Kev Sez

HAPPY HOMECUMING, IU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fri, 15 Oct 2010 19:04:42 -0400

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!

7 Ways To Be The Most Irresistible Woman At Kev's Party

Tue, 12 Oct 2010 16:05:00 -0400

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.

ROOFIES RULE!

Sun, 26 Sep 2010 22:57:56 -0400

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.

Kevin Kennedy: A Biopic

Sat, 18 Sep 2010 23:10:34 -0400

Just made this amazing movie perfect.

Which P Should I Pick?

Sat, 18 Sep 2010 20:56:12 -0400

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

Dr. Kev will see you now

Wed, 15 Sep 2010 17:37:37 -0400

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

The Disappearance at the Dairy Queen: Part 1/1

Wed, 08 Sep 2010 21:54:03 -0400

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.

Charles Manson is the Vincent Van Gogh of our Generation

Mon, 06 Sep 2010 01:46:00 -0400

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!!!!

Add "Kennedy" to the list of great philosophers in all 9th grade AP European History textbooks

Sun, 29 Aug 2010 19:05:11 -0400

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

An ode in tribute of a homage to The One

Sat, 28 Aug 2010 17:51:00 -0400

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

SAVE KEV

Fri, 27 Aug 2010 16:22:27 -0400

Wow guys, I was beyond blacked out when I spilled that secret about Cher. Only hope Chaz Bono doesn’t try to beat me up, but then again if she tried I would end up doing all the beating….of her pussy! Come on do you really think a tranny can escape Kev?

Okay so today I have something really serious to talk about: this might be the last time you ever hear from me, and it’s not because I want to stop blogging. I’m probably going to be murdered either tonight or tomorrow. As you know all too well, I’m PASSIONATELY trying to spread the truth about TSS. Through some crazy twist of fate, my article ended up being posted on the official Facebook Toxic Shock Syndrome Awareness and Pity Party Planning Group, and it offended a lot of people. Mainly moms and aunts of some girl named Anna or something who claims she died from TSS. I read her story, and it turns out she was in the hospital already dying of something else and everyone including her were too distracted with their grief and confusion about what was going on they forgot she had a tampon in. …….right. I just don’t buy it. The only reason I care is because these extremists happen to be based in Indianapolis too and are sending me messages. Bitches. I’d like to share with you some of the lovely messages I’ve gotten. (just so you are aware I’m not mad at them at all, I’m secretly satisfied and so pleased with myself for having garnered this much discussion and debate over what should be a clear-cut, easy to grasp concept: TSS IS A LIE YOU DUMB CUNTS)

From the lovely Diana Buchanan Calkins, who looks like this:

You’re an idiot and a liar. There is nothing remotely humorous about what you posted. I have a fabulous sense of humor. You’re just creepy.

Thank you, Diana. I get called creepy a lot by women, but over the years I’ve learned it’s their way of reconciling the fact that they are incredibly and inexplicably attracted to me in the sexual way. It really is hard out there for a pimp LOLOLOL ROTFL

BTW, it’s not a trick your eyes are playing on you, that is indeed the same picture that’s on the official WANTED: ATTEMPTED MURDER fliers I’ve made and distributed all over Indy. See you in court, Diana, and yes I will be seeking the death penalty.

Upward and thrustward,

Kev

I'm going to hell....

Fri, 27 Aug 2010 01:41:22 -0400

Christening the KOK

Fri, 27 Aug 2010 01:28:06 -0400

Okay so everyone knows I am from nap town where the girls know how to get down…like on their knees. As someonewho has been with a lot of girls, I need variety more than even the average man, and believe it or not I was getting a little tired of the Nap town scene. Just when I thought my dick would shrivel, die and fall off, I remembered that Indiana University (my former place of employment and would-be alma matter if I had gotten in), is importing a fresh crop of POONANI this week. I’m talking about FRESHMEN! You all probably remember how much I love fall…girls in tights……fresh camel toes….mmm. And where do these lovely legal ladies go? Only my favorite bar: KOK (pronounced “cock”).

