Sally,I know the counselor said we shouldn’t contact each other during our “cooling off” period, but I could not wait any more.The day you left, I swore I’d never speak to you again, but that was just the hurt little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride has cost me a lot of things. I’m tired of pretending I don’t miss you. I don’t care about looking terrible anymore. I don’t care who makes the first move as long as one of us does. Maybe it’s time we let our hearts speak loudly as our pain.

This is what my heart says, “There’s nobody like you, Sally. I look for you in the eyes and Double-D breasts of every woman I see, but they’re not you. Not even close.”

Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Baha Beach Club and took her home with me. I don’t say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my depression. She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating could give you. I mean, just a fantastic body. Tits like you wouldn’t believe and an ass that just wouldn’t quit. Every man’s dream, right?

As I sat on the sofa being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the important stuff we’ve created in our lives. It’s all so superficial, isn’t it? What’s so big about a perfect body? Does it make her better in the sack? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I’m getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Sally? Probably not. And I’d never really thought of that before. I don’t know, maybe I’m just growing up a little.

Later that night, after I had tossed her about a half pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, “Why do I feel so drained and empty?” It wasn’t just her impeccable technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but anything else. Why did it feel so imcomplete? And then it hit me. It didn’t feel the same because you weren’t there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the similar without you. Damn it, Sally, I’m just going insane without you. And everything I do all day just reminds me of you.

Last year, do you remember that 37 year old with the perfect body named Nina, who’s at single mom and is a fitness instructor at the Bally Fitness Center? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn’t eating right without a woman around. I didn’t know what she meant till later; but that’s no the real story. Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know we’re banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart’s a total monster in the sack. She’s giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she’s not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can here us. And all of the sudden, she sports that tilting mirror on your grandmother’s old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves and it’s totally hot, but it delivers e sad too because I can’t help thinking “Why didn’t Sally ever put the mirror on the floor? We’ve had this old vanity for what, 14 years and we never used it as a sex toy?”

Saturday your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Christie’s just a kid and all, but she’s got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she’s been a real friend to me during this painful time. She’s given me lots of acceptable advice about you and about women in general. She’s pulling for us to have back together. Sally, she really is.

So we’re doing Jell-O shots in a hot bath and taking about happier times. Here’s this teenage girl with the comparable DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looks like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry. And then it turns out Christie is really into the whole anal thing, and that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I’m thrusting inside your baby sister’s monkey button, all I can do is think of you? It’s true, Sally. In your heart you must know it. Don’t you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can. If you feel the equivalent, I beg of you, please, let me know.

Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking remote is?

Love Elias

This video spawned off all of the research on the gross subject. Zolad did some lookups on the Net and came back with some of what you see.The funny part is when it gets to 3 min, 12 seconds of the video below:
http://www.break.com/index/how-not-to-adopt-a-child-from-africa.html

After he saw that video, Zolad responded with:

---

HAHAHAHAHA!

Cleavland Steamer???????

I’m sure I used to know, but after laughing hysterically, I frightened to ask what that is??? That thing was great. Thanks dude!!

---

Next reply: So, it’s gotta involve taking a dump on someone! hence the “steamer” but I’m quite sure he said “Cleavland” I’m gonna Google that … hang on …AAAHH!! HERE’S THE ANSWER … 1st main result in search lead me to “Wickipedia”

Cleveland steamer is a form of coprophilia, where a man or a woman defecates^[1] There is also an alternative method where a man or a woman defecates on a partner’s chest then spreads the feces around with his or her buttocks in a sexual manner.^[2][3][4] on a partner’s chest.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cleveland_steamer

---

Next reply: Notice that the answer from Wickipedia included the word coporophilla … because we’re pals and I feel as though you’ll be a better person knowing this, I want you to see its definition from Wickipedia.

