It Lives!

Hey there buddies.  You all still there?  All like, three of you?  I’d forgive you if you’re off getting drunk at some other sexy blog stud’s place, after all I’ve been a slacker lately of epic proportions and I can only apologize for neglecting you.

Know what else has epic proportions?  My cock!  Drumcrash.

No really ladies.  My cock is colossal.

Talking of… sorry to the lady who sent me the rather vocal email about my last post regarding my cock and some lady’s ass-crack.  Seems that was a little blue below the belt.  The Bible Belt that is.  Oh fuck it, no I’m not sorry.   Even Jesus laughed at that line.

I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to shit lately.  The past month or so has been crazy town around these parts.  I’ve played more shows in the past three weeks than I have in the past six months.  Some of those shows were in Memphis, Louisville, Little Rock and Corpus Christie.  Corpus was a badass town.  Pretty to look at, ocean right there and lots of sexy senoritas pouting all over the place.  You can’t get better than that.  Except maybe a blowjob from Adriana Lima.  Maybe.

Pedro accompanied me on all dates, that’s the musical sort not the romantic sort, I’m not a sick fucker or anything.  Although I’m sure he’d enjoy watching.  That voyeuristic little Mexican fuck.  Me, I haven’t even spent time with many ladies the past few weeks I’ve been working so hard.  The Captain’s cried real tears of sorrow over this.  Okay, he’s cried real tears of sperm.  I mean the Nivea pot’s almost empty.   Fuck me, I need to get laid by a real pussy soon.

And by “real pussy” I’m not talking about that dude with the fake face that used to be in Poison.

One lady I did dally with was in Louisville.  Her name was Stella and she was a waitress at a burger joint.  Maybe 35, plump in all the right places, ass like a hippopotamus.  Tony likes asses like hippos.  More cushion for the pushin’ and all that cliched shit.  Stella was a good ole country gal with rosy cheeks, on both ends after I’d done with her.  She enjoyed a bit of the old paddling.  I’m not much one for bondage but hell, if a lady wants her ass scorched I can oblige, know what I’m saying?  If it’s ass related it’s for me.

I also had an “incident” in Memphis with a tourist lady who’d come to town to see Graceland.  She kept yelling out “Do Elvis! Do Elvis!” prompting a colorful remark from me about necrophilia.  Hell, I thought it was hilarious.  Her, not so much.  She launched a highball glass at me like she was pitching a fuckin’ fastball.  I had to get stitches and everything. Elvis has some ferocious fans.  You can probably slander their mothers but don’t talk about fucking Elvis’s cold, dead body unless you want a trip to the ER.

Anyway, this is getting lengthy (that’s what HE said) so I’ll leave it there.  Hope y’all are doing well.  I’m gonna start doing more commenting, I’m a lame fucking blog friend for sure.

Peace out guys.

The Old Guy’s Still Got It

Hey there!  It’s been a while.  I have no excuses so I won’t give you any.

Guess what I did the other day?  Two chicks on the same day!  Really.  I do have standards even if they’re on the low end of the scale much of the time, but usually I have a break between chicks unless it’s a threesome.  Although, honestly I’m getting kind of long in the tooth for two chicks at once, you dig?  Anyway the two chicks the other day were room-mates.  For real, neither knew about the other so I hope nothing occurred later when they figured it out.  I didn’t see any homicides on the news so I think I got away with it.

One of the chicks – let’s call her Amanda  (It’s not her real name, her real name’s Debra) was stacked like Walmart at Christmas time.  Sweater meat out to here.  The girl could hold up a condo with the contents of her bra.  And y’all know me, I’m not averse to a little boob jiggle action.  I motorboated that girl till I almost asphixiated.  But what a way to go, right fellas?  She wasn’t much use in the sack old Amanda, but she had it going on in the northern continent so I let her off.

Her room mate though, let’s call her June as that really was her name, she was flat as a pancake in the chestular department but had an ass like a well-bred Mexican donkey.  I mean that as a compliment in case you were wondering.  She had a great big thundering ass you wanted to pound till next Tuesday.  Every time I flipped her over however, she’d flip right back with a disgruntled sigh.  The most I got to do in that region was slide the Captain along her ass crack a couple of times.  She was not up for any doggy action which made the Captain sad.

Am I getting too graphic for y’all?  Good.

Anyway, two chicks on one day wore me out and made me realize that I am officially fucking old.  In fact, it’s my birthday next week.  Not that numbers really bother me and a guy’s like a fine wine – he gets more fantastic with a few grays in his sideboards.  That’s what I tell myself anyway.  I did check south of the border and I’m still all man, all black haired awesome down there, so no worries about getting a mouthful of gray ladies.

This entry sort of turned me on, I have to go open a new jar of Nivea and whack it to Kim Kardashian’s ass till my hand cramps.

Hope y’all are well.  I love you guys.  All three of ya.

