KEV CUMS HOME. Nothing swells my sack with joy like returning to my would-be alma matter and past employer. Here is a pic of the greatest Hoosier warrior of them all, ME!
This morning, as my latest babe was in the bathroom doing whatever you ladies do in there after morning sex, I took it upon myself to snoop around her purse. I was expecting to find crumpled reciepts, lip gloss, empty Plan B packets, the usual. What I was not expecting to find was the November 2005 issue of Glamour magazine with Natalie Portman on the cover. Wow did I hit the jackpot. I confess I’ve always been secretly facinated with what was inside these lady mags, and have to make a concious effort to avoid the ailse in the grocery store which sells them lest temptation gets the best of me and I buy and/or read them there. These magazines are the key to understand women to the fullest extent, because everyone knows they follow every single piece of advice given and take everything written in them compltely seriously. I couldn’t wait to dive in and see what I could learn.
Not knowing how long this biddy would stay in the bathroom, I decided to just open to a random page. 7 Ways To Be The Most Irresistible Woman At The Party. Hmmm, not directly about sex, but I was nonetheless interested in what Glamour had to say. After reading through the entire article, I was in shock. These tips were awful! I would never want any woman at a party to ever act like this. Whoever is writing this shit for Glamour needs to be shot and replaced by someone who actually knows what a woman has to do at a party to be deemed fuckable irrisistable. And that person is, of course, me.
1. Glamour: Dance in your underwear at home before the party.
Kev Sez: Dance in your underwear at the party and after at Kev’s home.
No brainer here. I don’t even know why this tip is mentioned, because the title of the article was how to be irrisistable AT THE PARTY, not how to be irrisistable at home and only to the voyeur next door.
2. Glamour: Get yourself into an irresistible state of mind.
Kev Sez: Get yourself into an irresistible state of mind, masturbate, film it, and bring a copy to the party.
I don’t have as much of a problem with this one as the first. However, Glamour’s idea of irrisitible is imagining your latest great accomplishment, like a five mile run. That isn’t even that great of an accomplishment. Banging 12 dudes in one night is more like it, and thinking about that should make a girl horny, and being horny should make her either call me or masturbate and film it and then slip me the tape at the party.
3. Glamour: Look cool, act warm.
Kev Sez: Look hot, act slutty.
Pretty basic stuff.
4. Glamour: Instead of an opening line, try a compliment.
Kev Sez: Skip introductions.
Glamour is right on this one; “Nice to meet you” is boring. But so is “Nice haircut”. Why don’t you ladies try something totally different and new when meeting a guy for the first time? Try following a guy into the bathroom and springing an impromptu blow job on him.
5. Glamour: Lose the handbag.
Kev Sez: Lose the panties.
Knowing a lady is being super naughty and airing out her naughty bits is an oldie but woodie party trick.
6. Glamour: Talk football.
Kev Sez: Talk fantasy.
I’m not referring to the one time you begged your boyfriend to let you into his fantasy league. But I think you already knew that.
7. Glamour: Be the only one at the party NOT drinking.
Kev Sez: The fuck? Why would you ever do this?
Ohhh boy. I have a BIG BIG problem with this one. I almost don’t even know where to begin. First of all, if your plan is to go to a party where everyone is drinking but you, save me the breath it takes to ask you “Wanna do a shot?” 7 times because I am so drunk I can’t remember that you’re not drinking and stay home. Second, save yourself the disappointment in knowing no guys are going to hit on you because you’re sober enough to say “No means NO”.
Ladies, I don’t know how you’ve ever been successful getting guys at parties by following tips like the ones Glamour has posted. You’re probably all virgins and lying about it, which I guess isn’t that bad; I do love me some virgins. But in all seriousness, next time you’re at a party, I highly suggest following my advice. Everyone will love you, including myself, and you’ll be guaranteed an invitation home with Kev.
