10. You are sitting around when a girl you know is a real bitch comes up to you and says, “You look really put together. Like you aren’t on drugs today.” Your response, “Well, that’s normally the way I tolerate you. Too bad I don’t have that buffer today. Damn those twelve steps.”

9. You have been ranting and raving on the phone about a sucky day you are having when this woman, who is publically breast feeding and has her tits hanging out for all to see, tells you to be quiet because this language will corrupt her child. That’s when you hand the homeless crackhead ten bucks and tell him to grab her tits. That will put her in her place.

8. A rich snob that lives in your neighborhood is putting you and your buddies down again for hanging out on the stoop and laughing loudly. Tell the junkie ex-con who you know has committed a string of robberies in the neighborhood she has twenty bucks on her…..

7. Your roommate has a lady friend you can’t stand that is always making backhanded comments about how you dress when she is a bleach blonde with a bad die job. Casually mention your cousin is getting out of prison after twenty years because he strangled his girlfriend with her bra, stuffed her panties in her mouth, and dumped her body by the train tracks. Then tell he wants to come visit next week to see how much you have grown, and likes platinum blondes.

6. You know this girl who is always doing things for attention. Lately she is claiming a Jamaican guy sexually assaulted her just to see a guy infatuated with her beat someone up. Look at her pretending to be concerned and mention, “I know plenty of Jamaicans. And they never assault anyone with a flat chest. At least not as far as I know.”

5. You are at a gathering when a girl who is dressed like a treasure troll in drag continually makes jokes about you being a slut. Turn to her, smile, and say, “Why? Jealous I get some and you don’t. Im sure if you looked under the draw bridge your Froto would be there for you.”

4. A crazy girl who has been sending you nasty notes on myspace and making your life hell blogs about how she is a responsible mother and how people don’t understand how hard it is. Meanwhile the slut had the four kids to three guys at sixteen. You should comment on the blog, “Wow, must be hard work being a breeding lump. I mean , you lay down on your back a lot but still, gold star for a job shamelessly done.”

3. You recently got a promotion at your job and this girl who is clearly jealous of you is bad mouthing you saying she can’t believe you got it and she didn’t. That’s when you say, “You can’t believe it. Oh ye of little faith.”

2. You see a girl you went to high school with that is a total princess in every respect of the word. When she sees you after years of having not had contact, acts as if she is disgusted by your appearance. That’s when, as you calmly sip your coffee say, “By the way, I contracted Hep C not long ago. Want a sip?”

1. If any of these responses illicit a challenge for a cat fight by any of these party’s tell them you would fight except it is against your policy to assault the mentally handicapped. And then summon the nearest officer of the law when they are yelling and screaming and say you believe they wandered out of a group home and could he help them find their way back. And walk off into the sunset.

   The often loud, sometimes ill-mannered-- but, I'm told, sweet--little boy next door refers to carrots as "snowmen's noses."  All the women, and most of the men, adore him.

   He's a bright, cute, sandy-haired 8-year-old kid--and I'd still like to kick his ass. 

My wife Jenny and I have two conditional rules in our three-year-old marriage ― once a month I am allowed to sleep with a hooker and when she is away for extended periods of time, I am allowed to sleep with our neighbours’ 18-year-old daughter Nancy Smith. Now the only conditions about these two rules are that my wife is never allowed to find out about either the hookers or randy Nancy.

Being a writer, I spend most of my day at home while my wife works at some bank (who’s name I am not allowed to mention) as a consultant. I spend at most about five months a year really writing; the other months are spent promoting whatever I have written and mowing the lawn or something. Depending on my mood and emotional health, some months or years I simply just take off. This means that most often I have a lot of time to kill by practising my hobbies such as growing peaches in our backyard or bedding Mr and Ms Smiths’ youngest daughter.

Nancy’s visits used to be a once-a-week thing due to her possessive boyfriend and her busy schedule as a first-year medical student, but the weekly visits were fine with me since I was only fucking her for the experience of her tight vagina and her fetish to be tied up. Months later when my wife caught us in bed together for the first time, Nancy was getting fucked like a dog with her head forced into the pillow and her hands tied behind her back ― a scene my wife labeled as “barbaric” and “distastefully brutal”.