A Senior Moment

Hi there compadres. Once again, apologies for the big lapse in posting but I’ve been busy as shit.  I’ve had shows almost every damn night and only a handful were for the seniors, before you go suggesting it.   Sure, none of them are exactly big time but they pay the rent you dig? And they’re usually a ton of fun.  Even the seniors. In fact I’d say the seniors know how to appreciate a dude in cerise satin. I mean have you seen the shit they wear?  They sport the polyester like it’s going out of style.  The static shock you get from entering a room full of old people could knock an elephant on its ass.  But man, watch out for those old ladies, they’re killer.  If I had a dollar for every old dear who’s gotten her withered old pincers into my hiney, I could retire already.    Some nights entering an old folks hall is like watching outtakes for “Night of the Living Dead”.

Not that I’m being deliberately mean to the oldies.  Hell, I’m not too proud to admit I had me a time, a couple years back, with an older gal.  Judith, her name was and she was 67 years old and spunky as all hell.  She was like Bea Arthur if Bea Arthur didn’t have a penis.   Tall, sassy, deep husky voice. I can’t vouch for Bea but Judith could do things with a vagina that could make a man cry.  Or bruise.  For an old bird she sure had some kegel strength.  And so maybe I was drunk at the time, clouding my judgment a little, I’d still have done her sober, the saucy old minx.

Still, the old people I perform for ain’t often like Judith.  Usually they’re totally crazy, half inebriated, tubby, wrinkly little demons of pure evil, dressed in nylon that would make the seventies cry and sporting stupendous pastel colored hair.  And that’s just the guys!  Heh.

You ain’t seen nothing till you’ve seen a room full of 70 year olds letting it all hang out to a Stones cover, while their bat-wing under arms flap around in the wind and their decrepit old pelvises gyrate and creak like an old gate till inevitably someone puts their back out and has to be stretchered to hospital.   You’re delighted by the free bar at these events let me tell you.  A few martinis dulls the torture of seeing 80 year old Elsie lifting her skirt and flashing a nylon hose-covered ass to the room.  An ass that starts at her knees and winds up at her underarms.  Try erasing that image from  your brain.

So yeah that about sums it up for my life lately.  I’m hoping for a break soon.  Mainly because all this gigging is tiring me out and leaving me too bushed to appropriately tend to the ladies.  The Captain’s not talking to me because he hasn’t pierced a vagina in about  nine days.   It’s time to get my life back!

The Spunk Still Lives

I really sort of dig reading the search queries that bring people by this here hole in the wall blog. Sadly they’re not going to win prizes for variety although I wonder how much a guy who searches for “I want you to spunk on my boots” gets out of his visit? To my knowledge I haven’t covered the topic of spunking on footwear. You can’t go wasting your seed on boots, man. Save it for boobies.

To the person who wanted to know “where can I spank some midgets” I have no idea, truly and I’m sorry you must have been seriously disappointed.

The guy (I assume it can only be a guy, right?) who wanted, “martini whores Mexican bull assfuck” – what the fuck buddy? Although if you find what you’re looking for, drop me a line, okay? Wink.

My favorite of all was “dick rash spunk overload” which sounds like an underground thrash band only more alarming. I hope you got that sorted out man, before things got ugly. Uglier. And if spunk overload gave your dick a rash, I’d be living in the ER by now.

I will end by telling the lady (please let it be a lady) who searched for “lounge honey”, I am available.

A real update soon. I have been busy as a fucking fuck.

Update From a Lazy Shit

Hey guys, I’ve been enjoying some good old fun in the sun. And yes, by “fun” I absolutely mean dealing the salami to some ladies in the open air. There’s nothing quite like hitting some grade A, prime lady fillet in the fresh air. You see summer turns a man’s fancy to the ladies and those of you now thinking “only summer, are you sure?”, fuck you guys.

Heh, I’m kidding. Although I don’t know, would you be up for it? I’m kinda horny.

No, you see summer is all sunny and lazy and the ladies let their guards down a bit, as well as their panties, so all is well with the world. I mean who doesn’t love a half naked lady with the sun shining on her naked ass? Who doesn’t love to look up at those bouncing Alps glistening in the sun as she’s demonstrating her rodeo skills?

Oh look, there goes the Captain again. Down boy!

What was I saying? Oh yes, I’ve been staying at my ma’s place out in the desert while she’s visiting her aunt and uncle in Bumsfuck, Arkansas. It’s the same house I grew up in – the house that used to be filled with music, laughter, drinking, wild parties and mariachi music and occasionally the poignant musical tones of my aunt Lola fucking some undesirable in the basement when she was supposed to be getting ice – the house where my uncle Dick Spunk used to slip me cigarettes and give me advice on how to entice the ladies. Uncle Dick knew a thing or two about the ladies, the drunk old bastard. He used to bed more ladies than Warren Beatty back in the day and he was only a tenth as handsome. The way he tells it though, he might be a tenth as handsome but he has a cock the size of a baseball bat and he can outperform a jackhammer and Warren Beatty can just suck it (both literally and figuratively). You remember those lame porno pens with the lady inside and when you pressed the button her clothes fell off? Well for my seventh birthday, my uncle Dick gave me a similar pen, only when you pressed the button on this pen, the lady got fucked by a donkey. He got it in Mexico, naturally, those depraved fuckers.

