When Dogs Get Boners

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mouthopendogI like dogs. I like their general genial temperament. Their enthusiasm. I like when dogs let small monkeys in cowboy hats ride on their backs and the monkey is puffing on a cigarette and spinning a six-shooter on his index finger, just waiting to see another monkey riding on a another dog’s back dressed like an Indian, so that he can murder him in cold blood like the feather-headed savage that he is. I also like when dogs watch Animal Planet. Like sometimes it’s a dog watching a show where ANOTHER dog is like besties with a beaver or a snake or something. Shit’s wild. It really makes you wonder….

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I like when dogs look at you and one ear is sticking up and the other one is sticking down so they look like stupid ass pieces of shit. A stupid ass piece of shit that can’t even control their face parts. I’m like “what the!” I’m like “does this dog have multiple sclerosis or some other faggy deformity? What’s going on?!”

I like dogs enough that I can forgive the fact that they hate black people. I don’t want to condone their racism or perpetuate ignorance but I know that deep down in their heart of hearts, they’re just trying to keep us safe. The only way they know how: by attacking black people before they can attack us.

But there is one thing I don’t like about dogs: when dogs get boners. I don’t think I’m overstating anything when I say that their dicks are weird looking. All red and slick like the devil’s dick. Sheath that thing would ya? I don’t want your boner slime all over the passenger seat of my ’92 Honda Accord DX. I’m going to pick up Paw-Paw for lunch tomorrow and it would really chap his hide if he knew that he was getting crusty dog dick on his stain resistant khakis. I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it. Until he passed away of course. Unless he was still so bitter about the red rocket residue that after he died he decided to haunt me like on Paranormal Activity 2. Then I’d really never hear the end of it. Like one day I’d be sleeping and then all of the sudden the toaster would pop up and the thermostat would be turned down and Paw-Paw’s voice would be like “I didn’t work in the mines for 50 years breaking my back to support this family so that I could sit in doggie dick juice.” And he’d be right.

redrocketLingering visions of dog boners can make everyday activities agonizing. Everyday activities like eating a hot dog or watching a pretty lady put on red lipstick or watching a pretty lady have sex with a doberman pinscher. I’m like “what the!” Get your devil’s dick out of there! That was made for people’s dicks ONLY! Says so in the Good Book. Yes sir, pretty sure it says it right there in the opening paragraphs. Not sure of the exact passage but I know it’s in there. No doggie devil dicks is human vaginas….PERIOD. For ever and ever, Amen.

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I can remember being a young whippersnapper and seeing this mangy sex-crazed mutt in the parking lot of my school. There I was, me and all the other Latino kids, waiting on our madres to come pick us up from escuela. And there he was, foaming at the mouth with his slimy devil’s dick humping thin air. I’m talking, fucking the ever loving shit out of thin air. Pounding the fuck out of nothing. Almost as if he was getting a hurkie-jerkie from a ghost or something. Like someone’s bitter Grandpap ghost was seeking revenge for getting crusty dog dick on his khakis (did I just think of my next screenplay? Paranormal Activity 5?). Anyways, he was like a thrusting red-dicked robot. Every step a hump. And he was moving closer towards us. His dick was possessed. Humping and humping. Red, slippery, glistening in the sun. So me and my Latino friends threw rocks at him until he died.

What’s the Deal with Jupiter?

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I know I’m not the only one wondering, what’s the fucking deal with Jupiter?

It’s so big and I’m all like “are you made out of rock or something? C’mon dog you’re probably heavy as shit. You’re making all the other planets look bad with you’re obesity. Like, you’re supposed to be REPRESENTING our solar system out there. And I don’t want to stir up shit or whatever – buuuuuuut I heard those buttfucking queef huffers from Alpha Centauri saying this-n-that bout your chunky buns. And I don’t know about you, Jupiter, but I’m not gonna sit around and let those bumpkin-ass, binary-star-system-having, Alpha Centaurian dick-legged bungholes talk about our solar system like that. Tighten it up, bro. You ever heard of Michelle Obama? You gotta eat your greens, guy. Do a lunge or two. Republican or Democrat, I think everybody can agree you husky. Just tighten it up.”

