Dear Evil Discussor... Is your blog really starting to suck balls?

Yes. Though some might argue it has sucked balls for a very long time. Perhaps, even sucking balls since its inception. And the fact that I myself wrote this question makes it even somehow more ball-suckier, wouldn't you say? This blog sucks balls in the way a guy might desperately try to suck his own balls, but never actually achieve his ball-sucking goal, always just barely unable to reach his balls for to ball-suck. See what I mean? My point exactly. Ball-sucky. If you're even still reading this ball-sucking blog, then I feel somewhat sorry for you. Perhaps it means that you too are, in some way, trying to suck your own balls (or if you're a lady, your lady-balls), each day hoping that your neck might crane just that little bit further, your lips might get that little bit closer, your metaphorical ball-sucking dream might get that little bit realer. But with each and every new day, the disappointing reality that you will never realize that dream. That your balls will always be hanging just that little bit out of reach. That you are not as nimble as you hoped and thought you might be. Or perhaps it just means that you're bored at work. Me, I only wish that that analogy had made any sense, that I could've wrapped up that thought just a little better, and that maybe, that that last paragraph wasn't so long.

Truth is, babycakeses, the joy is gone. I don't feel much like blogfucking anymore. You might come knocking, but the answer will now be "No, Evil cannot come out and play." And no, this is no desperately sad cry for attention goodbye tomfakery like last time. This is the real deal, my blogface doucheheaded blogtard nation. See, I can't keep up this demanding blog schedule. Emotionally, it's too draining. Nor do I care for you so much anymore, my sweet sad beautiful wildebeests. It sounds harsh, but come on, I called you "sweet sad beautiful wildebeests," and that's pretty loving, yes? I've let you toy with my lovestick for a while, but now you must let go of it. You must let go of my lovestick. You must. I've loved you all, but now, must yank my love away. Like a newborn babe from its mother's tender and swollen teet. And though it might cause us both much grief and unimaginable pain, and though that 'swollen teet' bit was pretty unnecessary, such is such, and so it is, and also, be that as it may. Besides, I conquered this bitchface of a blogworld, and now must move on to other forms of conquerage and recreation. Mourn me. Miss me. Dis me. Kiss me. Love me. Love me. Say that you love me. Or just pretend that you love me. I don't care. The dream is over. The douche has landed. The fucknose rides again. Does anyone else want to write this? Does anyone else want to go through the pain and anguish, the mental slavery, the suffering involved in coming up with the funny, the hilarious hilarity, the evilocity, every day or four? Cause little old Evil sure don't. He believes it's time he puts an end to this blogfoolery.

Who was Evil? Who was the man you loved and adored and dreamed of fellating? Who you shared your each and every morning with during those wonderfully fleeting, sepia-toned, wistfully hazy days of Spring/Summer/Fall '06? Who was he? Where did he come from? And why the fuck why? How did his blogstar rise so immediately, yet, like a Nigerian airliner, crash and burn just as fast? What powers did he possess, besides the power of sucking bad? Why must he leave so soon? Will he be back? Will we ever meet again? Has he even really left? Was he even ever here? Where'd he go? And, who the fuck really cares?

No one will ever know the answers to these questions, mon freres. No one.

Well, actually, not true. I will. But still. That doesn't help you, really.

So, yeah. Anyways. OK. Bye.


Yours,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Have you ever posted a question and not given an answer?

Dear Evil Discussor... Who would you like to hump this Hump Day?

Rachel McAdams or Ryan Gosling. Either one. Or both. Right there in the arrivals terminal. I'd hump them both in the face.

Dear Evil Discussor... Where are you? It's been almost a week with no new posts.

Firstly, stop whining. Secondly, thanks for asking. And tershiarily, I'm too lazy and bored to respond, so instead, will respond by linking you to a response I responded with many, many responses ago, way before you even loved me, you sad, little, blog-reading, me-loving sad person.

Dear Evil Discussor... Were you away for a week?

I'm back!
E.D. rides again!
Dr. Fucknuts lives!
El Dickface returns!
Up yours!

Dear Evil Discussor... Who would you like to hump this Hump Day?

Maybe it's because you have breasts. Or maybe it's, well, just because you have breasts.






























