Thursday, June 25, 2009

Chinese Girls

Chinese girls are the best kind of fuck. They bring luck to anyone who fucks them. The type of luck varies. You never know what specific luck energy a chinese girl will bring you.

Each type luck of luck is represented by a gem:

Ruby -You will have good fortune in powerful matters. You will win your next seven fist fights.

Sapphire - You will misplace some rope on your ship. When you find it again, it will be double the rope you thought you had.

Pearl - The stock market will crash, and it will be your fault. You will marry a woman in a bread line. She will have giant breasts, great for squeezing, and her pussy hairs will be so soft you'd think she were a prince. She is pregnant and lactates. You will drink her milk. It is a time of famine, but you survive with her on breast milk, bread, and pregnancy fucks.

Emerald - Money, money, money! You will have so many stacks of money, for no reason at all. The catch is you are now gay.

Gold - Two dragons on the top of your building that you never knew were there. They will be yours for transportation. The second dragon is for your eventual wife. You will never have an eventual wife.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Cumshot Olympics

Since 1968 there has existed an annual underground Cumshot Olympics, based out of Chippewa Falls, WI. Applications must be submitted between May 1st and July 1st of every year. If you are chosen, you will be flown first class to Chippewa Falls International Airport, to compete in the event.

Submit the following questionnaire, using #2 pencil only, to:

Cumshot Olympics
55 Cockstone Drive
Chippewa Falls, WI


Name: (Cody)
Age: (21)
Penis length: (12")
Penis girth: (7")
Last recorded cumshot distance: (6')

Favorite cumshot olympian: (Jeff Daniels, Actor)
Favorite cumshot: (Billy Boxer. Age 12. Arkansas. 1919. Shot cum from shoreline of pond, hitting a fish jumping out of the water twenty feet in.)
Favorite spank material: (Dance scene from Scent of a Woman)

Friday, June 19, 2009

Sex Riddle

A man was found shot to death, with cum all over him, while in his car. The cum was not his own, there were no powder marks on his clothing, which indicated that the gunman was outside the car. However, all the windows were up and the doors locked. After a close inspection was made, the only bullet-holes discovered were on the man's body. How was he murdered and covered with cum?

Highlight for answer: The man was John F. Kennedy, and the car was a convertible.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Reader Question #1

Dear Really Good Smut,

this summer something changed in me. my penis hairs were getting longer by the second. i am 14 years old. my name is Robert.

puberty strikes, they say. my dad says. this is all the advice I am getting on the subject. I like video games and girls (sort of)

every single day my penis hairs grow an inch or two. why is this

thank you

Robert F
(but my friends call me goku)


Penis hairs are a specific species of hair. This is why they are found only on the penis.

When you rub a penis hair one of a few things can happen:
1) You feel sexual gratification
2) The penis hair falls out
3) The penis hair rubs back

These are all normal processes that the body must go through, and will continue to go through until you are a man.

Do not be afraid of your penis hairs. You can even trim them if need be. Some grown men trim their penis hair completely. Others do not trim their penis hair completely. This is up for the man to decide, not the woman.

Really Good Smut

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Sex Jokes

A man comes home from work to find his wife fucking a guy whom she is not allowed to.
"Honey!" the man says, in shock.
The guy turns around from fucking the man's wife to face the man. His chest is covered in bee stings.

* * *

Q: What do you get when you have sex in a cake shop?
A: Cumcakes.

* * *

Q: Why did the asian drive into a tree?
A: Naked ladies were abound.

* * *

A 10-year-old boy comes into the kitchen from the living room.
"Clean that up!" his mom yells.

* * *

A guy walks into a bar with a duck under his arm. He sets the duck down next to him at the counter and asks for a beer.
"I haven't seen you in here before," said the bartender.
"I've been here plenty," said the man.
"Did you always have a duck under your arm?" asked the bartender.
"No," said the man.
The duck puked cum onto the counter.
"You're gonna clean that up," said the bartender.
"After my beer," said the man.
The man drank his beer and then the bartender came back around to him.
"Will you clean that up now?" asked the bartender.
"After my next beer," said the man.
The bartender handed him another beer. After the man drank it the bartender came back around to him.
"Can you clean that up now?" asked the bartender.
"After my next beer," said the man.
"Well we're all out of beer," said the bartender.
"I guess I'll never clean it up then."
The man exited, never cleaning it up.

