Is That a Queef I Smell or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

Is it normal for a man to thoroughly enjoy a good joke about vaginal flatulence? A naive version of myself would have said yes to this in a heart beat. But the seasoned vet I am today, has to be honest when answering. The truth is, queefs, varts, cunt farts or whatever the kids are calling them these days, aren't even that funny. And you won't ever realize this until you been privy to a living, breathing bout of the chronic queef. Over the years, countless varts have been fired off recklessly in my general direction. And let me tell you, friends, they are revolting and generally reek of an animal waste product.

If a queef were to happen during sex, my dick would go limp faster than a homosexual's wrist. I can't even look at the girl in the same light, as a matter of fact, from that moment on the relationship is in a steady state of decline. Sure it may not be her fault, but how would she react if I farted or took an "accidental" poop on her face while we were doin' it? My guess is the answer to that question isn't "in stride."

At this point in my life, I'd sooner laugh at a retard before I laughed at a vart joke, it just seems to me like the humane thing to do...

For more Waffles' madness go to http://www.brobible.com/

The Nations Top 20 Colleges (That Matter)

In lieu of GQ taking a hot dump in the mouths of 25 schools, calling them "douchey," we here at BroBible wanted to do the exact opposite of those dickbeards and celebrate some of the best institutions of higher learning in this country. Every college or university in this great nation has something unique to offer; from the important stuff like raging parties and hot, skanky broads, to the trivial matters like education and philanthropy. So when we made our list, we decided to remove the insignificant altogether and base our selections on quality of women, party scene, presence of STDs, athletic successes, off-campus night life, and geographical location. Now would also be a good time to apologize to anyone who goes to school in Idaho, Montana, Iowa, either of the Dakotas, or any other school in a state not listed below. The fact is, your states fucking suck and you should really consider transferring and start making better decisions with your life.


In a perfect world, the male college experience would span 10 years -- that is how long it takes a man's brain to mature -- and we would get to spend each semester over the course of those years at a new school. Sure, if college lasted that long we'd probably be dead from liver disease and dickless from all the unprotected sex, but fuck it, we're renegades.


One semester is a perfect amount of time to acclimate yourself with your new city, scope out and drill an array of hot chicks, and make one hell of a reputation for yourself. Our dreamy scenario is sort of like "Van Wilder," but on steroids. Below is a list of the Top 20 schools that we would attend if we could do it all over again, one drunken, sex-filled semester at a time.



Year 1, Fall Semester: University of Texas

Sixth Street is a great area to hangout and an ideal scene for getting completely wasted. A vast majority of the females in the student body are from Texas and Texas girls like to get down and dirty. So leave your condoms, morals, and hand sanitizer at home and get ready to raw-dog an asshole or two.


Year 1, Spring Semester: Indiana

With hot chicks, crazy parties, and a world-renowned basketball program, it's no wonder that Playboy and Princeton Review has rated IU the #1 party school. Having a top business program doesn't hurt either -- if you're into that sort of thing. We're not.

Year 2, Fall Semester: University of Southern California

USC would have made this list based on their football team's achievements alone but having an attractive student body and being minutes away from Hermosa Beach sealed its fate. Plus the mascot is a fucking condom. What's that? Their mascot isn't a condom? Well, fuck me then.

Year 2, Spring Semester: Southern Methodist University

The football team is the laughing stock of college football, but the school has hot, rich girls that wear minimal clothing and love to tea bag a nice set of semen-filled balls.

Keep reading at http://www.brobible.com/Story/27285

Top 10 Rules to Any Fantasy Draft

Oh yes, my friends, football season is finally here! And its arrival only means one thing to me; money expeditiously leaving my bank account. Yearly, I partake in countless fantasy leagues, knock-out pools and I even piss away hundreds gambling online. Most years, I shamefully wind up losing more that I care to admit, but this isn't about me being a degenerate gambler, this is about the upcoming fantasy football season. And for me, playing fantasy football is as American to me as shipping jobs overseas, Japanese cars and domestic violence. Sometimes having fantasy players in the game is the only way to stomach an epic battle between Cleveland and Tampa Bay.

Over the course of my fantasy career, I have won my fair share leagues and money, but I am not here to talk strategy or even suggest who you should pick with your first selection. I will let you rely on the egghead-analysts over at ESPN for that shit. Instead, I am here to ensure your league's fantasy draft and season goes off without a hitch.

If you haven't figured it out by now, a lot pisses me off, even if it's the slightest thing. Off the top of my head, three things quickly come to mind, parades of any kind, Bill Walton's face and other peoples' children. But as much as I fucking hate those things, and believe me I do, nothing makes my blood come to a boil quite as much as when things don't run smoothly. And that is why I, with the help of a few close friends, have composed this list of "musts" for every fantasy league draft.

