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 Thema: Spassthread ( lachen kann so fun sein )
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[DtS]theSameButcher

butcher
lachen kann so fun sein
Neue Regeln. Keine Regeln!

aber witze bevorzugt.



A man walked into a cafe, went to the bar and ordered a beer.
"Certainly, Sir , that'll be one cent."
"One Cent?" the man exclaimed.
He glanced at the menu and asked: "How much for a nice juicy steak and a bottle of wine?''
"A nickel," the barman replied.
"A nickel?" exclaimed the man. "Where's the guy who owns this place?"
The bartender replied, "Upstairs, with my wife."
The man asked: "What's he doing upstairs with your wife?"
The bartender replied: "The same thing I'm doing to his business down here."



PS: ich lass mir das lachen doch nicht verbieten
21.11.2007 13:51:41 Zum letzten Beitrag
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EinMannWieEineGanzeArmee

EinMannWie...
...
Ricky Gervais talks about Creationism
21.11.2007 15:53:39 Zum letzten Beitrag
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PsYch0_D0c

AUP PsYch0_D0c 01.06.2009
geht n cowboy zum friseur
als er wieder rauskommt is sein pony weg
21.11.2007 17:38:16 Zum letzten Beitrag
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SkUllcrAckEr

Skullcracker
 
Zitat von PsYch0_D0c

geht n cowboy zum friseur
als er wieder rauskommt is sein pony weg



Gehtn Eskimo in die Apotheke
als er wieder rauskommt is sein Fahrrad weggeschmolzen
21.11.2007 18:53:02 Zum letzten Beitrag
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[VALAR]Shai-Hulud

[VALAR]Shai-Hulud
Pro Anti Video-Regel!
Ein Wort sagt mehr als tausend Bilder!
21.11.2007 23:37:32 Zum letzten Beitrag
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Wahooka

AUP Wahooka 21.09.2012
... Zählt das als Wort?
 
Zitat von [VALAR]Shai-Hulud

Pro Anti Video-Regel!
Ein Wort sagt mehr als tausend Bilder!



LOL
22.11.2007 8:04:27 Zum letzten Beitrag
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pesto

pesto
One day, at a bus stop there was a girl who was wearing a skintight miniskirt. When the bus arrived and it was her turn to get on, she realized that her skirt was so tight she couldn't get her foot high enough to reach to step.

Thinking it would give her enough slack to raise her leg, she reached back and unzipped her skirt a little. She still could not reach the step. Embarrassed, she reached back once again to unzip it a little more. Still, she couldn't reach the step.

So, with her skirt zipper halfway down, she reached back and unzipped her skirt all the way. Thinking that she could get on the step now, she lifted up her leg only to realize that she still couldn't reach the step.

So, seeing how embarrassed the girl was, the man standing behind her put his hands around her waist and lifted her up on to the first step of the bus. The girl turned around furiously and said, "How dare you touch my body that way, I don't even know you!"

Shocked, the man says, "Well, ma'am, after you reached around and unzipped my fly three times, I kinda figured that we were friends."
22.11.2007 10:48:11 Zum letzten Beitrag
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[DtS]theSameButcher

butcher
At 85 years of age, Roger married Jenny, a lovely 25 year old. Since her new husband is so old, Jenny decides that after their wedding she and Roger should have separate bedrooms, because she is concerned that her new but aged husband may overexert himself if they spend the entire night together.

After the wedding festivities Jenny prepares herself for bed and the expected knock' on the door. Sure enough the knock comes, the door opens and there is Roger, her 85 year old groom, ready for action. They unite as one. All goes well, Roger takes leave of his bride, and she prepares to go to sleep.

After a few minutes, Jenny hears another knock on her bedroom door, and it's Roger, Again he is ready for more 'action'. Somewhat surprised, Jenny consents for more coupling. When the newly weds are done, Roger kisses his bride, bids her a fond good night and leaves.

She is set to go to sleep again, but, aha you guessed it - Roger Is back again, rapping on the door, and is as fresh as a 25-year-old, ready for more 'action'. And, once more they enjoy each other.

But as Roger gets set to leave again, his young bride says to him, 'I Am thoroughly impressed that at your age you can perform so well and so often. I have bee n with guys less than a third of your age who were only good once. You are truly a great lover, Roger.'

Roger, somewhat embarrassed, turns to Jenny and says: 'You mean I was here already?'

The moral of the story:

Don't be afraid of getting old, Alzheimer's has its advantages.
22.11.2007 10:59:30 Zum letzten Beitrag
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DoS|Scorpion

AUP DoS|Scorpion 09.03.2009
Ralph and Edna were both patients in a mental hospital.

