Punches and Pole-Dancers

      Gentle Reader, let's talk about drinking today. First off, people that say they don't have to drink or do drugs to have a good time think they are better than you. If anyone ever says this to you, feel free to kick them in the chin mid-sentence. Next, I am so tired of people telling me they don't understand. They don't like the taste of it. Really? You think we LIKE the taste of it? We drink because we struggle to find real joy in life dealing with people like you. You and your stable job history, cheap car insurance, and kids that can't take a punch. Fuck that, I plan on committing as many sins as I can, because I want to make sure that Jesus didn't die for nothing.

      As most of you know, I've raised a lot of kids in my life. Infants, toddlers, and teenagers. Hell, I should quit my real job and start a day-care service. The most important thing that I learned along the way is that you should only beat a kid when they are little. That way they won't remember it when they grow up. Kidney-punch those little fucks before they have the ability to make memories. Get a couple years of abuse in for free, and then hug them and say "Daddy loves you." I mean, yes, they might start crying in the middle of a restaurant for no reason later in life, but that's not your problem anymore, is it?

       I want to end with a little advice for the fellas. You should not, I repeat, should NOT EVER enter a strip club unless you're drunk. Seriously, don't do it. There is shit going on in there that no sober mind should ever witness. When you're fucked up, you don't notice them coming out and cleaning the pole with Lysol and a paper towel in between dancers. You start to see the bags under their eyes, the shame IN their eyes, and their C-section scars. It's not a recipe for a good time. You start to look around and you kind of just feel sorry for them, but then you realize that they just got done cleaning their lady-parts with baby-wipes two minutes before they sat in your lap and called you baby. The $200 they made from the blowjob in the alley is now sticking out of their garter and touching your leg. The semen from the guy in the alley is now glistening on her chin from the flashing lights. You never realized that so many 30 year-old women were in med-school. You even start to wonder where the fuck these girls are getting all of these neon bikinis. Is there a Wal-Mart somewhere that only sells slutty outfits and low self-esteem?
     

Virgins and Vegetables

      Gentle Reader, I have a crooked smile on my face. I had a horrible week, but somehow just the thought of being better than you made me feel so much better. It's not that I'm more down to earth, smarter, or funnier. It's just that I'm more down to earth, smarter, AND funnier. So, a friend of mine has recently started dating someone new. He tells me that she is a REALLY good kisser. Really? A good kisser, huh? I used to think girls were good or bad kissers, and then one of them sucked my cock. Spin-the-bottle skills apparently go out the window for me at this point.

      You guys remember those make-out sessions when you were a teenager? Those things could go on for hours. Both of you scared shitless. You could just kiss and kiss like lips don't get chapped and abortions are cheap. I think we can all remember those days. No matter what age you were. That first time things went a little too far and you could barely breath. All you could do was live in that moment.

Him: Did my hand just brush her boob?"
Kiss, kiss.
Her:  Did his hand just touch my boob?
Kiss, kiss.
Him: Holy Shit, I seriously think I just touched her tit.
Kiss, kiss.
Her: I seriously think he just touched my tit.
Kiss, kiss.
Him: I wonder if she wants me to touch it again?
Kiss, kiss.
Her: Damn, I hope he touches it again

10 MINUTES LATER

Him: Why do her nipples look so weird? Is that what a vagina looks like? What the fuck? Isn't it supposed to have hair around it or something? Fuck it! This shit is amazing! Best. Day. Of. My. Life.. So why do I feel like a future rapist right now?  And why does it look like an Arby's roast beef sandwich? It looks so strange! I hope she doesn't think mine looks strange. Fuck, what if mine looks weird? What if when they were giving out penises, I ended up with the weird penis? And what the fuck is that beeping noise? Ohhhh, that's her pager going off. Damnit! Fuck your grandmother and her 9-1-1 pages.

