Apologies

First off, an apology.  I have been woefully bad at posting of late.  Whole bunch of shit going on in my life, and none of it very good or interesting.

But I promise I’ll have a new post soon.  And in the meantime, I have two peace offerings:

First, one of the greatest hockey clips ever.  My beloved Buffalo Sabres, on the brink of elimination last night, pulled off a miraculous comeback to keep their slim playoff hopes alive.  Check out Sabres rookie Marcus Foligno take a beating from Toronto defenseman and all-around thug Mike Komisarek, take all he can dish out and still help his team score the tying goal.  (Foligno is the Sabre in blue to the left of the faceoff, Komisarek is directly across from him yapping like the punk he is.)

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And second, a hottie for the day.  A drunk, angry hottie no less.

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Alright, maybe two hotties since I’ve been M.I.A. for so long.

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Have a good one!

I Love Hockey

I love hockey.

Which is ironic because I hate the cold.  (Which reminds me, if anyone knows of any jobs in Phoenix or Vegas, please let me know…)

When I was a kid growing up in downstate Illinois nobody watched hockey.   And I mean nobody, despite being just three hours away from the Chicago Blackhawks and about the same from the St. Louis Blues.

To make matters worse, my family was one of the last in America to get cable TV, so I couldn’t even watch hockey growing up.   So although I was interested, I never really got a chance to watch the game, and as a result I formed no allegiance to either of the local teams.

When my family finally did get cable (while I was in high school), one of the first things I did was watch National Hockey Night on ESPN.

And that was how I discovered the Buffalo Sabres.

I had never even heard of the Sabres.  But they had a cool logo and a badass young Russian defector (yes, it’s all Cold War politics to me) named Alexander Mogilny, and after one night I had my favorite team.

It is a decision I have come to regret.  Over and over again.

It didn’t start out all bad.  Despite being the last team in the playoffs from the Adams Division, they swept top-seeded Boston 4-0 in the first round.  I thought it was meant to be.

But then they got swept themselves in the next round by Montreal.  And since then it’s been nothing but heartache.

–There was the no-goal in the 1999 Stanley Cup Finals.  Or the less-remembered 2000 “Six Hole” playoff game against Philly, where the puck went through a hole in the net and the refs counted it anyway.

–There was the magical run in 2006, brought to a screeching halt by injuries that forced the Sabres to play three minor-league defensemen in the 7th game of the Eastern Conference Finals.

–There was the brand new scoreboard falling to the ice in the brand new arena.

–There was the team owner and his son being indicted for embezzling more than two BILLION dollars in 2002.

–And now there’s this year.  It started off with much excitement: a new owner that for the first time in franchise history was willing to spend money to build a winner.  The Sabres entered the season with the highest payroll in the NHL… and currently sit in 11th place… in the Eastern Conference.  They’re 23rd out of 30 teams at the moment, and there’s no light at the end of the tunnel.

So it’s safe to say that the Sabres have been the bane of my existence for the past 20 years or so.  And yet, like an abusive spouse, I just keep coming back for more.

But this post isn’t meant to be an angry tirade against my poor decisions in sports teams.  No, this is my attempt to create a few more hockey fans.  So, in that spirit, I give you, the non-hockey fan, five reasons why you should give the sport a try.  (And I promise, “the fights” will not be one of my reasons.)

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Chicago Blackhawks

#5- Best logos in sports — Maybe it’s because the logos are bigger in the chest of a hockey jersey than on a football helmet or on the shorts of a basketball player, but hockey logos are more stylish, more intricate, and just all around much, much cooler than other sports.  Here are just a few of my favorites:

Minnesota Wild

Columbus Blue Jackets

Winnipeg Jets

#4- Sudden Death — There is nothing more exciting than the drama of overtime playoff hockey.  By comparison, overtime basketball is boring, and the NFL’s farce of sudden death doesn’t come close.  It’s edge of your seat excitement from the first drop of the puck until it finally finds the back of the net, whether it takes two minutes or three extra OT periods.

#3- The Olympics — If the 1980 Miracle On Ice team doesn’t give you goosebumps then you’re no doubt a commie pinko spy.  And while that drama of beating the Evil Empire may never be matched again, the excitement of Olympic hockey is still pretty amazing.  This goal in the 2010 Olympics that forced overtime with Canada will forever be one of my favorite sports moments:

#2- Ice Girls! — Most sports have stupid kids wipe up the sweat or pick up the kicking tee.  But not hockey!

Need I say more?

