I really sort of dig reading the search queries that bring people by this here hole in the wall blog. Sadly they’re not going to win prizes for variety although I wonder how much a guy who searches for “I want you to spunk on my boots” gets out of his visit? To my knowledge I haven’t covered the topic of spunking on footwear. You can’t go wasting your seed on boots, man. Save it for boobies.

To the person who wanted to know “where can I spank some midgets” I have no idea, truly and I’m sorry you must have been seriously disappointed.

The guy (I assume it can only be a guy, right?) who wanted, “martini whores Mexican bull assfuck” – what the fuck buddy? Although if you find what you’re looking for, drop me a line, okay? Wink.

My favorite of all was “dick rash spunk overload” which sounds like an underground thrash band only more alarming. I hope you got that sorted out man, before things got ugly. Uglier. And if spunk overload gave your dick a rash, I’d be living in the ER by now.

I will end by telling the lady (please let it be a lady) who searched for “lounge honey”, I am available.

A real update soon. I have been busy as a fucking fuck.

Well hey lazy people's of Blogland. Ok well I realize I'm the lazy fucker not you guys but honestly, I haven't been so much lazy as busy and incapacitated. Lots of work and lots of play. I thought about you all the time though. You guys are my everything. You guys and Martini on the rocks.

Also, I just moved my whole thing over here to Blogger from Wordpress. I wasn't feeling WP what with the lack of artistic freedom in the looks department and all. Plus all my buds are here, you dig? So hi Blogger! Sorry you guys that I couldn't actually export the damn thing as a whole therefore, I lost all your great comments. Goddamn technology shit.

Know what I've been doing? The ladies! Yeah. Some things never change right? Admit it, you don't want them to. Plus it's almost Christmas and the ladies flock to the city of lights looking for some holiday fun and that's practically my last name. I consider it a service to humanity. Those guys at the tourist board ought to take it into consideration. Maybe put me in a brochure or something. They could stand me next to say, the Stratosphere, in a symbolic display of phallic glory, while pointing out my adequate gigolo tendencies and how I'm basically a man-whore, except I don't charge a cent. I do it for the pure, undiluted love of it, ladies. You have a vagina? Tony can fill it. Let's leave it at that.

I've been kind of half seeing a lady named Mercedes. She's one of those chicks that tie her hair back and wear tiny little skinny reading glasses but you know that given the right encouragement, and maybe a few daiquiris, would totally undo a few more buttons on her blouse and be dancing on that table before you could get your pecker out. Plus, let's be realistic here, Mercedes is totally a stripper name, no? I've learned not to mention that however, as last time I ended up wearing a Cosmopolitan on my funky new satin shirt. It's a bastard getting cocktail stains out of your frills, man. And the stripper thing was totally a compliment too.

Plus Mercedes has a gigantic flat ass that belongs in a high-waist pencil skirt so the world can appreciate it. Either that or it should be gyrating on my manroot, either choice is fine.

She's a touch shy though. Likes to be wined and dined a few times before I can warm my hands in her love furnace. That's ok. I don't mind the chase. It's sort of exciting really. And it ensures I bathe regularly, in case the moment arrives unexpectedly. You don't want to have sweaty coconuts when you intend grazing a lady's chin with them, right?

For the record, I like to give them a light going over with a razor, then some Nivea, then I might spritz on a little bit of Giorgio Armani cologne. Really I have the best kept balls this side of the Continental Divide. Besides, if a lady has to have a balls-on-chin experience, it might as well be a pleasant smelling one. I'm pretty thoughtful like that.

I'm just putting it out there in case any of you ladies are ever in my zip code. You will never have a sweaty balls emergency with Tony Spunk! Wink.

Hey there buddies. You all still there? All like, three of you? I’d forgive you if you’re off getting drunk at some other sexy blog stud’s place, after all I’ve been a slacker lately of epic proportions and I can only apologize for neglecting you.

Know what else has epic proportions? My cock! Drumcrash.

No really ladies. My cock is colossal.

Talking of… sorry to the lady who sent me the rather vocal email about my last post regarding my cock and some lady’s ass-crack. Seems that was a little blue below the belt. The Bible Belt that is. Oh fuck it, no I’m not sorry. Even Jesus laughed at that line.

I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to shit lately. The past month or so has been crazy town around these parts. I’ve played more shows in the past three weeks than I have in the past six months. Some of those shows were in Memphis, Louisville, Little Rock and Corpus Christie. Corpus was a badass town. Pretty to look at, ocean right there and lots of sexy senoritas pouting all over the place. You can’t get better than that. Except maybe a blowjob from Adriana Lima. Maybe.

Pedro accompanied me on all dates, that’s the musical sort not the romantic sort, I’m not a sick fucker or anything. Although I’m sure he’d enjoy watching. That voyeuristic little Mexican fuck. Me, I haven’t even spent time with many ladies the past few weeks I’ve been working so hard. The Captain’s cried real tears of sorrow over this. Okay, he’s cried real tears of sperm. I mean the Nivea pot’s almost empty. Fuck me, I need to get laid by a real pussy soon.

And by “real pussy” I’m not talking about that dude with the fake face that used to be in Poison.

One lady I did dally with was in Louisville. Her name was Stella and she was a waitress at a burger joint. Maybe 35, plump in all the right places, ass like a hippopotamus. Tony likes asses like hippos. More cushion for the pushin’ and all that cliched shit. Stella was a good ole country gal with rosy cheeks, on both ends after I’d done with her. She enjoyed a bit of the old paddling. I’m not much one for bondage but hell, if a lady wants her ass scorched I can oblige, know what I’m saying? If it’s ass related it’s for me.

I also had an “incident” in Memphis with a tourist lady who’d come to town to see Graceland. She kept yelling out “Do Elvis! Do Elvis!” prompting a colorful remark from me about necrophilia. Hell, I thought it was hilarious. Her, not so much. She launched a highball glass at me like she was pitching a fuckin’ fastball. I had to get stitches and everything. Elvis has some ferocious fans. You can probably slander their mothers but don’t talk about fucking Elvis’s cold, dead body unless you want a trip to the ER.

Anyway, this is getting lengthy (that’s what HE said) so I’ll leave it there. Hope y’all are doing well. I’m gonna start doing more commenting, I’m a lame fucking blog friend for sure.

Peace out guys.

Hey there! It’s been a while. I have no excuses so I won’t give you any.

Guess what I did the other day? Two chicks on the same day! Really. I do have standards even if they’re on the low end of the scale much of the time, but usually I have a break between chicks unless it’s a threesome. Although, honestly I’m getting kind of long in the tooth for two chicks at once, you dig? Anyway the two chicks the other day were room-mates. For real, neither knew about the other so I hope nothing occurred later when they figured it out. I didn’t see any homicides on the news so I think I got away with it.

One of the chicks – let’s call her Amanda (It’s not her real name, her real name’s Debra) was stacked like Walmart at Christmas time. Sweater meat out to here. The girl could hold up a condo with the contents of her bra. And y’all know me, I’m not averse to a little boob jiggle action. I motorboated that girl till I almost asphixiated. But what a way to go, right fellas? She wasn’t much use in the sack old Amanda, but she had it going on in the northern continent so I let her off.

Her room mate though, let’s call her June as that really was her name, she was flat as a pancake in the chestular department but had an ass like a well-bred Mexican donkey. I mean that as a compliment in case you were wondering. She had a great big thundering ass you wanted to pound till next Tuesday. Every time I flipped her over however, she’d flip right back with a disgruntled sigh. The most I got to do in that region was slide the Captain along her ass crack a couple of times. She was not up for any doggy action which made the Captain sad.

Am I getting too graphic for y’all? Good.

Anyway, two chicks on one day wore me out and made me realize that I am officially fucking old. In fact, it’s my birthday next week. Not that numbers really bother me and a guy’s like a fine wine – he gets more fantastic with a few grays in his sideboards. That’s what I tell myself anyway. I did check south of the border and I’m still all man, all black haired awesome down there, so no worries about getting a mouthful of gray ladies.

This entry sort of turned me on, I have to go open a new jar of Nivea and whack it to Kim Kardashian’s ass till my hand cramps.

Hope y’all are well. I love you guys. All three of ya.

Hi there compadres. Once again, apologies for the big lapse in posting but I’ve been busy as shit. I’ve had shows almost every damn night and only a handful were for the seniors, before you go suggesting it. Sure, none of them are exactly big time but they pay the rent you dig? And they’re usually a ton of fun. Even the seniors. In fact I’d say the seniors know how to appreciate a dude in cerise satin. I mean have you seen the shit they wear? They sport the polyester like it’s going out of style. The static shock you get from entering a room full of old people could knock an elephant on its ass. But man, watch out for those old ladies, they’re killer. If I had a dollar for every old dear who’s gotten her withered old pincers into my hiney, I could retire already. Some nights entering an old folks hall is like watching outtakes for “Night of the Living Dead”. I'm not talking sprightly sixty somethings here, I'm talking 80 years plus zombified oldies.