Anything with breasts, today you are my Hump Day Hussy.


previous Hump Day Hussaliciousness
Cute Little Squirrel
Verizon Customer Service Representative
Concha Libre, Blogger
N.Y.P.D. Commissioner Ray Kelly
Woman in the Next Cubicle
Entire 60 Minutes Gang of Correspondents
Lucy Van Pelt
Soledad O'Brien
Phoebe Cates

Dear Evil Discussor... Is this whole schizophrenic thing of you asking yourself questions and then answering them growing tired and meaningless?

Well, I don't ask all of them. Some of them are actual questions that are asked of me by my loyal readership and other retards. But, I do ask some of them. Like, this one, for instance. So, yeah, Me. Maybe the answer to your question is yes. But mind your own fucking business, douchewad.

Dear Evil Discussor... What are some of the even weirder-ass web searches that have led to this site?

Weird-Ass Web Search Update! Weird-Ass Web Search Update!

nipplage blog

This morning, someone in Gurgaon, India, in the beautiful state of Haryana, found this site by typing "nipplage blog" into Google. What? Ok. Yes. Fine. Now, I can't really comment on the flagrantly meaningless and pathetic endeavors people spend hours upon hours pursuing on the world wide web, seeing as I am right now writing this very weak and sad piece of drivel. But I can say this. The stereotypes are true. Those Indians are a smart bunch. Clearly well-read and well-spoken. Nipplage! How very proper of you, kind gent. And may your search for blogs about nipples be both pleasant and fortuitous, my very strange but well-spoken Indian nipple-fiend fetishy friend. If I was but a xenophobic racist assface douche, I might say, "Please, come again." But I'm not. So I won't.

Dear Evil Discussor... Was last week's Special Speed Round Question Day a total success or an utter failure?

Well, first of all, thanks for asking. Remember Special Speed Round Question Day Round Question Thing Speed Day Thing? I do. I remember it quite fondly. Let's take a second now just to remember how awesome it was. Yes. That's right. If my memory serves me well, I remember it to be awesome. Also, I remember its awesomeness. And I do recall, as well, how truly awesomely awesome it was. Yeah, I'd say it was a success. No. It was more than that. The word success does it justice not. It was so fucking successful, I'd say it was a fuckcess. So fucking fuckcessful, that I'm writing another post about it right now. And the fucking thing was over a fucking week ago. That's how crazy awesomely fuckessful it really was. Took me a week to even comprehend its enormity and enormous fuckcessfulness. And no, I'm not just writing this because I have absolutely nothing at all else to write about today, and am totally brain-deaded and douchefaced and fuck-nutted, and so, have had to resort to a slow, sweet stroll down the Boulevard de Nostalgie. It's because I believe something as special and wonderly as Special Question Round Speed Day Ass Fuck is truly worth commemorating. And I'd personally like to thank everyone who participated. It wasn't just me. Alright, fine. It was just me. But it was also, in some very, very, tinily small and insignificant way, all of us. The team. We all made Special Question Round Speed Day Thing Fuck the fuckcess that it was. One hand washes the other, right? Without questions, there are no answers, I think. You asked. And I answered. Brilliantly. Yes, you and me. Together, there ain't nothing we can't never do.

So, thank you. Though, let's never ever ever ever fucking do that again. Because, in retrospect, with the constant back and forth, the day-long communication between us, all the contact between blogmaster and blogtards, this site was essentially one small step away from being some sort of horrible awful chat room. Alright, it was actually no steps away from being some sort of horrible awful chat room. It pretty much was a horrible awful chat room. Which actually makes me totally fucking queasy. To think that, for almost the whole day I was almost in an almost chat room with you. So please, yeah, let's never ever even think of doing that again. In fact, let's forget we even ever did it once. From now on, you live your life, I'll live mine.

But besides all that, and my obvious hate and disrespect for most, if not all of you, here's to future fuckcesses together!

E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... What are some of the weirder-ass web searches that have led to this site?

