Monday, May 31, 2004

Memorial Day fight night, y'all 

Captain’s Blog. Stardate 20040531.

Memorial Day, what what!!!

Big ups to all them people who died in wars fightin' for the U.S. of A. Much respect, this day belongs to you.

This is not the day to be talkin' about who should fight who. It's a day to remember and appreciate the fallen.

So when Uhura sees these white boys talkin' 'bout Wolverine and Edward Needledick and Mike Tyson, I can't but get all worked up and what not.

But since we're on the subject, who Uhura really wants to see fight is Spock and Worf. Now that's a fight. Put them in a cage with a can of mace and a bat. Intergalactic ratings, y'all!!!

And as a special bonus, the winner gets a piece of this fine black ass.

Which reminds Uhura, the shocker is a phenomenal trick. More on that later.

Uhura over and out. I holla!

You missed the point 

I'm happy to see that people actually read my posts, and really do appreciate the comments. But I would do this blog little justice if I did not clarify the position that I was taking on my most recent post.

One of the commentators wrote:

"If I couldn’t beat my meat, I would just hump my couch."

Masturbation, for men at least, is not just about sexual self gratification. There exists a bond, an affinity if you will, between a man and his hand. The relationship that a male possesses with his hand is in a way almost a form of symbiosis. It is a carefully balanced system of reciprocity that dictates a man's worldly existence.

Unless you make love to your hand saturated with a fragrance free lotion you will never truly be a man.

And now I will shift my attention to the great ass whooping that Logan would proceed to give Edward. Some of you have given ample reason as to why this match would not be worthy of a endorsement by the great Don King. Overall fairness and a warriors ethic, on Logan's part, were some of the most powerful appeals that were made. There was even a alternative, in the form of Sabertooth, for the match.

Sabertooth and Edward? That makes no sense. The only reason that I even mentioned it was because they are both equipped with built in cutlery. The whole ginso action was what I wanted to see, well that and a one sided ass whooping. The one argument that really caught my attention, was the whole dimensional incompatibility thing. I never thought about that. Damn. You got me there. Or did you?

I pride myself in my foresight and had previously spoken to Steve Hawkins about the feasability of the whole thing. So don't be surprised if you find yourself ordering Edward Vs. Wolverine on Pay Per View somewhere in the near future.

Ok enough of my idiotic ramblings

PS- This is what part of the alphabet would look if you took away Q and R

PSS- Hugo touches kid in their bathing suite area

PSSS- Stupid Stupid Stupid Hugo!

PSSSS- Did I mention that Hugo is selling a book?


Thursday, May 27, 2004

Sadness Understood 

I recently watched Edward Scissorhands on television and much of the underlining theme of the film was made clear to me by my naturally acquired wisdom. Having been only ten-years-old when I first watched Edward Scissorhands, I had difficulty fully understanding the plight that our young protagonist, marvelously played by Johnny Depp, found himself in.

Having been created by “the inventor” (no name given to Vincent Price’s character) with a set of scissors for hands, Edward found himself alone and marginalized by a society that frowns upon anything short of normal. As if his physical deformity wasn’t enough, Peg Boggs (Dianne Wiest), the meddling cosmetic peddler, took it upon herself to tear Edward from his comfortable surroundings and introduce him to the stain that is the American suburb.

As if the stagnant living that is proliferated by American suburbs wasn’t enough to drive Edward into a having a psychotic episode, the real trouble begins when Kim Boggs, Peg Boggs’ daughter, stumbled into the picture. Kim Boggs, played by America’s favorite klepto Winona Ryder, will forever, in my mind, be known as the words greatest cock tease.

There are those that will argue that Edward Scissorhands is a dramatic love story that shows how the human spirit can transcend the preconceptions of beauty and focus on the content of ones character. Bullshit! Edward was stuck up in that house for god knows how long and he wasn’t even able to polish his carrot. Can you imagine the nightmare that it must have been to be stuck in a house with a walking wet dream that is Kim Boggs without being able to spank the monkey for a little relief?

