Tagged: my right to bitch
Holy Sex Toys, Batman!
*Graphic Article About Sex Toys Alert* *Graphic Article About Sex Toys Alert* *Graphic Article About Sex Toys Alert*
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My Fotoshop skills are not improving…
It’s been a long time coming, but me and one of my absolute favorite west coast enigmas have teamed up to provide a ridiculous commentary on some of the wildest pleasure tools that money can buy.
The mystery woman I’m referring to operates under the alias Singlegirlie, and her sultry feminine scent still lingers here.
Let’s backtrack. I call her an enigma because for as many times as we’ve chatted, I still don’t know what the hell she looks like. For all I know she could be some freaky carnival dude living in a van down by the park river. Even if that were the case, he/she’d still be funny.
So strap on your stilettos and take a stroll with us down the neverending isle of rubber wieners and pocket vaginas:
Weird Sex Toys That Will Never See My Junk
Earmuffs.
– Catch ya’ll on the flip-side, Chowderheads \m/
Related articles
- How Can Enjoy Sex Life (sexbytoys.wordpress.com)
- Use Sex Toys for getting back your exciting sex life (fuzhouzbch.wordpress.com)
- The Scariest Sex Toys We’ve Ever Seen [NSFW] (jezebel.com)
Conversations with Cats
Stop this nonsense! Put me down!
Last week, Jeff from Content Unrelated gave us a take on what it would be like if dogs could speak in a post titled, Conversations with Dogs. Today’s piece is dedicated to a much more refined species of carpet-dwelling home-wrecker. If you don’t feel like reading the rest, here’s the Cliff Notes Version: Don’t ever buy a cat. The end.
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My freshly adopted step-cat, Jack, is quickly becoming the bane of my existence. I recently acquired him in a package deal along with my girlfriend. Despite being warned about the inevitable havoc that would take place upon his arrival, I welcomed Jack into my home with loving embrace.
A few weeks later, the only embracing going on between me and Jack is when my hands are wrapped around his neck.
I don’t know much about ’em, but I’m pretty sure the common house cat, or Felis Catus, is a genetic hybrid of the North American Grey Squirrel, the Common Raccoon, and a Badger. My theory would explain why cats don’t like to be touched, spend a lot time burrowing in furniture, and scratch holes in stuff that previously did not have holes in it.
Like guest-poster Jeff, I often wonder what it would be like if Jack could talk. Our conversations would probably be brief, unproductive, and go something like this: Continue reading
The Sleep Deprivation Challenge Ends
Photo taken mid-trial
I’m sad to announce that The Official Sleep Deprivation Challenge is now officially over. Put down your Pom-poms and exit the bleachers in a single file line. [Insert distraught emoticon face.]
At approximately the 120 hour mark of the competition, I face planted into a bowl of macaroni salad and woke up six days later to a beard, dozens of misc. stains on the upholstery, a roof full of mortar shell debris, a bathtub full of jelly beans (?), and a fucking cat that apparently lives here now (cat story coming soon).
My brain shut down after Day 2 of the challenge, making it difficult to write anything down other than “dur…” But, by the power of Zues, I somehow managed to keep a daily log.
Here are a few entries from the remainder of the challenge: Continue reading
Sleep Deprivation Olympic Challenge: Day 2 Results
**Part One and Two can be found here: Chowderhead’s Official Sleep Deprivation Olympic Challenge. and here: Sleep Deprivation Olympic Challenge: Day 1 Results
Day 2 Recap: Fear and Loathing at the Local Laundromat
This is where I had my tooth extracted, but to the left a little bit by the counter.
I spent the first few early morning hours at some dirty laundromat around the corner, glazed over, watching a pack of wild goobers meticulously folding their yellowed whites.
At one point, the Chowderhead at the front counter started to get lippy with me after I expressed my concerns over the excessive lint piles that, in my opinion, should be periodically swept from the folding tables.
I made a very dry remark about her missing front tooth after she refused to acknowledge my request, and the next thing I recall was a sort of white flash – like a computer rebooting – and myself on all fours, on the floor, staring at the tooth that had been forcefully removed from my head.
Luckily, for the sake of this experiment, I didn’t completely blackout. Continue reading
Sleep Deprivation Olympic Challenge: Day 1 Results
**In case you missed the introduction to this whole mess that I’m subjecting myself to, be sure to read here first: Chowderhead’s Official Sleep Deprivation Olympic Challenge.**
Well, Day 1 of the challenge began and ended with only a few minor burps, but all in all, things are going pretty smoothly.
It’s important to note:
“Do these boobs make my dress look small?”
I haven’t officially been awake for twenty four hours because I accidentally fell asleep during the first hour while watching an episode of The Real Housewives of some posh, tropical county. Shortly after that I slipped on a bar of soap in the shower and hit my head on the soap tray.
I still don’t really know exactly how long I was out for..
However, as the early hours of this study peel off the clock, I’m starting to feel like sleep is just an overrated, productivity-killing waste of time. I mean, how the hell are we supposed to advance as a society when everybody’s larding around for eight hours everyday?
I intend to take full advantage of those additional eight hours each night by catching up on a few chores that I’ve been meaning to get to for awhile.
Summary of Events, Accomplishments, and Other Stuff from Day 1: Continue reading
Chowderhead’s Official Sleep Deprivation Olympic Challenge
**Disclaimer: Do not try this at home, dummy.
After submitting countless applications to participate in one of those paid studies in which the white-robed, clipboard-carrying people tie you up to a bunch of electrode-thingies and tape your eyes open for days on end, I was unfortunately denied, repeatedly, and labeled an unqualified candidate because of my excessive use of the word, fuck.
