Bouncing Baby Boobies... Wait...
There comes a time in life where everyone should be collectively offended. When everyone should feel insulted or at least a tad depressed at the fact that someone has just made fun of his or her personal intuition and general intelligence, et all. Am I a whiner, a protestor or a complainer? God no. Anyone who keeps up with this LJ knows good and well that I don't bother getting angry at crap, I just criticise it into the ground until it's no longer humorous and I can't get a laugh out of anyone with it. Things of this nature, the nature that I'll discuss in just a moment, just don't urk me as much as they would some one else. Though honestly I do think people are being made fun of and they don't know it. How so?
It's been in circulation long enough, you've all heard about it: Dead or Alive: Extreme Beach Volleyball.
Oh, come the fuck on! Who didn't see that for what it was? Tecmo lost its ass in a videogame production not to long ago, likely, and they're trying to get it back by selling unabashed fan-service. What next? 'DOA: Extreme Speedo Body Building'?
'Don't miss the hard bodied men of DOA strutting their stuff and oversized, Gaussian Blurred testicular fortification strutting around like there's no tomorrow! Watch and be amazed as Jann Lee's Speedo, using the cheat codes (provided with every manual), pops off and springs across the screen singing 'Ragtime Gal'. Gawk with disbelief as Leon flexes those amazing pectorals and lathers up with oil! Oh, but ladies, THAT'S NOT ALL! You too could be the proud owner of a-OH JESUS, who let that thing in here!?'
It's Gen Fu doing the Macarena naked on a card table, ending each crescendo with a pelvic thrust! I didn't know you could fit that many liver spots on one shrivelled carcas! Oh the humanity!
You know it's over for Tecmo, or anyone for that matter, when it comes down to selling T&A in a videogame as a means of income. And I can just smell the flames headed my way already. Yes, I know, thousands of gawking geeks with their cocks out and Vaseline by their headboard are setting down their Xbox controllers as we speak and sliming up their 'f,' 'u,' 'c,' and 'k' keys just to tell me in a mismatched, misspelled jumble of expletives just how angry they are at me for dissing such a 'quality game'. Again I say to those bastards who, after typing such a ridiculous letter, are steam cleaning their keyboards and picking jizzum out from under their fingernails from a morning of unrelenting, cock bruising, skin rupturing, hand aching, arthritis causing, joint popping, over excessive, zealous and inhuman mistreatment of their private regions: 'Oh, come the fuck on'.
Perhaps I shouldn't be saying that at all, it might inspire more Extreme Volleyball playing. You'd be surprised how ambidextrous this game is going to make a lot of lonely white guys. They'll be able to do lots of things with both hands one at a time. First it'll be writing, then folding paper, then complicated origami, playing a piano, scrambling eggs, cooking pancakes, jumping jacks, cartwheels, fixing car engines, changing tires, hell, sand blasting boat decks! For all we know, this could be the onset of something new, important and life changing for all mankind. This could be the beginning of a whole new revolution in getting kids outside and doing things, it could start a new initiative act in the heart of America that could spawn to other, lazier nations!
No, I'm just kidding. It's only gonna cause more self-gyration. If anything, they'll have to build a Land Fill just for the cum-soaked handkerchiefs, napkins and hand towels. Wonder if they're gonna call those, 'The Mystical Land of Penis Juice'. Probably not- after all, that'd be too entertaining. We don't get entertainment these days, just an increased notion to diddle with our selves while watching The Price Is Right. This kind of thing really surprises me on many levels, but at the same time, I'm really rather cool with it. Even though I'm sitting here running it into the ground with critical remarks, I still find myself laughing childishly at it like Homer Simpson at the mention of the word 'Titmouse'.
