It’s the new blond.


I’m very serious about my new hair. Tell me you love it or I’ll cut you. SAY IT!


I color it with mostly natural Tresstisse with just a little bit of methamphetamine mixed in.


There’s no fan blowing my hair to make it all light and flowy like this. That’s what the meth is for!


Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!



I could do this all day…

Eat your fucking heart out Carrot Top.

I’m ba-ack.

I’m feeling a little better but keep all your get well cards and emails coming. I could take a turn for the worse and then you’ll feel like an asshole for not sending anything while I was still alive to read it.

Jesus I fucking hate being sick.

And while I lay dying and in between times when I had to rub one out because of my smutty new book I had some time to think, Internettians.

I have decided that what I really, really need more than anything is a House Bitch.

Two of my favorite blog friends, Miss Kiala and Miss Melissa, have newly acquired interns and I want one too.

Only what I need is more like a House Bitch than an intern. I think in the olden days they called them Scullery Maids and they had to do all the stuff nobody else wanted to do like clean the toilets and give the Master a blow job.

But I don’t think I’d require my House Bitch to do things like that.

At least not to start with.

And I don’t think I would make him/her grocery shop or wipe my bottom because I sort of enjoy those things. Particularly the bottom wiping.

(Did I mention all the anal penetration in my smutty book?)

And the grocery store is good too. Because of well, you know, my Vinnie. I caught him calling an old lady “doll” the other day, but I’m going to overlook it. He was just being nice so she wouldn’t tell the manager he sliced her cheese too thin again.
He’s not giving that shit out to all the ladies…
Is he?

I hope not because “do not flirt with a dude who fucks old chicks” is my motto.

I think I’d have my House Bitch do things that I find unpleasant. Like, load and unload the dishwasher, clean the kitty box, and get the stains out of Mister’s underpants. Not that he has any, mind you, but if he did, that’s what my Bitch would do. But he doesn’t wear underpants so it would probably never come up. Also I think my Bitch would have to do my work job for me too. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve just sat in the break room looking at People magazine?

Fucking ages.

The job will of course be clothing optional but only if the person is cute. Applicants must be a hot 19 year old boy over the age of 18 I think because there are sometimes adult language and situations at Crissy’s house… hmmm…what else? There’s no actual pay check, per se, but the glamor and the chance to be near the QOFE is way better than money.

Everyone knows that.

So I’m going to write up the job description and post it on Craigslist because that’s where I’ll get the highest quality applicants, I’m sure, and I’ve already typed up a few interview questions.

Check it:

  • Do you smoke?
  • If yes, what do you smoke, how much did you score, and is your supply reliable?
  • How do you feel about Moo Shu Tofu? Answer loudly and use hand gestures as my vegan diet has left me too weak to hear.
  • How many drinks could Crissy’s Bitch mix if a Crissy’s Bitch could mix drinks?
  • Do you carry bar tending equipment on you at all times?
  • On mornings I’m too tired to do it myself, would you be willing to work out for me while I eat the pancakes you made for me from scratch and watch you from my couch? I promise to make helpful suggestions such as “lift your leg higher” and “could you move your ass over to the left for me dear, you’re blocking my view of that annoying yet strangely attractive Denise Austin.”
  • Are you willing to undergo extensive medical testing for the sole purpose of obtaining pain pills or anti-anxiety medication for Crissy because her cunt doctor doesn’t believe that her menstrual cramps are severe enough to require liquid Percocet?
  • How do you feel about spankings?
  • a. Thank you ma’am, may I have another?

    b. Ow! Whatareyoudoing!?!

This is my first time interviewing someone, so could you guys help me think of a few more questions please?

Also you have to go see me at Mom in Real Life’s today.

I’m a hoot!


Mister was very sweet to fill in for me on Friday wasn’t he? Sometimes Crissy gets tired because being the QOFE is exhausting, really and she needs someone to help out around this place. I make it look easy, but swinging jokes around like Holyfield swings punches is hard work.

See? That’s us together this summer.

As it turns out though, it wasn’t the jokes that made Crissy tired. She was coming down with a tumor.

And also her superpower.

Okay, well maybe it’s not a tumor, but it’s definitely Typhoid Fever Bird Flu Monkey Plague Superpower though.

Girlfriend must have brought some germs home from the dirty little mutants at preschool and it made Crissy die to death all weekend.

And she’s still dying to death.

