Friday, December 23, 2005

impromptu: The World's Greatest Invention

The Juice wasn’t plannin’ on postin’ anything any time soon. If ya check out the last post, I’ve got some sweet things in the works. But, as the Juice was out cleanin’ up the mess the kids left from the ol’ Slip N Slide I got ta thinkin’ about things. You know, life and shit. Plus, I’m slightly baked, so what better thing to do, than write a half assed post.

So, what exactly was the Juice considerin’? One of the world’s greatest inventions (hence the title ya nitwit): the bikini. Didja here that????? That was Clarion’s Call. Yes, the bikini. I hope God rested well the day after he sent down the idear for the bikini. Cause he surely deserved it.

Dang, does the Juice LOVE bikinis. Truth be told, the Juice has got a thing for bathin’ suits period. But, when you’re picturin’ some sweet lil nothin’ travelin’ down your Slip N Slide (I’m referin’ to the product, not the hog. Perverts), ya wanna see her in a bikini.

Walk with me, will ya? Picture this, if you will (and if you know what’s good for ya, you will). A sunshiney day. Ya got your Superman Slip N Slide nice and wet. And here comes some sweet lil number, slip slidin’ away. All laughin, and gigglin’ and heavin’ in her red bikini. Or black. Or, wait. White. Oh, yea. White bikini. Now that’s nice. Some lil brunette laughin, and gigglin’ and boobs heavin’ in her WHITE bikini as she's slippin' and slidin down the old Slip N Slide (the makers of Slip N Slide sure were clever fucks, weren' they?). God, the Juice needs to get laid ASAP!!!!!

But, I digress…

Now, for all you potential the Juice girlfriends out there in TV land, here’s a helpful tip for ya. If ya really want to turn the Juice on, wear a bikini. Don’t waste your time with all that fancy lingerie. Yea…it’s nice. Whatever. Do me a favor, and put the bikini on. Really, want to turn the Juice on? Probably not, but fuck you. Put the bikini on in the dead of winter, ladies. I know. I know what your thinkin’. You’re thinkin’: “That sounds a bit warped, the Juice”. Yea, if THAT ain’t the pot callin’ the kettle black (what the fuck does that expression mean, anyway? Would one of you brain surgeons out there like to explain that to me?) Like your stockin’ fetish ain’t a tad bit wrong. And I won’t even mention,not only the wrongness, but the sheer stupidity of all those “Big Sausage Pizza” (I’ll do us all the favor and NOT hyperlink any links. Do a search, I’m sure somethin’ will come up. As it were) websites out there. You make me sick, you perverts.

Actually, now that I consider it, if you ladies really want to get the Juice goin’, fuck the bikini and put this on. That’s like Triple V to the Juice. Man, that’s so hot. This, though, makes me sad. Real sad.

Read more, if you dare!

Thursday, December 22, 2005

How the Internet ruined Porn

The other day, the Juice mentioned the sheer stupidity of the “Big Sausage Pizza” porn sites. I mean, callin’ these sites stupid, really demeans the word “stupid”. Do you dudes out there in Internet Land really buy that shit? And the Juice ain’t just sayin’ “purchasin’” here. I mean, buy it, as in it’s real. You know that those “situations” aren’t real, right? That those hot numbers are all whored up all by their lonesome waitin’ for the delivery guy. C’mon! It makes wrasslin’ look like Masterpiece theatre, brother.

So, the Juice started considerin’ porn. And I’ve come (as it were) to the conclusion that the internet has ruined porn. Yes. You read that right. THE INTERNET HAS RUINED THE GOOD NAME OF PORNOGRAPHY. Now, I’m fairly certain all you nerds out there have your eyeballs all a twitchin’. Blasphemy, right? Well, before you throw pitch forks at me, hear me out. The internet has been great as a delivery system. No more creepy stores with all those scary black leather apparatuses hangin’ menacingly on the walls. Or movie houses with questionable sticky floors. No, in that regard, the Net has been a god send.