What's with masturbation though? Not to say that I'm capable of casting the first stone, cus trust me. I'm not. If I had a deal with God in which every time I jacked off, a fag, a fat person, a depressed young child under the age of seventeen, a druggie, an enthusiastic and naive white child, and an idiot would drop dead, there'd only be about three people left to read my LJ and four people left to run the country. Okay, I admit, that was cold blooded. But trust me, I apologize in advance; at the time the comment seemed funny- you know I love you guys. Anyway, I digress. My point with masturbation is, we guys know what we're doing. We know we're fooling our penis into believing we've got the best piece of ass since a donkey fell out of a horse's cunt. We know it's just our fingers, we know that no amount of lotion is ever going to make that right (or in my case, left) hand become the hot, wet and inviting vaginal crevice of that Playboy Centrefold chick we fantasized about a mere five minutes ago. We know that it's just 'Me, Myself and I' but for some strange reason we keep doing it. You'd think that knowing it was our hand would suddenly make masturbation impossible.
It's your hand for Christ's sake. It wasn't that sexy ten minutes ago when it was holding a can of Pepsi.
What is this strange phenomenon that suddenly turns your hand into the hottest woman you've ever seen. And with respect to the gay and lesbian crowd, as well as the 'strange other' crowd, a hot guy/girl/it/sheep/goat/tree/tomato whathaveyou. I suppose it's one of those things we'll never know about until we all die, get to heaven and find God and his host of angels laughing their heads off as they continue to etch contract-like clauses into the last pages of 'The Book Of Sinful Lust'.
I think I'm going to turn my sexual energy into misbehaving. Nobody does that anymore. For example: You've never seen somebody running down the street as fast as they can butt naked, smacking people's asses and licking women's breasts singing that song from the Mr. Clean commercials with the tattoo of a masturbating monkey on their left ass-cheek.
That's the kind of stuff I'm talking about. Wouldn't it be great to simply not need sex or masturbation and live every day in a sexual fervor, giving people handshakes and just bursting on the scene, nervously spraying everyone nearby in coagulated love juice while you scream a heavenly chorus in thanks to the lord for giving you the ability to get off on any and everything? Think about it. Man has the ability to get off on anything. We've got Zoophiles, Fecalphiles and Food Junkies who get off on fucking an animal, bathing in it's shit then killing it, frying it and fucking it again. In that order!
Who's to say we can't just get off on Videogame babes or shaking hands with the boss (no, that wasn't a masturbatory remark. It could be though. It very well could be.) or bumping into walls. I myself wouldn't mind being able to get off for simple things. Like smiling, talking, sneezing...
I tell you what, I'd carry a small tank of Laughing Gas, a bottle of speed and a pepper shaker wherever I went, that's for sure.
Anyway, I'm getting' the hell out of here before somebody calls the INS on me while I'm wearing this Rastafarian cap.
Hybrid: Out.
It's been in circulation long enough, you've all heard about it: Dead or Alive: Extreme Beach Volleyball.
Oh, come the fuck on! Who didn't see that for what it was? Tecmo lost its ass in a videogame production not to long ago, likely, and they're trying to get it back by selling unabashed fan-service. What next? 'DOA: Extreme Speedo Body Building'?
'Don't miss the hard bodied men of DOA strutting their stuff and oversized, Gaussian Blurred testicular fortification strutting around like there's no tomorrow! Watch and be amazed as Jann Lee's Speedo, using the cheat codes (provided with every manual), pops off and springs across the screen singing 'Ragtime Gal'. Gawk with disbelief as Leon flexes those amazing pectorals and lathers up with oil! Oh, but ladies, THAT'S NOT ALL! You too could be the proud owner of a-OH JESUS, who let that thing in here!?'
It's Gen Fu doing the Macarena naked on a card table, ending each crescendo with a pelvic thrust! I didn't know you could fit that many liver spots on one shrivelled carcas! Oh the humanity!
You know it's over for Tecmo, or anyone for that matter, when it comes down to selling T&A in a videogame as a means of income. And I can just smell the flames headed my way already. Yes, I know, thousands of gawking geeks with their cocks out and Vaseline by their headboard are setting down their Xbox controllers as we speak and sliming up their 'f,' 'u,' 'c,' and 'k' keys just to tell me in a mismatched, misspelled jumble of expletives just how angry they are at me for dissing such a 'quality game'. Again I say to those bastards who, after typing such a ridiculous letter, are steam cleaning their keyboards and picking jizzum out from under their fingernails from a morning of unrelenting, cock bruising, skin rupturing, hand aching, arthritis causing, joint popping, over excessive, zealous and inhuman mistreatment of their private regions: 'Oh, come the fuck on'.
