Felix Clay
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The definition of perversion, in the sexual sense, is sexual behavior or desire that is abnormal. Now, you could be one of those people who say, "Well, who decides what's normal anyway?" and to that I'd argue that normal people do. Normal people, if you weren't aware, are what most of us are out in public. When sitting on your porch drinking lemonade, you're normal. When shopping with coupons, you're normal. Using dryer sheets is normal. Then, you know, maybe you have a drawer full of butt plugs with pony tails attached to them that you use in your spare time -- that's OK, too. You're still normal, but you also realize that if you wore your ponytail butt plug to the supermarket with your mac and cheese coupons, you'd become a pervert. It's just that easy! Then it comes time to make an excuse.
If you're a decent, normal pervert, your only excuse is going to be poor judgment. You have sex in public because you think you can get away with it. You get caught and, well, you messed up. Sorry. But every so often, someone gets caught and has a real crafty reason for it that makes me laugh, and then I write about them over the ensuing paragraphs.
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You ever bang a donkey? I'm seriously asking, scroll down to the comments now and give us a yay or nay, maybe I'll tally the answers in a later article, or for my own personal use. Anyway, say you have banged a donkey or you plan to in the future -- this story is right up your donkey-schtupping alley.
A man in Zimbabwe was caught giving his unfortunate love to a donkey one night and was arrested, as most donkeys don't consent to this sort of behavior. At his trial, the man assured everyone that while yes, boning a donkey is kind of a hinky hobby, it's not that bad, because technically he wasn't doing a donkey. In fact, that donkey had been a genuine human prostitute just the night before, and he had paid her $20. She pretty much just turned into a donkey when the cops arrived so as to make the situation look unseemly. And what's worse (this is what the man was explaining to the court still, I'm not trying to editorialize my feelings about donkey humping), the man believes that he too might be a donkey and in love with that hooker donkey. Can't two donkeys, at least one of whom is a human, be in love? What kind of sick world prohibits donkeys from being happy?
The court had no choice but to believe this story and let the man and his donkey live happily ever after. Really? No, not really. Instead the man was probably laughed at, labeled Donkey Fucker, and sentenced to some psychiatric evaluations, as well as being formally charged with donkey fuckery.
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I'm not an alcoholic or anything, but I've been known to imbibe a bottle or two of Thunderbird once Wednesday rolls around, just to keep the week loose and breezy. And maybe on Friday morning I'll forgo waffles and just have a mug of creme de menthe, so what? Point is, I'm a pretty together guy. You wouldn't know there's anything off about me unless you wanted to delve into my interest in donkey humping, but why would you? Where was I? Alcohol. Yes.
So it happens that not everyone can hold their liquor like a Clay, such as lightweights like Daniel Cooper, who left his house with about $30 on him and somehow got so wasted that he dropped trou on his way home, went into a kebab shop, and plowed their counter, then went outside and found himself a sexy, willing Land Rover and made that luxury SUV into a real woman, right there on the street.
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Look at her. She wants it.
The lurid vehicular humpicide was caught on a restaurant's security camera, and later, once Cooper had a coffee and an Advil, he was as surprised as anyone to see himself ramrodding that tailpipe like R. Kelly introducing himself to a urinal. Wait, that was hardly topical. Like Miley Cyrus trying to fill out her awkward chicken butt with a foam finger.
Cooper had to tell police that he had left home with only a few bucks in his pocket but was just not used to drinking. This is like a vegan who's not used to eating meat trying a chicken nugget and then getting caught humping a donkey. Wait, I mean eating it.
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We're back to Africa, where I've learned that nefarious bestiality seems to lurk around every corner, ready to leap upon innocents with its sweaty animal dong and force them into compromising positions at the drop of a hat.
When a 17-year-old girl was caught in a compromising position with a stray dog (the compromise here being having sex with a dog, as opposed to someone who isn't a dog), her mother came to her aid to blame the whole thing on black magic. Unlike some of the other excuses, I feel that this one has some merit, and I'm going to have to defer to Frank Sinatra as a backup on this:
"Icy fingers up and down my spine" is a pretty clear reference to a dog's cold nose, but then these lines ...
"The same old tingle that I feel inside
and then that elevator starts its ride
And down and down I go
Round and round I go"
... are absolutely raunchy, especially when you're trying to force them to be about having sex with a dog. Looks like Sinatra was all over this one. Black magic it is. Please picture that every time you hear Sinatra from now on. Picture him with a martini, in a tux, just watching someone getting plowed by a dog, then pulling out a pad of paper and saying "Hot damn, that's a song."
I'd also like to note that, in the linked story, the mother claims that she called the police, while the police have no record of the call, according to Inspector Sacky Burger. Sacky Burger could have been the man investigating this incident. I want to go there and commit all the crimes I can just to get Sacky Burger on the case.
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Ever since I was in my early teens and heard some sitcom or other make a joke about a midlife crisis (which presumably involved an older man buying a sports car or dating a blonde with visible cleavage, television's two surefire symbols that a man has lost his shit), I've wanted my own midlife crisis. Something bad is going to happen to me, but the cure is an awesome car or boobs? Fuck yes, I want bad things to happen to me every day. I want my midlife crisis when I'm 15. The cure for cavities is needles and a drill; I want whatever is cured by convertibles and nipples.
Alas, years have passed and I am no closer to any crisis that can be cured by those things, although I'm still anxious to get either one. I guess I just need to wait until I'm too old to be cool playing with them and the rest of the world mocks me for it as they mocked that old man on whatever show it was I was watching way back when.
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"Stop laughing at me, you pubeless little shits!"
