#Influenster #MakeDay1Last #preferenceinfinia

As luck would have it I was chosen in exchange for my honest opinion two free boxes of L'oreal Superior Preference Infinia hair dye in their new colour refreshing formula, deep black shade.
I received these items via Influenster, which is an online tool that sends their community products from a variety of categories so ape rain may try and then review for them. It's an excellent way to try new and favourite items. It keeps one sharp as you're required to write cohesive reviews.
I enjoyed my trial product. I specially appreciated how the colour refresher left my hair as shiny as day one when I used it days later.

Shit That Just Will Not Hit The Fan

Inevitbly when you're in need of a crisis to weasle your way out of something there is zilch on your radar. Any other day and you'd have learnt you were at one point a conjoined sexless twin or that your Mother is in fact your younger sister and who you'd thought to be your sister is in actuality your child that you'd been chemically induced as to erase your memory. But when you've popped a fresh bowl of popcorn and have battened down the hatches ready for the drama all is calm on the home front. Picking a fight with a loved one will have them going out of their way to "understand" your woes and may inspire their heroic nature and they'll be compelled to help better you when really all you need is a valid reason to decline an invite. Note any other day said loved one will erupt in your face taking everything you love and setting it on fire. I'll cut to the chase here-virtually any method you try to employ will back fire and the only solution is to shoot yourself in the foot. Call from the hospital pay phone and half the job is done (if they've call display) ensure you upload photos of yourself in various potentially fatal type poses on all media sites, DM your Twitter followers and ask they RT your photos of malaise, encourage FB friends to share your status and hash tag the entire story on IG. Remember this you are very ill, too ill to have done whatever it was you'd no intentions of doing anyways but still, try to maintain a near death image. No smiling. Use a lot of sad face emoticons. Make sure you devote at least nine sentences to how bummed you are to be in hospital and not at wherever you weren't going to in the first place and now can anyone actually blame you? You're in hospital with a gun shot wound. If that isn't enough of a get out of plans pass then quite frankly nothing you'd came up with would've sufficed. You'll be branded as a no show and then when you don't receive any invites will become despondent and soon the cycle will start anew. The best piece of advice I can give you is that if you are really serious about not making an appearance you dig and throw yourself into a shallow grave and wait for your last breath.

An Irish Blessing

For all those mothers raising kids without fathers, who choose to stay home on the weekends instead of going out with their friends. For those mothers who weep in frustration because you work a full time job while being both parents. For those mothers who never cry in front of their child because all you want them to know is happiness. For the mothers who put their children before their own happiness. And for the mothers who don't have a partner to tell you how amazing you, or a partner to hold your hand when you feel lost... You are some of the most amazing mothers in the universe. May you always have walls for the winds, a roof for the rain, tea beside the fire, laughter to cheer you, and those you love near you. Happy Mother's Day.

When Life Hands You Lemons

Make lemonade.

I've never understood this saying simply because life has only handed me lemons. I'm missing the other two ingredients and from personal experience life isn't in the business of handing them out. Basically, when life hands me lemons it's my job to find the ingredients to make lemonade with. Having to do that negates the whole negative into positive thing. Here I am with a bag full of fucking lemons and a bunch of assholes telling me to make lemonade. Even if I had the ingredients to make it with, how the shit is having a jug of lemonade going to make anything better? It's useless. So if I make it, instead of a bag of lemons I'm carrying around a jug of lemonade that no one wants to buy unless it's spiked with vodka. Life sure as shit isn't going to hand me a bottle of that. Which means, I'm now stuck with something that I don't even want, and I'm an idiot for wasting all that time trying to make something I hate into something I have no interest in. This is the point where I realize that life is the biggest asshole I'll ever have to deal with. So the next time life hands you lemons, don't waste your time making lemonade. Just be thankful that life was awesome enough to hand you lemons and not herpes.

