Best of Craigslist

Best of Craigslist http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/ Best postings from craigslist.org, selected by readers en-us Copyright 2008, craigslist.org webmaster@craigslist.org webmaster@craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/ Best of Craigslist Collection 2008-10-17T07:26:23-07:00 2 daily Another Bang Lister http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/882636139.html Here's what I think of your Bang List: <big><big><big><big>B</big></big></big></big>utter You were my first lube. You were always there for me; you never asked for anything, you just gave and gave and gave. Sure, I experimented a little, who doesn't? Corn oil, mayonnaise, suntan lotion, Vaseline, hair gel, jam, ManGlide... but you were the first. Yeah, it really brings back the ol' memories. You'll always have a special place in my heart. Hell, I can't even eat popcorn these days without getting a woody. <big><big><big><big>U</big></big></big></big>nderwear You were hawwt. I remember the first time I checked out my Mom's underwear in the dirty clothes hamper; you were flirting with me. Teasing me to try you on. Did you ever tell her that I sometimes wore you while I spanked my monkey? You dawg! She must have weighed 280 pounds, and you were like a circus tent. And her bra? OMG! That was Tasty Hot! She'd come home from a long day at work, all hot and sweaty, and eat her fried-chicken TV dinner while leaning forward on her chair so I could pick the zits on her back. Her bra was just so . . There. I'd sneak a peek every once in a while. You know what I'm saying? Fuckin' A, baby! <big><big><big><big>L</big></big></big></big>ady on page 26 of the Victoria's Secret catalog You were one Hot Babe. You rocked my world. That look in your eyes as I wanked into some Kleenex promised some of the steamiest sex I could ever imagine. If you ever want to hook up again, just be delivered in the mail as usual. Maybe your friend with the juicy-caboosie (page 14) would like to get together for some Spicy-Hot 3-way action? Think about it. <big><big><big><big>L</big></big></big></big>inda, or maybe Lynn, or Lindsay, I'm not really sure I was cruising the New Year's Eve parties, looking for what I like to call Hot Babe Action. Just driving around in my Dodge Aries on a Babe Hunt. I heard your friends in front of the nightclub call to you, You gonna be okay, Lin(something)? You screamed back, (something garbled)!! and then stumbled and flipped them the bird. You were all pretty drunk. I followed you for a few blocks until you went into the park (I wasn't stalking you). I found you there, under a tree, on your hands and knees like a dawg, you Hot Nasty Bitch. You blew a steady torrent of vomit on the grass in front of you, and then planted your face in it with your ass up in the air. I'm pretty sure you said Yes; at least that's what I heard. Damn, I must have pounded your Love Canal 3, maybe even 4 seconds before I exploded. And I could tell from the side of your face that wasn't caked with vomit that, underneath the smeared make-up, you were Hot! Can you believe it? After all these years I still have your underwear (hanging from the rearview mirror of the Dodge Lovemobile) and the genital warts you gave me, and the herpes. You're still the only (human) female who I've slipped the baloney-pony: I'll love you forever. Good times, eh? There was something I've wondered about for a long time: you were sort of unresponsive at the time, and I wanted to get away before any cops came by, so I never got to ask; Was it good for you? <big><big><big><big>S</big></big></big></big>heep (I don't think you had a name) You were my first ungulate. This was at my Uncle Gunter's farm in Iowa. Damn, you were such an animal. After that whole Lin(whatserface) experience, I started to feel some manly pain in my heart. My life felt so empty with her gone. A lot of people don't realize it, but a man has feelings too. A man has needs. And I felt that I needed some poon-tang. A Hot Swingin' Babe, just getting down and dirty. But we were in the middle of Bum-Fuck, Iowa, so I went for ewe. You really helped me through a rough patch; helped me climb back on the Love Train again, get my confidence going so I could go cruising for Hot Babes. I was pretty nervous about playing hide-the-pickle with a farm animal, but you were calm and patient, just chewing your cud while I worked up my nerve. I gave you a handful of clover afterwards so in case you started following me around I could say, Yeah, I gave her some clover earlier. <big><big><big><big>H</big></big></big></big>orrified woman in the bathroom stall next to me I swear that all I was doing was making a simple video of toilets in American public bathrooms. A historical documentation of how we live in America. You'd think that would have some social value, right? Performance art. Right? I had No Friggen Idea that you were in the stall next to me! I couldn't even see the viewfinder for the camera! Hell, I didn't even know this was a woman's bathroom. I'm sorry I didn't look more carefully at the tiny little sign. And anyway, I think it was in Spanish, at least part of it was, and I got confused. I was crowning; I had to go. And I was rubbing one out. . . like it's a big deal. Lots of guys pound the pud while sitting on the can. If the judge had been a guy instead of frigid, bitter, dried-up, man-hating dyke, he would have known that, and I would have walked. Jeez Laweez! Talk about a frame-up! <big><big><big><big>I</big></big></big></big>ke You were my best friend in prison, man. Hombre! We'd kick back, just passing the time out in the yard, talking about Hot-Assed Bitches. Right on, brother! Talking about bras, talking about Lin(whatever), talking about cruising for Hot Smokin' Babes in the Lovemobile. Those were some good times, talking about what we'd do when we got out of the Big House and hooked up with some Sweet-n- Nasty Be-atches. Brother, when you get out in 10-to-15, I'll be waiting for you with the Dodge and we can cruise for some Booty-licious Hot Tamales, or we can go back to my place and watch each other jerk off just like in the Store Room of the Metal Shop at the Big House. Old times, amigo. I'll have a big stack of Victoria's Secret catalogs waiting for you, my man, just full of Hot, Ripe Babes. <big><big><big><big>T</big></big></big></big>astyTime That's my favorite brand of ice cream to eat while I'm hooking up with Hot Bitches on the Internet. T.T. TastyTime ButterNut Double-Fudge. Fuckin' A! That's also one of my screen names, TT. I understand Hot Babes so well now that I'm like a psychologist or some shit. They just have to ask what TT stands for. Tree Top Lover, Baby That's what I usually tell them. But my ladies just call me Tree Top. T.T. Dig? Then we get into all kinds of nasty talk about Trees and being on Top and shit. I tell ya, I know Bitches like the back of my hand. I cruise CraigsList and all the chat rooms getting Hot Babe Action. I'm dialed-in to some really exclusive Eastern European porn (Prestige-level Member), straight to my In Box on the computer where I work graveyard as a security guard at the warehouse. Some Hot Russian Bitch has been writing to me lately; shit, I've got Hot Babes texting me every day. (The word is out, man; the word is fucking out that I'm a major Player, and the bees are buzzing looking for a little honey.) I got some Russian Bitch hitting me up, a Japanese Bitch, all talking about increasing the size of my trouser snake, make her moan with pleasure, that kind of shit. I'm like a Bitch-Magnet, baby. I've gone viral. It seems like every Hot Nasty Babe on the planet is focused on the size of my johnson. All wanting to ride the Stallion. That's another screen name of mine: 1337 Stallion. <hr> And that's the List . . . so far. . . . So, which one of you Hot Smokin' Babes is ready to assume the position on TT's Bang List? I've been taking the pills that I bought over the Internet from the Japanese Bitch and I've been using the vacuum pump; the Pecker has become a Porker. It's a fucking anaconda. It's got to be at least 5 solid God-Bless-American inches of white-meat tube-steak. I am really packing some hammer. I should be issued a warning label. Don't worry about Lin(whozit). I waited for her for 20 years: she had her chance, and the bitch blew it. I'm over her. I'm 41 years old, and it's time for me to move on to new pastures. I've got a job (paid to spank, best job in the world) and my own car (Lovemobile). I'm ready to party (but we can't party at my place because my Mom's retired now and is home all the time). The Lovemobile's got a kick-ass sound system; drop in the 8-track, booty-moving tunes start blasting, and we Par-tay! Any of you Hot Babes think you can handle a real Player? Let's hook up, Bay-Bay. Let's see what you've got. Tell me about our lovely lady lumps. Tell me about how you want to shake your money-maker out on the dance floor with TT. Tell me, Who's your pimpdaddy? Send me something to prime my pump (my love pump, unh!). I won't bite, but I might nibble. Don't be a hater. We can meet. You name the place and time. I'll be the guy in the tan Dodge Aries with the comb-over, Member's Only jacket and Sans-a-Belt slacks. And it's not a beer-belly; think of it as a fuel tank for a sex machine. TT <ul> <li> Location: Hawwt <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-10-17T07:26:23-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/882636139.html Another Bang Lister text Self-Proclaimed Yoko's Seek Band For Special Project http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/878346656.html Hey. Are you in an up and coming band? Care to be destroyed? We might be just the girls for you. Now, I know what you're thinking: "What?" you're thinking, "Why in the hell would I want some floosie Georgetown Yoko's to waltz into my studio, screw half my band, and laugh hautily while they watch us break up?" Well, to that I say "ha ha," and I say it laughingly. Now I'm not saying that everyone wants they're band to break up, I'm just saying that we're well versed in the intricacies of breaking up bands. I'm serious. We're really good at this. Well, I am anyway, but my roomates are ready and eager to learn how to assimilate their incomparable powers of destruction to band members. I don't know, dude. Maybe you're a spunky, talented lead guitarist who can't stand up to your lead singer. Maybe you're a drummer with a better offer. Look, I'm not a fortune teller, but I do have a haunted vagina, notches on my bedpost that total over 100, and I can help you break up your band if you don't have the balls to do it yourself. Amanda has had her share of bicycle club shenanigans, and Crystal, although she doesn't have specific band-breaking-up experience, has general destruction capabilities that have here to fore been unrivaled in this, the west side of the Missisippi. Together, you best believe that