I LOVE Public Washrooms!

2009. Happy fucking new year. Here is a little food for thought. I hope you don't choke on it.
Basically,
I'm not one of those people who's comfortable enough doing number two in public. And while I have your attention, I don't even like doing my regular business in public if I don't have to. I don't know how some of you do it, but whenever there's somebody else there, my sphincter retracts and slams shut, closing everything in behind it. Granted, sometimes desperate times calls for desperate measures.
And as I sit alone in my little four cornered cubicle taking a doodoo, I couldn't help but let my train of thoughts take its own course.
Before you ask me why all of my ideas seem to come to me while I'm on the shitter, let me ask you this: What else is there to do on the shitter?

It's the way the urinals are positioned. Some washrooms are okay with this because they have urinal dividers. I'm just a regular dude alright? I don't have a liberty dong, but I would still like to have the liberty of exercising my stiff neck every now and then without having my pride crushed under the mass of an outstanding 18 incher.
For the ladies that have no idea what I'm talking about, here is a little visual aid:

This is why regular public washroom protocol requires me to shift down two spots in either direction of an occupied urinal.

I also rather enjoy bathroom stalls. They're way underrated. If you ever have a moment with nothing better to do, go explore some bathroom stalls. 90% of stalls I've ever encountered in public smell kinda funky, but funk is good! About a good quarter of them never have rolls of toilet paper in them. About another good quarter of them often have stains of poo or unidentifiable sticky substances near, or on the seats. Almost all of them have broken locks. Regular bathroom protocol also requires one doesn't use a stall next to an occupied one, just in case you happen to be pushing so hard that you had to bend forward, to come face to face with the guy peeking at you from underneath the next stall. You laugh, but it happens.
In fact, let me go off on a tangent here and say that there was this one kid in high school that was quite notorious for that. Legend has it that he was this fat Chinese midget, oddly enough with pupils the size of swollen cherries, and dressed like he walked fresh out of a Bollywood sci-fi production. Of course there had been talk about beating the kid up, but for the first couple of months, nobody really knew what he looked like or if he really existed at all. And then one lunch hour, the shit hit the fan (not literally, I hope) and I recall seeing a bunch of schoolyard supervisors, as well as the vice principal (if you ever saw that lazy fucker get off his ass, you'd KNOW there were big shit poppin') outside of the second floor washroom. A week or so after that he just vanished as if he never existed.
Back on the topic of public urinals though, look what I found:

I vouch for the immediate installation of these urinals at SFU.
I wouldn't mind pitching in some pocket money for this, screw that United Way bullshit.
Sometimes I don't feel like washing my hands, so when I'm done my business, I head straight out the door. I also make sure to grab the door handle and caress the entire bar several times as I'm making my exit. Sometimes when I can muster one on the spot, I even like to let out a wet squeaky fart to let my grand exit be known to my pee and poop peers.

If we had these here, maybe I'd consider washing my hands more often.
Perhaps the thing I love most about public washrooms though is the smell. Some of them smell like either a block of really good cheese or a plate of really-gone-bad dinner. On rare occasions, you'd run into one that had a nice rosy fragrance. Those are the ones I'd really like to take my time in. In those ones, I also like to hum my own elevator music and pretend I'm in an exclusive toilet lounge of a Dubai resort.
Still on the topic of fragrances, I will shamefully admit to being ridiculously attracted to the smell of toilet soap. I don't know what those Indians put in those soap bars, but they smell oh, so nice. I try to make a sport of it on the days I'm not too lazy to go to school, so if you ever see a guy sniffing the insides of SFU urinals, come say hi.





-vH

Millionaire Matchmaker.

Foreword: This entry contains uncongenial language, and is subject to ridicule if you're one of those idiots that watch the types of shows I'm about to mention. Don't read it if you're a pansy and can't take a proper dose of reality.


Fucking Bravo.
It comes to no surprise that Americans are so materialistic and so fucked up in the head. It's the shit that Bravo has been feeding you. Every time I land on that channel, it's a show about somebody spending a shit ton of money for no apparent reason. Or it's about somebody trying to become the next hottest sensation on network television. What takes the cake though, is Patti Stanger and her reality show The Millionaire Matchmaker. Remember Blind Date? Or The 5th Wheel? All that shit people used to watch back in the day? Well, BravoTV decided to step it up a notch and feature millionaires this time around.