Sometimes, when all my evil deeds are done for the day, when my work is put away and I find myself at rest, I take a gander at the site numbers. That's right. I sit here at Evil HQ, in my Evil Underground Lair, in front of my Evil Computer, in my Evil Underpants and an Evil Ergonomically-Sound Desk Chair, and I tabulate the hits. The page views and loads. See, I like to know things. Like, how many people are reading this shit? And, for god sakes, why the fuck why? I check the referrals. How did your sweet doucheyface get here? And what the shit is wrong with you? Clearly, some of you come for the unbridled hilarity. Some of you, for the wisdom, wit and insight. And some of you, well, you're just visiting because you happened to type "Hairy stinky fat fucky vagina evil cats + mom" into Google, and somehow wound up on this site.

Here are some of the strangest, and some of the most unfortunate searches that have led this way. Some frighten me. Others, frighten me. And all of them, bar none, make me very much regret the fact that I ever started this blog in the first place, and became a cog in the very sick, often dirty, sometimes sexy wheel that is Al Gore's Internet.


evil dear

you can remove gum from your sidewalk by

FUCKY MOM

picture of evil thing

I+Hate+NYU

gay bulge pics

under gum scraping

blerds

fucky

asperger evil

why does bum smell

girlish hands

Bad smell evil

π

FUCKY MOM

sucky sucky fucky fucky

freaky fucky funny bunny

photos of people with dentures

lyrics "what the fuck chuck"

wonderly hilarious children's jokes

when to hump

Roethlisberger bad stomach ache

look at evil people

why people chew gum

shon gables and the view

trader joes evil

what does evil smell like

evilest man ever

marriage love sex china

sucky fucky 5$

sara Nussbaum

why my sweat smell so bad ?

fart in front of girlfriend wife

And, of course:

fat womens fucky sexy womb photos


Notice the repetition of "FUCKY MOM." Clearly a popular search on the web these days. And who hasn't spent hours on the web trying to compile some children's jokes that are both "hilarious" and "wonderly." Or, better yet, trying to figure out once and for all, "why does bum smell?" I suppose I should feel lucky. And special. And honored. That the totally fucking crazed and sad and disturbed guy/psycho killer who actually typed "fat womens fucky sexy womb photos" into a search engine, obviously looking for sexy photos of fat women's fucky wombs, instead, found me. And then, went on with his merry womb search. How rewarding to be but a passing participant in that searcher's very special wonderful web journey.



Yours,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Which is better? Cats or Dogs?

Dogs.

Do cats play poker?

No.

They hide under beds, and scurry away, and hack up hairballs, and claw at your door, and scratch your face off, and try to climb into your mouth and down your throat when you're sleeping.



look! more of these totally thoughtless useless not even interesting posts that i post when i have nothing at all interesting to say posts!
Dear Evil Discussor... Which is better? Boxers or Briefs?
Dear Evil Discussor... Which is better? Outdoors or Indoors?
Dear Evil Discussor... Which is better? Apples or Bananas?
Dear Evil Discussor... Which is better? Squares or Circles?

Dear Evil Discussor... Who would you like to hump this Hump Day?

Maybe it's because you can climb trees. Maybe it's because of your bushy tail. Maybe it's because you're so damn cute. Maybe it's because you're almost smiling in this picture as if to say "I may look all cute and innocent, but deep down I'm really one frisky mofo." Or maybe it's just because there's nothing in this world you would rather do, than spend all day and all night eating nuts.



Cute Little Squirrel, today you are my Hump Day Hussy.




past Hump Day Hussaliciousness
Hump Day Hussy #8, Verizon Customer Service Representative
Hump Day Hussy #7, Concha Libre, Blogger
Hump Day Hussy #6, N.Y.P.D. Commissioner Ray Kelly
Hump Day Hussy #5, Woman in the Next Cubicle
Hump Day Hussy #4, A 60 Minutes Hump Day Hussathon
Hump Day Hussy #3, Lucy Van Pelt
Hump Day Hussy #2, Soledad O'Brien
Hump Day Hussy #1, Phoebe Cates

Dear Evil Discussor... Is this where I will find my Special Speed Round Question Day questions answered?

Yes. It's Special Speed Round Question Day on Evil Discussor. I am answering your awful questions even as I type this. It's crazy! Trust me on that.

