A blog by Richard Longwood.
I get a listing of all the search terms that people use in order to find this blog. These crack me up:
More proof that this blog is a class act!
Richard and I have known each other for years. We served together in the armed forces years ago. Finally that faggot told me about his blog.
So I convince him to let me post and he’s crying like a bitch,”Don’t say anything libelous! Don’t fuck up my blog! Don’t say anything that will force WordPress to delete my account! WAAAAA!!! I WEAR WOMEN’S UNDERGARMENTS!!!!”
He has his panties in a bunch because he knows my posts are THE SHIT and after I tell you about a few of my experiences, I will completely take over this blog. You’ll no longer want to hear his long laments about smoking cessation and Howie Mandell. WAAAAA!!! WAAAAAAAAAA!!! We stole the neighbors cat!!! Richard is FUCKING BORING!
I, on the other hand, don’t take orders from some woman like pussy whipped Richard does. I treat them like the total whores they are and then move on to the next one. My sexual conquests prove that audacity goes further than most men would think! In fact, women LOVE to be treated like WHORES!
Which brings me to the little number that I’ve been fucking for the last few weeks. This one is a figure skater, working for a traveling Children’s skating show. A VERY Popular one. Richard is really concerned that I’ll start using the company’s name or the production’s name. Out of the little bit of respect I have for him, I won’t! Let’s just say that Richard doesn’t want the “mouse” and his lawyers coming after this crummy little blog. (I mean, shit, there must be 25 or 30 hits a day! We wouldn’t want this cash cow to be kicked off WordPress, would we!?!) What a douche bag!
A hot little minx; she is all legs. A body that only a lifetime of figure skating could produce. She was never good enough for the Olympics, but pulled a pretty major role in this traveling children’s show. Let’s just say that she dresses up like a princess every night. For the purpose of this story, let’s simply refer to her as “Brandi”.
Brandi loves to be treated like a total whore. She is certainly a three input woman, but prefers one input over the other two if you get my drift. Let’s just say that it’s amazing she can still figure skate after some of the nights that we have.
Brandi is so into anal sex that I make her wear panties that say “Backdoor Whore” underneath her costume when she’s doing the ice show. I think this is a riot because her audience is essentially children and family pukes like Richard. When the beautiful princess skates out on the ice under the spotlight surrounded by cute, fuzzy little animals, dwarves, and flowers and shit, she’s wearing panties that say “Backdoor Whore”. What a riot.
There are several places during the show where Brandi skates around and her skirt kind of lifts up a little bit to expose her bloomers and that nice tight ass underneath. If know me, you know that this drives me crazy. One of my first masturbation experiences ever was during the 1994 Olympics. I was in the family room thinking my parents were sleeping. I was watching the figure skating finals. Of course, Nancy came on in her figure skating costume and started strutting her stuff around the ice. I took down my pants and got down to business right in the middle of the floor. Even though Scott Hamilton was screaming like a faggot all during her performance, I was able to persevere and shot my junk all over my stomach. I laid there for a few minutes relaxing. Of course, my mother came into the family room and turned on the lights. There I was laying in the middle of the floor with a belly button full of baby badder and Scott Hamilton on the television set. I got up real quick but there was no hiding it. My mother swore I was jerking off to Scott Hamilton and for years my folks thought I was a queer.
I jerked off at Brandi’s shows as well. I never told her that I did this. One night she got me complimentary tickets to the show. It was one of those hockey stadiums with nose bleed seats. Of course, the show was not able to completely sell out so there were plenty of high seats up in the nosebleeds where I could take care of myself after the lights went off.
I convinced Brandi to come over to my apartment in her princess costume. She actually had to sneak it out of the show wardrobe. I remember she was really worried about getting a stain on it. I kept saying “Brandi… chill the fuck out! No one is going to check your costume for cum stains!” She used my bathroom to change from her street clothes into her figure skating costume. I was waiting on my bed, completely nude, horny as all hell, and ready to fuck the living shit out of Brandi and fulfill my adolescent fantasy. Brandi didn’t know that I intended on shutting my eyes during the entire experience and pretend I was with Nancy Kerrigan. I wanted this experience to be so real that I made her change into her figure skates.
