Guy Talk: Animal Love

Posted on by Standard 10

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

Three Rock Solid Ways to Become a More Marketable Bum

Posted on by Standard 12

With the current global economical crisis and quite possibly the fall of the American empire, times are getting tough for people of all professions. While we read countless articles detailing the plight of recent college graduates who are unable to obtain jobs in their chosen career path of Communications, Journalism, and baby sitting retarded kids. Not to mention, of office drones losing their soul crushing cubicle jobs to Abu in India who does it for half as much and feels having a crushed soul is better than starving. There is another, forgotten segment of the population that is being pounded by the fall out. We’re talking about a profession with a long history, deep culture, and high espirt de corps; being a bum.

The glory days of bumming are over. No longer can you create a funny, yet truthful signs and expect people to give you their loose change. The internet has desensitized us all and at the most you’ll get out of your clever “Why lie? I need beer,” sign will be a roll of the eyes and people thinking that’s so 2007. In order to help you compete in these cutthroat times, these are three simple ways to help you get those spare nickels, dimes, quarters, and the holy grail of them all, a spare dollar.

Get with the times ol' timer.

Get with the times man!

Develop a Talent

People these days expect a lot out of their bums. It’s not enough to just be stinky and dirty, you have to be stinky and dirty with a purpose! Start singing, juggling, street painting, or break dancing. People will begin to build their own little back story for you. They’ll assume that you were once an aspiring entertainer or artist and then the drugs and alcohol took too firm a hold of you and beat you down to the life the you live today. People love that sort of drama.

The key is to start developing your talent in public right now. You suck a drawing? Just start drawing lines and squares and whammy, you’re a misunderstood modern artist. People will toss you the occasional nickel while you paint. Its like getting paid to learn and its way more fiscally responsible than getting into debt $40,000 for a Fine Arts Degree. Can’t sing to save your life? Invest in a $9 harmonica and start using your raspy frog voice to sing the blues. Use your brutal existence as a source of inspiration for your music. Lyrics such as:

I had woman
Left me for another man.
Now I’m out here in the cold
I know you don’t give a damn.

Just need a dime or a quarter
So I can go buy some booze
I’ll drink deep into the night
While I sing the whore of an ex-wife blues.

Those simple lyrics will get you attention from at least 50% of your customer base. Because 50% of men have been with cheating whores and will sympathize with you and 50% of women have been cheating whores and will feel guilty.

No money for paint supplies or a harmonica? Start break dancing or juggling random stuff you find in the garbage. Both require no monetary investment and with your first nickel you’re already in profit mode and thus already doing way better than 90% of American businesses. Both are skills that can be learned for free via youtube at the computer stations at your local public library, you know, that place you use to go shower at in the sink.

Now these kids are going places.

Now these kids are going places.

Become a Cripple

You’re a run of the mill able bodied bum with a drug and alcohol problem so severe that it cost you all your friends, family, and means of employment. Its tough finding work when you’re an addict, you justify. That may be so, but to the rest of the population you’re no different then the 20 other bums they passed that day. What makes you stand out? What makes your unique struggle so much more special than your peers? A horrible disfigurement may be your answer!

Human beings naturally take pity on people who are crippled because it digs deeply into their own fears that it could be them one day should such an accident happen. You can leverage this fear into profit for yourself.

There are various ways you can cripple yourself. You can run into traffic or jump off the 2nd story of a building. One other effective method would be to owe enough money to the Mafia where they will break your legs, but not so much where they will kill you. Sometimes its best to let the pro’s do the work.

Now, this will require a real commitment on your part. By intentionally becoming crippled you have decided you’re no longer making bumming a “just in the mean time thing while you sort things out” but a full fledged career. A big step proving that you’re growing up and taking life seriously. Don’t try to fake it, because people can see through that bull shit and will call you out. There is also an increased chance of getting robbed because you will be a more vulnerable target. But those extra few bucks you get a day will more than make up for it.

If FDR can, so can you!

If FDR can, so can you!

Adopt a Best Friend

It’s a fact that people care more about dogs than their fellow human beings. It quite justified actually, because while dogs show love unconditionally, human beings are conniving and have ulterior motives. Yes, it may be another mouth to feed, but it will be a loyal mouth the will attract so much sympathy from the animal lover in all of us that you’ll be balls deep in nickels.

Many people won’t turn twice to look at you if they know you’re starving. But they will stop immediately and pet a cute little puppy and check him out to see if he is okay. In the process they will ask you what his name is, scratch his belly, and make kissing faces at him. Since dogs can look both pathetic and adorable at the same time, they’ll give you some money to make sure he gets feed. Some untrusting folks will just buy the food for the dog directly using your booze money and feed it to him. It’s a little dehumanizing to you, but you must remember never to show any jealousy toward your four legged friend. You two are a team, just let him do all the work and you may even be able to afford vodka that doesn’t come in a plastic bottle.

