While kids in Africa starve to death, while minorities in China are locked away in internment camps, and while gang on gang violence rips urban communities apart, some people are bold enough to face one of the BIGGEST problems facing the Western world. The use of the phrase “Hey, guys.”
Apparently, the word “guy” might offend someone because they think the word is for a group of men, and while yes the word guy does often associate to men, it doesn’t always. The obvious example is the phrase “hey, guys.”
“Hey, guys” is a common phrase to get attention from a group of people. This phrase is effective and works.
Those that live and actually interact with people probably aren’t even aware that this is a problem, but according to The Atlantic, it is. The arguments for it are all boil down to antidote fluff based on feeling and, honestly, really over thinking the phrase. Don’t people have anything better to do?
One example in the article is Brad Ward, a transgender woman that feels “pain” whenever he is included in a group that is called “guys”. That’s a level of sensitivity that wouldn’t survive five minutes in middle school, much less a stroll through the third ward. The entitlement that most certainly comes with the mindset that others must change their language to accommodate your needs is silly to me. I find it silly and pretentious in professional circles, too. But, at least there’s a reason why certain words and phrases are used. If you get offended over the word “guys”, then you take some Midol and chill for a bit.
The article also tried to make the case that “guys” could grate on women working at male-heavy companies. What the hell? It’s not like you can call them ladies and be okay because someone might get offended for something benign. But more importantly, I thought woman were supposed to be strong and independent? Are women really that fragile that the word “guy” grates on them? NO! First off, this article does not speak for all women, but #NOTALL seems to not compute. Second, the entitlement that someone deserves special treatment because they’re the one percent that gets offended by “guys” is telling of some deep seeded psychological issues. Maybe they were bullied and they want to be the word police bully. Maybe they’re an entitled brat that learned that crying over non-issues not only gets attention but leads to a change in their favor.
The article promotes words like “y’all” and “folks” and as a southern boy in Texas let me tell you somethin’. Don’t you dare appropriate my culture! I’m kidding. I think it would be funny to hear more people use those words, but it wouldn’t have the same soul. Besides, I really should be offended by this because weren’t phrases like “hey, y’all” mocked for being a southern thing, but I just don’t care.
When we reach the point in society where we’re wanting to do away with words as benign as “guys” then we need to realize we have it pretty good and need to stop manufacturing problems.
The Deadman’s Tome podcast starts off with the Queen of Filth, followed by strange creatures with Dan Allen, and then paranormal activity with Tammy Gyarmathy.
Monday at 9:30PM CST – Dani Brown (Queen of Filth)
Wednesday at 9:30PM CST – Dan Allen
Friday at 9:30PM CST – Tammy Gyarmathy (paranormal investigator)
It’s Mr. Deadman’s birthday. While that may not be very important, what he offers in a means to celebrate is. Book of Horrors I II and III are 50% off. We’re talking print copies. You can only get this deal by purchasing off of the Lulu.com store and use ONESHIP coupon code for free or discounted shipping (it works for us).
Brand new free to read ezine for August. This issue has some fan mail, a brand new short story, samples from already published anthologies, and an article on why YOU should listen to Thundernerds!
Real American Horror was a successful anthology. It might not have sold like gangbusters, or make money hand over fist, but it was well received and earned Top 10 Best Horror Anthology! You be your ass we were excited and honored by that.
But Real American Horror is just the beginning. You see, the plan is to take this concept and localize it to all of the states across the country and grab stories and content that reflect the respected state. Because Deadman’s Tome is housed in Texas, we decided to start in the Lone Star State.
Four strong contenders entered the ring in the August 2018 The Meat Grinder. Renee Miller is a favorite on the podcast and the author of Eat the Rich. Sravani is a returning champion. Amy is talented writer and formidable challenger, and Lisa might know a few secrets to give her an advantage.
The question is who will win? Who will receive the most reads, comments, and likes by August 31, 2018? The winner gets $50!
Right from the start Patti had Billy,her older brother wrapped around her little finger. He adored her and would do anything for her. He brushed her long wavy hair, laid out her clothes, ran her bath, and was a true slave in every sense of the word as I look back on it now.