      Sorry about that, Gentle Reader. I got lost in a moment there for a second. For a last bit of advice, I would like to remind the pretty girls of one simple thing..........Those drinks actually do cost money. I know the ugly girls realize that a Crown and Coke cost six bucks. Of course they do, they've been buying them for themselves their whole life. I'm not trying to be ugly, just like they aren't trying to be. It's not our fault, sometimes these things happen. Ugly girls, it's not your fault that both of your parents were ugly and you came up short on the "Two Uglies Make A Pretty" gamble. The odds were low to begin with and you crapped out. I hate that for you, but look on the bright side. Farmers need wives too. Someone has to have their semi-retarded children, and the world needs vegetables. Until next time, Gentle Reader.



Please remember to sign up on Twitter to follow me @CaptMilesLong. I will get that going when I get enough followers.

Drunks, Death, and Dildos

      Gentle Reader (back by popular demand), I welcome you back for another action-packed episode. I want to start by saying that this vibrator craze is getting a little out of hand. I understand a dildo, but a vibrator creates a sensation that a real man could never duplicate, unless you're Michael J. Fox. These things are packing NASA technology these days. With pearls spinning around and some fucking thing that looks like Beaker from "The Muppets" sticking out of the side. I understand trying to rub one out, but let's not get greedy ladies. Were you the middle child and not hugged enough when you were little?

NASA Vibrator

Beaker from "The Muppets"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      I appreciate all of the sharing of the blog that has taken place recently. I've heard from a lot of people whose friends wanted to find how to keep up with it. Almost all of the feedback has been positive. All except for a friend of one reader. This reader said, "My friend read it, and said you left a bad taste in her mouth." That's odd. That normally doesn't happen until at least the second date. Speaking of second dates, I need to find a girl I'm compatible with. It needs to be someone that drinks. I don't need anyone counting my beers for me. "Really? Another one? How many have you had?"...... And what's your point? I don't know how many I've had. Apparently not enough to make me stop disliking you right now. Or enough to make you prettier than your sister.  Perhaps you should just let me go with it. And why are carrying around an abacus in your pocket?

Abacus - For those not smart enough to get the last joke

      On a final note, I am curious as to why when assholes die, we have to talk about them and treat them like angels. Just because you aren't here anymore, doesn't mean you weren't a fucking prick. Once you're gone, people will always act like they cared about you more than everyone else did and only speak of the good things you did. So on the bright side, at least I have that going for me, which is nice. My eulogy is probably going to be pretty short, but at least I will go out on a high note. Until next time, GENTLE Reader.

A United State Of Mind

      Tender Reader, this political correctness shit has gots to go. It has gotten entirely out of hand. I do my best to not step over the line, but we all must realize that stereotypes are born from fact and learn to let it be. I'm guilty of taking the politically-correct thing too far myself. The other day I was talking with a friend, and he was saying how he can't believe that this girl would date a "fucking Wigger." Jesus man... really? If you don't mind, I prefer the term Wegro. No one wants to be a racist, but it doesn't mean that a lot of Mexicans don't cut grass and a lot of Indians don't call you Boss-Man. That is just how life works. Feel free to stereotype ME if you want. Fucking white people and their mortgages that they pay on time, and kids that know how to spell. I'm not saying that minority children can't spell, I'm just saying that a lot of them can't spell in English.

      I don't mind if an illegal immigrant robs a convenience store with a fake gun that turns out to be a chorizo taco stuffed into the pocket of his flannel shirt. I just don't want to have to pay for their 10 years in jail. Let that motherfucker out of the pokey, I don't shop where they sell cigarettes in singles anyway.  America will still be safe, at least the parts that really matter. Boycott all you want illegal aliens. Just ease up with your "I got so mad that I made a fucking three-dollar sign." So what? I got so mad that I traded in my BMW because I didn't like the way the windows rolled up. Thanks America.
     

The Best Of???

