Guy Talk: Hot Tranny

Raul: “Dude, that fucking Tranny was hotter than most chicks. I am genuinely jealous that you picked her up.”

Calvin: “I know, right? It was really sexually confusing.”

Raul: ”Well, it’s not gay because you weren’t attracted to her masculine features. You were attracted to the parts of her that looked like a hot chick.”

Calvin: “Still, she told me she had a dick.”

Raul: “Ewww… fuck that.”

Calvin: “I figure the only way I could do it is if she and I were both fucking the same chick. The chick could be sucking my dick and she could be fucking her from behind. That way I only see the her face and boobs and I can kiss her and play with her boobs.”

Raul: “So you can go to second base with her? Anything after second base would be gay?”

Calvin: “Exactly.”

Raul: “Fuck yeah. She had some really fucking nice boobs. I wish I could have seen them like you got to.”

Calvin: “They were really nice.”

Raul: “I don’t know man. I wouldn’t be able get to over the fact that she had a dick.”

Calvin: “That part is sort of gross.”

Raul: “Maybe if she was post-op it would be easier.”

Calvin: “Surgeries are pretty good these days.”

Raul: “Do they actually make it look like a legit vagina?”

Calvin: “Yeah man. They use your scrotum skin to replicate the labia.”

Raul: “What about lubrication? There is no way they can replicate that.”

Calvin: “I don’t know. Just use lube I guess.”

Raul: “Do they still feel pleasure if you fuck them in the pussy? One of the best parts of sex for me is making my woman feel good and if she doesn’t feel anything, what the hell is the point?”

Calvin: “I think they use the skin from your dick head to make a makeshift clit. That’s all a clit really is, an underdeveloped dick.”

Raul: “You think technology will get so good one day that they’ll be able to perfectly create everything about the vagina, even the whole lubrication and pleasure aspect of it?”

Calvin: ”I’m sure it will.”

Raul: “If I did fuck one, I’d prefer to stay blissfully ignorant.”

Calvin: “You can always tell by the hands. You can change everything but the hands.”

Raul: “I’ll fucking keep a look out for that. I don’t want to fuck a dude.”

~Raul Felix

“That’s fucking disgusting. You’re going to hell!” Fuck you and read: Guy Talk: Animal Love

Lost in Manhood

I’ll admit it, sometimes I feel lost in this thing called manhood. There are times and days when I feel like I am on track toward becoming the man that I want to become. Other days, I feel derailed and demotivated. On those days I look back and wonder what the fuck I did with those 24 hours. The answer is disheartening: nothing, and a lot of it. That’s when I look deeply at the reflection in the mirror and spit at it in disgust.

There is no urgency for me to completely grow up. I don’t have crushing student loans, a mortgage, or car payments. I don’t have a serious relationship with the prospect of marriage in the foreseeable future. I’ve even managed to avoid the ultimate crux of being Mexican: getting a chick pregnant at a young age. No little Raul Jr running around draining money out of my bank account, crushing and shitting on my dreams with his mere existence. My working theory is that it’s because I specialize in fucking and dating white chicks who dislike their fathers enough to be with a dark skinned man, but not so much that they want to be with a black guy. Hispanic chicks can’t be trusted to fuck without condoms even in relationships; they’re insanely fertile and since a vast majority of them come from overbearing catholic families, abortion is not an option. Asian chicks never dig me because they know dating me will bring great shame to their family.

Raul Felix only has to only worry about Raul Felix. Since I am very self-centered and a bit aloof to what others feel, it’s a pretty easy task. I’m the only male in my family over the age of 23 who isn’t married or doesn’t have a little shit-machine ankle biter. However, that doesn’t mean I never want that. When I picture how my future will be like, I see a beautiful wife with ample breasts and an amazing ass who I will have hotter sex with than two bunnies in a wool sock. As fuck trophies, there will be a couple of Felix spawn roaming around wreaking havoc.

I’m 26, in a few days I’ll be 27, and all I can think about is: what the fuck is the rush? My generation, Generation Y, we’re expected to live well into our mid-80’s on average, even to our 90’s and 100’s. That’s a long ass time to be a responsible member of society.

Whenever I meet an older person, male or female, I always ask them what they would have done differently if they could do it all again. The most consistent responses are: get an education in a real major, one that actually gives you a real world tangible skill such as engineering. Hold off on marriage and having children until you discover who you are and what you truly want out of life. Travel when you are young and free of responsibilities.

