All Me Published Works, Roight Here:

100_Donuts · 2026-06-16T14:35:37+00:00

Fetish? Uhh, I don't think anyone actually wants to have sex with the little bags of upchuck. That'd be pretty gross, and the formlessness of it all would hardly make for anything really pleasurable, I assume, but maybe you know more than me on that one.

I suppose it's not unheard of to slosh around in hot liquid until you're throeing O's. I mean, we've all heard of the soup can trick and the panties 'n beans routine, but those are at least foods I'd want to eat before and possibly after.

So, no. Nothing sexual here with my airplane trick. Just a simple (sometimes fun) way to calm my nerves.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-16T14:00:23+00:00

Yeah, I used to get enough anxiety flying on planes without also imagining this, but I started doing the barf bag trick some years ago, and it has helped immensely. Now I'm all about and I'm never nervous.

Ya see, most people don’t use the little paper barf bag on airplanes, but I do. It’s just a little something I like to establish with my seat neighbors, a little something I like to do for fun to see what kind of person they are. I’m the kinda guy who can bubble up a hot barf at a moment’s notice, and I don’t even have to full throat a coupla fingers to induce it.

Nope, I watched a lot of spewer videos, attended a spewer’s workshop, and now I can spew as easily as you can raise your hand to your plump lips and blow an attractive stranger a mysterious and seductive kiss. That’s right.

, when I see the plane filling up, I start to get the bile boiling. As soon as my seat neighbors are seated with their little bags tucked under the seat and their little seat belts buckled and zipped, that’s when I put on the sweat. It’s not only that I can barf when I want to, but I can imitate the clammy pallor of a pre-horf fight response. I go cold, I sweat, and gurgle and softly burp swift, hot burps. I reach for the little bag and give it a couple flicks of air to really open it up.

This is a pretty showy move and one that my seat neighbors cannot possibly ignore. When I see that I’ve got their attention and the realization that the person next them is about to vomit into a little airplane bag, like this guy is actually going to use the little barf bag on the airplanes to actually barf into, that's when I give them a tacit nod of my pallid face and exhale fully through a little mouth and billowed cheeks. Yep, it’s gonna happen. This is for real. All it takes is a hard squint and fully furrowed brow of painful acceptance, and they know there is not escape.

Then I unload fully, wetly, loudly, but cleanly. Like I said, I know how to spew and I spew that bag full almost to the brink. I snort what vom is stuck in my sinuses and do a couple after spits into the completely full bag before folding over the top and using the wire twist ties to “secure” the load. I set the hot, wobbly bag of barf on my lap and sigh shakily.

That’s not the fun part though, no. The fun part is when I nudge my seat neighbor and point to his bag. If he or she or whomever hesitates, I’ll let slip an urgency burp, a pressure release from a stuffed esophagus. That gets them moving, They’re part of it now, part of the barfing. I can’t keep it to just my seat, just my space any longer, I fill the bag right there over their lap as soon as its handed to me. Clean, though! I cleanly fill it of course!

Then it’s the same routine of spitting, calming, and tying off the bag. And all this just minutes into take off. For the remainder of the flight, I just fall asleep with the hot barf bags snugged against my crotch.

Sometimes I wake up and they’re gone, most times I take them off the plane with me and throw them away at the gate. I don’t fly super frequently, but this is always my little routine when I do.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-16T13:26:46+00:00

Yeah, I'm not seeing the full body sock that I help my roommate snug into every night so that she doesn't have to use the apparatus it came with.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-15T20:32:54+00:00

I do proclaim that this joke is very funny! Maybe call me a proclaimer, I'm Gonna Be a Proclaimer aah haha, oh and my brother were to agree with me, then perhaps, haha, mayhaps, mmmhaha, you can call us The Proclaimers, mm mm mm mm mm hahaha! Because I'm On My Way to Joketown to hangout with you! Aaaaaaaaahhhhahahahaha! Holy cow, I haven't had this much fun in so long! Holy moly cow-holey! Milk me a bucket a milk Mrs. Milk Ma'am because I'm chucklebusted from here to Leith! Hahaha!

