Textual Discharge.

Nearly a month ago, I posted an entry asking for material. Unfortunately, this was the same day Roxanne was born, so I haven’t had time since to address the material given to me. However, today I’m feeling in the mood to plow through the notes. That’s right, I’ll answer all some a select few of your questions in intimate broad short one word answers!

*snickers*

Cherries. [Iridescent.Girl]

Are you talking about my MANCHERRY? If one is to believe that penetration of the hymen by a GIANTMANCOCK is the mark of taking a woman’s virginity, then there must also be a similar process by which the male loses his virginity. That is, if we are to hold that men have cherries at all. And no, I will not be discussing ass-cherries today.

As we all know, the physical breaking of the hymen actually has nothing to do with virginity, as many things can break the hymen. And, so I’ve read, some girls don’t even have hymens. It’s my impression that the cherry-ness of the hymen is attributed to the “popping” of it accompanied by blood that oozes out of the wound that is created.

Thus, it is my accertain that for a man to have his cherry broken, a woman must cut off his penis. That’s an open wound that will hurt, and cause pleasure for the partner. Well, assuming the female partner takes the severed cock and masturbates with it.

That said, I am still a virgin. *pats his still attached wang*

I want you… to write a story convincing me that our female periods are really just a giant king crab in our vaginas and that they go into hibernation during the off part of the month. tell us alll about mr king crab.

<3 [Jezebel;;]

It’s been rumored that humans are not indigenous to Earth, and actually came here from another planet. This is partly true.

Many thousand years ago (but not TOO many thousand years ago) a crab-like alien species landed on Earth. They sought to conquer and destroy the planet, leaving the world decimated of all ways of recovery. Rather than a full-frontal assault, they decided to infriltrate the planet by passing themselves off as an indigenous species. Using advanced DNA manipulation, they created an organic shell for each crab to live inside. Today we all know these hosts as “female”. They also fashioned a non-crab version of female that would serve as a token sexual partner.

All women have crabs. Each woman is born with an incubating crab inside her. As the crab reaches maturity, it shreds its hosts internal organs, causing excruciating pain and a bloody discharge that exits via the Vagina. Once innocent girls become completely brainwashed by their dominating Crab, and will act in seemingly irrational ways as the Crab exercises its influence.

Using scattered DNA deposited by the token male, the Crab creates another human. The Crab gestates the new creation until it is ready to be spit out, again via the Vagina. The placenta is how the superior Crab influences the developing infant without completely obliterating. And sexual pleasure? A primitive manner for which to influence the drones to copulate.

Every woman’s Crab needs love and attention. This is why big cocks, which can better reach and stimulate the Crab, are superior during sexual activity.

*blinks*

….

You mission, should you choose to accept it:

Find the worst diarist on OD. [howdarestthou]

A rhetorical quest, as the worst diariest would never be read.

If a remake were made of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, could you conceivably cast Bob Dole in the role of Dr. Frank-n-Furter?

That’s not a topic.

[Gattaca]

I hated Rocky Horror. Hate? Whatever, I don’t like it.

Write about how badly you want to eat a great Poptart. [Kelly]

I’d love to wiggle my tongue inside a Poptart’s fruity goodness. Mmmm, fruity. I’d want my Poptart to be warm first, so the inside is all nice and warm. And um. I’m not sure what else to say.

Oh, no. I meant BURRITO. Not Poptart.

Silly Kelly. [Kelly]

Oh. I’m drawn to Poptarts much more than burritos.

Write about your favorite physical feature of a woman. Describe it in great detail. What about it appeals to you, and why.

After that, write about your favorite animal.

Yes, this is lame I agree. Forgive me, it’s Monday morning. At 8:02. [Cinnamon]

Very lame. Is your boyfriend’s name Nutmeg?

…*laughs*

Am I supposed to be odd an expound about how beautiful the clitoris is? Or be predictable and talk about the perfection of round symmetry of breasts? Or of how much I love curves in general? Which is kind of pointless when I’m also attracted to non-curvy girls. Come now girl, I don’t HAVE a favorite physical feature. I like boobies and Vaginas and asses and smiles and eyes and hair and backs and legs and tummies and dimples and armpit hair and clitties and cleavage.

