Taints on Ice

By Balls Malone

When you think about it, figure skating is really based on who is able to showcase their taint in the most grandiose way.

I suppose you don’t have to think about it this way, but it makes it a lot more entertaining. Particularly when you’re watching in Japan and don’t really understand what the commentators are saying.

Announcer 1 (male), yelling:

“Ohhhhh!! Subarashi!” (translation: “Wow! What a taint!”)

Announcer 2 (female), breathlessly:

“Hai! So desu ne.” (translation: “Indeed! Nothing much left to the imagination in that play, Bob.”)

But we really should not allow the spectacle of the whole event distract us from just how much work these world-class athletes have put into preparing themselves for the competition. All those long, early mornings spent stretching out and limbering up their taints. All the hard falls on that unforgiving ice that have bruised those taints.

So I salute you and your taints, you intrepid purveyors of your intimate, inter-orifice treasure.

It really is a wonder of the modern age, this taints on ice.

The Story of Big Bob

by Balls Malone

Big Bob had the silkiest anus in the village. It was big too. Like a bisected grapefruit. There might have been bigger anuses around, but none were so silky as Bob’s. That was something everyone could agree upon. Big, red, and silky; that was Bob.

Bob didn’t rest on his laurels, though. Not Bob. Why, he might have had the silkiest anus in the village, but that was just his steppingstone to true anal glory. It was Bob’s muscular control over his sphincter that made him the star that he was in these parts. Why, his bum-minstrel show at the county fair made him the talk far and wide.

It’s a curious thing, that one man would be so blessed in just that particular area. But it has been supposed that the attention and interest lavished on his orifice from an early age meant that he was encouraged to develop his athletic skills with it. Nature and nurture coming together in a happy confluence, if you will.

Whatever the reasons for it, Bob’s anus truly was a miracle. “Some grip!” folks would ejaculate at the fair, as they struggled to retrieve whatever objects they had paid Bob to show his skills with. Bob could also open and close that anus of his, like a toothless mouth, and would conduct a ventriloquist’s act: with a comical face painted on his behind and a straw hat propped on his lower back.

The fair was, of course, Bob’s bread and butter, but he got along okay in the village over the rest of the year. His shack backed up on Turtle Creek Lane. He cut a couple holes in the back wall: one big for his behind, and another small for a coffee can. When he heard the happy sound of coins falling in the can, Bob would present his ripe glory for his patron’s amusement. Whatever folks chose to do with Bob’s wonderful talents was their business. We aren’t the sort to pry into the affairs of others (unless, of course, we help them fill up their coffee can first).

Sadly, for all of us here, but especially Bob, some folks can’t leave well enough alone. A lawman from Town got it in his head that there was some kind of funny business going on with Bob. He came down to the village a couple weeks ago and shot poor Bob. Shot him dead right on his front stoop. Claimed that Bob came at him with an ax. It’s supposed this is probably true; since Bob had been working on a lumberjack routine for the fair, and the lawman shot him in the back. But Big Bob surely never meant the lawman any harm. He was probably just trying to lighten the mood. That was the kind of man Bob was.

Rest in peace, Big Bob. You brought joy to the lives of dozens, and will not be soon forgotten.

Road Trip

by Balls Malone

After about an hour of driving she had one of her episodes where she compulsively needed semen. Happy to oblige, I pulled over and she blew me. For all her enthusiasm, she was never very good at head. It was like she was attacking it; little animalistic grunts with manic, jerky motions. A bit frightening, actually, but head is head.

Afterwards, inevitably, her mood soured. We stopped a while later for lunch and recriminations.

The Anusrasiertleckenman

by Balls Malone

In the olden days of the Bavarian Alps, folk would whisper of the Anusrasiertleckenman.

As the story goes, on the vernal equinox if you slept out of doors or in a barn or shed, the Anusrasiertleckenman would visit you.

Wearing only undersized lederhosen, the Anusrasiertleckenman appeared in the form of a small, rotund man, perfectly hairless but for his marvelously swirled handlebar mustache.

Now, if as you went to sleep, you left beside you a pitcher of fresh cream and a bowl of newly churned butter, the Anusrasiertleckenman would strip you naked, massage your body and his with the cream and butter provided, and then shave your anus skillfully with a razor-sharp hatchet. Only when your anus was perfectly smooth would the Anusrasiertleckenman lick the rest of the cream and butter from inside it.

However, woe to those who might fall asleep out of doors or in a barn on the vernal equinox without providing the Anusrasiertleckenman his dairy offering. For this offense, or for providing cream and butter not of the utmost freshness, the Anusrasiertleckenman would exact a fearsome toll with his hatchet: adding the offender’s anus to the collection he would tote around in a sack made from a troll’s scrotum.

What an exquisite torture it must have been, to feel that blade’s edge in your anus, wondering the whole time if your cream was fresh enough to prevent your hole’s extraction! Thrilling!

These days, cultural anthropologists who can be persuaded to speak of the Anusrasiertleckenman tend to regard him as a cautionary folk tale emphasizing the importance of hygiene standards in dairy production. Of course, the hatchet ass shaving and rim job stuff is just Germans being German.

German hand axe, late 16th century.German hand axe, late 16th century copy

I’ll Give Em a Jolly Rodger

by Balls Malone

If I was a pirate captain in the days of yore, I would name my ship “Forcible Sodomy.” However, I’d only sodomize the captives that looked disappointed when I told them the name is strictly metaphorical. And even then I’d be gentle and use lots and lots of whatever was the best lubricant in those days, because even piracy should have its limits.