Jeremy’s Marvelous Junk

“Dude, how big is your penis?” Dave asked.

Jeremy stared at his friend, choking slightly with the pot-smoke going down his throat. “Dude! You can’t ask that to a bro!”

“Of course you can, come on.” Dave inhaled. “Bro to bro, man.”

Jeremy squinted at him. “Bro to bro?”

Dave exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s the code. A bro can request a view of his bro’s penis at any given time. I’m sure it’s written somewhere.”

After careful consideration, Jeremy shrugged. “All right, then. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

So Jeremy stood up and pulled down his pants.

The smoke stopped mid-way Dave’s throat and all he could mutter was, “You’re a freak of nature, bro.”

Jeremy chuckled as he zipped his pants. “That’s what she said,bro.” He gave Dave a high-five but his friend was flabbergasted and could barely move.

After a long while in silence, Dave said, “Bro.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m gay.”

Jeremy stared at Dave in silence. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Not the first time it happens, bro.”

 

 

Letters to Myself – Part One

Dear Future Me,

This is you from the past. Obviously.

I hope you’re reading this as you sit by the pool in your mansion in Tuscany, while a shirtless Chris Hemsworth fans you with giant peacock plumes.

Oh, Future Me, I have so many questions…Has Facebook shared Myspace’s fate yet? Has Google taken over our souls, and most importantly, has Justin Bieber grown a beard?(Just kidding, we both know that one will never happen.)

By the way, no one has created a TV show about the adventures of a young Captain Jean-Luc Picard, have they?

Of course they haven’t.

jlp

Whyyyy?

Look, you need to write the series yourself, and it doesn’t matter that you don’t know how to write a script. It’s your problem, not mine. Unless… you have already done that, and this is why you have a mansion in Tuscany!

YES!

Waait. This means I should warn an earlier-future-version of myself, the one who decides to write about young Jean-Luc’s adventures in the first place. If she doesn’t write the script,  you’ll have no pool, no mansion, and no bare chested Chris Hemsworth, Future Me!

You should really start freaking out by now.

Anyway, I better go write to her and save both our asses.

You’re welcome.

xoxo,

Moi

PS: This post was inspired by Becky’s letters at HUMYN. You should really check Becky out, her writing is absolutely beautiful.

Literally, You Guys

Kimmy said, “When I kissed Chad, I literally saw stars!”

And Sissi was all like, “Wait. You kissed him while looking up to the sky? How did you bend your head that way?”

And all the girls gawked at Sissi, ’cause she was such a party popper, that nerd.

So Kimmy rolled her eyes and said, “OMG, can you be more weird, Sissi?”

The girls nodded and said, “Totes.”

Sissi couldn’t quite understand what was going on. “It’s not about being weird, you guys! It’s literally about the overuse of the word ‘literally’.”

Kimmy swooshed her long blond tresses as it they were a whip, and said in the most blasé of ways, “I literally can’t even, Sissi. Let’s go, girls.”

And that’s how Sissi got banned from the cheerleading squad.

She later married the guy who invented Google. Figuratively speaking. Because he must be like a thousand-year-old, you guys.

Blogging Coachella: Join the Party!

 

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This is your chance to connect with other bloggers and improve your stats!

Plus you get to bring a celebrity! Why?

Because this is the BLOGGING COACHELLA, people!

All you need to do is drop a comment below with the following:

A) Tell us what your blog is all about.

B) Include a link to your blog.

C) Tell us who you’re bringing to the party.

(I’m bringing Tom Hiddleston. Yes, he’s tied up and scared for his life, but he’s here and that’s what matters, okay? Cool.)

Don’t forget to engage with the participating blogs, and make sure to spread the word <3!

Thanks For My Vagina, Mom!

Growing up as a nerdy tomboy meant things weren’t always easy for me, but if not for my mom, they’d have been a lot worse.

