I also posted this over at MNspeak, since that is the source of the original dancing Jason DeRusha animation, but here is what the 4th of July is all about. Fireworks and Dancin' DeRusha kicking ninjas in the nuts. Don't come back to work Monday too hungover now, hear?

Just testing some changes I made to our electronic signature system.

Ya shit's wack, ya face ugly, ya ass is stank, ya moms went ta college, ya bread's unbuttahed, ya junk's crusted, ya daddy ranned off, ya sistah's a linebackah, ya dog won't lick ya, ya chowdah's tepid, ya ride's busted like a nut, ya granny fat n' shit, ya titties' round ya knees, ya wallet's empty, ya hedge untrimmed, ya pants hiked up, ya kicks is scuffed, ya teeths be yella, ya stools is loose, ya hose is kinked, and ya mac ain't cheesy.

Don't half-ass it this time! Dig deep, squat down, and power thrust that shit. Legs, back, I don't really care. Just do it! Don't be afraid to sweat through your fancy Italian silk shirt, either. I told you what we'd be doing today, so it's not my fault you decided to delicately flit over here through craggy dale from Swan Lake without making a locker room stop first, pixie stick. But I'd ditch the suspenders. You might get them caught in the equipment and end up showering the forest floor with bouillon-sized chunks of your innards, outards, and in betweenards. And if you think I'm cleaning that shit up, you and your floppy, caped cod better guess again, Spooge McFuck.

Forward: To the best of my knowledge, this is my first crack at posting a short story here -- at least one of this length. Don't let the admittedly saggy middle part of the story get you down. My favorite part is the end. But don't skip ahead and spoil it, or I'll chuck a tin of nutmeg at your 'roo pouch.

-Jeremy

Ricky felt like he was going to vomit. This was the night. He had to do it, or surely he would never work up the nerve again. He knew Joanna was the one, but he was shaking uncontrollably. What if she said no? What if she laughed at him, told him she never really loved him, and walked out the door and out of his life forever? He knew he was ready, but was she? Was he pushing things too fast? No, of course not. He couldn't believe how silly he was being. It was clear that Joanna was just as in love with him. He steadied himself against the bathroom counter, looked at himself in the foggy mirror, and took a deep breath. His confidence was restored, and not a moment too soon. Joanna would be walking in the front door any minute now.

Joanna impatiently checked the clock on her phone as she filled her car with gas. She hissed under her breath, "Damn it. Come on, come on, COME ON!" Her fuel light came on just as she pulled away from the parking ramp at work. "Just insult added to the injury," she thought. Her boss had stopped by her desk right as she was gathering up her things to head home for the day. Why does he insist on waiting until 5 to give her project changes? Today he was in rare form. Forty minutes of ramblings littered with his kid's soccer team rankings, pontifications on the best brisket in Kansas City, and complaints about how Chinese food gives him gas. Why today of all days? Today was her second anniversary with Ricky, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of evening he had cooked up. He may not be Mister Romance, but he always knew how to make things interesting.

Ricky was now officially sweating buckets. It had to be 85 degrees in the kitchen. He had been cooking literally all day. In order to get everything ready, he had taken the day off from work, completely unbeknownst to Joanna. She probably assumed that he had made reservations at some fancy steak house downtown. Or maybe that he'd take her to the little Italian place where they first met like he did last year. He smiled at the thought of how surprised she'd be. "This is going to knock her socks off," he thought.

Joanna raced down the alley, repeatedly tapping at the button on the garage door opener. As soon as she was within range, the huge door rumbled upward with the screeching sound of metal dragging on metal. She pulled in, hit the button again, and sprinted out the side door, through the back yard, and up the steps. A goofy smile crept across her face when she unlocked the door and turned the knob. She sang through the hallway, "Hellll-oh-ohhhhhhhhh!" No answer. "Ricky? Are you home, sweety?"

A faint but familiar voiced called out from upstairs, "I'm up here, Jo! In the bedroom!"

"Oh, wow," Joanna squealed quietly. She laughed and shouted back, "You're just cutting straight to the chase tonight, aren't you! Aren't we going to eat first? It smells amazing in here!"

Ricky wasn't going to give away the surprise. "Just come up and see for yourself!"

It was then that Joanna noticed something all over the hallway carpet. "What the hell?" Running the entire length of the hall was a trail of yellow powder. "Honey, what is this mess all over the floor down here?"

