Archive for the The Vent Category

The Throne Room

Posted in The Vent with tags , , , , , , on July 19, 2009 by Max

The Throne Room – that special place where one of our most deeply personal and private pursuit’s occurs. Now before continuing I am willing to acknowledge that some may find this subject uncouth, or gauche, or just plain off limits; however, for men, that private time spent alone in the bathroom represents our one true moment of blissful solitude. Understand this, women, and you understand the essence of man himself.

Imagine, he’s been in a relationship with the same woman for 20 years of his adult life, never really knowing the true meaning of the word “Freedom”. Within that humble abode that you both call “home”, almost every single room is a shared experience; the living room, the dining room, media room, and of course the bedroom.

How much he must welcome then, the sheer tranquility that comes from being able to sit quietly, undisturbed, in the last frontier – the last bastion of solitude and freedom – and just relax!

Now understand that we are not referring to a bathroom similar in proportion and grandeur to the one in which the Queen of England handles her most royal of businesses. This is not the same bathroom in which Al Pacino’s character Tony “Scarface” Montana bathed, in his huge sunken hot tub, whilst accosting Michelle Phieffer’s character Elvira Hancock. Ohhh no you silly fool! What we are referring to is that 5’ by 9’, coat closet-like room that contains two dirty towels, old magazines, three year old potpourri, a half empty roll of toilet paper and the most important piece of porcelain known to mankind.

This place, that every adult male secretly calls his “home within the home”, is the half that the realtor dismissively referred to when pointing out the fact that your soon-to-be new house contained three and a HALF bathrooms. Little did you know, ladies, that this room did more to finalize closing on that house than the island sinks in the kitchen, the two car garage, the huge two acre plot of land, yes… even more than little Timmy’s own personal bedroom.

This tiny, almost innocuous, “room” was the final nudge necessary to make that special man in your life look you right in your eyes, and with a near imperceptible sigh of relief and ecstacy proclaim, “This is the one we’ve been searching for

So please women, the next time you’re looking for your man – be he a boyfriend, fiancé or husband – and after ten minutes of yelling from upstairs with no results, you decide to head downstairs and you see the door to “that room” closed and hear the fan quietly whirring with that sweet melody of circulation… Please! Don’t knock… Don’t open… Don’t wait! Just turn the fuck around and take your ass right back up those stairs. Because at that very moment the king is on this throne… and the royal court is in session!

Besides you already have your own personal wing within our private kingdom and we men are happy to leave you in there undisturbed… It’s called the kitchen!


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Posted in The Vent with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 16, 2009 by Diggems

This ain’t your daddy’s type of grooming.

We live in a age where appearances speak volumes. The pussification of the man is in full swing. Long gone are the days of the 60’s and 70’s when it was considered sheik to walk around the beach with man fro on your chest. Nowadays that trend seems to be rapidly declining. We have everyday guys walking around here like Michael Phelps shaving chest hair and waxing their legs. I understand the importance of necessary grooming but unless you’re running or swimming for a gold medal there’s really no excuse for you to be shaving your legs.

There’s also another deeper, darker method of the manscaping process. The clippers and razors have now moved to the crotch. Like the funny shrubs at Disney Land, men are also clipping their pubes in an effort to maintain the status quo. I hate to admit that I have also become a victim of said pussification. I was the first to stand on the soapbox and point out the man hoes that were participating. Now I’ve relieved my stand and proudly stand amongst my bitch made brethren. My name is Diggems and I actively participate in manscaping. Alright, now that’s done let’s get back to the explanation.

First of all I’m not a hairy man to begin with. My follicles just don’t have the umph to pull off a chest beard. Any attempts to flaunt my peck carpet would only result in high pitch laughter from the neighboring lady folk. If you’re cursed with limited chest hair such as myself, do yourself a favor and the people around you a favor and clip those six mangy hairs off your chest. Like a balding man sporting a comb over, you’re only fooling yourself.

Ladies also seem to be more particular about a man’s armpit hair. The general consensus I’ve received is that shaven armpits are not a career ender for blossoming relationships. The flip side of that coin is the guy who appear to have buckwheat in a headlock. If you’re capable of actually combing your armpit hair then you are a sure fire candidate for a trim.

The absolute game ender for young men this summer is back hair. Thank you sweet Jesus for not cursing me with the mark of the beast. If you’re sporting a man sweater find a female friend, preferable a chick you’re not interested in, and have her weed whack that shit off. No lady wants to lay on your back and choke down back fur while she’s nibbling on your shoulder blades.