Being a bum with a dog puts you in an elite class in the brotherhood of homelessness. Its like being a Fighter Pilot in the Air Force or a Ranger in the Army. It’s rare, unique, and so few people can pull it off or have the opportunity to do so. It will be tough at first, but once you accept this challenge, it will pay you back tenfold in profit and in love. It’s a perfect symbiotic relationship.

You only feel bad because of the dog.

You only feel bad because of the dog.

We all need to up our game in these turbulent times. It’s suggested that you only do one of these at a time. Pace yourself and perfect one of the three, before moving on to the next. For those of you of true ambition, you’ll be crippled, singing the whore of an ex-wife blues, and having your best friend howling along in no time. Just because your at rock bottom, doesn’t mean you can’t shoot for the moon!

~Raul Felix

Read another! It’s not like you have anything better to do: Four Things You Didn’t Think of Before Joining the Army

The Gay Meth Story

Posted on by Standard 14

“Okay guys, I’m in a very shady situation right now and I’m going to ride it out and see where it goes. If you guys don’t hear from me in a couple of days, I’m in Cortez, CO with some dude named Carl.” I typed into a mass text I sent out to a few of my friends and cousins. I was laying on a couch in the living room of a ranch in the backwoods of Colorado attempting to sleep fully dressed and wearing my steel toe boots and my hard knuckle riding gloves while grasping a 12 inch long wrench, ready to strike in case I was attacked in the middle of the night. “How the fuck do I get myself into these situations?” I think to myself.

In order to celebrate my new found freedom and release from the clutches of Uncle Sam, in the summer of 2009, I decided to take a 2 1/2 month motorcycle trip around the United States.

Three weeks into the journey, I was riding through the Navajo Indian Reservation in Arizona after having seen the Grand Canyon earlier that day. The scorching Arizona heat made it feel like I was riding through a giant hair dryer while sitting inside a hot oven. As I began to lose myself in my thoughts, thinking about life and how awesome I am, off in the horizon I saw two huge, distinctly shaped rocks. As I rode up closer to them I knew I had to picture whore it and capture my ugly mug with them. Luckily, a man was hanging out there.

As I pulled up, his dog took an interest in me and came up to me. I started petting him, then the man came up in a friendly matter. I introduced myself and he introduced himself as “Carl” I then asked him to take a picture of me. Afterwards, he eyed the license plate on my motorcycle.

Carl: “Washington? What are you doing all the way done here?”

Raul: “I just got out of the Army and I was stationed in Fort Lewis. I’m taking a motorcycle trip around the US to celebrate.”

Carl: “That sounds pretty neat. Where are you headed tonight?”

Raul: “I’m not sure, I’m trying to make it to Four Corners tomorrow, so I’m going to ride as far as I can and probably camp out somewhere.”

Carl: “I wouldn’t suggest camping out here, there are a lot of snakes and other nasty stuff. You should get a motel.”

A more innocent time.

A more innocent time.

We talked for a couple of minutes, during that time he informed me that the name of the rock formation I was looking at was known as the Elephant Feet. The time to leave came, so I shook his hand, thanked him, and rode off not thinking much else of the event. I rode for an hour as the sun started to set. By that time I was starving and had seen on my map there was a small town called Kayenta on the way. A whole day of riding the heat had caused my jeans to drenched in my ball sweat and I’m sure I smelled like it too. I had camped out the previous night after getting drunk off of my ass and had only taken a baby wipe bath. The idea of camping out for another night in the unforgiving Arizona heat without a shower seemed rather unappealing. The snakes thing didn’t really bug me, but nonetheless, I decided I would try to find a motel after getting some chow.

I got to the lifeless town of Kayenta right as the sun sets. I drive through a strip mall, hoping to find a restaurant that is open. Just as I decide on one, a car pulls up next to me; it was Carl.

Carl: “Hey! Did you find a place to stay yet?”

Raul: ”No, I was going to get to some fucking food first.”

Carl: “Well, I just thought about it… if you would like you can sleep on my sofa. I live about an hour up the road.”

Raul: “Sure, thanks, but let me get some food first.”

My personal philosophy for travel was and is still is to accept a free place to stay whenever I can as a way to save money and also meet people. This wouldn’t be the first time a random person offered me a place to stay, so I did so without giving it much thought. An hour may seem like a pretty far ride, but when you’re surrounded by the nothings of the hot, unforgiving desert, it’s not too much of a compromise.

We got to a small town on the south west corner of Colorado called Cortez. Carl explained to me that he had to go visit his friend first and pick her up. So I followed him to her trailer home and what came out was an old, witch looking woman whose face looked like its seen many wife beatings and possibly works as a bargain priced prostitute.

