"An unfortunate sexual miscommunication, maybe?"

"Was that still consensual?"

"It was consensual up until you pooped on me."

"But up until then we were good?"

"Yes, but I would never agree to THAT."

"I'm sorry, I was just in the moment, and it seemed like the next thing to do."

"Well, good for you, I guess, but in the meantime I'm sitting here naked and now have poop on me."

"This IS kind of awkward. I really didn't think this through, you know..."

"Can you, I don't know, get me a towel?"

"A towel?"

"Yeah."

"How about paper towels? They are meant to be disposable."

"You pooped on me and now you are concerned about the care of your towels?"

"Like I said, I didn't really think this thing through."

"What the Hell made you think I'd like that? Is this one of those 'rich guy' things? Like you can treat people however you please and expect to get away with it?"

"Look: I'm sorry. I am sorry that I pooped on you. Knowing what I know now, I would not have pooped on you; If I could take it back, I would."

"I don't think I ever have felt as bad as I do right now."

"Come on, I understand you're upset, but let's not get melodramatic."

"Melodramatic?"

"There are people dying every day of hideous diseases. Everywhere. This was just... some poop."

"This isn't just 'poop' -- this is SHIT."

"Uh, saying it that way, it makes it sound ...dirty."

"What the hell else do you think it is then?"

"An unfortunate sexual miscommunication, maybe?"

"I think I am going to throw up..."

"Let me get a wastebasket..."

"You shit on me and now you're concerned about vomit?"

"I don't want to make the maid's day any worse than it will be already..."

I am Laslo.

http://althouse.blogspot.com/2015/06/what-has-to-happen-for-plaintiff-to-get.html

Then she asked if I had any 'Suck Candy.'

I once had sex with a female Grateful Dead fan the morning after she had attended the concert.

By "the morning after she had attended the concert" I mean I found her wandering into traffic the next morning during rush hour: she was twirling and pointing at Epic Sky Things only she could see, but she hopped into the back seat for a cigarette and a Promise that I was not 'The Man.'

Back on the road, she proceeded to explain how the Grateful Dead had two drummers, grooving: One who drummed to the hum of the Universe and One who drummed to the Beat of the Earth, then she asked if I had any 'Suck Candy.'

Intrigued about 'Suck Candy', I asked her for more specifics and sadly discovered she just meant LifeSavers.

We stopped at a Texaco in Stockton, bought some LifeSavers and she sucked my cock.

I wish it was a better story. Sorry.

I am Laslo.

http://althouse.blogspot.com/2015/06/the-secret-jewish-history-of-grateful.html

Also: pretty much anything that leaves larva. Or molts.

"Dear Lord, Please help guide these naked souls in their perilous trek. May the men's genitalia remain free from ticks, and may the genitalia of the women be void of tiny lizards and their flicking tongues. 

Also may you keep the females' ladyparts free of termites and spiders of all sizes. And caterpillars: please keep the ladies' ladyparts free from caterpillars, and millipedes and those little bugs that curl up when you touch them. 

Also: pretty much anything that leaves larva. Or molts. I think that covers it, Lord.

Of course, if any of this was to befall them as Your punishment for their promiscuity and wanton ways, then -- of course -- go ahead.

Averting our eyes, oh Lord.

I am Laslo.

http://althouse.blogspot.com/2015/06/if-group-of-textiles-people-who-wear.html

"Bitch, No. I keep my Fuck for my Wimmen!"

We are at the apartment of the Neo-Nazi Girlfriend who Is Not My Girlfriend engaging in anal sex on her futon when she asks me:

"When we have anal sex do you sometimes imagine that I am a man, or maybe a small boy?"

"No, no I don't" I say sternly.

"Blacker" she replies. When we have sex she prefers me to Talk Black; I have explained this before.

"Bitch, No. I keep my Fuck for my Wimmen!"

"Because if you were imaging a man or boy I'm wondering what they would look like."

"Bitch, don't make me slap dat azz!"

With this she wiggles her rear a bit, so: I slap dat azz.

"Harder! Harder, Black Man!"

So: I slap harder. Kinda liked it.

"I've been having anal sex since I was fourteen and no man will admit to picturing another man. Or small boy."

"Maybe that's because we don't, Ho." Perhaps I am pounding her ass a bit harder as this conversation progresses, or maybe I am just thinking that I am. I try to reassert my attention to my penis.

"Wouldn't it be funny if you were fucking me in the ass but thinking of Opie from the 'Andy Griffith' Show? That you were giving Opie a good hard pounding in the ass?"

"Bitch, That's Sick Shit!" I say as she whistles the "Andy Griffith" theme.

"OK. Maybe you are picturing a little girl that LOOKS like Opie. Is that better?"

"I am fucking YOU in the ass: not Opie, not a little girl that looks like Opie: You."

"It's funny: the guy who first fucked me in the ass at fourteen -- HE  kinda did look like Opie, a little bit."

"Shit, girl..."

"C'mon, baby: Mama says fuck Opie a little harder."

So I fucked Opie a little harder. 

And tried to stop picturing his face. His sweet, innocent freckled face: I am ashamed for an orgasm that hasn't even happened yet.

I am Laslo.

http://althouse.blogspot.com/2015/06/people-all-over-world-join-hands-get-on.html

It feels so GOOD to the Love Train.