And in the beginnin’ it WAS good. But, as time moved on, porn on the Net has become exceedin’ly twisted. Let’s get somethin’ straight from the get go. The Juice loves porn. And I’m not just sayin’ it to cover up the fact that I stepped on the pornography gods toes with my heretic statement above. No, I love porn. Nothin' like watchin’ hot people gettin’ it on. The only thing better is when the Juice is gettin’ it on with someone hot. See, the Juice loves women. Women are hot. What with their boobs and their asses and legs and ‘ginas (don’t even get me started on the harshness of the word “vagina”. I mean could they think of a less sexy word for the best part of a woman?) and their hair and eyes and, to a lesser extent, their personalities. Dang, women are hot! But, internet porn just totally degrades ‘em. Strike me down, I sound like such a feminist. But, it’s true. The Juice wants to see a guy and a girl, or a girl, a guy and another girl, or a guy, a girl and another guy, or a girl and her equally hot girlfriend havin’ a swell time (you know, havin’ an innocent pillow fight. What else do you chicks do when you get together with your gal friends? Pillow fights, paint nails and make out with each other, right? Look, if it ain’t true, then for the love of the Christ, please don’t ruin it for the Juice. I don’t have much in my life).

The Juice likes seein’ all the participants havin’ a good time. But, internet porn brutalizes woman. What’s the pleasure out of seein’ a gal gaggin’ on a hog so much her eyes tear? Do you dudes hate your mommies so much that that gets you off? Hey, and what’s with all the porno dudes with these huge hogs? It’s like white folks on TV. Are all the dudes in Internet land hung like horses? I don’t mind tellin’ ya it makes the Juice feel a bit, ummm…inadequate. And, believe you me, the Juice don’t feel inadequate often.

But, I digress…

What happened to all the Porn stars? All the strippers? I like my porn stars hot and airbrushed. Sure, a lil reality in my porn is excitin’, but it’s gettin' a tad ridiculous at this point. If I want to see “the girl next door”, I’ll go knock on her door. I know she’s a slut, I don’t need to see it plastered all over the Net. Cause she ain’t that good lookin’. No, porn should be left to the beautiful people.

Here’s the other thing about porno, ya need a lil bit of a story. I know ya don’t want to hear it, but ya do. Story is the backbone of life. We’ve all got stories to tell. Shit, those Neanderthals were tellin’ pornographic stories on cave walls.

Click to enlarge:

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Real Neanderthal cave art!

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Who knew they had thongs back then?

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Those Neatherthal were some real fuckin’ perverts!

Granted, you’re gonna fast forward thru most of the story, but it’s fun to have some sort of context, right? What’s that sayin? It’s the spaces between the notes that make the music. How about that for a thought provokin’ thought? I guess the Juice is becomin’ a bit philosophical in his old age. Anyway, ya need the story in-between the sex scenes to make the sex scene better. Comprende? Believe you me, it makes sense. You’re just so damn desensitized ya don’t see it. Either that or you’re just stupid. I suspect it to be the latter, but whatever.

Don’t believe me? Ever rent one of those 72 hour blow job greatest hits videos? Yea…there hot for the first few seconds. But, after the 16th hour, doesn’t the whole blow job thing become a bit, I don’t know, boring? And hey, this is comin’ from the dude who’s one of the BIGGEST fans of the hummer. Big fan. Big fan. The Juice’ll take a hummer over vaginal sex everyday of the week, including Blow Job day. Well, maybe not Blow Job day. That’s not to say the Juice don’t enjoy vaginal sex. Cause I do. I like hamburgers over pizza. But, I ain’t eatin’ hamburgers everyday. Get my drift? Some days I go to the Hut instead of McDonalds. Ya feel me? The Hut just makes me appreciate McDonalds that much more. It’s enhancement. Yea…that’s it, the space between the notes.

Would someone tell me how the fuck did I end up on this path?????

Whatever. You just keep watchin those pornos, day in and day out. Then one day, you’re gonna be so de-sensitized your gonna find yourself watchin’ Hot Grandma Sluts gettin’ boned in gas station bathrooms. Yea…you know you’re already intrigued.