And what’s going on with that red big spot? I was thinking it might be malignant but Doc Lipshwitz said it was a storm or something and I’m all like “damn Jupiter, how long is that storm gonna last? Get your shit together. Nobody is going to want to live on you if you got a big red storm brewin’ all the live long day.

I’ll tell you what you need to do: Go see your doctor and get you some Valtrex. Once daily Valtrex will clear that unsightly red sore up in a week or so. Tell your doctor if your immune system isn’t normal because of bone marrow or kidney transplant. It’s about suppression, Jupiter.”

You know what, you look like that planet off of Star Wars and I’m like ”Show a little originality. Have you seen Saturn? With the rings and shit? So cool. Everybody in the Solar System thinks so. We’re all like ”Damn son, nice rings. Looks like you’re hula hooping or some tight shit like that.”

Why don’t you do something like that? Get yourself a gimmick, Ju-ju. Mars has that face, Earth has monkeys and turtles, Neptune has a badass trident, Pluto is all like ”Fuck y’all. I don’t even want to be a planet anymore. I’m outtie-5,000″, and Uranus has a great sense of humor. What do you got? Besides a giant Herpes cold-storm flaring up. You got jack shit. Get a gimmick, kid.

Maybe you could grow your sideburns out like an old timey guy. Go 18th Century all over everybody’s asses. How do you think D.D. Lewis keeps winning so many Grammy’s? He goes 18th Century on everybody’s ass on the reg. I heard for his role of Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer he was growing out the hair on his inner thighs so it’s like sideburns for his dick. Abe Lincoln dick-sideburns freeing slaves and taking names. Emancipating his dick from not havin’ kickass ‘burns. You know he is gonna win all the Grammy’s for that shit.”

And what’s up with all those moons? Seriously. I’m all like “You gay? All them moons make you look gay or something. And there’s nothing wrong with that. My friend Scooter is gay as all get out but we are buds to the max. Best buds. To the max. You know how gay guys know all about how girls like to be kissed and fingered and stuff? Well, me and Scooter are such best buds to the max that he lets me practice all my moves on him and he provides productive criticism thus revealing the secrets of the sacred feminine. Like he even taught me how to do it “Siskel and Ebert Style”- two thumbs up. He said that makes chicks go primal and I believe him. Cuz he’s gay.

All I’m saying, Big Jup, is be real. We’re not here to be Judge Judy, casting stones all which-a-way. It ain’t gonna go down like that. Just fess up. We know you’re gay. Everybody knows. If you want to take that herpes infested red dick of yours and shove it inside Mercury until you blow a gaseous wad inside his shit-pipe, then be my guest. But I don’t appreciate you lying to us about it. What you don’t think you can trust us? Dang Jup, that’s cold as my Nana’s vulva. She’s dead now but even during life she had poor circulation so you that swedish-made vulva was chillatenous. And after all we been through, what with my Nana just dying and all, now you’re telling me you don’t even trust me? Well you know what Jup, YOU’RE NOT EVEN WORTH IT.

Don’t choke on your own dick.

Signed,

P. Dick ‘n’ Sons

Tanuki Nutsacks

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Many of us Americans folks are familiar with the Tanuki from our days playing Mario Bros in our MeeMaws’ basements. Nothing was cuter when that little mushroom eating plumber put on his raccoon costume and bonked some turtle-ass fuckers on their noggins. However, after boning up on our indigenous Japanese fauna, we have discovered a dark side of the lovable Tanuki. Apparently the Japanese raccoon dog have enormous and highly versatile nutbags. Have a gander:

“Keep that veiny sack offa me! I’ve got a wife and kids!”

“Keep those nutsacks dry, boys. We don’t want to go getting pruney.”

