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the rapist and the three maids

Gather ‘round, boys and girls, to hear the tale of “The Rapist and His Three Maids.”  Listen closely, children, for this story will provide great enlightenment for your young minds!

There once was a squire named Hugh who lived far, far away in the land of Pennsylvania.  He was a good squire, with a good job, and had a good car.  He had a good smile, with a good face, and had a good friend.  One thing, however, was not so good for the squire.  You see, the squire was having a bit of a problem with the ladies.    Despite his valiant efforts, he was failing to get Da Pussy.

It was around this time that Hugh decided to enlist the help of a Beautiful Princess (that’s me).  Hugh promptly made the journey to the land of Virginia where the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) held her court.  The squire brought with him his good face, his good smile, and his good friend.  Upon his arrival, Hugh quickly found an audience with the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).

“How may I help you, good squire?” asked the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).

The squire replied, “I seek your assistance.  I am a man with a good job, a good car, a good smile, and a good friend; however, my game is not so good.”

“Your game?” inquired the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).

“Yes,” responded the squire.  “I am on a quest for Da Pussy.”

“Ah, Da Pussy,” murmured the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).  “I see why you sought my assistance.  I am notorious throughout the land of Virginia in assisting good men such as yourself in acquiring Da Pussy.  Let me sleep this night and tomorrow I will provide you help with your quest, but first I must see your junk.”

“M-m-my junk?” cried Hugh.

“Yes, your junk.  I demand to see your tackle!” exclaimed the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).  So the squire took the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) behind her castle, quickly showed her his goods, and went to bed.

The following morning, the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) awoke the good squire with good news.  She had met and conferred with a young maid named Butterbar.  Butterbar had agreed to meet with Hugh and possibly give him Da Pussy.

“But you must be warned,” the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) informed the squire.  “If you get greedy for Da Pussy, dire things await.”

The squire was so happy about possibly getting Da Pussy, he barely heard the warning.  Da Pussy would be his this night!

And so the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) and her consort (that’s C) went to Da Bar with the good squire, with his good face, his good smile, and his good friend.  There they met Butterbar, and the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) weaved her magic of Jager and SoCo.  The squire remained good, Butterbar remained interested, and that night the squire obtained Da Pussy he so greatly wanted!

But one taste of Da Pussy wasn’t enough for the squire.  Oh, not enough at all!  Hugh wanted more!  So he met with the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) to discuss meeting Butterbar again.  The Beautiful Princess (that’s me) was not taken with the idea of Hugh meeting with Butterbar again.

“Butterbar will not be with us much longer,” explained the Beautiful Princess.  “She is moving across the pond, so her link to Da Pussy will be out of your reach.”

“But I want Butterbar!  I will see her and get Da Pussy again!” cried the squire.

The Beautiful Princess (that’s me) pondered over the squire’s situation.  Maybe it wasn’t so much Da Pussy that he needed.  Maybe he needed something that gave him comfort.

“I think that your situation requires more assistance on my part,” the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) told the squire.  “This night we will feast at the castle, and I will invite over a second maid.  Her name is Milf.  She is a great beauty, and she has a very kind soul.”

“Will she provide me with Da Pussy?” the squire quickly asked.  Its seemed that Hugh’s last meeting with Da Pussy had caused him to be Pussy Whipped, a common occurrence with many good men.  Da Pussy had Whipped his mind, causing him to think of nothing else.

“We shall see what the night holds,” responded the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) with a secret smile.

That night the Beautiful Princess (that’s me), along with her consort (that’s C), held a feast for the good squire, with his good face, his good smile, and his good friend.  A second maid, Milf, was there and much ale was consumed.  The Beautiful Princess (that’s me) once again wove her magic of Jager and Soco, and all the people made merry and got naked in the hot tub.  Replete with debauchery, they all went off to bed, and the squire laid down for the night with the second maid.

The following morning the squire went quickly to the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).  The squire found her in her bedchamber.  She was in a bad mood, nursing a hangover, and cleaning up the mess her consort (that’s C) left from the night before.  It turns out her consort (that’s C) consumed entirely too much ale.  He woke in the night to use the chamberpot.  In his drunken state, the consort (that’s C) stood up and thought that the corner of the bed looked like a proper chamberpot, so he let the piss fly.  The Beautiful Princess (that’s me) chided him at once.  Being far into his cups, however, the consort (that’s C) took a new gown from the wardrobe of the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) and laid it on top of the piss and slept for the night on top of it.  Yes, the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) was in a helluva mood!