Fuck.
I’m slightly offended and deeply troubled that I will not be receiving any monetary rewards. However, I will not be denied the experience.
Note to Self: Buy one of these things.
Because of this recent turn of events, and because I have nothing better to do, I’ve decided to conduct my very own, very informal, very unprofessional, and obviously, very stupid experiment, in which I will willingly subject myself to a semi-thorough, unsupervised sleep study.
My goal is to tie or break the current word record of 18 days, 21 hours, and 40 minutes without sleep. I will report back with my findings.
Here’s some scientific crap about sleep:
-According to most academic journals, the human body requires anywhere from 6 to 10 hours of sleep per night. (6 hours my ass!)
– Seventeen hours of sustained wakefulness leads to a decrease in performance equivalent to a blood alcohol-level of 0.05%. (That means that in three weeks I will feel like I drank a cement truck full of beer in approximately ten minutes.)
– It’s impossible to tell if someone is really awake without close medical supervision. People can take cat naps with their eyes open without even being aware of it. (Becca does that)
And here are some Tips for Sleeping Smart that I will not be following: Continue reading
When Life Hands You Lemons, Open a Swiss Bank Account
So I’m sitting on a park bench whining to some random nerd, when suddenly, he cuts me off mid-sentence and barfs something common, stinky, and cliche all over my new shirt:
Nerd: “Well, you know what they say: when life hands ya lemons, ya make Lemonade!”
Adam: (internal monologue) “Alright dude, atomic wedgie or wet-willy with mayonnaise…Take your pick.”
But before I could baste his eardrums with burger condiments I had a grand epiphany. Something came out of me that I didn’t think I was intellectually capable of producing:
Adam: “That’s a complete waste of an opportunity.”
A Lemon, courtesy of your Life.
Nerd: “(dumbfounded) Opportunity?”
Adam: “When life hands you “lemons,” you don’t just lard around getting porch-drunk on lemonade?”
(Extended Pause)
Nerd: “What do you propose instead?”
Adam: “I propose that you start stockpiling your “lemons”and break into the lemon-packing industry after you’ve raised enough startup capital.”
Nerd: “…”
Adam: “Start by aggressively negotiating your warehouse facility and packing equipment, and purchase a large farming plot close to the equator. Build, train, and squeeze every last nickel out of an efficient labor crew. Continue reading
5 Notorious Lines That I Always Get Stuck Waiting In
Maybe it’s the Yankee in me, but I absolutely hate waiting in lines. See, I have this uncanny, superhuman, x-men-like ability to subconsciously locate and endure the absolute worst possible line in the history of checkout lines wherever I go. Someone please contact Guinness. It’s world record wait. Every. Single. Time.
Tip: if you ever happen across me standing in line someplace, even if you really wanna talk to me or get my autograph or something like that, don’t do it. I’ll mail you an autographed picture of my bare buttocks – whatever you want – just do yourself a favor: go stand in the next checkout line over. Even if its twenty senior citizens deep. Trust me.
Here’s a brief list of typical scenarios that I face on a regular basis:
“Hey Coach, I don’t feel so good.”
Dairy Queen
Baseball Team: sextuple (seven) scoop hot fudge brownie boat with sprinkles, half-fat caramel chocolate-mocha frappe drizzle, every single nut known to the Dominican Republic, freeze-dried watermelon rind puree, cat liver, fucking onions, and whatever else you got, lady. After three bites, the kid doesn’t like it or throws it up all over the floor, or on my sweet tennis shoes, and it goes in the garbage. What a surprise… Continue reading
That Awkward Middle School Dance
For the past two weeks I’ve been relocating every single piece of shit that I own – and then some – into the all new Chowderpad. Forgive me. For those who care, I’m still very much alive.
I decided to spend the first night that I didn’t have to run out and buy ‘stuff’ by testing the smoke alarm in my 600 sq. ft. dwelling. It works. Not only is it loud, but there are two of them that beep at the same time. They talk too. A female voice told me to stop cooking and to exit the building immediately along with all of my pissed off neighbors.
After about ten minutes of listening to the incessant, loud beeping, I decided to just turn the radio on. I couldn’t find the clicker to change the hippy-music station that was on but quickly decided that it was the way to drown out the sound. My new neighbors have two good reasons to hate me now.
After a couple songs I realized why I prefer head banging and mosh pits over club and booty-grinding music. A flood of awkward memories drifted into my subconscious, and one of the memories that stood out was my 8th grade Halloween Dance.
I kinda looked like this. But skinnier. And geekier.
I remember being absolutely stoked. Not just because Halloween is my favorite holiday, but because it was the first legit school dance ever. It was gonna be off the hizzy for shizzy: costumes, decorations, spiked punch, chicks and heavy metal and shit. But heavy on the chicks part. All I needed was a sweet-ass costume to reel ‘em in… Continue reading
Case Study: Yahoo Answers
I’ve come to the realization that Yahoo Answers is the electronic version of The Magic 8 Ball. In other words, it’s the biggest pile of shit ever dumped into a flaming paper bag and dropped onto your virtual doorstep since the dawn of the Internet.
Here’s how it works:
1.) User asks a question seeking a valid response.
2.) Question is then made available to a general population of experts, comprised mainly of YouTube trolls, single men over the age of forty and hipsters. Answers are typically never longer than five words and usually written in butchered English or hipster shorthand.
Thanks to the contributions made by the single males over the age of forty group .01% of the responses found on the site are not entirely useless. Continue reading
Chowderhead 