My Shirt Is Not Offensive, Right?
Summer of Love. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Yes, yes it does. I’m Karl’s last guest poster for his summer lovin’ thing and I’d like to think he saved the best for last. However, that $100 bill he asked me for to save this spot, is sort of a dead give away that it may not be the case at all. Jerk. Love ya, though.
Let me properly introduce myself since I’m all about the proper and stuff. I’m Sassy Smith, and surprisingly (or not) that is not my real name. Yes, a lot of people do call me Sassy and I, of course, will answer to it (I’ll answer to almost anything except Edna. That’s just not a pretty name. No offense to anyone actually named Edna) and it matches my personality. Serious and conservative *cough*. If you follow me on Twitter (and if you don’t, what the hell are you waiting for? This could be YOUR lucky day), you’ll see just how proper, conservative and serious I truly am. Flirt with a big F. Anyway, when I joined teh internetz back in 2002, I was told by my paranoid mother to never use your real name online, because? there are weirdos out there. Which, yes, true, but Karl is totally harmless.
Let me tell you a little story. No, it won’t be about that time in the hotel room playing naked poker with one of my best girlfriends (Karl asked me to send the draft to him first, you know, so he could check it out and point out my spelling errors), and maybe I’ll be asked to never come back and guest post again, and I’ll enthrall you with that little bit of porn gem or not.
This is about shirts. Offensive shirts. Allegedly offensive. Are they really offensive? I mean, what if you don’t know the whole story behind the shirt? Right? Remember Karl’s Blogher tees? A handful of people didn’t like them (bitch please, you had better send me that pink one! You hear me Karl?!). I’ve experienced similar discrimination. And from men, too! Usually I don’t offend men, but this one dude walked up to me and said my shirt was disgusting and that I was a dirty girl (so disgusting in fact, he licked his lips as he said it). And he did give me his home number, his cell number, his pager number, his email address and keys to his apartment. Maybe when he said disgusting and dirty girl, he meant something else? Whatevs.
So, tell me what you think? I mean, these shirts are cute, right? And they are super high-quality. Had them specially made as you can totally tell hand printed with grape-scented kid markers. Nothin’ but the best for my chest.
“My pussy is awesome!”
Sure, I can sort of see how it might be offensive, but seriously, my pussy is awesome. It’s just that I can’t take her every place I go. She sheds.
See? She’s adorable, right?! Told you! My pussy is totally awesome. So, to that dude who said I was dirty and disgusting, I’m totally returning your apartment keys after I sleep with you just once. I mean you were totally hot.
“I have a dirty box.”
Seriously, it’s not been cleaned, in like, days. I get how some might react badly to that shirt caption – it’s not like I take my dirty box with me wherever I go, so people understand what I mean. So they can see my dirty box. It’s dirty. Like, for real, who wants to cart around a dirty box? Not me!
See? Dirty box. To the lady at the grocery store, you know what? Fuck you. I didn’t judge you on your poor fashion choice of leggings, crop top and $3 bargin-bin flip-flops. I applaud you on your courage to show the world your back fat and ugly feet. You could have shown me the same courtesy instead of huffing away in a jiggly mass after reading my shirt. Don’t judge my fucking dirty box or my dirty box shirt.
“I heart big breasts.”
Who doesn’t love big ones? Big, juicy breasts. Smeared with sauce. Yum.
I mean look at those big breasts! When they thaw and get tossed on the BBQ and smeared with sauce…yum, gonna be so juicy. See? How is that offensive? Sheesh.
Hey, grandma at the doctor’s office, loosen up, will ya? There was no need to point your cane at me and cluck your tongue in disgust. I’m sure back in the day you liked big juicy breasts but were afraid to admit it. You’re 92. Time to live a little. Nothing wrong with BIG, JUICY BREASTS. I think the crowd agrees with me, right? Stand up and cheer!
“My milk jugs R full.”
Love me some full milk jugs. All filled up. Best way to enjoy milk jugs. Full. I like the milk in bags, too. Fun bags, I call them. Milky fun bags. Ooh.
Look at those jugs. Full. Milky. Dreamy.