       Tender Reader, I have big plans for us, but I need your help. No, I can't tell you what it is. It's a surprise. No, I'm not pregnant. No, I'm not posting pics of my junk. If you have any favorite jokes or quotes from the blog, I would love to know what they are. I need serious fucking feedback on this one. Feel free to comment below, or on Facebook if you know me. I really need all you guys to help me out on this one. It's like this. If you don't give me something, I will block you from reading the blog. Ohhhh yeah, I have that kind of fucking authority. This is my world. "You are entering a world of pain." Any and all comments would be appreciated. Thank you in advance and the first person to comment on the origin of the quoted line in today's blog will receive a very special gift.  And no, it won't be an oral orgasm. You people need to learn how to control yourselves. That's so unladylike.

T-Shirts and Tube Socks

      Tender Reader, we have a good relationship going here. I write funny shit, and then you tell me how amazing I am. I like the way this is working out for me. Starting the blog is probably the best idea I've had since asking that pregnant hooker to meet me at the top of a flight of stairs. Talk about two birds with one stone. I've gotten so much feedback that I let go straight to my head. One reader sent me this, "Your blog is a like a drug, or some type of midnight booty call, if ya need a little something on the side to make your day just a little bit better." Now that's quality fucking feedback. Admittedly, she's probably a dope-whore, and it was a little hard to understand her over the phone with all that cock-meat in her mouth, but I take what I can get. I've even given away a couple t-shirts for various milestones. As I said before, I'm a giver.

      Yes, people still give the double-thumbs-up sign. Don't judge her. She also still says "Gimme five, take a chill pill, fart-knocker, Oh snap!, and talk to the hand." Probably has K-Ci and Jojo's "All My Life" rocking in her CD player too. Sorry, "Sweet Cheeks." I couldn't help myself. I also just got an erection thinking about slow-dancing to that song. Thank you semi-talented, harmonizing pop group for allowing me to rub my junk against girls that were trying to figure out if that was really my junk poking them in the stomach. I was a pretty tall lad. I hit puberty pretty early so it gave me a jump-start on masturbation. While you were trying to figure out what that hair was down there, I was trying to figure out what the fuck happened to my jerk-off sock. I left it within arm's reach under the bed. Please God, tell me my mother did not find it while doing laundry. It's not like you can wash one of those things anyway. You could pinch one of those with two fingers and it would stand parallel to the ground. You would have to at least bend it and crack it before you could even get it in the washer.

     

Things That Go Bump In The Night

      Tender Reader, the craziest shit just happened to me. I was sitting in my front yard trying to watch the meteor shower, when I hear movement in the grass. I jump up, my motion detector light comes on, and there is a possum standing six inches from my foot. I shout, "What the FUCK?" The possum gets so scared he takes off running so fast that he runs straight into the side of my house, apparently knocking himself out and giving himself a concussion. The combination of fear, funny, and alcohol now has me laying in the front yard laughing until tears are running down my face. This is the point at which the possum decides to regain consciousness and starts running straight at me. I instantly levitate to my feet and again shout, "What the FUCK?" as I run my ass back inside the house screaming like an 8 year old girl. I slam the door and immediately lock the deadbolt; Apparently thinking that a fucking marsupial knows how to work a doorknob, and then I fall over laughing again. Did that shit really just happen to me? Yes, it did. Freaky little bastards.

       On a side note, I will be joining the twitter nation sometime in the near future. Follow me at @CaptMilesLong.

I Rest My Case

      I have gotten a lot of texts and emails since yesterday's post. Things like "I was laughing about the Arby's thing until I thought I hope mine doesn't look like that." Or even "They don't look like that." It was a joke to begin with, but now I feel like I must defend my thoughts. My bad for not providing visual evidence to begin with.

       As the title suggests, I rest my case........

Long Live The Captain

      Tender Reader, we need to have a talk. A REAL talk. I have gotten a lot of things out of this blog; clarity, self-worth, understanding, and apparently a fucking bad reputation. The latter of which I never anticipated. I thought people would see past the jokes, see past the funny stories, and see the real me......I was wrong. All I seem to do is bring more trouble my way and make people think that I am a bad person. Well, I will not let this minor setback get in the way of our journey. Fuck you if you don't like me. I probably don't like you very much either. I tend to work that way. People I don't like don't ever seem to like me very much. Apparently, I make my disdain for them fairly obvious. 


