I seem to get a few hits from this porn-type stuff, searches for tags I put on like fuck, sex, manatees and so on. Even my travel blog gets the occasional “Thai girls” search engine hits. So, being close to Xmas and all, I thought I better give something to these poor fat slobby sleazy fucks that are sitting there with four cans of coke poured into a vase, three meat lover’s pizzas, potato chip crumbs in their lap, sitting at the PC in a darkened room searching for “fucking” on WordPress. Here ya go ya fat fucks:

Fuck, lick, slap, suck, kiss, bite, push, hard, soft, sherpas in sheep costumes, fanny, doodle, NURSE (that bit isn’t part of it, that was just me typing out loud in my cell, it’s happy tablet time), where was I? Oh yeah, slide, poke, sweat, dick, lick, slappy mc slap, pull hair, rubber gimp mask, rubber chickens I dunno, what are you people into?

Work with me here. No pun intended.

OK, I’ll give it a bash. There’s this chick, right? She has these boobs and shit, so you’re like, sqeezing that shit, right? And she’s all like “ooohh yeah daddy, give it to me hard” in a stupid fake voice and then does one of those Beverly Hills 90210 girly giggles. You’re like “Hell yeah, bitch” and start going crazy, tearing her clothes off left and right, I mean that shit is flying everywhere. It’s all lacy shit too, HOW FUCKING HOT IS THAT? LACY SHIT! and then you pull out your 27 inch mega-wang and dust off the Oreo crumbs from your stomach and say “OK this is Captain Penetrator calling Naval Base, preparing to dock” and she just goes apeshit, OM NOM NOM NOM. BAM, you’ve slapped her in the face and say “Bad doggy” and she wimpers then cries, then plays a gnarly air guitar, fuck this bitch is mad hot.

So then you’re getting down to business, and you have one leg on her cheek, one leg on the couch (I forgot, there’s a couch, OK?) she has one foot in your ear, and the other on the curtain rail near the window. It’s the maddest sex position in the world, and you just invented it because that’s how fucked up you are, in a fully awesome way. Then after that bit, you’re like “Can we go missionary?” and she’s like “Hell yeah bro, I’m catholic, I LOVE that shit!” BAM, you’re going hard mish style. It’s SO lame that it’s cool. You’re hell cool at fucking. Now you’re like “Yo, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna… o… oh… ooHH… OOOOHHH” and she’s like “Oh YEAH I’m so HORNY” and you’re still doing your “O” face and AAAARRRGGGHH your mum walks in and turns the light on and it’s actually your aunty.

Suck shit you stinky perverts, fuck off somewhere else.

French artists aren’t too often heard on our English radios but it doesnt matter how many times we’ve heard THIS song, we just love it, the artist Fanny and all that is in the genre of Zouk music, even though…it makes us a little sad. *tear

Deux jeunes filles courageuses, Mathilde et Fanny, ont décidé de se lancer dans un projet, un peu fou…un périple européen, pendant un an, à pied. Voici déjà deux mois que leur aventure a commencée. N’hésitez pas à leur donner vos impressions et vos conseils!

Cliquer sur l’image pour aller sur le site de Mathilde et Fanny

G              C            D       G         C                  D
Are you gonna take me home tonight?, Ah down beside that red firelight?
G              C
Are you gonna let it all hang out?
              G                  D                 C
Fat bottomed girls You make the rockin' world go round

           G
Hey I was just a skinny lad, Never knew no good from bad
                                  D
But I knew life before I left my nursery
       G                               C
Left alone with big fat Fanny, She was such a naughty nanny
           G              D              G
Heap big woman you made a bad boy out of me
Hey hey!

