Roissy’s been bombarding my email inbox with some of his old posts recently, presumably his classics, which most of them are.  One I recently received was called Perverted Porn, in which he analyzed (no pun intended) various exotic porn genres, including, but not limited to, drinking cum out of a glass (Grossout rating 8, Sexual perversion rating 9), Two guys one girl (GR varying from 2-10, SP 4), Cum swapping (5-8, 6), Bukkake (7, 7), Frat house voyeurism (4, 5), and Asslicking (Grossout rating 10, Sexual perversion rating 8 .

Wrote the Game master about Asslicking porn, “Falls under the category of ‘Can never get clean enough.’”
Proclaiming, “you’ll find no bigger aficionado of anal than me,” the genius of nearly-all-things-gender-other-than -where-direct-payment-for-sex-is-involved added,

“there’s a world of difference between plowing her with my tool and getting her dingleberries caught in my teeth.  Girls don’t shit wafer thin mints, so how is licking her anus supposed to be fun?  I pray I never shake hands with a guy who gets off on asslicking porn.  And porn where the girl licks the guy’s carpeted asshole?  Sweet fancy moses, why don’t you just reach in the bowl and eat his log, scatgirl?”

Despite the fact that no one had commented on that particular post in more than a year, I felt compelled – indeed inspired – to comment, and here we begin my Ode to Analingus:

I don’t like watching asslicking too much, but truth be told, I love being the one doing the licking.

I’ve had my tongue up a lot of hot chicks’ asses – and I mean UP their asses.  I don’t just rim their asses, I fuck their asses with my tongue – and I have to agree with Roissy that hot chicks don’t shit wafer thin mints, but only because there’s scant evidence they shit at all.  And I should know.  We’re talking dozens of asses.

Hot chicks are like my Mercedes with a $20,000 engine.  I keep putting fuel in my car, but it doesn’t shit.  Same with the true hot chicks, the real thoroughbreds.  I’ve walked in on hot chicks after I thought they took shits, and all I could small was oil and vinegar.

I dated a hot coke whore who claimed coke made her shit almost immediately, but there was never a whiff of evidence in terms of bathroom smell or ass smell to back that up; ditto for ass taste … nothing!  Her claim was the ultimate shit-test:  she was probably just trying to ascertain whether I shit, or de-objectify  herself by claiming that she herself took shits.

I started taking Metamucil a few years ago, and now half the time don’t really need toilet paper and my ass doesn’t even smell.  When I do need toilet paper – and I always give it at least one wipe to be sure – I almost always use baby wipes. I figure that whatever shitting hot chicks really do – if they really do shit at all – they are probably using this technology, and more.

Of all the asses I’ve ever approached for licking, only one ever smelled.  I had a feeling going in it was gonna be a mistake, but I hadn’t had it in a while and started going in anyway until I caught the whiff and backed off.  None has ever tasted.  No brown on my tongue, either, and certainly no dingleberries.  It probably helps that most of asses I’ve licked were of hired help – they were prepared.  And since they were hired help, I didn’t have to worry that if it stank or tasted funny, I would be expected to do it again.

You don’t lick the ass of a drunk of a girl you’re going to marry and have to deal with the fact that she gets insulted 30 years down the road when you won’t lick her ass any more.   In fact, you don’t like the ass of your wife, at all.   It might stink the first time, or the third time, and marital discord will arise when you’ll never want to do it again.  And, it might create some weirdness if she thinks you want her to do it to you, even if you don’t.  Only if a wife is fully-prepared for anal intercourse should you even consider it, because if she doesn’t view her ass as a sex organ and you’ve never licked it before, she won’t be expecting it and so may have pooted or shitted shortly before you make your move.

You don’t lick the ass of a lawyer-type you meet at a DC happy hour in a bar with a wet floor after she’s been queefing at her desk all day long in sweaty nylon panty hose.

