ELSE. Robert
He totally had me at first.
His ad had butterflys dancing in my stomach. I thought we finally posted a great personal ad here at WWHM headquarters. I clapped, giggled, and slurped on some applesauce in a state of girlish knee-knocking glee.
But then he turned on us. Somewhere between "loving and caring woman" and "money grubbing whores", someone obviously dumped a heated, steamy ostrich poo on his fresh melba toast.
Suddenly the dainty butterflies in my stomach turned back into caterpillars, and I vomited up a bunch of dry, scaly wings.
Watch out for guys like Robert, ladies. One minute he's the cat's meow, the next minute Robert has your cat stuffed into a fucking espresso machine.
WWHM would like to thank Prozac for sponsoring this personal ad.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I waunt to apply for an gurlfrend...womun only! I am in grate shape I think I am good on the fone two.
Pepole realee seem to respond too me well... and all the ladies. I know my spelling is not to good but find that I Offen can get a job with my persinalety.
My scedule is open so we can discus what you want and what you think you need, I can cum today. Thank you in advanse for your anser. hopifuly Yore best freind.
I'm always beleaugering you poor ladies with ominous clouds of coarse pubic hair, dopey looking troglodytes, and bloated, pale potbellied jackasses.
Today I decided to plant an estrogen bomb in the mix, and though I'm proud of myself now, I will probably reconsider tomorrow morning when I'm cleaning up all the unfertilized eggs you guys will inevitably spew onto my Dell keyboard. Omelettes anyone?
Women occasionally like to date guys like Peter. First and foremost, he's a fantastic sexual partner. Scrabble partner? Well...... probably not so much. But he's the human equivalent of a fantastic vibrator- he always gets you off and doesn't have much to say afterwards. And rather than waste all that money on D batteries, Peter can easily recharge with a dinosaur coloring book and some fresh pudding.
But ultimately women must choose between a sprained clitoris or a bruised cerebral cortex. While they enjoy having their uterus puff up like an alarmed Chinese blowfish every time he takes his shirt off, most women are less tolerant than men of their significant other having the IQ of a stale Dorito. Peter might be able to briefly sustain a conversation about the gym or a cool red fire engine he once saw, but as soon as the conversation turns to the arts or politics, his eyes will inevitably wander like there's a giraffe with a sparkly hat juggling Twinkies on a unicycle behind you.
But still, chances are you'd fuck him harder than Exxon would fuck an Alaskan caribou in the ANWR. You both want that easy gusher once in a while.
Just make sure you get rid of him before he thinks you're his "gurlfrend".
Some of you new readers might say to yourselves "Oh, this Weasel guy sure is a nice guy, he posted an entry about adorable kittens."
Wrong. Don't make me slap you with an old, dead carp.
I post kittens to warn viewers at work and at home to grab a clam bucket and assume the position.
Basically, it's an antidote to what you're about to see.
I have all kinds of fantasies, I want to have sex in public Do you have a fantasy? I want to go to a particular dark restaraunt in XXXXXXX and sit in a booth tipe table in the back. I want you to get me off at the table. Don't care what you look like I am overweight so if you are thats ok. I will make it up to you orally when we get home! Please be willing to do this. Reply to Craig at XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Why do I call this entry the Boomerang? Because I keep getting this guy in my email inbox. I throw it away, and a month later he comes right back to me. It's like catching hammers in my teeth.
Craig posts requests for women to come over and masturbate him, probably because he hasn't seen his penis since Hawaii became a state. Ironic in that both are very small, extremely humid, and difficult to reach.
I think guys like Craig post ads on singles boards simply because they can no longer masturbate by themselves. I imagine it's like throwing a piece of bacon into a gymnasium at night. They can smell it so they know it's out there somewhere, but it's just really difficult for them to find in the dark.
Craig needs to stop calling an elk a "snack", and replace his normal diet of livestock with a bag of baby carrots. Craig, if you don't know what a baby carrot is, try to remember what your own penis looks like, and then color it orange.