Putting aside the fact that this is a fucking MATCHMAKING show for MILLIONAIRES, who the FUCK is Patti Stanger? Somebody tell me they've heard of this self-conceited, over-opinionated, non-righteous cake-faced of a bitch prior to the airing of Millionaire Matchmaker two years ago. That's right, I did not think so.
Upon reading her biography, I found out this bitch was born in 1961. SIXTY-ONE! For those of you who failed math in high-school, that makes her 48. Forty-eight and never married. Forty-eight, unmarried, and teaching millionaires how to get booty.
Just take a look at her:

She's a roadkill! Who the fuck in their right mind would put their love life into the hands of a disaster like her? For fuck's sakes, I highly doubt even her parents have ever loved her, let alone a man.
How in the fuck then, is the the founder and the CEO of an "elite matchmaking service" in Los Angeles? This shit don't make no god damn sense to me. She says in order for a man to win a "perfect 10", he must first become a "perfect 10" himself, both "internally and externally in order to reach his objective". What a load of bullshit. Who made you the God almighty creator of Venus? I bet she's one of those women who spent their entire lives fantasizing over how to be in a relationship instead of actually living life. Fuck Patti, if you had sniffed a pound of coke that one night like your friends told you to, instead of being the stuck-up conceited bitch that you evidently are, you might actually not be a virgin right now.

Get this: "Stanger has compared herself to Oprah Winfrey, who has been in a long-term, committed relationship but never married."(Source). WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THIS IS A GOOD ATTRIBUTE?! I'd sooner compare myself to that John Travolta faggot than to Oprah. You don't have half the integrity nor controversy to be compared to Oprah, so stop tripping your own ego you fat fucker.

Another thing: why is it that these days, it seems like hosts of American shows are becoming less and less well known, yet they speak from taller and taller pedestals? And don't tell me I'm the only one who has realized this.

Be Honest. How many of these people did you know of before the past five years? And of the ones you do know, how many of you know their claim(s) to fame?

Stanger is the prime example of this. I don't know why a group of ridiculously well off, relatively young, and completely normal men would sit around being bossed around by this bitch. Actually, I wonder why they're even wasting their hard-earned money being her clients in the first place.
It's not like this hoebag even does any real work. All she ever does is go through a "database" of women (who, by the way, are able to get into the database free of charge--only the guys have to pay. Come on, how else is that Patti Stanger of a nobody going to get a list?); and pick out a few "suitable" gold diggers for these desperate millionaires. And then she just sits back and look at the couples interact on fucking camera and give them pointers.
Two, three episodes down the road, they say, "Oh, he's totally not my type!", or "I like him, but I think he's too old."
...Seriously? How many times did you suck his dick in his private jet while he was taking you on a shopping spree in Beverly Hills? How many more times did you let him hit it through the backdoor in that bigass 14th century mansion of his? Come the fuck on.

Stanger apparently even wrote a book some time in this past year, titled "Become Your Own Matchmaker: 8 Easy Steps for Attracting Your Perfect Mate."

Notice how she looks nothing on the cover compared to real life? You think a piece of shit like this would sell if she didn't have an attractive cover?

Why?! What the fuck man? I haven't even read this book, and I don't think I want to either. This is book written by a woman with no real experience in love, no real experience with sex (which is, by the way, not something I would want to write about anyways). A woman who can't even take adequate care of herself. By the way, if I know you, and I ever see you reading this book, I swear to god I'm going to stick my dick in a toaster.
Pfft, 8 steps. I'm a guy, and I'll tell you right now, regardless of how rich or how successful I'll become, you only need THREE steps to be my perfect mate; they're called "Suck my dick", "Play with my balls", and "Make me a sandwich". Capiche?

Hell with this. I want to learn Patti Stanger like Chris Brown learned Rihanna. Except I don't ever want to sleep with her. Perhaps if she paid me a million dollars. Then I'd consider hauling my herpes invested ass down to LA and give her a good nailing.





-vH

Peter's a Sexually Frustrated Virgin, and Mary-Jane is a Hoe.

So a couple of weeks ago, my friend decided it would be fun to watch all three Spiderman movies, all in one night, all back to back. What a totally terrific idea Jay, that totally made my night!

Now I don't know what kind of sadist would actually enjoy watching the Spiderman movies back to back, particularly since he's seen it like five and a half billion times.
And don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't like Spiderman. I love just about all Marvel characters ever created. Except Captain Avenger...I suspect he might be gay. And I would even go as far to say that I wouldn't mind being featured in a kinky comic book sex strip co-starring Stan Lee. It may not be the fondest of my confessions, but hey, at least I'm up front about it.