Not that I’m being deliberately mean to the oldies. Hell, I’m not too proud to admit I had me a time, a couple years back, with an older gal. Judith, her name was and she was 67 years old and spunky as all hell. She was like Bea Arthur if Bea Arthur didn’t have a penis. Tall, sassy, deep husky voice. I can’t vouch for Bea but Judith could do things with a vagina that could make a man cry. Or bruise. For an old bird she sure had some kegel strength. And so maybe I was drunk at the time, clouding my judgment a little, I’d still have done her sober, the saucy old minx.

Still, the old people I perform for ain’t often like Judith. Usually they’re totally crazy, half inebriated, tubby, wrinkly little demons of pure evil, dressed in nylon that would make the seventies cry and sporting stupendous pastel colored hair. And that’s just the guys! Heh.

You ain’t seen nothing till you’ve seen a room full of 70 year olds letting it all hang out to a Stones cover, while their bat-wing under arms flap around in the wind and their decrepit old pelvises gyrate and creak like an old gate till inevitably someone puts their back out and has to be stretchered to hospital. You’re delighted by the free bar at these events let me tell you. A few martinis dulls the torture of seeing 80 year old Elsie lifting her skirt and flashing a nylon hose-covered ass to the room. An ass that starts at her knees and winds up at her underarms. Try erasing that image from your brain.

So yeah that about sums it up for my life lately. I’m hoping for a break soon. Mainly because all this gigging is tiring me out and leaving me too bushed to appropriately tend to the ladies. The Captain’s not talking to me because he hasn’t pierced a vagina in about nine days. It’s time to get my life back!

Hey guys, I’ve been enjoying some good old fun in the sun. And yes, by “fun” I absolutely mean dealing the salami to some ladies in the open air. There’s nothing quite like hitting some grade A, prime lady fillet in the fresh air. You see summer turns a man’s fancy to the ladies and those of you now thinking “only summer, are you sure?”, fuck you guys.

Heh, I’m kidding. Although I don’t know, would you be up for it? I’m kinda horny.

No, you see summer is all sunny and lazy and the ladies let their guards down a bit, as well as their panties, so all is well with the world. I mean who doesn’t love a half naked lady with the sun shining on her naked ass? Who doesn’t love to look up at those bouncing Alps glistening in the sun as she’s demonstrating her rodeo skills?

Oh look, there goes the Captain again. Down boy!

What was I saying? Oh yes, I’ve been staying at my ma’s place out in the desert while she’s visiting her aunt and uncle in Bumsfuck, Arkansas. It’s the same house I grew up in – the house that used to be filled with music, laughter, drinking, wild parties and mariachi music and occasionally the poignant musical tones of my aunt Lola fucking some undesirable in the basement when she was supposed to be getting ice – the house where my uncle Dick Spunk used to slip me cigarettes and give me advice on how to entice the ladies. Uncle Dick knew a thing or two about the ladies, the drunk old bastard. He used to bed more ladies than Warren Beatty back in the day and he was only a tenth as handsome. The way he tells it though, he might be a tenth as handsome but he has a cock the size of a baseball bat and he can outperform a jackhammer and Warren Beatty can just suck it (both literally and figuratively). You remember those lame porno pens with the lady inside and when you pressed the button her clothes fell off? Well for my seventh birthday, my uncle Dick gave me a similar pen, only when you pressed the button on this pen, the lady got fucked by a donkey. He got it in Mexico, naturally, those depraved fuckers.

So yeah I’m out at the farm and the old place is creaking up a storm. It’s been here since 1947 when my grandparents built it, and now it’s getting a little much for my ma I think. I’ve been keeping it warm while she’s gone by entertaining a host of delectable female types with my expert Martini making skills and my Magnum mustache. A killer combo if I do say so myself.

Tonight’s a night off though, to go over some stuff with Pedro. Music stuff. Plus I’m sort of shagged out as the Limeys say. I was short of a date last night so I resorted to one of my crazy stalkers, Oral Olive. Before you all go getting excited, she doesn’t provide the oral you understand – not without some persuasion and strawberry yogurt at least, she just demands it. My fuckin’ tongue feels like it got caught all up in a blender. But the good thing about Olive is she’s not all that smart – I know this is mean but really, she’s dumb as packet of ice – so it’s easy to persuade her to do stuff, especially after a tongue lashing. So if you want some serious hip-thrusting, doggy-style action over a garden fence say, you just have to tell her that you heard she’s way more fun than other women and she’s all eager to prove it.

I know, I’m a dirty fucking dog, I admit it.

But come on, you all missed me.

To the person who came here looking for a “spunk receptacle” I sure hope you found what you were looking for. You know, elsewhere.

Talking of spunk receptacles, I had lunch with my aunt Lola today. Aw don’t look at me like that, Lola’s a whore, you know it and I know it. And she sure knows it.

I got back from L.A. last night (more about that another day – it’s worth waiting for I promise) and Lola practically begged me to buy her lunch so I knew something was amiss. I’m the only family member she can talk to about anything. See I’m a man of the world. For some reason this makes her blurt out the most ridiculously nauseating stuff that makes me want to bleach my memory afterwards. I could feel it coming.

“It’s my flower.” she whispered, as we waited to be seated in the busy “Pig & Whistle”. “Damn thing’s infected!”

Now that right there should have been a clue that I should have had a “previous engagement” I’d forgotten about suddenly come to light and hot tailed it out of there, pronto. Because “flower” is the word Lola uses for her lady parts. Her pussy. Flower’s sort of an ironically delicate word for it in my opinion because Lola’s pussy’s seen more action than Arnold Schwarzenegger.

I was kind of worried what was coming. Luckily I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Son,” she said when we’d sat down and were awaiting our order. “Son, I found crabs in my flower and I panicked and doused ‘em with Windex.” Lola said.

Allow me to let that sink in for a minute. Lola found crabs in her lady region and sprayed the fuckers with Windex.

“Windex?” I finally said weakly. “What the shit, Lola? You need to blast those fuckers out, not shine the shit out of them.”

“Well the fuckin’ Febreeze didn’t do nothin’” she growled. “Windex was all else I had.”

I tried desperately to erase the mental image of my aunt Febreezing the hell out of her muff.

“Did it work?” I asked, already afraid of the answer.

“Did it sweet shittin’ Jesus!” she said angrily. “Made me itch like a motherfucker. I’m red raw from scratching that dang thing. Feel like my crotch got pounded by fire ants!”

I sort of lost my appetite.

“I partied with an entire varsity football team one time” Lola said later, while picking at some English style fish and chips. “And even after that I could walk better than I can today.”

So welcome to my family. We exude classy.

Mis hermanos!

And ladies, I don’t wish to discriminate none. Hope y’all are having a dandy ole Memorial Day week – Tony always extends holidays to an entire week of celebratory fun because I am all about the fun. Especially when the fun = the ladies.

Hey guess what? I’m in Los freaking Angeles. Man, you never saw a city more full of deviants than good old L.A. I’m not kidding, for every one normal person in L.A. there are about eighteen freaking deviants or perverts. What a fucking excellent place! I wouldn’t want to live here full time or nothing because I’d like to keep what’s left of my soul intact in case I’m wrong and there is a heaven after all. But the city of angels is trying its best to lure it out of me.

Firstly its good points are as follows; lots of babes not wearing much in the clothing department. This is always a good development even when they’re of the ridiculous variety like a lot of the chicas here. Big everything. Big hair, big racks, big tans, big egos. Crazy.

I’m a little more picky (no really I am). I like a little junk in the trunk. These skinny ladies with the xylophone ribs don’t do it for me. No one wants to bounce around on a bony chick, man, a dude might as well get it on with a railroad track. A lady needs some round bits. Some nice soft curves. Am I right? Damn right I am. L.A. chicks are just into eating celery and sucking their cheek bones in. It’s scary. Not that I wouldn’t hit that if desperate you understand. All you need to do is tell these chicks you’re a producer or something and their clothes practically fall off right there. No tequila necessary, gracias. Desperation kinda turns me off to be honest. I like to work for it. Those ladies have the look of a wolf circling a lamb. It’s off putting.

Tomorrow I’m hanging with my bud Donny Ono. He’s the guy I told y’all about before, Japanese Elvis impersonator. He’s more comedy than bona fide impersonator though. I’m not sure he means to be but either way, he’s a funny fuck. I once saw him, drunk off his ass in Vegas being fellated by a 600 lb lady porn model – no kidding! He likes the big ladies but that was like seeing a hot air balloon sucking off a toothpick. Kind of obscene but kind of fascinating.

Okay, I’m off to a Mexican calypso bar for some good times. I’m bringing hand sanitizer and a good time in my pants. Stay classy y’all.

Hey there amigos!

Yeah I know, I’m a lazy sonofabitch when it comes to updating this thing lately. I’d like to say I’m busy but I ain’t that busy. Played some shows, low key stuff, no biggie. Pays the rent. Dallied with the virtue of a couple of ladies, but nothing too exciting. Had some “me” time. By that I don’t mean I played with the Captain and some Nivea. Well okay, I did some of that too. I mean the world ain’t ending or nothing.