Dear Evil Discussor... Paper or plastic?
The Evil Discussor does not shop for groceries. The Evil Discussor hunts animals for his meat and farms the land for his vegetables. For microwave popcorn and hummos, however, the Evil Discussor uses Fresh Direct.


Dear Evil Discussor... Top or bottom?
Bottom. I'm a voracious reader. And that way I can read as well.


Dear Evil Discussor... Hanging left or hanging right?
Both. My biologically-astounding, genetically-miraculous, dopple-headed, lady-pleasing, pork-machine hangs both ways. Obviously.
On another note, your 'This or That?' style of questioning is beginning to bore my very easily bored evil mind.


Dear Evil Discussor... Do you not have a job?
Yes, amish, I do. But when your job title is Evil Mastermind, you make time for these sorts of things.

Alright fine, I'm only Senior Associate Evillator in charge of Evilocity, but I've heard talk of a promotion.


Dear Evil Discussor... Saline or silicon?
Spellcheck, young anonymous, can be the difference between the abundant brittle nonmetallic chemical element found naturally in sand, granite, clay and many minerals, or, the silicon-based synthetic substance in the form of a heat and water-resistant grease, oil, or plastic, that you use to make big boobies.


Dear Evil Discussor... Is Loyal Anon maybe the lamest and worst anonymous commenter in the history of anonymous commenters, failing so utterly in his attempts at both humor and insight, with comments that make very little grammatical sense, and are generally hard to make any sense of whatsoever, such as the question he just asked, "Is it completely necessary to wash-up after 'domless anal?'" and does he often make you sad, each comment of his leaving you more and more regretful of the fact that you ever started a blog in the first place?
Yes. Absolutely.


Dear Evil Discussor... Did someone actually ask that last question or was that you?
That was me.


Dear Evil Discussor... How about that last one?
Me again. But let's stop this, Brain, or we could go on like this forever, k?


Dear Evil Discussor... Is this what it's come to?
Indeed, Chris, this is what its come to. Or, is this what it always was? And also, were those italics used appropriately or not?

Maybe it's correct, what you infer. That your once great and greatly magnificent blogmaster has been reduced to a pathetic shell of his former self. A circus freak. A sideshow. That he is now the Bearded Lady of Blogging. The Dog-Faced Blogger Boy. That he has become both Ang, and Chang, Siamese Bloggers. Its true. I am the Tri-Titted Wonder. You want to look away, but you can't. You are enthralled, and disgusted, by my metaphorical triple-breasted action. Don't look away, Chris, don't. Not even for a second. Stare at all three of my breasts. Embrace me. Embrace them. They are milky and soft. Pillowy, some say. Like the softest soft clouds. Go ahead. Touch them. For free, this time. You know you want to.

But more importantly, let's get back to embracing me. As I am. As the pathetic, snivelling, attention starved blogster with, clearly, way too much time on his hands, that I have always been. Love that. Love me. Love love.


Dear Evil Discussor... What is the sound of one hand clapping?
I don't know, Copyrantyface. But I do know this. I am amazing at what I do. And this here rapid fire question ingestion session is an obvious testament to the powers of my undeniable blogging prowess. And you, you are not half bad either, CR. Each day, "doing your thing" for all of the world's enjoyment and entertainment. Enterjoyment, really. Or, likewise, Enjoytainment, if preferred. Scuse me if I get a little emotional here, but this whole Special Speed Round Question Special Day Thing has drained me a tad, leaving me a wee bit nostalgic, in a 'weeping on the floor naked in the prone position' kind of way. May I just say, on behalf of the whole blogging community: God bless you, Ranter. Bless your sweet little ranting heart. And bless every one of your posts. Even the really half-baked awful ones. Those dreadfully boring ones that you clearly just mail in to fill some sort of personal quota. God bless those ones too.


Dear Evil Discussor... Are you a "Freegan"?
and
Dear Evil Discussor... Again... Are you a "Freegan"?
In response to both of your questions, New Anonymous Retard, maybe I am, maybe I’m not. But one thing’s for sure. You are, most definitely, a new anonymous retard.

Also, in the future, try to make your questions slightly different. Makes it more interesting.


