We here at Dan Eats Cat Food are nothing if not helpful…so, really, many times we are nothing. But we’re here to make up for it. You see, upon going through the site statistics, we noticed something odd. The most popular article is, in fact, written by Pred3000. This, of course, cannot stand. I mean, really. He hasn’t posted an article in well over a year! Then again, to be fair, we’re only giving you an article about once a month and that’s only because we have to justify the cost somehow. Shut up about it. KT is an anxiety-riddled, depressive, incredibly sexually frustrated, and probably alcoholic grad student. He SHOULD be perfectly suited to being funny constantly because of that, we know. Basically, he’s just a lazy bastard. Where were we? Oh yeah. The article. Since we can’t allow the most popular article to go un-piggybacked on,we are going to present to you today a more informative and in-depth guide to masturbating to Internet pornography than that bastard did. We hope you enjoy and can make use of our…um…useful suggestions.
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DO: Use the Internet to your advantage. It’s a wild, woolly, wonderful place full of literally quadrillions of ideas and thoughts and pictures and words being thrown around. This is the Golden Age of information transference and it is at your fingertips with the click of a button. You can go from researching the Fall of Rome by way of Norwegian black metal to reading a webcomic written and illustrated by some desu weirdo who likes drawing anthropomorphic leopards in leather pants kiss-fighting with a ficus in a bikini to watching a video about a cat firing a brick through a plate glass window and howling with laughter. Anything and everything you can dream of is there. Also there’s a whole lot of fucking that you can look at.

DON’T: Assume that because something is on the Internet that it is worth seeing. Remember, 50 Shades of Grey started as a Twilight fan fiction online. There but for the grace of God goes every single hardcore slash Gandalf/Harry Potter/Spongebob/Jabba the Hutt/Vishnu/Alec Baldwin fic out there.

DO: Sample the bounty of the Net. See what’s out there. Don’t be afraid to branch out. Maybe you come across a fetish you didn’t know about and have one of the most rocking-ass orgasms of your life. It’s possible! Not necessarily likely but possible. Who knows? You may actually enjoy watching a naked teenage anime chick being inflated like a balloon, being popped by a black man’s cock, and having mice come to eat her entrails. YOU might. I just kind of threw up. A lot.

DON’T: Be stupid about it. There are clearly areas to avoid. Horse porn. Maybe want to steer clear. Child porn. That’s a no-no in the bad place. The area where the underwear covers. Sex with bridges. You should not also rise. The aforementioned “inflationigrarumpebanturmuresextaphilia”. Even just putting that into a translator brought on the urps again. Damn you philiacs!

DO: Learn alternative ways of masturbation. Self-love is still a love life and you should switch it up to keep things fresh. If you’re always a southpaw (or a south-gnarled and withered claw), why not try pitching to Righty? Or on your knees? Or on your back? Hell, even the shower could be fun and you can clean your filthy,war-torn body afterwards. It’s a double duty dunker!

DON’T: Fuck your boxspring. Seriously. Don’t do it. You will never repair the damage an errant coil does to your dickskin.

DO: Use an aggregation website (you know the ones that are out there) to explore your tastes freely with relatively minor risk of viruses or random gay porn popping up and murdering your hard-on with great vengeance. They are free to use and have an incredibly expansive display to choose from. Just be careful not to Wiki-jump the different videos, especially the stuff with titles that are just random numbers and letters and/or are written in Spanish. Just…don’t do that. Save yourself a whole lot of terror-crying.

DON’T: Download those bullshit programs that some sites demand you use in order to…utilize their website. Fuck that noise. It just adds more clutter onto your PC and makes plausible deniability less likely down the road. Besides, if you are so desperate to download things, there are ways around every problem. I obviously don’t recommend or support those since they are the mark of low character, but I cast no such aspersions on the stoner dude down the hallway from your apartment that stays up until 4 in the morning listening to Rage Against the Machine, smoking pot and probably meth, and working on his anarchist’s manifesto. He can probably hook you up with some Debbie Does Six Day Laborers Behind the LA Fitness in South Central.

DO: Pay for porn when you can afford it. I know, I know. You just felt your heart seize a little. Let me explain. Paying for porn = more porn being made = more choices for you to make. And the cycle repeats. Also it’s someone’s career choice, you asshole, and nobody wants to fuck for free. Or so I’ve been told.

DON’T: Decide that, hey, this actress I jerk off to is on Twitter. I should Tweet her my dick! Stoppit. If you had people who wanted to see your cock, you wouldn’t be jerking off to Internet porn, would you? Leave her alone, get your Jergens’ and cry about yourself.

DO: Figure out what you like best and go wild with it. You like redheads (and who doesn’t?), you find every redhead video out there. You like big black girls taking it up the butt, go nuts. You like trannies rubbing each other with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter and pouring white wine everywhere while La Vie Boheme plays? …try RedTube. That shit has everything.

DON’T: Become so well-versed in porn stars, their names, and their appearances that you can name them in polite conversation. If you’re talking about your pornographic tastes in public, there is something severely wrong with you in the head. Either that or you are playing a DANGEROUS gambit of which we can’t approve. If that is where your path is taking you, know that we cannot follow you.

DO: Finally understand that they are real people doing real, sometimes horrifying acts on camera for your amusement. They deserve your dignity, your money, your respect, and about five squirts of baby batter or so, depending on how long you’ve done. Bon appetit, horndogs.
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(This was disgusting. – ed.)

You’re disgusting! HOOOOO!

(And we’re done here. – ed.)


Some of us just find out at different points in our lives that they are just careers that are…not quite for us. Some may be not up to our talent levels, some may be unsavory or embarrassing. And then some just…are a bad, bad idea. For example, you wouldn’t want someone who is naturally gifted athletically to try to take on computer programming. You wouldn’t want someone with social anxiety running for public office (wait…shit.). You wouldn’t want a politician to be a lion tamer…or maybe you would, depending on the politician.