Time to snap out of it though. Starting to sound like a goddamn lady myself. Me time. Next it’ll be manicures and the Women’s Network. I just looked down my Fruit of the Looms to check the Captain was still there. You’ll be happy to know ladies, that yes, he is and he’s looking magnificent like a shiny pink log of love.

Spring time. Makes a dude think of poon. Actually any time makes Tony think of poon. Hey oh. There is nothing more beautiful than a juicy pink vagina.

Next week I’m kind of excited as I’m going to LA. That’s Los Angeles to you bums, not Louisiana. Who the fuck’d go to Louisiana of their own free will? Jesus. Actually Jesus probably would. He’s respected in Lousiana. True story. My friend Delmar, who’s a kick ass pianist, once played a show in Baton Rouge. When he comes out on to the stage in this little church hall type place, he’s confronted by six dudes in white pointy head gear. Delmar almost shit in his pants. At first he thought it was a costume party and some dudes were dressed like sperms but turns out they were the real KKK. For real yo! They weren’t too happy at some black dude singing to their ladies. So Delmarr excused himself for a moment then hoofed it out the back way and out of town.

Anyways, yeah. Los Angeles. I’m playing a show out there with some other guys in my field and also some Elvis impersonators have a competition going down same time, so I get to hang with my good Japanese buddy Donny Ono, who believe it or not is a Japanese Elvis. Go check out his blog. He just started it and his English is for shit but dude’s a good onion. He promised to get me bombed on Saki and introduce me to this little half Japanese chick named Kiki who can shoot quarters out of her hoo ha. What’s not to like?

Hope you guys are all groovy?

I was checking out my dashboard here on WordPress and I swore it said something about me having 7 midgets. Y’all know Tony, I get excited at new people, especially tiny, chunky people who might be stalking me, because that’s kind of perverted and I ain’t one to shirk a little perversion, you dig? I had these visions of all these little, tiny, undersexed ladies spying on me while not wearing panties (them, not me) and it made my trouser-place feel all warm and tingly in a good way (as opposed to an itchy way).



I Googled "midgets" and got this. I don't know what's going on in this picture but I'm fascinated. It could lose the tiny dudes however and the ladies could lose their tops but hey. Midgets.

Then I noticed it actually said WIDGETS and well…that’s a whole lot less fucking sexy, no? This is what happens when a guy is still up and active at 6 in the ay em. And still a little bit drunk.

And is it just me or does ‘widget’ make you think of hobbits? Or am I confusing it with midgets again? I don’t know and frankly I’m too tired to give a hot damn. I just know a widget sounds like some hairy ass creature who’d chase you round the forest at dusk then attempt to steal your berries.

Talking of midgets, at least sort of connected to that chain of thought, I once dated this gorgeous giant gal, name of Petra. Petra was about eight feet tall. Well okay, maybe closer to six feet four or something, but she was one tall chick. Great for motorboating. It’s okay though, she didn’t mind or nothing in fact she encouraged it. Or maybe I encouraged it, I forget now. I’d totally forgotten old Petra till right now. Laugh like a dock worker, boobs like a Penthouse Pet. Quite the combination.

Anyways, I’m thinking out loud here. I should probably go to bed. I got these knock off satin sheets for my boudoir at a sale in some little store in some no good little town. They look like satin but fuck, in practice they’re more like Satan. Little fuckers give you wicked static when you slide on them – makes my pubes stand on end and gives the occasional static blast of electricity to The Captain, which he does not approve of. I have to calm him down with a nice Nivea massage.

Peace out homies. Only four more days till the weekend.

“Lola fucked bugs” and “spunk pig” are two charming terms that brought people here to Spunksville this past week. What the hay, people? Sometimes when I’m thinking I might be a touch on the deviant side, I see the stuff other people look for and suddenly I’m Polly-fucking-Anna.

So it’s been a while, compadres. This is due to a bout of severe laziness on my part although truthfully, I’ve been sort of busy as shit too. Played a lot of shows and not all for the older members of society, either. No, I did one at a women’s correctional facility (scary and oddly arousing) and one at a swimming pool gala party (lots of swimwear and giant thighs). I ain’t proud, so long as there’s ladies in swim wear and I get paid, I’ll be there, you dig?

Back to the ladies correctional facility thing. It was low security and full of chicks who shoplift or don’t pay their parking fines or whatever. Nothing too dangerous, but just dangerous enough to be enticing. And they’re allowed a certain amount of leeway to party, which in a place like that involves dancing sexily while wearing army green overalls and too much cheap lipstick, while another lady in a nazi-like get-up parades around sternly, frowning at them and adjusting her cap. I wasn’t sure what turned me on the most actually, all these caged ladies (illegal characters?) with debauchery on their minds or the trussed up guard-like ladies with their batons and tight, frumpy uniforms. Yowza! Cuz if you know anything about old Tony, he digs a lady in uniform and has trouble concentrating because he’s too damn busy picturing himself tearing those brass buttons off in a fit of passion and ravaging them on the cold, stone floor.

The ladies I mean, not the buttons. Give me some credit.

Oh there goes the Captain again!

Eh..what was I saying?

Oh yeah. The ladies. Doesn’t matter the way they come, I likes them. And come they will. Numerous times.

Naturally, I couldn’t do anything naughty and tasty with the ladies at the facility (they have rules for that sorta thing) but I did accept some digits of two soon to be released little bombshells, so we’ll see what happens there I guess.

Talking of sexy little bombshells, I found this lady through one of my good, sexy, blog buddies’ posts and she says hella nice things about me, so now my head’s the size of a melon. And not the one on my shoulders, ladies, dig? Wink. I tried to leave that fine lady a comment but the old “Blogger” wouldn’t let me do it, as apparently my URL has “illegal characters”. What the shit, man? Don’t worry though, y’all can say SPUNK as often as you want over here.

Stay sexy Blogland.

Hey there amigos!

Well I done gone had me a week, didn’t I? Firstly old Tony thought he’d gone and impregnated a lady with his super-sperm. Truthfully, in all these years I never got a lady up the spout, at least that I know about and I sorta intended to keep it that way. I figure a fellow should at least be involved with a lady before he infects her organs with new life, you dig? And this lady, Sandra, she was a one night deal. When she showed up at my door I didn’t even remember her, which sounds pretty terrible but when you meet ladies at shows, you tend to be a touch inebriated and their faces all kind of merge together in one terrible flashback.

I asked Sandra how come she thought I was the supposed father, since, I don’t mean to be rude and all but any chick who’ll get it on with me generally isn’t the virginal, one-man-woman, type of gal. I just figured she made a habit of taking strange, ruggedly attractive dudes home and jumping on their pork swords, I never thought I was the only one in a long drought or anything.

Anyway, she put the chair down and calmed down and we got one of those home preggo kits where a lady whizzes on a stick and it tells her if she has a bun in the oven or if she’s just paranoid. And it came back paranoid. Phew! Close call. She called me two days later to announce that her lady dragon time had arrived and all was well and did I want to bend her over her kitchen table when she stopped bleeding and eff the living daylights out of her. Because having a scare like that makes that girl want to fuck like a pig, apparently.

I made my excuses. I mean, once bitten and all that. I had visions of my man seed racing up her Nascar track trying to make Spunk sextuplets and it was all a little off-putting.

Still, it did make me think. If I did get a lady in the family way, I might not marry her or anything drastic but I’d sure be supportive and I got a tear in my old eye thinking about teaching a young Tony or Antonia how to play the organ and appreciate Dean Martin.

Then I snapped out of it and got loaded with Pedro.

Hey there compadres! I’m out of my funk now, y’all can come out from behind the furniture. Truthfully I wasn’t even really in a funk so much as doing some soul searching. My ma’s giving me a hard time about not having a wife and kids and an office job and that kind of stuff. Seems I’m too old to be living like a teen, but I disagree that that’s what I do. I mean I’m fairly responsible in most matters, I work a lot and I pay my bills. And I gave up crack when I was 21 because that shit will mess you up. And let’s face it, Martinis are way more enjoyable.

I dig my life. I like that I work at night, I meet a lot of people, good and bad and that I get in a position where I meet a lot of tipsy ladies with bad judgment. I like tipsy ladies with bad judgment. They’re my whole social life. So I decided I’m okay with being the way I am.

And my pad’s looking funky. I got some new furniture from an estate sale in rural Nevada. I say “new” furniture but it’s new to me at least. And I previously had things like cardboard boxes as tables and a sofa with a dip in the middle that’s been that way since I went through a deviant phase where 400lb Maria and I used to bump uglies on it in 1988. She was a workout for any sort of spring suspension. Now I got me some prime vintage gear. A cocktail shaker, a table that looks like it’s from the 1960s’ Starship Enterprise and a more modern orange Ikea sofa, long enough to pass out on if necessary or get freaky with a lady.

It’s all good.