Lower body
This is the gray area of the manscaping process. Females don’t seem to mind hairy legs as much. In fact some think it’s really attractive. This is a subject best left to whatever type of responses you receive when sporting your man leggings. Personally, I feel it’s kind of weird shaving your legs but hey, it’s whatever floats your boat. The real meat and potatoes are the areas we’re about to discuss.

The Wedding Tackle
Here it is fellas… the place most sensitive to our egos. The twig and berries. This should be a carefully thought out and well groomed area. Believe me when I say this. NO woman wants to be diddling around downstairs only to find a crime scene between your legs. There’s many pros and cons to the way this can, and should, be done. Remeber, I’m only offering advice. I’m sure each of your have your own methods of getting your shag carpet up to speed.

You generally have three major choices. 1) You have the blow out – which is just letting your genital whiskers ran amuck unchecked. 2) There’s the light trim – which is the equivalent of a light taper or a “Caesar”. And then there’s the baby Stewie – this is when you shave everything to the point of looking like a new born baby.

I’ve tried all three and my advice is to do everything in moderation. When I came out of my draws looking like the wolfman I never received any complaints. Most females simply brushed my crotch-fro to side and continued like nothing even mattered.

When I rocked my tight taper. I got tons of comments ranging from, “Wow, that looks really sporty” to “Awhhh, you think you’re Hollywood now”. Whatever the case, none of the comments we’re bad.

Wearing the Stewie was another animal entirely! There’s just something funny about a grown ass man walking around sporting wood with no visible mane for proof of your maturation. You can’t beat the response you’ll get from this doozie. It’s an instant conversation starter.

Ultimately though, all of this clipping won’t mean a damn thing if you don’t trim or shave the hair on your sacks. If you’ve never had your balls properly “tended to” by the fairer sex, it’s probably because your sack game was not up to speed. I don’t really have any advice on how to manage your balls. All I can hope for is that you have a steady hand, especially if you’re using a razor. It’s one thing to get a nick on your cheek and it’s whole other thing to accidentally slice the skin off of your nuts.  One thing is for sure though, you’ll also be surprised how much more interested your lady will be concerning the offering of  “oral delights”; it’s like a puppy playing with a new chew toy.

Personally I still rock the Caesar. Yeah, I know it sounds gay, but fuck it. It’s cleaner, sportier, and it shows the young lady in your life that you care enough to clean up a little before she “cleans” you up a little.


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and then she said. . .

Posted in The Vent with tags , , , , , , , , on July 10, 2009 by Diggems

I’m at coffee shop finishing up some work when a young lady sits at the table next to me. I do the typical quick glance to see if she’s worth a second look. 4 glances at her pretty face later I decided I have already answered my own question. I dive back into my computer screen and finish up the project that was duly stopped for a worthwhile cause. A few minutes later I see a side-to-side motion in my peripheral vision. It’s the cutie pie across from me. She’s trying to get my attention.

I’m so sorry to bother you but I wanted to know if it would be too much to ask if I could check my e-mail on your computer. It’s really important.”

Sure I was just about to finish up anyway.”

Her face lights up and she scoots her chair beside mine.

Thank you so much. Nobody else around here seemed very friendly.”

I look around and the place is swarming with young men and woman. Practically everybody has a smile on their face.

She hops on the keyboard and proceeds to check her mail. As she’s surfing we go through the typical pleasantries. My name’s this, I do that, I live here, blah, blah, blah. We small talked for about 10 minutes. She seemed like a very nice girl. Then out of the blue she hits me with “it”. She goes through the same old song and dance that every cute girl gives every guy.

Most of my friends are guys. I don’t hang out with girls. Girls are just too hard to get along with.”

All I could think is, “Oh boy, here we go again…

Ok… I’m curious. Do women really think it’s a turn on for a guy to find out that you have an entire stable of other men that you spend the majority of your time with?!? Now granted, I do believe in the possibility of plutonic relationships between men and woman. I personally have a few that are absolutely exceptional; however, I find it very difficult to believe that one woman with a shit ton of male friends can be plutonic in every situation.

Now whether or not this particular young lady is sleeping with the majority of her male friends is a mystery to me, but I’m pretty certain a line has been crossed on multiple occasions before. I love my female plutonic friends. I love them to death! However, have I slept with “some” of said plutonic friends? Abso-fucking-lutely! It’s just the nature of the male/female relationship. We’re hard wired to be attracted to one another. It’s not a social, racial, financial, east coast, west coast thing. It’s just a human thing. My issue isn’t with the friendship, it’s with the assumption that you think I’m a fool. Many women pull this one trick pony out of their hat as a way to justify and clear the palette for future actions concerning said male friends. For me it’s an immediate red flag.

