the bear claw

It attacked me from behind, so to speak.

The buildup was fairly steady; there were no complications in the delivery, which was conveniently timed and effortlessly consummated; it had a soft, almost spongy texture and a subtle piquancy...yet, in its wake: a menacing formation...



...a bear claw.

Not to be confused with the pastry delight of the same name...this was more than some inanimate cluster with a coincidental likeness. I'd first believed this to be the gentle paw of some sort of aquatic bear, reaching out to tickle my clean-shaven ball sack...or then, perhaps lacerate it; as a savage, bloodthirsty beast would; and ostentatiously march it back to the darkened sewers of Horseheads from whence he came.

With irreplaceable (not to mention above average in both size and performance) assets dangling within his reach, I ultimately chose not to trust this unknown dweller of the deep and made a harsh, but instinctual move.



As you can see, he fought with every ounce of his life as I flushed the toilet. The claw marks left in the porcelain only hint at the potential damage that might've claimed my strapping (yet, given the circumstances: vulnerable) lady pleasurin' mega machine. Looking back, however...my genitals, ravishing as they are, should've been the least of my worries...for I might not have made it out of that Barnes & Noble bathroom alive. I was lucky.

I don't have any solutions to this problem, shall it surface again...as I, myself, have many questions left unanswered. My only advice for the next time you're squirtin' chunks is to keep one eye between the thighs...because you never know just when you'll have a close encounter of the turd kind.

six-word record reviews

Gwen Stefani The Sweet Escape
An elaborate prank on gullible retards?

Coheed and Cambria No World For Tomorrow
Impenetrable sex shield for husky virgins.

Kanye West Graduation
Black music for white douche bags.

My Chemical Romance Black Parade
A rock opera without AIDS? Gay.

Ashlee Simpson I Am Me
Art is dead. Fat chicks rejoice.

SWM seeks thickening agent for pee

When I was a boy, the sound of Doug Craven's pee stream was epic. It was loud, powerful, intimidating. It sent shivers down my spine--not to mention light splashes against my face as I tried peaking over the bowl to see what all the commotion was.

I couldn't wait for the bathroom to shake with the impact of my golden thunder.

Now, here I am at the tender age of 27, with a cock bigger than two Christmas hams, and--though my stream has respectable width and passes at a considerable rate--the consistency of the pee itself is a bit light-bodied for my taste...it's just too thin to make the splash I'd hoped for by this point in my life.

I've increased the amount of pectin, arrowroot and carrageenan in my diet, which has aided in giving my urine a velvety smooth texture...but not the rich, thick density that I'm really hoping to spank the toilet water with. I guess what I'm looking for is something to augment the viscosity of my pee without sacrificing its astringency.

I'm open to suggestions. I just want results, and I want them now. When I piss, my neighbor needs to hear it over his snowblower. The guy at the urinal next to me needs to know that my stream could cut him in half. Most importantly, without needing to press his ear against the bathroom door, Doug Craven needs to know his baby boy has grown up a man.

the proposition

On June 18th of this year, at approximately 10:57 AM, I received the first in a series of emails from a 42 year old Horseheads man that I'm just gonna go ahead and refer to as "Mark". Mark, evident by the title of this piece, offered me quite an interesting proposition...one that unfortunately, due to the intense preproduction details of Son of a Bitch: Part III, I neglected to take him up on. Though our correspondence sadly ended after a just few short hours--I'm hoping he's still out there, waiting, reading...and willing, all the more, to pay me for my services. After all, the holidays are upon us, and I could always use some extra cash.

Now, without further ado...our exchange, in its entirety:

---

Mark:
if your that dude from barnes & noble I would love to spank you. would you say you are small, avg, larger than avg., or larger than avg. i'm for real. might even consider $ to watch you fly solo if you know what i mean. need to be discrete.

ETC:
My penis has been mistaken as a monument downtown for years now.