* * *

Q: Why does a woman have breasts?
A: For a number of reasons

Smut-bits for Bad People: Tales of Malicious Ejaculates

A racist man used a time machine to go back in time to fuck Cleopatra. When he found out she was black, he went back to the present and masturbated instead.

A bad man had sex with an orphan. When he found out later that she was an orphan, he thought "If I had known she was an orphan I would have came twice as hard."

An evil blind man had sex with a sad woman. When he found out later that she was sad, he thought "If I had known she was sad I would have came twice as hard."

A deceptive man wore a handsome mask in order to seduce a woman. When she was about to come, he took off his mask, revealing his plain real face.

A strong man seduced a woman with his strength. When she was about to come, he told her he was so strong because he was really a robot. This was a lie.

An intelligent man seduced a woman with his brains. The woman was a blind woman and the intelligent man was really a computer.

A braggart seduced a woman with lies. The woman was a naive woman but the sex was good.

7 men had sex with the same woman on different occasions. Later they got together and compared their experiences over tea.

A prudish man was once asked by his lover to shit on her chest while they had sex. He politely refused.

A stingy man was once asked by his lover to pour pennies on her chest while they had sex. He politely refused.

A society of bad men thought about doing sexually malicious things to women. On the way to do these things, they were brutally murdered by a society of bad women.

A sad man once thought naughty thoughts about an eagle. Several schoolchildren prayed for him and he reformed his ways.

Another sad man once thought naughty thoughts about an apple. Several schoolchildren prayed for him and he reformed his ways.

An intelligent man once installed a penis in his computer. The computer enjoyed it when the man stroked its penis and made odd faces and noises when this was done. This was all part of an experiment conducted without the computer's knowledge or consent.


"Give me all your faggot money!" the young, likely black ruffian demanded. He prodded the old man's spine with his pistol, edging him around the corner and into the shadowy alley.

The old man reached into his pocket.

"No funny stuff," said the disenfranchised person-of-colour.

The old man pulled out his wallet and opened it.

"Turn around!"

The old man turned and faced his robber. The boy was barely legal, and dressed in an undershirt and baggy jeans. His curly chest hair was bouncy and seductive.


The old man's hands shook as he opened his wallet and leafed through his money.

"Come on!"

The old man fanned out several heterosexual money.

"That's all you got? No faggot money?"

The old man gulped. His hands were shaking. "I don't use faggot money. I'm not a homosexual."

"You're not a homosexual?"

"No, son."

"Dammit!" the negroid urchin exclaimed. He looked around, thinking. "Alright, can you get me any faggot money anywhere?"

"I don't know any faggots."



"Alright, fuck this." The living darkness incarnate crashed the gun against the old man's temple and he fell to the ground, out like a light.

What came next was gay sex of epic proportion. You have never seen such a penis in all your life. It was like a tree branch sprouting from his loins, dark and gnarled. The veins were thick as guitar cable.

Oh, how that penis was shoved into that old man ass. What a mess of blood and enjoyment. You should've seen it. If you'd only seen it, you'd know.

The pounding lasted hours, and then the old man was pumped full of so much cum that it shot out of his nose as if he had been drinking milk and someone had told him a joke.

After, the old man was dragged to the nearest bank, and inside to the next open teller.

"This is a faggot!" the teenaged african exclaimed to the teller.

"I see," said the teller.

The chocolate person handed the teller the old man's regular money, and it was exchanged for faggot money.

"Will that be all today?"

"Yes," said the sentient licorice stick.

"Thank you and have a nice day."

"You, too."

The brown spectacle exited, and later gave the money to his favorite charity.

Friday, June 12, 2009

A Plea for Carnal Knowledge

Barcelona, Spain - A wildly popular new major was introduced into the curriculum this fall at the University of Barcelona. More than 1,000 incoming freshmen in the School of Psychology have declared themselves as "Carnal Knowledge" Majors. These students, under the direction of Dr. Smevgee Knoack, have copulated with over 10,000 individuals across the world since the program's inception.

