FILTH

dropping the “ph”

Mr. Dandy — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 07:39:53 +0000

i advise using that small crevice between a girl’s spine and her asshole as an ashtray.
just flick that limp horizontal tower of incineration right in there.
it is useful as a jizm reservoir as well. one event can follow the other.
if u spread it around and fotograph it u are looking at a potential Metallica Cover.
im done spelling fotography with a “ph”
never again in anything short of formal documents
in fact
my “ph” use will be restricted to disambiguations such as “phish” and “fish”
“phuck” and “fuck”
“phew” and “few”
“phat” and “fat” — very important, although fat can be phat.
i am sheding values and letters
the more i reduce the irrelevant letters in my orthografic alfabet
the more i become a sleek person
im basically a dolfin at this point
maybe thats what happens when all morality evacuates from your syche
[im getting rid of 'ps' too]
no morality means u become a sea mammal

thoughts on prostitution, part two: the meat

Mr. Dandy — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 08:44:51 +0000

What I care most about doing with prostitutes is being able to enjoy a fully unbridled experience. Complete disinhibition. There can be no preset limit to the activities we do. I do not want to hear things like “I don’t do that” and “I’m not ready” or “that’s not covered”. Everything must be covered. And like coverage, it doesn’t mean that all acts will be realized, it just means that they have to be available for potential realization. This boils down, not to misogynistic acts of abuse and pain, but rather to acts that the general populace might deem embarrassing to perform. I could, for example, want her to gurgle Listerine as I penetrate her mouth in a back-and-forth pumping action, or fingerpaint her body with her excrement, or I might want to slowly introduce the head of my dick into her nose ala Total Recall; all this has to be strictly complied with. If I want to baste her in virgin olive oil, season her and place her in a sauna, boiling her slightly and then chewing on her flavored skin, I don’t want a peep. If I want to have her head submerged in the toilet (with breaks to let her catch her breath, of course) while I penetrate her anally, I want a “yes, sir”. If I want to shoot ice cold water from a water gun she’d better turn slowly. It all has to go. Should a third person be included, man or woman, I would not tolerate any partial threesome participation. None of the “this far but no further” crap. If I say “eat that girl’s ass out, and I mean really eat it” or “pack that man’s testicles into your anus” or “two cocks in your butt, a shoe in your vagina” I want an earnest effort and full compliance.
On the issue of condoms, I would ideally not use one but the odds that hooker is clean are at least psychologically unfeasible. This leads me to wonder about the scenario in which I wear a condom as I fuck two girls, one of which has AIDS. I penetrate one and switch over to the other, inadvertently pollinating her vagina with the virus. A truly sad state of affairs.
I do not reserve a special place of disgust for prostitutes or feel that only they should be subjected to the socially heinous and degrading things I wish to do. I feel that all people should be subject to acts of degradation and humiliation as long as they are understood beforehand and consented to. If a woman allows me to stick coins in her vagina or anus in order to make her do some action or other, far be it from me to label that desire as being something only a prostitute can engage in. The difference is that with prostitutes I cannot tolerate a change of heart, or a limiter based on something other than her need to survive and subsist. This means that a prostitute can never use the words “wrong” or “evil” or “disgusting” or “sick”. She can only state whether the acts are detrimental to her well-being or not. Here, issues like using rusty wire hangers and applying cigarette burns are justifiably excluded. All I want with a hooker is an outing devoid of taboo. An outing of “anything goes”. I want an evening where only biology and imagination dictate what happens. I think the greatest horror is to have “normal sex” with a prostitute—“normal” meaning that it flies outside of the john-hooker dynamic. If I ever find myself paying for sexual acts that I can duplicate for free then I will cause myself injury. This approach has certain potentially dangerous consequences, though. I don’t have to consider the prostitute’s feelings or well-being. There are no worries about post-sex awkwardness. The only things I wouldn’t do are things that would land me in jail. Things like excessive battery, murder, or any other irreversible bodily harm. My aim would be for the prostitute to make a full recovery after she’s left my employ. Just not immediately after. I don’t want to be just another john. I want her to remember me, remember what it means to be a prostitute. But more importantly, I want to remember. I want my prostitute experience to be something distinguishable from the Tuesday Sex I had with my girlfriend three years ago.
In truth, if you’re not the type of person that doesn’t want to hurt others physically or torture people or inflict severe pain then you probably won’t do so with a hooker. The evidence that men and women do in fact do horrible and destructive things with prostitutes says more about how much they’ve repressed those urges than it does about anything a prostitute “makes you want to do to them”.
Conversely, too often prostitution is seen as a simulacra for sexual relations, as the satisfaction of a natural biological endeavor with the extra transactional component. I reject this view. A fuller view of prostitution shows that it is a combination of product and service. The product is the human body; the service is what you can do with it. The tricky aspect is that since the product and the service are confined to the same physical space, I cannot fully realize all the freedoms that owning something brings. I cannot take it apart, for one. I cannot destroy it. I cannot set it on fire. I cannot make it do something against its will. Plainly stated, I feel more entitled if a monetary transaction has transpired. I want to get to do what I want to do. That’s why I paid good money. If I cannot treat her as property, then the Id drive to merge/destroy cannot be fully realized.
The logical conclusion is then that I want a slave or servant of sorts. I’m not sure I can really argue out of that. I want to pay someone so that I can completely dominate them. At this point it stops being about prostitution altogether and becomes about the conditions under which one person completely surrenders their will to another person. I am not paying for sex, I am paying for control. It just so happens that when I am in control I will inevitably want to debase this woman. Prostitution can theoretically yield this type of surrender but the terms have to be discussed beforehand. For the same price, I am just as liable to douse her with apple sauce or spend an evening taking pictures of the inside of her vagina or make her watch every episode of Arrested Development or give her a knife and tell her to try and take my life. The question then, the real question, is “how much does it cost to let someone control you?”