#1- David Backes — Ok, I lied.  A little.  I don’t normally like hockey fights all that much, I think they’re way overrated.  (Let’s face it, the guys are on skates, it’s not that hard to knock someone off balance.  One lucky punch, or tug for that matter.  Doesn’t mean you whipped someone’s ass just because they fell down.)  But in 2010, in the weeks leading up to the Olympics, American David Backes decided to send a message to Team Canada before the games even started.  On January 2nd, he picked a fight with Canadian Olympian Jonathan Toews:

On January 7th he introduced himself to Canadian Olympian Cory Perry:

And on January 12th he let Canadian Olympian Rick Nash know the games were right around the corner:

Now if that’s not patriotism I don’t know what is!

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So what d’ya say?  How ’bout you give hockey a chance?  Who knows, it might just grow on you.

Do You Really Care?

A quick post today about my newest pet peeve.

In surfing through some other people’s blogs looking for inspiration, I noticed a strange (to me) phenomenon: people reporting what they were listening to while writing their post.  Some people even go so far as to report how many cups of coffee they’ve had on the day of their post, or some other inane personal tidbit that is completely irrelevant to their actual post.

This got me wondering… I don’t care if the author was listening to U2 or Justin Bieber; if they were wearing their pajamas or a 3-piece suit; if they were sipping on an iced caramel latte or a Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper (although I do care if you were drinking a strong alcoholic beverage; that’s always good information to have).

The point, I guess, is that people should be reading blogs for content.  Would it make my stories better if I told you I wrote them sitting at my desk at work when I was supposed to be working on a big project?  Or that I masturbated three times while deciding which picture I wanted to post today to offend the Preacher’s Daughter?  (Just kidding, PK!)

Just for you, PK! Even gave it a southern flair for you. Go Georgia!

For the record, I wrote this post while listening to Jewel.  That’s right, Jewel.  She’s the greatest singer/songwriter of our generation.  I love her music and I’m not ashamed of it.

I was wearing slacks and a polo shirt today when I wrote this.  The blue of the polo shirt really sets off my eyes.  Or so I’ve been told.

I was drinking water from the drinking fountain, but in my stylish Buffalo Sabres Tervis Tumbler.

Oh, and I was wearing black briefs today, just in case you were wondering.  They give me support in all the right places so I don’t care what you think.  Laugh away, assholes.

The Girl Who Wanted to Learn to Deepthroat

If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you no doubt realize that I am no great ladies man.  I am not Tucker Max.  I’ve had my triumphs, sure, who hasn’t, but more often than not my stories end in disaster (i.e. The Girl With the Glasses).  But as they say, sometimes even a blind squirrel finds a nut.

And that’s where BJ comes in.

You might remember, BJ was The Mormon Stalker‘s friend, the one I thought was being offered up to me for a threesome.  Alas, that wasn’t meant to be.  And, to be completely honest, I didn’t even like BJ very much at first.

In retrospect, I should have realized she was into me.  After the night we met she started texting and Facebooking me, which I now see was her shy attempt at flirting.  Unfortunately, one of her ways of flirting was to taunt me about my beloved Buffalo Sabres.  Just as they were swirling down the drain of another failed playoff run.

I didn’t take it well.  I was rude to her.  Then, when she persisted, I ignored her altogether.  Bitch, no one gets to mock my Sabres, no matter how cute you are or how perky your breasts are.  And as she was moving cross country to New York for grad school, I figured that was the end of that.  Good riddance.

Fast forward about four months.  It was Labor Day weekend and I was in Nashville for the wedding of my good friend Country, star of my previous post Taking One for the Team.  (This was the wedding where I met the infamous Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress.  But alas, she still forbids me to discuss her on this blog.  Sorry.)

Actual photo of the Single White Alcoholic being iced

It was a truly epic wedding weekend.  My first night in town we all went out and got absolutely shitfaced on Broadway, the main drag in Nashville.  I skipped dinner to intensify my buzz, and I was successful in my mission; in short order I was a fucking trainwreck.  Among other things, I managed to get iced by a fake-breasted bartender who motorboated me while I chugged my Smirnoff Ice.  (Yuck.)  Somewhere in all that debauchery –I think it was our third or fourth bar of the night– I started hitting on an attractive older woman.  My memory is sketchy because I was so wasted, but fortunately my buddy Dead Wing was there to help.  He was so amused by my drunken stupidity he whipped out his iPhone and started basically live-blogging my pursuit of the woman on my Facebook wall.

12:05am: “I’m recording this for prosperity.  The woman you’re talking to just said, ‘Wow, you’re only 34?!?”

12:13am: “Tell your grandma I said hi.”

12:38am: “Maybe she will get a senior discount on breakfast at Denny’s in the morning.”

