101 Big Dick Jokes (Part One)

**The material for this post was obtained from a nine-page chapter from Drew Carey's book, Dirty Jokes and Beer. Hardbound, got it for P90 in a bargain bin. Good find, noh?


1. My dick is so big, there's still some snow on it in the summertime.
2. My dick is so big, I went to The Viper Room and my dick got right in. I had to stand there and argue with the doorman.
3. My dick is so big, I have to call it Mr. Dick in front of company.
4. My dick is so big, it won't return Spielberg's calls.
5. My dick is so big, it graduated a year ahead of me from high school.
6. My dick is so big, it has an elevator and a lobby.
7. My dick is so big, it has better credit than I do.
8. My dick is so big, clowns climb out of it when I cum.
9. My dick is so big, it was once overthrown by a military coup. It's now known as the Democratic Republic of My Dick.
10. My dick is so big, it has casters.
11. My dick is so big, I'm already fucking a girl tomorrow.
12. My dick is so big, ships use it to find their way into the harbor.
13. My dick is so big, there was once a movie called Godzilla vs. My Dick.
14. My dick is so big, it lives next door.
15. My dick is so big, I entered it in a big-dick contest and it came in first, second, and third.
16. My dick is so big, it votes.
17. My dick is so big, it's a better dresser than I am.
18. My dick is so big, it has a three-picture deal.
19. My dick is so big, the head of it has only seen my balls in pictures.
20. My dick is so big, Henry Aaron used it to hit his 750th homerun.
21. My dick is so big, it runs the 440 in fifteen seconds.
22. My dick is so big, it is the Walrus, koo koo ga joob. (wtf?)
23. No matter where I go, my dick always gets there first.
24. My dick is so big, it takes longer lunches than I do.
25. My dick is so big, it contributed $50,000 to the Democratic National Committee.
26. My dick is so big, it was once the ambassador to China.
27. My dick is so big, it's gone condo.
28. My dick is so big, it hit .370 in the minors before it hurt its knee.
29. My dick is so big, it was almost drafted by the Cleveland Browns, but Art Modell didn't want a bigger dick than he was on the team.
30. My dick is so big, I use the Eiffel Tower as a French tickler.
31. My dick is so big, when it rains the head of my dick doesn't get wet.
32. My dick is so big, I could wear it as a tie if I wasn't so afraid of getting a hard-on and killing myself.
33. My dick is so big, I have to use an elastic zipper.
34. My dick is so big, it has feet.
35. My dick is so big, a homeless family lives underneath it.
36. My dick is so big, it takes four fat women and a team of Clydesdales to jack me off.
37. My dick is so big, my mother was in labor for three extra days.
38. My dick is so big, they use the bullet train to test my condoms.
39. My dick is so big, it has investors.
40. My dick is so big, it seats six.
41. My dick is so big, I use a hula hoop as a cock ring.
42. My dick is so big, we use it at parties as a limbo pole.
43. My dick is so big, King Kong is going to crawl up it in the next remake.
44. My dick is so big, it has an opening act.
45. My dick is so big, I can fuck an elevator shaft.
46. My dick is so big, it has his own Wheaties box.
47. My dick is so big, I have to cook it breakfast in the mornings.
48. My dick is so big, the city had to carve a hole in the middle of it so cars could get through.
49. My dick is so big, every time I get hard I cause a solar eclipse.
50. My dick is so big, it only plays arenas.

My Book Review was Published in Jessica Zafra's Blog

Dear Darling Punk,

I know I promised you big dicks for today's post, but I just had a book review posted in Jessica Zafra's blog, so I reckoned that piece of hot, boss news will have first dibs. And it does. You can click on the large picture below to read the review in it's entirety.



Or you can click here to get to the review. Same thing.