I don’t have a college degree, so according to my boy Kendawg, I have no right to make fun of him like I constantly do because he made the ill advised decision to major in Archaeology. I just know that a vast majority of people who I know personally who have a humanities degree are not even working in the field they studied in and have no hopes to unless they get their masters and in some cases, PhD. While the people I know personally who have a STEM degree (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) actually are gainfully employed in those fields. With that knowledge, my other friend, Sleazy-E, and I, in our late 20’s now, have taken it upon ourselves to major in engineering. He in Civil Engineering and myself in Computer Engineering, though we’re both still a long ways off from graduating.

Just from being a writer, I’ve run across a few people who had to pretty much restart their lives after their kids left the nest and are currently struggling to discover who they are. Hell, the cougars I’ve picked up at the bars have shown me first hand how freshly divorced women who didn’t really get to enjoy their 20’s because of the responsibility of a husband and children behave when they get their hands on a half-decent looking man, such as myself. (Hint: if you’re an attractive cougar in the Southern California area, send me an e-mail.)

I feel it is a manifestation of making up for lost time. They want to live the life they never got to enjoy and in my eyes, they have the right to do so. Better late than never, tis grandeur to be a hot cougar on the prowl than a bitter old spinster. For the more ambitious types of men and women it can mean finally going after what they truly dreamed of doing, the thing that they had set aside, but always was lingering in the back of their head, because of the burden of being a grown up.

There is a world of difference between traveling with just backpack on a bums budget and staying in shady hostels and partying with people from all the different places of the world with questionable moral values than traveling with family. There is an insane amount of independence when you travel alone or with just one companion. There is minimal logistics, budgeting, and you’re able to be quite serendipitous with your time and what you do. I’ve traveled through thirty states of the United States on my motorcycle for 2 and a half months, spent three weeks traveling the entire country of Italy on a motorcycle, and backpacked randomly through Western Europe for a month. I can only imagine how lame and how expensive that shit would be with a snot monster to drag around.

Depending on your prospective, I can be seen as a failure or a young man on his way to the top. I don’t really have a hard set career path yet, I don’t make six-figures, I haven’t “manned-up” and decided to just pick a reformed slut who doesn’t meet my high standards for a woman and just get married. I have no stability in my life and I live in a hovel with four room mates who drink too much, curse too much, play too many video games, and have the most obscene sense of humor.

I’ve decided to take the advice of those older people and take my god damn time because why the fuck not? There are a lot of things I want to accomplish before I settle down and become a family man. I want to travel the world on my motorcycle, fuck more women, drink more booze, spit more blood, take big risks, exceed my comfort zone, get my education, and make sure I pick the right career for myself. My bad I’m not a prodigy who has it all figured out by 26. I’m not the most mature and responsible person, but I know enough to know that I don’t want to make huge life commitments until I truly feel I am ready emotionally, financially, and eager to give my all to them without any resentment or regrets. I’m not fully developed, yet, are any of us?

~Raul Felix

“You traveled the US on a motorcycle? Tell me a story!” Alright: The Gay Meth Story

Taking the Hits

“The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place, and I don’t care how tough you are, it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward; how much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done! Now, if you know what you’re worth, then go out and get what you’re worth. But you gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody. Cowards do that and that ain’t you.”
-Rocky, Rocky Balboa

Just when you think you have the world by the balls, the world throws a quick, clean, bone shattering haymaker squarely into your jaw. You’re on the floor, dazed. It happened so fast that it seems surreal. The world is standing over you, spitting in your face as it yells insults and in your current state, you’re helpless to do anything about it.

You lay there for a moment or two. That was a powerful hit, probably the hardest one you’ve ever taken. Yet, you’re still alive, it didn’t kill you. In those moments, you think deeply. All the mistakes you’ve made come rushing into your mind. Each one, you analyze deeply and pick apart. What if I had done this? What if I had said that? What if I had understood that before? What if, what if, what if…

Another moment passes. You feel hopeless, self-doubt creeps in. How can you recover? That hit was hard as fuck. Your eyes are watering, your ears are ringing, and you’re coughing out blood. Maybe you’re not as tough as you thought. You’re rattled, scared, and unconfident. Your once proud demeanor has been routed. Still, you managed to gain what little semblance of will power you have and crawl on your knee’s.