"The idea is to create a complete catalog of the world's penises and vaginas." Knoack said.

The project, funded by thousands of anonymous grants made through Knoack's propaganda mouthpiece "Future Better Sex for President, Two Thousand and Sex," sends students to locations all across the world, in order to fuck a genetically diverse sample of the world's population. The student also takes various measurements and, assisted by a local translator, a short survey of the individual's sexual history. Upon returning to Barcelona, Knoack hooks the student up to an EEG machine and records their memory of the fucks (known as the "carnal knowledge" of the fucker) they have experienced. This data is later correlated with the physiological data and anecdotal history of the fucker.

"When we can learn to correlate certain aspects of a fuck with corresponding sections of the human genome, we will be able to increase future human sexual pleasure tenfold!"

Fuckers (the official term for the research subjects worldwide) are chosen randomly from a broad sample of populations chosen based on their genetic diversity. A student is then assigned to obtain sex and information from those subjects, through guile, seduction, bribery, or, one common method, the fabrication of false brothels. Students are encouraged to be compensated by the fuckers (though stealing is of course forbidden) and to donate this money back to the Future Better Sex Foundation.

The carnal knowledge of any given person includes things like the texture and wetness of thier vagina, the propensity to laugh during sex, whether they orgasm with their eyes open or closed, the aerodynamic properties of their penis, the flavor of their ejaculate, etc. These type of facts, once tied to particular genes, will be controllable by science. According to Dr. Knoack, when breeding programs are initiated (projected to begin by 2050), humanity will become a "Sexier Beast."

"Perhaps The Sexiest Beast," he added, wistfully. "We will never know until the same research has been applied to all the Beasts." Knoack confided in us his hope that his Future Sexier children will conduct this research. There was some implication that Knoack had a lot of money riding on this.

This humble smut blog wishes Professor Knoack the best in his endeavor and asks him for that our sons to have denser and more pleasant cocks than the cocks God granted us.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

The Royal Tenenbums

Royal Tenenbum bought the house on Archer Avenue in the winter of his 35th year. Over the next decade, he and his wife had three children, and then they separated.

This is the story of their copulations.

Richie Tenenbum

Royal and Etheline were playing bridge in their bridge room.

"I don't know why you play this with me," said Etheline.

Royal laughed. "Well I . . ." He didn't finish his thought.

"You what?" Etheline smirked.

"Let's just play the game." Royal smiled confidently.

Etheline placed her cards face down on the table.

"The game's over?" Royal asked.

"I'm going to the ladies room," she replied.

"I'll walk you there."

"If you wish."

Royal walked her there, and fucked her there. It was a quick fuck. Neither Royal nor Etheline removed a single article of clothing. She was wetter than he could ever remember her being; wet like the Gobi desert on opposite day. He prodded and prodded at her vagina, with his man meat. She rubbed her clit while she held her panties to the side. His man meat was purple; royal purple. And so hard, not even Max Fischer himself would be able to solve it in a daydream.

After fifteen seconds, Royal ejaculated inside her. One second later, Etheline came. Nine months later, a tennis star would be born.

Chas Tenenbum

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," the lady in the pornography VHS tape exclaimed.

Royal Tenenbum was sitting on the floor, stroking his member and staring intently at the Zenith television set. Etheline was not to be home for another few hours.

"Royal?" Etheline opened the door.

"Etheline!" Royal exclaimed, as he ejaculated high into the sky. His cum formation whizzed over the television and landed square on Etheline's dress, right at her F.U.P.A. (Fat Upper-Pussy Area).

"Royal," she sighed angrily. She batted at the stain with her hand, but it was too late. the cummage had seeped into her cunt and was already making Ben Stiller.

Margot Tenenbum



Vladimir was a worthless man; that was what was so sexy about him. He had no job, no aspirations. All he did was sit inside his cardboard box in the alley behind the chinese food place and sleep all day.