But this is all beyond the point. I didn't mind watching it at first. But two movies and about ten pounds of popcorn and ice cream sandwiches later, something occurred to me that I had never realized before: Mary Jane Watson is the biggest bitch-whore of a comic book lover EVER.

I can get past the fact that a teenage five-foot-nothing nobody transformed into a human mutate after being bitten by, of all things, a dying radioactive black widow while taking a picture of his dream girl (which wasn't actually what happened, of course. In the original script he was actually orgasming at the sight of a radioactive conductor). I can also get past the fact that both super villains from the first two films were actually the most uncanny of characters (woohoo, right?). And then Venom spawns in the form of a god damn space rock, hitching a ride on the back of Peter's bike; and a man falls into an air particle accelerator and miraculously transforms into a sand mutant.
Yup, I can get past all that.

What I really can't wrap my head around is Mary Jane. She's possibly the biggest skank I've ever laid eyes upon. Ever! And that says a lot. Think about it: in the first movie, she decides, after three years of highschool, that she didn't want to get fucked silly in the eye sockets by the big buff school bully anymore. So she moves on to the rich guy who owns like, half of New York. Keep in mind all of this happened while she's masturbating to Spiderman. And then finally, she dumps the rich guy when his monetary fund daddy dearest passed away (talk about kicking a man who's already down...a true gold digger at work!) and decides to give Peter's cack a ride.
Fast forward to the second movie, and somehow, she goes through another dozen or two of suckers before all of a sudden getting engaged with a big hunky rich astronaut-type guy. Then, on the day of her big expensive wedding banquet, she decides to bail the fuck out after she realizes that Peter is Spiderman (dumb broad, I figured that out within the first ten minutes of the Spiderman I). She ends up with Peter after telling him a bunch of lovey-dovey bullshit.
Why was it all bullshit? Let's fast forward again to the third movie. She apparently sleeps with like eighty-three more guys, while whining and bitching about how Peter's always out saving lives instead of showing up to the threatre and watching her crap-assed shows. (Do people still even watch that kind of shit? I was under the impression that it's all about internet porn and OneClickMoviez nowadays...)

Another thing: why does Peter put up with this shit? I mean, Spiderman can (quite literally) catch any girl he wanted, yet he decides that this walking outbreak of herpes is worth throwing away all his fame and power for. Grow a pair, you stinkin' lousy pansy son of a bitch!

The entire series don't make no god damn sense to me, and this whole thing bothers me to the point where I'm starting to believe everything else in the movie is scientifically quite believable.




-vH

Thought of the Day: Friendly Advice to Single Guys.

It just occurred to me that there are a ridiculous amount of guys that are single--either by choice, or unable to get rid of their virgin status.
What that also means is that there are ridiculous amounts of porn being watched on a daily basis (yay bandwith), a monumental amount of Vaseline being consumed on a daily basis (yay lubrication), and an astronomical number of children finding new homes in wrapped up tissues (yay Scotties!).

Here is my advice to all the bachelors out there (and in particular to all the virgins out there, because I know how much you love your porn): get a big monitor (or another one if you already have one), hook it up to your existing computer (so you have two); find a media player that supports polygamy, and open five billion different porno flicks at the same time. Then give second in command a good jerking.

It sounds silly doesn't it? Well just go try it and see if you won't thank me afterwards.



-vH

Thought of the Day: How Would YOU Catch Santa Claus?

...and more importantly, what would you do after you catch him?

For years I've thought about how disgusting this overweight glutenous tub-of-lard looks when he is invading my house through my god damn chimney...and more importantly, how in the hell he gets back up.

So this year, I'm gonna catch him. And when I do, I'm gonna torture him. How? Well I'm glad you asked.

So here's my ingenious plan:
On Christmas eve, I'm going to use my fireplace to make Christmas dinner instead of making it on the stove top. That way, all the greasy goodness will go up the chimney and make a nice greasy mess in its interiors. Then, as a precaution for Santa's apparent ninja-like chimney-climbing skills, I'll take a can of PAM and spray the interiors of the chimney to make sure that fat son-of-a-bitch ass can get down, but not get back up.
Then, I'm gonna set up the net I bought at the Home Depot last year but never had a chance to use at the bottom chunk of the chimney so when he falls, I'd be able to catch him. All I have to do after that is sit in the living room on my rocking chair with a shotgun and wait for him to arrive. If my girlfriend is in a good mood, I might get her to give me a blowjob while I watch "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" on Comcast.
Of course, experience tells me that the fat bastard is never on time, so I'll probably end up falling asleep waiting for him. Not to worry though, I'll crank up the fireplace to a comfortable temperature (don't want him freezing to death before I can interrogate him with my cattle prod) and leave him a couple issues of Reader's Digest that I stole from my dentist.