Talking of ladies, I’ve been dallying with a lady named Collette. Not a long term thing, naturally, but she’s in town for a week and so we’ve been drinking Vegas dry and doing the wild thang like it’s illegal. I broke one of my own laws too, regarding my organ. It’s normally polished to a high, electric-blue shine, but one night too much booze and lack of discretion meant Collette and I got a little funky on it and fractured the backplate. Seems to be okay however. It also has a pleasing impression of sweaty butt cheeks on top. (not mine)

Oh yeah, if you know how to get suspicious stains out of an orange sofa, be sure to let me know.

Chillax good buddies.

When ole Tony gets drunk he gets a little maudlin. And third persony. Like now.

Sometimes people ask me about the ladies and how many I’ve done the deed with. Like I have a freaking clue. However, despite what y’all might think, I’m not as proud of this as you might expect. I’ve had hundreds of fine ladies and they were almost all quick flings with a lot of action and low expectation, but hardly any of them were long-term deals.

Now I’m a pretty easy-going guy and I’m friendly, you dig? I’m just too friendly. I love the ladies and I love to love the ladies. I’m a terrible boyfriend. I’m not faithful or loyal, sexually, so I try not to pretend to be by getting involved. I let ladies know the score so no one gets hurt, yet sometimes it still happens. I usually go for ladies who’re similar to me for exactly that reason – they won’t expect anything more from me and everyone is happy. I can’t commit to one lady and one lady only. I know this and I accept this and I figure if the right lady comes along then it’s meant to be and I’ll quit all the other ladies and settle down and buy a cardigan or whatever people do when they’re content.

I’m no prize or anything. I’m average looking, a little rough round the edges and I sing lame middle of the road crapola for a living, so believe me, even I have no idea why the ladies give me the time of day, they just do. I’m baffled by it, but grateful for it and I think the reason is just simply that I’m relaxed around the ladies and I know my limitations and I’m okay with them.

A lot of guys I know are pretty damn jealous but you know what? Those guys know shit about shit. Those guys have girlfriends and wives they hang with and watch TV with and buy groceries with – wives who nag them and make them pick up their damn socks and cook them dinner and laugh at their jokes and rub their backs when they’ve had a shitty day at the office and you know what? At the end of the day I come home to a 1980s TV, a framed photo of Liberace and an industrial sized tub of Nivea (don’t go thinking those last two are connected). So some guys don’t know what they’ve got.

Holy shit, I think I just found my feminine side. Tomorrow I’ll be starting my period. Peace out folks.

Fun times last night with my aunt Lola. Okay, maybe “fun” isn’t the right word for it, “trying” that might be the right word.

See Lola’s been in AA and she’s possibly even more fucked up sober than she is wasted, if that’s possible. Although “sober” might be not entirely the correct term to use either, since she’s convinced that beer doesn’t count as alcohol. According to Lola, beer is what people drink when they’re too young or too big a pussy to handle liquor or when their liver needs a vacation.

So naturally, as we were in a local dive bar, she got wasted. On beer. And face planted on the knee high karaoke stage while taking a short cut to the ladies’ room, laying there looking puzzled with her dress around her neck. Which I’m sure isn’t an entirely foreign situation for Lola.

It reminded me of one time when I was probably sixteen or seventeen where she almost got my ma to disown me (and her) when she got involved in a barroom bet (while feeding me Cosmopolitans no less) which resulted in her dancing around the lounge, topless wearing her bra on her head like a fucking Victorian bonnet.

When I was a little kid however, I thought Lola was the coolest woman on the planet. She was drop dead gorgeous and had a husky voice (imagine Lindsay Lohan if Lindsay Lohan were less deformed and had the Herp in her throat and was a shitload less whorish, which is ironic since Lola was a whore by trade).

She always made life exciting and didn’t bullshit you if you asked her a question, even that time, when I was seven or eight, where I busted in to her room all excited and caught her reenacting the rodeo, butt-naked, with the local sheriff, while wearing only a stetson and cowboy boots. “Honey, sometimes a lady likes to take off her clothes and have a man put his pee pee inside her noonie and wiggle.” I believe were her actual words, to which I shrugged, contemplated it for a moment and said “okay” and continued catching bugs in the yard.

Sometimes I think my family are slightly fucked.

Have you guys ever been abandoned, naked on a street corner, chained to a lamp post with a bell tied round your junk? Welcome to my Saturday night.

It was all going pretty well till some dude and his huge, hairy, bromance friends showed up and tricked me into going outside (See…I actually KNOW a chick named Selma so I totally believed she was out in the parking lot waiting for me). Naturally she wasn’t. But they were. Seemingly I boned some guy’s ex girlfriend who he still had a bit of a psycho crush on and he wasn’t happy to find out. She apparently told the cops if they hurt me she’d go down there to the cop shop and tell them who did it, so instead, he and his lame assed friends thought chaining me to a lamp post, naked, was a good alternative.

The joke’s on him however, as he had to totally get friendly with ‘The Captain’ to get that bell on there. I bet that dude got a boner from handling such an awesome, prime piece of meat. Then immediately went home and put a gun in his mouth, knowing it can never be his.

Thankfully Pedro came out looking for me and lent me his coat till he could bust me free. And no, there are no photos.

Viva las Vegas.

My favorite search term that brought some poor deviant to my blog today: “spunk in all my holes”. It’s okay dude, it’ll come out in the wash, I guess. And doesn’t that make your nostrils uncomfortable?

Pedro and I had a kickass little show at the Windemere Seniors Center last night. I know, shut up, a dude needs these kind of gigs in this town just to make everyday bread and butter money. The old geezers are pretty damn grateful too and some are even a little fruity, especially if you throw in a Tom Jones number. I don’t know why it is, when a lady becomes about 80, she suddenly gets all horny all over again. Grinding against the old dudes like they’re grating cheese. It’s disturbing. And there’s seldom any alcohol at these shindigs, which is a sort of ironic since, if there’s one place you probably want to be toasted all to hell, it’s probably any place where octogenarians are getting their groove on. All that thick, tan panty hose gyrating. It can ruin a man’s mind in a bad way.

I’d like to give a shout out to Delores-May – that’s an old dear with attitude (and fingers like pincers). Hey there Dee, you were wrong, I can sit down today.

Apparently someone found my little slice of blogosphere by searching for, “should I ask my cleaning lady for a blowjob” to which I have to say, why the hell not? What’s the worst she can do, shove her mop up your ass? On second thoughts maybe you should test the waters first by giving her a raise or something, since she obviously gives you one.

On to more pressing matters. My totally depraved Limey blog buddy, The Imaginary Reviewer mentioned wanting to know some more stuff about my infamous Aunt Lola and regardless if he was serious or not, I’m going to tell you guys some stories now and then on that very subject. Because I have hundreds of them.

This one isn’t about Lola per se, although it takes place at her ranch. It’s also the sweet story of the losing of Tony Spunk’s virginity. Yes, I wasn’t born the hirsute stud you see before you, I was once an innocent.

As y’all might remember, Lola is my ma’s younger sister and a huge whore. I say that affectionately, I’m not being mean or anything. She’s a prostitute. Or she was, because nowadays I think she just fucks dudes for the hell of it and anyways she’s 60 now, the pickings are kind of slim, you dig? She once offered to blow me for a pack of Marlboro’s but she was a raging drunk by that point so I only considered it for about three seconds.

I’m KIDDING.

Back in the day however, she was a professional madam and she had a nice stable of girls working for her. When I lost my cherry, it was back before I even knew that all those scantily clad ladies that hung out at Lola’s, were whores. I was fourteen and I just thought she had a lot of hot girlfriends who liked to walk around in their underwear. It was the late seventies, people were fucking insane in those days. There was a guy in Henderson used to dress as a chicken!

Believe it or not, old Tony was pretty naive for fourteen. I hadn’t seen a naked lady ever, so a bunch of chicks in lingerie and garters meant I pretty much had an impressive pipe in my pants for most of the day. I’d have to go home at night and whack it to pictures of “Charlie’s Angels” so I could get some sleep!

Then one day, while I was working at Lola’s ranch, I met Ana. I was doing some summer work out there and Ana was one of Lola’s girls. She was 19 and all Latina bravado and attitude – she kind of looked like that Penelope Cruz chick but without the substantial honker and crazy eyes – and she used to mess up my hair and slap my ass whenever she passed by. When you’re 14 this gives you a tremendous boner. Come to think of it, when you’re 14 pretty much anything gives you a tremendous boner. I’m kind of surprised the Captain survived that phase of my life.

Anyway, Ana cornered me in the barn one day and kissed me in a most unchaste way and next thing I know she’s got my pants off. I was powerless. OK, I didn’t struggle that much, granted. Or at all. In fact, I might have helped her get them off. Next thing I know we’re down in the hay and she’s on top of me and my hands are mysteriously on her bouncy lady bumps. It happened pretty fast – one minute I’m an innocent school kid and the next I’m the Mayor of Fuckville. For a whole ten seconds! The best ten seconds of that girl’s life! I remember trying to think about football because I hated football and thought it might, you know, slow me down some, but I couldn’t think about football because all I could think about was “there’s a real, live lady-pussy on my penis”, which doesn’t help at all in the slowing down department.