1:18am: “Senior cougar”

1:27am: “Then she said… ‘Cedric Benson?  I thought he was in prison.’ Go Bears”

**For the record, I have no idea what that line meant.  Perhaps I was trying to woo her into bed with my vast knowledge of fantasy football?  Yeah, I’ve got mad game with the ladies…**

2:00am: “AARP!”

And that’s pretty much how the whole weekend went.  And little did I know, but from about a thousand miles away, BJ was reading it all.  And apparently my drunken charms were just too much for her to resist.  (I think the fact the Mormon Stalker had told her I had the biggest dick she’d ever seen might have helped too; boy would she be disappointed when she finally saw it for herself!)  By the day of the wedding she had started text-flirting me —I think the kids call it flirxting but I’m not that hip.  Being somewhat intoxicated with vodka, and highly intoxicated by my smokin’ hot wedding date Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress, I flirted right back.

And thus started a four month stretch of dirty texting —I think the kids call it sexting but I’m not that hip— that reached Biblical proportions.  You all can see how verbose I am, and if you’ve read her blog then you know she is too.  This wasn’t your normal run-of-the-mill “I want to fuck you” texting.  No, this was like a novel.  Within two weeks I had to upgrade to an unlimited text plan.  We were writing in-depth commentaries back and forth, starting with foreplay and usually ending with me cumming in her mouth or on her face.

And along the way a strange thing happened.  We actually started to like each other.  And not just in a sexual way.  Her wit made a nice counterpoint to my sarcasm.  My angry conservo-libertarianism was offset by her kindhearted social consciousness.  And of course it helped that now that she was in New York she had started following my beloved Buffalo Sabres.  She wasn’t exactly a diehard but at least she wasn’t talking shit on them anymore.

As we got to know each other she confessed that she didn’t have a lot of experience with sex.  She hadn’t even lost her virginity until she moved to New York.  (You can read that epic story here.)  But she admitted that she truly loved giving head, and she wanted to get better at it.  When I told her no woman had ever been able to make me climax from a blow job she took it as a challenge.  She wanted me to teach her to deep throat, and she wanted to make me cum in her mouth.

When she came home for the holidays we finally got to hook up.  And so began one of the better weekends of my life.  We had already established that this wasn’t going anywhere, there was no future for us.  I was still in Utah and she was going back to school in New York.  Neither of us wanted a relationship, so this was a hook up and nothing more.

The only drawback was that she was on the tail end of her period, so there wasn’t going to be a whole lot of sex.  The good news was that all she really wanted was to practice sucking cock anyway.  Who was I to argue?

We walked in the door to my apartment and kissed for about five seconds before getting down to business.  And, truth be told, BJ did not need a whole lot of lessons on BJ’s.  She was a very talented girl.  She attacked my cock with a vengeance.  She licked, sucked, kissed and slurped for damn near an hour.  We started on the bed, with me laying back and her crouched between my legs.  Then I sat on the edge of the bed with her kneeling before me, giving her a chance to use her hands more.  Then I hung her head off the bed and fucked her mouth.  She gagged and sputtered a bit at that last one, but she persevered and took it like a champ.  Alas, she still couldn’t get me off (I think I might have issues), so after the marathon blow job I took the reins porno-style and jerked myself off and let her swallow my load.  It was fucking amazing.

Over the next 36 hours I put her through an intensive training course on fellatio.  She sucked me off three more times, each time ending with me jerking off and letting her suck me dry.  My one regret is that I didn’t get around to cumming on her face; her mouth was just too damn good.

We tried having regular sex too, but as she was in her “heavy flow” period, it didn’t work out so well.  We were going at it doggy style, and when she orgasmed she kind of collapsed forward on the bed so my cock popped out of her…completely covered in blood.  Now, I’m no prude.  I’m not afraid of riding the crimson river now and again.  But I’m not just talking a little bit of blood, a little crustiness around the base.  I’ve experienced that before.  No, I mean absolutely covered in it.  My entire cock was glowing bright red.  So what did I do?  Well, I freaked the fuck out, of course.  Jumped off the bed, ran to the shower and used the detachable shower head to hose my poor penis off.

But it was totally worth it.

BJ is back East now, and she now has a boyfriend who apparently has a penis roughly twice the size of mine.  Hopefully my weekend tutorial taught her a few things that will keep her lucky guy happy and coming back for more.  I feel like that guy owes me a drink or two…

 

**On a side note, please go to BJ’s blog and tell her to start posting more often.  If enough people pester her I bet we could even get her to write a rebuttal to this story.**

Love is a Battlefield: Sex Injuries

I travelled cross country this weekend to see my girlfriend and accompany her to a family wedding.  It was one of those moments everyone dreads in a relationship, meeting the family for the first time.  Only in this case there was no easing into it, meeting the parents one time and siblings another and so forth.  Nope, this was trial by fire, cramming as much family into four days as humanly possible; aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces, brothers and sisters, in-laws, you name it.  And no support or backup for me, no friendly faces besides the girlfriend.  It was a thoroughly stressful experience.