I could tell that she was almost done changing because I could hear struggling to remain standing on those ice skates on the tile floors in my bathroom.
“All hail her majesty!” she said half joking as she walked out of the bathroom.
“Brandi, shut up… really. You’re ruining this for me!” And she was. I really didn’t want her running her trap during this experience. I had every intention of hitting it from behind and pretending she was Nancy Kerrigan from the 1994 Olympics. Brandi was certainly just as tall, had the same color hair, and had a powerful skater’s body.
What emerged into my bedroom was comical.
Picture if you will a grown woman in a cartoon-like princess costume trying her damnedest to keep her balance with figure skates on top of my carpet floors. I couldn’t help but laugh. Brandi, of course, was humiliated and would have certainly left had it not been for the old Peters charm.
As usual, Brandi exited one humiliating situation and ended up in another thanks to a little help on my part. I was kind of getting turned on watching her struggle to keep her balance in the figure skates. Instead of having her on the bed, I decided to simply bend her over my dresser. I ripped a hole in her pantyhose right at the crotch and entered her doggy style. I enjoyed banging a figure skater from behind, but I enjoyed watching Brandi struggle with those figure skates most of all.
Despite Brandi’s “orders”, I finished all over the back of her costume. She was really pissed. She didn’t even change before she left. She simply went out of the door mustering up whatever dignity she had left, trying to balance herself on those figure skates.
It’s probably for the best. Things were become quite complicated between us anyway.
My wife and I were watching the election coverage last night on Fox News. We enjoyed watching Senator Obama kick the crap out of Hillary in South Carolina. There were several times that Fox News ran file footage of a Hillary Clinton rally when my wife made a very amusing observation.
When she wears lots of eye makeup and gets under those strong spot lights she looks just like Bettlejuice. It is more than just the eye makeup; it is the entire face structure and the teeth too. The aged skin does not help either. Has anyone made the same observation?
DETROIT - Businesses in America’s poorest neighborhoods are anxiously awaiting the June delivery of tax rebate checks in order to stimulate local economies.
“I don’t know how well other businesses are going to do, but I’m expecting a windfall!”, said Ron Frazier, owner of a local check cashing store in downtown Detroit. “None of these people have a checking account and I charge 10% for every government check cashed! I expect half of this neighborhood to be lined up around the block. At $300 a check, I’m going to make out very well!”
The stimulus package being proposed by Congress will not only energize the large check cashing and payday loan industry of Detroit, but should act to stimulate other businesses as well. Hair and nail salons, auto stores, cellular phone dealers, and jewelry stores all expect increases in business after the first checks arrive in June.
Rebekah Jones is a mother of three boys. She lives in downtown Detroit, where she occasionally works part time. Despite not paying income tax last year on her meager $4,000 yearly wage, she is expecting a tax rebate of $300 in June.
As she smoked a Newport cigarette on the front porch of her home in downtown Detroit, she told us what she plans on doing with her rebate check, “I’m getting my fucking nails done, bitch!”
It is people like Rebekah who the federal government are counting on to jump start the economy and bring the nation back on a more favorable economic track.
“Chrome fucking tires…. Chrome fucking tires mother fucker!”, Darius Simpson said as he walked to a corner liquor store. Darius was surprised to hear about the tax rebate but said he would be anxiously awaiting his check come June. “They owes me”, he added with a smile, “They mother fucking owes me!”
Recent criticisms of the federal government’s economic stimulus strategies claim that some might choose to pay down debt or save the rebate rather than spending the money.
A simple canvas of people on the streets in downtown Detroit paint a different story. Future rebate recipients in Detroit have all expressed their desire to spend their rebate checks in the quickest manner possible. They may not know it, but the future of the American economy may depend on them doing just that.
