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Tag Archives: masturbation

Oh, The People You’ll Meet…In Juvie

05 Thursday Sep 2013

Posted by Smaktakula in Philosophy, Stupidity, True-Ass Tales

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

'self-abuse' isn't the same thing as 'cutting', choking the chicken, devil's handshake, douchebaggery, dumb kids and the dumb things they do to fuck up their lives, flogging the dolphin, Jani Lane, juvie, masturbation, misspent youth, punishment, Remann Hall, scratching the weasel behind the ears, self-abuse, Tardsie's True-Ass Tales, Warrant

By Tardsie

And Possibly Assault Or In Turn Be Assaulted By.

When I was seventeen I did something that earned me thirty days in Remann Hall, a juvenile detention facility in Tacoma, Washington. It was pretty serious, and I was lucky in the end to just get the thirty days–in an absolute worst-case scenario I might have done twenty years. As it was, this experience nearly prevented me from graduating high school and subsequently starting college that fall. However, as things have a way of doing, everything turned out all right in the end.

The experience was profound: a watershed moment in my life, and I can trace who I am today in part to my days in Remann Hall.  I carry them with me still.

After All These Years, I Still Dream About It Sometimes.

I think a lot about the people I met in that place: the broken children–a collection of feral Lost Boys in a cancerous Never-Never Land, with only their dead-end futures on the horizon; and our keepers, the only-slightly-less broken adults who, through a series of poor vocational choices had come at last to serve as essential but interchangeable gears in that remorseless, child-devouring machine.

No, I Told You About THAT In A Different Post. We Won’t Be Rehashing It Here.

There was the small, gray public defender I had for about thirty seconds before my mom scraped up the money for a real lawyer. The PD couldn’t be bothered even to pretend any concern over my fate at the hands of the legal system, but still managed to give me advice which I regard as invaluable to this day. “Don’t tell them anything,” she urged me, “Just keep your mouth shut.”

‘Inaction’ Indeed. You Get What You Pay For, Folks.

One of the guards was a big black dude who had supposedly played a couple of years in the NFL. Everybody called him Brobocop, just not to his face. Brobocop didn’t like anybody, but he took an inexplicable–and obvious–dislike to me. He was invariably a contemptuous ass on those occasions when he would speak to me, and I quickly learned to avoid him to the extent that I could.

Somebody told me that the reason Brobocop had it out for me was that he thought I was a phony. He saw my sunny disposition, good manners and polished diction as a front, merely the affectations of a clever con. For a long time I accepted that explanation. Now that I’m older, and know a little bit more about people, I wonder. I sometimes think that Brobocop knew quite clearly that I didn’t belong there (which is not to say that I didn’t deserve to be there; I most certainly did), and just didn’t care.

It’s White, Sir. My Fat Ass Is White.

The very first kid I met in juvie had the cell across from mine. He was there for molesting his little sister. “I didn’t do it, though,” he said. I told him I was innocent as well. The place was full of liars.

There was only one girl at Remann Hall when I was there, although I think there may be more now. I don’t remember her name, but I remember that she was beautiful: even in the baggy blue jumpsuit they made her wear you could tell she had gifts. She had bright red hair, so exuberantly springy that it typically defied her attempts to pull it back and fell about her face, which was pale and comely, highlighting lush lips. A swath of sunny freckles ran just below her eyes, which were blue and bright. She was sweet and funny, and the handful of times we were together (and never, ever alone) the minutes burned away too quickly. She was such a lovely girl.

You Should Probably Keep In Mind, Though, That At This Point I Hadn’t Seen A Woman In Quite A While.

She was there because she had killed her father, a charge that she never denied. So far as I know, she never gave a reason for it. One of the guards told me that they’d asked her repeatedly if her father had abused her in any way–she said he hadn’t–and I could sense a little bit in the guard’s voice how much he wanted that this girl should say something–anything–that would make her not guilty of this terrible crime. I wasn’t the only one who thought she was special. I don’t know what ever became of her, but she’s still breaking my heart a little all these years later.