But at least I got to have sex.  A lot.  I mean like a dozen times in 80-some hours.  So that was nice.

But it was not without its price.  I took a beating this weekend.  For starters, one of our favorite positions is with me standing at the edge of the bed, her legs draped over my shoulders.

Normally this is a great position for both of us.  It’s a nice break from one of us being on top and having to support ourselves with our arms for extended time.  By holding her legs it makes her extra tight, and somehow I seem to hit her spots just right, so it’s a win-win for both of us.

The problem, though, is that the bed in her sister’s guestroom was somewhat shorter than either mine or hers.  I didn’t realize it until I went for insertion and had to squat lower than usual.  But I didn’t really think about it too much and just went with it.

The first time was fine.  Better than fine, in fact, it was fucking spectacular, and I was cumming way sooner than I would have liked.  But as the days went on and we repeated the position, I found myself tiring and having to change up positions quicker than usual.  And Sunday morning when I woke up my back was sore as hell and my hamstrings were so tight I could barely bend over.

I never use drugs, I’ve never even bought Tylenol or Advil in my life, but the first flight of my trip home was so miserable I had to pay eighty-seven bucks or however much it was for a tiny bottle of Advil at the Atlanta airport.  I popped triple the recommended dosage and was finally able to sit without pain for the 4-hour flight to Salt Lake City.  I’m still hurting today, but some more drugs and hopefully a trip to the gym for some serious stretching tonight will get me back on the mend.

I suffered another sex injury this weekend.  Saturday night my girlfriend was in a particularly giving mood.  (I guess I had met with the approval of her 30+ relatives at the wedding.)  She has always been hesitant to try 69ing for some reason, but she offered it up without my even asking, and it was pretty damn stellar.  We started off laying side by side but soon she half-twisted so my ass was flat on the bed and she was basically diving straight down on my cock.  She was drunk enough to relax her gag reflex and it was nothing short of amazing.

But then, somewhere along the way she decided to roll me over on top of her.  As soon as her head hit the bed and my cock started to sink into her mouth her jaw closed and her teeth clamped around me.  I yelped like a kicked puppy dog and pulled out as quick as I could without losing skin on her scraping teeth.

I’m still not sure exactly what happened, if she panicked when I started to slide towards her throat or what, but Holy Jesus it was terrifying!  She felt terrible about it too.  After checking to make sure I wasn’t bleeding, and waiting a moment for my heart to stop pounding from the near-death experience, we gave up the 69 for the night and went back to straight sex.  Which was still pretty fucking awesome if I do say so myself.

So today I’m hobbling around like an old man.  My dick feels like it did when I was a teenager who had just discovered porn and whacked off like five times in a day without any lube (those were the days).

Totally worth it though.

P.S.   She wore the Buffalo Sabres bikini this weekend, the one from my last post.  It was fucking awesome.

Ode to the Bikini

It’s almost my favorite time of year.  That’s right, the time of year when it finally gets hot enough outside for girls to start wearing their bikinis.

I have an odd, borderline creepy fetish for a woman in a bikini.  Forget lingerie, forget French maid outfits, forget Catholic schoolgirl costumes.  If a girl really wants to drive me nuts, just come to my bed in a string bikini.  And let me untie the strings.

I know none of you really give a shit about the history of the bikini so I’ll keep it brief.  The modern bikini was invented in 1946 by Frenchman Louis Reard, which I believe makes him, after Joan of Arc, exactly the second French person in their entire history worth remembering.  Reard named the bikini after the Bikini Atoll islands in the South Pacific, where atomic bomb testing was going on.  The implication, of course, was that this shocking new piece of women’s clothing would cause shockwaves the world over.  And god damn if he wasn’t right!

I’m not sure exactly where my personal obsession with the bikini came from.  It might have been the first James Bond movie, Dr. No, and the original Bond girl Honey Rider (aka Ursula Andress).

Or it might have been the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition and the most beautiful woman who ever lived, Elle Macpherson.

Whatever it was, I’m still hooked to this day.  Follow me on a quick journey through some of the styles, motifs and uses for the modern bikini….

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The bikini has evolved by leaps and bounds since its introduction 65 years ago.  There are so many cuts and styles it’s nearly impossible to keep them all straight.  But here are just a few:

The traditional bikini.

