So for the last nine months, I just thought my wife was getting fat. Really fat. I really did. She didn't look pregnant. She ate so fucking much her whole body expanded, and that bump where the baby was hiding was dwarfed by her massive saggy tits, and her legs as round as damn garbage cans.

And anyways, I didn't have any reason to think that she was pregnant. But, apparently, this cow of a wife had lied about taking her birth control pills. Had lied about not wanting to try having another baby. And she tries to fucking cover it up by getting fat as hell.

Most women, after five still borns, they tend to give up. And I didn't even want a stupid kid.

But obviously, with a fucking idiot of a wife like this, she w ... Read more ...

In my eyes there are six levels of intoxication. There are states above the six I am about to outline, but I consider those beyond intoxication -- the ones where you land in the hospital.

Level 1: Sober. It's probably not the way you want to be, but it works for most common chores such as working or raising a family. This is your base state, homeostasis. You may not like it but the average person spends more than 70% of their life completely sober.

Level 2: A quick drink. This is meeting a friends before class to grab a beer so you can make it through another calculus lecture. OK, maybe two beers.

Level 3: Family Events. This is the Christmas where you don't want to embarass yourself infront of Grandpa and Grandma, but you still manage to get down five beers before the night is up. A good start, but just enough to take the edge off of your annoying aunt.

Level 4: Standard night out. As implied, this is your usual night out. Usually accompanied by a cab or friend ride home -- on ... Read more ...

The sky was thick with fog, and the moon had trouble getting any light to earth. Luckily I had my night vision goggles.

I was in the bushes across from my new neighbor's house, masturbating. I thought he was pretty cute, but I never really saw him up close. At this point, though, I was so horny it didn't even matter.

He had just moved in a week ago. I figured he probably had a wife because the house was way too big for just one person; the only problem was I never saw anyone except him come and go.

On this particular night he was sitting on the couch watching football. No shirt, boxers, and a can of beer in his left hand. I had never gotten a handjob from a lefty before -- I wondered if it would feel better, as I switched to masturbating with my other hand.

Just as I was about to blow my load all over the bush I was in, a car pulled around the corner. The high-beams lit up my shocked face; it was too late. I started to cum all over the bush and my hands. I could feel chunks of j ... Read more ...

So I was sleeping happily in my bed at around 7:00am, several hours before I had to wake up, when a text message tears me from my sleep. The number was unfamiliar, and, unless they had just read my blog "Memories," relatively innaccurate. So I thought I would have some fun. This might have been one of those "you would have had to be there situations" or part of sleep depravel, but I found it pretty funny. So here is an exact transcript of what happened:

�

Stranger: Hey girl

me: Why hello thur

Stranger: How r u

me: Good how are you?

Stranger: Good what u up 2

me: Sleeping in my bed

Stranger: U still in bed

Stranger: What u wearing

me: Boxers and a t shirt

Stranger: No panties

me: No i usually don't wear those...

Stranger: any 1 home

me: Idk if my mom left yet

Stranger: U shave

me: No not yet. I think i will later. My face is kind of rough

Stranger: Your boxers off

me: No there stil ... Read more ...

He pressed the mask firmly onto my face. I started to panic; maybe coming here had been a bad idea. The constant buzz of the gas being forced into my mouth and nose began to overthrow my senses. I tried to to move, to fight, to protest, but it was too late -- the cocktail of anesthetics and sedatives was too much for my body to handle. I just stared up, and a bright light stared back, rapidly consuming my peripheral vision with a white blanket of nothingness.

I couldn't really feel the syringe going into my arm, but I knew it was there. I couldn't really feel the drugs that were being pumped into my veins, either, but I knew those were there, too. Over the orchestra of auditory and visual distortions, I heard the man above me say, "This should be the last thing you remember," as he stretched the elastic of the mask over the top of my head.

As the last of my vision was consumed, I made one last strain to see the tray of scalpals, clamps, surgical tubing, and other utensils that I had no idea t ... Read more ...