One day, Vladimir awoke to a knife at his throat and two slanty eyes staring at him. It was one of the dishwashers.

"Egg Roll!" the dishwasher growled.

Vladimir squinted his eyes. The light was shining very brightly. It was early in the morning; too early to think.

"Egg Roll!" the dishwasher repeated, even growlier, and forced Vladimir up onto his knees. He was strong, as far as chinese dishwashers go.

Vladimir put his hands in the air. "I don't know what you're talking about," he belched.

The dishwasher dragged Vladimir over to the shady side of a dumpster. They were obscured from pedestrian view.

"Egg roll," the dishwasher repeated, very matter-of-fact this time. He pulled down his pants and underwear, exposing his penis, which looked in fact, very much like an egg roll.

"Oh," said Vladimir. He stared at the penis, transfixed. It stood a straight four inches, surrounded by a Gene Shalit bush of black hair. It was dripping with oil and very crusty.

"Egg roll!" the dishwasher growled, and shoved Vladimir's face toward his penis. Vladimir froze for a beat. The dishwasher cut a nick on Vladimir's neck as a warning, and Vladimir immediately commenced the sucking.

The penis tasted of partially-hydrogenated soybean oil. Vladimir had been sucking it no more than ten seconds before the dishwasher shrieked with orgasm and ejaculated into his mouth, filling it with the taste of duck sauce. He swallowed respectfully, and the dishwasher withdrew his penis.

"Egg roll," said the dishwasher, his breath heavy.

Vladimir quickly grabbed a hold of of the dishwasher's knife and forced it out of his hand. The dishwasher stared in shock as Vladimir drove the knife straight into the dishwasher's urethra, slicing the shaft in half, causing blood to drain out like a faucet on high. The dishwasher clutched his groin and fell to the ground. Vladimir straddled the dishwasher and stabbed both his eyes, ending his vision for good.

He got off of the dishwasher and took a few steps back to stare at his accomplishment. The dishwasher was writhing on the asphalt, screaming, one hand on his genitals and one hand covering his eyes. Vladimir smiled, turned and left. He would keep the knife.

Broken contracts

There will be no more second chances for former Miss California Carrie Prejean. The Miss USA runner-up has officially been raped, this time with the penis of pageant owner Donald Trump.

Miss California pageant officials said Wednesday that Prejean was raped because of contract issues.

"This was a decision based solely on contract violations including Ms. Prejean's unwillingness to perform oral sex on behalf of the Miss California USA organization," executive director Harry Member said in a statement sent to '' "After our press conference in New York we had hoped we would be able to fornicate. However, since that time it has become abundantly clear that Carrie is unwilling to fulfill her obligations under our contract and corporate."

Even Trump, the real estate mogul who co-owns the Miss USA organization and saved Prejean from a donkey show last month, did not stand in the way this time.

"I told Carrie she needed to get back to work and honor her contract with the Miss California USA Organization and I gave her the opportunity to do so," Trump said in the statement. "Unfortunately it looked like she wasn't going to offer her full consent and Keith offered me his full support in making this decision. Carrie is a beautiful young woman and I wanted her, under contract she had no right to deny me."

Miss California runner-up Tami Farrell will immediately take over the crown and Prejean's responsibilities as Miss California. The current Miss USA Kristen Dalton and Miss Universe Dayana Mendoza will also lend a hand in an an effort to satisfy America's libido.


'Bag Balm' That is what he said when he touched my breast, teasing out my milk. Today he is not alone, he is with a friend I have yet to meet. Fulfilling his promise a tin is produced. I quiver with delight as I see my new lover reach deep in with his strong joints and pull out a glistening dollop. He is not as gentle as his friend, but his new touch excites me as he moistens my chapped teats. Once the deed is done I see that my former lover has been wounded and is now just here to watch. This excites me more and my milk now flows in rivers into the bucket bellow. As the bucket fills I dream of my bulbous mounds being washed by an orgy of unknown lovers. 'She's tapped' he says and opens the gate in front of me. As I leave I hear my new love say 'I sure cut my hand up good it's a good thing I've got Southpaw.' Later that night as I chew my cud all I can think is his name 'Southpaw.'

