Michael Ian Black stories

[DespTim No.1197314]

Looking for a girl to record herself reading one of his really short stories. (Can use vocaroo.com, don't need to sign up)
>>>/r/7254370

I'm going to type out some of Michael Ian Black's funny short stories in this thread to pass the time.

[DespTim No.1197319]

How to Approach the Sensitive Question: Anal?

Gentlemen, this is a problem so many of us have experienced: How to ask a young lady if she likes it in the pooper. From my personal experience, if you simply ask your date (particularly if it's a first date), you're most likely going to be met with, at best, nervous giggles, and at worst, a steely gaze followed by a request to be let off the back of your bicycle.

Why is this? I believe it's because "society" frowns upon this form of intercourse, even though 9 out of 10 women prefer it. (Like most other facts in my book, I just made that up.) Why do I put "society" in quotation marks? Because what is "society?" It's you and me, and the only way we are going to change "society" is by taking an active role in dispensing with the embarrassment and shame of putting your wiener in some chick's butt.

How do we do this? As loving men, how do we approach the sensitive question: Anal?

[DespTim No.1197321]

There are a couple of different methods. The most common is what I call "the accidental method." Simply put, you wait until you are about to have intercourse. Then, you "accidentally" put it in her rear end. When she says, "That's the wrong hole," you say, "There's nothing wrong about it." From that point, it should be obvious how she wants you to proceed.

I don't recommend this approach because it catches the lady off guard and, if for some reason, she does not want to proceed in the prescribed manner, it necessitates you either cleaning yourself off or "double dipping," which is not a good idea for hygienic reasons.

Another approach is the "finger twaddle." I call it that because "twaddle" is a very funny word. This is a multi-stage process. First, during foreplay, spend some time fondling her tush. If she responds positively, insert your pointer finger, a maneuver I call "the twaddle." Twaddle around in there a little. She likey? Great. Now, as you twaddle, whisper the following in her ear. "Roll over, baby." The rest should take care of itself.

Maybe you're one of those guys who likes to lay down the rules of the road before the evening progresses to coitus. As I mentioned before, simply posing the question in a straightforward manner rarely achieves the desired result. Instead, try asking in an indirect way.

[DespTim No.1197322]

Perhaps you've just enjoyed a romantic dinner together (I suggest Red Lobster). The evening is going well, and you suspect the two of you might end up in bed together later in the evening. Great. Here's what you do: Order dessert. (If you take my suggestion of Red Lobster, I further suggest "The Chocolate Wave.") When your Chocolate Wave arrives, spoon some of that gooey concoction into her mouth, and say, "I wish this gooey concoction was my wang, and I wish your mouth was your butt." If she says, "I wish that, too," you'll know where you stand. If she says, "That's disgusting," you can easily say, "I was just kidding." Or, less convincingly, you could try, "I think you misunderstood me." But that's not the kind of thing that's easily misunderstood.

If this is still too direct, take her on a long walk through a nature conservancy or arboretum. While strolling among the flora and fauna, take her hand in yours and say something like, "I'm having a great time. I'd like to know everything about you." Women love to hear that. Next, ask her a series of utterly meaningless questions: "What are your hopes and dreams?" "Have you ever been in love?" "What's the worst tragedy that's ever befallen you?" Etc., etc. As you are "listening," slowly wrap your arm around her waist, and slide your hand down to the small of her back. Continue talking until you decide the moment is right for an "over-the-pant finger twaddle." This is accomplished by lightly caressing her anus in a "sympathetic manner." How do you caress somebody's anus sympathetically? Brother, if I have to tell you that, you need more help than I can offer.

[DespTim No.1197323]

Another tactic I have found helpful in the past is the tried and true, "I have a friend who ... " scenario. The way this works is pretty self-explanatory. While talking, mention that you have a friend who would like to fuck her in the ass. If she asks who, say "You don't know him," then quickly follow up with, "Isn't that so funny?" If she says anything other than, "That's disgusting," then I think you can safely assume that she will respond positively to those three magic words, "Roll over, baby."

As you can see, there is no one way to deal with this perpetually vexing situation. Instead, try a variety of the techniques outlined above. Trust your intuition. And if, by chance, you find yourself with a woman who doesn't like it in the rear, don't despair. While anal sex is an important consideration when considering a mate, it's important to remember that it's not the only consideration. Remember, over time, even the tightest tush will wear out, but a warm heart never will.

*I confined this essay to the heterosexual community, as I don't know the protocols for the other half, although I suspect the conversation usually goes something like this:
"Wanna ass fuck?"
"Yes, I do."

(THE END - NEXT STORY)

[DespTim No.1197325]

Erotic Fiction: The Elevator
You’re in an elevator with a pretty girl. As the doors close, you both reach for the same button. When you do, your fingers brush against each other. A graze, no more. She smiles, embarrassed, and looks away. Well well, looks like you’re heading to the same floor. A shared destination. Kismet?

The two of you are alone. As the elevator begins it’s ascent, your mind races. Stealing glances at her from the corner of your eye, you wonder how to speak to this delectable creature. What can you say to bewitch her as much as she has enchanted you? The words, whey they come, are perfect. “Same floor, huh?”

