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Pubic hair on the urinal

i am more disturbed by the pube you see on the floor in front of the sink..... did they not zip.... did they do a full frontal in front of the mirror fixing a shirt tuck in?
 
ChrisPaul3 said:
Nothing better. NOTHING FUCKING BETTER than finding a pube in a urinal. I just turned 68 a couple years ago, so I been on this old hunk of rock we call earth for quite a while. There are big pleasures and there are small pleasures, but pube-finding is the only thing that truly gets at my core, truly makes me feel spiritual, truly makes life feel worth it. After all, those little suckers have seen more than any of us. They have front row seats to the creation of life. Look in the mirror right now. See that face. See that neck. See those goddamn shoulders. Well, a friendly group of pubes were sitting right there, watching everything, when all of that bullshit in that mirror was being created by your old man's dick. You see, the dick has no perspective, it's just an animal savagely eating its prey. And the ballbag is just a sack of ammo, loading things up, and then flopping around, but the pubes? The pubes sit back, smile, and watch life unfold, knowing exactly how big of moment they're witnessing. They're sitting courtside to the most important show on earth. Who am I to disrespect that? Who are you to disrespect that?

So anyway, in about 1949, I started collecting pubes off urinals or public showers or hotel beds or if I'm feeling extra bold, right off some guy riding the bus who happened to be wearing shorts that day (and, listen, if you can't tell a pube from some other random piece of body hair, then you should send your diploma back to Wake). I've never missed a chance to snatch one. I found pubes in the delivery room during my son's birth and I found pubes in the viewing area during my ex-wife's execution. What do I do with them? The better question is "what don't I do with them?". I've made couches, beds, seatbelts, aprons, you name it. I'm typing this goddamn post in pube mittens, for fucks sake. Point is nothing makes me happier than those little buggers and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Click to expand...

HANG IT
 
ChrisPaul3 said:
Nothing better. NOTHING FUCKING BETTER than finding a pube in a urinal. I just turned 68 a couple years ago, so I been on this old hunk of rock we call earth for quite a while. There are big pleasures and there are small pleasures, but pube-finding is the only thing that truly gets at my core, truly makes me feel spiritual, truly makes life feel worth it. After all, those little suckers have seen more than any of us. They have front row seats to the creation of life. Look in the mirror right now. See that face. See that neck. See those goddamn shoulders. Well, a friendly group of pubes were sitting right there, watching everything, when all of that bullshit in that mirror was being created by your old man's dick. You see, the dick has no perspective, it's just an animal savagely eating its prey. And the ballbag is just a sack of ammo, loading things up, and then flopping around, but the pubes? The pubes sit back, smile, and watch life unfold, knowing exactly how big of moment they're witnessing. They're sitting courtside to the most important show on earth. Who am I to disrespect that? Who are you to disrespect that?

So anyway, in about 1949, I started collecting pubes off urinals or public showers or hotel beds or if I'm feeling extra bold, right off some guy riding the bus who happened to be wearing shorts that day (and, listen, if you can't tell a pube from some other random piece of body hair, then you should send your diploma back to Wake). I've never missed a chance to snatch one. I found pubes in the delivery room during my son's birth and I found pubes in the viewing area during my ex-wife's execution. What do I do with them? The better question is "what don't I do with them?". I've made couches, beds, seatbelts, aprons, you name it. I'm typing this goddamn post in pube mittens, for fucks sake. Point is nothing makes me happier than those little buggers and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Click to expand...

I dont care what any of you say but this is not the real Chris Paul.
 
By my second year of law school, I was pretty bored so my roommate and I would go out to bars nearly every night. We'd go to the gym nearly everyday, except for those days that we went to the public basketball courts for a pickup game with the guys from the hood. We were both fairly tall and, as a result of our lifestyle, both in excellent physical conditioning. Whenever we left our apartment we'd just leave our doors unlocked, although the the apartment was less than 2 blocks from the local Greyhound Bus station, because we assumed that we could kick the asses of anyone who dared to illegally enter our apartment. Even to this day, whenever I smell the scent of Drakkar Noir, I get my early-90s swagger back and I feel invincible.

Our neighbor across the hall was Chip Coppage, who was a heavy drinker and perpetually depressed, but blessed with what women would describe as exceptional good looks. Despite our invitations, Chip never went to the bars with us but just stayed in and drank and normally had a parade of women in and out of his apartment at night. On the weekends, women he knew as a undergrad at the University of Florida would sometimes come to visit him, and being from rural North Carolina I was amazed to see the extreme class of redneck women that Florida produced. We were amazed that Chip got laid everyday multiple times per day, but we were certainly not impressed by the quality of women that he pulled in.

