Chunky but funky: Kelly Clarkson

People be giving ol' girl a hard time for going back to her pre-pop star ways and rocking the late-nite drive-thrus like they're going out of style.

Yup, the Kellster is packing on the pounds like crazy these days, but some of us ain't mad at her for it.

She's not exactly my dreem gurl or anything, but lordy lord would I ever get all up in that double-wide fat XXL ass. You know she could take a serious pounding and come back for more.

Have a Bacon Double-Cheeseburger on me, baby. There are plenty of dudes that would be eager to churn your yummy voluptuousness like butter.

How it goes down in the city

Yes, this is really happening.

The extra mile, featuring Tara Lynn Foxx

Kansas City nipple

A girl at Baja Fresh made my dick hard

She was Mexican.

Kind of skinny, but with more than enough juice in her breasts.

I was picking up when she walked over to the register. She said something under her breath to the other Mexican woman ringing me up and smiled. She had bright shiny metal braces.

She kind of cut her eyes at me so I smiled at her real big. She had a tiny gold stud in her right nostril. She smiled back. That's when I saw it. In her eyes. That certain glint that says take me out get me drunk high stoned and let's not really think about anything at all. It only gets in the way. The glint that sent blood rushing to my penis, which began swelling in my Timberland shorts.

She had on red lipstick with black liner around the edges. Her dyed red hair was in a bun.

Her and the other woman both smiled at me. Another one at the other side of the counter stopped to watch this strange mating ritual happening in front of her.

I can't wait to go back to Baja Fresh.

Sebastien Tellier, "Kilometer"

Just another day at my Malibu dream house...

Flaming youth

To live and get high in L.A.

I was leaving for work this morning when I happened to glance at my desk.

I find it hilarious and kind of scary that this is what it looked like. I'll never, ever know how I came to be that guy with all of this so casually strewn about my living space.

Such is life when you're 'single' and in need of perpetual hardcore stimulation. Huh.

Malibu dream house

My Malibu mansion is a lovely place (such a lovely place).

It is kept safe by a crack security detail made up entirely of bikini-clad 'suicide' girls armed with tasers and Dobermann Pinschers. It's the last place Mischa Barton was seen before being checked into a mental hospital for "observation." It's where Lindsay Lohan comes to relax and do her drugs in peace. "True Blood" has filmed at least one orgy scene in the backyard. Belladonna christened the pool with a massive squirt. Ashley Dupree works out of the pool house around the first of the month like clockwork. Julie Night serves as my personal assistant/fluffer. And believe you me, she earns her money. Stevie Hart did all of the murals throughout the place. D'Angelo is secretly recording his comeback album in the basement studio. Kanye West has been barred from the premises until further notice. Prince got scared off by what he called 'scary death-sex vibes," while Marilyn Manson refuses to take no for an answer. The only people with keys are myself and Kate Hudson (she's a good friend, pays most of the monthly mortgage and is always up for a quick fuck when she's around).

I really need to spend more time there. It's such a lovely place (such a lovely place).

The Stealthy Stoner strikes again

When I get really, really high (like tonight), my inner Stealthy Stoner comes out.

He's the one that takes care of the snack attack food runs (like tonight), which lead me to my friendly neighborhood 7-11.

I saw two young-ish Asian dudes that were very clearly having a severe case of the munchies as well. The one just stood there staring into the ice cream case. Yeah, I know the feeling, dude.

I grabbed a couple of beers (Newcastle Ale, obvs), a big bag of mixed nuts and a box of Nag Champa incense. Gotta keep the place smelling fresh, OK?

And I was able to make it there and back without losing my parking spot. Yesssssss.

The beers are flowing and the weed is strong. Monday night live, bitches. You know how we do.

Rollin'

I love rolling joints.

Yeah, I smoke most of my weed in a very nice glass pipe these days. I'm thinking about buying a new bong, too.

But sometimes I just like to twist up a jay, roll a joint, whatever the kids are calling it these days.

If I'm living large, I love to roll up a fat blunt. But with the pricey pot I'm smoking these days, blunts are for special occasions. But I do love that tasty cigarillo flavor.

I just rolled a very nice joint of Bubba Kush. A few tokes later and I'm nice and stoned.

The perfect state to be while checking out Phaedra Fallen, a blog that has been turning me on/getting me off for a while now.

She's got a perfectly dirty mind, and lately has been giving us tasty peeks at her fine-ass body (see the hot bod in the picture? That's what I'm talking about, baby!).

I've been watching that show "Royal Pains." I love the scenery, but it's all about the sexy Indian babe. She's hot to death.

Yes, please and thank you

I heart Ashley Blue

She tells it like it is.