Ricky was clearly getting impatient. "Don't worry about that right now, just come up here!"

She realized he probably had something very special planned and now wasn't the time to fret over a little mess that could be vacuumed up later. But as she entered the dining room, she spied a pair of what appeared to be crumpled foil packets on the table and a yellow, greasy smudge on the wall. "OK, just ignore it for now," she reassured herself. "I can clean this up later." But halfway through the room, the mysterious trail of yellow powder resumed and wound its way into the living room. She followed it to the front hall, up the first flight of stairs, across the landing, and up the second flight. The smell of food kept getting stronger. It was a familiar smell, but she couldn't quite place it. The trail of powder stopped in a large mound just inside the partially cracked bedroom door. She pushed it open and rushed inside.

"Ok, seriously, Ricky, what is with this powd--" She couldn't finish her sentence. Once her eyes adjusted to the light given off by the hundreds of flickering candles, she saw a glistening, bubbling, steaming yellowish sea coating the floor, the dresser, and the night stand. Little wriggling elbow shapes, spirals, and wagon wheels swam in the glistening mess. And there in the middle of the room, on the bed, surrounded by four walls of Plexiglas, was Ricky up to his neck in Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. And he quite clearly was naked under all of that Mac and Cheese, as Joanna could clearly see his erect manhood peeking out from what appeared to be a small pile of Spongebob Squarepants-shaped noodles.

"Care to join me?" purred Ricky.

Joanna screamed, "Jesus Christ, Ricky! What did you do to our bedroom? My God, that's a $200 duvet cover! No, no, no... and the carpet! And... and... YOU FILLED THE CLOSET, TOO? My shoes! What is all this? What were you thinking, Ricky?"

Ricky was clearly crestfallen. His erection subsided and sank slowly into the now-congealing yellow mass. "I did all of this for you, baby! I just wanted to do something special, something spectacular when I asked y--" He cut himself short, realizing the right moment wasn't coming anytime soon.

Joanna softened slightly. "Asked me what, Ricky?"

Ricky sighed heavily and shifted his weight in a futile attempt to rid himself of a stray cluster of spiral noodles that had migrated into his crack. "Asked you to marry me."

He produced a ring caked in viscous cheese.

"Oh, Ricky! Yes. YES! Of course I'll marry you!!" She dove over the Plexiglas wall and landed on top of Ricky with a squishy splat.

Tears welled in Ricky's eyes. "You've made me so happy Joanna." He pulled a cord hanging above the bed, and a tidal wave of ketchup and cut up hot dog bits spilled out of a gigantic plastic tub and covered the both of them. They made love and fell asleep in each others arms.

--

Three weeks had gone by since Ricky's unforgettable proposal, and Joanna was still walking on clouds. After she had cleared up the yeast infection brought on by wallowing around and falling asleep in gallons of imitation cheese and nitrate-filled hot dog bits, she and Ricky set about to pick a date for the wedding. Amidst the flurry of phone calls to friends and family, fantasizing about the perfect wedding gown, and struggling to keep her mind focused at work, she almost didn't notice when she missed her period.

A visit to the doctor had confirmed what she already knew. "I'm going to be a big, fat cow at my wedding!" She sobbed into the collar on Ricky's lavender polo shirt.

"No, no, baby. You'll be beautiful. More beautiful even."

That was of little comfort to Joanna. "I am NOT getting married when I'm 8 months pregnant!"

"Well... uh... we can move the date up."

Joanna was still hysterical. "NO! There isn't enough time to plan as it is. We have to book a church, pick the invitations, the food--"

Ricky saw this quickly spiraling out of control and interrupted, "Of course, of course. Well how about we move the date back? Like 6 months after the baby comes."

She brightened a bit and sniffled, "Well, I guess we could. Yeah... Yeah, we totally could do that!"

"Then it's settled. See? It's nothing to worry about. We wanted a baby. The timing is just a little off is all. Everything will work out fine."

Weeks passed, and Joanna was concerned that she hadn't gained any weight. No morning sickness, no weird cravings, nothing. Maybe that all came later. She was new to the whole being pregnant thing. She scheduled an ultrasound just to be certain everything was OK.

Doctor Nell Clausier's grim look was telling. "I'm afraid I can't find the baby."