You guys remember my Homework post? It was this post that had the email screen shots which described the details of my assignment. Anyway, I was commissioned to do a review on Return to Ribblestrop, and I was given three weeks to complete this responsibility. The book kicked ass, and I finished it quick, and I gave it a kiss ass review in consequence. It was submitted a week to the date, and I felt satisfied, and it is now in Jessica Zafra's blog.


I so rule sometimes.

And I will be posting about big dicks next, so keep your panties on, will you please?

Loves, Kisses, and Muahness from Pasig Citehh!













Momel, Momelia, Freddie Anne Curtis Aguilar, Momelia Anne Curtis Baretto Aguilar Letts Araullo Etheridge, Khie Khie Aguilar, The Gay Jerk

It's Harry Potter on Crack, and The Perfect Mark Twain Quote Us Bloggers Can Use

**This bullshit book needs some loving. So here, presented for your orgasmic pleasure, Andy Mulligan's Ribblestrop. Meanwhile, we also have the perfect Mark Twain quote that's right on the nose for us bloggers.

You cannot un-see what you've seen; it's there, photographed into you. They were both looking at him, immaculate in his Ribblestrop uniform. A chalk-white face, with staring eyes that had no life. The lips were apart, as if the boy had died speaking, and he was bolt upright. But worse, much worse than this -- was the sight neither Sanchez nor Millie could look at... the top of the skull had been removed and, sitting there ripe and raw, like a brightly-coloured dessert, was the child's brain. Ribblestrop, page 244

Ribblestrop is like Hogwarts for Out of Control Youths that are a sneeze away from Juvenile Hall. They have 13 year old kids who keep guns under their pillows, chain smoking adolescent arsonists who blow smoke rings, most of the faculty's gone mental, and none of the kids are physically unharmed for long. The Headmaster, Doctor Norcross-Webb, is this jailbird with a remarkable debt to pay (it's six digits long, in pounds), and the Towers (Ribblestrop Towers, that's the school's full name) are just recently burned because of some arsonist kid from last term It was once mentioned in Jessica Zafra's blog, and. It's. Fantastic. Honestly, how can you disagree? Look at that quote; you never saw none of the Hogwarts kids getting lobotomized.

Own the book and then read it. It's masturbation gone mental. Or maybe J.K Rowling on some prime weed.


Now, if the Greatest American Humorist of his age, died 1910, had something to say about blogging, then it will have to be this

It is no use to keep private information which you can't show off.

Of course, he was referring to that cerebral calisthenic that we, as bloggers, subscribe to. My point here is that his explanation as to one of the many purposes of writing translated well into our age. He fucking rocks. Read him, too, and find out what hilarious content you guys have been missing out on.


And I'm showing off this quote because there's no use in keeping this information private.

And I will be posting the Jessica Zafra Meet-Up next! Next year, that is. Hahaa, I'm a jerk. No, really, it will be next!

So I Got Me This Funny Book For a Panty-Dropping Twenty Pesos

**That calculates to 43 US cents. Damn straight. I would if I could, but I'm not shitting you. Turns out you can still get cheap things that you don't mind showing off.

Nothing's that new with 2010. The purchasing power of a hundred pesos is still as gay as it was in 2009, if not gayer and sucks a bigger cock. So imagine my sweet, sweet pleasure during one of those unplanned side trips to this second hand book store. I got me Dennis Miller's The Rant Zone for twenty pesos (43 US cents). He's this kick ass Emmy Award winning comic, and much of the material in this book originally appeared in his stand up routines. Makes for a rip-roaring fucking riot, I tell you, and I got it for twenty pesos.

Twenty pesos won't buy you a pirated DVD. Twenty pesos can't fetch you a damn root beer float. Twenty pesos won't get you a liter of Coke. It won't get you half a pack of Marlboro Lights (they're 23 pesos in any 7-11 outlet). It sure sure as hell won't get you half a hand job, let alone get you laid, but I got me a real funny book for it.