Participants:

1) No bitching allowed. All decisions will be made in a democratic fashion and if someone doesn't like it, they can kindly and quietly go fuck themselves.

2) Women team owners are strictly prohibited. It doesn't matter if they can speak intelligently about football, are void of any facial hair or can take a punch. So long as they still bleed from their gash -- or they once had a gash -- they have no place in any bro's league. This also means that your childhood friend, Frank, who now goes by "Francine" is also shit out of luck.

Keep Reading at http://www.brobible.com/Story/25390

Latest Brobible Posts - New Stories Coming Soon!!

A Letter of Explanation to a One-Night Stand
Tired of having your good name inaccurately slandered by former one-night stands? Hate having awkward public run-ins with a broad you previously banged and hanged? You're not alone, friend. There comes a time in a man's life when he wishes he could have had the foresight to escape these unnecessary headaches by explaining himself and his intentions prior to tiptoeing out of a Jane's house before the sun came up. Thankfully, I believe I have come up with a viable solution to this problem. A few years ago, I figured out a way to end all confusion and female expectations by way of a very impersonal and unapologetic note. I don't take the time to personalize each note -- I am a busy man with many things to do -- but I have drafted this generic letter that, as you will see, is a classy way to end a one-night stand. Feel free to use it yourself.

Keep Reading....http://www.brobible.com/Story/24730

Random Thought 4/10/09

Below is an actual conversation I had just last week through email with a friend of mine. I was so intrigued by the topic we discussed that I had to share.

Ali: "In your experience, have you found that girls have differently placed hoo-ha holes? And if so, is it very easy to detect the differences?"

Me: "I love that you come to me with these inquires...To be honest, I generally pay attention to other aspects of said hole; size, shape, odor, landscaping (or lack there of), precipitation (Sog-fest or desert) -- you know, things of that nature.

I never really thought to examine placement, although now I'm curious. Some girls are prone to make it more or less accessible though. Not meaning they are prude, but during the act they don't make an effort to move their fucking thighs out of the way if they are on bottom. But to answer your question, I can't recall a time where I said, "Gee, that don't belong there.""

Ali: "Ok wait - have you noticed an extreme difference in the size and shape of the holes??? I mean, size I can understand... but aren't they all shaped generally the same? Unless you're referring to outie holes, which are just abnormal and gross. But now I'm curious about size and shape.... please continue....

And not moving their thighs is just lazy."

Me: "By "shape" I'm referring to structure. I have never come across a rhombus shaped vagina (although that would be something to see). What I mean is that the tidiness of the hole can differ. You know what I'm talking about? Some look like precise, clean wounds -- while others look like they were a bit mangled or even masticated. I always assumed that was attributed to overuse though -- like tennis elbow or hemorrhoids.

So basically what I am trying to say is that when you refer to "outie holes," I am imagining a vagina that has mud flaps. Am I wrong?

By the way, your friend Adrianne = Lazy"

Ali: "A rhombus would be quite interesting. If you do ever stumble across one, please take a photo and text it to me.

Outie holes are ones that look like they're sticking their tongues out at you from the get go --no leg opening or anything. It's just all up in your face. I liken them to Popples (Google them if you don't remember them from our 80's childhood). I shudder to think what a mangled hoo hoo looks like.

I was recently told that a guy friend of mine noticed a difference of an INCH and a HALF between the most recent two girls he'd been with as far as hole placement is concerned. I've never heard such a thing.

Haha I've heard that about her before :)"

Me: "An inch and a half?!?! I find that to just be simply retarded. And I mean that with all due respect to retards far and wide I don't think all the holes can co-exist in such a close proximity without some sort of horrid terror being caused when having sex. Now it's possible that I'm wrong and I guess its also possible to have a more robust spread, but then think about if you moved your vag an inch and a half upward. I can't see that much variance being possible. Maybe a quarter to a half inch either way, but no more than that.

I am familiar to the outie type holes, I just figured they could be classified with mangled as well. How else would they have gotten that way? It's like catching your shirt on a door knob, only these girls caught something far more precious. When I think of one of these outie holes blowing a vart, I picture a whoopee cushion's lips quivering while its being deflated."

Ali: "hahaha I love the seriousness of this email conversation. I also thoroughly appreciate your prompt responses :)

And I know -- it's a huge difference. I'm assuming one of these girls either has a super fucked up hole or my friend doesn't know how to measure distance properly when using his index finger and thumb. I feel like I'd have to figure out some downward hip thrust move if my hootie hoo was moved upwards by that distance. How else would we be able to bone properly??"

