Take it up the ass like a good Right Wing Evangelist Christian

There seem to be a few evangelist pastors out there who clearly are experts on gay male sex.  After all they seem to know a great deal more about gay sex than I do.  Especially surprising to me is the resilience the male sphincter muscle (aka your asshole muscle) has according to them.  Apparently you can shove a whole baseball bat up there, your BlackBerry and a gerbil.  If I knew this I would not have wasted so much money on grocery bags all these years and I could have carried my shopping home in my rectum all along.  Reflecting on the most recent comments of Pastor Patrick Wooden I could not help but wonder, is there anything gay men will not shove up our asses.

 Pastor Wooden seems very preoccupied with the gay male anus, as all gay men are.  After all it is in that general area where we like to keep things neat, tidy and in some cases bleached and pierced.  But, in Wooden’s defense, the anus is a wonderful organ.  It is resilient and can stretch when needed.  You don’t even have to be gay to have experience this phenomena.

If you have ever been constipated and finally had that bowel movement that sets you free, you probably have experienced that glorious sensation.  You know that feeling when you push and push and you feel it is just too big to come out.  Finally, as the monster turd crowns and you feel like your asshole just is not big enough and about to exploded, it makes it’s way through and takes its final plunge leaving you relieved, proud and semi euphoric.  Well, gay anal sex is not completely unlike that.  Apart from the turd being a cock and instead of it coming out it goes in.

Like any good homosexual I am also partial to some ass play.  I, like some gay tops, also can be “ass curious” at times.  But I can honestly say I have never shoved a baseball bat up my rectum nor have I attempted to insert any live stock or rodents.  Mostly, because I do not understand the logistics of it and I don’t condone animal abuse.  I mean honestly, how exactly do you force a little gerbil into a dark crevice if it doesn’t want to go in.  Doesn’t it have teeth and sharp little nails?  Or is that part of the fun?  I’m sure PETA would have a lot to say on this issue and clearly Pastor Wooden have some experience in this area.  But to get back to my rectum…

Inserting foreign objects into our rectums is something that gay men do.  As per definition a foreign object is anything “originating elsewhere” or simply put “outside of your body”.  Look it up.  So it can be pretty much anything including someone else’s penis, which is predominantly what gay guys prefer.  In my case we have a drawer in our bedroom with preferred foreign objects that we like inserting in our rectums.

The drawer contains nothing particularly out of the ordinary for a professional homosexual on the go, a dildo, vibrator, and a butt plug, to mention but a few.  My father-in-law this past December accidentally opened this drawer thus destroying any illusions he may have had of his son and I being celibate and not engaging in anal sex.  He emerged from the ordeal pale as a ghost and dramatically quiet for the rest of that day.  He’s probably still traumatized and digesting what he had seen.

Using foreign objects that you can buy from any sex shop or online to enhance your sexual experience is one thing, but what if you don’t have the time or money.  Well, like any resourceful homosexual will tell you, there are a plethora of everyday household objects that you can safely use.  Let’s turn our attention to your kitchen.  Fruit and vegetables like bananas, cucumbers and carrots are perfectly safe.  You won't get any nutritional value but you will have fun.  Butternuts on the other hand are not safe nor are any frozen items, fish or cutlery.  The broom closet is pretty self explanatory as most closeted right wing evangelist pastors will tell who have lost their anal virginity there.

When it comes to the bathroom and the bedroom wardrobe it could get a little dicey.  Firstly, it is not good hygiene to insert anything into your ass that you will not be able to get out again later, having to wash your face with or have to put in your mouth.  Secondly, electrical items and anything bigger than your hand and arm could pose some serious medical repercussions and should always be used with extreme caution.  It is also extremely important to remember that KY conducts electricity extremely well, as I can attest to from personal experience, and electrocution does not enhance an orgasm it does quite the opposite and it's not sexy!