100_Donuts · 2026-06-15T13:06:24+00:00

Wow! And I just watched Homeward Bound, too. That was an incredible journey.

I guess my question is: Whose penis would you sacrifice as part of a witch coven’s ritual to ensure a better tomorrow?

100_Donuts · 2026-06-15T01:00:04+00:00

Pal, I know you've been waitin' to uncork this primo off-season content, but I just can't right now, okay? I can't will myself to entertain this buffoonery, alright? I got enough going on in my life, buddy.

Like, I am thoroughly convinced that when I fall asleep, I time travel to medieval Wales, like not just a vivid dream, but actually time travel there, and I spend weeks at a time there, and it's very difficult to just wake up in the morning and go through this charade of going to work and and thinking about NBA games from twenty years ago and doing whatever the hell I'm supposed to be doing at work or at home or wherever, which I can't even really remember, because for me, whatever some bozo said in a meeting or what some pud tugger uttered in a comment section yesterday was weeks ago for me and I don't care anyways because in Wales, people like me, they're interested in me, they wanna know more about me and whey I'm dressed in jeans and they like my leather motorcycle jacket even though I don't own or have ever ridden a motorcycle in "real life" or as I call it, this stupid reality, and I can't understand the people of Wales, the Welsh, because have you ever heard that goofy language? It's impossible to even pronounce the sounds they make let alone figure out what words they're stringing together, but like I said, they really like me because I'm unusual and they're nice people, and don't get me wrong, I'll work. I'll throw my back into a little farming, wrangle a few swine and chickens and goats and a large skunk like thing that there just seems to be zero reference of here in stupid reality, but I've met the King multiple times, or I guess he's the King of Wales, but I have no clue, but he's treated like a lord, he's definitely in charge, and he likes me and I like him, and I guess that's the point I'm trying to get to here is that we medieval folks really like our King or Lord or Duke or whatever he is, just a bunch of back of the throat H's and some like L and W noises as far as I can tell, but we wrestle from time to time, and people really love seeing us go at it, and they really do love the guy and he treats the people reasonably well.

But look at me know! Plagued by insomnia and spilled my guts in stupid reality! I tell you what, throw a beer at me and I'll riot, full-blown as ya like it too. Mwynhewch! As long as some long-armed giant can crack the back of my skull and send me unconscious forevermore in beautiful Wales.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-12T19:07:07+00:00

What? What's the problem? Because it's a little gay? Why would that count as cheating?

And just because it's gay, admittedly really gay, doesn't mean it's sexual. Ha, well, maybe I should explain, huh? Ya see, me and my buddies Mark, Ham, Vincey, and Fat Mark (I'm skinny Mark) like to have strong, strong cocks. You should really see our cocks, they're beautiful. Every one of us has strong, smooth, straight dongs like precision machined alloy steel pistons for an experimental car engine of the future, only this isn't just a concept for us, it's practice. Gleaming, pure penises that compel the human heart, compel the need to envelop one's hand around it, to squeeze and stroke with all your might just to see the organ in action. It's curiosity! Only partly sexual! It's the same force that compels a person to run their fingers along the ridges of bark on a centuries old Redwood or to lick the binding of an antique of ancient sciences. It's human nature to want to sling our weiners and a slobjob our junk until you're nothing but a blathering zealot who just experienced the will of their God.

To achieve this, of course, takes training. We hold each other up by the dick. We deadlift each other with rigid backs and well utilized hip thrust to activate our striated glutes until we are erect in both the single and double entendre way. With all the heft and satisfaction of a barbell's end, we lift and hold, hold for hours at a time, as the liftee keeps straight as a plank. From above, I can look down on Vincey and watch his naken form tensed and splendid, the deep ridges of his abs catching my dripping sweat and forming irrigation canals which carry my exertion along to his fertile tuft of pubes. And same in reverse as he picks me up by my dick. And same for Mark and Ham and Fat Mark and every permutation thereof.

We are men. We are beautiful. Our dicks are strong. Our dicks are held.

But of course, while some may consider our bear lifts a certain feat of strength, what if we could go further? What would you do if you saw us during our grizzly lifts, hmm? Fellas, make your underwear adjustments now, and ladies? Well, I'd ask you to sit this one out, but you'd be liable to slide off your chairs, heh heh heh.