Maybe I just have to be really turned-on to do it, my sexual fever deadening my sense of smell.  While its imperative that a girl be ready for it, I don’t like licking a girl’s ass when she wants it or expects it – maybe “when you least expect it” is womanese for finding your soulmate when the schmoe you let pick you up when you’re drunk suddenly and unexpectedly tongues your colon – but I’ve been running into that more and more, yet another phenomenom that can probably be blamed on Sex and the City.   Maybe because it feels too beta to have a girl bend over, cheeks spread wide, and indicate what she wants done, but I find that suddenly what would otherwise be a lickable ass suddenly looks like pretty much nothing more than a smelly hole that shit comes out of.

The one exception was one night with Summer (real alias, real name not being divulged because I am trying to get back in her good graces after posting it on this site), who came over one night in what appeared to be a meth-induced sexual frenzy, promptly sat her ass right down on my face, and began licking, fingering, and tongue-fucking my ass like there was no tomorrow.  Of course, I didn’t expect it.

I’ll never forget the first ass I licked.  She was a gorgeous, petite, short-haired Latina, at the windowless peeps on 42nd Street in New York.  After feeling her tits for the obligatory $1.50, I put another 50 cent token in the machine, the window lifted up, I handed her a couple of bucks, and started feeling her ass.  She spread her cheeks, and showed me her gorgeous pink asshole that she bragged to me was still a virgin.  Within a millisecond I ended that status, with my tongue, and within a matter of seconds, the wall of the booth was dripping with what seemed like pints of my semen.  The window went down, and she was facing me, with sheer love in her eyes, as she began fondling my air, looking like she wanted to husband me.  If had a little more game back then, I’d have made a digits move, and our children would be in graduate school by now.

To my knowledge, no one ever talked about having her ass licked by me more than Heroin Michelle.  I picked her up in a club one New Year’s Eve, made out with her furiously all over the place, including the dance floor, but when she invited herself into my apartment, I couldn’t close the deal because my grandmother was asleep inside, and I figured I’d have another shot anyway.  Five years of telling her how much I wanted to fuck her and lick her ass, literally pleading for the opportunity, I offered to let her stay while she was on house arrest.  She took me up on my offer, but found a boyfriend just before she moved in and still wouldn’t give me any sex.  Early one morning, after sneaking out to party, she returned and I insisted she join me on my bed.  After a bit of cajoling over repeated objections that I was her “friend,” it was off to the races.  At some point, I had her bent over doggy and started fucking her from behind, couldn’t resist the allure of her dreamed-of butthole, and I dove right into it tongue-first, driving her head to the floor as she arched frontward over the side of my mattress-on-the-floor bed.  Her freshly-showered ass was fresh, yielding not a hint – as I later found out -  that she had fucked four other guys the night before.  At first, she thought it was a prelim to anal, and was afraid of that since though she loved anal, she thought I had too big a cock.  She loved having my tongue in her ass so much she told her sister, she told her friend, and was still talking about it and hinting for a replay a couple of years later when she returned from the West Coast a fugitive to turn herself in and face up to jail.

I used to worry that chicks would think I was a pervert if I licked their ass.  I’ve only received one negative reaction, and it was a hot street whore in Waikiki, in 1986.  I asked her right out on the street  if she would do that.  She looked at me with scorn, exclaiming, “I don’t  do that shit!,” and walked away.  But no chick has ever reacted to me  with anything but full-on appreciation and ecstasy once the act has commenced.  Porn Star Jenny Hendrix actually publicly asked me, through my girlfriend and in front of several other people in the lobby of a club, if I would do  it to her.  And I’ve run into at least three hot chicks in the  past few years who first surreptitiously started doing it to me; one even subtly advertised on backpage.com that she loves licking ass, and on our second date, I reciprocated.

