Oh God

(Tweet of the Week by Matthew Taff on Twitter @MattTaff)


God never closes a door without opening a window. We are worried he may have OCD.

Dr. Pedophilo

(by Doctor Dick)

Dr. Pedophilo had been distracted by his wife's call requesting that he pick up several food items before returning home that evening.

He had been busy focusing on the scantily clad pre-pubescent boys in the Pool Section section of Young Boy's Life... and now yet another distraction from his receptionist saying his Eleven-o-clock had arrived.  No sooner had she said it than the fat sweating client was settling onto the couch.  Don't sweat on my couch yelled the psych doc in his mind and then went back to trying to remember what his wife had said to get...

"I tell you Doc this girl who lives in the apartment next to me is driving me fucking crazy!  I just want to tear her clothes off and rape the fucking shit outa her!"

Bread, eggs... milk, cheese...

"Doc, she got nipples on her titties as big as a thumb. And Doc... her ass!  Just looking at her ass would make a dead man cum... and her mouth... Doc... she looks like she has a second vagina right on her face..."

Was that two dozen eggs or just one...?

"I tell you Doc... someday... someday...  I'm just gonna go over their and fuck her so hard and so fast up the ass that my cum shoots right outa her mouth..."

Uh... what was that thing about the 'mouth'?

"Shoot cum outa it... you know... from fuckin' her up the ass...?"

And whose ass is this?

"My neighbor's... God... Doc... haven't you been listening?!"

Well, you do know that's a medical impossibility... ejaculating through a mouth during anal sex.

"Yeah... Doc... it's a metaphor."

I'm glad you said that so you will understand that the neighbor you want to fuck in the ass is symbolically-- metaphorically speaking-- your mother.

"What!"

That's right.. I want you to go back to work... and think about that and also consider very carefully where that sperm will land when it's ejaculated from your "Mom's" mouth.  It's very important for you to know the place where it will land.  Now I think we've achieved a very important therapeutic milestone today.  I'll see you next week at the same time.

British English versus American English

(Language Laughs)

As an American I've always pictured the British as being so perfectly proper. It seems that over the years we Americans have been messing up their lovely English language.

Here's a quick primer on how convert our bastardized American words to their British correctness. For the most part we just need to throw in an extra letter or two. Instead of a simple O, they use OU. Color, favorite, and honor become colour, favourite, and honour. G becomes GUE. So analog, dialog, and catalog become analogue, dialogue, and catalogue. K becomes QUE so bank and check become banque and cheque. It's often good to throw in an E for good measure so aging, argument, and judgment become ageing, arguement, and judgement. Instead of using a simple E it is often good to go with AE such that words like encyclopedia and medieval become encyclopaedia and mediaeval. Then there are other random cases where you toss in extra letters such that jewelry, draft, plow, and program become jewellery, draught, plough, and programme.

Learning how to spell like the British is great, but in order to really entrench oneself in the British language the American must also come to grips with their different usage of words. For example, we might 'ride an elevator' but in England the would 'take the lift'. We 'take a vacation' from work while they 'go on holiday'. If you ask to see a football game you'll be shown a soccer match. Two weeks is a fortnight. If someone needs quid they're just asking for money. You live in a flat and use a torch (flashlight) if the lights go out.

I hope you all have had a jolly good time learning British English. Cheerio.

I used the following page to get the British Word Spellings.

Fat, Fuckin' Secretary

(by Hex-Girlfriend, visit her blog Hexus-Nexus)

Lucky is the one these days that lands a job and keeps it for years and years without so much as a write-up for wearing flip-flops one time in the summer when it was so hot the thermometer broke and the rest of the shoe-clad minions suffered the heat with spontaneous combustion-inducing temperatures.  “Unlucky” would be the one who joins the team after Fat Fuckin’ Secretary is set in her anal-retentive, short-tempered ways and parks her high-horse in the Executive Lot and feeds it all apples off the company tree just because she fuckin’ feels like it and nobody will tell her shit.  “Boo” would not be the thing to speak to Fat Fuckin Secretary when you’re agitated and distressed over some unfairness that is unfair because it goes against the Golden Rule of Employee Handbook.  “Handbook” is in an ever-changing state of revision so like going to the dentist you just sit and swallow.