The point is that there are careers where it just does not fit the personality involved. Case in point? I’m no longer allowed to teach sexual education in elementary schools…or anywhere, for that matter. Let me explain.

Sometimes in the course of human events, it becomes necessary to take a part-time job in order to stave off poverty, alcoholism, and a broken left wrist from bored masturbation. Say, a part-time job such as substitute teaching. Well, with my glowing resume bulging with qualifications, the school district I approached offered me my choice of three schools to sub at: the high school, the middle school, or the elementary school. Well, I declined the high school because the prospect of barely legal teenager girls becoming magnetically attracted to the AK-47 in my pants would just complicate matters. I turned down the middle school job as well because middle schoolers are basically walking, talking balls of hormones and insanity. That left me with one choice: the elementary school. That seemed relatively safe, I thought. I was, however, sadly unprepared.

You see, I managed to have the incredibly poor luck of substitute teaching on the day that the boys and girls are separated by gender and brought to the library or the gym and shown a little film designed to try to stave off the oncoming train of pain that is puberty. You all know the one and if you don’t, well…luck has smiled upon pre-teen you. Well, since the gym teacher was a female and I was taking the place of one of the fifth-grade English teachers, I was drafted (read: forced) into joining and helping out by the principal, one third-grade Science teacher (not a dude, by the way), and the janitor. For some reason. I’m not sure he was there as part of the help.

Anyways, the first half of the lesson was fine, albeit what you would expect. Fifth-grade boys giggling at the words ‘penis’ and ‘vagina’ and ‘sex’ and then having the laughter stolen from their lives by the sight of a 1980s mother pushing a ten-pound bloody sack out of a hole the width of an iPod. You can tell which students have gone through the video because they walk around for the next two days with the thousand-yard-stare.

And then I made things worse.

You see, in a stunning display of unjustifiable bad judgment, the principal and other teacher decided to step out to grab some coffee and probably bang in the electrical room, leaving me alone with fifty already-traumatized ten year old boys. The janitor had already been forced to leave after making some sounds watching the video that were akin to a lion dying of cancer on a hot savannah with ants crawling up its ass. Thus, I had thirty minutes and a captive audience that was going to be receptive to everything I would say. This is, as we say, a really bad fucking idea.

To begin with, I explained what the class they were in at the moment really was – less “sex education” and more “This is what your penis will bring upon the world”.

I told them of just how much suffering and pain they would create through those potentially (in the future) four-to-ten inch skin snakes currently tucked into their Spiderman briefs. I spoke to them of the all-consuming fire that would rage through them when some spurned lover or sadistic band geek would knock their dangling sack back up into their lower intestines. And I explained to them just how much power their scepters would allow them to wield, were they only man enough to grab hold of it. The power, not the penis. Well, maybe both.

I would rewind the tape and pause it at the worst possible frame and just let it sit and stare at them, the Eye of Sauron burning into their souls, as I screamed at them: “Boys, this woman is in agonizing pain and you know who caused it? YOU. You did this! WITH YOUR PENIS! Your penis entered her and brought her into this unimaginable agony! SHE IS BEING RIPPED ASUNDER BECAUSE OF YOUR INEPTITUDE!”

The baby would come out and they would scream in terror again. Rewind, fast-forward, and repeat. The horror of seeing a full bush suck a howling blood monkey back into it like some sort of primordial gaping maw cannot be overstated. After a while, it almost became comical and the urge to play Yakety Sax during the thing was nigh unstoppable. Of course, then the placenta came out and it was game over.

After about ten minutes of that, I decided to finish up my time with them by explaining to them the process of sex, pregnancy, and birth. I can actually recall the exact wording because apparently security footage has improved to the point where subtitles exist.

“This entire process begins when you engage in the act of sexual intercourse. Nobody can really TELL you what sex is, but I shall endeavor to try to explain it. When a man loves someone or simply just feels the biological impulse to blow a load of genetic material from his scrotum, he engages in sex with the woman. Or man. Or transvestite. Or even his hands or a Ziploc bag full of water placed between the mattress and box spring of his bed. Anyways. There are many various ways to approach the act of love, such as [from this point, I spent about ten minutes listing all the ways to fuck – ALL of the ways]. Inevitably, something will happen and a mistake will be made. The condom may break – a condom being a piece of rubber you tie around your junk like a bowtie to make it all fancy, or the pill may fail – the pill being ecstasy, a powerful hallucinogen, or you may just be drunk and say “Eh, fuck it. Chance.”. When this mistake happens, those little Phelpsians nestled in that bean bag will explode into her with the force of a neutron bomb. The sperm, as they are called, will accelerate towards her uterus (her balls in her belly) at a speed of well over a thousand miles per hour. They will strike the uterus and explode, sending genetic shrapnel throughout her vagina. One of those shards may even fly far enough up into her to lodge itself in one of her eggs, since women contain chicken, as you well know. Once lodged in the egg, it downloads a computer virus that infects the egg, turning it into a self-replicating human, You will instantly know the next day if she is in the state called ‘pregnant’ because she will violently vomit when either smelling or viewing certain things, none of which you can know until it is too late, a cruel trick. This period lasts for about three months.Now, once the pregnant woman has reached the second cycle, the sun god Ra will come to you in the form of ’78 Buick and demand it as a sacrifice. However, you can appease his bloodlust with a sacrificial steak and eggs breakfast instead, the food symbolizing the merging of male and female. After a period of approximately nine months, a gong will sound from inside the woman, signifying the onset of the final process. I won’t spoil it for you here but suffice to say, there’s a lot of angry driving and police work involved. Any questions?”

It was about that time that the principal, teachers, and security burst into the room, grabbing me by the arms and legs and forcibly ejecting me from the window of the school, told never to return on pain of actual death. Seriously. They showed me the gun they would use to end my life.

I got paid pretty well though so…that was a plus.
——
(That was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever read. – ed.)