So yeah I’m out at the farm and the old place is creaking up a storm. It’s been here since 1947 when my grandparents built it, and now it’s getting a little much for my ma I think. I’ve been keeping it warm while she’s gone by entertaining a host of delectable female types with my expert Martini making skills and my Magnum mustache. A killer combo if I do say so myself.

Tonight’s a night off though, to go over some stuff with Pedro. Music stuff. Plus I’m sort of shagged out as the Limeys say. I was short of a date last night so I resorted to one of my crazy stalkers, Oral Olive. Before you all go getting excited, she doesn’t provide the oral you understand – not without some persuasion and strawberry yogurt at least, she just demands it. My fuckin’ tongue feels like it got caught all up in a blender. But the good thing about Olive is she’s not all that smart – I know this is mean but really, she’s dumb as packet of ice – so it’s easy to persuade her to do stuff, especially after a tongue lashing. So if you want some serious hip-thrusting, doggy-style action over a garden fence say, you just have to tell her that you heard she’s way more fun than other women and she’s all eager to prove it.

I know, I’m a dirty fucking dog, I admit it.

But come on, you all missed me.

Lola: Part 72

To the person who came here looking for a “spunk receptacle” I sure hope you found what you were looking for. You know, elsewhere.

Talking of spunk receptacles, I had lunch with my aunt Lola today. Aw don’t look at me like that, Lola’s a whore, you know it and I know it. And she sure knows it.

I got back from L.A. last night (more about that another day – it’s worth waiting for I promise) and Lola practically begged me to buy her lunch so I knew something was amiss. I’m the only family member she can talk to about anything. See I’m a man of the world. For some reason this makes her blurt out the most ridiculously nauseating stuff that makes me want to bleach my memory afterwards. I could feel it coming.

“It’s my flower.” she whispered, as we waited to be seated in the busy “Pig & Whistle”. “Damn thing’s infected!”

Now that right there should have been a clue that I should have had a “previous engagement” I’d forgotten about suddenly come to light and hot tailed it out of there, pronto. Because “flower” is the word Lola uses for her lady parts. Her pussy. Flower’s sort of an ironically delicate word for it in my opinion because Lola’s pussy’s seen more action than Arnold Schwarzenegger.

I was kind of worried what was coming. Luckily I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Son,” she said when we’d sat down and were awaiting our order. “Son, I found crabs in my flower and I panicked and doused ‘em with Windex.” Lola said.

Allow me to let that sink in for a minute. Lola found crabs in her lady region and sprayed the fuckers with Windex.

“Windex?” I finally said weakly. “What the shit, Lola? You need to blast those fuckers out, not shine the shit out of them.”

“Well the fuckin’ Febreeze didn’t do nothin’” she growled. “Windex was all else I had.”

I tried desperately to erase the mental image of my aunt Febreezing the hell out of her muff.

“Did it work?” I asked, already afraid of the answer.

“Did it sweet shittin’ Jesus!” she said angrily. “Made me itch like a motherfucker. I’m red raw from scratching that dang thing. Feel like my crotch got pounded by fire ants!”

I sort of lost my appetite.

“I partied with an entire varsity football team one time” Lola said later, while picking at some English style fish and chips. “And even after that I could walk better than I can today.”

So welcome to my family. We exude classy.

Greetings from the Left Coast

Mis hermanos!

And ladies, I don’t wish to discriminate none. Hope y’all are having a dandy ole Memorial Day week – Tony always extends holidays to an entire week of celebratory fun because I am all about the fun. Especially when the fun = the ladies.

Hey guess what? I’m in Los freaking Angeles. Man, you never saw a city more full of deviants than good old L.A. I’m not kidding, for every one normal person in L.A. there are about eighteen freaking deviants or perverts. What a fucking excellent place! I wouldn’t want to live here full time or nothing because I’d like to keep what’s left of my soul intact in case I’m wrong and there is a heaven after all. But the city of angels is trying its best to lure it out of me.

Firstly its good points are as follows; lots of babes not wearing much in the clothing department. This is always a good development even when they’re of the ridiculous variety like a lot of the chicas here. Big everything. Big hair, big racks, big tans, big egos. Crazy.

I’m a little more picky (no really I am). I like a little junk in the trunk. These skinny ladies with the xylophone ribs don’t do it for me. No one wants to bounce around on a bony chick, man, a dude might as well get it on with a railroad track. A lady needs some round bits. Some nice soft curves. Am I right? Damn right I am. L.A. chicks are just into eating celery and sucking their cheek bones in. It’s scary. Not that I wouldn’t hit that if desperate you understand. All you need to do is tell these chicks you’re a producer or something and their clothes practically fall off right there. No tequila necessary, gracias. Desperation kinda turns me off to be honest. I like to work for it. Those ladies have the look of a wolf circling a lamb. It’s off putting.

Tomorrow I’m hanging with my bud Donny Ono. He’s the guy I told y’all about before, Japanese Elvis impersonator. He’s more comedy than bona fide impersonator though. I’m not sure he means to be but either way, he’s a funny fuck. I once saw him, drunk off his ass in Vegas being fellated by a 600 lb lady porn model – no kidding! He likes the big ladies but that was like seeing a hot air balloon sucking off a toothpick. Kind of obscene but kind of fascinating.