One day while they were walking past the hospital swimming pool, Ralph suddenly jumped into the deep end. He sank to the bottom of the pool and stayed there. Edna promptly jumped in to save him. She swam to the bottom and pulled Ralph out.

When the Head Nurse became aware of Edna's heroic act she immediately ordered her to be discharged from the hospital, as she now considered her to be mentally stable.

When she went to tell Edna the news she said, "Edna, I have good news and bad news. The good news is you're being discharged; since you were able to rationally respond to a crisis by jumping in and saving the life of another patient, I have concluded that your act displays sound mindedness. The bad news is, Ralph, the patient you saved, hung himself with his bathrobe belt in the bathroom. I am so sorry, but he's dead."

Edna replied "He didn't hang himself. I put him there to dry. How soon can I go home?"
22.11.2007 12:34:37 Zum letzten Beitrag
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pesto

pesto
Ways to annoy bathroom friends
1.Stick your palm open under the stall wall and ask your neighbor, "May I borrow a highlighter?"
2. "Uh-oh, I knew I shouldn't put my lips on that."
3. Cheer and clap loudly every time somebody breaks the silence with a bodily function noise.
4. "Hmmm, I've never seen that color before."
5. "Damn, this water is cold."
6. Grunt and strain real loud for 30 seconds and then drop a cantaloupe into the toilet bowl from a high place and sigh relaxingly.
7. "Now how did that get there?"
8. "Hummus. Reminds me of hummus."
9. Fill up a large flask with Mountian Dew. Squirt it erratically under the stall walls of your neighbors while yelling,"Whoa! Easy boy!!"
10. " Interesting....more sinkers than floaters"
11. Using a small squeeze tube, spread peaunt butter on a wad of toliet paper and drop under the stall wall of your neighbor. Then say,"Whoops, could you kick that back over here, please?"
12. "C'mon Mr. Happy! Don't fall asleep on me!!"
13. "Boy, that sure looks like a maggot"
14. "Damn, I knew that drain hole was a little too small. Now what am I gonna do?"
15. Play a well-known drum cadence over and over again on your butt cheeks.
16. Before you unroll toliet paper, conspicusly lay down your "Cross-Dressers Anonymous" newsletter on the floor visiable to the adjacent stall.
17. Lower a small mirror underneath the stall wall and adjust it so you can see your neighbor and say, "Peek-a-boo!"
18. Drop a D-cup bra on the floor under the stall wall and sing "Born Free."
22.11.2007 13:58:52 Zum letzten Beitrag
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pesto

pesto
This guy who works at a pickle factory comes home and hands his wife 50 dollars. She asked him what it was from and he told her that he won it in a bet -- the guys at the factory bet him 50 dollars that he wouldn't stick his dick in the pickle slicer.
The wife was surprised and said she wanted to make sure he was still intact. He pulled down his pants and, indeed, it was all there, unharmed.
“But what about the pickle slicer,” asked the wife, perplexed. “Oh, she liked it too,” answered the husband.
23.11.2007 9:18:24 Zum letzten Beitrag
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[DtS]theSameButcher

butcher
AWESOME
23.11.2007 9:26:41 Zum letzten Beitrag
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[DtS]theSameButcher

butcher
A man went to his pharmacist to get a double dose of look at this, I GOT A BONER!. The pharmacist told him that he couldn't give him a double dose. "Why not?" asked the man.

"Because it's not safe," replied the pharmacist.

"But I need it really bad," said the man.

"Well, why do you need it so badly?" asked the pharmacist.

The man said, "My girlfriend is coming into town on Friday, my ex-wife will be here on Saturday. My wife is coming home on Sunday. Can't you see? I must have a double dose."

The pharmacist finally relented saying, "Okay, I'll give it to you, but you have to come in on Monday morning so that I can check you to see if there are any side effects."

On Monday, the man dragged himself in, his right arm in a sling.

The pharmacist asked "What happened to you?"

The man said, "No one showed up."
23.11.2007 9:28:19 Zum letzten Beitrag
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[MONGO]Jazz Jackrabbit

[MONGO]Jazz Jackrabbit
 
Zitat von [VALAR]Shai-Hulud

Pro Anti Video-Regel!
Ein Wort sagt mehr als tausend Bilder!



Schwachfug!

Creature's Comfort



Tierische Grüße
23.11.2007 10:50:06 Zum letzten Beitrag
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Chef

Chef
...
23.11.2007 10:58:22 Zum letzten Beitrag
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[MONGO]Jazz Jackrabbit

[MONGO]Jazz Jackrabbit
Das Tagebuch der Anne Frank.