We both know that’s not true.

(Well…I did have to read Twilight on a dare once. – ed.)

There you go! Deuces yo!


I’m not exactly the kind of person that one would call “up to date” on trends. I don’t wear skinny jeans, listen to pop music, or understand the appeal of why the hell anyone would produce a movie detailing the life of a current pop star. The world doesn’t need more movies about Katy Perry or Justin Bieber or, God forbid it happen, Ke(dollar sign)ha. I actually include the “never happening” of that last one in my prayers every night. I do wonder about the title though. “Memoirs of a Drunken Whore” sounds pretty good. It doesn’t quite cover it though. Maybe “My ‘Music’Sounds Like A Seagull Being Strangled To Dubstep But I’ll Blow You In The Alley Behind Starbucks For A Mocha Latte And A Gram Of Coke So You May As Well Love Me”. That’s better.

Anyways, the reason I mention this is because I don’t understand one damn bit why that crapsack of mutilated paper pulp known as ’50 Shades of Grey’ is so damn popular. All I DO know is that its existence and popularity means I get to write a follow-up piece to the wildly successful (well, relatively) article about Twilight. It’s the Golden Age of mockery and sarcasm, I tell you what. Regardless of how great things are as a comedy writer, I could always use some extra cash to line my pockets with pornography, alcohol, and bootleg Joss Whedon DVDs. Thus, I am resolved to write chick porn using 50 Shades of Shit…I mean, Grey…as a barometer. And as a bonus? I’ll explain to YOU how to do it too.
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First, as in last time, murder any thoughts you have about being a respectable or even literate writer. You aren’t going to be writing for the elite, the well-read, the academics. You are barely going to be writing for middle schoolers reading at a college level. You are writing for lonely, bored, horny housewives, teenagers, and bored talk show hosts. Having it have a legitimate, engrossing plot is kind of like adding parsley, fine china, and a glass of wine to spice up the presentation of a steaming horse dump. Focus more of your time on how you can use the medium to create the most filthy, degrading situation possible while still maintaining a semblance of respectability. Think “upgraded fan fiction” because, let’s face it, that 50 Shades garbage is literally that. It can’t hurt to be a fan fic writer either. Anyone who writes that has a throbbing tumor called “I hate literature” inside their heart and uses it to crap out “ships” of any potential character pairings under the sun. Don’t get me started on fan fic.

Next, decide what you want your main characters to do. Oh. That’s right. You want them to fuck. The rest is just gravy. Cool. Check that off.

After that, figure out what your characters are named. If you’re writing chick porn, this will take up a solid 80% of your work time on the “book”. You can’t name them something like Amy Jones and John Smith. Those are boring names, names of IRS agents and middle management candidates. Likewise, you can’t use names like Jagatha Messy and Hondo Awesome. Nobody is going to take you seriously (let’s be honest, they won’t anyways but I digress) if you write ‘Hondo and Jagatha boned like archaeologists on top of Hondo’s 1997 Chevy Pylon’ or whatever. You need to create dark and steamy names, like Vanessa St. John and Juan Carlos Fancypants…I mean, Trenton Green. If it sounds like it could conceivably be a porn star but only in one of those high class X-Art ones (as opposed to, say, Gaping Assholes 8), you’ve hit the sweet spot. And so will your readers…if you get what I’m saying. I’m saying that they will play with themselves.

Naturally, take into account the audience while describing the characters. Naturally, the protagonist must be a legal-aged girl, probably a fresh-faced college student or even right after graduating. She has to be shy and naive, with no more sexual experience than a half-hearted handjob in the back of a Denny’s kitchen. Obviously, she must be a virgin. She has to have no confidence in herself and see herself as a plain, unassuming wallflower. Basically, if you do a copy/paste of every garden variety Twilight knockoff bullshit, you’ll have it down. And the man must be tall, strikingly handsome, broad-shouldered, and brooding, with impeccable taste in clothes, a high-paying job, no current relationship to speak of, and miraculously well-endowed. Of course, he has to be irresistibly attracted to the protagonist and, by proxy, the reader. I swear to God, this shit is like porn had a retarded baby with a chick flick. It’s like Naughty America banged 27 Dresses or some shit like that.

Also, since you’re writing porn for girls, which is much more about the experience than the actual act, you need to use euphemisms to describe what is happening. You can’t go too clinical, since “He placed his penis inside her vagina and performed intercourse until they both achieved orgasm”. Yes, that may be what happened but…snore. You also can’t really go too vulgar, since that can be a turnoff. “He fucked her cunt with his dick until they both came” also describes what happened but it’s so…inelegant. And yes, that is a concern of yours. Instead, use lines like “Trenton teased her gently opening flower with his turgid manhood. Vanessa felt her nethers quiver with excitement and, as he pushed her open, she felt herself becoming filled with an almost holy sensation. They began to merge as only lovers can and (yadda yadda yadda) they both felt a surge of heat as they crested at the height of their passion and fell to the bed, a tangle of limbs and satisfaction.” THAT is what gets the housewife tang all stirred up.

Since this is apparently the trend, don’t be scared to introduce some ‘taboo’ elements to the sex. 50 Shades decided to dive into the BDSM lifestyle (wrongly, I’ve heard) with the main dude apparently beating the crap out of the girl? I don’t know, I haven’t read it. So that’s right out. Since you want to distinguish yourself from the soon-to-be-arriving herd of copycats, why not take things to the logical extreme? Instead of spanking and handcuffs, try watersports and bloodplay. Instead of contracts and submission, have the girl take a dump on a glass coffee table. Make your characters have the kind of sex that even Max Hardcore would call “a bit too extreme”. End the series with snuff. You know you want to.

Lastly, after it naturally takes off and becomes a poorly-hidden dirty pleasure for soccer moms across the world, hang yourself with a shower curtain. That way, your poison and evil can’t infect the world with sequels, PLUS your faithful readers will call it a fitting way to leave this world. Win-fucking-win.

