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I Wrote What YOU Told Me – Part IV

D.J. Paris

If you don’t know what this is, then  read the part I post  which will explain.

Then read  part II  and  part III.

Tonight are the recommendations from Facebookers.  Since I’m not sure if they want their names out there, I’m simply using  initials.

Ahem…

I should mention that this suggestion was written by a woman. I’d like to address women for a moment. The whole “size of chest” thing is a huge myth that we men have perpetuated on you. Nobody cares. I mean, sure, I guess a few guys do, but nobody I know. I’ve run the  gamut  from A to DD and even a woman who had a reduction. None of it really mattered to me. If anything, focus on the fanny. Firm fanny trumps big jacks.  Speaking of which, I have never pinched a fanny. I feel like that’s a dirty old man move, but I’m not sure why a pinch is more exciting than a slap. Pinch will grab fat. I’m going to stay with the slap.

I had to look this one up, as I wasn’t sure what this was. Yes, I have eaten them once or twice. Whenever I see cocktail weenies plain or wrapped in pastry, I keep walking. They’re always at someone’s house party, and if you keep walking down the buffet line you’ll bump into something better. I look first for the shrimp tray. I always do the math on how many shrimp I can put on my plate without looking like an asshole. If you stuff a few of the tail-shells in your front pocket you can go back for seconds. I have done this. Let’s face it – cocktail weenies suck no matter if naked or baked in flour. Grow up and spend a few bucks for your party. These are your friends, for chrissakes. Shrimp it up!

Sadly, I once came up with a  cartoon concept about dingleberries.  While I can’t speak about this phenomena personally, I will tell you a plan my buddy Dave had a few years back. He sent me this story of a guy who started Nair’ing his butthole. Swear to God. His whole idea was that it would make his clean up session basically spot-free. I’m trying to keep the language here civil, by the way. He documented the whole ordeal and said every guy should do it. Dave suggested we both take part and report our findings. I told him under no circumstance would I participate. Dave went for it. I called him a few days later. He said it would never be done again as he had burned his rectum up pretty good. By the way, Dave’s basically a genius who triple majored in Finance, Econ, and Accounting in four years of college. And yet, he got into his shower stall last year, bent over, and Nair’ed his brown eye.

My friend MHM has a huge lady-boner for Ryan Gossling. MHM lives in SLC, but is not Mormon. She was dragged however to a Mormon convention two years back by her friend Jebediah (Mormons have biblical names, right?).   Outside the convention hall there was a merch booth set up with Mormon swag. She was thumbing through the magic underwear when she felt another hand accidentally brush hers. She looked up into the eyes of Canadian actor and star of  The Notebook, Ryan Gossling. He was there researching a role for an upcoming movie,  More-Men, a zany comedy about the first gay sect of Mormons and their hijinx. Ryan asked if she believe that Mormons inherit their own planet when you die (like it says in the scripture). MHM, mistaking him for a real Mormon said, “But of course.” Ryan called her a “Mormon” and walked away.
Caution – do not use near the bung. (it’s on the label)

photo credit:  nedrichards  via  photo pin  cc

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