My Bosses Leave Town For a Week

It is 8:32 a.m. on Monday morning. I am in San Francisco, very close to Ghirardelli Square. I am stoned out of my mind. Bobby Brown's "Roni" just came on my internet radio station. In the office kitchen I have a bagel waiting to be toasted. I have whipped chive-flavored cream cheese, tomatoes, cucumber, and alfafa sprouts to put on my bagel. While I am toasting it to perfection, I will cut up my vegetables with great care. On the bus this morning I was cured of the collective neurosis that afflicts all humanity. It has just begun to rain. I love the rain more than almost anything else in the world. Now Ella Fitzgerald is singing "Why Was I Born?" I am a master of the universe.

Judge me not by my actions, but by the curl of my piggy-tail.

It’s come to my attention that piggery, and indeed being a pig, has a negative connotation. Rightfully so, I suppose. The human conception of swine is that they are filthy animals that mill about in their own shit and gorge themselves on troughs full of spoiled scraps. Even the conception of a pig as portrayed on adrunkenpig.com can come off as negative, though it shouldn’t.

The term “chauvinist pig” has become commonplace in disparaging men who indulge in a rousing bachelor lifestyle, thanks in good part to that frigid ice-bitch Jessie from “Saved By The Bell”. How that insipid and venomous twig would scold Slater just because he was born a pussy magnet! Blasphemy!

It’s about time we brought the dignity back to being a pig, whether it be the actual animal or someone living a hedonistic lifestyle. Sure, swine exist in shit and decay, but I’ve often seen dogs, our beloved house pets, licking ass (their own and those of other dogs) and genitals, and eating fresh piles of crap off of the ground. Are they really better than pigs? No! So get off of Porky’s case, bigot! They’re no more disgusting than any other animal.

And as for pigs of the homo sapien influence, leave them alone too. They are revolutionaries, in a way. They are perpetually bringing about the demise of “moral” society, of this insidious worldwide superior/inferior witch-hunt, by living pleasurable, guilt-free lifestyles. They reject the indentured servitude endured by their fore-pigs by avoiding marriage and procreation, and indulging in self-reliance, responsible sexual gratification, and the pursuit of pleasure in all facets of life. There are men who start off with good intentions of piggery but end up as sexual perverts, drug addicts, sociopaths, criminals, etc…. these are not pigs. These are men who couldn’t conduct themselves responsibly and are shameful disgraces to true pigs. Let these pariahs be forever exempt from the realm of the pig. They are antisocial beasts, whereas the pig is a remarkably social animal. He has several close friends, he commands a good deal of attention wherever he is or whatever he happens to be doing, and he is successful in locating consenting women who also indulge in piggery.

Women, fear not the pig. The pig is not a predatory sociopath. He is merely a person in pursuit of happiness, supplementing his good fortune with casual encounters with the opposite sex from time to time. A pig probably won’t buy you a fancy dinner. A pig might not call you after he’s been with you (but that depends on you). A pig will enjoy spending time with you but won’t wanted to be in a committed relationship. A pig will always show you a good time, because your good time is conducive to his. A pig will understand if you choose not to associate with pigs, provided it’s for the right reasons. A pig is harmless and avoidable, but endlessly redeeming if you get to know and understand him. Pigs should be embraced and not shunned. Pigs are a vital part of our incestuous social ecosystem. Pigs are beautiful.

I am pig. Hear me squeal.

The Case for the Existence of God

Feel free to add to this in the comments.

Exhibit A: Old black couples

They dress well, they're mellow, they've probably had a ton of cool experiences, and they probably still fuck (ewww).

Exhibit B: Marijuana

Event the shitty stuff will temporarily turn down the volume on life's bullshit. The good stuff will turn you into a raging nine-foot boner humping everyone you'ver known in your life.

Exhibit C: Cool beautiful chicks who love you

Okay, never mind whatever sick emotional game is tying her to you; just run with it. Wear that thang out and take her to every party. After all, the only downside is that these women are about as rare as a virgin whore.

Silly bitch, tricks are for pigs!

Von Puerco here, back from a brief hiatus of smoking tons of pot and finding things to be angry about. I've got a whole hatful of rants and I'm going to go on at length about each and everyone, even if it means absorbing all the bandwidth of this blog and forcing my co-contributers to defer their posts to myspace.