So Ana was my first time. She was a horny bitch, that girl. I mean it’s the perfect profession for a horny bitch, working for Lola at the ranch. Not that she worked there long, since when Lola found out about our exploits, she ripped Ana a new one and sent her packing. I doubt she ever worked again. It’s hard to hook with two assholes. Or maybe it’s an asset, I don’t know.

Lola tried to blackmail me the rest of that summer, into doing odd jobs for her for free, or else she’d tell my ma and get me sent to military school. I imagine military school’s pretty hard for a guy with no balls, which inevitably would be me, when my ma found out I’d been hanging out at the ranch being a hooker’s plaything.

Lola’s ok though. The last time I saw her, she demonstrated her ability to burp “Yellow Rose of Texas”. That’s what I call a dame.

Thanks a lot to all of you who dropped me a line about the jail thing. Okay, the one of you, but who’s counting? I was only in the cell for the night then they let us all go, no charges filed. In the morning, when we were all sober, the lady’s dude said it wasn’t the first time his lady had gotten a little over-friendly with some other fella and that until he saw my paws on her ass he assumed I was a friend of Dorothy. I wasn’t offended or nothing, I got nothing against the ‘mos. Then the other dude – the one who had the piggy wife – he piped up with, “He ain’t gay, no self respecting homo’d be seen dead in that fuckin’ shirt!” which I let slide because I am secure in the knowledge that my style is AWESOME and the fact that I could change my shirt any time but he was stuck with that face. I refrained from telling him this, however, since it could never end well.

So yeah. Anti-climax, huh?

I haven’t boned a lady in almost a week and I’m okay with that. I’m having some ‘me’ time.

In other news, Pedro has a new lady, name of Imelda. What kind of fucked up name is that? Anyway, he’s started wearing cologne which is a bad sign. To be fair, Imelda is sort of hot if you squint a bit. If you’ve just consumed a quart of vodka, that would help too. She’s a touch on the skinny side for me, but hey, each to their own. She does have unfeasibly huge ta tas for a skinny chick. She must have a deal with the God of gravity because she can walk upright and everything.

Okay, time to get back to work. I have to have a set of Brat Pack numbers ready to go for Thursday or risk death by dismemberment by a roomful of grouchy seniors.

Don’t you wish you were me?

Hola fine people of blogworld!

Tony Spunk’s been in jail! No kidding! Well okay, maybe kidding a bit. It was a cell at the local po-po but next best thing, right?

It was an accident though, I am totally innocent of all charges. There was a bit of a misunderstanding and a bit of a ruckus and some punches were thrown and next thing I’m behind bars. It can happen to anyone.

There was this lady you see. You knew a lady had to be involved, right? Well you are correct, but if I can just say in my defense, this lady had an ass like a watermelon and it was bound to happen sooner or later.

She and I were talking, having a pleasant discussion about some mundane bullcrap, while she stroked my satin shirt in a way that made my nipples salute and really, when a lady’s doing that shit you sort of assume the ass gate has been opened and you’re free to peruse the goods, as it were. And she truthfully didn’t seem to mind me squeezing the lobes of love and I certainly didn’t mind doing it, so what could possibly go wrong?

Well her boyfriend for one. He appeared from nowhere and he was the size of a Sumo wrestler only substantially less charming. He was a whole lot less happy about the ass grabbing and let it be known by hoisting me off my barstool and throwing me through a table. Which some other large dude was seated at with what looked to be a giant pig in a pant suit, but later I found out was his wife.

Let me tell you, being thrown through a table ain’t like it looks in the movies. It fucking hurts! My shirt got torn and I got doused in Scotch. And everyone knows Scotch ain’t the Spunk’s beverage of choice, you dig?

So this dude’s all pissy at me getting acquainted with his chick’s buttocks and now this other dude is pissed because his drinks are now on the wall and the piggy chick’s pantsuit is all stained and there’s a really virile, sexy dude in a slinky satin shirt slipping around on the floor on what’s left of his table.

And so it sort of went downhill from there and we all ended up in the pokey. Separate cells thankfully. I had to share with some biker dude named Manny, who spent an hour telling me in graphic detail about how when ladies weren’t seducable (presumably when the roofies don’t work) he liked to vent his aggression by, how can I put this delicately…yes…by fucking seven shades of shit out of fruit. That about says it all. He’d drill holes in pumpkins and melons and you know…put on some Marvin Gaye and voila. Naturally, I stayed firmly seated during that conversation. I ain’t no fruit! (not that there’s anything wrong with it!)

But you sure learn a lot in jail. Like when a giant, bearded, biker who smells like socks wants to demonstrate the correct method for inserting one’s little man into a large fruit, you let him and you just thank God he’s not demonstrating with your asshole.

The Mexican and I hosted our very own little Oscar party at the weekend. I mean we’re not even gay or anything, but we condone anyone who wants a little glitz in their life. Plus we like any excuse to invite over some half wasted ladies in cocktail dresses. So we dressed up, conjured up some hors d’oevres and had a fun night of drunken gaiety and eating olives out of ladies’ cleavages.

It was kind of fun watching all the fine, fine Hollywood ladies (with the emphasis firmly on “wood”) in their sparkly gowns. I got sort of a kick out of it, to be truthful. There ain’t no shame in it. My ma always used to tell me there was a gay man inside me trying to get out, which I always found a little alarming, especially since I had a bowel problem at the time and was having trouble sitting down comfortably. There ain’t nothing wrong with being a ‘mo, you dig, I have some ‘mo friends who’re really fricking awesome dudes and not once has one of them tried to touch my fleshy pipe!

Well except that one time. And I had over-indulged in the Beefeater gin sours and in the dim light I thought he totally was a lady. It can happen to anyone. I, the Spunk, am 100 percent lady-lovin’ hetero. So I have a Liberace album or three. So what if I have a splendid mustache? I am secure in my manliness. I can embrace my feminine side.

Anyway, the Captain got a little rigid when he saw that Sarah Jessica Parker chick. This is the first time that’s happened and truthfully, I was a little concerned because that chick truly looks like a horse. Then I noticed the reason for the Captain’s excitement. That chick was only one small stumble on her high heels away from liberating the mamorial twins from their bustier. The Captain can sense these things you know.

So yeah, hope y’all had a fine weekend with lots of sexy times. Y’all stay fabulous now.

Y'all will be happy to hear I've decided to become a priest! A really sparkly, entertaining priest! A priest who really, really likes ladies with no clothes on. A priest who has zero interest in little boys. Or religion.

No, really I just abstained from schtoomping any ladies this past five days or so because I have been tired and busy as holy fuck and really, it's about time I had a vacation or something. When the Spunk's too beat to interfere with the ladies, he needs some time to chillax, dig?

When I say I didn't schtoomp any ladies the past few days I meant none of my bodily parts entered anyone else's bodily parts. I didn't say I had no lady contact at all. I mean I was too busy to do much of anything but I had me a hot phone date with a lady called Cynthia who was visiting Vegas for a few days. I met her at a show but things being the way they were, ruffling around in her underwear was out of the question. By "the way they were" I totally mean, her husband was with her and he was very large and looked like he very much enjoyed hitting things. He might have had something to say about my hands on his wife's fine, round buttocks.

It didn't stop her phoning me the next night when he'd gone to the casino, and telling me in graphic detail what she wanted to do to me with her succulent venus fly trap. I might have even blushed. Nah, I didn't blush. It was impossible - all my blood was in my cock! That reminds me, I've gotta get some Lysol to get that stain off the wall before my ma comes round tomorrow...

So yeah, busy busy busy. It will end Friday night however and then I have the weekend off to just go out and hang with the ladies (shag till my willie falls off, as the Limeys say), so all is well. I just thought I'd check in with you fine folks. I know you worry about me. You are all goddamn peaches.

I'm pretty damn busy people. Honestly, I don't remember the last time I was this busy. Usually I like to fall out of bed at noon, smoke a cigar and play with my organ for a few hours before starting my day. This past week I've been up at 9am and doing things that involve my brain. Like working new material and stuff. Yeah really! I've had bookings for new shows up the wazoo. My theory is, the worse the economy gets, the more people want some glitter. And you don't get better glitter than Tony Spunk my fine peeps, no siree.

I've been pretty quiet on the lady front too. No new ladies to tell you about. I did see that Josephine chick again a couple of times and she was no less scarily active both those days than she was in the car that first time. Girl might have a bona fide sex addiction problem I'm thinking. Heh. I have a boner fide one.

Okay I'll stop now, before it gets out of hand.

She came around my place at the weekend and effed my brains out. They're still somewhere on the bedroom floor. You know what else was on the bedroom floor (besides my leopard print g-string, all-man sexiness)? Some puke! Sadly Josephine got a little sick on my waterbed. Motion sickness is a bitch, no? At least she waited till after the proceedings ended. I mean I don't want to sound insensitive or nothin' but no one wants to kiss a chick who just blew chunks, you dig?

