Sage advice from Mr. Waters
40 notes, January 27, 2012
Haha, no but seriously
The latest development in my Hipster Harlequin© series:
• - - - - - - - - - •
The young campaigner straddles my waist with the confidence and guile of a Conquistador. He peels off his ‘Ron Paul Revolution 2012’ hoodie, revealing a masculine trail of hair leading down into his skinny jeans to his turgid groin, all topped with a rumpled Infringement Festival t-shirt.
“My, aren’t we the anarchist,” I smirk, my voice heavy with lust as I eye the impressive coil of muscle shifting in his pants. He laughs, stroking his lightly stubbled jaw conspiratorially, his head descending toward my milky breast. He hungrily claims a pert nipple with his mouth like an animal, maintaining steady eye contact all the while, burrowing into my soul. I gasp at the sharp pain, quickly followed by ripples of liquid heat under my skin’s surface. God, he’s beautiful. Jet black hair, piercing blue eyes, long eyelashes. A younger, straighter, more sinister personification of Jake Gyllenhaal. For a moment, I understand the sensual allure of Pan, the goat-god.
“I feel like you’re going to burn an A on my forehead while we fuck,” I utter, half as a statement, half as a question. “Like in ‘The Scarlet Letter’,” he chuckles, his eyes cast up from his work on my breasts, now covered with pink nip and bite marks. Batting his eyes at me, as if he’s merely stroking my knee, I feel his hand cup my mound, his palm pressing and squeezing me insistently through my yoga pants. He knows that I’m on my period; it’s been an issue of contention between us all night.
His eyes darken with mischief as his fingers delve into my panties, searching my face for a reaction. I grow nervous as he plays with me, but am quickly lost in the liquid heat rushing from my nipples directly to my sensitive clit. He withdraws his fingers, and we both see the blood. I bite my lip; he smiles. He brings his fingers up between us, his grin widening as he deftly draws a capital “A” above my left breast. “My little slut. My Hester Prynne.” I laugh, shocked and amazed at the perversion, … the novelty of what’s transpiring between me and this dirty, dirty boy. “We’ll probably both have to update our OKCupid questionnaires after this.”
9 notes, January 23, 2012
I have the next four days off!
My ‘to do’ list includes the following:
- sleep in every day;
- catch up on “The Good Wife” on DVR;
- write a couple passive aggressive emails to my recent ex-whatever and send them to him via LinkedIn;
- hunt down and purchase a professional tooth scaling tool, like the ones they use at the dentist office;
- eat a half gallon of peppermint stick ice cream;
- lure a guy over who’ll tell me I’m beautiful and no baby, that ice cream on my shirt isn’t a turn-off and then fuck me;
- sew some pants pockets shut, and;
- finally listen to that hidden song on Tool’s last studio album, where you play Viginti Tres and Wings for Marie back to back, while concurrently playing 10,000 Days.
That’s about it.
16 notes, November 10, 2011
You guys, IT’S A DOUBLE RAINBOW, ALL THE WAY.
3 notes, November 9, 2011
Reblogged from alanapost, 3,386 notes, June 25, 2011
You know what? I’m not afraid to admit it anymore. I like the show, True Blood. And I can’t wait for Season 4 to start.
6 notes, May 30, 2011
While looking at the situation room photo from the Osama Bin Laden take-down, I realized that Hillary was wearing the same jacket she wore on an appearance on Saturday Night Live.
Future Smithsonian material?
Ooh!
I have held off on making a comment about the larger version of the war room picture. I just can’t take it anymore. This woman irks me to no end. In this photo, her pose / expression is not one of confidence or control at all. Pull it together. Think Colin Powell. Think Condoleezza Rice. Straighten up, lady.
You know, … I think I like it when my leaders let their humanity sneak past the gates from time to time. If we didn’t know the context of this image, we’d never guess that some serious white knuckle shit was going down were it not for Clinton. As far as I’m concerned, nothing was lost here regarding her dignity or decorum.
P.S. Given that Condoleeza Rice’s head was up W’s ass during her tenure as Secretary of State, can any of us really attest to her facial expressions from ‘05 to ‘09?
DISCLAIMER: I ❤ Hillary Clinton. Always have, always fuckin’ will.
Reblogged from cocktailstraw, 343 notes, May 3, 2011
Little chickens
- Dad: Hello this is charles your father
- Me: Hi Dad. Checking out the internet again?
- Dad: Yes. I have 4016 emails
- Me: Wow. Don't click on any links, okay? Mom will KILL you if you infect her computer with something.
- Dad: Im looking at Alaska cruises.
- Me: Finally! You guys have been talking about that for ages
- Dad: There are problems. Handguns are not allowed. On the ship.
- Me: Do you really think you'll need it?? Just leave it at home!
- Dad: You never know, Jessica. Safety first
- Me: We'll talk about it this weekend.
- Dad: Jessica, do you like little chickens?
- Me: I like chicken, . . . what you do mean by little chickens? Were they premature? Is this like the time you tricked me into eating veal?
- Dad: No. We bought little chickens at the auction and I butchered them and they are tasty. Your mother wants to know if you want little chickens for Easter supper.
- Me: Maybe. But I'm going to need to know more about these "little" chickens. Sounds suspicious. :)
- Dad: Nothing wrong. They are very good. You are eating one if you like it or not. You will make mashed potatoes with the skins. Yes?
- Me: Yes, Dad. I'll make the mashed potatoes. Just the way you like.
- Dad: Good. I will wash your car! Thank you.
- Note: According to my mother, the "little chickens" are actually Cornish game hens.
25 notes, April 22, 2011
Signs I Need to Cool It With the Netflix Streaming
Why hasn’t Michael Westen hunted down Dexter Morgan yet? Or vice versa?
Because, … you know, … they’re both in Miami.
Stop looking at me like that.
13 notes, April 21, 2011
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
This one goes out to all the Nate Dogg fans. RIP to a class act.
It Ain’t No Fun (If the Homies Can’t Have None), by Snoop Dogg.
Notes (21 plays), March 16, 2011
I broke my foot yesterday. Again. So I’m home watching Cadence.
Remember when Charlie Sheen was the incredulous one?
4 notes, March 10, 2011
I must confess that for years, I didn’t believe he existed. Like many of you, I thought he was the stuff of legend, or children’s storybooks. But then, the crowd parted. He stood before me. Brazen, almost, with the steady confidence of his gaze. Muttering something about his rumpled foreskin.
19 notes, February 26, 2011