          G
I've been singing with my band, Across the wire across the land
                                    D
I seen ev'ry blue eyed floozy on the way
             G                                   C
But their beauty and their style, Went kind of smooth after a while
         G            D              G
Take me to them dirty ladies every time

G              C            D       G         C                  D
Oh won't you take me home tonight?, Oh down beside that red firelight?
G          C
Oh and give it all you got
              G                  D                C
Fat bottomed girls You make the rockin' world go round
              G                  D                 G
Fat bottomed girls You make the rockin' world go round

Hey listen here
G
Now your mortgages and homes, I got stiffness in the bones
                                D
Ain't no beauty queens in this locality (I tell you)
         G
Oh but I still get my pleasure
        C
Still got my greatest treasure
           G              D              G
Heap big woman you made a big man out of me
Now get this

G              C            D       G         C                  D
Oh won't you take me home tonight?, Oh down beside that red firelight?
G             C
Oh you gotta let it all hang out
              G                  D                 C
Fat bottomed girls You make the rockin' world go round
              G                  D                 G
Fat bottomed girls You make the rockin' world go round

Avslutning på babysimmet. Fanny är som synes en van babysimmare nu och fick diplom för god insats. Nu laddar vi för steg 2 till våren!

Retail Price: 138 usd + tax

Our PRICE : SGD 165 (self-pick up only, includes sales tax and shipping & handling fee)

*Please top up SGD 8.00 if you opt for registered mail. Home Delivery is available at SGD15.00 islandwide.

MALAYSIA PRICE: RM 580 (includes sales tax and DIRECT shipping & handling fee)

Desire #: CO77120KH / CO77120BK    Colour: Khaki / Black

Details:

*Coach signature “C” print water and stain resistant  jacquard fabric enhanced by the smooth bleather trim

*Flap closure with two hidden magnetic snaps in the front

*Heavy duty canvas strap with a dog leash

*Adjustable Strap will fit 30″ and up to a 39″ waist

*leather trim

*Polish Silver Toned Hardware

*Matching stitching detail around wallet

*One large main compartment

*One smaller compartment

*Full length open compartment on back

*one zip compartment with leather pull inside

*Interior fabric lining

*Coach logo leather hangtag

Measures Approx. 8″ X  4″ X 3″

Brand new with tag. Includes Care Card, Coach tissue, Coach sticker and Coach paper bag. Gift Receipt & Gift box is available upon request. Dustbag will be provided if COACH / COACH outlet provides them. Large gift box may require top up for shipping.

“Did you know your Sun was conjunct my Don Quixote?”

Erm… Nope.

“And you have a Cazimi Cupido?”

Nope again.

“You know… You could make a fortune writing romance novels.

“There’s an asteroid called Fanny. Shall I tell you where yours is? It’s conjunct the Royal Star Regulus, on an astrologers’ degree.

You have a Royal Fanny.”

Well… go figure!

Fanny (reservadamente) fala para Crocodilo: nao fala pra ninguem mais agora soltei um peidinho que sujou a calcinha de bosta

fanny fala para .Y@NDR@.: to com hemorroida

fanny  fala para .Y@NDR@.: a triba saiu pra fora

fanny fala para .Y@NDR@.: to com o cu arrombado

fanny fala para .Y@NDR@.: fui trepar caguei no cara todo

Y@NDR@. fala para fanny: que horrorrr

Fanny fala para Qual é a senha?: pau no seu cool

Fanny fala para renato 42: oi, desculpe peidei

Fanny fala para renato 42: nem homem nem mulher: Operado

Fanny fala para renato 42: tirei um pinto e fiz uma lapa de xoxota

Fanny fala para Homem de 39: vamo brincar de galinheiro? eu sou a galinha e voce meu dono, poe o dedo pra ver se vo pôr ovo hoje

Fanny fala para Todos: peidei

Fanny. fala para Todos: Espero que me achem sexy.

Fanny fala para eita: Payday.

Fanny fala para LINDO PATRÃOJOVEM: Gustavo, você é um fastio. Tanta cabeça e tão pouco cérebro. Cáberíam aí uns dez cérebros, mas estou pra ver inteligência advinda de você. Imberbe.

Fanny fala para derlei: Não. Nem quero ver, piu-piu.
Fanny fala para Todos: Só entrei pra dar um peidinho.

Fanny fala para Todos: Ah, um Peido, sempre com Amor.
Fanny fala para Kant: Peido.
Fanny fala para Delcrécio: Peidei cheiroso. Risos.

