All alone, I wonder why you’re helpless. A brain in a room.
It's been oh so long, baby. Mmmmhmm, yeah. Awww yeah. Let's start this up, huh? Maybe a few light keystrokes. Hell yeah. That's nice. Now, let's punch them a little firmer, huh? Yeah, right there. That's fucking sexy. Uh-oh. I'm gonna...I'm gonna..
Let's get this started.
Here's the thing....Often, I think about a significant return to blogging. I think of creating a new site, pimping it out, gaining a small readership and showing them cartoons and hi-fucking-larious posts(No shame.).  Often, I think of inviting some of the quality funny guys I know to blog with me. I think of the good times we had and wish I could have them again.
Then, I slap myself for being a woman, and then roughly feel myself up. This makes me, myself, feel degraded and violated. But don't get all "Call a rape center!" on me. Because I was asking for it, in fact, I deserved it.Â
Why? Because Characters from TV shows have blogs. Retail Corporations have "news blogs". For Fuck's Sake, JJ's goddamned DOG had a blog. Sure, it's cute and novel for a few days, but then when you look at it...it's like they've taken away something that was a tool for people to maybe express themselves in a way that was previously non-existant.Â
Now, sure. There are definitely people that should not have access to any kind of audience, lest they shatter that precarious self-image they have deluded into seeing. But thanks to Reality TV, lots and lots (and I mean LOTS) of those people are being smashed into tiny pieces on camera and then slow-churned into nice little bits of voyeurism for all of use to gorge ourselves on. We can taste their failure, self-hate, misery, and complete breakdown of mind.Â
But it wasn't all "The misunderstood ramblings of a girl on the world" or "Edges of Darkness layered in Dark Corners of Dark Crybaby emotions and endless hours of The Cure.", was it?
There were some badass bloggers back in the day. Like this chick Goldie from Austrailia? And This crazy kid, G-fry who went off to college. or Tubbs from Lousianna. Or Maine, from you know, well Ladytown, VA. Shit, what about Mikey? And the entirety of QW's and The Churning link lists?
And while I was thinking about how great these blogs were, I realized in that moment, that we, ourselves, killed blogging. Not corporations, not television show producers. We did it.
We did it by allowing ads. We did it by subconciously (however remotely) expecting that we were all clever, intelligent and talented people who "just hadn't been discovered, yet." We did it by allowing things like BlogExplosion to breed. We took something that could have legimately been a resource for better understanding of our fellow humans, and tried to squeeze a few bucks out of it.
I always said, when I started the QW! with J (not JJ mind you, he was last on the cast), we would write things that make us or our friends laugh and nothing else. We would never censor ourselves, or be fake. And we didn't. And while not everyone liked the QW!, we did have a pretty large readerbase. I think in a lot of ways, we were inspirational.Â
And we killed it. Because apparently, liking guns, making dick jokes, and running a joke campaign for the presidency is considered "being a dirty terrorist". Yes, folks. One of our own was insulted, threatened and otherwise abused for having an internet blog and just sharing thoughts, fiction, for entertainment purposes. And we gave up. We all quit and headed for the hills. Out of fear for our friend, and maybe REALLY because we were afraid for ourselves.
 I looked at blogging in that moment, and I saw a dream, a chance and a hope shredded, splayed wide open, viscera and sinew stretched. Blogging was dead. As it lay there, clawed at, and fed upon by carrion vultures of our society, I could have wept. Had I any part of me that was not cynical or bitter or just malcontent, I would have wept.
Sure, maybe I was an idealist, maybe I was an idiot for buying into an idea and believe that people at their core were not just rotten and self-centered.Â
Maybe next time, we'll get it right.
Masturbation Euphemisms: Jilling, Rubbing One Out, Spanking the Monkey, etc.
Remember way back in the day when The Churning would collect super awesome lists of euphemisms for sex terms? You goddamn better remember. One of our classic lists still gets search engine hits on a daily basis, so I figured I'd bring it back and see if you guys can come up with any more additions. Todays topic is: Euphemisms for Masturbating (Male or Female Masturbation).