The world has forgotten about you, left you in disgrace, and is off to destroy its next victim. You’re struggling just to barely crawl. You see your muscles still work and you’re not completely broken. You have a small spark of fire reignite within you. What can you do different? What can you do to better prepare? What can you do to not make the same mistakes? What can do, what can you, what can you do…

You linger on all fours. You talk to yourself, motivate yourself, and you push yourself. You’re beaten, but not defeated. You feed that little flame. Slowly, it grows brighter and hotter. You regain your confidence, composure, and you’re no longer rattled. That hit wasn’t that bad. You have been toughened by the previous beat downs the world has given. Your recovery time has become shorter and shorter. You’ve handled tough situations before and you’re still here. You’ve never given up on yourself, even in the darkest of times. You figured out what you can do. You’ve eliminated some options and decided what you will do. You know what you will do to be smarter. You know what you will do in order to never take the same hits again. You know what you will do so you will be a tougher competitor for the world. What will you do, what will do, what will you do…

With a mighty push you get up on your feet. There will be no more feeling sorry for yourself, no more negativity, and no more loser thoughts. You’re salty and hardened by your experience. You’re intense and you have a clear focus. You’re implementing the changes that you’ve thought about. You’re doing the work, you’re paying your dues, and you’re growing as a human. You’re becoming better and better, day by day. You’re breaching the threshold that at one point you plateaued at. That flame inside of you has become a wildfire, its radiance and power overwhelming your very being. The you that was downtrodden is long gone and the vigorous and invigorated you presently appears. You are ready. You think back at all the things you’ve done to prepare yourself. All the things you’ve done to create a better you. All the things you’ve done to never make the same mistakes again. All the things you’ve done, all the things you’ve done, all the things you’ve done…

You strut up to the world, ready to take it on once again, and look at it right in the eyes, “Hey mother fucker, remember me? You fucked with the wrong son of a bitch.”

~Raul Felix

Hey world! Fuck you and read this: Warrior-Scholar

Tough Love

“Men kick friendship around like a football, but it doesn’t seem to crack. Women treat it like glass and it goes to pieces.”-Anne Morrow Lindbergh

My best friends are assholes. Whenever they see an opening to berate me and talk down to me, they not only strike viciously, but effectively. They are well versed in the guerilla warfare that is shit talk. Innovative, ruthless, and accurate in their ability to destroy my spirit and ego, they stop at nothing to beat me down and bring me back to reality. For this I am blessed.

Anyone can pretend to listen to you and tell you the things you want to hear to make you feel better about your adorable little problems. It’s a temporary patch that heals nothing and just strokes your ego. Your best friends are the ones who will rip into you and tell you the truth and what you need to hear. They won’t sugar coat it, but there will be plenty of whisky to help out.

You could be moping around, feeling sorry for yourself because Betty Sue won’t return your phone calls. You thought she was darn special didn’t you? Your friends don’t understand the heart break you’re going through. She’s a fucking unique snow flake and the prettiest of them all. She may be the love of your life. Damn, are you reading that? You see how pathetic you sound? That’s bitch talk.

If your friends are true friends, they will listen to your little bitchfest, but probably give you three, four minutes tops until they tell you stop being a pussy. That they didn’t know you were on your period and you should probably go to Walmart and get the premium brand of tampons to stop your heavy bleeding. No, in fact, your crimson tide is so heavy that you need to go to Costco and buy in bulk. They thought Betty Sue was a bitch any ways and thus, you shouldn’t be grieving for her.

You’re being a lazy, fat fuck who is apathetic about his future? You lack the self-awareness to recognize the useless piece of shit you’ve become? Don’t worry, your best friends will let you know how truly worthless you are. They’ll let you know that the path you’re on is leading you nowhere and that you’re wasting your life.

Don’t even think you gaining those ten extra pounds will go unnoticed. You think your boys are going to pass up the chance to ridicule you for being a lard ass? It will be such exquisite treat for them to mock you as your once mediocre body spirals downward into something resembling a potato sack with arms.

There are two reason they do this. One: it’s funny and fun to pick you apart and break you down. Two: they care about you. They want you to toughen up and not let a simple woman have so much control over your emotions. They want you to be successful and live up to your potential as a man. They don’t want to see you spinning your wheels forever. They want you to move forward and make something out of yourself.