Billy was a few years older than Patti and was a rather handsome man, Platinum blonde hair, baby blue eyes surrounded by a strong muscular build. Billy had strong, yet gentle hands, just like his Father’s. Patti enjoyed it ever so much when Billy rubbed her feet for her, or carried her up the stairs and put her to bed.
Their father doted on both of them, which made it worse for Patti with their Mother, who essentially dommed him. She was very controlling and manipulative, and Patti learned well from her how to get the things she wanted.
Their Mother used to switch Billy and us for the slightest infraction. Their Father used to buy her bottles of perfume, and jewelry just to distract her from the children. Daddy took his fair share of whippings. Billy and Patti would listen as she made him cry out for her. Daddy always referred to Mother as Mommy, it was a term of endearment between the two of them. He was definitely her Slave Hubby, and would walk through hell for her. Patti vowed one day to have a Slave Hubby of my own.
Billy and Patti were blaring The Ramones one night, as Mother and Daddy went out for the evening, and we could blast the stereo, and play their guitars as loud as they wanted. They were smoking a bong and sharing a fifth of Imperial whiskey. Billy began to look into her eyes and sing softly and sweetly. ”I can’t control my fingers, I can’t control my brain….” His soft blue eyes were glassy, but there was no mistaking the adoration he held for her in his eyes.
Patti rose from the chair and loosened her bra. Letting it fall to the floor. Her full, round breasts exploded into the air. “Ah, I have wanted to do that all day. I love letting them bounce free, and when the air hits them, how my nipples get hard.” She said, leaning over him let my her nipple brush against his fingers while he strummed the guitar. He began to salivate, drool dripping from the corners of his mouth.
Patti ran her fingers through his thick wavy hair, taking the guitar out of his hand, and sat in his lap. feeling him grow beneath her ample bottom. Placing her erect nipple in his mouth, he sucked fervently, and she felt herself weaken as her eyes met his. She knew her power. She felt it beneath her bottom. She rubbed and grinded against his pulsating erection while he suckled her, Billy began to tremble. I felt a surge of warm wetness on her bottom, he had lost it on her. Ejaculating all over Patti’s pretty pink panties.
Patti jumped up and grabbed his hair, “Billy, you little slut! You came on my new panties!” and she smacked him across the face. “Nasty Whore, you are going to sleep in these tonight!” She said handing them to him, and laughing wickedly.
Billydid as she commanded; he was putty in her hands and would do anything Patti told him to do at this point. “Brother, darling, model for me.” She ordered. In those pink panties, snugly, on his muscular buttocks, he was a sight to behold. His cock sprung forth, giving away his excitement at his own humiliation by her hands.
Patti sat back in the chair and lit up a cigarette telling him to come lay under her feet. “Rub my feet, Billy. “ He massaged them tenderly, kissing each toe. He looked up at her and she began to masturbate in front of him, forcing him to watch her writhe and moan as her wetness trickled down my thighs. I rolled my foot across his engorged and leaking cock. A tear streamed down his face. It was then that I realized I needed this as much as he did. Patti grabbed Billy’s golden locks, and pulled him up between her legs, with an anomalistic lust, he thrust into her.
Billy moved away from home, leaving Patti behind. He met a beautiful woman , eventually marrying her and having two children. No matter how hard he tried to fit into his cookie cutter life, he could never get over Patti. He left his job, wife and children behind to form a moderately successful alternative music band. Oh and Patti, of course she came along. She was his sidechick, on this grand adventure. All of this was for her anyway.
Billy was playing a round of local clubs in his area, always taking his sidechick Patti alomg with him for the ride.. They had become inseperable since she had introduced him to smack. Billy left his wife and his kids in the dust for Patti and his music, seriously who needs a whining brat or a nagging wife when you’re out on the road.
Billy was devoted to Patti, and blindly as a matter of fact, and thought the same of her. One night Billy was plating a set on stage and noticed Patti wasn’t in the front , gushing over him as she normally did. This only made him sweat more as he performed, wondering where she could be and if she was ok.