Okay, I’m off to a Mexican calypso bar for some good times. I’m bringing hand sanitizer and a good time in my pants. Stay classy y’all.

Taking it Coastal

Hey there amigos!

Yeah I know, I’m a lazy sonofabitch when it comes to updating this thing lately. I’d like to say I’m busy but I ain’t that busy.  Played some shows, low key stuff, no biggie.  Pays the rent.  Dallied with the virtue of a couple of ladies, but nothing too exciting.  Had some “me” time.   By that I don’t mean I played with the Captain and some Nivea. Well okay, I did some of that too. I mean the world ain’t ending or nothing.

Time to snap out of it though.  Starting to sound like a goddamn lady myself.  Me time.   Next it’ll be manicures and the Women’s Network.  I just looked down my Fruit of the Looms to check the Captain was still there.  You’ll be happy to know ladies, that yes, he is and he’s looking magnificent like a shiny pink log of love.

Spring time.  Makes a dude think of poon.  Actually any time makes Tony think of poon.  Hey oh. There is nothing more beautiful than a juicy pink vagina.

Next week I’m kind of excited as I’m going to LA.  That’s Los Angeles to you bums, not Louisiana.  Who the fuck’d go to Louisiana of their own free will?  Jesus.   Actually Jesus probably would.  He’s respected in Lousiana.  True story. My friend Delmar, who’s a kick ass pianist, once played a show in Baton Rouge.  When he comes out on to the stage in this little church hall type place, he’s confronted by six dudes in white pointy head gear.  Delmar almost shit in his pants.  At first he thought it was a costume party and some dudes were dressed like sperms but turns out they were the real KKK.  For real yo!  They weren’t too happy at some black dude singing to their ladies.  So Delmarr excused himself for a moment then hoofed it out the back way and out of town.  

Anyways, yeah.  Los Angeles.  I’m playing a show out there with some other guys in my field and also some Elvis impersonators have a competition going down same time, so I get to hang with my good Japanese buddy Donny Ono, who believe it or not is a Japanese Elvis. Go check out his blog. He just started it and his English is for shit but dude’s a good onion. He promised to get me bombed on Saki and introduce me to this little half Japanese chick named Kiki who can shoot quarters out of her hoo ha. What’s not to like?

Hope you guys are all groovy?

Thinking Out Loud

I was checking out my dashboard here on WordPress and I swore it said something about me having 7 midgets. Y’all know Tony, I get excited at new people, especially tiny, chunky people who might be stalking me, because that’s kind of perverted and I ain’t one to shirk a little perversion, you dig? I had these visions of all these little, tiny, undersexed ladies spying on me while not wearing panties (them, not me) and it made my trouser-place feel all warm and tingly in a good way (as opposed to an itchy way).

I Googled "midgets" and got this. I don't know what's going on in this picture but I'm fascinated. It could lose the tiny dudes however and the ladies could lose their tops but hey. Midgets.

Then I noticed it actually said WIDGETS and well…that’s a whole lot less fucking sexy, no? This is what happens when a guy is still up and active at 6 in the ay em. And still a little bit drunk.

And is it just me or does ‘widget’ make you think of hobbits? Or am I confusing it with midgets again? I don’t know and frankly I’m too tired to give a hot damn. I just know a widget sounds like some hairy ass creature who’d chase you round the forest at dusk then attempt to steal your berries.

Talking of midgets, at least sort of connected to that chain of thought, I once dated this gorgeous giant gal, name of Petra. Petra was about eight feet tall. Well okay, maybe closer to six feet four or something, but she was one tall chick. Great for motorboating. It’s okay though, she didn’t mind or nothing in fact she encouraged it. Or maybe I encouraged it, I forget now. I’d totally forgotten old Petra till right now. Laugh like a dock worker, boobs like a Penthouse Pet. Quite the combination.

Anyways, I’m thinking out loud here. I should probably go to bed. I got these knock off satin sheets for my boudoir at a sale in some little store in some no good little town. They look like satin but fuck, in practice they’re more like Satan. Little fuckers give you wicked static when you slide on them – makes my pubes stand on end and gives the occasional static blast of electricity to The Captain, which he does not approve of. I have to calm him down with a nice Nivea massage.

Peace out homies. Only four more days till the weekend.

Illegal Characters

“Lola fucked bugs” and “spunk pig” are two charming terms that brought people here to Spunksville this past week. What the hay, people? Sometimes when I’m thinking I might be a touch on the deviant side, I see the stuff other people look for and suddenly I’m Polly-fucking-Anna.

So it’s been a while, compadres. This is due to a bout of severe laziness on my part although truthfully, I’ve been sort of busy as shit too. Played a lot of shows and not all for the older members of society, either. No, I did one at a women’s correctional facility (scary and oddly arousing) and one at a swimming pool gala party (lots of swimwear and giant thighs). I ain’t proud, so long as there’s ladies in swim wear and I get paid, I’ll be there, you dig?