——
(You really have a problem with popular lit these days, huh? – ed.)

No. I have a problem with literal fan fiction and its metamorphosis into something considered worthy of publication. I have a problem with crap like Twilight and 50 Shades becoming popular while real writers struggle to make ends meet. I have a problem with the increased retardation of the next generation. You are going to have twelve-year-olds choking each other with a belt within six months. Mark my words. These are the End of Days.

(…a bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say? – ed.)

There is no such thing as too dramatic, Ed. Not while evil reigns. I need a drink.

(You always do. Goodnight, everyone. – ed.)


We apologize for the month between each article. What with packing and moving twice and visiting the place that KT is going to live and handling a breakup with the [insert typical vicious derogatory term here], the ability to be funny is waning quite a lot. However, one thing we have not done in a while that always brings the funny is to go into our search terms to see what depravity brings people to this website. And let us tell you…the people who link here are messed up in the brain. Please enjoy the fifth installment of what can charitably be called the most long-running series on this site.
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why do teenage girls become wayward?: I would assume that it’s because teenage girls are a discontinued lipgloss flavor away from a complete psychological meltdown at every single point in the day.

they are you antsy furniture ny and my bro mass of hudson mass: If I could even decipher this, I would attempt to answer it. As it stands right now, the best I can interpret this as is someone from the northeast region of the US being an absolute retard, not like it takes a whole lot.

sloopy titts videos: Sloopy titts? I could understand ‘sloppy tits’ but sloopy tits is more along the lines of asking if I know where to buy a small boat and how to rename it…with videos.

petroleum vodka: Grigor isn’t dead!

“dick into emma watson”: I really hope this happened after she was eighteen. Actually, if I’m being honest, I was really hoping this wouldn’t be a search term at all. Although at this point, Emma Watson would kind of be like winning a gold medal after missing out on the Special Olympics. Or is that too harsh?

gay boy dan eats gas: What. The. Fuck. Is. This. There is so, SO much wrong with this search term that I just frankly don’t want to know about.

anal beads cereal: Quick! To the patent office!

skyrim one arm bigger than the other: The funniest part about this one isn’t that it’s probably referring to the Skyrim characters being Self-Pleasure Geniuses, but the fact that this particular search – with different phrasing – appears no less than FIVE MORE TIMES in the search records for this site. Apparently, we are the top of the top with Skyrim masturbators. I’m…proud?

how to write like a girl teenager: At first look, this appears pretty innocuous. If you read into it, though, it sounds more like a ephebophile looking to pick up some tips to prey on innocent young…I assume boys but who the hell knows with those freaks?

how to make something for marsturbating rough: The insistence on rough masturbation troubles me. I don’t know why my readers apparently hate their dicks but it’s common enough to be a relatively normal search term. Let me be clear: do not rip up your penis with rough jacking off.

how to fuck my wife in skyrim: Again, not an uncommon search term. I got a ‘bang my wife’ one with this as well. Apparently, there are guys out there that really want to have virtual sex with video game characters. But then again, I can’t really judge since my porn library at this point rivals the Library of Congress.

instantmonkeysonline: HOW IS THIS A NEED?!

wayward prayer teenage girl This is getting a little strange. The wayward thing is apparently more of a fetish than I was aware of.

pornstar nan binya: I know Priya Anjali Rai if that makes you feel any better…Nan Binya is a stranger to me.

mighty morphin power rangers monsters who eat the power rangers: If this had happened, don’t you think that the (apparently) King of P.R. trivia would have known about it? No, I don’t think that happened. No, I don’t think you’re okay for asking about it.

sex eating cat song: Is this trying to relate eating cats and sex? Or is it about eating sex and is sung by cats? There is so much that this asks.

saints katrina bullshit: Ah, Colts fans.

“abortion session” fucked: …I don’t even know what to say about this one except that I’m disturbed. Is this talking about after-abortion sex? I really hope not…

nuttin bitch cereal picture: I cannot even explain how badly I want to see this picture they are asking about. I don’t know if they mean the cereal is called ‘Nuttin Bitch’ or what…it’s hilarious to think about though.

jani lane memorabilia near boston: This is very specific. Also, it’s incredibly morbid. At least they aren’t wanting to get his skin or something.

scorpions song beginning with horns: There’s a song that Scorpions did with brass? Am I going to fall in love with them more or is this a lie?

metal baby in the womb: I know this probably refers to what the article was about with the baby that loves metal music but it’s funnier to think of like a plate-metal baby sitting and gestating, occasionally sending off electrical sparks as it floats.

baby eats metal: Okay, I take that back. This is a whole lot funnier.

cartoon video where bin laden is killed by a sniper and pissed on by superfly: This was about the point that I started laughing so hard that a little bit of pee may or may not have come out. This is possibly the best and/or funniest search term that has ever brought people to this site.

eat the pussy up, thanksgiving! like marvin ya body need some sexual healing: I literally couldn’t think for a couple minutes after this one from laughing. I love that this site is now associated with not only rap music but shitty rap music at that. God bless America.

natalie portman yeah i had a baby but im still crazy so show my ass respect cause i make that fucking gravy: This has to be something off of The Lonely Island. I’m going to assume it was the 100th clip of all of that. That’s the only explanation.

dangerrers++big+ass: I think I just need to blame this one on one of those bot searches otherwise…no, I can’t actually think of a reason this would fit for here.

true blue test cat food.cob antelope: It started out okay, like perhaps looking for an obscure brand of cat food. Then it hit antelope and it all went off the rails badly.

erotic story pregnant woman crying in bathroom comforted by brother towel falls he’s erect they have sex:…is there really even any need for my site after this? I mean, it’s pretty clear what is being searched for and is also pretty clear that I’m not really okay with it and the specificity.

i fucked an asian milf at the venetian in vegas last weekend: Cool story, bro. Are you just bragging or looking to find someone to commiserate with?

he who laughs last probably has an extra chromosome: I’m not even going to lie. I love this joke. It makes me laugh every time. I hate myself.

pink ranger kim fucked by alpha: This one actually made me wave my hands in the air in shock and confusion. Out of anyone in the Power Rangers canon, you want to see the ROBOT fucking her? You couldn’t pick the black guy or the gay one?

