Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride

from November 5, 2007

Hi Teens!

Mr. Know-It-All is back with another “advice” column ass-packed with crude sexual jokes, rampant drug abuse, and alcohol-fueled stupidity.

Mr. Know-It-All has found that the world is moving too God-damned fast. Like the other day at the liquor store. I was on line waiting to pay for a six-pack of something cheap when there was this lady ahead of me. She was talking on her cell phone, texting on her PDA, rocking a baby, and paying for her vodka while all the time she was carrying on a conversation with her boyfriend. What the fuck is that? That shit is productive, that’s what! Mr. Know-It-All’s idea of multitasking is taking a leak while eating a sandwich, with a chicken parm hero in one hand and his ginormous schwantz in the other. And that woman on line? I was so drunk that I puked on her. Serves her right for being sober at noon.

But I know I’m just preaching to the crazy choir here. Like everything you hear during the day. Just complain complain whine whine whine. “Global warning”- boo hoo. “The war in Iraq” waah waaah. “I’m 58th on the heart transplant list and I don’t think I’m going to make it.” Suck it up, crybaby. Want to worry about something? I’ll show you these warts I’ve found all over my ass. I swear, some of them are way inside deep.

Anyway, on to the advice. Remember, these are all real letters found in real advice columns. So enjoy! Your buddy Mr. Know-It-All finds that giving advice is better than jerking off- less chaffing.

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“My very first sexual experience was a wet-dream. I was 11 years old and I awakened to find something wet in my pajamas. I was sure I was sick, maybe even had cancer. Is this normal?”

-from a 12 year old boy

Way to go kid! Mazel Tov! Wet dreams are the orgasm’s kid brother: You get all of the mess but none of the fun. Sure, you wake up with your crotch full of the sticky juice, but look on the bright side, at least you’re sure it’s yours. Wet dreams are your body’s way of saying “Kid, time to masturbate.” You’re a man now. Stick with it and soon you’ll be more familiar with the back of your hand than with any actual girls because, let’s face it, you are a loser.

And yeah, I think you have cancer. Sorry kid, them’s the breaks. But enjoy your new hobby!

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What sort of things are expected of a girl during oral sex? You see, I want to give my boyfriend a blow-job, but I don’t know what’s expected of me, what I am supposed to do. – Becca, 16.

 Yeeeaaaaahhh, this is why I became a Certified Advice Columnist. Kid, how strong is your gag reflex? Can you train yourself to ignore it? How long can you hold your breath? What is the biggest banana you have ever eaten? Do you drive? Do you know where 1852 Canoga Park is? Are you willing to be here by 8 o’clock, alone, and tell your parents you are staying at your aunt’s? I think I can help you. Bring viagra, valium, and vodka.

Sixteen is legal right? Somebody IM me fast with a lawyer’s number. I may have a problem

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I’m 67. Will there be a time in my life when I will no longer feel the need to masturbate? I read that more and more people are living to be 100 — do they masturbate?

 You’re not a teen- get lost.

No, wait, you have a funny question, stick around. Look Gramps, Mr. Know-It-All doesn’t want to stop- why do you? Thank your lucky stars that you can still get it up at your age. I’m lucky if the old limp worm wakes up at all some days. People who live to be 100 sure want to masturbate, but they’ve got other things to worry about, like their kids looting their trust funds and sticking them into shady nursing homes. Then they get so drugged up that they can’t even remember how many toes they have, let alone masturbating. I remember this one time,  I found myself hiding under a bed in a nursing home when some old broad rolled in on her wheelchair. She was like 190, but what did she do? Took her tube of arthritis cream and did the in and out on herself. I gotta tell you true, kids, it wasn’t half bad.

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I am 16 and have never, ever masturbated. I’ve ejaculated in my sleep 3 or 4 times, though. Is this normal? I think this may make losing my virginity a much more incredible experience — am I correct?

No. Talk to the old pervert in the letter above.

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I have been masturbating for a year and a half now and do it about once a day. I masturbate in our bathroom with the door locked. I usually take 15 or 20 minutes to finish, and then I usually wait 5 more minutes for my erection to go away. My problem is that my parents think I am really going to the bathroom and that I am not feeling well, since it takes so long. I’m afraid they may bring it up at a doctor appointment. How can I can speed up the process and make my erection go away sooner?

BWAH HA HA! HOOOOO! HA HA HA HA HA ! Kid, you’re kidding, right? HAW HAW HA HA! 15 to 20 minutes? What the fuck are you thinking about, horses? Shit, if it took me that long to jerk off, then Mr. Know-It-All wouldn’t have time to write this column! And 5 minutes for your erection to go away? Mine poops out usually about 30 seconds before the climax, then I just dribble all over the place. THIS IS WHY I DO COKE!