• Makes a fart sound when you add money
• Kids love to save money in this bank
• Great Gift

Product Description
Stop leaving those coins on the dresser, in some old water jug tucked away in a closet, or in your car’s ashtray. With our hilarious Fanny Bank, saving your pennies will be a real gas! Drop in a coin and hear this bank fart in digital audio. It’s so loud and so disgusting, you won’t want to stop dropping coins in the crack! This bank is fun, practical and entertaining! And don’t worry, you don’t have to smash this piggy bank, the coins can be easily removed by sliding off the top of the bank. (Requires 3 AA Batteries, Not Included)

Fanny Bank Funny Farting Ass Crack Coin Drop Bank

Systrarna Sellström i höstsolens sken:

I’ve just returned from a morning’s worth of teaching and, having greeted my wife and dogs, done something that, for me, would have been unlikely until about two years ago.  Before then it would have been nearly unthinkable.  What have I done?  I’ve made myself a lovely cup of tea.

I first came to England from the United States in 1999 to study for a year as part of my undergraduate degree.  I returned for true love, further study, marriage and work in 2002.  In between I visited a number of times and even lived in London for a few months.  In other words, over the past decade this American has spent more time living and working in England than in the land of his birth.  For most of that time I was a dedicated, even militant coffee-drinker.  Tea, I felt, was at best a poor substitute for the full flavour and rich scent of a properly brewed mug of coffee.  It wasn’t even in the same league as a decent espresso, never mind a ristretto.  It’s even possible that on more than one occasion I voiced the opinion that many of my tea-drinking friends were people whose hot beverage of choice was warm milk but, feeling to0 old to be seen clutching a mug of that disgusting substance, they used tea bags  and a bit of water to dress the white stuff up in more acceptably adult clothing.   Now I find myself sitting on my sofa, slurping down a steaming cup of Fairtrade Assam with a dog on either side of me as I type.  I’m even wearing a cardigan. . .

When I first came to England I expected to encounter differences, social and otherwise, from what I was used to as a resident of Southern California.  That was part of the point in going abroad.   Some of those differences I was warned about like the fact that, in contrast to where I was from, it was not unacceptable or indeed uncommon for a male under 65 to wear dark coloured socks when he wasn’t dressed for church, a job interview or any other suit-worthy occasion (n.b. I’m getting older now so I don’t know how far the dark sock ‘thing’ still applies to 20 somethings in England today).  Others I got to discover on my own such as the fact that both Americans and Brits use the term ‘fanny’ to refer to part of the anatomy, but not the same part.  Physically the two features are located in close proximity on the female frame and while it can be acceptable for one American to tell another “park your fanny on this barstool and tell me your troubles” the unwitting American abroad who says something similar to a British woman has committed a faux pas not soon to be forgotten.

Some of the differences I got used very quickly.  Baked beans with my breakfast?  Pure genius.  Imperial pints which are just a few ounces larger than the American version?  Yes, please keep them coming.   Doner Kebab from a van on the High Street after a regal number of imperial pints?  Seemed like a good idea at the time though I haven’t had one in years.   Some things took me longer to come around to.  Initially, I was suspicious of the tarry looking substance called Marmite I saw people spreading on their toast.  Eventually, I tried the yeast extract and found I much preferred its salty tang to the sweetness of jam or bitterness of marmalade.  Other things I still don’t understand and doubt I ever will, like the tendency to take a mouth-watering cut of beef and then cook it until it looks, smells and chews like an aged boot.  From my point of view most Americans like their beef over-done ruined as well and I guess I’d just naively assumed that, being closer to the continent, the people of the British Isles might have a bit more of a clue what to do with a good steak.

The love of tea fell into that category of practices I didn’t understand.  Before I came to England other Americans who’d spent significant amounts of time here predicted I would soon be quaffing the beverage.  I was scornful.  Some cited their own conversion from coffee snob to tea sipper as anecdotal evidence of the metamorphosis that I would undergo.  I was outraged they projected their weakness and poor taste onto me.  One or two even suggested that I would find it difficult to socialise if I didn’t drink tea.  I’ve never found that to be the case.

However, after a few years I did find it easier to accept the occasional cup of tea.  Usually this was to make life just that bit easier, not so much for myself but for my friends, acquaintances and a variety of hosts and hostesses who felt bad about making themselves tea and giving me a nice glass of water even though that’s what I honestly preferred.  My aversion to biscuits and other sweet, cakey things didn’t help the situation either.  Once I had a cup of tea in hand I always felt that simple courtesy mandated I drink the majority of it even if I did spend the entire time wishing it was a nice cup of coffee instead.  That was the way things stayed until around two years ago.  I’d accept the occasional cup of steaming brown liquid, add some milk, no sugar and politely sip at it.  I tried to convert a few people to iced tea on hot summer days.  It didn’t work.  Apparently scalding hot tea is the perfect drink when it’s 80 degrees out, just as it makes complete sense to walk through Hyde park on a sub-freezing winter evening eating an ice cream.  Clearly there are things I still don’t understand.

So what happened?  When did I become the kind of person who wakes up on most mornings, stumbles into the kitchen and makes a pot of tea?  How did it happen that after running a rigorous undergraduate seminar I’d walk through the door looking forward to a nice, strong brew?  The fact is that I simply don’t know.  In part I think my tea habit is the result of me becoming even more of a coffee snob.  I rarely drink coffee outside my own house these days apart from when I visit my mother-in-law.  At her place I can make my own coffee.  The occasional Starbucks beverage is acceptable but insanely over-priced; this applies to a few other chains.  Restaurants, pubs and independent coffee shops serve a completely non-potable drool.  Most people I know only have instant coffee in their homes and they mix it weak.  I’m aware that not everyone likes their coffee strong and that’s fine.  Just because I like it that way it doesn’t mean I think that’s how everyone must drink it.  I just know I’ll likely feel disappointed and possibly ripped-off  if I have a coffee at most places in England.  That being said, no one I know likes watery, corked red wine.  I don’t understand why so many people seem to enjoy watery, stale and sometimes even burnt coffee.

So, these days I often stick with tea outside my home and, increasingly I even make it when I’m at home.  I like my tea brewed strong  (some have suggested it’s too strong) but not stewed.  Though I know what builders tea is I take mine without sugar and just a little milk.  I don’t insist on a nice china cup, nor do I have rules about whether milk can be added to a cup before tea is poured into from a pot.  I have discovered that tea can be refreshing.  It can be enjoyable and even tasty in its own, light way.  After a wet walk in a cold winter rain it can be downright comforting to wrap my hands around a nice hot mug of tea.  Though I swore I never would be I have undoubtedly become a tea drinker.  I’m willing to swallow my snobby pride and admit that I was wrong.  Tea is good and I’ve learned to appreciate it though I hope I don’t ever obsess and fret over it the way I see some people do.  I even managed to write nearly 1500 words inspired by the cuppa I made when I got home from work today.  I don’t have much more to say on the subject at this point, but before I finish off this posting can you guess what the most important lesson I’ve learned from my metamorphosis into a tea-drinker has been?

Nothing beats a truly good cup of coffee.

On écoute des chants grégoriens,

Il parle à peine et moi j’dis rien.

On a une relation comme ça

Emil Cioran et moi.

J’passe la soirée avec Sylvain

Pendant qu’il mate le papier peint.

On est resté indépendants,

Moi et Emil Cioran.

Il est posé sur l’étagère

Entre un bouquin d’Eric Holder,

Un chandelier blanc IKEA

Et une carte postale de Marat.

Il est toujours tout noir et gris,

Il ne dit plus vivement samedi !

Depuis que j’le traîne chez mes parents,

Évidemment Emil Cioran.

J’lui parle pas des filles de Stirner,

Il parle pas trop d’Schopenhauer

Oui on évite ces sujets là,

Emil Cioran et moi.

Il y a un truc dans son regard

Qui m’reproche de rentrer trop tard,

Il voudrait que j’sois là tout l’temps,

Évidemment Emil Cioran.

Il est posé sur l’étagère

Entre un bouquin d’Eric Holder,

Un chandelier blanc IKEA

Et une carte postale de Marat.

Il est toujours tout noir et gris,

Il ne dit plus vivement samedi !

Depuis que j’le traîne chez mes parents,

Évidemment Emil Cioran.

On écoute des chants grégoriens,

Il parle à peine et moi j’dis rien.

On a une relation comme ça,

Emil Cioran et moi.