The Price of Not Googling Shit

So I searched the name of my own blog, and found that Knoblin has far, far too many entries on Google.  So I changed the name of my blog to something that returns 0 search results otherwise.  Call me vain, call me arrogant, but please, call me.  New posts coming soon.  

Keep It Stankin'

Knock Your Sucks Off

In my last post, I discussed the very real threats that robotic penises will pose to men of the future.

As long as we're swimming in the toilet, let's do another lap, only this time, we're dog-paddling.  Oh, and now?  Now it's personal.  

Like, really, what you're about to read is too much information for anybody to handle.  

Dare I say, what I am about to say is modern day heresy.

Ready???

Um, first, let me remind you I'm a straight male with an appropriately sized penis, because those are the sort of facts that are immediately brought into doubt when I tell people this.  

Really Ready???  

Shit...  Ok, hurr goes....

I don't like blowjobs.  

I'm sorry, what?  You can't read that?  Larger???  Well fuuuuuuuuuuuckk, ok...

I don't like blowjobs.

What sir?  You say that you're almost entirely blind, largely due to the stupendous number of totally bodacious blowjobs you've had in your long and adventurous life?  Eh?  You need me to type what I just said in the biggest font possible?  Very well...

I DON'T PARTICULARLY LIKE BLOWJOBS!

SIR!


...

Soooooo, while you get that ringing sound out of the depths of your psyche, allow me to answer a few questions:  

"You've had a blowjob, right?" - Yes.

"You've had more than one then, yes?" - Yeah, more than I can count.  Not that I would count, because I DON'T LIKE BLOWJOBS.  

"So you're just saying you've never had a good one, correct?" - Nope, plenty of 'em seemed high quality to me.  Just pretty sure it doesn't work.  Might have something to do with the low sensitivity of my schlong, which could have been brought on by my tendency to jack off in toilet paper rolls lined with low-grit sandpaper.  But... nah, mere speculation, nothing more.  

"Why do you not like them?  What does it feel like?" - It doesn't feel good, it feels like a wet fish flopping about on my junk. 

"Are you asexual?" - Man, I wish, because then I would never be caught dead hanging around all these chicks offering me all these unwanted blowjobs.  

"Are you a human male who was born a human female and male?" - Yes.  

"Can I have your address, so I can come to your house, steal your nuts and berries, and donate them to a charity for the penile deprived?" - No, that's what Cyberdicks are for.  Weren't you reading my last article?

"Fuck no." - You didn't answer in the form of a question.  You now have -$400.  

"This isn't Jeopardy, dickwad." - Aw shit, son, you did it again.  -$800.  

"Do you want that in cash or credit?" - Better.  

No, no I don't find her facial expression sexy.   Don't you get it yet???

While my dislike of receiving head gives me neither pride nor pleasure (well, obviously), it sure does make one hell of an icebreaker.  Seriously, if you're a dude and you're reading this, try it out sometime. The next time you're at a party, casually mention that you hate blowjobs.  The unique cocktail of shock, anger, and absolute disbelief is of a sickly sweet pungency, like a wet fart that you just have to smell in spite of yourself.  

You think those photos I put up there are exaggerations?  People seriously think that men (or as they might put it, "men") such as me are aberrants, twisted offshoots of the male gender that have somehow squirmed their way up the ladder of evolution and into modern times.  Yes, when you announce your distaste for cocksuckery, outrage is guaranteed, so be sure to bring a camera, so you can compare your friends' reactions with those elicited from other stimuli, like openly declaring that you are legally changing your name to "Jerry Octomom Sandusky", or that you believe that man-horse marriage shouldn't just be legal, but mandatory.  

Mortified expressions/screams aside, I have had some women appreciate the fact that I will not entreat fellatio.  I'm sure that if I were to put the fact out there publicly, like on some sort of blog or something, some women would find me more attractive for it.  But how many more women would just 

simply not understand?  "Dudes sure love blowjobs" is one of the prime axioms in the sexual education of a young woman, as obviously true as stating that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.  And here I am, saying "the shortest distance between two points is... no sweetie, please, really, you don't have to do that.  Now, I was saying, the shortest distance between two points is... babe, seriously, don't bother.  It's not my thing.  Really.  I'm sure you do it well, but please, you don't have to.  Honey, listen, I was gonna make a comparison between lines and points and how axioms are violated and oh fuck it.  I don't like blowjobs.  Period."

And blaaww - it's like I just thrust a mirror in a cat's face.  Her female mind, uncomprehending, squirms and scrambles to escape.  Her body follows suit.  

"Hey babe, don't leave!  I'll take a handy!" I plead.  

But she's already gone.  Because you can't thrust a mirror in a cat's face.  

Sometimes, you have to suck it up about sucking off.  

Hellz yeah, J Goldblastin'

Keep it Stankin'

Robophallus: Rise of the Cyberdickening

This one's for the dudes in the audience.  And by audience, I mean nobody, because nobody reads this blog.  Not that they should, nor will wish they had, after reading this article.

If you asked most men what body parts they would have cybernetically modified if they could, you know that getting a cybernetic penis would totally be #3, behind only bionic farts and robotic ears that can tune out women.

