Without the first four letter L-O-N-D, you're ON DRUGS.

The great thing about lighted store signs is that they project the store’s message loud and bright and clear. But sometimes, the same glowing letters can let you down, leaving you with a cryptic message that confuses and dismays consumers. Where the original lit store sign might say “LINDA’S MEATS AND CHICKEN” could turn into “LINDA EATS D ICK”.

I noticed the same thing occur at a notable and respected retail store, the one where I pick up my Planters Peanuts and Otrivin. Normally I’d order my pharmaceuticals through an online Canadian pharmacy but until they start selling peanuts, I’m going to have to drag my lazy ass and stuffy nose into the drug store.

So when I went to my usual nasal relief supplier, I noticed something peculiar about the way the exterior store sign lights, in that they weren’t displaying all of the letters I’d expect to see. In this case, the first four letter “LOND” were unlit, in that they were dark, and the remaining lit and glowing letters revealed to me: “ON DRUGS”!

Was the store trying to send me a message? Was there some not-so-hidden irony in the fact this store did sell drugs and that perhaps it had overdosed on its own products? Were the peanuts still in stock?

It might’ve been the chemicals floating around in my nasal cavities, but I’m pretty certain that the store was trying to tell me something through its odd arrangement of  letters. It couldn’t have been coincidence; why not “ODD RUGS” or “LOON RUGS”? Those particular missing, unlit letters said it all, and it was right–and which might have explained the large number of patrons buying Doritos, Twizzlers, and Cheezies that evening.

I still shop at London Drugs, but I’ve stopped buying my poultry from Linda.

I'm drinking this pineapple juice to make my semen sweeter for my lover

I must admit, that when it comes to my partner in life, I’m willing to do almost anything it takes to please her–no matter how uncomfortable the actions might make me feel or whatever embarrassment it may cause. Her happiness is important to me, and for that reason alone, I’m willing to make certain emotional and physical “compromises” in order to satisfy her personal needs.

Recently our relationship has been put to the test. Although our love life is satisfactory, she has been starting to make certain demands of me, pressuring me into doing things that are outside my normal comfort levels. At first, her hints were subtle, but now she is becoming quite frank and open about a subject I have been loathe to discuss or even consider. Although the idea makes me queasy, she wants me to drink pineapple juice.

Now to be honest, I cannot stand the taste of this stuff, yet, I am willing to put aside my personal taboos in order to make the flavour of my semen more palatable for my lover. I guess when it comes to matters of the bedroom, I have always been a giver.

Admittedly, the thought of that sickly sweet nectar going down my throat is enough to make me want to puke, yet I will make every reasonable effort to suppress my gag reflex in order to make my girl happy.

Yes the idea of guzzling this thick, nasty fluid is enough to make my pubic hairs uncurl, but when it comes to my girlfriend, I’m willing to put aside my fears so that she can go down on me and swallow my warm load without puckering. I guess I’m just an unselfish lover.

Oh sure, she’ll have to pressure and coax me into consuming even the smallest amount of pineapple juice at first. I’ll resist as much as I can, but I just can’t reconcile the idea of having my sweetie suck unsweetened cum out of my throbbing rod. Now, when I put that glass to my lips, I’ll just close my eyes, suppress a shudder, and remember that I’m doing it for her.

Yes, I’m probably one of those pleasers, a rare man who is actually willing to swallow (pineapple juice) just so that others can experience joy and pleasure from giving me head. I know I shouldn’t always try to be an enabler, always putting the needs of others ahead of myself, but the look on my girl’s face after she’s blown me and taken the full money shot in her mouth will be enough for me to realize that sometimes it is more rewarding to give than to receive. Feeling my sweet cum load splash into the back of her throat should make me understand that drinking pineapple juice will be worth the sacrifice I make solely for her pleasure.

Biting Satire is humor and parody with teeth! Please understand that this humor satire article about drinking pineapple juice is fictitious, and only intended for entertainment purposes and those over 18 years of age. Copyright Biting Satire (this year).

The Thing (Ben Grimm) must be rock-hard all the time.

Like many kids of my generation, I grew up reading Marvel comics, and the adventures of Spiderman, Captain America, and the X-Men. But for me, The Fantastic Four was the most popular superhero comic book series of all. And although they”ve been around for over four decades, the adventures of this incredible quartet of cosmic-ray radiated crimefighters continues to delight youngsters to this day.

But since I was a young woman, I”ve have a few curious questions about Ben Grimm, the rocky orange mutated superhero known as The Thing. Specifically, I”ve always wanted to know what”s underneath Ben”s tight blue shorts.