If Edward was even a 10th like the rest of us men, you can be sure that even with is scissor-for-hands he must have tried at least once to choke his chicken to his little hearts content. I would be willing to bet my left nut that Edwards shlong must have been just as scared up as his face in his feeble attempt to get music out of his skin flute.

Edward Scissorhands was a movie that had its entire story based on pure and simple sexual frustration. Forget the love, forget the acceptance. Had Edward been able to crank one off he’d tell everyone to fuck off and live his life in peace

P.S. I want to see Edward fight Wolverine. I know Wolverine would kick his ass but it would be fun to watch.


Monday, May 24, 2004

The pussy-broker chronicles 

During high-school and college, I was constantly and continuously perturbed by the despicable acts of the overgrown species of females who came to be known as "the Pussy Brokers." Allow me to explain.

Both in high-school and college, at least the ones I attended, the hot chicks all hung out together. They formed a click of ‘hotness’ where they could hang out at any function without worrying about being embarrassed by being associated with inferior looking females. Somehow, some way, a fat chick always managed to work her way into the group. And I have nothing against fat people. I just have something against annoying, conniving, evil fat people. Just like I have something against annoying, conniving, evil skinny people. But this fat chick, who, for the obvious reasons, stood out like an elephant in a rat race, managed to get a hold on the group of hot chicks with her chicken-grease-infested, fat-knuckled fingers. How, is beyond my reasoning capabilities this very second.

I should clarify that I would have no problem with these ogres if they weren’t so obviously out to screw everyone, pardon the pun, and make out, pardon the pun again, with a decent, unknowing guy who thinks he fell in love by accident. They were always plotting evil schemes. They were only out for themselves; to look cool and be seen at all the good parties. I hated them. I loathed them. I resented their super-sized egos and way-too-small tops.

But here’s the problem: you couldn’t get close to the hot chicks unless you became friends with the fat one! Thus the term, pussy broker. If you didn’t like her, then the hot chicks just assumed you were shallow and pretentious. It never dawned on anyone that maybe, just maybe, THAT FAT CHICK WAS AN EVIL BITCH WHO KEPT CALLING YOU TO HAVE PHONE SEX WITH YOU! AND THAT SHE WOULD BREATHE HEAVY ON THE PHONE BETWEEN ICE-CREAM SANDWICHES AND LEAVE NASTY MESSAGES ON YOUR MACHINE!

It was impossible to get close to the cool girl you really liked without pretending to like this annoying, conniving, evil spawn of satan’s loins.

They haunted me all throughout my school years. As soon as I eyed someone and got close to the group, the pussy broker fell for me and ruined everything. That’s right. In case you’re not in the loop about this sort of thing, once she likes you the other girls will never look at you again. Not in THAT way, anyway. That’s how they work. In guy lingo, you can equate it to your brother’s ex-girlfriend. Off limits! If the pussy broker likes you, you’ll never get with anyone in that group. NEVER!!!

So in honor of my good friend Dan Peter Petersen, and all the others who fell prey to the insatiable appetite of the pussy broker, I salute you. And I vow that one day, when I have acquired enough power in this great land of ours and can strike back with vengeance, I will do so, and I will make them pay. Those Monte-Cristo-hoarding guzzlers of anything-cooked will pay. Our day will come.

Friday, May 21, 2004

Scary Moment Revisited 

As strange as it may seem, I too have succumb to the power of my fears and have pondered about my hypothetical prison term. Being 170 lbs. soaking wet with a rock in my pocket, it is not difficult to picture my prison term as being unpleasant at best. The thought of daily anal rapes and being made to wear a dress with a mop head as a make-shift wig tends to make me cringe.

Many anthropologists have equated anal homosexual rape in prisons, to the mounting of baboons as to demonstrate dominance in a complex monkey hierarchy. The strong mount the weak, and the strongest of all, referred to as the alpha male mounts all.

So I'm here to beg the question-Why "the dick"? Could we not leave "the dick" out of the equation and make long prison terms for slightly- attractive-and-physically-inept-white boys a bit easier. Could we not resort to mounting as a form of showing dominance over the weak and use masturbation as the sole recourse for the release of sexual tension? I mean if it's good enough for our genetic, yet less evolved cousins, is it not good enough for us?