It was the remarks of Vanessa McKinney that summed up the feelings in her lower-class neighborhood best, “Bush needs to know… This hair ain’t cheap!”
My father-in-law is from Greece. He is something to behold.
I call him the “Greek Menace” because he destroys my day every time he comes to visit. I have nothing against Greeks. I’m sure there are lots of Greeks out there that don’t smell like week old underwear and don’t annoy everyone around them just by opening their mouth. If all Greeks ARE like my father-in-law, then perhaps we should wipe the place off the face of the Earth.
He has been mooching off my mother-in-law for years. He doesn’t have a job commensurate with his education. He simply does odd jobs for a short amount of time then goes back to school. He has more degrees than Brittney Spears has DUI arrests. Yet for all that education, there isn’t one lick of sense in that tiny little Greek brain.
His mouth is like a good Japanese car; it never stops running. Everything he says is very profound and meaningful… just ask him. He talks kind of like Bela Lugosi, except the “Greek Menace” is fat and Greek. He does this stupid eye thing every time he wants to make a point, and that big, bushy eyebrow goes up and down to emphasize his speech. He looks straight into your eyes, as if the next thing to come out of his mouth will explain the meaning of life. His expression becomes dead serious and he slows down his speech tremendously so you are forced … to …… pay ………….. attention ……………………….. longer.
Nothing he says is profound. Very little of it actually makes sense.
Yesterday, we had lunch at a downtown restaurant. Of course, my wife makes sure he is sitting next to me (love of my life!) The waitress comes with the drinks and the Greek Menace is really thirsty. So thirsty that the stupid Greek empties his lemonade in record time. This will become a point of profound discussion.
“Loooook at my glass! Loooook at how much lemonade there is left. There is only a LITTLE! I was SOOOO thirsty that I drank my lemonade quickly!! Looooook at how much is left. It is funny how someone becomes sooooooooo thirsty!!”
I deal with these inane bloviations in the same manner. I nod my head, pretend to be interested, maintain eye contact, say things like “Yes… you are correct… absolutely… I see what you mean” and go to my happy place.
There’s my happy place… very nice.
Every morning, he takes an hour long shower. No shit. The Greek Menace spends longer in the shower than any person I know. You hear the water continuously going off and on. I have no idea what he does in there and I don’t want to know what he does in there.
Regardless of how long the shower is, he always come out smelling just a bad as when he entered the shower. If you want to get an idea of just how bad he smells, think about the worse smelling person you know. Ok… now imagine that smell and dog shit.
Then more annoying discourse about my great shower head when he finally comes out of the bathroom:
“Richard… your shower is SOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOOOD!!! The water … it is so warmmmm… and it comes straight down out of the shower head on top of me. It is sooo relaxing. I feel so goood after getting out of your shower.”
Of course I know how good my shower is: I use the fucking thing every day. I’m the one that bought the fucking shower head. Unlike the Greek Menace, I’m able to take a shower in about 7 minutes and not smell like gym socks and toilet scum when I’m finished.
So this annoying little shit knows that my wife and I quit smoking about a month ago. His wife quit smoking only a few days before they came for the visit. My wife told the Greek Menace that if he wanted to smoke his stinky cigarettes, he was going to have to take his fat Greek ass outside.
Of course, he can’t just sneak outside and enjoy his cigarette. He needs to make a big production out of it:
“RIGHT NOW… I am going to go outside and smoooke. Smooooking is soooooooo good! I enjoy smooooooking!”
It’s like waiving hypodermic needles and smack in front of a heroin addict. Somehow, my wife and I survived this ordeal without smoking. I think mostly because neither of us was going to walk out the door and listen to this fat fuck talk for an hour out in the cold.
He left this morning. For the next few weeks, the only “Greek” exposure I want are 19-year-old coeds wrestling half naked in K-Y jelly as a part of some strange sorority initiation. (Does anyone have a porno movie recommendation that includes just this topic?)
