Tag Archives: Orgy

My Royal Tirade

A long time ago on a planet known as the Earth people learned that one of the princes of a nation called the United Kingdom was going to marry his long time girlfriend and people got very excited. The last time anyone got this excited about a royal wedding was thirty years ago when that prince’s mother married that prince’s father. We have since learned that fairytale weddings can end in acrimony and that the media zoo surrounding them can grandly distort the realities of the lives the people living in that fairytale. All of that leads me to say “STFU about this royal wedding!!!!”

I’m exhausted from this wedding and it hasn’t even happened. I’m not even going to it and I feel like I already know too much. Do we really need the New York Times reporting on the minutia of Kate and William’s plans? I thought we could leave that up to the tabloids! Does anyone really care where each member of the wedding party is going to be staying the night before the ceremony? And if they do, I would like to know why? Does knowing this make you feel something that I don’t? What else do you need to know to feel that way? Do you need to know whether Kate will be wearing lacy pink panties or that William prefers boxer briefs with his johnson tucked to the side? It is just all too much and the frenzy is starting to disgust me. These are two very privileged people, arguably some of the most privileged people in the world, and people are foaming at the mouth to learn the details of an orgy of excess.

I was about to write that I was glad it was all going to be over in a matter of days, but in reality it is not. We still have to deal with the recap and replay of the festivities wherein every players outfit, demeanor and role are critiqued from every angle. I bet it’s enough to make Prince Charles wish he could really turn into a tampon and hide away from the world. What’s worse is that once the nuptials are sealed, the media will be on high baby bump alert. And when the prince and princess achieve their orgasmic trophy of a baby we will be forced to hear all about the details of the events leading up to the birth. AAARRGHHH!!!!

This is not a rant that has just burst forth from me, but one that has been building and roiling to a feverish pitch for days now. I don’t even expect to attain much satisfaction by spewing it, but it might help to know that I’m not the only person thinking this is all overkill. I was barely conscious at the last fiasco so I do not know how this compares, but I can’t help but feel that this wedding’s fervor is less sane than than its elder counterpart. Please tell me I’m wrong.

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Twas the Night Before Christmas: C&R Style

Twas the Night Before Christmas:
Cocky & Rude Style

by Clement C. Moore & Mikey

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the blogs
Not a commenter was stirring, not even a Michelle.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Polt soon would be there.

The bloggers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of hot boys danced in their heads.
And Adam in his boxers, and Mikey in his cap,
Had just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the net there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the computer I flew like a flash,
Clicked open the browser and threw up the scroll.

The cum on the back of the freshly-used twink,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects methink.
When, what to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and nine  tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so horny and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Polt.
More rapid than Jo$hr!co  his bloggers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now FDot! now, Mel! now, Mush, VUBOQ and Craig!
On, Paul! On, John! on Tam and Ryan with the cupcake!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As torn clothes that before the wild orgy fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the bloggers they flew,
With the sleigh full of sex toys, and St. Polt too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down my chimney St. Polt came with a bound.

He was dressed all in purple, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of sex toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a porn star, whipping out his sack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His butt cheeks were like roses, his nipples like cherries!
His cute little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a dildo he held tight in his teeth,
And the lube it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of petroleum jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon let me know that I had to get him to bed.

He spoke not a word, but went gayly to his work,
And filled all the comment boxes, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his penis aside of my nose,
And giving a nod, up my chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Cocky Christmas to all, and to all a Rude-night!”

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