What Does It Take To Keep Your Penis in Your Pants?

An underwear maybe? But nope, that’s not what we’re talking about here. I mean technically yes, an underwear is all it takes because an underwear to your penis is what a nest is to a bird – home.  But no, we don’t do technical things on this blog, we do subtle. Now technically subtle isn’t quite the opposite of technical but what the fuck, you got my point, so let’s get to the next.

justin

This has got nothing to do with the post. I found it when I googled for “Woman holding her crotch.” This woman has no boobs though.

First off, this article is for men and therefore, if you technically don’t feel two balls and dick dangling between your legs when you walk, this isn’t for you. And yet, if you want to read on, it won’t really hurt. Perhaps you could alter some stuff from this post and rewrite it as “What Does It Take To Keep a Penis Outside Your Pants?” on your blog and be famous like that blonde with moderately big boobs from Sex and The City who whored around and justified her whoring on her blog. So man or woman, you have something in this post for you.

Now, to begin with, I’m not sure how many men would really want to keep their penis in their pants because if it isn’t in your pants, it technically means you’re either pissing or scoring chicks. But we don’t do technical on this blog which is why it, by default, almost always means you’re scoring chicks. So is scoring chicks bad? Nope. It is, in fact, the single-most satisfying thing a single homo sapiens with the XY chromosome (and the XX chromosome too if you consider a little alteration in tastes and a strapon) can do.  So why am I telling you this? Well, see I have a friend named Vardhan Patkar (you can find his photo here.) who once upon a time, liked scoring chicks and since I knew that he was doing the single-most satisfying thing an adult male human being can do, I was happy for him. However after some time and a lot of chicks, he decided that he was done with the whole hogging on whores thing and that he needed to settle down. And so he found a girl worth settling down and indeed settled down with her. Things were going merry and fine in the Settleland until one day, he woke up with a boner that was so tall that it reached his brain and messed with it because of which, he suddenly wanted other chicks outside the relationship. And so, he banged and banged and then banged a little more until one day he realized that now, he only wanted to bang. Of course this resulted in his relationship going to the gallows and he wanted it back but Karma said “Not happening bruh.” And I was a very close witness to all of this (one time I was even on the same bed where he was scoring a chick but I’ll tell you about that another time) and it has therefore brought me this far, and coaxed me to write an article titled “What Should You Do To Keep Your Penis in Your Pants?”

Look when you’re in a relationship, it sometimes gets tough to stay off the temptation of getting your hands on some hot chick, because you know that you don’t have to get involved here and after three minutes (or whatever amount of time you require to ejaculate) you can even forget her name and she won’t be mad. But that is the real test. There are hundreds, perhaps even thousands of hot women all around you and the world has gotten so closely knit that it isn’t really tough for you to get in the pants of one of those women. To bang, it’s easy. You only have to be smooth to get her in your bedroom. You can even hide it from your girlfriend and everyone gets to stay happy. Perhaps you can even do it more often then. But is it worth it? The feeling that your girlfriend loves you with all her heart but you’re still cheating on her takes its toll someday. Even if she never finds out, the guilt keeps gnawing at you and someday you feel pretty helpless and then you end up believing that perhaps love is just not your thing. Don’t let that happen. Definitely not if you’re in a relationship that is fulfilling and makes you feel complete. You always have a goddamn choice.

Consider this: You’re in a hotel room and a girl wearing nothing but a loose unbuttoned shirt is lying in the bed, giggling and inviting you to do her and yet, regardless of the many million voices inside your head that are encouraging you to do her, you listen to that one weak but sane voice that says “Get the fuck out of here.” And then, at that moment, if you really walk out, there is nothing that can match that victorious feeling. That feeling of having overcome a temptation and having chosen the right thing, there is nothing that can make you believe in yourself and your relationship better than that. And this is worth all the eighty nine lakh sixty six thousand five hundred and forty three hot chicks in the world, including Kate Upton (kidding there, if its Kate Upton, it’s always an exception).

And this is only “Why Should You Keep Your Penis in Your Pants?” and since the why is pretty substantial, I believe you might not hesitate to do whatever it takes for it. So yes, that’s about it. And as for the title, what does it take to keep your penis in your pants? Some faith, a little courage and a cartload of fapping. All the best bruh.

Also, if you’re a single guy, forget it.

Why Do People Die?

