{Facts About Corn.}
1. Tasty.
2. Whole in your poo.
Oh boy Oh Joy
Another year older and deeper in debt
Military Men ONLY
We, the Lover and the Fighter, have a secret passion. We’re not particularly proud of it, but damn is it a lot of fun. Some nights when we don’t have too much going on, we like to sit down, put on our thinking caps, and write a Craigslist ad. The weirder and more out there, the better. We’ve decided to post one of our better collaborations here so you all can see just how messed up we really are. Enjoy!
Title: (casual encounters) Military Men ONLY – w4m
I’m just a sweet girl looking for a naughty enlisted sailor boy, succulent Marine, scrumptious Army man, or maybe even an Air Force guy if I’m feeling extra frisky.
My fantasy? You’re wearing your uniform and I come home from a long day as a veterinarian assistant. You rip off my kitty-cat print scrubs, pick me up, put me on the counter, and put cheez wiz on my nips. You slowly lick it off of me. You’re dressed head-to-toe in your (insert proper branch uniform here) with your shoes freshly polished. You bend me over the kitchen trashcan (I have a real big one because I like to BBQ) and take me like a man whose spent too many day at sea. Or in the field. Or in the plane.
You lead me to the bedroom where you throw me on the bed. Now I can start taking off your uniform, but you leave on the shoes. Here’s where it gets kinky: I like hair-pulling, pussy-slapping, titty-twisting, rough sexing from behind with your throbbing torpedo. Up next, we take it to the shower where I gently fondle your balls under the soft, running waterfountain of our newfound love. You gently wash the reminants of cheez wiz off my size-DD bosom. Hope you’re not lactose intolerant.
Next you lift me up the sink and shave my pussy. Get the whole thing, don’t forget the back in those hard-to-reach areas! You’re going to need to have it clean when we break out the video camera. We start with a single-shot of me masturbating, you’re behind the camera jerking it real hard, getting me all turned on all over again.
Next, you steady the camera with the five-foot stuffed gorilla I keep at the foot of my bed and step into the shot wearing nothing but a sock puppet on your giant, throbbing cock. Mr. JoJo speaks a few lines in a squeaky animal voice about how he’s going to travel to the Cave of Wonders. Hope he doesn’t throw up.. wink wink. All the while, the soundtrack to Twilight is playing in the background..
Next, he slowly releases you from your cotton cage. You pound me until I can’t take any more. Then I get on my knees. I give you the sweetest blow-j you’ve ever experienced, and you come all over my chin.
Me? 5’7, average build, with thighs that have strangled lesser men. Brown hair, deep brown eyes, and acrylic nails for scratching down your back.
P.S. – I keep all copies of the videos until we wed.
P.P.S. – Send a picture of your finest sock puppet. I like googly eyes.
* Location: in your dresswhites
* it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
The following are actual e-mail responses:
“i was courious about the lactos intolerant part i am currently looking for a lactating female i am a marine”
“All I can say is wow, that got me excited.”
“i am ready to fulfill that fantasy with you….call me at 373-****”
“Hello sexually charged,fit officer in the military very orally talented as well as hung 9 inches plus promise to give the best oral you have ever had or experienced. Would luv to get in my choker whites and pleasure you. so if you are up for a challenge im your man!”
“I just wanted to tell you that was one of the best listings i’ve ever seen. I’d love to apply, especially since i still fit in my dress blues, but i’m out of the USMC now 
“
“I don’t have any sock puppets but I would love to help make your fantasy a reality.”
“Damn I love that fantasy, that turned me on a lot. Tell me another one!!!”
“Well, at least you know what you want! I am Army, and can complete this mission Well!!”
“Hello, I saw you were looking for a nice strong sailor to show up in his dress whites and pound you for awhile. Well I am the man for the job I am a sailor stationed near your area and have no doubt I can make your fantasy somethibg that you’ll need again and again write me back”
“I’m a salior who has the sam fatastys”
“please reply and we’ll get the ball rolling. i’m air force and would love to cum over in my abu’s and have a wild fuck fest.”
“…no picture of my sock puppet on computer but can take some with phone if you’d like.”
{Don’t let the fear rule you: Tour de Ocean View.}
We’re sensible ladies.
We know that safety should be one of our first concerns.
But we have a very deep, dark desire to fucking slum it.