My wife informs me that he is manic depressive and is probably in the middle of one of his “manic” phases right now. Apparently the Greek Menace gets like this every once in a while. He finds it very important to be around family. After a while, he’ll enter the “depressive” stage and become recluse and withdrawn.
If anyone has recommendations on how to get him into the “depressive” stage faster, I’m all ears!
Until next time… YASSOU!!!
My wife and I decided we would show her parents a real good time last night. We loaded up my three year old, my nine month old, and her baby boomer parents in the mini-van and attended a Ron Paul rally in downtown Charleston.
The rally started out fine. The children were well behaved. Even the baby was quiet.
In the middle of Ron Paul’s opening remarks, my 3-year-old decided it would be fun to piss all over my wife. My daughter was sitting on my wife’s lap when she emptied her bladder without warning. It was quite a mess. My daughter peed so much that the urine actually puddled below my wife’s lap on the floor.
After that, the three-year-old decided it would be fun to start heckling Ron Paul. “Stop talking now!” she said repeatedly as Ron Paul attempted to explain his foreign policy. Picture a three-year-old child with pissy pants heckling a 30 year congressman.
We needed to leave.
“Yo… ‘Sup???”
It won’t be long until we start getting these calls on our brand new cellular phone. It happens every time. Phone will ring at 2 AM in the morning. I run to the cell phone before it wakes up all the children. I answer the phone. A confused voice on the other end of the phone says, “Who dis?!”
“Well… let me see… you called me!”
“Is Sonfonda there?”
“Hmmm… let me see. Oh! That’s her sucking my cock right now. I’m about to unload my baby badder down her throat. Can I take a message?”
*CLICK*
It’s just our luck. Every time we get a new phone number, its previous owner is a dead beat that didn’t pay their bills and has obnoxious friends that call at all hours of the night.
We decided to get away from the contract plans at Verizon and go with a pre-paid plan from ALLTEL.
I hardly use my cell phone. For both my wife and I to have a cell phone on a contract, it cost us over $115 dollars a month. I found that I also resented carrying the damn thing around. I am not paying big bucks for dumb technologies I don’t use any more.
I actually find people that talk on cellular phones in public rude. I find most new cellular technologies intrusive and unnecessary. Perhaps my age is starting to mold my opinions of technology, and I’m only 36! Imagine how Baby Boomers must feel! For instance, take those guys over at goinglikesixty.com … they are so fucking old, they don’t jerk off anymore! They are scared of skin tears!!! (HIYO!)
Anyway… so this pre-paid account scares the crap out of me. The number is part of a bank of pre-paid phones, probably the prior number of a super deadbeat. I’m talking someone who couldn’t pay their bills and can’t even maintain enough credit to get a cellular phone contract.
So far, all is quiet on the western front.
My prior home number needed to be changed. It’s prior owner was a woman named Constance who never paid her bills… ever. I had collection agencies calling at least two to three times a day. It was especially troubling for my wife, since she hates anyone named Constance (it was the name of her step mother). The phone number also ended in 6600. We were constantly getting wrong numbers from people looking for everything from the county jail to escort agencies.
Then there was the continuous late night call (usually 11PM) from Piggly Wiggly looking for one of their deadbeat employees who didn’t report to work. My wife usually gave them an ear full.
There was another retard that called every 10 minutes looking for the “security gate.” I remember I told him three times he had the wrong number before we left the house on some errands. We returned 2 hours later to discover we had 12 messages from the same retard. Of course, he called soon after we walked in the door. Number had to be blocked. In fact, it was said retard who turned me on to that feature.
The new cellular phone is my wife’s problem. As of Thursday, I will no longer own an “electronic leash!” If I’m not home… well then… I’m not home! Leave a message and I’ll call you later!
I’ve come to the conclusion that my friend Dick Dickens and I might be queer.