Carl then informed me that he had to go to another friends house to pick something up. We entered into this house where there were three shady looking rednecks. Carl made small talk and then exchanged money with them and took something. That’s when I became a little paranoid.

Raul: “What are you buying?”

Carl: “Coke, you want some?”

Raul: “No, I’m good.” Thoughts of bailing out of this situation immediately occurred to me. I may be an overindulgent social drinker, but I don’t fuck with that shit.

They complete their black market transaction and then we’re off to Carl’s house. Carl’s house was a surprisingly nice ranch home surrounded by about two or three acres of land. Then we get to the foot steps of the door, which is covered with license plates from various different states. It was quite cool, actually. I then walk into his house and am shocked to see to the most random collection of junk that I have ever witnessed in my life. The wall is plastered with random paintings, trophy bucks, hub caps, pictures, animal bones, chains, tools, and those weird radios from the 80’s that had little black and white TVs on them. Just an overall array of weird shit. It was kind of cool.

Villa de Carl.

Villa de Carl.

I sit down and start making small talk with Carl and his Rita Repulsa like friend. Then he pulls out a strange looking glass pipe which Rita Repulsa and him start smoking out of. Even someone as ignorant about drugs as me could take an educated guess and deduct it was a Meth pipe. Having to always be sure, I asked.

Raul: “What is that?”

Carl: “Meth…” as he pulls it into his lungs and exhales, “Want some?”

Raul: “Uh… no, that’s not my thing.”

Again panic sets in internally. I contemplate an escape route and how to leave this situation. Yet, I justify to myself, that he hasn’t done anything wrong to me directly. He’s been a pretty nice guy and over all not bad, hell, he was nice enough to offer me expensive coke and meth. I bet that’s what Ted Bundy’s victims thought also.

I’m still covered in my own ball sweat from the last couple of days of travel and I ask to use the shower. I also need to take a shit, so being the smart and hygienic guy I am, I shit before I shower. As I drop my little brown kids off at the pool, I notice there is a basket full of magazines and I start thumbing through them. Something peculiar caught my eye, there were randomly cut outs in the pages wherever the current generic, hot, young stud actor would have been. I put it back and finish up. I walk into the shower, turn around and look into the mirror in front of it. Then I see it. Pictures. Pictures of naked men cut out from Homo-Hustler and of male celebrities taped on the mirror. I pause there in disgust.

“God fucking damn it,” I sigh out lightly. I have nothing against gay people, but it happens a lot to me for some incomprehensible reason that I get hit on by them a lot. “Okay, okay… he hasn’t fucking done anything wrong,” I think to myself in a failing attempt to comfort myself as I take my shower.

Something I'm sure you Navy Seamen are used to.

Something I’m sure you Navy Seamen are used to.

As I come out of the shower the movie The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift is playing; yep, he’s totally fucking gay. I’m tired as fuck and want to go to sleep, but withstand it and watch the movie. After the movie, Rita Repulsa and him go upstairs to his bedroom and I lay to sleep on the couch of his living room. Just as I am about to doze to sleep, I get a text message from him.

“Do you want some… attention?” It says.

OH FUCK NO! I think to myself in my panic. “Carl! Carl! I’m good man!” I yell out to him up the stairs.

“Alright,” he responds with a disappointed tone in his voice.

I’m sure this backwoods homo isn’t going to try anything, but in case he does, I begin to prepare. I change back from my shorts into my jeans and repack all my stuff into my saddlebags. I put on my steel toe motorcycle boots, hard knuckle riding gloves, and dig through his random assortment of shit and grab a 12 inch long wrench. Right before I lay back down to sleep, I send out a mass text to my friends letting them know generally where I am in case I go missing. Some immediately respond and I calm their nerves down. While others don’t because they assumed I was probably drunk.

It was a harrowing, restless night with every insignificant noise waking me up into kill homo-rapist with a wrench mode. Luckily and anti-climatically, the great battle to the death for my assholes virginity never occurred and Carl didn’t attempt anything.

The next morning he was working on a construction project on his home by the time I woke up. I thanked him for hospitality, got on my bike, and rode on to my next victory over life and death.

~Raul Felix

Please Sir, may I have another? YES! Read: The Pick-Up Follies: The Gimp

Pussy Cats and the Appreciation of Modern Technology

Posted on by Standard 10

Across the street from the hostel I was staying at in Zurich, Switzerland is a pussy cat theater. I wondered how this was still a viable business model. Ever since the invention of the internet and a day later, internet porn these archaic dens of masturbation have become extinct in the United States. I didn’t come of age when they were around and only seen them in movies from the 70’s and 80’s. Usually, when the protagonists meets up with a shady character who gives him essential information. So being the Curious George I am and the appreciator of anything related to naked women, I decided I would go in and expand my horizons.