Sure, it may not have been THE best shirt to wear to church, but my friend didn’t give me much time to prepare. She was all, let’s go to church and confess and shit and I just grabbed the closest thing to me. The nuns, I’m pretty sure, were not pleased with my tank top, but the priest? I think he sort of dug me. I asked him after the service if he like full milk jugs and he nodded his agreement. He was kind of tongue-tied. Not sure why? Hi, is that your robe or are you just glad to see me? The nuns didn’t like my joking nature. I’m probably going to hell anyway, so no big.
I like my shirts. I think they’re cute (and remember, super high quality). But…
…after much consideration, I think I might give up the shirts. And not just my specially hand-crafted tees, but all shirts. I mean people are so damn judgy. Say the hell with shirts! Take them off! Be free of the shirts and the judgment!
So…
…hopefully, my bikini top doesn’t offend you. Because? Next step would be to go around topless and I know that shit would really offend people.
Don’t judge me. Or my shirts. Or me taking off my shirt. Let’s all love one another like in a big orgy. I mean, group hug. Yeah, group hug.
Karl, thank you so much for letting me guest post. You’re calling security, right? Now, give me back my hundred bucks.
Filed under Bloggity Blog, Guest Post, Humor, Photos, Rants, Sex | Comments (30)I was going to write one post but instead you get this one
Hi! So, I’ve been asked and am honored to be a guest poster here in the summer of LOOOOOOVVE.
Is this the part where we all make out now? I shaved my legs just in case.
I had planned on writing a rap about legalizing Marajana Marijana Marjhiana Marijuana but I couldn’t spell it. So I was all “fuck that shit, they probably have their own raps about legalizing Marijuana” so I decided to write about my virgin sex toy experience. Or, future experience.
I don’t know if you know mah 704 beeshes? Maybe you saw us at BlogHer?
That should ring a bell.
We have this website where we are sponsored by Eden Fantasies. Which, you know, is great and all. Except that the actual WORDS “sex toys” makes me blush. I KNOW. Right? I cuss like a fucking trucker but I can’t say Vibrator without turning ten shades of red.
My own grandmother told me once, “You’ve GOT to have a Penis cake at a bachelorette party, Leslie. It’s imperative.” My sweet little 75 year old Grandmother could tell me to get a Penis Cake and I just about had my neck swallow up my head whole.
I’ve been, um, encouraged to just give it a bit of a try. I mean, if a cute little Mormon girl can, why can’t an agnostic trucker-mouth me?
There is no answer to this. Well, maybe there is but it a long, boring background involving being raised by people who think Priests are the moral compass of the world. Cough.
So, lemme as this audience here of dynamic and fun individuals: What would you try first if it was your first… “time”? ‘Cause I’m just about to start clicking things blindly and pick one like the old, “Where to travel to” on a globe. Which just might get me to somewhere like Dubai. Or something lame.
(This post brought to you by Mrs. Flinger and her jacked up multiple personality part-whore-part-OCD-part-shy-part-alcoholic self.)
Filed under Guest Post, Sex | Comments (12)Keeping It Klassee One Boob At a Time
They say the internet is a big space. I disagree.
If it was such a wide open wonder how in Gawd’s name would a Canadian mommy blogger trip over a video of some dude prancing around with his nuts hanging out singing to one of the most annoying songs ever find his way onto my laptop screen?
Besides the fact I spend hours online searching for amusing and interesting links that are slightly pornographic to fill the gaping void that is my soul?
Hence a friendship was born. So when Karl asked me to guest post for him this summer, I couldn’t really say no. Doing so would only show the world I’m a classless bitch who refuses to expand her national and cultural borders within the internet.
I may be a bitch, but I like to think of myself as KLASSEE. The box of dollar store red wine in my fridge proves this.
Besides, Karl has a thing for mommy bloggers and it’s no big secret he has a crush on me and I aim to please boys who like me. Of course Karl likes me for my stimulating intellect and not because I’m a natural blonde:
The reality is, (and huge blow to my ego when I realized it) Karl only likes me because I have these:
I know this because the dude keeps sending me email and twitter requests to show him my boobs. Or to do a naked video post. Or simply call him and talk dirty with him while fondling myself. Karl. What part of KLASSEE did you not understand? 
I mean sure I may tweet topless during the summer and talk about beaver fever and the blue thunder but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to up and show you my guns.
You’re no Avitable dude.
Still, Karl persisted. And persisted. Aaaand persisted.
Filed under Guest Post, No Ads, Sex | Comments (44)