Didja do a search of Big Sausage Pizza, yet? There's one blonde chick on that site that was pretty hot. I wonder if she ever did fuck that delivery guy. Hmmmmm...Did I bookmark that website?

Read more, if you dare!

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

The 11th day of What the Juice likes about Christmas

Step right up! Come inside. On day 11 of our countdown, see what the Juice likes about Christmas. Buckle up, cause the coaster’s about to take off! Remember, keep all hands and feet inside. And no flash photography. Por favor, mantenganse allejado de las puertas.

So, the Juice likes Christmas songs. Yea, that’s right. You gotta fuckin' problem with that, sweetheart? I didn't think so. See, there ain’t nothin’ like listenin’ to Christmas music on Christmas Eve into Christmas day. It just sets the mood. Now, the Juice’ll be the first to admit, I don’t know the first thing about music. Hell, I don’t know the first thing about cars, sports, kids, carpentry, masonry, plumbing, photography, etymology, musicology or women(the Juice does know he loves lookin’ at hot naked women, though), for that matter.

The Juice, though, enjoys a good Christmas song. But, ya have to be specific about what song ya like. ‘Cause besides classical music, Christmas songs are the most covered music ever. Some of the Juice’s favorites are:

My Favorite Things by Johnny Mathis.
Mele Kalikimaka by Bing Crosby
Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season by Andy Williams
What are you doing New Year’s Eve – by anyone really
Any Christmas song by Frank Sinatra
Linus and Lucy by Vince Guarldi (yea I know it ain’t necessarily a Christmas song, but it reminds me of Christmas. If you're gonna nitpick, ya can always go fuck yourself)

Yea, those are some great Christmas songs. But, the Juice’s gotta tell ya, there are some seriously shitty ones out there too. Some are so dang bad, the universe is a worse place for their existence.

Here’s a scary thought for ya. Scienticians say that radio waves go out into the universe forever. Don’t believe the Juice? Then check out this quote from

“For over fifty years now, our first television and radio signals have been radiating out into space like a giant shock wave, or like waves radiating out from a pebble dropped into a pond. Another intelligent civilization could intercept them and wonder what they say. Imagine an alien race picking up one of our television signals, decoding it, and then sending what they believe to be an intelligent reply: "Lucy, I'm home!" or "So you want to be a wise guy, eh?"

That’s pretty fuckin’ scary ain’t it? So, in theory, all’s some aliens need is some sort or radio signal booster and Wham-o! They’ll be hearin’ what we’ve been listenin' to all this time. Now, wouldn’t it be embarrassin’ if one of the first things the aliens heard from us was "Grandma got ran over by a reindeer"? Just imagine what the aliens would think of us if they heard that. The Juice figures it 2 ways. We’d either be just a waste of time in there oversized, emotionless black eye and just leave us the hell alone. Or, they’re comin’ to Earth right now to take over the place. They probably figure were like rats and we don’t deserve the planet. I just hope when they get here, they don’t anal probe all of us. Cause the Juice don't enjoy things up his ass.

Know what other Christmas songs the Juice can’t stand? Probably not, so I’m gonna tell ya. "The Little Drummer Boy" by David Bowie and Bing fuckin' Crosby. Don’t even try layin’ that horseshit on me that it’s a classic. My Favorite Things is a classic. There ain’t nothing “classic” about this number. In fact, it down right blows. Who gives fuck one about these two numb nuts, anyway? Maybe 40 years ago it was cool, but really…what the fuck is Bowie singin’?

Then there's "Merry Christmas, Darling" by the Carpenters. What a whiney-ass song. I bet this chick couldn’t get laid if she tried. Dang! It just reeks of desperation. This gal needs to be dicked in the worst way. And normally, the Juice would oblige, however the Juice has two caveats. The missus would never let the Juice do it. She tends to suck that way. And two, the way this gal from the song is whinin’ on, it sounds a bit to the Juice that she ain’t good lookin’. Cause if she was good lookin’, she wouldn’t be whinin’ about some dude. Am I right? Can the Juice get an Amen? No? Okay. But, believe you me, the Juice don’t EVER nail ungood lookin’ chicks (my apologies to my ungood lookin’ female readers. Sorry you had to read it that way, but it’s all truth.)

