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Q: How Many People are Wearing A Hat?

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what youll find inside
superjoint ritual
austin's sex in the city
wendy's wwad
bartendar spotlight
red eyed fly
room 710
off the streets
chump change


Call me Ishmael, but I’ll fuck a fat girl every time. I pick up women like most men hunt or fish; I go by size and weight. I’m more than appreciative of the fact that inside every fat girl, there’s a fine girl dying to get fucked (not to mention several meals and between meal snacks.) I’ll bang on shit that most men won’t even sit next to at a bus stop. I once fucked a girl who had more stomachs than a cow. Her fifth belly hung down to her knees and looked like a trash bag full of abortions. This didn’t bother me in the least. I got up behind her and pounded her so hard that she slowly but surely became wedged down between the headboard of her bed and her mattress and box springs. In the end, her ass and legs were still up in the bed, but her head and shoulders were flat on the floor underneath. I left her stuck there like Winnie the Pooh.

Some of you may be disgusted by the preceding paragraph, but I’m telling you all this for a very good reason. In my last article, I mentioned the fact that I have errantly found myself “in the company of men” on several occasions when I thought I was with women. The backlash on this topic was tremendous... like nothing I’ve ever experienced from any of my articles. Seth, the bartender at Room 710, won’t even look me in the eye anymore. Women who used to love me are now disgusted by my touch. I can’t even walk into a gay bar without having my dick sucked.

What you people need to understand is this: If you fuck five or six hundred women, some of them are going to turn out to be men. It’s just a statistical fact, nothing more than a matter of standard deviation from the mean. Some of them will be men, some of them will be fat, some of them will be fine, some of them will be married to your friends, and so forth. It’s all just as random as any population sample... nothing to be alarmed by, nothing to be ashamed of.
What I’ve always wondered is this... You know how guys will fuck a fat girl, and it’s like a joke between them and their buddies? Do women ever act like this? Do they ever go hogging and pick up a fat guy just for the hell of it? What about fags? Do fat fags pretty much have to stick together, or do horny, healthy fags who just want to “lock the hubs” often pick them up? Lastly, where can I get a video of two fat fags having sex? These are the questions that keep me up at night.

Oh hey, I just remembered something I’ve been meaning to bring up for quite sometime. If Antonio Banderas has ever taught me anything, it’s that two guys can fuck face-to-face, just like a guy and a girl. Were you aware of this? I certainly wasn’t, at least until I was well into my twenties and saw Banderas do it in a foreign film. This was all before Spy Kids, of course.

Until then, like most Americans (I’m assuming), I was under the impression that you had to fuck a guy from behind. I was sold on the stereotype as laid forth by America’s favorite butt-fuckee, Ned Beatty, in Deliverance. When Banderas got butt fucked in his movie, it was a consensual type of deal done missionary style, complete with kissing and romance. This is just another case of foreign cinema being much more enlightening and honest than the tripe Hollywood has been feeding us for years. The odd thing is, I must admit that it’s been hard to take Antonio seriously in any of his tough guy roles after seeing him get chicken hawked in such a manner. Ned Beatty, on the other hand, I’ve never had a problem with. Anyway, I’d like you to all do me a favor and refer to Antonio Banderas as “Antonio Bend-o’er-ass” from now on.
So anyways, I went down to Houston last weekend to The Mucky Duck for my fantasy football league’s draft. Having the 6th pick in a twelve man league, and knowing that everyone was going to go running back early, I tried to get cute and take Michael Vick with my first pick overall. Needless to say, Michael Vick’s leg was broken before our draft was even over, and he’s expected to miss at least four games this year. Most people would panic at this point, thinking that he’ll be out longer, but I’m not worried in the least. Anyone who’s ever seen Michael Vick can tell that he’s been bred from the finest stock. One hundred and fifty years ago, and he wouldn’t have missed a single day of work. I’m predicting that he’ll be back on the field with a vengeance no later than week six, when The Falcons face The Rams on Monday Night Football.

I realize that many of you don’t get the fantasy football thing, and I’d like to address y’all for a moment if I could: You are living in a world of shit, my friend. Fantasy football combines hard-hitting, high scoring excitement of football with the imagination and strategic maneuverings of Dungeons and Dragons. Get it? Football and Dungeons and Dragons all wrapped up into one fantastic game. That’s what you’ve been missing.