Back to the ladies correctional facility thing. It was low security and full of chicks who shoplift or don’t pay their parking fines or whatever. Nothing too dangerous, but just dangerous enough to be enticing. And they’re allowed a certain amount of leeway to party, which in a place like that involves dancing sexily while wearing army green overalls and too much cheap lipstick, while another lady in a nazi-like get-up parades around sternly, frowning at them and adjusting her cap. I wasn’t sure what turned me on the most actually, all these caged ladies (illegal characters?) with debauchery on their minds or the trussed up guard-like ladies with their batons and tight, frumpy uniforms. Yowza! Cuz if you know anything about old Tony, he digs a lady in uniform and has trouble concentrating because he’s too damn busy picturing himself tearing those brass buttons off in a fit of passion and ravaging them on the cold, stone floor.

The ladies I mean, not the buttons. Give me some credit.

Oh there goes the Captain again!

Eh..what was I saying?

Oh yeah. The ladies. Doesn’t matter the way they come, I likes them. And come they will. Numerous times.

Naturally, I couldn’t do anything naughty and tasty with the ladies at the facility (they have rules for that sorta thing) but I did accept some digits of two soon to be released little bombshells, so we’ll see what happens there I guess.

Talking of sexy little bombshells, I found this lady through one of my good, sexy, blog buddies’ posts and she says hella nice things about me, so now my head’s the size of a melon. And not the one on my shoulders, ladies, dig? Wink. I tried to leave that fine lady a comment but the old “Blogger” wouldn’t let me do it, as apparently my URL has “illegal characters”. What the shit, man? Don’t worry though, y’all can say SPUNK as often as you want over here.

Stay sexy Blogland.

The One Where Tony Almost Took Over The World

Hey there amigos!

Well I done gone had me a week, didn’t I? Firstly old Tony thought he’d gone and impregnated a lady with his super-sperm. Truthfully, in all these years I never got a lady up the spout, at least that I know about and I sorta intended to keep it that way. I figure a fellow should at least be involved with a lady before he infects her organs with new life, you dig? And this lady, Sandra, she was a one night deal. When she showed up at my door I didn’t even remember her, which sounds pretty terrible but when you meet ladies at shows, you tend to be a touch inebriated and their faces all kind of merge together in one terrible flashback.

I asked Sandra how come she thought I was the supposed father, since, I don’t mean to be rude and all but any chick who’ll get it on with me generally isn’t the virginal, one-man-woman, type of gal. I just figured she made a habit of taking strange, ruggedly attractive dudes home and jumping on their pork swords, I never thought I was the only one in a long drought or anything.

Anyway, she put the chair down and calmed down and we got one of those home preggo kits where a lady whizzes on a stick and it tells her if she has a bun in the oven or if she’s just paranoid. And it came back paranoid. Phew! Close call. She called me two days later to announce that her lady dragon time had arrived and all was well and did I want to bend her over her kitchen table when she stopped bleeding and eff the living daylights out of her. Because having a scare like that makes that girl want to fuck like a pig, apparently.

I made my excuses. I mean, once bitten and all that. I had visions of my man seed racing up her Nascar track trying to make Spunk sextuplets and it was all a little off-putting.

Still, it did make me think. If I did get a lady in the family way, I might not marry her or anything drastic but I’d sure be supportive and I got a tear in my old eye thinking about teaching a young Tony or Antonia how to play the organ and appreciate Dean Martin.

Then I snapped out of it and got loaded with Pedro.

Still Swinging

Hey there compadres! I’m out of my funk now, y’all can come out from behind the furniture. Truthfully I wasn’t even really in a funk so much as doing some soul searching. My ma’s giving me a hard time about not having a wife and kids and an office job and that kind of stuff. Seems I’m too old to be living like a teen, but I disagree that that’s what I do. I mean I’m fairly responsible in most matters, I work a lot and I pay my bills. And I gave up crack when I was 21 because that shit will mess you up. And let’s face it, Martinis are way more enjoyable.

I dig my life. I like that I work at night, I meet a lot of people, good and bad and that I get in a position where I meet a lot of tipsy ladies with bad judgment. I like tipsy ladies with bad judgment. They’re my whole social life. So I decided I’m okay with being the way I am.

And my pad’s looking funky. I got some new furniture from an estate sale in rural Nevada. I say “new” furniture but it’s new to me at least. And I previously had things like cardboard boxes as tables and a sofa with a dip in the middle that’s been that way since I went through a deviant phase where 400lb Maria and I used to bump uglies on it in 1988. She was a workout for any sort of spring suspension. Now I got me some prime vintage gear. A cocktail shaker, a table that looks like it’s from the 1960s’ Starship Enterprise and a more modern orange Ikea sofa, long enough to pass out on if necessary or get freaky with a lady.

It’s all good.

Talking of ladies, I’ve been dallying with a lady named Collette. Not a long term thing, naturally, but she’s in town for a week and so we’ve been drinking Vegas dry and doing the wild thang like it’s illegal. I broke one of my own laws too, regarding my organ. It’s normally polished to a high, electric-blue shine, but one night too much booze and lack of discretion meant Collette and I got a little funky on it and fractured the backplate. Seems to be okay however. It also has a pleasing impression of sweaty butt cheeks on top. (not mine)

Oh yeah, if you know how to get suspicious stains out of an orange sofa, be sure to let me know.