“go for the balls” friend: That’s not a great friend.

skyrim girl argonian fucking a boy dragon pics: And now we’re getting stuck with furries. Awesome. That’s totally what I want associated with my site. I’d rather they just kill themselves (along with a certain other person) and leave room for the nubile barely-legal redheads flooding to the site.

st helens sluts: Does this exist? I really want to know. Are there people that get all hot and bothered over volcanoes?

f-valium sterilization food.com: Annnnnnnd now we’re picking up the conspiracy theorists as well. Fantastic. We’re a racial separatist away from a bingo.

-=8[flr.skrrkk: Awesome. Someone had a seizure and died and it just happened to lead them here. Hope you enjoyed your stay, brief as it was!

cousin’s cousin eats cat at home sex videos: Come on now. The cousin-fucking was the main thing here. You can try to mask it with cat eating all you want but we all know what you’re here for. Also, we’re not interested.

http://www.toilet eats the food sex: I’m starting to sense a trend and it’s the worrying combination of food, sex, and toilet humor. No, wait, that’s the site itself, really.

“red dress” morgan freeman oscars cleavage 2012: What in the HELL? How do you mix up Morgan Freeman and Anne Hathaway? I shiver at the thought.

what vhappens when its you first felony and get busted with 8 ball of cocain?: Well, what happens is you go to jail for like ten years. And then your asshole gets raped by big, mean bikers. Hopefully somewhere in that period gives you time to learn how to spell correctly. Enjoy the buttsex!

racism kama sutra: This made me giggle a lot. The Kama Sutra is kind of the antithesis of racists, although you could make awful names for sex positions like the Hanging [insert racial epithet here] or something like that. No, I’m not proud of that joke. Yes, I’m a little uncomfortable with it.

toons 18 mighty morphin power rangers pond sex fuck: Most of this I can understand. It’s the word ‘pond’ that confuses me. Does it mean that the person searching can’t get off to Power Ranger sex if it doesn’t take place on or near a landlocked body of water? Do they need ducks quacking to stimulate them? Are frogs making it more kinky? I don’t know!

you fapping’ muppet you why i oughta: Yep, those are the people that come to this site. Sorry for the ripoff, Bill Simmons.
——
That actually makes me a little sad. People are so messed up. But hey, traffic is traffic so…come one, come all, come at the same time you freaks. DECF is here to serve your needs!

A Blast From The Past: The Negotiation

Posted: May 31, 2012 by kaostheory in Interview
Tags: , , ,

The creative well has run a bit dry, as it were, right now…so as a special treat, we’ve decided to show you a piece from way back before Dan Eats Cat Food was even a twinkle in KT’s eye and brain.

Back in around 2007 or so, Raybestos and KaosTheory decided to write a series of quick sketches to compile into a full-length play. After some discussions, they do so…to interesting effect. A couple pieces of one of the sketches is in fact being incorporated into a different writing piece by KT. The solely KT-written piece is not going to see the light of day because it’s too over the line, even for this site. Well…maybe not but it’s certainly not as witty as it should. And the solely Raybestos-written piece is something that, if he wants it to go up, he’ll have to post it himself.

However, there is one of the sketches – actually the strongest sketch – that is perfect for a day like today where no amount of drinking is able to mask some withdrawal symptoms (of what, don’t ask…nosey bastards). Thus, we proudly (fine, not proudly but…) present to you for your viewing, remaining completely (okay mostly but not entirely) unedited content-wise…The Negotiation.

Oh, also remember that it was written to be performed so the stage directions and things will be there. We’ll make sure that we bold the characters’ names for you for convenience’s sake. Enjoy.

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(lights up on WILL and BOSS – they are sitting at a desk, chatting)

Boss: Alright, Will. Let’s get down to business. What can you offer me that AT&T can’t?

Will: We’re prepared to offer you zero interest and five point nine percent APR for the next five years.

Boss: I’m not sure I can do that. AT&T gave us five point five AND an opt-out at any point. They seem to be more willing to deal. I’m sorry. I’ll have to take theirs.

Will: Whoa whoa whoa, don’t be so hasty. I’m prepared to give you the first three months free. And, you see that five point nine? Poof. It’s five point seven. Eh, eh?

Boss: You make it five five, we can call it a deal.

Will: Five point six five.

Boss: Five point five five.

Will: Five point five eight.

Boss: Five point five six.

Will: Deal.

Boss: Good man.

(they shake hands)

Boss: Is there anything else I can do for you?

Will: Well, now that you mention it…I’m gonna need you to validate my parking…

Boss: My secretary will take care of that.

Will: That’s the other thing. I’m gonna need ten minutes alone with your secretary. Preferably in an office, but a storage closet will do. I’m not picky.

Boss: Excuse me?

Will: I said, I’m going to need ten minutes with your secretary where we will not be disturbed. You see, I plan to…

Boss: No, no. That’s…that’s not happening. That’s my DAUGHTER.

Will: I did not know that. I am going to need twenty minutes alone…with your daughter. Who is your secretary. I plan to…

Boss: What? NO! No no no no no. That’s…no. Not happening. Not gonna happen. I’m sorry, but no.

Will: What seems to be the problem?

Boss: The…what? You don’t know? You don’t see a problem with this?

Will: I’m just trying to do business.

Boss: I bet you are but that’s not happening. No. Unacceptable.

Will: Please sir. Help me understand. Why is this unacceptable?

Boss: Because she’s my DAUGHTER. And my employee! And she’s underage.