Come morning, I'll release him from the net and tie him to a chair. I'll then proceed to torture him for my own pleasure. How, you ask? Well first, I'm gonna feed him nothing but gingersnaps and beer for 72 hours, and not let him use the washroom. I will also make him watch reruns of the episode of Everybody Loves Raymond where Robert tries to sneak into Raymond's house, back to back. During this time, I will repeatedly ask him where all the things I ever wished for went. When I was 6, I wished for a rocket launcher because a kid in my class stole a dollar from me. When I was 9, I wished for a snow blower because my dad kept making me shovel the driveway. When I was 11, I wished for a heat seeking missile that would blow up my elementary school. None of those things, unfortunately, ever arrived. So either this son of a bitch just completely ignored my Christmas wish lists, or he had some major delivery fuck-ups, because I got a Buzz Lightyear action figure, a scarf, and a knock-off Swiss Army knife for those years respectively.

After I get that out of him, I will continue to negotiate with this blubber, and somehow convince him to share his fortune with me. I will force my girlfriend to learn the eggnog recipe that his wife uses to keep his ass going for 24 hours. I have been led to believe that this will dramatically improve our sex life.
I will get his elves (or however the hell this pedophile gets his toys made) to run an assembly line from my garage, packaging Ziplock bags full of cocaine into a variety of adult toys. I will then proceed to donate these toys to charities, local day cares, or ship them off to Mexico, so people can learn to have kinky sex with kinkier drugs. I surmise this will make the world a much better place.
Of course, if I have multiple 18-wheelers coming and leaving my house on a regular basis, the popos would probably catch on to me. Which is why I have ingeniously devised a foolproof plan for these trucks to rock Coca-Cola logos with Santa Claus as my mascot sporting different Marilyn Monroe poses, taken in my basement using my mom's digital camera. And yes, Coca-Cola may try to sue me for jacking their logo, so I have also ingeniously redesigned their logo using a capitalized "i" instead of an "l" in the word "Cola", it looks something like this:

Not bad eh?
Of course, I don't think I would be able to run this charade from the comfort of my own home for much too long. I plan to rebuild my indoor assembly line from making sex toys to making nuclear missiles, and then declare war on the United States, using the North Pole as my central base and headquarters.
Why would I want to do all that, you ask? Beats the living shit out of me.



-vH

10 Female-Truisms and How I Interpret Them.

I'm not ranting. I'm just saying it as I see it. Of course, my credibility has been skewered and I'm a little (a lot) out of practice. Bear with me or just shut up and don't read it at all.

1. "I was just curious."
What it means to me: "I might or might not sleep with you. I don't know yet, but I probably will anyways. *insert a wants-to-cuddle emoticon here*"

2. "He has a firm grip."
(As an arbitrary thought, not as an opinion.)
What it means to me: "I'm pretty sure he'll be good in bed, but more importantly, I think he might be able to emotionally support me. And that body! Va-va-VOOM!"

3. "I like to go to his place." or "I left my stuff at his place."
What it means to me: You like dropping shit off at my place. It gives you a sense of belonging and a sense of being loved when you can always leave your things behind. It makes it feel like home. You're always welcomed in my home. I've always wanted a dog but my parents wouldn't let me get one.

4. "We need to talk."
What it means to me: Awww shit, what did I do now...

5. "Let's go on a break..."
What it means to me: "I'm contemplating on breaking up with you. (Actually...we have broken up.) But this is my grace period that you're not allowed to sleep with other girls. But I'll probably be seeing other guys mmkay?"

6. "We're good friends!"
What it means to me: "I wouldn't ever sleep with him. Ever. Maybe once when I'm drunk enough to fuck like a monkey and not remember a thing the morning after."

7. "He's a really nice guy."
What it means to me: "He has no other positive attributes worth mentioning immediately. He's probably quite boring and unable to keep up with me in a relationship anyways. I suspect he might be a premature ejaculator."

8. ":)" or ":P" or ":D" or ";)".
What it means to me: Stop fucking using these if you haven't slept with him, it confuses the shit out of our mind's asses.