The theater walls were covered with posters of porn flicks with women in poses suggesting the want to get gang banged. I pay for my ticket and the attendant gives me a look suggesting he thinks he is better than me. Well, fuck you, at least it’s not my job to clean semen off the floor. As I am walking to enter the theater, a Swiss geezer passes me by and avoids making contact, probably cause he just jerked off. I take my seat in the mostly empty theater with about four or five old men there looking intently at the screen. I think I see one jerk off underneath his trench coat. Movies don’t always lie.

I take my seat and watch the porn flick. After one minute, I’m already bored and have the urge to leave. This sucks. I stop myself from leaving. Give it a chance, it’s a cultural experience, I justify. I tell myself that I’m going to stay for one hour. The flick is in German and it looks like it was made in the 90’s judging by the clothing the actors were wearing. The chick they’re going to bang is the kind I like, big boobs, big ass, and white with brunette hair. I become annoyed at the fact I have to listen to all the talking and see the “plot” unfold. I wish I could just fast forward and see the bitch naked already.

Two women begin to walk around the movie theater, whispering little things into the mens ears. I sneakily look at them and see what they are up to. One grabs a guy by the hand leads him out the theater. They’re fucking prostitutes. Ah, so that is the real business model. This is a place where men can meet prostitutes. The other one comes and offers her services to me. Yes, I declined assholes. I had a conversation the previous night with a local who told me that area of Zurich is currently going through gentrification. Which explains the unique mix of artsy fartsiness, drug addicts, expensive shops, and hookers at the pussy cat theater.

After thirty minutes, I had enough. I didn’t even feel my dick move in this environment. I couldn’t even enjoy the porn knowing that on the other row there was a 50 year old Swiss man jerking it.

I left the theater with a new found appreciation for my laptop and instant access to internet porn in complete privacy. I appreciated being able to watch whatever I want, skip scenes, and go to my favorite parts. Men actually had to put up with this shit back in the 70’s and 80’s if they wanted to watch a porn flick and jerked off discreetly while a few feet away another man was doing the same. It showed me that life sucked in every previous generation and that being of my generation is the best time to be alive. We got all the technology to get us instant access to porn and we have access to archives of every porn film ever made, even on the iPhone. What a glorious time to be alive.

~Raul Felix

You loved it? Of course you did. Now read: Strip Club Blues

She Wants Me

Posted on by Standard 3

I operate under the mind set that every single woman wants my cock, they just don’t know it yet. I can be walking by a cute girl sitting at a bus stop and she will briefly glance at me for no more than half a second. “Oh yeah, you want my cock you dirty little slut,” immediately goes running through my mind. Poor little thing is just so shy that she can’t help but look away when she see’s such a fine specimen of manhood. It’s okay, young lady, we weren’t all meant to handle the glory that is I.

Its kind of sad, really, that there is only one Raul Felix and there are only so many women I can love. I am the essences of what every woman dreams about in a man: tall, dark, handsome, muscular, impeccable hair, smart, funny, witty, confident and I fuck like a god. But alas, most of them are not worthy. Sorry ladies, but I keep my standards high when alcohol is not running through my veins. When it is, I’m usually too much of a dick head to care about getting laid.

Now don’t get your adorable little red panties in a bunch. While you can’t have me, there are plenty of other men who will take you. I know, I know, it makes you cry and may bring you to the verge of suicide, but please, consider your friends and family; they’ll miss you and may even love the homely you. Just because you can’t have the best, doesn’t mean you can’t settle for the rest.

It’s actually really tough being as dashing as I am. Women always staring at me, wanting me to rip their off clothes and spread their legs open for me to shove in my poon destroyer. They want me to bite down on their lip, slap their ass, and with laser focus, look at them in the eye as I make any male they have been with before obsolete.

Oh yes, it’s a curse really, for they only know the surface me. They don’t know the depths of my mind and soul. The ambitions and dreams that I have. If they did, it would overwhelm them and make their girlie parts so dripping wet that it would ruin their favorite pair of jeans.

Okay, cute girl at the bus stop, I’ll approach you and make your dreams come true.

“Hey, I’m Raul… what’s your name?” I say coyly.

“I have a boyfriend, sorry,” she responds.

I walk away. Some women just can’t appreciate greatness when it appears before them. Oh well, her loss, poor little thing.