Otherwise, let Darwin's Theory take its course. Any man that cares about food more than sex doesn't deserve to reproduce. And you can't reproduce when you ejaculate lard.
Ladies, please don't send me this guy anymore. If I see it again, I'm going to rake my eyeballs over a cheese grater and boil the shavings in vat of child's paste.
As for the restaurant idea?
WWHM traffic has gone up quite a bit lately, and so have the number of viewer emails. A lot of you ladies have been accusing me of being "out of the loop" with some of the interzweb's most douchetastic male idiots.
You are correct, and thankfully I have you guys to help me keep up. Keep sending them in!
Yesterday, we had "Mr. Right", and today, I present to you Atlanta businessman John Fitzgerald.
His personal webpage is a hodgepodge of laughably overstated accomplishments, and if you choose to take a look, I recommend the "About" page and the "Fitness" page for a chuckle or two.
Three words John: 1.Get 2.Over 3.Yourself.
John also made a name for himself on Match.com, as one unfortunate woman discovered when she winked at Mr. Alexander, who utilizes the modest screen name "IvyLeagueAlum". John responded with a lengthy diatribe about his apartment, his Ivy League schooling, his workout regimen, and his job.
Bored to tears, the woman replied "No thanks."
Would John leave it at that? Of course not. He had this pleasant response to her rebuff:
"I think you forgot how this works. You hit on me, and therefore have to impress ME and pass MY criteria and standards - not vice versa. 6 pictures of just your head and your inability to answer a simple question lets me know one thing. You are not in shape. I am a trainer on the side, in fact, I am heading to the gym in 26 minutes!
So next time you meet a guy of my caliber, instead of trying to turn it around, just get to the gym! I will even give you one free training session, so you don't blow it with the next 8.9 on Hot or Not, Ivy League grad, Mensa member, can bench/squat/leg press over 1200 lbs., has had lunch with the secretary of defense, has an MBA from the top school in the country, lives in a Buckhead high rise, drives a Beemer convertible, has been in 14 major motion pictures, was in Jezebel's Best dressed, etc. Oh, that is right, there aren't any more of those!
You can read the entire exchange here, courtesy of Gawker.com.
You're all class, John. You're a grown man, and you actually quoted your hotness rating on "Hot or Not?", a website primarily utilized by 6th graders and the mentally challenged.
And lastly, you can view his wonderful appearance on Dr. Phil here, where he does a fantastic job of making himself look like a huge horse's ass. (No offense, horses.)
I wonder why you're still single John?
Tune in tomorrow for more personal ad shredding. And readers, please feel free to send me any comments, concerns, or general overviews of WWHM. I do this for you guys, and I want to keep you coming back every day. Let me know how I'm doing!
Monday, September 8, 2008
Just a regular dude who made it through the regular and everyday trials and tribulations of a hustler's life (legit of course) and enjoying the position of being able to spend money like it was water, drink expensive drinks, and enjoy the most lavish of lives. Hope to share my Money, Cars, Clothes, Crib with a special woman who deserves a crown... Like for princesses who like to be spoiled, and be pampered with only the most extravagant gifts. Must be able to take pipe. Only the best and most qualified need apply... Jonathan
Nothing pleases the staff at WWHM more than tragically misguided, pubic hair-free youths posting doe-eyed photos of themselves accompanied by longwinded text bloviating about their hard-scrabble success as a "hustler." It's like the Backstreet Boys bragging about stealing crib trays from unattended infants.
Delivering Sunday newspapers on a Schwinn equipped with a food basket and a traffic bell in the Blueberry Creek neighborhood doesn't make one a "hustler". I'd like to see Jonathan "hustle" in my neighborhood; it's so tough around here that yesterday I got robbed at knifepoint by a pregnant duck. Jonathan looks more like the type of guy that would emit a white-hot stream of piss into his rolled-up cotton summer sailing shorts when suddenly startled by a sneezing show-bunny with a pink ribbon adorning his ears.
While men find themselves quite attracted to hairless pussies, Jonathan here needs to understand that most women are not. Some females may find this look attractive, but they tend to read Teen Beat magazine and eat out of lunchboxes emblazoned with flying unicorns.