My BlackBerry is the one item I have never considered inserting into my rectum and people who do clearly have no respect for their phones, themselves or other people and should be ashamed of themselves!  Honestly, what if you get a very important call, a Facebook message or are re-tweeted?  Are you going to phone, message and tweet that person back apologizing by saying “I was busy stimulating my prostate, and thank you for calling me at exactly the right time – you really hit the spot for me right then!  It was the best orgasm EVER!”  It is just wrong people!  Don’t do it!

Contemplating the good Pastor’s recent comments and especially the part about gay men’s rectums being mutilated resulting in some gay men having to walk around with butt plugs and diapers, I consulted with a medical professional.  My pharmacist told me it was bullshit!  Sure with regular abuse and inserting very large objects the sphincter muscle can get damaged and deformed over time, but for that to happen the person must have been doing some seriously fucked up shit to themselves.  Surely this is not the norm.  To conclude on this, any person who walks around with a butt plug up his ass for a whole day has some serious skills, would be noticed and possibly would need diapers later in life.

Whether Pastor Patrick Wooden spoke from personal experience or secret desire I guess we will never really know.  His fascination with gay anal sex and brevity of knowledge on the subject does however slightly impress.  But, I am sad to say Pastor Patrick Wooden, there are some things gay men will not put up our asses and your dick ranks number one on that list.  Even though I do admire the fact that you are so very adventurous with your own anus, I will never be as able a power bottom as you are.  Your accomplishments are awe inspiring!

Till next time.

Killer Pussy Behaving Badly

Most of my regular readers know that hubby and I share our house with a prolific serial killer.  She’s a ruthless, indiscriminate and sadistic destroyer of lives and animal families.  Her name is Katja aka Killer Pussy!  We have learned to live with the carnage, the guilt and the shame.  Hiding corpses, cleaning up crime scenes and the occasional lies we have to tell our neighbors about not having seen their missing birds, bunnies or small dogs have all become part of our daily lives.  Even though the “missing posters” haunts us and we are fast are running out of places to hide, bury and dump the bodies, never before had it crossed my mind that our innocent little ball of fur might be suffering from a behavioral problem.  Well, that was until recently…

This year killer pussy is turning two.  Being all cute and cuddly she crawled into our hearts from the first day we brought her home.  But under all that cuteness hides a terrible monster.  Even as a kitten she exhibited signs of being an extraordinarily talented hunter.  She made her first kill at four months old.  She started off small with flies, moths, baby lizards and then small birds.  At six months old she caught, tortured and killed her first adult bird and with that massacre her blood lust started.

For the last two years it has not been uncommon waking up in the morning to a dining and living room looking like the Manson clan had a slaughter party in it.  During the last two years I have innumerable times unsuspectingly stepped in pools of blood and/or on disemboweled birds, mice and, most recently, fish.  It’s not the best way to wake up and nor is it conducive to a good morning appetite.  You can’t exactly go from cleaning up blood, innards, feathers and severed heads to having a cup of coffee and a bagel for breakfast all in an hour of each other.

Recently killer pussy decided to broaden her killing repertoire to include aquatic animals as well.  You see a couple of months ago hubby and I bought and installed a pond in our backyard.  It was one of those rare butch moments we occasionally have.  The initial idea for the pond was that my frog, which I obtained in a rather suspect manner (illegally), could have a place to breed.  The frog ignored the pond like the Pope ignores gay marriage.  So we decided to buy some water plants and fish to make it pretty.  It was a good and aesthetically pleasing idea at the time.

Two months past and killer pussy showed little interest in the pond or its inhabitants.  At first we had about eight fish living in the pond and then one Saturday afternoon we had a tragic pond cleaning accident which killed them all.  The pond of tranquility turned into the pond of horrors not unlike the holocaust.

With the fish dying, one after each other, floating to the surface killer pussy started seeing the pond in a whole new light.  Perhaps she never noticed the fish before, or maybe they just seemed too boring to peak her interest.  However, with the unintentional extermination that occurred she now knew the pond was once teeming with life and she would bide her time and strike once life was restored.