Everything hurts.
Even my hair.

well, first off, realize that this is NOT crissy posting today.

no, you weren’t warned that there would be a guest poster.

no, crissy is not dead in some kind of freak accident.

nor is she in jail, as some might be wondering.

she is just feeling burned out.

i can’t say that i blame her–i have no idea how she comes up with something new to post about every single day. occasionally (like today) it actually causes her stress, which is kind of ironic.

only americans can turn hobbies into sources of stress…

anywho, she was just about ready to just not post anything. and that’s fine–i think every once in a while it’s probably good to take a step back and breathe a little and forget about the crazy internet world.

well, for a few minutes at least. i’ve got a blackberry.

but then i figured i’d put SOMETHING up here instead of just leaving the tens of people wondering WTF happened.

my wife and i have had a lot of fun making videos, some of which are lost in the archives, probably never to be seen again. i thought that would be a shame (especially of the ones where she’s shaking that sweet milfy ass of hers) so i figured i’d do something about it: i went back and tagged the posts which had homemade video content. because of my hard work and l33t hax0r 5|<1llz, you can see them all by simply clicking here:

for the epically lazy, you can also go straight to the vids (all hosted on youtube) by following this link:

although if you do that you won’t get some of the lovely, carefully crafted backstory behind each vid, and i shall frown disapprovingly at you. maybe repeatedly. and i shall think to myself, “what a pussy.” and then i’ll fart into my cupped hand and quickly move it right to your face so you really get a sense of who i am…

a giver.

*Names have been changed to protect both guilty and innocent alike.

Joseph couldn’t understand how after what seemed like an eternity spent in a tiny cubicle that he shared with his “team member” Enid, that it was only 2:00pm and he had another three hours to go before being liberated from hell.

It felt like he had been there since last Tuesday around 9-ish.

Enid, you see, is a very dull woman who spends her days telling Joseph all about the lifestyles of her two cats: Mr. Fancypants and Mrs. Smooshyface. When it’s not the cats, it’s the dreadfully mundane details of her daughter Johanna’s homework assignments, science fair projects, and teenage drama from the hallowed halls of St. Cecilla’s School for Boring People’s Children.

Poor Joseph tried to be polite to Enid, he really did, but his patience was wearing quite thin. In hopes that Enid would eventually run out of stories to tell if he just toughed it out, he became absolutely brilliant at inserting thoughtful comments like “oh really?” and “awww, that’s so cute” into the conversation where he felt they might be appropriate. He wasn’t listening to Enid of course, but he felt he should at least pretend. Sadly for poor Joseph, it only encouraged her.

“This is intolerable!” he thought as he looked around his desk for a means of either suicide or homicide and it didn’t matter which because, as Joseph saw it, one of them would live and one of them would die and then there would be quiet. At last. A shiv made of paper clips and scotch tape perhaps? Maybe not. He doesn’t want to fasten her to death. A rubber band noose? No. Too bouncy. Push her chair through the window? Nope. They’re on the first floor.

And then it came to him in A Flash of Brilliance!

Joseph is a gentle man, really, and he did not want to hurt Enid. Much. He just wanted her to go away and so he had a plan to do just that. He knew Enid loved sweets and he began searching his desk for anything resembling candy and he also needed some Medicine for Irregularity to add to the candy because he thought that the ladies room would be a more appropriate place for Enid because all that ever came out of her was pure shit anyway.

It must have been Joseph’s lucky day because he found two tootsie rolls and one Super Strength Colon Release tablet that had been left over from the cookies he baked for the office April Fool’s Day party. He jammed the tablet into one of the candies and offered one to Enid, which she gladly accepted of course due to her weakness for chocolate and small poo shaped objects, and then he popped the other one into his mouth and heard a “crunch.”

Joseph had inadvertently eaten the Tainted Tootsie.

“SHIT!” Joseph thought to himself but was quick to realize that while it was not exactly what he had planned, his mistake would still afford him an opportunity for silence. It would just be in the men’s room instead. And just as Joseph had hoped, a short while later, he felt the unmistakable rumblings of nature calling which sent him running to the loo with Enid shouting “don’t worry Joseph! When you come back I’ll finish my story about how Mr. Fancypants loves to eat tuna fish on my pillow!” behind him.

He barely made it into the stall but luckily he dropped his trousers in just enough time and only got a little on the tail of his white dress shirt before he nailed the landing and achieved a good seal seconds shy of Armageddon. “I’ll give that landing a 6.5” he thought to himself and then sat patiently, sitting in the aroma of peace and solitude.

I will never, ever, reveal to the Internettians who Joseph and Enid are.

And it was NOT. Crissy.