Ladies, I know most of you are opposed to the idea of getting roofied, but before you judge, you should stop and ask yourself: how do I know something is bad if I’ve never tried it before? I for one have tried roofies, and I can say they are amazing. This weekend was my first time doing them but I can say they really work. You get SO fucked up! Since none of my roomies wanted to go out, I had to be ridin’ solo at the bars, but that’s ok because people who go out with me just fade to the background anyway. So tonight I was sitting at the bar in a regular chair not bar stool so I could be eye level with the bartenders boobs LOL its true and this Colombian guy comes up to me and asks if he can buy me a drink. At first I wasn’t sure if this was a trick since after Mexicans, Colombians are the race that likes murdering people the most. however, one quick look at the the black dental floss he had riding all up in the good 4 inches of ass crack he had exposed eased my worries. This guy was definitely YES HOMO, which means the only violence he’s ever experienced in his life was hearing that Rhianna got her face busted in. No way he could kill anyone. I accepted the drink and we started chatting. He told me his name was Juan Luis and how much I looked like Tom Cruise and I was like yeah thanks I get that a lot. We’re pretty much the same person except I’m not gay! He didn’t really speak much English but after I spoke the word “gay” he just smiled so big and nodded so I was reassured he knew what “not gay” meant. I’ll be the first to admit I was getting pretty liquored up and having a good time with Juan Luis, he was very thoughtful and giving me compliments nonstop. After being at the bar for a couple of hours, I picked up the tab because even a gay guy should know how baller I am, and we left the bar and started walking through the parking lot. He must have had just one Flirtini over his limit because he was leaning on me a lot, and being the kind soul that I am I felt I should walk him to his car. Once he got behind the wheel, instead of driving away he opened the center consul and pulled out a bag filled about half way with little green pills. “Wanna get fucked?” he asked. Try as I did to hold it in, I could help but let out a little giggle at how drunk he was; he couldn’t even ask “Do you want to get fucked up?” right. Luckily he didn’t notice because he just smiled really big again and nodded. Anyway, I’m not one to turn down a chance to prove how baller I am and how much I can party, so I got in the car and next thing I knew we were at his house. He had been driving all over the road, I was so fucking scared that we were going to crash and my dick would becoming permanently deformed from the injuries or i would become paralized from the waist down and not able to get an erection, so I got out of the car before he did and opened the door for him. “Gracias, chico” he said. I was like you’re welcome, but my name is Kevin, not Chico. Had to keep reminding myself of the language barrier. We entered his house and he immedietely started fixing the drinks. Juan Luis was an excellent bartender because after a few sips I was on the floor and I couldn’t even taste any of the alcohol. It seriously tasted just like straight Ginger Ale, but it had to be the strongest drink I’ve ever had because like I said, I could not even sit up. Juan Luis came over and got down on the floor with me and at that very moment I started to get the spins. The floor lurched up to the ceiling, so I darted my hand out to grab his bicep for balance. I apologized but he also didn’t mind that because he grabbed onto my hand with his and made me squeeze and massage his bicep. The next 30 minutes were really a blur for me. I mostly remember rolling around on the floor and being on my stomach a lot and feeling like I had to go number 2 and trying really hard to hold it in. I’m just really glad I didn’t get the spins and throw up or anything. I do remember at one point Juan Luis telling me that everything was okay, he had put some roofies in my drink to get me to relax a bit because he said, “I can tell this is your first time”. I was like how in the hell did he know that I had never taken roofies before? Weird. It was actually cool that he didn’t tell me about the roofies before I took them; it reminded me of how the Beatles first tripped on acid without knowing they had been given acid. John Lennon’s face was the last thing I remember thinking about before I passed out. In the morning, I woke up in what I assumed was Juan Luis’ guest bedroom, which looks like it gets a lot of use. Juan Luis was already up and he spent a lot of time getting ready for the day in that guest bedroom, which I thought was a little strange but he is a gay Colombian man so I’m sure he is going to be different than me in some ways. So that was my experience with roofies. Totally crazy, can’t wait to try them again. And ladies, stop complaining about being roofied all the time, it doesn’t mean you’re about to be raped. I’ve personally experienced roofies, and nothing bad happened to me. I was completley in control and except for the thirty minutes or so at the very end of the night when Juan Luis and I were on the floor, I remember everything. Infact, I think it’s kind of flattering if you are roofied. It’s kind of a compliment. All it means is that some guy thinks you’re hot and wants to bang you.
Just made this amazing movie perfect.
Just finished watching the movie Doubt for the first time. STORY OF MY LIFE. Never have I ever related so much to a character as I did to Phillip Seymore Hoffman’s in that movie. Reminded me so much of my situation when I was asked to leave my position at the IU Athletic Department. Except if Meryl Streep was on my ass instead of my boss I would have tapped that before I peaced out! ROTFL.