• Coprophagia — the consumption of feces
• Human toilet — defecating and/or urinating on someone as a BDSM practice
  • Dirty Sanchez — smearing feces under the nose of the partner in the form of a mustache
  • Cleveland steamer — defecating on the partner’s chest.
• 2 Girls 1 Cup — a pornographic viral video involving feces and vomit, proved capable of making the viewer throw up in no less than fifteen to twenty seconds
• Urolagnia (also known as urophilia) — a paraphilia involving sexual pleasure through urine

It could just be the brain damage … but that sounds simply HORRIFIC!!

Just imagine how warped you’d have to be to actually WANT your wife to take a big dump on you, and then you EAT IT all the while getting sexually aroused!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Did you know there was an actual name for such horror??

>
Zolad just sent me this email and he was researching very disturbing sexual behavior. Here’s his original, unmodified email, cut and pasted to teach some of you wack jobs some new information: I am crashing, but wanted you to sleep with pleasant thoughts and memories.

ASS TO MOUTH: It is also known as A2M, ATM, or Arse-to-Mouth. Ass to mouth generally excludes cleaning the penis or other object after its removal from the anus and before its insertion into the mouth for the sake of increased sexual excitement and pleasure domination/humiliation of the passive partner. “Ass to other girl’s mouth,” abbreviated as A2OGM or ATOGM, specifically describes the variant of the act where the penis is moved from one partner’s anus to a different partner’s mouth. Another variation is known as A2P, ATP, or Ass-to-Pussy which refers to removing the penis from the anus and inserting it into the vagina. The term has been used since at least January 1995 and clearly defined since at least August 1996.^[2] Despite its health risks, it is prevalent in pornographic films.^[3][4]
ASSHOLE LICKING / TONGUING: “Anilingus” involves a variety of techniques to stimulate the anus including kissing, licking, and sliding the tongue in and out of the anus. Pleasure for the receiver comes from the sensitive nerve endings surrounding the anal opening, which are typically stimulated by the tongue and lips.

Pleasure for the giver can come from various sources. Anilingus can satisfy both anal and oral fixations in the giver. Pheromones produced in and around the anus are also thought to play a role in the pleasures experienced by one who performs anilingus.

Someone mentioned calories and how poor a metric they are. I just restarted the “real diet” Monday to see if I can go down another 10 inches[1] in pants size. I dropped 10 in 2006 by being strict about it while still consuming 3000 calories a day.

I noticed the return of an unpleasant phenomenon which seems to be related to the first couple of weeks of no-carbing it. Craps of a nature most unnatural and foul.

I know what you’re thinking. This is just Johnny Chuck with his overly descriptive chronicles of cream corn, etc., but I’m being real here. I’m talking about an oily greenish mess exuding a pungent melange of odors beyond description. Just the swirling action of the flush makes semi-permanent marks on the bowl. Even after 30 minutes with the fan running, Punjabi day laborers fresh from eating week old lamb curry while perched on the edge of the dumpster corral can be heard crying out in alarm after breaking the plane of the mens room.

I of course slip silently out of the room and walk rapidly away. However, it is harder to escape derisive comment at home, where the suspect pool is so limited.

I am eating the 5 servings of fruit and vegetables. Is there some explanation for this cursed issue?

[1] I’d better watch where I say that.

Tower: “Delta 351, you have traffic at 10 o’clock , 6 miles!”
Delta 351: “Give us another hint! We have digital watches!”

---

Tower: “TWA 2341, for noise abatement turn right 45 degrees.”
TWA 2341: “Center, we are at 35,000 feet. How much noise can we make up here?”
Tower: “Sir, have you ever heard the noise a 747 makes when it hits a 727?”

---

From an unknown aircraft waiting in a very long takeoff line: “I’m fucking bored!”
Ground Traffic Control: “Last aircraft transmitting, identify yourself immediately!”
Unknown aircraft: “I said I was fucking bored, not fucking stupid!”

---

O’Hare Approach Control to a 747: “United 329 heavy, your traffic is a Fokker, one o’clock, three miles, Eastbound.”
United 329: “Approach, I’ve always wanted to say this… I’ve got the little Fokker in sight.”

---

A student became lost during a solo cross-country flight. While attempting to locate the aircraft on radar, ATC asked, “What was your last known position?”
Student: “When I was number one for takeoff.”