Some of my memories are funny. There was one kid who told everybody he was the half-brother of the lead singer of Warrant (he had said “brother” until someone pointed out that they didn’t share the same last name). I didn’t know the first thing about Warrant, and didn’t think he was the lead singer’s brother anyway, but along with others who couldn’t have believed it any more than I did, honored the fiction by mutual consensus. Sometime after I got out of Remann Hall, with Warrant now on my radar screen, I finally saw an image of the band on MTV (which played music videos at the time). I’ll be damned if that kid from juvie wasn’t the spitting image of now-deceased Warrant frontman Jani Lane.

Dude, Did We Do Time Together?

Among all the fading faces of that long-ago place, there remains only one to which I can still attach a name: a scrawny, twitchy half-wit who gained some notoriety throughout the wing through his unpredictable–and often disturbing–behavior.  He was the juvenile delinquent iteration of the creepy paste-eating first-grader, and he would tell lies so fantastic that I don’t think he even intended that we should believe them. His bizarre behaviors were myriad, and had assumed the status of legend around the cell block, but the thing he was best-known for was sticking his dick through a small opening in the cell door and whacking off into the hallway. And that’s the reason I still remember that crazy fucker’s name and probably will until I die–his last name was Pettit.

Get It? Do You Get It?

Tardsie’s True-Ass Tales: Tidbits

08 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

air travel, Amtrak, Bee Gees, dope, grass, hemp, marijuana, Mark David Chapman, masturbation, only losers take the bus, pot, reefer, self-abuse, sweet sweet cheeba, the Beatles, Travels With Tardsie, weed

By Tardsie

Tardsie’s Collected A Few Stories In His Time.

***

The Bad Touch

I have a friend who maintains–and as ridiculous as this claim may sound, if you knew the guy, you’d understand why I believe it–that he’s tried masturbation only once. He says he didn’t like it.

I told him he was doing it wrong.

It’s So Easy To Do–We’re Doing It Right Now!

***

Mark David Chapman–We Need You Now!

When I was a kid I had a copy of the Bee Gees’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, which I mistakenly believed was the Bee Gees’ original work. One day, while listening to the album and making fun of it, my friend’s mom burst into the room and said, “That’s BEATLES music!” She looked at me with an expression of stone-cold horror and said, “One day you’ll be sorry you made fun of the Beatles!” For a while I was weirded-out by that, waiting for the regret-shoe to drop.

I’m still not sorry, Mrs. Martinez, but I hope you’re well.

If Anything, Tardsie Should Get Points For Mocking This Musical Abortion.

***

Only Losers Ride The Bus

When I can, I prefer to travel by train. Air travel is unpleasant enough, thanks to my fear of flying (I don’t fear terrorists; I fear that the massive metal tube in which I am travelling will, like Wile E. Coyote after he has dashed off the side of a cliff, suddenly realize that it has   heretofore been denying a fundamental principle of physics and plummet abruptly earthward, accompanied all the while by the soundtrack of my girlish screams) and the myriad inconveniences attendant with the ‘airline experience.’

Much Like The Storied Honey Badger, Amtrak Doesn’t Give A Shit.

Amtrak personnel–if you’ll pardon a rare excursion into vulgarity–don’t give two shits. With one notable exception, they don’t care what you do as long as you’re not so blatant about it that you force their hand. The one rule I’ve seen Amtrak enforce–with a vengeance–is a prohibition against smoking tobacco. Get caught smoking and they will throw your ass off at the next stop. No foolin.’ As I don’t smoke cigarettes, I can enjoy the refreshingly anachronistic freedom the train offers.

A great example of this is from a recent trip I took. For privacy reasons, I make it a point to ask the attendant not to make up my room, usually with the explanation that I work late into the evening (which is true). However, at one point, I hadn’t realized that a new attendant had come on duty, and while I was at dinner, he made up my room. I was chagrined when I arrived back at my room to find several items I would very much NOT like discovered stacked neatly beside the freshly made bed. Nothing more was ever said, however, and of course the attendant got a nice tip.