She is very hot and does dirty sexy things on film.

She is a very good human.

This picture was taken by Dave Naz. Dave is very ill from a stroke. Thankfully, he has friends like Ashley in his life.

Ashley thinks it would be cool if we said hi to Dave:

"I ask of anyone who is a writer, artist, lover of porn, sympathetic for the sick and weak-bodied, or just a funny pervert (like me) - Could you send David Hurles an email of hope or some kind of positive humorous antidote?
Send a little note for him to my emails: dave ( at ) davenaz.com OR smalloriana ( at )gmail.com"

Devil in my life

I went out with Sex Bomb last night. It was…interesting.

We got terrifically drunk at a big concert surrounded by 16000 of the smartest people in Los Angeles. Two of her friends crashed the row in front of us. One was good and one was bad. Whatever.

Sex Bomb and I ended up going to score some blow after the show. It was hilarious because her connection turned out to be a guy I know pretty well, but had no idea messed with the powder.

It was ok stuff. We got lit up and hit a club.

That’s where it got interesting. Sort of.

She’s got some major issues, that one. I mean, so do I—it’s why we get on so well.

But she has this block or something. I can’t explain it. It’s kind of a classic case of I Want The One That I Can’t Have And It’s Driving Me Mad. But with a side of self-loathing much greater that someone as hot as her should ever have.

Am I just mad that she didn’t sleep with me? No. I had a tiny window as she was dropping me off, but due to the fuckery at the club felt it was best to call it a fucking wrap.

Of course we played coked-up text games for the next hour until I finally passed out.

Now, under the harsh light of day, I sit and wonder.

What’s it all about, Alfie?

You’re not happy with the ex, you’re out of sorts with the Sex Bomb, you’re bound to be disappointed by Big Love when you go back to (redacted) next month. WTF, as the kids like to say.

I wanna be bruised

I want you to take what you want from me.

I need to feel you digging into my flesh.

I don’t know why it has to be that way, but it does.

We can have the sweet sweet love and all of that too.

I try so hard for that to be enough. I lie to myself that I can get my fix from coke and porn.

But no.

When it’s that time I need friction and heat and teeth and nails and crazy.

Fuck. Yes.

Orgy World 6: The aftermath

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Time to get freaky

Friday night.

Met up with my man and got a fresh new supply of Columbian jerking powder.

Did some lines.

Went to a cool rock show.

Came home. Pay dirt: my copy of "Orgy World 6" has arrived!

Did some more lines. Plugged new DVD into machine.

Ohhh shit. This is when "Orgy World" was at its prime. Two scenes, 9 red-hot European whores just itching to get fucked by a battery of thick black dick.

Masturbation is so awesome. Especially on blow.

watchwatchwatch. strokestrokestroke. snortsnortsnort.

Friday night rules.

I want to bring Tanner Mayes home and take care of her

I mean, when you read something like this, how else are you supposed to feel?

soft shock

I hate feeling like I’m too nice.

Because I am. In real life, anyway.

I did an old acquaintance a favor last night. It was kind of weird and didn’t make any sense, but I did it anyway. I think more than anything, he just needed a friend.

He bought me dinner. We talked about life and work and aging and how the world has become like a crazy sci-fi movie where robots take over. Except in this movie, the robots are passive-aggressive, and just sit there while we run around in smaller and smaller circles until we’re just orange blurs of light that will power the machines until the end of time.

After dinner we went to see a rock band. His girlfriend came to meet us. I got almost hysterically angry from the moment I saw her.

Tall, slender, and fucking gorgeous. I couldn’t tell if she was black or ‘mixed.’ Her skin was the color of Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal. Her eyes, a light green. She walked up to my friend and gave him a sweet kiss.

“We are in love forever,” he sighed.

“Yes, we are,” she sighed back.

And I just wanted to scream and cry and destroy everything I touched.

Why do I have to always be stuck watching the things I really want pressed up to my face like a bully taunting a helpless child? Why did I waste my time on this ‘business meeting’ where I impart oceans of wisdom and knowledge all for a plate of rubber chicken at another shitty L.A. restaurant?

Obviously it was so I could see what I’m missing.

This is my life.

I work and work and work and work. I only date women that approach me first. I’m never happy with them. They hound me and love me and beg me to marry them and father their babies. But I don’t. Instead I live a secret private life of drugs and porn and whores and $80 blowjobs on top of the parking structure of Ralph’s grocery store. I sit and imagine all of the things I could be doing with my life.

Instead, I’m planning elaborate hook-ups across state line with big sexy babes that I don’t even really know but know enough to fuck on a long weekend out of town.

CocaineCocaineCocaine.

