Posts tagged ‘john travolta’
Five Ways You Can Tell That John Travolta Is Gay
1. Umm, she’s wearing a leather loincloth thong stitched together with the rape tears of Latino massage therapists everywhere. Also, that isn’t a tan, its total body rug-burn from being passed around like a crack-pipe at a 3 PM Charlie Sheen Anger Management after party.
2. Massage therapists are coming out of the woodwork like poppers in the Rambles, accusing him of sexual assault. Do you know who you victimize if you are looking for a sexy, good time on the down low? Massage therapists. Do you know why? They are financially desperate enough to put their hands all over a total toad for a 20 dollar tip, and chances are a hand job is only one meager c-note away. A hand-job from a massage therapist is easier to come by than a club appearance by Lindsay Blohan, and its pretty obvious that the only reason this scandal is even happening is because one opportunistic therapist got greedy, and the rest of them glommed on like Travolta’s butt-cheeks on a mocha colored five-skin.
3. Kelly Preston. Have you ever seen her act? Neither have I. But if I had, in fact, seen The Princess Diaries I would know that her acting ability plainly discloses the fact that she hasn’t seen a penis in about 25 years, if at all. I didn’t think it was possibly to act like a frigid ice queen around Anne Hathaway’s Bambi about to get gang-banged gargantuan eyes, but Kelly Preston managed Read more…
Free Katie Holmes From The Shackles Of Gay Husbandry
Do you know what the worst part of having a closeted gay husband is? Knowing that you don’t have a penis when your husband craves constant cock 24/7. Do you know what the best part of it is? You can blackmail the shit out of him when you get divorced. Now that Katie Holmes’ bearding contract is finally up she filed papers with a quickness. She probably prepared the papers on their wedding night and kept them on a jump drive shoved up her robot snizz in PDF format.
Now, all she has to do is threaten to write a tell-all memoir and (even though their pre-nup is as ironclad as Tom’s industrial strength chrome dildo) she will Read more…
Go For It: It’s Your Fucking Box–Fisting 101
via TLS
Let me just put this out there: I have never been fisted/nor fisted anyone else. Why? I don’t want to ruin the moneymaker. But there are plenty of people out there who enjoy this act. I am not naming any names. But John Travolta.
The guy who made this video and me are of like minds–if people want to shove things up their ass they should have proper instruction on how to do it. So in case you are wondering what it would be like to have someones entire hand up your snizz–here is a video tutorial so you don’t end up paralyzed like Christopher Reeve. I am not saying he was paralyzed from fisting. Except I am.
Today’s Craption: John Travolta’s Beach Bod
“John Travolta was spotted recently on the beaches of Fire Island (Cherry Grove–He wouldn’t dare show his face in the Pines) showing off his new beach bod–which has apparently become a biological holding tank for the souls of young boys that he sleeps with and sells into the sex trade. That being said, his face is looking mighty fine. He must have gone to Bristol Palin’s surgeon.”
So I am kind of a boozer. To be conservative I have gotten piss drunk pretty much every weekend since I was 17 years old. (so about 2 years now) and sometimes in college I was wasted for 6 days straight (I took Monday’s off for religious reasons. Even back then I worshipped cock). You know how we all have those bodily fears that we ignore? (maybe its a mole you are worried is cancerous or that itching burning sensation when you pee that you have learned to live with and sometimes enjoy).
Mine was always my liver. I imagined my liver was more bloated, corroded and pockmarked than John Travolta’s fanny after spending 7 hours on a bus with no air conditioning.
So yesterday I got a random ultrasound of my liver. And the technician said
Dear Cake: We’ve Had A Good Run. See You Next Winter
Spring is allegedly on the way even though right now its colder than the Keith Urban side of Nicole Kidman’s marriage bed.
During the winter it is okay to gain a few pounds and let yourself go–after all who is going to see under your sleeping bag-like down jacket from Burlington coat factory? (if you are me, that number would be 530–the number of guys I slept with this winter.)
But now that spring is finally, begrudgingly, showing its bright green tits to the sky we have to start thinking about our fitness again. Here are several tips on how to exercise properly.
1. Pour a handle of vodka into a sprite bottle, take nothing but 2.50 cents with you and get on the train to Bed Stuy. Drink the entire bottle on the train. Once off the train, find your way home, drunk. You will most likely have to run from some shady characters, hide behind more than a few dumpsters and blow someone in a McDonalds bathroom for a big mac to keep your energy up. If you don’t lose a few lbs then my name isn’t Bad Advicey Bad Advicingtons. Read more…
Everyone has a mirror face. My mirror face involves me blowing up my lips into Jolie’s, pursing my laugh lines, and squinting my eyes like I am looking at an outfit designed by Tina Knowles and trying to figure out what the fuck was she thinking? Read more…
Things That Creep Me The Fuck Out: Tanned Trannies
I can’t describe the perplexing emotions I feel when I look at a photo of Aubrey O’Day. I am offended that she thinks securing your $19 wig with a rubber band, drawing on your eyeliner with a blunt edge sharpie and giving an IJF (I just farted) smile is an acceptable way to step and repeat.
FYI, that isn’t pink frosting colored lip gloss–her lips are severely dehydrated from her “bathroom breaks” every 12 minutes where she smothers her lips in the cocaine she keeps hidden in her dogs rectum. That is the reason her pets are always dyed different colors–dog, cat, bird, iguana she doesn’t care because they are all drug mules to her.
Damn you reality TV for giving Aubrey a 20th chance.
I have another pic of her wearing John Travolta’s wig and Jude Law’s crabs after the jump. Enjoy. Read more…
Celebrities That I Really Wish Would Give Up
Nicholas Cage is at the top of my list. I fucking hate him. I don’t if it is the bad hairpieces from the discount bin at Bokemia’s Wondrous Wig World, the saggy sad methface, that voice that sounds like he swallowed a hollow dick or those ridiculous basset hound eyes. I want to burn every movie he is in to the ground. And there are millions of them. Literally. Middle America, you can suck my ass for keeping this guy famous.
