Update From a Lazy Shit

June 23, 2009

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

June 3, 2009

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.


Lola and How Some Things Never Change

March 25, 2009

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.


The Deflowering of Tony Spunk

March 5, 2009

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.


Her Name Was Lola, She Was A Whore

July 23, 2008

Tony Spunk was a fairly innocent kid.  When I was twelve my aunt Lola let me hang out in the summers at her big, old house, outside Henderson.  She was a real nice lady and very friendly.  Super friendly in fact.  I mean the woman always had at least 20 of her girlfriends in her house at any given moment.  I could never figure it out because my aunt had stellar air conditioning yet all these women still insisted on sitting around in their  underwear all the damn time.

I used to do odd jobs around the place for pocket change.  I’m surprised there were any jobs left, since there were men in and out of that place every five minutes.  “Work men” Lola called them.  If they worked so damn hard, how come there was always stuff for me to do?  They came in, they disappeared, the reappeared with lipstick on their faces and they left.

I was 19 before I figured it all out.  By then I was involved with my organ and owned my first, slightly shiny suit with lapels you could sail to Cuba on.  I didn’t fret about aunt Lola’s house.  I mean, with a suit like that, I was soon going to be landing all the tail a man could handle.

Still, life’s kinda funny ain’t it?