Me: "I'm being serious because it's not everyday a fascinating new subject gets thrown on my lap. This is the first I'm hearing of this epidemic -- if we could even call it that? I'm not sure how boning would be if your hole was misplaced. I imagine you would go about it the same way one would approach a crooked penis --cautiously and with a good amount of disgust."

Ali: "I'm not sure that we can call it an epidemic at this point since so far we only have one account of this occurring.

Have you experienced a demure looking tucked twat only to find it mangled on the inside?? I shudder to think of that happening...
And I don't know if I could handle a crooked penis. I mean, I know my way around a penis... but crooked? I think I'd get too distracted."

Me: "What you're describing sounds like a revolting case of twat rot. Pedestrian on the outside, diabolical on the inside. Any broad with that problem should have their crotch blasted with a fire hose full of Masongil.

And don't try to sandbag me, you and I both know that you'd fix that cock's posture in one night."


That is all for now....hope your Friday sodomizes you

-Waffles

Random Thought 4/3/09

"Find it?" she said. "Yeah, I think I got it." I replied. "No, you don't! That's the wrong hole!" she painfully exclaimed.

"Wrong whole?" I curiously wondered.

"Here give it to me." she said, as she grabbed my rod like a stick shift and steered it in the right direction.

"Oh Jesus, that feels great," I muttered to myself.

She softly whispered in my ear, "Make sure you pull out when you're going to finish."

I thought to myself, "Pull out? I never want to leave this fucking thing!"

I began to thrust....in and out and in and out. But then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, it was go time. I quickly pulled out and BLAMO! A pearl necklace with the earrings to match. (Back then I made it rain.)

The sex lasted for what seemed like only seconds. I'm guessing that can be attributed to the fact that it did only last for seconds. Roughly, forty seven life changing ticks. Which is only a few seconds less than it would take an elite athlete to sprint a quarter mile. Suck on that, Steve Prefontaine!

After taking a few deep breaths, I tossed the dame a fizz rag and I lit a victory cigar. I then nakedly waddled, boner and all, to the bathroom to take a piss. It felt good.

When I returned to the room I noticed her eyes were filled with tears. "Why are you crying?" I asked. "Because we didn't use a condom! I don't want to get pregnant!" she replied.

She made a good point; one that had previously not crossed my mind. I began to cry.

After thirty minutes of crying and consoling, we both swore never to have sex without a prophylactic ever again. We hoped and prayed that God would spare us from having a child at age 17. After all, no one wants to be that pregnant girl in 3rd period gym class who can't participate in dodge ball for fear that her little mistake might get brain damage.

Ten short minutes after we vowed to never have foolish unprotected sex again, we began having foolish unprotected sex again...... Although my eyes were still red and stinging from the tears, sheer joy was once again plastered all over my face. Two minutes later, I pull out and I drizzle cum once more. Superstar.

We cry again.

And scene.

I chose to share this intimate story with you today, because a few short weeks ago marked the 10 year anniversary of the night that I lost my virginity. In the 10 years since, a lot has changed. I no longer cum from a stiff breeze, I've long since stopped weeping after unprotected sex and I actually have grown to enjoy cunnilingus (Unless, of course, the Jane's vagina omits a corrosive acid or foul stench). And it's been sometime since we spoke, but the girl who took my virginity now lives with her boyfriend of many years in his parent's house. I sense she cries about that these days.

Now I can't recall every sexual encounter I've had in my life; there have been plenty and 73% of them have been drunken blurs. But that night, that faithful fucking night, will forever be etched in my mind as the day I became a man. That's why, to commemorate this momentous occasion, I found a talented young artist in upstate New York and had him create a bust of my penis. I gave him no instructions. I simply told him to make me something magnificent.

Upon returning to his workshop a few weeks later, I was rendered speechless and struck with awe by what he had unveiled. He created a life size, cock-shaped paperweight made from pure gold. I have to admit, and not because I was looking at my own solid gold cock, it was glorious. This modern day Michelangelo believed that no freckle was too small and no stone would be left unturned. From the tip of the shaft right down to the taint line --the craftsmanship and accuracy of this phallic is remarkable. It is truly a spectacular memento (trophy) that belongs on every man's mantle.

That's all for now.....I hope your Friday touches little boys.

Lustfully,
Waffles

Random Thought 3/20/09

Authors Note: This weeks Random Thought is more of a request than it is a thought. I usually only write about things that pop up in my head throughout the course of the week but a good friend of mine asked me to touch on this subject, so a being the "through sickness and health" kind of guy I am (Whatever the fuck that means?), I decided to do it. After all, it was only a matter of time before this was brought up, so read on and enjoy.