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Dogtown & Z-Boys

My name is Reginald. I'm an elderly man. I have known skateboarding ever since it was first being invented. I used to watch the very first skateboarders skate on the very first skateboards. Back then, skateboards were made the old fashioned way. The pure way.

They were made of dirt and cum. All the skateboarders would gather around and jerk off onto some dirt. Using the cum, they could mold the dirt into a skateboard shape. Then they'd bake the board at 650 degrees for 7 days, and their skateboard would be ready.

Oh how the town would smell when a skateboard was being baked. It would smell of dirt and cum everywhere you went. Dogtown was definitely the place to be, if you were a fan of dirt and cum stench.

And the skateboarders would never wear any shirts. Ever. It was frowned upon. So was circumcision. If you were circumcised, you weren't allowed to be a skateboarder. So imagine this: tanned, shirtless boys with foreskin. This was truly the golden age of skateboarding.

But then things changed. Skateboarders started wearing shirts. Jews started being allowed to skateboard. Times weren't so great anymore. In fact, they were downright bad.

I still fuck skateboarder boys anyway, though. Who could resist? They do their 720's and their 420's and their flippies on the pavement, just asking for an ass-full of cum-fuck.

Sometimes I fuck skateboarders so hard that they forget how to do their moves and have to learn them all over again. This is what I live for; it is the ultimate fuck.

In conclusion, life isn't so great anymore, but there are still pleasures to be had. Anuses remain unchanged. It's still the same hole. I have no complaints in that department.

Assistant Walmart Greeter
Fairfax, MI


She thickly gazed into his lust. He was sweaty; ten hours of workout would provide him with the man-stamina necessary to treat a woman as this to kind-fuck. She demanded domination-fuck on occasion, but after a long day at her job, she needed his tenderness, dripping from her wet innards. As he sat at his workout cataloging desk, she would brush by him. Her throbbing labia would be noticeable as it pressed upon his leg. As he felt her subtle labia-brushes, he began to dig his pen deeper and deeper into the paper. He had done a great deal of workout and needed to keep track of it. For him, it was human research. He would push his body through space and time as it would taken to its physical limitations.

The man was collecting his sweat as well. Any instance of sweat needed to be collected for his research. Sometimes this made their sex awkward. Sometimes as he was thrusting into his woman and hoisting her body above his own, their sweat would mix and this would frustrate him. He would still continue to slide his cock deeply into her. Sometimes he would slow it down so she could feel his cock so precisely; every ridge and edge was noticed during the slow in and out. He would run his hands down her back and grip her buttocks, his smooth fingers prodding the soft flesh. Sometimes he would gently place his lips on her nipples and suck with a precision of one-thousand Olympic athletes. He would kiss her thighs and run his tongue along her skin, drawing a line of saliva that would lead to her vagina, the thing he would eventually fuck if he wasn't already.

Sometimes he would kiss her neck and move to her ears, nibbling on them so gently. She loved this so much and would moan with the sound of one-thousand Olympic athletes. Often he would fuck her from behind, which she loved very much. His cock was angled downward, so this position would stimulate her g-spot more than she could handle sometimes. There was one instance where she passed out mid-thrust from all of the fuck-pleasure she was receiving. The man would continue and fill her limp hole with the cum of one-thousand Olympic athletes. He was a powerful man and worked hard in the gym so that he could fuck his woman.

Sometimes he would fuck his woman with his tongue; he did exercises for this and was able to simulate a powerful, albeit smaller, turbo-cock. He could move his tongue very quickly as he rammed his nose into her clitoris. The man had trained to soften the cartilage in his nose. It became a sensual device, not unlike that of a common nose-shaped sex toy the couple had frequently used that had inspired his bodily transformation. With muscles trained at the gym, the man could cause his nose to vibrate and send chills up the spine of his woman with the strength of one-thousand Olympic athletes. She was gorgeous when she came; he lived to see her cum and felt dead when she was not cumming. He always wanted her to cum harder than she had in the minutes before. Just imagining her not cumming could make the man run at double his normal speed. He could lift three times his normal threshold when imagining her not cumming. His nightmares were nightmares in which his woman never would cum constantly. Thankfully he lived more like his dreams. His woman craved his cock sometimes a lot. He wanted her pussy pressed up against his stomach. Sometimes this required some strange maneuvering, but she always did it for him. He could feel the edges of her pussy on his well-sculpted abs. He would desperately run his hands through his hair as he injected a variety of drugs into his spine. He would put his lips into a kissing position as she continued to rub him. Sometimes her juices would burn his skin. He wanted to burn like one-thousand Olympic athletes.