Mark:
LOL Just what I wanted to hear!! I knew you were hung!! If you knew no one would ever know would you show it for cash?

ETC:
Show it how?

Shake my hips and twirl it like a propeller? Slap it against the inside of a urinal and give it a cold shower? Flick the tip purple? Hold it like a gun and give my best impersonation of Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver? Dip it in spoiled mayonaise? Get a paint set from the dollar store and decorate it like a WWII warplane?

I need specifics, Mark.

Mark:
Just show it. Take it out. At a urinal. In a car. Dressing room somewhere. Your call. If you make it hard that would be great. Macy's dressing rooms would work. Just go in and I can look under or somethinig. I'll slide $ in first. can I trust you?

ETC:
My associate (no worries, he lives in Virginia) warns me that I'm walking dickfirst into a rape scenario. That's a little unnerving. I mean, something like that would require at least another five bucks.

Mark:
I'm not into rape scenes. I understand your apprehensive. this is way out of the box. think about it. let me know what works for you. again my 1 priority is privacy. if I had any idea you would tell someone if you see my out and about in public i would rather die than do this. i can't make it myself any clearer.

Mark:
let me explain myself. i'm not a wack job. bit of a pervert... maybe. i'm a professional male here in horseheads and privacy is everything to me. i have to stay on the down low and need to be assured that no one would ever know if we did do something like that. if not.. no problem. i'm gone. won't hear from me again. just willing to pay $ to see what ya got. the more you show the more $$. you have a very unique look and now that i've seen your myspace i can tell personality too. not one to "judge" people it seems. that is why i felt comfortable sending you msg. anyway.. consider it. you don't even have to see me if you don't want. i'm sure that could be worked out. later.

ETC:
Feel free to bring a headscarf and black ski mask, just leave your sword at home.

Mark:
You got it! i'll be generous. the better the show the better the $. it would suck if you had a little p p. a chance i'm willing to take.

Mark:
where is the most unusual place you jerked off?

---

Behind the counter of my most recent summer job...during business hours, Mark. To answer your question. The very location I relished our sole, tender discourse...

Coincidence? Most likely. We never had any customers, which made it quite lonely in there. But hey, you never know what was going on deep in my subconscious...

Look me up.

firecrackers

When you put them in a sleeping baby's mouth, it usually wakes up.

shitbag extraordinaire

Yes, this nearly spherical woman (who waddles into Barnes & Noble Café four times a week, always carrying in an unreasonable stack of books she has no intent of purchasing; on average, will sit for six hours, reading as much as she can--as if she were in a library, drinking everyone out of the complimentary water offered at the condiment bar; never puts away the aforementioned books, generally leaves quite a mess behind and rarely leaves until 5 minutes after the store closes) is actually wearing retail eyeglasses--borrowed from a merchandise rack somewhere in the store...complete with sales and security tags almost entirely restricting her field of vision.



It doesn't get any better than this, folks. God bless America.

original fine art: "A High Five for Genocide"

the wipe refusal manifesto

I, Eric Thomas Craven, hereby declare wiping overrated. I'll let all remaining brown moisture residue and goo chunks dry on their own, for they'll eventually crust up and flake off as I walk. This new practice will save me time, effort and a few bucks at the grocery store. I may have discomfort, or perhaps even a rash, but at least I'll have my dignity.

baby on board

Is it just me, or does seeing "baby on board" in the rear windshield of the car ahead of you make you hold down your horn, speed up, tailgate, pass recklessly on a winding double line, break-check and toss all your trash out the window at them??

"Oooo, I have a fucking baby!"

Shut the hell up and get off the road! You have no more rights or privileges than the rest of us! Get that ugly little shit out of your backseat and back on your wife's tit where it belongs!

dies lunæ dēmentia

Some sketchy-ass pile of shit just came into my work ranting and raving about how the bank wouldn't cash her check. She had no intentions of buying anything from me, the only reason I was getting the brunt of her tirade is because she clearly, on hands and knees, came to the realization the sidewalk wasn't listening.

As this stereotypical (fried) hippie went on about the injustice, discrimination and conspiracies of banking, I sat silently, calculating just the right time to cut her off and kick her to the back alley with the other vagrants...but she interrupted herself, nearly screaming--"OH MY GOD ARE YOU OK?!?" I casually said "no, make it stop" while continuing to stare at my laptop as if she wasn't there. "No kidding, you must be in so much pain! That head bandage is covering half your head!"

That was the turning point for me, the almost seemless transition between annoying "customer" and humorous encounter with a nonsensical lunatic. My personal favorite.

Unfortunately though, before I got the chance to play along, she discovered her mistake: "I admire your courage...to sustain a head injury like that and still come to work, that's so...oh, wait, take off your hat. Is that just your hair? Oh."

It wasn't long before she was labias-deep in her diatribe against the bank again, mainly rehashing everything she'd previously said--this time, however, working herself into even more of a psychotic frenzy, pounding her fist on the counter and leaving me with this gem of a parting statement as she exited the building:

"...and earlier today I saw the same teller giving her kid a SODA! Can you fucking believe that?? While his teeth are ROTTING from his skull, she actually gave him a soda!! THAT IS ENDANGERING THE WELFARE OF A CHILD!! You know what? THAT DOES IT!! I am calling the POLICE!!!"

vinegar toes

This is my home-style recipe for vinegar toes:

•First, prepare by neglecting to trim your toenails. The longer they are, the more crud will collect underneath them. This is good for aromatic longevity. Once the growth of distal edge on your big toe has reached half a centimeter, you're ready for the next step.
•DO NOT shower for at least one week. The longer you self-marinate, the more BANG in your tang.
•DO NOT wear socks. This allows you to really soak in spices from the shoe leather. It's also good for color--you want to go for a low to medium yellowish/brownish hue, if possible.
•Aggressive exercise. This will speed up perspiration rate and causes vigorous shoe rubbing, which is good for calluses that lock in natural flavors.

troubleshooting tips:

•For best results - prepare during the hot, muggy month of August.
•If you're not getting the desired fragrance, try one of two things: a) If results are too weak - increase the pungency by walking barefoot across the floor of a public restroom, or locker room, if accessible. b) If results are too strong - try urinating on your feet to neutralize the odor.

If you'd like to refer to an unprecedented example of vinegar toes to further improve your own efforts--hunt me down and remove my shoes for a waft of zestiest batch this season.

They may as well fart in my open mouth.

I would rather bathe in Hep A infested diarrhea than continue to sit within breathing distance of any more customers today. They all smell like wet shit splattered on a fat whore's upper thighs after gym class.

I may just keep the doors locked and start exchanging services through the mail slot...

I've been scrubbing dead babies out of the carpet all day.

Yeah, I know they're crawling all over the driveway and it's difficult to step around them at night...but from now on, everyone better start taking their shoes off at the door.

let it leak

The menstrual cycle is a miracle of nature; much like a rainbow, the metamorphosis of a butterfly or a catastrophic hurricane. It's truly a marvel. An act of beauty...one that shouldn't be obstructed by a cotton rod or strapless diaper. The blood flow should be worn as a badge of honor, a coagulating symbol of independent womanhood, a crimson trophy.

Ladies, for the love of suffrage, feminism and the ongoing struggle for liberating women the world over...man up and let it leak.

caramel MOSHiato

Jason Newsted, formerly of Metallica (and tv's "Rock Star Supernova"), came in and bought a coffee from me on Saturday. His drink of choice is a grande Caramel Macchiato with three shots of espresso and an enthusiastic "EXTRA!!!" whipped cream.

His wife was hot. As my eyes locked onto her, I found myself in somewhat of a trance. Enough foam gathered at the corners of my mouth to top every cappuccino for the next four hours. As I managed to break out of my lascivious stare, I caught Mr. Newsted pointing at my name tag. He looked up and told me my name was famous. I blushed as any rising superstar would, and in turn, with triumphant defiance, said nothing of his name.