      So, I have been trying to get back down to pimpin' weight since my break-up last November. I have lost 35 pounds so far.  226 < 261. You ladies should really try the "Miles Long's Drink More Eat Less Diet." It really trims the waistline. The way it works is I try to get drunk enough that I can't feel hunger anymore. It's amazing. The side effects aren't even that bad. I'm only suffering from nose bleeds, irritable bowel syndrome, ear-aches, numbness in my lower body, diabetes, sleeping with ugly girls, and scurvy. I have a thing about sleeping with ugly girls. No, no, no, I'm not against it, but there are rules. Well, one rule actually. It must be doggy-style at all times. That way, when I close my eyes and turn my head, you probably won't even notice. I do this for THEM. I don't want to hurt their feelings, because I'm a giver.


      Don't worry about me though, Tender Reader. I am going to be around for quite some time. My family has a history of long life expectancy. I know I'm not going anywhere any time soon. I'm still sitting at a Snoopy folding table at Thanksgiving.....thirty years old and I can't even make it to the grown-ups table, cause none of these fucks wanna die. So the moral of our story today is that Arby's roast beef sandwiches look like vaginas turned sideways. At least the ones with all that extra meat hanging off the side. I'm talking about the vaginas, not the sandwiches. No such thing as extra meat on an Arby's sandwich. Those fuckers are delicious. Until next time, Tender Reader.

This Has All Been One Big Misunderstanding

      Welcome back, Tender Reader. A lot of people have asked me recently why I have put up with some of the things that I did in the past. I think we can all make excuses for almost anything when emotions or great sex start clouding our judgement. We can always think of a good reason to stay. For example, years ago, some friends of mine asked why I continued to let "The Succubus" take advantage of me. I said, "Guys, she gave me roadhead." Well a lot of girls do that, right? No, you don't understand... SHE was driving the car. Understand, now? Something I don't understand is why when women without children are getting older, closer to 40 to be more specific, all they can think about is HAVING kids. But with men, the closer they get to 40, all they can think about is DATING kids. I recently turned 30 and I don't think I would date a girl younger than 25. If you didn't watch Thundercats and Fraggle Rock, just keep steppin'.
   
      While we are on the subject of disbelief, I am having a hard time understanding what the hell is going on with women and their germophobia. What is up with you and your toothbrush? If I understand correctly, at some point in your life, there will be nearly ten pounds of baby coming out of your vagina, with a near-stranger's hands inside of you. He will pull your child out, try to show the child to the guy you claimed was the father, and the afterbirth, or alien-cocoon-membrane, will follow shortly after. They will wipe the ectoplasm from your baby, and then act like they give a shit about you while they hand the child over still somewhat covered in goo. So... you will hold an infant covered in fetal matter and illigetimacy, but you won't let your boyfriend use your toothbrush?  Do we see something wrong with this equation? You are now holding a professionally-swaddled-carrier-monkey, and you have no problem with sucking my cock three times a week.......Now, let me use your fucking toothbrush.

      The thing I have the hardest time understanding is the discrepancy in beauty and self-esteem. You show me a girl with good self-esteem, I will show you an ugly girl.  The prettier they get, the more they seem to hate themselves. "Too skinny" ceases to exist, and men can now feel free to beat on them, because they hate themselves anyway. Learn to love you for you, no matter what you look like. If you don't like who you are inside, you will never like what you see in a mirror. You have to learn to look yourself in the eye. Last but not least, I don't understand why THESE are the three things all people think they have. And they are wrong on all counts, but the three things all people think they have is good taste in music, a good sense of humor, and a good "Slingblade" impression. You think I am kidding? Next time you are around a group of friends, just bust out some "MMMmmm French fried taters" and enjoy watching those fuckers make fools of themselves. Until next time, Tender Reader.