I won’t lick a big ass, or one that’s too small and flat, and I won’t lick the ass of a girl that’s hairy (more likely to have ass hair that catches dingleberries), or Jewish (too high an incidence of irritable bowel syndrome). I won’t lick a black ass, and the only Asian  – after many opportunities – I ever approached was the one that stank (too many weird things on their menu, and their asses are rarely shaped right).  I won’t lick the ass of a woman much over 40, unless she’s near-perfect, and I won’t lick the ass of a girl that’s on the rag (too many things to clean down there at the same time).  I won’t lick the ass of a girl with bad breath, or a smelly pussy, or underarm odor.  Hot blondes and hot Latinas are the best – the latter seem to consider it virtually obligatory.  Hot Italianettes are good, too.

I used to run ads on AdultFriendFinder offering it, but I never got any takers stating they were interested in it.  Maybe I was a ahead of my time, or maybe everyone else was already doing it and not talking about it.  I thought it would be a selling point; apparently, it wasn’t.

The thing with asslicking in porn is it rarely seems that the porn star doing the asslicking or the starlet receiving it  is really into it, maybe because, like me, they prefer it when it isn’t planned.  Then again, maybe those guys are oversexed and spoiled, or maybe they feel funny licking ass in a room full of people, with cameras recording the event for the whole world to see, preserved for eternity, or at least until the Beneath the Planet of the Apes moment that will probably be upon us all too soon. In porn, girls seem to do with more enthusiasm (and therefore better) to other girls – yet another demonstration that they are just bigger freaks.

Also, porn starlettes know when its coming.  The chicks who’ve loved getting their asses licked by me the most either had never had it done to them before, or weren’t expecting it.  It literally knocks their socks off.

OK.  That’s a lie.  Their socks are always already off.  And their bras.  And their panties.  But you know what I mean.

And no camera can quite capture the feeling of hot chicks’ pristine, saliva-lubricated ass cheeks resting on my face cheeks, the feeling of of their assholes literally squeezing my tongue with delight, the feeling that exact moment they relax into it and just let their pussies fill with vaginal juices knowing they have passed the ultimate inspection of their digestive systems.  There was major sex study a couple years ago that found that women enjoyed sex the most when they felt appreciated by a sex partner, and nothing makes them feel more appreciated by a sex partner than having a guy’s tongue in their ass.

OK, maybe a guy helping with the vacuuming makes them feel as appreciated, but nothing else sexual quite has the impact of a fully-ass-inserted tongue.  Eating pussy is largely beta, oft-reducing a guy’s status a notch; eating ass triggers love.  Real guys don’t eat much pussy; we eat ass.  Staring at and drooling over clothed asses is just supposed to be the prelude.

Here’s a link to a rare porn scene where the guy is licking ass right (when you get to the linked page, you have to click on these numbers in small letters underneath the same numbers in big letters):   4(5)

C’mon, admit it Roissy.  After watching that scene, if you weren’t so oversexed, you’d be grabbing tissues.

Anyway, that’s my ode to asslicking.  Asslicking porn perversion rating 8.  My perversion rating.  Well, I was going to claim a perfect 10, but I’ve run into a couple of  chicks who really get off swapping cum with me  – with people watching – after I’ve licked their ass and before I’ve had a subsequent chance to use mouthwash or brush my teeth, so they’re even bigger perverts than me.

I guess I’ll have to settle for a perversion rating of 9.

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Does there really need to be an article to explain why?

I would have just said this in a Facebook post, but after my permanent ban, I’ve been too lazy to get myself back on.

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In a move that will surely shock some of the initiated, though not regular readers of The Balls Monologues, DirkJohanson (uh, real name – yes, its my real name.  Really) has endorsed a woman in a race against a sorry-excuse-for-a-guy for a seat in the United States Senate.  Today, DirkJo formally endorsed Linda McMahon, wife of wrestling magnate Vince McMahon, in her battle against Connecticut Attorney General and Craigslist Erotic Services section enemy Richard (“Tricky Dick”) Blumenthal.

Given DirkJohanson’s outspoken views concerning the ability of women to reason, many are stunned to hear that DirkJo is endorsing a woman to join a body as august as the U.S. Senate, which is intended to be a geographic sampling of the greatest deliberative minds in the country.