We can’t explain it, and we won’t defend it. It’s just in our nature. Why does it feel so good to feel so much better than everyone else in the room? (We realize we’re assholes and everyone there probably has their shit more together than we do, but appearances are all we have. Have you met us?)
For those of you not familiar with “slumming it,” what it essentially boils down to is crossing the railroad tracks and going to the very place you know you shouldn’t be. As a Ghent and a Larchmont girl respectively, the Lover and the Fighter ain’t got no business being in Ocean View past sunset. But that is precisely where we ended up last night. The occasion: our friend Molly’s birthday. Where better to break her in than in Ocean View, where dreams of elegance go to die?
We’ve spotted “Beach Pub” many times on our travels through Ocean View. Normally we head for the more well-known locales, like Greenies or The Pier, where you are fairly certain you know of people who have made it out alive.
Let’s set the scene: on the main artery in the very heart of our beloved Ocean View, sits a one-room bar. You can tell just from a quick glance that nobody’s bothered to redecorate since the Reagan administration, and the windows are so dark with soot that we had a serious debate as to whether there were any light fixtures within the bar itself. There is always a bearded man sitting at the window seat, taking slow drags of a cigarette. Last night, The Lover and The Fighter realized, Here’s our chance. We have two other people in the car and they have no choice but to accompany us wherever we go. We know from experience that a duo is still vulnerable, but four of us? Surely they would realize that one of us could dial 911 by the time they got the others in the van.
When we walk up to the pub, we’re a little apprehensive but still in good spirits about going in. Then we see a man with a two-foot pony tail and a Confederate flag leather jacket talking loudly on the phone and smoking a Black and Mild. That’s when it hits like a punch to the vagina: this could get colorful. We pause for a moment. It would be so easy to get back in the car and go somewhere nice in Ghent where they serve pink drinks named for 1950s starlets, but instead we muster our courage and march in single file like the doughboys headed off to Europe.
When we walk in, it is clear that we do not belong. Every head turns. The ol’ 1-2-1-2 is doled out by men and women alike, the tranny in the corner, too. Our plan is simple: head straight towards the bar, order beers, talk to no one. Immediately, the huskiest man in the room, who is coincidentally the least inclined towards orthodontics, makes eye contact with us. He heads off Soraia, the first of us in line at the pass, thereby stranding the rest of us in the very heart of the bar on full display for all. He gently grabs her face in his hands, and takes a breath to say something. The rest of us cower like mice. It’s too late to save her. He blubbers through a whiskey-induced haze, “Gharjafdi kinda shy skigglfky like to buy you gurls a drank oadfhb never seen anything like you in here before basdfgike.” Luckily for us, he picked the most steadfast of our pack, who smiles politely and says, “Thanks, but we’re here to celebrate our friend’s birthday. But have a good night, okay?” He shuffles away to fall asleep in a brown pleather booth.
We order shots to pluck our courage and to prove that we are no pink-drink pansies (we realize full well that this contradicts advice given previously on this page. Rules were made to be broken anyhow.). We wander towards an open booth, beers in hand, acting as much as we can like we go there every Tuesday. After a while, people begin to lose interest in the flowery foursome sitting at the booth by the door, probably assuming that we are here to drown our sorrows like anyone else.
You know what we’ve taken away from all of this? We’re awesome. And also that if you get the balls up to do something, it may just end pretty well. For instance, a man followed us out of the bar and begged to accompany us on the rest of our journey. Let’s just say he didn‘t have neck tats. He may have been a suitable husband for one of the four of us (but probably not Molly, since she is our token lesbo), and we would only have our sense of adventure to thank.
Cheers and stretchmarks,
The Lover and The Fighter
What Not to Drink.
When going out for a night of frivolity and general hijinks, it’s important to remember that if you want a laid-back time, you need a laid-back drink. No bartender wants to spend ten minutes of his time pissing around on your $15 Vaginatini. Therefore, here are some drinks to avoid:
1. The Cosmopolitan.
Pisswater.
Let’s just leave this one in 2001. It’s overdone, outdated, and the only people who seem to get behind them are pretentious twats. Plus, have you ever had a sip of one? They taste like strawberry toliet bowl cleaner, which is where it will end up if you have more than three.
"Why are you still drinking this shit?"
Let’s just say to avoid anything that ends in “tini.”
2. Shots.
Too tiny to enjoy.
