slicksumbich.com 

I’ll be back once it’s over.

When that will be….your guess is as good as mine.

Details later.

They were a different color, not much, but still noticable.

Took them off……they were also 2 different sizes.

I attribute this problem to my lack of golf time, XBox time, and the need for getting laid.

I guess masturbation really does cause your eyesight to go bad.

Did you know that? Oh, sorry….CAN YOU READ THIS?

I thought you were all decent people. I had assumed I was the one that was sick and perverted. Not anymore.

I know the truth now and I am sickened.

This could’ve been a site for all ages but it’s reputation is tarnished by your pervertedness. Just look at this…..

Which one of you “filthy women wants to know about lickin mens ass”?

And which one of you has exploded a bra? How do you explode a bra anyway? I’m assuming we’re not dealing with demolitions so, my question stands.

I never knew funbags could be so dangerous.

And for the guy who’s wife is too sexually aggressive. I know a million men who could help you with your problem. Not me, I’m almost married.

So, I’ll be accepting apologies from you disgusting bastards. Who’s first?

By the way, if you’ve noticed a “Suzie-Q” posting a comment, if you ever read anything she posts that directly relates to me or my childhood….she’s lying. Don’t believe her.

Unless it inflates my ego.

That’s my “real life” sister.

What is the purpose of “flavored condoms”?  Seriously, I’d like to know.

What male would want a uh….oral examination of his crotchal regions while wearing a condom? Or better yet, what female would want to give an oral examination of a man’s crotchal regions while he has one on?

Buying “flavored condoms” is like …well…

Like buying scented motor oil. Who in the hell would care if their motor oil was scented?

“Hey Brenda, Castrol just came out with some apple cinnamon 10w30. I have some in my potpourri bowl now!” 

Look, I’m not being stupid, I’m just curious is all. I only know of one place you put a damn rubber and I’m pretty sure that place doesn’t have taste buds. Well, I know another place  but I’m not gay….that place doesn’t have taste buds either.

Help a clueless sumbich out…

What’s the purpose of “flavored condoms”?

We teased and taunted each other, got into 2 shoving matches, and came damn close to a full blown fistfight, had it not been for my Big Bertha driver cocked back and ready to deliver some blows, he would’ve charged.

But….I wasn’t scared.

Slick ain’t scared of shit.

I ain’t even scared of Tiger Woods. He’s rich and content….no desire left. This is where I step in, as evidenced by the video below. Except I’m white.

Introducing the White Tiger.

Have a great weekend and save me a beer or three.

“Why” you ask, “is the 45th post so significant?”

Well, I’ll tell you.

For 45 days, I have unwaveringly given you greedy bastards advice on how to get laid, given you a male’s perspective on certain topics, and have shared with you my lurid sexual affairs.

After 45 days, I need a day off.

Today, it’s your turn to give me some advice. Whether it be of the sexual nature, how to apply blush evenly, or how I should arrange Trisha’s panty drawer.

I don’t care, just give me some advice, any kind on any topic will help me.

I knew I could count on my greedy bastard friends.

Why am I taking the day off? Because I’m taking my son to the golf course. A movie will be posted tomorrow! Seriously, I’ll be mad if you don’t come back to view it. It’s the weekend, like you folks have anything better to do. I mean, who wouldn’t want to see a Tiger Woods in the making and I’m not talking about my son.

Christina (the preacherman’s wench) has advised me that I need to broaden my porn collection. I took her advice. (See? I take advice!)

Damn, “Sexy” and “Perfect”!

You folks have a good one.

First things first, I’m always right. Remember that.

Females are now entering puberty at the age of 9. I saw that shit on the news last night. Seriously, that’s wild.

I’m drinking a Dr. Pepper and eating cotton candy for breakfast. I’m 36.

See? That’s one fact.

The other fact to believe that women age faster than men is the health and beauty aisles at Wal Mart, drugstores, grocery stores…wherever. There are 8 aisles devoted to skin revitalizers, eyeliners, skin moisturizers, oxen dung for a “younger face” for women.

Men have one aisle.

And that’s the aspirin section that helps with the dealing of aging women.

That’s fact two.

And now for fact three. Make-up has one purpose only. To hide what I’ve been telling you.

Women age faster than men, period.

Tell me I’m lying now.

You can’t.

The OTHER Trish? When do people start voting for that award thingy?

The sofa cushion has been ripped and there’s a picture frame that has the glass broken out of it. Unfortunately today, I am in no mood to be a domisticated engineer. I’m pretty sure the domisticated genes are housed in protruding breasts anyway. Could explain my laziness while I’m home?

Anyway….

I’m thinking of calling the police and reporting that my apartment has been burglarized.

What? That’d be a damn fine excuse and I’m pretty sure I can twist around to make it look like I’m some kind of hero.

“It was awful Trish. 3 drunk bastards came barging in here in masks and shit. I was loading the dishwasher when they rushed me. Tied me up and put me on the sofa where I used a fingernail file that I found in between the cushions to cut the rope, accidentally causing this rip, see it?

I finally freed myself and we fought, knocking this picture frame to the floor, see it?

It was rough baby, but being the manly man that I am, I took them on”

At this point in my telling of my heroism, she should be stripping off her clothes, don’t you think?

I got to go light some “smell good” candles and work on my excuse.

Ya’ll think she’s gonna buy it?

NOTE: The first few comments aren’t looking too good. If she ain’t gonna buy it, what in the hell do you suggest? And don’t say “The truth shall set you free”.

I don’t want to be single again…nbesides, we’ve already paid for our Vegas trip!

7:11 a.m Cell phone rings….

“Hey babe, what are you doing?”

“Sleeping” I said.

“Can you turn the TV down so I can hear you Michael?”

3 seconds and already I’m undergoing the inquisition? Now where’s the damn remote?

“Hello?” Trisha says…

“I’m trying to find the remote” I reply.

The unfinished glass of milk I had laid on the nightstand was overturned in the floor, I still had on my sunglasses, and I had some reminants of a corndog stuck to my cheek, or what I believe to be was a corndog.

“Michael?”

“Yeah babe?”

“What are you doing?” she asks, again.

“I’m trying to wake up and I can’t find the remote.” I replied

“You usually knock it in the floor when you fall asleep with the TV on. “ Yes, she’s so helpful.

I crawl to the side of the bed and look down. Covered in homo milk lay my remote.

My fear here is that when she gets home she’ll wonder why the remote is all sticky and shit and wonder what in the hell I’ve been watching.

I’m hiding my “Girls Gone Wild” video for sure now.

You be the judge…..

Think I can pull the innocent look off?

My boys are coming over today….pray for us.