In the present, however, it looks like midlife crises still occur, and there is, in fact, a third cure beyond cars and women. Sixteen-year-old boys. Bet you never saw that coming. Amie Lou Neely, a 38-year-old teacher, says she was pestered by a 16-year-old student for sex so much that, due to her midlife crisis feelings, she gave in, but only because she thought doing it once would make him stop asking. Scholars know, of course, that the only way that plan would have worked was if her vagina had teeth in it or was the breeding ground for some kind of flesh-eating parasites that stink of hobo breath and skunk ass.
The boy in question told police about four occasions when they had sex, so maybe Neely's midlife crisis also affected her numeracy skills, but that sort of thing is to be expected. Getting old wonks up your brains, apparently.
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There's something noble about making a sacrifice for the greater good, for exposing yourself to darkness and evil in order to vanquish those things. Effectively this is what undercover police officers do -- they take on the guise of criminals, they engage in nefarious acts in order to catch other criminals. If that example isn't awesome enough, there's also Batman. He does what he has to do for justice, man. He lives in the shadows. He's the hero Gotham needs or the one it ordered but didn't receive or something like that. He's awesome!
Like Batman, Don Samuelson works in darkness. Unlike Batman, the darkness Samuelson works in was generally the darkness created by the opacity of human thighs that don't allow the passage of light, hidden up in skirts as they were. Samuelson was the kind of hero who, in his capacity as a college professor, used a spy camera hidden in a pen to take upskirt photos of students. He was the Dark Vagina Knight.
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"We will destroy panties, and then, when it is done and all the panties are ashes, then you have my permission to die."
Normal upskirt photographers are the villainous sort, the kind who just want to see some stray uterus or whatever, but Samuelson was on a quest for justice. His photography was evidence gathering, you see, in an effort to prove that the students he was filming were not wearing undergarments and were therefore being inappropriate. Once he gathered that sweet, pubic evidence, he was so going to Batarang it, which is vigilante slang for fapping.
Sadly for the erstwhile Caped Poonsader, his videos and pictures of boobs and cleavage made his excuse fall apart, and he had to admit that, yeah, he was just a creepy old perv dude.
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Not so long ago in the grand scheme of things I cooked up some pork chops for dinner. Nothing fancy, just a little grilling, a little spice, a perfectly cooked cut of tasty ass meat. Not that it came from the ass, I don't think that's where chops are from, but you get the idea. It was a good pork chop. As I lifted that pork chop on my fork, the cat jumped onto the arm of the chair next to me. We had that brief moment in which the passage of time seemed to slow as we made eye contact and there was an understanding between us. The understanding that I, as master, would maybe provide some pork chop trimmings to that cat in the near future and he, as supplicant beast, would be grateful in that way he never expresses at all. Then that fucking cat took the whole pork chop off of my fork and left with it.
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God, I miss you.
Cats are assholes, is the point of my story, and they only love you in the way that you or I love porn, which is to say until we're finished with it. Then we don't care about it at all until the next time we need it. In light of this, it's almost reasonable then that Keith Griffin, a 48-year-old man from Florida, thought to blame the cat for some of his own misdeeds. Because cats are assholes. Cats pee in your laundry. They steal your pork chops. They download thousands upon thousands of images of child pornography.
Griffin was charged with 10 counts of possession of child pornography, but he assured police that it wasn't him. What happened was that, after using his computer to Google things like recipes for flan or how to properly fold the flag, he would leave the computer on, his cat would jump up there and play with the keyboard, and the images would just appear. Clearly Griffin shouldn't have purchased Dell's One-Touch Felonious Porn Keyboard and should've gone with something a little more mainstream.
Cops chose to not believe that his cat was a filthy pig and took Griffin to jail instead. Hopefully the cat was bathed and sent to live with someone normal who just likes to download videos of girls dressed like anime characters.
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According to an article I literally just read when I was curious about the overdiagnosis of ADD, the CDC says that 11 percent of U.S. children have been diagnosed ADD at some point. That's kind of insane. The consensus in the medical field is that ADD and ADHD are being used to account for any behaviors in kids, especially males, that are considered bothersome. Kid fidgets? ADD. Kid speaks out of turn? ADD. The problem is that everyone does that, it's not a mental problem. The definition of ADD is the excessive inability to concentrate on a task for any length of time. Remember that, it's going to be hilarious in a paragraph or two.
Probably one of the most awful things I can think of, in a non-criminal sexual context, is sex with a clown, or sex with some kind of weird Chucky doll. Because that shit is insane and unwholesome. So that makes this story about a piano teacher caught under a bridge on school property basting a "child-like" doll from the inside with his stink twizzler just ever so slightly worse than your usual story about someone humping something under a bridge like some kind of horny troll.
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"Hey ... lemme put a finger in your butt."
The teacher in this case didn't even work at the school. He was just out for a stroll with his Boink Barbie when the mood struck under the bridge, so he disrobed and proceeded to brew up a batch of nightmares. After police arrived, he assured them that he didn't even know the bridge was a part of school property and that he unfortunately suffers from ADD, which makes it difficult for him to resist sexual impulses. Probably contributing to this difficulty is lurking under bridges, in the nude, with a doll that had a hump pocket carved into it.
Surprisingly, the man was only charged with public indecency and not with felony bullshittery for what must be the lamest excuse anyone has ever given for porking an inanimate object in public.
The main benefit of watching TV is seeing the plight of sad bastards who aren't you.
The 'wellness' market is thriving right now.
Most people have a pretty basic idea of what it's like to be a parent.
There's no shortage of downright absurd conspiracy theories out there.
Let's not get too crazy, kids.
Some days you just don't want to go to work.
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