I know.  Stop laughing.  I said, “intended.”

Here are some reasons I am making an exception to the general rule:

1.  McMahon was shrewd enough to land a guy with a rich father who went on to become a world-famous, rich businessguy, and has managed to stay married to him for over 40 years, even after he had made enough money to buy all the pussy he could want.

2.  She supposedly actually had a role in the success of the business.

3.  She got married to Vince when she was 17, sparing herself the dumbing-down and sanity-destroying alpha guy cock carousel dating process.

4.  At 62, she’s mature, long past the mid-life stage of a woman’s life when, probably due to the biological demands of child-rearing and raising, so many womens’ reasoning abilities steadily deteriorate to the point of being about the equivalent of that of guys in the few seconds leading up to the emptying of our balls with an ejaculation.  Do you really think you should be serving in high office if your thinking ability was like that all the time, the blood having drained from your brain to the nether-regions, your nerve centers everywhere else anesthetized?  Then neither should a woman in her mid-40s.  Think Christine O’Donnell, Sarah Palin, and my boss.  McMahon, thankfully, is well past that stage in her life.

5.  A guy who was instrumental in bringing the world Captain Lou Albano, The Grand Wizard of Wrestling, and Classy Freddie Blassie will have her ear.

6.  As previously reported in The Balls Monologues, her chief opponent Blumenthal, a former member of the Nixon White House, has hassled websites offering commercial sex, lied about having served in Vietnam, and is therefore a piece of shit, lying, filthy, feminist, douche bag.

Unfortunately, the race is too close for comfort.  According to a Fox News poll today, McMahon trails in a survey of likely voters 43 percent to 49 percent, and according to a Rasmussen poll conducted last week, only 3% of Connecticut voters were undecided at the time.  Plus, I can’t imagine there are too many Guyinists left in Connecticut who don’t already realize that Blumenthal must be stopped who will be swayed by my endorsement, prestigious as my endorsement is among the payah community.

Its going to take something more.

I was hoping events were going to take care of themselves.  After some recent public questioning of the efficacy of shuddering the Craigs listings since it would be so easy for another website to fill the void, Blumenthal apparently first learned of my advertiser, Backpage.com, and immediately starting hassling them.  Unfortunately, however, Backpage.com is owned by Village Voice Media, not the Russian mafia, and Blumenthal continues to live.

Which brings me to this:  there’s 21 hookers in prison in it for you.  Twenty-one hot, nubile, tatted, tongue-pierced, cum-guzzling whores willing to suck your cock and swallow your balls, and willing to let you ram your dick up their asses and smother their faces with semen.

What?  No takers? ‘

I know, I know.  Twenty-one hookers is only a decent year for DirkJohanson, perhaps a good month for George Lopez, and only good week for Charlie Sheen.

Make it 221* hookers in prison, but bring me his corpse!

Actually, what am I going to do with a fucking corpse?  I’m sure I’ll catch something about it on TV – that’ll be proof enough.

* While Connecticut may very well be for fucking, and conjugal visits are apparently allowed in at least some Connecticut prisons, neither Guyinism, LLC nor DirkJohanson in any way warrants or implies that the prison you end up in will allow conjugal visits.  Moreover, Connecticut does, in rare instances, impose the death penalty, a fact which, even if you are allowed conjugal visits in the meantime, may result in a time limit impeding my ability to timely deliver all the hookers to you in time. Amenability of any particular hooker to anal not guaranteed

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First, listen to his lame come ons. Is this how a Hall of Fame NFL quarterback – or even a backup NFL quarterback – should be talking to a woman?  He’s a wuss!  Show some balls, guy!  You’re one of the greatest quarterbacks that ever lived.  You’re the Brett something that was with Mary and that she had been all about! You sound like I used to sound when I asked girls out on dinner dates by making phone calls, before I limited all my phone-call-asking-out to fuck-a-hooker dates!  In other words, you sounded lame!