This came up when I googled "Robo penis".  ITSCHH FROM SCHHTAR WARSHHHH!

We're not quite to perfectly functioning Cyberdicks (TM) just yet.  Soon, however, we're gonna be seeing some rich dudes blowing their wad (of money) on robo penises.  And we (by which I mean men with insecurities of any shape or form) should be afraid.

This also came up in my search.  I see what they're getting at.  I see all too well....

It all starts innocently enough.  Billionaire's dick stops working.  Drugs do nothing, penis pumps do nothing.  Or maybe he just has a small dick.  Fuck if I know.  The point is, he goes and funds research for a Go-Go Gadget Penis.  It works swell.  

Then the cyberdick enters the market.  At first, it's very expensive and only available to the richest people on Earth, but it gives those lucky impotent bastards a second chance at the bone-zone.  But nooo, just being able to get it on again doesn't cut it anymore.  They've got to go bigger, better.  

The Cyberdick must evolve.

I love you, Internet.

If you've ever been in a sex shop, you've seen a standard dildo, and more to the point, the bizzarre permutations of the basic dildo design.  You've seen the added clitguards, the labial guidance systems, the fallopian transducers, and so on.  They make modern vibrators look less like penises, and more like some line of Seussian contraptions.

SOMEBODY'S COCK IS GOING TO LOOK LIKE THAT IN LESS THAN FIFTY YEARS!

Ok, so Dr. Seuss never published any drawings of sex toys (that I know of), but you get the idea.

Alas, my fellow bros!  What will we men of mere flesh to do, when womankind learns the delights of these new mechanical monstrosities?  Women's dating profiles will now read: "I need a man with his own place, his own car, his own money, and a robo penis is a MUST."  We plebeians may try to keep up, only to find that our second-hand (ewww) Girthbuster 2021 model is no match for the new 2025 design.

What's worse, after the most mind-bendingly contorted robo penises have been put on the market, we'll see the next step: T-1000 Cyberdicks:

Pictured: A dick dressed as a T-1000.  You don't want to know what else my search dredged up.  

In other words, my friends of the Brotherhood of the Ballsack, I do say mournfully: "We are dicked."

CYBERDICKED

Keep it Stankin'

The Unbearable Awesomeness of Being Teen Wolf

Gazing upon my grand designs for this, my blog of all that is irrelevant and frivolous, it has dawned on me that most of the little things I observe in the world annoy the piss out of me.

As fun as it is to go on an all out bitchtitsfest, I must acknowledge that the internet is already right chock full of bitches, tits, and fest.  For in this day, regal Complaint is a sport of gentleman and yeoman alike, with quarry of all stocks and breeds everywhere to be found.  Many are the noble legions of onlinesmen, quivers bursting to full, who daily train their bows on all manner of creatures, ideologies, deities, demons, customs, nations, genders, social mores, arts, and so many more things under the sun.

O, to be one of those Chivalric Huntsmen!  O, to join their legions do I lustily yearn!

However, before I take up arms, plunging with mouth full-frothed into the abattoir of malice, shoulder-to-shoulder with my kinsmen in carping, I would like to take the time for a positive article.  I want to talk about something entirely unimportant that I fucking love.

Yeah, you read the title right; it's Teen Wolf, bitches.

Pictured: Some Hardcore Bullshit

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!  FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!

THIS TEEN WOLF:

Oh, to be that frumpy girl on the left, if for but a moment...

So, just why is (the real, proper, 1985) Teen Wolf one of my favorite movies of all time?  OH, let me count the ways:

(Note: You must have seen the movie Teen Wolf to continue reading.  It's not my rule, it's a physical property of the universe, like a Shrodinger's Wolf or somesuch.)

Nobody working on this gave a fuuuuuuck:

While Michael J. Fox was certainly known from Family Ties, Teen Wolf was actually filmed before Back to the Future, despite being released a month after.  This means that the cast and crew had no idea that Michael J. Fox was going to be a box-office hit.  As a result, there's very little ego in this film - for all anybody woud have known at the time, the whole thing could have been direct-to-video.  

In short, this is a group of actors and extras who I genuinely believe were having fun.  Go back and watch the party scene if you don't believe me.   

The premise is the perfect blend of absurd and awesome:

Unless I'm totally misinformed, Teen Wolf is the first werewolf movie where nobody dies.  (Well, unless you count Scott Howard's mom in the story, who apparently died of "Unexplained movie dead mom syndrome," but that doesn't even happen in the film.)  That alone is gleefully absurd unto itself, until we consider a few other things.  Think about the plot:

- Boy sucks at basketball on an even suckier team, also sucks at getting girls

- Boy finds out he is a mythological creature, gets bummed

- In full view of his entire school, Boy turns into mythological creature that has never publicly been  seen before (I know, I know, the Vice Principal has clearly seen one, as we have found out, but I don't think he told anybody.)

- Whole town just stares, agape

- Wolf Boy plays basketball REALLY FUCKING WELL, his team actually wins a game

- The entire town wants to know if he can keep winning at basketball

That is the most spectacularly amazing (and totally unexplained) leap of logic I have ever heard of in any film, EVER.  Can you imagine the conversation that those high schoolers were having after the game?

