Just your everyday stuck up, tasteless, male humor blog. I talk about everything from my crazy sex antics to helping you accomplish yours. Love it or hate it, you are still reading the best trash on the web.

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My blogging excellence has awarded with this really cool nomination. Please vote for this blog, and I will redouble my efforts to provide classy, refined sexual trash for your reading pleasure.

My site was nominated for Best Humor Blog!

Garbage Lovers


Send Me Your Dirty Trash

(not to be taken literally)
 
trash.jpgYou've heard about my glorious tales of triumph and filth for over a month now. Let me hear what kind of crazed, deprived, horrific acts have you pulled off? I know they won't be as heinous as mine, but I'd sure love to hear about them.
 
So give it a shot. You know you want to. Send me your dirtiest tale or tip and I may publish it here on Old Dirty Blog. Who knows? It might inspire me to go off into the world and use your tactics to spread some sex sauce all over some young coed, and of course write about it here.
 
Send your trash to This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it
Myspace Can Be Your Space, Too
Monday, 07 January 2008
myspace_tom.jpgIn continued efforts to shamelessly, almost whoreishly promote ourselves, we here at ODB have decided to go forth and (finally) create a myspace page. Until recently, I really was very hesitant to get into the whole "social netoworking" thing. I don't know, maybe it was because I, for some unknown reason, enjoyed meeting with girls in person, and using things like wit, intelligence, alchohol, cunning in deception to talk them into guzzling a gallon of throat yogurt. I'd like to go on the record to state that for a long time I found the use of the Internet to track down random pieces of cum candy was a lot like using game genie on Sega Genesis- a true pyric victory.
 
But then, about nine seconds into fiddling around with this whole myspace thing, I ran into the "profile" of this slam pig named "Tara" once gave my a backroom handjob in her mother's linen closet circa 1999. We had never spoken again after I told the entire volleyball team about how conquering her was easier than sacking Paris (the city in France, for those of you ate paste as kids), and I decided to offer the olive branch of truce out to her in efforts of reconciling our differences.
 
Tara "friended" me back, and it turns out that she works as a diner waitress not too far from the house where she yanked my underdeveloped sex sabre so long ago. After visiting her briefly at said diner, it took about thirty seconds of cajoling before she was riding me like Barbaro in the back of her Kia after her shift.
 
While pounding away at her while her non-slip waitress shoes dangled in the air, I truly realized how cool Myspace truly is. It is, if nothing else, an outlet by which one can find depressed, lonely, unsuccessful people whose presence was once enjoyable, so that you can pork them rotten, and promptly discard them. Tucker Max even added me on his myspace! Obviously, he's been at this game for awhile....
 
NOTE: If you want to befriend me on myspace, search "Old Dirty Blog" in that nifty search engine they provide you, and odds are it will pop up. If not, that's pretty unfortunate.  Also, probably not all chicks on myspace should be treated like this. Tara wasn't even a nice person even when she was spread open like a cornish hen. Seriously.

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The Big Dipper: Why It's Not So Exciting After All
Thursday, 03 January 2008

big_dipper_big.jpg

In every boy’s life, they reach a point, when they dig through their drawer, take out their ruler, and measure the size of their Johnson.

Now, as a girl (a smart one, at that), I am here to reveal a little secret…

An exceedingly large male sexual organ, otherwise known as a Big Dipper, Crowd Pleaser, Master of Ceremonies, or Mighty Meat; is NOT so exciting after all!

Here’s my story:

It was Thanksgiving Eve- you know… ‘1 of the biggest nights a year to go out,’ and a few friends and I pre-gamed a bit, and then went to the local bar. Once there, we ordered some beers, danced to Britney Spears, played some pool, etc. etc. Everyone was having a dandy time.

It was at that moment, I saw him- ‘Random.’ We went to high school together, but were in different grades. I hadn’t seen him in quite some time, but remembered him being pretty popular. He called me by my last name, came up to me, and kissed me hello (a notion of which I hate, btw). We talked for a little bit and he was on his way.