I would hate to have to go to prison and never wipe my ass as to make myself overly disgusting as to not attract any attention. Sure I could walk into C block and shank the first "innocent" bystander as to prove to my fellow convicts that momma ain't raise no bitch, but I'm a pacifist.

So with all that said (actually I don't think I really said anything) I really hope that I never go to prison, and if I ever do, I'm shanking the first motherfucker I see. I may hate violence, but I love my anal virginity.


Thursday, May 20, 2004

Scary moment 

So I’m at the urinal when the big, scary security guard comes and towers next to me, whips out his johnson, and as if saying hello asks me, "Is it coming out alright?"


Did I just unknowingly drop the soap or something? What the fuck?!?!

So as I’m standing there, piece in hand, feeling like Bubba’s newfound interest, he starts laughing.

I hope I never end up in jail. I don’t think I would’ve been able to put up much of a fight. I'd so be somebody's bitch in the pen.

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

I'm ready for special effects in my porno 

OK, every time I go to the movies all I see is stuff that isn’t really there, augmentations, in short, special effects. The plot has taken a backseat to the visual and I, for one, think it’s time for the new technologies of film-making to venture into other forms of film. Namely, pornos.

I am ready to see a digitally altered penis. Get it some speaking parts. Some really cool one-liners. Wouldn’t you like to see a penis speaking in an Austro-German accent, saying, 'I’ll be back," just before going for a second go-round on Miss Annie's derriere? I would!

I want to see boobies that fight crime and vagina’s that emit lasers. I think this can be great for the genre.

I also think that it would be great to make some sci-fi pornos with the help of special effects. I want "Porn Wars." Luke Titwalker versus Pussy Evader. It’s all there, we just have to capitalize on it.

I have lots of ideas, but people don’t listen.

Special effects created Smeagel from Lord of the Rings; why can’t special effects create a similar character for Lord of the Anal Beads? The world is ready for Epic Pornos, Horror Pornos, the aforementioned Sci-Fi Pornos, and even Romantic-Comedy Pornos. How about world-renowned porn-star Hugh Grand starring in "Four Hoes at a Funeral"? What about "Fisting Hill"?

It’s time for a revolution and I’m here to see it happen. If nothing else, at least to purchase some DVD’s.

(Side-note: DVD porn is dangerous. I know the quality is great but don’t, under any circumstances, hump your television set. It has led to injuries in the past.)

Finally, I would like to urge the good people behind the pornos I so adore to continue striving for the poor acting and money shots. It is a great feature of contemporary pornos and I wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

book part deux 

it's time to see who really loves me. i published a second collection of poetry entitled "the deepest depths of shallow ponds." it is now for sale at the unbelievable low rate of $7.95. anyone who would like a copy email me at hugo@hugodossantos.com and i will gladly ship you a copy. like i said, it's $7.95 (plus $1 shipping).

also, for those of you who are watching your wallets more carefully, my first book is still available for $5 (plus $1 shipping). for samples of some of the work in that book visit www.hugodossantos.com.

thanks for all the support. peace.

ps- email this info to anyone you think may be interested. support the arts.

Monday, May 10, 2004

Weekend epiphanies revisited 

So this weekend was one of realizations. It truly was.

At the Nets game last evening (in a suite, high-profiling, mind you) I realized that white people like my black friend more than they like me. And I’m in the club! I’m fucking white. I don’t get it. Maybe I’m too "hood," "street," whatever.

Oh yeah, I also met John Mayer. I know he looks tall and goofy on TV but in person he’s exactly the same.

Also, I realized that if a girl has a really ugly face, if she’s butt ugly, if she has an ass for a face, getting head should count as anal. Just a thought. Peace.

Friday, May 07, 2004

The infamous tittie incident at the poetry reading 

So two weeks ago I’m at a poetry reading sponsored by the city. It was in support of April as Poetry Month, something sponsored by the mayor’s office where poets read urban-inspired poetry around the city all month long.