TOWNIE 1: *sparks a joint* "Woah, dude.  I can't believe Scott is actually a werewolf.  And that werewolves exist.  Maybe this means, like, vampires exist too.  And then if vampires exist, maybe so do ghosts.  Shit, maybe even God is real, man." *puffs joint, passes*

TOWNIE 2: "Yeah, you could be right man." *sucks on j* "This throws all of our preconceived notions of science and nature out the window.  I wonder if somebody will call the government, and they'll send, like, scientists down to study him and shit." *puffs again, holds breath*

TOWNIE 1: "That would suck, bro.  The Beavers actually won a basketball game today.  Maybe the entire town should, like, you know, pretend that there are no moral, spiritual, or metaphysical dimensions to what we have just beheld.  Let's just keep letting him win at basketball, and make him the most popular kid at school." 

TOWNIE 2: *releases breath, coughs violently* "Bodacious.  I mean, it's not like werewolves have a reputation for violent, gory killing or anything."

Mind you that these two things together do not a classic movie make.  Teen Wolf could have still been a fetid turd.  But for the sake of your sanity and mine, I'll let my first two points marinate in your brain-sauce, and next time I return to this topic, we'll tear into the juicy meat of exactly what makes Teen Wolf tick.  I'll give you a clue, it starts with "St" and ends with "iles":

Yes, you are a dicknose, and yes, what ARE you looking at, anyway?

Oh, and my related bonus pic of the day:

  

Keep it Stankin'

Birth of the Unleashed Sunrise, Part 1, The Begin-ining

This is not a blog about nothing.

This is a blog about nothing important.  I'm one of those people who knows a little bit about lots of things, but not in any way that I could be called an expert on anything.  Jackoff all trades, masturbate none, etc...

So, a metaphor, if you will...  

Some people stop to smell the roses (for the purposes of this metaphor, all the interesting minutiae in life that one never has quite the right app for), and then go on with their merry/miserable days.  

But, in this momentous blog, I'm not just gonna stop to smell the roses.  I intend to get down and straight up huff the pollen out of those bitches.  I will dry out the petals, cut them into a fine powder, and snort them up in a public park in full view of parents and children, without any modicum of shame or clothing.  I will stumble through alleys, hiding in the dumpsters of floral shops, lying in eager wait like a cougar-hobo hybrid.  Graveyards, weddings, and stereotypical teenage dates will all know my rapacity for the fine red flower and its alternately hued variants.  And at last, when all the world's roses have been integrated into my bloodstream, when thorns cover my face like the whiskers of a thousand bewhiskered cats, when my last dollar is a solid crimson hue, then, then shall I wander the streets*, penniless**, friendless***, and alone****, braying stridently at the cruelty of God and man^.  

In keeping with this theme, here are some fun facts about myself, but none of the important ones:

- I descend from the times of the ancient Internet: Which is to say, I signed onto AOL back in 1994, back when you could run up $600 internet bills in a month, and then have your parents angrily pay for it.  In those halcyon days, before the widespread availability of porn converted the unwashed masses into screen-molesting facetweeters, we humble internet folk would sit in our nerd forums and chat rooms, debating whether or not it was appropriate to compare Darth Vader to Hitler (or at least Goebbels).  Such conversations were typed in perfect English, replete with proper spelling, grammar, and (now extinct) comma usage.  Ah, to go back to those times and once again believe that I would never kiss a girl.  (This was before I knew you could just pay 'em.)  

- I despise euphemism: That doesn't mean I won't employ them occasionally, and on those occasions, usually by accident.  But lawd, I got me some words and phrases that I intend to complain heartily about, even if there's already an army of word nerds and grammar nazis on the job.  Stay with me, young reader, and you'll learn why phrases like "You deserve to be pampered!" and "My aunt passed on in a very unique way" make me want to collapse the Sun using only the power of my buttcheeks.  

- I know too much about video games.  Even though they are not important, they will also not be discussed here, because I'm gonna have to start a whole new blog for that: Ok, I lied when I said I don't know a lot about any particular subject.  I know way too much about video games.  One day I'd like to be, like, the host of a video game show, but it would be more like Masterpiece Theater than whatever garbage that "gamer" channel excretes.  You know, like a James Lipton of video games, in a future where classic games are like classic movies - classy.  But that is not today, and this is not that blog.  

- I believe Teen Wolf may be the last best thing to ever happen to humanity: The Michael J. Fox movie, not that fucking TV show.  I don't really plan on talking about movies a whole lot, but Teen Wolf isn't just a movie.  No mere movie can contain Jerry Levine's scrumtrulescent turn as Stiles.  This will be the subject of more than a few updates.

That right about thur' sums 'er up fer now.  I will conclude, as I've just decided I will do with all my posts, with something awesome:

Keep it Stankin'

* of faaaaaabulous New York City, of course!  I mean, Helloooo!

** well, except for that dollar I mentioned earlier.  But, like, nobody will take it because of the rosedust.

*** can't be friends with roses.

**** roses don't count as company, either.

^ five asterisks seemed a bit much.