Don’t let this acronym fool you; it’s really not meant to be more complicated that it sounds. This is simply where only the Rico Suave’s of the male species get their KOK’s wet. Lolz. They just remodeled the place a couple weeks ago and it’s BALLER MAN….my only complaint is they finally cleaned my jizz off the bar. SO FRUSTRATING. They obviously don’t understand how difficult it is to sneak into a bar you’ve been kicked out of 24 times, push though a crowd of people without them noticing your huge boner, then jerk off with such ferocity it lands INSIDE the shot the girl you want to take home is about to drink. So now that Kilroy’s has remodeled it’s KOK, Kev is going to have to make a trip this weekend.

Sticking it to the ladies since 1969,

Kev

Do you believe in love after life?

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 19:26:49 -0400

I’m really wasted from drinking all day so if this post seems more rambling than usual you will know why. And to all the Nancy Drew’s out there who are going to say “if you’re so drunk where are all the typos?” I’ll have you know I installed instaspell/grammarcheck on this bitch.

You guys may not believe this next story I tell you but it’s 100% true. I’m very trustworthy and have zero tolerance for lies (see my post about exposing TSS). I’m sure you guys have all heard the song by Cher “Believe”. Do you belieeeeeeeve in life after looooove? I know you know it. But I bet you don’t know how it was written. I’m going to tell you.

So way back in the 70’s I met Cher. if you don’t believe me I uploaded a picture I took of her when we were hanging out at my house one night really bored and she wanted to try on some of the clothes I had bought when we went shopping earlier that day. She was sooooooooooooo hot my dick would have melted if it were an average one but because it’s always semi-hard it wasn’t affected by her Cherokee tribal voodoo woman powers. Anyway we had a really great time and Sony was soo pissed he actually booked his ski trip for the next weekend as a way to get back at Cher and we all know how that turned out. Cher and I really hit it off so after Sony’s death she invited me over to her house to talk about this problem she was having. Since Sony was pissed at her because of the whole me & her hanging out thing, he didn’t have sex with her before he left for the ski trip. And since he ran into that tree and died Cher never had a chance to bang him good-bye. So she was really horny she wanted my advice on if I thought it would be a good idea to sneak into the morgue and have sex with his dead body. What do you guys think I said??????????????????????????

Well believe it or not I actually told her not to do it!!!! LMAO, I can’t believe it but I also said that it was a really bad idea and illegal and I told her it was gross!!!!!!! What was wrong with me back then, I don’t know LOL. But I told her to write a song about necrophilia instead to get any of those feelings out of her before she acted upon them. It’s really easy for me to get women to do whatever I want, so of course she listened and she even asked me to help her write the song. We started playing around with some different things, I’m trying to remember but it was so long ago, I think one of the ideas we had was about his body used to be warm but now it’s so cold cold cold but he’s not old old old because he died so young…stuff like that. Anyway at one point Cher turned to me and asked, “Can you believe he’s really gone?” and I said “It’s hard, but I also believe in gettin’ some love after life LOLOLOL And that’s what you’re going to do with this song.” As soon as I uttered those lols she got this look on her face like she had just had the most powerful orgasm on my cock and her hips started thrusting ever so slightly and she was like “THAT’S IT! THAT’S THE SONG! DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AFTER LIFE?”

We immediately ran over to the synthesizer and in 20 minutes we had banged out this song. I had to go home after that and on the way I got stopped by a cop because the lights above my license plate had burned out. That really made me stop LOLing because that is the stupidest thing to ever get pulled over for. It really doesn’t matter if the light above you’re license plate works or not because if you’re driving in the day, it’s light out so the car behind you can obviously see your plates and if you’re driving in the night the car behind you can see your plates because plates are REFLECTIVE. This cop was making me so mad I punched him in the face and sped away. I’m telling you all this because it’s the reason why I couldn’t really come back around to Cher’s house for a while after that incident, in fact I couldn’t really stay in that town I had to move because I guess punching a cop in the face is a big deal. Whatever. I do it ever weekend now LOL they don’t mess with Kev.

I’m really not starting to feel well but I just wanted to wrap up saying that at some point in the recording process, Cher fucked up while singing and switched the words from “love after life” to “life after love”. Unfortunately that is the take the producers liked the best and chose to make that the track. Bitches. So anyway next time you hear that song please sing it right.