Low times in the world of Von Puerco. As often happens after a dozen or so unsatisfying rolls in the hay, I have lost yet another warm hole. This one was doomed from the beginning for sure, but I was disappointed that the sexual humilation levels were relatively low at the time of disbandment. I commend her for putting up with my piggery for so long, and as a tribute I will refer to her as Piglette in this post.

Piglette and I became acquainted via the World Wide Clusterfuck; I, an uninspired but extremely horny recent college grad, and she, a young and optimistic artsy-type female. I happened to catch Piglette at the tail end of her latest hetero relationship, and she was at that point where she'd been so exhausted by those maliciously endless break-up scream-fests that she wanted to sleep with someone else as a sort of "fuck you" to her recent ex. I, being an opportunist, was well aware of how advantageous this arrangement was and indeed went out of my way to facilitate the "fuck you". So our unholy coupling was consummated and continued for a couple of months without a problem.

After a while I came to notice that the gratification was becoming less and less instantaneous. I found I had to coerce Piglette for a good while before the wheels really got moving. I came to realize that the gravy train was about to run out, and I knew I had to plan an exit strategy that avoided any fallout or extraneous conversation about "the place I'm at right now.. how I'm feeling". The signs were clear, though: she had her fill of vengeance sex and slowly came to realize that I am a remorseless asshole on the neverending pursuit to satisfy my lurid primordial desires. That was all well and good, except that she seemed intent on preserving this illusion of "friendship" that was nonexistent as far as I was concerned. Honestly, I lost interest in her intellectually and emotionally the moment I saw her naked. I found the time that we were together and not getting busy nearly intolerable. So when the sex began to taper off you can imagine my indignation. Still, the 30% chance of sex was still enticing to me and I silently tolerated the situation.

Over time I saw less and less of Piglette, much to my delight, yet she was still insistent on maintaining contact and keeping this alleged "friendship" intact. She even went as far as to accompany me to a party, got flat drunk, and proceeded to tell me that she was going of her birth control and wouldn't be "active" for a while. Rest assured, friends, that was the last goddamn straw. I didn't call her, made no active attempt to contact her or acknowledge her existence for weeks.

She called me this last weekend and asked me to meet her for coffee. I figured and hoped this would be the "I can't see you anymore" confession, to which I would respond that I was only in it for the nookie and had no interest in the relationship otherwise. But no, I wasn't even given the dignity of being written off. Apparently this was the first installment of us hanging out as friends.. Like fucking hell. First I lamented the loss of $1.30 on crappy house coffee, then the loss of my time - a whopping 35 minutes on a Friday night. The whole point of showing up was that she would terminate the relationship and take the blame for it not working out, a few pleas for forgiveness, a little self-loathing... bada-bing bada-boom, it's done. Yet here I was, being barraged with boring personal accounts of the utmost frivolity. I slugged my crappy coffee with haste and excused myself. As I left the establishment she had a look on her face that seemed to acknowledge that I had decisively excised myself from her life for good. She looked a little relieved, and seeing that relief made me feel INCREDIBLY relieved. I think she knew what she was getting out of our relationship, which was nothing, and that I was destined to drop her as quickly as I picked her up. These are the ways of the pig. I have no control over it, nor can I feel guilty for things that are merely pig nature.

Fuck you. I'm a pig. Deal with it.

Hot Beer Farts

So apparently it's up to me to rescue this fuckin blog. Ray's writing psycho-spiritual cyberbabble. All I've gotten out of Chris in the past few weeks are whiny work-related excuses and veiled promises of angry, hair-pulling sex-blogs soon to come. Where the fuck are they? Every time I chance a few minutes at work and pull up the site it's Bob's blog. Take nothing away from him, his squeal is necessary, but when I started this piece of shit I had another picture in mind. I want it to be the kinda shit that makes you stand up in the middle of your office, look at the other underpaid dregs around you in disgust, and proudly declare in your best Jesse "The Body" Ventura in Predator voice, "Buncha slack jawed faggots around here." You point to the screen and grab your woman. "This stuff'll make you a goddamn sexual tyrannosaurus- just like me." Or at least think about doing it. That'd be pretty cool too.