There are only a few things in this world that get my heart pounding faster than the thought of being present for Clay Aiken's death. One of those things just so happens to be running red lights. Some other notables include; pictures of myself, civil war memorabilia and vaginal genocide.

Right now, I imagine that the gorgeous people out there reading this blog are saying, "Why the fuck are you talking about running red lights, you asshole? I came here to read something funny or at least disgusting -- if nothing else." Well folks, don't turn the other cheek just yet. Papa McButter is telling you right now that the kind of red lights I run have nothing to do with automobiles. Hell, I don't even own a car. Although if I did, it would be a powder blue, 1950's style breezer, that's for sure. I could picture it now (drifts into deep thought). Me behind the wheel on a brisk Sunday afternoon, my coif styled to perfection, donning my finest glad rags, all the while I'm accompanied by three swanky dames and we're cruising down to ole Tin Pan Alley for a night of boozing and good old fashioned unprotected sex. Heck, I imagine on a perfect day like that, if I ate coleslaw, I'd yearn to slop it all over their vagina's and eat it out of there. But I don't eat coleslaw, so lets move on to this weeks random thought. If that little diatribe wasn't random enough for you.

The World Wide Web offers several definitions for running a red light. For the purposes of this post, I decided to take it upon myself to write the following definition:

"Sexual intercourse between a man and a woman while the females reproductive organs are hemorrhaging like a pipe that just burst."

(Side Note: The sex can be consenting or non, but keep in mind that rape is a crime, and therefore, usually frowned upon by anyone who is not a rapist.)

In my 20 some odd years on this planet, I have yet to meet a man who has not ran a red light in the bedroom. As a matter of fact, if such a man exists, I'd like to spit right in his mouth. I am not sure how conversations arise about such a topic, but I have begun to notice a pattern in all of them. While men have come to accept the blood splatter they're going to get all over their unit and lower extremities (depending on the severity of the flow), the one qualm they all seem to have is when it gets on our fucking bed. Men of all races want to know how to protect their bedding during this delicate excavation. I can't blame them, because let's face it, cum stains, like grade school friendships, fade, but blood stains are like family, they last forever. In a perfect world, your sheets, your carpet and your mattress would be blood red, but they're not, so that is why, with the help of a couple beautiful minds, I have complied a short list of the best ways to protect your mattress from vaginal blood. This is that list:

1) Dark Sheets - They will hide the stains so your girlfriend won't question while your always washing your sheets when your broad on the side is on the rag. Unfortunately the sheets may not save your mattress (they didn't save mine) from leaving it a bloody mess. Plus you have to ask yourself if you really want to unknowingly sleep in a dried up pool of blood and secretions.

2) Lay Down a Tarp - This is a sure fire way to keep blood from reaching your linens. But, while your bed may be safe, there is always the risk of sliding off the bed and injuring the bleeder or even worse, yourself. Also, with tarp coverage, the blood may drip to the floor leaving your carpet looking like a crime scene. Try explaining that to grandma.

3) Lay Down a Dark Towel - This is the method of most men as it's easy to install and clean up is a breeze. Best used for when the dame's period is ending/beginning and if you're the kind of guy who likes to fuck in one place.

4) Vacuum Cleaner - Simply use the nozzle, with no attachment, and suck the blood out of that bad boy before your fuck it. Brilliant. Have some personal lubricant handy, because after the shop vac is done with it, that twat is sure to be parched.

5) Have Sex on Someone Else's Bed - Boom! Finally a solution with no cons worth mentioning. We all know you're a prick, just solidify it by wiping your blood drenched fingers all over the pillow. Make sure whoever owns the bed can't kick your ass and doesn't pay your bills.

6) The Sampler - All disgusting chain restaurants (See T.G.I. Fridays) offer an appetizer sampler or even an entree sample (E.g. Tour of Italy --Thank you, Olive Garden!), so why can't we? With that in mind, we at the Academy of Cunt Blood Prevention have decided to step up our game and offer a solution for the picky consumer. It’s a five step solution. For any retards out there, those five steps also happen to be the five I previously listed and when performed simultaneously they ensure the lack of a bloody mess.

I hope you found these suggestions both insightful and nauseating to read. I have to reveal that this post was not easy for me to write. Not because I think a bloody vagina is gross, but because I recently strolled through a red light, a few road blocks and blew through a police barricade with a cougar, and to be honest I'm still experiencing some trauma, but that's another tale for another time.

That's all for now....I hope your Friday snakes a finger up your ass.

Waffles McButter

Random Thought 2/27/09

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