When their sweat got mixed, the man would become very angry. He had to collect the sweat, place it into jars, and boil the woman-sweat out of it. He would continue to fuck despite the fuck-sweat-mix; the thought of this hard work would still pollute his mind during every thrust with his cock. They were a good couple despite all of their problems and the man's unrealistic expectations for his own life that would probably kill him within a day or two.

Fist of Fury: A Bruce Lee Smut

Bruce Lee was walking down the road doing karate forms when all of a sudden he saw a woman who appeared to be unconscious on the ground in the woods nearby. He front-flipped over to her with the greatest of ease, and checked her pulse. She was fine, just faking.

"I've been waiting for you all day," said the woman, with a smile.

Bruce Lee stared at her stoically.

"I know you do your karate down this road. I watch you ever day. On this day, I decided to wait for you like this."

Bruce Lee stared at her stoically.

"Do you know why I waited for you?"

Bruce Lee stared at her stoically.

"It's because I want you to fuck me with your punches."

"Jeet Kune Do is training and discipline towards the ultimate reality in combat," said Bruce Lee, "Jeet Kune-Do is the only non-classical style of Chinese Kung Fu in existence today. It is simple in its execution, although not so simple to explain. Jeet means 'to stop, to stem, to intercept,' while Kune means 'fist' or 'style,' and Do means 'the way' or 'the ultimate reality.' In other words--'The Way of the Intercepting Fist.'"

"I see."

Bruce Lee began punching her inside her cunt as he spoke. "I have not invented a 'new style,' composite, modified or otherwise that is set within distinct form as apart from 'this' method or 'that' method. On the contrary, I hope to free my followers from clinging to styles, patterns, or molds. Remember that Jeet Kune Do is merely a name used, a mirror in which to see 'ourselves' . . . Jeet Kune Do is not an organized institution that one can be a member of. Either you understand or you don't, and that is that.
"There is no mystery about my style. My movements are simple, direct and non-classical. The extraordinary part of it lies in its simplicity. Every movement in Jeet Kune-Do is being so of itself. There is nothing artificial about it. I always believe that the easy way is the right way. Jeet Kune-Do is simply the direct expression of one's feelings with the minimum of movements and energy. The closer to the true way of Kung Fu, the less wastage of expression there is.
"Finally, a Jeet Kune Do man who says Jeet Kune Do is exclusively Jeet Kune Do is simply not with it. He is still hung up on his self-closing resistance, in this case anchored down to reactionary pattern, and naturally is still bound by another modified pattern and can move within its limits. He has not digested the simple fact that truth exists outside all molds; pattern and awareness is never exclusive.
"Again let me remind you Jeet Kune Do is just a name used, a boat to get one across, and once across it is to be discarded and not to be carried on one's back."

The woman orgasmed. Bruce Lee removed his arm from her cunt.

"Thank you, Bruce Lee," said the woman.

"I believe in having a few pupils at one time as it requires a constant alert observation of each individual in order to establish a direct relationship," Bruce Lee replied, "A good teacher can never be fixed in a routine... each moment requires a sensitive mind that is constantly changing and constantly adapting.
"A teacher must never impose this student to fit his favourite pattern; a good teacher functions as a pointer, exposing his student's vulnerability (and) causing him to explore both internally and finally integrating himself with his being. Martial art should not be passed out indiscriminately."

"Thank you."

Bruce Lee continued on down the road doing karate forms.