Is it just that you rarely have to actually ask a chick out on a date, since they approach you?  I guess you’re a little rusty.  Keep things in perspective.  You could get a Jenn Sterger -type in New York off Eros Guide for $500 tops, and cheaper elsewhere, such as my advertiser, Backpage. You make $500 within like the first 10 seconds of a game.  And she doesn’t even have real tits!

Not only that, Sterger’s from Tampa:  chances are, she was waiting for you to broach the subject of how much money she would get for the sex.   Don’t sound so needy next time.  And don’t be so cheap!   Offer up a few benjamins.  I mean, were you worried she’s a cop?

Second, and perhaps more disturbing, at about the 2 minute and 8 second mark on the video, there is a video of what is represented to possibly be Brett Favre’s cock, but nowhere in the videos are there any balls.  Not even one!  They might be tucked in there somewhere, but they seem not to exist.

Brett Favre:  you’ve got a long way to go if you are ever going to be a Balls Monologues Guy of the Year nominee!

Meanwhile, here’s hoping the Jets never go out of business.  A team like that can give a guy like me a lot of material.

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Its getting to be that time of the year again where we need to start thinking about the 2010 Balls Monologues Guy of the Year.  Last year, the award went to hedge fund manager David Tepper, who made about $7 billion in 2009, starting each day by rubbing a pair of brass testicles for good luck.

There are, of course, plenty of candidates, celebrity or otherwise.  However, one serious candidate has to be retired New York tax attorney William G. Halby, who attempted to deduct over $275,000 he spent on hookers and other sex-related expenses as “medical expenses.”  According to law.com, Halby, 79, had the balls to attempt to deduct $40,588 on his 2002 return for “therapeutic sex,” $70,776 for “massage therapy to relieve osteoarthritis and enhance erectile function through frequent orgasms” and $2,173 for “pornography to enhance sexual performance in lieu of taking Viagra.

Unfortunately, the New York tax court ruled that Halby was not allowed the deduction, ruling that ”Patronizing a prostitute is illegal in New York and, thus, a taxpayer cannot claim a deduction for any illegal operation or treatment.”  The opinion mirrored the findings in 2009 by the U.S. Tax Court upholding the Internal Revenue Services’ rejection of Halby’s sex-related deductions on his 2004 and 2005 return.  Nonetheless, Halby, who is a graduate of the prestigious University of Michigan Law School and still admitted to practice law, must be respected for his testicular fortitude.  His good-faith attempt at “expanding the law” (no pun intended) by deducting the expenses can only be admired as a ballsy “nice try.”  Hopefully, one day we can get enough Guyinists elected to change the law so that the cost of hookers and porn – even if not medically necessary or even medically advisable – can serve as a legal tax deduction.

For those of you who, like myself, are seeking similar tax deductions, don’t give up.  I maintain that if one is writing an aspirationally for-profit blog largely about their sexual experiences – and many of those experiences happen to occur just after or just before you give a girl money – they should be considered perfectly legal tax deductions.  Its not illegal – or uncommon, for that matter – for women to get horny in connection with receiving money, nor is it illegal or uncommon for them to act on that horniness.  I am not paying women for sex.  I am paying them to assist with the production my business as reflected in the literature I am producing – indeed, as reflect in my art.

I would note that Halby had asked that the court record be sealed, but was denied his request because, according to court, other than “embarrassment, has not demonstrated good cause to grant his request to proceed anonymously.”

Mr. Halby, you have nothing to be embarassed about.  You have the love and admiration of Guyinists around the globe.  It is guys like you that are out there fighting for the rest of us, and we have nothing but respect for you for doing so.  If any of you readers out there would like to show William Halby some moral support, contribute to his now-massive tax bill, or – for those hookers among my readership – solicit him for money in exchange for sex, he can be reached at:

150 Marine Ave., Apt. 2H
Brooklyn, NY  11209-7713
718.745.4792

Checks can be made out to the “William G. Halby Legal Defeat Fund.”   Assume, at least for the time being, that contributions are not tax deductible.