After a couple more hours of dancing to songs sung by silly pop idols of the time like Britney Spears, NSync, and Destiny’s Child (this was all pre-Crazy: refer to ‘Vegan Friendly Jam… or jelly?’), I walked up to him with grace and confidence.

He told me he had to smoke a cigarette and led me outside.

One menthol later, we were in the parking lot behind a van, making out hardcore. It was then he asked, “Want to come back to my place tonight?”

Freeze! And evaluate:

Here I was, being offered sex by a guy who I barely talked to in high school and who I hadn’t seen in at least 3 years. Any sane girl, would kindly respond, no thank you. But being the drunken mess that I was, I paused… and accepted.

Unfreeze!

Me: I’d love to.

My friends gave me dirty looks as I climbed into his van (the very same 1 from earlier) and proceeded home with Random. At his house, we started going at it the second we reached his bedroom. In 2 seconds I was naked.

FYI- To go with my adorably stylish outfit, I was wearing these exceptionally high white and beige strappy wedges.

Random: Hey, can you leave your shoes on?

Me: Um… sure (I tried saying this as sexily as possible, but in reality was tripping over myself while attempting to put my 6 inch heels back on).

5 minutes later, after my shoes were on secure and tight- we were on his bed. He started groping my genitalia, and it was wonderful.

Random: I don’t know if it’s going to fit.

I had heard the rumors about the size of Random’s red lobster, but didn’t believe them.

Me: Oh, it’ll fit.

It was then I saw him grab a large box from his drawer. Written on the front of that box was the word, Magnum. He put his party hat on and went for the gold. 1 minute later I was in more pain than an impregnated Linda giving birth to a 12 pound, 12 ounce Harry… it was, how do you say?- awful.

Me: Okay, stop. Stop!

He pulled his mister out and I noticed it was condom-less.

Me: Where is it!?

Random: You told me to take it off, remember?

Me: I told you to take the condom off? No- I do not remember!

So not only was his cock a doo huge… but he was a psycho, as well.

We tried to make love again, but for the second time, I noticed his baby protector was off.

Me: Where is it!?

Random: You told me to take it off again.

Me: Holy mother of England! I did no such thing… who are you!?

At this point I should have gone home. I mean, not only was the sex excruciatingly painful, but this guy was a liar, too.

Of course, the alcohol led me in another direction.

Me: Why don’t we go in the shower or bathtub?

In a drunken state, I figured if we were in water maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad, and I at least wouldn’t have to worry about him taking his penile shield off, because he wouldn’t be wearing one.  Boy was I wrong. Not only was the baby making even more painful, but this time we were interrupted by his dad knocking on the bathroom door.

Dad: Son, are you okay in there? Why are you bathing at 4 in the morning?

Random’s mouth was on my chest.

Dad: What is going on in there?

Random: I’m fine, dad!

After 2 long and frustrating hours of trying to get off, we called it quits. I put on my clothes and shoes (had to take em off for the water show), and got in his car. Again, random kept referring to me by my last name.

Me: Do you even know my first name?

Random: Haha, what! Yes. Of course I do.

Me: So then what is it?

Random: I can’t believe you think I don’t know your name. I mean, really! That’s crazy.

A lot of people in high school did refer to me by my last name (I’m the youngest of 3), but I really wasn’t sure he (the guy who’s uterus eater was just inside me) knew any more than that.

Me: So what is it?

Silence.

Great! So not only did I sleep with, or rather attempt to sleep with, a guy with a huge dipper, but I slept with a psycho, a liar, and a scum bag, as well!

That day as I sat down for Thanksgiving dinner with my family, as we passed around the stuffing, cranberries, and corn, and told what we were thankful for, I belted out: Normal sized willies! …just kidding. But that’s certainly what I was thinking.

So the message to all you boys out there:

When the time comes for you to measure your Johnson, DON’T be disappointed if it’s no crowd pleaser. Most girls (unless they’re a porn star) aren’t interested. Then again, we don’t like ‘em small either. But yeah, that’s another blog for another day.