The Discovery of Lust

In the fourteenth century, an obscure Jesuit priest named Jocz Marghitu, a cloistered monk in Romania, wrote a theological treatise in which he rejected the existence of demons. He noted that God, the omnipotent creator and ruler of the Universe, had created good and evil, all the plants and animals and people in the world, and Satan. Further, there is no mention of Devils in the Bible. According to Marghitu, then, the beings at that time known as Devils were merely animals like any other, and not at all supernatural or particularly evil. He predicted that somewhere in the world, there existed animals that personified each of the 7 Deadly Sins.

Several centuries later, the Sloth was discovered and named in Brazil. Marghitu's text was largely forgotten by that time, but a young explorer and theologian named Federico Carvahlo had been shown the text by a charming librarian, and set out to prove Marghitu's theory true. Carvahlo sought and was granted funding by King Filipe II of Portugal for a voyage around the world to discover the remaining 6 "Devils."

Over the course of the next 50 years, Carvahlo and his team discovered and categorized gluttony, greed, wrath, envy and pride. But lust eluded them, and Carvahlo (the driving force behind the expedition) died in the hunt.

I believe this recently discovered, never-published document, written by young railroad baron Jeff Honnets, represents the first and only sighting of lust on record.

"My story is not a pleasant one, but it needs to be told for the good of society, to prevent this from happening anywhere else. It begins on Mackinac Island, the summer of 1906. My newly wedded wife and I were taking our honeymoon there, among the horses and globs of fudge. We took the ferry across in the afternoon, having spent the previous night debauching in high society at one of the more exclusive music halls of Mackinac City. The next morning we soaked in a bathtub scented with bubbles and camphor.

My wispy Mid-Western wife's hair wrote Lutheran hymns on the wind as we crossed Lake Huron. The sun hit us in each of our right places, and we became lightheaded and happy. A carriage awaited us on the dock; after helping my wife enter its claustrophobic pink innards, I pulled shut the thick curtains and entered my wife's claustrophobic pink innards. My wife prayed to God for an orgasm (a thing she had never dared to do before, the poor mousy daint) and I became His instrument in answering her prayer. I calmly smoked a chives cigarette while my rocky member carried out the Lord's will.

Such was the force of the orgasm God had granted her that my wife was knocked unconscious. I had to have her carried up to our room when we arrived at the Grand Hotel. This was the moment of my first mistake: I neglected to recover the life-juices that had spilled from the cornucopia of my wife's vagina when we had finished, opting instead to read a magazine article on beekeeping (my secret vice). At the time, however, I could not have known the significance of my omission: I thought it better at the time to leave it, as perhaps some animal or hungry person would find sustenance and succor in its life-giving magic. This had been my charitable custom throughout many years of boyhood tree-fucking, after all.

I stopped by the kitchen to pick up some things, and found my wife sleeping in our room. Lowering the sheets, I rubbed soggy cheese into her pebble-hard nipples. This was a treatment a doctor had prescribed her to increase nipple size and suppleness. I think the doctor was left-handed.

The next day, we decided to take a ride around the island on a bicycle-built-for-two. My wife, emboldened by God's blessing the day before, decided to take the (what was for her a) rather adventurous step (though I am told some women are quite accustomed to the practice) of lowering my trousers and stroking my member while we rode. Every few pedalstrokes I gave, I would seed the dirt road below.

We were only about a third of the way around the island when the sun had gotten to me enough that I decided we ought to take a break. My wife spread a blanket out on the grass, and we lay down together for a blissful hour, drinking courant and inhaling sea breeze. I fell asleep, and my wife must have wandered off to piss or find a water fountain or something. When I awoke, she was gone, and it was nearly sunset. The exhaustion of my fortifying life-juices on the road had tired me more than I had realized.

I packed up our things and set off to search for my wife. "Wife!" I called, but to no avail. The blue of the sky was deepening, and I decided to make a fire to attract my wife's attention. I lit my blaze sat down to relax on a log, smoking a clove cigarette and watching the play of the flames and shadows. A sinister feeling came over me then, which I attributed to my empty semen bladder. I heard a noise, then. A sort of . . . fapping, but with the terseness and savagery of wild dogs' yelping. "Wife?" I thought.