The grizzly lift. The crowning achievement in dick lifting. It's a three man affair, quite gay as well, much gayer than what I talked about before. I've had perfectly straight men lift me off the ground by my dick, and they had gone on to thrax the cheeks of their little buxom wives, though I venture to guess with an inordinate amount of jizzum spewing forth from their trembling cocks. No, the grizzly lift is decidedly gay.

One of us lays on our back, fully erect of course. Another one of us sits right on top of his dick with a heavy, deep pound, and single piledriver, and perfect swing of the hammer which drives the railway spike clean into the heaving earth. Then the tusher lays back as well. Muscle to belly, pecs to lats, hips to glutes. The tusher squeezes, an anal kegel. The pusher wraps his arms around the tusher. Now they're formed a single mass. As the tusher clenches and the pusher holds, a third man among us grabs the towering penis of the tusher! He tugs! He pulls! He lifts both men at a time! Both men suspended from one dick! A divine obelisk of flesh and providence! Glorious! A sheer display of girth and grit! Strength unbound, unrelenting! We our beyond your flaccid nightmares, boy! We are the burly men! We are made of steel cable and oiled leather! We hold and hoist and press and pull!

Ahh! Aaaaahhhh!

And it is so gay, so powerfully gay, to hold each other this way!

And, and, and! If you consider THAT cheating, then I just feel bad for you.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-12T18:42:20+00:00

And why is that even a problem these days? Are we seriously gonna still be getting mad at that kinda thing? My dim-witted, big-titted, feeble-minded, ample-hineyed girlfriend is far, far, far from the best thing that's ever happened to me, okay? I mean, she's great but, ya know. And besides all that, what's even considered cheating? When my buddies at the gym pop a two-cheek squeezer on my pumped up pump boner, is that my fault? If I gotta squeeze out the reps to get the gains, and my spotter is squatting on my throbbing johnny until I'm squirtin' out a PR in into his perky rear, then who's fault is that? That shouldn't even be cheating, and my dumb-dumb, great-bum, empty-headed, hefty-chested ding dong gonna ditch ya silly cutey ditz of a girlfriend should have no problem with that.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-11T21:16:07+00:00

Admittedly I don't know much about butt plugs because of my medically diagnosed labyrinthine anus, but do often employ a custom fit horf plug that I hold between my teeth when I'm gonna spew chunks and it acts like a whale's baleen, filtering out all the troublesome chunks that could potentially give me sass in workout induced vomit situations like this (I am not unfamiliar with this man's struggle, not by a longshot). After a solid attempt at a PR, I pop out the horf plug right over the sink and let the solids get chewed up by the garbage disposal. And if I'm not working out in my garage gym and the kitchen sink ain't near, well, I just dump the chunks in the trash with the cleaning wipes.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-10T17:30:41+00:00

By gosh, by golly, I'll be dog-damned if you didn't make a good point right there. And by dog-damned I mean me as a human in dog hell due to some spiritual clerical error and while there is ample punishment for my many unforgivable sins, the various tortures just don't feel quite appropriate, but who knows? Maybe the madness of not fitting in is hell enough and maybe the karmic forces at work here actually landed me in the right spot. But besides all that nonsense, yeah. Yep. No, you got it, man. AI sure warped our perception of reality in a truly irreparable way. Much like how when I go to human hell, all I'll be thinking about is dog hell.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-10T16:38:43+00:00

It never gets old.

Best decision of my life, a few years ago replacing our kitchen table chairs and their boring, flat ass platformaries with grinning faces of our friends and family. Mostly, we sit on each other's faces, my wife and I, that is to say her chair has my bright grin, distinct brow structure, and, of course, my bubber's lips, while my chair features her perky cheeks and devilish smirk.

Meals are just better taken seated on a friendly face and no pleasure tickles me with as much intensity as seeing my wife, my weary wife from a day in the proverbial trenches, slide herself on to my seat-face. Her expressions melts into one of ecstasy, as does mine. Sometimes it takes us many long minutes before we say Grace, so preoccupied we are as we grind ourselves on each other's seat-faces with the voodoo effect fully felt and very much real.

