There seems to be no shortage of urban legends surrounding gay sexuality these days but it looks like we’re going to have to count another one. A hot new theory in fundamentalist Christianity claims that gay men’s compulsively deviant behavior is caused by fart demons, namely putrid smelling demons that infest the anal canal and cause the host to jones for cock. The progenitor of this claim, Pastor Bert Farias of Holy Fire Ministries, explains:
“Homosexuality is actually a demon spirit. It is such a putrid smelling demon that other demons don’t even like to hang around it… There is an account in the Bible where Jesus casts out 2,000 demons out of a man. The demons came out screaming and begged Jesus to send them into the pigs. The pigs didn’t want them, so they ran down a steep hill and were drowned in the sea. Pigs have more sense than some humans[.] People embrace homosexual demons, but the pigs would rather die than be possessed with demons.”
It stands to reason that gay men, with their inherent proclivity towards sodomy, have since been infested by these spirits. Ergo, fart demons.
Look, I’m sorry guys, but I’m going to have to own up to this one. This is probably my fault. There was a time in my life where I was convinced that my asshole was haunted. I was really into felching at the time and it just seemed to make sense. The ghosts hounded my hole day and night, leaving discharges and oozing sores in their wake. Doctors were unconvinced with my ghost theory and eventually drove the spirits out with an aggressive dosage of antibiotics. The ghosts vacated their dwelling and have since been replaced by HPV. I’ve shared this theory with the bevy of prominent religious figures that I’ve bedded and it all likely snowballed into the fart demon theory that you’re now reading. Bert Farias looks like about a dozen people I’ve fucked, so he may or may not have been one of my besties at Steamworks. Either way the fart demon theory is now a thing and we all have to deal with it.
I realize this is irritating. If you’re an altar boy that has had fart demons postulations ruin your intimate time, you have my sincerest apologies. I’m not proud of this but we’ve all done fucked up things while rolling on Tussionex. Besides anyone who willingly reads this blog is a whore, so who are you to judge? I now know to be significantly more choosey about the ministers I take as sex partners. I’ll never know whether the demon spirits in my ass were ghosts, a voodoo curse, or simply rectal gonorrhea, but if I have any future questions I’m sure Bert Farias can answer them. He seems to have an invested interest in the activities of gay men’s asses, so I’m sure there’s no rectal spirit he can’t exorcise. All he needs is Holy water, the good book and a can of Crisco.
Rack ‘em up, readers, for our July Babe of the Month has arrived. I present to you Mr. Mark Selby, champion snooker player, jokester, and superbly fine piece of ass.
I previously thought that snookering meant modeling cut-rate Snooki drag for weed money, but apparently it’s a bona fide thing and Mark Selby is the Michelle Kwan of it. Selby is the current World Snooker Champion, but far more importantly he’s hot. Imagine a younger, cleaner Adam Levine that doesn’t look like a small time meth dealer and you’ve got Mark Selby. He’s known as the Jester from Leicester, but I gotta’ tell you, that ass is no joke.
That thing just doesn’t quit. It’s like two plump rump roasts wrapped in boxer briefs and stuffed into a gloriously snug set of slacks. His ass has attained its own celebrity, generating more press lately than he has. That’s an understandable scenario, given the utter perfection of his hindquarters. You’d think that Selby would beat off lusty gay suitors with a pool cue but, in a cruel twist of fate, Mark Selby and his ass are both heterosexuals. The profound tragedy of this fact cannot be overstated. Such a deliciously firm ass is destined to hungrily clap down on a cock like a true dick pig should, but sadly his wife would probably contest such a scenario. Fate is a cruel, fickle thing.
Mark Selby and his glorious ass will have to be relegated to masturbatory fodder. Fap away, readers, but please remember this. Bottoming on a pool table is a tried and true tradition but just remember silicone-based lube stains. Be advised.
File this one under “Holy Fuckidity Fuck” because flesh eating cocaine is real. A rash of severe cases of skin rot has been traced back to tainted cocaine and the outlook looks grim. It’s estimated that 80 percent of the nation’s blow supply is tainted. 80 percent? Holy Hell. If Lindsay Lohan’s face melts off, we know what the culprit is.
The tainted blow was cut with levamisole, a veterinary drug used to deworm livestock. I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Kids these days. In my day we’d cut our coke with Equal packets swiped from Denny’s. It was a tried and true tradition, but oh no, the kids had to go and get creative and we find ourselves in this horrible position. The levamisole can trigger a severe immune reaction that leads to the zombified skin rot. The estimated contamination rate is terrifyingly high, posing a staggering threat to public health. If we don’t act soon everyone will wind up looking like Pete Doherty.
This epidemic has the potential to dismantle our entire society. Sensationalist news coverage of partially decomposed blow addicts could lead the public to think that drug use is somehow dangerous. This scenario would invariably lead the international drug market to plummet, leading to terrifyingly dire consequences. Let’s think rationally for a second. If people discontinue cocaine use en masse, entire markets would crumble and collapse. How could the fashion industry ever function without cocaine? Our nation’s models depend on cocaine as an essential life force. Barring an unforeseeable emergence of gangrene chic, it’s likely that models will abandon the drug. If their blow winds up rotting out their skin they could risk venturing out to strange alternate fuel sources, like food. A fashion model without cocaine? Glamour would die a horrible death. But that’s not all. Without a healthy demand for cocaine the fragile economies of Latin Market would likely face swift collapse. Colombia would probably sink into the Earth.
But that’s not the worst part. I have our nation’s true heroes in mind: child actors. For generations our country’s child actors have relied upon a ready and available coke supply to help them ease the transition from fresh faced precocious youth to washed up has-beens. What of Aaron Carter? Amanda Bynes? Lohan, for Christ sakes! Without cocaine greasing its wheels, it’s all too likely that the entire entertainment industry will grind itself into oblivion.
A drug free world? That’s horrifying. I couldn’t imagine making it through the day without something to take the edge off. Repeatedly. I’ve spoken at great length about my admiration for drug addicts. It is their frenzied dedication and heightened, excitable focus that make our society work. If you share my concern and reverence for our nation’s drug addicts, let this be a call to action. I’m certain that somehow, someway we can fix this problem. Together we can make a difference. Go to the streets and demand change. Join me and let’s work together to #SaveTheCokeHeads.