"What do you mean, 'Can't find the baby?'"

"Well, it actually appears that you may not have been pregnant in the first place. I'm so sorry. I just wish you would have come in a little earlier, so we could have..." Doctor Clausier trailed off, not wanting to make it seem like she put the blame on Joanna. She corrected herself. "I wish I had asked you to come in earlier so we could have saved you the time and heartache. Again, I am so sorry."

Joanna felt simultaneously empty and relieved. She had quickly warmed to the idea of being a new mommy, but this also meant she and Ricky could move their wedding date up, maybe even to the coming spring.

She held back tears and said in a near-whisper, "No, it's OK. It's no one's fault. It just didn't happen is all. It seems like-- wait, then why haven't I had my period for a couple of months?"

Doctor Clausier was relieved at how well Joanna had taken the news. "That's a good question, and I was just about to address that very subject. To be honest, I don't know for certain right now. But I assure you we will find out exactly what is going on. We just need to do some blood work and other tests. We can do that right now if you like, or we can reschedule."

"No, let's do this today. Right now."

"Ok, then I hope you'll excuse me while I see another patient. Will you be ok waiting here for the nurse to come take a blood sample?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. I'm fine."

"Then I will be on my way. I will be back to check in on you when I am done with my next appointment." She softly patted the back of Joanna's hand and rose to leave the room.

--

Nearly nine months after his elaborate marriage proposal, Ricky was still concerned over Joanna's mental state. Since learning she wasn't actually pregnant, she had become withdrawn, almost sullen. She moped around the house in her robe, frequently called in sick to work, and had all but completely passed off all of the wedding planning duties to him. He was utterly clueless about how to proceed. He felt like he didn't want to mess up her perfect day, even though she clearly had given up on caring about much of anything. The happy, perky girl he once know hadn't been around for a long time.

The ongoing tests to find out why she wasn't menstruating were taking their toll on Joanna, as well. The doctors couldn't find anything in her blood and even went as far as to take tissue samples and a spinal tap. She appeared jaundiced, but they couldn't find anything wrong with her liver, either. Running out of options, the doctors sent her blood and tissue samples to a lab for genetic testing. At long last, a test had returned an abnormal result.

"Your DNA appears to have been significantly damaged." Doctor Clausier saw little sense in softening the bad news. "I think this is likely related to the problems with your menstrual cycle, but we can't be sure how exactly that ties in."

Joanna was confused. "What? That doesn't make any sense! How could that have happened?"

"Well, DNA damage in and of itself isn't unusual. Every day we're exposed to environmental circumstances, as well as natural and man made substances that can alter our DNA in almost imperceptible ways. But damage to the extent that you have is almost certainly caused by long term exposure to radiation or hazardous chemicals."

"I don't know what I could have possibly-- unless... No, it couldn't be. The macaroni and cheese?"

Now Doctor Clausier was perplexed. "I'm sorry, macaroni and cheese?"

Extremely embarrassed, Joanna told the full story of Ricky's macaroni and cheese surprise. How they made passionate love for hours in cooling Kraft Dinner and slept in it afterward.

Trying not to show her disgust, the doctor maintained her professional composure as much as she could. "Sweet Jesus, that has to be it. Massive and prolonged exposure to high quantities of rich, creamy sodium tripolyphosphate, succulent nitrates, restorative lycopene, and deliciously zesty enzymes mixed with your fiancee's semen. I'm certain of it."

Joanna was almost elated to understand something, anything about her condition. "Yes, that HAS to be it! It seemed like the enzymes did taste particularly zesty that night, but I thought that was probably just Ricky. Is there anything we can do to reverse this?"

"There is only one way. We get you into a bath of liquefied Turkey Spam immediately. Come, there is little time to waste!" Doctor Clausier jerked Joanna to her feet by the hand, and lead her down the clinic corridor in a full sprint. "Nurse, we have a Code K here. Fill the chamber in Room 5. Quickly now!"

They burst through what seemed like an endless series of double doors, pushing aside surprised patients and orderlies, and finally arrived at Room 5. The 10-foot tall door was made of 2-foot thick steel lined with row after row of thick, steel locking bolts. It closed behind them with a bone-jarring clang, followed by the rumble of the bolts locking into place one by one.