~Raul Felix

Want to read more? Read: Shy Girl

Onward to 2013

Posted on by Standard 3

2012 was a big year of rebuilding myself on a personal level. I got my finances under control and not just that, they are rocking now and I have created a huge financial safety net for myself using the strategies of Dave Ramsey and Ramit Sethi. I deepened my friendships with the people I’ve met here in Israel and have done a pretty decent job keeping in touch with my best friends in the US. I got to play amateur football (yes, American full contacted football) in the Israeli Football League and have had a blast. I’ve explored most of Israel, I rode around the entire country of Italy on a motorcycle for three weeks, and I have visited Petra and Wadi Rum, Jordan. I’ve read a couple dozen books, drank many beers, and have had many insightful and shallow conversations. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but have learned a bit from them.

In my writing, the biggest step I took was creating this blog back in March. Some writers may take such a creation in a half hearted matter, but it was really tough for me to do so. I had no idea what I was going to write about, and truthfully, I still struggle to come up with subject matters. I’m not the most consistent writer yet, I only update two or three times a month, yet, I feel myself improving. I know I’ll get to the point where I produce quality content weekly, twice a week, or maybe more. It just takes time to develop the sort of consistency. I look at the bright side though, as of this writing, I have 22 posts under my belt. That’s 22 more than I had this time last year. A very huge step indeed. I’m in this for the long-haul, I don’t plan to ever quit writing or updating this site. Maybe I’m not posting ten times a month, but I’m fairly certain I’ll be here, still writing away, ten, fifteen, and twenty years from now.

If 2012 was just the beginning for my writing, then 2013 is going to be a year of vast improvements to it and how I approach it. I generally think New Years resolutions are arbitrary and are only set because buying a new calendar demands you to make radical changes in your life. I see them as nothing more than marketing gimmick used by gyms, pyramid schemes, and car dealerships to sell you into buying their bullshit. But, I couldn’t help thinking deeply about what I want to accomplish in this area of my life in the year 2013.

Accountability is an essential element to success. I’ve made many private goals and have accomplished some, but not all. I think lack of accountability is the main factor. I don’t really put it out there and when I do miss my goal, I sit there in silent disgust, but no real consequences are felt. I will put my three simple goals out there for writing. Once I’ve made it public, it’s something I have to accomplish or risk being labeled a wannabe.

1. Four plus posts a month: It will be mandatory for myself to make at least four posts a month. If I make five a month, great, but none of them will roll over. Each month is a fresh month and the same standard will be kept.  To paraphrase a sales saying, “You’re only as good as your last update.”

2. Begin writing my fictional novel: I have a couple of idea’s rolling through my head of novels I intend to write, but haven’t chosen to stick to a single one of them yet. So, in an effort to move forward, I have chosen one and will stick with it until it’s complete. I’m not saying it’s going to be a masterpiece, but the important thing is that I begin it, that I make steady progress with it, and actually, dare I say, finish it.

3. Guest Posts: I’ve noticed that I’ve discovered other peoples blog through guest posts they’ve made. I’m going to start reaching out to the few bloggers I know and offer to do a guest post. Something that will completely written for their blog. I have some idea of who I am going to reach out to and I hope I can deliver some quality content for them and their readers.

Those are the three simple goals I have for myself in writing for 2013. By putting them out there, I intend to put the pressure on my ass to accomplish them without excuses.

~Raul Felix

Like this? Check out: I’d Pee in Her Butt.

Influences: Maddox, Tucker Max, APB, TC Luoma

Posted on by Standard 17

Every person who is worth a damn has had people who have inspired and influenced them. It can take the form of direct one on one lessons or through reading and watching. Either way, these mentors helped develop their actions and mindset for better or worse. It doesn’t matter whether you’re seeking to become an underwater basket weaver, stripper, rocket surgeon, or a writer on a self-named blog with hopes that it will get you hot blog groupies after they see how funny and clever your writing is and thus crave your cock; there are mentors out there for you. For my writing ambitions, dark sense of humor, and my mindset on life, the following four internet writers are my biggest influences.

Maddox

Quite possibly the first true internet satirists. Maddox has had his page, The Best Page in the Universe, online since 1997. His headline: “This page is about me and why everything I like is great. If you disagree with anything you find on this page, you are wrong,” kicks you right in the taint and lets you know that your little dip shit opinion doesn’t matter. So much so that he even has a link to his hate mail and his responses to said hate mail, exposing the logical fallacies of its sender.

Maddox writes about beating your kids, killing yourself in very awesome ways, heavily criticizes little kids on their shitty art, and how big his balls are. He rants about minor and major things that annoy him everyday life. He portrays himself as the essence of manliness and his writing bursts with testosterone. So much so, in fact, that he wrote a book called The Alphabet of Manliness that became an instant New York Times Best Seller.

Careful ladies, this book will turn your clit into a dick.

Careful ladies, this book will turn your clit into a dick.

