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Could My Mom Be A Cougar?

Our culture loves the fad terminology.  The latest horrific concept to grasp us all by the short and curlies:  Cougar.

I kept hearing this term and thought maybe it had some cute, clever meaning, like MILF.  I knew what it was describing, but I kept trying to think what the letters could stand for.  Finally I went to the site for all things cool and hip, urbandictionary.com.  It apparently doesn’t stand for anything, but refers to “older women” who go to clubs to pick up young dudes for some lovin’. 

Apparently it is better to have five, 2.5 minute, episodes of sex in a night, instead of one, four hour, episode, in which half the time is spent getting it up.  It must really suck to be a woman.  It’s either pre-mature ejaculation or impotence. 

I kept researching this concept, and was picturing saggy sixty year old women, with too much plastic surgery, all gussied up in a mini skirt and fur coat hitting the discos.  Then I found the age criteria.  Apparently a cougar is any chick over thirty five who is searching for a younger man to use for sexual pleasures. 

It hit me, most females I hang out with are over thirty five.  Maybe they are Cougars.  One in particular you might be familiar with...Her name begins with an L and rhymes with Jiz.

Another thought occurred to me, “I’m thirty five!  That means women my age are now seeking younger men.” But, if older men are looking for younger women, and older women are looking for younger men, what the hell does that mean for me?  Do I start trying to bang fifty year old chicks, or do I focus on eighteen year olds?  I know which way I WANT to steer, but I need to play the odds here. 

I’m soooo damn confused right now. 

Maybe I should start trying to dress younger, so I can bag a girl my own age. 

Answer some questions I have...Do any of you gals out there relish the term Cougar?  Does anyone refer to themselves as that?  Do women find a catholic school BOY outfit hot?

Back In The Saddle

I have been out of the blogging loop for so long, I have almost forgotten what I am supposed to blog about. 

I think it has something to do with my balls, but that doesn’t seem right.  Why would anyone want to read that?  Has the World Wide Webs numbed us all to such disturbing levels that people would actively seek out and support such tomfoolery? 

I hope not.  There is a world of cute kitten posters you could be googling right now.  I really mean that...after writing that last sentence I spent about thirty minutes on google looking for cute motivational kitten posters.  I had one in mind.  This one.

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I could not believe the overwhelming amount of kitten propaganda on the information super highway.  It seems dangerous to have all those kittens on a highway.

I then remembered, not to long ago, the Onion had a funny kitten related headline.

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I started to wonder if, in a thinly veiled attempt to increase web traffic, maybe we should be MORE kitten oriented here.  We have the one cursory kitten at the top of the page.  I don’t recall working him into the design for ulterior motives, but maybe my kitten scheme has been subconscious for some time. 

Maybe if I replace Liz with a cute, cuddly kitten, I could get more than two posts while I am out of town.  But, where could I drink, win at poker, and then pass out in an overly pillowed bed?  I think some kittens might have a few of those qualities, but not in great enough quantity.

I then started to wonder, “what would it be like if my balls were actually cute, cuddly kittens?”

Would women be more, or less, likely to want to pet them?  I mean, who doesn’t see kittens, and then instantly want to reach out and rub and hold them?  I can’t tell you how many times I have witnessed women pick up strange, unfamiliar kittens and rub them against their face, cooing and making soft, sexy noises. 

If my balls were kittens, I would enjoy that treatment.  That rarely happens now, at least not for free.

But, then I realized it might be disconcerting to many people if there is an abnormal amount of frantic movement from the groin region of my pants.  Not to mention the constant soft, high pitched mewling.  That would get annoying after a very short period.  Also, if my balls scratched and bit on occasion only a select few women would still go along with that...and I don’t really go for that scene.

No, I think I will keep my balls as they are.  They have served me well up to this point.  But if you run across a kitten with a quaint little house, full of campy, yet tasteful, decorations, and a willingness to drink frequently, scoop it up and give me a call.  If they can also produce a humorous blog entry more than once a week, Liz might get replaced, but that kitten better be house broken...it took me forever to get Liz that way.

Blog Slackin’

Man, is it Thursday already?  It seems like almost a week ago since I last posted...oh wait, it has been almost a week.

This previous weekend we went to a local crawfish dive bar to celebrate the FINAL graduation of Liz.  She is officially a Master.  I’m not sure what she mastered, but I assure you it was not poker.  After the crawfish festivities we all adjourned to her house to continue imbibing large quantities of beer, away from the prying eyes of Johnny Law.  That led to some games, which led to poker, which led to the typical post-poker fun of me counting Liz’s money. 

This is a welcome return to the norm after the financial raping I took, a few weeks ago, at the hands of a group of Firemen.  Man, if you take out the word financial, that looks like a really awful experience.

Once AGAIN Liz made repeated complaints about the flatulence being loosed in her abode.  I made a few simple statements concerning her fault in this matter:
1.  95% of her friends are guys, and guys do that.
2.  She was the one who chose the spicy crawfish to be the food of choice for this day, and followed it up with chips and cheese dip at her house.
3.  She was the one who chose to begin the drinking at noon.
All these things add up to a reasonable expectation of flatulence.  She can keep her head in the sand about such matters, but it is plain as day...she is to blame for the odor, not me or Clib.

Everyone please help me in congratulating Liz on accomplishing the completion of this Masters Degree.  It only took her like ten years to complete it.  I don’t even know if she remembers what the degree is in.  Considering she works the night shift at a local Adult Bookstore, I don’t see it helping her get a raise.  Nobody wants some smart broad reading Nietzsche while ringing up their snuff porn and anal beads.  Social cynicism always ruins the mood.

On a side note, I will be going away on an extended business trip for several weeks, effectively handing the day to day operations of Killer Rants over to Liz, so don’t expect too much activity, and if you do see a post from her, make sure you check it for grammatical and spelling errors.  We should all hold her to a higher standard now.

I’m Clib’s Raging Revenge

Continuing with the week of Photo Shop Fun, I am going to share with you all the retaliatory pics I was inundated with only moments after posting that pic of Clib.  He was apparently the first to see it on my blog, and hence did not sleep all night for working on his revenge.  You shall see just how much better at this he is than I.

He sent me about six photos in all, most just slightly tweaked versions of the previous.  He is an artist after all, so it is hard for him not to seek perfection. 

This first picture is his favorite.  I think it makes good likeness of my physique.

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I don’t like the fact that I have a cigarette in my hand.  I can live with the leather strap outfit, but I am against smoking.  I think it decays society.

This one is a little more artistically flavored.  It shows a little more class than the previous one, but it doesn’t really portray my junk in a good light.  I didn’t say it was not correct...just poorly presented.

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Clib actually did a lot of work to this to add a special feature that I frequently talk about.  See if you can spot it.

Whip it!  Whip it good!

By now you are probably tired of all these photoshop shenanigans...but they are so entertaining to me and Liz. 

It should be known that I am officially opening myself up for all kinds of disgusting, perverted pics of me to appear in my email account, on bright sheets of paper stuck under windshield wipers and possibly on a bill board or two around town. 

It is not that Clib is vindictive or evil spirited, he is just very driven and when he gets focused on retaliation it can be a long cold battle.  Not to mention, my meager photoshop skills have all been born from him, and he is much better at it than I am. 

All that is fully known and understood, but still I am posting this pic.  My second attempt to doctor a picture in photoshop, but I have to admit...the only doctoring I had to do for this pic is to add the bull whip.  The rest is straight up Clib.  100%

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