Doctor Clausier, motioned toward a smaller door at the back of the room. A nozzle spraying a shower of what appeared to be pinkish gelatin was visible through the large observation window next to the door. "You have to go in alone, but I will be right here the entire time. Disrobe entirely behind the curtain over there, then put on these goggles and insert these plugs in your ears. Once inside, you'll see an oxygen mask attached to a hose leading to the wall. Put the mask on, and make sure it covers your mouth and nose with a tight seal around the edges. And don't forget to tighten the strap as tight as you possibly can around your head. We don't want you aspirating Turkey Spam."

Without a word, Joanna quickly followed the doctor's orders and entered the chamber. Once the oxygen mask was secured to her face, she gave the doctor the thumbs up and a muffled, "Ok." The mottled pink gelatin was now up to her knees. She was getting nervous. Up to the waist. Her heart pounded in her chest. Up to her chin. "Oh, God. Here we go." She was now completely submerged in a greasy whirlpool of slippery, gelatinous poultry. The goggles did little to keep it out of her eyes, as the motion of the Spam kept pulling them away from her face. Thankfully the breathing mask seemed to be holding tightly.

An eternity passed. Joanna wanted to ask how much longer she had to remain in this quivering entity, but she had no way of speaking to the doctor.

Just then, a muffled speaker crackled and cut out intermittently, "Jo...na. Hang in... Some... not working... trying to figure...out."

That didn't sound good at all. Was it simply not working? Did something go wrong? If it wasn't working, why was she still in here?

Doctor Clausier spoke quietly with a nurse. "I can't believe I forgot to add the key ingredient. This is a nightmare. We need to get her fiancee here immediately. If we don't hurry, she will die of lip and asshole poisoning. Here, he is listed as her emergency contact. Go now!"

Joanna struggled to stay conscious. She felt week, nauseous, and struggled to breathe. Obviously something had gone horribly wrong, and they were afraid to tell her what was going on. She moved to the window and pressed her eyelids against the pane. She opened one eye ever so slightly and could make out the faint form of Dr Clausier speaking with a tall, lean man. It was Ricky! "Ricky, I'm in here!" It was of no use. Her eyes stung horribly, and she was only able to hold them open long enough to see Ricky remove his pants and walk toward the chamber. What was going on out there? Was he coming to rescue her?

Within a couple of minutes, the eddies of pink gelatin seemed to go cloudy. It also felt vastly different. Instead of feeling cool and slimy, it was now giving Joanna an oddly warm tingling sensation. Her breathing was far less labored now. Her nausea then subsided. She felt renewed, full of energy, full of the essence of life itself. A gurgling sound filled the room. She could feel cool air on the crown of her head. The gelatin was draining! Save a greasy, pink slick on the floor, the gelatin was completely gone less than a minute later. The door flew open, and in flew a pantsless Ricky.

Ricky embraced her tightly. "Joanna! I thought I'd lost you, baby. How do you feel?"

She quickly assessed herself. "I feel... better. But something still doesn't feel quite right. I feel like-- not to be gross, but I feel like, well, like I haven't..." Her face reddened, and she lowered her voice. "Like I haven't gone to the bathroom for a week. And--"

Before she could continue, she felt a rumbling in her core. "Ohhh... ooooohhph," she moaned. Without further warning, she felt something thick and warm gushing out of her vagina.

"Oh shit god damn!" Ricky yelped and jumped up onto an exam table to escape the splattering river of bloody, greenish macaroni noodles issuing forth from his beloved's nether regions.

"Ohhhh, I don't feel so good." Joanna went ashen, fell to her knees, and vomited thick, yellowish clumps the size of a muffin.

"It's alright, Joanna," said Doctor Clausier. "It's just the Turkey Spam working to expunge the fromagatoxins and foreign pastas from your system. Don't fight it, just let it happen."

Joanna wasn't about to fight it. In fact, she was going to help it. She pushed. Hard. Like she was giving birth to a small block engine. More rotten macaroni exploded from between her legs.

Ricky surveyed the room from his perch, trying to make sense of it all and trying not to vomit from the overpowering stench. He could see every shape of pasta imaginable covering the floor. A small pile in the corner caught his eye. "I don't remember there being any rigatoni that night." The pile moved, unnaturally so. He was about to point it out to everyone in the room when Joanna cried out in pain.