I discovered Maddox in 2003 when I was 15 years old. Though I’ve seen and read many funny stuff by that time, his complete disregard for what is appropriate to write about and what isn’t laid the framework for my humor. I found myself reading his whole entire archive in one night and eagerly awaiting updates for his next article. I would share them with my friends, some liked it and some hated it. I learned through his writing that humor really has no limits, to stand by ones writing, and never try to please anyone. He states that his site started with fewer than 5 readers a month and got to the point of a million readers a month through a lot of hardwork and not bitching and moaning people to link to him.

Tucker Max

The most famous name on this list. With his infamous introduction, “My name is Tucker Max, and I am an asshole.” Tucker Max sets the stage for the internet phenomena known as The Tucker Max Stories. These are epic and wonderfully crafted tales of drunkenness, sexual promiscuity, and highly inappropriate and outlandish behavior. Mostly occurring when he was 20-28, he writes about having anal sex for the first time, the first midget he fucked, and the ego crushing knowledge that he may not be the only man a woman has fucked that day.

What makes it shocking to prudes with no real sense of reality, is that The Tucker Max stories are real. These events actually occurred and he has fucked all these moronic whores, caused all this havoc, and called out all the losers that he detailed in his stories. He has done all of this and still is with us today. People call his life surreal and over-exaggerated (because their idiots), but he even claims that he hasn’t really done anything that isn’t out of the ordinary. Guys have fucked sluts and gotten drunk since the beginning of time, he was just the first to write about it.

This man is the reason I have lost faith in womankind. Thanks Tucker!

This man is the reason I have lost faith in womankind. Thanks Tucker!

The unique thing about Tucker Max’s writing is that underneath the comedy and shenanigans, there are many life lessons to be had. When I first started reading his work at age 19, I was in a more innocent frame of mind about women and their whorish mannerisms. So when I read his stories, I was a bit shocked that women would go for a guy like this. I kept on reading on and discovered why. As much of an asshole as Tucker was, he had confidence in himself and didn’t take shit from anybody. He had the balls to approach and get rejected. He would call out women on their bull shit and they either loved him or hated him. One thing he wasn’t though, was a carpet to for them to walk over. Women don’t respect a man they can walk all over, much less fuck him. It started to make sense why those girls I wanted before wouldn’t have me and fucked some other asshole. Because I was nice. So I began to apply those lessons to my life, stopped being nice, and became more aggressive. My success with women steadily improved and compounded.

Angry Patriotic Bastard

In a time when there were too many apologetic Americans complaining about the evil empire that we have become, came along Angry Patriotic Bastard. Even though his blog was short-lived and he hasn’t written in over seven years, his message stayed with me. APB loved to talk shit on the pussification that has come of American culture. Having absolutely no qualms about calling out the things he truly hated, he would write blog post after blog post of politically incorrect rhetoric attacking hippies, bicyclists, muslims, and Florida rednecks.

No one was above the scrutiny of APB’s political mind set. He believed in an America where we are on top of the food chain and every nation bowed to our powerful, raging cock of freedom. In his mindset, like it or not, America dominates the world. If we don’t’ control you economically, we control you with our pop culture. How many of you are using products designed by Americans and made by little slave Chinese kids? You’re damn right it’s not going to be little slave American kids making that shit. They’re too busy being molested by their step-father.

AMERICA! MOTHER FUCKER!

AMERICA! MOTHER FUCKER!

His writing style is very aggressive and hellbent on offending you, pulling it off in a masterful way. While I personally try to avoid political subjects in my writing, because I find it exhausting to keep up with and it becomes irrelevant a couple of weeks or months later, he was able to create timeless political writing that if you read it today, still applies and will make you laugh your ass off.

TC Luoma

On the calmer side of the spectrum comes TC Luoma. He writes for the bodybuilding website, T-Nation in his series called The Atomic Dog, later renamed The Testosterone Principles. The main theme is becoming a better man. Better yet, not being a pussified modern man that feminism(stupid cunts) has pushed onto us. Instead become a man who embraces his testosterone, who shamelessly pursues the good things in life: women, beer, working out, meat, and sex.

As shallow as those subject matters sound, his writing always has an underlying tone of taking accountability and responsibility for your life. To pursue a life of constant learning, reading, and improving over all. Whether it’s chasing your dream to become poker player or getting out of the rat race that is the norm of our society.

He hates how our society has become more feminine and estrogen centered, and how testosterone gets a bad name for being seen as too aggressive and ape like. He points out that testosterone is the reason behind all that drive us as humans. Men with higher testosterone are smarter, stronger, have a higher libido, and are more ambitious than men of lower testosterone levels. Men with low testosterone tend to be fucking slobs, losers, scrawny, or overweights sacks of shit.

And his hair is glorious.

And his hair is glorious.

Through his writings, I’ve learned to embrace my manhood unapologetically. I’m a man and I will act like one. I expect my woman to act like a woman and be feminine. Fuck that politically correct bull shit.