My point? Its a funny book for a price you won't mind. And at twenty pesos (43 US cents), it can't get no fucking better than that. No, this is not a recommendation of sorts, I'm just so pleased with my rummaging skills, and my spectacular good luck. Like most everybody is, I reckon, with any fantastic find.

And because I'm all about generosity and charity and all that creamy goodness plus a bag of chips, here are some quotes halfway through the book.

"The word 'fuck' is a beauty, isn't it? From its fricative genesis, blossoming into its ripe, rich middle until its cruelly truncated in its prime by a merciless glottal stop... In all of its earthly, salty illicit Anglo-saxon glory, "fuck" is almost as satisfying to say as it is to do."
--On the English Language

"Ronnie was ... offset by nose hairs so unkempt it looked like he had just inhaled Bob Marley, feet first."
--On Auto Shopping

"Women have to tread very carefully so as not to shatter fragile, male egos, so my recommendation for the first serious female presidential candidate is that her campaign slogan should be 'Oh My God, You're So Big.' "
--On a Female President

"A sign that someone is a great friend is when I can go long stretches in his company without saying so much as a word. That's trust. My best friend? Actor John Garfield's perfectly preserved corpse."
--On Friendship

"You know your marriage is in trouble when your wife starts wearing the wedding ring on her middle finger."
--On Relationships

"Most of you don't know this, but I was a child star and I have kept it under wraps because I thought it would hurt my career as an adult. You probably don't recognize me with the goatee but, yes, I played the little red-headed girl Margaret on Dennis the Menace. Fuck you, Mr. Wilson!"
--On Child Stars

Why You Should Read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

**This is how I won me a book in Jessica Zafra's blog. She held this contest one time, and she asked her readers to recommend a book. I posted a comment, this comment, and I won me a book in consequence. Never won me a book before, sure beats a punch in the face. I so rock. By the way,I used Momelia for my pen name. To give it that mostly gay touch.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
(Douglas Adams, 1979)

The Earth gets demolished to make way for a hyperspatial bypass. A highway of sorts, if you must. An Earthman, Arthur Dent, survives with the help of a long time friend, Ford Prefect, who turns out to be an alien with a very helpful knack for hitching rides in spaceships.

1. It's divided into very brief chapters for easy reading. There's something new to imagine every five to ten pages or so to keep you from getting bored.

2. The author, Doug Adams, employs this clever wordplay that brings the inter-galactic hitchhiking to life and tries to make you grin in the process. There's the Infinite Improbability Drive (which fuels the fantastic starship Heart of Gold run), the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster (the alcoholic drink of choice), and the Galactic Institute's Prize for Extreme Cleverness (verbatim).

3. You will love Marvin the Paranoid Android. He's this charming little robot with the brain the size of a planet, and he's always depressed. I like him so much, I got me some quotes:

Do you want me to sit in the corner and rust, or just fall apart where I'm standing?

Would you like me to go and stick my head in a bucket of water?

Why stop now just when I'm hating it? Life, loathe it or ignore it, you can't like it.

4. If you should happen to travel the galaxy and back, then bring a towel. I know it doesn't make sense, but it perfectly complements the next item.

5. This book provides The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything. And that answer is 42. Yes, as in what's six times seven. Unhinged, isn't it? But it gets better.

6. See, the author's crazy. Nope, not the institutionalized kind of crazy (that's de Maupassant, love him), but he's the laugh out loud kind of crazy that gets people invited to parties. His book's a riot in consequence. And it's divided into very brief chapters for easy reading.

7. It's got a movie adaptation. Which meant it had a profitable readership. Which meant it was good enough to buy. Still is, but in between the movie ticket and a paperback copy, I'd go with the book. On account of the movie sucked a nut.

What About Gifts?

Do you finish reading a book because somebody gave it to you as a gift? What if it was around five hundred pages thick? What if it's all words and ideas and deep stuff with no pictures on it? What if it had size 8 fonts, single space, with very lengthy paragraphs set at two to three a page? What if the chapters were spaced so far apart you think you'd get tired just by the mere thought of it? What if it was something that never interested you to begin with?