The cleaning accident was a chemical one, and we had to wait a week before we could again introduce other fish to the pond.  When we received the all clear eight new fish were released.  For a brief few weeks tranquility was restored and all was well.  Then one morning while feeding the fish I noticed their behavior had changed.  They seemed nervous, scared and refused to come to the surface to eat.  Then I noticed that one of the water plants was almost completely destroyed.  Killer pussy had taken up fishing and four fish were confirmed to be missing!

Still in denial that killer pussy had killed half the pond’s population, I wanted to believe the fish were taken by birds.  Then we woke up one morning horrified to find a pool of blood and scales with one fish head on the dining room table.  It was a fish head that I recognized; it was one of our pond fish.  It was like a scene out of the Godfather except it wasn’t a horse’s head and it wasn’t in our bed!

Still semi asleep I tried to reprimand killer pussy.  However, midway through the reprimand she gave me that big eyed “but you love me” look and I was instantly manipulated into killer pussy’s spell of submission and the reprimand ended in a cuddle.  As this was happening hubby stood watching my bad parenting and obvious weakened defenses that were no match for killer pussy’s charm.

When he finally had enough he took her to the pond, gave her a proper reprimand and as further punishment banished her from the normal morning routine withholding her favorite breakfast catnip cookie, which she loves.  Shocked that she received her first hiding ever and enraged that we dared to withhold her only earthly decadent pleasure she proceeded to throw an epic tantrum.

Properly pissed off, killer pussy made her way to the pond determined to kill every last living thing in there.  I knew she was angry but I underestimated her determination to make her point.  One hell of a raucous broke out in the backyard.  I could hear water splashing, rocks falling and our other three cats moaning.  As I made my way to the backyard I was not prepared for what I was about find.

I saw killer pussy wet and neck deep in the pond, all the water plants were uprooted and our other cats hiding in the foliage audibly trying to convince enraged killer pussy to stop the madness.  Evidently killer pussy decided that seeing as she got a hiding already and was deprived of a cookie she might as well finish what she started and she almost did.  The other three fish survived, but they were not unscaved.  I never thought fish could be emotionally traumatized and could suffer from post traumatic stress disorder but our fish now do.

The pond has since been covered with netting, the fish sometimes refuse to eat and the pond of tranquility has now become to pond of imminent terror.  Every so often killer pussy will still sit on the edge of the pond terrifying the fish while trying to locate a weakness in its defenses and I am sure one day she will find one.

For now the fish are stressed but safe.  Having developed a taste for cold blooded animals and the fish just out of reach, killer pussy has now focused her attention on the next best thing – frogs.  One of my frog’s offspring got murdered the other day and killer pussy hissed and growled at me as I tried to save it.  As killer pussy demonically warned me to leave her alone while she murdered the frog, I did momentarily consider buying her  a muzzle, like the one Hannibal Lecter had, but then realized I would have to put it on her and decided against it.  After all, I don’t need the drama or the scars.

Whether killer pussy is suffering from a behavioral problem or if killing is just in her nature and something she does really well, I do not know.  But one thing I do know is the killing is not going to stop any time soon and no cat psychologist in the world will be able to convince her to stop either.  So we will continue hiding corpses, cleaning up crime scenes and lie to our neighbors in the hope that one day she may just stop.

Till next time.

The Cure for Homophobia

Finally there’s a cure for Homophobia and it is 100% effective.  It’s free, has zero calories and can be taken up to 6 times a day.  Have your prescription filled today!

Censorship isn't Freedom: Stop SOPA!

There is a big hype on the internet about the US government trying to censor, or even shut down sites with user generated content. Eg, Twitter, Facebook, Reddit, and Gadgetzz and even Blogs would have to turn commenting off.  Risk of Jail for Ordinary Users.  It becomes a felony with a potential 5 year sentence to stream a copyrighted work that would cost more than $2,500 to license, even if you are a totally noncommercial user.