Their writing is low-brow, unacademic, and not meant for those who suffer from having sand in their vagina. But these men have had more of an influence on the development of my mind than any school, teacher, or professor.

~Raul Felix

You like that? Good! Check out: Four Things You Didn’t Think of Before Joining the Army.

The Pick-Up Follies: The Gimp

Posted on by Standard 12

It was the summer of my third year in the military and I got a phone call from my Army buddy, “Schooner”:

Schooner: “Hey bro, what the fuck are you doing?”

Raul: “Nothing, what’s up?”

Schooner: “Come down to Olympia. I’m with two chicks and they’re down to fuck. I told them about you and they want to meet you.”

Raul: “Sweet, I’ll be over there”

I say without missing a beat.

I jump into my truck and drive down to Olympia, WA to the address he text me. I get to a small suburban neighborhood and locate the house. I knock on the door and a blonde, mediocre looking girl, barely clearing the age of 18 opens it. Then from behind her, comes out Schooner. He leads me to the living room of their house. I find out that the Blonde is a friend with the girl who rents the place. Then from the kitchen, walking awkwardly, comes the “The Gimp.”

As I sit there and listen to them talk, I found out more about The Gimp. She is decent looking woman, aged 28, is about 4’11” and weighs no more than 100 pounds. She had small breasts and no ass. Pretty much a walking, limping stick with a decent looking face. I wonder why she is walking like that, so I whisper to Schooner:

Raul: “Why the fuck is she walking like that?”

Schooner: “Her spine is fucked up. She got in a car accident a few years ago.”

Raul: “Oh, that fucking sucks.”

Schooner: “Yeah, but she is slutty as hell.”

Raul: “Cool.”

At this time in my life I wasn’t the ladies man that I am today. It was sporadic when I hooked up with random chicks. So I wasn’t really in a position to be too picky about a potential dick wetting experience. She brought me a beer and asked:

The Gimp: “Do you know Snuffy and Snaplink?”

Raul: “Yeah, Snuffy lives on the same floor as me and Snaplink is always at his room drinking and playing video games.”

The Gimp: “Yeah, they’re hot, I fucked both of them at same time the other night.”

I sit there not knowing how to respond. Back then I was relatively innocent of the knowledge of how big of utter whores women can be and had not fully developed my jaded and dark attitude towards them.

Raul: “That’s cool.”

I sit there silently thinking to myself that all I want to do is get the fuck out of there. My sexual moral compass was that of a nice kid who wanted to only fuck a girl he cared about and maybe have random hook ups with slightly slutty girls who “usually don’t do that sorta thing.” Not full blown whores whose pussy walls have catered to hundreds of cocks. At least lie to me, bitch.

Schooner and the Blonde start making out. The Gimp grabs my hand and leads me to her bedroom. I’ve barely talked to this girl and she is already leading me to her bedroom. I don’t resist. I start feeling a bulge developing in my pants at the thought that I’m going to fuck her. “Whatever, she’s not that bad looking,” I justify to myself. “I have condom, so I’ll be good.” As we cross the threshold of her room, I smack her almost nonexistent ass, she turns around, and we start kissing. Then I throw her down on her bed and jump on top of her.

The Gimp: “Shhhh… we’re going to have to be quiet. My baby is sleeping.”

Raul: “What?”

The Gimp: “My baby, she’s sleeping.”

She points to the crib I didn’t notice and in there was a baby, no older than three months, sleeping. I didn’t want to know anything about her baby’s daddy, so I refrained from asking. I’m sure if they were still together, I wouldn’t be the last guy she’d cheat on him with. We continue to kiss and I undress her down to her bra and panties. As I work my hands down to her panties, I notice what could only be described as a perfect irony, her panties had a huge cherry right on the crotch. I take a half-second to smile to myself, which I’m sure she misinterpreted as excitement.

As I pull them off, it hits me like a bag of rocks. A very foul stench. What the fuck? Confused, I pause to think of the source of this, and then I realize its coming from her pussy. Holy fuck. This bitch’s pussy smells worse than a fish market on a hot day. I compose myself and quickly think of an escape plan. No way am I fucking or touching that reeking clam of death.

Raul: “Oh shit!”

The Gimp: “What?”

Raul: “I have to go. I forgot that I have to be somewhere very important right now.”

The Gimp: “What? Where?”

Raul: “Don’t worry about it, I just have to go. Sorry.”

I jump out of bed, pick up my clothes, and run to her sink to wash off my face, hands, and use my finger to brush my teeth in a desperate attempt to get the taste and smell of whore off myself.

I step out of her house, get into my truck, and drive off. Her nasty, whorish taste still in my mouth, and reeking of her pussy funk. God damn it. Why can’t it ever be good girls who are down to fuck?