A Threesome He'll Never Forget

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What a Dick

I stood in the middle of a bar, drink in hand and pleasantly drunk. I swayed back and forth with the rhythm of drunken homosexuals singing bad karaoke versions of otherwise fabulous songs. She stood behind behind me and off to the right and eventually she caught my eye. She had long blond hair, perky tits, long legs and a bit of a mustache. I turned to her, locked eyes, took a sip of whiskey and blurted out "Hey, are you a fucking dude?" She smiled and averted her eyes. "No I'm a lesbian." I paused before taking another sip of whiskey and said "Well, you look like you're sporting and X and a Y chromosome to me." She took a step closer me and and introduced herself as Monique. She told me she thought I was beautiful and I took another sip of whiskey. "Oh yeah? I think you look like a dude." I said with a smirk on my face. "No, I'm a lesbian stuck in a man's body." I looked her over and said "Nice tits, are they real?" She looked at me and said "They are now." I knew my original assumption had been correct. "So you're a dude who likes chicks but you're a lesbian? Yeah, that makes SO much sense. Do you have a cock or a pussy?" She grabbed my hand, smiled at me and put my hand on her crotch. My jaw must've dropped because she said "Oh you like that don't you?" Not only was she a man but she was sporting one of the biggest cocks my hand had ever touched. She leaned in and whispered in a voice that was no longer feminine "You ever been fucked by a dude dressed up as a chick?" I pulled back, looked at her for a moment and said "No I'm not into men who are incapable of being a man." I grabbed his cock a little harder, kissed his cheek and walked off.

Trust your instincts. If she looks like a dude, chances are she's got a huge cock.

Please tell me I'm adopted...

I need to tell this story…

My Dad can’t spell for shit. It’s always been a joke that without spell check, he’d be completely lost. There are, those precious rare occasions, when even spell check throws it’s hands in the air and goes, “what the fuck?”

———

me: “Hello.”

dad: “Hey, it’s your Dad. My PowerBook is broken.”

me: “What makes you think that?”

dad: “Spell check isn’t working.”

me: “Ok, explain.”

dad: “I’m typing in a simple word and it can’t find the god damn thing. It’s not even giving me choices.”

me: “What’s the word?… hold on, Ashley’s (my sister) beeping through”

dad: “Oh, okay.”

———-

me: “Hey, what’s up?”

my sister: “Dad’s gonna call you. Be ready.”

me: “He’s on the other line.”

my sister: “Has he told you yet?”

me: “Told me what?”

my sister: “Oh fuck. I’m not spoiling it. Jesus, I hope we’re adopted. Bye. Have fun.”

———-

me: “Dad?”

dad: “Yeah, she okay?”

me: “Yep. Question about Halloween. What word is spell checker choking on?”

dad: “Sub Jest.”

me: “Huh? Sub Jest? Like two words?”

dad: “No, suuuubbbbb jjjjeeeeeessssttttt. Why is this so damn hard?”

me: “Dad, I don’t know what word that is either. Can you use it in a sentence?”

dad: “Ok, I’ll try” ….. silence…. “Ok, why the fuck can’t this fucking mac spell sub jest?”

me: “Dad, calm down. That’s not a word.” (stifling laughter) “What sentence are you typing?”

dad: “It’s a note to your aunt. I want her to SUB JEST to your cousin that they come up the night before the party. Ugh, I hate computers.”

me: “Suggest Dad. The word is suggest.”

dad: “That’s what I said.”

me: “How’d you spell it?”

dad: “S. U. B. G. E. S. T.”

me: “I suggest you spell it S-U-G-G-E-S-T.”

dad: “I guess your sister was right then. Gotta go.”

me: “Bye Dad.”

One For the Road

Masturbation can be a fun activity for one to do when they're alone. I often masturbate, and I use the term "often" instead of throwing out the actual number of times I masturbate in a day to make me seem like less of a sexual deviant. The truth is I masturbate between 3-5 times a day, if not more. I understand the need to masturbate, to have an orgasm but the kid I'm about to tell you about used his masturbation to invade my privacy. Not only was it disturbing but it was HILARIOUS.

