See if you gain weight as a celebrity, you can either go to Closer, whining every week about your ‘diet hell’ and how you can’t give up kebabs or whatever, or you can come wit’ it and dress like the sluttiest divorcee on a ‘gals’ night out in Vegas ALL THE TIME. Xtina chose the latter and I wholeheartedly support her decision. If you’re pretending you wouldn’t just because she’s gained a few, you need to find a mirror because its time for some self reflection.
18-30 unemployment is at a record high, so we all know this feeling. A desperate need for visuals to jack off to. Your libido is in a coma, your dick feels like the discarded fat from a piece of steak. You just need a visual, just something to trigger arousal in you. It’s 11pm, you’re surrounded by empty cans of Apple & Kiwi Relentless. You’re flicking through Facebook like a scene from fucking NCIS looking for anything that can just bring some life down there. Ex-girlfriends? No. Random broads in bikinis? No. That one broad in sales on holiday, smoking a shisha pipe and you can kinda pretend it’s a cock if you squint? No no no. And then… it happens. It’s your one of your bros’ girlfriend’s Facebook page. She’s just there, being herself, not being enticing or enchanting or pushing her tits up or anything. And you just pause and have this conversation in your head which is, on the one hand, can I morally do this without feeling like disrespecting one of my best friends? And on the other hand, it’s, “damn, imagine that fucking cunt in some sort of duck egg blue corset being fucked in the ass by Brian Pumper, damn son, that’s fucking hot”.
The great thing about Vickie Guerrero is that her husband is dead and despite entertaining us a lot during his life he was also a junkie and a terrible father, so you don’t really need to worry about any disrespect there. Also, she looks like the head librarian at a provincial library letting her hair down at a town hall function.
These dudes were raised Mormon so they have all kind of issues and they don’t even know it. You’d be in a Clinton mask and ball and gag before you could say ”anti-white’ super pac ad”. Plus they look so alike you could sleep with all of them and it wouldn’t even matter. ‘I swear baby, I didn’t know it was Tagg’. Finally, rich + sheltered + used to trading wealth for influence = at least three Birkin bags. I want to stimulate their packages.
That weird goth girl who cut herself and drew pentagrams all over her RE exercise book turned out to be this hottie. You should know that. And it should kill you inside. The producers of ‘The Craft’ consulted her about certain aspects of the movie because she’s ACTUALLY a WICCAN. The sex might involve a ceremonial knife but try to tell me you care. Even if you say no now one night with her and you’d be standing outside her house holding a boombox playing ‘Don’t Leave Me Girl’ and crying like James Van Der Beek. Just like the rest of us. Don’t front.
I feel like when Jesus was seeing the future and crying those tears of blood, he got Samantha Brick in some hideous La Senza teddy, rubbing her husband’s nasty hobbit feet and smirking about all those fat, ugly, lazy wives who don’t have a nice Coq Au Vin on the stove. Samantha, who ‘blames’ her ‘self confidence’ on her father, yet is married to a guy who regularly weighs her and looks like a racist French caricature, is a terrifying example of low self esteem. Why? Because girls with self confidence don’t go around talking about how hot they are all the time!
They don’t marry dudes who upon first glance, you would assume were almost certainly on some sort of sex offender register. They don’t ‘adhere to opinions’ from those dudes about their hair, clothes and appearance. And they CERTAINLY don’t tell people about it. Her self confidence is so low its like she’s broken through the fourth wall, some next level shit. She’s the Rainman of delusion. I don’t know if I want to do her or be her. But since this is IDCIYWIW, I’d say this would be the world’s most epic hatefuck. Like Gale Force winds, oceans crashing into cliffs, Earth Song playing in the background epic. Plus, she looks like ‘the hot teacher’ at an all boys school. And you know she’d wear the outfit.
P.S Mary Beard is fucking awesome and would trounce Samantha Brick in any debate apart from ‘the best way to pretend your bleached blonde hair isn’t thinning’.
IDCIYWIW is a byword for promptness around these parts, so you know we had to hit you up with an entry about a person whose brief moment of celebrity has already been long forgotten and is resultantly about as famous as Michael Fenton Stevens. Google it.
Look, there’s a million and one reasons men are better than women but nowhere is it more pronounced than men’s superior sexual imaginations. Stay with me for just a second: Who’s the latest hot shit guy amongst bitches these days?
OF COURSE you want to fuck Ryan Gosling. He’s young, successful, handsome and wiv a bod 2 die 4. YOU’RE MEANT TO.
But whilst you’re all thinking you’re kooky for fancying Professor Brian Cox or flicking your bean over gifs of Ryan Gosling being “all kyoot n stuff” in Blue Valentine, us men are over here are getting our dicks put on swole by a middle aged reformed goth with an acting career as mediocre as her looks.