Last Friday, my grandmother died. My sweet grandmother who had been there by my side right since I was a kid, for everything from singing me lullabies in my childhood to protecting me from my father’s wrath when I had failed my graduation exams. She was here until last Friday, telling me stories of her childhood and laughing like she always did. But today, she isn’t there. I can’t take it. This loss is too much for me. She was a precious part of my life. Something that I treasured a lot. Why do people have to die? Why can’t they just stay?
That is how I’d have begun the article if I was a 27-year-old Catholic and still-single girl wearing a purple sweater that had large purple buttons and went by the name Heather. But unfortunately, I’m not. So if you’re the guy with the Zayn Malik-haircut, which honestly has become too mainstream and therefore sucks, and if you’re reading this and planning to console Heather so that you can later get her to take off the purple sweater and see her sweaty boobs and put your hands all over them and then grab her ass and push her against the wall and bang her like a good ol’ daddy while she wails in pleasure, I’m sorry. You’re on the wrong page. Also, if that description excited you, you’re going to have to fap to an imaginary Heather. Okay but whatever, since I’m not Heather, I don’t have to begin a post like this in a manner Heather would.
I would rather begin it like this: Why do people die? What a fucking morbid thought. People die because they have to. No one is going to live forever and although it can be understood that you have certain strings attached to certain people which would hurt you on being broken in the same exact manner that it would hurt you while waxing, there is nothing we can do about it. About death I mean. Why am I telling this today? Because I was wondering about dying and dead people a while ago. My dad’s friend’s dad died a few days ago and my dad was unaware that this had happened until today which then led me to wonder how many people that I know of might have died in the past few days or maybe dying today or might die in the coming few days. I’ll never know all of them unless its another atom bomb attack. That way its safe to believe that the whole city is wiped out. But anyway, since that won’t happen most likely, lets get back to what I was saying. Considering the fact that I have over 2000 facebook friends, I’m sure that somewhere, someone related to these 2000-odd blokes in some or the other manner must be dying. Once I was in a long-distance relationship with a a Swedish chick and her father had died but I never knew because for three days she kept sobbing that “a great man” had passed away. She never mentioned that it was her father. So I thought it really must be some great man like a Swedish national leader or something, you know the Gandhi sort of guy, and so, I didn’t give a damn. Then a few weeks later when I asked her what did her father get her as her graduation present, I was accused of being an insolent bastard and we broke up. Long story short, if someone in such a close vicinity can die and you can be unaware about it for weeks, how many must be going to the grave in a radius of 2000 facebook friends? Many. Heck I even have friends on facebook who really aren’t there to like my photos anymore (euphemism for “dead”).
And so, there might be many more people like that. People with whom I don’t have any real connection, and might never have. But I can understand the kind of loss that they might suffer on the death of a loved one. Consider this a general consolation maybe. Because I feel like talking about it today. And instead of going all gooey and Nicholas Sparks-y about it, I’d say that you can do nothing about your loved ones dying. The best you can do in attempts to bring back the dead is cry on their graves or say and write things like Heather would and the most it can do to you is get you schizophrenic. So here’s the catch, I don’t know who you are and if you’re dealing with someone’s death or not but if you are and when you will in future, just remember that people die everywhere. All around you. The moment your loved one dies is the moment many thousands of others die somewhere else. That can’t stop the world from going. And like the death of those many thousands won’t stop you from going, let this one death make no much difference either. No matter how strong and beautiful a bond is, it has to end someday so that it can be cherished as something beautiful. So stay strong and accept that it is over, the ship has sailed.
And for the record, my grandmother died many years ago falling in a lake. We suspect it was a suicide because my uncle drank a lot and wasted all his life which was too hard for my grandmother to take. Wait, that’s too much information. So that’s it, curtains.

Hairy Belly and Freedom of Expression

I’m a free citizen and since I have freedom of expression which comes with the many types of freedoms that they taught us about in schools, I’m going to express myself.
I have a hairy belly. It is a very huge confession because no one ever knew that. Not even my girlfriend,  because I shave my belly whenever I’m supposed to meet her. This is one of the pros of long distance relationships. Long as you’re not meeting your partner,  you can let the hair grow all over your belly and further down around your little friend Willy like the forests of Amazon and no one will protest.
So anyway, back to my hairy belly. Many of us have hairy bellies, probably you too (If you’re reading this and you’re any one of the following: Akshay Khanna, Anil Kapoor or Sean Connery, omit the word ‘probably’). Now there is this thing about a hairy belly – it looks ugly as fuck. Except if its Kim Kardashian’s. Because when Kim K shows her belly, ninety nine times out of a hundred, she shows her tits too and then in such a case, who is going to look at the belly? Not me at least. But otherwise, hairy bellies look ugly as fuck. That is the only reason why none of you ever posted a picture of your hairy belly on facebook or Twitter. You knew it won’t work.
However, a couple of days ago, some girl from some part of the world where hairy bellies are probably a cool affair, posted a picture of her hairy belly coupled with Wal-Mart underwear on her Twitter account. This led to a huge hullabaloo over the internet – most of which was about trolling her and the netizens had a good, happy day. Of course some twats cried over body-shaming but then they were twats.
I won’t have known anything about any of this and would have slept in peace if my girlfriend hadn’t told me about it. But she believes that she should tell me about everything in the whole wide world, especially hairy bellies, and so she showed me a picture of this girl’s hairy belly and told me all about it. Then she asked me a very good question: “I’m not okay with this girl posting this picture. Am I being narrow-minded?”
The question was good because it takes some steel to be neutral about yourself and ask a question like that to someone else – especially when you’re aware of the fact that the answer can most probably be yes. Also it was important and good because many people face this exact dilemma every time the snobbish world, in all its snobbery, cries about body-shaming or someone’s rights or some kind of individuality – things that don’t matter really and doing so, it also makes you believe that if you’re not on its side, you’re on the wrong side.
So I thought for a while about it. Perhaps we cannot be okay or not okay with anyone posting anything on their own social media account because its their account and therefore their choice. Perhaps we don’t have the right to say who should be doing what in their own territory and therefore perhaps my girlfriend was being narrow-minded?
But then again, it is social media. Posting a picture on your facebook or Twitter account is the virtual equivalent of putting up a banner in the streets. So if someone puts up a banner with a picture of their hairy belly right across the street where you stay, I don’t see one reason why won’t you want to break their balls.
Freedom of expression is directly proportional to the magnitude of offense. When the offense is mild, you laugh at it. Like you laugh at my obscene odes – because you know that the images of what I say won’t come down to haunt you.  There’s a fine line between freedom of expression and offense and once someone crosses that fine line, the freedom transforms into offense, completely. And I believe you shouldn’t tolerate offense. If we go by the ways of the snobbish world and try to justify every act of every individual as an act of their freedom, or if we dwell under the veil of modernism for too long, we will all become pussies. We have come a long way tolerating a lot of things already. So the next time you feel that something on the internet is not okay, lunge in and attack. Let the twats cry. Let’s get back to the good old days of caring about where the world is going and giving fucks.