 

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Kurt Russell Eat Your Heart Out!
Wednesday, 02 January 2008

The fire was everywhere.  The smoke was stinging my lungs like a thousand needles. In the instants before I dashed out the window to safety, I looked around. I saw my grandfathers ashes, my Paul O'Neill signed baseball bat, my buddy Brett, and my faithful golden retriever, Fido. Certainly, something needed saving. Then, finally, I looked towards my desk, and knew exactly what I had to do.

eb46y91181176736.jpg

 

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Get Kicked Out of a Party This New Year!
Wednesday, 02 January 2008

ny_eve.jpgThe New Year is upon us, as first reported by Old Dirty Blog, and we all know what that means: parties!   As a way to pay back all you loyal readers I'd like to help you out by alerting you of several party-going faux pas in hopes that you may enjoy the entire night.  

So, submitted for your approval and in the spirit of the countdown to 2008, I give you ODB's top ten ways to get yourself thrown out of a party/bar so that you may avoid them.      *For the record, these are all from my own personal experience.

Number 10: Pull an upper decker (where you drop deuce in the top part of the toilet).        

Number 9: As the bartender is pouring champagne in the carefully lined up glasses follow him or her down the line chugging each glass then throwing it behind the bar.  

Number 8: Cause everyone to miss the countdown on the TV by changing it to Cinemax because you got a text message that Buff Bagwell was doing softcore porn.  

Number 7: Pork and dangle the vat of jungle juice (the pork and dangle is when you use your junk to stir).  

Number 6: When signing up for beer pong list your team name as "Team Mein Fuher" (this mainly applies to anyone partying at Brandeis University).  

Number 5: Sneak into people's bedrooms and visit multiple kiddie porn sites on their computer (in my defense the kid was a total douchebag).  

Number 4: Tell your Indian hostess that she smells like curry.  While still inside of her.  

Number 3: Attempt to sneak a keg out of the back of the bar and while being pursued knock down the other kegs to block the bouncer's path.

Number 2: Get walked in on by an angry guy whose girlfriend is going down on you in the bathroom of a bar and try to alleviate the situation by telling him that you made her call you by his name while she was working it and then while trying to escape accidentally breaking the bathroom sink and causing a massive water break.  

And the Number 1 way to get booted from a party/bar this New Year's Eve: Hook up with the host's mentally handicapped sister. 

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Vegan Friendly Jam- Or Jelly?
Thursday, 20 December 2007
greek_extra_virgin_olive_oil.jpgCrazy (my mentally ustable ex boyfriend) and I wanted to play us some Jack and Jill, but there was 1 problem- Auntie Flo was in town.  While Auntie Flo typically doesn't prevent me from getting buckwild, Crazy had a problem with it.  Now there's 1 very obvious approach to getting around this kind of situation, and considering we were both very ancy, we decided to take it.  Crazy whipped out his trombone and told me to bend over ...I was getting it in-the-butt. 
 

 
It seemed like such a great idea (I enjoy a little coitus-sodomus
every now and again), however there was 1 problem- Crazy didn't have
any axle grease.  Spit, water, astro glide, rum, wine, champage,
WHATEVER… any of these lube substitutes should come to the mind of a
normal human being.  Crazy, on the other hand, being the karma
believing vegan freak that he is, went into the kitchen and returned
with a bottle of extra virgin olive oil.

 
Me: What is that!?  What are you doing!?
 
Crazy: It's olive oil.  Bend over.  It's all natural.
 
Why didn't he go get some carrots, tomatoes, and onions, as well.
Literally toss me a little salad, while he's at it.

 
Me: There is no way in hell you are lubing me up with that!
 
Crazy: Stop being a baby… bend over.
 
I could not believe the situation that I was in.  Did he seriously
want to lube me up with the very same substance I used to fry my
vegetables with earlier that night?

 
I started to lose my appetite, but then said screw it…
 
I gave him the nod of approval, turned around, and bent over.
 
The next night for dinner, as I grabbed the frying pan and opened the
fridge, I had a thought- maybe I'll just order in tonight.
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