Mom and I always had this Gilmore Girl’s thing going on, and we talked about stuff like:

  • Penises
  • Sex
  • Hot Guys
  • Philosophy
  • Leonardo diCaprio (Who is not a hot guy, in fact. He’s Leonardo diCaprio and that’s his category, people.)
  • The meaning of life
  • Writing (because she’s a journalist and I’m a writer, so thank you genes)

We never had secrets. We couldn’t, because our apartment was super tiny. I won’t say that it was literally the size of a shoebox, because that’s a lie. No house is literally the size of a shoebox. Unless you’re a cat. But I digress.

Mom never spoiled me. She always told me when she thought I was right and when I wasn’t. And you know how moms are: they can see the future and they’re all-knowing, which meant she was right all the freaking time. It was very annoying. Still is.

Mom and I are so close, that after I met the man who would later become my husband, she asked, “Did you guys have sex?”

“Mom! No way, we just met!”

She was cutting carrots then, which was pretty ironic if you ask me. “You’ve been going out for a week now, and he’s leaving soon to God-knows-where.” She finished chopping the carrots and dropped them into a bowl. “If you feel ready, then you should have sex with him.”

“I want to,” I said, feeling my stomach churn. “But I’m scared. I’ve never had sex with a guy I met after a few days.” (Shut up, I was kind of a prude, all right?)

Mom rolled her eyes and said in the sweetest way possible. “Just enjoy life, and give him that glorious vagina I made, dear.”

WTF, mom!

But she was right, as always.

I did give him my glorious vagina, and it was magical and mind-blowing. I’m not sure if we’d be together to this day, if it weren’t for my mom’s advice.

So, Mom, this post is for you. Thanks for everything.

And my glorious vagina.

The Baby Chick Joke

Today I will share with you one of my favorite jokes.

I really shouldn’t, because you’ll probably unfollow me. No, seriously, hear me out: I have a knack for telling jokes that are totally and irreparably NOT funny.

I’ve lost (potential) friendships after telling this joke. I wish I were joking, because I’m a master of jest (Dibs on the book title!), but this time, I’m really not.

So, you have been warned. If you wish to proceed, that’s on your own risk, and you can’t unfollow me. Also, you cannot go back. Once you read the joke, that’s it. I wish I could rewind time for you, but that would out me as an alien, and trust me, we’re both not ready for that yet.

*Ahem* Here we go:

There was once a baby chicken born with no anus.

One time it tried to fart, and it blew up.

I can tell this joke in three different languages, by the way.

German:

Es war einmal ein Baby Huhn ohne Anus geboren. Einmal versuchte es zu furzen, und es explodierte.

Portuguese:

Era uma vez um pintinho sem cu. Um dia ele foi peidar e explodiu.

Spanish:

Había una vez un polluelo sin ano. Una vez, trató de tirarse un pedo y explotó.

 You’re welcome, mankind.

DIVA

Me and Husband were watching “Inglorious Basterds” in Blu-ray yes, bastards with “e”. Hey, don’t blame the messenger, man. I think Tarantino was trying to add a French flair to the word. Basteeerds. You could totally read a French accent in it.

No? Try again.

Right?

You see, hubby is a big Quentin Tarantino fan. There’s a weird irony in this, because husband is German, and “Inglorious Basterds” is all about killing Germans in gruesome ways. 

When confronted about this simple truth, husband claimed that, “The insides of a human being have no nationality.”

Let that sink in for a moment.

Anyway, as we watched the movie, he turned to me out of nowhere and said, “I really hate Diane Krueger in this role. Her character is supposed to be this big movie diva, but she just doesn’t deliver.”

To which I replied, “I agree with you, dear husband.”

I know, I’m such an ass-kisser.

“Thanks babe,” he continued. “Seriously, you’d make a waaaaay better diva then her.”

Emphasis on the “waaaaaay better diva” part, if you please.

Which brings us to today’s question:

Much obliged.

Daydreamer Award

First of all, I need to thank Sophie! I’m really thrilled to have been nominated, so thanks a bunch Sophie! This is a very cool award.