But in all seriousness, this has me thinking about getting back into the work force. You may be wondering how I have been making ends meet these past two months. Well, you won’t believe this but one of my roommates actually has a really sweet job and gets paid so much that he has offered to just pay for all the utilities and all the rent AND all the shit that I want! It’s pretty much the sweetest deal ever. And it’s part of the reason I am not going to make any rash decisions and just get any job.
I’ve narrowed down my list of potential jobs that I think would be a perfect blend of applying my skill set and stimulating my groin loins to 3. They are pilot, pediatrician, and pool boy. Pilot would be awesome because I would get to stare at all the hunnies out there without them knowing. Pediatrician would be awesome because I could get free medicine and bang all the hot nurses, moms and girls who develop early. Pool boy would be awesome because I look awesome when I’m wearing the pool boy outfit. Really tough decision, and I’m hoping you guys can help me out and share your thoughts.
Also been thinking about Megara McMuller today. Going to take this opportunity to put some of those thoughts on paper, so to speak.
I get off
when you get on
line
I go weak
when you go hard
core
I want to take you
Want to make you
sore
I dream you visit me in my base
ment
Then I awake and and you are no longer
mine
And now I’m sad. But a job would enable me to buy her some sexy lingerie so that is another incentive.
LO
VE,
Kev
I think I am getting sick. Last week I went to the grocery store and as I was walking through the parking lot, my attention was caught by a little asian biddy wearing high heels. Never fails! Every time you go somewhere where the dress code is basically look like shit, i.e. grocery store, the gym, Rally’s at 9pm, the waiting room at the free clinic, you can bet that if there is an Asian chick there, she’s going to be wearing heels. Probably of the kitten-toe variety. Don’t get me confused—I’m not complaining. Rather marveling at the diversity of our planet.
Anyway, staring open-mouthed at this Asian was a bad idea because it allowed some mosquitoes to fly into my mouth, and try as I did to spit them out, I had to swallow. (NO HOMO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) I’m pretty sure I now have either Malaria or West Nile. Not exactly certain which one but that’s why I’m going to go through Dr. Kev’s Symptom Checker and get to the bottom of this medical mystery.
So my symptoms in the past week have been getting gradually worse, and they’ve consisted mainly of the following:
Fever
Pain when I piss
One of my balls is much bigger than the other
Right now it appears I have 1 out of 6 possible symptoms of West Nile and 0 out of 5 symptoms of Malaria. After doing some research, I have more symptoms in line with West Nile than Malaria, so we’re going to go with that one. Gotta get to a Dr before I get to the next symptom on the list, which is brain swelling. But then again maybe I already have that because my brain is pretty much located in my dick area so my ball is swelling instead. LOL. I would upload a picture of it, but I don’t want to make any of my male readers feel incompetent when they see how honky my dong is (honky means opposite of wonky + huge). Instead, I’ll leave you with a picture of me getting revenge on the mosquito who infected me! Doesn’t stand a chance against Dr. Kev: Disease-fighting Divo!
Health and hellfire,
Dr. Kev
As promised, I have to give you some background information on this case. Unfortunately I’m not going to be able to solve it like I had orinigally planned, the reason being that this case was recently solved like 20 some years after it was committed. UGH. Fucking cops. Oh well you should still know about it.
Above is a picture of the girl who Disappeared at the Dairy Queen in 1986. “Thirteen” year old Cindy Z. WOAH. 13?! This girl looks a lot older than 13. Definitely over 18.
Cindy was one of those girls who enjoys a lot of milk products so every day after school she would frequent the local DQ with her boyfriend, Scott Ream-N-Cream. Now don’t let that demure neckline and wilted flower bouquet fool you—Cindy was no angel. She actually happened to be grounded on the day of her disappearance, which is why she didn’t tell her parents or anyone where she was going. On the morning of April 19, Cindy was waiting outside of DQ to be picked up by Daddy Ream-N-Cream, Sr. to attend Scott’s birthday party. This is where things get a lil crazy, baby.
Scotty’s dad was trolling her! There was no party. He also had a history with 13-year-old girls, 14-year-old girls, had a couple of hits on his criminal record as to raping girls, and “taking indecent liberties with children”. I think that last one means you are supposed to imagine an old man doing something to a young girl that is not rape but is of equal or greater value on the Raunchy Scale. Do it now.