They’re your best friends because you have a deep connection forged by years upon years of shared experiences and tomfoolery. You’ve grown up together and seen each other at highs and lows. They know what you are and are not capable of. It pisses them off when you’re not living up to your true potential, so they do shame you into, hopefully, doing something with your meager existence.

When you do actually start doing something to better yourself, they’ll be your biggest fans and supporters. If you start taking writing seriously, they’ll read every piece of shit article you write, hoping that you’ll eventually write something readable. If you take your musical talents seriously, they’ll be at your shows alongside your mom and no one else. When you decide to go back to school, they’ll warn you not to major in a worthless degree like they did.

There are a lot of men out there who don’t have close friends. If you’re lucky enough to have a few key men you can depend on no matter what, you’re way above the curve. The tough love they dish out comes with it. You truly need and want men who are honest with you, even brutally so. If not, you may as well be friends with gossipy chicks who will be your best friends to your face and talk shit behind your back.

~Raul Felix

You’re a dumb ass and you need to read more. Educate yourself: Politically Incorrect and Loving It

Note: This post has been featured on Return of Kings

Where Are My Whores?

I feel like my generation has been gypped. I’m not speaking about the typical Generation-Y woes with the failing economy and our youthful optimism and ambitions being crushed by the real world. This feeling of unfairness is only felt by a select group of Americans; the men who served and fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. There is much talk in the news about how both the Bush and Obama administration mishandled those wars, but I’m not here to get into those politics. While these modern wars gave us luxuries unheard of in past generations, there is one thing that past generations of veterans had access to that we were completely fucked out of: liberated groupies and prostitutes.

After the long, intense, brutal fighting of the D Day invasion against the Nazis and slowly reclaiming Europe, the Allied forces were met and seen as liberators of France. With panties drenched in lust for their liberators, French women would fuck soldiers left and right to show their gratitude. Joe was a hero and his reward, if he chose to act upon it, was that wonderful European pussy. In war, no man knows which day will be his last, so it would be logical for him to act upon it. These women knew what their valiant saviors desired and wanted, and provided it with the utmost eagerness.

Such a simpler time.

Such a simpler time.

What happened in Iraq and Afghanistan? Whether we liberated them from the Taliban or Saddam, they may have been grateful, but the women of these nations were not throwing themselves at American troops. They weren’t happily repaying us for their new found freedom from tyranny by eagerly showing us their beautiful Middle Eastern bodies. We didn’t have free rein to fuck Haji bitches and get them addicted to our American dick. No Haji foxy lady ever gave us the “I want to fuck you eyes”. Most of them were quite the opposite, covered up head to toe in veils. Denying the horny and sex deprived American fighting male the eye candy he sorely needs in an effort to keep his sanity. A pure selfish act on their part.

Not sure if she wants to fuck me, or she is about to detonate her suicide vest.

Not sure if she wants to fuck me, or she is about to detonate her suicide vest.

Well, if we couldn’t win the hearts, minds, and pussies of the local women, we should have been able to use the free market and purchase it at a mutually agreed upon price dictated by the laws of supply and demand, correct? That’s what our fighting men were able to do in the Korean and Vietnam War. After killing hoards of gooks, our brave and battle hardened men were able to go back to base and take a few days of R&R. Around the bases, there would be bars and massage parlors where a GI in need of company could easily acquire it. There would be an overabundance of young, feminine, and attractive asian women with adorable accents to chose from and eager to love him long time. He’d then ravage her delicate little body to his heart’s content and consequently, she would then get paid a handsome price, it was truly a win-win situation.

The free market at work.

The free market at work.

In an effort to not piss off the delicate Muslim psyche, the US Military has made it almost impossible for a man to get a prostitute while he is in the war zone. There is no interaction with the local populace outside of missions for most troops. There are no flings with Afghan or Iraqi women or meeting a prostitute with a heart of gold. There are no love affairs that are complicated by the horrors of war and cultural differences as drama slowly unfolds, when both parties learn that love can truly conquer anything. There are no bastard children of American men left behind. The closest we came to finding love overseas is through porn and nude pictures of our and other troops whorish, cheating ex-girlfriends we uploaded to “The Drive” and shared with the rest of the base.

Sex was happening in Afghanistan and Iraq, but that occurred in support units where there were mixed genders and among government contractors. As for the combat arms units compromised of solely men(the ones that actually did the fighting), were left in a state of sexual purgatory, without any hope of female companionship. No Afghan damsel worrying whether the American man she loves will make it back. No Iraqi prostitutes eagerly awaiting for her core American cliental to come by. Nothing but masturbation for us while our girlfriends from back home cheated on us or stopped answering our phone calls. Men at war and whores go hand and hand, too bad our times did away with that beautiful tradition.