we can Yoko the crap out of any non assuming band in less than a fortnight. That's 14 days, guys. And hey. Maybe you just want to do it. That's cool too, but we are by no means guaranteeing that your band will stay together after having known us. Just ask the neighbors. Come on guys, let's bochinche (read: party naked with music). Love, Miranda, Amanda and Crystal <ul> <li> Location: Georgetown <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-10-13T20:36:36-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/878346656.html Self-Proclaimed Yoko's Seek Band For Special Project text Husband for adoption - low rehoming fee http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/847702751.html My husband said it's him or the dog? So, it was a tough choice, but the dog only takes up part of the bed, and he doesn't steal the covers, so I'm keeping the dog. Husband has tendency to wander, likes to sleep all day, will play with his balls, isn't house trained, but will beg to go out. Needs fenced yard without grass to mow, a home with plentiful food (favorite food is pizza) and drink (loves beer). Gets along well with other dogs, doesn't much care for cats or children. Has little redeeming value, but he is cute. Comes from a long line of hunters, would love to be your hunting companion. Knows Sit, Heel, Stay, and Down. Doesn't always do them? But he knows those commands, don't let him try to convince you he doesn't. Is current on all shots, pretty healthy, has had his teeth cleaned recently, and is NOT NEUTERED. I'd be happy to help pay for the neutering. Too good home, fee negotiable, I know I can't get anywhere near what I've got in him back. Comes with 49'ers T shirt, large flat screen tv, and a big truck but only the T shirt is paid for. Serious inquiries only! <ul> <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-09-19T17:57:39-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/847702751.html Husband for adoption - low rehoming fee text Autographed copy of the Bible - $1,000,000,000 OBO http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/757746196.html I have a near-mint copy of the Bible, signed by the Big J.C. himself. According to Amazon, this is one of the better selling books of all time. I'm guessing the Prince of Peace would be happy to hear that. This book was entrusted to me by the Knights of Templar, they borrowed it from Our Savior sometime between 28 and 32 AD and forgot to give it back. It was one of those things where they said they'd return it in a week, but then they didn't get around to reading it right away. And you know how you always feel bad returning a book you haven't read, especially when the lender asks you what you thought of it. So in trying to avoid an awkward moment with the Alpha and Omega, they hung onto it until they had more time. Well that time turned into about 2000 years, and it got mixed in with some other books and made it into a yard sale box. At first, the King of Kings' signature wasn't worth much, but after Our Redeemer died on the cross for your sins, apparently the value skyrocketed and then rose more gradually over the next 2000 years as more people learned of the Good Shepherd's story. Why am I selling it? I could say that I'm interested in sharing the Word of God with someone else - become a "Fisher of Men" so to speak. But the truth is I just bought an Xbox 360 and don't have room on the bookshelf for both. I'll either use the money to fight world hunger, or buy that Rock Band game I've been hankering for. <ul> <li>it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-07-16T14:27:03-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/757746196.html Autographed copy of the Bible - $1,000,000,000 OBO text I Got Fired Today http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/716250969.html I walked into work this morning at about 8:53 this morning and was surprisingly greeted by my V.P. I thought to myself, "That's odd... I didn't even know he knew I still work here?" He asked me if I knew what time it was because I am normally scheduled to be there at 8am Monday-Friday. I replied, "No, a lion attacked me on the way into work this morning. Lost my watch in the struggle. Enough about me, how can I be of assistance to you today, Mr. (****)?" Needless to say, he didn't find my explanation very endearing :-/ Next thing I knew, I get pulled into the conference room. Thought to myself, "Geesh, I wonder what this is about?" Walked into the room and saw my direct boss and all his lovely cohorts. They presented me my last four annual reviews and wished to go over them in detail. Naturally, I started laughing because of things I wrote in the past. Didn't know they actually read them? My boss revisted one of them that I wrote in 2007 where I am supposed to comment in the section of "Employee's Greatest Accomplishments". He read it off, "I got the Supervisor/Manager in the deli [downstairs] to start carrying V8 juice." I laughed and told them to cut to the chase. Whadya know? They had termination papers for me to sign. "Sure." A couple handshakes and then asked for a small box to pack my belongings. They obliged. Got back to my cubicle w/one of those white Office Max "On-the-Go" file boxes and packed five years worth of stuff. For the last time, I sat in my squeaky chair that never fit me right in all the years I'd been there. Only reason I kept it was because I knew the sound annoyed the shit out of my cubemate. In fact, one day he tried to mace it with WD-40. I lied and told him that I am severly allergic to it. He pouted for me to get a new chair and mumbled a couple swear words. I giggled so hard inside my head to a point that my face turned red. I just blamed the redness on the sight of the WD-40 can. Anyhow, back to my packing... found a lot of nothing. It hit me that I never really did "set up shop" like everyone else there at work had. You go into some cubes where the ladies have fuzzy arm sleeves for their chairs, hand-knitted blankets for their lap, a plethora of family/friends photos, personal lamps, small fish bowls, and enough plants sitting around to open up a plant nursery. Me? Well, I found the belongings that I had accumulated over five years: *Microwave pop-corn (take your pick, I have 4 flavors ranging from "Movie Theatre Butter" to Kettle!) *43 packets of Taco Bell's Mild sauce *12 packets of Morton's Salt *5 packets of pepper *3 packets of mustard *1 can of Campell's Chunky Beef Barley *3 Cup of Noodles (beef flavor) *2 Top Ramen Packs (beef flavor again) *a box of Quaker Oatmeal "Weight Control" (yeah, no interest... lady a work gave it to me 2 yrs ago) *4 boxes of Girl Scout cookies that I bought months ago (Thin Mint, Samoas, Peanut Butter Patties) *1 white bowl and tons of plasticware *and finally, travel and financial magazines dating back to 2006. Yep, that's it folks! No pictures, no plants, no fish. Oh, wait... I have one last item I found that hit a soft spot... it's Christmas ornament that was given to me by a co-worker last year. He gives them out every year and they're kinda cute considering he's a big Samoan dude w/a tribe of pooh-pooh makers at home. They make them out of clothes pins. Moral of my story: Don't eat too much red meat and salty foods - leads to kidney stones. PS: Let me know if you're hiring :-) <ul> <li> Location: Only in Seattle <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-06-11T11:44:15-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/716250969.html I Got Fired Today text SLIGHTLY DISGRUNTLED DIRT: nevermind http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/697782542.html NEVERMIND! Dirt changed dirt's mind. Dirt is too afraid of craigslist strangers to give out dirt's address. Dirt will just suck it up and spread around the yard, sometime... soon. (Oh who is dirt kidding? Dirt will live in the driveway for months). But NEVERMIND. And thank you anyway for the nice emails, except for those of you who were spooky, creepy and/or really insane. ___________________________________________________ Hello. I am dirt. See? <img src="697782542.jpg"> I need to move out of the driveway. I'm not really that much dirt. Just what was left over after digging fence post holes. Could you haul me away? Far, far away? I am in Wedgwood. That's just North of the Univ of Washington a bit. I will pay one person $20 to haul me off. Please? Someone emailed me for my measurements. That's kind of a personal question, but I guess we're friends, right? I'm about a 6ftx8ftx3ft pile, but only in the center. I'm pretty small around the edges. Thanks in advance. Yours truly, Pile of Dirt P.S. I am slightly disgruntled because some people cannot read. I am only dirt. I only have $20. It's not like I'm mud or fancy rocks. I'm just dirt. DIRT CHEAP. Please don't waste dirt's time by emailing dirt and asking for more money. DIRT isn't here to subsidize your craigslist lifestyle. Dirt just wants to be gone. <ul> <li> Location: Wedgwood <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-05-27T21:01:49-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/697782542.html SLIGHTLY DISGRUNTLED DIRT: nevermind text found cat--black with white stripes http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/687162102.html Hi, I found a cat today near the arboretum. She's black with white stripes down her back. She seems a little standoffish. Does not get along well with children. She doesn't have a collar, but seems to be an indoor cat and went without hesitation for a can of cat food I opened for her. I think she's been away from home a while. She's quite smelly. May need a bath. Please e-mail me to claim. Small rehoming fee (to cover the cost of the litterbox and cat food). <img src="687162102.jpg"> <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: montlake <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-05-19T15:13:47-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/687162102.html found cat--black with white stripes text Things my father taught me http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/640786074.html The measurement of my finger from the tip to the first joint is 1 inch...depth for planting peas. The measurement to the second joint is 2 inches...depth for corn. Return borrowed things in better shape than when you borrowed them. There are two types of trouble...one is the trouble you knowingly walk into, the other is trouble that just happens...it's important to know the difference. Walk softly but carry a big stick. if you have to use said stick, make sure who you use it on, doesn't get up. Grits is good. Foul language is a sign of a limited vocabulary Orion, the Big and Little Dippers. Everyone is a friend until proven otherwise. Licorice ferns, huckleberries, nettles, sword ferns. Tabasco won't kill you even if you eat it by the spoonfull. Don't watch the clock when you're at work. Fish can see you if you look over the side of the boat. Fish can hear