At the time I lived with my boyfriend and two of his brothers. Not only was I surrounded by men who probably masturbated at the drop of a towel but I was also in my room masturbating most of the day. What? I have needs. One day while my boyfriend was at work, his brothers were mowing the lawn with a friend of theirs. The youngest brother asked me to take him to the store and I obliged. Upon returning to the house I decided it was time for me to take a shower and get ready because my boyfriend and I were going out that afternoon. I took my shower, masturbated and dried off. I opened my cabinet searching for my bottle of lotion and it was nowhere to be found. Now this really pissed me off because it was a brand new bottle of lotion and it was mine. No one should have been in or near my room, let alone in my bathroom stealing my lotion. I got dressed, went into the living room and interrogated the boys about my lotion. They both denied taking it so I went into their bathroom and looked in the cabinet. BINGO, my fucking lotion. Oh but wait, what's this? WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?! Next to my bottle of lotion lie a pair of light blue, skimpy panties. MY light blue, skimpy panties. Lotion in one hand, panties in the other I stormed into the living room snorting and stomping like a bull.

"Which one of you sick fucks decided it was okay to steal my panties AND my lotion?"

They both sat there, mouths ajar, looking at each other.

"I don't know if this is some sort of weird fucking joke but this is not okay. It's not okay for you to touch my things, let alone go into my room when I'm not here."

The youngest brother quickly denies followed by the oldest.

"So if it wasn't either of you, then who the fuck was it?"

They sit in silence, still staring at each other. I could almost see the light bulb appear over the youngest brother's head. He explains that the kid was here had done similar things before and that's why he was living with his aunt. Who happened to be my boyfriend's father's secretary. The oldest told me that while the youngest and I were gone the boy had come inside to use the restroom and it had taken him quite a while. He chalked it up to the kid taking a massive shit. Then he also said that the kid had commented on how hot I was.

So apparently, this kid decides to waltzes into my fucking room, dig through my drawers, find a pretty pair of panties, raid my fucking bathroom cabinet, steal my lotion, go to the OTHER bathroom and masturbate. As if by not masturbating in MY bathroom he was showing a little bit of respect. I'm faced with the decision to call my boyfriend's father, who is a devout Christian and explain to him what just happened so he can tell the boy's aunt or I can just let it be.

Fuck that. I'm telling.

I call my boyfriend's father and begin to explain what happened as the bothers listen in. The three of us are sat around the kitchen table laughing so hard we're crying. He asks me if what I was telling him was the truth or if I was just playing a prank on him. I explain that even though we're all dying of laughter that the situation is indeed serious.

"Oh my, OH MY."

I could hear the embarrassment in his voice as he realized he'd have to explain the situation to his secretary.

He does so and she apologizes to me a million times. Every time I see her in public she does all she can to avoid me and if a collision is unavoidable she does her best not to make eye contact with me while we speak. It must be odd speaking to the woman your nephew sexually assaulted in his mind while holding her panties in one hand and jerking off with stolen lotion in the other.

I'm all for self gratification and fantasizing but for fucks sake, if you're going to masturbate with someone else's lotion while sniffing their panties PUT THEM BACK WHEN YOU'RE FINISHED SO NO ONE KNOWS.

This has been a lesson in masturbation.
The more you know, the more you can blow.

Social Media Explained

Facebook - “I love horses.”

MySpace - “Beating a dead horse sent you a message.”

Twitter - “A dead horse? I beat dead unicorns.”

Tumblr - “Truthful Tuesday, I’m obsessed with unicorns. Sexually. Here’s a picture of my boobs.”

Witstream - “So, how about that Charlie Sheen roast? Tiger blood!”

Social Security Numbers' Mystery Unmasked

We all know that a social security number is made up of the “Area number”, the “Group number” and the “Serial number” (AAA-GG-SSSS), but did you know there is a mathematical formula behind them that proves Chaos Theory? Try this out, I promise it works. That and I have way too much fucking time on my hands.

If you take the sum of the first three digits, plus the sum of the second two digits, minus the sum of the last four digits, multiplied by the three digit number created by the first, fourth and seventh digits, then divided by difference between the first and last digits given the last is larger (difference between second and eighth if this is the case) then if the middle two digits are less than 50 you round the number to the tenth, if the middle two digits are more than 50 you round the number to the hundredth, if the middle two digits are equal to 50 you round to the whole.

Take that final number and multiply it by sixth digit, minus the seventh digit, divided by the eighth digit and add the ninth. Square the number. Write that number down, we’ll come back to it.

Add each of the individual numbers together, subtract your birthdate, subtract the year of your birth (ie subtract 1,975 if you were born in 1975) and add the number of siblings you have (only those born before you). If this number is a positive number, take the square root and round to the nearest whole number. If it is a negative number, subtract it from itself (ie, if -1985, subtract -1985 from it.). Multiply this number by the number you have wrote down from the last part.