~Raul Felix

“Me so horny for more blog baby. Give me blog, me love you long time!” Alright: The Military’s Parasite Problem

Politically Incorrect and Loving It

“I’d rape the living shit out of her,” is what comes out of my mouth when I see a hot chick walking down the street wearing some rather provocative clothing that causes my dick to bulge. I forget that phrase isn’t quite socially acceptable in the setting of a polite society. A feminist will probably say I’m encouraging rape culture just by uttering those words. Because of those words, I have shown that women are still being discriminated against and are being judged by misogynistic males, such as myself. That now I am directly responsible for any rapes that may occur because of it. Maybe I should say something along of the lines of “I find that female highly attractive, while I find her fashion of dress extremely alluring, it doesn’t give me the right to think I am entitled to have sex with her. I would, if given the opportunity, engage in consensual sexual intercourse that she, at any moment, has the right to stop.” Then I will be balls deep in politically correct pussy.

Maybe my mind has been warped by spending the formative years of my youth in the Army. Not just the Army, but in a combat arms unit full of solely males with too much testosterone, vanity, angst, and bloodlust. A place where “Fuck” and its many different variations is used more often than “the” and “a”. A place where being miserable, hating your life, being over worked and under paid is standard operating procedure. A place where going to war again and again is a fact of life. A place where being politically correct will get you eaten alive faster than a prepubescent girl at a pedophile convention. If you want that politically correct bull shit, go down the street to that support battalion full of females waiting to slam you with a sexual harassment charge.

I forget that most people don’t understand the uniquely vulgar and fucked sense of humor you acquire from just being a man with only men to talk to. A group of men who you tell the intricate details of the women you fuck, drunken and drug infused hijinks, the fights you were in, missions you were in, and the fucked up shit in your life. Most people spend their employment hours in politically correct bubbles where the most exciting conversation at the water cooler is that Cindi may have gone on a date with Brandon and how that’s against company fraternization policy.

I have devolved into an eloquent baboon. Nothing I say or think, as hard as I try, can be completely politically correct. I have lost that sense and probably need to take a women studies and cultural sensitivity class. While I do say those rapist words, I really don’t mean them. I mean I would just like to her fuck her brains out while pulling her hair, biting her neck, and spanking her ass raw, consensually of course. A woman with a college degree who is attractive, intelligent, and fast tracking through the corporate ladder can never simply be that. More likely she’s, “That smart ass bitch with a degree, total dick sucking lips, and amazing ass. She’s a fucking director at some company or some shit.” I can never ride my motorcycle through the Little Saigon area of Orange County without being terrified that some Vietnamese with shitty driving skills isn’t going to run me over. I can never look at a retard or a dead chick story on the news without thinking of the Ranger S&M Man song:

Who can take a retard,
7 stories high,
give him hits of acid,
then tell him he can fly

The S&M man, the S&M man,
the S&M man cause he mixes it with love
and makes the hurt feel good, makes the hurt feel good

Who can take a dead chick,
break into her tomb,
stab her in the gut,
then fuck the bloody womb

The S&M man, the S&M man,
the S&M man cause he mixes it with love
and makes the hurt feel good, makes the hurt feel good

Catchy ain’t it? The most horrid thing is that I’m laughing writing about that. Does that mean that I am waste of human flesh that should’ve ended up as a pearl neckless on my mother’s neck instead of being conceived and raised to be the insensitive man-child I am today? Probably. How dare I have a sense of humor that isn’t in line with a pre-approved list of acceptable subjects to laugh at? I made a sexist a joke. Oh fuck, I just punched the woman’s right movement in its clit and sent it back five years. A racist joke. Holy fuck, Martin Luther King Jr. is resurrecting from the grave and about to give me a stern talking to about judging a person by the content of their character and not the color of their skin. Oh right, I have to be sensitive, because some peoples ego’s are so fragile that whatever little hint of criticism will send them spiraling into oblivion. I guess my first amendment rights don’t apply if they hurt your feelings.