My favorite animal is most definitely pussy. Pussies are just so cute! When you see a pussy, don’t you just want to pet it? I know I do. Plus, I just tend to have a way with pussy. They may be shy at first, but I can get any pussy to relax and open up to me. You should never shave your pussy. It’s just kind of wrong, pussies need their fur to keep warm. Plus, they look kind of funny. Leave your pussy the way it is.

Whenever I feel lonely, I just want to cuddle up with a nice warm pussy. Pet my pussy calmly and feel it purr against me. No matter what you’ve done, a pussy won’t judge you as long as you’re good to your pussy. Rub a pussy the right way, and you can feel the pussy stretch and move to best maximize its stimulation.

The Green Bay Packers… since your diary is obviously devoted to them, colorwise. 😉

[Hurricane Katie]

The who? I hate football.

Give a History of Timmy’s Sex Toys and Underwear.

That was the first thing to pop into my mind.

And I want dates and details damnit!

[Penny is Poison.]

Shit, that requires me to actually remember stuff. How dare you cause me to actually think!

There’s Charles, my first butt plug. I remember getting him… Two summers ago. Right. It was the first summer that I was hanging out with my friends. Well, it was. I don’t remember dates at all, really. I remember Edmund, my second butt plug. He was bigger and had a bit of a curve to him. There was Bambi, my first (so far) rubber pussy. HOrrible, tossed it. There’s Emily, my silver vibrator. I named her after a friend. See, before all of these, I once bought my friend Emily a pink 8-inch dong. Yes. A dong. I’m so reminded of the time Miss Linguist asked what a dong was. But, nevermind that.

My latest addition is Buba, my black Manrammer. It looks like a penis-sword. And, he is easily my best sex toy. He has made anal/prostate stimulation so much easier. I love Buba so much that I bother to put condoms on him before every use. If only I could have been so responsible with my own wang. *laughs* Besides, it just makes clean-up a lot easier.

Oh. Underwear? There was the first g-string a friend gave. Leopard-print g-string she got from Fredericks of Hollywood. (Go figure.) It was my 18th birthday. I loved that g-string so much that I later went to buy some thongs. This lead to a cascade effect where I’ve since bought (more) thongs, g-strings, panties, and now briefs. My underwear experimentation has made my life much more fulfilling. I can’t fathom being me and still wearing fucking briefs. Ew. The fly is completely obsolete to me now. I just don’t get the point of it.

*yawns*

Faith is a belief that does not rest on logical proof or material evidence. Thus, by definition, you cannot prove the existence of God.

Nor can you prove the nonexistence. You’ve said you’re an atheist. Isn’t the only difference between you and a born-again person your faiths? Can you support your position without faith? [tchadnj]

(Cont) It seems to me the only honest, consistent, logical position a rational person can take is that they are agnostic–neither position can be proven.

I guess one difference is that a religious person uses god to define his moral bearings while an atheist uses reason (hopefully). Still, both are tottering forward on faith, not reason.

So how can you call yourself an atheist? [tchadnj]

First off, I call myself an atheist for the sake of simplicity. I’m just too lazy to explain myself to people. If you’re attempting to prove I’m not atheist, I really don’t care.

Second off, as I said, I really don’t care. That’s part of my nature. I’m a don’t-give-a-damnest.

You assert that lack of belief is belief. This implies that you have beliefs about all sorts of things that you have never even thought about. Do you believe in the lack of belief of invisible penises on women? Of course not, you’ve never thought of it before. And now that you have, does this somehow add a “belief” to your world? …No, it doesn’t. In other words, I default to the retort that lack of belief is not belief. I have no inclination towards believing in “god”, the same way you have on inclination towards believing in invisible penises on women.