He knew that I knew. And now he could only assume that I didn't care. "This kid is cooler than a multi-platinum selling artist and international sensation!" No one said that. But everyone eavesdropping on this clash of the titans was thinking it. It was in the air.

Now, I'm not very good at mathematics, but what we have here is a pretty simple equation: Jason was the only one smart enough to jump that sinking ship known as Metallica, making him cooler than the rest of the band members. Essentially, Jason Newsted is cooler than Metallica. Now, we've already established that I'm cooler than Jason Newsted...which only means one thing: I am cooler than Metallica.

I prefer "bigger than Metallica" though...its catchier.

You heard it here first, folks. Invest in a DVD and t-shirt before I'm a household name and considered "played out" by the hipsters.

Booyah, white boys!

Some chick just came into the place I work and asked to use the phone. Since I like to keep conversation to a bare minimum while I'm on the clock--to the point where even 'small talk' about the weather feels like a severe hassle--everyone feels the need to come in and tell me their goddamn life story. I learned that her boyfriend was outside bummin' a smoke, and that she was calling his brother for a ride so they could pick up some clothes from a friends house. Right as she hung up the phone, her boyfriend came in. He was big and totally black. When she told him his brother was on his way and that he needed a few bucks for gas, boyfriend got PISSED off.

"I know you didn't volunteer my money! Baby, don't EVER volunteer my money. I wanna enjoy you da resta tha day and here you go n' volunteer my money when I specifically axed you not to..."

...then he turned to me and said "What part of 'don't volunteer my money' don't she understand?" I looked at her, caught her rolling her eyes, looked back at him and responded "eh, broads." His response was "NOW THATS WHAT I'M SAYING, BROTHA!! It's like they speak they own language or somethin'!!"

They argued amongst themselves as they walked away. On their way out, he said "you take it easy, brotha...and keep this door open, it's hotter than a cayenne pepper up in here."

Twice. He called me "brotha" TWICE!

fair trade policy

When I take you out to dinner, I intend on picking up the tab, because I'm a gentleman. Once I have paid for your food, legally, I own it. Since the food in your belly is technically my property, I reserve the right to watch you poop it out later that evening and/or the morning after. I also get dibs on flushing.

ranch dressing

If you mix it thoroughly with diarrhea, it turns a brownish color.

Toilet paper is played out.

I'm replacing my t.p. dispenser with a bowl of wet tongues. Who's with me!!

vaginal boogers

My health teacher taught us that smoking cigarettes not only dries up mucus membranes in the throat and nasal regions, but also in your sick vadge. A result of this: cute l'il boogies up the lady hole! So, femmes de nicotine, dig around a little and let me know what you find...

THIS JUST IN: it's now ok to like the band Mest!

I saw Mest at the 2000 Edgefest and thought they put on a really good show. A few weeks later I bought their CD and only listened to it once on account of it being music for highshcool chicks.

Today, however, they've earned a spot in my iTunes library because their frontman, Tony Lovato, has been arrested on charges of MURDER!

punknews.org:

---

Tony Lovato, the frontman for defunct mainstream pop-punk act Mest, was jailed on suspicion of murder in Los Angeles on Sunday. Reuters is reporting that the 26 year old confessed to police that he stabbed his ex-girlfriend's new lover. He is now being held on $1 million dollar bail.

The preliminary news reports claim that Lovato was assaulted earlier in the day by 25 year old Wayne Hughes in the underground parking lot of an apartment building the Studio City suburb. Lt. Andrew Neiman of the Los Angeles Police Dept commented "At some point, Mr. Lovato produced a knife and the victim was stabbed... He has been booked for criminal homicide." Police had visited the complex the night before due to an altercation between the two men but no arrests were made at that time.

---

MEST FUCKING RULES.