I smoked a big bowl before going to work this morning. But I do that every day.

I don’t want to be this person anymore. He’s just too fucked up.

So—who to be now?

If you were reading this, maybe you would tell me. But you’re not. So you won’t. Fine. Fuck you too.

Mo' money. Mo' drugs. Not necessarily in that order

Another weird aside from last night.

During my little 'sick out,' I had to go lie down on my bed for a minute. When I got up, I noticed a little baggie of blow on the floor. Where the hell did that come from?

I picked it up and took it into the living room. Looking around, I realized this was my most recent coke purchase. How it went from my coffee table to the floor of my bedroom I'll never know.

The worst part is that there isn't that much left. It seems like I just bought this shit, and I'm already plotting how I can give my man another $60 for even more.

It's gotten to the point that I need a supplemental income to fund my drug habit. I kind of need a regular supply if marijuana and cocaine on hand at all times. And that shit is expensive, yo.

Granted, I'm not a totally strung-out tweeker sucking dick for some rock. Far from it, thankfully. I'm still kind of amazed at how well I manage my drug use.

So I'm over here brainstorming ways to finance my drug use without it affecting my bottom line (which it hasn't yet, knock on my wooden head).

I've been doing a lot more freelance work, oddly enough. It's kind of amazing that there's any freelance work out there. But there is. I should really be more proactive about getting to it, though. So I'm gonna go do just that.

I'm already imagining the first line I'm gonna snort when I get home. A nice, big fat rail chopped out on my old-school Van Halen mirror that I'm sure some burnout won at a state fair a million years ago. My dick is getting hard just thinking of the initial nasal burn that comes with that first toot.

I am counting the days until the arrival of "Orgy World 6," let me tell you.

Oh, and I didn't even mention the other day that my girl Wild Card is sitting on a cache of what she calls 'fucking crazy' hits of Ecstasy. God, how I used to love Ecstasy!

You wanna talk about a good drug for sex---WOOOO. I had an ex once. We would take E together and literally fuck all night long. Like actual penis in vagina fucking for hours straight, until the sun was coming up.

E is kind of my favorite drug. But the hangover/recovery is such a bitch, dude. Damn.

More drugs, please. Thank you.

Making myself sick

Weird one last night.

I was doing coke (obvs) and trolling the internet for porn. The usual.

After I got off (thanks, Sativa Rose. Damn girl you are NASTY), I found myself wandering around aimlessly.

Somehow I found a list of the most disturbing movies of all-time.

The hands-down winner (according to most reports, anyway) is this movie called "Salo."

"Salo" is some out of control shit. In a nutshell, these crazy Nazis hire some psychos to kidnap a bunch of people and bring them back to their lair. There they subject the kidnapped to all sorts of really vile degradation. It starts with extreme sexual torture before moving into scat orgies and ultimately dismemberment and death. There is no happy ending. No one gets out alive. It's all bad.

I found one review that even had a picture. It was of one of the torture victims having his tongue cut out. Even though it was filmed in 1975 and should be cheesy, it isn't. It's horrifying and made me totally gag and almost puke on my computer.

I stumbled into the bathroom, feeling all tingly and hot. I wretched a few times, but never fully lost it.

I was able to get a glass of water in me and calm down. I smoked a few bowls, watched the most mindless shit I could on TV, and was eventually able to fall asleep.

I am not a fan of any of that kind of shit at all. Yeah, I like to get down and dirty, but it's always about having a GOOD time. I mean, I can't even watch movies like "Saw" and shit. It's all just too much.

If you can sit through stuff like "Salo," I'm seriously scared of you.

I imagine Sasha Grey just masturbates to filth like this. I mean, that's how she comes off, anyway.

Who the fuck knows?

I'm just waiting for "Orgy World 6" to show up in the post. Now that will be a good day.

Be your own hero

I’m drunk. But that’s OK.

I went over to Wild Card’s place tonight.

We drank lots of wine and talked about music and relationships and sex and career and family and so much more.

We smoked a really potent joint made of some strain of OG Kush that’s fucking amazing. So stoned.

Of course I had to whip out the blow. She was shocked but dove right in and hovered up a line like nobody’s business.

But our connection is strictly business. Combined, the two of us could create intellectual properties that everyone would know about and people at your job would talk about online and even more people would buy t-shirts and coffee mugs commemorating said property. Her and I could do that.

I also think we could have mind-blowing, toe-curling sex together. She’s not there yet, and probably never will be. But that’s OK. I’m down to take the money and find myself some real freaky deaks to enjoy it with.

Thangs are about to get real interesting, peoples.

Like, really.