Dear Evil Discussor... So, has this been fun for you? (It was for me)
Amish, although it might have seemed like it, we did not just go out on a date. What's next? Are you going to try and kiss me on the porch?

Anyhow, good to know you've enjoyed this. This, my personal test of will and amazing feat of bloggy strength. It is also good to know that my blogging powers know no limits.


Dear Evil Discussor... Did you have online sex with Rep. Mark Foley?
If you want politics, go to The Drudge Report or Wonkette or Ebaum's World Of Extreme Backyard Bareknuckle Fighting and Awesome Motorcycle Wheelies and Also Probably Some Anal Fisting. But leave my current events-free ass alone.


Dear Evil Discussor... Do you and rantypants hang out? I have (sexual) fantasies about having the two of you at the same time.
First, if your fantasies are only brackets sexual, then, I'm afraid that's not quite sexual enough for me.
Second, the idea of my naked manstick anywhere near Copyranter makes me nauseous and disgusted and, fine, a little bit hard.
And third, how do I even know that you're a woman? There's so many freaky deaky dumbheaded fucknosed anonymous commenters around this stinkhole of a blog, that I'm sure would get off on playing the part of a damsel, and probably would love nothing more than to enjoy me and maybe the Copyranter sans-knickers. So you see, I'm a little bit cautious and a tad crazy paranoid about the whole tryst thing. Prove that you're a femfem.

Dear Evil Discussor... Is it Special Speed Round Question Day on Evil Discussor?

Shit yeah it is!

You ask a question on the comments page. I answer it. Promptly. And in my own indelibly hilarfious fashion. Just like that. All within the hour! Maybe!

It's kind of like how this blog usually works. But faster!

It's crazy. And amazing. And so the fuck am I!

It's fucking freaky awesome! And so the fuck am I! Again!

Right now, as we speak, my fingers are perched ever so slightly above the keyboard, waiting for some crazy furious type-writing action.

Please. Do not make my fingers wait. This will upset them. And trust me, you do not want to upset my fingers.

So, on the count of 3, ask away! Do your worst! Or your best! Whatever the fuck!

1, 2, 3, Go!





I said "Go!" you sweet fucker!

Dear Evil Discussor... What? What the fuck is that thing over there on the right called An Evil Primer?

Oh, come on, you know what it is. It's a compilation of posts. From the past, present, and future. Some awesome. Some just crazy amazing. Why, even this post is included, and it's barely even passable. It was no easy task, picking posts for inclusion in this Pantheon of Postiliciousness. Especially when you take into consideration that everything I ever do or say or write is magical and inspired or, at the very least, wonderful. But it had to be done. I spent months and months, no, days upon days, fine, about half an hour, laboring over this, my Canon-ish Column of Cocksmanship, seeking and selecting only the finest 'babies,' as I like to call to them. And if you think some posts don't really belong here, please do tell. And then, go fucking critique your own blog, fucklegs. If you don't have a blog, start one, write a bunch of posts, wait a while, then make a greatest hits-like column, and then critique it, fucklegs.

And so, it is decreed, on this, the fifth Friday of September, in the year ought six, that "any and all evil newbie newcomers that doth visiteth this ere evilest site, shall, if turned off by the overwhelmingly lacklustereth and mediocrest nature of that day's most probably horrible awful post, learn, by reading An Evil Primer in its entirety, that once in a very, very, very rare while, something slightly entertaining, or maybe just kind of amusing, or even just halfways not retarded, emerges off the pages of this here virtual web log cyberspace site thing, and that, not only has Evil Discussor been linked by many other blogs that are actually decent, but also, that he is the Evilest Man in all of Evilstan, and sometimes wants to hump someone on Hump Day, and also, is a big fan of pants, and also, couldn't keep up that whole faux-olde english thing through the whole paragraph, but will now return to it. And so it is writ."

Newcomers, may you gently and tenderly be poked and prodded by my eviliciousness! May you spend an entire evening at least reading my carefully constructed passages, and hopefully, touching thyself! May you be de-frocked and de-hymenized by my barely entertaining insight and douchiness! May I never not write one sentence without some sort of sexy metaphor or sexual innuendo! May that double or triple negative fuck you right up as it did me! And may you eventually join the ranks of my astoundingly large, largely incompetent, and oft-times large-breasted, growing fan nation of blerds and other blogtards!

