My main chick met my mistress

Truly a tragic day in the life of online celeb Gurskyman.  A tragic day is nothing new unfortunately.  Believe you me, I have stared trauma in the face before.  I've witnessed friends die at war for Christ's sake, probably.  However, nothing compares to what I was forced to undergo this afternoon - My main chick finally met my mistress. 

You read it correctly.  Elba, my lusty Latina lover, discovered some pretty awesome sexts from my side chick Lareesha.  Needless to say she wasn't entirely thrilled.  She started screaming demonic-sounding phrases in German, or whatever Latinas speak.  After the uncalled for shout-fest she demanded I provide her with Lareesha's address.  I assume her goal was to show up to that broad's doorstep and perform for Worldstar.  Luckily (or unluckily as I could have had some viral content), I have no idea where Lareesha lives.  All of our sexual encounters have occurred at or behind Arby's.  It's likely she may work there but how in the world should I know. 

Regardless, madness ensued.  Elba spit chew on the carpet before forcing me to give her my phone password.  I obliged.  She proceeded to "hit up" Lareesha on Facetime.  I was nervously biting my nails in addition to nervously peeing myself.  Lareesh picked up, greeting who she thought to be me with a friendly "Wassup bae?"  She was shocked to see I turned into a Latin American woman.  Of course she quickly figured out that it wasn't me.  The two exchanged words.  Most of these words were "whore" and "thot".  For the life of me I don't know what a thot is, but I assume it's a synonym for whore.  Before hanging up Elba demanded, "Come to Daddy Master Sex's house."  (that would be me obviously) Lareesha enthusiastically agreed to. 

Several hours passed by.  Lareesha never showed up, or at least not say hello.  I walked out front to see a few dead cats on my property.  I presume that is the last memory I will have of my thick side piece.  Elba came to the conclusion "that thot ain't comin", so she took out all of her final rage on me.  She hissed at me and hit me with a wiffle ball bat.  Oddly enough I don't even own one.  Maybe she carries it with her, though that's a very minor detail.  All in all, it didn't hurt that bad as she was hitting me with plastic sporting equipment.  It hurt enough to learn my lesson, though.  I'm a one woman man.  The only difficulty I face in future relationships is deciding whether I want an ebony lass or a home-cookin Latina.  Only the lord can tell. 

The real story behind Thanksgiving

Throughout life people often remind you of the story behind Thanksgiving.  They mutter off jazz about Pilgrims, ships and hot upskirt action.  Fair enough, but I always held doubts deep within.  All of this hullabaloo about people sailing here on their big ol' boats seems a bit farfetched.  You expect me to believe people wore buckled shoes proudly and fought turkeys?  Good luck coercing my deep-thinking mind into putting my faith in that trash.  I will allow you to continue seeing truth in your ideas of witchcraft and cult rituals, and simply ask you hear me out on my interpretation of the history behind Thanksgivin'.

It was a Thursday in November about 35 years ago.  My great Uncle Gordy was 42 at the time, newly single and husky.  He was also horny, but that detail is minor and actually in no way relevant to understanding the story's main plot.  The husky part also falls short of relating but I felt like turning the reader on.  Anyhow, Gordy was really ticked off at his ex-wife Laverne for committing adultery with a one-eyed Veteran from the pool hall.  As Gordy said, "He fought in some war and thinks he's big time.  My dude's a a puss ass ho."

Gordy was super steamed about his former main chick betraying trust and destroying love just so she could have at some gross disabled guy's privates.  His anger led him to drink and his drinks made him angrier.  Gordy's drunkenness and solitude were driving him mad.  So mad his mind convinced him he heard a gobbling, as if to be from a turkey or his ex-wife Laverne on some dude's balls.  The incessant gobbling led to Gordy storming outside to see just what the Hell was going.   It was then he saw a turkey with one eye tip-toeing around the back porch causing a stir.  "One-eye?"  He thought.  "That reminds me of that grade-A fuckboy from the pool hall."

So Gordy did what any sane man would do:  He picked up the turkey, cut its neck with a spork and ate that son of a bitch alive.  "YEAH!"  he exclaimed as he bit down into the turkey's feathery ass.  When he finished stuffing down the live turkey, Gordy tracked down Laverne's motel room in an attempt to murder her.  He almost did but the pussy war veteran shot him with a gun (obviously) and stabbed him multiple times despite the clear fact he was already dead.  Adding insult to injury Laverne and her visually impaired affection did sex on top of his body.  Like animals.  Cruel, kinky ass animals.  Animals which the weirdest perverts would pay top-dollar to see online.  Like 425 bucks is around what they charge I think.

That Thursday in November became the day we mourn the tragic death and turkey eating of Gordy.  He was a hopeless drunk, but the man ate a damn turkey while it was alive.  He also died which pretty much sucks.  We eat turkey to pay homage to the awesome feat of Gord.  Stuffing is an essential side dish because he absolutely loved that stuff.  He would say "This is some good shit!" as he tore the plate up.  Gathering around the table eating good is my family's, and now all of your families' cute way of honoring my Uncle.  We have no idea what happened to Laverne, but we think she died of AIDS.

But hey thanks Thanksgivin’ for ya 

The Pigeon Lady from Home Alone 2

I feel as though her and I really identified.  I'm very caring and like, also covered in pigeons.  

 

She had a smile which warms your heart.  And kinda makes you really uncomfortable.  