PS: I must have really laid it down last night. The ex that I plowed has been sending me text after text saying how she wants more more more. Let’s see, fuck a sexy lil 20-something six ways from sideways whenever I see fit?

Yeah, that works for me.

Wild card

I have no idea what’s going to happen tonight.

There is this girl. I’ve known her for a while. A friend of a friend that became a friend.

She’s pretty hot and likes to party. She invited me over to her place tonight for some wine and to catch up.

I said I would bring some party favors to go along with the wine, so I’m going to take some grass with me (and in case you haven’t noticed, it’s my mission to bring back the term “grass” when referring to marijuana) and I’ll bring a bit of blow just in case (cuz I know for a fact this babe loves her some Bolivian marching powder).

There have been times when I’ve wondered if she was hitting on me. Ah, who knows? I’m just in a highly sexualized state lately (are there times when you’re not? —Ed.) and everything feels like a subtle invitation to get naked and copulate.

If nothing else, I’ll get a major league buzz on tonight with a sexy lady that likes to get her party on. Happy Monday, motherfuckers.

Mischa Barton: Bitch needs to learn how to handle her blow

Hijacked direct from 'Page Six":

She went from "The O.C." to an OD.

Notorious Hollywood drug fiend Mischa Barton was so high on coke following a marathon three-day bender that friends called cops afraid she would kill herself, sources have told The Post.

Barton, 23, was taken away from her LA home by police and placed under an involuntary psychiatric hold on Wednesday.

The party-loving former "O.C" star was due to fly to New York for the premiere of her movie "Homecoming," which has been slammed by critics.

A source close to Barton said, "She's in very bad shape.

"She's running out of money and can't find love, so now she is looking for a good time to escape her misery. She is on a downward spiral.

"She is a mess. She is a suicidal, uninsurable mess." Photographed Tuesday at an LA hotel, the once-skinny Barton (above, toking on a joint) looked bloated and almost unrecognizable.

A guest at the hotel said Barton seemed to be stumbling around poolside and at one point was topless, asking various men if they wanted to "suck on one of these" and even getting caught fingering herself in the shallow end of the pool when she thought no one was looking.

"I totally busted her on that shit, and she asked if I could do better," says a shell-shocked onlooker. "She dragged me into the men's room, where she sucked me off while doing bumps off of my penis. It was kind of hot, but then she gagged and barfed all over me, so I bolted. But by then there was a line of guys waiting their turn, and one jumped right in as I was leaving. They didn't seem to mind that she had puke running down her face and stuck in her hair."

Two weeks ago she hit the headlines after being kicked out of the ladies' room at an exclusive London nightclub for trying to bring a gal pal into one of the stalls.

Barton told Life and Style magazine only days ago that she was "happy and healthy."

She said: "It does get cumbersome to have to address the same non-issues on a repeated basis. Fortunately, I'm healthy and comfortable in my own skin.

"I'm happy. I wouldn't change my body, and I couldn't anyway. The only way to be happy and be a more enjoyable person is to embrace what you've got. So I just do tons of coke and suck lots and lots of Hollywood cock," she added with a wink.

Her publicist, Craig Schneider, released a statement yesterday confirming that the actress remains in the hospital under doctor's orders. Under Section 5150 of the California Welfare and Institutions Code, authorities can hold a person for up to 72 hours if they present a danger to themselves or others. It is the same law used to hospitalize Britney Spears last year.

A source believes it will take some time before Barton bounces back, saying: "She is a tortured and troubled person. You can survive a bad review, but when you don't show up for the premiere of your new film because you're on a coke binge and letting random guys run trains on you in L.A. airport hotels, it's not a good sign of where your career is heading."

Beautiful people

Sometimes being around excessively beautiful people makes me happy. Other times it makes me sad.

There are occasions when I feel beautiful. It has been known to happen.

But on Saturday I went to a party where everyone was so fucking gorgeous it make me feel even more self-conscious than usual.

I know it probably sounds stupid, but I’m just being honest.

There’s nothing worse than standing with a group of gorgeous women oohing and aaahing over the various hot dudes at a party--and you're not one of them

I just got terrifically drunk and ate my first piece of fried chicken in years. Fuck it.

Still got it

It became pretty clear that if I wanted to have sex with my ex, I was going to have to take action.

As my girl said in the movie “Bring it On”: “Be aggressive/Be/Be/Aggressive!”

So when she never called me last night after dinner, I called her. When she said it had gotten late and she was tired, I asked her if she was too tired for me to come over.

I had, after all, spent a good part of the afternoon blowing lines and stroking my cock to random porn DVDs—I was more than up for the real thing.

She said, no, she was not that tired.

I drove to her house and let myself in (girls have a tendency to give me keys to their homes. Go figure). I knocked on her apartment door to let her know it was me before going in.