So I thought of a new game while I was blowing my old lady. If you've got any skill whatsoever at giving oral pleasure, it might be kinda fun to make your partner laugh right in the middle of an orgasm. Of course making her laugh would probably completely ruin her orgasm and most likely cause pearl necklace priveleges to be revoked for at least a week, but I've never actually heard of anyone doing it and if a hot chick was talking about it at a party I'd listen. I was thinking about what you'd have to say to make someone laugh at a time like that. You've only got like a one or two line timetable at most to work with. And your one or two liner has to be something recognizable enough for them to pay attention to whatever you're saying instead of their own orgasm. For Kendra and I, it's "Hot Beer Fart".

I was going down on her a while ago. (Yes that's right ladies, I've gone down on my gf at LEAST two (2) times. I am Casanova.) She stopped me all of a sudden and turned her ass away from my face so she could fart. I thanked her for her courtesy and ducked back down between her legs. The fart was still there and it attacked me. Nostrils first. I shrieked like a schoolgirl and dove under the covers. "Damn baby," was all I could muster.
"Sorry honey," she said.
"That's pretty bad," I said. "Ripe." We'd finished a 40 before getting naked and had both drank many pints the night before.
"Especially because it was a HOT BEER FART," she said.
And that's exactly what it was. A hot beer fart. Blasted in my general direction. I'd been done. Kendra shoots. She scores.

So maybe that's what I'll say the next time she's about to bounce a chickload off my chin. Fuckin' hot beer farts. You like that honey? Huh? That the spot? Mmm... Hey baby? Guess what? HOT BEER FART.

Bloggin's fer fages

if thare's one thang i's hates me mer than the fages... uh, it be fuckin' bloggin' fages.

Fucking Addendum

Extinguishing the self, communion with God, at oneness with Brahman, and whatever else one might wish to call it is a frightening venture. To attempt this feat in the context of a relaxed sexual environment with a person one knows and loves, or at least cares about, is an attempt to eradicate any lingering notions of fear and doubt. By denying the sensations one normally feels during an everyday experience, and attempting to experience that which one cannot, I mean to help put participants in a state of mind in which they cannot focus on the ever present "I." Plus, if it doesn't work, fun may still be had by all.

Fucking God

Within me is contained an entire spectrum of the human animal. What I mean by “entire spectrum” is, essentially, that which makes me human but without rigid borders. Specifically I am referring to masculine and feminine qualities. Obviously these are not concepts which are unknown; however, our societies have a tendency to bastardize such concepts until they become either meaningless or grossly misinterpreted. It is common to hear statements such as, “he’s getting in touch with his feminine side,” which generally means, on a colloquial level, “he’s acting like a pussy,” or “he’s acting like a fag.” Oddly enough, one rarely hears the utterance, “she’s getting in touch with her masculine side.” I wonder what this would mean in the colloquial sense mentioned above. “She’s being a dick,” or perhaps, “she’s a fucking pig?” Who knows? For now, I don’t care. My ultimate point is that I do not “get in touch with my feminine side.” I am already in touch with it. If I was not, I would be an incomplete human being. What I am suggesting is that I would like to become a vagina.

I have a dick. I enjoy it very much. It brings me trashcans full of pleasure which, of course, is why I want to use it to become a pussy. I don’t have one of those. I imagine they also facilitate intense pleasure. And I want both.

I have worked out a tentative process whereby, using my penis and my brain, I can become a vagina. Here’s how it works:

Step 1. Find a woman- preferably a woman who has an interest in becoming a penis.

Step 2. Take drugs. Lest someone automatically dismiss this process out of hand based entirely on this step, I would suggest that our minds are more malleable while under the influence of mind-altering substances. As such, certain suggestions which may violate our ordinary tendencies in thought are at least less likely to be automatically greeted with intellectual hostility while under the influence of some good shit.

Step 3. Create a setting.

Step 4. Ordinary foreplay. Because I like blowjobs, and women who aren’t lame like to get eaten out.

Step 5. Begin the sexual act.

Step 6. Sexual meditation.

Step 7. Success or failure.

Step 8. Repeat

Notes:

Step one is perhaps slightly less straightforward than it sounds. At the time of this writing, I have thus far suggested this proposal to one woman. Much to my chagrin, it was greeted less than favorably. If I remember her response correctly, it was along the lines of “that sounds stupid.” Suffice to say, if I ever find a woman willing to participate in this experiment with me, I might consider marrying her without hesitation.