Spannende Grüße
23.11.2007 12:26:43 Zum letzten Beitrag
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Kane*

AUP Kane* 30.10.2009
...
Das Tagebuch ist großartig! Breites Grinsen
23.11.2007 13:12:08 Zum letzten Beitrag
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[DtS]theSameButcher

butcher

geklaut von olnigg
23.11.2007 13:38:39 Zum letzten Beitrag
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GandalfDerPinke

GandalfDerPinke
Ein junges, frisch verliebtes Pärchen liegt aneinander gekuschelt im Bett. Sie schaut zu ihm und flüstert ihm ins Ohr: "Zeig mir doch mal was richtig schmutziges." Er schaut sie an und erwidert: "Nein Schatz, ich hab jetzt keine Lust nach Bottrop zufahren."
23.11.2007 13:46:04 Zum letzten Beitrag
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Elim*

elim
Gehen zwei Freundinnen durch Mainz.
Sagt die erste: "boah! Mainz ist ja voll das Drecksloch!"
Sagt die zweite: "Meins auch."
23.11.2007 14:07:53 Zum letzten Beitrag
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Guignol

Guignol
Wann beginnt menschliches Leben?

Der Moslem: Menschliches leben existiert schon im Sperma und in der Eizelle.

Der Christ: Menschliches Leben beginnt wenn die Eizelle befruchtet wird.

Der Jude: Das Leben beginnt wenn die Kinder aus dem Haus und der Hund tot ist.
23.11.2007 15:25:16 Zum letzten Beitrag
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[DtS]theSameButcher

butcher
Der englische Fußballverband sucht zum nächstmöglichen Zeitpunkt einen neuen Übungsleiter:

Ihre Aufgaben: Schwerpunkt ist die Betreuung der A-Nationalmannschaft im physischen und psychischen Bereich. Sie erstellen Trainingspläne, scheuchen einen Haufen Millionäre über den Platz und verhindern durch eine Mischung aus Autorität und Kompetenz, dass sich die Spieler lieber in der Disco betrinken, anstatt Tore für die Queen zu schießen.

Ihr Profil: Sie sind extrem belastbar, halten für alles den Kopf hin und können den Hohn und Spott einer ganzen Nation ertragen. Ein abgeschlossenes Studium der Sportwissenschaft oder Psychologie ist von Vorteil. Idealerweise haben sie selbst eine große Karriere als aktiver Fußballer hinter sich, kein Alkoholproblem und lassen sich weder von brasilianischen Topmodels noch von getarnten Zeitungsreportern aufs Kreuz legen. Dann schicken Sie ihre Bewerbung bitte an die FA, zu Händen Geoffrey Thompson, 25 Soho Square, London.
23.11.2007 16:16:50 Zum letzten Beitrag
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[MONGO]Jazz Jackrabbit

[MONGO]Jazz Jackrabbit




















Sammelnde Grüße
23.11.2007 17:38:59 Zum letzten Beitrag
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SkUllcrAckEr

Skullcracker
Deine Mutter hat mehr 3er als BMW!
25.11.2007 15:16:58 Zum letzten Beitrag
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Ball

Ball
Chuck Palahniuk - Guts

Take in as much air as you can.

This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then
just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.


A friend of mine, when he was 13 years old he heard about "pegging." This
is when a guy gets banged up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate
gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have explosive hands-free orgasms.
At that age, this friend's a little sex maniac. He's always jonesing for a
better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some
petroleum jelly. To conduct a little private research. Then he pictures
how it's going to look at the supermarket checkout counter, the lonely
carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery
store cashier. All the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing
the big evening he has planned.

So my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients
for a carrot cake. And Vaseline.

Like he's going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt.

At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease
and grinds his ass down on it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except
it hurts.

Then, this kid, his mom yells it's supper time. She says to come down, right now.

He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty
clothes under his bed.

After dinner, he goes to find the carrot, and it's gone. All his dirty clothes,
while he ate dinner, his mom grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not
find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring knife from her kitchen, still shiny
with lube and stinky.

This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to
confront him. And they nev­er do. Ever. Even now that he's grown up, that invisible
carrot hangs over every Christmas dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg
hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost carrot is hovering over all
of them. That something too awful to name.

People in France have a phrase: "staircase wit." In French: esprit de l'escalier.
It means that moment when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at
a par­ty and someone insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure,
with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party....

As you start down the stairway, then-magic. You come up with the perfect thing
you should've said. The perfect crippling put-down.

That’s the spirit of the stairway.