I’ve always maintained that train travel is for degenerate stoners and the elderly. I’ll let you know right now, folks–I’m not that old.

God, We Love The Train.

***

Sometimes Tardsie Wants To Punch Himself In The Face

I walked into work one day and saw that one of my coworkers, a girl named Kelly, was dressed to the nines.

“Hey, Kelly,” I said, “You look great! Who died?”

“My grandma,” she said.

***

What Not To Say To A Cop

I lived in Washington State for a while, where having California license plates is considered a capital crime. So one day this cop in Mt. Lake Terrace pulls me over for speeding and starts giving me shit about being from California, “We have speed limits here, son!”

Apparently the little fellow was irritated when I broke eye contact with him to look for my insurance paperwork. He said, “If you don’t want to listen, I can just give you the ticket right now.”

A little pissed myself, I said, “I’m listening, dude, I’m just looking for my paperwork.”

“Hey!” He said, “Don’t call me that. I’m not a dude, all right?”

If I’d had another second to think about it, I would have chosen a different path. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry, ma’am–you looked so masculine.”

He didn’t care for that one bit.

This Guy Was Holding $15 Worth Of Pot. Not In Lewis County, Washington.

A Modern Zen Koan: Reality Skanks

01 Wednesday Feb 2012

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture, Entertainment

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

16 and Pregnant, Amber Portwood, Buddhism, celebriskanks, choking the chicken, devil's handshake, famous for nothing, flogging the dolphin, Leah Messer, masturbation, metaphysics, philosophy, scratching the weasel behind the ears, skanks, Teen Mom, the Clapper, the sound of one hand clapping, Zen koan

By Smaktakula

Nothing But A Euphemism For Touching Yourself.

The koan has been an essential part of the Buddhist arsenal for about fifteen centuries. These philosophical questions, the answers to which can only be reached by non-rational thinking–if at all, are designed not to test knowledge, but to put the listener  in the proper frame of mind to reach enlightenment. Among the better known koans are “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” and “What did your face look like before your father was born?”

It Sounds Like Your Lights Aren't Coming On.

In an effort to bring this philosophical discipline into the twenty-first century, Promethean Times has devised a koan which meets with Buddhism’s intellectual strictures, but is also throughly modern. Our question takes its subject matter not from the stuffy realms of philosophy or metaphysics, but from the full-color world of reality TV.

We Can Name Two Things That Make You Less Attractive.

Our koan is this: Between Amber Portwood and Leah Messer, two stars of MTV’s 16 and Pregnant, who is more representative of human dignity, propriety and decency?

The Real Puzzle Is That, To Get On '16 and Pregnant,' A Man Must Have Been Willing To Lie Down With You.

Headlines 12.15.11

15 Thursday Dec 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Celebrity, Culture, Entertainment, History, Music, News, Religion, Science, Sport, Stupidity

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Apolo Ohno, Ashton Kutcher, Britney Spears, childish sexual innuendo, Colorado, crackheads, Denver Broncos, Elizabeth Taylor, fat people, Finland, Godzilla, great white shark, headlines, Japan, Jesus Christ, Justin Bieber, Leonardo DiCaprio, Lindsay Lohan, Los Angeles, masturbation, moochers, Nadya Suleman, old people, Pauly D, rape, Tim Tebow, Tokyo, Twilight, Uranus

By Smaktakula
keegan fills 20 (Un)Intentionally Funny News Headlines

Reading Any Further Would Only Spoil The Fun.

In which we respond to the headlines, while ignoring the content.

***

Asians, Too, Mated With Archaic Humans, DNA Hints ~ So it’s not just Ashton Kutcher.

Did Lohan crash DiCaprio’s party? ~ Look, just because I let you blow me once doesn’t mean you can come to my parties.  Twice, whatever.  Get the fuck out.

Scientists plan Uranus probe ~ Heh.

Women Who Raped 17 Men Wanted More Than Just Sex ~ It took that long to find a man who was willing to cuddle.

Will Japan build a backup Tokyo? ~ Wouldn’t you?  One more Godzilla attack and that place is history.

