“Your sister’s gone out, she’s on a date. You just sit at home and masturbate,” Billy Joel, Captain Jack
Some things go good together: Peanut butter and chocolate. Salt and Pepper. Ebony and Ivory (living together in perfect harmony). But Billy Joel and Masturbation go together like bleach and my eyes.
Masturbation is great. In fact, if I’m working at home, I may jerk off like three or four times a day. But hearing Billy Joel talking about spanking it makes me suddenly ashamed to own a penis. Thinking about the Mr. “We Didn’t Start the Fire” playing with his boner may just be the most un-erotic image possible.
I don’t have a sister, but if I did, I sincerely hope that my masturbation habits weren’t tied into her dating habits. Because if she had a date everytime I masturbated when I was high school age, she was probably a gigantic slut.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Disgusting Lyric of the Day 53: Life Is Real (Song for Lennon) by Queen
"Guilt stains on my pillow. Blood on my terraces. Torsos in my closet, shadows from my past. Life is real...Breast-feeding myself, what more can I say?" – Queen, Life is Real (Song for Lennon)
Surely when Freddie Mercury walked through the gates of heaven, John Lennon was standing there, waiting with his arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, a heavenly iPod next to him softly playing "Life Is Real." "You want to explain this?" he probably said. To which Freddie presumably struck a pose and belted out an impromptu call-and-response scat with the members of Marshall's 1970 Thundering Herd football team.
Apart from that, how would you explain why your tribute to a recently departed, beloved fellow musician was a confusing laundry list of unpleasantness, including "torsos in my closet," and "guilt stains on my pillow?" Had they shared an interest in callisthenic masturbation and dismembered murder-trophies?
I like to think that when the Central Park Strawberry Fields Memorial was being constructed in '85, Yoko Ono sat down with the designers and discussed whether to make "torsos in my closet" or "breastfeeding myself" the centerpiece engraving before deciding to compromise on simply "Imagine."
Surely when Freddie Mercury walked through the gates of heaven, John Lennon was standing there, waiting with his arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, a heavenly iPod next to him softly playing "Life Is Real." "You want to explain this?" he probably said. To which Freddie presumably struck a pose and belted out an impromptu call-and-response scat with the members of Marshall's 1970 Thundering Herd football team.
Apart from that, how would you explain why your tribute to a recently departed, beloved fellow musician was a confusing laundry list of unpleasantness, including "torsos in my closet," and "guilt stains on my pillow?" Had they shared an interest in callisthenic masturbation and dismembered murder-trophies?
I like to think that when the Central Park Strawberry Fields Memorial was being constructed in '85, Yoko Ono sat down with the designers and discussed whether to make "torsos in my closet" or "breastfeeding myself" the centerpiece engraving before deciding to compromise on simply "Imagine."
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Disgusting Lyric of the Day 52: Forever in Blue Jeans by Neil Diamond
“Honey's sweet, but it ain't nothin' next to baby's treat,” Neil Diamond, Forever in Blue Jeans
Neil Diamond thinks his girlfriend’s pussy tastes better than food. Seriously, I have spent half an hour trying to figure out what the hell else he could be talking about. Nothing else makes sense. Hell, the whole damn song doesn’t make sense.
After talking about his girlfriend’s delicious vagina, Neil says, “If you pardon me, I’d like to say, we’d do ok forever in blue jeans.” Sorry, I can’t pardon you for that Neil, because I have no clue what in the fuck you’re talking about. That might be because I still have the image of your sequined blouse on the floor while you lap up some trim. Obviously, the girl takes her jeans off at some point so you can get to her baby treat.
Side note: No one could possibly wear jeans every day. In the summer, I like to wear shorts so my balls can get a sense of the breeze. Just thinking about wearing jeans to the San Diego Comic Con has made my sack turn to Silly Puddy.
Neil Diamond thinks his girlfriend’s pussy tastes better than food. Seriously, I have spent half an hour trying to figure out what the hell else he could be talking about. Nothing else makes sense. Hell, the whole damn song doesn’t make sense.
After talking about his girlfriend’s delicious vagina, Neil says, “If you pardon me, I’d like to say, we’d do ok forever in blue jeans.” Sorry, I can’t pardon you for that Neil, because I have no clue what in the fuck you’re talking about. That might be because I still have the image of your sequined blouse on the floor while you lap up some trim. Obviously, the girl takes her jeans off at some point so you can get to her baby treat.
Side note: No one could possibly wear jeans every day. In the summer, I like to wear shorts so my balls can get a sense of the breeze. Just thinking about wearing jeans to the San Diego Comic Con has made my sack turn to Silly Puddy.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Disgusting Lyric of the Day 51: Do That To Me One More Time by Captain & Tennille
“Do that to me one more time. Once is never enough with a man like you. Whoa! Do that to me one more time. I can never get enough of a man like you,” Captain & Tennille, Do That To Me One More Time
This song may well be the filthiest thing I have ever put on this blog. Sure, The Captain fiddles around on his little keyboard and everyone sounds chirpy and happy and Toni Tennille looks pretty and wholesome, but you would be hard pressed to find anyone that would read these lyrics and not walk away thinking it was about the Captain grinding out some sweet, sweet Muskrat Love on top of Tennille, sweat dripping in torrents off of his Captain’s hat.