The trouble is, even the French don't have a phrase for the stupid things you
actually do say under pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think
or do.

Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about.

Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last
peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks
would find them, a towel twisted around their kid's neck, the towel tied to the
rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm every­where. Of course the
folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look ... better.
Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad teen suicide.

Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how
guys in the Middle East jack off different than we do here. This brother was
stationed in some camel country where the public market sells what could be fancy
letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of pol­ished brass or silver,
maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, ei­there a big metal ball
or the kind of fan­cy carved handle you'd see on a sword. This Navy brother says
how Arab guys get their dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole
length of their boner. They jack off with the rod inside, and it makes getting off
so much better. More intense.

It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases.
Russian phrases. Helpful jack-off tips.

After this, the little brother, one day he doesn't show up at school. That night,
he calls to ask if I'll pick up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because
he's in the hospital.

He's got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says
how they all have to share the same television. All he's got for privacy is a
curtain. His folks don't come and visit. On the phone, he says how right now his
folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy.

On the phone, the kid says how-the day before-he was just a little stoned. At
home in his bedroom, he was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and
flipping through some old porno magazines, getting ready to beat off. This is
after he's heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how Arabs beat
off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ballpoint pen's
too big. A pencil's too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle,
there's a thin, smooth ridge of wax that just might work. With just the tip of
one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle. He rolls it
smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin.

Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit
of his boner. With a good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work.

Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They've totally reinvented
jacking off. Flat on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can't
keep track of the wax. He's one good squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax
isn't sticking out anymore.

The thin wax rod, it's slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can't
even feel the lump of it inside his piss tube.

From downstairs, his mom shouts it's supper time. She says to come down, right now.
This wax kid and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much
the same life.

It's after dinner when the kid's guts start to hurt. It's wax, so he figured it
would just melt inside him and he'd pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kid­neys.
He can't stand straight.

This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can
hear bells ding, people scream­ing. Game shows.

The X-rays show the truth, some­thing long and thin, bent double inside his bladder.
This long, thin V inside him, it's collecting all the minerals in his piss. It's
getting bigger and rougher, coated with crystals of calci­um, it's bumping around,
ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss from getting out. His
kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood.

This kid and his folks, his whole fam­ily, them looking at the black X-ray with the
doctor and the nurses stand­ing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody
to see, he has to tell the truth. The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote
him from the Navy.

On the phone, right now, he starts to cry.

They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mis­take, and
now he'll never be a lawyer.

Sticking stuff inside yourself. Stick­ing yourself inside stuff. A candle in your
dick or your head in a noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble.

What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater,
sitting on the bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep
breath, I'd kick my way to the bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I'd sit down there
for two, three, four minutes.

Just from jacking off, I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I'd
do this all afternoon. After I'd finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang
there in big, fat, milky gobs.

After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each hand­ful in
a towel. That's why it was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my
sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty, my mom.

That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, think­ing she's
just getting fat, then giving birth to a two-headed, retard baby. Both heads looking
just like me. Me, the father and the uncle.

In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you.

The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool filter and the
circulation pump. The best part was getting naked and sit­ting on it.

As the French would say, Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked? Still, one minute
you're just a kid getting off, and the next minute you'll never be a lawyer.

One minute I'm settling on the pool bottom and the sky is wavy, light blue through
eight feet of water above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in
my ears. My yellow­striped swim trunks are looped around my neck for safe keeping,
just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to ask why I skipped foot­ball
practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I'm grinding
my skinny white ass around on that feeling.

One minute I've got enough air and my dick's in my hand. My folks are gone at their
work and my sister's got ballet. Nobody's supposed to be home for hours.

My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch an­other big
breath. I dive down and settle on the bottom.

I do this again and again.

This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump
that never ends. My dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My
heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around
in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee rubbed raw against the
concrete bot­tom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from being
so long in the water.

And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls. It's then
I need some air. But when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can't. I can't get
my feet under me. My ass is stuck.

Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this
way, sucked by a circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you're
going to drown. Every year, tons of people do. Most of them in Florida.

People just don't talk about it. Not even French people talk about everything.
Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when
I feel the tug against my butt. Get­ting my other foot under me, I kick off against
the bottom. I'm kicking free, not touching the concrete, but not getting to the air,
either.

Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I'm maybe halfway to the surface but
not going higher. The heartbeat in­side my head getting loud and fast.

The bright sparks of light crossing and crisscrossing my eyes, I turn and look back ...
but it doesn't make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, blue­white and braided
with veins, has come up out of the pool drain and it's holding on to my butt. Some of
the veins are leaking blood, red blood that looks black underwater and drifts away from
little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails away, disappearing in the
water, and inside the snake's thin, blue­white skin you can see lumps of some half-
digested meal.