Will: I was unaware of this as well. I now require thirty minutes alone with your underage secretary daughter. And a lookout in case security comes to check out the noise. You see, I plan to…

Boss: What? No! No! You don’t seem to understand. She is not legal. She is seventeen and unable to under law have sex.

Will: (pause) Heh. Okay.

Boss: Excuse me?

Will: First off, in this state, the legal age is technically sixteen, just FYI. I should know. I checked. Secondly, I doubt that she hasn’t been playing rainbow games at high school parties. I know that I did. And thirdly, if she didn’t want the high, hard one, she shouldn’t dress like a Catholic pornstar.

Boss: That is her SCHOOL UNIFORM. She comes straight here from school. How dare you?

Will: Look, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot…

Boss: I’d say so, yes.

Will: Let’s just back it up, cool down a little bit. What do I have to do to put me in your daughter?

Boss: Nothing! It’s not happening!

Will: You mean, you’re concerned about protection. I gotcha. I got a kid of my own. I’ll wear a condom if that’s your thing. I’ll even double-wrap, just for you. It won’t cause any problems that wouldn’t have been there already.

Boss: But…that’s…that’s not the point.

Will: Ah, so I can bare-back it. Fan-tastic.

Boss: Wait, no, I wasn’t saying that!

Will: Now I’m getting mixed messages. Answer this: do I or do I NOT have to wear a condom when I have sex with your daughter?

Boss: I…but…you…

Will: Okay, look, in fairness, I’ll make you a trade. YOU can have sex…with MY daughter.

Boss: I’m…I don’t want to have sex with your daughter. How old is she?

Will: I’d prefer not to say. But…young. How about it?

Boss: What? NO! I’m not a pedophile!

Will: I was mistaken. I apologize.

Boss: Excuse me?

Will: Never mind. Look, I’m willing to barter the contents of my wallet for the privilege of boning your daughter. That is more than fair.

Boss: Are you calling my daughter a whore?

Will: Not as such, no.

Boss: Not as such? What the hell does that mean?

Will: I mean, if it’s a question of money…

Boss: It’s not!

Will: There is an ATM…downstairs…that I can go to and clear out my expense account for this trip. I was just going to embezzle it and spend it on blow and hookers, but this seems like a more worthy investment.

Boss: It…it is but wait, wait, that’s not what I meant…no…you…you can’t have sex with my daughter. It can’t happen.

Will: Why can it not? It seems straightforward to me. I know the ropes. I promise.

Boss: It’s not a matter of that. It’s…look, she’s all I have left of my wife. She left me a few years ago for her gynecologist Val or something. Val…is not a man’s name.

Will: My condolences. I do not wish to take your daughter from you. I only wish to rent her for forty-five minutes.

Boss: That’s not the point! And forty-five? I thought it was a half-hour.

Will: It was. Commodities fluctuate with the market.

Boss: What market?

Will: While we took that break around noon, I took a picture of your daughter with my camera phone and sent it to the higher-ups in my company. Every executive officer is willing to negotiate with you. I simply got here first. You’re sitting on a goldmine.

Boss: I’m not going to accept pay for sex with my daughter!

Will: Perhaps I misstated. I am not willing to pay YOU to have sex with your daughter. I am willing to pay you for ME to have sex with your daughter. For money. For an hour.

Boss: I…I can’t in good conscience accept money for my daughter. But just for curiosity’s sake, how much are we talking?

Will: Well, let me show you.

(slides a piece of paper across the table)

Boss: Wow…that’s…a lot of zeros.

Will: I am prepared to add two more zeros to that number.

Boss: That’s a lot of money.

Will: Supply and demand my friend. I will even match AT&Ts offer plus what we’ve agreed upon. Because I like you. And very much like your daughter.

Boss: I do have bills.

Will: Indeed. So do we all. So do we have a deal?

Boss: I…I don’t think…

Will: Okay look. I will give you that number, the contents of my wallet, the AT&T deal, and will use protection. That’s a better deal than you’re gonna get anywhere else, I promise you. I’ve price-checked.

Boss: And if you get her pregnant?

Will: I will never contact her again.

Boss: That seems more than fair. Alright. We have a deal.

Will: I’ll have her back to you in the morning.

Boss: And since you’ve been such a good sport with this negotiation, if you’re not satisfied with my daughter, you can bring her back any time today and exchange her for something of equal or lesser value. Like my ex-wife.

Both: (laugh)
——
As always, Dan Eats Cat Food does not condone paying for sex, underage or not. If you can’t get it on your own merits, you don’t deserve it.

(That’s kind of dark. – ed.)

It happens.

What Birds Actually Are

Posted: April 13, 2012 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
Tags: , , ,

We’re going to start by saying that this one may well be controversial. A lot of people may get upset by what we have to say but the time has come to no longer be afraid of our beliefs. The truth must be told. Too long have we just sat to the side while things have happened.

Ladies and gentlemen…all birds are assholes.

I know, I know. It’s shocking to hear but hear me out. I know you all think that birds are the cute little things that cheep prettily and fly around, munching on seeds and the like. But you’re wrong. Let me explain to you how some of these so-called “adorable” creatures are just really average sized dicks. With wings. Flying dicks.

(Note to self: trademark that name. It could be a hot as hell meme.)
——
Blue jay: Right off the bat, fuck these guys. Little psychopaths. For one, they are bigger than most songbirds so they can throw their weight around. They’re basically the meathead juicers from New Jersey walking into a bar (or birdbath) and shoving the chickadees to the side in order to get their Jagerbombs and suet pinecones. They are aggressive, territorial, and outright mean. When I worked at a furniture store, I had to fight one off with a freaking BOX CUTTER just to get the little bastard to stop dive-bombing my eyeballs. True story.

Chickadee: Oh no, we’re not gonna let this little prick off the hook. All flying around, looking adorable with its little black and white coloring and tiny body. Yeah, it’s got a deep, dark secret though. Meth. You heard me. Chickadees are meth dealers. Think about it. Why would they NOT be? Yeah. I thought so.

