Posted at Street Carnage. That's my peoples.
Back in the pre-internet days, when dinosaurs still delivered the mail, dudes had to earn their erections. You’d spend hours trolling through the bushes out by where the big kids drank beer in the woods, hoping to find a mud-smeared half page from a seven-year-old issue of Oui. And for some strange reason no one has ever properly explained to me, you always did find one. What was that all about? I must have found a dozen pornos in the woods at one point or another. Weird fucking wood wankers running around Kingston, MA, at the time, I guess.
Looking at a pair of tits was hard work, is what I’m saying, but we made the best of it. Kids are spoiled now. If you haven’t seen a bukkake snuff film five minutes after you crawl out of your mother’s flesh fort, then you probably got delivered in some repressive society, like Saudi Arabia or Westchester, NY. If I could go back in time and tell 12-year-old me that someday you could look at the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue all day on the internet for free, young me would be like, “What’s the internet?” and “Are you my real dad?”
So, here we are today and the new SI Swimsuit issue has just come out, and the world’s professional masturbators are ejaculating a collective load of “mehh” dust out of their chafed semis. It’s not that the women aren’t beautiful. Take Irina Shayk (above), for example. I’d murder you and everyone who ever read this blog with a blunt shovel if I could hold her dirty Russian hand for 30 seconds. But pictures of pretty ladies’ bums in bikinis, even those goofy painted-on ones that no one in the fucking world finds hot in the slightest, just aren’t cutting it anymore. Up the dose.
It’s sad, really. SI’s Swimsuit Issue was a once proud institution, a temple we collectively erected to the gods of Onanism and one that launched a million fatherly boners, so it feels like spitting in the face of history to ignore it like this when we should be spitting into the fists of history, if you know what I’m getting at (penis-wise).
So in honor of this venerable tradition, let’s all muster up the willpower to spill one out on the floor one last time for all our peoples who couldn’t be here today, the brothers and sisters who don’t exist because dad was in the shitter reading his sports stories instead of giving mommy a new baby. If you need encouragement, just imagine they’re looking down on us from potential-baby Heaven, or wherever it is that sperm live in the clouds. They’d be proud of you today. I know I am.
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2 comments:
It’s kind of weird, right? You need porn to jerk off and fantasies about women you see in real life are for when you’re getting a bone in with your girlfriend/wife/girl you’re boning more than once. So, where’s that leave these beauties? Have we gone back to olden times where we’re now just actually appreciating superlative beauty again (while, of course, thinking about how we’d do literally anything to be able to sniff a used swimsuit)?
That's a good point. Maybe I've spent so much time jerking off to half-busted looking sluts that I don't think I'm deserving to be with these beauties,even in my mind.
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