She was on her bed in a simple nightgown. Very cute. I got on the bed with her and we started talking. Soon we started kissing. Clothing came off very quickly (God I LOVE her tits) and she pulled me on top of her.

She opened her vagina with her fingers and directed my penis inside.

There’s something oddly comforting and sad about ex-sex. It feels good, nice and easy. But it’s also bittersweet, when one remembers that this used to be uncharted territory, someone you lusted after and pursued and gave presents and complimented and flirted with until she was swept off her feet. Until all of that sweetness eroded under time, repetition, mismatched expectations, stupidity and boredom.

After fucking missionary, I pulled out so I could turn her over and go at it from the back (her favorite position). At one point we were standing next to the bed as I rutted her from behind.

This lasted for a few minutes before she flipped onto her back and wrapped her legs around mine. I pumped into her hard before pulling out and coming on her stomach.

We stayed there on the bed for a few more minutes. I got up and had some water.

It was maybe 10 minutes before I was mounted on her again, this time with her legs both up over my shoulders. The second fuck was much better than the first (which was pretty great). We went at it for a good half-hour before I couldn’t take it anymore and shot another surprisingly thick load on her face and tits.

And then we went to sleep.

In my corner of America

There are many benefits to my corner of America.

For one, it's in Los Angeles. The land of dreams and movie stars and celebrity everything.

The weather is nice and the living is easy.

OK, the easy part is a lie.

But in my corner of America, there is a 24-hour McDonald’s drive-thru.

I can go there at 3AM and buy a Reese's Peanut Butter McFlurry (limited time only) to enjoy while smoking the grass and bathing in the warm cathode bath of love.

My corner of America is pretty damn cool.

Red Head

yes, please.

Almost...

Today was a really good day.

Ended up asleep on my couch by 8P.

Went out to dinner with the ex. It was cool.

When she got home she asked me why I didn't invite her inside.

Honestly, I feel like it's just not quite seasoned yet. Tonight was not that night. I mean it's coming, but this just wasn't it.

Ended up blowing a few lines and drinking on some vodka.

Did some trolling on Craigslist. I found a big black chick that's giving blowjobs in a hotel off the Imperial Highway for $50. I'm still kind of considering checking her out, but I not gonna.

I also checked back in with another whore I found on CL a few months ago and never hooked up with. She sucks cock for $40 and is based pretty close to where I live. She's still down for the program, which is always good to know.

There's a special thrill that comes from paying for sexytime services. Not that I'm an expert, mind you.

I think I just like knowing that the option is there.

Man, my tolerance for blow is getting pretty high. I go through the party powder even faster than grass these days.

Smoke weed every day

“Me and Romeo ain’t never been friends.”

America. Land of the free, home of Sonic fast foot restaurants with wry TV commercials and slushies for a reasonable price.

Let no one get between a good American and his nearest Sonic. Not even an officer of the law. Because the REAL law of the country that God and white long-haired Jesus loves the most says that no one can stop us from our right to eat deep fried foods drenched in salt and sugar and high fructose corn syrup 24 hours a goddamned day. Impede our right to assault ourselves with outer space food for dummies at your own peril, copper. Before you know it an irate Asian will drag your sorry ass down the street with his automobile while the assembled hordes applaud his patriotism.

Fuck, I wish there was a Sonic in Los Angeles. Then I could mow down a cop with my car too. And get a side of tater tots to go, bitch.

The kindness of strangers

I’m so fucking drunk right now I can’t even tell you. Jesus. Endless glasses of top-shelf bourbon have knocked me right on my ass. That’s what I get for borrowing xTx’s pants before a night out.

Tonight should have been completely fucked. I pissed a particular girl off to no end. She basically told me to fuck off and leave her alone. I crossed the line and she wasn’t having any of it.

I found myself at a bar in L.A. Well, Culver City if we’re being technical. I sat down and ordered a beer. A kind of cute babe with really curly hair started talking to me. If she wasn’t with a guy she referred to as her boyfriend, I would’ve sworn she was hitting on me. I think her boyfriend would wholeheartedly agree with that estimation.

Her and I talked about work and Michael Jackson and cocaine. She was most interesting. If she wasn’t with a man I would have absolutely tried to hook up with her.

When I finally let it be known that I was having issues with a woman, she was all ears. She listened intently to my tale of woe, and how I completely fucked things up with a girl tonight.

She asked me if I’d like her help. I said of course. She said give me your phone. I gave her my phone. She typed the most basic, straightforward message to the girl and pressed send.

Trust me she said. Not three minutes later, my phone buzzed in response. The girl would come meet me at the bar.