Billy cut his set short and went wandering about the club, looking for Patti. Je stumbled into Max, his manager, and asked him if he’d seen Patti. Max just hung his head. Billy jeard moaning and grunting coming from the Owner’s office, He opened the door and there was he beloved Patti on her knees , needle in her arm, cock in her mouth.
Billy went into fit of rage. He had given up his wife and children for Patti. He had turned down so many so much road cunt fir her, taking the high road and being faithful. Here was Patti, mouth full of cock , veins full of smack. Almost instinctively he pulled out his razor sharp switch nlade. Before they could see it coming Patti had her throat slashed, blood jutting out, spilling upom the floor, and for his actions the owner had his cock lobbed off.
That didn’t seem like enough for Billy. He spotted a coin jar out the corner of his eye, carefully he took the knife and plucked out Patti’s beautiful baby blue eyes, and tossed them in the jar, pausing for a moment, decided to pluck out the owner’s as well and toss them in the jar. Laughing by now, as he was bitten with a rage that turned to madness, he remembered that eyes without a face are a human disgrace.
Grabbing the keys to the owner’s Lexus he thought he’d cruise out of there and take a trip to Las Vegas, accompanied with jar of eyes. He stopped and slashed a few more hitch hikers along the way, just until his jar was full of eyes.
Billy was finally apprehended, shouting for more in the midnight hour. He even penned a song about his little tour of madness. He called it Roadkill Love.
My penis rears its ugly head when I least expect it. I’m not always thinking about my girlfriend when I feel my pants tighten. Sometimes, hearing my ex.’s name uttered by someone during the course of a conversation or smelling her perfume on a total stranger is enough to set me off.
When a crowded E train finally pulls into Penn Station, I push my way on, and somehow manage to find a seat. A brawny man with a shaved head and beady, black eyes stands in front of me. His penis is as large as a bratwurst, bulging in his tight, black leather pants. I usually don’t eye other guy’s goods, but it’s kind of hard not to when it’s inches away from my face. I close my eyes and try to picture him pumping hard in and out of my ex-girlfriend, Sandra, while she holds on for the ride moaning and writhing beneath him. Thinking about it creates a bulge between my legs, which I cover quickly with my briefcase.
Bratwurst Boy gets off at 50th Street, and I watch a short, stout woman with enormous breasts wearing a red dress that leaves little to the imagination take his place. I adjust my focus, so it looks like I’m staring into space, even though I’m staring right at her. I doubt she’d notice though, since her eyes are glued to the pages of Spin. I close my eyes again and picture Sandra’s breasts next to this woman’s. After a moment, I decide there’s no comparison: Sandra is more than a handful, but Short and Stout is two handfuls and then some! I fight the urge to reach out and give her tits a little squeeze in front of all these people on the subway. I manage to overcome my desire, though it’s hard to deny my throbbing cock the release it so desperately craves much longer.
I am oblivious to nearly everyone around me, with the exception of whoever ends up standing in front of me. The subway itself is merely the vehicle through which I experience virtual bliss. I don’t know if it’s dirty or clean, whether it reeks of piss, spilled beer, or both.
The woman standing in front of me is my only concern right now. Short and Stout is flipping through her magazine, struggling to find a certain page before her stop. Her pale, blue eyes are wide, and her full lips are parted slightly. Seeing her there, gripping the metal bar with one black-and-white gloved hand and holding her magazine with the other makes my head spin. I rub my eyes for a moment, grappling with my senses. She gets off at 53rd and 5th, shutting Spin abruptly.
I wait for someone to take her place; sadly, no one does, so I sigh, set my briefcase down and admire my reflection in the scratched window across from me. My face is flawless⎯not a blemish anywhere. I run my hand over my cheeks. Smooth as my ex-girlfriend’s firm ass, because I just shaved, but by the end of the day they will be as rough as sandpaper. I run my fingers through my brown hair, flattening it a bit.
I look around again. My half of the car is empty. I seize the moment, sliding my hand over the bulge between my legs and start to rub, ever so slowly. I quicken my pace as the train speeds through the tunnel. When it stops at the next station, I am soaked with sweat and my crotch is wet. I pick up my briefcase and quickly set it down on my lap, hoping the spot on my pants dries before I have to get off.