(Wait, there’s no badge? I get ZERO badges? Dude, I want a badge, and a cool one with some wicked Photoshop motifs and stuff.)

Anyway, to everyone who didn’t know, this award is created by the lovely Caitlin. So make sure to check Caitlin and Sophie’s blogs!

(Seriously, Caitlin, I want a badge.

 LOL, just kidding.)

Again, there are rules for this award, and I copy-pasted them for you:

1) Thank the person who gave you the award.
2) Complete the challenge they set you.
3) Select a blog or blogs that you want to give the award to. (The amount of blogs you select in unlimited!)
4) Tell them about it and set them a challenge.
5) You can link my blog at the bottom (but only if you want to).

My response to Sophie’s challenge:

Sophie kindda screwed me on this one. See, I had to write a song, but I know more about quantum physics than I do about song writing.

Yeah, this is gonna hurt.

Taco, Oh My Taco

by Madam_W

Why did I eat you all at once?

In my stomach you bounced,

But you looked so fine, and I couldn’t help it.

I was too hasty, and you so tasty,

But I don’t regret.

Chorus:

Taco, my taco,

We were two, now we’re one,

The explosion hits my gut, the chili burning into gas,

In my belly it reacts,

But taco, oh my taco,

I don’t regret.

*Rapper starts here*

Yo,yo,yo. Taco.

Your tortillas were so crunchy, damn girl, those jalapenos got me burning; lettuce, tomato and beef.

Chopped.

I knew you’d  be bad for me, but I ain’t caring ’cause all I wanted was one bite.

Bite.

Now I can’t hold back, taco, my taco. Damn girl. You’re hot like a taco.

*Rapper stops here*

 

Taco, my taco,

We were two, now we’re one,

You try to kill me from inside,

In my belly you react,

But taco, my taco,

I don’t regret.

PS: For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry for this.

Ahem.  And the Nominees are: *drums roll please*

The Reviewing Fangirl

Bronagh

Blog Creatifa

Gary

Michelle

MPsharmaauuthor

Laissez Faire

Melissa Wong

Jorda

Plus everyone else who feels up to it! Just drop me a comment with the link to your website and I’ll check it!

My Challenge to you:

*wastes a few moments laughing the most hysterical evil laugh you’ve ever heard.* Then *clears throat.*

All right, your assignment is: Share an embarrassing/funny story about yourself.

Why? Because that’s what I do all the time in this blog, and I’m starting to feel lonely.

And make sure to spread the word about this wonderful award! It was so much fun, that I forgot all about that badge!

Oh wait.

Everyone Poops

****This is a true story. I kindda wish it wasn’t, but it is.****

So me, my grandma, and my aunt were going to a family event. We had just reached ground floor with the lift, when my aunt had to go talk to someone, leaving me alone with Granny.

After a little while, I turn to Granny and whisper, “Nanna, I think I have to go back to the flat. I need to go to the toilet.”

She looks at me with one eyebrow raised. “Number one or number two?”

I giggle, cause dude, my grandma is asking me inappropriate stuff (which she does all the time, but it never ceases to be funny.)

“Number two,” I whisper.

At this point my aunt returns, and Granny announces, “We gotta go back. The kid wants to poop.”

But that’s cool, ’cause my aunt is used to Granny’s brutal honesty. So we’re all laughing and saying “Yeah, let’s go, better out than in.”

We get into the elevator with a random guy, and my aunt says, “I only hope we don’t get to the restaurant too late.”

And Granny replies loudly ’cause she can’t hear right, “Hey, when the kid needs to poop, the kid needs to poop.”

At which point I’m laughing my heart out, and the random stranger is trying to hold it, but failing miserably.

Then my aunt chides, “Mom! What will this poor gentleman think?”

Granny shrugs and turns to the guy as if only now realizing he was there. She pats him in the back and says, “Don’t worry, he doesn’t mind. After all, he poops too. Everyone poops, right?

I think the guy is still laughing to this day.

Disclaimer: When I’m 93 years old, I want to be like my grandma.