Nice catch, fellas! You saved the village, thanks to your elasti-sacks.

“Nutsack fiiiiiiight!”

Teabagging Giant Catfish. It don’t get better than this.

Dance Party on my sack

lets tie our scrots together and hit the beach

Does this nutsack go with my blouse?

Okay, these others ones were funny but you may seriously want to see your physician

Nutsack rides!

Just pounding on the ol’ beanbags

“And thy sack shall blot out the sun”

Old Japanese riddle: what is both under your dick and above your head. Answer: Tanuki nuts.

This gentleman tanuki used his engorged sack to keep the lady folk dry. Leaving himself with only straw mat. What a babe.

Getting swoll

Looks like you’ve got a cephalopod on your ball bag.

Surprise!

The Best Scariest Haunted House

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I’m going to make the best scariest haunted house this Halloween holiday season. Man, it’s going to be something else. Little kids, all my little neighbor guys, real cool guys, real legit kinda guys, the ones I sell weed to every now and again, they’re going to get so scared out of their wigs and everything. It’s going to permanently scar their little tiny psyches with fear. Like when they grow up and turn into regular people, they are going to tell their little grandbabies and step-grandbabies “oh yeah, see when I was your age this guy named Dustin used to throw the best scariest haunted houses in his house. Like you would walk in and he was there dressed like an old butler and he would say “Goooooooodevening! Welcome to Dickenson Manor. We’ve been DYING for you to arrive. Right this way, IF YOU DARE!” and there were fucking cobwebs out the ying-yang. All over the place. CobFest 2012 feat. Matisyahu and Pearl Jam. And then he would lead us into the living room and we would watch a little bit of the Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Award. The one hosted by Jack Black. Where they slimed the fuck out of Jim Carrey and Big Willie Smith.

 

It’s Arbor Day, Motherfuckers

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It’s Arbor Day, motherfuckers. National tree day. So sit back and marvel at those big wooden beauties waving in the wind. Commune with nature and show all them tree fuckers how much they mean to us. Appreciate that shit. Smell some leaves inside your nose. Taste the bark with your tongue buds. Now put an acorn in your bellybutton.

Spruce trees, oooo yah. Magnolia trees, damn giiiirl. Oak trees, get on wicha bad self. Douglas fur trees, hoodie-hoooo. Simon Birch tree, ay papi. Sycamore, more please. Pine trees, no. STOP. No. Let me clear something up for you slack-jawed jackwagons: If you think a pine tree is like a real tree then you’re an ignorant godless cunt covered in liquid shit. If you think a pine tree is a real tree then instead of celebrating Arbor Day you should be fucking yourself with a 2-liter of Pepsicola.

A pine tree is NOT a real tree. That’s basic forestry principle. Every amateur woodsmen knows this shit, guy. Sure, it’s got roots like a tree and it’s got bark like a tree and it’s tall and skinny like a tree but does it have leaves like a tree? I don’t think so, bub. Pine trees have pointy little nettles. And last time I checked there are only 4 things in this world with nettles: pine trees, cactuses, hedgehogs, and that one Backstreet Boy with all the gel in his hair. None of those are trees. They’re hideous pieces of gutter dump that don’t deserve the shaft of their cockadoo-oos. Fuck pine trees. Fuck them until they’re asshole gapes and then fuck them some more.

And if the nettles themselves weren’t bad enough, them there nettles are acidic. And not the good kind of acid that you take before you go to the iMAX to learn about coral reefs. I’m talking about the bad kind of acid. The kind that is fucking poison that kills all other plants in the immediate vicinity. They murder their tree brothers and sisters with their pointy little acid nettle dicks. Kin-slayers. What kind of no-good low life pulls a move like that? I mean, doggonit. Seriously. Dogg-the fuck-onit. What happened to the good old days when a tree could be a tree? I blame it on those darn violent video games. And the Busta Rhymeses. And Jason Mraz feat. Colby Callait. And the porn. Don’t even get me started with the porn. Sure, when I was growing up we had porn but it was classy porn: always missionary position and they always kept their shoes on, kept your socks on, and always squirted on her belly. Class. That’s all I’m askin’ fer.  Now we got all these women rollerblading with strap-on dilders attached to thier elbows and knees. And dudes making cream pies in foreign exchange students. Those students are GUESTS in our country for Pete’s sake. You are supposed to be representing your fellow countrymen and setting an example for the rest of the world. That ain’t Arbor Day, bub. That’s a whole other thing entirely. That’s crap. Pure, unadulterated crap. 