9. "Stop checking her out!"
(When you're out with him alone.)
What it means to me: "I can check out guys when I'm out with you. But you can't by any means even go as far as to look in the general direction of another female that isn't blatantly less attractive than me and-slash-or fat."

10. "X's boyfriend got her a Y!"
What it means to me: "If you don't buy me a Y by next week, I will go have a threesome with X and her boyfriend."

I'm not gonna lie, I think a lot of them are wrong.
But if it's one thing I've learned from writing these things over and over again, it's that even when I'm wrong, I'm still right.




-vH

10 Things ladies should do for their man.

Okay I'm not gonna lie, I wrote this probably a half a year ago. But I figured, hell, why try fixing something that isn't broken? Read up.

If you're at unease with the use of sexual imagery in writing, then I would suggest you stop reading right now. Okay, you've been warned.

It's been a while *cracks knuckles*, and I just stirred up some crazy ideas on my way home today.

So in my effort to make this world a much better place, I thought of how I could make relationships between individuals better--and then using some sort of a Zerg mentality, improve the world! (Haven't thought that far ahead yet.)
I've come up with a list of ten things that will make every sexual relationship as exciting and stimulating as possible. And I don't mean the following from a sexist point of view, but ladies, you really gotta give in a lot more.
To create a mutually beneficial relationship, there's got to be some give-and-take. Now if you think about it, guys have it pretty bad in a relationship. They have to listen to your constant jabbering, carry your clothes, drive you home after every date, put up with your friends that don't really even like you, and deal with random bar guys that try to hit on you. Those, on top of other things. It really isn't fair unless you do something--a whole lotta somethings--in return, right?

1. Take him GROCERY-shopping. (...Provided that you could do more than just boil water.) Sounds easy enough, right? Most guys are clueless in grocery stores--we just head straight for the canned-foods section or the gumball machine. So if you know what you're doing, show him around. He'll have to learn eventually, and it sure beats learning from his mother. And besides, I'm willing to bet he'd much rather be grocery-shopping than mall-shopping with you. On top of that, it's a valuable relationship-building experience.

2. Wear something sexy once in a while. You don't have to do it every day (and we don't want you to turn into eye-candy for other men when we're not around anyways), but if you're going out in public with him, you'd better at least try to look your best.
You may or may not know this, but when most guys are out with their girlfriends come across another couple, they have the tendency to compare. It's like a mutual 'okay-you-admire-my-hot-girlfriend-and-I-admire-yours' thing, but even then, you want him to look good right? You want him to maliciously promenade around the mall beside you like you were Keira Knightley, right? That makes you feel better too, right? And besides, the smaller his ego is, the shorter his dick will shrink. This has been scientifically proven.

Make 'em go like this.

3. Let him gloat. Men tend to live in figments of their imagination. If he likes to think that his Integra can outrun that Shelby GT in the next lane, don't burst his bubble--just nod and smile. When he loses and says "He got lucky I lost traction," just nod and agree. If he tells you he's been working out, nod and compliment his body, and if he says he plays basketball better than all the guys at the gym, nod and tell him he's the best. When he asks if he's the biggest you've ever slept with, nod and say 'yes'. Don't say "you and I are a perfect fit", or "it's not size that matters", or "it's bigger than the last guy's", SAY 'YES'!

4. Try his most avid sexual fantasy (at least) once--if it's within reach of course. No, this doesn't mean you'll have to dress up like Princess Leia and pretend he's a seven foot tall, two-hundred-and-fifty pound hunchback of Notre Dame then have sex with him. I mean, if he likes tit-jobs, and you fit the job description, give it to him. If he has a thing for role-playing (and I can only imagine what type of kinky things some people must have in mind for role-playing), then try that once for his sake too. If he wants to stick it in the pooper--well that's up to you, you don't have to go that far.

5. Wear his clothes when you sleep over at his place. This is probably the sexiest thing you could slip on. You won't even need to have makeup on the morning after, just slip his tee-shirt or dress-shirt over your head and walk around the house with nothing else but your panties on. It'll make him profoundly happy.
The last time a girl did that for me, I ended up taking her out for a nice lunch. That says a lot, considering that I usually try to get them to pay for me.

Guys go ahead and tell me this isn't the sexiest thing she could do with your shirt.