“Excuse me, dear lady,” approached the squire gently.  “Might we confer again about Da Pussy?”

“Da Pussy!” screamed the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).  “Did you not have your fill of Da Pussy with Butterbar?  Did I not introduce you to Milf to cure you of the Pussy Whip?”

“But Milf did not provide me with Da Pussy!” complained the squire.  “She merely held my hand and cuddled with me!  The second maid failed, whereas Butterbar hooked me up with Da Pussy!”

“You do not need Butterbar for Da Pussy,” explained the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).  “You are suffering from the Pussy Whip, and Milf was to provide you the comfort that you needed.”

“Fuck!” cursed the squire.  “I don’t fucking want comfort!  I want some of Da fucking Pussy!”  The squire stormed out of the bedchamber, but the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) followed.

The Beautiful Princess (that’s me) found the squire near his good friend.  His good friend had passed the night on an uncomfortable cot, which had folded up around his body.  The good friend of the good squire slept restlessly, encased in the middle of the folded up cot.

“Beware, Hugh!” warned the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).  “I fear your Pussy Whip has affected your good mind.  Just look at you!  Worrying about Da Pussy whilst your good friend sleeps in a taco!”

“I just want Da Pussy,” whined the squire.

“Then let us see what my magic brings forth this night!” proclaimed the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).

Once again the Beautiful Princess (that’s me), along with her consort (that’s C) made their way to Da Bar with the good squire, with his good face, his good smile, and his good friend.  The Beautiful Princess (that’s me) worked her magic of Jager and SoCo for the third time, which brought forth a third maid named Fruitcake.

The Beautiful Princess (that’s me) and her consort (that’s C) invited Fruitcake back to the castle to make merry with the good squire and his good friend.  The ale flowed, and everyone was feeling festive.  The good squire looked at the third maid curiously, for she was quite loud, quite old, and quite odd.  Nevertheless, Hugh still quested for Da Pussy, and his mind was feverish from Pussy Whip.

The third maid, Fruitcake, beckoned the squire behind the castle.  The squire went willingly, thinking only his quest for Da Pussy.  After no more than five seconds, Fruitcake ran up to the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) and started to quack loudly.

“The squire raped me!” cried Fruitcake.  “He’s a fucking pervert!”

“Excuse me?” asked the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).

“You crazy bitch!” exclaimed the consort (that’s C).

“You were with him five seconds, you dumb cunt!” yelled the good friend of the good squire.

“He did!” proclaimed Fruitcake.  “He raped me!  And I will make it known to all that he is The Rapist!”

All the while, the squire stood in shock absorbing these false accusations.  How could one rape this third maid in five seconds, much less pull one’s cock out?

The Beautiful Princess (that’s me) banished Fruitcake from the castle.  Her consort (that’s C) and the good friend of the good squire still made made merry from the situation by calling Hugh “The Rapist.” 

The following morning, the squire sought out the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) for the last time.  He needed to know what went wrong in his quest for Da Pussy.

“I only wanted Da Pussy,” exclaimed Hugh.  “I did not expect to dishonored this way.”

“Ah,” cooed the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).  “I am afraid that you have brought this curse upon yourself, good squire.  You did not heed my warning.”

“What warning?” demanded the squire.

“The first night of your quest, I warned you to not get greedy in your quest for Da Pussy,” explained the Beautiful Princess (that’s me).  “After Butterbar, the first maid, gave you Da Pussy, you became Pussy Whipped.  The Whip of Da Pussy frazzled your mind, so my magic provided you with a second maid, Milf, to comfort you.  You did not accept the comfort for your Pussy Whip, which caused my magic to do whatever was necessary to fix you.  The third maid, Fruitcake, cured your Pussy Whip only by claiming you raped her in record time.  You now must forever live with being called ‘The Rapist’ by me, my consort, and your good friend.”

The good squire, Hugh, was humbled.  The good squire, with his good job, his good face, his good smile, and his good friend travelled back to their land of Pennsylvania.  For the entire journey, the good friend of the good squire made merry in calling the good squire “The Rapist.”  Whenever the good squire and his good friend make merry with the Beautiful Princess (that’s me) and her consort (that’s C), they tell the tale of “The Rapist and His Three Maids.”  To this day, the good squire from Pennsylvania is called by this name.

And that, boys and girls, is the end of this tale.  I hope you learned from this tragic story!  The moral should be obvious: don’t involve me in your sex life, ‘cause I’ll probably fuck it  up.

Good day!


i'm a regular, everday normal gal ...