I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve hung out with a female friend, that I’ve either had relations with or am currently having relations with, and have been introduced to their significant other. I typically just sit there with a shit eating grin on my face and give the appropriate levels of dap and conversation to the other lad.

After the meet-and-greet is over with, my female friend pulls the guy off to the side and whispers the usual appeasement, “See, I told you he was cool. You have nothing to worry about”.

(cue laugh track)

My other issue with the whole “I can’t hang around girls” bullshit, is the social factor. How are we supposed to communicate properly if you’re incapable of conveying basic dialogue with someone of the same gender? It’s almost as bad as black people that hate other black people, or Christians that hate other Christians. I don’t understand how you can hate what you are! If everybody else in that particular sub group can get along, why can’t you? It seems pretty obvious that the problem doesn’t reside in the group, but in you. I’m certain that every girl who fits this category has some reason why their story should be exempt from this broadstroke of generalization. Everybody wants to be the exception to the rule but the problem with that is… you’re not.

I think all of you female-on-female haters need to take a long deep look in the mirror and see what the hell is wrong with you. Sure not every woman is going to love you and you’re certainly not going to love every other woman, but to proclaim loudly that you’re incapable of a basic human interface with someone because they share the same plumbing as you is completely silly.

Get over your ego and go make some damn friends.


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“Body Magic” aka The Devil’s Tool

Posted in The Vent with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 27, 2009 by Max


I’m sitting here deep in thought at the moment and I’m reminded of something Chris Rock said in one of his stand up comedy performances.

Women lie! You know that hair ain’t yours! That ain’t your natural hair color! You know your tits ain’t really that big!” Chris said in a near hysterical rant.

Well to this list, we can now add… “You know that ain’t your f**kin’ body!”

Wait! What?!? When did it become acceptable to completely mislead every man that you meet?

Ok let’s be fair. The idea of radically altering the shape of ones body isn’t exactly new.

bGranny%20Daisy%20DukesDuring the Victorian era (early 1800’s) women wore extreme shape shifting corsets that drew emphasis to the hips and chest as seen in the picture to the right. Well as they say, history repeats itself and we can now thank the evil tool known simply as “Body Magic” for misleading legions of drunk men!

Listen, I understand that women want to fit into their clothes comfortably and look good at the same time. Daily we are bombarded with images of “beautiful” people on TV and print ads. If you don’t weigh 110 lbs and have buns of steel or brazen skin of the gods, you are just “normal”. People turn on the TV and there are hundreds of commercials for weight loss pills, and remedies, and work out equipment, and on and on… and on!

So guess who comes swooping in to the rescue? You guessed it… Body Magic. No longer do women have to actually bother working out. In just two shakes of a lamb’s tail (actually more like 50 shakes of a horse’s ass) women can completely change their physical appearance. Millions of drunk men in bars, lounges, and clubs around America are learning first hand the evils of the Body Magic.

Well I think it’s time for men to fight back! Women you want a man with chiseled arms like Zeus himself, a perfect six pack ripped straight from the body of Herculese and a barrel-shaped chest the size of a cruise ship? Well here you go! Women say hello to…

Muscle Miracle



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You Can Get The Tip of My . . . .

Posted in The Vent with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2009 by Diggems

Come to work looking like this and you can have my car!

Hello my fellow Fuckiteers. It’s your friendly neighborhood Diggems giving his ever so loved opinion on life. I just came back from a burger stand that’s a couple of blocks from my apartment. It’s one of those spots that you would probably pass by everyday and never notice. You know, the one with the shitty wholesale Coca-Cola sign with the company name written in black above it. It’s the kind of place that makes you grateful for the restaurant grading system, just to highlight what type of biological hazard you’re about to engulf. This little shanty is run by two guys who look like they’ve just passed their parole hearing a couple days ago, and are now members of the jailhouse parolee employment plan.

Even with all that though, for some odd reason, I can’t help but consider them when I’m ready to stuff my face. I must admit, they make some damn good burgers.

Anyway, I digress… What really pisses me off about this place and other establishments like it is not the service, even though their version of service with a smile is a jacked up mouth that was probably used to polish some security guards “pole” while serving time stuck in the “hole”. It certainly isn’t the location either, considering that on any dark and unsettling night this location would likely be a haven for seasoned criminals looking to practice the fine art of rape and battery. For me it’s much simpler than that. The thing that pisses me off about this place is the tip jar.