thoughts on prostitution, part one: prelude

Mr. Dandy — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 10:36:40 +0000

I would only solicit a prostitute if I could somehow use the money it’s gonna cost me as a prop in the sexual experience. Only if I can use her anus as a parking meter, feeding it quarters for fifteen minutes of use, will the experience be worth it. It goes without saying that dollar bills would be used excessively. I might be cruel and use foreign currency. This would require her to exchange these horribly dirty bills at a bank or other currency exchange location. I cannot say for sure how many coins she would have to consume but I know that answer is in the category of multiple. Once again, like a meter that can be fed either quarters or coins of smaller denominations, I would opt for the latter, making the experience more humiliating. I would wash the bills I plan to use ahead of time so that I can rub them on myself as well as on her (one must be sanitary, no?). They would serve as all-purpose paper for the evening’s events. Let’s say the evening runs me $500; I would stack 450+ singles on a table along with the corresponding change, all sanitized. They would soak up any blood or feces, the obligatory secretions and semen. The coins could shield her eyes from the various send offs I’d impart on her. Urine might prove too plentiful to bother with dollar bills. But then again she will drink most of it. I might apply a warm adhesive of some sort and paste the bills on her. She would walk around semi-covered in Washingtons. I might make her shit out the coins and make her go fishing for them in her own feces. This would all be pleasant.

Salma Hayek’s Post-Pregnant Tits

Mr. Dandy — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 08:42:23 +0000

They are huge!

They are like soft shell eggs containing the most desirable of yolks.
For anyone who is not familiar with Salma Hayek I recommend watching the film Desperado. This is one of only two movies that she shows off her monstrous tits in full glory. It is also the only movie of the two where she doesn’t have a moustache (the other movie is Frida). So Desperado will get you situated but it will not prepare you for Post-Pregnant Hayek. Nothing really can.

In this episode of 30 Rock:
http://www.hulu.com/watch/51959/30-rock-senor-macho-solo
(starting at the 15 minute, 46 second mark)
Hayek is post-baby and bloated–but only in her tits. The thought of all the milk contained inside those breasts makes me want to milk myself just to get something out. The thought that filming for the episode had to be stopped in order for her to either

a) feed her child or
b) just empty out her excess milk

is so galling that I have to pinch my nipples just to survive this post. Every woman’s breasts within visual range will be proxy for Post-Preg Hayek for the next few days. I need to drink her excess milk. I need to make cafe-con-leche with the excess milk. I find it horrible to think how much more digestible her breastmilk is to myself and other humans than regular dairy. We weren’t meant to drink cow milk. Let’s go back to the breast.
A single drop of her breastmilk spilt and wasted is more sacrilegious than all of Jesus’ blood running through the streets. And it will be wasted. On her shirt. On her bra. On her kid’s face and subsequently on the napkin used to clean that face. She should bottle it. Please Salma, bottle it. Your Areola+Nipple is already so analogous to a bottle top.
There Is Power In The Milk! There Is Salvation In The Milk! I must bathe in the Milk of Hayek!
Only then can I be cleansed.

