My Brother Rollerblades

Thanks Voltron, good stuff here. If only Human Giant weren’t so mainstream. If only Human Giant was more like Gay Robot…”I’m a robot, and I like wieners”. My brother is so gay. He should totally try to knock the bottom out of Gay Robot…

In-House

Please Welcome Guest Blogger, Voltron:

At the bachelor party your Rude Not To host and I attended in Vegas this past weekend, one night’s activities included the time honored tradition of procurement and enjoyment of in-house entertainment. I find in-house to provide much more bang for one’s buck than a visit to the neighborhood strip club. There are really no pretenses with in-house. First, you have prepaid for titties and ass grinding on your junk, so $20 for a half-song lap dance as is customary at a strip club doesn’t come into the equation (note: you are a boner if you buy a lap dance at a strip club mid-way through a song, but that’s another subject altogether). In the comfort of one’s hotel suite, apartment, or home, in-house ‘hooas are not under the watchful eye of some greasy strip club pit boss that looks like Triple H. But I digress…

Despite all the advantages of in-house, things can and do go wrong. This weekend in Vegas was one such situation. The big mistake was hiring “escorts” instead of “strippers”. To the uninitiated, these are one in the same. They are, in fact, not. Both have titties and a vagina and really only have a job because you are genetically predisposed to being a dirt bag (its OK). I think the similarities end there though. Strippers are professional cock-teases. Some even specialize in an advanced form of the erotic arts, be it insertion of something inanimate into their gap or some soft-core S&M with the bachelor. They dance, they grind on your cock, they work for tips, and if you’re lucky, you should be able to grab a handful of titties.

Escorts, on the other hand, are more or less dead behind the eyes prostitutes that get paid to show up under the pretense of a “date”, fuck the payee, and leave. They range from “high-price call girls” (chicks that you would probably pick out of a crowd as worthy of your boner) to “the rest” (chubby chicks with stretch marks, a likely case of Hep-C, and noticeable scars from past surgeries).

Well, the ass-clown in charge of strippers at this past weekend’s bachelor party hired escorts for the in-house. It’s kinda like taking a dump in a porta-john. It will work in a pinch, but it’s not the optimal situation. These bitches couldn’t do anything right. It was the singular most disappointing in-house experience of my long and distinguished bachelor party career. I felt much better once someone produced an unopened package of bologna, which functioned as a processed meat projectile that had the uncanny knack for adhering to any surface in which it made contact, be it a wall, ceiling, or escort/stripper’s buttocks. Oh yeah…. the donkey we rented for the night ate all the amphetamines someone left on the coffee table. He died, so we dragged it to the nearest elevator and left it there. Oh Vegas. You’re incorrigible.

XO – Voltron

Room 5051

As much as I love boobies in the face, sometimes you just aren’t in the mood to drop $20 for a minute and a half cock tease. My buddy (let’s call him Voltron) and I came up with the following one-liners to send those money grubbing, boobalicious, dead-behind-the-eyes whores on their way:

• we just got here
• we just ate
• we’re not drunk enough
• we’re waiting for someone
• wouldn’t be good for your business to stick around
• you’re not my type
• if you had a penis, it would be on
• your girlfriends kidnapped our buddy
• we’re gay
• I’d be careful, I cum easily
• seeing you naked might ruin it
• I’m on my way out

INTRODUCING GUEST BLOGGER, VOLTRON:

Poor white trash doesn’t like paying $7 for a beer in the casino. I mean, don’t get me wrong. There is a time and place for overpriced beverages, but when the hotel ice is free and one doesn’t foresee the need to use the sink for the next few hours, why not economize? Listen, its not something I am proud of, but at least I didn’t buy Miller Lite. I would just drink straight from the toilet if I decided to go that route.

Toodles – Voltron

Special thanks to the Bellagio, Scores, Smith & Wollensky’s and Walgreens.
P.S. Maybe next time, Ashlee. (I’m guessing she spells it with two e’s…)