The Stop Online Piracy Act, commonly known as SOPA.  Generally speaking, this legislation is intended to help content creators like movie and music companies to combat the overseas Web sites that host illegal downloads.  Sounds fairly harmless, right? Couple of problems with that.  First, it was apparently written by people without a basic understanding of things like DNS entries and IP addresses.  Long story short, it wouldn’t stop people from accessing the sites Congress (and big media) want to block.  For added fun, it would give those big media companies – and just about everyone else – a whole raft of legal tools allowing them to harass hosting companies, search engines, social media sites and little old bloggers like you and me.

Censorship isn’t freedom.  SOPA needs to be stopped.

The Day I Almost Died

There comes a time in every man’s life when he is faced with his own mortality.  Unfortunately these moments come at the most inopportune times and they are unattractive, unsettling and offensive.  Regrettably for me I had two such moments all on the same day.  Once at a very small airport on an Island called Nosy Be in Madagascar and the second more protracted one on the international flight back to Johannesburg all culminating in just over 12 hours of unadulterated hell.

This past December hubby and I agreed to take our annual holiday and spend it in Madagascar.  We both had a hellishly busy year and needed to get away to place that was remote, tranquil and quiet.  We decided to go back to Sakatia Lodge, a place we visited back in 2009 which met all the requirements for the relaxing break we so desperately needed.  We decided to stay for 12 glorious days, and glorious they were, at least up until day 11 that is.

You see, for the first 10 days we lounged around, I read three books, we swam, snorkeled, scuba dived and went horse riding.  It was utterly fabulous!  Then came day 11.  I woke up not feeling my normal gay self.  There was a distinct discomfort in my abdomen and I had a slight fever.  Naturally, I thought I was constipated seeing as I am full of shit most of the time anyway.  But, even though I was in some pain we went ahead and did a day trip and we were also scheduled to do quad biking in the afternoon.

The day trip was pretty much overshadowed by me being in pain, having difficulty walking and secretly wishing that I could have a bowel movement to ease the discomfort I was feeling.  I ended up in three rather dodgy public toilets, each time sitting down waiting for the dump that never came.  By late afternoon we made it to the quad biking.  By that time the rational side of me knew it probably wasn’t a great idea, but seeing as it was our last day in Madagascar I was determined not to ruin anyone’s fun and try to have some fun myself.  Sadly, it was not on the cards.

You see, when you have the apocalypse happening in your innards going up and down hills on a quad bike for two hours is not as much fun as one would think.  I was in pain, being shaken about, getting dirty and sweating profusely.  It wasn’t pretty.  It wasn’t fun.  It felt like it would never end.  But two and half hours later it did end and after taking the boat back to the lodge and consuming a large number of laxatives I finally made it back to our bungalow, stripped down to my underwear and lay on the bed in front of the fan reeling in pain.

The lodge manager eventually brought me a handful of pills:  a strong laxative and something for abdominal and ovarian cramps and spasms.  It did help somewhat and I made it down for dinner even though I didn’t eat anything, but I did have a couple of gin and tonics.  At exactly 4 o’clock the next morning, an hour before we needed to take the boat that would take us to the taxi that would take us to the airport; I woke up in excruciating pain.

I was crawling on the floor unable to stand upright.  I thought I was going to die!  A couple of pain pills and thirty minutes under a warm shower, I managed to get dressed, get on the boat, then into the taxi and got to the airport.  Then the real hell started.  Our flight to Antanarivo was cancelled due to the plane’s engine having some kind of problem.  We ended up being delayed for four hours waiting for another plane which could take us directly to Johannesburg.

In the mean time the pain I was experiencing grew exponentially worse to the point that I was actually hyperventilating, sweating and unable to stand up straight.  This placed me in a very precarious situation.  If I looked too sick the airline could prevent me from boarding.  After all which airline would knowingly welcome a medical emergency 30 thousand feet up in the air over the Indian Ocean?