I looked at my new friend with a newfound respect. Now I REALLY wanted to make out with her.

The girl showed up. She was happy to see me. We made out and I grabbed her boobs under her dress (no bra—hello).

We made out in her car for a while. Then she had to leave.

Call me, she said with a wink before speeding off.

I stumbled drunkenly to my car. Once inside, I did a big bump of coke for the ride home.

Now I’m here.

And all I want to do is fuck the living daylights out of my new curly-haired friend. Or at least lick her pussy until she comes a couple of times. It’s the least I can do.

Friday nights are the shit. I need to take advantage of them more than I do.

OK, time to smoke a bowl, jerk off to something hot and naaaaasty and go to sleep.

It’s the weekend, y’all. Hells to the yeah.

Oh shit—and Anna Paquin is on Jimmy Fallon tonight. Bring it on, baby. Bring that shit on.

Unraveled

Well that was fast.

My “date” for tonight is suddenly getting cold feet. Hmph. Just as I was getting all revved up for some penis-in-vagina action.

But I know her and how she works. It sounds like she wants things to be a little less orchestrated this evening. Fine by me. I’m all for a late-night booty-call situation. She’ll be tired and kind of cranky, but a drink and a couple of lines will loosen her (and said va-jay-jay) right up. I can’t believe I just wrote “va-jay-jay.”


There’s a party tomorrow that I’m invited to attend. It will be fun and there will be lots of available wimmin in the mix. But there will also be those pesky roving eyeballs, watching my every move. And that sucks. But fuck it, I’m gonna check it out, see what happens. Saturday, in the park, and it’s not even the 4th of July.

I wanna do it like we used to do it.

Just get drunk and fuck. A lot.

Like when my friend D had that tequila party. The deal was you had to bring a bottle of tequila—any kind, shape, size, whatever—to get into the party. And no two for one bullshit. Each person had to have their own individual bottle.

I brought a bottle of Cuervo. It’s all I really knew at the time, and definitely all I could afford. I walked over to the party which was on the furthest reaches of campus.

It was a surprisingly cool party. Everything was midnight blue and darker.

I ended up in the basement with a sorority girl that I’d fucked for the first time the weekend prior. She was a sexy little thing, with a tight body and lots of curly, blond hair. “Don’t mess with Texas” is what I called her.

But her and I ended up in the basement of the tequila party. She was sitting on a countertop, and I was standing in between her legs. She was wearing a small skirt. I touched her through her panties. They were soaking wet.

I pushed up against her. I pulled my hard cock out of my overalls (hey, it was the ‘90s. Sue me) and rubbed it against her vulva. She moaned in my ear.

“Don’t you DARE fuck me here,” she sighed breathlessly. The basement was almost pitch dark, with a dim black light in the corner providing the only light. I moved in closer. I pulled her panties aside. And I slid inside her dewy yum yum.

“Don’t you DARE cum inside me,” she moaned, as I subtly thrust into her chewy strawberry swirl. Knowing that people were standing just a few feet away from us turned me on like craaaaazy.

I think she was feeling it too. She put her head down, wrapped a hand around my neck and ground her pussy down onto my dick. This went on for about 20 minutes.

I barely remember us stumbling across campus to her sorority house, laughing and taking swings from our almost empty bottles of tequila.

We fucked like dogs in her bed, until I finally came with a sharp, almost painful orgasm deep inside her little vagina. There was a rubber in between us, obvs. I kind of remember a couple of her sorority sisters trying to sneak in to watch. Texas and I both noticed them, but played it off. We were full-blown porn stars that night, baby. They left in a flurry of shocked giggles right after I came.

I also distinctly remember leaving the condom under her bed because I was too tired to try and find the bathroom naked in some Greek house.

Texas and I eventually both passed out, stinking drunk.

I woke up in the wee morning hours, and took probably the happiest walk of shame home of my entire life. There's something magical about a college campus at dawn. Plus you see the craziest shit.

That was a good really good day. I would imagine raisin French toast from Angelo's was involved.

Parallel Lines

Robert Louis Stevenson

Wrote Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde in six days and nights on a cocaine binge. "That an invalid in my husband's condition of health should have been able to perform the manual labour alone of putting 60,000 words on paper in six days, seems almost incredible," said his astonished wife, Fanny.

Stoned like dem white boys

I had the best fucking idea tonight.

I swear it’s like Will Farrell in that scene in “Old School” during the debate.

The one where he like blacks out and suddenly just knows all of this shit. Then he snaps out of it and he’s back to his regular doltish self.

That’s just what it’s like.

I went to my 7-11 and in honor off xTx, procured a man-size bottle of Newcastle Nut Brown Ale. I’m drinking that sexy bitch right now.