Step two dictates the ingesting of mind-altering influences. I am highly dubious of the use of alcohol because one of its primary effects is that of “sloppy thinking.” Marijuana, on the other hand, seems as though it may be a likely candidate as it sometimes has a tendency to heighten physical sensations as well as the mental capacity to entertain new ideas. I do worry, however, that the effects of weed in this context might be very hit-and-miss. Cocaine will not suffice because where it heightens the senses and responses to physical stimuli; it can also amplify the ego and even lead to paranoia which would be quite deleterious as far as facilitating the experience. Heavy psychedelics I am not considering mostly because I’ve never tried them myself. I intend to correct that in the future. This brings us to ecstasy. This drug does truly seem like it was made for the experience. Its tendency to produce intense pleasure from physical contact as well as allowing the mind to maintain an honest discourse with the body suggests that its use in this experiment is almost necessary. But one must keep in mind that the use of drugs in this experiment is peripheral to the experience itself. If it works, its effects would be incalculably more fulfilling than any drug.

Step three demands the attention of the participants from a purely conscious standpoint. What I mean by this is that the setting should facilitate a relaxed sexual environment without getting in the way of the mind. A low lit room (candles), some soft music (preferably without lyrics), and a comfortable bed in an area relatively free from outside noise and distraction should suffice. The idea is to be relaxed in the setting without having one’s attention drawn to any particular aspect of it.

Step four is self-explanatory. Suffice to say, it should also facilitate sexual comfort and an overall enjoyment of and familiarity with your partner’s body. Just like it always should…

Step five simply suggests that the sexual act should commence once both participants are ready. It may be advisable to bring each other to orgasm, by whatever means necessary, in order to diminish the excitement and expectancy of coming.

Step six is sexual meditation. This is the hard part- especially since I’ve never done it. I imagine it should work something like tantra, but on a more “specific” level.

I suggest that the man should insert his penis into the vagina at different intervals of depth while hesitating for however long is necessary to attempt to actually feel his partner’s genitalia. For instance, with the penis completely removed from the vagina, place the head of the penis at the entrance of the vagina so that they are barely touching. Pause. Notice how the skin of the labiae feel against the glans. Next, insert the entire head into the vagina. Pause. Notice how the head of the penis feels at the entrance of the vagina. Continue inserting the penis into the vagina at whatever intervals of depth feel comfortable. Don’t forget to pause and catalogue your experience. Once you have attempted this process to your liking, begin the process again, but this time feel as the vagina. While all of this is going on, the woman should be doing basically the same thing. While the man is essentially dictating the pace, the woman should not be hesitant to suggest that he slow down if necessary.

There is no easy way to explain this; however, you know what your dick feels like when you insert it into some poon. Try to imagine what it’s like to be the poon. This is a bad analogy, but I can’t think of a better one: find a partner (it doesn’t have to be a female, but a male might punch you if you try this), create a small tunnel with your hand by curling your fingers into your palm and closing it with your thumb, have your partner slowly insert a finger into the tunnel (lube would help), notice how it feels. Now, change places with your partner and repeat the process. We are dealing with different body parts which produce different kinds of sensations. So we’re going to have to be very creative and liberal in our definition of “feel.” However, the way these body parts produce reactions to stimuli are similar to the way any body part does.

Moving on. Once you have completed this process to your satisfaction, fully insert the penis into the vagina and leave it there. Try to feel every aspect of the vagina encompassing your penis, from the base to the tip and all around.

At this point, the partners should change position to their liking, although I would suggest that the woman be on top. From there, she can dictate the pace of the same process. If both partners are in agreement that a change in position would be pleasurable, then a change in position is warranted.

Please keep in mind that while I am attempting to explain this process to my “scientific” satisfaction, I am fully aware that different people like different things. Whatever works for the people involved should not be ignored at the expense of my words. Also, do keep in mind that I am not trying to remove the pleasures of sex from the sexual process. Kissing, petting, fondling, and playing should not be ignored. Who says one can’t have fun while trying to find God?

Step seven is merely evaluation. Talk to your partner and try to explain what you felt. Did it work at all? Did you get a hint of what it’s like to take a cock in the cooter? Do you now wish you had a penis? Discuss, and be honest.

Step eight is self-explanatory. Even if it didn’t work, and you’re both beginning to think that this is a really stupid idea, fuck more. Do it again, but ignore this crap. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. And then fuck again because someday you’ll be dead, and you won’t ever be able to do it again.