True Life

"That pussy's all yours right up until after the wedding." -Wallace the Bartender

Nobody ever tells you anything worth a damn until after it's too late to do anything about it. People are glib and condescending right up until the the moment they realize the consequences are actually dire and the stakes are higher than they thought. I drink because I need to drink. I smoke because I need to smoke when I drink. I go to the gym every day because it's a habit now, not because I give a fuck about my health and well-being. It's the only socially acceptable place to be where you can actually people watch in the winter without being asked if you need anything every five minutes. Plus, zumba class is going on in a room with glass walls, so you got the perv factor going on, which is always nice.

But there is nothing that makes it easier being away from your woman. I love my wife, I love being in close proximity to her, even when we're on each others nerves. Quite frankly I'm not getting enough ass, which makes it even harder for me. I think she's OK with that, which is not OK with me, but that's another story. I think all my issues tied up with being in Satan's Anus tend to revolve around one central problem: my sex life sucks. It's been like this since I got here. I'd get dribs and drabs, but I've never fully enjoyed this place because since I arrived it's like I'm getting pussy rationed out to me. I will never apologize for loving sex. And I hate that this place has taken my one real pleasure in life and made it an occasional indulgence, like eating cheesecake or something. That's not the way sex is supposed to be. It's not the way life is supposed to be.

So I'm here, with an unsatisfying job, in an unsatisfying place, living like a gotdamn bachelor eating badly cooked meals, constantly reminding bitches I'm married, always alone, perpetually pissed off, and constantly horny, for reasons I've yet to figure out. I have always fucking hated this place, for what it is, but now mostly for what it represents.

I'm Out,
KZ

Slut On The Wall

Hey peoples, what's good? I'm trying to pass along information to my women friends, women who keep complaining about other women. The problem is, they don't listen, they don't read my blog, and they don't know about my blog, so it's kind of hard to convey this information to them. I hope you pass this along to people who need it.

Men fucking love slutty women and women in slutty clothes in general. The only time I've ever heard men complain about slutty women is when that woman decides not to give THEM the pussy. They never complain about women who dress slutty, except when she's related to them. Well, there is one other time. They complain about women who dress slutty when they see them out and their wives/girlfriends are with them. Ladies, this is the oldest trick in the book. It buys them a few more minutes to look at the ass and titties while pretending to be critical of the lady's morals. It's bullshit. A man has never complained to another man about some slutty dressing woman. It doesn't happen, ever.

As much as y'all hate and despise these women for dressing and acting "loose", I need you to understand one thing. To paraphrase Jack Nicholson in "A Few Good Men", you want that slut on the wall, you NEED that slut on the wall. That slut is the cure for erectile dysfunction and general boredom. The memory, the ideal, of that slut is what gives that dude a hard-on when you wear that hideous flannel nightgown and giant panties with a panel in the front to bed night after night and then want to act in an amorous fashion. His ability to recall that slutty chick is the entire reason for your sex life. Whether she's in his office or working at Starbucks, that chick is almost certainly the saving grace of your fragile ass relationship.

So the next time you want to crash on some skimpily clad young nubile, take a deep breath and muster up a smile for her. You are in a symbiotic relationship. She's the other monkey picking the fleas off your monkey ass.

Peace,
KZ

The Good Kind

The President of the Fo.rmula O.ne racing association is in a bit of hot water lately. M.ax Mo.sely, it appears, gets his rocks off participating in orgies where everyone is dressed in Na.zi regalia. The international racing world is aghast and up in arms about this fetish and is vehemently denouncing Mo.sely. Is dressing up in N.azi regalia a contemptible act in and of itself because of their atrocities? Or is it that he might identify with being a N.azi in some way that might make him reprehensible in polite circles? Or is it the overall weirdness of his fetish?

Everybody's asking him to step down and he refuses. I agree with him.

I've seen "mainstream" pornography that shows not only this fetish being acted out, but muthafuckas in Klan uniforms in interracial sex acts. These aren't new films, but at least 20 years old. These fetishes are no more rare than a S&M fetish. Both use a person's mind as the main sexual organ. The thing that keeps sex fresh is the idea of doing something that's forbidden. Regular sex is great, but if you wear a damn swa.stika armband while plowing your old lady, now you're a bad ass doing something naughty. It's all just sex. These critics are trying to play mind police. If he was heading up a Na.zi rally or espousing racially intolerant views, or harming someone because they lacked "pure Aryan blood", that's one thing. But getting one's rocks off is quite another.

If a black woman gets into a relationship with a white man and they decide they'd like to play a "Massa-Slave" game to get off, no matter how distasteful I think it is or how disrespectful I think it is to the memory of those who had to endure that terrible institution, it's none of my fucking business. Two people who have the same fetish have found each other and they have wonderful sex because of it. Congratulations you crazy kids!

People need to stay the fuck out other people's business. Your "sanctioned sex" isn't the only good kind.

Peace,
KZ