Only The US And Chinese Militaries Have Caused More Damage To Japan’s Infrastructure.

LAPD investigates Bieber fan ~ Since when has liking shitty music been a crime?

Ex-Colorado Sheriff Accused of Trading Drugs for Sex Sits in Jail Named After Him ~ AWK-ward.

How the Finns stole Thanksgiving ~ On skis, just like they do everything else.

Apolo Ohno’s Secret Stress Reliever  ~ Masturbation, and lots of it.

Mobile cage lets divers cruise alongside great white sharks ~ Sharks counter with gigantic, fin-cranked can opener.

No, ‘crackheads’ won’t get you ~ And we’re just supposed to take your word for that?

Crack Aficionados: They Seem Cute On TV.

Los Angeles fire captain held in heroin sting ~ The fire captain is a boy.  Boys are called heroes.

Man goes a year without money ~ It takes friends far less time to learn to hate that moocher’s fucking guts.

Hip repair for Barry Manilow ~ It’ll take a lot of work.  Barry was never hip.

Opinion: Tebow can thank this guy for win ~ Is it Jesus?  It’s Jesus, isn’t it?

“Go Broncs!”

Vineyard owner says hiring citizen workers was failure ~ Interminable stories about darling grandchildren didn’t have the salutary effect the growers anticipated.

‘Octomom’ Nadya Suleman’s doctor wants license restored ~ He’s hardly the first dude to impregnate a dangerously unstable welfare mom.

Twilight may be hazardous to your health ~ Prolonged exposure will turn you into an eleven-year-old girl.

Brady makes little boy cry ~ Looks like the scandal doesn’t stop with Penn State.

Having to think about the unthinkable ~ Is, by definition, impossible.

Elizabeth Taylor’s look, for less ~ Eat lots & lots of fried foods.

This Is What Timeless Beauty Looks Like.

Why Islamists Are Better Democrats ~ Because the Republicans have a ‘No Arabs’ policy.

Housewife to pen memoir ~ This Floor Is Clean to appear in stores next spring!

The Cheapest People in America ~ Dude, you best remember who signs your paycheck.

Pauly D and Britney Spears Party in Puerto Rico  ~ At this point, it’s kinda hard to tell who’s slumming.

Live: Packers pounding Vikes on the way to 9-0 ~ You know, in certain circles that could mean a bunch of gay men are taking painkillers.  Maybe it does anyway.

Make Your Own Caption. We Suggest Something About “Roughing The Passer” Or “Tight End.”

What Has Come Before:

  • Promethean Times Responds To The Headlines
  • Headlines II
  • Headlines III
  • Headlines IV
  • Headlines V
  • Headlines VI
  • Headlines VII
  • Headlines VIII
  • Headlines IX
  • Headlines X

Sperm Bank Employees Deserve A More Dignified Title

18 Friday Nov 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

barista, beating off, buskers, choking the chicken, Dr. Phil, flogging the dolphin, homeless people, homemakers, jerking off, jizzmastre, masturbation, onanism, scratching the weasel behind the ears, self-abuse, seminal fluid, spanking the monkey, sperm bank, spunk-monkeys, Starbucks

By Smaktakula

We Didn't See This Coming, But You Must Admit, It Makes A Certain Sense.

Sometimes, all an industry needs to pick up its spirits is a new name.  When airline stewardesses realized they weren’t being taken seriously, they became flight attendants, with all the glamour and prestige the name implies.  Other industries were quick to follow; a secretary may have been prized for her shorthand skills and ability to fellate the boss, but an administrative assistant is a power-player within the company.  It continues: doctors are now healthcare providers, street musicians are buskers and housewives are homemakers.  Even bums have been jumped up to ‘homeless people.’

But at least one industry has thus far been left behind in the evolutionary progress of language: the sperm bank employee, those dedicated professionals for whom we jerk off into a cup.  Not only is their job every bit as disgusting as the minimum-wage schlub who mops the floors at Bob’s Dirty Book Emporium, but theirs is a profession mocked and derided at every turn.  Promethean Times believes that we can best honor these hard-working spunk-monkeys by calling them by a title befitting the dignity and prestige of their position.  We suggest jizzmastre.