The triangle top.  Less fabric, more skin.

The string bikini.  Nothing quite like untying one of these.  One little pull on the waist or behind the neck and voila!

Strapless.  Makes for better tan lines.

The teardrop.  Even less fabric.

Slingshot.  Not very functional, but extremely eye catching.

The see thru.  Probably not appropriate for most public outings, but if you have sexy pierced nipples like these why not?

Stringless.  Only for the truly brave, and those with an absolutely amazing body.

Fishnet.  Similar to the see thru, not for the faint of heart, or places with obscenity laws.

The sports bra, or beach volleyball bikini.  For the athletes.  Rockin’ abs not required, but definitely appreciated.

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But the versatility of the bikini doesn’t end just with different styles.  The bikini can also be an expression of your personality, your passion and your allegiances:

First and foremost among these is patriotism.  There is nothing sexier than a girl showing her love of country with a red, white and blue ensemble.  If this doesn’t make you “stand at attention” then you’re probably a pinko commie.

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Alongside love of country, camouflage shows a deep respect  and appreciation of our military.  This one’s for you, Luis.

Similarly, love of your home state (in this case Texas) can be very hot.  I wish I was from Texas.

But if you really want to get a guy’s attention, show your devotion to your favorite sports team.  DA BEARS!!

Alas, my girlfriend hates the Bears (she’s a fucking Vikqueens fan), so that’s out of the question.  And they don’t make Chief Illiniwek bikinis.  But I have convinced her to wear this Buffalo Sabres bikini.  I can almost guarantee premature ejaculation is in store…

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I will be the first to admit, the bikini isn’t for everyone.  Not every girl can pull it off.  But, that being said, the bikini can accommodate a wide range of body types:

It’s perfect for girls who want to show off their surgically enhanced breasts.

But I don’t discriminate.  It also looks great on the flat chested girls.

Buff girls look especially hot in bikinis.

So good, in fact, they deserve some extra love.

And even the voluptuous girls can still look good in one.

But I have to draw the line somewhere!

Sorry, that was uncalled for.  I apologize, won’t happen again.  But bikinis are also great for showing off a woman’s ink.

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In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I love the bikini.  It really does make most everything better.  For instance, bikinis make scenery shots a thousand times better.  Tell me you don’t want to visit these places more after seeing a girl like this in the pic.

Bikinis are so fucking hot they even look great on pornstars, and they get naked for a living!

Vegas has cashed in on bikini mania by opening pool parties at all the major casinos.  I am a huge fan of this.  The only thing hotter than a beautiful girl using the bikini for it’s originally intended purpose, swimming…

…is beautiful women wearing bikinis as their club outfit, with no intention of ever getting in the pool…

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And so there you have it.  My ode to the bikini.  Thank god summer is almost here!  I’ll be out by the pool every chance I get, sippin’ on pool smoothies (that’s right, smoothies and vodka) and hoping to see something like this:

Anyone for a Threesome??

Well, my blog is almost three months old and I’m sad to report that I am not yet as popular as Tucker Max.  My 50-60 hits a day barely register as a blip on the blogging landscape.  My buddy Gotham has been tutoring me on the fine art of Twitter and using it to drive traffic, but so far response has been pretty soft.  (Please refer to my very first blog for my true feelings on Twitter.)

But I am slowly learning.  For instance, I’ve been tracking how people are finding my site.  Outside of friends, family and my loyal subscribers (all 3 of you), I’m getting the majority of my hits from search engines.  And over 80% of those hits have come from one search word…

Threesome.

I made one off-hand, joking reference to threesomes in my Free Agents of Love blog.  And that one word is responsible for nearly all of my hits from strangers.

So, obviously, what America really wants to read about is threesomes.  Unfortunately, I don’t have any stories of my own about threesomes (much to my chagrin), so I guess I’ll have to do the next best thing.  I’ll just throw in the word “threesome” as many times as possible in all my future posts.

In other news, the first weekend of the NCAA tournament was entertaining as always.  I picked Kansas to win it all, and although Illinois gave them a good run Sunday, their threesome of Markieff Morris, Marcus Morris and Tyshawn Taylor were just too much.

In hockey, my beloved Buffalo Sabres looked unbeatable Saturday night in dismantling Atlanta 8-2.  And they were cruising to another victory Sunday against Nashville, leading 3-1, when they gave up a threesome of goals in the final 2:27 of regulation and then overtime.  The Sabres should still make the playoffs but expecting them to make any noise in the first round is probably wishful thinking.  It will be another short-lived playoff beard for me this year.