Now that we’re all on the same page, you’re probably wondering why he wasn’t arrested right away. The answer is that somehow this guy managed to rape and kill Cindy and bury her body in a 4 foot grave on a property he used to own and raise bees on decades earlier and NOT leave behind any evidence. Don’t know how this ex-beekeeper managed to pull that one off but he did. It’s an awful story and I know I’ve said a lot of fucked up things but one thing I don’t like is murder. Everything else can pretty much be explained away. So poo poo on you, Art, but with a last name like “Ream” I know your hole is going to be shouting “hot tamale!” & burning from all the friction you’ll be wishing you had some DQ ice cream to sit on. So that gives me some peace of mind. If only Cindy had known about and used my designer mace, Rapescape, she might be going to the Chill n Grill drive-thru at the Dairy Queen right now.
If you guys want more information about this case, just google Cindy, Art Ream, and Dairy Queen.
Hey guys, sorry I haven’t been writing as much as usual lately, I’ve had writers block! LOL I don’t expect you guys to understand because it only happens to geniuses but I just have to be honest with you and tell you about the reason why I’ve been MIA. Right now I’m drinking some whiskey and water and I’m watching Mind of Manson on MSNBC, which is a documentary-style analysis of a 1987 inteview by an FBI criminal profiler with the Man himself, Charles Manson. Right now CM is talking about why he killed some people or something but I’m mostly hoping he will hurry up and get to the part everyone is actually interested in: how he drew that perfect Swastika on his forhead. Have you ever tried to draw one of those? Not an easy task! And he drew it PERFECTLY, while looking in a mirror, which makes drawing 1000 times harder. Amazing. I’m in shock and awe at his talent. A true artist. Needs an exhibit at the MoMA. I could go on and on.
Okay so all this Manson stuff has got me thinking about murder, particularly my favorite murder story of all time: The Disappearance at the Dairy Queen. It’s a cold case (to all the Hardly Brothers out there who have swallowed so much clue goo they can’t think straight, a cold case is one that hasn’t been solved yet) and it’s one I think about a lot. Of all the murders that occur in this world, the fact that I think about The Disappearance at the Dairy Queen so much must mean something, and tonight I finally figured out what that is. I must solve The Disappearance at the Dairy Queen. I am the only one who can do it. So I am officially launching this investigation by declaring this case OPEN, and I’ll keep you guys posted about my every raging clue. But first, I think you guys need a little background information about this dairy mama who should have just gone with her original idea of turning tricks to put food on the table instead of following up on that HELP WANTED sign in the DQ window.
I’ll summarize next time LMFAO!!!!
It’s Sunday, and I usually use this day as one for reflection on my previous weeks of life and keep things tame. This past week has been a roller coaster ride of emotions that surely would induce psychotic breaks in the minds of an average man, but never fear guys, for Kev has it under control. This week I fought with my 51 year old tree hugger roommate a lot, which led me to get blacked out drunk and spill a secret of a dear friend of mine. Oh well LOL. I also went to Bloomington to service the only cock I ever get down with, KOK. I got with a ton of hot babes and got no numbers and they all kind of looked like “Megara” so it was a huge success.
During my thinking today, I came across this dilemma. It has been argued that freedom of thought is a precondition for intellectual progress, because freedom of thought allows thinkers to pursue their ideas, regardless of whom these ideas offend (everyone), in whatever direction they lead (nowhere). However, it is clear that one must mine the full implications of interrelated ideas to make intellectual progress, and for this, great thinkers like Kev need intellectual discipline. Therefore, this argument for freedom of thought is an epic FAIL.
So how do I reconcile this? In the interest of intellectual progress, is it better to go buckwild or have guidelines and constraints? Personally, I think disciplined thinking is like bowling with bumpers: they don’t really do shit. You can still throw the ball like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Uw_EGMByGA
Also, my argument relies on the assumption that my free thoughts are offensive to everyone, which I know is a huge joke and probably made you ROTFL but for the sake of debate I put it in there. I think the ultimate answer is to just blame “Megara” for infiltrating my brain so bad this week!
Any way, I’ll leave you with a picture of me with all my intellectual equals taken last spring:
Love with all my heart & hole,
Kev
This is a poem I wrote about the girl I am in love with. I met her last summer in Bloomington and have been thinking about her ever since. Ladies, I’ve changed her name so you don’t get any crazy ideas and go after her. Don’t be too upset; there’s plenty of Kev to go around.
Dearest Darling Megara McMuller,
Wence I first laid mine eyes on thee
I knew that we were meant to be
Yellow topaz hair and skin
A light that shines from within
Your careless laugh and simple smile
Make me want to stay a while
You sing real good
Like a Dixie Chick should
And you give me wood