March 20th 2011

I promise that contrary to rumor, I have not been in jail.

Not this month. Heh. Sorry about being the shittiest updater ever but sometimes I'm just up to my tits in life, good and bad and I never seem to have time. Either that or I forget to pay the cable bill again and you know. That's a pain in the ass when you log onto your blog at 3am, hammered on Jager and full of stories about hookers who might look a lot like a lady until your finger's caressing an Adam's Apple the size of a baseball. It can happen to anyone, guys.

What have you guys been doing in good old 2011? I hope you've gotten some kicking poontang, be you a lady or a dude. I mean nothing calms the soul like some genital harmony with a fox of the opposite gender, right? Or the same gender if that's what floats your yacht. Tony has no problems with the dudes who like to party in a sausage fest or ladies who do a little clam diving, you dig? It's all good. You all go on with your good funky selves.

As y'all know I'm all about the ladies, despite the fact I might look like a sexy, shiny bastard who can rock pink and knows too much about the life of Liberace. I don't get through a week without some drunken dude deciding I have a Barbra Streisand collection (and I do!) which obviously suggests to them I like to lick dude's taints and I'm okay with that assumption. I'm secure in my manliness.

Anyways, Pedro and I got a hectic spring gig schedule going down the next month or so. There's hardly going to be time to dry clean my satin suits between engagements and I've just spent an entire weekend drinking forties and polishing my organ in readiness. Now I just need a lady to polish my other organ and I'll be golden. Vegas is expecting a new slew of ladies to come in to town to drink some margaritas and encounter a sexy, shiny bastard with a glint in his eye and a zucchini in his pants.

Hope y'all are good?

August 26 2010

What a weird assed few weeks my good buddies of blogville. I'm going to tell you something now that might cause severe disbelief and maybe even anxiety. And perhaps a tear of grief if you're a lady, hah. Don't worry ladies, I still love each and every luscious one of you. However, it appears I may have an actual girlfriend.

I know, right? Me, El Spunkarino, dating a lady, with roses and wine and goddamn romance, instead of just peeling off her slacks and banging her in my waterbed before sending her on her merry way. What's up with that, shit?

You know my philosophy, there are a lot of ladies out there to meet, greet and possibly bone and I enjoy getting to know as many of them as will let me. I'm an average looking guy, so I'm always delighted that the ladies allow me access to their private love chambers. I know I sound like an over cocky shit, but honestly, I'm grateful.

I've always been straight up about my intentions though. The ladies I dally with are just like me. They're not looking for a husband or a long-term deal, they're looking for fun, cocktails and a nice, hard eight inches they can ride to heaven and then we all go happily on our merry ways. Plus Vegas is a small town when you live here. You're going to run into the local gals again, it's good to be on good terms. Anyways, they know my intentions and I know theirs and all is hunky dory. It's like having a dozen friends with benefits, the benefits being you don't have to get all up in each other's business when you're not around each other.

But then I met Sally and she just sort of snuck up on me. I mean, I'm not ready to marry the gal or let her meet my ma or anything serious, but we've been out five times in all now and that's sort of a record for a commitmentaphobe like old Tony. Five times.

I admit, the first couple times were sheer unadulterated lust. Old Sally has an ass like a fine ripe tomato and I did ask her permission to tell you that. She's proud of her best ass-et. Her ass does things to me in a pencil skirt that make my knees give out. Every night I can't wait to get my hands on it amongst other things. And she has plenty up front too. I don't know what's happening to me, I'm in a constant danger of busting the zipper on my pants when she's around, if you get my meaning. You dirty dogs, of course you do. My Nivea pot's been sitting on the vanity unloved for two weeks.

So yeah I'm not sure "girlfriend" is what Sally is just yet, but I sure like being around her so we'll see how far it goes I guess. I haven't even lusted after another lady since I've been seeing her. I mean I've looked, sure, I'm not freaking Mother Theresa or anything, but no moves have been made. I just compare all the ladies to Sally. All I can think about is that round, ripe ass and her come hither eyes and zing, I've popped another button.

It might be more "in lust" who can tell? I just know that if a girl's eager to bang your scrawny drunk ass on the hood of your car in the parking lot, you must be doing something right.

Hey there my little blogolas! Long time no see. This is because I’m still in the throws of being a lazy ass and because I’ve been far too busy dallying with lovely ladies to be writing here for the likes of you reprobates and delinquents. I’m joking. Y’all are beautiful people. We both know it. Your beauty knows no boundaries. But still, dallying with the ladies is mucho importanto.

Especially since, in all honesty folks, I’d been slipping a little lately in the lady department. Like my mojo packed its bags and took off for sunnier climes without me.

The Captain was also in mourning due to the lack of serious punani coming his way. I thought he might shrivel up and drop off from lack of use, so I had to practically buy stakes in Nivea for a while there to keep him in good working order, you dig? Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. We all do it. It’s good for one’s health. Or something.