6. Say something really kinky during sex. And I mean, REALLY kinky. He'll love it, and it's like a pit stop; he'll come back with an even bigger bang. If he has a thing for interracial dating, you could try moaning in another language (lol). Hell, you could make up some random shit and it won't matter; as long as we haven't heard it on Naughty America, it'll sound kinky. You can say you want to have a threesome with a donkey and a Mongol and he'll get off to it.
...Upon reflection, you could probably say something he's heard in a porno before. Don't know about the rest of the guys, but I get a huge jolly when she tells me where to shoot it. I don't even care where. She could tell me to shoot it at her cat and I'd have fun with it.

7. Cook him a steak and give him a blow job. All in one night. I'm fucking serious about this. Now the ladies might be thinking that this whole deal with this "Steak-and-Blowjob-Day" thing was probably invented by some sexist asshole, to stereotype and discriminate women--which is probably true. But then some crazy man-pleaser went ahead with it, and I think it might just have revolutionized dating relationship and sex as we know it. It's difficult for anything with a vagina to understand, but in honesty, we can't blame you because we have a hard time putting it into words too, so we just say 'steak and bj'.

Take that, St. Valentines. At least our ideals aren't composed of giving a midget with wings a bow and arrows and getting him to do your biddings. Pedophile.

8. Put on a condom for him. Sounds gross, doesn't it? Well, not really. It's a male ego thing, as far as I could tell, but it's really not that bad. In my opinion, it's a win-win situation. First of all, while you make him feel like a more muscular, attractive version of Ron Jeremy, you wouldn't have to worry about whether or not he's wearing protection, because you made sure that necessity-of-an-invention was secured on tightly. Secondly, he's going to be breaking his back (and his dick) to try and please you for the next half an hour or more, so the least you could do is put on a condom for him. Fair, right?

Of all the historical figures they could have named a line of condoms after, Durex chose the Peter North of Ancient Egypt. Werd.

9. At this point, you're probably wondering why men are so 'difficult' to please sexually. Don't bother. Besides, if and when you break up, you at least want him to remember you for the good sex, right?
At some point in your relationship, give him a blow-job in his car. Not while he's driving of course. You might make him crash and then you might accidentally bite his dick off. That wouldn't be good. But really, he picks you up before each date and he drops you off after each date--and most of the time all he gets is a kiss goodnight. If he's really lucky, he might get to go inside, or you guys might have some sweaty sex in the car, but in retrospect, that doesn't happen on a daily basis. But you COULD give him a blow-job before you head into the house--I mean, you're already home, the mouthwash is like 100 steps away.

Sometimes, you just have to go chemical.

10. SPITTERS ARE QUITTERS! No, I'm just kidding. I don't really care what you do with it once I've drained my pipes. What I meant to say was, most guys don't appreciate it when you try to shove your tongue down their throat like a Headcrab after a blow-job--particularly right after he blew his load. Of course, most guys wouldn't go out of their way to tell it to you and spoil your cuddle-time, but to be considerate, keep a bottle of Listerine handy if you decide to go down on him then make out with him.

Yeah, so a lot of these things are sexual. We're men, did you expect it being as easy as taking us out for dinner and buying us a new pair of shoes?
These things made me profoundly happy as a man. When she wasn't stroking my peen-peen, she was stroking my giant foot-long ego. These are the two things that make men happy.
Go and give it a try, who knows, he might finally buy you that brand-name handbag you wanted.



-vH

Midnight Musings (v. Hey Bitches!)

I think I may have a sleeping disorder--not that it matters to the average viewer. Hell, as a matter of fact, fuck the average viewer.
Let me tell you a little bit about myself that your wise-ass might not already know, I go by vH, I like to shoot zingers, and I have a lifetime subscription to Playboy.

Now. If you're here to find another average blog to view, to find another man bitching and whining about his daily life, then you're at the wrong place. If you're looking for deep insightful readings, then you're at the wrong place. If you're looking for adult content, we can work something out.
The only thing you're going to get out of my midnight musings is mindless babbling and dabbling about my masturbational habits and degrading commentaries regarding females and ethnic minorities. So if you're already thinking that you're not gonna get much out of it, then shut the fuck up, log off your computer, and go get some fresh air.

This is my brain-fart blog...or, if you will--my dirty-laundry blog. This is where I'll be posting the most meaningless of society's fucked-up ways, the highest aspirations of the revelationary pothead, and everything-the-hell-in-between, okay pumpkin?

Good to see we're getting along so well, so if you aren't hating me yet, and if you can keep up, then sit your ass down and listen up.


-vH