I’m going off the ladles on this gravy train.
Category: Drivel
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My First Death Threat
This highly detailed drawing was kindly left for me back in the mid-2000’s. I found it slipped under my then apartment door, folded perfectly and placed delicately in a standard size 10 envelope, the kind without privacy print. The flap was gently folded inside the envelope, the glue non-licked.
What I really want to know is where this anonymous hector procures their transparent axes. I’ve been searching for one of those for years. I’m also glad the Elephantiasis of my hands cleared up. How embarrassing would that have been, someone comes in to murder me and they are so grossed out by my hands they leave out of disgust.
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Suggestion Box: Go Fuck Yourself
Suggestion Box: Go Fuck Yourself
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Hello, Welcome To My Apartment
Hello, welcome to my apartment. It isn’t too big but it does the trick. My living room is my office, and my bedroom is once again my bedroom. There is a small bathroom off the bedroom and the kitchen is functional. There is a small couch in the living room, and on this couch lives a middle-aged man. Hey, don’t worry about it. Don’t be alarmed. He is no vagrant, he is no druggie, and he is no drunk…
I had some friends over the other day, and coincidentally they raised the same question I get asked every time I have visitors. “Who is that middle-aged man on the couch?” Well, that question is one not easily answered. That man is a friend, a role model, a true humanitarian. He is my dad.
Some ask me; “Is your father living on your couch a problem or hassle?” or “Does it cramp your style?” I say Hell No! Sure he sweats a lot and breathes heavy, but we all have our quirks. One things is for sure, he knows what to do when the ladies come over. He puts on his big gorilla suit and grabs the camcorder. It’s a whole new mode. The only reason I can afford to have him live on my couch is the porn money. Ever since the internet though, times have been tough. Competition continues to encroach into our fetish. Before the web, my father and I were the gorilla suit porn kings. We were riding high. We were doing so well we had a contract with the gorilla suit maker to provide us a new gorilla suit a week. That’s right, every fucking week! Now with the internet, everyone is doing the gorilla suit thing. Its getting tough. This has been a trying time, but it has also pushed our creative thinking to new heights. Just wait to see what gorill-a-porn.com has up it’s sleeve.
So when I ‘m asked who that is on the couch, I usually respond, “Oh don’t worry about him, he’s the gorilla suit guy.” That usually does the trick.
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My Grandmother Stole My Dildo
From The Archives: My Grandmother Stole My Dildo
What a sick and twisted world we live in today. You can’t walk alone down a dark alley at night, you can’t lurk in people’s bushes and look in their homes, and you can’t put your dildo in storage in your grandmother’s basement.
After receiving a dildo as a gag-gift, and having my mother find it in the trunk of my car (which is another story altogether), I placed the 12″ classic dong in a box to be forgotten about until needed at a future event. Upon returning to the box several years later, to my shock, the dildo was missing. I spent 45 minutes that summer afternoon searching through every box in my grandmother’s basement, only to come to the conclusion that my dildo was gone. But where could it have disappeared to? No one else knew that I had hid this flaccid object at my grandmother’s house, and besides, no one ever went into my grandma’s basement. They had no purpose there. After much deliberation about where it could have gone I came to the frightening conclusion, that yes, my grandmother stole my dildo.