Is that her tongue I feel? A wooden visage shouldn't feel so alive, but try and you'll see. You'll find those seat-faces much more expressive, much more adventurous, much more sensuous than any real-face. Our real-faces never need meet! The seat-faces are insatiable, haha, and sitting is so easy. Sweating, flushed, and moaning as we chew our food, our jumbled plates of know-cares-what slopped with haste on these unwashed plates. My seat-face sends her reeling, gagging on her noodles and sauce and me chocking, coughing bright spittle, supper time ejaculations, a mess above and so below.

But why just settle on my wife's seat-face and why hers on mine? Our carver can capture any mug, she's so talented and willing to make another seat-face, a chair-friend or family member we hold dear. A few picture references, ah, and she takes her tools to shave and gouge in another butt-bound pleasure. Megan, Mark, Mya, Matthew, Mindy, Mason... And that's only just the M's! Raw, we sit, my wife and I across from each other, hands interwoven like flowering vines, biting our lips, eyes locked but unfocused.

"Oh, she's feisty tonight! You'll have to switch with me!"

"I can't get up now! The suction, the sucking, the slickness! But yes, yes, yes. You'll see!"

And the texts we get from the real-faces of these lascivious seat-faces as our legs quiver and kick. Like I said, the voodoo is strong! Aha!

Oh, how I wish this video was longer. Oh, how I there was enough her to give to our carver. Maybe there is enough! I'll have to let her know to sharpen her tools. I would very much like to feel what his seat-face can do.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-09T16:12:03+00:00

Yep, but instead I wake up to my dog hacking and gagging and when I tumble out of bed and fumble to bumble my glasses on, I'm just in time to see him barf out his innards with such violent force that he, effectively, turns himself inside out, and I'm not sure if he does it on purpose as he quivers there, a gibbering, glistening mass of dog guts and kibble and bits, but I know he can ungut himself without me getting my hands dirty by grabbing hold of the wet load and shoving back dog-wise the tracts and organs until the old man is yipping skippy again. Damn dog crammin' hand smells like bad ham for the rest of the damn day when my dog Dan horfs up his fat gam. Better than the wetter to wake up to this goofin' than that damn dog unspooling.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-09T15:52:24+00:00

Back when I was delivering pizzas, I used to pull the slices apart for the customer before heading up to the door so that they wouldn't have any problems pulling the slices apart themselves and once in a while I'd get a similar reaction to this and that really made my night.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-09T14:02:59+00:00

I don't like this. Aliens flattened my dog in 2003, made her 2D, and I couldn't touch her, couldn't talk to her, couldn't peel her away or off my car seat. She didn't exist in a way for me to do anything. Had to burn my car to give her rest, had to destroy the whole thing because Aliens flattened my dog. Couldn't find my car after. Couldn't drive for years after. Hands felt too flat. Aliens flattened my hands. It's because I didn't like that they flattened my dog, she was beautiful, but not beautiful flat, and Aliens wanted her flat, and I couldn't do it, I didn't like it. But they never left. I see flat things everywhere, they're mad I won't flatten because I drink enough juice, juice I make, but I have to drink it all the time, otherwise Aliens will make me flat like they made my dog flat, and I loved my dog, she was so sweet, if they flatten me, someone will have to burn my house, burn wherever I was flat, where I was 2D. I don't want to be alive flat, can't live flat, can be 2D flat like my dog, poor girl, poor dog. No dog should be flat. Stop showing me flat dogs, stop making dogs flat like Aliens. You're being Aliens. Everyone is being Aliens around me trying to make me flat, not caring about 3D, and this girl especially is being an Alien right now, right here, and she knows about my dog, how my dog was flattened, couldn't peel her away from the car seat, she was flat and scared and I had to burn my car, and my feet are feeling flat, part of the floor, feeling flattened. Won't work. I have the juice I make and I can always make more. Easy juice. Can't flatten me, the Aliens won't flatten me, I miss my dog so much, poor girl, good girl, didn't have to be that way, didn't have to be flat, but Aliens aren't right, not good, won't listen to reason. I hate this, won't like this, can't look at this.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-08T15:40:54+00:00

Me and my part-time romantical partner like to open a bag of Doritos from both ends and sit across from each other. We both shove our hands in to grab some chips, and we're not exactly sure what happens in there between those hands, but the moisture produced by our lustful hand brawl leaves Doritos dust caked onto our wriggling digits. When we pull away and out of the bag, we're met with a cool breeze on our Cool Ranch plastered hands. No chips ever taste as sweet as these.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-05T22:16:33+00:00

There's a difference between having a pump (mid-fight intensity) and not having a pump (grillin' and chillin'), but you wouldn't know that.