All in all, a good week but Jesus Harold Christ I need some rest. Hope you guys are all your groovy, fabulous selves.

On Saturday Pedro and myself graced some hole-in-the-wall dive club with our sparkly wit and presence. We were showcasing some new numbers we've been working on. By "showcasing" I mean trying them out on some elderly and possibly demented drunks who can't afford to go see someone more famous. But man, those people got a show. You ain't seen nothing till you've seen a guy with an electric blue, glittery, throbbing organ, in action. My jaw ached from grinning so hard.

Things went down pretty well. Some old dear with one of those distracting blue tooth things sticking out of her ear, kept lifting her skirt and flashing her giant, puce-colored, hose-clad ass at me from the dance floor and blowing kisses. She was 75 if she was a day. To be truthful, at first I thought she might have escaped from a seniors' home or something because she sort of had a cross-eyed, pinched expression and when she lifted her skirt I thought she was about to take a steaming dump on the floor, until I realized her face just always looked like that and she was being "sexy". Lord preserve us. Tony will hit most female specimens, folks, but even he has a line that shall not be crossed. That lady was about 50 miles over it and halfway to hell.

No hotties at all in the place which was a disappointment. Even Pedro was starting to look good to me.

Hah not really. Jesus Christ.

I did a short interview into a tape recorder for some old geezer who remembers the heady days of Sinatra and Martin and who's planning a radio show at the retirement community he lives in. He wanted old Tony here to be the face of the new young brat pack or something. Well I guess 40 is young to HIM at least. He was there for the Declaration of Independence, for fuck's sake.

No other action though. A peaceful weekend. I gave the Captain a night or two off and now he's all hyperactive and jumping around like a chick on a trampoline. Tonight might have to be interesting meaning the Captain might have to get up close and personal with some ladyparts.

Laters my fine amigos.

You're probably wondering if I'm still schtoomping the lovely Josephine, huh?

Okay, you've probably got better things to do than wonder a goddamn thing about old Tony Spunk but humor me here.

Answer is: Sorta. I haven't seen her since that night but we've talked on the phone and we'll probably hook up next week sometime. We're easy on the subject. She's not a gal for getting serious and that suits me just fine. Plus you know, I have a date tonight with Stephanie from the Goldmine Club.

I'm surprised about it to be perfectly honest. She and I always got along. We're buddies you dig? Old pals. We've shared many a laugh over a beer and a game of pool after hours. We haven't shared any bodily fluids, however, thanks for thinking it.

It's not like I haven't pursued that line of interest, mind. I have because Stephanie is one hot tamale.

But old Stephanie is a smart gal. She doesn't want to get all involved with a guy who plays the field and I respect that. I tried telling her she didn't need to get involved at all, but a quick roll in the hay wouldn't be involvement, just a hobby. She didn't bite though, sadly. The date tonight is more of a dinner and pool type of thing, because she likes hanging with me. Naturally, I'll encourage her to drink some moonshine strength bourbon and equally naturally I'll attempt to see how friendly she'll allow me to get with her person, which will be "not very" and I'll go home happy to have spent time with her but desperate to begin pleasuring myself with the first lubricating substance I can get my hands on. Because she's frustrating, old Stephanie. Ass like a firm mattress and I don't even get to grind against it. Life is a bitch sometimes. Thank God I have a strong right hand.

Anyway, I've decided to take it easy for 2009. Stop going at the ladies like a bull in a herd full of cows and chill out a bit. Have a few dates here and there, relax in between and stop trying to sperminate the world.

Hell, I don't want to run out of ladies to polish my organ.

So my hot date with Josephine. I was fully prepared to come on here and write you fine people a little something about that today, then I woke up and thought, "Meh, maybe tomorrow.", rolled over and went right back to sleep. I'm fucked, what can I tell you? I feel like a guy who just ran a marathon with his pecker.

Josephine was a girl with a lot of energy. I know I'd been away from the ladies for a whole week and all but really...she was unusually energetic. Like sort of scarily energetic.

We met at this quiet little bar for drinks at midnight and I dutifully sat there with her for an hour drinking White Russians and feeling my ass chafing in that damn leopard g-string I bought for the date, while she told me politely about her job as a dental hygenist. I couldn't concentrate on that for the g-string business. Never again, seriously. My ass was raw, man! It was like having a barbed wire wedgie or something. Not cool.

The alcohol took my mind off it a little bit, plus the fact I was sitting opposite THE most bodacious set of gazungas God ever placed on this green Earth, helped a ton too. Also old Josephine laughs really easy. She likes jokes - even MY jokes - and she laughs heartily, which is awesome because the harder she laughs the harder her stupendous bosom jiggles. Lord have mercy!

I was just starting to wonder how to go about moving things on to the next stage as my pants were unfeasibly tight suddenly and the Captain was jumping around like a Mexican jumping bean in there, when she moved round my side of the table and stuck her tongue right down my throat without warning. Man, I think I broke some kind of record for departing the premises. I'd dragged her out and into the car in about two seconds. I knew we weren't making it back to my pad so I pulled into the "excess flow" parking lot at the back and we went for it there and then.

That girl has no scruples at all. For real, her hands were everywhere. She was like the female ME. One minute my hand's on her ass and my tongue's in her mouth and the next my pants are round my ankles and she's bare-assed naked on my lap. Holy shit. She was going like crazy too. "OH OH OH SHIT!" she yelled after a minute or so of bouncing around.

"Yeah baby!" I said, "You're almost there! You go girl!"

"No..." she said, "I just slammed my head off the ceiling and it fucking hurt!"

So yeah that sort of dampened things for a second but it took even less than that for her to get back to it. I kindly lowered the seats a little. I like my ladies conscious although you know, any port in a storm. I'm kidding. Anyway, I wasn't even doing anything by this time just letting her use me like a human dildo or something.

Afterwards we drove to her place and instead of saying goodnight, she dragged me inside and goddamn if she didn't expect me to do it all again. The Captain groaned and it's not often that happens. I still managed to plough her field though - The Spunk still got the magic, y'all. I didn't let you down.

I wouldn't swear or anything but when I was driving home afterwards I'm sure I saw smoke coming out of my fly. Probably the Captain smoking a cigarette. Dude earned it!

Hola you bitchin' people.

Tony has been busy, yes indeedy. And by "busy" I completely mean "having sex with the ladies" so y'all can just indulge me for a minute.

So I won the bet although kudos to the Mexican for shadowing me right up till the midnight hour to make sure I didn't cheat on it. Distrusting little fucker. I used the fifty bucks to get some pussy - heh, I'm totally kidding, Tony doesn't pay for it, it just lands in his lap!

No, I used the fifty bucks to buy some of these babies for my hot date with Josephine. I didn't buy them from the UK or nothin' like that link, I found some right here on the Strip if you can believe it. I know right, Vegas has sex shops, you totally didn't expect that little bombshell did you?

Actually, I was kind of surprised to find that link up there was a store in the UK because I totally thought limeys were too busy drinking tea and saluting the Queen to be thinking about schtoomping the ladies. My good limey blog buddy The Imaginary Reviewer is probably gonna kick my ass for that comment, but he's an exception to the rule. I have a feeling that dude's a deviant like the rest of us so it's okay.

They had some fucked up shit in that store though let me tell you. I felt kind of innocent in comparison. I didn't know what half that stuff is actually used for. I mean odd shaped objects that vibrate and pulsate and have multi pronged ends. What the shit?

I'm an old fashioned kinda guy. I use my pecker and my tongue, and my hands know their way around a lady's contours okay, but some of those gadgets in there looked more like something you'd find at Guantanemo Bay. I got me an education I'll tell ya. Have you heard of the We-Vibe? I'm totally getting that for some lucky lady.

Another funny story - when I was about nine or ten I'd hang at my aunt Lola's house a lot. Aunt Lola is the family black sheep and for a while nobody talked about her a whole lot. Here's an old entry about her in case you're bored and want the background on that. Let's just say she ran a special house for ladies who liked to entertain gentlemen and leave it at that.

Anyway, when I was a kid I was round there hanging with Lola and to make a long, embarrassing story shorter, I once tried to beat scrambled eggs with a huge white vibrator. It was a mistake anyone could make. It was in a drawer and I thought it was one of them new fangled mixer things. Yeah. That was awkward.

I still ate the eggs though.

I saw Lola last Christmas at a big family dinner in Henderson - she's almost 60 now, a touch on the alcoholic side and still dirty as hell, and she slapped me on the back in the middle of the main course and yelled "Bothered any eggs with your vibrating penis lately son?"

So yeah this is getting lengthy (that's what SHE said!) so I'll tell you about the actual date with Josephine tomorrow. Believe me, it's worth waiting for, which is what I told HER on the night!

El Spunkarino's wanger feels like it's been beaten with a salted whip by a fat lady with a grudge.