So one night we were out at Darrell's (not to be confused with Darryl's, which was a popular N.C. dining establishment) and returned home late that night. We specifically remember leaving a 6 pack of Molson in the fridge and an unopened pack of Marlboro Lights on the coffee table. We were going to have a night-cap before hitting the hay, and thats when we realized that our beer and smokes were both missing. We headed over to Chip's apartment and he was already in bed, but he likewise left his doors unlocked. We saw the empty Molson bottles on his coffee table, as well as the rest of our cigarettes, and we knew what had happened. We yelled for him to wake up and come downstairs to discuss the issue, but he didn't respond because he was most likely in bed with yet another skank. But sitting on his dining table was half of a Dominos pizza, and that gave us an idea. We both went over and pulled out our dicks, and we starting putting pubes on the pizza (again, this was the early-90s before the advent of man-scaping, so we had plenty of pubes to spare). Then my roommate started rubbing his dick all over the pizza, so I followed suit. I'll tell you, I would not recommend rubbing your dick on a pizza because you'll end up with a greasy mess that takes more than 1 shower to clean off.

The next day, we ran into Chip in the hallway and ask if we could have some pizza, but he informed us that he had already finished it for lunch. We felt that we had gotten our revenge.

Later that day I told my then-girlfriend what we did (you'll recall this is the same girlfriend whose high school boyfriend was only interested in handjobs, and later came out of the closet) and I was laughing as I told her the story. But her response was totally not what I expected. She started crying, and said "You saw Danny's penis? And he saw yours?", and I informed her that it was pretty dark in the apartment and that I certainly didn't touch his dick and didn't even get a good look at it, and its not like we were sword-fighting with our dicks. We were just trying to get revenge on Chip for stealing our beer and cigarettes. I thought it was a funny story, and she just ruined it for me with all her homophobia. Can't a man put pubes on another man's pizza without being accused of being gay?
 
Last edited:
RicoSuave said:
By my second year of law school, I was pretty bored so my roommate and I would go out to bars nearly every night. We'd go to the gym nearly everyday, except for those days that we went to the public basketball courts for a pickup game with the guys from the hood. We were both fairly tall and, as a result of our lifestyle, both in excellent physical conditioning. Whenever we left our apartment we'd just leave our doors unlocked, although the the apartment was less than 2 blocks from the local Greyhound Bus station, because we assumed that we could kick the asses of anyone who dared to illegally enter our apartment. Even to this day, whenever I smell the scent of Drakkar Noir, I get my early-90s swagger back and I feel invincible.

Our neighbor across the hall was Chip Coppage, who was a heavy drinker and perpetually depressed, but blessed with what women would describe as exceptional good looks. Despite our invitations, Chip never went to the bars with us but just stayed in and drank and normally had a parade of women in and out of his apartment at night. On the weekends, women he knew as a undergrad at the University of Florida would sometimes come to visit him, and being from rural North Carolina I was amazed to see the extreme class of redneck women that Florida produced. We were amazed that Chip got laid everyday multiple times per day, but we were certainly not impressed by the quality of women that he pulled in.

So one night we were out at Darrell's (not to be confused with Darryl's, which was a popular N.C. dining establishment) and returned home late that night. We specifically remember leaving a 6 pack of Molson in the fridge and an unopened pack of Marlboro Lights on the coffee table. We were going to have a night-cap before hitting the hay, and thats when we realized that our beer and smokes were both missing. We headed over to Chip's apartment and he was already in bed, but he likewise left his doors unlocked. We saw the empty Molson bottles on his coffee table, as well as the rest of our cigarettes, and we knew what had happened. We yelled for him to wake up and come downstairs to discuss the issue, but he didn't respond because he was most likely in bed with yet another skank. But sitting on his dining table was half of a Dominos pizza, and that gave us an idea. We both went over and pulled out our dicks, and we starting putting pubes on the pizza (again, this was the early-90s before the advent of man-scaping, so we had plenty of pubes to spare). Then my roommate started rubbing his dick all over the pizza, so I followed suit. I'll tell you, I would not recommend rubbing your dick on a pizza because you'll end up with a greasy mess that takes more than 1 shower to clean off.

The next day, we ran into Chip in the hallway and ask if we could have some pizza, but he informed us that he had already finished it for lunch. We felt that we had gotten our revenge.

Later that day I told my then-girlfriend what we did (you'll recall this is the same girlfriend whose high school boyfriend was only interested in handjobs, and later came out of the closet) and I was laughing as I told her the story. But her response was totally not what I expected. She started crying, and said "You saw Danny's penis? And he saw yours?", and I informed her that it was pretty dark in the apartment and that I certainly didn't touch his dick and didn't even get a good look at it, and its not like we were sword-fighting with our dicks. We were just trying to get revenge on Chip for stealing our beer and cigarettes. I thought it was a funny story, and she just ruined it for me with all her homophobia. Can't a man put pubes on another man's pizza without being accused of being gay?
Click to expand...