Anyway, I’m back on the lady wagon, thanks to a hectic few weeks with a lady named Amber. I can’t quite decide if “Amber” is like, a porn name or the name of an innocent chick who works at the library. However I’m going to go with the former, because my Amber sure has some moves in the sack. She even kind of shocked me and well, that never happens. A guy has to draw the line someplace though, and someplace for me turned out not to be Brownsville, Texas, as I’d always assumed, but a lady who likes to take complete control in bed. Who’d have thunk that would derail old Spunky huh? Anyways, complete control to this chick means she down and out proposed an evening of switching roles. You know, in that way…

I was lost for words for a whole 20 seconds people. I mean this chick wanted to pound me. She hinted at having one of those strap-on contraptions that lesbian chicks apparently dig, and she wanted to try it out on my ass. Literally as it happens. Thing looked like one of Muhammed Ali’s legs! Hell no. I’m all for experimentation and all, but truthfully my chocolate starfish puckered up like a toothless geriatric sucking on a lemon just thinking about it. Tony’s posterior has a strictly ‘exit only’ policy. No foreign objects allowed.

I think she was kind of disappointed but what can you do? As that Meatloaf dude once famously said, “I will do anything for love, but I won’t do that.” Now I know what he meant!

Peace out guys.

Holy hell, here I am again being all delinquent with my updating. There was a time I was a whore for this blogging deal and I'd like to be again only I've been suffering a somewhat dry period. For writing I mean, not for the ladies. I mean there ain't no flying porcine beasts outside, right? No, the ladies are still flowing like a good, chilled wine.

I do realize I sound like a misogynistic asshole sometimes and well, I am. I don't mean to be, honest, it's just that my appreciation for the fine ladies of the Earth is so overwhelming I get carried away and say things that could be construed as vulgar. And actually are. But I mean well, I truly do. See it's all about the appreciation. I appreciate every single day the fact that fair, curvy, spicy ladies of all ethnicities and ripeness like to ride my fleshy pony. I'm thankful to whatever God might be up there that they let a weather beaten old fucker like me touch their smooth ivory (or ebony!) flesh. And if there is a God I bet she's a lady too. A fine lady with an ass like a well filled water balloon.

Is that blasphemous? It's a compliment.

I should point out that Satan is probably also a lady. Namely Sarah Palin.

So yes, stuff's been going on personally and professionally and I do have stories but this here writer's block's been kicking my ass like a basketball player in a bar fight and I can't seem to shake it. The block I mean, not my ass. I can shake that bad boy like Michael J. Fox at a Parkinson's Convention.

That was tasteless huh? Sorry Mikey man. Peace to you, bro. And no hot drinks, okay?

So yeah, Uncle Tony's back and checking you all out. Hi to you new guys following, I am going to stalk you all till the restraining order arrives.

Love.

Howdy good buddies.

Last night was the Oscars and any of you who know my usual M.O. know that uncle Tony always hosts a little Oscar night soiree at chez Spunk. To be perfectly honest, I don't give a shit about the Oscars as a whole, but I do like me a chance to ogle some fine ladies in tight, low cut gowns and it's my experience that the ladies also enjoy a few cocktails and a chance to spurt forth their views on the gowns too, therefore, party time.

Sure you might think it's a whole lot gay for a dude to be throwing Oscar parties and you'd probably be right except for one thing. You forgot the point. Throwing an Oscar party means inviting a ton of ladies to attend in cocktail dresses and getting shitfaced drunk in your pad and of course, they leave their men at home because dudes would rather watch football or wrestling or like...paint drying, than watch a bunch of Hollywood assholes yelling a bunch of names while fingering a golden dude and picturing their bank accounts.

So it's a win win situation. And even if I don't receive any fine lady action myself, I do get to admire their fine physiques in appreciation and while watching the ceremony on TV, think things like "what would happen if Hilary Swank jumped up and down a couple times in that dress?" making The Captain tremble in pleasure and meaning I have to go excuse myself while I look at a photo of Meryl Streep naked till he's shocked back into serenity. I don't know what it is about Meryl Streep man. I truly don't. Lady's an acting dynasty all of her own but she makes me think of a wicked witch. The Captain shrivels up like last week's lettuce when he hears her name. I swear to God that woman has a venus fly trap for a vagina. I ain't getting close enough to find out though.

So the party went pretty well. I got a few digits of friends of friends. One was a pretty cool and simultaneously smoking hot lady, name of Christine, who was in town from the east coast and had an ass that looked like she was smuggling a whole hot air balloon in her slacks. I couldn't take my eyes off that giant fleshy globe all night, even when Queen Latifah took the stage. I think I've told you about my QL fetish? She looks like a lady who'd like to beat your ass during sex. I'm not really into that kinda thing but I like a lady with big curves and a big, bad attitude, so somehow she yanks all my chains. Too bad she prefers oysters to sausages.

I think I'll leave it there.

Howdy pardners!