On a different topic, humans are not logical. And to believe that we should judge ourselves based on how “logical” we are is silly. Because we aren’t logical. At least not entirely. You see, we do not create beliefs (or lack thereof) about the world based on logic. The seed of belief in god is not based on anything logical at all. (There’s a generalization that’ll get me in hot water.)

As a child, I had no conception of god beyond some vengeful Q-type being that would smite me if I crossed him. Really, I thought it was all one giant conspiracy that nobody really believed in. How could somebody believe in something as proposerious as god? Turns out I was wrong.

I never believed in god. I don’t buy into any religion. The problem with christianity is how people try so hard to be some image of something they have no clue about. I find it much more entertaining to just toy with ideas. I can toy with the concept of god much easier if it isn’t attached to religion at all. And by “religion”, I mean some already-established doctrine. If toying with thoughts of afterlife and alternate planes of reality makes me spiritual, so be it. But I just don’t like religion. Such is the semantics game.

There are a lot of assumptions I’d have to make regarding your notes, and rather than make them, I’ll just stop here. (Maybe.) My reaction to the assumption that faith => god is to simply deny it. …*laughs* So many little things, little details. You see, I just don’t care. It has no relevance to my life.

Q 2. Have you ever thought you needed Viagra? [tchadnj]

No. Have I mentioned how it annoys me how you leave me comments with no way to return them in a convenient manner? I’m not going to correct all your misguided notes (Not this one). My erectile issues have been a result of nerves, and a result of the fact that erections don’t last forever. I’m human, not a walking penis.

Timmy, I had a dream about you last night. No joke.

No, I’m serious.

Write an entry about it. [Pesca]

What, ME write about a dream YOU had?

Okay, whatever.

I was naked on your bed. You saw me and got instantly wet, juices pouring out between your legs and onto the floor.

…

Oh wait, wrong angle. You’re married. …And you have an intact son.

*blinks*

Anyway, where was I?

You screamed loudly as you saw my GIANTMANCOCK grow. I stood up and flexed my tiny pale whiteboy muscles.

But wait, my boner is fading. It’s fading.

And I’m not me anymore.

I’m..

I’m..

BOBDOLE!

Except I seem to be me and Bob Dole at the same time.

“Bob Dole doesn’t like this. Bob Dole wants a boner.”

Blinded by your love for Bob Dole (and me), you immediately decide that it is now your life’s goal to give Bob Dole a boner.

“Bob Dole wants head. Can you take Bob Dole’s GIANTMANCOCK into your mouth.”

The dream blurs into you deepthroating all two inches of Bob Dole’s soft shnizzle. Of teabagging the Republican candidate for President in 1996. If only for a moment, you’re giving a handjob to a giant elephant trunk.

“Bob Dole wants to see your boobies. Drink Pepsi and turn into Britney Spears.”

Magically, a Pepsi appears in your hand, and you drink it. You drink it, except it doesn’t taste like Pepsi. It tastes like Orange Soda. And you’re not between Bob Dole’s legs anymore, you’re sitting across from me in the now-closed Chi-Chi’s. You ask me whether I like Bob Dole. I tell you that I love Bob Dole, and pray I don’t fall victim to erectile dysfunction. You bat your eyelashes and tell me that my erection will always function around you. Wow, you’re being a real slut in this dream!

I point to a girl behind you and say “Baby got back.” You turn around and look at the girl’s “back”. You comment, “Yes, she has a very big ass. I’d tap that.”

“Want to?”

We get up and set out to seduce this big-assed girl.

This girl turns around and we discover this she is, in fact, a shemale. She has a huge bulge between her legs. We look at each other, shrug, and take off her clothes.

And that’s all you can remember of the dream.

Man, you’re fucked up.

What would life be like if our president was a banana-eating lizard? [Karner Blue]

Not much different than life is now with our oil-burning monkey. President Izzy would come into office talking about morality and lots of scatter issues that he won’t ever pay attention to. Then he will declare war on a banana-harboring nation. Yet, the price of bananas will increase.

He would also discuss banning marriage between lizards of the same color. He would boast a Leave No Reptile behind program which would ultimately do nothing. He um.

Yeah, life would be exactly the same.