Tag: humor

I knock thrice on the hotel room door.  “Hello, did someone order an award-winning Man Whor—”  Before I can finish, the door swings open, Lois Lane and Catwoman grab my lapels, and yank me inside with eye-widening force. I’m not sure how they do it, but my pants and undies disappear in a split-second flash …

Hey guys!  You know when someone’s tickling your b-hole with the tip of their pinkie and you’re acting all innocent, then they suddenly go three knuckles deep, four fingers wide and you burst into an angelic song that quickly transforms into a demon-voiced roar of full-throated pleasure because you’re gasming so hard that you’re gonna…

“HHRNNGHH!”  I stifle a scream as Grammar Nazi Prime budda-budda-buddas my giant nuts, laughing with joy as they ricochet off my thighs and stomach.  Once he’s done, I sag downward, tightening the links around my arms and legs—he’s rigged me to a series of junkyard chains, configured so I’m horizontally suspended at head level.  That…

What the ass-crack-swipe is happening, all you prank-loving mofos who spot your significant other’s butt-slit and can’t resist the opportunity to run your credit card down its length but as soon as it reaches the pucker, a demonic voice booms, “WHO HAS AWAKENED AHNDAGO RAHN-THOON???”  Your significant other straightens up, eyes glowing, eliciting whimpers from…

I’m a grown-ass dude, but that don’t stop me from jorkin’ it like a madman.  I’m talking enough kinetic energy to start a damn fire, using a bow-and-drill setup during a once-in-a-century, tropical downpour.  If it weren’t for the lube, my wiener would look worse than Vader’s burnt-ass— Suddenly my heart seizes and abruptly flatlines. …

What the ass-bulb is happening, all you colon-stuffing adventurers who stuck a super durable, light-emitting device up your bunghole in a drunken stupor then completely forgot about it, now you’re wandering past CERN as it opens a wormhole into other dimensions and triggers glitches in the electromagnetic paradigm all through the universe, as a result…

While I’m under Taylor’s desk, eating out her Grammy-award-winning pop-star-vajeen, she squeezes my head with both her thighs.  It turns my cheeks purplish-red—my eye-veins swell and visibly throb, to the point where you can watch them and clock my pulse.  Then, as she gasms, she bangs my head against her desk. “OW!”  I rub my…

What the dickmatyzation is happening, all you meatslingers who’ve got it all (the beer can width, perfect amount of melanin across the shaft and the head, aesthetically distributed veins, and, most important of all, a g-spot hammering upcurve) and decide to parade through town, proudly swaying your hips and letting that knee-knocker dangle betwixt your…