May 26, 2011 § Leave a comment

I’m gonna weigh in on this Arnold Schwarzenegger thing. Even though it’s been done to death. Because it’s actually real simple. Women’s web sites are of course saying what a pig and how could he cheat on her, etc. And reactionary sexist sites for men focus on how could he do it with someone so ugly. The latter group has to come up with these baroque explanations of why he would want to bone a woman who was not as hot as his wife.

It doesn’t fucking matter. Hot, not hot– does not matter. What matters is new pussy. Preferably new pussy that is as different from the old pussy you’ve been halfheartedly fucking with your flagging chub as possible. If I am dating an Aryan supermodel, I want to be fucking an elderly black midget.

And also, new pussy that you are forced to be around. New pussy that is just there. I have interns where I work.They are hired on the basis of their qualifications, not their physical attributes. Sometimes they show up for their first day and they’re piping hot, sometimes I’d rather stick my dick in some bioluminescent sea predator from the fucking Marianna Trench. But still– ten hours a day spent in a room with these girls– eventually, I am going to end up beating off to every single one of them on a daily basis. The hot ones, it happens on day one, but even the gnarly barnyard sows, eventually it gets to where as soon as my briefcase handle drops out of my hand at home it is replaced with my dick, and I’m taking two seconds to nut over the thought of this beast bent over her desk. Because when you are forced to be around someone, just– just the smell of them. Just… eventually they are going to bend over to pick up a box of copy paper and you are going to see the top inch and a half of their ass crack, and notice that it is unsullied by moles or hair. That it’s actually quite a nice crescent of snowy white skin between the bottom of this girls’s H & M designer knockoff professional dress shirt and the top of her jeans and…. God damn. God damn, I just want to fuck that ass. Eventually beating off to even my ugliest intern gets me off faster than porn with some modelesque chick on her eighteenth birthday.

This is because of the realism of the masturbatory scenario. Because it could happen. And that’s what was going on with Arnold and his maid. He noticed that the sunlight when she bent over to water a plant or something, the sunlight was glancing off the top of her titties, and he could see just a little sliver of brown nipple. So different than Maria’s, maybe a fat puffy nipple– I picture Maria having those weird wormy long ones for some reason– and he went back into his bedroom and popped one off, thinking about how it might happen. Maria takes the kids to soccer practice. Alone in the house; bump into the maid in the laundry room… and I bet he jacked off to this a million times before she made some kind of meaningful eye contact with him that said– shall we? He beat off to it because it was there, and plausible, and then when he had a shot to actually make it happen, well– it’s really fucking hard to turn down the reality version of something you’ve beat off to a thousand times. It’s like watching the director’s cut of a movie you’ve seen a bunch– you are entertained merely by noticing the differences.

And then he impregnated her. Of course Jezebel commenters and the like are barking at him for not using a condom– really? Listen– NOBODY FUCKING USES CONDOMS. No one. If you use condoms, you are the only fucking person on the planet and you are just torturing yourself and your partner because they’re terrible. They make it feel like your dick is made of scar tissue.

And he nutted in her. Which, this is where Arnold and I part ways, because while I always beat off to the idea of nutting in a girl and making her pregnant, usually against her will, and while I am fucking chicks, which once again is always rawdog one hundred per cent of the time, I am thinking up until the very last microsecond that I am going to nut in her and impregnate her– I ALWAYS pull out in time. I always have that last second of sex-ruining conscientiousness and pull out and sheepishly nut into my boxers. That last little bit of control which keeps me from truly enjoying any sexual experience.

I guess Arnold doesn’t have that, which– more power to him. If I had enough money to be blowing loads in maids and supporting the children secretly without even making a fucking dent in my checking account you better believe half the Earth would be covered in half Mexican dudes that look like me. If I had a wife who needed to keep her fucking mouth shut for a decade or risk losing everything, risk having to have one of those Eliot Spitzer press conferences where she sourly stands behind me– if I had a wife that had to shut the fuck up, every piece of menial laborer pussy on the west coast would be fat with my young at all times.


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