This final number is the amount of you I expect actually mathematically finished this equation. Especially on a friday night.

Math courtesy my last three Irish Car Bombs.

1-800-SEX-CHAT

My first caller when I was working as a phone sex operator was very quick. I had never ever had phone sex before. I told him it was my first time and he told me that I sounded very sexy. He asked me put my hand in my shirt and start playing with my breast and I told him I was. Then he said he wanted to get fucked in the ass. So I told him I had a 12inch strap on ready to take him. Then I heard an "ugh yeah" followed by the click of him hanging up. This took about 30 seconds. It was so quick I thought we got disconnected. The other girls told me that most calls end with a hang up. So that was a very encouraging feeling starting a new job.

What I really liked about being a phone sex operator was the variety and diversity of people's fetishes who called in. Every time my phone rang I didn't have a clue what the caller was going to want, unless I recognized the number on the caller ID. Some men called in so frequently and talked to the girls so much that they even had special accounts set up at discounted rates. But every new caller always got me excited. I would look at each one as an opportunity to learn something new.

Hands down the weirdest caller that I had was a guy who was into vacuum cleaners. Anything thing to do with a vacuum would turn him on. He said the fantasy came from a cartoon he saw when he was a boy. It was a Hansel and Gretel story where instead of the witch having a broom she had a vacuum that she used to chase the kids around, suck them up and they would be trapped in the cleaner's bag. So I would make up stories about chasing children and chasing him around the house with my magic vacuum. Needless to say he was a happy customer.

Bottle Butt

We all have our quirks, dark secrets and fetishes. Mine happens to be bondage and spanking. My best friend, however, is at the opposite end of the spectrum. I'm very submissive with men in the bedroom and she tends to be more dominant. I got to spend quite a bit of time with her yesterday, which was awesome because we hadn't seen one another in 7 months. She had a Karate tournament and asked me to ride along and I did. We had to pick up my friend Joe (future boy toy) from Ball Ground on the way to Greenville, so on the ride she and I discussed men. Our favorite subject. I have never known any women to be as boy crazy as she and I. After we picked up Joe (future boy toy) we started talking about the weirdest things we've ever made a guy do. Oh, I forgot to mention that not only is she a Domme but she also likes "Panty Boys" as she calls them. She LOVES making men dress up as women and basically emasculating them. It's something, as a submissive, I could NEVER do. I prefer the masculinity of man be intact when he shoves his cock inside of me. Call me old fashioned but I LOVE a manly man. You know, the kind of man who can house a family of birds in his chest hair. The kind of man who can pick me up and throw me over his shoulders when I refuse to go with him. The kind of man who puts me in my place when I won't make his favorite sandwich. I can't deal with "Panty Boys", I'd eat them alive.

Back to the matter at hand.

I asked her what the weirdest thing she's ever made a guy do and what she told me had me in tears and it had Joe's (future boy toy) asshole clenched so tight that I was sure when he stood up he'd take the interior with him.

She met a guy online and began chatting with him. As their relationship grew they decided to play a bit. This guy gets off on being told what to do so it's not like he was being forced to do any of this. She was drinking Moonshine one night and got a little More than frisky. She was having a bit of fun watching him masturbate and she noticed a beer bottle in the background. She demanded that he pick up the beer bottle and shove it into his ass. He obliged. As he's basically fucking himself in the ass with this fucking beer bottle she tells him to masturbate. So there this dude is, ass naked with a bottle shoved right up his ass, jerking it on web cam. She's loving this shit. He's getting ready to cum and she yells at him to bend over and cum on his own fucking face AND HE FUCKING DOES IT. The dude busts a nut in his own face, bottle up his ass, then proceeds to lick his own fucking cum from around his mouth.

At this point, I'm laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face. Joe (future boy toy) is completely silent. Lips and asshole puckered. No story in my vault could top hers so I didn't even tell one.

Later she's talking about her fantasy to fuck the Weasley's from Harry Potter. All of them, even Jenny. Her fantasy is having an orgy with all of them and being able to cast a spell on herself to have extra holes to take all of the men at the same time. Me, being a fucking idiot, asked her "Will it feel good in the extra holes?" She looks at me, serious look across her face and says "Of course it feels good, it's fucking magic." I die laughing.