you if you talk to loud. Respect the elders. Never go to bed angry. That which does not kill you will hurt like the dickens, but it will make you stronger. Family is the most important thing on earth. How to play the guitar, spoons, mouth harp, and water filled bottles. The true meaning of "Self Made Man" If you don't know something, go to the library and learn it. The phrases "I don't know", "I forgot", or "I tried (and failed)" are excuses. There is a difference between an excuse and a reason, know the difference. Take care of your apperance...even if it is just a t-shirt and jeans. The world can change everything about you, except your point of view...unless you allow it to. David L. McDonald born 1936-passed 2008 precious father beloved husband A right good fellow. <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: everywhere <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul> webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-04-13T09:33:08-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/640786074.html Things my father taught me text RAVE: To the Boys Who TP'd My House Last Night http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/611335185.html To the Boys Who TPd My House Last Night -- excellent job! No, seriously, best TP job I have ever seen. And, as the son of a former high school principal, Ive seen a few! It was like youd Googled How to TP a House. STEP ONE: PICK A HOUSE WHICH: - is on the corner so lots of people driving by see your work CHECK! - has lots of hedges and HIGH trees to hang TP on CHECK! - has no fence to trap you in case youre caught CHECK! - has no motion-sensitive lights to warn the owners CHECK! - has no dog DOH! Yes, we have a dog and you should have known that because he barks at you when you walk by. Our barking dog woke me up. And finally, pick a house which: - doesnt have an owner crazy enough to take down all your handiwork in the middle of the night before anyone gets to witness your genius DOH! I was almost SORRY to be dismantling your masterpiece before morning light. If it helps, I actually stood back and took it all in before I started pulling down streams of white. But, this being Seattle, I was afraid it would rain and wet TP is REALLY hard to remove from trees. I speak from experience here. STEP TWO: TP TECHNIQUE -- AND BEYOND First, your TP technique was superb. I believe I got the benefit of your collective experience here? This couldnt have been your first job. - the sheer volume of TP was impressive. I counted no fewer than six rolls - the TP was indeed in the HIGHEST branches of my trees great arm! I had to climb the trees and use a rake to remove the final flapping vestiges. - the TP was high quality, important because the cheap stuff doesnt cling right But it was all the EXTRAS which put this TP job in the excellent category: - At least a grocery bag of ripped-into-small-pieces colored construction paper scattered across our lawn. Even in the streetlight it was pretty. - Silly string! Come on who doesnt appreciate silly string? Especially on hedges. That stuff is stubborn. Theres still some out there. - And the coup-de-grace the Vaseline on the door handle. Brilliant! As I chased you off in my bare feet (more on this below) I noted my flash light covered in sticky stuff. Took me a while to figure out what had happened. Now, on your escape you did break one cardinal rule of the TP trade. If discovered do NOT run in the direction of your house. It could be argued you should lose a point for this gaff, but I suppose it can be forgiven given the lay of the land and the fact that you were likely freaked out when I burst out of my front door with flash light hand. Would you believe I actually ENVIED you as you ran off? I truly did. Because I knew your hearts were hammering at your ribs and you were experiencing that delicious fear that comes from being discovered in the middle of perpetrating a first-class prank. Holy crap, dude! He almost CAUGHT US! The thought made me laugh out loud several times as I went about putting my front yard right again. STEP THREE - DO NO HARM Finally, what you DIDNT DO is also important: you didnt trample our newly planted plants or break any tree branches. You didnt egg the house that can destroy paint jobs. You didnt do anything to cause any real damage to our home or property. So in closing dont be too disappointed I removed all the materials you carefully collected and brought to our house before anyone else got to see it displayed in all its glory. I am memorializing your effort here on Craigslist for all to read. After an hour of work, as I stood back and looked at my boring de-TPd yard, I brought to mind how much more colorful it had been just 60 mintues before. With your work in mind, I held up an imaginary score card Olympics style10.0! Had there been crowds, they would have gone wild. With respect, Home Owner, Issaquah WA P.S. btw, once is funny. Twice...not so much. ;)   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: Issaquah, WA <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-03-19T08:49:30-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/611335185.html RAVE: To the Boys Who TP'd My House Last Night text Just fucking fuck me, already. http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/561877622.html Dear Men of Craigslist, Look, I know you men have it difficult. Women are just about impossible to understand, much less please. In a post-feminist society, you never know exactly what you should be doing. Women are bloody picky, I know we are. It can be scary, too, when women freak out about what appear to be benign issues. And men who do their best to be respectful, female-positive humans, I salute you, I do. But please, please just fuck me already. Honestly, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I like that you want to take things slow. I can totally get behind the idea of emotional connection, but dearjesusinheaven, FUCK ME. We've done dinner and drinks. We've gone dancing. We've cuddled and watched a movie. I'm wearing a low cut shirt and you've been staring at my breasts all night. Goodgodalmighty, get to it and fuck me. When we get hot and heavy, please take charge. Please, please fuck me. Trust me, I'm not going to just lie still - I'll get involved. But don't make me force your hand into my panties. That makes me feel like a rapist. We've been kissing for a half hour and your hand keeps grazing my ass. That's nice, but it's time to move forward. Get on top of me. Don't make me get on top right out of the gate and start bobbing up and down on your cock like I'm practicing some crazy new aerobic yoga because YOU won't go down on me. Roll on top and start dry humping like a good boy should. Don't gently suck my nipples and then pull back when I moan with pleasure. You being coy is totally not what I want. It's not what WE want. OK, I know it's scary. There are lots of women out there who make fucking really difficult. So, I have compiled some handy tips. Don't think of this as complaining, or as schadenfreude for the Andrea Dworkins of the world. Just some simple tips, for timid men who have forgotten what it means to fuck like men: 1. Taking charge is not bad. Oh, there will be some women who feel that you are pushy. If you are making out with a woman, and she starts to push back, ask nicely if things are moving too fast. If she says yes, say something like "I'm sorry - you just look so fucking delicious. I'll go slower." Otherwise, skillfully move forward. If you start kissing a woman, and she responds well, and before long, you're both on the floor with her skirt pushed up, and you on top of her, it's not the time to roll onto your back and start awkwardly stroking the top of her head. Seriously, grow a goddamn pair. YOU'RE the man. Act like one. 2. Ohmyfuckinggod, please learn to respect the clit. It's different for every woman, so ask what she likes. Do not, I repeat, do not just wiggle your fingers around her pussy like you're trying to tickle her. Do not drum your fingertips against her vulva like you are impatiently waiting at the Sears Tire Center for your receipt. Do not push the clit like it is a doorbell at some house that you need to get inside of. Start by using all four fingers with firm yet gentle pressure against the outside of her pussy. Do not charge in with a single finger and start jabbing at things. And if you really don't know what to do, ask her. Just ask. "How do you like it?". It's a simple question, and most women will answer straight out. If she's being all coy, ask "Do you like pressure? Is it sensitive?" The clitoris is a varied item, indeed. Treat each one as though you have never encountered one before. Forget everything that your last partner liked. 3. Most women like to be fucked, and fucked well. Yes, there are women out there who want to "make love" every time - sweet, gentle, rocking love with lots of eye contact and loving kisses. Those women are not the majority. The majority like to be pounded. The majority like to have their hair pulled. The majority like a good, solid jackhammering. When a woman is bucking wildly against you, it's not because she wants you to pull back and slowly swirl your cock around her vagina like you're mixing a cake batter up there. It's because she wants you to hold down her arms, or grab her hips, or push her legs above her head, and fuck her harder. Don't be too afraid of what this means as far as gender equality goes - I am a raging feminist bitch, but I still want to be penetrated like you are planning on fucking my throat from the inside out. 4. A little roughness is nice. Do not pretend that you had no idea that some women like their hair pulled. Do not act shocked if she wants you to spank her ("Really? Spanking? Won't it hurt?" - yes, it does. That's the fucking point). We know you've read Stuff and Maxim, and that's all those laddie mags talk about in their "How to Please Her" sections. Start with light, full handed smacks to the area of her ass that she sits on. Judge her response and continue on from there. You don't have to bend her over one knee and tell her she's a naughty girl and that Daddy's going to punish her; save that for the fifth date. Women are less delicate than you think, so don't worry about breaking her hip. 5. It's OK for you to make noise. Otherwise, we feel like we are fucking a ninja. Unless you actually are a ninja, and have sneaked into our rooms with vibrating nanuchaku and zippered black pajamas, please, please make some noise. If you're banging a woman, and she's crying out and saying your name and moaning, and you can't even manage a grunt, she's going to feel like an idiot. You don't have to make the sounds she is making, but do SOMETHING. You know how when you are watching porn, and the girl does something great to the guy and the guy kind of goes "Ah!", half grunt, half yell? That's HOT. Do that. Whisper our name (assuming you know it) gruffly. Groan against her neck when you're in missionary position. You don't have to grunt like a mountain gorilla, but if you are totally mute, she's going to get worried. 