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tgd

.. .. .. ... .. ... .. ... .... ... ... . ... ... .. ... .. . ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .... ... ... . ... ... .. ... .. . ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .... ... ... . ... ... .. ... .. . Larger than most female shoe closets is my hat closet. And one of the hats I have worn in my life was to work in the cable industry. Perhaps the sleaziest, most unethical business experience I've ever had. I wasn't the guy who came late to your house and cut up your walls to make a coax cable outlet. No, I was actually in the cable business: I wrote assembler microcode inside the settop boxes. I read IR remote controls. I changed your channels, I talked back to the mothership. Reflection will reveal that to test these boxes you need to use them on a cable system. In order to therefore make their boxes more conniving and more able to take over the world, The Evil Empire (perhaps known to you as Comcast) gave us a completely open and private cable hub. So the QA guys would burn my firmware and load it on boxes and watch TV and do the special tricks our company did inside your cable box for hours a day. And the manager of this QA group saw that the cable was open, which means ... porn, right? So he got it in his head to tape all the porn movies that were on each month. Tape, tape, tape. Duplicate, duplicate, duplicate. When I first met him, chatting in the parking lot (Engineering and QA were in separate buildings) he had a recent year Chrysler TownCar. He then started coming to work in one of those remodelled EconoLine vans. He had his own little porn business out the back of his car - or van. One old school VCR, three DVD players, four mini 10" monitors. "There she is, getting fucked: two for five dollars." He was a committed businessman. He would send weekly clips out to male members of the Engineering and Operations staff to their home emails. He did this, and still his business lived on. We had contacts in China and he got some political prisoners to make little boxes for him. He would even write little promos for them. And these promos bring us, dear readers, to Sasha Grey. He sent out this one extended clip of this porn chick named Sasha Grey being taken apart by about 15 guys. "Gruelling" stuff, as they say in the industry. The totally brown dick of a white guy taken fresh from her ass and shoved balls deep down her throat, as another guy mounts her asshole, until she gags, wretches, spits out the shitty thing and pewks. And still she gets pounded. The new guy is totally reaming her, going as sideways as he can, knowing full well what anal prolapse is and happy fucking birthday you skank. Which, I must say, was kinda cool. Cuz earlier in the scene as she is only doing mere 1 on 1 anal sex, one guy in the background screams "Fuck her! Fuck that asshole she's so proud of." And Sasha hears this and smiles. And with the QA manager's promo, it seems Sasha is the current anal queen (this was a few years ago), who has been in a publicity bitch fight with the former queen, some skank who has some relationship to Howard Stern. I don't know the particulars. The pathology of this guy's pirating porn in plain view, selling it, and being a manager for over a year is what had my interest. I mean, we eventually IPO'd on NASDAQ. And the head of QA ... anyway - back to the triple block action ... Sasha was really getting pounded, and a followup email about 5 months later said Sasha is taking a break from anal for a while. So I guess that guy accomplished his mission. Which, I'll admit to, is ok with me: if you're gonna be known for taking tons of action up your asshole, go all the way and have it destroyed. It's porn, it better be real and brutal. And that, dear readers, is about as far as I go down the road of sadism. I'm not into it at all. The clamps, the piercings, the small electocutions, the welting of a totally fabulous ass. I'm into none of it. Sure, if some porn female is gonna be known as miss asshole, then listen here you foolish skank, I've got a Case bulldozer outside with your name on it - let's do an outdoor shoot. But that's it. And so I realize I am like totally in the minority here beneath the ALT domain. I'm not one of these guys who says "there should be a place without sadism", yunno, like quaint little stockings on the fireplace at Christmas. No, save for prideful porn skank, I want it all gone. Now don't get your back up until I finish. I realize I'm the minority here. I'm not changing you. And I'm sure you were about to raise up and instruct me about all the just and right things about your sadism practices. I don't really want that. But in your justice and in your truth I would say this to you: I am such a minority here that I deserve to be looked after. I deserve special treatment. I deserve ... an Affirmative Action program. Yeah, that's the ticket: an Affirmative Action Sensitive Submissive Selection program - or AASSS. Yup, I need an AASSS. You in your justice and tolerance should want it for me too. If not, how do you sleep at night? You really should. You know it. So, to make this a cooperative project, let me say there is enough here in this blog to study to determine the perfect AASSS program for me. Candidates and resumes - ooops - project outlines may be submitted here or via email. You know it is the right thing to do. You know it. I want an Aasss. tgd

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.. .. .. ... .. ... .. ... .... ... ... . ... ... .. ... .. . ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .... ... ... . ... ... .. ... .. . ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .... ... ... . ... ... .. ... .. . Ok ... (sipping) ... ok ... (almost gargling) ... ok! ... ok ... aye-oh, got one or two more and then, as promised, the orgy starts. For all the new female talent: now that PickAxe has supervised your separation from all underwear, Angel can advise you on the ass prep. So ... while we're replacing a tube or two, here's a little riff: I come, you might have heard, from a family of doctors. And there was this uncle on the doctor's side - Dad's side, Mom's side is railroading -- uncle two generations ago - mostly in the 40s and 50s - who it turns out was a spy. Yeah, totally true. That's how I got this crickety old house: the uncle gave it to me, barely knew me, but musta knew. So if you're wondering why you went down a seemingly normal set of wooden stairs, and through a bank-rated steel door, down a stone passageway through a basement above which there is no house, no nothing but an innocent grass field, then down that stone staircase, well ... now you know. We're safe here - though our skirt wearing members won't be for long. Ah one ... ah two ... ah one two three ... well I was cruisin' round the web the other day ... whooo did I meet? Once again I was tryin' to get that set of wind chimes into my hands, the ones I ordered about 4 weeks ago. Order lost, no contact, disappearing retailer, Obama vacations, delays delays delays ... and I go on UPS online and sign up for UPS My Choice which by the way gives you choices that you must pay for. Great scam. Anyway, so I'm signing up, and they have this step "Verify sign up" which seems innocent enough but not when you get there - they like knew where I lived 20 years ago! Which of these addresses have you never lived at? And ... this is why I'm drinking a little tonight ... they knew from 20 years ago who I was once married to! Believe me, if you ever had her in your head you would be drinking too. So I go online to simply sign up for greater package tracking and I get people telling me the name of the former sucubus and they use her new married name! I mean, what if she was on her 17th marriage, how can they assume I know that name? How can they assume I want to be reminded? And a background check, 20 years in the past, in less than a second? Simply to get a UPS package? Really?! Very strange. ( Grand guitar power chord finale'. ) ... oooooo, oo, oo, oo! ... Penny Lane, is in my ears, and in my eyes ... (Ted, off mic: )Yeah, let's do that! I'll play the horn parts. tgd