I took up a torch and headed in the direction I heard the sound from. As I approached, the sounds quieted, and I heard a rustling of leaves and cracking of twigs. I nearly tripped as I stumbled into something thick and fleshy. It was my wife's bloodied, battered, semen-dripping corpse. I remember little else from this point; I woke up in the morning in a pool of my own vomit.

The next few days passed in a blur. I wandered around the forest without eating or drinking, fucking trees and sleeping in them. Eventually, I was awoken by several soldiers, who roughly arrested me and imprisoned me in their treefort. A few nights later, I had regained my senses, but was still baffled by the situation, and nearly mad with grief. Clearly these men were under the impression I had killed my wife and bathed her in my own semen, but I knew this to be false. And why were they living in a treefort, supplied only with grain alcohol and stale peanuts?

That night, the soldiers had brought some prostitutes to their unique dwelling. I was able to see everything that went on from my cell, and I found myself erect in spite of my grief. I heard far off bayings and howlings then, and began to feel cold. The soldiers and their companions took no heed. A few minutes later, the tree began to shake from the base. Again, the soldiers and their companions took no notice. They were concentrated on the fuck. None of them even realized what was going on until the creatures had climbed into the treefort and begun pummeling their bodies with fierce, quick thrusts. These animals, which I can only describe as penis demons, ground the four bodies into a soup of blood and ejaculate. I was exceedingly glad of my cell now, as it seemed the demons were not intelligent enough to use keys and locks. It occurred to me then that the creatures were frenzied by the sight of my swollen cock, and endeavored to hide and eventually reduce that nuisance. After several hours, the animals calmed and fell out of the treefort to the ground below.

The next morning, I was awoken not by the sun, which did not enter my cell until evening, but rather by the sexy crying of baby penis demons. They seemed to have generated spontaneously from the bodies of the prostitutes. The demons are growing frighteningly quickly, and I fear they may not prove as dull-witted as their progenitors. . ."

This document was discovered several years ago during a Boy Scout camping trip to Mackinac Island. Since then, it has inspired a full investigation into the proceedings, though many decry its contents as the ravings of a treehouse madman. Preliminary investigation results, however, have lead me to believe otherwise. I have hypothesized that this man, Jeff Honnets, had a rare gene that changed a very specific aspect of his immune system. This allowed the parasitic bacterial phase of the penis demon (or sperm devil, as it is sometimes known) to live in his sperm, while it is killed off immediately by even the weakest immune system in other people. This bacteria, however, is killed off by lubricant fluids in the human vagina. It can only grow when in contact with blood and sun. When these conditions are met, however, it grows with abnormal rapidity and metamorphoses into a small reptilian creature that resembles the human penis. In order to propagate the species, the animals attack and murder other creatures and ejaculate in their blood to spawn the next generation.

No one will ever know what really happened to Jeff Honnets, but I believe certain elements of the text indicate he did finally understand what had happened to some extent before the diary leaves off. One strong bit of contrary evidence brought up by skeptics is that the neither the treefort, nor Jeff Honnets' remains have ever been found. Presumably, if the diary is taken at its word, the gene died out with Honnets. The fate of the penis demons is unknown, and will perhaps always remain a subject for conspiracy theorists and cryptozoologists.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Cocktown: A Proposal

Ladies and gentlemen,

Thank you for coming to my speech. You are much appreciated members of society. I commend you for that. I commend you.

(Pause for applause)

I bring you here today to discuss a new idea for our town. A new direction; a change for all ages. The future is coming and we can do nothing to stop it. We can get on the train or we can not get on the train. I propose we get on the train.

The best way to get on the future train would be to redo our whole town. Extravagant! You might say. Costly! You might say. It is all of these things. But it is the only way to a sure future for our town.

Let us knock down entire buildings all over town. Let us build, instead of new buildings, fully operational giant cocks in their place, equal to their size. These cocks will belong to giants that are buried underneath the ground. We will feed the giants through food tunnels, and keep their cocks constantly stimulated and erect by paying women to kiss the cocks 24/7.

Thank you for your time,
John F. Kennedy Jr.