"Rickeeeeeeeeeeee... oohhhh no!" As she hunched down on all fours, a high pressure spray of partially congealed menstrual blood hosed down the observation window behind her. "Unghhhhhhhhhh! Oh, GOD!" Joanna howled like a dying wolf, vomited once more, rolled over on her side, and passed out cold.

As Ricky and the doctor bent down to check Joanna, a small figure rose from the rigatoni, levitated in midair, and moved toward them. It had a vaguely human form. Yellow droplets fell from its mouth to the cold tile several feet below its neatly crossed legs. Ricky was repulsed by this hideous creature but felt strangely calmed by its presence. Every fiber of his being told him this was a creature of benevolence, of love, a vessel of the risen Christ. The tiny being turned its entire body toward an EKG meter, which flicked to life with a bright green flash. A message appeared on screen, as though it were being typed out letter by letter.

"ALL THESE WORLDS
ARE YOURS EXCEPT
EUROPA
ATTEMPT NO
LANDING THERE
USE THEM TOGETHER
USE THEM IN PEACE"

Doctor Clausier furrowed her brow and cautiously addressed the small, floating fetus creature. "I'm sorry. But I do not understand. What worlds? Which worlds are ours?"

The screen went black and displayed a new message.

"ALL EXCEPT
EUROPA
ATTEMPT NO
LANDING THERE"

Ricky shook his head. "OK, you really have the both of us confused here. Why would we try to land on Europa? We couldn't land there even if we wanted to. We can't even get to Mars yet, much less Jupiter."

The screen went black again.

"WHAT YEAR IS IT?
WHERE ARE WE?"

"It's 2008. We're in a medical clinic about an hour south of Denver," explained Ricky.

The screen went black and stayed that way for several moments before flashing again.

"OH SHIT DAWG
I WAS SUPPOSED
TO WAIT A
COUPLE MORE
YEARS
IS THAT LINDSAY
LOHAN ON THE
FLOOR?"

Ricky stammered for a moment. "No... no... wait, what? No, that's my fiancee Joanna. She was here getting medical treatment."

"DOUBLE SHIT
HEY MY BAD
TELL YOU WHAT
USE EUROPA
ALL YOU WANT
WE PRETTY MUCH
JUST WINTER THERE"

Ricky shrugged. "OK. Thanks, I guess."

"NO BIG
PEACE OUT
FOXY
FLESH
BITCHES
KEEP YOUR
SHIT TIGHT
AND SHIT"

With that, the tiny cheese baby jetted out of the room and out of view, leaving behind a dusty cloud of yellow powder issued from its rectum.

Joanna stirred on the floor and moaned. Ricky rushed to her aid. "Joanna! Are you alright?"

"What happened? Where am I?"

"You're still in the clinic, baby. Everything's gonna be alright. You just had some vaginal backup and a small mac and cheese alien baby thing up your cooch, too."

Joanna groggily shook her head. "OK, Ricky. Whatever. I just want to go home and go to bed."

Doctor Clausier snapped, "Oh no, you don't. We need to get you cleaned off, run a few more tests, and keep you overnight for observation before you go anywhere."

"No, please," said Joanna. "I really want to go home to my own bed."

The doctor sighed. "I suppose, but I want you here for an examination first thing in the morning."

--

The wedding was more beautiful and romantic than Joanna ever could have dreamed possible. The reception had been filled with champagne, dancing, and laughter, but now it was time to head upstairs to the honeymoon suite. She and Ricky, both a little tipsy, stumbled out of the elevator and plodded down to the door at the end of the hallway.

Ricky grinned widely. "Shall we do this the old fashioned way?"

"You mean missionary?"

"No! I mean I'm going to carry you into the room. I know it's not the threshold of our house, but--"

He didn't have to explain. With a shriek of laughter, Joanna jumped into Ricky's arms. After he fumbled with the key card for awhile, he threw the door open and tossed her onto the bed. Memories of the fateful macaroni and cheese wedding proposal and the ensuing nightmare came flooding back for Joanna.

"Ricky?"

"Yeah, hun?"

She scrunched her nose slightly. "I keep forgetting to ask you something about that day at the clinic."

"When you were cured?"

"Yeah. I never asked you why you had your pants off when I came out of the Spam chamber."

Ricky seemed genuinely surprised at this question. "You mean the doctor never told you?"

"No. No, she never said much of anything about what happened in that room."