QFP
 
RicoSuave said:
By my second year of law school, I was pretty bored so my roommate and I would go out to bars nearly every night. We'd go to the gym nearly everyday, except for those days that we went to the public basketball courts for a pickup game with the guys from the hood. We were both fairly tall and, as a result of our lifestyle, both in excellent physical conditioning. Whenever we left our apartment we'd just leave our doors unlocked, although the the apartment was less than 2 blocks from the local Greyhound Bus station, because we assumed that we could kick the asses of anyone who dared to illegally enter our apartment. Even to this day, whenever I smell the scent of Drakkar Noir, I get my early-90s swagger back and I feel invincible.

Our neighbor across the hall was Chip Coppage, who was a heavy drinker and perpetually depressed, but blessed with what women would describe as exceptional good looks. Despite our invitations, Chip never went to the bars with us but just stayed in and drank and normally had a parade of women in and out of his apartment at night. On the weekends, women he knew as a undergrad at the University of Florida would sometimes come to visit him, and being from rural North Carolina I was amazed to see the extreme class of redneck women that Florida produced. We were amazed that Chip got laid everyday multiple times per day, but we were certainly not impressed by the quality of women that he pulled in.

So one night we were out at Darrell's (not to be confused with Darryl's, which was a popular N.C. dining establishment) and returned home late that night. We specifically remember leaving a 6 pack of Molson in the fridge and an unopened pack of Marlboro Lights on the coffee table. We were going to have a night-cap before hitting the hay, and thats when we realized that our beer and smokes were both missing. We headed over to Chip's apartment and he was already in bed, but he likewise left his doors unlocked. We saw the empty Molson bottles on his coffee table, as well as the rest of our cigarettes, and we knew what had happened. We yelled for him to wake up and come downstairs to discuss the issue, but he didn't respond because he was most likely in bed with yet another skank. But sitting on his dining table was half of a Dominos pizza, and that gave us an idea. We both went over and pulled out our dicks, and we starting putting pubes on the pizza (again, this was the early-90s before the advent of man-scaping, so we had plenty of pubes to spare). Then my roommate started rubbing his dick all over the pizza, so I followed suit. I'll tell you, I would not recommend rubbing your dick on a pizza because you'll end up with a greasy mess that takes more than 1 shower to clean off.

The next day, we ran into Chip in the hallway and ask if we could have some pizza, but he informed us that he had already finished it for lunch. We felt that we had gotten our revenge.

Later that day I told my then-girlfriend what we did (you'll recall this is the same girlfriend whose high school boyfriend was only interested in handjobs, and later came out of the closet) and I was laughing as I told her the story. But her response was totally not what I expected. She started crying, and said "You saw Danny's penis? And he saw yours?", and I informed her that it was pretty dark in the apartment and that I certainly didn't touch his dick and didn't even get a good look at it, and its not like we were sword-fighting with our dicks. We were just trying to get revenge on Chip for stealing our beer and cigarettes. I thought it was a funny story, and she just ruined it for me with all her homophobia. Can't a man put pubes on another man's pizza without being accused of being gay?
Click to expand...

Coincidentally, my girlfriend in college found a pube on her plate when we were at the Darryl's in Winston one night. She was of course grossed out and vowed never to return, but it gave me the upside of using Pube On My Plate as my fantasy baseball team name that year.
 
RicoSuave said:
By my second year of law school, I was pretty bored so my roommate and I would go out to bars nearly every night. We'd go to the gym nearly everyday, except for those days that we went to the public basketball courts for a pickup game with the guys from the hood. We were both fairly tall and, as a result of our lifestyle, both in excellent physical conditioning. Whenever we left our apartment we'd just leave our doors unlocked, although the the apartment was less than 2 blocks from the local Greyhound Bus station, because we assumed that we could kick the asses of anyone who dared to illegally enter our apartment. Even to this day, whenever I smell the scent of Drakkar Noir, I get my early-90s swagger back and I feel invincible.
Click to expand...

I read this as Fing each other in the A on the reg.
 
I went to go take a dump and went into one stall and noticed some dude had SIX asshair shedding on the seat. I counted.

That's fucking impressive
 
yodeacsgo said:
Wash your hands after you piss and don't worry about it.
Click to expand...
Except that your hands are germ infested after flushing and you have to zip and button your pant and maybe a belt too. Now everything is germy. Don't get me wrong, I do the same, I just zip up with my finger tips as if that is going to help.
 
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