EPILOGUE: I later learned The Gimp was notorious for fucking guys from my unit. I’ve heard of many guys fucking her, maybe she actually washed herself beforehand. But knowing the sexual standards of some of the men I served with, it didn’t matter. She is and will forever be known compassionately as The Gimp. It wouldn’t surprise me if she is being double penetrated right now.

To recap, it wasn’t her whorish behavior that drove me away, or that she probably still had juices from another man inside her, or the fact that her freshly minted baby was right next to us. It was her wretched, stinky pussy. So ladies, take heed, if you’re going to act like a whore, at least don’t smell like one.

~Raul Felix

Inch by Inch

Posted on by Standard 6

Sitting alone in his home, draped in darkness, save for the gentle blue glow of his computer monitor, he sips his drink. He neither asked for company nor would accept any, for he is working on his craft. Tonight is for imbibing in his favorite drink and going deep into the labyrinth of his mind and put to words the events, people, and philosophies that occupy it. He is unable to fully think of such things in a sober state, so he turns to his glorious alcoholic vice.

His drink of choice varies, whether it be the sweet and rough kisses of Lady Liquor or the obvious teases and delayed gratifications of the tramp Beer. Tonight, he decides, he’ll tango with the tramp. He hopes her little flirtations will ignite something deep within him and just maybe, he will write something destined for greatness.

He’s typing away, struggling to manifest his thoughts. A clever sentence here, a snarky remark there, a too worthy sentence that is executed the moment it’s completed. It’s a messy little dance. He grows excited when the words pour out and frustrated when they stagnate. As he takes another swig and walks around his home in anxiousness, he wonders if anymore words will come to him. Or is he finished? Is he through? Is he just a fucking drunk pretending to be a writer?

The thought of being a nobody infuriates him. His mind is bursting with idea’s. He has stories, jokes, and social commentary to disperse. Yet, it feels like every word typed is an inch by inch uphill battle. Then a revelation, recalling Al Pacino’s half-time speech from Any Given Sunday:

You find out life’s this game of inches, so is football. Because in either game – life or football – the margin for error is so small. I mean, one half a step too late or too early and you don’t quite make it. One half second too slow, too fast and you don’t quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They’re in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team we fight for that inch. On this team we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when add up all those inches, that’s gonna make the fucking difference between winning and losing!

Writing, he thinks, is the same way. It’s fighting for that inch, for that word, for that sentence. Digging deep, fighting self-doubt, word by word. Tearing cynicism to pieces, sentence by sentence. A word placed wrong, you don’t quite communicate it. A sentence structured incorrectly, you don’t quite express it. A writer must be willing to pour all he has, tooth and nail, for those words and sentences. Because he knows that when he adds up all those hard fought for words and sentences it’s the fucking difference between greatness and obscurity.

He smiles as he realizes that the struggle is part of the craft. It’s not supposed to be easy and it’s not supposed to be fast. Its about perseverance, worth ethic, inches, and exhausting yourself for your dream. “Now quit your bitching,” he says out loud, “Get back to work and fight for that inch.”

~Raul Felix

———————————————————————

I wrote the following in May 2007 while in my barracks room, lonely and drunk. It inspired the first part of Inch by Inch. Though I’m kind of embarrassed of it right now, it shows my evolution as a writer. I’m leaving it unedited, but I think it’s not too bad for a drunk, dumbass 20 year old.

On Drinking Alone

Very few things show that a man has arrived to maturity than the act of drinking alone. The act of facing whatever hidden demons the lack of alcohol has hidden from him. A man who drinks alone, is a brave man. He does something that many would consider to do only in comfortable presence of loved ones and acquaintance. Since so many people fear to lurk into those dark places of their minds without some companionship.

The Lone Drinker is often considered to be disturbed, an alcoholic, and as the name implies… a loner. No, the Lone Drinker is the enlightened man who knows how to enjoy the sweet and rough kisses of lady Liquor and the obvious teases and delayed gratifications of the tramp Beer. The Lone Drinker doesn’t need the reassurance of others to enjoy what is truly fine in life. He doesn’t drink because he wants to impress others, he drinks for the pure love of alcohol. He finishes off more drinks than drinks have finished off him.

He is very misunderstood. He not as well respected as he should be. Some might pity him. But, those who do, don’t have the balls to be like him. Because inside of them, there is a fear that they are not strong enough. Or the thought that they are better than that. Maybe they think that are too good to drink alone. So, they must seek that party that allows them the chance to drink. So let me ask… who is more powerful… the uncertain people who only drink when it’s appropriate or the lone drinker? The man who controls when he drinks, how much he drinks, and whether or not he has other make the choice for him.

~Raul Felix