We have had an unusual relationship for the last ten years that has had ambiguously gay elements. I am not talking about holding hands as we walk down the street or dancing topless in a Rave club while high on X. Our behaviors are just those that you wouldn’t expect from a normal heterosexual friendship between two men.
Dick Dickens has never posted on this site before, but I invited him to help me with this blog entry since the topic certainly places his sexuality (as well as mine) on the line. There are lots of gay individuals who use WordPress for their blogging needs. I’m certain that the tags will bring a few in to look at this article. Hopefully we can get some feedback from them as to whether or not we are gay.
The Case:
#1 - Both of us spent time together in Key West, Florida. We rode around the city on Mopeds. We slept in the same hotel room.
#2 - When football games are on, we call each other and make sure our televisions are synchronized (we both have TiVo). Then we sit around and IM each other like two teenage girls watching Hanna Montana.
#3 -Dick Dickens shaves his body hair, to include his nut sack. He also enjoys bubble baths.
#4 - Both of us agree that colonic irrigation would probably be beneficial to our health and would feel “nice.” We have planned on getting upper colonics at the same time so we could comment on the color of the waste water and unusual things that come out of our colon.
#5 - Dick Dickens enjoys drinking Chocolate Martinis.
#6 - While watching the SuperBowl at a Ground Round restaurant in the year 2000, both Dick and Richard inadvertently picked up a gay waiter. Even though it was accidental, the fact that both of us could give the impression that we are gay brings our sexuality into question.
#7 - Richard has ditched chicks before in order to hang out with Dick. It has often been noted that Richard talks to Dick more than he talks to his wife.
#8 - Richard and Dick usually share stories of their bowel movements with each other, noting consistency, smell, and quantity.
#9 - Dick usually refers to Richard has his “boyfriend” when he talks to Richard’s wife. Richard’s wife has also noted Dick’s jealousy of her relationship with Richard. Richard’s wife comments:
“Dick didn’t talk to me for over a year when I started dating Richard! Their relationship has never been healthy!”
#10 - Richard loves to listen to classical music, to include Opera and show tunes, when working in his office. He also has a penchant for John Waters films.
#11 - Richard woke up one time with Dick licking his testicles.
OK… I made up the last one.
Anyway, I’ll leave judgment up to you, the readers of this blog. I think I know which way this will go. If it turns out we are homosexuals, I may have to consider leaving my wife for a long relationship with Dick Dickens. I kind of like being married to a woman, but I REFUSE to live in the closet!!!
Enjoy.
Look at those cans! Are you looking at them?? Look at that rack!
The show “Ghost Whisperer” is completely inane and stupid, but I tune in every Friday Night for what you see above. Sometimes, she wears outfits that accentuate those suckers incredibly well. When that happens, we have TV Gold ladies and gentlemen!
My wife watches for the story, but realizes that I’m watching to drool all over Hewitt’s tits. My wife is incredibly cool about these types of things. She will even alert me to good cleavage shots. Behaviors like that will ensure a long and happy marriage.
A few weeks ago they were soliciting for viewers to submit story lines. My wife and I joked that we ought to write a story line of “Kill the Fat Bitch!” We both think that Camryn Manheim kills the show, mostly because her character is annoying and because she destroys the main focus of the show — Jennifer Love Hewitt’s melons.
AHHH… see! I showed her fat face above and your attention was completely ripped away from Jennifer Love Hewitt’s beautiful titties. All you were thinking was “What a fat woman!” This is why Manheim must leave the show.
Speaking of asthetics, I will be messing with the format of my blog this weekend. If anyone has recommendations, I would love to hear them.
If you own TiVo®, then you know TiVo has the ability to make an unwatchable show suddenly watchable.
I find Deal or No Deal to be one of these unwatchable shows. I have found many opportunities during the show to use my TiVo remote, specifically the fast-forward key. I’m able to compress an hour long show to no longer than 5 minutes. Deal or No Deal suddenly becomes watchable.