I mean, this song should straight up be called, “Do me one more time, I still have a little horny left in me.” If Lil’ Kim put out a song called “Do That To Me One More Time,” Bill O’Reilly would be calling for her head. But here’s the thing, this song kind of gets a pass because the music, rhythm and phrasing makes it sound like the most boring, fall asleep, missionary position, I-have-a-bad-hip-so-go-slow sex ever performed. I mean, the song makes me want to sleep. No wonder Toni wants it one more time. If I had sex at that snoozy pace, I would want it at least one more time too.
This song may well be the filthiest thing I have ever put on this blog. Sure, The Captain fiddles around on his little keyboard and everyone sounds chirpy and happy and Toni Tennille looks pretty and wholesome, but you would be hard pressed to find anyone that would read these lyrics and not walk away thinking it was about the Captain grinding out some sweet, sweet Muskrat Love on top of Tennille, sweat dripping in torrents off of his Captain’s hat.
I mean, this song should straight up be called, “Do me one more time, I still have a little horny left in me.” If Lil’ Kim put out a song called “Do That To Me One More Time,” Bill O’Reilly would be calling for her head. But here’s the thing, this song kind of gets a pass because the music, rhythm and phrasing makes it sound like the most boring, fall asleep, missionary position, I-have-a-bad-hip-so-go-slow sex ever performed. I mean, the song makes me want to sleep. No wonder Toni wants it one more time. If I had sex at that snoozy pace, I would want it at least one more time too.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Disgusting Lyric of the Day 50: Start Me Up by The Rolling Stones
“You, you, you make a grown man cry. You, you make a dead man cum.” The Rolling Stones, Start Me Up
The Rolling Stones are old as hell. In fact, Keith Richards has been clinically dead for years, but the lady in “Start Me Up” still makes him ejaculate zombie dust.
This whole song is like an old man’s cry for help. “Please, if you just are able to start me up, I swear I can finish the task at hand. Also, I may cry or cum on you, so watch out down there.” What does Mick want this woman to start exactly? Getting him hard? That would kind of make sense because this song was made in 1981, long before Mr. Jagger would have had viagra. Still, this is pretty much one of the best songs ever made about grizzled old English men pawing at you and never stopping. So, basically it’s about Jerry Hall.
The Rolling Stones are old as hell. In fact, Keith Richards has been clinically dead for years, but the lady in “Start Me Up” still makes him ejaculate zombie dust.
This whole song is like an old man’s cry for help. “Please, if you just are able to start me up, I swear I can finish the task at hand. Also, I may cry or cum on you, so watch out down there.” What does Mick want this woman to start exactly? Getting him hard? That would kind of make sense because this song was made in 1981, long before Mr. Jagger would have had viagra. Still, this is pretty much one of the best songs ever made about grizzled old English men pawing at you and never stopping. So, basically it’s about Jerry Hall.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Disgusting Lyric of the Day 49: Reverse Cowgirl by T-Pain
“Told 'em like the feds, take a picture, I don't give a fuck. We can do it anywhere, even in my Caddy trunk,” T-Pain, Reverse Cowgirl
Making love in the trunk of a Caddy has to be one of the most intimate experiences in a person’s life. It’s pitch black and boiling hot in there, which can only lead to asphyxiation or the much maligned wrong-hole-penetration technique. And hey, if you need lube, chances are, you can just scoop a handful of grease off the tire jack and smother your naughty parts with them.
Some people talk about having sex on the beach or making love in a field of flowers. But none of that compares to straight up fucking on an old donut tire. It’s ribbed for your pleasure.
Making love in the trunk of a Caddy has to be one of the most intimate experiences in a person’s life. It’s pitch black and boiling hot in there, which can only lead to asphyxiation or the much maligned wrong-hole-penetration technique. And hey, if you need lube, chances are, you can just scoop a handful of grease off the tire jack and smother your naughty parts with them.
Some people talk about having sex on the beach or making love in a field of flowers. But none of that compares to straight up fucking on an old donut tire. It’s ribbed for your pleasure.
Site News
Hey everyone.
I am in lovely California and have not had the best access to the internet. The site may be running slow or late for a few days and I want to apologize in advance. Hopefully, you'll stick around and we'll make some miracles happen in the next few days.
Love and kisses,
Merrill
I am in lovely California and have not had the best access to the internet. The site may be running slow or late for a few days and I want to apologize in advance. Hopefully, you'll stick around and we'll make some miracles happen in the next few days.
Love and kisses,
Merrill
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