Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “sex humor”

DITCHING THE DILDO

dd

 

Recently I was met with a dilemma. I wanted to ditch my dildo.

Our relationship wasn’t going so well. After giving myself a birthday present a couple of years ago of a lavender colored, pretty well-endowed, supposed feel closer to skin schlong with a multi-speed and pulse vibrator, I came to the conclusion I wasn’t satisfied. Our sex life wasn’t measuring up to my standards.

I decided I wasn’t into the schlong.

Now wait a second! Don’t take that to mean I’m not into schlong, because I totally am! I am so into schlong that my lesbian friends have a nickname for me–“Strictly Dickly”. True story.

I just wasn’t so sure about this particular schlong. Honestly, it was my first experience with “faux schlong”. It was my birthday, I thought I’d treat myself, and I went to the toy store and got it.

I even threw away my trusty sidekick, the “Betterfinger” vibrator, for the new faux schlong! Before I knew whether the relationship would work out. Bad move on my part.

Lesson learned. Sometimes you need to stick with what you know. I don’t know if it was what it was made out of, or the color, or the fact that it smelled kind of like a Dr. Scholls shoe insert, but after a few test runs I was done.

So what do you do with a lilac dildo? What do you do with a lilac dildo? What do you with a lilac dildo? Sorry, just got a damn sea shanty running through my head.

Seriously though, what the hell do you do with a dildo when you’re done with it? Just casually toss it in the dumpster? No.

Have a dildo burning party? That option sounded appealing. Get the fire pit stoked up. Gather copious amounts of alcoholic beverages and invite friends. But wait. I am a bit earth conscious. This thing had enough rubber in it to be used as a flotation device. What the hell would I do to the ozone if I burned it? So that option was out.

Cleverly camouflage and disguise? Yes. That was my best option. I stuffed it in an old sock, and double-bagged it, and tossed it in the kitchen trash amongst egg shells and coffee grounds, and hauled the whole mess to my dumpster.

Buh-bye lilac dildo! I’m going back to my vibrator! Wait. Oh hell. I threw the vibrator out! Now what’s a girl to do??

And then I had a thought!  Maybe my buddy Jack Chaser, over at The Things I See Up Here, knows where I can get a new vibrator. It seems he recently had a sex toy company (not sure if I’m allowed to say their name or not but it has something to do with The Garden of Eden and forbidden fruit), contact him about some guest posting.  I kind of want to know if he’s getting free sex toys out of this deal.  Like maybe a lifetime supply of pocket pussies or something?  Seriously, I think the guy has enough dildos already.  It’s all he ever talks about!  Of course if he does get more, he could spread the wealth around a little bit!  Hey Jack, don’t forget this loyal follower is in the market for a new vibrator!!  A rabbit, a dolphin, hell I’m not picky!  I’m lonely!!

Seriously folks, if you need a good tears rolling down the face belly laugh, go pay Jack a visit.  The guy knows how to tell a good story, even if he is a little kinky.

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Commitment Issues

I can’t commit.

No, this has absolutely nothing to do with my new relationship. That’s going quite well, thanks for asking.

This has to do with my blog. I can’t make a commitment to my blog.

I want to be a fantastically popular big hair rock star in spandex pants kind of blogger, but I don’t think I have the dedication.

Don’t get me wrong, I like to write. No, scratch that, I love to write, but only when the feeling hits me.

Problem is, my muse is like a no-good down on his luck drunk douche bag, who thinks the world owes him a living, so he does the bare minimum hoping to get by with the maximum. Some days he doesn’t show up at all. Other days he shows up so freakin’ wasted on cheap bourbon, with so many ideas, I couldn’t possibly write them all down, or ever hope to create an actual piece out of them.

I get mad at my muse for being a slacker, but mostly I’m mad at my muse because it’s like he’s rubbing off on me. I don’t know that I actually possess the desire to be great at this anymore, when I’ve spent so much time being nominal.

Maybe I started the blog for all the wrong reasons. Maybe I should’ve stuck to a certain type of post, and not hopped all over my wacked out mind and just posted whatever happened to spill out onto the paper that day–poetry, idiot ramblings, humorous anecdotes; all of it usually laced with profanity.

Followers hovering at near the 200 mark for almost a full year; so close but yet so far. Tagging the shit out of stuff to try to get more hits. None of it working it seems to bring me that fame I desire.

So I’ve decided to do something drastic. Read on.

Dear Blog,

Maybe it isn’t meant to be, and we should just break up. I have issues. Truth is I whore around, and spend more time adoring blogs other than you, because I like them better. Good relationships require time and attention, and I guess I’m just not really feeling it for you.

However, I do have a proposition for you Blog. We can be friends with benefits! I’ll come back every once in awhile to fuck around with you, and have a couple of beers, and write a few lines, then go about my business. How does that sound? Good? Okay, well then we’ve got a deal.

See you around.

—FBG

 

C&H

My Baby Plays a Mean Meat Whistle

The "B" is silent.

The “B” is silent.

Bacon. Sex. Bacon. Sex. It’s kind of a toss-up. Seriously. That’s how much I love bacon. So I just came right out and asked him. “Would it bother you if I were to eat bacon while we were having sex?”

Now you might not be quite as enamored of the swine and bovine as I am, so that question might shock you. But to my warped mind, eating a pork product, or any other tasty meat treat while having sex makes perfect sense, and here are the reasons why:

1. In my neck of the woods, sex is sometimes referred to as “porkin'”. Example: “I was porkin’ this chick the other night. . .”

2. How many times have you heard of a man’s equipment being referred to in “meat” vernacular? For example:

Men can “beat their meat”, or “slap their salami”.
They can slip a woman the “hot beef injection”.
Hey baby, wanna ride the “bologney pony”?
Your wife or girlfriend’s favorite dinner? “Tube steak!”
“Pork sword”
“Weiner”. (Not to be confused with Anthony, whose weiner everyone has seen thanks to the internet.)

3. Let’s not forget that an erection is oft referred to as a “boner”. Meat often comes with bones in it. And as AC/DC says, I’m pretty sure “just givin’ the dog a bone” refers to putting your man meat in a chick’s mouth, but I could be wrong.

4. There’s also musical meat. Example: “Hey honey, why don’t you come over here and play a tune on my “meat whistle”. If you don’t know all the notes, you can just hum.”

4. Last but not least, meat terms you never want to be associated with your penis: vienna sausage, little smokie. When it comes to meat, the serving size does matter. Don’t let her bullshit you.

So you see, it all makes perfect sense now, doesn’t it?

Oh, and just in case you were interested? He told me it wouldn’t bother him a bit, just don’t forget to melt some cheese on it and dip it in mayo. I’m thinking he might be a keeper.

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