After we dropped Joe (future boy toy) off, our conversation drifted into more serious topics. I realized that no matter how far apart she and I are, she will always be fucking weirder than me.

This is why good friends are so very important, because who the fuck else is going to stand beside you through all the weird fucking shit that you do?

Popped By The Cops

When I was 17 I decided to go to Job Corps because I had already missed so much of my Senior year that no matter how high my grades were I'd still have to repeat it. Job Corps was a great decision not because of the job training, but because I lived on campus and it was nothing but a tiny town full of teenagers and young adults. I can still recall seeing people fucking everywhere behind buildings. Good thing that Job Corps handed out condoms or there could have been another baby boom. On the weekends you were allowed to leave campus IF you were over 18. Which meant that my friends and I fell just under that category. However, being the cunning little fucks that we were we found a way out which required climbing over a fence without being seen, walking through a cornfield, walking down the highway WITHOUT being seen by the officer running the front gate and walking down the train tracks (trestle and all)into the tiny town of San Marcos, TX.

A few of us decided to go into town one Saturday to go swimming at the waterfall. The group included me, Steven, Matt and Waldo. Yeah, Waldo. The most cock-eyed son of bitch I have ever met. He STILL holds that record to this day. After passing through turmoil just to get into town we go into Hastings, which is a huge music/book store, to cool off before we continued to the waterfall. While we were there Matt bought a Walkman and an Eminem tape. Yeah you just read that correctly. Tape. Walkman. After we were done, we made our way to the waterfall, smoked some Kush with the college kids that were there, swam and just enjoyed being free for a day. It started raining so Steven and I got out and walked into the woods. Somethings went on, a few firsts but that's for another story. Let's just say that I've had that awesome sex scene beneath the canopy of the trees as the rain drizzles down on me.

As the rain came down harder we figured we'd better get back on the road before it got any worse. We made our way back to Hastings, went in and sat down. I got bored sitting there so I decided to walk around. I noticed one of the employees following me around. I went over to the guys and I sat down. I leaned over to Matt and I said

"Hey dude, either the guy who works here has the hots for me or he thinks I'm shoplifting."

Matt basically told me I was nuts so I beckoned him to watch. Without hesitation as soon as I got up the employee was back on my ass. After a while of playing musical dick with that guy I told the guys it was time to go.

Now, before we entered the building we were made to put our bags behind the counter. We went to the counter, grabbed our bags and proceeded outside. I was the last one out. As I walk out the security alarm goes off. I was already embarrassed by the fact the alarm had gone off causing EVERYONE in the store to stop and stare but as one of the employees grabbed my arms I could hear the snarky comments of parents to their children.

"And that's what happens if you shoplift,
you don't want to be like her do you?"
"No, Ma'am."
"Good."

The employee asked me to empty my bag and I did. There it was, Matt's Walkman still in the case with no receipt. I knew at that moment I was fucked because without a proper receipt it looks like I stole the Walkman. The cops were called and when they arrived they took me into a tiny room. One officer left to ask the boys some questions and I was stuck with Officer Wonderful in that tiny little room. He began to interrogate me and I asked to see the video tape of me shoplifting. I then explained the situation, told him about my bag being behind the counter and that there was no possible way that I could've hidden the Walkman on my persons, grabbed my bag, and shoved it in there all before walking out of the door. The counter was right there next to the door. He claimed I had stolen it earlier that day.

That was the moment I lost my cool. I screamed profanities at him, I spit at him and I kicked the chair he was sitting in. He got up, grabbed me and slammed me against the wall. I threw my head back catching the bottom of his chin and he let me go. I turned around, hands clenched at my side, waiting for him to draw his baton. He never did. We just stood there staring at each other. At that moment his partner came in, whispered something to the cop, handed him the Walkman and walked out. The cop approached me with a bit of malice in his eyes and I took a step forward, greeting him with my pride that he'd tried to take from me. He handed me the Walkman and explained that the store had checked the bar code on the device and it showed that it had in fact been purchased earlier that day. I knew that he knew he was in the wrong for the way he interrogated me, instigated me. He apologized, stuck his hand out to shake mine and I spit in his hand. Not just a little spit. I hocked a loogie and spit it in his hand. I could see the anger seething beneath his skin but there was nothing he could do because he KNEW my Miranda rights had been violated.