I love the movie “Forgetting Sarah Marshall.” Watching it right now.

“This ain’t the breakfast buffet!”

Made a low-key run to the border. Crunchy taco ‘al fresco.’

“Give me dirty crime scene girl.”

Watching this movie, I realize that one of the things I like about Sex Bomb is that she reminds of a grown-up, hyper-sexual drunk and drugged out version of Mila Kunis. Damn, that’s one hell of a description. But hey, if I’m lying…

I live on a street in Los Angeles where so many of my life decisions are determined by parking. And that shit ain’t right. There are only so many places to park on the street around my house. There are a shitload of cars trying to park in them.

Just going to 7-11 and Toxic Hell (which took all of 20 minutes) I still ended up having to battle an SUV for me spot.

How fucked up is it that PARKING determines my moves at night. The college me would be calling me WEAK right now.

Fuck that shit. I’m slamming a big-ass Newcastle and knocking back a couple of tacos. I’m in college shape, bitches. I did a vodka shot earlier. I’ve got these youngsters. They can’t get down like this. I learned from the masters.

"You need to penetrate deeply and stimulate the clitoris."

It’s 1:11—make a wish.

"You've got Christ between your thighs--only with a shorter beard."

Daddy has a new little whore: Nikkie Vixon

I need one of these chained up inside my bedroom closet. I'd be nice and feed her and let her use the bathroom and whatever. I'd only keep her in there while I went to work and stuff. So she could think about all of the things that we'd done the night before, and were going to do from the moment I got home. She'd appreciate that time, you know?

Oh, Nikkie Vixon. You vex me.

Sasha is the best kind of nasty

Totally jerking off to this right now. But THIS is what's really fucking me up. Slut was made for cocaine.

I know what girls like

Day: Long, arduous but ultimately rewarding. Not sure what it is, but I’m on a serious roll at work. Busting my ass and it’s paying off. Me old papa would be so shocked/proud right now. But whatever, I always worked hard. He just had issue with the fact that I played as hard as I worked, and it took him close to 60 years to adopt a similar outlook on life.

Came home, got naked and smoked a bowl.

Everyone needs to spend more time naked. I can't exactly explain what it is, but you develop a certain comfort and confidence from getting to know just what God and/or genetics gave you. I’ve learned all sorts of interesting things about mine, that’s for sure. I’m discovering that I’m working with something pretty special over here. We all are. It’s nice getting know just what is it that makes YOU special and golden.

Three different women told me that they liked my shirt today. There is very little in the world that makes me happier than a compliment from a woman. Three times. Best shirt ever, obvs.

Contemplate washing dishes. Laugh at the notion. Smoke another bowl. Drink water.

I want to buy a bike this summer. Like a cool mountain bike. Any recommendations? I’m not trying to spend more than a couple hundred bucks. I wonder if I can get anything good in that range.


They opened the first Sonic fast-food joint in New Jersey recently. People got so excited they lined up for miles in their cars along the freeway just to indulge in the vaunted value menu that Sonic has to offer. Things got so chaotic that a man hit a police officer with his car and dragged him down the road when the cop told him he would have to drive away and come again another day. This is all true, by the way. Like everything that I write. Why are people getting so violent over a fucking Sonic? Inquiring minds need to know what the fuck is up with that.

Doing a line of cocaine right now.

Bitches be snitchin

Like the Beatles, I should have known better with a girl like you. I used to think we were cool like that. But you’re too young to even know who Digable Planets are, so I guess it’s my own g-d fault.

Sure, it was inevitable that word would get around about what went down between a particular lady and myself. But you really didn’t need to hasten shit with by flapping your fucking trap.

It’s not like I still don’t want to fuck you. I always have and still do. You’ve confided in me just how nasty you like to get in bed (and other places hehehe), so I know exactly what’s going on in the dirty mind of yours. You’d probably never give me that sweet wetness that lurks between your burnished thighs out of some deluded sense of “friendship” or “loyalty,” and that’s too bad. Cuz with that thick ass and those big bouncing titties you’ve got going on up top, I’d be inspired to pull out all the stops to get you offfff. Hard. Now I get to augment that with a side order of grudge-fuck. Now everybody wins. And what happened to “I won’t say nothing to nobody?” Boo to you.

But until then, I’ve got some other ideas. For one, I’m going to fuck the stuffing out of that particular lady tomorrow night. We’re gonna go out, have a bunch of drinks. She’ll get drunk enough to suggest that we skip dinner and go back to my place. She’ll be all tired from another long week at work, so I’ll whip out the blow for a quick pick-me-up. And we both know what happens when she starts blowing lines--other things start getting blown with a quickness.