Oh, wait. How about this annoyin' number? "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas". Who gives a fuck who it’s by. It’s fucking annoyin’. Now, the Juice don’t condone violence against children. No matter how temptin’ it might be. Especially after they’ve been mind fuckin’ ya all day. But, the kid who sings this song really needs a dope slap to the back of the head. And a “You ain’t gettin’ a hippo for Christmas, so shut the fuck up. Would ya? I’ve got one nerve left, and you’re doin’ the Acky Breaky Heart on it.” follow-up

Yea, there’s half a million Christmas songs that seriously bite. Like, "Santa Claus is comin’ to town" by Bruce Springsteen. All of Mariah Carey’s songs. Clay Aiken? C’mon! Ya know, now that the Juice considers it, all contemporary “artist” Christmas songs suck dead monkey balls. So, the Juice’ll just have to stick to the classics, thank you very much.

Well, I ain’t entirely sure how this post de-volved into Christmas songs I can’t stand, but like most things on this site, it’s best not to think about it too long. Cause it’ll only cloud your brain. And make you stupider. It probably causes Athlete’s Foot, too. But, that ain’t never been proven.

Read more, if you dare!

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

The 12th day of What the Juice likes about Christmas

Here we are at day 12 of what the Juice loves about Christmas. Let's just dispense with the pleasantries and get to it, shall we? Today, it’s simple enough. It’s cookies. Yes, the Juice loves all the freshly baked cookies this time of year. Believe you me, the Juice don’t need Christmas to go on about his love of cookies. My love of the cookie is long and deep. We’re talkin’ true love here. Some folkels believe their soul mate to be some mythical person. Some person that supposedly completes them. I hate to tell ya, but there ain’t no such person. The only completion comes from inside. Not from some sexy bitch in a Santa outfit, but...uhhhh, we'll get to that later on in the week. But you keep on searchin’ you’re bound to find that "soul mate" eventually. Why dontcha check She might be waitin' for ya there. As if...

However, if the Juice were to say that he had a soul mate it would be in the cookie. Nothing has ever has given Juice such satisfaction than a warm cookie. Not even sex with two super hot chicks at the same time. Not that the Juice would know what sex is like with two super hot chicks, but I’m sure it’s no where as good as a dozen or so cookies. What the Juice is sayin’ here is that I could get a hundred hand jobs from a hundred different women, for a hundred different days and still that would not match the satisfaction of eatin’ a batch of homemade cookies.

Yea…you read that right. Cookies over sex. Cookies ain’t so fleetin’ as sex. Well, that’s not entirely true, either. The Juice tends to get that same empty feel after eatin a few dozen cookies as when he’s cranked off for the third time today lookin’ at internet porn. I write all this cause I know none of ya’s can read it. See, the Juice sometimes writed in a secret code. And right now is one of those times. Otherwise, if ya actually knew what the Juice was goin' on about, it might be plenty embarrassin'.

But, I digress...

However, there’s a caveat for my love of cookies. Sure my love is long and deep, but it’s for homemade cookies. I’m not gonna waste your time and mine by dissin’ store boughts here. In a pinch (which is everyday other than christmasfucktaculas), store boughts are ok. But homemade cookies? That’s goodness on a stick. But, without the stick.

And the only time that the Juice gets to indulge in homemade cookies is Christmastime. The missus bakes batch after batch. And the Juice consumes batch after batch. However, the missus is seriously slackin’ this year. Cookie one was not yet been baked or eaten. I don’t know what’s goin' on with that bitch, but it ain’t cookie bakin’. And I call her “bitch”, cause I’m writin’ in that secret code that no one can read besides the Juice again. Otherwise, the Juice would probably be a tad more respectful. For fear of the flyin’ meat tenderizers and no Christmas cookies.

Read more, if you dare!