Yeah, It Tastes Funny, But It's Full Of Protein.

Look, if you can call the perky young thing at Starbucks a barista and still keep a straight face, jizzmastre shouldn’t be much of a stretch. ∞ T.

Nothing Good Comes From Touching Yourself

21 Thursday Jul 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in News, Religion

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

'self-abuse' isn't the same thing as 'cutting', choking the chicken, devil's handshake, Dixieland Jazz, Emil Haagerdäddi, flogging the dolphin, Genesis, God, Hurricane Katrina, jerking off, masturbation, Onan, onanism, porn, pr0n, San Francisco, scratching the weasel behind the ears, self-abuse, self-immolation, Sunday school, the Almighty

By Smaktakula

Back In The Day, The Worst Thing You Had To Worry About Was Going Blind.

Smaktakula’s long-ago Sunday school teacher was on to something–masturbation is a quick road to ruin.  A San Francisco man is fighting for his life after discovering the heartbreaking realities of the devil’s handshake.

The Lame Thing Is That Now It's Like Rubbing An Overcooked Tater Tot.

The  unidentified man apparently burst into flames while pleasuring himself at a local porn shop.  Details remain sketchy at this date, and authorities have yet to determine what precisely transformed the lonely degenerate into a human sparkler.  Two prominent theories have risen to the fore.

The first is based firmly in physics.  A sufficiently vigorous session of self-abuse, explains masturbation scientist Dr. Emil Haagerdäddi of the Reuben Spahnk Institute, could theoretically generate a heat sufficient to set human flesh ablaze.  Others call this notion absurd, pointing out that were such a phenomenon possible, most males would not survive beyond their junior high school years.

A far more likely culprit in the immolation is a wrathful God, Who has long held a position unfriendly to masturbation.  This anti-whacking injunction stretches all the way back to the 38th book of Genesis, where rather than impregnate his brother’s widow, a fellow named Onan takes matters into his own hands and “spills his seed upon the ground,” only to be struck dead by a decidedly unamused Deity.  To bolster their evidence, proponents of this theory claim that God has gained something of a reputation in recent years for an increasing activism, pointing to earlier incidents of vengeance such as the August 2005 episode which is widely believed to have resulted from the Almighty’s dissatisfaction with the current state of Dixieland Jazz.

San Francisco: It's Not Like They Haven't Been Warned.

For Some, Work Can Be A Grind

19 Thursday May 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in News

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Ana Catarina Silvares Bezerra, anxiety, beaver, Brazil, childish sexual innuendo, clam, flicking the bean, hypersexuality, masturbation, onanism, self-abuse

By Smaktakula

There's No Simple Answer To The Question 'What Time Does Ana Get Off?'

Life is stressful.  Work is stressful.  For most of us, there’s no escaping it.  But those for whom the pressures of everyday life are too much grasp desperately for anything which might bring a modicum of  relief.   One such person is Brazil’s Ana Catarina Silvares Bezerra, an accountant who takes a hands-on approach to stress relief.  Bezerra combats her workday woes by masturbating as much as 47 times a day.

Direct Physical Manipulation Is The Secret.

Unsurprisingly, Bezerra initially encountered some resistance from her employer, who asked that the accountant not flick her bean at work.  Bezerra was undeterred, and took her complaint to the Brazilian courts, insisting that she was suffering from severe anxiety and hypersexuality, and that rubbing one out was the only sure means to combat these conditions.  The courts agreed, and now Bezerra is free to watch porn on her work computer, all the while vigorously pleasuring herself.

Sometimes Ana Keeps A Snack In The Top Drawer Of Her Desk.

Although the accountant’s co-workers have gradually come to accept her thrice-hourly grind, she met with some resistance at first.  Bezerra’s orgiastic gyrations were often misperceived as fits of some kind, and even after the nature of her unique ailment was revealed, her onanistic episodes still caused moments of confusion.  Said one coworker, “We couldn’t tell if she was having a stroke or just having a stroke.”