Beauty and brains. Love her.

Marijuana's Entrance into America

Marijuana was brought into this country by the Pilgrims when they sailed in on the "Muff Coaster" in  1937.  The Pilgrims, a sacrilegous  cult of Juggalos originating in Yugoslavia, were Hell bent on overthrowing the government and forcing the nation to live under The Pot Laws.  Under the Pot laws, all citizens of the United States would be required to smoke pot and yodel all day.  President Mr. T could not stand for such blasphemy.  Mr. T and his army of hooligans banshees and freaks took down the Pilgrims with spears and assorted weaponry; in turn forcing them to defecate in their pants and sail back to Yugoslurvich.  Despite a cowardly departure, they did leave several hundred pounds of marijuana and angel dust on Maine's coast.  Maine's notorious "Hispanic Hooker" gang got hold of the drugs and began trafficking.  The drug trade flourished in the once formerly destitute pueblo villages of Maine. 

Chobani Radio Ad

 I was assigned a 60 second radio commercial for my class.  Nothing is more fitting than me creating an ad for Chobani Greek Yogurt.  Why is that fitting?  Well, I love Chobani a lot.  I mean a lot.  Here's my ad:

Chobani Ad

Scarecrow Diaries

Monday, October 1st,

Scarecrow life isn't all it's cracked up to be.  It's glamorized in the media.  People believe it to be lavish, and top-shelf.  They just can't even begin to understand the real horrors.

Everyday my inner shame eats away at me more and more.  I have to wake up every morning and face the unavoidable truth - I don't have a penis.  There's just straw inside of me, and a gaping space where genitals should be.  It's totally messed up.  Worst part is, I'm still attracted to stuff.  I see a hot scarecrow girl, and I'm like "My goodness baby girl."  Then I realize I don't have a penis to put inside of her, which is the entire idea behind life itself.

PEOPLE DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE.  I don't have a weiner!  You hear that God?!  You made me of straw and didn't construct a penis to at least make me look proportionate.  I'll ignore the fact that I wanna have the sex for just a second and emphasize this point.  Do you understand how weird it looks having two bulging, handsome muscular legs and no dong between them?  It's like, you could have at least given me some balls dude.  Some big old, dangling testicles.  Screw the cock.  Maybe some manliness could be detected via a ballbag.  You couldn't even do that for me.  Wow.

Honestly, I'd rather have a rash or be in a cult or something also bad at this point.  At least then I'd have some manhood pained into me.  Immensely hairy and smelly manhood, but manhood nonetheless.  Peace y'all. 

The Tale of the Overcooked Pizza Rolls

It was a late Sunday afternoon. All duties and responsibilities were absent on that day. Boredom and excessive masturbation had me at the utmost level of exhaustion. The boredom had me on edge, and yet I have the energy or feel the necessity to do anything. This Sunday was MY day. I had it all to myself, and could freely chose to do whatever it was I wanted to do.

My freedom and boredom led to me sitting on the couch, naked, watching Gilmore Girls season 3 on DVD. I didn't feel any guilt about how much fucking fun I was having. I deserved to indulge the greatest things that life has to offer. The only thing which could have completed this perfect day was a delicious tray of Totino's Pizza Rolls. Luckily for my white-trash self, there was a whole, unopened box of those mothers in the freezer.

I sprinted to the freezer in joyous glee, as my genitals dangled around freely, much like that bell thing in the grandfather clocks does. I pulled that box out quicker than a misguided teenage boy pulls his ding dong out of an unsatisfied partner. I waited anxiously as the oven preheated to the proper temperature. And waited.

Finally it was time! I placed the pizza rolls on an oven tray a half-inch apart from each other. (Like the instructions direct, mind you!) Now only ten minutes separated me and those pizza filled bread pocket things from indulging into some pretty graphic behavior .

To pass the time, I decided to lay down on the couch and think about how phenomenal of a person I was. As I pondered the many great qualities that make up me, including my abdominals and feet, I began to doze off. I couldn't battle the exhaustion. I figured I would be able to just doze for a couple minutes and still have the ability to awaken on instinct.

When I woke up from my short slumber I immediately glanced over at the clock. SON OF A GUN! My short, sexually exhausted nap lasted fifteen minutes! I sprung up off of the couch like a surprisingly agile old lady after hearing about a bingo and prune juice convention. Horrible thoughts rushed through my head as I sprinted to the oven and slammed the off button with my skinny, decrepit finger.

I tore the oven door open and looked disgustedly down at the blackened pieces of shit that rested before me. The cheese sauce, which was originally inside the tortillas, oozed through depressingly. Spots of charcoal and awful black shading covered each individual roll of the pizza...rolls. My eyes shed tears of disappointment and urine over the sub-par, destroyed gourmet snacks. The burnt snacks looked up at me with evil, rapey eyes as my tears extinguished their Hellish flames.

The day was ruined. Failure to complete a perfect day meant that all of the other positive events which occurred were meaningless. Sitting around naked. Gilmore Girls. A juicebox. My new unicycle. It was all irrelevant. Those burnt pizza rolls canceled out the greatness of everything else. I couldn't blame Totino's for my mistake, but I could claim that they were buttholes whom I hated. So yeah, SCREW TOTINO's. Maybe they should have sold a product that reminds lazy people to go over to the oven so their fatass can shove those things into their face.

@gurskyman