As any WWHM reader knows by now, any man that brags about his money in a personal ad has a very specific relationship with money; he has none. Although he has to Photoshop $140 into his pantyline, Jonathan assures us he has so much money he can "spend it like water", which indicates he might want to spend some of it on a community college class called "Analogies That Make Sense 101."
To a 21 year-old, a "lavish life" means a fancy restaurant has a medieval theme where pock-faced teens in pirate outfits serve you entrees with names like "Ye Olde Hams With Cheeses." He considers a lowered truck with a pair of balls affixed to the trailer hitch as a "nice ride", and "the finer things in life" include wrestling tickets, Bud Light at breakfast, and second-hand IKEA furniture. And don't even get me started on the sex- only a yogurt gun can squirt more protein onto your pillows after just two pumps.
Jonathan wants to date a woman who "deserves a crown", and any woman that dates Jonathan certainly does deserve a crown, only the crown will be conical in nature and have the word "Dunce" inscribed across the front.
Put that in your fucking pipe, Jonathan. And smoke it.
Listen If U Really Wanna Get 2 Know Me Just Send Me A Note
Astute WWHM reader JD has a knack for sending in fantastic WWHM personal ads, including the douchebag Poor Pony featured earlier this morning.
JD also led me to this gem of a man recently featured on Gawker.com.
Mr. Right apparently placed an ad on Craigslist that not only featured brilliant copy inspired by the oft-neglected Romance languages, but also included 30 pictures of himself in various panty-wetting poses, including this one.
If you'd like to see more of his enclosed photos, you can see them here.
Mr. Right initially wasn't too embarrassed about the photos he sent in, until of course his ad went public to millions of Gawker readers, who promptly tore him to shreds like vultures ripping open a wounded wildebeest. Only then did he realize that perhaps a semi-grown man wearing a T-shirt of a clown holding a machine gun, coupled with completely ridiculous sunglasses inspired by the completely ridiculous Bush-loving Kanye West, might look, well, ridiculous. And don't even get me started on fanning $500 in twenties; that's a two-week McDonalds paycheck. Yes, I'll have fries with that.
Mr. Right really didn't like his ad getting posted for all the world to see, so he decided to call up Gawker and give them a piece of his mind. Below you will find his taped phone message, proving that this man is indeed just as clueless as his personal ad.
Mr. Right makes several points of note.
First, "Deez photos are minez." True, doze photos are his. And he posted them with the intention of sharing them with the public.
Second, he feels people "needs to axe me poimission" to re-print his photos. No, they don't.
Third, he could "pwess chahges on him cuz it's fwaaaad." No, genius, it's not "Fraud". Fraud is posting a picture of yourself holding a fan of $20 bills to imply that you are rich. When you are not.
Fourth, he's a "producer, you know...". Yeah, we know. Who isn't?
And lastly, he's going to call his lawyers, because he is "ten times smarter than these peoples." Uh, no...you're not. You're an idiot.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Welcome back to WWHM Headquarters, located in beautiful downtown Dubuque, Iowa, right across from Wing C of Tom's Animal Rendering Plant!
It's the weekend, and I'm going to go play some tennis down at the Dubuque Country Club! Do you want to join me? Or does my tennis outfit intimidate you?
Don't fear me just because I'm as physically striking as a violent, hissing sex cobra.
Yes, just visualizing my finely striated buttocks, Hershey Kiss nipples, and ample, teasing manpouch may make your uterus expand like a Wal-Mart SuperStore onto federally protected wetlands. You must accept that I am a feral tree mynx, a man so fertile I could impregnate a box of Safeway plums with only heavy breath and juicy eyewink.
But I'll overlook your yearning, lustful hunger as long as you don't soak my custom-fitted Venezuelan cocksleeve with all that high-octane estrogen pumping out of your adrenal glands like so many rivers of bovine phlegm leaking from the snout of a severely congested musk ox munching on a chocolate bar during a High Plains blizzard.
Did I just hear a tee-hee-hee? Are you snickering at my genitals? Are we going to play tennis, or giggle like slumber-party schoolgirls drawing penises on a Pee-Chee?