Touch It. Go Ahead. Maybe Rub It A Little.

Osama’s Pakistani Whack Shack

16 Monday May 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Celebrity, Cinema, Culture, News, Religion

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

'self-abuse' isn't the same thing as 'cutting', 9/11, al Qaeda, Ann Coulter, beating off, choking the chicken, flogging the dolphin, goat-fuckers, internet pornography, Islam, jerking off, masturbation, Navy SEALs, onanism, Osama bin Laden, Pakistan, porn, pornography, pr0n, Ron Jeremy, self-abuse, spankin' it, spanking the monkey, sticky fingers, Terrorism, whack shack

By Smaktakula

Bin Laden Debunks The Myth About Hairy Palms.

The Navy SEALs tasked with eliminating resilient Saudi boogeyman Osama bin Laden were trained to expect just about anything.  They knew, for example, that they would encounter fierce resistance from bin Laden and his lieutenants, and that the terror mastermind would not hesitate to toss away one of his countless wives like spent Kleenex if it meant adding a few more malice-drenched moments to his own tumultuous time on earth.  But what the SEAL team found was something America’s intelligence industry failed to anticipate, and which took the SEALs completely by surprise: bin Laden’s impressive and more-than-slightly-used pornography collection.

Osama Repeatedly Claimed It Was For His Dry Skin.

This information gap does US intelligence no credit, particularly since for the better part of a year, several publications–most notably Promethean Times–have been warning of the pervasive Pakistani predilection for particularly prurient and perverse porn.  As is now becoming more widely known, Pakistanis lead the rest of the world in filthy internet searches, and are rapidly gaining a reputation for harboring not only terrorists among their population, but goat-fuckers as well.

Osama's Fingerprints Were All Over This. Literally.

Is it any wonder then, that bin Laden–a guest in that great nation–would seek onanistic relief in such delightful naughtiness as Salaam Salami!, You Mecca Me Horny II and Riders of the Three-Humped Camel?  The picture becomes clearer when one considers bin Laden’s legendary sex drive, the horny hatemonger having more wives than the desert has sand.

A Copy Of This Book Was Found Under Osama's Mattress. It Was Identified Only After Investigators Were Able To Separate The Pages With A Razor Blade.

Because of the high security and the presence of so many people in the compound, privacy was at a minimum and as such, valued as a premium.  Even placing extra locks on the doors didn’t stop careless security personnel or nosy wives from barging in on bin Laden just as he was in the process of ‘blowing the first tower.’  Ironically, in the days before he was executed by US Forces, bin Laden devised a system whereby he would leave his turban hanging over the doorknob to let people know he was ‘taking the Haj.’

Fortunately, Osama Died Without Ever Knowing That His Favorite Footlong Was 100% Kosher.

Get Off The Vote

17 Friday Dec 2010

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture, News, Politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

'self-abuse' isn't the same thing as 'cutting', beating off, Catalonia, Catholicism, childish sexual innuendo, choking the chicken, democracy, female orgasm, flogging the dolphin, get off, jerking off, masturbation, orgasm, political parties, school bond issues, self-abuse, Socialist Catalonian Party, Spain, spanking the monkey, We'd stuff that ballot box

By Smaktakula

DAMN, School Bond Issues Get Us Hot.

In Spain, a Socialist Catalonian Party commercial has plunged the highly-conservative country into a paroxysm of emotion which is steadily, agonizingly building toward an explosively satisfying zenith.  The commercial depicts an attractive young lady so enamored of the voting process that the act of stuffing the ballot box brings her to orgasm.

Critics in the Catholic country are outraged at what they see as a promotion of promiscuity and a glorification of self-abuse.  However, defenders contend that the humorous commercial is a much-needed antidote to voter apathy.

Either way, this is a clear answer to those critics of democracy who claim that voting is little more than jerking off.

In light of this development, we plan to spend more time polling the electorate. ∞T

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Tardsie D. Bagg

Smaktakula

Networked Blogs

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Blog:
Promethean Times
Topics:
Satire, Irreverence, Snarkery
 
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