Girl, I’m Gonna Get Your Goat

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Look at you over there. Sexy as hell with you’re chunky biscuit booty poppin’ out your jean cutoffs. Look at you with them thick trumpet-playin’ lips dripping with Dr. Thunder flavored chapstick. Glistening like two slugs 69ing each other. I never thought anyone could combine my two favorite things, the discount beverage Dr. Thunder and watching slugs do the dirty, so effortlessly. With such poise. Such grace. Reminds me of Princess Dianna. The Beanie Baby, not the dead lady. Just as a general rule of thumb, from now on when I refer to Princess Dianna, assume that I am talking about the Beanie Baby.

Cuz those things are retired and worth their weight in Gold Bond © and I’ve got 25 of those fuckers vacuum sealed in the bottom of my closet at my GramGram’s house. TAGS ON. All I have to do is sign onto dad’s AOL account and go to AOL Marketplace and let everybody know that I’ve got 25 SUPER RARE PRINCESS DIANNAS with the tags still on and people are going to wig the fuck out of their fucking wigs. There’s going to be rioting in the streets. People flipping cars and setting homeless guys aflame. Police brutalizing minorities. Gay guys doing butt stuff. Someone dookie-dooing in the drinking fountains. The whole kit and caboodle.  The only thing maintaining the delicate stability of society is me keeping those Princess Diannas hidden away at my GramGram’s house. Like, does that make me some sort of hero or something? Yeah, I guess it does. I’m the last hope. I am what Gotham needs me to be. But enough about me and how I’m the only thing standing in the way complete anarchy, let’s talk about you.

Wit cho gums all intact and yo teef lookin’ reeeeal foine. Gingivitis can be a motherfucker, but it ain’t got shit on you, girl. You must brush yo shit like at least three times a day. After every meal. Like our lord God, Jesus of Nazareth intended. “And then the Lord appeared to Jacob and said ‘you gotta brush dem shits like 3 times a day. After every meal. I can be a little lenient when it comes to lunch and din-din, but you gotta brush dem shits in the mornin’ cuz yo breath be kickin’ like Ken and Ryu.” – Deuteronomy 36:25. Doing the Deut. Brushing for the Lord.

And look at you with those two dumpy bosoms. Pendulous old bean bag titties. What are they filled with sand? Hell yes. That shit sexy as hell. I love sand. Reminds me of going to the beach and catching fiddler crabs. They so crazy. Lil’ scuttle bugs is all they are. And all they eat is seaweed so their bods are ripped to shreds. I’ve heard Matt McConaughey is on the fiddler crab diet. Just seaweed, sand, salt water, and you’ve got to scuttle around for like 5 hours a day. Have you seen him with his shirt off? Looks like a fucking torched ass crab with silver dollar nipples. Speaking of, you know how fiddler crabs are incongruent? They got that that one baby claw and one big claw? Very reminiscent of your droopy bubbers. One big. One small. Them sandy, fiddler crab titties making me feel like Jimmy Buffet or something.

And look at you with them sexy azz ankle socks. You a dirty bitch and ya mom bad too. The one on your left foot stops just below a tattoo of a broken, battered, and bleeding Ryan Reynolds circa 1998 when Two Guys, A Girl, and A Pizza Place was ownin’ the television airwaves. Whatever happened to that Pizza Place? Haven’t seen it in anything good recently. Probably got addicted to huffing gas like all the other child tv stars and now bags groceries at Piggly Wiggly.  The sock on ya right foot don’t even match the left one and that’s bout to tear me up. I love how you purposefully mismatched em cuz you know I damn near bust out my cords when I see dat shit. Shit’s got a hole in it and urrythang. Just Clay Achin’ for me to lick your ashy, cracked heel. Shit’s makin’ me so hard.