Reasons Why He Came That Don’t Involve You

Mr. Dandy — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 02:36:16 +0000

Here is a list of possible reasons he came that unfortunately don’t involve you.

1- there was a girl in the café earlier that smelled really good and she was tiny and wore mismatching socks and he wanted so badly to fuck her that he took it out on your pussy that night and thought about ejaculating on café girl’s ridiculous respectively green and orange socks, weirdly coming on your feet.

2- he’s having an affair and is thinking about the other woman the whole time, stopping just short of calling out her name as he just cannons into your tangible vagina. You take pleasure in his gusto, but it’s not about you.

3- he’s been watching porn for 20 minutes on youporn (having spent another ten minutes arranging five Firefox windows all simultaneously running, all carefully cropped so as to not overlap or at least significantly overlap and two of which are showing serious deep anal while the other three are showing girl-on-girl tandems of three or more chicks replete with oozing vaginas and methodical, catlike-cleansing-habit-ass-licking) and the connection went bad so he affectionately wakes you up for that surprise 4 AM fuck that you secretly wish he’d do more often. He comes inside you with eyes most certainly closed, imagining himself a) still jerking off, b) being the anal penetrator, c) coming on all those gay-for-pay lesbians, or d) all of the above. Again, nothing to do with you, sorry don’t take offense, enjoy it, nay, encourage it! Shoot some porn of your own.

4- he flirted with a fat-assed little blonde girl at the university and all signs pointed to them fucking later on but then unmentioned boyfriend shows up and he’s left with an inert under-the-table erection that he committed to memory. And although by the time he gets home he’s limp, he still remembers that erection and a weird sense of justice overcomes him, so he grabs your ass (maybe a bit disappointed that it’s not the slab of pizza dough the other girl was lugging around) and settles for you, letting you have it. I mean really letting you have it. You enjoy it, being none the wiser.

5- he really wants to fuck another man but life, upbringing, fear and the dislike for body hair keep him doing you, feeling up whatever muscles you have and saying a shortened version of your name outloud (the shortened version that makes your name applicable to either a girl or guy). He comes in your ass (if he’s managed to conquer that hill) and visualizes a completely hairless man in a desolate island where people can’t judge and mommy and daddy don’t think he’s a (shhh . . .) homosexual. TIP: beware of his encouragements for excessive body-building or really short haircuts.

6- he’s using you as a large metaphorical piece of paper on which he’s pasting all the fragments of arousal he’s collected that day as he walked crowded streets and perused asses punching through jeans and thighs exposed by short skirts and ice-cream scoop breasts and even perceived more abstract properties like thickness and smoothness and skin tone and fuckability and sluttiness and disposition-to-do-other-girls. He glues all those moments on you, their faces on your face, their rolodex asses on your ass, their breasts like bras of skin fitted on your breasts, creating an augmentation sustainable only in theory. He glues it all together with that adhesive jism. It’s not for you alone, it’s for all the women he experienced that day.

7- the two of you were having dinner with one of your girlfriends and he started to fantasize about the two of you fucking each other and him either masturbating (the safe play) or joining in (more dangerous b/c he’d have to do more, you might become jealous about him fucking your friend, or your friend might outdo him in certain ego-jabbing sexual departments involving tongue, or you two girls might start to laugh and he might start to think it’s due to some inadequacy of his). So he either a) fucks you when you get home and plays out the fantasy in his head and happily ejaculates, imagining himself the object of one of those all-too-popular cum-swap videos, you and your friend (who’ve never made out before this day) trading the jiz with your mouths, or b) he fucks you in a punishing way, disregarding your satisfaction completely, because he wants to hurt you for not being willing to fuck your friend and for threesomes being so convoluted that even in his mind he has to make compromises and concessions and keep your feelings in mind. Oddly enough you might not be able to tell the difference between the two types of sexual events. Either way, that jiz was meant to be shared. Bitch.