6. Most women like dirty talk, in addition to the grunting. If you'd like to get some dirty talk going, ask her if she likes the way you fuck her. If she responds well, continue with something like, "I love fucking you. God, you look so fucking hot." Is she still moaning in response? "Your tits are so beautiful." Does that work? If she doesn't respond well to the term "tits", you might have to stop there. If she keep moaning or responding, pass Go and collect $200. Try the following: "Oh, god. Your pussy is SO tight." "You're so wet - are you wet because you like the feel of my cock ramming you?" "I think I'm going to come inside you. I'm going to fill up your little cunt." It doesn't matter that you're wearing a condom; we LOVE hearing this. If all of those work, you can then progress to things like "sexy little bitch" and "dirty whore". Tread carefully, but please, tread. Do not tiptoe. Do not sit down. Charge. 6. You're not obligated to eat a woman out. In return, she's not obligated to choke on your dick. Don't skip one and expect the other. If you do eat a woman out, the only comment you should make about her pussy is how nice it is. The length of her labia minora, the color of her interior, her waxing job or full bush - you are not John Madden. No time for color commentary. 7. Do not bitch about condoms. Oh, we hate them. Trust us. They hurt us more than they hurt you. But we don't want to be preggers, and you don't want to catch anything, right? Don't whine about condom sex. Do not explain that you can't come with one on. LEARN to come with one on, or if not, help us figure out what to do with you once we're satisfied and it's time for you to let loose your load. 8. We really like it when you come. It's called a money shot for a reason. Watching semen shoot out of you is one of the most gratifying things EVER. However, do not assume that she wants you to jack it off onto her face. She might, but don't assume. Seeing and/or feeling you come is rewarding for us, so there's no need to deprive us of it, but please do consult us before unleashing. "I think I'm going to come - how do you like it?" is a fair question that shouldn't rob you of your testicles. In recent memory, I've been fucked by a very aggressive, manly guy, and I've been... well, fucked is the wrong term here. I've been penetrated by a total and utter wuss. Who am I going to run back to when I'm ready for my fill? Manly McHardon, that's who. ---------------------------------------------------- *New point of clarification - some people have brought up some really great issues in response to this post, so let me say this: I don't mean to imply that all women like to be treated like whores. I do mean to say that most women I know have told me that they like sex rougher than most men give it to them. Rough does NOT equal chains and bondage. And this applies to the bedroom only, and does not mean that she wants you to choose her dinner for her, or treat her like less of a person. **Some women have said that they don't like it rough and what the hell am I thinking? Well, girls, you're in the minority. HOWEVER, all women need to remember that, in addition to be straight forward about your sexual desires, you need to be straight forward about your sexual limits. Don't be afraid to ask for more, but when something feels wrong, say so. Don't ever do something you don't want to do in silence and then blame the guy. Silence is dangerous.  <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: Seattle <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-02-03T15:29:26-08:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/561877622.html Just fucking fuck me, already. text To Anyone Who Orders Pizza - EVER http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/547971823.html Having taken pizza orders for delivery for many seasons, I think there are a few things that people should know before they call to order a pizza for delivery. 1. YES WE MAKE A CHEESE PIZZA! No pizza joint in the world would refuse that request. No, you don't have to be embarrassed because you're ordering what a typical 5-year old likes to eat. No, you don't have to say "Do you make a pizza without any topppings? I mean, like, uh, just with cheese-only... and sauce?" Every pizza has cheese on it, unless you're a freakin' vegan, and no one is staying in business by offering dough-and-sauce-only treats. So, yes, no matter what pizza place you call WE MAKE A CHEESE PIZZA. Even if the menu says "The Classic" or "Basic" or whatever, if you say cheese-pizza we know what it is. 2. KNOW YOUR ADDRESS! Don't giggle, you overpaid salaried- MBA reading this during your lunch-hour. YOU are the IDIOT that calls and says "We just moved. It's by the store on the corner." Really? Thank goodness there is only one store on a corner in all of Washington State. For a moment, I thought I might actually have to look on a map to see where you live or verifiy the northeastern part of this town or the west side of the next city. Oh, and when I politely mention that I need an exact address, don't huff and act like I'M the one making things difficult. Find a piece of mail. Look on your lease or morgage papers. Go outside. You DO have an address, contrary to the nameless customer who insisted "they" took his address away (but he's got other problems). 3. NO, I WILL NOT BE THE PERSON WHO DELIVERS YOUR PIZZA. Yes, I know. I'm a girl. You're a boy, maybe even cute. I have a pleasant phone voice, which is why I was hired for this job. I don't care how wild the party is. I don't care that the parental units have left for the weekend. I don't care that you will tip me $20 just to show up. I'm being nice to you because it's my job, not because I'm trying to get a boy-friend. Also, although I'm not in this boat, just beware that not everyone who sounds like a pretty model is. Ever see the movie "Spun" ? 4. WE WON'T ATTEMPT TO DEFY THE LAWS OF THE PHYSICAL WORLD FOR YOU. Grow up, miss "I want it extra-well done - but not burnt!" Really? What the fuck do you mean? Extra-well done by definition IS burned. Would you like it simply well-done with an extra paranoid note to the kitchen not to burn it? No? You specifically want it to be EXTRA well-done and NOT BURNT! The other annoying request is for "one" side of the pizza to be well done, and the other "lightly-baked." Um, sir, you do understand what a pizza is, right? That the whole pie will go in the oven and both sides of the pie will be cooked the same amount? We haven't entered into the Star Trek technology of a half-burned, half-soggy pie yet, but we will certainly send you some coupons when we do. Shall I put down "golden brown" for now? Sound good? You mean like, NORMAL? 5. DO YOU LOVE YOUR CHILDREN? I think most of you do not. I hope you understand that when you leave your children in the care of a baby-sitter you should make sure that she/he knows the address where the kids live at, god forbid an EMERGENCY happens. Also, knowledge of the household phone-number would be great so that we can actually get ahold of the baby-sitter when we find out that the wrong address we were given will cause us to be a little late. I know. It's a big romantic night out and you haven't been laid in months because you haven't had enough "alone time" together. But write down the address, write down the emergency numbers, write down that your lovey-dovey brat is allergic to mushrooms so that HOPEFULLY those emergency numbers won't have to be used. 6. A REAL ALLERGY? Look, if you a seriously allergic to something, let me know. We will take extra-precaution. But if you simply don't like lots of garlic, just tell me so we don't put extra garlic on the specialty pie - don't tell me you are allergic and then get pissed off when I am reluctant to send you out a pizza that has tomato sauce on it because all of that sauce will have some garlic in it, you fucker. If you're so goddamned allergic, you probably shouldn't be eating that, should you? 7. DIETERS. Just stop it. Pizza is junk-food. Quit saying double-extra cheese and pepperoni and in the same breath say you're on a diet and do we have a thinner, whole-wheat crust? It's not going to work, baby. You're fat. You're going to get fatter. The quickest way to not be fat is to eat LESS and move MORE. So, why don't you take a walk down to where we are, order a green salad with no dressing OR go all out and order some extra sausage on that pie as well, HEAVY on the olive-oil basting. 8. STONERS ARE THE BEST. I love stoners. I didn't fully realize what a wonderful contribution they are to society until I started working here. If YOU, dear surfer-boy stoner showed up here after a long shift, I would marry you. You guys are so grateful for anything because you're soooo hungry. You are just amazed that a delivery kitchen delivers, that a pizza place makes pizza, and that we can even throw pepperoni on that. Half the time, you forget you ordered, so when our delivery guy shows up, it's like getting to actually SEE Santa filling the Christmas stockings. On a budget? I'll send you extra coupons. We should all be more like stoners. Sweet. Dude. 9. PARANOID PRICK. Yes, you rude paranoid prick. Watch out. You're lucky you are insignificant & therfore not worthy of revenge, but I want you to think through this once. IF YOU WERE IMPORTANT ENOUGH FOR THE CIA TO BE AFTER YOU, I THINK YOU WOULD HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN TO ORDER PIZZA. To the rest of the paranoid pricks who aren't as delusional about the government, think through this: you've been extremely rude to me. I, who know your name, phone number, address and credit card number. I could do a lot of damage. I know it. Now YOU know it. So watch it, because the next person you talk to like that might be a Star Wars nerd who turns to the dark-side. 10. LOVERS. True, I don't have a significant other, so one might think this was jealousy writing, but it isn't, I assure you. I know you're in love. I know "schnookims" probably gives great head, or at least a lot of it, or that "sweetie-pie" just bought you some earrings. Great. But do you realize that incessant dribble on the phone is something I'd rather not hear? You sound like idiots. And to the couples that can't wait until after copulation to call - TAKE AN ETTIQUETTE CLASS. It is NOT cool to screw during a phone call. Maybe in the 1950's it was daring, but come on! Not even the mile-high club is that daring anymore. Will continue to post updates as time goes by....   