Chillax good buddies.

Spunky Introspective

When ole Tony gets drunk he gets a little maudlin. And third persony. Like now.

Sometimes people ask me about the ladies and how many I’ve done the deed with. Like I have a freaking clue. However, despite what y’all might think, I’m not as proud of this as you might expect. I’ve had hundreds of fine ladies and they were almost all quick flings with a lot of action and low expectation, but hardly any of them were long-term deals.

Now I’m a pretty easy-going guy and I’m friendly, you dig? I’m just too friendly. I love the ladies and I love to love the ladies. I’m a terrible boyfriend. I’m not faithful or loyal, sexually, so I try not to pretend to be by getting involved. I let ladies know the score so no one gets hurt, yet sometimes it still happens. I usually go for ladies who’re similar to me for exactly that reason – they won’t expect anything more from me and everyone is happy. I can’t commit to one lady and one lady only. I know this and I accept this and I figure if the right lady comes along then it’s meant to be and I’ll quit all the other ladies and settle down and buy a cardigan or whatever people do when they’re content.

I’m no prize or anything. I’m average looking, a little rough round the edges and I sing lame middle of the road crapola for a living, so believe me, even I have no idea why the ladies give me the time of day, they just do. I’m baffled by it, but grateful for it and I think the reason is just simply that I’m relaxed around the ladies and I know my limitations and I’m okay with them.

A lot of guys I know are pretty damn jealous but you know what? Those guys know shit about shit. Those guys have girlfriends and wives they hang with and watch TV with and buy groceries with – wives who nag them and make them pick up their damn socks and cook them dinner and laugh at their jokes and rub their backs when they’ve had a shitty day at the office and you know what? At the end of the day I come home to a 1980s TV, a framed photo of Liberace and an industrial sized tub of Nivea (don’t go thinking those last two are connected). So some guys don’t know what they’ve got.

Holy shit, I think I just found my feminine side. Tomorrow I’ll be starting my period. Peace out folks.

Lola and How Some Things Never Change

Fun times last night with my aunt Lola. Okay, maybe “fun” isn’t the right word for it, “trying” that might be the right word.

See Lola’s been in AA and she’s possibly even more fucked up sober than she is wasted, if that’s possible. Although “sober” might be not entirely the correct term to use either, since she’s convinced that beer doesn’t count as alcohol. According to Lola, beer is what people drink when they’re too young or too big a pussy to handle liquor or when their liver needs a vacation.

So naturally, as we were in a local dive bar, she got wasted. On beer. And face planted on the knee high karaoke stage while taking a short cut to the ladies’ room, laying there looking puzzled with her dress around her neck. Which I’m sure isn’t an entirely foreign situation for Lola.

It reminded me of one time when I was probably sixteen or seventeen where she almost got my ma to disown me (and her) when she got involved in a barroom bet (while feeding me Cosmopolitans no less) which resulted in her dancing around the lounge, topless wearing her bra on her head like a fucking Victorian bonnet.

When I was a little kid however, I thought Lola was the coolest woman on the planet. She was drop dead gorgeous and had a husky voice (imagine Lindsay Lohan if Lindsay Lohan were less deformed and had the Herp in her throat and was a shitload less whorish, which is ironic since Lola was a whore by trade).

She always made life exciting and didn’t bullshit you if you asked her a question, even that time, when I was seven or eight, where I busted in to her room all excited and caught her reenacting the rodeo, butt-naked, with the local sheriff, while wearing only a stetson and cowboy boots. “Honey, sometimes a lady likes to take off her clothes and have a man put his pee pee inside her noonie and wiggle.” I believe were her actual words, to which I shrugged, contemplated it for a moment and said “okay” and continued catching bugs in the yard.

Sometimes I think my family are slightly fucked.

Ding Dong

Have you guys ever been abandoned, naked on a street corner, chained to a lamp post with a bell tied round your junk? Welcome to my Saturday night.

It was all going pretty well till some dude and his huge, hairy, bromance friends showed up and tricked me into going outside (See…I actually KNOW a chick named Selma so I totally believed she was out in the parking lot waiting for me). Naturally she wasn’t. But they were. Seemingly I boned some guy’s ex girlfriend who he still had a bit of a psycho crush on and he wasn’t happy to find out. She apparently told the cops if they hurt me she’d go down there to the cop shop and tell them who did it, so instead, he and his lame assed friends thought chaining me to a lamp post, naked, was a good alternative.

The joke’s on him however, as he had to totally get friendly with ‘The Captain’ to get that bell on there. I bet that dude got a boner from handling such an awesome, prime piece of meat. Then immediately went home and put a gun in his mouth, knowing it can never be his.

Thankfully Pedro came out looking for me and lent me his coat till he could bust me free. And no, there are no photos.

Viva las Vegas.

Just Checking In With My Peeps

My favorite search term that brought some poor deviant to my blog today: “spunk in all my holes”. It’s okay dude, it’ll come out in the wash, I guess. And doesn’t that make your nostrils uncomfortable?