What if it was given to you by, say, a family member? Or perhaps another beloved who only had your best interests during that wildly congested Annual Book Sale at the mall? Maybe a dear aunt that gave you the same pair of hot pink pants because she knew you were a fag, and you were into this kind of shit? What if the gift wrap was something straight out of Martha Stewart's workshop, all decked out like a window display because it's trying to send a message across?

It's a good thing my sister knows my reading material like the back of her hand. I wouldn't know, for the life of me, how to answer any of those questions.

The Seven Secrets of Attractive Body Language

**Ain't body language the cutest?

Finally got to finishing the Body Language book I talked about on this post. I now know when to tell if your boss is most likely to agree with, say, a pay raise, when a person's at his horniest, and when to tell if a person's most likely to backstab you senseless. I also learned that cool and collected people use less body language, and I learned that on the last two chapters. Which basically takes a big fat dump at everything else I've learned 300 pages earlier since I'd rather be cool and collected anyway than to learn when to time your flirting.

The Seven Secrets of Attractive Body Language

1. Face: Have an animated face and make smiling a part of your regular repertoire. Make sure you
flash your teeth.

2. Gestures: Be expressive, but don't overdo it. Keep your fingers closed when you gesture, your hands below chin level, and avoid arm or feet crossing.

3. Head Movement: Use Triple Nods when talking and Head Tilt when listening. Keep your chin up.

4. Eye Contact: Give the amount of eye contact that makes everyone feel comfortable. Unless looking at others is a cultural no-no. lookers gain more credibility than nonlookers.

5. Posture: Lean forward when listening, stand straight when speaking.

6. Territory: Stand as close as you feel comfortable. If the other person moves back, don't step
forward again.

7. Mirror: Subtly mirror the body language of others.

Related Posts:
Reading

How to be Rude

**I love being a bibliophile.

I've learned that one of the better things to imply disinterest towards anyone is to take out a book and start reading while they're looking. In the event that you don't feel like listening to their brainshit yapping no more, then wait for them to finish what nonsense they're talking about. You can maybe force a nod to fake agreement, hell, force two nods for good measure, and then go back to your bookmarks. Timing counts; it makes you less rude than you have practiced to be.

A bigger book guarantees your point goes across, and I make sure I have one when I'm feeling like its going to be a decidedly long day. A paperback works too; it's like your swiss army knife, your panic button, because its size makes it available to you anywhere you go. There is safety in convenience because there's no telling when you're likely to encounter more than your daily share of really boring people. Magazines offer very little resistance because they don't last long. The bore will probably get it the third time you're reading from page one. That kind of defeats the point because I'm after the discretion here, and they aren't supposed to notice the conscious effort.

Of course, make sure you're reading something interesting. You're going to be more occupied that way, and that takes care of the body language you need to accentuate your disinterest.

In Between Bookmarks and Dog-Ears (A Repost)

**It's because it's Father's Day, and this qualifies for what can be an in-the-mood post. And it's a repost mostly because of that great big mother of writer's blocks, and I wanted to post something, anything, at the same time. Call it a heartbeat. I'm trying to steer clear of this blog's flatline.

And here's where the original post is. Same banana, minus the italicized introduction.

I have a confession to make.

The aroma of paper binded together would have to be one of my greatest highs. Next to mindless, unwarranted sex, two to three hours of uninhibited reading would have been my intellectual equivalent of an ejaculation. The sight of all those hardbounds and paperbacks stacked in a beautiful tower of books is therapeutic, and being able to actually devour the wisdom in each volume is a peaceful ceremony in itself.

There was a time in my six-week vacation when I was voraciously consuming five books at a time. It was actually four lengthy novels ("Four Past Midnight," "The Order of the Phoenix," "Great Horror Stories," "Servants of Twilight"), and a non-fiction title ("The World's Most Infamous Killers").