Your inner-frat guy may say, “Remember how fun these are?!” but he also told you that he totally didn’t have the clap, and as we know from your trip to the free clinic, he is a LIAR. You only drink these when you want to be obliterated, a.k.a., your bachelorette party, your ex getting married to somebody else, or loss of job. They are not a social drink. And they certainly don’t make for the sophisticated look of holding a Merlot glass.
Let’s just keep this in mind: do you want to chisel your friends’ vomit-covered face off the floor of the bathroom? No? Well, they don’t want to babysit you, either. Stick to drinks that aren’t meant to be shoved down your throat so as not to be tasted.
This could be you.
3. Novelty Flavored Drinks.
No.
If you want something fruity, creamy, slushy, icy, or chocolatey, you shouldn’t be at the bar. You should be at 7-11.
Yes!
And, let’s be honest, you’ll paying less for the same tasting shit.
4. Cheap Hipster Beer.
You are not a construction worker from 1978.
You’re finally at a point in your life where you don’t have to drink what the frats are offering. Take advantage of your entry-level salary, which may be meager, but will still buy you a fine pint of Yuengling. And don’t give that, “It tastes great!” bullshit. Natty Lite, like Swedish midget porn, seems fun and all, but it will never leave you satisfied.
5. Top-Shelf Picks.
Liquor shits don't care how much you paid.
Congratulations, you’re a Naval officer. That doesn’t mean you have to buy the $86 scotch to impress your friends, because chances are, they’ll be too housed to appreciate it anyway. There’s a fine line between classy and nouveau riche. Just get a beer and enjoy the night. You won’t be getting laid anyway.
We're all real impressed.
So, what, you may be asking yourself, is an acceptable drink? Try one of the following:
1. Beer.
Oh GOD yes.
The Great Equalizer. Yuengling, Sam Adams. Hell, even a Miller or Bud. They’re never too fussy and always go down smooth. Like the best friend of the drinking world, they always have your back.
2. Wine.
Smooth as Miles Davis.
Simple and chiq. Be careful here. You don’t have to overpay to have a decent glass of wine. It’s not like your pallette is all that refined. Oh, and not a White Zinfandel. This is the pesticide of the wine world. Might we suggest a fine Cabernet Sauvignon?
3. Liquor and soda on the rocks.
A few of these and we'll be set.
Mix it up – rum and coke, bourbon and ginger, 7 and 7. You can’t go wrong when there are only two ingredients. Unless one of those ingredients is Canadian Mist.
4. Spiked Fruit Juice.
That's what mama likes to see.
Nothing too frou frou, but still fun. A Malibu and pineapple. Vodka and cranberry. Mimosas. Their sweet simplicity make these drinks just like the best one-night stands: quick, easy, and very little chance of throwing up after you realize what you’ve put in your body.
5. Champagne.
This is only picture we could find without P. Diddy in it.
Limit it to one glass, and for special occasions. It loses its appeal when you’re barfing it up on the sidewalk outside of the karaoke bar. You’ll know when the time is right. Proposing? Cute. Going to a biker bar? Not so precious.
Rules of Saturday Night Sociability for the Modern Lady.
Rules of Saturday Night Sociability for the Modern Lady:
1. Travel in packs – at least two. If caught in a sticky situation, someone can come to your rescue. Also, that gives optimum opportunity for one to drive and the other to make eyes at passersby.
2. Have a regular haunt, but don’t become the Baskerville Bar Hound. They should know your face, but never your name.
3. Know your itenerary. You can’t cram too much into one evening, so keep things light, unless you’re going for a tour of Ocean View. Then get the hell out of there. One drink maximum. We are not joking.
4. If you can’t pronounce it, you can’t afford it.
5. Don’t be afraid to meet the locals. Sometimes, you can even score a free Yuengling.
6. Always have gum. Good smelling breath never hurt nobody.
7. Make sure one friend is wearing something that could be a good conversation piece – a Christopher Walken t-shirt, for instance, or a large flower brooch. But don’t be coppin’ our style, y’all.
8. Be open-minded. Sure, you don’t go to the bar in sweatpants, but that’s another lady’s LBD. Locals make the scene, and very often, the night.
9. Car music. Nothing sets the tone for the evening like a great soundtrack.
10. The Golden Rule: Company first, location second. You could be at the swingingest place in town but if you have a downer with you, your night is shot.
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