Yours,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... How come you don't write so much about pants anymore?

It's true. I haven't written about pants in a while. And that's sad.


I remember when I used to write about pants. About how much I enjoyed pants. How I loved wearing them, and buying them, and wearing them. I was a lover of the pant, I was. Any sort of pant really. As long as it had two legs and a crotch, it was good by me. (Alright, fine, mainly jeans. And preferably the low-waisted kind of jeans, so as to have a tuft of my pubes hanging over the top- ED) Such sweet days they were, those pant-loving halcyon days. And don't worry, I don't really know what halcyon means either. All I know is, pants loved me, and I, in turn, loved pants.

They were wonderful days. Days of innocence. Of wonderment. Of pants. Way back before I bit from the proverbial apple of temptation and was cast out of the Garden of Pants. Out into the world of experience. Where confusion and doubt are the name of the game. Where self-awareness and sin rule. Where there's no real reason to write about pants anymore. Where there's "more important" things to write about. Like God and cheese fries. Gum and real estate brokers. And, also, sucky fucky.

But maybe it's time. Maybe it's time I turned back the clock. And took back what is rightfully mine. Maybe it's time I pull myself back up on to that pant pedestal and just fucking rock, you know? Maybe it's time I dream the impossible dream. Maybe it's time I reach back for the unreachable. Back to a pant-loving pant-post-writing time. A time long ago, when I wouldn't dream of wasting an entire post, and an entire 48 seconds of your time, on complete nonsense and hooey, just because I had nothing to say but still felt the urge to post for some awful reason, and so, might end up writing about something like, say, how I don't write about pants anymore. Back when I had something important to say, fuck. Something important to say that just had to be heard. Something important to say about pants, dammit.

Yes. I believe it's time. I believe it's time you read some of my old mediocre posts about pants.

some of my old mediocre posts about pants
Dear Evil Discussor... How do you feel about pants?
Dear Evil Discussor... What did you do over the long weekend?

Dear Evil Discussor... Will you have my cyber child?

Yes. Of course I will. I would love to. I would love nothing more than to put my cyber spatula in your cyber saucepan and make some cyber lovesauce. But before I cybernate you with my cyber seed, you must promise me a few things:

1) That if we have a boy, he will be named Gregor. If its a girl, Lubmilla. Yes, we will have a little Russian cyber baby. Don't ask why. Just agree.

2) That we will dress our adorable little Russian cyber spawn in nothing but Gap Baby, and then, of course, Gap Kids. He or she will never want for adorable onesies nor unbelievably cute matching tops and bottoms and, on special occasions, will wear little argyle sweater vests, a mini leather jacket, and a little newsboy cap.

3) That we will sometimes put our sweet little cyber baby in a pair of sunglasses that are way too big for his/her head.

4) That, even if its a boy, our beautiful little Russian virtual wonder baby will have long wavy hair and, in the nighttime, will wear a night dress. Before beddy-by, he will come running to me and call out, "Papa! Papa!" in a French accent. We will find this bizarre because, as we both know, he is Russian.

5) That you have big boobies.

If all of these conditions can be agreed upon, then we can start with the cyber sucking/fucking/baby-making. And you can start interviewing the cyber Filipinos.

OK,
E.D.


some other times i have been loved for the evil ass that i am
Dear Evil Discussor... Is it blog-love at first sight?
Dear Evil Discussor... Why do mosquitoes love you so much?
Dear Evil Discussor... Are you available?

a post i once wrote about salad
Dear Evil Discussor... How's lunch?

Dear Evil Discussor... Does it bother you that Evil Discussor isn't even your real name?

No, Anon. It doesn't.

But does it bother you that you're not even a real person? That's right. You don't even fucking exist. I just totally made you up just to pretend that someone actually asked this question. So there. And it's not even a good question. One of my worst in fact. Barely even was worth asking. So double whammo. You don't exist, and you ask horrible questions. Fucking sit on that, doucheypants.

Yours,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Which is better? Boxers or Briefs?

Boxer briefs, dummy.