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How come whenever I’m done masturbating, I feel like I was being stupid and have the urge to put on my clothes immediately?
– age 14, New York

14, welcome to adulthood. That thing between your legs will make you do very stupid things throughout your life, and the sad part is, you always know they are stupid. Guys will climb over jagged rocks if their cocks tell them that there may be a naked boob on the other side. An erection is like a stupid-finder. The first time I ever did heroin was because I was trying to impress my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Clausen. Man, what a rack she had. Oh yeah, Mrs. Clausen, ohhhhh……..

What? Oh yeah, the 14 year-old kid. Look kid, just pull up your pants and forget about it.

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That’s it for this week’s column. I hope that you have all learned something form your pal Mr. Know-It-All. I would like to leave you now with the advice that my father gave to me- “Wipe that up son, and don’t let your mother catch you in her closet.” 

Tags: advice, bad advice, bmj2k, Mr. Blog, Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride, Mr. BTR, Mr. Know-It-All

from September 17, 2007

Mr. Know-It-All here. What THE HELL is wrong withthe so-called Mr. Blog AKA  Barry “Horton Rotnac”? Rotnac???? He named himself after a weirdo with a furry hat????? And I happen to know that his middle name is NOT “Horton.”

Look at what he’s been writing lately. I’m usually in no condition to read, but I’ve been a little more sober lately and that just pisses me off. Being sober too. Some shit about Dracula movies and ant farms. Who has an ant farm? What do they grow on fucking ant farms? Ants? Or do the ants grow crops, I dunno, like little farmers with mandibles, whatever. Are there ant cowboys? What the fuck? It’s his freakin’ unreality. “The Ambien went straight to my sleep centers,” he wrote, like it’s the damn pill making him write all that crap. Shit, I take four Ambien with my coffee in the morning and you don’t hear me complaining. Try shooting up a highball in your testicles, that’ll go to your head, believe me.

Then he wrote about pets. Don’t listen to him. Pets are a waste of time. You have to feed them- and you can’t feed them pizza or beer, stuff you’d like to eat too. No, pets make you spend money. Money that would be better spent on Colt 45 and hookers. And pets make you clean up after them. There was time I woke up after a couple of days, or maybe a week, I don’t remember so good, but there was this cat, wherever I was, and the cat had shit all over the place, all over me, all over itself. The cat was crazy. I’ll tell you what pets are good for- FOOD. Damn straight. Let’s say you are stuck in a cellar for a few days because some drug dealer thinks maybe you owe him some money and he’s gonna starve you for a while. And let’s say you had a Golden Labrador Retriever, Mr. Bugglesworth. Here’s what you do- eat the dog. (Yeah, that example would have worked on a desert island too, but Mr. Know-It-All usually finds himself in strange cellars, not islands.) And if you have a guinea pig or a gerbil, here’s the real advice- keep it out of your ass, for god’s sake!

What is wrong with that guy? Barry “Horton Rotnac” watched some movies and wrote some so-called reviews. I’ll be honest- I was stoned every single time Grease came on the television, just by coincidence, so maybe his reviews were good, but why the fuck not review something somebody might have seen in this century? OK, so he did that Ratatalata movie, but it was a cartoon for kids. And what did he do? Turned it all messed up and homosexual. He might have messed up more kid’s psyches than I did when I drove a bus and started “kiss the driver’s lap day.”

This guy is some sort of stalker. He spent way too much time writing about weirdoes in his area. You know what? HE’S THE WEIRDO! Spending all day, peeking around, probably, with his binoculars peeking at everybody. Go back and read his crap- I’ll put it simply: HE IS OBSESSED WITH A LITTLE OLD MAN FROM HONG KONG. I have never been so drunk as to be obsessed with little old men that way he has. I’ve woken up with a couple, but I blame that on the booze. Yeah, the booze.

All you kids out there, listen to your friend Mr. Know-It-All: this fool doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He had the nerve to read other people’s bogs and make fun of them. THEY SHOULD MAKE FUN OF HIS CRAP! And he has the nerve to insult Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of The King????? I may not have had an erection since 1997 but she sure makes my Mr. Limpy dribble. Leave Elvis’s daughter alone!

I have no idea why anybody reads that stuff, like when he spent a month writing about some gorilla films he just made up. Maybe if he put that effort into getting laid there would be less shit about “The Master Hong Kong Tailor.” OK, I’ll give him credit for one thing- he was right about that 6,000-pound woman fat wet t-shirt contest. I was almost scared straight, but instead I went straight to the coke. (And when is the next party, anyway?)

HE IS A NUT! I can’t be anymore direct- there is something very wrong, all the nonsense with arrows, and parentheses, and brackets. I think he has some kind of OCD where he has to do fucked-up shit or else he thinks the house will burn down or he’ll die of leprosy or something like that.

I have given a lot of advice in the past. When I’m sober, I even try to write an advice column you might have read, so here is the advice of a professional advice guy- get this man the help he needs. His bogs read like the ravings of a man craving attention from one of his split personalities. He needs serious meds, fast. Intervene, now. Do it for his own good.

Tags: advice, bad advice, bmj2k, Mr. Blog, Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride, Mr. BTR, Mr. Know-It-All