I may be hung like an adolescent meerkat, but cut one of my bikini ties and the contents of that snug marble bag will fly at you like a mildly-startled fruit bat. You've been warned!
Anyway, after our tennis match I'm heading back to the offices of WWHM Enterprises, where we're going to do some serious tinkering! And after we're done tinkering, we're going to wash our hands and go into the office, and make some small changes to the blog.
Why changes? Well, we've noticed that the mood of WWHM got very dark this week. Sure, we had a couple laughs, but overall, the ads were so depressing that it really ruined the momentum and the mood of the blog. It was like having great sex with your wife, but just as you were about to orgasm, your mother barged in, sat in a chair, and asked you if you wouldn't mind listening to her read a poem she just wrote about a werewolf and a penguin opening a lemonade stand.
So we're going to lighten the mood this week. Get back to our fun days. The ads may not be so horrifyingly bad, but we'll find plenty to make fun of. That's what I hire and train my staff to do, and that's why I pay them $1.15 an hour.
So have a good weekend WWHM'ers, and we'll see you next week! And newcomers, thanks for all the great emails, and please stick around for some good times. Traffic is way up, and so are my spirits.
Love you guys!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Attractive, trim, loyal young woman (20’s) wanted, to devote herself to me and my life. You must really feel the need to be important to and supportive of an older man (40’s). Cooking, sewing, sweeping and cleaning will be your input. Must be sensual and exploring in bed, to be made love to often as well as being my little chew toy when the mood suits. I live simply and inexpensively and you will be my helpmate. Please do not have friends that would interfere with your duties. Please call me at XXX-XXX-XXXX. Nick.
After a week full of disgusting cocks, the staff here at WWHM decided to get back to our bread and butter:
Huge fucking dicks.
And here's one of 'em. Served up fresh with a dollop of asshole and slathered with a moist, thick sheen of Whig party propaganda. Just slide him in the wood oven, set the temperature to the year 1820, and baste occasionally with the butter you'll be churning while wearing a frilly mid-century maid's bonnet and hand-carved wooden clogs.
Nick just recently got a divorce, which sometimes happens when a woman finally figures out how to chew through the rope binding her to a wooden fucking wagon wheel. Now Nick seeks a new
According to Nick, "cooking, sewing, sweeping and cleaning will be your input." That slurping sound you hear is the instant regeneration of every hymen within a 100 mile radius of this personal ad. Vaginas close like Blockbuster stores every time Nick shows up, because to him your orgasms are just as important as your friends: you don't need any. Why should you? You're a woman. All you need is a broom, a waffle iron, and a vacuum cleaner. Which, ironically, are the next three things Nick's going to have sex with.
I have a feeling Nick's gonna be doing a lot of "exploring" of himself in the next 3, 4 or 588 years. That's what happens when you sincerely believe the key to a woman's heart also opens the adjacent mop closet.
Still need a "helpmate" Nick?
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Are You a Daddy's Girl
I am looking for a young lady for quality Daddy-Daughter time. Do you want Daddy to makes thing all right again? Your Daddy will tell you how proud he is of you. You and I will explore the Daddy-Daughter sexual relationship. I'll give you whatever you need and of course, Daddy's little girl wants to please her Daddy. Your Daddy will tell his little girl exactly what to do. You: cute, smart, warm, perky and with a smile that can melt Daddy’s heart. Notice my pic will not be a dick shot...I have more class than that. Nate
After yesterday's freak penis debacle, I'm sure you are all ready for a nice, clean breath of fresh air. And by "a nice, clean breath of fresh air", I mean "a creepy old douchebag looking to score on teenage chicks."
Meet Nate, the founding member of the American Society of Scumbags Hoping to Attract Teenagers (ASSHAT). When not grunting rhythmically in the bushes during cheerleading practice with a handful of Taco Bell condiments, Nate might be found at a bus stop in a short raincoat waiting for a strong breeze, or feeding salty snacks to young girls at a track meet while wearing a t-shirt that says "Good French Kissers Get Free Juice."
