Dick Week, Last Day: I’m Gonna Praise You Like I Should

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Dick Week, Day Four: A Few Cons about the Ultimate Pro

Day Four of Dick Week!  I’m gonna start off this penultimate post by saying that reading everyone’s submissions has been a BLAST.  I doubt I will write much about dicks in the foreseeable future (seriously, this stuff is messing with my dreams – last night, I dreamt I was flying in an airplane, and my in-flight meal was a mustard-covered penis in a hotdog bun, and all my teeth fell out, and then the plane went down), but I’m really warming up to the idea of having more contributors on the blog.  If you think you’ve got the chops to regularly get bitched out for arbitrary (and inaccurate) grammar rules by Ms. Editrix over here, email me and we’ll talk.

Anyways, before we get to it, Dolly wants to talk to you:

Dick Week, Day Three: We Suck What Will Destroy Us

Onto Day 3 of beloved (?) Dick Week!  I am writing this post in the midst of a panic attack, so while you’re reading this, if you suddenly start shaking and need someone to rub your temples very softly for the next three hours, I’M SORRY.  Panic attacks are the honey badgers of the blogging world – they don’t give a fuck about deadlines.  Anyways, I am so goddamn happy that some ladies of 801 saw penises, laughed at them heartily, and then shared their thoughts on everything from dry-humping to deep-throating.  Yaaaay, women!  We’re like the lampreys of men’s self-esteems – we are cold-hearted suckers. 

Before we move on, let’s calmly water our peace lilies and watch the girls from The Hills for a second:

 Ahhhhh.  It’s like I’m one with the world now.  (I wish I created that gif, but I didn't.)  Let’s get to it!

Dick Week, Day Two: Medic…Seck Ett.

You want wang thoughts from fellow Salt Lakers?  Fine, you got it.  (Oddly enough, no one submitted one dick joke.  Not one.  I banged my head against my laptop a number of times in despair because I WAS COUNTING ON THOSE!  Oh well.  That’s what I get for giving everyone a whopping three days to come up with something.) Tonight, I’m letting guys do all the talking…except for me…because I can’t stop talking.

Anyways, let’s get to it.  As Kenny Powers would say, “If that’s what it takes, then a c-c-cockin’ dream it will be sucked upon.”

Dick Week, Day One: Oh God, I'm Stuffed.

Happy Dick Week, everybody!  Since last Wednesday, I’ve been collecting all sorts of people’s thoughts about the significance of penis size, and let me tell you, the participants didn’t disappoint.  Also, because life isn’t fair, I’ve ordained myself the general overlord of this whole conversation by grouping all submissions into lazily selected categories, and snidely commenting on each of them.  While most posts this week will have several entries in each of them, this first one was such a stand-alone riot, that it deserves to kick off the open ceremonies all by itself.

So!  Let’s get to it.  As RuPaul would say, LET THEM EAT COCK.

“I suppose I could tell you for the most part that every guy that claims to have a giant dong will talk about it incessantly, and rave about how amazing it is, and write odes that are as long as a Steven King novel about it has ended up having a laughably small penis. Those guys also end up not being good in bed and suck at foreplay, but somehow manage to get alllll of the blow jobs because they are ridiculously easy to give without doing jaw exercises first.

In that same instance however, every man who has been down on his poor little penis and constantly complaining that it is not that big, becomes a nightmare to sleep with because during sex all they are asking you about is if their cock feels good inside of you and if it is an okay size, and if you say yes, they tell you that you are lying (because you are lying) What are you supposed to say? "Sorry it's small, but if you just keep fucking me and shut the hell up for five seconds I probably won't care?"

AND then you have the guys that are super "cocky" and sleep with every lady on the planet and always talk about all the play they get, and even though you tell them that if they wanna be your lover they better not get with your friends, and you decide to sleep with them out of sheer sickening curiosity, you come to find that they are realllllllly good at giving oral sex and it is to compensate for their very sad lack at ANY other skill that has to do with sex. They generally have very small to medium sized dicks.

In the large wanger category, it is a win/lose situation. BJs can only be given if you are able to separate your jaw like a snake about to eat a baby pig, and positions can tend to be limited due to comfort's sake.

However, I prefer the larger wanger due to the fact that even though I don't hate giving blow jays, it's not a favorite past time of mine, so I get a free pass on that due to the sheer terror they have of me accidentally scraping their dick off like a drunken bicyclist falling onto the pavement on the way home from the bar. Also, they are amazing at foreplay by making sure the lady gets her comeuppance first due to limited sexual positions, and they are confident in their big wanging skills in bed. That, and you never get the "How is the size of this monster" question, they always have an orgasm – like all men do – and then both parties lay back in bed panting heavily, light a cigarette, and don't burn the house down while passing out with it in their hands due to the new safety measures they have placed on cigarettes.

That being said, I am a Huey Lewis girl.”

Bahahaha! I guess I should tell you all that I 100% agree with this anonymous ho in virtually everything she’s said. I LIKE ‘EM BIG TOO.  It is absolutely wonderful to just look up at a guy from the floor with teary eyes that plead “Please don’t make me suck that Anaconda, I might die,” and get a completely understanding (albeit frustrated) look in return. 

Plus, the truth about the sex positions!  Preach girl.  While the idea of spinning and spinning, faster and faster on top of a dude’s piece is so wonderful, it really isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world when you’re dealing with a massive schlong.  As you’re riding him, you start to think scary thoughts like, “Shit, is he puncturing my duodenum?”  No good.

One more word to all those guys that lie about their dick size:  DO IT.  Your chances of humping on me (at least once) dramatically increase if you lead me to believe I’m about to get some colossal man-pole.  The look of disappointment won’t come until after you leave because I’m polite like that.  But seriously!  What better way is there of getting in the door – so at the very least, you can prove how amazing you are at eating a bitch out – than by lying to her?


And now it’s time for your gratuitous Clueless scene:

 

Health Tips from Raggle, Part I: Tan Hard or Die Trying

Salt Lake City has earned itself the nasty reputation of being one of the healthiest cities in America.  This is wrong.  We are not California.  In this new installment, I’m gonna work hard (but not workout) to give hope to all those degenerates who believe that life without Whole Foods, Zumba dance and sunblock is still worth living! 

(For those of you that find malnutrition, cancer, death, and terrifying STD tests sticky subjects, please take all this advice with a boulder of Himalayan pink salt, and continue on sanitarily masturbating to Dr. Oz.  Also, doooooon’t get mad at me if my guidelines give you frown lines.  That just means you’re doing it wrong.)

10 Observations on the Salt Lake Bar Scene

I'm baaaaaaaack.  Here's something I wrote for a local magazine, but for one reason or another, didn't get the chance to publish it.  Since it's seasonally themed, I figured I better drop this knowledge on you all now.  Ten reasons why I always look sad at bars things I've noticed about the drinkers in downtown Salt Lake: