Roger's Gay Taxi

Feels Like the Last Time

2007-05-20T19:13:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the delays in posting, it's been a relatively obnoxious Spring what with trips to the emergency ward, endless back troubles, Cooter calling me Twice (! WTF !!!) to deal with hitchhiker processing, the Special Olympics, I mean, I have only so much time and when I can only leave the West Wing for a maximum of 8 hours a week things stack up pretty fast.

I got into a fight with the Irish Cow the other day because of our mutual delusions. So, according to the Cow, he always has at least 4 beautiful women interested in him but one that he is chasing and is unattainable because of religious differences (hint: he is a neo-con Libertarian, you figure out the rest). But while we were relaxing and looking at my nude photo I mean painting the other night in the West Wing he brought up the old cliché that you should treat your significant other like you're never going to see them again when you part with a heartfelt embrace, because of the vagaries of existence and things like car wrecks, terrorism, and fast-acting V.D.

Well, like everything with the Cow, he is only half right. You see, like most of middle class or as I might refer to, bourgeois America, people get kind of perverted and get by living only half of their lives, you know, drinking Light Beer, eating at Chain Restaurants, driving Mazdas, you get the picture.

I spit my beer on the Cow and explained my philosophy: No, you fucking shit. You don't "kiss them" or "hug them" like it's the last time you're going to see them. YOU FUCK THEM LIKE IT'S A FUCKING NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST IN 15 MINUTES. I shouldn't have to qualify this for you, but, anal, oral, 69, b&d, waterworks, cleveland steamer, talking dirty, shit, man, the fucking works. EVERY TIME YOU ARE OUT OF EACH OTHERS' SIGHT. Or going to be so for more time than it takes to accomplish the requisite list of necessary bodily functions, like a minimum of 45 minutes. That's like $80 in the cab!!!

Just so we're clear on this shit.

Bobby Brown Likes Dried Up Poo

2007-02-27T15:57:00.000-06:00

Look, I may have a fascination for it myself. I've always given props to Mr. Brown for bagging such a lovely lady, but the fact that he has the wherewithal to probe around in her butt looking for nuggets of wisdom is just icing on the cake. Or fudge on the sundae. you get my drift. Bobby Brown Banged Up For A Month

When I'm an Old Woman I'll Wear a Big Purple Strap-On

2007-01-22T20:15:00.000-06:00

Because Purple is so Sexy.

Hot Asian Chick Digs Buttsecks and Boyfriend-Bung-Banging

2006-11-29T11:27:00.000-06:00

Wow, just discovered through Steve Jobs' Blog a link to a very enticing, smart, and sexually adventurous co-ed.

I wonder if she and her wuss-ass boyfriend ~~need~~ understand their need for a third party who might be a hot, bisexual cab driver with a light case of the Gout?

Her lovely blog is located here.

What a Month!

2006-11-06T18:17:00.000-06:00

Well, here in the sanctity of the West Wing it's been a rough month. Usually I'm one who adores the spotlight, but all this media attention is getting a bit much. First, as I've already posted, some of the three-way congressional page instant messaging sessions I was involved with got out and made a little bit of a scandal. Sheesh, it's not like they were that bad, kind of like Junior High Health Class.

Meanwhile, that starts to die down a little bit and that this little tiff with a certain Fundamentalist Pastor I've been massaging, selling drugs to, and banging on the side takes on a life of it's own.

Still, while I'm waiting for things to die down a little, I'll offer up these words of advice if you find yourself caught in a similar pickle.

What's the first thing you tell a John who's nervous about his wife finding out about his little session in the Gay Taxi? To repeat these words:

'Oh, honey... I wouldn't have been having those meth-fueled ass-banging sessions with that gay hooker if you hadn't have let yourself go like that!'

North Korean Test Appears to Be Fairly Small

2006-10-09T19:50:00.000-05:00

...just like Kim Jong Il's penis.

My Instant Messages are a Matter of Public Record

2006-10-02T20:31:00.000-05:00

GayRoger69 (7:35:45 PM): not yet

Skippy4ever (7:36:06 PM): cool cool...

GayRoger69 (7:37:27 PM): how my favorite young stud doing

Skippy4ever (7:37:46 PM): tired and sore

Skippy4ever (7:37:52 PM): i didnt no waltzing could make you sore

GayRoger69 (7:38:04 PM): from what

Skippy4ever (7:38:34 PM): what do you mean from what

Skippy4ever (7:38:42 PM): from waltzing...im sore from waltzing

GayRoger69 (7:39:32 PM): tahts good

GayRoger69 (7:39:32 PM): you need a massage

GayRoger69 signed off at 7:39:37 PM.

GayRoger69 signed on at 7:40:35 PM.

GayRoger69 (7:42:27 PM): love to watch that

GayRoger69 (7:42:33 PM): those great legs running

GayRoger69 (7:46:33 PM): did any girl give you a haand job this weekend

Skippy4ever (7:46:38 PM): lol no

Skippy4ever (7:46:40 PM): im single right now

Skippy4ever (7:46:57 PM): my last gf and i broke up a few weeks agi

GayRoger69 (7:47:11 PM): are you

GayRoger69 (7:47:11 PM): good so your getting horny

Skippy4ever (7:47:29 PM): lol...a bit

GayRoger69 (7:48:00 PM): did you spank it this weekend yourself

GayRoger69 (7:43:27 PM): well dont ruin my mental picture

Skippy4ever (7:43:32 PM): oh lol...sorry

GayRoger69 (7:43:54 PM): nice

GayRoger69 (7:43:54 PM): youll be way hot then

Skippy4ever (7:44:01 PM): haha...hopefully

GayRoger69 (7:44:22 PM): better be

GayRoger69 (7:53:24 PM): on your back

Skippy4ever (7:53:30 PM): no face down

GayRoger69 (7:53:32 PM): love details

Skippy4ever (7:53:34 PM): lol

Skippy4ever (7:53:36 PM): i see that

Skippy4ever (7:53:37 PM): lol

GayRoger69 (7:53:39 PM): really

GayRoger69 (7:53:54 PM): do you really do it face down

Skippy4ever (7:54:03 PM): ya

GayRoger69 (7:54:13 PM): kneeling

Skippy4ever (7:54:31 PM): well i dont use my hand...i use the bed itself

GayRoger69 (7:54:31 PM): where do you unload it

Skippy4ever (7:54:36 PM): towel

GayRoger69 (7:54:43 PM): really

GayRoger69 (7:55:02 PM): completely naked?

GayRoger69 (7:55:51 PM): cute butt bouncing in the air

Skippy4ever (7:56:00 PM): haha

Skippy4ever (7:56:05 PM): well ive never watched myslef

Skippy4ever (7:56:08 PM): but ya i guess

GayRoger69 (7:56:18 PM): i am sure not

GayRoger69 (7:56:22 PM): hmmm

GayRoger69 (7:56:30 PM): great visual

GayRoger69 (7:56:39 PM): i may try that

Skippy4ever (7:56:43 PM): it works

GayRoger69 (7:56:51 PM): hmm

GayRoger69 (7:56:57 PM): sound inetersting

GayRoger69 (7:57:05 PM): i always use lotion and the hand

GayRoger69 (7:57:10 PM): but who knows

Reader Mail: The Gay Leading teh Stupid

2006-08-22T16:32:00.000-05:00

Dear Gay Roger,

I am a normal, hetero guy, maybe even super-hetero, just like you. I like nothing more than a good football game, a 15-pack of beer and a lesbian video going on in the background. I've had _lots_ of chicks (over four, if you count the heavy petting with my cousin when I was 15).

Anyway, my current girlfriend has an extra large clitoris. In fact, it's larger than my penis. I just thought I should write you to double check: If she fucks me up the ass with it, there is nothing gay about that, is there?

Yours,

Desperately Seeking Anal

Dear Desperately Seeking Anal,

No, unfortunately there's nothing gay about that. But you may have proven the existence of God.

The First Cut is the Deepest

2006-08-16T13:59:00.000-05:00

It's been a long, hot summer of sin and perspicacity. I have revelled in the pleasures of the flesh, I have travelled thousands of miles, and used gallons and gallons of lube, all without leaving the sanctity of the West Wing (i.e. Living Room). I finally took it upon myself to get rid of some of these incompletes that have been dogging me, some of them since grade school. I plowed in, or perhaps it's more appropriate to say cleaved, and have made good progress, but several weeks ago my back finally rebelled and forced me to stay away from the taxi.

This of course caused me to fall into a deeper depression than I was in the first place, since as you know I both take pride in my work (transportational and sensual) and gain a large chunk of my own sense of identity through the self-definitional process of its execution. So all of a sudden, without the usual "johns", "tricks" or "fares" telling me "Gee, Roger, that was the best I've ever had!" or "I haven't been fucked like that since grade school!" I was spiralling down.

That, and the loss of income. I'm a large man, with large appetites. And these appetites need capital to sate them. So with no capital coming in, Rog was definitely hurting. And with my back, I couldn't service the landlady to pay the rent either! What was I going to do???

This is where my friends stepped in. Cooter, Skippy, Zornig, the Cap'N and Miss Meems all volunteered to do one cab shift a week for me to pay the bills. The fact that they all needed about 10 hours of community service a week from Cooter's Tornado Party /Orgy debacle was beside the point. It was truly endearing to see them driving the cab and pleasuring the customers for money which was going straight to me. Special Props to Cooter for the strict discipline she brought to the job, and Props as well to Miss Meems who approached the hand jobs with such gusto that she sprained her wrist. Been there, done that!

The back is still out, but now that I'm getting used to the new lifestyle I don't mind it so much at all, in fact, I kind of like the sound of

Gay Roger the Pimp.

Now that is a jingle

2006-07-21T16:03:00.000-05:00

Happy peanuts soar
Over chocolate-colored mountaintops and
Waterfalls of caramel,
Prancing nougat in the meadows sings a song of satisfaction to the world.

A Sentimental Education

2006-05-27T11:40:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when I'm in seclusion in the West Wing (read the "Living Room") for three weeks at a time I don't answer emails, return phone calls, go to work, or provide CPR to my octogenarian landlady downstairs. Sometimes, like Cooter, I just need some ME time.

During these periods of reflection I sometimes work on my forthcoming autobiographical novel, Ass Be Not Proud. Let me recount to you a little passage from my hot life that I reflected upon during my last period of meditation and solitude, and leave it to you, gentle reader, to ponder its implications for both Iowa City and our culture, as a whole.

As you may know, for several years I managed a convenience store in Coralville, the Handy Job. (It's a little known fact that all convenience stores in Iowa have to have a sexual overtone in their name. I think Branstad passed that law.) Anyway, one of my duties at the Handy Job was to stock the cooler, and pull stock from the cooler and bring it into the convenience store.

Sometimes, this really got me down, since, as those of you who know may know, before my ass went, my back did. The two may be related, but I don't want to get into that here and now. Suffice to say that I labored on in the sub-zero temperatures moving heavy boxes for several years, occasionally throwing my back out and being humiliated by my supervisor. The usual stuff.

However, one summer morning I was in there doing the usual stocking of the boxes when it hit me like a flash of lightning and the scales fell from my eyes. There I was, in the cooler, Stacking Boxes! Stacking motherfucking boxes!!!

Just like lesbians!

Lesbians love stacking boxes!

I quietly wept with the beauty of my sapphic approximation, quickly masturbated a couple times, finished Stacking Boxes (Hooray!) and strode back to manage that hellhole with a song in my heart.

...and that song was by the Indigo Girls.

Car. Number 1: The Derriere Guarde

2006-05-22T17:41:00.000-05:00

Ladies and Lesbians, I present the first in a 72 part series dedicated to the cars of sex, those automobiles which, much like vibrators, have made a technological impact upon the very fabric of our cultural sexuality.

Cars today are all about "safe this" and "airbag that" and "RUAS hygiene shield." Enough already!

Part of the allure of having sex in a Ford Pinto was the potential danger of an explosive rear-ending. I have heard the gas tank could blow up as well.

Taxi Zum Klo

2006-05-16T06:21:00.000-05:00

Snapped this photo in George's men's room the other night. I think the penis is Angie's as it appears to be coming from the women's restroom.

Chicks Dig Marxism-Leninism

2006-04-20T06:53:00.000-05:00

I've always known this, but here's the proof:

Cocks in Fox

2006-04-01T13:35:00.000-06:00

Fox
Cocks
Box
Locks

Cocks in box.
Cocks in Fox.

Cocks in fox in socks in box.

Cocks in Fox on box on locks.

Chicks with clits come.
Chicks with Cocks come.
Chicks with clits and blocks and cocks come.

Look, sir. Look, sir. Mr. Knox, sir.
Let's do tricks with clits and cocks, sir.
Let's do tricks with chicks with cocks, sir.

First, I'll make a quick trick clit stack.
Then I'll make a quick trick cock stack.

You can make a quick trick chick stack.
You can make a quick clit cock stack.

And here's a new trick, Mr. Knox....
Cocks in chicks and clits on fox.
Cocks in Fox on bricks and blocks.
Clits and cocks on Knox on box.

Now we come to clits and cocks, sir.
Try to say this Mr. Knox, sir....

Cocks on fox tick.
Cocks on Knox tock.
Six sick bricks tick.
Six sick chicks lick.

Please, sir. I don't like this trick, sir.
My tongue isn't quick or slick, sir.
I get all those clits and cocks, sir,
mixed up with the chicks with cocks, sir.
I can't do it, Mr. Fox, sir.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Knox, sir.

The Freewheelin' Gay Taxi

2006-04-01T10:04:00.000-06:00

The naked power of economic systems has existed since before the dawn of history, maybe extending back as far as the twilight before the history of the night before. These saucy historical epochs have lead many naive historians down the garden path of lust, sin and villainy (such as my historian friend that recently had the double appendectomy, the Irish Cow).

Historical incentives such as free soap, bonus french fries or sexual favors can make a trasty addition to an after-dinner mint, and make an interesting speculation as to the analysis of personal reflection in the Pan-Arab Post-Cheney Middle East.

I like my car racing ...Gay.

2006-03-31T07:18:00.000-06:00

As much as it pains me to admit it, Mookah was entirely right in the comments the other day. NASCAR is fully gay. I offer two examples:

"NASCAR fans Can't Decide If Latest Daytona 500 Win Makes Jeff Gordon More of a Homo or Less of a Homo" - Link

and of course, the mother of all gay racing sites, Gaytona.com

My Taxi is Gay!

2006-03-20T21:26:00.000-06:00

I'm not surprising anyone here, anymore. Maybe poor lil' 'ol innocent Coot... nah, maybe not.

Speakin' of the old Devil herself, she turned me on to a cute little Meme. I think she meant Meems because maybe Miss Meems thought it up, but then again, I'm not really sure. The point is, you ask yourself these questions, fill up your blog with the answers, then everyone fills up your comments and their blogs with their answers and their responses to your answers. So it's like a big cluster-fuck, or a circle jerk, or some kind of something where everyone comes all over everybody else. While they're thinking about themselves. You know, been there, done that.

Favorite sexual positions
1. Bottom (face up)
2. Bottom (face down)
3. Seated on toilet (Blumpkin)
4. Dental Chair

Four Historical Monuments You've had Sex On
1. Steps of Old Capitol (It's an Iowa City rite of passage)
2. Sidewalk in front of the Biograph Theater. John Dillinger and I have a LOT in common.
3. Johnson County Jail. I don't want to talk about this one. But in retrospect, I learned a lot - thanks for the education, Lonny!
4.Coralville
5.-This one is more with than on but a facial ends up as on, so... Facial on the Black Angel. This was pretty hard to achieve and involved a pretty lengthy stepladder and Skippy providing support and KY.

Favorite Place to Have Sex
1. In the butt

Retrograde down the Roger-Wilco Chocolate Highway

2006-03-10T22:02:00.000-06:00

Thanks to all my family, friends, school-mates, cabbies, professors, and tricks for all the cards and letters you sent. I was all shook-up for a while, kind of like a bottle of coke.

I was free-wheeling with the Doors the other night, as I have wont to do every 6 months or so, but then my friend "the Himmler" told me that Jim Morrison just wasn't cool. Look, my friend is cool, not because of his German-reminding-me-of-Nazi-fantasies-name (although that doesn't hurt, per se), but because of his sensibilities. Like Jane Austen, what with all the foppish dandery and whatnot. To give you the full picture, I'm talking about crudité, although you all know damned well I can't eat raw broccoli.

So it always kind of hurts when a friend has to set you "straight". In the cab, I always say "forward, never straight!" and sometimes get the oddest looks from my fraternity/sorority clientele, who, very much like the "Mr. Show" sketch about the heavy metal band, don't realize the extent of their own rampant homosexuality.

But speaking of homosexuality: I need to set Pooter straight, (sic): I know all the arguments about football being gay, and becaues of my deep-seated love for Fran Tarkenton I have to reject them. If football is gay, then what are the cheerleaders doing there? Just watching? Watching men on men? And then watching each other? so it's kind of a dual-homo thing... but if America's most macho symbol of male sexuality is so homo, then you're saying...

Oh, I get it.

Never mind. There is nothing more gay than American Football, except American Football with Chaps.!!!!

The Parable of the Gay Fox

2006-02-28T08:29:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time, and a very good time it was, there was a moo-cow coming down along the road where Baby Roger lived. Baby Roger loved life in the country, where the cowboys dressed like ladys and a date with a sheep was a simple pasture's walk away.

But one day Baby Roger was running late and needed to get across the river. It was swollen with a torrent of water from the Spring Thaw, and what with his morbid fears and paranoias Baby Roger didn't think he could quite cross it on his own. He sat down by the polished stones on the river bank and began to cry.

"Waaaahhhhh!" cried Baby Roger.

"Don't cry, Baby Roger!" interrupted a stranger's voice.

Baby Roger roused himself from his tears to see the Gay Fox standing beside him with an inflatable raft and a bottle of "poppers".

"Don't cry, Baby Roger! I'll take you across the river," said the Gay Fox.

"Really?" Baby Roger questioned. Baby Roger was inherently suspicious of all modes of transportation, particularly planes and rafts.

"Yes, really," said the Gay Fox, and smiled with his large, foxy teeth.

"Hmmm, hey, wait a minute..." Baby Roger thought to himself, out loud. "You just want to get me out in the middle of the river so you can recruit me to gaydom through sodomy and oral sex!"

Baby Roger had heard about Teh Gheys from his local Christian Ministry.

"Oh, no, Baby Roger! I wouldn't do that!" said the Gay Fox, taken aback.

"Hmmm, all right then. But no funny gay stuff!" Baby Roger said, thinking his most macho thoughts of football.

The Gay Fox quickly inflated his raft and soon they were on their way across the river. Baby Roger was actually enjoying the ride across the velvety rapids. Then, they reached the half-way point and the Gay Fox began to fellate him.

"Hey, I thought you said no funny gay stuff!" Baby Roger exclaimed, surprised.

"I can't help it. (mmmpphhh) It's in my nature! (mmmppph)" mumbled the Gay Fox.

"Okay!" ejaculated Baby Roger.

And to this day the sound of running water gives Roger a raging hard-on.

The End.

A little something ...

2006-02-25T17:37:00.000-06:00

...Because I want you to know.

Vive la revolution Quailtard!

2006-02-22T08:48:00.000-06:00

A "quailtard" may best be defined as a small domesticated fowl, lacking any survival skills whatsoever, bred for its own destruction by its release from captivity moments before being killed at the hands of bourgeois businessmen or politicians with guns.

The "clever" or "outwitting" Quailtard is capable of flying up between these suburban "warriors" inciting them to discharge their weapons in each others' general direction. These most dangerous of Quailtard are the scourge of corporate boardrooms and smoke-filled political pork-barrel parties across the nation.

P.S. What's so wrong with shooting a load in your friend's face? Haven't we all done that at one time or another?

P.P.S. The similarity to the former V.P. is just gravy.

A Moment of Silent Lucidity

2006-02-17T17:52:00.000-06:00

Just so we're clear on this: I wear chaps because I want to, not because I have to.

My Night of Passion with Seamus Heaney

2006-02-02T08:48:00.000-06:00

People frequently get confused about cultural or sexual stereotypes. This is no big deal, and easily understandable given the poor quality of the American educational system these days ...So let me lead you down the garden path to the unbridled passions of poetry and a raging Irish alcoholic.

I came across The Poet in the back bathroom of Jo's Place. (Remember, Jo used to be married to K.P. before she became a Lesbian and joined the union. Then, oddly enough, for a while she was a Pipe-Fitter, then inherited some money and got her M.F.A. Hence, the poetry-friendly lesbian bar). I have a standing invitation chez Jo as the cabbie of choice, since I'm so lesbian-friendly I've been made an honorary lesbian by over 40 women's organizations. Hell, last Halloween I went as Bea Arthur playing Emma Goldman. Now if that's not Lesbian-Friendly, you'd better pry yourself loose from the toothy grip of Angie's Clam.

Anyway, spank my ass for my mental wanderings. As I was saying, I had to use the little boys' room to powder my diverticuli when I noticed a strangely attractive Irish man sitting, or rather laying, in a puddle of his own sick while being fellated by my friend the Man-Poet and his buddy Hippo Butt! "Schwing!" - I was instantly standing at attention, but didn't want to cut in on the Man-Poet's action. He was obviously calling the shots, mostly letting Hippo Butt lap at the vomit puddle.

I then noticed that the barely conscious, in-his-own-sick laying Irishman had written several poems, with his own feces, on both several yards of toilet paper and the restroom walls. The poetry was incredible, although I can't remember any of the particulars. It was way better than Cooter's, and even better than the Man-Poet's! (By the way, the Man-Poet even has an Associate's degree in poetry!)

Then again, I'm not much of an appreciator of poetry, what with my disability and all (the Color Blindness, not the Ass). So anyway, I fucked all three of them and then we got drunk and I fucked them again. It was pretty hot.

May I interest you in the PuPu Platter?

2006-01-30T09:08:00.000-06:00

Or perhaps you'd prefer the Man-Goo Soup? They both come highly recommended by both the chef, and myself.

Back before teh internets, children, people got their porn in magazines and VHS, with titles like Swank, Jugs, Oui, WeeWee, and of course my favorite, The Cleveland Steamer's Gentlemen's Companion.

Just wanted to remind you of this before the world before the magic of teh internets fades into a distant memory. Hell, grandpa used to jack off to crayon drawings scrawled on the outhouse wall. Now that I can download multiple streams of high-quality grade-A hot amateur MILF action at any time of the night or day, on my phone even, I have to say that the Enlightenment worked.

Now this is what I'm talking about

2006-01-24T08:13:00.000-06:00

Is it any wonder that Communism was popular?

Totem Poles and Glory Holes

2006-01-13T07:02:00.000-06:00

Okay, so Bareback Mountain finally showed up, and yes, it brought a sticky, semen-y tear to my eye. But now, the theaters are still against me, because the new Glory Hole movie is not in town. Those of you who know me well know that I love Glory Holes even more than Gay Cowboys. I've been trying to talk Skippy into getting such Glory Holes standardized in all the cubicles at his job. It would make that coffee break all the more satisfying.

Bareback Mountain

2006-01-05T13:59:00.000-06:00

It's not enough that that new upstart cab company (the competition) has new Toyota Scions and Matrixes and Camrys, but the damned CEC Theaters just won't bring "Bareback Mountain" to town. "Discrimination!" I cry. Why can't we see a couple smelly cowboys share a sleeping bag, and much more, out in the Old West? Why, God, why not?

The only way I've been able to bear the interminable wait is by listening to Kenny Chesney CDs non-stop in the cab. Renee Zellweger sure didn't know what she had her hands on, now, did she? (Hint: shaving or waxing off all your body hair is practiced by less than 1% of heterosexual males).

Charles Nelson Reilly - Folk Hero

2005-12-23T07:02:00.000-06:00

Submit to Cooter

2005-12-16T10:55:00.000-06:00

Dear Gay Roger,

Thanks for the really gay blog. No one likes lesbians as much as you do (except for maybe other lesbians, and if you're right, they like men too, but they're just shy around them).

I was just wondering - I have a really hot web site (http://cootersnack.blogspot.com) where I talk about things, like my hot ass. Of course, I'm into BDS&M, so I was thinking that I would like a "submit" button on my website so my fans could submit to me a whole lot. I don't know much about web pages though. Could you help me out?

Yours,

Cooter

Gee Coot, I don't know, but I'll look into it. I've been working on my research paper which I'll be posting here shortly. Meantime, try this on for size.

Gay Bulgarian Soccer Scandal Adds Goat to Mix. God, I miss Fran Tarkenton.

2005-12-12T16:10:00.000-06:00

Just keeping you up to date on the gay Bulgarian soccer scandal. They have added a goat to the story, which makes it all the more special.

It reminds me of growing up in Manchester, before we had learned prohibitions and discrimination. Everything was equal on the farm, and everything was equally fuckable.

All Your Buttsecks are Belong To Me

2005-12-06T22:04:00.000-06:00

Say, do you ever take the time to take an interest in Buttsecks?

Because as you know, I am a master, and do recommend it.

Melissa Theuriau is hot - I hope she's a lesbian!

2005-11-28T19:29:00.000-06:00

Man, Melissa Theuriau is so hot! I hope she's a lesbian.

I mean, more appropriately, that she's acted on the lesbian feelings that no woman can escape. And thought about them, more than some women who pretend to be heterosexual pretend not to.

She's some kind of French secret weapon. I know I'd burn a cab or two to get into that trunk.

Kudos to the Fall Lesbians

2005-11-17T19:20:00.000-06:00

I just realized amongst my busy schedule that I forgot to do a follow-up to the special Fall Colors of Lesbian Hickory Hill Park session I did a few weeks ago.

First, hats off to all the lesbians, and to those timid "first-timers" that showed up at registration with closed knees. A few shots of the Doctor and some ripped tunes took care of those inhibitions.

Anyway, it was a great success. We all learned many things, about our bodies, and our needs.

One thing that for me was a real eye-opener is how much lesbians are moved to make love competitively by having me and some of my football/poker buddies all drunk and everything sitting in lawn chairs and vomiting occasionally just egging them on. Who would have thought?

I've got to get a Toyota

2005-11-11T07:20:00.000-06:00

According to this article from good old Canada, Toyota has featured two women kissing in their Corolla ad.

Sure, I've always kind of liked Subarus, but they didn't appeal to A-List Lesbians the way Toyotas do. They appealed more to the second-string, bench-warming lesbians.

Sure, I hear you, all lesbians were created equal. It's just that some are more equal than others.

Rosa Parks died so that hot young lesbians could have sex on public transportation, and as a man who very nearly requires a Chauffeur's license, it brings a tear to my eye that these days, lesbians can have all the sex they want to, for free, in my cab.

Why am I always the last one on the block with a Gay Love Slave?

2005-11-02T20:23:00.000-06:00

Now that Cooter owns a homo I have to confess to a little bit of jealousy, and, much like Hippo Butt, a bit of perplexity.

Shouldn't I be the one with the Gay Love Slave? Aren't I the one out there on the street, running my sorry sick ass ragged trying to earn a few scheckels and pleasure a few Johns?

If you were a Gay Love Slave, wouldn't you rather have someone with 23 books about Hitler in his personal collection than someone with a penchant for making hitchhikers disappear?

I'm just saying.

I Am the King of Anal Sex

2005-10-15T12:23:00.000-05:00

Most of you know me as Roger, some might call me "Gay Roger" or "The Rog". Those that remember me from my porn career often refer to me as "Roger the Wad". And my Lesbian students know me as the "King of Cunnilingus". But the hat I'm wearing today that I would like you all to know about is my identity as the King of Anal Sex.

Royalty? Why yes, I'll give you a regal fucking...in the ass!

I don't care whether you're tossing my salad or I'm tossing yours—the important thing is that there is a salad being tossed.

But please remember, that the heart of the whole matter is the R.U.A.S. And it is around this topic that I would like to make a few points clear. Lately, some people in the cab have tried to "butter me up" by talking about their little pansy anal adventures, gently massaging it or pampering it or giving each other whipped-cream enemas. They are entirely missing the point. If it's not Rough and it's not Unprotected, then I do not give it the Gay Roger seal of R.U.A.S. approval.

At the other end of the spectrum lays the evil opposite of the R.U.A.S. - something we call G.P.A.P. or Gentle, Protected Anal Play. Some of you might think that G.P.A.P. is a good place to start, and much like aspirin can be a so called "gateway" drug to strong pain relievers such as Aleve or Maximum Strength Tylenol (and look, you might be needing this after a particularly vigorous bout of R.U.A.S, but that's beside the point), but I strongly disagree. G.P.A.P. gives none of the benefits of true R.U.A.S. such as enlightenment, eradication of depression, and the post-coital feeling of having attended a Dale Carnegie motivational speech.

So next time someone's twiddling their little pinkie up your bum while wearing a surgical latex glove, speak up and ask for it Rough and Unprotected. You'll be glad you did.

The Fall Colors of Lesbian

2005-10-13T09:16:00.000-05:00

I was so busy this summer that I didn't offer my usual Summer Camp for Lesbians. I know there's a lot of lesbians out there looking to improve their sexual technique so I'm offering a special fall workshop this weekend at Hickory Hill Park.

Press Release: Iowa City, October 12

Roger Bradley announced today a special Lesbian Fall Workshop to be held this weekend at Hickory Hill Park. The three-day workshop, titled "Lesbians in the Leaves: A Lick through Diversity" will be taught by Mr. Bradley, who is currently working on his M.A. degree in the history of Lesbianism and holds advanced certificates in Cunnilingus, Felatio, and R.U.A.S.

"This workshop is for any Lesbian - from beginner, to advanced. We'll work on a variety of techniques to pleasure your lover, all in a beautiful autumnal atmosphere. It will be as if there's vaseline smeared on the camera lens."

Lesbians wishing to attend (or straight women who have had bisexual leanings) are invited to meet at the lower Hickory Hill shelter at 6 p.m. Friday for registration.

Love slaves must be kept on leash.

Not to titillate

2005-10-06T23:55:00.000-05:00

...too much. Just thought I had to mention the fact that the title "Haymaker Heart" (link) makes no sense and is conceivably the gayest, or for those of you that don't understand, Most Gay album title of the past decade.

(But look, you have to contextualize. Here I am meaning "ghey" which is negative, not "gay" which is positive and happy. "Ghey" is commited by either hapless heterosexuals or idiots or assholes, or some combination of the three. "Gay" just happens)

Hats off to Señor Pardekooper in his house of extreme gaiety. (Meaning "gheyity")

If you look at the pictures, those are some damn gay hats. Usually, hats are the signs of a lesbian. But in this case, we're in the right ballpark, what with the RUAS and all.

Let me tell you my story:

So, there I am, driving my cab one night, when a skanky looking guy flags me down, downtown, near Splayerz, the bar that used to be a bar before the City Council castrated it and made it into a Post Office or some such thing. Anyway, he didn't look good: I said, "hello, mister, I'm going to need some cash up front..."

We can do that when things get questionable. Which they usually are, on the edge, in the cab.

"You fucking Prick, I'm Dave Zollo! Don't Fuck with Me!" he screamed at me.

"Get out of my cab" I said, and he did.

Ever since then, I've had a thing against his record label. Someone there thinks Greg Brown is actually good, which is the last thing in the world anyone should consider. In fact, the people that think that probably think they're Democrats but voted for GW in the last election because of aneurysims.

Why perpetuate a career based upon mental incompetence and Alzheimers? Better to retire him to play Ronald Mcdonald Houses and orphanages for Hot Asian Women so he can so to speak Be Himself.

Iowa City's "Roots" scene is non-existent and its false creation is as much a fallacy as the version of Christianity perpetrated by the Catholic church.

The only two good bands to ever come out of Iowa City were the Stiff Legged Sheep and Red Throb, and these, my children, were punk.

That is the legacy that Iowa City has to give to its children, not Fake Fucking Bastards Trying to Sell Nostalgic Music with Folk Overtones that only appeal to middle-aged Hawkekye fans.

Youth=Power=Sex=Energy=Punk=Youth. This has nothing to do with you Roots Rock Weirdo Dinosaurs.

Greg Brown Sucks. Pardekooper sucks. Zollo sucks. If you would like to know for how long and for what price and at what suction level just find me in the cab.

P.S. For other bad Iowa City titles see "Redemption" or "Thunder on the Plains".

Call Me A Pig Fucker if You Must—I'll Wear That Badge Proudly

2005-10-06T08:25:00.000-05:00

These great United States are a federation of a disparate, rag-tag band of entities, on a frontier mission trying to stick it to the man. No, wait, that's that TV show Firefly. No, these United States are a bunch of loosely-affiliated gay-bashing conservative fucks who elect idiots and have a penchant for war-mongering fascism. I hate it when I make mistakes like that.

But while I'm up on my soapbox, I've been thinking about Nationalism and Regional Identity because I had a dream about my old room-mate Jason the other night (he was the one before Mutt Lange, the Def Leppard producer, and definitely before the Webelo). See, Cooter has a thing about Missouri, and Hippo Butt has a thing for Nebraska.

I was only trying to point out that it's funny how nearly everyone you meet from California is mentally retarded. It's like how people on either coast are mildly surprised to find that nearly everyone in or from Iowa fucks pigs, or has fucked them occasionally, or would if the opportunity presented itself. Whereas we just need to mention Reagan, Schwarzenegger, and the "rock" group Toto for Iowa to come out on top.

Anyway, in California's case I think it's caused by the enzymes in the sprouts they eat on everything. Can't be good for you. As far as Iowa goes, I think it's the size of the hogs' balls. At least in my case.

When She Is Ready, She Will Come

2005-10-02T22:44:00.000-05:00

I was free-falling with the Doors the other night - you know, musically speaking. Just a way to keept track of myself away from the MAN when I'm not sucking or laying pipe for the MAN. (Few people realize that Jim Morrison didn't die in 1970 or 1972 or whatever, but leaved in West Liberty above the New Strand Theater until 1988 when he was killed in a pedestrian street accident by my old lover Don Skahill - but, hell, that's a much longer, fucked up, and different story).

Anyway, when last we checked in, we were talking about Fudge Dipping, Jeffing, or Cootersnacking depending upon your take or upon whom your source of fudge is. Let me add one to your list: when you stick your finger up the butt of a drunken sorority girl's father after a football game while there is a circle jerk going on in the cab and then everyone licks the finger it's called a "Dark Hawkeye". Mostly done after a humiliating defeat.

Anyway, speaking of games, man, my ass is sore after hauling 700 people in my cab on Saturday and blowing, jacking off or being fucked by half of them. Man, you have to do something if you want to go to Harvard someday.

regarding the title: or maybe not

Can I interest you in a MudJack?

2005-09-29T05:13:00.000-05:00

I hate to be a bore, but can I bring to your attention that I offered you a mudjack a few minutes ago, and you still haven't said anything? Is it because you're not sure what it is? If that's the case, there's a computer a few feet away, and I'm sure you could look it up, if you were so inclined. Never mind the porn, just hit the F12 key and it will minimize (temporarily).

There you go, I like the way you type.

Working on my incompletes

2005-09-25T14:35:00.000-05:00

Thought I'd share some of my scholarly output for a change:

The 1960's saw many positive social changes that occurred without the benefit of a leader, such as free love and the eradication of cannibalism. Other times, the acting out of a great leader like Mother Theresa was necessary to end slavery in India. Mother Theresa was the wife of Mahatmas Ghandi, and because of her ability to fly into a rage and kill people mysteriously (much like Winnie Mandela) she was able to effect social change by killing the guilty pigs.

After she left Gandhi for her second husband Malcolm X she got involved in a menáge with Martin Luther King, Jr. and when the sex tapes were released it was a scandal. Thus, a social change was able to be affected without the leader. On the other hand, one can see that it was Mother Theresa's sexual promiscuity which lead to the sexual free love revolution of the 1960's. Truly, she was a great sexual-sociological leader.

The American will is easily satisfied in its efforts to realize itself in knowing itself.

2005-09-12T20:15:00.000-05:00

-Wallace Stevens

I like to pride myself on my self-realization while at all times keeping the others guessing. Is Roger going to deliver a sermon, or wet the bed? I hear them ask. Well, what if I'm about to do both, simultaneously?

I had my "Free Sex Advice" sign taped on the back of the cab Saturday while I was driving the drunks around. I figure that I might as well be of service to the community in any way these two hands, 10 fingers, two balls and one ass can. Besides, I've made some of my best friends that way.

The first taker was a little bleach-frosted sorority number with pink lipstick. Her problem was that whenever she had sex she threw up. I quickly solved her problems by telling her to drink wine in the future, avoid long-island iced teas, and have sex sober if all else fails. Besides, if the RUAS is rough enough, your body is too busy dealing with the RUAS to even think about throwing up. Trust me.

All You Can Eat Buffet - in my Cab!

2005-09-07T19:06:00.000-05:00

In the taxi industry, we're entering what we in the business call the "golden years" or "the days of milk and honey" or "the halcyon age". Et in arcadia ego. I call it the days of aching balls and ass of white-hot pain-fire from so much enforced sitting and anal play, because with the falling of the leaves comes Home Football Weekends and lots of money to be made driving drunken fans all over town, and even more to be made by sexual delicacies.

My old boss Earl killed himself by self-immolation a couple weeks back (he couldn't stand the thought of leaving the bus station, and in particular, the bathroom - but that's a story for another post). As it turns out, the owner's nephew is a French transvestite prostitue with an M.B.A. and he/she has had several ideas to increase business even more, if that's possible. Which is why I am now introducing our special price fixe menu for Monday through Wednesdays:

Price Fixe (Monday through Wednesday)
1 Hors D'Oeuvre, 1 First, 1 Second (excluding Hot Karl), 1 Dessert - $40

Normal Menu

Hors d'oeuvres
Rocky Mountain Oysters $9
Le Lance Armstrong $5 (1/2 order)
Dagenham Wank $8
Fruit Bowl $6

First Course
Piss Bisque $8
Spanish Fly Gazpacho $7
Paella de Skank $9

Second Course
Manchester Facial $18
Cassoulet $14
Hot Karl $28

Dessert
Dirty Sanchez $12
Stinky Binkey $8
Crême Bradlaise $8

Because when you save yourself for marriage, the Terrorists have already won

2005-08-29T20:44:00.000-05:00

I think the above title speaks for itself; just in case you have a hard time figuring it out, let's review:

1. The terrorists don't like premarital sex. They think it will send you to hell. But if you don't sin, then you get to have sex with virgins in Paradise later, after you've killed a bunch of infidels. That is just so fucked up.
2. Sex with virgins is over-rated. I prefer a more experienced hand if you know what I mean.
3. America is all about freedom. That's why G.W. loves "freedom" so much.
4. Freedom of anything has to include freedom of sexuality. Just look at Cheney's daughter, and wife!
5. Some consider Catholicism a Christian religion, and they Explicitly endorse non-marital relations between priests and just about anybody so long as they're not a woman. But I think they prefer virgins too. Still fucked up.
6. Is it any wonder Tom Cruise is "in love" with a woman that won't have sex with him? Hmmmmmmm ...
7. Control of women's bodies and reproduction is SO first two millenia.

I'm Always Ahead of the Curve

2005-08-24T18:10:00.000-05:00

Just a few examples of inimitable Rog-ness:

I was telling everyone that "Dave Matthews is Shit" or "Dave Matthews is shitty" or "Stay away from that Disgusting South African Crap" for years before he released 800 gallons of his piss and shit on the denizens of Chicago. Have you ever seen reality mimic 'art' so perfectly?

I told Zornig for YEARS that a drunk like him should not have a glass coffee table. Period. He also shouldn't be allowed anything sharper than a butter knife or be allowed to use any utensils other than a plastic Spork, but these realities will come with the fullness of time.

I gave up on the majority of pork products years ago. Someday in the future, when you're living either in your internment camp or in your compound somewhere out in the Rockies and you're dying of Pork Cancer you're going to look back on me and my divine light of rightness and not quite smile. Please Note: This has nothing to do with my Ass, that is a completely different subject that will be addressed later in my forthcoming online novel, Ass Be Not Proud.

Finally!

2005-08-18T21:08:00.000-05:00

I have always worried about the size of my penis. When I have sex, even though he/she says that the sex is good, I know that what he/she really wants is an extra inch!

3 months ago I found The Cooter. I just put it on whilst I'm driving the car and when I'm sleeping. It stays hidden on my computer and it is really surprisingly comfortable and soft.

I could tell that my penis was getting longer and heavier, but I thought that when I turned the Cooter off I would shrink back to original size. I was really surprised!

I have been 4.5" long since adolescence.
When I turned off The Cooter I was measuring 6.5"
After not reading her blog for a week, I am still 6" long!

The lengthening is permanent!

I could not believe the results of this Blog. I am back to reading it again and I'm still getting larger! My tricks say it is the best enhancement I've ever brought to the table, and they ALWAYS reminds me to turn it on if I forget!

Take a peek... We know it works. There's a total guarantee with it, too. If you are not completely satisfied with your length gain and comfort you get your money back. Every penny. No-one sends them back!

The Cooter corrects the curve of the penis too, straightening out sharp bends as new cells grow!

Check it out:

Cootersnack

Just so my position is clear:

2005-08-09T12:15:00.000-05:00

It's pussy I like,

NOT cats.

Hello, Sailor!

2005-08-08T11:36:00.000-05:00

Because We've All Been There Before

2005-08-03T13:46:00.000-05:00

Hand Jobs For Christ

2005-07-31T06:06:00.000-05:00

I'm pleased to announce my birthday today and thought we might as well get to my wish-list:

1. A handjob
2. a Hot Carl
3. A trip to Ames' Bisexual Group
4. A Footbal Party
5. A date with goatse

Vive la difference! or Three Cheers for French Gynecology (God Knows They Need It)

2005-07-25T17:28:00.000-05:00

Well, it's that time of year again here in Iowa, where everyone you meet keeps telling you "It's not the heat, it's the stupidity!" Then follows it up with a Rick James schtick and oh jesus christ.

Well, the Johnson County Fair has a web site, but a really bad website done by a terrible company from somewhere near Des Moines that besides Crap-tacularly bad web design with stock photos isn't registered correctly with the search sites so you can't find it. I think they're up to 3,600 hits and the fair started 12 hours ago! (For reference I get 3,600 hits before I've even had an orgasm, and that's on a slow day). ((Angie gets even more than that, but that's because of her special personalized service where she comments on EVERY post, and then at the end of the year you get a pair of soiled panties. Not sure if they're hers though, could be an old pair Jeff left behind. But I digress.))

But anyway, if you're willing to brave the temperatures you can really get into some hot action: Carnies wearing Wrangler jeans pulled up past their navels, cheap cowboy boots, Skoal, and Brut 33 if you're lucky. I'm dog tired from hauling fares back and forth all day and then making spare change in the back of the cab - making up for lost time, what with not having seen let alone touched some of the carnies since last year. There's something about seeing bull penises and horse cocks not to mention rams and goats that gets my juices flowing.

But back to the title of my post: the petting zoo smells like French crotch (you know, you can smell it from 5 or 10 feet away). Just in case you didn't know.

Fill My Eyes with that Double Vision

2005-07-17T14:53:00.000-05:00

Do you think it makes any difference that because of my disability, the homo rainbow flag looks like the German flag to me?

Does that mean that German homosexuality is more hot? Leatherboys come in all nationalities and flavors, but a little bee on the wall says no one wears leather, latex, or spandex like the Berliners under Communist control (hint: Totalitarian regimes are great for instigating outlaw sex).

I was going through my library the other day to give Cooter a sack full'o self-help books along with some of my expired Ritalin when I remembered the "Hot or Not" contest she had told me about. So I included several Hitler books in her sack. Usually, comparisons to Hitler are good for one's self image.

Goutsexy

2005-07-14T11:24:00.000-05:00

In celebration of my hot condition and in homage to the sexy sonsgter from Minneapolis, I'm announcing today that my next album will be called Goutsexy. Just imagine me on the cover instead of Prince.

Oddly enough, it seems that increased sexual activity reduced uric acid levels in men. Makes me wonder how bad my condition would be if I had a normal amount of sex instead of the maniacal amount that I do for work.

Say Hello to Jolly Roger

2005-07-01T10:22:00.000-05:00

Gay Roger, Roger the Wad, or my hacker nome de plume "LeZB1Guy69", I'm a sexual cabbie with a difference. I thought that maybe like the artist once formerly known as and now once again known as Prince perhaps I should work off of my growing internet and local notoriety and come out with a kind of symbol or logo or icon to help better represent me and my brand identity.

And what better symbol than something based on the classic art of Piracy? Men with more men for months at a time on a boat, getting tanned and in-shape, never mind a little scurvy. Plus, think of all the possibilities of hooks and peg legs (mind the splinters!) for play!

So today I'm announcing my new logo. Don't mind the fact that I can't really see the rainbow what with being color blind: it's the thought (and the gay actions) that count:

You haven't had sex unless Terry Gross has talked dirty to you

2005-06-09T21:40:00.000-05:00

Some people get the wrong idea about me, that I jump straight for the clitoris, penis, or rectum. While I have been known to, I must strenously protest that this is not always the case. I am fully capable of being kind, caring, and slow. Because every special lady needs to have her special day in-between batshit crazy multiple orgasms, pornography and John Holmes-like marathon sex sessions.

For example, take the other night. Zornig had complained that I hadn't spent enough "quality time" with him lately. While I would call all our time together quality (particularly the time in the back of the cab - RUAS is _always_ quality...), I could see where he was coming from. So despite my swollen Gout-infected knee and elephantitis of the nuts, I squeezed into my Shatner girdle and put on some bobby socks, a mohair sweater and a nice '50s skirt. A little makeup, and I was stunning.

I had a surprise for him - a ride to West Liberty to the Maid Rite! We ate loose meat sandwiches and sipped on our milkshake straws suggestively. On the way back to I.C. on Highway 6, Zorning threw in a little special tape that he had downloaded off the internet - he is such a computer Genius! - it was even better than my leaked voicemails! Anyway, it was Terry Gross talking dirty and engaging in sexual activites with several gay, straight, bi and trans-gendered fans in a kind of orgy of NPR. I think they were all really big donors during the fundraiser in Philadelphia or something. Anyway, just incredible. I've always had a thing for DJ's, but the way she wore the strap-on, you could hear it! Amazing.

Anyway, Z. really liked the special effort I had gone to, so we ended up both going home happy. Now I hear Skippy's jealous.

Props to Larry - saw you hauling turkeys, but I couldn't straighten up long enough to wave "Hi!"

I for one welcome our Lesbian Robot Overlords

2005-06-07T22:16:00.000-05:00

What's hotter than Robot? Do I hear you say "Lesbian"? And what's hotter than a Lesbian? That's right. A Lesbian Robot, programmed to pleasure you in the ways that only a Lesbian knows how (even if you're a man, because sometimes Lesbians are just a little shy around men).

Here's a little example of what I'm talking about (Thank God for Japan):

Gay Cabbie Asserts Rights, Sexuality

2005-05-25T17:00:00.000-05:00

IOWA CITY (Agence France Presse)
Bisexual/Macho/Gay Taxi Driver Roger B. issued a press release today outlining his plans for a "revised sexuality" in the Johnson County area, as well as several "modifications" intended to "differentiate the tri-county area" from the policies of "Bible-Biting Bastards" and "Homophobic Hate-Mongers" as well as "Dried-Up Republican Twats" and all those unfriendly to Lesbians or having sexual encounters in bathrooms.

"First off, any dwelling with a 'the 49' sign in its yard is immediately and until further notice appropriated as a 24-hour Sexual Center. Local residents are required to spend 4 hours out of every 72 hours at said Sexual Center and while there are required to have sexual encounters for the duration of their stay."

"Secondly, sexual self-expression is now regarded as the number one civic duty of local citizens. That, and getting loaded."

"Freedom of expression does not necessarily mean allowing people to have sex with animals," Bradley stated. "But it might."

My voicemail's been leaked to the internet

2005-05-20T13:03:00.000-05:00

Now that the cat's out of the bag, I might as well provide you the drunken, coked-up transcript of the voicemails that got away from me...No, I'm not ashamed or embarassed, just proud:

I wanna fucking go crazy with you. ... You are so fucking hot, and I wanna eat you, and I want you to suck my cock, and I want to fuck you. ... Let's do it, you are so fucking hot, leave me a voicemail. I'm going to the bathroom, leave me a voicemail. ... I told Angie that you were into her. ... I want to lick your pussy and make you cum so much. ... I want you badly, I know you want me. ... I am so fucking into you. You have to pay attention to Angie, but let's have fun. I wanna fuckin' eat you and fuck you and suck your tits and watch you eat Angie and lick your ass. I'm so fucking into you, it's incredible. Uhm, check this message, and then just say to me, "Yes." ... I wanna fuckin' suck your pussy, talk dirty to you, watch you and Angie eat each other, suck my cock, beat off on your face. Get another woman up, hire a hooker. Let's get crazy, get some coke.

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind

2005-05-17T07:30:00.000-05:00

Thoughts that crossed the mind of the Rog today ...

I want to show my lesbian lover the pot pies I selected for lunch today.
---
If I had a vagina it would be the best vagina. I would keep it squeaky clean and share its beauty with everyone.
---
Margaret Thatcher is a feminist icon for the 21st century!
---
Does identifying with R.E.M's "Losing My Religion" mean that I'm gay, or just that I celebrate diversity?
---
Lesbians from North Dakota are impostors.
---
Fantasy Football is just that.
---
title for my new book:
How to make love to a woman like a Lesbian making love to another woman (who may or may not be a Lesbian but is certainly bisexual because all women are)

If I wanted to hear what you had to say, I'd take my cock out of your mouth

2005-05-11T19:01:00.000-05:00

Well, that was one busy weekend. I don't know who decided to tell the female residents of Horse Cockles Retirement Center that Roger gave special Mother's Day cab rides but honestly! I've never eaten so much septegenarian bearded clam in my life! Talk about the old man in the canoe - heads up and Props to Big Red!

Personal to Stoopie: Look, don't sully up the message boards with requests for sex. Besides, I'm the one who's supposed to ask the client if they "Want a date?" You know where to find me - in the bathroom of the bus station, preferably the second stall, the one in the back (it's a little larger, so it allows for a few more possibilities).

Happy Mother's Day!

2005-05-08T15:36:00.000-05:00

Happy Mother's Day, one and all!

Just to show how much I love my mom and she loves me, here's a photo of Mom when she stopped by with a finals week "care" package at Wartburg all those years ago and showed us all just how it's done.

Love you, Mom!

I sing the cabbie electric

2005-05-08T15:29:00.000-05:00

Maybe sometimes I've been accused of having meaty paws—but let's face it, I'm a meaty, meaty man. Now, when it comes to meat, I'm pretty manly when it comes to eating a burger or something beefy, but when it comes to pork I kind of lose it and drop down a few notches into a kind of simpering, slightly effeminate art fag.

Sure, I've seen the movies, heard the albums and read the books. I'm able to ape the emotions of a normal, sensitive human being. "Pork chops are good," I hear you tell me. "Bacon is good." I'll give it up and admit that when I'm feeling exceptionally brave, I will eat bacon. But a pork chop? Are you fucking kidding me? Do I look like Bruce Willis or the Governator with a torn shirt and a machine gun dangling rolls of bullets? And don't even get started on Bratwurst.

Let Me Rock You Tonight

2005-04-29T09:41:00.000-05:00

Back when I was growing up in Manchester, I used to love being on the crest of my manhood. I'd strut my stuff downtown, get some action at the arcade, make some hookups with the cross country team out by the archery range, etc. It was kind of like that Rolling Stones song that says "All the daughters, all the sons, all were welcome, all would come."

What I wanted to mention was that you haven't been coming to my semi-nude pancake breakfasts on Elizabeth Street. What's the problem? Have I done something to offend you? Look, MY penis always works, it's my ass that I have troubles with.

By the way, my friend Phil Kirk makes some great art.

Now Playing: "High, High, High", Paul McCartney

Just because I like to spank you doesn't mean we're friends

2005-04-22T22:06:00.000-05:00

Look, we all know I'm a nice and desirable guy - I have to beat off women with sticks and men with my hands every other day!

But lately things have been a little tense around the office, George's, and the Department...and I mean, Really!

Just because I have spanked, sodomized, fellated or cunnilated you does not mean we're friends!

Haven't I told you this a hundred times?

No, no...look, I hear you. Just because I sobbed in your arms last night doesn't mean that we're buddies. We were just two ships that passed in the night, or rather, a Titanic crashing into a hot hot iceberg that was melting from how hot it was.

And yes, I meant to tell you about the infection, but it slipped my mind in the heat of passion. It's not like we're pals.

I am the Master of the Clit

2005-04-15T10:39:00.000-05:00

Look, I don't like to brag, but sometimes I have to. No one in at least the state and most certainly in Johnson County performs better cunnilingus than me. Nobody.

"What about the lesbians?" I hear you ask.

As I've said before, I have had to teach lesbians many things, amongst them proper technique of both performance and reception. It's all about technique of both performance, agility, and attitude, as well as proper receptive behavior - you know, the right, grunts, moans and "Holy Bejeesus, Roger! Master that Clit!", and other euphemisms.

Why am I not announcing myself as Clit Master of the World, or even the country? Two things. Ever since reading Erica Jong back in third grade I've had a terrible fear of flying. I was about ready to give it a try and join the Mile High Club but then September 11 happened and I was forced to redouble my efforts in motor vehicles and bathroom stalls - I've been told that my performance in the latrine of a Greyhound Bus is a very close approximation of the speed and power of a 747 water closet, and in most cases superior ("Gee Roger, that was great. I'm going to recommend you to all my friends.")

The second part is kind of related - since I can only get to Europe via a slow boat, and I've had a phobia about that since Titanic, I can't fully compare and contrast myself to the hotness and abilities of Euro Trash. So there you have it.

By the way, I am ready to put your money where my mouth is if you don't believe me. Any takers?

---
Personal to "Big Red": Don't be alarmed - it's perfectly natural that your urine smells like Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. I would only call a doctor if it approximates Chili or Chicken Tortilla Soup (take it from me, these consistencies are no fun). Then you are most likely dealing with a potassium shortage.
---
Now Playing:
"What the Hell is a Stipulation?"

The Man Date

2005-04-12T22:01:00.000-05:00

now, granted, I may both be old-fashioned and socially progressive, but apparently they're hiring New York Times reporters from Ames or somewhere:

Anyone who finds a date with a potential romantic partner to be a minefield of unspoken rules should consider the man date, a rendezvous between two straight men that is even more socially perilous.

(Note that the article is written by a woman. I'm not complaining, just saying if I had that kind of luck several of my papers may have already been published in the few remaining feminist journals.)

((It's almost like me writing a book on cunnilingus, except that I know what I'm talking about.))

Granted also that when I am meeting my men, I usually have the crutch of several alcoholic beverages, playing cards, sporting events, television, juke-boxes, the authority of the cab or the insitution, etc., etc., but that is all beyond the point. The point is, I am a good man date, and I dare any one of you wusses to be as good a Man Date as me.

Although rumor has it that Zornig likes to visit an Art Museum or two, particularly if you leave him a plate of fresh fruit the next morning to show that he's not just a piece of meat.

Except, like me, he is just a piece of meat, one that likes to get passed around! Here's to sharing the beef jerky, boys! No carbs and high in protein...

I will fuck "the 49" and make it my bitch

2005-04-04T22:00:00.000-05:00

Look, I suffer a lot of indignities being a taxicab driver, and usually I don't complain unless there's a body fluid involved that I'm not being paid extra for...

but, really, I must protest. Driving around the suburban neighborhoods of our fair city, i see these signs, signs which more or less look like realty signs, which advertise "the 49.blogspot.com". Notice that I am not linking to them because

1) they suck ass
2) there is nothing there
3) this is partially why they suck ass
4) umm, let's see, advertising...nothing? Yeah, I'll take some of that.

Something is lost on me somewhere, the blog has a title, that they are the 49% who didn't vote for Bush, we know that, but why advertise the utter lack of anything to say about it is not just beyond me—it's beneath me. And I'm crushing it with my weight.

Now, before I arouse myself any more, let's give them a fair shake of the analysis stick and see if we can determine if they're up to anyting positive. Hmm, let's see...they're waiting, not like a shark, but like a stone, almost about to pounce. Just wait a while, and that rock might get up and come over and say "Hi!"

Oh, and I didn't mean to complain at the beginning. I am compensated for all the indignities I'm subjected to on the job.

God's Lonely Man

2005-03-20T19:04:00.000-06:00

Oftentimes when you're driving the dirty streets of this city, you welcome the rain. On the dry nights, you dream about it. Something clean and pure to wash the filth down the sewer...

But then I stop myself. What's wrong with filth? Maybe our culture has poisoned us into believing artificial fragrances and FDS are more real than real. Personally, I have nothing against the smell of ass, but then I grew up in Manchester. In fact, the rectal thermometer is one of our great achievements.

By the way, contrary to what Angie says, I have never had an affair with her retarded, hot half-brother Spackle. I'm just intrigued by the name.

I'm not sure if it's true, but the rumors on the street are that Angie and Spackle are not just half-brother and half-sister, but formerly conjoined twins, and the reason for his mental incapacity is the unusual occurrence of Angie having eaten part of his brain in utero. I guess she does have pretty good choppers.

Now Playing:
Analog Pussy, "Come over here and be a man"

What's More Sexy than Football?

2005-03-03T15:47:00.000-06:00

Hockey! Does anyone else see a Swedish version of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit in the offing?

Speaking of Law and Order, calls out to anyone else out there with a Jerry Orbach fantasy like me.

In my fantasy, I'm a NYC cabbie. But I'm not fresh meat—I'm a seasoned driver. I know Manhattan and the five boroughs like I know Holland Tunnel hand-jobs.

It's a cold, wet winter night and Briscoe is on assignment. Jack McCoy has been giving him a hard time, Internal Affairs is pissed off, and he's been given a bunch of grief by one of his ex-wives. He's investigating the murder of an illegal Russian Doctor/prostitute who is in with the Russian mob and is possibly the murderer of someone in the Chinese mafia, in a plot involving African blood diamonds, a pedophile commedian, and the Westminster Dog Show.

Anyway, I pick him up in the cab and he's hungry, so we stop by a wonderful NYC deli and get something incredibly greasy and delicious. As he pays me when I drop him off at the crime scene, his hand brushes mine and our eyes lock-

I gotta go...

Sex to Go? Call White House Press Office

2005-02-26T15:19:00.000-06:00

An interesting article appeared on World Net Daily yesterday...

the short and curlies of it seem to be that the Bush administration has been employing a male prostitute to field easy questions during tough press conferences.

Obviously, Carl Rove's ideas of a fantasy coincide with mine, and what better merging of flesh and ideology, fantasy made real than a male prostitute whoring himself to the Right-Wing hegemony? It beats the Log Cabin Republicans by a long shot...

I'm tempted to ditch this town and start driving a cab in D.C., somewhere I can put all my skills to use, and get some appreciation for change...

Dangerous Retarded People

2005-02-12T15:12:00.000-06:00

The world of mental retardation is full of many myths and misunderstandings. For example, contrary to popular belief, retarded people are not cannibalistic, flesh-eating carnivores. They do not hunt in packs

However, some truths may surprise you. Wyoming holds a disproportionate number of the mentally retarded, as does Florida and many of the Red States. Also, retarded people tend to be very well endowed.