Simple rule of thumb when it comes to Deal or No Deal: Immediately hit fast-forward any time anyone opens their mouth. The drama on the show is enough to make you vomit. Most everything Howie, the models, and even the contestants say is senseless. If you’re like me, the show is really nothing more than a numbers game. I watch Deal or No Deal the same way I watch a Vegas craps or blackjack game.
I’m completely apathetic to the contestant. As a matter of fact, if the contestant is particularly annoying (for instance, if they have some stupid gimmick victory dance that they do repeatedly every time a low case is exposed) I will usually cheer against them.
I immediately hit the fast-forward button any time one of the models opens up her trap. When the show first started, the models kept their mouth shut, looked pretty, and opened the case. As the show continued, I suppose some one wanted to hear the wisdom these girls had to offer. After all, these models are the ones that have the unique ability to open up a briefcase and expose the amount of money contained inside.
Then there’s the “psych out”, which I find incredibly fucking annoying. The model can’t just open up the fucking briefcase. They need to take a look inside before they expose the amount and feign the depression of having the $1,000,000 case. But “PSYCH!!! I only had $5 in my case! Lucky you!!! I sure am tricky!!! Steven Spielberg, are you watching??”
And what’s with the entire sympathy thing anyway? Does anyone really believe that this hot model gives a shit whether Peggy Sue wins the $1,000,000 or just returns back to her trailer as broke as the day she left? Give me a break! JUST OPEN THE CASE, STUPID!
Did you know that Howie Mandel has mysophobia? He’s scared to death of germs. The entire premise behind the fist tapping thing is that he can’t stand to shake hands with the contestants.
When you are Canadian, mysophobia and other OCD conditions are pretty normal. It must have something to do with the water they drink up there. You ever see how clean the streets are up in Canada? That ain’t no coincidence, pal!
One of the funniest episodes had a female contestant who insisted on being barefoot the entire time she was playing the game. I can imagine the entire foot fungus thing had to be driving Howie crazy. I am willing to bet he had the entire stage sanitized after the show was over.
He can’t stand being grabbed. Any time someone grabs Howie, it’s well worth bringing the TiVo down to slow speed in order to catch the expression on Howie’s face. If you look closely, you can tell that he’s thoroughly disgusted and in total anguish.
I want to get on the show for one reason and one reason alone: I want to throw up on Howie Mandel!
If my calculations are correct, this will put Mandel right over the edge and leave him sucking his thumb in the fetal position in a matter of seconds.
I’ve run through the scenario my head a few times. It’s filed away in the “fantasy” section, right next to sucking Reese Witherspoon’s toes:
“So, Mr. Longwood…”
“Just call me Dick, Howie!”
“Ok… Dick… the banks offer is $160,000. You have two of the top five amounts still left on the board! I have to ask you…. Dick Longwood… DEAL OR NO DEAL.”
“OH MAN!!! SO MUCH PRESSURE!!!! SO MUCH PRESSURE!!!! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!”
“$160,000 is a lot of money Dick! That will certainly go a long way towards your dream of being above the law!”
“Yeah… Oh MAN! OH HOWIE!!! I DON’T KNOW!!!! OH GOD!!!”
…And then I throw up all over him from the stress. I’m almost certain NBC would have to air it. After all, it is reality TV and an incident like this would be TV gold. With the writer’s strike, what choice do they have?
Another thought was to loose control of my bowels right in front of Howie, and then walk around the stage with shit dripping out of the bottom of my pants. Maybe even slip on my own shit a few times. Perhaps step on top of Howie’s shoe with shit all over the bottom of my heal.
Do you think NBC has an emergency decontamination shower right off stage for just such an emergency? Do you think that NBC executives have thought this scenario out already, and have a contingency plan in place just in case a contestant vomits or looses bowel control? Do you believe that Howie has written the requirement for a decontamination area into his contract?
I guess only the insiders know the answers to these burning question.
I’ll continue to watch Deal or No Deal with TiVo remote in hand.
