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Dear Friends at StupidNet, Love and lewdness, The Beefmaster |
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Beefy, I'm so simply serendiptitous that the beef has woken from its hibernation! It comes at a point in my life in which I find myself reflecting back on some boyhood fantasies. Oh beefy, he would prance in front of my virgin eyes all over the soccer meadow in his skin tight red skivvies and crop top white jersey. He was my Chief Wahoo with a giant goon foot that could blast a goal from the oppostie goal line. And Sharon Schultz...Oh how I despise her rotten mouth and the insults it spewed forth at my soccer slutty pants! I would murder her fetid cake hole had I but the chance! But Beefy, back to the lecture at hand...I seek my lucious Henry and his tight Chiefs uniform to fondle and bathe. I was hoping you could locate him for me. He is a big goony fellow who was known to hang at The Pink Triangle Bar in San Francisco. Make him mine and grant my Valentine's wish oh Cupid Beef! I must have his stench in my presence. I need his massive flesh once again. He was a lousy soccer player but boy was he great at headers. -Flaming in Fairview Beef jiggles his cerebellum and comes up with this.... |
Now accepting pleas for Beef's brilliant advice!
Send your beef plea here!
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| Dear Felcher in Fairview, It is clear to me that you have many issues. Issues that even I will have some hesistation and uncomfortability in discussing. But, because you are a loyal follower, an avid reader of the Beef, and seem to speak, sweet words of sincerity, I will try to break the news to you gently. Henry is dead. About two-and-a-half years ago, while doing photographic work for Unnatural Geographic, he unfortnately had some bad luck fall on top of him. In an effort to capture a never-before-seen shot of the true diameter of a dialated elephant anus, he was struck in the forehead with one-hundred and forty-three pounds of turd. Even though the marshy mess of mud, stones, and twigs flopped on his pie hole at an estimated eighty-six miles per hour, it was the gas release following the dump that choked him out for good, along with the neighboring foliage and small wildlife. However, don't let this news crinkle your panties. I have heard that two other 'boys' are living their lives through the memories of Henry in the form of strippers in bars called 'The Slippery Broomstick' and 'Twigs and Berries'. These boys can be seen on a newly released talent contest video with the icon "Chief Henry" as they seductively dance in satin teddies with velvet thongs underneath to the sultry song of the Supremes. Pay close attention to the smaller boy with the tree-trunk legs. He can deep-throat an entire baseball bat. Also, when he drops ass, it sound like a sneaker skidding on a gymnasium floor. Felch, I think that means something special in the gay arena, but I'm not quite sure. Therefore, I think this particular boy will make your Valentine's a dream come true. Happy Heart's Day Felch. -the Beefmaster
| Beefity Boffity Boob, I have a question for you of some important social signifigance. Mind you, your answer must be well thought out and responsible, for it may carry enough weight to alter the course of American culture. It is well known that when a new mate has been acquired by either of the sexes, a certain amount of time must pass before the gas is passed. I would like you to detail how this time period should be gauged and exactly how should the mate be devirginized to the other mate's true gaseous self? It seems to me that this is a reverse potty training ritual. I say this because when first dating, an indivdual must learn to curtail his or her normal bowel fluctuations. It is an instinctual behavior. This often leads to a period of time in which each person suffers severe stomach pains, bloating, and clench cheeked cramps. Then, often by mistake, tickling attacks, or a "nocturnal emmission" the fart is out of the bag for all to enjoy. From this point on farts are free game and potty training is frowned on. Any kind of bowel movement or discussion thereof is uninhibited. Why does this occur and how can it be regulated? Beefy, you must establish a standardized time period and practice for this truly delightful benchmark in any couple's relationship. Otherwise, our blissful ass symphonies will go unheard and unappreciated by our loving mates. -farting-out-my-mouth-in-Montclair
| After lengthy comtemplation and a hot sandwich the Beefmaster has this sage advice just for you!
Dear FOMMIM,
I am very well-versed in this question.
"When is the appropriate time to fart on, by, or
near your mate?"
Well, fellow countrymen and women, the answer is
never. Who wants to hold, kiss, or jump on a person
who puffs dirty air across the room while watching tv?
Who wants to take a hold of their mate's ass during a
time of unbridled lust and think about all the times
where those cheeks wiggled and squirmed with dingles
and germs.
Now, if you guys are anything like me, gas release
is necessary, unexpected, and well, altogether good
wholesome fun. Who wants to restrict the ass-trumpet.
It really boosts my sense of self when I can
root-toot-toot the theme to my favorite tv sitcoms
without moving my lips. I take a sense of ownership
when playing the Jefferson's theme song, but I nearly
lose my bowels at 'the dee-luxe apartment in the sky'
part.
But, I know you're all saying, "Beef, how can I
love my mate if I can't fart or queef in, on, or near
them?"
Well friends, I have the solution. Your mate
doesn't need to KNOW that you have farted in order to
fart with them. When your guy or girl leaves the room
for a second, simple grab his or her coat and dropped
gas on it. When in her room, dump under her
bedspread. Hell, when in her bathroom, squeeze one on
her toothbrush. You have to get creative with this
matter (but not fecal) because guys and chicks don't
like anal whistling.
Give this a try, I guarantee results. Just watch
out that you don't leave a residue on toothbrush
bristles, that's the tricky part.
--the Beefmaster
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