"Well, it turns out that the doctor initially neglected a key factor in your treatment. It was the combination of imitation cheese, ketchup, and hot dog bits mixed with my semen that altered your DNA. When the Spam wasn't reversing the effect, she realized my man juices were the missing ingredient. Once I wacked off into the Spam intake chute, it was like a magical cure. Apparently my semen has very special healing properties. But it has to be fresh. Straight from the source."

This made complete sense to Joanna. "Of course! Well, thank you for saving my life, my love. Now let's get down to business here! And we better make it quick because I'm starting to get a headache from all of that champagne."

Ricky smirked. "Well, baby," he said smugly, "I think I've got just the cure for that headache. Now lean back, open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and close your eyes."

I was inspired by seeing The Incredible Hulk yesterday. Click for biggie.

Join the Pull Over revolution. Record a video of yourself looking directly into the camera and saying "Pull over. I've gotta take a SHIT!" with violent, angry emphasis on the word "SHIT" just like in this example, starring Max "Bunny" Sparber. Send your video to my email address (see the "Contact Us" section on the right side of this page). When I get enough of them, I'll do a special, super annoying post that includes them all.

Oh, and ideally you should have this video playing in the background so you can match the rhythm precisely (if not, no big deal but c'mon).

.

I'm writing shit. This is not the shit I'm writing. I'll post the shit when I'm done with the shit. SHIT!!!

Hey, god dammit! (where god dammit = my brother Troy) Next time you're going to be on television, give a motherfucker some warning will you? Out of sheer coincidence, I went through my Tivo Wish List menu, which keeps an eye out for shows with "Minneapolis" as a keyword, and saw a show called "My First Home" on TLC where a couple was arguing about whether to live in the city or in the 'burbs. That sounded somewhat interesting, so I added it to my record list. I watched it tonight, and first recognized the real estate dude as my sister-in-law Danielle's former boss. "Well isn't that something," I thought. Then halfway through the episode, there are Troy and Danielle front and center, convincing the couple to move to Savage. Well for the fuck sake! I thought I had recognized the couple, but couldn't place them. Troy and Danielle returned at the end of the episode sharing champagne with the couple as they celebrated getting the home.

I'm thinking this had to be shot last summer, as T & D moved to Philadelphia back in January. I didn't hear about it then either.

You guys are fuckers.

UPDATE: So apparently this episode first aired IN FEBRUARY!!!!!

Fuck you guys. Seriously.

Love,

Jeremy

God dammit! I think I just got stung by a wasp or some shit. Oooohh. Owie, owie, owie. Look at it. It's all swollen and purple. It's also throbbing and sensitive. And it appears to be leaking pus. No, wait. I just have an erection. False alarm everyone. I just wish I hadn't doused it in iodine.

Is it a baby pooping a cat pooping a baby pooping a cat pooping a baby etc, or is it a cat pooping a baby pooping a cat pooping a baby pooping a cat etc? Where does it begin? Where does it end? What if God pooped out mankind, and mankind pooped out God? We are each other's poop, therefore we need each other to exist. Hug your fellow man, and you are hugging your own turd. Hug your own turd, and you are hugging your fellow man. This may seem like a logical nightmare, but all you need to remember is that neither the baby nor the cat exist. And neither do you.

"Peek-a-boo"


"Is this fucking kid shitting a KITTEN?!?"


"MMMMMRrrroooowwwrrrrrrr! He bit me on the way out!"


In the beginning, a cat shat forth a baby who shat forth a kitten who shat forth a rainbow. On the second day cat-shitting-baby-shitting-kitten-shitting-rainbow rested.

Those wacky WCCO personalities are at it again. First, meteorologist Mike Fairbourne dared to ask hard questions about the true impact of humans on global warming, now Jason DeRusha insists that humans evolved from apes. Apes, DeRusha? You silly, television word saying guy! I'd splash you with holy water, but I fear it would leave a burn scar on your forehead. You wouldn't be so teevee purty no more, college boy.

This week I won't be answering a question because none of you fuckers ever send me your fucking questions to fucking@afterglide.com!!! Instead, I'd like to address a topic of concern to me because it happened to me recently. I'm talking about breaking the bed while fucking. Now if you're thinking, "Oh, Jeremy, you're just writing this blog post with no other purpose than to brag about the fact that you broke the bed while fucking," I say, you are correct. This is proof positive that my cock wields the power of a thousand suns. And I wield my cock recklessly. One time I burned a chick's ovaries out then blasted her through the hot water heater when I came. Another time I used it to melt through a blast door when members of the Trade Federation tried to kill Obi-Wan Kenobi and me on their command vessel. I also use it to kill crickets.