I’m predicting that not only will I be getting some of that ass tomorrow night, but there will be a nice doggystyled quickie on Saturday morn before she goes off on her merry way.

I wonder how long until THAT lil bit of information starts making the rounds.

I’ll be extra horny, as tonight’s proposed tryst with an out-of-left-field wildcard has been postponed until Monday.

My new career

Insomnia

Not so bad when you're majorly stoned and "Smokey and the Bandit" is on cable.

I've always wanted to fuck a blond babe with big tits and feathered hair over a car like this one. 1977 style, with something really cool blasting on the stereo.

Let's say:

"Dancing in the Moonlight (It's Caught Me in its Spotlight)" - Thin Lizzy

That would be fucking hot.

And Thin Lizzy was one of the best hard rock bands ever. Fucking Ever. RIP Phil, ya bastard...

Treats

A big pile of ridiculously delicious Sesame Shrimp. Soooo fucking good.

Bubba Kush and a freshly cleaned glass piece. See above.

High-grade cocaine. Yes, please and thank you.

Amazingly filthy video clips of professional whores like Julia Bond, Eva Angelina and Stevie Hart (oh, that Stevie Hart!). Fucking priceless, baby.

It's been a good Wednesday night.

How they used to get down

This reminds me that I need to call my man and get some more blow.

Even on the darkest night when empty promise means empty hand

I just cannot pull it together today.

I left all sorts of essentials behind when I went to work this morning, and had to leave the office to retrieve them. Because there’s no way I’m going through a full day of work without being able to blast my brain with sweet sweet muzik.

Right now it’s classic Duran Duran. The song is called “Lonely in Your Nightmare.”

I can remember a time when listening to this particular song made me feel so sophisticated. Between the swirly whirly synthesizers and nonsensical lyrics, I just knew that it all meant something very deep and cosmopolitan. It sounded like impossibly thin, beautiful people doing cocaine on a yacht docked in the south of France--basically the exact opposite of my life at the time.

I connected with an old “friend” on Facebook today. And yes, it’s a she.

She lives in my hometown, where I’m going to visit next month. On a lark, I sent her a pretty provocative email, saying how good she looked in her most recent photos and how much I’d like to spend some time when I got into town. I was feeling cavalier, what can I say?

It took her a couple of days to respond, so I was sure she’d been put off by the aggressive nature of my message. But then today I get a very sweet note from her saying that she’d love to see me, and to give her plenty of notice.

This particularly female, ironically enough, is of the larger variety. Tall, thick and with massive breasts that literally call out to me in the prettiest voices (they sound a lot like Linda Ronstadt in the mid-‘70s) to suck on them gently.

While this woman and I used to flirt wildly, we never hooked up. That is going to change when I see her next month. My penis is doing that weird pulsing thing it does when it knows it’s going to visit some uncharted territory. Hottt.

ben & jerry's chocolate macadamia

Good rappers and dope beats

Yeah, I love coke, porn, whores, weed, tits (all sizes), nipples, fucking, watching, jerking, eating, so on and so forth until the end of time when Jesus comes back with Michael Jackson by his side to vanquish Satan and his main minions, Kurt Cobain and Elvis Presley. It will be an epic battle, but good will win out and Jesus will admonish the world for treating HIS only begotten son MJ so poorly. We will all be in awe as Jesus explains that MJ never did anything sexytime with those little boys, but really just quietly wept and stroked their chubby little cheeks while they slept. He would put money and gifts into their pockets and shoes while they weren't looking. The world will learn that even though he knew we were killing him slowly, Michael still delivered his special message to the masses. It will be discovered that 'the Rapture' is very real, and it will be MJ's most fanatical followers who will be whisked away to heaven, which is actually the model on which Neverland Ranch was made.

I also like listening to really good rappers over dope-ass beats.

OK so now I want an Indian girl?

Driving to work this morning I looked over at the next car. Behind the wheel was an insanely hot Indian woman with dark chocolate skin. She kind of looked like a younger version of M.I.A. Simply gorgeous.

At the next light I smiled at her, and she gave me a sweet little smile back. It totally made my morning.

Thought:

Growing up, I was always “good.” Even in college, I could never fully embrace the moment. While my friends were fucking everything that moved, I was the nice guy that the girls would come crying to when one of said friends inevitably fucked them over.

There was that brief period when I was still kind of reeling from THE break-up when I did indulge in some wanton sex, but not nearly enough. I think I’m in the process of making up for lost time.

Is that so wrong?

I don't think so.

I saw a billboard today.

It was for Las Vegas vacations. In the picture a bunch of people are "partying." The caption reads: "Because one day you'll be dead."

Exactly.