Mockingbird: This jerk is just like that dick at the bar that gets liquored up and makes fun at everyone nearby. Guess what, jagoff? Mimicking other birds isn’t funny. It isn’t cute. All it does is show that you can do impressions. Whoop-de-shit. Who know who else does impressions? The cast of MADTV. Do you really want to be like them? You know who else does it? Those jackholes who are raping the memory of the Three Stooges. You’re a stooge! How about you use your own voice for once, you animal kingdom Frank Caliendo bitch.

Cardinal: Strutting around, thinking he’s all hot shit because he’s got loads of color prettying up the neighborhood. Feh. It’s called trying too hard and you’re the fucking physical exemplar. And that’s the males! The females are all brown and drab with just a little bit of coloring. You KNOW that he beats her. Comes home drunk to the nest one night, dragging her along by one wing, starts whipping the shit out of her with an extension cord because she had the AUDACITY to wear that dress with the plunging neckline which makes him look like a cuckold with all the other birds staring at her. Get some therapy, Cardinal. Get help.

Purple Finch: Could it BE any more of a homosexual?

Robin: You know how there’s that jerk who, whenever he hears that “You’re one in a million!” compliment, always chimes in with some tired-ass joke about that meaning that there’s still at least four people just like them in Atlanta alone? Yeah, that’s who the robin is being compared to. These birds are EVERYWHERE – cheeping, genociding worms, shitting on cars. It’s like a biological cloning experiment gone wrong. It’s like zombies. If birds could be zombies, this would be that kind of bird. Plus, one of the lamest sidekicks in comics history adopted you as a name so…fuck you, Robin.

Titmouse: HAH. What an unfortunate name, both for the bird and for the world. When you hear the name ‘titmouse’, I prefer to picture Minnie as a stripper in some dank club on a Thursday night, high as a kite with three grams of coke up that nose, dollar bills stuffed into her g-string, gyrating listlessly for Bluto and Pete (the douchebag neighbor on Goof Troop) as Mickey sits at home, wife-beater stained with the grease of a thousand cheeseburgers, a fifth of rye dangling from his gloveless paw. Okay, that went to a darker place than I was expecting.

Grackle/Raven/Crow: You know what’s a really fun kind of creature to be? One that has its mere presence exist as a DIRECT PORTENT OF DEATH. Know what’s even more fun? Edgar Allen Poe freaking the hell out over you and some long-since-unaddressed grief and trauma. Know what’s even more fun? Being a fucking grackle. One of these things is not like the other. Be honest. You just sang that to yourself, didn’t you?

Vulture: This is a creature that has its sole purpose in life to be eating the dead, rotting, and probably skid-marked remains of whatever furry little housepet got obliterated by a F-150 on the highway. I can’t even say anything about this. It’s like the Kardashians. You can try to insult them all you want, but the reality of the situation is that they will shit on themselves more than even fiction could.

Eagle: Keep on gloating, jackass. If Ben Franklin had been given his way, the national bird would have been the turkey and we would have been having roast eagle on Thanksgiving. And remember, it’s a quick hop, skip, and a jump from majestic to extinct, so maybe don’t be such a high and mighty prick all the time.

Turkey: Dude, let the Ben Franklin thing go. AND STOP RUNNING THE HELL IN FRONT OF MY CAR. Seriously, I don’t want to have to replace my windshield because one of you douchebags decided that you wanted to lay your wattles in the back seat of my Camry. Come on, man. I know you’re delicious with your anal cavity jammed full of bread crumbs and seasoning, but you don’t have to be a full-on retard near moving traffic.

Towhee: I don’t even know what the hell kind of bird this is.

Carolina Wren: THIS MOTHER FUCKER. Sure, he LOOKS like an adorable elderly gentleman, with his fat body, long beak, and regal stature. He’s an absolutely cute as hell bird. THEN HE OPENS HIS GODDAMN MOUTH. When he opens his beak, every scream every screamed by every soul in abject torment in the very deepest and darkest pits of Hell comes together to RIP THE WORLD ASUNDER. This is the Bird of the End Days. This is the Bird that Eats Men’s Souls. THIS IS THE LITTLE COCKSUCKER THAT DECIDES IT’S FUCKING FUNNY TO WAKE ME UP WHEN I’M STILL DRUNK AS SHIT ON TWO BOTTLES OF WINE AT SIX IN THE FUCKING MORNING. If there was every a bird that deserved to be cast, wingless and dipped in barbecue sauce, into a pit of hungry feral wolverines, this would be the little bastard most deserving. I hate you, Carolina Wren.
——
(You just kind of…think of an idea and go, don’t you? – ed.)

I don’t always listen to myself talk.

(Clearly. – ed.)

When In Doubt, Stay Home

Posted: March 31, 2012 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
Tags: , , , ,

Instead of going with the standard ‘rant and rave about x issue’ polemic or the ‘pack as much violent and sexual content into an article as possible’, we’re trying something different this time. We’re going to offer up a cautionary tale so that you may understand the depths of madness that sometimes infest our daily lives.

Okay, there will almost certainly be violent and sexual content packed in too. Because that’s how we roll.

Anyways, on to the recounting of our trip to the Mouth of Hell.
——
The letter that came was, even before it was opened, an ominous portent. Even though there was what appeared to be the Disney logo on the back, the letters looked…odd. Reversed maybe. The envelope itself was ragged around the edges and there was a brown, leaky stain in the lower left-hand corner. When it was opened, the paper ripped with nearly no effort required and four asymmetrical chunks of paper and a creased sticky note fell out. The note read as such (naturally [sic] applies):

“Congrates! Yu an ur famly ur frens ar invted too bee spehshell gests at thee furst universery selleebrayshun of Dosneyworl! Heer ar for tikets fur u. Com on March 20, 20_year. Yu get thre gests. Bring moneies.