... but your girlfriend is batshit cray-zay.  Seriously.  I’m sick and tired of the craziness women are pulling these days.  I am a woman.  I have a vag.  I am the weaker sex.  I don’t mind being barefoot and pregnant.  I’d rather meet my man at the door with a martini than work eighty hours a week.  All you ugly feminists need to stop fucking up my good thing.  The more pyscho you get, the more disservice you do our gender.  Here’s a list of shit women need to stop doing... ASAP:

1.  Bitching
  • Women complain, nag, and harass men to death.  I don’t believe in the philosophy, “If he ever hits me, I will leave his ass.”  With all your bitching and moaning, you were probably asking for it.  Situational appropriateness.
  • Yeah, you need to get a job, but don’t go mental when you don’t make as much as the guy across the hall from you.  Last I heard men were the bread winners for the past 6,000+ years, so you bitches got some catching up to do before you start complaining.  Or do like me, get majorly educated, and make bank working only two days a week.
  • He’s gonna watch porn.  Or lie about watching porn.  You’re gonna read porn.  Get over it.
2.  Serving in the Military
  • It has been proven that women will hesitate to pull the trigger on a gun ... even when absolutely necessary.  No breasts on the battlefield, thank you very much.  I prefer my wars straight up -- with buff military men kicking ass and taking names. 
  • The military turns the majority of chicks into pregnant whores.  When the USS Enterprise went co-ed it got nicknamed “The Love Boat” for a reason.  Deployed ships are notorious for having prostitutes or for having women get knocked up just to stay stateside.  Here’s a hint: you can whore yourself without infecting my military with the newest STD craze.
  • Yes, I pulled a stint in the Navy for two years.  I was married and pregnant within a year.  The thought of shooting a missile at people horrified me.  I got out, got divorced, and moved on.  I’m proof positive that women shouldn’t be in the military.
3.  Voting
  • Women got the right to vote and then what did they do?  They took all the damn booze away.  That should have been enough to revoke their rights.
  • Yeah, I know by saying this that I would lose my right to vote; however, I would gladly give up my vote to keep some pansy-assed, bleeding-heart chick with a tiny dog in her purse from casting a vote because it “feels good” or “feels right.”  Start voting with your brain instead of your ovaries.
4.  Bullying Your Man.
  • I can’t tell you how many times I have heard a guy say, “Well, I gotta ask my wife first.”  What?  Does she have your balls in a jar on top of her dresser?  Now I’m not talking big stuff, I’m talking small change.  For example, C and I were having a party and brought out the four-wheelers.  We asked our thirty-something-year-old friend if he wanted to try it out.  What did he reply?  “Hold on, let me ask my wife.”  He ran into the house with his dick tucked between his legs and came back a short while later exclaiming, “She said yes!”  Fuck me.  I was embarrassed for him.
  • Since when do stay-at-home-moms and -wives get to control the bank account?  It doesn’t make sense.  I know plenty of chicks that don’t work that control all the money their significant others bring into the house.  I know one stay-at-home-mom that put her husband on an allowance.  An allowance out of his paycheck.  An allowance.  Like a fucking little kid.
    • This is easily fixed.  The person who makes the money is in charge of the money.  Give the dependent an allowance.  Turnabout’s fair play, right?  Problem solved.
    • Have a two-income family?  Kudos!  That means you should have separate bank accounts.  This doesn’t mean you don’t trust each other, it means you are trusting each other enough to be financially responsible.  C and I NEVER mix money and guess what?  We’ve never been in a fight about money.  Problem solved.
5.  Gossiping.
  • Sigh ... I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard things like, “My man isn't romantic enough!” or “My man doesn’t buy me nice things!” or “My man is horrible in the sack!”  Every time I hear comments like these I come back with my own.  “Well, C took me on a surprise getaway!” or “C got me diamonds for no reason whatsoever!” or “C is the best lover I ever had!”  Half the shit I say isn’t even true, but I ain’t ever gonna badmouth my guy to some gossiping little girl.  If you can’t stand your guy so much, get the fuck out.  Oh, that’s right.  If you left, who would give him his allowance?
  • You crazy girls also need to get off the phone.  Here’s a newsflash: 99% of your female friends can’t be trusted with your secrets.  If you tell some “good friend” that your husband gave you crabs, guess what?  She’s gonna hang up that phone and call everyone she knows and tell them that your man gave you crabs.  Shit, if you called me up and told me your husband gave you crabs, I would probably make some calls, too.  Hell, I’d probably blog about it.  Just kidding ... ?

Ta-ta for now!