Oh, and don’t write too big of a check.  In the event my sex-related tax deductions are denied and I need money, too.

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As my regular readers – or anyone who cares to scroll slightly – know, I was recently banned from Facebook.

I received some bad news today:

Hi Dirk,

Your account was disabled because you violated Facebook’s Statement of Rights and Responsibilities. Prohibited behavior includes, but is not limited to:

• Creating or uploading content that is pornographic, sexually suggestive, or contains nudity
• Harassing other people with sexually explicit language
• Sending unsolicited friend requests or Inbox messages to people you don’t know

You will no longer be able to use Facebook. This decision is final and cannot be appealed.

Please note that for technical and security reasons, we will not provide you with any further details about this decision.

Thanks,

Jill
User Operations
Facebook

Its safe to say the exact reason was my balls.

I have a feeling using a different email address should resolve the problem, albeit with some hassle and loss of Facebook Friends.   Suggestions are welcome, and if none of those work, I have my eye on taking it all the way to the Supreme Court.  Why not?  The First Amendment gets stretched all the time.  Is not Facebook using public bandwith?  Do I not engage in political speech?  Its almost as if Facebook is preparing its legal defense by not specifying my exact infraction.  Hmm.

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Most of Canada’s prostitution laws were struck down today.  Details here!!!!!!

The decision is on appeal.  In the meantime, I’m going to start looking for cheap rentals in Ontario.

Congratulations to the plaintiffs, Valerie Scott, Terri-Jean Bedford, and Amy Lebovitch!  I hereby grant you honorary balls!

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DirkJohanson’s sounds-too-good-to-be-true scheme to become rich and famous largely by having sex with prostitutes and telling the world about it – and thereby paradoxically not having to pay as many hot chicks for sex anymore (‘the Tepper Paradox”) – was dealt a serious blow today when he was permanently banned from Facebook.  Recently, DiJo, as he is known by some, had been getting away from writing blog posts, figuring that he had already created a body of literature that speaks for itself, and had ramped his Facebook posting as a social media longer-form alternative to too-short-form-for-his-wisecracks tweets.

DJohanson has appealed the ruling, but a final decision has not yet been announced by Facebook officials.  Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg presumably cannot be reached for comment, at least not by The Monologues, which isn’t known for getting return calls (even from a lot of DirkJohanson’s best friends, fearful of the association).

OK.  Enough of talking about myself in the third person.  Here’s the backstory:

Early this morning, when I tried to log on to my Facebook account, I received this message:

It got even more forboding when I clicked on the “here.”

OK.  Back to talking about myself in third-person.  It reads better.

It is unclear at publication time what the grounds were for DirkJohanson’s Facebook banishment, but I have my theories (who cares about the # person – why can’t I go back and forth?).

My leading suspicion is that my banishment had something do with my reposting as my profile picture a close-in shot of my balls taken while I was administering my share of a bukkake in the 2002 filming of “Susan Reno is a Sticky Mess: The Tampa Bay Bukkake (Scene 2)” I posted the picture of my balls at the moment just after I plastered Susan Reno with cum because I didn’t have an active Facebook profile picture.  What I didn’t remember was that I had apparently posted the same picture.  Only after I posted the picture, did I realize that two other identical images were already included in my profile, indicating that the image had been removed as my profile picture by Facebook previously.  It would appear that the administrators at Facebook are baseball fans – three strikes, and I’m out.

But I’m not sure this is the entire story, back or otherwise.  As you can see, its not obvious that the picture is a pair of balls, especially at the size of a thumbnail, and while its true that the picture is associated with a the balls behind “The Balls Monologues,” I can’t imagine that Facebook is monitoring millions of profile picture uploads that closely.

The question then becomes, “who did I offend?” enough to rat me out.  Of course, for obvious reasons, approximately half of the entire human race (i.e., nearly all women who aren’t hookers, plus a few hookers) are potential suspects.