Fistward and Forward,

Kev

I got the big boob blues

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 14:01:00 -0400

I’m a little down today, and I know it’s because I haven’t seen any big boobs in a while. Don’t worry people, a while for me is like a second for you LOL. But anyway I thought that in order for me to cheer myself up I could either jerk off or get drunk. My roommate is not that cool, she’s a little older than me but she’s not a MILF she’s crazy tree hugger with braces and I don’t think she believes in masturbation so I’ll have to wait until she leaves to do that. Plus getting drunk would last the whole day and jerking off is only a couple of hours and I’ve already seen all my favorite VHS’s so many times. I did get a new DVD one and you may know one of the stars, she is kind of famous in the industry, her porn name is HOnora. Anyway her last flick was titled Girl With the Pearl Necklace and it doesn’t have that many boob shots……….only money shots! LOLOL ROTFL!!!!! So I guess that leaves the latter. I’ll write more but it won’t be until later because after I drink I have to drive to the grocery store and pick up a couple things for dinner for my roommate. I swear sometimes she acts like my mom and I just want to beat that bitch’s ass back into her place! LOL

Cheers for fears,

Kev

Condoms are wack, bitch!!!!!!!!

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 02:38:10 -0400

A word to the wise: never trust a girl who acts SO EXCITED when you are at the store buying condoms and keeps raving about how awesome these condoms are because they’re studded/ribbed/spiked/dipped in cayenne whatever like that ugly girl in the Trojan commercials always is because…………………………………………………………………….

(see title)

GAPE RAPE WILL MAKE YOU BROKE...if you're not careful.

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 01:59:36 -0400

GAPE RAPE

Before I wrote about this, I had to see if it was in urbandictionary under some other wrong definition, but thankfully it wasn’t. However it is now because I went ahead and created a page for it. Since it is currently under review by the editors of urban dictionary, here is what I put:

gape rape When you have sex with a girl who is passed out drunk and you put it in her butt. “I think I gape raped that girl last night man, my dick has shit on it.” by Kev Kennedy on Aug 25, 2010

tags: butt, poop, oops, ouch, munch, crunch

Although this is the most baller way to hook up with a girl at the end of the night, any gape raper knows it can’t be done without lube. Not spit, not shampoo, but real lube. You need your dick to just slide in without much struggle or prying the hole open because you run the risk of waking this bitch. My favorite brand of lube is Astroglide but that can be a little pricey, so I recommend checking out cheaplubes.com for some deals.

Happy rapings,

Kev

Have to post my thesis. It never hurts to read it again guys LMFAO

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 01:22:00 -0400

5 REASONS TOXIC SHOCK SYNDROME IS A LIE

I woke up this morning to an ephiphany: I have a moral obigation to all my hertero brothers out there to expose the truth about Toxic Shock Syndrome: IT IS THE BIGGEST CONSPIRACY THEORY EVER. Women just use it to make us men feel even more sorry for them during their periods because they are putting their lives in danger to keep the blood off the sheets at night. So, I have decided to “pull the cord’ (LOL) on this RIDICULOUS LIE women have been spewing at us MEN for eons. From here on out I will be compiling a list, entirely evidence-based, to support my claim and spread the word on this emerging theory of mine. You don’t have to agree, but I know you will. And women, I can only hope you will be so ashamed and feel only the utmost remorse for your trickery you re-develop hysteria and we can put you back in mental institutions where you all belong! LOLOL LMFAO!

Reason #1

It is no secret that I know A LOT of women. In the thousands of women I have known intimately, not one has ever confessed that she has struggled with Toxic Shock Syndrome. I’ve heard EVERYTHING ELSE: eating disorders, every single STI known to man and some only found in Rhesus monkeys, illegal abortions, illegal adoptions, one woman even sucked a man’s dick inside a dumpster in the alley outside the grossest bar in America, but never have I heard TSS. This is a key piece of evidence because everyone knows women can’t shut the hell up about anything in their lives and love blabbing about their problems to any guy that will pretend to listen. Now I know some of you may accuse me of over-generalizing and just because some (ALL) women have diarrhea of the mouth doesn’t mean every woman does. I’ll give you that argument; I’m a fair guy interested in the truth, and I’ll admit that may not be the case for every female. But even if only 50% of women spill their personal traumas with others, it is an UNDISPUTED FACT that 100% of women love to and do spill the personal traumas of THEIR FRIENDS. So despite this stat I’ve given you, that 150% of women are either dumb or cunt friends, I’ve still never encountered a TSS story. Therefore there is no way it can exist.