Laydeez, until I start seeing FUCK YEAH JAMIE AFRO FROM X FACTOR 2009 tumblrs, y’all kinks ain’t shit.
You know the legal enough chicks you see squeezed into the tightest, most revealing ensembles from their whoredrobes, pole dancing and asserting their right to smoke crack with gang members, in dimly lit intros on episodes with names like ‘which of these 16 men is the father’. Even though your gut reaction may be ‘how can you even turn a profit on $10 all nighters?!’ if your immediate reaction after that is ‘hypothetically, how could I get in contact?’ you need not feel ashamed.
I’m telling you, there’s a reason these shows are aired before your first classes but after your parents have left for work.
If Mystic Meg was my age she’d probably have a tumblr account where she’d regurgitate internet content and mix in some b&w pictures of her topless back on some tryna get my dick hard but not be called out for being an attention hoe shit. I’d probably follow her on twitter too and she’d probably be on some constantly retweeting @ZodiacFacts shit about how “As a #Pisces you have strange desires, impulses, and feelings which are difficult to describe or understand”. I’d duly unfollow her but then she’d twitpic a picture of her new ‘nailz’ or some other accessory no-one gives a fuck about with a hint of cleavage and I’d be sucked back in.
I can front all I want, but when it comes down to it, I’m just another hungry hungry hippo looking for an easy smash.
I have always suspected that if I were a dude, I’d have burned out on drink and drugs and girls with ‘cracking bristols’ by 20, lost my hair and confidence at 30 and by 40 would have settled down at a soul destroying office job, carving out a niche as the ‘wacky’ guy, making jokes about ‘tang’ to cover for the naked, heart rending desolation in my eyes. And then I’d come home and my 300lb bitch wife would yell at me for a while about what a loser I am, still covered in her own lipstick from her afternoon tryst with Steve, the redneck plumber next door and I’d try to drown her out by imagining having my way with the office p.o.a, Stacy and then shooting myself in the supply closet. I like Charlie Brooks because she kind of looks like how I imagine Stacy.
I dunno if any of you have ever fucked with the type of girls who have opinions4u about feminism and like to write about them in punishing length on Wordpress blogs, but I don’t recommend it as a long-term option. The nuclear levels of daddy issues prevalent in that kinda dame might seem like the sort of thing you can have endless fun manipulating at first, but eventually every sexual encounter is gonna end up with at least one of you having “WHORECUNT” written across your forehead in Mac lipstick and an ass that looks like you just got beasted by E Honda.
But if you’re gonna put up with that stuff, you may as well go straight to the queen bee. From what I understand of this wacky ol’ subculture, Sady Doyle is basically the Nah Right of feminist bloggers, except with a lot less proclivity towards sucking dick. Her writing style mainly involves LOTS OF CAPITAL LETTERS like Melody Maker in 1998 never happened, and the usual “The lyrical conceits of Taylor Swift/gender relations in Judd Apatow movies/the rape and murder of Kitty Genovese: is it a good thing or a bad thing? I think it’s a good thing, apart from when it’s a bad thing, in which case it should be banned”. Anyway, that kinda forced anger and put-upon need to be SHOUTING A LOT about LOTS OF MINOR POP CULTURAL DEBRIS that OCCASIONALLY FEATURES SOMETHING SLIGHTLY OFFENSIVE IF YOU LOOK AT IT FROM THE VIEWPOINT OF A RICH WHITE GIRL BUT THEN GO “I KNOW AS A RICH WHITE GIRL I AM NOT REALLY IN A POSITION TO TALK ABOUT THIS BUT I WILL ANYWAY” is kinda what makes her mad blappable in my book. Anyone with that sort of personality has got to be so… studied sexually. The inverse of the “librarian whose secretly putting her mouth one side of glory-holes” stereotype. Sex with Sady Doyle would be the most perfunctory, acceptable sex imaginable. It’d be like sticking your dick in Tony Pulis’s management.
I kept my ears to the streets, checked The Martorialist. He’s triple platinum, getting 50k readers a week. (If you haven’t heard this bint in action, then get learned.)
We’ve all been there, on the bus minding our own business when a young white trash single mum dripping in that Juicy Couture tracksuit swagger pushing a pram like her baby daddy Jamal pushes Moroccan hash to the kids gets on too. Just as you do the standard ‘what colour is the baby’ pram check, the bitch suddenly bends over into your field of view as she picks up a dropped cuddly toy to reveal her g-string with the plastic diamanté triangle whale tail and you get semi bonk on.