Pedro and I had a kickass little show at the Windemere Seniors Center last night. I know, shut up, a dude needs these kind of gigs in this town just to make everyday bread and butter money. The old geezers are pretty damn grateful too and some are even a little fruity, especially if you throw in a Tom Jones number. I don’t know why it is, when a lady becomes about 80, she suddenly gets all horny all over again. Grinding against the old dudes like they’re grating cheese. It’s disturbing. And there’s seldom any alcohol at these shindigs, which is a sort of ironic since, if there’s one place you probably want to be toasted all to hell, it’s probably any place where octogenarians are getting their groove on. All that thick, tan panty hose gyrating. It can ruin a man’s mind in a bad way.

I’d like to give a shout out to Delores-May – that’s an old dear with attitude (and fingers like pincers). Hey there Dee, you were wrong, I can sit down today.

The Deflowering of Tony Spunk

Apparently someone found my little slice of blogosphere by searching for, “should I ask my cleaning lady for a blowjob” to which I have to say, why the hell not? What’s the worst she can do, shove her mop up your ass? On second thoughts maybe you should test the waters first by giving her a raise or something, since she obviously gives you one.

On to more pressing matters. My totally depraved Limey blog buddy, The Imaginary Reviewer mentioned wanting to know some more stuff about my infamous Aunt Lola and regardless if he was serious or not, I’m going to tell you guys some stories now and then on that very subject. Because I have hundreds of them.

This one isn’t about Lola per se, although it takes place at her ranch. It’s also the sweet story of the losing of Tony Spunk’s virginity. Yes, I wasn’t born the hirsute stud you see before you, I was once an innocent.

As y’all might remember, Lola is my ma’s younger sister and a huge whore. I say that affectionately, I’m not being mean or anything. She’s a prostitute. Or she was, because nowadays I think she just fucks dudes for the hell of it and anyways she’s 60 now, the pickings are kind of slim, you dig? She once offered to blow me for a pack of Marlboro’s but she was a raging drunk by that point so I only considered it for about three seconds.

I’m KIDDING.

Back in the day however, she was a professional madam and she had a nice stable of girls working for her. When I lost my cherry, it was back before I even knew that all those scantily clad ladies that hung out at Lola’s, were whores. I was fourteen and I just thought she had a lot of hot girlfriends who liked to walk around in their underwear. It was the late seventies, people were fucking insane in those days. There was a guy in Henderson used to dress as a chicken!

Believe it or not, old Tony was pretty naive for fourteen. I hadn’t seen a naked lady ever, so a bunch of chicks in lingerie and garters meant I pretty much had an impressive pipe in my pants for most of the day. I’d have to go home at night and whack it to pictures of “Charlie’s Angels” so I could get some sleep!

Then one day, while I was working at Lola’s ranch, I met Ana. I was doing some summer work out there and Ana was one of Lola’s girls. She was 19 and all Latina bravado and attitude – she kind of looked like that Penelope Cruz chick but without the substantial honker and crazy eyes – and she used to mess up my hair and slap my ass whenever she passed by. When you’re 14 this gives you a tremendous boner. Come to think of it, when you’re 14 pretty much anything gives you a tremendous boner. I’m kind of surprised the Captain survived that phase of my life.

Anyway, Ana cornered me in the barn one day and kissed me in a most unchaste way and next thing I know she’s got my pants off. I was powerless. OK, I didn’t struggle that much, granted. Or at all. In fact, I might have helped her get them off. Next thing I know we’re down in the hay and she’s on top of me and my hands are mysteriously on her bouncy lady bumps. It happened pretty fast – one minute I’m an innocent school kid and the next I’m the Mayor of Fuckville. For a whole ten seconds! The best ten seconds of that girl’s life! I remember trying to think about football because I hated football and thought it might, you know, slow me down some, but I couldn’t think about football because all I could think about was “there’s a real, live lady-pussy on my penis”, which doesn’t help at all in the slowing down department.

So Ana was my first time. She was a horny bitch, that girl. I mean it’s the perfect profession for a horny bitch, working for Lola at the ranch. Not that she worked there long, since when Lola found out about our exploits, she ripped Ana a new one and sent her packing. I doubt she ever worked again. It’s hard to hook with two assholes. Or maybe it’s an asset, I don’t know.

Lola tried to blackmail me the rest of that summer, into doing odd jobs for her for free, or else she’d tell my ma and get me sent to military school. I imagine military school’s pretty hard for a guy with no balls, which inevitably would be me, when my ma found out I’d been hanging out at the ranch being a hooker’s plaything.

Lola’s ok though. The last time I saw her, she demonstrated her ability to burp “Yellow Rose of Texas”. That’s what I call a dame.

Quickie

Thanks a lot to all of you who dropped me a line about the jail thing. Okay, the one of you, but who’s counting? I was only in the cell for the night then they let us all go, no charges filed. In the morning, when we were all sober, the lady’s dude said it wasn’t the first time his lady had gotten a little over-friendly with some other fella and that until he saw my paws on her ass he assumed I was a friend of Dorothy. I wasn’t offended or nothing, I got nothing against the ‘mos. Then the other dude – the one who had the piggy wife – he piped up with, “He ain’t gay, no self respecting homo’d be seen dead in that fuckin’ shirt!” which I let slide because I am secure in the knowledge that my style is AWESOME and the fact that I could change my shirt any time but he was stuck with that face. I refrained from telling him this, however, since it could never end well.

