Featuring:
Horny Anonymous

Today's Webisode
"Beware the Cockblocker"

Cockblocker: n. One who hinders our member from penetration.

You've all been there before. You're hanging in the bar, and you have a nice, and more importantly: willing feline cornered against the wall. Your tongue's down her throat, your bulge is aching to escape your oh-so-tight Calvin's, and you think you're minutes away from swinging to your bachelor pad, Tarzan, when it happens: Said victim's girlfriend arrives on the scene with the Jaws of Life and makes the play to pry your catch away from you. Little tap on the shoulder, a brief girly whisper-fest, and then you lose, she's outta there! Best find Cheetah quick.

And you know this "girlfriend" because she's the hideous Ugly Duckling who has been left at the punch bowl, all by her trollsome, one too many times. (Can you say: No prom date trauma?) She figures that if she goes out with the Queen Bee enough times, that maybe once she'll get lucky and pick up the slack. Wrong! Girlfriend, start your engine, it's called B.O.B... (battery operated boyfriend)...and I would think you are quite familar with it at this point.

And dudes can be just as intrusive, perhaps more so. Because cocks are more in touch with their animal side, or let's say, more driven by it, and that leads to territorial battles. Yes, believe it or not, our mates absolutely disdain seeing us hook up with someone, because that means they get to play Steve Martin in Lonely Guy all over again.

Bartender another drink, please, for my loser friend
. For a while, the alcohol acts as a deterrent while the intoxicated fool (who we call friend) is busy holding up the wall. But when reality strikes and Los Angeles Clipper (pick any) realizes you are scoring big time like the Lakers, and they're going home to their favorite pal, Rosy Palms, it's, "Fuck you, I'm outta here, you want a ride home you better hurry up. Next week you're driving. Got any gas money, dude? Fork it over."

We've all done it: Cockblocking. And bottom line? it's selfish, and may the guilt be on your head. Not that one.
 
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Do a little inventory the next time one of your buds scores with a female with two legs (one if she has nice hooters), and leaves you on the sidelines to cheer. The question to ask yourself: Are you gracious enough to lead those cheers? Be a good Yell Leader? Whoop it up with the best dawg in the pound? Or are you going to be that ten-year-old punk who takes his balls and goes home because you can't play? Poor baby, maybe you should ask your mommy for some ice cream and sympathy when you get there.

If you wanna be a real friend? You'll take one for the team, kimosabe. Run cover and intercept that vindictive creature when you see her limping, hunchback ass crossing the floor to pry Cinderella away from your posse member's, GHB-clutches. Buy her a drink, tell her how hotttt she looks; hell, sit on a couch with her all night long, if it means the difference between your buddy reaching the Tunnel of Lust, or both of you going home to watch Spank-a-Vision together. You will have done your good deed for the night, and the next time, who knows, it might not just be you that comes in second.

Karma, my horny friend, karma. Thou must giveth, to receiveth.

 

So sayeth,

Anonymous

 
   
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