And yes, I am displaying two pictures of men in their underwear on my blog today. And I feel fine about it.

That's right. Today I am the internet host of two tight shots of the male crotch.

Two pics that could be easily construed as homoerotic.

But I'm cool with that.

Say what you will, but I'm secure in my sexuality.

Very secure.

And this only proves it.

I'm as far from gay as one can possibly be.

And having no problem with having these pictures up on my site is a testament to that fact.

Yep, I really, really like women, trust me.

I enjoy having sex with women, and that's the truth.

I like VGs. There's no doubt about that.

Loves me the vagina.

Can't get enough of it.

The VGer, the better.



ALRIGHT, FINE, FUCK, IT'S TRUE. I CAN'T FUCKING STOP STARING AT THOSE MAN CROTCHES, FUCK. I TRY TO LOOK AWAY BUT HAVE TO KEEP LOOKING BACK. AND THEY KEEP LOOKING BACK AT ME. LIKE ONE OF THOSE PAINTINGS THAT ALWAYS SEEMS TO BE LOOKING YOU IN THE EYE NO MATTER WHERE YOU'RE STANDING. THAT SEMI-FUCKING-PROFILE SHOT WITH THE BULGE IN IT? HOW COULD I NOT FIND THAT CRAZILY FUCKING AMAZING? AM I NOT HUMAN? DO I NOT BLEED? I KEEP RELOADING THE PAGE JUST TO SEE THOSE HAIRY FUCKING MAN LEGS APPEAR OUT OF NOWHERE AGAIN. I CAN'T STOP IMAGINING WHERE THAT OTHER GUY'S TREASURE TRAIL OF PUBIC MAN-LOVE LEADS. I'VE EVEN PUT THESE PICS IN MY IPHOTO AND CREATED A SLIDESHOW TO THE TUNE OF FLEETWOOD MAC'S "GO YOUR OWN WAY." I'M USING THE KEN BURNS EFFECT. I HAVE MAN CROTCHES FLOATING IN AND OUT OF MY FIELD OF VISION. I'M IN OVER MY HEAD AND I KIND OF LIKE IT. I'M WRITING THIS IN ALL CAPS TO GIVE YOU THE SENSE THAT I AM YELLING IN ORDER TO DEMONSTRATE HOW ENRAGED I AM WITH THE FACT THAT I FIND THESE PICTURES OF MAN CROTCHES WEIRDLY TITILLATING AND FUCKING AWESOME.



look! more of these totally useless dumbass posts
Dear Evil Discussor... Which is better? Outdoors or Indoors?
Dear Evil Discussor... Which is better? Apples or Bananas?
Dear Evil Discussor... Which is better? Squares or Circles?

Dear Evil Discussor... How could a God forsake his believers? Worse yet, deceive them?

At the risk of getting a smidgen too philosophically metaphysically theologically fuckedup-ical here, I will attempt to answer your very, very heavy question, Blah.

You are clearly confused, Blah. Questioning your faith. Your devotion to sweet little old Evil me is in doubt. You have worshipped, nay, blerdshipped, at my altar for so long now, and I understand. You hath been deceived. You need answers, Blah. How could I have betrayed you in such a way? How could I have taken that trust that I cultivated in you, and gone and smeared poo-poo on that trust? How can one of my very heavily moisturized hands caress your soft, silky cheek, stroking it lovingly and tenderly, flittering you away into a semi-sleeping wonderful waking wet dream, soothing you into a half-state of half-bliss, while my other hand jars you awake with a slap to the back of your head, jams a finger in both of your eyes like that Rutger Hauer android in Bladerunner, and then forces you to give me a throat job? These are questions we all must answer in this very difficult, trying time. All of us. Not just you, Blah. I have betrayed your confidences, but I assure you, I will win your trust back, and we will work through this hardship together.

How could a God, such as myself, deceive his followers, you ask? Well, sometimes deception is a wonderful device, Blah. A tool. A tool not unlike, say, I don't know, maybe, you. But besides, deceiving is kind of what Gods do, no? I mean, shit, I was just being Godly is all.

Did God himself not build the tower of Babel for to confuse his subjects with language and, in doing so, learn them a very important lesson?