A breath. The scent of lilacs as she turns to you. Her response fills you with delight. “Huh?” she says.

[DespTim No.1197328]

You waggle your freshly waxed eyebrows at her and nod mischievously toward the elevator wall. “Same floor. You and me.”

Her dappled eyes go to the button, the only button lit, and she says, “I guess.”

“Indeed,” you say with confidence. You have made contact. It is now only a matter of time before your bodies are entwined in divine rapture, perhaps in this very elevator, or perhaps in some dim alcove on the floor above. The floor that the two of you share. The floor that you race toward even now.

A breath. No more than a breath before she turns to you and says, “There are only two floors.”

And so there are. She is magnificent. Beautiful and brilliant From what star did this golden light first emerge? Across what vast distance did it travel to find you here?

[DespTim No.1197333]

She continues, “So obviously we’re going to the same floor.”

But angles were not meant to be captured so easily. She clearly likes the chase. And so, chase you shall: “It wasn’t obvious to me,” you say, as you let the tiniest dribble of tobacco juice slide out of your mouth - just enough so that it catches the light dripping into your plastic dip cup.

“Listen, asshole,” she says, “this hospital only has two floors. The ground floor, and upstairs where I get my fucking chemotherapy.”

She starts crying. And coughing.

You ride the rest of the way in silence. It is a very slow elevator.

[DespTim No.1197336]

(review of "The Anatomy of Shaka Zulu")

This edition is a fundamental ingredient to a piece of historical fiction I'm stewing. It is entitled "The Ecstasy of Wrath", and its moments of historical rigour are thanks to this book. One page 108 of "The Ecstasy of Wrath", I write "Shaka Zulu's obsidian thighs quivered as they flanked the cinnamon brown sprig of prostrated womanhood, Ozekwan. Shaka Zulu turned around to make sure his door, or rather the hanging flap of tawny cattle hide, gave him privacy. Ozekwan could now see Shaka Zulu from behind. He felt her eyes on his back and his onyx buttocks clenched and became spasmed, like the shimmering flank of a sleek stallion. He laid his Pulsar Quadrant-Ray aside, relaxing in the security of erotic congress." I based this account on several passages in Ian Knight's zealously researched book, as well as my own imagination as I'm introducing a science fiction element. Ian Knight's is a book I recommend, somewhat, if only to understand the difference between the Zulu asagai and the tentatively named 'Zephyr-class Ionoblaster.'

[Anonymous No.1197338]

OP cut the shit, no one cares about Michael Ian Black.

[DespTim No.1197344]

I've written to the National Audubon society and several geologists concerning an omission in this book.

I can't remember when Michael Landon and I discovered our mutual love of geology, but it remained a constant in our friendship. Shortly before he began to film for his finest role as Jonathan Smith in "Highway to Heaven", Michael Landon and I embarked upon a geological survey of Northern Canada. Using his celebrity influence, Michael Landon was granted a royal charter from Franz Joseph II, then Prince of Liechtenstein, to finance any mining capital should we discover a new gem to add to the Prince's famous gem-trunk.

We eventually found a quiet piece of land within the traditional lands of the Nis'gl't'k people. After spending seven months documenting and learning their language these gentle woodsfolk spoke to us of a cave famous in their stories for being the home of N'gaask'ul'k'ot, or "Gelman." Instinctively, Michael Landon went there, to Gelman's cave. He refused to use anything but a 10 inch hunting knife when quarrying. He furiously knifed at the cave wall for 4 or 6 hours without any apparent consistency to where his knife struck.

[DespTim No.1197346]

Suddenly the cave stank. What was the smell? I followed Michael Landon's eyes, and he was using them to look at a gem that lay before his fallow blade. We both knew what we had discovered, but we consulted our Audubon guide. It wasn't listed. In his excitement, Michael Landon first suggested naming it "stinkrock", then "stankrock" and finally "smellrock." I took on a soothing tone to pacify him and delicately suggested we call it the "Landonquicklyite." He put a single finger to his pursed lips, furrowed his brow, squatted, started walking around while squatting, and then eagerly said "let's call it Michael Landon's Rock." Kenneth Waltz later characterised our relationship as having a power imbalance, probably a reason why the gem came to be known among us and in some geological circles as "michaellandonsrock."

The unbearable weight of that memory is comparable to the 10 pounds of michaellandonsrock I carry with me every day. I even put it in the rock tumbler and it looks nice.

So, perhaps my review is biased, but I hope that in the future the Audubon Society will investigate my claim.

[DespTim No.1197467]

Through studying David Mamet's theories, I came to realise that a character can be understood not only through what they do, but also through what they say. My style has started to incorporate Mamet's technique of having characters talk, often to each other, as well as to express themselves through physical acts like gestures and walking. The education in this book has convinced me to abandon my earlier style, where characters have wordless internal monologues while not moving for a play's 2 or 3 hour duration.

[Anonymous No.1197487]

>>1197467
Okay, I lol'd.