Hardcore butt pleasures
turns delicate pink blossom
into brown sinkhole
So I am going to post my first review either this evening or tomorrow morning, it's a beer, the reason I am not posting now is I would like to post photos and the like to go along, and I have not worked up the bravery to even contemplate some of the things I promised myself I would do to make these reviews more memorable. On a completely unrelated note, if I ever do do anything that involves my anus, a tube and a funnel I will have the good graces to not post the photos.
I am really excite about this, guys! I am thinking maybe Consumer Reports, GQ, something like that. I mean, how many consumer reviews tell you whether one kind of beer or another tase good drunk out of dirty carpeting or sucked out of a baby's shirt because the little turd made you spill it? No one that's who!
Anyway, on to the story of the day.
No doubt a bunch of you are sitting at home right now, fantasizing about Mystery's luscious curves, how her leggings, stained with "brown", entice you oh so much, and wondering how any Smeagol could ever leave something like that, especially a North American Smeagol. Well, I'll tell you.
We all have a sexiness ratio, a ratio that each person automatically calculates to see if he/she/Smeagol would be compatible with said person and how they should act toward them. Take my wife, for instance. Her sexiness ratio, or SR, was and is much higher than mine, due to my fatness and strange smell. She knew she could ignore my advances for as long as she felt like it because I was much too fat and ugly to go elsewhere. Little did she know that I also had bad credit and a gap in my teeth, 2 signs of abject sexiness! (Think before you laugh: Anthony Anderson, Michael Strahan, Mike Tyson, Lawrence Fishburn, Chewbacca: even dudes would gladly bed any of them, though you don't know why)
Anyway, Smeagol's sexiness ratio was pretty low. I mean, many women would rather bed a random homeless person than allow a raptor into their life/bed/bank account, and many probably followed through on that promise. Mystery was one of the few people I knew who was able to command a negative SR without having a communicable disease or being dead. This was an OK arrangement though, because due to his massive aura of failure Smeagol was not able to attract anyone with his SR either.
Well after hanging out with the Stevester and JJ for awhile, and getting the brushoffs from both of us (the selection of ladies available was both more plentiful and had much lower standards due to JJ's SR, which is - I must admit, even though he has no job, doesn't bathe, and once wore the same pair of red Nike shorts for more than a year - is almost 5 times higher than the Stevester's) began to inflate his sense of his own SR. This led to the fights with Mystery, usually ending with him throwing her out, her calling her mom, her mom coming over and trying to bribe Smeagol into keeping her in the house, and then taking Mystery with her until payday, when Smeagol realized he could not cash her check without her and had to let her back into the house. He also claimed it was because she had some kind of infection or fungus or something (I usually blanked Smeagol out when he starts talking about Mystery so I cannot be sure about this) that she could not or would not accept the little Smeagolette he was trying to infiltrate her with.
Ugh I will never read that paragraph again, every time I do I get a flash of her bare chested, which I tried to erase from my mind the instant I saw it and have yet to be able to, though it helps if I am in a public place and need to quickly calm a raging boner down (try it!).
The arguments were always hilarious, with Smeagol Raptor stoming into the living room, gingerly stepping over Bailey's dog shit that had been sitting there for weeks, and calling her all kinds of names while she sat there looking blankly at the wall, me nonchalantly playing the Sega Saturn and trying to stay out of it, the kitten in Mystery's arm praying for sweet, sweet death while slowly choking on the toxic combination of Mystery's breath and her football grip on his neck.
The funniest time was when Smeagol would yell at her while holding his thong up, as these times he would only be wearing his thong and his 2 pairs of thich cotton socks, he looked so obscene wearing that with his lopsided perm dangling precariously toward oblivion, especially the time or two he pushed her outside, well TRIED to, it's pretty hard to push someone who is a foot taller, 50 pounds heavier and with rubber soled shoes on while you are a raptor, holding your baggy thong in one hand, grunting angrily from the effort, kim chi fermenting on the couch.