By the way, it is not true that Breakdancers were retarded. Just some of them were. (Just like some of every groups is - you know, crossing guards, Presidents, CEOs, etc., etc.)

I Just Love Queer Beer

2005-02-12T12:19:00.000-06:00

...but never when I'm driving the cab.

News reports come from Switzerland of a new, gay lager called Queer Beer. Unfortunately, they don't show what the label looks like. I wonder whether they're going to go for the triangle, or not, or the rainbow, or whatever. Remember when the rainbow used to mean pan-Africanism? But I digress.

This reminds me of my idea from the 80s for a beer called "Iowa Homophobe", that would be served in a really phallic shaped bottle. There was something about the thought of rednecks putting it to their lips that appealed to me at the time, and still does. Plus, I had a deal with some of Janet's beer distributor friends and we were going to get it in at least 4 places in Cedar County (the Valley, Cedar Bluff, Herb and Lou's, and the Presidential Motor Lounge), but then Janet started bartending in Johnson County and everything fell through.

Wherefore art thou, Doctor?

2005-02-08T18:36:00.000-06:00

Look, I'm not addicted to the Doctor or their web site. I mean, I only check in 3 or 4 times a week. But that's beside the point. I am being driven crazy by the fact that "The Doctor & gang are NOT in! The McGillicuddy's website will be back online soon. The gang is undergoing extensive Nip&Tuck surgery and will look better than ever when they return. In the mean time, you can contact us by using the email links below and you can visit the Dr. McGillicuddy's General Store to purchase clothing, gear and other goodies."

So what's a cabbie to do? If you love me, I suggest you buy me something to tide me over until I can play a mentholmint online flash game the way I have always wanted to. Try this(I am thinking of the stadium blanket, to fuck you on, so you don't get grass stains everywhere. Because I'm a nice guy).

Journey, Why hast Thou forsaken me?

2005-02-03T14:02:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time there was a rock band ... the rock band, really...you might remember them for a little rockin' number called "Anyway you want it, that's the way you need it" which made cinematic history in the classic Rodney Dangerfield vehicle Caddy Shack. I mean, what other bands have had video games made about them? Not even my beloved Beatles.

I was so pleased to see that there was a web site based upon fan fiction about that wonderful frontman, Steve Perry - Perry Tales. Unfortunately, their site is down. Maybe I can talk Phil or Scott to mirror it on one of their sites - if we can just get the content back up there, the internet will be a safer place.

But at least someone managed to save some of the wondrous Perry fiction - you may peruse it here. Don't stop believin'.

I'm Dying Inside ...Eat Your Peas

2005-02-02T17:40:00.000-06:00

Heads up and respect to my homey Phil Kirk, who has a new web site featuring art. Okay, that's all well and good, but I don't know what was wrong with the old one. What sounds dirtier, .org(asm) or .cum? I don't know, that's why I'm asking you.

So despite Phil hurting my feelings by changing the web site, let's all be aware of it and you can rush out and buy some things. Have a look at this thinly veiled self-portait of me (I have been accused of narcolepsy, amongst many other things...):

Homopants

2005-02-01T22:01:00.000-06:00

God, I wish I had registered this domain name.

Does this cock ring make me look fat?

2005-01-27T15:22:00.000-06:00

I was looking through some old snapshots and polaroids of my days at Wartburg the other night...good times. God, how I remember the panty raids, the ambiguity of the budding sexuality that was spread out before me like a potluck full of fresh hot dish...the crest of my manhood cleaving through the unexplored waters of Northern-European fertility.

...That's when I first started playing Fireman...you know, "House on fire! Put it out! Put it out!"

And no, I certainly wasn't hard on the Beaver last night.

Taxi drivers have different brains

2005-01-26T17:30:00.000-06:00

...as if we didn't know already.

From backword.me.uk:

I’m not certain why the London Taxi Driver study received an Ig Nobel. It was a beautifully done study. For those who don’t know, people who want to be black cab taxi drivers in London take a 3 year course (3/4 drop out) to pass an exam. They have to memorize essentially every street in a 6 mile radius (street names sometimes change block by block) and significant landmarks along those streets. All this information they refer to simply as “the knowledge.” It was shown that the hippocampi of these taxi drivers are larger than normal and are larger in drivers who have been driving longer. This study helped change medical opinion on the ‘plasticity’ of the adult brain and has important implications for brain damage and diseases like Parkinson’s.

Of course, with me everything is larger than normal.

And I just wanted to get this off of my chest: homosexual necrophiliac ducks are either totally sick fucks or totally cool, I can't decide which.

Some bands kind of suck...

2005-01-21T18:34:00.000-06:00

Now, I'm not the kind of guy who sits around drinking cases of beer and watching videos on MTV. I'm the kind of guy who likes to drink beer while watching Men Play Football. We all know what I'm talking about. But every once in a while you flip through the channels and see something so wrong that you have to say something...

So, Coheed and Cambria - you've been served! Your lead singer has possibly the worst look ever what with that scraggly, pubic goatee and the double-pierced lower lip. Besides that,

Band name totally sucks. Like, what the fuck, we're losers!
Writing a song called "The Crowing" is lame ass bullshit. How about writing one called "The Dumping"? I might be interested in that.
Look at this picture of them shouting out "Fuck me! I'll suck you! Blumpkin? Yeah, I love that! Where do I sign?":

In the video, you get to see Pube Face (the singer) hanging up his panties to dry. This is the high point of the video, since, like a metaphor such as Texas, wet panties are irreproachable. But then he/she (usually androgyny lends some interest, but with unfortunately hideous pudenda-like visages, what can you do?) starts singing like a girl, and it all goes to hell.

Just to make sure you've understood the lesson - "Coheed and Cambria sucks ass!"

I don't care whether Spongebob is gay. What matters to me is: how gay is he?

2005-01-21T13:40:00.001-06:00

As if outing Spongebob, Barney, or Winnie the Pooh was news to anyone.

I mean, really, who hasn't taken a bath with a friend, or a room-mate, or a taxicab customer...or someone they met at the bus station, or grocery store, or that clerk at the video rental store...or your landlord, or that guy that mows the lawn, or that webelo selling candy bars...

Fran Tarkenton Unbound

2005-01-19T17:18:00.000-06:00

If you know me, you know that I'm a sucker for the Vikings, and there's a soft spot in my heart for that paragon of quarterbacks, the lovely Miss Fran Tarkenton. And if you know me even better, you know I'm a sucker for a motivational speaker. One of the best orgasms of my life was in the back of a Holiday Inn conference room while the Dale Carnegie spokesperson motivated me to ever greater heights of pleasure. So the combination of the two leads me to "What Losing Taught Me About Winning". Almost up there with Fran's lovely attempt at a novel.

I'm off to retro crush to read more about Gay Football.

Death to the fascist insect that preys upon the life of the people

2005-01-11T14:58:00.000-06:00

Some people give the Symbionese Liberation Army a bum rap despite the fact that both retro 70's culture and terrorism are so hip now. So instead of dwelling on the downside, let's try to look on the sunny one. Why be a Negative Nancy when you can be a Frivolous Fran?

So in the spirit of the revolution, here is my favorite SLA recipe - rumored to be a favorite of Che Guevara's! (Plus, it helps keep you regular)

Patty Hearst's Oatmeal Pie
1 cup rolled oats
1 cup corn syrup
1/4 cup butter
3 eggs
1 cup sugar
cinnamon
cloves
nutmeg
pinch salt
pie crust

Cream butter and sugar together. Add eggs, and seasoning (to taste), corn syrup, and then the oatmeal. Stir well, place in pie crust. Bake at 350 for about an hour. Serve while warm with ice cream if you can.

I would have done Rosa Luxemburg. Wouldn't you?

2005-01-11T08:01:00.000-06:00

Sure, Germany has lots of Kultur. That's no surprise, and one of the reasons why we like them better than the French these days—unless I'm mistaken and we're back to calling Sauerkraut "liberty cabbage" again (oh for those sweet, sweet yesterdays when my colon could tolerate delicacies like cabbage...)

It's hard to keep up with such an active president - keeping track of world events is like being Smokey the Bear racing through the forest trying to identify and squelch the forest fires that have been started by a pyromaniac frat boy on a Texas-style spree.

But what you really need to hear, if you want to see the teleological resting place of Wagner, Nietzsche, and Goethe, is the following. You need go no further than Schnappi das kleine Krokodil (currently no. 1 in Germany, de-throning the luscious Hasselhoff).

Announcing the Beginning of my Fashion Empire

2005-01-10T11:15:00.000-06:00

Fashion is a harsh mistress. A tough, fickle, got-your-balls-in-a-vise-grip femme fatale. (Not that I'm against having my balls in a vise grip sometimes under the supervision of the correct dominatrix, but I digress...)

Those of you who know me well know that my style veers towards the European, somewhere between a metallic silver Eurotrash racing jacket, a Speedo two sizes too small, and the certainty of the French Transvestite.

Anyway, here in this podunk college town with a non-working river—I guess it's there for ambience, and for Thunder-McGuire to pluck idiots out of every now and then, fashion has been just about non-existent since the untimely demise of Moda Americana. I am correcting this by donning the new hat of fashion designer, and would like to introduce my first product:

The Roger Bradley Fantasy Messenger Bag

I got my intern Brad to model it for you—don't you think he has a nice ass?

During these assassination fantasies...

2005-01-10T08:46:00.000-06:00

...I strive to keep things real—you know, moving it, doing it, staying on the scene. Sometimes after a particularly harrowing day in the cab, the only thing that can help squelch the white hot pain that is my ass is a nice, long bath.

On the news front, I've noticed that a book I served on as a consultant has been getting pretty positive reviews over at Amazon. The one thing I really had to be a stickler about was the chapter on rough, unprotected anal sex—lesbians love it, and it's one of the biggest and most eye-opening surprises for the uninitiated few.

God invented the Japanese to Invent Cute

2004-12-08T18:44:00.000-06:00

Are you familiar with Domo Kun, the cutest little monster from Japan?

God, I just love him so much. He helps me express my feelings of joy for the whole plush world.