Nate is seeking a father-daughter relationship. Originally, I thought he wanted a normal father-daughter relationship, meaning he wanted to find a teenage girl that would fuck a tattooed ex-prisoner in a van with a bubble window outside his bedroom at 3am. But then I realized he wanted more of a Woody Allen type of father-daughter relationship, the kind where both mother and daughter share two ends of the same kielbasa.
I imagine all his touchy-feely Daddy encouragement didn't pan out too well with his first daughter. Which might explain why she works the day shift at a club called "Lick It Up", has a clit ring imprinted with the phrase "Taste My Milkshake", and buys thongs with built-in EPT strips. Hopefully she'll move back home by her 13th birthday.
But thanks for not showing us your dick.
You classy guy.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
This is The Weasel, your personal guide into the fucking train wreck of a tragedy that is men's personal ads.
See this adorable ball of fucking fluff? You call it cute, but Tom at the rendering plant next door calls it an "Iowa Public School Protein Source." Maybe that explains why Iowa kids are pawing each others balls and neatly burying their own turds at recess.
Anyway, I posted this picture of a kitten to provide you estrogen-fueled pack wolves out there with what you WWHM'ers now collectively refer to as "brain bleach".
That's right, something... anything... to get your minds off some of the veiny-cocked, heavy-breathing, forest-bellied jackasses whose ads we poke fun at here at WWHM. Thankfully, it was pretty easy to find a picture of a kitten not offering up his cock like a cheese platter at a wine-tasting. With men, yeah, it ain't too easy.
We took a little poll here at WWHM yesterday about, incidentally, little poles. WWHM asked readers "Should we go from a cockless blog, to one that occasionally shows a little schlong now and then if the situation warrants?" Well, we received about 108 opinions on the subject through emails and comments in 12 hours.
Here are the results:
"Show us some fucking cocks Weasel, you goddamn pussy!": 108
"That's wouldn't be a prudent Christian act, Weasel.": 0
Ironically, here we are on a blog trying to prove that women don't want to see a bunch of cocks, and soon as I ask "Do you guys want to see some cocks?", 100% of my respondents start screaming "Oh God, please show us some cocks Weasel, pleeeeaseeeee!" I haven't heard this many women screaming since Oprah Winfrey gave away free Chevy Luminas to her audience.
You guys are a pack of uncontrollable, horny wasps humping on a sun-baked beach log. Here's your cock ladies, and remember, scroll up for brain bleach. You'll need it.
Kitten. Cock. Kitten. Cock. Kitten.
If any ladies are still up and craving some cock please help me!? Its been 3 years since I had sex or a nice blowjob! I am not the best looking guy or biggest penis either. But good with my tongue and kissing! You come over suck me, If we want to do more then lets do it. Then you leave, if you have time tomorrow or next day come by again! I cant have people stay the night here. ASK ME FOR MY FACE PICS! ALSO IF YOU WANT TO HEAT THINGS UP OR TRY SOMETHING DIFFERENT THERE IS AN ALLEY BY MY HOUSE WE CAN SURE TRY PUBLIC FUCK? PETER
The last time I saw someone blowing on something like that, he was leading mice out of a German village.
Anyway, meet Peter, an Amish man who unfortunately lost his actual penis in an acorn smelting accident. Amish surgeons successfully replaced his penis with a nipple from a cow udder, and now Peter gets an aggressive hand job every time someone in the village wants a fresh bowl of cereal.
Since moving out of the village Peter has been rather horny, and to entice you frisky vixens over to his mom's basement, he proudly presents what at first glance appears to be Burger King's new 1/4inch Chicken Sausage wrapped in a light pork casing. Dip that thing in mustard and coat it with sesame seeds, and you'd have hordes of Chinese kids chasing you down the street with chop sticks.
Unfortunately, Peter's skull still needs to be halved and bored out like a picnic melon if he thinks this fucking pigsty of a personal ad would even attract a horny and blind porn star fresh out of black tar heroin.