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: everywhere <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2008-01-22T12:44:55-08:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/547971823.html To Anyone Who Orders Pizza - EVER text I want to fuck a skanky Republican chick - m4w http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/510742180.html I want to fuck a peroxide-blonde richbitch daddy's girl. I want to fuck a hotter, younger, stupider (if possible) version of Ann Coulter. You preferably grew up on Mercer Island and had your 16th birthday shown on "My Super Sweet 16." It's okay if you're only a republican because your parents are and you don't even know how many houses Congress has. At the very least I want to fuck a girl who wears a cross and thinks the Iraq War is a great idea. I'm am a skinny-jean wearing hipster who goes to Evergreen, supports Dennis Kucinich and only listens to mix tapes of obscure 70's pop. I am sick of cool, interesting girls who are more likely to make out with other girls than me. I want the most bland, insipid cockgobbler on this side of the Cascades. I've always wanted to blow my load in your lip-glossed, bubble-gum chewing mouth, but class, social groups and a sense of morality have prevented me. Your pictures get my smarmy pretension.   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-12-15T21:31:25-08:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/510742180.html I want to fuck a skanky Republican chick - m4w text Here's to you, Fat Sauna Gawker. - m4m http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/492831983.html Okay, so saunas are naked places. Im fine with that. And some guys like looking at other guys. Fine with that too. I realize that gay men have it a little rough in our society, and Im willing to cut some slack for the odd locker-room check out or sidelong glance in the shower. Lord knows Id have difficulties keeping my thoughts holy and towel un-tented if I had to shower or sit in a sauna full of mostly-nude women. But you, fat sauna gawker, youre different. You push the envelope. A real renegade, you are. So here are some tips, in case you make a habit of this sort of thing. I might not have even known, Fat Sauna Gawker, had you just used a little tact. Pretended to read a newspaper, perhaps, or done some 'neck stretches', etc. Surely its not that hard to sneak a peak here and there without getting caught. But you were always a rule breaker, werent you Fat Sauna Gawker? Yep, your strategy was to just, flat, out, STARE. And hell, sauna gawker, you probably could have even gotten away with the unabashed staring had it not been accompanied by your HEAVY-ASS MOUTH BREATHING. But you wanted to get caught, didnt you fat sauna gawker? You stared and you mouth-breathed to your double bypassed little hearts content. And it worked. And I looked. But even when I noticed, Fat Sauna Gawker, even then I could have let it go. But that wasnt the end of it. There was no apologetic or even uncomfortable look in your eye. Animalistic lust and debauchery, thats all I saw. And after that, Fat Sauna Gawker, with all of your unholy intentions known, with your creepy gaze and pursed lips, and with your pudgy little hand making its way under your towel Even after all of it I would have shrugged it off. I turned to stare at the wall, sauna gawker, since Im not one for awkward silences or confrontation. I figured it might give you a hint. But the shadow-puppets, Fat Sauna Gawker, those were unforgivable. Vile creature, how did you even do that? Just thinking about it makes me shudder. And I left, Fat Sauna Gawker. I left, and I felt dirty. And the sauna is no longer that warm, happy and relaxing place in my mind. And youre to thank for it. So cheers to you Fat Sauna Gawker. You creepy fuck.   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: sauna <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-11-28T20:35:41-08:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/492831983.html Here's to you, Fat Sauna Gawker. - m4m text Dear Conceited Penis.. http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/478014918.html To my amazement, not only have you learned to take pictures of yourself, but you have figured out how to upload them on the computer AND post said pictures in the personal section of Craigslist! Now, having never met a miraculous penis such as yourself, who can do things without knowledge or consent of anyone, I thought I'd tell you how this works. 1. Believe it or not, you have an owner. Your owner and I are in a committed relationship where: a. he is allowed to play with you, b. I'm allowed to play with you, OR c. WE together are allowed to play with you. If for some reason you find someone else's mouth, fingers, vagina, or asshole in, on, or around you..SCREAM. Play dead, blow your emergency whistle, do something and then at the earliest convenience, tell me. 2. A conceited penis is the first place STD's run to. I'm not sure you've used the computer for anything other than begging for an STD but maybe the next time you sign on you should Wikipedia that shit. I, not having a miraculous vagina who thinks for itself, need to speak up and tell you, thats not something we, as in my vagina and myself, want. 3. With your outstanding knowledge of the human world, you should probably do right by your owner and fess up to clear his name. I will not be playing with you or him until someone comes clean and explains to me what exactly happened. I saw the response in his e-mail, did the research, put 2 and 2 together and found out that one of you posted the ad for Adult Fun with a man, woman, or both. He denies that he had anything to do with it but YOU are in the picture along with MY comforter. One of you is lying. If one of you would just be honest then I wouldn't have to put his belongings, or yours, out in the front yard. For the time being, I'm giving both of you the BOTD. Time is wasting... 4. If you decide that you can use your extraordinary abilities for something other than wreaking havoc on my life and would like to confess by either responding to this or maybe writing me a letter of confession then I would gladly give your owner a 2nd chance. He stands his ground on his innocence and as much as I'd like to believe him, I'd need to know who did it and why first. You could put the letter on my pillow and you wouldn't even have to sign your name, I'd just know. 5. I understand you penises go through an "active" phase, but you are suppose to eventually grow out of that. Considering the number of people you've been with and the amount of times you've done it, most would assume you'd be tired. You're not the 20 year old you used to be, your balls agree, just ask your knees. Now that we have the basics covered, I'll give you a fair amount of time to do what's right. Until then, I will not amuse you in any way, I will not please you either. I will sit here and wait..probably wondering how you got a picture from that angle all by yourself. And you'll know when your time is up. Sincerely, JV  <ul class="blurbs"> <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-11-13T16:03:15-08:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/478014918.html Dear Conceited Penis.. text fRee eyboaRd http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/473011361.html fRee eyboaRd fiRst peRson gets it a genuine MicRosoft compatible eyboaRd, ciRca 1999. It still woRs pRetty good, except the ey is missing, and foR some Reason the R is stuc on uppeRcase. SeRious Replies only.   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: Greenwood <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-11-08T14:01:32-08:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/473011361.html fRee eyboaRd text To the Drunk Hottie who fell off my motorcycle http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/471479867.html I met you at the bar last night, and we hit it off. Ya we were both a little buzzed, but you seemed as into me as I was into you. Things got to things, we made out a bit, and you ended up going home with me on the back of my motorcycle, which was awesome because that doesn't usually happen to me. I luckily had the extra helmet with me and let you wear my bike jacket while suffering the cold on the way home. I was feeling pretty happy and lucky to say the least. This is where things got crazy. I don't know if you slipped, or thought I was taking you home to kill you, or if your're just plain crazy and had a change of heart, but all of a sudden you let go of me MID-TURN and went flying into the bushes at about 10-15mph near the park by my house. I was so freaked out!!! when I looked back to see you fumbling in the bushes I could only PRAY TO GOD that you didn't hit the asphalt or something worse. I really thought you must have been hurt at least a bit, but as I turned around to come check on you, you took off into the unlit park running full speed with my helmet and jacket still on! I parked my bike and looked for you for over 2 hours calling your name until I was so cold I had to go home or risk freezing to death. WTF Im sorry for what happened and I really hope your're ok, really I do, but seriously WTF. Running into a forested park in the middle of the night like that....I really can't begin to guess what you were thinking, and you weren't that drunk, but i suppose my "crazy-bitch o' meter" wasn't working at the bar that night, and from the speed you took off I can only surmise that your're not that hurt. I would like my expensive bike gear back though, I hope it kept you warm during your psychotic episode, but it IS mine and I kinda need it to get around in the winter. If you could return it to the bar for me, check in with your shrink, and promise to never come near me again that would be great, cause you scared the #*$% outta me and are costing me alot of money. Sincerely, Very cold/poor motorcycle rider who will never let women near his bike again.  <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: Seattle <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-11-07T05:23:22-08:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/471479867.html To the Drunk Hottie who fell off my motorcycle text To Olympia Employers http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/467092058.html <h1 align="CENTER">Dear Olympia Employers:</h1> <div> </div> I am writing this on behalf of myself and all other frustrated male job-seekers in the Olympia area. I am going to delineate a few crucial points that you need to know before you talk to another potential new employee. <ol> <li>I understand and practice the philosophy of punctuality - that is why I was on time for the interview and you weren't. You should certainly stress the urgency of punctuality, but should not: <ol> <li>Take more than ten minutes to detail this concept, or </li> <li>Take more than ten minutes explaining how you really don't expect anyone other than yourself and your other management staff to be capable of understanding its importance. If you genuinely believed this you wouldn't be wasting so much time expounding upon it. </li> </ol> </li> <li>If, though some amazing chance, you actually hire me, please get it through your head now that I owe you no favors. You pay me to do something unpleasant and boring, and I do it promptly with a smile while saying ``Sure thing!''