Insatiable!

2004-12-08T13:15:00.000-06:00

Let's get a few things straight - you don't get enough fiber. I do, so I'm going to set you motherfuckers straight on a few things. Bend over and get ready to take notes - there will be an exam afterwards in the men's room.

First, pussy pantywaists like you probably think "Metamucil" is the ticket. Well, you pathetic little pricks, the answer is NO. The correct answer is Citrucel. It clocks in at a suprising 2g of fiber, but that fiber works overtime you really give you the sense of that old SNL "Colon Blow" commercial. Speaking of Colon Blow, have a look at this.

You may not realize it, but most peoples' personality disorders are the result of toilet training disasters.

-currently playing:
George Michael, "I Want Your Sex"

Everything you say and do just breaks my heart in two

2004-12-05T19:13:00.000-06:00

I don't know what the hell Janet's been talking about. Last time I had Larry in the cab (like, uh, two nights ago) I can verify that he was certainly wearing a thong. Real nice number inspired by the American flag. No flag or bra burning for us chauffeur's licensees!

Ass has been problematic. Have got to either go easy or accelerate the anal massage.

By the way, peeps, I think I found the best blog ever. But her other one is just as good. She's surrounded by gay. Even better than Angie's!

Let them eat cake

2004-11-19T09:15:00.000-06:00

Well, the fucking election threw me into a two-week bender. I woke up this morning amidst a pile of pizza boxes, empty Doctor bottles, and about 36 cases of empties. Also, apparently I cut out Bush's head from a Time magazine and pasted it over my tasteful nude painting's head and threw darts and semen at it repeatedly. But enough about me - this is not the Confessional, after all.

I am pointing you to a very good essay called Urban Archipelago. I think you'll find it very informative. As much as it pains an adopted Iowan to say it, "Fuck the Heartland."

Christmas for Hitler, and Germany

2004-10-16T13:24:00.000-05:00

On the streets people call you a foxy girl
Me I'm loose like a golden goose, you can have my juice
-Marc Bolan (T. Rex)"Electric Slim and the Factory Hen"

As Christmas time approaches I don't want to make the same mistakes I've made in previous years. I am sick to death of seeing that ghost of Christmas Present, that old fucker of Christmases Past, etc., etc. And Tiny Tim can tiptoe through the tulips with or without his crutches for all I care.

So this year I want to be your personal, juicy Christmas goose. And if you want me to be as tender and accomodating as I know you want me to be, then you're going to gift me some bling. And lest we make any mistakes, I thought I'd offer up a few suggestions. (By the way, I'm also registered under "Donner Party" at Target).

For example,this shirt says a lot of what I'm about. Also, the walls have been bare since the last roommate moved out so some posters might be nice. (Man, I love that store. Just look at one of the customer reviews: "I always give my kids poster art for gifts. I naked nude men think they love it so much because it never wears out. Every morning they get up and it's just as good as the day before. Especially with sports posters of their favorite football teams. I even had their favorite bands like blink 182 and some p diddy posters framed for them. Britney spears would even look good on my wall homoerotic men male naked nude art posters prints sculpture. ")

Anyway, either that or some reading material, or some other reading material.

Or maybe a a thong. Whatever blows your skirt up.

Pancakes for breakfast - or anytime!

2004-10-15T15:56:00.000-05:00

Back in Minneapolis' musical heyday - the 1980s - there were a lot of great bands. The Replacements, Soul Asylum, Hüsker Dü, the Geardaddies, Prince, and of course my former lover Willie Wisely. I look back on those days with a certain nostalgia, a certain je ne sais quois...good times.

You might not be aware that Dave Pirner from Soul Asylum had lovely blonde dreadlocks for a while, until he got a scalp infection and had to have his head shaved! Or maybe you weren't in the audience that night that Alex Chilton wouldn't let that asshole from the Jayhawks get up on stage with him, when he said any baby born on that day was cursed! And lets face it, Alex knows his astrology.

But long before Grant Young had been forced out of Soul Asylum, or Grant Hart had his tribe, the bass player for Hüsker Dü, Greg Norton, had a tradition that I would like to bring back: the semi-nude pancake breakfast. See, Greg liked to invite people over for pancakes, and cook them naked - except for his apron!

Iowa City - you've been served! The pancake feasts in my loft are about to begin. Elizabeth Street will never again be the same.

Tromboning the light fantastic

2004-10-09T15:53:00.000-05:00

The other night while I was making some spare change at the bus station one of my clients brought tromboning to my attention.

By the way, don't you think that Andy Dick is fucking hilarious?

Isn't everything that's impractical worth the effort in the long run?

Testing your knowledge

2004-09-18T14:33:00.000-05:00

Calls out to anyone who can recognize the following lyrics:

Say you don't know me, or recognize my face
Say you don't care who goes to that kind of place
Knee deep in the hoopla, sinking in your fight
Too many runaways eating up the night

Someone's always playing corporation games
Who cares they're always changing corporation names
We just want to dance here, someone stole the stage
They call us irresponsible, write us off the page

It's just another Sunday, in a tired old street
Police have got the choke hold, oh, [but] we just lost the beat

Who counts the money underneath the bar
Who rides the wrecking ball into our guitars
Don't tell us you need us, 'cos we're [the ship of] fools
Looking for America, crawling through your schools

un petit manifesto

2004-09-02T18:01:00.000-05:00

A spectre is haunting Iowa City - the spectre of Lesbianism. All the powers of Old Johnson County have entered into an Unholy Alliance to try to exorcise this spectre: Mayor and City Manager, President and Provost, Soll and Aukema, French radicals and German police spies.

Where is the party in opposition that has not been decried as lesbian by its opponents in power? Where is the opposition that has not hurled back the branding reproach of lesbianism, against the more advanced opposition parties, as well against its reactionary adversaries?

Two things result from this fact:

I. Lesbianism is already acknowledged by all European powers to be itself a power.

II. It is high time that Lesbians should openly, in the face of the whole world, publish their views, their aims, their tendencies, and meet this nursery tale of the spectre of lesbianism with the videos themselves.

Cover Charges My Ass

2004-08-21T17:07:00.002-05:00

So I was watching "Blue Collar TV" the other day and the stupid fuck comes up with a quote: " I don't believe a marriage will last if the first time you saw your wife in lingerie, you had to pay a cover charge."

Just what the hell is the problem with that? I mean really! Let's not be discriminatory to the women of the sex industry. Just goes to show the proletariat still has a long way to go in the battle of public opinion.

The Other Place

2004-07-20T15:35:00.000-05:00

Have you heard about The Other Place? That is some seriously good pizza up north there - Cedar Falls, Waverly, clear Lake, etc. Also, a very tastey french dip sandwich.

I love the juice.

Self-Inflicted Tourette Syndrome

2004-07-08T16:22:00.000-05:00

It had been a rough few days in the cab. Somehow in between the muddy slush of winter and the almost-summer that displayed itself through the tempered glass of my windshield on a daily basis all these legions of Frat Boys had discovered the Chappelle show. Much to their delight (I was frequently reminded of the first time they reached down and touched their cocks and the look of self-amusement and giggles that ensued) they realized that they could say "I'm Rick James, Byatch!"

This was now a nearly hourly occurrence and had been for the past few weeks. Needless to say, my drinking had increased. Nothing of alcoholic proportions, I was probably limiting it to about 12 beers and 12 shots in a four hour period, but I was thinking about maybe starting to consider cutting back a little bit. Thing is though, I hadn't, because I had been playing poker at the same tiime I was imbibing, and while my buddies were ending up shit-faced and broke I was ending up shit-faced with fifty bucks in my pocket at the end of the night. Now, I may be a gambling man, but if you're one of those fucks who isn't you can't argue with those odds.

Anyway, it was last Monday, and about halfway into my cups my luck turned. I had only brought down forty bucks since I'd been throwing wadded up, beer-soaked bills into my ceramic Cookie Monster tip jar for the past few weeks every night, and decided that I might as well get used to being invincible.

I was half-stewed in my juices and about breaking even, just about to get serious and piss Zornig off and make Skippy cry (or the other way around, no fuzz off my peach) when my luck turned. I had four 9s and had ten bucks in the pot when Zornig pulled a Royal Flush, then my 3-2 combo got shot down, and before I knew it I was writing a check for fifty bucks to be able to play more. Nothing was going my way, every time I had a great fucking hand one of my "buddies" spanked my aching ass. I began drinking at an accelerated rate to increase my luck - told Jenny to set me up every five minutes instead of ten...

Then it happened. I looked around at the bar. I was able to focus on the clock long enough to see it was 1 a.m. bar time, and besides Jenny and my poker "friends" the bar was empty. I felt something welling up inside me and incredulously wondered if I was going to puke. I leaned closer to Matt in case it was going to happen, then instead of a burp or a bunch of alcohol mixed with stomach juices I shouted:

"FUCK!"

As loud as I could. Everybody froze and looked at me. I knew I was beet red (well hell, I usually am anyway), and then I went again.

"TITTY FUCK!"

Zornig's eyes got wide(r). "Rog, what's going on, man?"

"I don't SUCK MY COCK! ..know?" I blurted out. Everything was pretty quiet, then I blew again.

"FUUUCCKKK!"

"Roger has Tourette's!" Skippy shrieked with glee, followed a second later by a huge pounding coming from the ceiling above me. I had woken up Angie.

Historical Determinism

2004-06-19T14:48:00.000-05:00

I was driving the cab the other night and got to thinking about means of production, etc.

The specific economic form in which unpaid surplus-labour is pumped out of the direct producers determines the relationship of rulers and ruled, as it grows directly out of production itself and, in turn, reacts upon it as a determining element.

Upon this, however, is founded the entire formation of the economic community which grows up out of the production relations themselves; thereby simultaneously its specific political form. It is always the direct relationship of the owners of the conditions of production to the direct producers-a relation always naturally corresponding to a definite stage in the development of the methods of labour and thereby its social productivity-which reveals the innermost secret, the hidden basis of the entire social structure, and with it the political form of the relation of sovereignty and dependence, in short the corresponding specific form of the state.