Sometimes, I really don't understand how I was able to manage poring through all those volumes at the same time. Maybe I was enchanted by all that knowledge. But all I remembered was that the Dean Koontz novel was chapters upon freaking chapters of chase scenes all over California, Harry Potter was showing all signs of adolescence minus the outbreak of zits, and the Langoliers were these little black balls consumed to eating reality in their wake. Blood apparently does wonders to the skin when used externally, and in very generous quantities, like in a blood bath, and that however fictitious, the idea of dying from fear itself makes for an interesting topic of conversation.

Goes well without saying that I just admitted to being a bibliophile, huh?

I really don't need to give an explanation as to how this addiction came to be. But I'm pretty sure it was my father to thank for this consuming appetite for the written word. When I was a kid, I'd remember him taking us to the BOOKSALE in Shaw Boulevard. You probably have heard of the establishment before. It's this second hand store for just about every assortment of used books. He started taking us there in the late eighties, myself and my two siblings, and he'd allow us to wander aimlessly among those volumes, while he waited in front of the cashier, checking out architectural magazines. After a few minutes of foraging, we'd go back to him, with a book or two in hand, and then we'd give it to him for inspection. He'd pay for those books later on, and he always did even if it was something that he didn't approve of.

I used to hunt for old Ikabod comicbooks and Cracked magazines, and I grew a steady collection overtime. My father absolutely despised my Cracked magazines. See, they bore a striking resemblance to MAD Magazines, the one with Alfred Neuman's ugly bucktoothed face on the cover, and he hated looking at that face. But like I said, he'd eventually take out his wallet and then had our picks wrapped in this white plastic bag.

When I grew into adolescence, the trips to the BOOKSALE was always something that I looked forward to. Funny, I was already a teenager, and yet I still repaired to childhood practices for comfort. I really don't know why I keep on coming back, but for some reason, it started becoming my very own weekend picnic.

Sometimes, it was my mother who took us, but it really didn't matter to me since I was always expecting to leave the store with something in a white plastic bag.

And I read everywhere!

I read my Cracked magazines on top of the stairs at one in the morning because it's the only place in our apartment where the light was on at that time of the night. I read something while walking home from elementary school. I read in the theaters while they're waiting to fill the seats before the movie starts. I read while waiting for a ride. And then I'd read in the cab, car, fx, jeep while going to UST and from UST. I read something while waiting for my turn in a job interview. And of course, I'd read myself to sleep.

My father died in 2004, and I brought a book along for the wake. For some reason, I find that as paying a tribute to the one guy who made all this delightful madness possible. Of course, I wasn't reading to him, or for him. I was doing it for myself. See, not only did I seek solace from this inanimate object of my choice, but I wanted to ignore everybody else and bury my nose in between the pages.

Reading

I have been recently doing a lot of online and offline reading, and I'm hooked to some of the finest distractions anywhere. Offline, it's this book about reading body language, The Definitive Book of Body Language by Allan and Barbara Pease, absolutely fascinating truck I tell you, and it schools its readers with properly deciphering postures and bodily signals. For instance, did you know that the lead foot, that's the foot you start walking with, points towards either the nearest exit or the most interesting slash most attractive person in the group? It says that the brain is less conscious of the activity of body parts that are farther away from it. There's also something about the language of smiling, the most common gestures of liars, how the legs reveal what the mind wants to do, and so on.

Which is all so totally fine and dandy, but I bought it primarily with the understanding that I can use body language to score.

Of course I kid. I'm currently on this chapter that talks about personal space. Did you know that your intimate zone is an inch up to eighteen inches away from you? And that the only people you allow within that space are the people real close to your person, like your family, your lover, and then the person you're about to give head to.