Fat Fuckin’ Secretary can book a meeting with you to go over your weekly workload because she’s been here since the dawn of Creation and needs to know whenever you leave your desk to sneeze or pee.  Of course it’s out of concern and consideration for YOU that this meeting is requested and booked for the same time each week.  It’s to “assist” with anything that may or may not be urgent for which SHE will make the determination of such.  She is the expert, of course, from which you will learn all things.

Never-you-mind that on the first of such meetings, she refused to sit her ass down politely like a normal person, proceeded to nit-pick through every bit of paper, stressed-out over and criticized each item which she did not recognize and basically worked herself up into a froth for which there was no umbrella big enough. When she was halted in her criticisms and told pretty much to forget it if this was the purpose of such meetings, Fat Fuckin’ Secretary stormed out of the office trailing a firestorm of expletives behind her for which she certainly used those Puppet-Master hands of hers to get The Boss to type bad things in your Performance Review.  Then she deleted each and every consecutive weekly meeting from her calendar and yours.

Did Fat Fuckin’ Secretary ever get a write-up for the unprofessional act of screaming and cursing?  Hell-to-the NO-she-DIDN’T!  Fat Fuckin’ Secretary is pretty much untouchable – she’s got the power to put up her I’m-so-fantastic, I-do-it-all-for-pretty-much-everyone, I-dare-you-to-fault-me-for-taking-90-minute-lunches “Reprimand-Shield” at will.  You can try to “fire” if you like, but if your blows don’t bounce directly off of her then they will surely bounce off The Boss whom she has molded into the super-dependent lump of clay that he is.  He is nothing without his Fat Fuckin’ Secretary.  

So, it was NOT the Founder or Executive Director of Supercompany who changed the dress code to prevent all secretaries from displaying “any works of body art or piercings” – it was Fat Fuckin’ Secretary.  Never mind that the 200 counselors, instructors and interns canSTILL freely walk around campus with full arm sleeves, wrists, hands knuckles, lips, noses and necks adorned.  Fat Fuckin’ Secretary can make each and every Secretary and Desk Clerk remove every glint of metal or gemstone no matter how microscopic and wear ¾ sleeves in 110-degree weather if she wants to because she is: FAT FUCKIN’ SECRETARY.  (*And we’re also pretty sure that Fat Fuckin’ Secretary can call you in privately so as not to embarrass you in front of Supercompany and send your sweaty-ass home for lack of hygiene while you’re forced to wear those ¾ sleeves on the hottest day of the year.)

Similar thing for the change-in-dining-room-policy – That email did NOT come from the Executive Director. Fat Fuckin’ Secretary (or Puppet-Master in this case) either shoved her claw-appointed hand up his ass or sat at his desk and used his email for her own satisfaction.  So at this point in time, nobody in Supercompany is permitted to remove any foodstuffs from said Dining Room; that is, unless one wishes to get slapped, punched in the arm or yelled at by Fat Fuckin’ Secretary.  We are a sort of casual, friends-and-family Supercompany which is probably why Fat Fuckin’ Secretary got away with such behavior.  She’s sort of like the drunk Grandma who’s been around so long that everyone is used to her drunken rants and bad behavior – we just laugh about it afterwards like enabling family-members. Has anybody ever heard of the Department of Labor? 

In closing, and just FYI in case you didn’t get it yet – Fat Fuckin’ Secretary is an ever-changing kaleidoscope of moods and emotions which she brandishes like a faulty wand or whip.  “CRACK!”   Rules good for one department or person are not necessarily applicable to every department or person.  This could be based on the smell of the wind, the direction in which the cream swirls in her coffee or whether her biscotti-count was off by possibly one which for all you know might be blamed on YOU.  So watch out, hide your crumbs, don’t clock in or out within the “Red Zones” and leave your .75mm micro nose-pin at home.  We wouldn’t want to twist the moods of the Fat Fuckin’ Secretary.