---

A DC-10 had come in a little hot and thus had an exceedingly long roll out after touching down.
San Jose Tower Noted: “American 751, make a hard right turn at the end of the runway, if you are able. If you are not able, take the Guadeloupe exit off Highway 101, make a right at the lights and return to the airport.”

---

A Pan Am 727 flight, waiting for start clearance in Munich , overheard the following:
Lufthansa (in German): “Ground, what is our start clearance time?”
Ground (in English): “If you want an answer you must speak in English.”
Lufthansa (in English): “I am a German, flying a German airplane, in Germany . Why must I speak English?”
Unknown voice from another plane (in a beautiful British accent): “Because you lost the bloody war!”

---

Tower: “Eastern 702, cleared for takeoff, contact Departure on frequency 124.7″
Eastern 702: “Tower, Eastern 702 switching to Departure. By the way, after we lifted off we saw some kind of dead animal on the far end of the runway.”
Tower: “Continental 635, cleared for takeoff behind Eastern 702, contact Departure on frequency 124.7. Did you copy that report from Eastern 702?”
Continental 635: “Continental 635, cleared for takeoff, roger; and yes, we copied Eastern… we’ve already notified our caterers.”

---

One day the pilot of a Cherokee 180 was told by the tower to hold short of the active runway while a DC-8 landed. The DC-8 landed, rolled out, turned around, and taxied back past the Cherokee. Some quick-witted comedian in the DC-8 crew got on the radio and said,
“What a cute little plane. Did you make it all by yourself?”
The Cherokee pilot, not about to let the insult go by, came back with a real zinger: “I made it out of DC-8 parts. Another landing like yours and I’ll have enough parts for another one.”

---

The German air controllers at Frankfurt Airport are renowned as a short-tempered lot. They not only expect one to know one’s gate parking location, but how to get there without any assistance from them. So it was with some amusement that we (a Pan Am 747) listened to the following exchange between Frankfurt ground control and a British Airways 747, call sign: Speedbird 206.
Speedbird 206: ” Frankfurt , Speedbird 206! Clear of active runway.”
Ground: “Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One-Seven.”
The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.
Ground: “Speedbird, do you not know where you are going?”
Speedbird 206: “Stand by, Ground, I’m looking up our gate location now.”
Ground (with quite arrogant impatience): “Speedbird 206, have you not been to Frankfurt before?”
Speedbird 206 (coolly): “Yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark, — And I didn’t land.”

---

While taxiing at London ’s Gatwick Airport , the crew of a US Air flight departing for Ft. Lauderdale made a wrong turn and came nose to nose with a United 727.
An irate female ground controller lashed out at the US Air crew, screaming: “US Air 2771, where the hell are you going? I told you to turn right onto Charlie taxiway! You turned right on Delta! Stop right there. I know it’s difficult for you to tell the difference between C and D, but get it right!”
Continuing her rage to the embarrassed crew, she was now shouting hysterically: “God! Now you’ve screwed everything up! It’ll take forever to sort this out! You stay right there and don’t move till I tell you to! You can expect progressive taxi instructions in about half an hour, and I want you to go exactly where I tell you, when I tell you, and how I tell you! You got that, US Air 2771?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the humbled crew responded.
Naturally, the ground control communications frequency fell terribly silent after the verbal bashing of US Air 2771. Nobody wanted to chance engaging the irate ground controller in her current state of mind. Tension in every cockpit out around Gatwick was definitely running high. Just then an unknown pilot broke the silence and keyed his microphone, asking:
“Wasn’t I married to you once?”

MR. PRESIDENT, I’M HEADED TO MEXICO

Dear President Bush:

I’m about to plan a little trip with my family and extended family, and I would like to ask you to assist me. I’m going to walk across the border from the U.S. into Mexico, and I need to make a few arrangements. I know you can help with this. I plan to skip all the legal stuff like visas, passports, immigration quotas and laws. I’m sure they handle those things the same way you do here. So, would you mind telling your buddy, President Vicente Fox, that I’m on my way over? Please let him know that I will be expecting the following:

1. Free medical care for my entire family.

2. English-speaking government bureaucrats for all services I might need, whether I use them or not.

3. All government forms need to be printed in English.

4. I want my kids to be taught by English-speaking teachers.

5. Schools need to include classes on American culture and history.

6. I want my kids to see the American flag flying on the top of the flag pole at their school with the Mexican flag flying lower down.