8- he talks to that same fat-assed blond girl but this time there is no unmentioned boyfriend. Instead it is he who is touting his relationship with you, expounding on monogamy and the importance of being faithful and how committed he is, all the while feeding his own ego, assuring himself that he has tremendous willpower and that no pussy can sway him away from his beliefs. She makes it clear that she wants to fuck him regardless of his fantastic relationship (or maybe because of his fantastic relationship? That’s another post) but he won’t have any of it. He bids her adieu leaving behind what’s he knows is a soaking wet pussy and goes home to you. He fucks you like a train falling off a cliff and ultimately smashing into the bottom. He finds the back of your vagina and pokes it. He makes you bleed and says beautiful things to you. He tells you he loves you. While this may all be true, that train-hitting-bottom jiz is not because of you, it’s because of himself, his idea of himself, his own narcissism and egomania. You’re just what stops the train at the bottom.

So just because he came doesn’t mean you made him come. You needn’t have even been there.

Just Because He Came Doesn’t Mean You Made Him Come

Mr. Dandy — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 02:26:31 +0000

“just because he came doesn’t mean you made him come”

These are the words of comedian Chris Rock, from his latest HBO special Kill The Messenger. He said this almost at the climax of the show and I immediately laughed, involuntarily and in complete agreement. No woman should ever think that there is a single reducible thing that makes a man explode into them, or on them. Least of all that they are that cause. No matter where on a woman a man comes, it’s probably not because of them.

The obvious question is then, “what does make him come?” The answer to that ranges from the easiest explanation (“oops, I couldn’t hold it”) to one that 30 years of one-on-one therapy with Freud couldn’t fully answer (well, I used to see my mother naked and my sister too and . . .). The truth is that there are too many possible stimuli to even bother. Rock cited “shit going on inside the guy’s head” as possible reasons. He mentions (I’m paraphrasing) sexual moments stored up from puberty or pre-puberty that surface during sex and contribute to the pleasure of fucking.

This brings up the interesting notion of how memory factors into pleasure and pleasurable actions like sex. When a lion mounts a lioness it’s pretty straightforward, he’s programmed to mount her, she’s in heat and away they go. Lions don’t have memories of the last time they had sex nor do they have expectations about the next time they’ll have sex. When it’s time to fuck, their bioclocks lets them know. A Lion doesn’t look around at the other lionesses and voyeuristically enjoys their nudity as he penetrates his current partner. There’s also no “you’re next, let me wrap this up” motivation. Whether he’s gonna fuck the next lioness—and he will—doesn’t factor in. It is just the simple and mechanical acting out of the procreation game. Even bonobos, with their more sophisticated sexual behaviour and practices (like females performing cunnilingus on one another as a form of comfort and/or de-stressor, and of course—penis fencing¹) still probably employ neither memory nor expectation during sex. But men do, and women do. Every single time they want to fuck or even just fool around, or masturbate. They remember that last time, that last good time and that last bad time and that time fifteen years ago when they went for two straight hours and the woman orgasmed six times and they fucked against the wall and she called him some variant of DADDY or PATRIARCH.

Humans stack layers upon layers of concepts and beliefs and expectations and fears on top of their simple thrustings and strokings and circular stimulations and running-water stimulations and butt-pluggings and recursive “I’m masturbating to you masturbating to me masturbating ad infinitum”. This is all on top of whatever biological processes they’re already experiencing that they’re not aware of (like whether a woman’s ovulating or not and whether it makes a difference in sexual desire²).

So in that room, or bathroom stall, or closet, or backseat, or playground-after-hours, there’s the guy (our hypothetical comer) and the girl (our hypothetical inquirer) and his sexual history and her sexual history and every generated taboo/kinkiness they’ve assumed throughout their life.

But I haven’t answered the question, I haven’t even tried really. I’ve just pointed out its complexity. So as to not disappoint anyone, In my next post I’m offering a few possible reasons (in third person perspective) for him coming that have little/nothing to do with (you) the woman he’s coming into or on.

notes:

1- http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=bonobo

http://www.springerlink.com/content/xwl85258jj114088/fulltext.pdf

2- http://www.newscientist.com/channel/being-human/mg19626255.100-lap-dancers-in-heat-are-the-ones-to-watch.html