One woman I suspect was party to some recent Facebook commentary concerning the professor who complained that him and his wife could barely get by on $400,000 a year.  There was a mixed-gender discussion (one woman, two guys) going back and forth on whether $250K qualified someone was rich, when I chimed in with the following econguyinistic analysis (the actual posting may have been worded slightly differently):

“Someone making $250K a year and trying to raise a family of four in New York City is not rich.

“A single guy making $250K a year who has been making that kind of money for a few years and saved a reasonable proportion of it is, anywhere but the most expensive parts of the country, rich, albeit not super-rich.

“A woman making $250K a year, except in the rarest of instances, would, anywhere in the world, be drowning in credit card debt, upside down in her mortgage, be owed huge sums of money she would never see by guys who are in jail or on the lam, and would have a closet full of worthless shoes.  She would not be rich or middle class, but rather decidedly poor, which is why most civilizations throughout history – at least those that survived into recorded history – have strictly limited the ability of women to contract and otherwise handle money.”

While one of the guys responded “LOL,” the broad was eerily silent.  That exchange occurred a day or so before I posted the picture of my freshly-drained balls, but I suspect she may have been by then keeping an eye on me – indeed, probably the most birds-eye view of my balls a female has had since a CNA-student/hooker using the name “Nadia” (real alias) asked me to trigger her own orgasm by splooging on her tits this past Saturday night.

That having been said, even with the billions of female suspects around the globe, I can’t even rule out the possibility that I may have offended someone within the Guyinism community.  While I liberally deprecate myself for a laugh – except around hot women, because self-deprecation around women is as successful a mating strategy as cutting off your balls – I am also prone to poking fun of others, and I’m afraid I recently took things a bit too far for some of the more lifestyle conservative Guyinist elders and health-enthusiasts among The Spearhead readership.

After reading a decidedly Mens Health-like article entitled “10 health & sex tips for men,” and similar reader commentary, with health tips such as “Avoid Unfermented Soy Products” and sex tips such as “Get in Shape” and “Have a Routine,” I decided to have some fun and post some sex tips of my own. Specifically, I wrote,

“1. … do a lot of hookers

2. don’t take Viagara: Levitra and Cialis are much better.

3. keep some blow around your crib, even if, like me, you don’t like it – its like stocking a bar. If you go out to clubs, only take a little blow with you, and keep it in the car, so the chick will know you really have it, but don’t bring too much, both for law enforcement purposes and so the chick will want more and have to go back to your place. Also, when keeping it in the car, wrap it in as many layers as possible to its harder for cops to have the right to ask you to keep removing layers. One of those Russian doll things is good for that purpose.”

My comment did not go over well with this super-serious, more hard-line sect of the guyinisphere that made its way that far down the comments to the article, some of whom have been through vicious divorces and deprived of visitation with their children.  After quickly  receiving three “dislikes,” and wanting to preserve my popularity among The Spearhead readership base not yet ready to accept the outer limits of my Rome’s-burning-anyway-so-lets-have-some-fun-in-the-meantime-approach, I asked the head of The Spearhead, W.F. (“Welmer”) Price, to mercifully delete my comment (while Welmer relayed that he thought my comment was funny, and I did receive a “like” from someone before hearing back from him, I chose not to change course again, and my comment remains down).  However, I cannot rule out the possibility that one of these guys didn’t want my balls -  likely the single most graphic visual image of an entire weekend of bukkake on a middle-aged woman’s face – to become the symbol of the fledgling mens’ rights and Guyinism movement.  And perhaps there is good reason for that.

Anyway, I am hereby asking my readership to implore Facebook on my behalf to restore my account.  Please send your emails to appeals+5t3rbg@support.facebook.com I’m not sure they will go through, but its worth a try.

In the meantime, I hereby pledge to you that I will not post a picture of my sweaty, spent, circa-2002 balls as my profile picture on Facebook a fourth time.  In baseball and apparently Facebook parlance, four balls is a walk.  I should have stopped there.