Anyway, start sending me questions, or all of my future posts will be about stuff that I burn with my dick. Not including all the chicks I gave the weeping snatch pustules in the 90s.

This was too good, in my humble opinion, to limit to this MNspeak thread.

DeRusha, consider yourself manbabied.




Original photo here.

Meet the babies.

Baby orgy!


Uh oh, looks like we've got a breakout couple from the main group.


Lick that ass.


That is so hot. Ride that tight ass!


Caught peepin'.


Man, these babies get freaky. Nothing like a mouth full of balls.

An actual reader sent in our first actual question! At least I think it's a question.

What the fuck, fucker? Who the fuck do you think you're fucking with? I will fucking fuck you up. Don't fucking let me see your fucking face again, fuckstick, or I will stick my fucking boot so far up your fucking ass that you'll fucking be shitting fucking shoe leather.

-Max via IM

Max, your question was quite obviously formed with great care and concern, so I went to equally great effortook great care to formulate a response commensurate with your thoughtfulness. I will tell you exactly what the fuck. The fuck is that the whole system is fundamentally flawed. The working man is increasingly struggling to make ends meet. Food prices are going up, fuel prices are going up, and people are losing their homes due to unscrupulous lending practices. That is the motherfucking fuck if there ever was a fuck to be fucked.

As for who I think I'm fucking with, I can tell you precisely. I've been fucking with my girlfriend quite a bit lately. I enjoy it very much, though it sometimes doesn't happen as frequently as I'd like. Sometimes life gets busy, you get home drunk, you have to work early the next day, or you just fall asleep on the couch. Other times, she's working out a bowl of crimson egg drop soup, and it just isn't going to happen. Other than that, a couple prostitute hookers, most of them women, come into the mix. One is a tranny with a "7.5 to 8.2-inch surprise." Well now that you've told me about it, it really isn't a surprise anymore, is it? And why give me a range? You don't know how long your "surprise" is? I don't believe that for a second. You measure it every chance you get, don't you. If you're giving me a range, I'm going to assume it's about 85% of the length of the lower value in the range. So let's just be honest and call it a 6.375-inch surprise. Or a 6.375-inch special guest. Yes, let's call it a special guest.

I would, however, appreciate it very much if we could avoid this culminating into you fucking me up in some manner. Whether it be fucking me up in terms of physically assaulting me or fucking me up one of my bodily orifices, let's just lay down our arms (or in this case, our special guests), and be friends. Non-fucking, non-fighting friends. Bosom buddies, really. And of course that means that we would be friends in Christ.

Now my fucking face -- when have you seen my face fucking? Oh, don't get me wrong. I like to get all down in there and rock a quality waggle from time to time, but I don't know that I would call that fucking. I think we should call it a tender lovemaking face. Or if we want to be technical, an awkward yodeling face. Either way, I can pretty much guarantee you'll never seem my face while it's fucking, making love, or yodeling, but I can't guarantee you won't see it enjoying other activities like conveying incredulity, grinding pulled pork, or appreciating an oak-laden fart.

And let us not forget your final point, the insertion of your fucking boot into my fucking ass. If this fucking boot is a boot you frequently use for said fucking, then I assume that it is pretty crusty with a lot of people's leavings at this point. Or do you sit down for a shoe shine at the airport from time to time? And I can see how you could fuck an ass with a fucking boot, but I must admit that I can't conceive of how a fucking ass would work. I can picture fucking an ass, but I can't picture fucking with an ass. Is this like fucking a big old sasquatch chick in her cavernous lady cave with it, or are you stretching out a normal-sized woman such that she looks like an oversized pencil topper? Fitting the whole ass in there would be an amazing feat, and I think you could get a lot of people to pay to see that on the internet. But not me. I'd prefer to draw it or express it in song, preferably something to the tune of Barry Manilow's "Mandy" or something from the Starship Troopers soundtrack. Remember that scene in that movie that had the big bugs? That was fucking awesome, dude!

Send your fucking questions about fucking to fucking@afterglide.com.

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