Negro Community

I may be a lost cause for political correctness. I should probably do something about it before the baboon mind completely takes hold irrevocably. I got an idea. I’ll apply to a liberal arts college, I’ll make sure to put in my latino status on the FAFSA and give a good sob story on my essay about how I powered through adversity despite my poor Mexican roots. Once accepted, I’ll major in political science because instead of spending tens of thousands dollars on a real degree, I’ll just waste it on a major that teaches you in four years what you could learn by watching the Discovery and History Channel in a week. Then I will join various clubs and groups that empathize political protests and being politically correct. My peers will be a bunch of girls with hair on their armpits and boys who shave their armpits. I will then talk about how passionate I am about women’s rights or the ozone layer, depending which nets me the most liberated, feminist pussy that particular week. I will also spend a semester studying abroad to some place like Italy. I’ll bring it up in every conversation for the next two years and talk about how it changed me to my very core, when in reality, I just got drunk with my fellow study abroad students and banged two Italian chicks. Then, I will graduate, move to Portland, and say I’m an artist but never work on my craft. I’ll have pseudo-intellectual conversations with my fellow barista’s and customers. I will act like I’m too good for my little $9 an hour gig and hold it in contempt because I have a college education.

Cultured as fuck, mother fucker!

Cultured as fuck, mother fucker!

Or maybe, I can actually have a sense of humor and not give a fuck if I offend you. Maybe I’ll just live life on my own terms and decide what is proper to say and do and what isn’t on my own accord. Maybe, instead of hanging with someone because they are a certain race and thus will show I am not racist by having them as friend, I’ll hang with someone of a different race because I actually like them. Maybe, instead of worrying about who I offend and may not like me and delete me from their Facebook, I be myself and attract the kind of people who get me and like me for who I am. Maybe, when I travel, I will accept it for what it is: Seeing a bunch of pretty things during the day and getting so drunk you forget about it at night. Maybe, when I go to a coffee shop to write, I won’t make pseudo-intellectual conversation with anyone, and instead, shut the fuck up and actually work on my writing about my unreasonable lust of women. Speaking of which, there is a pretty cute chick sitting on the other side of the coffee shop. Man, I would rape the living shit out of her.

~Raul Felix

“You offended me! I demand to see your editor!” No, fuck you and read: Every Race is Worthless

Guy Talk: Animal Love

Raul: “Let’s say you had to fuck one animal, which one would it be?”

Bill Nye: “Like you have to fuck one?”

Raul: “Yeah, like someone has a gun to your head or something and you have to fuck one or they’ll blow your brains out. It can be any animal.”

Hardjaw: “Fuck man, I don’t know. That’s a tough one.”

Bill Nye: “I think I would fuck a monkey. They are the closest to humans.”

Raul: “A monkey? Monkeys are fucking dirty as fuck. That’s fucking gross.”

Hardjaw: “Yeah man, monkey shit in their hands and throw it at you and have fleas and shit.”

Bill Nye: “Well, fuck. I guess I’ll have sex with a chicken. It’ll at least be very tight and it will flap all around and feathers will be flying all over the place. That will be exciting. What would you fuck, bro?”

Raul: “I think I’ll fuck a sheep. There’s got to be something to them if all those Haji fuckers fuck them.”

Hardjaw: “I would go for something more exotic. I’ll fuck a dolphin.”

Bill Nye: “A dolphin wouldn’t let you fuck it!”

Raul: “Okay, new rule… the animal will let you fuck it.”

Hardjaw: “Yeah man, I’ll fuck the shit out of a dolphin. Get in the water and shit, stick my dick inside its pussy and blowhole.”

Raul: “Blowhole head… fuck. Dolphins are pretty sexy.”

Hardjaw: “Yep, they sure are sexy.”

Raul: “Fucking looking all majestic and making cute little dolphin noises.”

Hardjaw: “Yeah, they enjoy fucking too. You know there are a lot of cases of male dolphins trying to rape female dolphins.”

Raul: “Yeah?”

Hardjaw: “Yeah man, young male dolphins are bullies. They’ll go around in packs and attack lone female dolphins and rape them.”

Raul: “That’s fucked up. She was probably asking for it though, swimming around all naked.”

Hardjaw: “Yeah, they also try to rape humans too.”

Raul: “Like that one episode of King of the Hill where Hank was almost raped by a dolphin.”

Hardjaw: “I remember that episode. The females also feel pleasure too. They’re horny as fuck.”

Raul: “I change my decision, I’ll fuck a dolphin.”

~Raul Felix

Read this or dolphins will rape you: The Foul Mind