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David,

I wrote a review of your of your iconic interview on CNBC.  You can read my review by clicking here. Thought you might enjoy it.  After seeing you both go and say, “balls to the walls” on live global television, it is clearer to me than ever that you were the ideal selection for  “The Balls Monologues’ 2009 Guy of the Year.”

I’m writing to you now again to ask you to be our benefactor (plus, I’ll be using this article, with your email addresses redacted, of course, as material for a blog post).  For a contribution of merely $1 million, I would be able to quit my lousy job and concentrate full-time on developing and disseminating Guyinist doctrine.

As you know, Guyinist fuckonometricians, including myself, have calculated that you made enough money last year to have sex with at least the entire female population of Norway, Sweden, and Finland combined.  I have done some research, and determined that if you donated just $1 million to Guyinism (or about .5% of what you earned last year), your earnings last year alone would still afford you enough money to have sex with the entire female populations of those three countries, except you would have to skip having sex with the 50,000 or so women in Lahti, Finland (pop. 98,826) – its not like you’d have to miss out on fucking all the women in Helsinki.  Besides, how hot can the chicks be in a city that sounds like a type of coffee? Oh, shitzou – coffee is usually hot.  Never mind.  Pick another city to skip over if you prefer. Anyway, I understand that once you’ve had sex with about 315,000 Scandinavian women, its like you’ve had sex with them all .

If $1million is not available for our cause at this time, I have an alternative suggestion.  As I gather from your CNBC interview, you have been averaging 30-40% returns for about 15 years.  If you were to set aside just 10% of a 30% return on $1 million, I would still have to keep my day job but I could use the proceeds, $30,000, for fuckonometric research.  You wouldn’t even have to formally set it aside the mill an endowment – we’ll just get the flow.  An annual pledge of just $30,000 would allow me to have sex with about three hookers a week.  Think about what I would learn and be able to share with the world!

It is not just your money we Guyinists are after.  Your gravitating personality gives us the perfect public image.  You exude several of the most important Guyinistic qualities, qualities that I am proud to have myself:  1) a modicum of success, or at least the desire to succeed, 2) a bawdy sense of humor, and 3) not-particularly-good-looks (OK, the first one is very optional in Guyinism, but the fact that you are successful is a big plus).

Moreover, we could really use your leadership. A prominent Men’s Rights/Guyinist online magazine recently ran an article asking,  “Who Will be our Spartacus?” I strongly believe that you would make a great Spartacus for Guyinism.

I know what you are thinking.  As ably pointed out by several Spearhead readers, Spartacus was captured and crucified, enduring an incredibly tortuous death.

Listen, just don’t think about that part.  Let me worry about the details, OK?  You still have a highly-successful hedge fund to run, not to mention day-to-day family obligations.  Just go with it.

I suggest this.  I live in Tampa, close to Raymond James Stadium.  Before you jet back to Jersey tonight, hit me up.  I can either meet you in the skybox, or after the game at nearby legendary lap dance emporium Mons Venus, which is only a short walk from the stadium.  You can buy me a lap dance or two and we can discuss how we can work together.  Better yet, you can just buy Mons Venus, we can get a few lap dances together, and you can gift Mons Venus to Guyinism when you fly out.  A lot of my research has been conducted there, and I could get even more done if I didn’t have to pay the $20 cover charge every time I go in.

By the way, if you happen to get run into by Roethlisberger, let him know about this, too.  We Guyinists recognize him as being one of us, at least with his old haircut.  Hopefully, he hasn’t thrown out that $14 Walgreens self-trimmer he was using and he can again, like us, look the part.

Hope to hear from you.

—
DirkJohanson
“The Balls Monologues”
http://guyinism.com/
813.546.6705

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I think I recognize my sugarbaby!  She looks like the blonde who passed out.  OMG, I just saw her yesterday, in Florida, at a truck stop.

I better check to see if she’s OK.

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