If your ideal man resembles a cobwebbed Chia Pet with a bulbous, pale thorax, maybe we might have had a good start. But the dirty, semen-stained Old Navy sweatpants leading to white Wal-Mart socks elegantly matched with a pair of black Crocs doesn't help the cause of penus nonexistus. Women may be up for watching you masturbate on occasion guys, but for the love of Christ, take your fucking socks off. If masturbating makes your toes that cold, you need more blood.
Clean up your rat's nest, and extract that multi-plug outlet. Plug in a vacuum cleaner, a hair trimmer, and a Mogen clamp, which is used in circumcision procedures. Clean that craphole up, trim your abdominal hedges, and clip the tip off that elephant snout. Moisten it with oil, dip it in flour, fry it and serve with garnish and cold milk.
Also, plug in some lights. And for the love of God, turn them the fuck off.
Anyway, I'd like to welcome my new readers, and I'd like to inform you you'll regret visiting this blog in about 3 minutes. I'm writing out of character right now, so just consider this the calm before the storm.
I have received one particular ad seven times now, and I tell you, it's fucking disgusting. Yes, it's more disgusting than this guy. In a way, I want to post it.
But I'm at a crossroads. When all you women started reading WWHM, you were all so young and innocent, like doe-eyed schoolgirls asking me for a bucket of frosted deer cookies. But you've become more seasoned, and now I'm a bit more accustomed to throwing bloody meat into a pit of rabid, foaming wolves. And, hey, I love wolves.
But this particular ad is horrifying, and it already gave my hard drive gonorrhea, chlamydia and Stage 3 Peruvian foot rot. But to show it, to really show it, would mean a cock shot. And up until a couple days ago, we've had no cock shots in 126 of 127 entries. Do we really want to turn this wholesome family blog into a picture tour of a Calcutta STD clinic?
You readers decide. It's your blog, I'm just the middleman. Let me know what you think.
Hope you had a great weekend, here's todays post!
(By the way, this weekend I started on Why Women Hate Men- The Book.)
Monday, September 1, 2008
DO YOUWANT A TASTE OF THIS HUGE COCK? I'LL SPLIT YOU OPEN WITH MY LOG! NO FAT CHICKS ALOUD, DO I LOOK FAT TO TO YOU? I'M A EDUCATED PROF WANTED MAN COME AND GET THIS COCK 12 INCHES LONG 8 INCHES AROUND ILL PLOW ALLYOUR WARM HOLES. ED.
Has anyone seen my ferret?
He's about 12 inches long, and 8 inches around, and, like Ed, loves warm holes.
Maybe that explains why I saw Ed pouring a half pound of crumbled granola bars into his boxer briefs about two minutes ago. No sudden movements Ed, because ferrets have two separate top teeth, and two teeth molded as one on the bottom. If he bites you, your fucking ball sack will look like an electrical outlet.
Some of my tech friends describe Photoshop as "magic" and I believe them, because a lot of guys that post personal ads often use it to magically produce a fucking horse cock out of a cashew. Why? Because guys who have no experience with women tend to adhere to the misconception that women love to get "split open". Which makes a lot of sense, since you ladies are always raving about all those orgasms you experience during childbirth.
While most women have experienced a baby leg coming out of them, they certainly don't want one shoved back in. The last thing they want is a period with a pronounced, guttural echo. And don't get me started on oral sex. That's like feeding a kielbasa to a sparrow; all you'd get is beak. But I really don't think you have that problem Ed, and WWHM readers already know what you're really packing between those legs; two overseasoned green peas and a dehydrated breakfast mini-sausage left on a car seat in a Tampa Wal-Mart parking lot.
So perhaps Ed has something else to offer. For example, he's educated. Apparently he took that "Introduction on How to Misspell Words and Scream" class everyone's been raving about down at the community college. Aside from that, Ed's only other interest appears to be "plowing." Great, here's some radish seeds, an ox, and a map of Bhutan.
Don't get me wrong, I still believe there's a big fucking dick in this photo. But he's wearing a white tank top and has a cock a teenage mallard would laugh at. Put that fucking thing away Ed. In a raisin box.