Reason #2

I don’t really like talking about this but in the interest of science I will, I’ll just keep it short. My dick has had the grand misfortune of coming in DIRECT contact with several nasty whorebags who have admittedly forgotten about and left in a tampon for over SEVEN DAYS and they never came down with Toxic Shock Syndrome. They are just fine probably still being nasty but healthy whorebags who leave their tampons in for a week.

Reason #3

Logically, it cannot exist. I asked 100 people on the streets of New York City, “Would you rather have TSS or HIV?” and ninety-seven percent answered “HIV”, and three percent answered “TSS”. Since around 3% of the general population suffers from mental retardation, we can disregard the answers of the later percent and still uphold the integrity of the study. After interpreting the results, I concluded that ninety-seven percent of the population believes that TSS is worse than HIV. Now everyone knows there is nothing that can possibly exist that is worse than contracting HIV, and 97% of people cannot possibly be stupid enough to joke about something as serious as HIV, so the only logical conclusion is that TSS simply cannot exist.

Reason #4

Dirty maxi pads are as (if not more) disgusting and a welcome home to all sorts of bacteria and virulent viruses as dirty tampons. Interestingly enough, there is NO WARNING on a box of Kotex that if you wear a maxi pad for more than 8 hours you will develop TSS, even in size SUPER PLUS + OVERNIGHT MISCARRIAGE PROTECTION—how can it be that we are expected to buy that something the size of my sister’s clit (SO SMALL) can kill a woman in 8 hours but it’s perfectly fine to wear something that looks like the rags they used to mop up the blood in the library at Columbine for as long as they like? I rest my case.

Reason #5

For my final point, I’m going to get a little religious here and if that makes you uncomfortable, just think about how uncomfortable you’ll be in hell and bare with me. Everyone knows tampons were created in cock’s image, much in the same way man was created in God’s image. Further, females have evolved their vaginas to be able to handle massive amounts of cock for extended periods of time. Girls can pretty much take dick forever is what I’m trying to say LOL. If you were to add up the time in hours the average woman will spend with a dick inside her over the course of her entire lifetime, I would be willing to bet all the money that I have invested in PLAYBOY stock that it exceeds 8-10 hours. Yet extended amounts of cock have NEVER been responsible for the development of TSS or ANY DISEASES for that matter, therefore something created in its HOLY IMAGE could not be responsible either.

So now you guys know what I know, and what every single woman in the world knows. You’re probably in shock, but at least it’s not TOXIC. How did they manage to pull this steel wool over our eyes for so long? That didn’t take me very long to answer, either. When is the only time women are able to get together without the risk of ANY MEN being around to hear them talk about female issues? The answer is during her annual smear. Pap smear. I’ve concluded that must be the time they talk about how they’re going to continue this LIE that is Toxic Shock Syndrome. What if her gyno is a man, you ask? Open your eyes. There are no men gynos!!!!! That’s a dyke, you idiot. Only a woman could make scraping a vag her career.

I'm really glad I came up with the awesome idea to start a blog.

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 01:13:12 -0400

Hey. I know I’ve said a lot of amazing things in the past and I wouldn’t take back any of it because it got me mad pussy. But all those things were limited to Facebook, and I have come to the realization that I need more space and freedom to express my thoughts, especially when it comes to raising awareness of an issue that is very near and dear to my heart: exposing the Toxic Shock Syndrome Conspiracy Theory. Thus I’ve created this blog to do just that, as well as get even more pussy. If you’re not following me more space to type=more pussy. Don’t get me confused, I only take the top shelf offers, and if you’re one of those cunts that likes to sit on the highest of shelves, stop reading my blog and send me a FB message now LOLOL.

hey

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 00:41:10 -0400

hey