Y'all know what tomorrow is, right? Sure it's old Barry Obama's inauguration, absolutely, but you know what else? It's day seven of the 'Spunk Shuns Sex' event right here in my pants and it can't come a minute too soon.

I hope ya'll excuse THAT pun.

I'm at the stage now where, whenever I so much as hear a lady's voice, an oak tree blooms in my pants. Even if that lady's the chick at the DMV who resembles Gene Wilder.

I just survived a weekend of being up to my neck in the ladies and not being able to do a damn thing about it. It's a cruel world, I just live in it. It's all about harmony you see. Tony and the ladies go together like crackers and cheese. Or Sonny and Cher. Or Jeremy Piven and an asshole convention. It's just the way the world is and I am powerless to change it.

So tomorrow night at midnight I got me lined up with a fine lady named Josephine. Josephine and I are meeting up for cocktails and some laughs, but not a single appendage of my own will touch her fine wobbling flesh till that clock strikes midnight, you can be sure of that. Then all bets are off. Just like I'm hoping her pants will be. (You might notice I've quit being subtle, y'all, because this is an emergency.)

I met Josephine on Friday night at my show. She was propping up the bar all on her lonesome, in some pastel pink slacks, like my mom used to wear in 1973, and a lilac blouse. I noticed her because her ensemble matched my fuchsia shirt.

Well that and the fact her fine pumpkins were making that blouse work hard at keeping the buttons on.

She actually wasn't that interested at first. Seems she found my lines 'corny'. What the shit, lady?

I told her, 'Sweetie, you must be hormonal or something because those lines are tried and tested nuggets of pure genius that have gained me some fine, premium ass in the past!'. She replied, 'Tony, you are as insignificant as the head of a mouse's dick.' which confirmed she wanted me and didn't want me to know. I talked her around though. I always do in the end.

She's pretty fine. Mid-thirties, pear shaped ass that fills a chair when she sits down and those fine twins up top I mentioned earlier. Y'all know I'm more an ass man, but a guy notices all a lady's glories, yes Sir. Plus she wants me bad seeing as how I refrained from putting out both Friday and Saturday and she totally thinks I'm playing hard to get.

I told her, 'Doll, my buddy and I have a bet going but YOU can bet your fine ass that the second the bet is over, I'll have you bent over the hood of my car in the parking lot screaming for Jesus.'

What can I say, I'm an old charmer. Also I'm horny, unable to act on the horny and therefore completely unable to be gentlemanly about it.

I guess we'll see tomorrow night, 12:00am Mountain Time, oh yeah.

If you'll excuse me, I have to go polish something.

Last night Pedro and I did a short set downtown at Leslie Von Snoot's bar. Leslie called me up, panties all in a knot about some band letting him down and asked if we could fill in.

Filling in is Pedro and I's specialty (after the ladies, you understand) so we were down there in an instant, like flies on a shit pie.

Fortunately, it was a rockin' good night, full of good peeps, good beverages and good times but unfortunately it was crammed full to the brim with ladies of supreme quality.

Now I don't know if it's just that I'm on day four of a lady-drought - because seriously, all the ladies start to look like Barbarella after a while - or if they really were just grade A. top notch ladybeef, but whoa nellie! There were some fine lookers. It was making The Little Captain cry real tears of sorrow and making me wonder if fifty bucks was really worth giving up this caliber of awesome.

However a bet is a bet and Tony's too proud to renege on such a thing so I had to make do with flirting heavily and pocketing a few phone numbers. For later. Because that wasn't in the rules or nothin'. I didn't touch though. Not a single, soft, voluptuous breast puckered under my fingertips. Of course my pecker hurts like a losing boxer this morning after an enthusiastic session with the Nivea when I got home and thought about all those fine female specimens.

It was hard though. It reminded me of back when I was dating this chick, Teresa who was insanely jealous. Like Lorena Bobbit jealous. If I so much as suggested a lady polish my organ, old Teresa had a cow and turned into Freddy Krueger.

This one night I was heading to the men's room after a set and this crazy lady cornered me out of nowhere. Quite a fine lady too, big, child bearing hips and that four boob effect that the ladies get when their undergarments don't fit right. She wanted a piece of me for sure. She had me against the wall in a nano second. She also had more arms than that Goddess chick the Hindus dig. They were in my hair, in my pants, in my shirt. It was like being inside a washing machine full of hands. I mean what could I do, right? Plus that chick was just plain dirty in a good way. And a tad scary. So scary I didn't try to stop her! It was for my safety, y'all.

Still for some reason old Teresa wasn't thrilled when she ran out to look for me and found me, back against the wall with some big, doughy whirlwind of a woman rubbing the Captain with her nipples. I mean the chick was crazy, what could I do?

Anyway, what was I talking about again? Yeah, resisting the ladies. It ain't easy, it's all I'm saying.

Last night I took my sister and my nephew for dinner at this little Italian bistro I usually reserve for my sexy ladies. The staff know me and everything. They joke about putting a giant photo of me in a smoking jacket, on the wall there. Those guys!

Nathan is seven now and boy, he ain't shy. He wanted to go to Hooters but Tony is not that crass. I wouldn't take a seven year old to Hooters because as soon as that kid's old enough to be dreaming about boobies, I'll take him someplace QUALITY where he can get an eyeful of prime, fleshy merchandise that he stands a fair chance of getting up close and personal with. Not a fast food chain full of spring break chicks who're addicted to peroxide and spray tans. Although, Tony would tap that if desperate, in case there was any doubt.

Georgette's looking fine. I mean really fine. I couldn't help but notice, it's not creepy or anything. She's a sweetheart. She and I always got along great. Even my mom and Georgette get along awesomely. My mom always wanted a daughter I think. Instead she got a hirsute son who can belch the Star Spangled Banner and who likes loud tuxedos. Those guys are spending the day at my mom's today as a matter of fact. I don't know what the hell they talk about. Periods, cooking, Brad Pitt and how my dad was a philandering bastard, I guess.

Day three without the poontang, people. By day seven I'll be motoring into the nearest bar to snort coke off a hooker's belly, washed down with tequila while hitting on every lady in the place. It will be an orgy at chez Spunk.

At least I expect to squeeze a plump little senorita's castanets.

Hey peeps, guess what? My sister, Georgette is in town from Arizona with my nephew and I'm kinda excited. I don't get to see much of them except weddings and funerals and plus it'll take my mind off schtoomping the ladies for a while, I'm thinking. Well maybe not entirely off it. But it will help.

Georgette isn't my true sister or nothing, she's technically my half sister. She's eight years younger than me and we have the same father - one Antonio Spunk II. My dad, to be perfectly truthful, got around a lot in his younger days. He and my uncle Dick used to play their instruments - in all senses of the word - in their mariachi band, all over the south and southwest in the sixties and seventies, so really I should be grateful he only spawned one secret sibling (that I'm aware of anyways).

I didn't know a damn thing about Georgette (or she about me) until I was 19 and she was still a kid. My old man's liver finally quit and he went to the great mariachi band in the sky and in his will (scribbled on a beer mat if you can believe THAT shit!) he left everything to my mom, me and to Georgette, who was news to both me AND my mom. There were also two letters, one addressed to me and one for Georgette, explaining the whole thing. Well I say "explain" - mine actually said, "Hey Bozo, guess who's got a kid sister? YOU! You take care of her, you big homo!" He had a way with words the old, drunk bastard.

I was kinda excited finding out I had a sister, but my mom was understandably less enthusiastic. She was all for digging up my father, castrating him with rusty scissors and putting his head on a pole in the yard as a reminder. But later, after she chilled out a touch, she encouraged me to contact my sister and we've been in touch ever since.

She's pretty cute too, you know in a perfectly brotherly affectionate way, you dig? I didn't even notice her bodacious ta tas or JLO ass because she's my SISTER y'all. My nephew is a trip too. A real little livewire. Likes tinkling on my organ a whole lot, so I guess some of my old man rubbed off on him too.

I just reread that sentence and saw "FBI" written all over it but I'm too tired to change it.

So yeah. Two days, zero punani. I am so proud of me.

Last night Pedro and I hammered out some new numbers for a show we have this weekend. Somehow, during rehearsal, he managed to place bet on me being able to stay away from the ladies for a whole week and I agreed. Yes my fine friends, if I don't partake in any lady action for seven whole days, he has to give me fifty bucks. I don't really need fifty bucks, it's more the principle of the thing, you dig? I want to smirk in the guy's little, brown face as I take that note from his grubby little hand and head for the nearest titty bar.

Still it's going to be hard (in all senses!). I mean there's a weekend in there and a weekend where I have to play two shows, meaning I will be surrounded by the ladies and their fine, fragrant, curvy beauty and won't be able to do a darn thing about it. I am determined though. I will be firm about this. I will be a goddamn priest for a week. Apart from the touching little boys' bottoms in the name of Jesus, that is.

The Mexican thinks I can't do it. He says I'll fail first time I leave the house, because the ladies are my specialty and I have a sort of subconscious homing beacon in my pants that leads me right to them, no matter where I am. I say he can blow me. Let's face it, no lady can. At least for seven more days.