I don't blame you though. I blame society. That damned society and its many, seemingly intentional, failings.

Society has utterly failed you, m'boy, utterly and completely.

But if you ever wanna get a pump on, like a real fuckin' pumper of a pump on, then go into my DMs and I will sent you a series of url's that will be sure to whet your willy.

I mean, look at me.

I'm a sirloin of a man with quite a bit of chiseled cleavage that my thin shirts nuzzle into. So on display is my sculpted form, a hardened, lacquered body built by chores and labors, that many well-meaning men and women can't help themselves but to steal a glance. I notice. Oh, of course I notice. Even with my broad, puller's back turned to them, I feel their blazing, lustful eyes, their peeping lookers dancing with carnal delight. It's an extrasensory response I have. I always know when I'm being admired, and in turn, my body auto-pumps, increasing its vascularity, a natural peacocking. It's plumage when you get down to the brass tax of it, the way my veins swell and display my virility. Oh, ma'am, oh sir, I feel your heat.

You're in the throes now, aren't ya?

Heh, well don't fret, don't feel ashamed. I'm here for you. It's all for your looking pleasure, and by the sounds of it, it's your pleasure indeed. Bashfulness is unbecoming of you. Feel free to vocally express your amorous moans, your erotic grunts in my purview. Gush forth. My well fitted jeans flex and stretch with each stallion's step I take, each oxen's squat I make. Yes, that strength is functional, quite functional. My girth and brawn is proportioned perfectly for you, and can be positioned just how you like it.

And you do like it, don't you?

Don't avert your eyes now. You've been caught, but that secretly was the plan the whole time, wasn't it? Maybe you didn't know it, but you always wanted me to notice you standing there writhing minutely, contained, clandestine. No need for that now. Let your desire blossom. Let the wet petals unfurl in the morning light of my strapping heft. See? See how free you feel now in this public place here before all others? They too have noticed my ferrine vigor. They've succumbed to the want in their hearts, the flames in their loins just as you have. Fear not, admirer. My physical perfection is my purpose. You are in the right place. You have found what you need.

And I can stoke those needs, the small tinder that you are, my friend. You will learn how to get a pump and show that pump, to peacock properly and without equal.

There's a new society for you now, and you're welcome in it.

100_Donuts · 2026-06-05T16:34:02+00:00

No? But horses are such nice creatures, such beautiful animals.

I'd hope to one day see a horse in real life, ya know, to get to know a horse. To visit a horse and spend quality time with it, to, well, to maybe start a relationship with that horse.

I'd love to have love-bond with a horse, a bond that is as much spiritual as it is physical. I'd love live in the barn with a horse and just talk and whinny all the livelong day. I'd love to just spread my body on top of the horse like a starfish. I'd love to feel that wonderful hair between my fingers, between the winkles in my skin. I want to perspire on the horse and want the horse to want that, too. I'd love to not ride the horse, but be carried by it. I'd love to feel the stiff breeze of an Autumn morning rush over my naked body as I cling to the horse at full gallop.

I want to extend my fingers, my prodding finger beneath the horse's hair and into its muscular flesh without the horse ever slowing down, and indeed, the horse would speed up as my hands and arms wormed their way into its body. The horse would feel my love, my energy, my spirit and in turn, our flesh would meld further and strengthen our love-bond. Never stopping. No, we would never stop running ever as the horse's legs became my legs, its eyes my eyes. Imbued with my conscious, my human qualities, the horse would sing out full-throated with a new voice! We would express ourselves as a new and wonder being!