The Essay that Allows Other Essays to Shine (Part I, Spam)

(by Pete Lopez. Read his blog Road to Absolute Zero.)

Before penning this, I came to the conclusion that I needed a heroic essay to fall from grace. If all my written output was considered elite literature, then none of it could rise and stand above. If I'm only preparing grade A steaks, their supreme flavor starts losing value. My writing menu needs an article of spam, a side chapter of vegetables and a thesis of leftovers on it as well. Once in a while, I need to lower to the salad bar so that when I offer prime beef work, you can still notice how tender it is. 

With that said, I must prohibit consistently being consistent from prohibiting my stuff to stick out. On purpose I am going to purposely make this written piece of writing suck like a sucker to ruin my reliable streak of reliability. That will stop and prevent a crowd from over crowding at the top of the top and free some free space for my other pieces that are not this one, to brightly sparkle a bit brighter. 

Since the above proves that this essay is deliberately taking a dive, a plausible reader’s reaction would sound similar to this. “Upon these new set of circumstances, that nonsensical masterpiece I read yesterday was damn entertaining. I lost track of what a marvelous author Pete Lopez was because everything he composed was a diamond. After suffering through this rough, I hope his next submission to R2AZ regains that superior shine I mistakenly took for granted. I promise to do a better job of stopping to enjoy the roses, which are his words.” 

To break it down further, I draw a comparison to the propaganda of ‘Mom says to always look your best’. If I took adequate time to fancy myself up every morning, the overall result would make me appear rather generic. There would be slight variations from day to day depending on pimples, the angle of the part in my hair or the number of inches of my heels but nothing that would distinguish me on a daily basis. After a month of monotony, people would stop accounting for my fantastically awesome looks. 

Wow, after years of it uselessly hibernating, I can include something I learned as an economics major in college, the Law of Diminishing Returns. Loosely translated, if you wear the same type of shit everyday regardless of the brand quality or thread count, people will care less and less as time carries on. To combat regularity, if a couple of times a week I intentionally head to work in a less groomed manner, people would closely monitor my appearance. Like they say in the media, there is no bad publicity. Although a worn down version of me sheds a negative light, it's still in the office spotlight. 

Well, I am not going to sugar coat that this technique will offer instant praise. Arriving at the office with an appearance that questions if I am homeless, is not immune to a spattering of, “Wow Pete you're looking lousy and smelling of day old alcohol today. What the hell were you doing on a Tuesday night?” 

As a whole, I do swear that the compliments gathered will greatly exceed the amount of detrimental remarks. When the flattery arrives on days I tidy up, a minuscule part resulted from shock but the majority of the acclaim was from everyone recalling, just how attractive I am. Who doesn’t like compliments? Well it surely won't happen if I only dress like a financial robot. Not only do I have to remind people every so often that I am breathtaking, I must occasionally rip that sensation away......to be continued

Psychics for Real?

(Tweet of the Week by Matthew Taff on Twitter @MattTaff)

I've been to 8 psychics and they all told me the same thing: "no we don't take checks". I don't know how some people can still be skeptical.

No More Free Rides

Sadly, I must deliver the news to you my loyal readers that Adult Musings can no longer be produced for free. Since there is currently no advertising in place, this means the costs will have to be covered by you, our readers. You will be receiving an email in the forthcoming fortnight with a billing plan.

Please understand that I feel terrible having to charge my dedicated readers, but hard economic times have required drastic income model changes. Google has just announced that starting May first they will be charging users 5 cents per search to supplement their advertising revenue. Internet Explorer and Firefox are planning to charge users $1 per hour for browser usage starting in June.

There's no need to panic yet as there's still some time yet. After all, it's only April first today, April Fools Day!