Yes, I believe God did.



Did God not rain down hellish death water crazy flood fury for 40 days and 40 nights, and save only Noah and some animals, just to clean up the old world a teeny bit?

Again, God did.



Did God not ask Isaac or Jacob, or whoever that was, to slaughter his son, Joseph or Marvin or Pinchus, on the altar as a sacrifice, and then go "Just kidding!" just to test his devotion?

Fuck right, God did.



And did God not order a pizza and chinese delivery to the house across the street and watch from behind the curtains, giggling like a schoolgirl, as they both arrived at the same time?

Yes, I'm pretty sure God did.


After all, who hasn't? Which is kind of my point. Like the rest of us, God knows how to party. God knows how to turn a lame evening of TV watching into a ball of laughs, with just a couple of short phone calls to Domino's and Taste of Sichuan, his quick wit, and a hilarious fake voice.

And I think that's the point here, Blah. First, that obviously, God knows how to party. And second, that nobody but nobody, doesn't find ordering pizza and chinese to the neighbor's house funny. Except the neighbor maybe. He'd be pissed. And the neighbor's wife. And whoever else lives there. And the pizza guy and chinese deliveryman might be out some money too. But fuck it. We all can't win, can we? Which is exactly my point maybe. And besides, I think you can see that my point here is, I'd actually be happy if I happened to get a surprise delivery of chinese and pizza. Especially if I was hungry. Because both chinese food and pizza are delicious, right? And it would save me the hassle of ordering. You see what I'm saying?


Yours,
E.D.

Dear Evil Discussor... Is this the last Evil Discussor post ever?

Yes, I do have some sad news. That very well might shake the blogging world to its very core. It has most certainly shaken me. And I am usually rather unshakable. This may come as a little of a surprise to most of you, but I'm afraid that the answer to today's question is "Yes." Today is my last post. The final post for the Evil Discussor. It's true. I will evilly discuss no more. It's been kind of inevitable. A lot of things have been happening recently in my life, and to be totally honest, my Evil heart has not been in its proper Evil place. Its become very clear to me that the time has come for change.

Before I close the book on this chapter of my Evil life, I just wanted to thank you. All of you. Everyone who's ever even read just a couple of words of mine. Who's ever commented, positively or negatively, for better or for worse. Who's ever had their day slightly lifted by a silly little something I might have said. For me, these past bunch of blogging months have quite possibly been the greatest months of my life. An experience that I will not soon forget. The moments I spend sitting at my keyboard, typing away, sending my little love posts out to you, are the most personally fulfilling and rewarding moments of my each and every day. And I thank you for that. For the time you've spent reading what I've had to say. For the connection that we've made and shared. I've never met most of you, but I have cherished every last minute we've spent together. I am certain that I am a better person for it. And hopefully, in some ways, you are too.

But all good things must come to an end. And though these past months have been like a rather wondrous dream, some things have come up in my life. Some issues that can no longer be avoided. That I can no longer hide from, and must deal with, and focus all of my energy on. Like, my chronic masturbation problem, for starters. I'm only trying to joke, to keep this light, but I think you can tell how difficult this really is for me. Saying goodbye isn't easy. But it must be done. From this day forth, I will be putting this whole blogging business behind me, once and for all.

So, to all other bloggers out there, to all commenters, to all readers, I say thanks once again. Keep on writing. Keep on reading. And, most importantly, keep on blogging. You are truly, truly amazing. Each and every one of you. The world needs you. And don't forget that.

Thanks again for everything - it was a great ride.



I know, I know. You're thinking, "Don't do this, Evil. My days won't be the same without you. I cannot live without your douchebaggery and humpaliciousness. Like a sweet song, your evilocity has gotten me through some tough times. A rough spell at work. A nasty divorce. A child molestation charge. I need you. I really do. And I love you. More than a friend. You make me laugh. Once in a very very rare while, true. But whatever. Still. Don't retire this blog. Please. Please. Don't go."

Well, its going to be hard but... Wait.

Really?

Wow. Fine. Okay. Fuckit. I'll stay. For you. Alright. Cool. Forget all that gay 'leaving' shit. I'm back.

Yours,
E.D.