. Our mutual obligations to each other end there. I am not here to provide advice for fixing your home computer, picking up your laundry, doing your telephone calls, shopping for muffins for your kid's school presentation, or whatever overprivileged bullcrap you've decided is beneath you today. I do not care about you, nor can you ever pay me enough to. As this is an opinion you're more than happy to express towards me, I thought it might be good for your mental health to consider it as applied to you. </li> <li>I do not regard you as an amazing, fascinating, social and business success, regardless of our respective social positions, and therefore it is not an honor to be in your company. If you aren't going to let me do the work you pay me for, you hovering pointlessly over the top of me discussing what Mary said last weekend is pointless, wasteful, and annoying. If I choose to quit because of your intolerable personality kindly refrain from acting surprised or hurt - as has already been stated, we both know we both don't care. Save your acting efforts for the Academy, or for your own boss when you're attempting to poorly rationalize unusually high employee turnover. </li> <li>Lecturing me about time management when you're an hour late and about to leave for another hour to acquire pre-meeting donuts is simply moronic. Do it and know as a concrete reality that we're pissing in your coffee. You don't pay us enough to be that openly hypocritical. Do it, say, three times really openly and I walk with a little happy smile on my face. </li> <li>Get it through your head that neither I nor anyone else believes that you are in any way a superior being due to your position. Power and wealth in our society are beautifully ephemeral - we all know that due to a single report, an awkward balance sheet, or the president's son nicking the retirement accounts and going to Cancun, that you can be applying for work managing 7-11's tomorrow, just like me. You are on top right now - therefore, soon, you won't, statistically speaking. So simply watch your attitude and your mouth, as the underlings you are lecturing are actually your peers. </li> <li>Leave your gadgets alone when you're talking to me. If you're truly that vitally important, then it's in your best interests to state what's on your mind in a crisp, clear, articulate fashion and fuck off as fast as possible - then you can answer your phone or play with your Blackberry or look at your porn on your iPhone, whatever. Just go away while you do it, as I'm not paid to admire your toys, nor do I care. </li> <li>Make the standard statement about discouraging web-surfing at work, and then shut your mouth and move on. I understand why you have to say it. I also understand that I was a network admin for the 90's, and know better than anyone exactly how the upper echelon amuses itself on its computers when no one's looking. Furthermore, I'm bright enough to make friends and buy lunch for an IT intern who will gossip with me about what they've spotted, as they always do. So you let me view Craigslist on my lunch hour, and in return we won't discuss in any way those images you took down in Tijuana that are probably skating on the ragged edge of legality, which you've been storing on the company server and printing out at night on the high-quality laser printer with the glossy white paper with the high clay content. You're not fooling anyone, jackass. Move on with your spiel, and if you manage to get through it without blushing too much we'll both regard it as a win. </li> <li>Since I am a man, the women that interview / work with me need to stop oscillating wildly betwen acting cute and flirty (when they want something), or alternately icily feminist (when they wish to crush visible maleness that threatens them). I am unimpressed and unmoved by either maneuver - I have babysat many young aged-three-to-six sister-siblings and recognize feminine juvenile passive-aggressiveness when I see it. Save your bipolar bullshit for meetings where you have an audience, and I can make an excuse and be absent. <ol> <li>When a woman at work, particularly a boss, uses that fake squeaky-little-girl voice to whine and manipulate, I want to knock them unconcious with a bound ream of copier paper. I won't do it, and never have. But I thought you should know. </li> <li>When a lesbian at work, partiuclarly a boss, uses that fake ``masculine'' growling strangled Bart Simpson voice to wave their phantom penis, I have a similar feeling, one that's a lot harder to resist. You should know that too. </li> <li>Both of the above statements go triple for the goddamned thirty-something neo-jocks who keep trying to pretend they aren't fathers with mortgages while using that ``Dude'' voice. You're wearing a tie. Let's drop the illusion that you went to Burning Man last year. </li> </ol> </li> <li>Feminists: Just fucking knock it off. Whether you privately regard me as subhuman or not, wipe that expression of permanent, bitter condescension off your withered face. If I even looked at you in passing at the grocery story the way you do, you would call the police for feeling ``threatened'' before I could say 'Andrea Dworkin'. While you are interviewing me, we are going to talk under the pretense that you do not live at the top of a mile-high ivory tower. That means that you will make eye contact, smile, use complete sentences, standard polite honorifics (``please'', ``thank you''), refrain from the standard insulting phrases (``the male of the species''), choke down the endless traditional nagging male-hating social commentary, and behave as you would have the hot Asian intern chick behave towards you when you two take the company car and go out for a two-hour lunch. If you don't, I have no compunction about walking out of the interview in the middle of your sentence. After all, as you've reassured us on many occasions, there are plenty of jobs digging ditches out there. Why should I extend to you courtesy you have no understanding of and no mechanism of reciprocating? </li> <li>When I am in trouble, written up, or fired, by all means do what you need to do with gusto, but don't threaten me. As an employee, I already have come to terms with the idea that you regard yourself as above me. However, you don't pay me enough to voice judgements about my marriage, religion, home life, family, social &amp; political views, dress, appearance, or personality aside from those aspects that are directly the cause of my firing. Call me into your office, say your piece in three sentences, and have me escorted out. Do any more than that to masturbate your ego and I will do my best to see how much phlegm I can spontaneously expectorate upon your hideous overexpensive silk shirt. Save your phantom penis-waving for some Evergreen college grad who's too stupid and inexperienced to know any better. You have never paid me or any employee enough to have the privilege of having a temper tantrum at us to make yourself feel better. We're workers, not agony aunts. You need to scream, go play raquetball or take it out on your au pair. </li> <li>Promote whoever you like, whenever you like, using any specious logic you like - I'll be a good boy and keep on pluggin'. However, you do not pay me enough to require me to like or approve of it. If you promote someone over me and I'm disappointed, I'm going to be disappointed. You have no right whatsoever to expect me to be otherwise. If you don't like it, fire me and get someone else who's more marshmallowy for your needs. What kind of employer is so weak and cowardly that they require their employee's hearts and minds to adhere to their will? Is the work done, and well? Great, then cram it, Big Brother, we've got units to move. </li> <li>Yell at me for anything you like, provided you're not committing exactly the same fault in exactly the same way at the exact same time - or I walk. Yes, my ego can take that. No, you're not going to lecture me for inappropriate computer usage when I know you have Web pages with huge beautiful black asses sitting right on your screen. Hypocrisy of that blatant level requires nothing more than a calm, serene ``fuck you'' and a discreet, quick collection of personal belongings, followed by exit. If you find this unreasonable, you are a waste of life as a human being and as an economic force in the business world. Good business-level hypocrisy requires more cleverness and subtlety than you're capable of exhibiting. </li> <li>I know that in this nepotistic town that your friends and family are probably either <ol> <li>Very, very, very white Christian people who drive trucks and are ex-military and have cowboy hats and secretly hold beliefs that are a weird mix of Calvinism and Aryan Nation, or </li> <li>Very, very, very white crusty neohippies who drive Mommy's used Lexus and smoke pot and smell bad while constantly critiquing all efforts of all others in a perfect storm of limp-dicked estrogenic offensensitivity. </li> <li>As a result, all of you are only trying to hire members of your tribe. I am not of either of your tribe, as in non-employment life I loathe both of you. If either one of you were the progressive, forward-thinking genuises you portray yourselves to be, why then do both of you keep trying to categorize me on the other side? </li> <li>Even if such a categorization attempt were rational or feasible, why on earth are both of you idiots so BAD at it? You ask your clever leading questions to try and learn my religion and politics, and whatever answer you like it isn't zealous enough. Why are you even wasting my fucking time? Just call your half-brother Earl and be done with it, and quit wasting honest people's valuable time. </li> </ol> </li> <li>My suggestion is that you treat me with the direct precision, efficiency, straightforwardness, and lack of emotion you expect from me - in return, I will work hard, be honest, do what I'm told, and keep my mouth shut with equal neurological indifference. </li> <li>You won't do this, of course, because then where would your sense of unwarranted self-importance come from, Baby Boomer? </li> <li>All this being stated, I look forward to an efficient, effective, direct, productive experience working with you. </li> <li>I do not expect it, but I do look forward to it, as despite your best efforts my optimism isn't quite crushed. </li> </ol> Sincerely, A Potential Employee   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: Olympia <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-11-02T13:02:17-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/467092058.html To Olympia Employers text To the lady handing out Jesus pamphlets to us trick-or-treaters http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/465979897.html