The particular reading I attended, along with a friend who shall remain nameless, Vic, was put together by a hottie from the English department at the University. I mean, HOT! She just started teaching recently and so I didn’t meet her until after I’d graduated. Anyway, she was there with her baby and her husband/boyfriend, whatever they have going on, and the whole reading went fairly well without anything special or worthy of mention, really. That is, until the meet and greet.

Me, Vic and my friend Paula are standing around talking after the reading. We’re bullshitting about the writing, the food, other stuff that doesn’t really matter here, and guess who joins us directly to my left? That’s right; said hottie.

She’s holding her baby and talking to us about how the reading went and what not and she’s being so nice that I feel like I should do something nice in return. So I lean over so that I’m looking the baby in the face and attempt to get his attention by waving my index finger around. Totally innocent, mind you. I notice he’s sleeping so I back off, thinking out loud, "Oh, he’s asleep." We continue talking, uninterrupted, but in the middle of conversation, while my eyes wander about the room as they always do, I notice a nipple. That’s right, a nice, dark nipple just hanging out. But here’s the crazy part: there’s a baby sucking on it! That’s right, the hottie was nursing!!!

At this moment a million things are rushing me. I’m thinking that she was nursing when I tried to play with the baby. I’m thinking she thinks I’m some sort of perv who was just trying to get a better look at her tittie. I’m thinking the rest of the people in the group saw what I did and are probably thinking I’m a perv, too. I’m thinking the mayor’s office is never going to invite me to read again.

I’m thinking they’re going to put my picture up everywhere with a warning, "Have you seen this man? He tried to pry a hungry baby away from a tittie. He’s a nipple burglar. If you see him don’t engage him. Lock up and secure all titties and alert the authorities."

This is sick. I can’t concentrate. She’s running off at the mouth about poetry or some other bullshit and all I can think about is her tittie. I’m trying hard not to make eye contact (with the tittie, that is). My eyes race the room looking for something to fix on. Then she asks me a question and all 3 of them turn and look at me. Now it’s obvious I’m trying to avoid the tittie. They’re on to me. They’re testing me to see if I am going to try something. As soon as I do, the tittie police is going to stop the party, cuff me and take me in. Do you know what they do in prison to guys like me? It’s not pretty. I answer her, "Yes," because I panic. It wasn’t a yes or no question. They’re on to me. They’re disgusted. They're looking at me with a look of disdain on their face, the kind of look people get when they taste a bad oyster, or sour milk (pardon the pun).

Or maybe I’m just paranoid.

But remember, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.

At this point, the story takes yet another unexpected turn. The baby is done feeding. They’re still looking at me waiting for a response. As I’m thinking of something, anything to say, she cups her breast and tucks in into the bra and then into her flowery-spring dress. All this as she’s looking me dead in the eye, just waiting for me to look at her tittie. This is a test. A test the likes of which I’ve never faced. I don’t know what to do. I can't not look at a tittie. That shit is in my genes, I can't control it. Somehow, I manage to utter something coherent. Something having to do with the city needing to organize more events of the sort. My eyes are racing. So is my pulse. I’m blinking fast. I look like a feen in need of a fix.

With the breast secured, she tells us she has to make the rounds so she’ll see us in a bit. Then my other friend excuses herself. It’s just me and Vic and I say, "Dude, I just fucked up."

He goes, "I know! What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I wanted to play with the baby. I had no idea."

"Play with the baby? I thought you were ready to pry him off the merchandise so you can have a taste. And you didn’t know? Couldn’t you tell by the sucking sounds?"

It was sad. I didn't know if I should apologize or let it go. I looked over and saw her standing by her husband whispering something to him and realized it was no longer safe. It was time to grab my stuff and get the fuck out of Dodge.

We made it out alive, but Vic managed to tell everyone in our circle about it. So now I’m known as "the tittie thief," he who tries to pry babies off titties. It’s sad, really.

I wish I had made this shit up. I can't even blame Sandro for this one. There was no Sambuca involved.

Thursday, May 06, 2004

President Bush to Celebratre Cinco de Mayo 

In order to improve US – Mexico relations, which have hit an all time low recently, President George W. Bush has decided to invite Mexican President Vicente Fox to celebrate Cinco de Mayo at the White House.