(signed)

(something unintelligible and probably racist)”

It was…a concern. Something definitely smelled fishy and it wasn’t even the leaky stain (which eventually was determined to be Kentucky Fried Chicken gravy). None of us (us being myself, Superfly, Pred3000, and Raybestos) had ever had any direct interaction with Disney but we came to the conclusion that would could reasonably assume that they wouldn’t send such shoddy quality material. At least not since Walt went in the freezer, at least.

Our opinions were split. Superfly and Raybestos thought it would be funny to give it a shot, while Pred3000 and I were more interested in not being abducted, raped, and our kidneys being sold for crack money. Finally, we came to an agreement: we would go but we would apply for and get open carry licenses first, just to be safe.

After each getting comfortable with our respective weapons (Raybestos and Pred3000 chose 9mms, Superfly got a .22, and I went all out with a Desert Eagle), we hopped in Raybestos’ car (another requirement for going was that I was allowed to be drunk and not having to drive) and set off for Puerto de la Muerte, Florida. Yes, you read that correctly – Port of Death. Not Orlando – although I suppose it could have an alternate name.

The drive was long and boring and I was starting to nod off from a combination of the rhythmic hum of the car and the half a bottle of Jameson I had killed on the drive when the car slammed to a halt, only to start up again at a very slow speed.

“What the hell was that?” I grumbled as I felt the car make a turn and finally stop.

“We’re…here?” Raybestos said, the question in his response worrying, even through the whiskey fog. We all unbuckled and got out of the car (I admit that I had a bit of trouble with the seatbelt, but I’m allowed). Blinking my eyes, I peered at what stood in front of us. It was…troubling.

The park itself seemed to span a couple acres of land but we couldn’t quite tell. A giant red and blue sign welded to a telephone pole read “Welcum too Dosneyworl” and flashed rapidly every few seconds. If any of us had been epileptic, it would have been dangerous. As it stood, it just added a “carnival of the damned” feel to the whole experience. We looked further ahead of us as we walked. Behind a very tall chain-link fence, complete with barbed wire rolls at the top, we were able to view what were ostensibly rides. I could pick out a roller coaster, merry-go-round, Ferris wheel, and various other attractions you would expect to see at an amusement park. For whatever reason, that actually frightened me more. But we had made it this far. We couldn’t go back now. As we walked to the front gate, the ticket-taker glared at us, surprise and resentment in his eyes. I don’t think he wanted us to be there. That made five of us.

He growled at us when we reached him. “‘kits, now.” We handed him the ragged scraps of paper and he tossed them in the garbage. With a sigh, he pressed a button, shifting the large steel doors apart. “Park closes at 7. Don’t be late. Seriously.” We scurried in, all checking our watches. We had four hours to spend in there. We all agreed we’d spend three at most, just to be safe. Bad things come at night.

The ‘road’ beneath our feet was a mixture of gravel and sawdust and kicked up little clouds with every step we took. A wooden sign nailed to a lamppost nearby read “Man Stret Yousa”, scribbled in the same retard patois that the invitation was written in. It was about this time that I really started to regret not eating lunch. I made this fact clear to the group and, fearing that any puking in this tortured land would invite its denizens to feed on our souls, they hustled me to the nearest food cart to get something greasy and delicious in my stomach.

Let me tell you. Nothing changes your “I have to puke” status than realizing that your other option is choking down a ‘befstik’ or ‘shulsie’. I just got a glass of water and even then it took all I had to kick it back. It was tap water but that was comforting since I was expecting bleach or something.

“So what do you guys want to do first?” Raybestos asked, trying to keep up a brave face.

“You mean besides go home?” Pred3000 muttered, already sulking in fear.

We wandered the streets of the park, only occasionally seeing a handful of other people, all with the same unsure looks on their faces. We passed the ‘Fast-circly-go’, the ‘Spiny-tal-circle’, a tea-cup ride that looked more like a human-sized centrifuge, and what looked to be a haunted house. Yeah. We sure as shit weren’t going to go in there. We kept wandering and and were about ready to mercifully leave when the 5 PM Parade started.

Have you ever seen madness walking? Like upright and walking? You lucky bastard. You never saw the mascots then. Let me give you the rundown.

First up was Mackey and Mornie Moose. Giant towering moose creatures with gloves on their hooves, pendulous hanging breasts and genitalia, and fur that looked to be at least half-mange, if not more. Instead of the charming “Ho ho!” that Mickey would always give, whoever developed these outfits really went all out to nail the sound of an angry, horny moose. The gronking and howling was beyond unsettling. I think that was the point that I realized that I had unsnapped the holster on my gun. Unconsciously, mind you.

Next up was Gorfy. You know that look in the face when something just isn’t…right in the head? Like the glossy, unfocused eyes, the slack jaw, the aggressive stance. Yeah. Gorfy had that. He also decided to stuff a live chicken through the mouth hole while right in front of us, so all we could hear for the next couple minutes as he ran around in pain were agonized screams and clucking.

Then we had Ronald Pigeon. I won’t say much about this one but you know how birds shit EVERYWHERE when they’re startled? Yeah. Gorfy startled Ronald Pigeon. I’ll leave that to your imagination.

I can’t really say what all happened next. All I know is that one of us – probably Pred3000 – started firing into the crowd and, well, we’re not going to leave our buddy out to dry. Did you know that guns can overheat if you pull the trigger too fast? I sure didn’t!

To cut a long story short, we’re not allowed to enter the state of Florida for the next ten years, we had to spend a week in firearm responsibility training, and I have a moose head mounted above my fireplace.

All that being said, would I call it the worst Spring Break ever?

Nah. I mean, have you SEEN Panama City Beach?
——
(Ending on a punchline. How classy of you. – ed.)

Shut up, Ed. Sometimes you can create gold, sometimes you can just be happy with creating lead.

(I don’t think that’s accurate. – ed.)

I don’t think you’re accurate! Deuces!