If you’re a guy, you have no excuse. If you’re a girl, I completely understand. Why, just this weekend, at my second fantasy football draft, Scott Fondren answered the age-old question: What would happen if a guy actually brought his girlfriend to a fantasy football draft? Well, best-case scenario: She’ll absolutely hate it and think you and your friends are complete geeks, never sucking your dick again. Worst-case scenario: She’ll get bulldogged to the ground and choked half to death by one of your four hundred pound high school buddies who is pissed off because Eddie George got drafted on someone else’s team. I only wish this hadn’t really happened, and I’m sure Anna does too.
Fantasy football is larger than life. It reflects the way we deal with situations in the real world. I have a friend named Raj, he’s an insurance salesman. Some of my more diligent readers may know him by his official title, The Shah of Plano. Two weeks ago, immediately after our draft where Vick broke his leg, Raj, comes up beside me at the bar offering his condolences. “Chad, I’m so sorry man. These things just happen, there’s no way to avoid them. You know I’m looking out for you buddy. I have several good quarterbacks on my team and I’ll be happy to work out a trade with you.” About halfway through this dogshit, I realize Raj thinks he’s trying to sell me a fucking insurance policy. The guy comes up to me in my time of grief and, acting as a friend, starts trying to strip-mine the rest of my roster.

See, I was so convinced that Michael Vick was going to win the league for me, I didn’t even draft any other quarterbacks except Marc Bulger, who I’m sure you all know doesn’t even start- he’s Kurt Warner’s back-up. Raj has Kurt Warner on his team, and needs Marc Bulger, lest Warner get hurt and put Raj in the same boat I’m in. Even though it would make perfect sense for me to trade Bulger to Raj, I’m a hardheaded, stupid, reckless son of a bitch, as many of you are aware. So, I’m going to sit on Bulger just to “spite” Raj, even though I know deep down inside that I’m really cutting off my own nose.

But wait, the excitement and complexities don’t stop there. In my other league, Kurt Warner is my quarterback. I’m actually sitting here praying to god that Kurt Warner gets hurt while, at the same time, he’s on my other team. Can you believe this shit??

What I want America to be on the lookout for is the first official fantasy football- related murder of an athlete. It’s going to happen ladies and gentlemen, the question is just when and where. I myself would have shot and killed Stacy Mack if he had spent one more season in Jacksonville sucking up Fred Taylor’s touchdowns. Ron Dayne also deserves to die every time he takes a carry away from Tiki Barber in New York. I’m sure most Rank and Revue readers would agree that Ron Dayne probably should have been killed or seriously maimed back during his senior year at Wisconsin, before he could strip Ricky Williams of the NCAA rushing title. I am also sure that most of you got to see Tiki Barber in action many years back when he and his twin brother, Rhonde, came to town with the Virginia Cavaliers in what was one of the best Longhorn home games in the last decade.

That reminds me of the two least-successful Super Bowl jokes I’ve ever told, which I’ll close out with. There’s this shitty commercial for a credit card company, starring the twins, Rhonde and Tiki Barber. The plot is that they go into this store to buy some shit, and the fine-ass petite white cashier girl has all this trouble accepting their identification because they are twins. I’m sure you’re familiar with it. Well, last year I was watching the first half of The Super Bowl over at Jason Lindsey’s house with a bunch of rednecks. During the commercial break, many people went outside to smoke and fill up their beers, leaving me in the living room with a bunch of guys I didn’t go to high school with. This commercial comes on, and Rhonde and Tiki are sitting there with their handsome black asses, talking to the cashier girl. I announce to the room, “I don’t know about you guys, but I want to see those three get it on.” It wasn’t so much the fact that nobody laughed, as it was that everyone got up and left the room. Tough crowd.

Then, I go down to Bob and Nicole Ray’s house to watch the second half of the game, which was played in San Diego last year, as I’m sure most of you remember. Well, Simeon “Simian” Rice was being spotlighted at one point and I tell everyone that I had heard that Simian Rice had reserved hundreds of Super Bowl tickets for family and friends who lived in the area. After the appropriate pause, I went on to say that they all lived at the San Diego Zoo.

The only person who would even comment on the joke was Joel Svatek, who chuckled briefly, shook his head, and told me it was the meanest shit he’d ever heard in his life. Unfortunately, that probably remains the case to this day. Super Bowl Sundays will of course never be the same since last year, and I’m already wondering what the plans will be with the Red River when it comes around in 2004.


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