Tony Spunk is up for a week of celebacy, yes indeedy. I mean how hard can it be?

Hola Mis Peepos!!

You know who's a great big, prancing lady? Michael Bublé. I know I should probably embrace the guy, given my line of work and all and given the fact I often don a suit in pastel shades and listen to Liberace, therefore, calling anyone else a 'big, prancing lady' probably made y'all splutter into your coffee in indignant wonder, but seriously folks. Michael Bublé? He's a giant, Canadian cupcake. With pink frosting. He probably drinks Courvoisier and plucks his eyebrows while swaggering in front of the mirror. Don't be fooled ladies, the only person Bublé loves is Bublé.

Of course I ain't jealous or anything. Apart from of his name. Having both "Boob" and "Lay" in your name should, by default, make you fuckin' badass, right? No. It makes you look like a * giant lady's front bottom.

Of course you may argue that having "Spunk" in your name isn't exactly exuding class and it would be hard to debate that.

Spunk isn't my real name, you dig? It's short for Spuncero and my granddad, for some reason, decided to shorten it when he arrived in the U.S. back in the day from Ancuna, Mexico where he'd spent countless decades riding around in cars with three doors, playing mariachi music and planning an escape to the States where he believed people shat gold and wiped their asses with Benjamin Franklin. He probably thought 'Spunk' seemed less Mexican, and goddamn, he got that right, although honestly, the dude was five foot four with creased brown skin, two teeth and a nose that spanned two states width wise, so it wasn't necessarily a great cloaking tactic. Neither was shortening it to something that got my ass kicked approximately seven hundred times as a kid, until I grew up to look like a 'younger, pointier, more glittery Tom Selleck' and they laid off a bit. Only because it was more fun to pick on my stupendous mustache instead. Fuckers.

Anyway yeah, Michael Bublé. What's up with that guy? He's a false idol, ladies, not like yours truly who will bring you love, glamor and possibly a sneaky little rash (but I've heard that clears up in a day or two with the right ointment).

* I apologize, ladies, for likening your wonderful, juicy ladybits to a steaming asstard like Bublé, I will repent immediately. Then again later and at two hour intervals after. With my cock.

My cleaning lady, Consuela, was here earlier. She drops in every second Friday because although I'm fairly responsible and can manage stuff like feeding myself, defecating regularly and dropping off my dry cleaning, I'm like most guys - I can't seem to get the hang of a mop or a duster and can think of a trillion reasons not to shove my arm down a toilet in the name of cleanliness. I've known Consuela since I was a kid when she worked with my mom at Caesar's before she started her cleaning business so she gives me a discount and everything.

Every now and then, like today, she brings her granddaughter, Eva, with her when she cleans. I've known Eva a couple of years now and she's a little shithead. Not many nine year olds are experts in extortion and blackmail, but Eva has it down pat.

Today, Consuela ran out to get some supplies and Eva stayed with me. She wanted to watch Springer. Should a nine year old be watching that shit, I don't know? Should ANYONE be watching that crap? However, arguing with the little shit is futile so I let her switch it on.

And then we had the most frightening conversation ever in the history of conversations.

Eva: I'm learning French this year after school.
Tony: What? Oh. That's nice.
Eva: I'm really good at it. Tracy Laponte is in my French class.
Tony: That's nice. Is Tracy a friend of yours?
Eva: No, she's FOURTEEN! She's got extensions like Britney and she works at Dairy Queen. Everyone likes her because she's good at drawing and blowjobs.
Tony: She...wait...what did you say?
Eva: Tanya (Eva's best friend) told me. Everyone says Tracy's good at drawing and blowjobs and that's why everyone likes her.
Tony: !!!!!
Eva: Uncle Tony...what's a blowjob?
Tony: Oh Jesus Christ...um...are you hungry? Can I make you a snack or something?
Eva: I had lunch already. What's a blowjob?
Tony: ...I have no idea, I think it's a girl thing, did you ask your mom? You should ask your mom.
Eva: SHE said it was something you got at the hair salon when they dry your hair.
Tony: Your mom is 100% correct.
Eva: If you don't tell me? I'll ask my grandma. And I'll say that you taught me it. And I'll tell her about those magazines with the naked ladies in your hallway closet.
Tony: For the love of God, kid.
Eva: So what is a blowjob?
Tony: You're too young to be asking about such things.
Eva: Is it something dirty? You have to tell me. Tanya says it's when a girl puts a boy's pee pee in her mouth but that's just GROSS. I mean who wants to do THAT?
Tony: No one. I can't think of one person who'd want to do something that gross.
Eva: Boys are gross. They smell like frogs.
Tony: Yes they do. You should stay away from boys till they smell better. Oh look your grandma's back!

Honest to God, what the fuck is up with kids nowadays? This is why people drink before noon.

Here's a short story about Pedro almost getting bitchslapped by some lady at Taco Bell.

Before you say it, I know, I know...what's a real, genuine Mexican doing at Taco Bell, right? Don't even ask.

Anyway, we had just finished a show and decided to catch a bite. So we're standing there, half drunk, eating burritos filled with supposed refried beans that looked like baby poop, when Pedro sneezed violently.

Now, normally a sneeze is no big deal, but in this case he sneezed so hard he squeezed his burrito a little too enthusiastically (not a euphemism for once) and it flew right out of his fist and I swear to God, smacked into this lady's cleavage with the approximate velocity of a heat seeking missile, spilling hot bean lava all down her chest (sadly, also not a euphemism).

This was a large lady (imagine if Jabba the Hutt swallowed Michael Moore whole then went to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet) and I could tell you she wasn't as amused as I was at this cleavage aiming development, but that would be a grave understatement. She was ball-busting, head-spinning, hissyfit furious.

Next thing I know, she's making a sound like I imagine a warthog shot by an arrow might make and heading right for Pedro. For a lady the size of a hot air balloon she sure could motor. I was kind of impressed if you want to know the truth. Her fists were like giant hams.

I never saw that Mexican move so fast in my life. He was out the door and probably across the state line in under a minute. Luckily the lady was out of steam before she reached the door so catastrophe was avoided. I momentarily thought about distracting her with some sweet talking, as is my specialty, but just looking at her made my penis cry and it's not often a lady has that effect on the Captain.

It sure was funny but on retrospect, you kinda had to be there.

Let's start with a recent event, shall we? Right after Carmen booted my ass, Pedro and I went out to commiserate with a few light beverages and a pleasant snack at a titty bar downtown. I’m sorry ladies, I realize this is crass but tits and beer go together like Sonny and Cher or Donny and Marie, there’s nothing I can do about this equation, it just is.

So my good buds of the blogworld - all like...three of you - I have stories from the past few months I've been too lazy to print. Tony always has stories. They ain't always classy stories or even interesting ones but no one really reads this shit anyway so I figure what the hay, I'll tell you a few. Not all at once, mind, I don't want y'all accusing me of boring the pants off of you, although if you're a lady, feel free to drop 'em regardless, okay? I won't say nothing.

Some of my stories are about Mexico - remember that? Yeah! Some wild debauched stories about wildness. And debauchery.

Then there was this chick I was seeing (Miranda - I think I briefly mentioned her) while I was still dealing the salami to old Carmen. That didn't go down too well in retrospect but it provided another story.

Then of course there's Pedro. I have a disturbing and aromatic story about the crazy little Mexican fucker after a bad night eating chili. I know you can't wait for that!

Hey. Did you see that, up there? Put those chicks' names together and you get Carmen Miranda. That chick from the old days who walked around in tight garb with giant fruits on her head! Wicked!

Oh, and talking of giant fruits I got a story about these Siegfried and Roy impersonators I met in Reno that will knock your socks off.

Tomorrow though I'm going to tell you about a recent escapade I had with an alien named Bonnie. Can you stand the suspense?

Right now I have to go meet Carmen to take her some stuff she left at my place. She finally broke up with me the other week for good. I'll never understand the ladies, quite frankly. I mean, first I cheated on her (kinda sorta - I will explain in a later story) and she didn't break up with me and then the other day I'm being all understanding and kind and other metrosexual bullshit like that and she goes and tosses my ass out! She was being a bitch that day too, all I did was show a little concern for her health and she hit the damn roof. She was whining about headaches and bitching about how a dude never wants to put his socks in the hamper for laundry and going on and on and on and I swear to God, all I said was, "Aw honey, are you on your period again?"

I mean WTF?

Holy macaroni, buddies! I guess I've been pretty lazy on the whole blog thing lately and my only real excuse for this is my hectic, crazy life as the Hef of Las Vegas (either that or laziness, I'll let you decide). Anyway, I have been kind of busy with shows and the like and I will update about that pretty soon. Because I have tales, ladies and genitals!

That's "tales" not "tails" in case you were worried, although I do have one pretty spectacular tail as it happens. It's on my front and it's quite substantial, ladies! Line up over here.

Tales later compadres! 'Feliz Nuevo Ano', which might actually mean 'Happy new anus' in which case, forget I said anything.