7. Please plan to feed my kids at school for both breakfast and lunch.

8. I will need a local Mexican driver’s license so I can get easy access to government services.

9. I do not plan to have any car insurance, and I won’t make any effort to learn local traffic laws.

10. In case one of the Mexican police officers does not get the memo from Pres. Fox to leave me alone, please be sure that all police officers speak English.

11. I plan to fly the U.S. flag from my house top, put flag decals on my car, and have a gigantic celebration on July 4th. I do not want any complaints or negative comments from the locals.

12. I would also like to have a nice job without paying any taxes, and don’t enforce any labor laws or tax laws.

13. Please tell all the people in the country to be extremely nice and never say a critical word about me, or about the strain I might place on the economy. I know this is an easy request because you already do all these things for all the people who come to the U.S. from Mexico. I am sure that Pres. Fox won’t mind returning the favor if you ask him nicely. However, if he gives you any trouble, just invite him to go quail hunting with your V.P. Thank you so much for your kind help.

When I have the occasional bad day and need to take it out on someone, I don’t take it out on my loved ones anymore…

I got the idea one day when I was sitting at my desk and remembered a phone call I had forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it.

A man answered, saying, “Hello.” I politely said, “This is Chris. May I please speak with Robin Carter?”

Suddenly, the phone was slammed down on me.

I couldn’t believe that anyone could be so rude. I tracked down Robin’s correct number and called her.

I had transposed the last two digits of her phone number. After hanging up with her, I decided to call the ‘wrong’ number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled, “You’re an asshole!” and hung up.

I wrote his number down with the word ‘asshole’ next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I’d call him up and yell, “You’re an asshole!” It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my therapeutic ‘asshole’ calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, “Hi, this is John Smith from the Telephone Company. I’m just calling to see if you’re interested in the Caller ID program?”

He yelled, “NO!” and slammed the phone down. I quickly called him back and said, “That’s because you’re an asshole!”

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot.

Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I had been waiting for the spot. The idiot ignored me. I noticed a “For Sale” sign in his car window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole, (I had his number on speed dial ), I thought I had better call the BMW asshole, too. I said, “Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Can you tell me where I can see it?” “Yes, I live at 1802 West 34th Street. It’s a yellow house, and the car’s parked right out in front.”

“What’s your name?” I asked. “My name is Don Hansen,” he said.

“When’s a good time to catch you, Don?”

“I’m home every evening after five.”

“Listen, Don, can I tell you something?”

“Yes?”

“Don, you’re an asshole.” Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call. But after several months of calling them, it wasn’t as enjoyable as it used to be.

So, I came up with an idea. I called Asshole #1.

“Hello.” “You’re an asshole!” (But I didn’t hang up.)

“Are you still there?” he asked. “Yeah,” I said. “Stop calling me,” he screamed.

“Make me,” I said.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Don Hansen.”

“Yeah? Where do you live?”

“Asshole, I live at 1802 West 34th Street, a yellow house, with my black Beamer parked in front.”

He said, “I’m coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers.”

I said, “Yeah, like I’m really scared, asshole.”

Then I called Asshole #2.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hello, asshole,” I said.

He yelled, “If I ever find out who you are!”

“You’ll what?” I said.

“I’ll kick your ass,” he exclaimed.

I answered, “Well, asshole, here’s your chance. I’m coming over right now.”

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 1802 West 34th Street, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover.

Then I called Channel 2 News about the gang war going down on West 34th Street. I quickly got into my car and headed over to 34th street.

There I saw two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six squad cars, a police helicopter, and a news crew.

NOW, I feel better.

This anger management stuff really works