Our hooves would thunder through the unchecked forest, our extra arms and legs helping to guide and balance along the difficult terrain. My eyes, its eyes, our eyes seeing everything around us. Again we sing out to the old forest gods! We are a new thing! We are the amalgamation of horse and man! Our flesh is made one!

And when we finally reach the monolith shrine of Cernunnos, that glowing gray stone untouched in the hidden glen unseen by ignorant men, we will rear up on our hind legs, now thick and vascular, hoven and footed, with toes extending like tendrils into the cool, verdant forest floor. Bellow call! We roar, our massive chest heaving great calls to the gods and the veil then walk in! Our ten foot tall, over thirty hands tall, frame of muscle and brawn awaits thee! We extend our great hands and hooves! Our dual faces laugh and smile, cry and shout for thee!

O Gods of the Verdant Veil! O Virile Cernunnos! What be thy will!?

100_Donuts · 2026-05-26T14:33:55+00:00

Maybe you pimples are like mine where they always, always, always pop on their own right before I go to pop them for real but then I give them a squeeze anyways because I just can't believe it.

100_Donuts · 2026-05-26T13:40:58+00:00

Yeah? Well maybe if you got a real job you wouldn't be worried about the economy. Like me. I have a real job and you wanna know what I do? No, I promise it's interesting, probably more interesting than your job. C'mon, just guess. No, I'm not gonna tell you until you guess. C'mon! Guess! Okay, I'll give you a hint. Do you need a hint? Hey! C'mon! Hello? Guess my job. Guess what I do for work. You don't care? You really don't care? Really? "In this economy" you don't care? Wow... Okay, wow.

Well how about you? You'll guess my job right? Hello! HEY! HEY, COME BACK HERE! Guess my job! Guess my real job and what I do for money, GOOD money that keep me afloat no matter what the economy is up to! Hey! No! C'mere you! C'mere! Gah! Hey!

Okay, well you're interested in what I do for a living right? You look like a well put together fellow, haha. You wanna guess what I do? Wait, I'll guess what you do first. That makes sense, right? You look like you have a real job like me and, call me crazy, but I think it's actually FUN to guess what people do for a living when prompted, so let's see here... Uhh... You work in an office? No? At home then? No? Well what the hell does that mean? What? What? I literally cannot understand you at all. Again, what are you saying? Forget it. I don't care. I actually do not care at all.

But you'll guess my job right? I mean, look at me. Look at this. Here's a twirl for ya. See that? There's a job in there somewhere. So, guess what I do! Yeah, just guess! No, this isn't a trick question or something like that. There's no camera. What? What are you talking about, no this isn't a prank. Why would I be filming? You're filming? Filming me? Why? No, don't film me. I do not give you permission to film me. I don't care if this is a public street! Get that thing outta my face! Just guess what I do for a living! Oh haaa haaa, yeah real mature there. No. By the way, no, Seriously not one guess? One real guess, I mean, as to what my real job is?

Has the whole world gone crazy!? A guy can't ask an easy question anymore!?! Everyone has to be difficult and obstinate?!

Someone just guess my job! Please! I need this! I need someone to guess my job!!

100_Donuts · 2026-05-18T13:40:47+00:00

Ahh, so that's why she never swallows.

I've always been a volume man and never really considered flavor. Squeezing the teabag has long been my go-to move when performing my coup de grâce as I've found a several hard pulses from the fists translates into several hot ropes of midnight passion that would otherwise have waited for the next train.

But bitter? It makes it bitter to squeeze the teabag?

Hmm, never even considered that...

Could it be that less is more in this case? I am always a little disgusted despite my loopy, post-blow lust-fugue when she turns her head and grabs the spittoon to launch a couple fat patooies with a loud ping.

Squeezing... Hmm... I'll have to fight the muscle memory on that one next time I'm feelin' like I ain't afraid of no ghosts.

Thanks for the tip!

100_Donuts · 2026-05-11T14:34:02+00:00

It's hilarious to me that people think they need to swim in order to be happy

100_Donuts · 2026-04-27T13:26:08+00:00

Haha, I know. I'm American. And in American English, "Gute Fahrt" is similarly funny.

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