After about a month of screwing around, Nancy dumped her possessive boyfriend which meant that we were able to play on a daily basis. Each morning after my wife left for work, Nancy would attend her first class of the day which usually involved biting and bondage. The sweet “ding dong” sound of the front doorbell ringing while I laid in bed reading the paper went as well with my coffee as blasphemy. My first-touch with sunlight for the day would usually be when I open the door for Nancy. Her routine ― yet irritating and redundant ― question of “Is the lovely wife gone?” would usually be the only words out of her mouth not dictated through screams. I usually respond by saying: “I am going to fuck you so hard you are going to split in half.” Nancy’s daily visits opened up the windows to both experimentation and wariness. When my wife caught us for the second time together I was once again entering Nancy from a rear position. This time the words “In here” were written on Nancy’s lower back with a black marker and an arrow was pointing towards her anus ― unlike the previous time, my wife refrained from making a comment.

My affair with Nancy became the oyster garden for my inspiration as a writer, but not for my life. Even though a lot of work was being done behind the typewriter and behind the 18-year-old sexual prodigy, I kind of became bored with life. Screwing Nancy behind my wife’s back was exciting to a certain extend, but I had a bigger lust for wickedness. At the tender age of 27 I have achieved tremendous success by means of simply minimising my workload and maximising my self-confidence and persistency. But despite all of that, I have simply run out of ways to enjoy the simple things in life. It started to feel that every day I lived and every single thing I did was just another forgettable moment that has passed. The more I searched for excitement the more erratic my behaviour became, especially my new-found habit of touching myself while in conversation.

My sudden change in behaviour and my refusal to go for therapy did raise some questions among my loved ones, especially my beloved wife (who won’t learn about my and Nancy’s affair for another three months). Jenny was starting to feel guilty and she admitted that due to her long hours at the office, she was neglecting me. I wasn’t that bothered by Jenny’s “negligence” because I was too busy fucking Nancy and maintaining my mini orchard to even notice that there was a distance growing between me and my wife. I was however very amused by the irony of the entire situation since I was convinced that my wife was having an affair with a co-worker, Michelle Olwagen. My suspicions of my wife having an extramarital relationship with a female co-worker didn’t bother me even the slightest bit; for starters, I was busy fucking a barely legal teenager on a daily basis and secondly, it’s not like some other guy was putting his fat cock inside my wife.  And even though I have never met or seen Michelle Olwagen before in my life, I knew someone very well who knew her very well.

It was a Thursday evening and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky when I drove through the city on my way back from a meeting with my publisher. I was waiting for the green light at a robot when my eye caught two superfine women standing on the street corner; the one was smoking a cigarette and the other one was exchanging words with a distinctive gentleman who looked like a policeman. Judging by the way the women were dressed and the quality of the area, the thought that they were hookers didn’t even pass through my mind ― I would rather have mistaken them for two power-dressed lawyers than streetlovers. But when they approached my car with a charismatic “Hey there, you” I knew that they are the type of women who only accepts cash.

Now I have never really gone as far as my brother to actually sleep with one of the princesses of twilight, but it has always been somewhat of a hidden desire and definitely in the top spot of my to-do list. If this part of my life had a chapter, I would have called it: “Meeting the other end of the rope”.

Prostitutes have always been similar to a good movie to me. If a lot of different people pay money to go see a movie, it is most certainly a box-office hit. The same goes for a prostitute. If many different guys, who could rather fuck their wife or girlfriend, would go so far as to pay a woman to fuck her, then her box must surely be a hit.

The two prostitutes that approached my car must have been somewhat of an upper class or new to the business, because they were too well groomed for a hooker ― especially the way the one’s pubic hair was trimmed into the shape of a half-moon. The same night I saw the one prostitute’s moon-shaped pubes, I learned that she does prostitution as a part-time job and to “watch people act frail”. I found this absolutely intriguing.

That first night I met my two new friends ― Moonflower and Gothgirl69 ― I bought them both. They were so cheap, it was literally a buy one get one free special. I took them to a Holiday Inn near my house because it would raise the minimum amount of suspicion and most importantly, it was convenient for me. Since I am the type of guy who has enough confidence in his sexual performance, I don’t do threesomes or orgies. So when we approached the elevator, I told Moonflower to kindly wait in the bar area while I take her friend, Gothgirl69 (which turned out to be a competitor), to the hotel room so we could get things up to business. After I did both of them and paid for their drinks while they waited their turn, I gave them their money and assured them that we would hook up again ― I did, however, only continue seeing Moonflower.

