You Probably Thought It Was Part of the Video

That sound you hear is me moaning in anguish. Don't let it alarm you.

But set your faces to Stunned.

“Fill Your Hands, You Son of Bitch!”

This version is suppose to be closer to the the Charles Portis novel, while incorporating elements from the John Wayne pic. Whether that means it'll be any good, who knows, but I'm looking forward to it—really looking forward to it.

But then, I love Charles Portis, I love the Coen Brothers, and I really love the original True Grit. Consider that a disclaimer.

I Really Want an Ass Car

I feel I wasn't made for running, but to kick you tender till the end of time.

Yours,
Diesel Sneakers

Vaginas: Is There Nothing They Cannot Do

You win, Japan. Your kung fu is stronger than ours. For Now.

I Think I'll Just Make a Donation, You Know, with Money

Interactive Lower Back Tattoos from Kat Von D

Fight diabetes by ejaculating on a Wilford Brimley tramp stamp. Ask me how.

“It Must Be Hard to be a Guy Who's a Girl's Toy”

This is mortifying. I still shiver and block it out when the memory arises: I tended to use whatever was available at the age of 16; in my case, my little sister's ken doll was just the right size. Being widely uneducated about how it all worked down there at that point, I would just sit on it and rock.

Well, we all know how easily those ken heads popped off…yep. Into the the vajayjay. The problem was, I could not get it out myself. I flipped completely out, thoughts of it going up into my uterus and damaging my internal organs (again, not properly educated!) flying through my panic-induced brain.

What did I do? I told my mother. Took a deep breath, then blurted, “I was masturbating with a ken doll and the head came off inside me!”

The look on her face was a mixture of anger, disappointment and embarrassment. But she took me upstairs, and attempted to get it out. I was crying, mortified to the core.

It got worse. She couldn't get it out. So she: got. my. FATHER.

…who then got his pliers. That worked.

Dad never talked about it again; mom walked out of the room, scolding me, saying “come talk to me next time you want to do that!”

At least I didn't wind up at the hospital?

(Top that, someone. I dare you.)

Yep, she won the Absolute Worst Masturbation Story contest with a Ken doll, some pliers, and her dad. Well played, madam.