The festivities are scheduled to include a re-enactment of the Battle of Puebla as performed by Mrs. Allen’s 3rd grade class from the Betsy Ross Elementary School in Washington D.C. on the White House lawn. There will also be a game of pin the tail on the “Burro”, and Mariachi musical chairs.

The festivities will continue inside the Oval Office where a lavish meal will await the two heads of State. The meal will consist of tacos, and burritos, as well as Condaleeza Rice and Beans with guacamole and cream. No Cinco de Mayo celebration would be complete without the Dos Equis and the Jose Cuervo, which President Fox has promised to bring.

President Bush is pleased that President Fox has accepted his invitation, but was upset that his staff where not capable of acquiring Mexican cliff divers, and genuine Mexican knife fighters. President Bush said “Heck, there is always Mexican Independence Day”.


Tuesday, May 04, 2004

Hugo: the other white meat (he's good for you) 

Captain’s Blog. Stardate 20040427.

hugoUhura has a BIG, BIG crush on Hugo. She’s not usually into white boys, but this one’s got soul. He brings the real and Uhura likes the real ‘cause the real is real when it’s really real, fo’ real. Aight? So check it, Hugo, if you are ever in outer space and want to see what getting some is like over here, holla at yo’ girl. Uhura put it down on you fo’ sure. Remember, you don’t know ass until you get Enterprise ass.

Uhura out! I holla!


Monday, May 03, 2004

Looking for love in all the wrong places 

In a culture that seeks desperately to label everything as good and bad, right or wrong, one man has found the conviction to stand up for his ideals. Who hasn’t dreamt about finding the perfect soul-mate?

When Chester Steels began looking for a suitable bride, all he found were women who wanted to party and take him for his money.

"They just up and off with the money I brought home," he recently stated in an interview. "Ain’t no women want to stay home and raise babies and make pies and what not."

Mr. Steels’s plight is a condition that has proliferated in our society. It seems that the hip-hop generation is becoming increasingly concerned with cash, money and hoes. The stay-at-home wife is now solely waiting for Friday night so she can "whore it up."

"All they wanna do is skank around in their underwear. It’s that damn MTV, I tell ya. Ain’t no good women left. They all lesbians."

Distraught and at a loss for other options, Chester Steels embarked on the journey that knows no return; he decided to seek for love the only place he was sure to find it. He decided to date within his own family.

"The way I sees it, I can’t do no better than my sister because I know how she was raised and my momma did a good job with that girl, there. Plus, my momma would never approve of another wife better than my sis. She’s a good girl."

Newly enamored, yet still lacking the approval of his community, Chester Steels took the proverbial bull by the horns and moved to a place where his newfound love would be tolerated, embraced even.

"I just saddled up my truck and headed south. Those people know that you can find true love anywhere. They don’t think you’re crazy, or nothing."

Who knew that the road to true love pointed south? Who knew that one man’s quest for understanding lay with his sister? Who knew that he’d lay with his sister?

Chester Steels doesn’t want your approval. He just wants to be left alone with his bride.

"What we got here is something special. I ain’t no hero. I’m just a lucky, lucky man. I got everything I could ever hope for; true love!"

And with that statement, he sailed off into the sunset of happiness that is inbreeding. We should all be so lucky to find true love. It even appears that Chester Steels has found support in his new community.

"That Chester is a man’s man," offered enthusiast and avid sister-fucker Joe Rainds. "He don’t care about what the city folk think. He just off and marry his sister. Even I wouldn’t do that. I just date my sister. But Chester, he goes by a different book. He does what his heart tells him to do."

And it seems that Mr. Rainds isn’t his only supporter. Town Mayor Tom Skees had the following to say on the matter.

"We want to be tolerant as we head into the new century. If a man wants to marry the fruit of his momma’s loins he should be allowed to do so in peace. The Bible don’t say nothing ‘bout that. It says the woman gotta stay home and raise babies and make pies and what not. And that’s what Mr. Chester Steels has found."

The story of one man’s quest for true love has come full-circle in the basest of ways. The love Mr. Steels found was always there, it just never dawned on him how crucial it was to his dreams.