Why in the world do people feel the need to place a shitty little tip jar on the counter and expect you to donate even more of your hard earned money for a service that is supposed to be included in the price? I’m not against tipping in general, just those greedy bastards that take the general public as a bunch of ass hats ready to willingly fork over their cash.

Now jobs that have waitresses or bartender in the title are exempt from this verbal barrage. These fine individuals have a real reason to expect a little something. They perform a service that can be monetarily evaluated by the type of service given. You don’t tip these individuals because they are doing their job, you tip them because they did something to increase the quality of services already rendered. If I order coffee and the young lady serving me is pleasant, checks on me from time to time and hastily takes away my dishes; she deserves a little extra for making my experience a wonderful one.

On the other hand, if you’re a burger slinger at the local roach haven flipping patties, you do not deserve anything extra because you didn’t do anything to exceed the expectation of your job description. So with that being said, do not hint at the tip jar, look at the tip jar or even insinuate that I should reward you for doing your job. It makes about as much sense as tipping a geography teacher for pointing out where Angola is on the map. If you didn’t do shit, so don’t expect shit.

The burger shack that I referred to earlier recently insulted my intelligence when the grease monkey behind the counter gave me a troubling look because I disregarded his visual cue to entertain the tip jar. Honestly, if he hadn’t looked like a man that wouldn’t have any issue with violating his parole by bashing my head in with the greasy spatula in his hand, I would have told him about himself. Fortunately for me I enjoy not being someone’s prison bitch. And even more so, I really enjoy their tasty penitentiary inspired burgers. I’ll be sure to keep all this in mind if I ever do time. I’m sure the prison guard that I mouth off to will also expect a tip after he dents my skull in with his billy club. I can only imagine what the service would be like without the gratuity.


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Don’t Mind Him, He’s Just an Actor

Posted in The Vent with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 9, 2009 by Diggems

evilmonkeybuisnesssuitAs an aspiring actor, I pay close attention to the interviews my fellow thespians take part in. It’s always good to know what the successful people in your industry have to say, mainly because it aids in the process of creating and seperating yourself from this mad mix of competition.

Lately, I’ve noticed that more and more successful people in the movie business have grown far too comfortable in their own little worlds. The problem with that is when said individuals decide to walk off the edge of rational thinking and expect the rest of the world to understand their perilous journey down “Alice’s rabbit hole” (take Tom Cruise’s Oprah Winfrey couch jumping episode for example). Well I for one refuse.

Where in the world is Joaquin?
So far this year, we’ve had three separate incidents where successful actors have totally lost their shit in plain view of the public’s eye. First up is Joaquin Phoenix’s interview with David Letterman.

Joaquin, for some reason, felt that dressing like a hillbilly’s lawyer was a smart move. Then, he acts like a heroin addict fresh off the needle during his interview. He even went as far as to put his gum under Letterman’s desk. The final piece to his downward spiral was an attempt to persuade the rest of the viewing audience that he was retiring from acting to pursue… a rapping career?!?

Whatever the hell he’s smoking, please share some with me! I need something to convince me, and the rest of the world, that I’d make a great NASCAR driver…

Christian Fail
Our second moron up to bat is Christian Bale. Let us not forget that he played a homicidal maniac pretty convincingly in American Psycho. At least, I’m sure that’s what the Director of Photography was thinking when Bale went ape shit on his ass.

Bale not only screamed on the poor man in front of the entire stage crew for adjusting a light while he was performing, but also threatened to beat the hell out of him and walk off set. Bale, being not of sound mind, forgot that he was still mic’d and the whole fiasco hit the web.

Later on, Bale tried to blame the misconduct on his inability to separate himself from the character that he was playing at the time. Fortunately for Bale, he didn’t “play tough” in front of somebody that would have happily “pulled his card”.

I for one would have slapped the shit out of him for screaming at me like that, and then, just to drive the point home, would have made him sign an autograph for my mother. But that’s just Diggems… That’s just how I roll! (Wiggy… wiggy… yeaaahhhh!)

Billy Bob
Finally Billy Bob Thornton. Forget the fact that he’s a movie star… and a pretty good one at that. His name alone should make you question anything that comes out of his mouth. Anyone that willingly walks into public with a name like Billy Bob couldn’t possibly be working with a full deck of cards.

Before moving to California, I lived in the south for many years; therefore, I’ve had the opportunity to meet a few people named Billy Bob, and every one of them had about as much sense in the head as they had teeth in their mouth, but I digress.

