Ever get annoyed? Ever feel like someone needs to be told where the dog died? Or handed a crowbar and a tub of Elbow Grease to help them pry their head out of their arse? Congratulations--you've come to the right place.

And when I'm not commenting on the latest thing to piss me off, I'm trying to figure out my own twisted life. Because, hey, I'm like that.

On a gentler note: for anyone dealing with depression, anxiety, and other assorted bullshit: You are NOT alone.

And if you're looking for a laugh, search on the key word "fuckery." It's just my little thing (as the bishop said to the actress).

Friday, November 19, 2010

Rented Love

OK, I have question: why is it OK for men to go to a prostitute or a whorehouse, but it’s not OK for women to pay for it?

I’m serious here.

Did anyone ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, we’d like a little action without all the fucking baggage—without having to deal with you complaining or snoring or farting or scratching your balls first thing in the morning. Ever think about that?

Jesus H. Christ, it GRIPES me! All this bullshit about sex toys, etc.—did you ever stop to think it’s because you don’t have to praise a dildo? You don’t have to tell a vibrator that it’s OK when the batteries run out a little too soon, you don’t have to soothe a dildo's ego if it doesn’t fit just right—you can just throw the fucking thing out and buy another. AND they come in multiple sizes so you've got options, depending on your mood.

Sometimes, however, it's nice to have a little human interaction that also doesn't require soothing an ego or putting your own needs aside, and then... then, I see the point of rented love.

So I’m all for legalizing prostitution—just make sure it goes BOTH ways, dammit.
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