I walked out of the store with my pride still intact and then I kicked Matt right in the fucking dick for leaving that fucking Walkman in the package with no receipt. We made it back to campus, no scars, no bruises, just pride, just laughter and a bottle of MD 20/20 that some old man bought for us.

All in all,
It was a great fucking day.

Short n Sweet

Hey all! It's me, Steph, better known as The Google Goddess or also The Akron Bean.

You may recognize me from a fantastic podcast called "The Last Podcaster Standing."

I've been invited here to share my thoughts and feelings on whatever I might come up with(which could be dangerous).

I just wanted to give a quick introduction and give a huge thanks to Bone for the invite to do this. It truly is an honor and it gives me a great way to let go of all the funny, fucked up shit I deal with on a daily basis, plus give you updates from the show...you guys really don't know what you're in for!

Expect a lot from me very soon!! So, that's that. Okay...moving on.

#TLPS

G.G.

It could be a crisis, but I can't tell because I'm high

It could be a crisis, but I can't tell because I'm high

The funny thing about love is the way it enjoys anal.

Seriously, love will sneak up behind you and jam it's dry, 9 inch rod in your ass.

If you take a look back at my life (it's in the semen stained VHS case next to Babes in Boyland), you would notice a pattern of bad decisions, that I can always link back to a man. And one time a woman.

I attract domineering men. Conquering a lady like me is a challenge to some. Then it's a game. I want to win the game, so I'm all in. Immediately. I've got 8200 in chips and they are all on red. Fast, hard, hot and heavy love. Like your first high. Like 160 in a new camaro. Like your first orgasm. It will never be that good ever again. You will be chasing the dragon for the remainder of your relationship.

You're winning, buying round after round, having a great time, then BAM. Wrong hole, love!

That one straw. It dropped and the camel is fucked. You're also fucked.

I have acted crazy over relationships, not because of deep feelings for another human being, but because of my fear of loss. I mean losing the game. Defeat. I do not take it well.
When I hear a Lifetime wife beater say "if I can't have you, no one will" I can relate. He's got it right there. If you aren't going to be mine, you're damn well not going to be anyone Else's either.

I've burned clothing, smashed a windshield with my easel, broke into an exes apartment, slandered and most likely libeled as well. I have poor decision making skills. And love brings out the worst in me.

I blame public schools. And the boys I slept with while I was there.

Mikey's Last Stand

Originally posted in it's entirety at getoffendedbone.tumblr.com

My name’s Michael but everyone calls me Squeal. I fucking hate it, so please call me Mikey. I just turned 8 years old… physically. I’m much older mentally. I have to be, otherwise I’d be dead by now, like my mother. My dad killed her. He’s a fucking asshole. Oh, he’s still around, he didn’t go to jail or anything. It’s not like he killed her with his own hands or a gun or anything. No, he made her do it herself like he did everything else. It kind of makes sense if you really think about it. He made her do everything for him, even cut up his god damn steak. Only fitting that his constant mental abuse drove her to parking her car in the garage, turning on the key, and turning off her life.

She did leave me a note. At least.

Dear Michael,

Mommy loves you. I'm sorry I have to leave you but I think it's best. Don't hate me. I know you're stronger than me and much smarter. I know you'll find your own way out.

Love, Mom

It could have said the same thing in as few as three words, “Fuck You Michael”.

How can an 8 year old possibly talk like this? you’re probably asking yourself right now. I’m sort of a genius with an abusive cocksucker of a father who only ever taught me one thing… excessive alcohol consumption leads to vomit on his 8 year old’s bedroom floor and subsequently the before mentioned 8 year old son cleaning it all up the next morning. Like I said, Cocksucker.

Squeal was the nickname given to me by Fred Cooper the first day of 7th grade. Yep, genius, remember? He said I looked like a tiny little piglet compared to everyone else. From that moment forth, everyone squeals and oinks like a little pig when I come into a classroom. The name stuck, unfortunately, and I was forever dubbed, “Squeal” by my peers.

Click here to read the whole story