Thanks for nothing. No, seriously. Do you have any idea how much work I put into my costume? It took me almost 3 hours to do the makeup alone. Every detail painstakingly thought of and completed, right down to the little scratches on the hands and the grazings and cuts on the arms and legs. Do you have any idea how long it took me to find a suitable shield and sword? Or how about the battle uniform? I bet you didn't even consider that perhaps it was actually straight off the movie set. Well, it was. It wasn't cheap, doing all this. I was the one that incurred those expenses, not my parents. I burned the income from more hours of my after-school job than I would care to admit on that damn costume, all to amuse and impress people like you. And I did it with the expectation that there would be a return on my investment; namely in the form of candy. Sweet, sugary goodness. Heck, even money would have been fine--some of your neighbors did just that. Loot conveniently placed into that huge sack; and what's more, I would even be willing to walk all over town collecting it so that people didn't have to deliver it to me. Yes, the outfit, the sword, the shield, the sack...all very heavy; close to 60 pounds in all that I pack-muled all over town, but no pain no gain, right? This was to be my last year of the trick or treating thing. I'm getting a little too tall, a little too old. This was my grand finale; my blaze of glory, my shining farewell. Sure, I could have 'dressed up' like a teenager like so many others I saw on the streets last night, but I wanted to go out in style. Let it never be said I was unwilling to work for my loot. Your house seemed so promising as I approached. 3 nicely carved pumpkins, some of that fake spider webbing, even one of those fog machines. I had you pegged for a Sour Patch Kids person. So imagine my surprise when, after trudging up your ridiculously steep driveway and ringing your doorbell, your bulbous ass appeared with a basket full of stuff that was most definitely NOT candy. Before I could pull back, you had already reached a claw into the basket, pulled out that little booklet, and seemingly-annoyingly tossed it into my bag. What's worse is your saggy old ass actually appeared to expect me to say thank you for it. Trick or treat indeed, you old hag. When I got home to divide out the fruits of my labor, my worst fears were confirmed: It was one of those Jehovah's Witness 'God loves you' pamphlets. I thought you delusional psychopaths didn't even believe in holidays and didn't celebrate them. What, annoying me by waking me up early on a Saturday morning by beating down my door to try and convert me not enough, so you have to resort to trickery? What on Earth would have made you think I, or anyone else, had any interest in getting one of those from you, you fat sow? Your house was fairly large, in a nice part of town. Was it just that you were too much of a cheap cum drizzling gutter slut to spend a few bucks on some bags of candy instead of getting those booklets free from your 'church'? You're even worse than that jerk that gave me a toothbrush--at least I can shave the handle of his gift into a prison shank and use it for protection next time one of my classmates decides to bring an Uzi to school and shoot the place up. What am I supposed to do with your thing? Hold it up to him and yell out "The power of Christ compels you!"? I mean really, why would anyone think that on Halloween people are open to being converted into believing in some invisible sky fairy that magically grants wishes if you beg it hard enough and donate some of your money to its church? Do you not even understand the point? Again, thanks for nothing. I'm sure when your gargantuan ass rolled out of bed this morning, shimmied into your mumu and waddled out front to get your newspaper you were quite surprised. Allow me to explain. Your pumpkins were deceitfully carved and placed to lure unsuspecting children into your GodTrap. Therefore, they needed to be smashed all over your porch. And those spider web things were just hanging there, so it seemed a perfect place to hang the gunk from the pumpkins on so they would properly dry out for future baking. Your neighbors ended up giving me just a little over 9 dollars by the time it was all said and done, which was just enough for me to buy a few rolls of toilet paper, some saran wrap a small package of bologna and a Blow Pop from the store. The TP you found strewn all over anything in your yard it would hang from or stick to is Quilted Northern, double ply--let it never be said that I am a cheap corner-cutting individual such as yourself. The cold cuts? Well, I had to make some sort of a bread crumb trail to bring your attention to how I had so thoughtfully gift wrapped your car in the saran wrap, and I figured bread crumbs wouldn't be cholesterol-ridden enough to be tempting enough to motivate your thunderous girth to follow it. I thought about using lard or butter, but there's always the risk of it raining and washing away. And the Blow Pop? Nay, it was not for me; that is my gift to you--lovingly placed upon your welcome mat, a friendly reminder of an example of what you SHOULD have been handing out last night. Plus, I figure sucking is something that comes naturally to you, so you would find it a welcome treat. Oh, and thank you for the fog machine. It's lovely, and I will put it to use next year when I join the ranks of people who are behind the door handing out the candy as opposed to in front of it collecting. I did all this not for myself, you see. Nay, the damage was already done for me, there was no making it right. I did this to protect my fellow trick-or-treaters that will carry on the torch next year and continue in the tradition as I hang up my pillow case and look back at a fruitful candy-gathering career. Hopefully this will inspire you to just do us all a favor and leave your god damned light OFF next Halloween instead of luring unsuspecting youngsters into your bible-thumping web of horror. I'm sure a night of darkness shouldn't be hard for you, since I'm positive every man who's ever gotten drunk enough to sleep with you probably still demanded pitch black while he did the deed. Happy Halloween, you shriveled up old bat. Sincerely, King Leonidas  <ul class="blurbs"> <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-11-01T10:53:48-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/465979897.html To the lady handing out Jesus pamphlets to us trick-or-treaters text 1930s Lathe http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/398050816.html 1930s lathe for sale, salvaged from an East coast adult toy manufacturer. The lathe was used in the production of dildos from the 1930s to 1990s when the manufacturing plant was razed. Can turn plastic and wood blanks from 6 to 18 inches in length, and 2 to 5 inches in diameter. Lathe also includes a reaming tool attachment which was used for hollowing the center core of the dildo. The lathe is in working order, electric motor driven, and manufactured by Atlas. Face Plate Diameter: 4 inches -- I also have a 6-inch face plate, which I will sell separtely, in case you need to produce pieces of larger girths. Shaft size: 3/4 inch, 16 threads per inch (TPI)   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: Poulsbo <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-08-15T17:23:45-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/398050816.html 1930s Lathe text 9.6 http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/394614542.html Okay, so you know that feeling that you get maybe an hour or hour and a half after eating that gives you a first faint inkling, a small surge of fear that maybe the food was bad? It's followed by cramping, then watery tidal sounds from below the equator. Then by recalling everything you ate - fish, fries, lemon, malt vinegar...TARTER SAUCE! Shit! I bet the tarter sauce was bad! Oh hell, I'm going to blow from every orifice any minute! Now, I am not one my first lap in the pool of life, so of course, I immediately implemented Emergency Response Plan Shitstorm: 1. Immediately make any plausible excuse to step away from the client. 2. Ask the lovely new coworker you're secretly crushing on to take over with the client (double benefit - she is glad to have the opportunity, and she will be nowhere near the desk the newest person has been given right next to the bathroom). 3. Now feeling the second wave of cramps; sweat and beginning to taste a little metallic in the increasing saliva that is rising in your mouth, you begin race-walking to the can. Race-walking has two benefits: it is a bit quicker than walking, and it allows you to clamp firmly on your sphincter while you rush to the relief station. 4. Say a quick prayer to the porcelain gods that all stalls will be unoccupied. 5. As you reach the door to the bathroom, begin unclasping belt and buttons. 6. Scan for open stalls while completing step 5. 7. Dash to a stall while lowering trousers to half mast. Shout warning to anyone else present - "Save yourself! Get out NOW!" 8. As you pivot and begin lowering your butt to the toilet seat, flick the stall door shut and the lock with it. Combining these three moves saves time! Precious time... 9. Sit, relax the sphincter and ride out the storm. Properly implemented, this plan should save you just enough time to get your ass in place, with a good seal to prevent blow back just as the gallant sphincter gives it up. Unfortunately, because I stood that extra second or two after my instincts told me I had hideous diarrhea on the way - I was arguing with myself that maybe it was just gas - I didn't quite get a good seal before Vesuvius Crapitanus erupted. The one other person in the room was heard to exclaim, "Holy Shit!" and "Oh my God, man!" This last was heard from the hallway just before the door slammed shut. Once the eruptions slowed, then stopped, I began secondary response procedures - look to see if there is toilet paper...YES! Did it spray forward onto my pants...NO! Did it...oh fuck! A two foot high, glistening wall of brownish green slime covers the back of the seat, tank, wall and my white shirt. That two seconds of denial had kept me from getting a good seal. I'd have to improvise a new secondary response procedure to clean up. Remove shirt and wipe seat and wall. Clean self as best possible with toilet paper. Soap and water at the sink. Having cleaned as best I could, I knew I only had minutes to get to my apartment before the nausea hit. Calmly as possible, I exited the bathroom, hoping to sneak shirtless down the back stairs. As I left the bathroom, another guy walked in. A second later, he came back out, gagging "Call 911, someone died in there!" I was on the stairs, then out the door, then in my car. I made it home, spent the next 36 hours with my porcelain savior, and hoped that the new woman had made a sale. Or at least hadn't heard about the bathroom disaster and the wild-eyed, shirtless coworker seen running from the scene! I'll know tomorrow. I did everything right, followed the playbook perfectly, but that one hesitation - the one that made me too slow - kept me from getting a good seal. And that little hesitation may just keep me from enchanting my crush, or it may even mean I need to get a new job, depending on the nicknames they've come up with for me. Still, I give myself a 9.6 because I did everything flawlessly except for sticking the landing. The other judge, who is from Romania and is a janitor when he's not judging, might give me a lower score. Damn. (Aside to Romanian judge: Dude, I did the best I could with just a shirt. I'd have done better with a disinfectant cleaner and a mop. There'll be a bottle of pear brandy in your cart on Monday.) Moral: "Good instincts usually tell you what to do long before your head has figured it out." Trust your instincts. Oh, and get a good seal.   <ul class="blurbs"> <li> Location: Didn't get a good seal <li> it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</ul>  webmaster@craigslist.org 2007-08-11T10:40:47-07:00 Copyright 2008, craigslist.org http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/394614542.html 9.6 text Too much to ask? http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sea/393065630.html Maybe this is asking too much, but . . I'm looking for inspiration and was wondering if there are any Seattle women out there who would be willing to share some of their goddess-energy with me, to put some spark in my day: I would really like to see your tits. I dont want to be your boyfriend, significant other, etc. We shouldn't need to meet. Online is preferred, since I dont want to compromise you in any way. I dont want your phone number, address, . . . nothing. I dont need to see your face, just your tits. I promise I wont contact you or touch myself in any way. Im not a pervert and I promise that I wont try to phone you to whisper, so, uh, what are you wearing right now? because actually Ill be looking at your tits and Ill know that youre not wearing anything. Im really a pretty decent, respectful guy; and I want to see your tits. Im not looking for you to flash me your tits; this isn't Friday. I don't have any gripes with Flash Friday, and applaud any woman who flashes for fun. But this is different. If you'll excuse the expression, this isn't about titillation; this isnt about sex: If I wanted to see just any old tits, well, Ive heard rumors that there might be some secret sites on the Internet where I could maybe find pictures of actual breasts. But I dont want that. I want you. I want your attitude. Real woman. Real tits. Real attitude. I want to know that somewhere in this city there is a woman who knows about the power of her own tits and isnt afraid of that power. What your tits look like really doesnt matter. Big tits, small tits, round tits, sagging tits, pointy, pierced, painted, pristine, powdered, pert, perky or pendulous tits. Bring em all. I don't care about your age (18+) or your ethnicity. Bring em. I need your tits. Flat-chested? Great! Bring your tits, because do you really think I'm going to be inspired by the lobular glands hanging off your chest? Is that what Im talking about? No, I need to see your attitude. I need your happy tit attitude. I need to know that there are women who want to shake their tits at the night sky and howl like a wolf. Can you feel the energy, just thinking about it?! You think America was built on the backs of immigrants? Wrong! America was built by immigrant women, on their backs, shagging like monkeys, making a new generation of Americans! And THATS what Im talking about! The creative, life-sustaining power of women and their tits. I need some of that serious tit-mojo. Theyre so fun! Like upside-down apple-bobbing with soft, warm apples. Tits make me so happy! Post-breastfeeding tits? Dont you try to hide your tits away! You move straight to the front row! You are the Life-Giver! You create the future. You are a walking miracle! You are beyond beautiful! I need to see your life-giving happy tits. We should all be on our knees respecting your miraculous-mommy happy tits, rubbing them with perfumed oil. (I would volunteer for that; let me know.) Behind every great man, theres a great woman, rubbing her tits on his back. And in front of every great woman, is a pair of tits. Two of em. Two happy tits. Tits are everywhere, and yet certain cranky people in our society try to keep them locked up out of sight. Why? It's so clearly wrong. Tits bring people together, in a happy, friendly way. Theyre always cuddly and fun. I dont want some porn-industry, air-brushed, media-approved, silicone-infected, professional skin-jockey. I want you, and your real, happy, Seattle-Washington tits. Are you really going to let the failed moral standards of a repressive, patriarchal, Puritanical society stop you from showing me your tits? Think of the poor, sad Puritan pilgrim-woman, with her tits all bound up and hidden away. Are you going to let them get away with that?! No, youre not! Youre going to laugh and smile and shake your tits in the face of The Man. (I would happily represent that Man if you had any symbolic civil disobedience planned. Let me know if I can help out.) Youre going to send me a picture of your happy, bouncy tits. The world needs your tit-energy! And youre not going to listen to the sour-faced, self-appointed feminists who want to spread their toxic life-hatred (Our women are being manipulated and objectified as mere sex-objects . . Piss off, bitch! Keep your twisted, frigid analysis to yourself.) Fuck em! Fuck the bitter haters! Theyre your tits! Your body! Your power! Tit power! Its not Puritan-time anymore! Its the twenty-first century, and youre going to show me your tits not because youre being manipulated, or because youre a slut, or because you're being paid, but because you are FREE! FREEDOM!!!! Its your choice, your body, and you can shake your tits like a wild woman! (Wild = untamed, free) Right here in the good ol' US of A! Land of the Free (free-swinging, enjoying-the-open-air tits), Home of the Brave (brave woman who is even now wondering how to operate her web-cam). O-o, say can you see my tits? (no, I can't because you haven't sent me the picture yet) But, youre thinking, Im not the kind of woman who would show my tits to a stranger. Yes, dear one, yes, you are, because today is the day where you declare your independence and take full ownership of your tits. Youre going to enter a new head-space. Theyre your tits, and you can show them to whoever you want (today, thatd be me). Im pleading with you. Dont accept the lies. Dont accept the mental shackles. I have a confession: I was actually born a nudist. Yes, its true. But then someone, without my permission, put clothes on me and brainwashed me to think that it was normal to wear clothes. Completely tweaked my head. And its so hard to live outside that mental prison. And someone did a head-job on you too. They made you think your tits are somehow wrong. In fact, there are actually laws that say your tits are indecent. Evil, repressive laws. Your tits are never wrong or bad. Your happy tits are always wonderful. Your tits are always life-positive, life-affirming! And you can do it! I have faith in you. You can show me your tits and youll feel great about yourself. Tits are everywhere! So good and happy and bouncy and fun! And there are tits in space now! Outerspace tits! But does NASA share? No, no they dont, the uptight, small-minded bastards. Do they ever show pictures of happy tits in zero-g? No, they don't. Bastards. It would be so easy, and the world would be such a better place. I love it when a woman shows a little cleavage in public. Its like saying, Im nurturing, playful, tender, caring, strong and sexy as hell. I am the life-creator. I love my tits and I love being a woman. I really love that attitude! I need to see your spirit, your joie de vivre! (that's French for happy tits). Million Man March? Lame, lame, candy-ass lame. You want to see the world truly change? You want to see a revolution? Put a million bare-chested women down at the Washington Mall. Two Million Tits. The world would CHANGE! Love-centered! Life-affirming! Am I right or what? Your tits have power! You know they do! So, here's the deal: A) First, you should meet the following criteria. These are important, because the whole point of this is that I want to witness your real-time, in-the-moment, love of your wonderful womanhood and your bouncy goddess-given gifts: 1. you should have happy tits 2. you should be proud of your happy tits, and you should try to live up to the high ideals that your tits represent (love of self and others, life-positive, the future is important, etc.) 3. you should feel no shame about doing this. I want you to be happy and frickin' proud about being a woman and about your happy tits. You're doing this because YOU want to do it, because you know this is a liberating sacred gesture, because baring your breasts is an act of self-affirmation. And I want to bear witness. 4. you should live somewhere in or near Seattle (I want this to be real, I want to feel a connection; however, if you're in the Space Shuttle and you want to send me a picture of your happy tits in zero-g, that would be okay too. If the Space Needle is the best you can do, I would understand what you're trying to achieve, and I would appreciate it, really) 5. your happy tits should be unhampered, bra-less, free and easy, unashamed, proud and happy. but, whipped cream would be okay, as would cake frosting, chocolate syrup or most any other happy food. cold oatmeal or hospital food = not happy, not okay. got it? B) Second, take a picture of your happy tits. Close your eyes and think about what a miracle you are, about your potential as a woman. When you feel the self-love, when you feel your own power, when you truly feel that your tits are a force for Good in our world, snap the picture, and send it to me. C) Third, you will spend the rest of the day feeling happy, liberated and free. You're friends will ask you, "why are you smiling so much?" and you'll just smirk and stifle a laugh, but feel REALLY happy, ELATED even. I will spend the rest of the day with a big smile on my face, grinning like an idiot, touched by the joy-giving power of your happy tits. People will see us, each living our own private lives, being really happy, and will realize that life is actually pretty good, and then they'll feel happy too. And other people will be inspired by their happiness, and so on, and so on . . . and your happy tits could send shockwaves of happiness through the city. You have that power! All kidding aside, I truly love and respect women and I love their happy tits. Is that really so wrong? Tits are NOT sex organs, yet our whole society is afraid of them!! (&