The Love Train approaches a tunnel. Slowly it enters, just the tip, and it feels so GOOD to the Love Train. 

The Love Train then slides backward from the tunnel, teasingly, before re-entering the tunnel: more forceful this time, thick with intent, pistons are pumping, pumping, pumping.

Then: rolling back slowly, but only part-way, before lustily rolling forward again into the awaiting tunnel: the Love Train loves this, and the tunnel feels so welcoming, like it was meant to be this way, forever.

This is what happens when the Engineer of the Love Train masturbates on the job.

I am Laslo.


http://althouse.blogspot.com/2015/06/people-all-over-world-join-hands-get-on.html

It sells a LOT of bumper-stickers from my web-site.

Theodore: My Beloved White Brethren, this is the first time we have communed together since our spiritual cousin Dylann Storm Roof took upon himself to spur the White Man to Action against the Negro Blight and we must ask Ourselves: Is Now the Time for Us to Follow?

Ron: That's a mighty big question, Theodore.

Wilbur: Mighty big, Ted.

Theodore: Gentlemen, at some point we have to do more than just write hate letters to people...

Bob: Well, Theodore, I'd just like to say that my website is hardly just 'hate letters'. I get hundreds of hits everyday, and I've got my very own FBI-agent Imposter posing as one of us. Guy's a damn-good writer, too: you really believe he hates niggers.

Theodore: I am not downplaying your success on the Internet. I am asking: Is it Time for More?

Jake: Ummm...

Theodore: Yes, Jake?

Jake: I think it's a bad idea to kill 'em in Churches, that's all.

Ron: I agree with Jake on that one. Makes us look bad.

Wilbur: Makes us look real bad, Ted.

Bob: I mean -- after all -- God did make the Black Man, too --

Theodore: There is still Debate about that, Bob --

Bob: And I'm just saying a House of God is a House of God.

Ron: Unless it's a mosque.

Wilbur: A mosque is real different.

Jake: My Dad used to say God shoulda made the black man with horns so everyone would know he was meant to be a beast of burden.

Jed: That's a real good idea, I don't know why God didn't think of it Himself...

Wilbur: My Dad said the black man should've been half-goat. Pretty much for the reasons you've described.

Ron: More obvious.

Wilbur: Right: More obvious.

Ron: I don't care if it's a church full of Chink Fags, I say we leave it alone.

Bob: While I am not as worried as Ron about the Chinese Homosexual Menace, I believe we do 'leave it alone'...

Theodore: Gentlemen, it sounds like we've agreed: no shooting up black churches.

Ron: Unless it's a mosque.

Wilbur: A mosque is real different, Ted.

Theodore: So what would be a Good Target, Gentlemen?

Jed: Fried Chicken place.

Ron: I was gonna say that.

Wilbur: I was gonna say that, too.

Bob: But what if the Fried Chicken place has a white cashier?

Ron: Or howabouts a white GIRL cashier?

Wilbur: That would be trouble.

Bob: Gentlemen, that could set us wayyyyy back on our 'Twenty Dollar Minimum Wage For White Workers' Movement...

Ron: The 'Twenty Dollar Minimum Wage For White Workers' Movement. I forgot about that. I remember now.

Bob: It sells a LOT of bumper-stickers from my web-site.

Jed: Friends, it sounds like we need to be doing a lot more thinking.

Wilbur: A lot more thinking, yeah.

Ron: BIG thinking.

Jed: What if -- just for now -- we keep up with our 'Staring at Black People Real Mean at Fred's Gas Station' program until we get a Good Plan?

Ron: I like that.

Wilbur. I like that a lot.

Bob: Gentlemen, we can certainly do that, but it is time for someone else to take over the Friday night Midnight-to-Six shift...

Jed: Is there a problem there, Bob?

Bob: It ain't like starin' down the black folks on their lunch hour during the workweek, Jed. You should see some of the niggers that come out at three in the morning: some scary-ass shit, I'll tell you, all drunk on crunk or whatever they call it. It is someone else's turn...

Theodore: Gentlemen,gentlemen: by not furthering Our Actions do you not think we are letting our spiritual cousin Dylann Storm Roof down?

Ron: There were a lot of 'nots' in that question, Theodore -- I'm not sure how to answer.

Wilbur: It lost me there, too.

Bob: I just want to say that WE didn't tell our spiritual cousin Dylann Storm Roof to start shit up.

Jed: True: I don't ever recall us voting for that.

Ron: We've been going along fine just doing what we're doing, if you ask me, Theodore.

Wilbur: Just fine indeed, Ted.

Bob: As long as someone takes over my Friday Night shift.

Jed: I sure as hell ain't doing that. Someone could get hurt.

Ron: How 'bout we suspend the Friday Night shift until further notice. Maybe we just team up a bit more on Monday mornings.

Wilbur: Before the kids gotta get to school.

Theodore: We will utilize that option, and consider the meeting adjourned. Is that black girl still workin' at Hooters?

Ron: Nahhhh, she's at Starbucks now. Pouring fancy gay coffee shit.

Wilbur: Yeah. Fancy gay coffee shit.

Theodore: So Gentlemen, let's meet at Hooters...

I am Laslo.

http://althouse.blogspot.com/2015/06/at-lagoon-cafe.html