Lurker > Pics_nao_plz

I like to think of myself as a pretty serious gamer. I've played all the "hard" games, such as Dark Souls, Dark Souls 2, Dark Souls 3, Elden Ring, etc and I've destroyed them all. They weren't even remotely a challenge for me. I don't know if it's my quick reflexes or my tactical thinking, but if you put a video game in front of me, that game is going to be beat. The only thing that is getting in my way is a dead controller battery (and even then, I always carry backups at all times).

Lately, I've been getting into more physical activities to challenge me, as video games just do not cut it anymore. I've tried both team sports and solo activities, such as running or rock climbing, and as expected, I've dominated in each of them. However, I do find these activities fun as a change of pace from my usual gaming.

So when my new girlfriend (Michelle (pronounced Mish-elle)) asked if I wanted to try sex, I jumped at the opportunity. I've never had sex before (why waste my seed?) but I figured it would be a great chance to see if this is the ultimate test for my skills. I know lots of men brag about their sexual prowess, so I wanted to see if this was an adequate challenge for someone like me, or just another disappointment.

To prepare, we first engaged in what Michelle called "foreplay." This was almost pathetically easy; nothing but a bunch of open mouth kisses and rhythmic breast grabs. I even noticed Michelle had her eyes closed, which I think truly illustrates the simplicity of this phase of the sexual process.

After about ten minutes of that nonsense, we decided to go right into the main event, sexual intercourse. For weeks leading up to this moment, I had practiced throwing hoops of various sizes into the air and thrusting my penis through them, simulating what I expected sex to be like, and preparing for any moment. My precision had become unmatched.

So you can imagine my disappointment when Michelle took off her pants and all there was just one hole, and a stationary hole at that. I entered this hole with absolutely no difficulty, tried a few of the trick thrusts I had practiced at home, and 30 seconds later it was over.

After sex, I told Michelle that I had never been more disappointed in my entire life, and she agreed. How do people find any enjoyment in this? It reminded me of the quick time events in the video games I frequently dominate, only on a biological level.

Are people really such simpletons that this is a pleasurable activity for them, or am I missing something?

Erica Lindbeck is the perfect slampig

Since a young age, I have experienced frequent episodes of extremely explosive, violent white guilt. Some days, it is so bad that I can do nothing but stare at the wall and sob. I shut down emotionally and am just a very difficult person to be around.

I've been dealing with this white guilt for a very long time and in the last few years, I figured enough was enough. As many of you know, I am a huge Amiibo collector, so I created a plan to deal with this guilt in a way that is productive and beneficial for all parties involved.

What I've done is created a sort of mult-racial coalition that gets together to work out race issues together. I have a few friends that I will invite out once a month to go over issues of racial sensitivity and repairing the damage my people have done towards them for decades.

Typically, we will meet up over a casual dinner - I prefer going to Olive Garden, as that is an inclusive dining experience that is neither too casual nor too formal. When we get to the restaurant, I will typically ask the waitress for extra breadsticks, under the guise that our party is exceptionally hungry from the long drive.

As soon as the waitress brings over the breadsticks and leaves, I will dump them into a trash bag I have fixed under my shirt. A lot of people don't know this, but Olive Garden actually offers you free breadsticks for life, assuming you do not leave the restaurant. When the waitress returns to the table to take our drink order (water, of course), I will howl something like "NUMMY NUMMY. ME WANT MORE BREADSTICKS NOW. LADY GIVE!" and begin pounding on the table. She will be thrown off her guard and rush back to the kitchen to provide more breadsticks.

This is the most important part of erasing my white guilt - I will subtley take the trash bag of breadsticks outside (under the cover that I need to go smoke a cigarette - to build this illusion, I will tussle the hair of any kid waiting and go "don't start smokin', buddy. don't be like me") and empty the bag in the footwell of the passenger seat of my car. I will then return to the table and repeat this process about two or three times.

Eventually, the waitress will start to catch on and begin delaying the delivery of breadsticks. This is my cue to leave. I will ask for the bill, which is (of course) $0, and I will leave her a 20% tip ($0). I will then drive home and use the breadsticks to make sandwiches for the month.

My buddies and I were hanging out at my place last night, watching Wednesday Night Football (we tape Monday night football so we can all watch it together on Wednesday). My son was also there (ugh) because I guess his mom couldn't watch him that night. Whatever. I was still gong to watch the game.

Jorge came over with a case of Mike's Hard (sweet!) and we got to business. By the end of the first quarter, I had pounded like 4 or 5 Mikes Hards. The game was really good too. Just so many moments that football fans like us thrive on. As many of you know, I am a huge Amiibo collector, so my friends and I were going absolutely NUTS at some of the plays being done.

We were all pretty tipsy at this point, and I eventually got the good idea to get my son to fetch us Mike's Hards while we watched the game (fast forwarding through the commercials, of course). When the third quarter started, Jorge turned to me and said, "Esse, this is great. These big, burly men are putting on quite a show and I am having a good time." I agreed. "This game is awesome," I said. "And things couldn't be better. I've got my friends at my side, and my son is getting me Hard every few minutes."

I then turned to my son, who had just fetched me another Mike's Hard, and I told him I had enough to drink (I'd had like 6 or 7 Mike's Hards at this point and I had my first day at my new job as a night security guard in an hour) and asked if he would like to sit down and watch the rest of the game with us.

My son sheepishly looked at the floor and said. "Dad... I don't really like football." The room was silent. I knew what this meant and I immediately embraced my son. "Son," I said, "I will love you no matter what, regardless of your sexuality. You are my child, and I don't care if you are straight, gay, bisexual, or even a Chinese. In my eyes you wil always just be my son."

My son started crying like a little bitch and I embraced him again. "I knew you'd understand," he said to me, in between muffled sobs.

From the couch I heard Jorge speak up. "Toby," he said, "I have a confession to make as well. I do not like football either. I greatly prefer European Football, where a bunch of wimps run around kicking a soft, friendly ball into a net, stopping only to have orange slices and reapply hair products. I only came over here because I love getting Hard with you."

I was immediately filled with a rage. "Get the fuck out of my house, you animal!" I screamed at Jorge. "I understand," Jorge said. He gave my son and I a kiss on the cheek and then climbed into his Yaris. Jorge tried to drive off, but unbeknown to him, I had slashed his tires hours earlier, and the sparks from driving on his wheels caused the entire car to ignite into flames.

Overall, though, it was a great night, and I am so proud of my son for being honest with me. How are you all doing?