So yeah. Anti-climax, huh?

I haven’t boned a lady in almost a week and I’m okay with that. I’m having some ‘me’ time.

In other news, Pedro has a new lady, name of Imelda. What kind of fucked up name is that? Anyway, he’s started wearing cologne which is a bad sign. To be fair, Imelda is sort of hot if you squint a bit. If you’ve just consumed a quart of vodka, that would help too. She’s a touch on the skinny side for me, but hey, each to their own. She does have unfeasibly huge ta tas for a skinny chick. She must have a deal with the God of gravity because she can walk upright and everything.

Okay, time to get back to work. I have to have a set of Brat Pack numbers ready to go for Thursday or risk death by dismemberment by a roomful of grouchy seniors.

Don’t you wish you were me?

Hokey Pokey

Hola fine people of blogworld!

Tony Spunk’s been in jail! No kidding! Well okay, maybe kidding a bit. It was a cell at the local po-po but next best thing, right?

It was an accident though, I am totally innocent of all charges. There was a bit of a misunderstanding and a bit of a ruckus and some punches were thrown and next thing I’m behind bars. It can happen to anyone.

There was this lady you see. You knew a lady had to be involved, right? Well you are correct, but if I can just say in my defense, this lady had an ass like a watermelon and it was bound to happen sooner or later.

She and I were talking, having a pleasant discussion about some mundane bullcrap, while she stroked my satin shirt in a way that made my nipples salute and really, when a lady’s doing that shit you sort of assume the ass gate has been opened and you’re free to peruse the goods, as it were. And she truthfully didn’t seem to mind me squeezing the lobes of love and I certainly didn’t mind doing it, so what could possibly go wrong?

Well her boyfriend for one. He appeared from nowhere and he was the size of a Sumo wrestler only substantially less charming. He was a whole lot less happy about the ass grabbing and let it be known by hoisting me off my barstool and throwing me through a table. Which some other large dude was seated at with what looked to be a giant pig in a pant suit, but later I found out was his wife.

Let me tell you, being thrown through a table ain’t like it looks in the movies. It fucking hurts! My shirt got torn and I got doused in Scotch. And everyone knows Scotch ain’t the Spunk’s beverage of choice, you dig?

So this dude’s all pissy at me getting acquainted with his chick’s buttocks and now this other dude is pissed because his drinks are now on the wall and the piggy chick’s pantsuit is all stained and there’s a really virile, sexy dude in a slinky satin shirt slipping around on the floor on what’s left of his table.

And so it sort of went downhill from there and we all ended up in the pokey. Separate cells thankfully. I had to share with some biker dude named Manny, who spent an hour telling me in graphic detail about how when ladies weren’t seducable (presumably when the roofies don’t work) he liked to vent his aggression by, how can I put this delicately…yes…by fucking seven shades of shit out of fruit. That about says it all. He’d drill holes in pumpkins and melons and you know…put on some Marvin Gaye and voila. Naturally, I stayed firmly seated during that conversation. I ain’t no fruit! (not that there’s anything wrong with it!)

But you sure learn a lot in jail. Like when a giant, bearded, biker who smells like socks wants to demonstrate the correct method for inserting one’s little man into a large fruit, you let him and you just thank God he’s not demonstrating with your asshole.

A Gay Old Time

The Mexican and I hosted our very own little Oscar party at the weekend. I mean we’re not even gay or anything, but we condone anyone who wants a little glitz in their life. Plus we like any excuse to invite over some half wasted ladies in cocktail dresses. So we dressed up, conjured up some hors d’oevres and had a fun night of drunken gaiety and eating olives out of ladies’ cleavages.

It was kind of fun watching all the fine, fine Hollywood ladies (with the emphasis firmly on “wood”) in their sparkly gowns. I got sort of a kick out of it, to be truthful. There ain’t no shame in it. My ma always used to tell me there was a gay man inside me trying to get out, which I always found a little alarming, especially since I had a bowel problem at the time and was having trouble sitting down comfortably. There ain’t nothing wrong with being a ‘mo, you dig, I have some ‘mo friends who’re really fricking awesome dudes and not once has one of them tried to touch my fleshy pipe!

Well except that one time. And I had over-indulged in the Beefeater gin sours and in the dim light I thought he totally was a lady. It can happen to anyone. I, the Spunk, am 100 percent lady-lovin’ hetero. So I have a Liberace album or three. So what if I have a splendid mustache? I am secure in my manliness. I can embrace my feminine side.

Anyway, the Captain got a little rigid when he saw that Sarah Jessica Parker chick. This is the first time that’s happened and truthfully, I was a little concerned because that chick truly looks like a horse. Then I noticed the reason for the Captain’s excitement. That chick was only one small stumble on her high heels away from liberating the mamorial twins from their bustier. The Captain can sense these things you know.

So yeah, hope y’all had a fine weekend with lots of sexy times. Y’all stay fabulous now.