From there on it became a regular thing. The sex I had with the prostitute, Moonflower, was passionate and gentle and the sex I had with Nancy was violent. My wife, who still haven’t found out about my affairs, kept on working long hours and I was still convinced that she was sleeping with that Michelle girl. Now and then my wife would query on the bite marks and bruises on my body. Once when I contracted a mysterious rash on my dick (most likely from Nancy, but it turned out to be Moonflower), I narrowly escaped being caught out before telling my wife that I got the rash from her and that she might be suffering from some fungus on her virginal area (luckily for me, Jenny just happened to have a fungus on her left lip which she contracted from Michelle).

It was close encounters like these that made me master the art of lying to Jenny, usually about the origin of my injuries.  Sometimes I even confused Jenny into believing that she gave them to me during some sexual brawl.

“Those are your handy work my love,” I would often say to her before accepting her apology which was usually followed by a missionary-style fuck. It is when the sex life you share with your wife is degraded to plain old missionary style that you know that the spark is gone. But in the rare times that I did however made passionate love to my wife, it was usually with anger ― not the angry sex that I had with Nancy, but the type of angry sex that says, “What the fuck have we done to each other?” Sometimes Jenny wanted our lovemaking to be soft and gentle; I preferred thrusting her like I was paying to do so.

The morning my wife caught me with Nancy for the second time, I thought that it was over for sure. It was only after an embarrassed Nancy left and my wife and I sat down at the kitchen table that she confessed to having an affair.  My wife told me that she was suffering from depression and that the affair was with a female colleague; she further told me that her lover had decided to end their eight-month affair after meeting a man. As I held my wife I felt her tears running down my chest ― which still carried the aroma of Nancy’s pussy― and at that moment I told her that I only slept with Nancy three times and that she caught us two out of the three times. But whether my wife believed me or not about the “three times” I had been with Nancy, it was the truth when I told her that I would never see Nancy again. After four months with Nancy, we have literally exhausted our imaginations and our sexual abilities ― there was simply nothing more humanly possible that we could do in the bedroom.

After my wife confessed to her affair with Michelle Olwagen, we didn’t separate. It had absolutely no affect on our relationship as most people would imagine. We did however start to have somewhat of a steamier sex life ― Jenny even allowed me to butt-fuck her ― and she also started seeing a therapist to help her deal with her depression. Jenny and I agreed to work harder at our marriage, but I wasn’t able to let Moonflower go. With Nancy out of my life and my wife under the impression that the holes in our marriage were all patched up, I was able to continue my affair with the prostitute.  One evening when my wife was out with friends, I invited moonflower over to our house for the first time.  She told me that due to the feelings she started to have for me after months of sleeping together, it was no longer necessary for me to pay her. She sex that followed was the worst sex I ever had with Moonflower; I guess since money was no longer involved it just wasn’t the same. That night was the final straw in my marriage. When my wife caught me for the third time with another woman, she did have a comment.

“So this is the jerk you have left me for, Michelle?”

Contrary to conventional parental beliefs about turning off loud music to study, psychologists at Glasgow Caledonian University in Scotland discovered that listening to rock music can boost brain power.  ***MARLAR: It did wonders for Ozzy Osbourne.

The mayor wants to spray a fine chemical mist over the clouds before they reach the capital, forcing them to dump their snow outside the city.   To accomplish this, he plans to send his son up in a homemade balloon .

In Pittsburgh, firefighters were called to a residential fire and found the house a blaze. While putting the fire out part of the roof collapsed. It wasn't until two hours after getting the fire out that firefighters did a walk-through of the home and were flabbergasted at what they found -- the home's owner fast asleep in a bedroom. He had slept through the entire thing and had no idea what had just happened.  ***MARLAR: He said he’d been desensitized to loud noises from being married for over twenty years. 

I like to pretend that I'm an airline pilot,sitting on a runway for 8 hours. It really helps to keep me grounded. 

As part of Chris Brown's punishment of "labor-oriented service" for assaulting girlfriend, Rihanna, the judge will allow him to help prostitutes in rehab...to which Chris smiled and sung out loud, "Ho, ho, ho!" 

Officials at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) were considering promoting routine circumcision for all baby boys, born in the U.S., to reduce the spread of H.I.V., the virus that causes AIDS.

Opponents, of the proposal, argue there must be a reliable way to identify the boys who are gay.

In response, officials at the CDC now don't recommend circumcision for all boys - just the ones who cry.

Russian Sergey Savelyev screamed at 116.8 decibels — roughly as loud as an ambulance siren — to win the individual competition.  The team competition was won by the cast of The View.