Posts tagged “butt

Miley Cyrus’s Tongue Is All Up in Yo Bidness

“Not Without My Tongue: A Drama of Loss and Reprisal”

I kid, it’s just Miley’s tongue hangin’ loose.

By now you have surely seen Miley Cyrus’s disgusting VMA performance. If not, watch it. Everyone else had to be scarred for life so WHAT MAKES YOU SO SPECIAL THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE, HUH?

Ahem. This is a compilation of Miley’s tongue hanging out (along with pretty much everything else), slobbering on the audience and trying to steal the show from that candy-throwing chick with the huge butt Miley for some reason had on stage with her.

I won’t even get into how sad her performance was. Honestly though, she might have sold it if HER TONGUE HADN’T CONSTANTLY BEEN OUT. Sticking out your tongue once, twice, even thrice is a gesture of rebellion and angst; sticking it out 100 times is just weird and makes it seem like you’re trying really hard to be young and edgy. We all know she would have had that thing out for every waking moment of the performance had she not had to sing.

Also, I must get this out once. Wearing a nude latex bikini that is 4 sizes too small is NOT HOT. Ok?! Not. Hot. That thing was so far up her ass crack I’m surprised her legs didn’t fall off.

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Apparently “Haute Couture” Means “Masturbating With a Bucket of KFC”

In the middle of a Books-A-Million, I crouched down and started snapping photos of an allegedly straight man’s magazine I found. Forgive me, I don’t remember what the man-azine was called, but you wouldn’t either if you saw this:

Here we have a nice young man who appears to be modeling underwear while working out and simultaneously stuffing Pizza Hut condiment packets into his Hugo Boss briefs. Seems sensible enough.

I feel like there’s some sort of innuendo here, but I just can’t quite put my chopstick on it…

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Therapy

This is a short story I wrote for my creative writing class a couple semesters ago, but I never handed it in because I’m pretty sure my professor was gay.

“Good morning, Mr. Carole. Tell me your most disturbing experience,” Dr. Holland said while crossing his legs. He pulled out a notepad and pen from a nearby drawer and began recording the session.

Mr. Carole was slightly unnerved by his new doctor’s unorthodox greeting. “What?”

“Mr. Carole,” the psychotherapist stated matter-of-factly, “in order for me to understand the cause of your insomnia, I need you to recall a significantly disturbing memory.”

“Um, okay…” mumbled Mr. Carole as he slumped onto the chaise longue. He was uncertain about his most disturbing memory, for he led a normal, trauma-free life. “I guess my most disturbing experience was… the day my father died.”

“No, no, we’re not going to discuss that,” Dr. Holland said. “I never like to speak of death. It’s a bad omen.” He retrieved a small gong from the drawer and hit it with his pen. “Ohmmm.”

Mr. Carole was bemused, but open to discussing something else. “Alright…”

“Mr. Carole, visualize a disturbing memory and describe it to me with as much detail as you can,” Dr. Holland instructed.

“In high school, I asked four girls to the senior prom, and all four said ‘no’.”

“No, something else.”

“Ok, the only thing more disturbing than that was about 20 years ago, the day I found out my father used to be an underwear model for Calvin Klein. My sister and I were cleaning out the attic as part of our punishment for forgetting to clean out the attic, and we found an old cardboard box filled with photos and magazine clippings of some guy’s butt. We assumed it was our mom’s because underneath all the photos, we found several historical romance novels. My sister made gagging noises because they all had Fabio on the cover and she didn’t like men with long hair. I followed my sister down to the kitchen where my parents were making dinner, spaghetti and meatballs. My sister angrily confronted my mom as to why she was hoarding a box of butts when she was a happily married woman. Mom started giggling and smacked my father’s butt, which caused him to drop his stirring spoon into the spaghetti sauce. Christmas and I were both confused.”

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