A couple of months ago I broke rule #1: I fucked a guy from work. Hey, I was working overtime which limited my social circles.
I was honest from the get-go, saying, “Look this is just sex. Nothing less, nothing more. I’m 31 years old and the whole world WILL suffer if I don’t get laid. No relationship, no phone calls, no cuddling. Just pure, unadulterated sex.”
To no avail, the motherfucker starts sending love notes, stupid looks, and mood if I ignore him.
How do I keep motherfuckers from getting strung out on my honeypot?
How do I shake this dude? I’ve already verbally told him, “look buddy, enough with this love shit, you’re CUT OFF!” What more can I do?
Cat Box Buffet
I’m pretty damned sure that sexual harrassment thing works in cases where you cut off the booty line. I got some nasty ass woman fired for sexual harrassment once. She’d fucking come up behind me and start rubbing my shoulders and shit and say things like “you’re SO tense!” I fucking wonder why, creepy bitch!
But I digress. Where the fuck did you find this dude? Sex with zero strings. THAT’S EVERY DUDE’S FUCKING FANTASY! The perfect girl is cute, funny, loaded, and had only six months to live. Any longer than six months and you just start feeling dirty! Why can’t he fucking be happy? He’s got the cake, he’s eating it, too. Does he also want the buns in the fucking oven, as well?
That’s normally sure to scare any motherfucker away, but it might not do the trick with this mothafucka. I still suggest trying it, but be prepared. If you say “I want to have kids” and this motherfucka says “YES! ME TOO!” you’re gonna have to come back with “oh, i didn’t mean with you! hahaha! that’s cute.”
And if demasculating him don’t work, nothing works quite like a new fuck buddy. I will offer Gonad up for the greater good. He makes a damned good foil. He’s got better things to worry about than love, respect, blahblahblahblah.
Now leave me the fuck alone.
Categories: Limp Dicks
Dear Murray a tasty, tasty bitch beloved and feared by hordes of basement-dwelling illiterati and their fierce antagonists, the Grammar Nazis. He single-handedly turned the webcam whorefest of Myspace into a lively commerce of ideas, including whether or not the TUBGIRL photo will ever be topped as a postmodern expression of the inexpressible. According to web historians, he has inspired more photoshop projects and syphilis jokes than Britney Spears (who he has been repeatedly linked romantically to). He is also rumoured to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, a disciple of Cliff Yablonski, and the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Although he could not be reached for comment, he reportedly resides in or near the tent cities along the LA River Basin, third right after the walrus sunning station.
He has vehemently denied all charges that he is any any way responsible for that rash your wife claims "is from the heat".
His primary function is doling out advice; the inspiration sprang from an endless and eventually dull repetition of fucktards failed to heed his words.
A secondary result is a dysfunctional family "round table" of people who contribute innumerable one-liners and personal experiences, rarely related in any way to the actual question.
It is estimated that tens of thousands of readers have "LOL'd" approximately 5,395,645,694,167,467,105 times, with the toll expected to rise.
He is immune to kryptonite, chlamydia, and brainwashing.
Wikipedia has banned PENCILTITS's entry, debating the relevance of his tasty bitchiness.