All I could think about was that I didn’t want to pass out and wake up under a mosquito net with a Catholic nun patting down my sweaty brow with a dirty wet towel while praying for me, with the sound of chickens and goats outside, while hubby is being molested by a priest and the natives rummaging through our luggage.  Luckily my tan and Botox sufficiently concealed how sick I was and standing and sitting in the airport with my hands placed on either side of my ribs made me look more annoyed that our flight was cancelled rather than me being in pain.

After what felt like an eternity our plane finally came and we boarded.  The plane took off and 15 minutes into the flight I turned to hubby and said “I don’t think I am constipated.  I think I need to go to a Hospital!”  He had a look of total helplessness on his face and from that point on his job became to give me a pain pill every 20 minutes and to pray for a tail wind.  The 3 hours and 26 minutes flight was utter hell.  I was in pain, couldn’t breathe and was alternating between having a fever, chills and sweating.  At that stage the cabin crew knew there was a problem but choose not to get involved.

As we were making our final approach to Johannesburg I was never as happy to see that smog filled skyline.  I was almost home and I was going to live.  The plane landed and within an hour I was in hospital.  First they thought I had appendicitis and then after numerous blood tests, X-rays and a CAT scan I was finally diagnosed with double pneumonia.

Relieved that we found out what was wrong with me, I was ready to go home and have a shower.  As I was collecting my stuff to go home the doctor looked at me with a very perplexed expression on his face and said “No! Stop!  You are a very sick man we are admitting you to hospital now.”  To which I responded “Ok, but I’ll go home, have a shower, get some stuff and come back.”  To which he rather abrasively responded “There are showers in hospital!  You are NOT leaving”

Then there was the HIV issue “I know this is a sensitive matter” the doctor said “Are you immune compromised?” he asked.  “Well, I smell like shit, I am in pain, can’t breathe and have been in transit for the last 12 hours in my condition, the only thing that is compromised right now is my fucking patience!  AND NO I am NOT HIV+!” I responded and then proceeded to ask him whether they always assume that all gay men who come into hospital with pneumonia have HIV.  In retrospect I guess I was a bit hard on him, but then again I was not in a good place at that moment.  I was admitted minutes later.

I was in hospital for 5 fucking long days, had blood drawn 17 times and had 12 injections.  The day of my discharge I had a particularly rough morning.  The student nurse who tried to fix my IV ended up bursting one of my veins.  I completely lost it!  I phoned hubby sobbing pleading with him to come and fetch me.

After composing myself and returning to my room, my doctor came and just as he asked me how my evening was I lost it once again but this time spectacularly so doing the ugly cry with snot dripping from my oxygen tubes that were stuck in my nose.  Like an emotionally disturbed child I was sobbing holding out my bruised and battered arms pointing at each of them while being completely incoherent.  He ended up discharging me but under strict conditions.

The doctor told me to monitor my temperature every 4 to 8 hours, I had to return for more blood tests, was to get bed rest for at least one more week and if I had any breathing problems or if the pain increased I was to return to hospital immediately.  In the sternest voice I have ever been spoken too he conveyed all of these conditions and ended with saying “If you do not follow this you could die!”

I have been home now for a couple of days and am feeling better.  They say it takes some time to recover from pneumonia and I can attest that it is not fun.  I will not be going out in public for at least a couple of more days, my arms and hands are still bruised making me look like a heroin addict.  At least I made it home, am alive and maybe someday I will look back at this experience and think it is funny.  But for the moment it really isn’t very funny at all!

(Disclaimer:  This blog post was written entirely in bed while medicated.  I'm in no position to operate heavy machinery and I suspect I should not be blogging at the moment either!) 

Till next time.

Pinky & the Brain: Aquatic Domination

This funny video was the brain child of Jacques Vieira of Sakatia Lodge who would come to us every morning and ask "So boys, what's your plans for today?" to which hubby would answer "The same thing we do everyday..."

Then there was our Quad Biking trip around Nosy Be island.

The best for last, our dive - truly spectacular!