- A date with Palmela Handerson
- Acting out the grapes of wrath
- Backing your fist
- Bang yourself
- Beat the beaver
- Beating my meat
- Beating the bishop
- Bop the bologna
- Choking the chicken
- Clap your clit
- Clean the bean
- Clicking the mouse
- Dating Hannie Palmer
- Diddle my skittle
- Diddling
- Donald trump firing his apprentice
- Double clicking the mouse
- Fiction friction
- Fire off some knuckle-children
- Five finger shuffle
- Flickin’ the kitten
- Flicking the bean
- Flog the dolphin
- Fucking yourself
- Getting trigger happy
- Going fishing with the man in the boat
- Going to the palm prom
- Greasin’ the gash
- Hand to gland combat
- Having a knee trembler
- Hit the slit
- Hitchhike To The Sky
- Holding your sausage hostage
- Indiana Jones finding a sweet dig
- Jacking off
- Jerkin the gerkin
- Jerking off
- Jibber jab
- Jilling off
- Let the beaver swim
- Lubing the tube
- Making it snow
- Making my girl happy
- Making stomach pancakes
- Milking the cow
- One handed baseball
- Painting the ceiling
- Pet the poodle
- Petting the kitty
- Playing air guitar naked
- Playing pocket pool
- Playing tug of war with the cyclops
- Pole dancing
- Polishing the pearl
- Pumping the keg
- Revving the engine
- Roughing up the suspect
- Rub the nub
- Rubbing one out
- Rubbing Rob Reiner
- Ruin your eyesight
- Scrach and sniff
- Scraping off the scabs
- Scratch n’ sniff
- Shake and steak
- Shuffle your Ipod
- Slam the clam
- Slapping the salami
- Slicking Willie
- Spanking the monkey
- Spinnin’ a record
- Squishing the squidgie
- Stroking it
- Stroking the one-eyed snake
- Taking care of my business
- Tapping the wookie on the head
- Thinking of your mom
- Tick the taco
- Tickle your pickle
- Turning Japanese
- Two-finger tango
- Visit from the five-fingered aunty
- Visiting Rosy Palms and her five sisters
- Walking the dog
- Wax on, whack off
- Whippin off a batch
- Wrestling the one eyed monster
Riding the Bus to Work Sucks Donkey Balls
Sarah from Misanthropic Tendencies posted a frighteningly accurate list of reasons she hates public transportation. Here are some highlights:
- The nasty ass motherfuckers who leave dirty diapers on the seats
- The nasty ass motherfuckers who leave dirty NEEDLES on the seats
- The men who sit all spread eagled with their knees three feet apart preventing anyone from sitting comfortably next to them, or sitting next to them at all (PS, i can see your moose knuckle dude)
- The people who can’t get the FUCK out of the aisle when i’m trying to get on or off the bus/trolley
- The jesus freaks who preach the entire ride to/from work
Check out the rest of the list here.
(I know my ol' pal Joe's gonna dig this list - He deals with this bullshit on a daily basis.)
Half-retarded
I have a few very important questions for The Churning Loyalists:
- Is "retarded" a socially acceptable word? Ah, fuck it - I'm using it.
- Do retarded people ever fall in love with non-retarded people (and vice versa)?
- Do retarded people ever have sex with non-retarded people?
- Do those sexual encounters ever lead to pregnancy?
- Would a retarded chick go through with it and give birth?
- Are those children half-retarded?
- Do those half-retarded kids have a rough time explaining the situation to their friends?
Friend: "Dude, what's up with your mom? She sounded weird when she picked up the phone"
Half-retard: "Oh nothing. She's just retarded."
Friend: "Your mom's retarded?!?"
Half-retard: "Yeah, dude. But my dad's not. He's just a regular guy."
Friend: "Your dad fucked a retard?"
Half-retard: "Yeah, I guess so."
Friend: "Dude - that's sooo hot." - Retard sex probably doesn't seem hot to most people.... Does it?
Unacceptable Topics for Dinner Conversation
Last night, I went to a friend's house to hang out. He and his girlfriend were just sitting down to dinner when I showed up. I sat at the table with them and had a couple of beers as they ate. Then over the next hour or so, I brought up several insanely inappropriate conversation topics. I'd like to think they were entertained. Or perhaps I'll never be invited to dinner again.
Here are some of the topics I brought up:
- Is "cunt" the dirtiest word?
- Do you suppose there are people who have a fetish for open sores?
- What would open sores porn look like? I think it would it have close up pictures of women with oozing genital warts, masturbating as they rubbed their scabs.
- Do you prefer Psilocybin or Mescaline?
- Oil and vinegar salad dressing is kind of like trying to mix Vaseline and Astroglide.
- Do you think felching is worse than a Cleveland steamer?
- Sure, I'd be glad to tell you what "felching" means.
- All that stuff is fine - but sucking someone's toes? That's disgusting.
Support our advertisers
Recent Posts
- What not to do during a job interview
- Search Strings – Porn that will make you sick
- Twitter Phishing and the Pharma Hack
- Vegetarians are weird and unhealthy and stupid
- Text Message Misunderstanding
Subscribe via Email
Feedback
Recent Comments
- ILoveAlbinas on Albino Porn Doesn’t Exist
- Wouldn't you like to know ;) on Normal Age for a First Kiss
- Wouldn't you like to know ;) on How Often does a Normal Person Masturbate?
- Suger buns on How Often does a Normal Person Masturbate?
- Brenda on Albino Porn Doesn’t Exist
Blogs
- Adventures in Blah Blah Land
- Avitable-isms
- Bacon After Dark
- Captain & Coke with a Lime
- citynoise.org : Philadelphia
- Idle-Ranting Revisited
- MacBros’ Place
- My Life as Rocky’s Dad
- Randi’s Random Rantings
- String and Timekeeping
- The Airing of Grievances
- The Finest Kind of Pork
- The Omnipotent Poobah Speaks!
- The Pop Eye
Friends
- An Artist’s Journal
- Martha Brooks Marshall
- Martha Brooks Marshall – absolutearts.com
- Molumbus
- Premium Horticultural Oil