Billy Bob and his band “The Boxmasters” went on a Canadian radio station and gave an interview. Actually let me rephrase that, the rest of the band gave a good interview; answering question and letting the world know who they were. Billy Bob sat there, probably stoned out of his gourd, acting a complete fool. He refused to answer questions, rambled on about complete bullshit, and still found time to insult every Canadian listening to the radio at the time. I’m not even Canadian and I was pissed. The poor guy giving the interview just had to go along with the whole thing.

It’s about time to knock some of these actors off of the pedestals we’ve placed them on. It’s not good for the rest of the species to allow d*ck holes like these to say, and do, what they want in public without consequences. If anyone else were in those same circumstances, you can bet your sweet ass that a reckoning would have occurred. It’s only going to be a matter of time before one of these primadonna’s pisses off the wrong person, then sweet justice will prevail!

In fact, I’m gonna tell you like a friend told me, “I wish a ni**a would.”  (Yiggy… yiggy… yeeeaaahhhhh!)


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The Terrible Tug

Posted in The Vent with tags , , , , , , , on March 26, 2009 by Diggems

200136745-001To stroke or not to stroke?
If there’s any real form of self-help that actually works, masturbation would be it. Why is there so much fuss and embarrassment over “rubbing one out”? There isn’t a human being alive that hasn’t taking part in some form of “sexual solo”. That includes the Dalai Lama, Martin Luther King Jr, and even Mother Theresa. If everybody is doing it, why are so many people denying it?

Confessions of a young masturbator
When I was a teenaged kid dealing with raging hormones and impure thoughts of Lark Voorhies, I was torn as to what to do. Every part of me wanted to stoke my meat until the sun set, but yet I was ashamed to do it.

You’ll get a hairy palm”… I guess this is supposed to work because nobody wants to become a freak of nature…

Others would yell, “You’ll burn in hell.” Well f**k that!

You’ll go blind.” Blind? Seriously? 

And my personal favorite, “Jesus is watching.” I seriously hoped not!

Blah, blah, blah!”

Nature eventually took over and I turned into a closet masturbator. It became my dirty little secret. First, one “morning tug” to wake up. Back from school before my parents got home? The “after school special”. Then, before I fell asleep, a little “just me” to close the night out. At the age of 14 I became a certified professional. I had my technique down and everything.

Now, as an adult, I certainly don’t partake in the knuckle shuffle to the extent that I did when I was younger. I’m not a pubescent kid anymore, trying to understand how my body works. There’s a lot more self control, fewer raging hormones, and fortunately a great girlfriend to curb 90% of those desires. HOWEVER, every now and then I’ll have a teenaged relapse and spiral back into the dark demonic caverns of the damned, and stroke out a little meat sauce. I can’t help it I’m an animal. Hell we all are!

It’s time to stop treating the whole process as taboo! How the hell are you going to know what you like unless you test it out from time to time? A lack of a release ends up turning civilized individuals – like priests – into sick pedophiles.

Science saves the day!
Jerking-off can actually save your life. Science has even proved that men who ejaculate more than 5 times a week between the ages of 20 and 50 were a third less likely to develop prostate cancer later in life. That’s right, you heard it, beat off and fight cancer.

Share a little fun
Here’s a piece of advice that I’m sure many guys will reject and probably many more women will deny. Guys, if you’re in a relationship, get your girl a vibrator. Trust me on this one. She’s already pleasuring herself with her fingers when you’re not looking; might as well give her a little energizer bunny to speed up the process. Her stress will go down, and your life will get a little easier. Sure it’s no substitute for the real thing, but it gives her an appetizer while you set up the main course. If you’re in a relationship, don’t be scared to talk about it. Ask if you can watch her please herself. You’ll be surprised with the things you can learn by watching how she touches herself. Take notes. Explore it all.

School her on how you like to be handled. There’s nothing worse than a girl who thinks your penis is indestructible, yanking and pulling on your sausage like some palsy victim on a caffeine high. Without proper coaching you’ll be huddled in the corner like a rape victim, telling your significant other to “Please step away from the penis”.

F**k it, Just Do It!
Above all else. If you’re not trying to fight cancer, or save your sex life, or whatever noble means you use to justify your tug, just do it because it feels good. If there’s one person you shouldn’t disappoint when it comes to “getting off” it’s yourself. You can be as raunchy or romantic as you please. I for one embrace my wanking with open arms… or should I say open palms. I treat myself like a whore and then fall asleep. It’s the best date ever.


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