That's the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent,
something that's never seen the light of day, it's been hiding in the dark bottom of
the pool drain, waiting to eat me.

So ...I kick at it, at the slippery, rub­bery knotted skin and veins of it, and more
of it seems to pull out of the pool drain. It's maybe as long as my leg now, but still
holding tight around my butt­hole. With another kick, I'm an inch closer to getting
another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I'm an inch closer to my escape.

Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange
ball. It's the kind of horse­pill vitamin my dad makes me take, to help put on weight.
To get a football scholarship. With extra iron and omega­three fatty acids.

It's seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life.

It's not a snake. It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call
prolapsed. It's my guts sucked into the drain.

Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute.
That's about 400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we're all connected together
inside. Your ass is just the far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps
working-unravel­ing my insides-until it's got my tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound
shit and you can see how this might turn you inside out.

What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels
pain. The stuff you're digesting, doctors call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme,
pockets of a thin, runny mess studded with corn and peanuts and round green peas.

That's all this soup of blood and corn, shit and sperm and peanuts floating around me.
Even with my guts unravel­ing out my ass, me holding on to what's left, even then my
first want is to some­how get my swimsuit back on.

God forbid my folks see my dick.

My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellow­striped swim
trunks and pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible.

You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lambskin condoms. Take one
out and unroll it. Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold
it under water. Then try to tear it. Try to pull it in half. It's too tough and rubbery.
It's so slimy you can't hold on.

A lambskin condom, that's just plain old intestine.

You can see what I'm up against.

You let go for a second and you're gutted.

You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you're gutted.

You don't swim and you drown.

It's a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now.

What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating
in the cloudy water of their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of
veins and twisted guts. The opposite of a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks
off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital 13 years ago. Here's the kid
they hoped would snag a football schol­arship and get an MBA. Who'd care for them in
their old age. Here's all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All
around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm.

Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from
the pool to the kitchen tele­phone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out
the leg of my yellow­striped swim trunks.

What even the French won't talk about.

That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase.
The way we say, "I need that like I need a hole in my head...," Russian people say,
"I need that like I need teeth in my asshole......

Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse.

Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any
coyote would tell you a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead.

Hell ... even if you're Russian, someday you just might want those teeth.

Otherwise, what you have to do is­you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind
your knee and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You
run out of air and you will chew through anything to get that next breath.

It's not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss
good night.

If I told you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari.

It's hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I'd got in trou­ble or
how I'd saved myself. After the hospital, my mom said, "You didn't know what you were
doing, honey. You were in shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs.

All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me....

I need that like I need teeth in my asshole.

Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all
quiet and pissed off when I don't eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me.
Baked ham. Anything that hangs around inside my guts for longer than a couple of hours,
it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or chunk light tuna fish, I'll stand up
and find it still sitting there in the toilet.

After you have a radical bowel resec­tioning, you don't digest meat so great. Most
people, you have five feet of large intestine. I'm lucky to have my six inch­es. So I
never got a football scholarship. Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and
the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I've never weighed a pound more than I did
that day when I was 13.

Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swim­ming pool. In
the end my dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned.
The dead body got pulled into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the filter
casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a watery hank of intestine with a big orange vita­min
pill still inside, even then my dad just said, "That dog was fucking nuts."

Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my dad say, "We couldn't trust that
dog alone for a second...."

Then my sister missed her period.

Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another
state, after my sister's abortion, even then my folks never men­tioned it again.

Ever.

That is our invisible carrot.

You. Now you can take a good, deep breath.

I still have not.
25.11.2007 17:30:10 Zum letzten Beitrag
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ULtRaLiSt

AUP ULtRaLiSt 25.07.2010
verdammt ball. solche scheiße kriege ich normalerweise nur am ende von spammails zu lesen...
25.11.2007 23:23:14 Zum letzten Beitrag
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pesto

pesto
TLDR
26.11.2007 11:13:12 Zum letzten Beitrag
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nobody

nobody
Pfeil
Sei froh. Ich muss schon den ganzen Tag jedes mal wenn ich einen fahren lasse daran denken. :/
26.11.2007 12:29:02 Zum letzten Beitrag
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Tony.50

Tony.50
Hmm. Thread kann zu.
26.11.2007 16:23:31 Zum letzten Beitrag
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Spekka*

Arctic
Der Text ist viel zu lang und es sind zu wenig Bilder drin.
26.11.2007 17:39:51 Zum letzten Beitrag
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