Perhaps I shouldn't be saying that at all, it might inspire more Extreme Volleyball playing. You'd be surprised how ambidextrous this game is going to make a lot of lonely white guys. They'll be able to do lots of things with both hands one at a time. First it'll be writing, then folding paper, then complicated origami, playing a piano, scrambling eggs, cooking pancakes, jumping jacks, cartwheels, fixing car engines, changing tires, hell, sand blasting boat decks! For all we know, this could be the onset of something new, important and life changing for all mankind. This could be the beginning of a whole new revolution in getting kids outside and doing things, it could start a new initiative act in the heart of America that could spawn to other, lazier nations!
No, I'm just kidding. It's only gonna cause more self-gyration. If anything, they'll have to build a Land Fill just for the cum-soaked handkerchiefs, napkins and hand towels. Wonder if they're gonna call those, 'The Mystical Land of Penis Juice'. Probably not- after all, that'd be too entertaining. We don't get entertainment these days, just an increased notion to diddle with our selves while watching The Price Is Right. This kind of thing really surprises me on many levels, but at the same time, I'm really rather cool with it. Even though I'm sitting here running it into the ground with critical remarks, I still find myself laughing childishly at it like Homer Simpson at the mention of the word 'Titmouse'.
What's with masturbation though? Not to say that I'm capable of casting the first stone, cus trust me. I'm not. If I had a deal with God in which every time I jacked off, a fag, a fat person, a depressed young child under the age of seventeen, a druggie, an enthusiastic and naive white child, and an idiot would drop dead, there'd only be about three people left to read my LJ and four people left to run the country. Okay, I admit, that was cold blooded. But trust me, I apologize in advance; at the time the comment seemed funny- you know I love you guys. Anyway, I digress. My point with masturbation is, we guys know what we're doing. We know we're fooling our penis into believing we've got the best piece of ass since a donkey fell out of a horse's cunt. We know it's just our fingers, we know that no amount of lotion is ever going to make that right (or in my case, left) hand become the hot, wet and inviting vaginal crevice of that Playboy Centrefold chick we fantasized about a mere five minutes ago. We know that it's just 'Me, Myself and I' but for some strange reason we keep doing it. You'd think that knowing it was our hand would suddenly make masturbation impossible.
It's your hand for Christ's sake. It wasn't that sexy ten minutes ago when it was holding a can of Pepsi.
What is this strange phenomenon that suddenly turns your hand into the hottest woman you've ever seen. And with respect to the gay and lesbian crowd, as well as the 'strange other' crowd, a hot guy/girl/it/sheep/goat/tree/tomato whathaveyou. I suppose it's one of those things we'll never know about until we all die, get to heaven and find God and his host of angels laughing their heads off as they continue to etch contract-like clauses into the last pages of 'The Book Of Sinful Lust'.
I think I'm going to turn my sexual energy into misbehaving. Nobody does that anymore. For example: You've never seen somebody running down the street as fast as they can butt naked, smacking people's asses and licking women's breasts singing that song from the Mr. Clean commercials with the tattoo of a masturbating monkey on their left ass-cheek.
That's the kind of stuff I'm talking about. Wouldn't it be great to simply not need sex or masturbation and live every day in a sexual fervor, giving people handshakes and just bursting on the scene, nervously spraying everyone nearby in coagulated love juice while you scream a heavenly chorus in thanks to the lord for giving you the ability to get off on any and everything? Think about it. Man has the ability to get off on anything. We've got Zoophiles, Fecalphiles and Food Junkies who get off on fucking an animal, bathing in it's shit then killing it, frying it and fucking it again. In that order!
Who's to say we can't just get off on Videogame babes or shaking hands with the boss (no, that wasn't a masturbatory remark. It could be though. It very well could be.) or bumping into walls. I myself wouldn't mind being able to get off for simple things. Like smiling, talking, sneezing...
I tell you what, I'd carry a small tank of Laughing Gas, a bottle of speed and a pepper shaker wherever I went, that's for sure.
Anyway, I'm getting' the hell out of here before somebody calls the INS on me while I'm wearing this Rastafarian cap.
Hybrid: Out.