Americans have been scratching their testicles the same way since George Washington battled the Minotaur. Not the English. They’ve made a startling leap past their knuckle-dragging cousins with the help of something called “The Gentleman’s Ball Scratcher.”
Don’t be intimidated by the title. This device is deceptively easy to use. Even for Americans. It’s designed to mimic the knowing palm of an Asian concubine. You just slip it into your pants and have at it. You won’t even need to put down your Beefeater and tonic.
You have to admire the English. They’re so cultured and refined. So effete, they even refuse to go down on their women. It’s said they employ Frenchmen for that.
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On the net - Find class and sweet relief over on Ebay.
After about a half dozen pints at the pub I finally got my friend Juan to stop hitting on our waitress long enough for me to explain my problem. I’d been with my girlfriend all summer, and it just wasn’t working out.
“She’s a sweet girl. The sex is good. But I’m starting to feel trapped,” I said.
Now whether this was an accurate take on our relationship, proof of my latent homosexuality, or the naked fear of commitment is irrelevant. I was 20. I didn’t need marriage, or a committed relationship. I just needed sex.
“She’s so psyched about living together.” I said. “And I don’t want to hurt her.”
I imagine I confided in Juan because he always had a hot girlfriend. In fact, he’d had one or two of mine. And when the time was right he had no problem telling his girlfriends to fuck off.
Juan (or as we liked to call him “el Bicho”), couldn’t afford college, so he went to work for a pest control company right out of high school. I was a house painter when I wasn’t studying writing at Umass Boston. And between all the weed, work chemicals, and beer, we were both fairly tweaked that night.
“You know wha you deal ees buddy?” he said. “You a fuckin’ pussy. Betta get rid of her now. If you wait, you really be fucked.”
Juan went on to claim that his work as a pest control expert gave him a unique insight into this problem. And then he insisted I buy him another Guinness as payment for what I am about to tell you. Read the rest of this entry »
By all accounts Russian Anna Loginova was a smart, tough woman. She modeled, knew Jujitsu, and carried a gun. She also ran a successful agency of female bodyguards, many of them trained by the KGB. Still, Loginova was only 29 when she died in a Moscow carjacking.
If I were to list all the ways a sexy model should snuff it, clinging to the door-handle of an overpriced SUV would not be high on that list. Had thieves been jacking Anna’s Porsche 911 G2, then perhaps her death would be easier to understand. But a fucking Porsche Cheyenne?
Better she had choked making a Russian porno, or been buggered to death by one of those Russian bears. According to Wikipedia, “the Cheyenne backseat and cargo area are small for its class.”
Is this really where a hot bikini model should be making her last stand?
Fun fact: Porsche also designed the Nazi Tiger tank. Also implicated in the killing of Russians.
On the net - Anna Loginova
Bunnies of London bills itself as the cream of the English escort scene. And when you consider that England is ripe with tarts who’ll screw you out of your last dollar, that’s really saying something.
$404 gets you an hour with Harriet, a “brand new” bunny. Don’t worry, Harriet may be green, but she’s eager to be violated by your filthy little penis. According to Bunnies of London management these girls are chosen because they “want & enjoy” being whores.
Want to see Harriet’s O face over kippers, toast and jam? That’ll cost you $2020. Let’s do the math: 6-10 minutes of sex, followed by a little late night TV, 7 hours of sleep, breakfast, and a $2k paycheck. When you think on it, it’s surprising more women don’t choose to become Bunnies of London.
Harriet may be new to the escort scene, but Phillip calls her “Efficient and polite.” She’s “Unbelievable,” Tony gushes. And Dave calls Harriet, “A joy. She made me feel welcome to do whatever I pleased. So I chopped her up, and mailed her bloody bits to the folks back in Kensington.”
Hot tip - Before Harriet met up with Dave she enjoyed red wine, sensual sex, Chanel Allure perfume and breathing.
Editors note: No escorts were hurt in the creation of this article
On the net - Bunnies of London
Cambridge Mass - After years of rigorous study, M.I.T. researchers have learned that despite what Doctor Phil may have told you, children are always to blame for divorce.
“The couples we studied all reported their relationship went downhill soon after the conception of their child,” said Tom Jenkins a senior researcher at M.I.T.
Typically, mothers say they don’t feel human with that thing growing inside. Men can’t stand the sight of either of them. Testing also revealed that children remind parents that the best part of their lives is over.
“Children are neither innocent, nor blameless,” noted Jenkins. “They are filthy little drool-monkeys who make Mom and Dad sticky and miserable.” Read the rest of this entry »