And girl, look at frumpy lil dumper. I say god damn, god damn, child. That’s the skinniest little booty-hiney-hole I’ve seen in all my days. Your booboos must come out looking like Sour Straws or something. So skeeeeeeeenny! I’ve seen tic-tacs with more circumference than that booty-hiney-hole. Like those little orange ones? Those things got less the 2 calories. That fanny lookin’ watertight. Like a duck’s back. You got that duck-back-booty, ho. Got that quack back. Them fowl bowels. Lil mama got a Duck Tail. aWOOooo!

Damn girl, I’m gonna get your goat.

I’m Going to Chillville

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Forget all y’all. Ya’ll a bunch of butt munching dillweeds. Gingerbreaded peckerwoods with queefy cunts. Y’all some fat tittied ginger-queefed pecker-weeds with dill coming out of your butt-cunts. Y’all making me mad and stuff. I don’t want to hang w’ch’all nomo’. Forgetchoo. Forget momma. Forget m’diddy. Forget Sharon. Forget Obama. Forget gas prices. Forget Sarah Marshall. Forget about Dre. Forget the Alamo. I’m gonna make like Jeffy Goldblum in The Big Chill. I’m gonna make like the 2nd most famous Jew hater there ever was, Walt Disney. I’m gonna make like Boba Fett did to Han Solo before he gave him to Jabba the Hutt. I’m talking cryogenetics. I’m talking Chillville.

Bury me in dry ice and pack me up in your gramper’s deep freezer in his garage. And don’t forget to saran wrap me up tight- if I get freezer burn I’m gonna ride that ass like Pecos Bill. I wanna fucking hibernate. If you wanna please me, you gotta freeze me. And make sure you put a sticky note on the freezer that tells people not to open it until Hootie and the Blowfish schedule their reunion tour.

We just have to wait for Darius Rucker to realize that country music fans will never like a black guy unless he is picking cotton. Darius, your throwing your life away. White people can dig black guys, but only if they act black. Otherwise, it just gets too confusing. That’s why Republicans hate Obama. So, either put on a gold chain and do the Humpty Hump or get the boys back together already!

Once the long awaited moment arrives, I want you to wheel the freezer into the concert (hopefully featuring Blues Traveler or Spin Doctors [beggars can't be choosers]), right in the middle of the heady groovefest, and thaw me out with hair dryers the moment they start “Only Wanna Be With You.” I wanna be drippin’ wet by the time Darius is baring his soul about how his cunt-tits girlfriend thinks he’s such a baby cuz the dolphins make him cry. And when they get to ”Hold My Hand”, I want to be cutting a rug with a doob in one hand and some hippy’s flappy tit in the other. Just like in ’94. Since I been frozen so long, a few squeezes of that flappy tit will probably get me spelunking right outta my pee-hole all over my Duckhead© khaki shorts and down into my Birkenstocks.  SO WHAT! HOOTIE AND THE BLOWFISH REUNION, MON! WHO ISN’T CUMMIN’ IN THEIR BIRKS?!?!

After the show I’m gonna do what every freshly thawed dude would do: try to squeeze on some more baby-fresh nugs with Pauly Shore and that Goonie ass mother fucker Sean Astin a.k.a. Rudy a.k.a. Samwise Gamgee. Weasin’ the ju-uice buuuuu-ddy. We’re gonna go pick up that fat, freckled kid from The Sandlot, Son-In-Law, and The Big Green, score some nose snow from Roger from Sister, Sister, and fuckin’ go hogwild on some Huevos Rancheros. Shit’s gonna be stoopid delicious.