Online, it's this blog, The Talented Mr Montano, http://delfindjmontano.blogspot.com/, and it's a total scandal written by this HIV positive gay guy who's life savings, around $70,000 Au (around three point something million pesos) have been "stolen" by some social climbing coke junkie from the Philippines. He's blogging to get his money back. Thing is, this social climbing coke junkie belongs in, shall we say, Manila's Finest, an elite group of socialites that's the quintessential poster children of the local newspaper's Lifestyle section. Everybody loves a scandal, and I'm totally hooked. Not because I take great pleasure in all that dirt, I do actually, but I couldn't have cared less for the shameless desecration of Manila's Finest. They don't matter to me. It's just evil to be a total fag over your gay lover, steal his life savings, and then try to have him deported to Australia.

This blog, save for the occasional typos, is righteous indignation at its near finest.

You go girl.

I guess I wanna say more, but what's to talk about a blog that reached 270,000 hits in just about five days?

A Very Strange Fancy That Is Guy de Maupassant Part 1

I just finished a very delicious volume of some of Guy de Maupassant's more interesting short stories. I knew it was a delightful find right off the bat on account of I've been reading the guy since 1993. Yes, it was that long ago, and it was some of his very simple works which glued that long name to memory.
He's this French writer, dubbed as one of the Fathers of Short Stories, who writes with a twisted appetite for tragedy in its very simple presentations.

He seals his stories from spoling; he avoids happy endings as much as he can. He has nothing against killing the main character in a heartbeat, as you would a candle after a power outage. He speaks of lost and unrequited love, of betrayal, of revenge, and he does it well, so well that he makes you root for his characters however pathetic they are right off the get go.

He strings his adjectives so effectively, it takes but a few to design, in creating a mental picture, his specific brand of sadness. He makes you root for a prostitute, he makes you feel sympathetic towards a dying old horse, he makes fun of the new found poverty of a middle aged couple, and he does it well with a deceptive plot so brilliantly engineered you'll never guess what happens next.

He lived for 43 years, and he masterpieced around 300 short stories in his lifetime. He sufferred a sexually transmitted disease towards the collapse of his sanity with his confinement in an institution for the mentally abandoned. He's horny, and he died in a nuthouse, but he wrote so freaking well he inspired me to write him something in return.

Related Posts:
A Very Strange Fancy That Is Guy de Maupassant Part 2

A Very Strange Fancy That Is Guy de Maupassant Part 2

I wrote in a recent post, in a gratuitous inspiration to kiss ass, the brilliant mind that is Guy de Maupassant. He is decidedly one of those authors I pay the most attention to. Too bad he's dead, and he died in a loony bin with raging syphilis to match. However, it is these little details that caused the attraction towards a magnificent writer, however dead, who was both horny and inspirational at the same time.

Here's a sampling of some of his works.

1. Ball of Fat

This here tells the story of Ball of Fat, a spirited prostitute, who suffers the betrayal of the same people she fed and redeemed from confinement. It was about some of the saddest fifty pages.

2. Vendetta

An old widow avenges the death of her only son with the help of his old dog Semillante. She starves the poor animal until it's frenetic. This was, however, the beginning of his training.

3. The Necklace

A woman borrows a necklace of imperial value only to lose it and the end of the day. Distraught, she surrenders herself to poverty in order to redeem her precious loss. The necklace has been paid for in full after she suffers ten years of very meager provisions. She then finds out at the end of ten years that it was fake to begin with.

4. The Mad Woman

A rich woman turns mad and locks herself up in her manor for several years, conceding her survival and nourishment to the care and services of her maids and help. War invades their territory, and the Prussians take over her property. She's left in the woods with nothing and no one but her cushioned bed to protect her from the stinging cruelty of winter, and she was never heard of again.

5. A Sale

A man sells his wife using her volume in water displaced from a large tub as currency. She thinks he's trying to drown her, presents this attempt at murder in the court of law, and he gets away with a reprimand.

Related Links:
A Very Strange Fancy That Is Guy de Maupassant Part 1