Forgetting the myths that superheros don”t have sex or go to the bathroom, you can imagine how fantastic a lover The Thing must be, a superhero who not only possesses superhuman strength and stamina, but must be packing a super package in his pants.

Yes, I realize he”s only a comic book character, but I can still have questions about The Thing”s thingy and his fantastic foreskin.

I know The Thing is so tough he can piss pebbles and shit bricks, but how does he get his rocks off? Is it possible for him to have sex with normal women, or does he walk around all day with a stone boner? Because of his mutation, does he suffer from a sort of permanent priapism, brought on by his petrified penis?

It”s true that The Thing character never seems happy in The Fantastic Four stories, and perhaps it”s because of an unsatisfying love life, and prolonged erections. Did he have other outlets for his own gratification? It makes you wonder why he was always be wandering around in public wearing a trench coat, hat, and glasses.

I know that in the comic strips Ben Grimm had a blind girlfriend named Alicia, but did she love Ben for who we has, or was she fascinated with his lava rock cock?

I don”t think Stan Lee had these things in mind when he created the rocky-hided hero, but it still makes you think.

I”m no superhero psychologist, but maybe The Thing would be a happier character if he didn”t worry about his looks so much, and spent more “clobberin” time” in the bedroom.

Biting Satire is humor and parody with teeth! Please understand that this humor satire article about The Thing and The Fantastic Four is fictitious, and only intended for entertainment purposes. Copyright Biting Satire (this year).

The three boobed woman from Total Recall may have spoiled us for all women.

Ever since the release of the movie Total Recall in 1990, I have fantasized about women with three breasts.

You see, in this off-world Arnold Schwarzenegger action movie, there was this beautiful Martian mutant (I forget her name) who worked as a topless waitress or hooker in a contaminated Martian colony pub. And the great thing about this revamped vamp, was that she had three beautiful bosoms.

Yes, I realize that this thrice-blessed babe was only make-believe and her boobies were made out of latex or paper machier or whatever, but from the first time I saw that delicious deviant, I knew that I wanted to meet a triple-titted girl.

Now I”m not talking about females with “superfluous nipples”–that”s just not the same. And I”m not referring to the “two in the front, one in the back” idea. As much fun as it would be when you”re slow dancing, it doesn”t fit in with any of my flesh-filled fantasies.

No, I”m looking for the triple rack. Three across the bow. Trip nips. I want them lined up like soft squishy soldiers, ready for some bouncy action. I want the chance to fondle a boob in my left hand, another in my right hand, and still have a boob left over for suckling. Imagine the faceful of fun you can have with that extra knocker.

“Because only a woman with three boobs is worth more than a brewsky.” – Bacardi

Good things can come in threes...like boobs.

So why aren’t there any babes out there with an extra fun cushion? Why aren”t horny scientists developing new forms of advanced breast technologies?

The last time I checked, thousands of women were getting breast implants every day. So why can’t some of those women opt for a third hooter? If you”re going to pay for the enhancements, why not go all the way and select the multiple mammary option? I bet somewhere, a plastic surgeon must have have a “buy two get one free” special. It doesn’t matter if they”re fake, that”s not the point. It”s the fact that you have a spare grapefruit to grope, a bonus blouse bunny to brush, an extra ta-ta to tweak.

I don”t need excuses like the unavailability of three-cupped bras or double-cleavaged low-cut tops. The garment industry can always catch up.

All I want is a woman with three-of-a-kind so that I can satisfy a perfectly reasonable wet dream. It”s just one extra dumpling. Two on base and one at the plate.

I think that Total Recall created a woman that even a top porn star would find it hard to compete against. Did this movie spoil us for all women, or did director Paul Verhoeven have a true vision of mutated women in the future? Will we never again be satisfied with mere two-breasted women?

Now I might just be a boob for saying this, but my logic will always be that if two are good, then three must be better! Just ask any man…who likes boobs…in threes.

Biting Satire is humor and parody with teeth! Please understand that this three-boobed satire article is fictitious, and only intended for entertainment purposes. Copyright Biting Satire (this year).

Old three-boobed joke:
God creates Eve first and gives her three boobs. When She asks Eve if there is anything She should change, Eve says that she could do without the middle tit. So, God took the third boob and made Adam.

How do these messages suddenly appear on dirty, unwashed vehicles?

It’s been a couple of weeks since you last had the thick grime removed from your Honda, and because of the miserable road conditions lately, even more layers of salt and dirt have accumulated on the outside of your economy vehicle.

You know your car is in serious need of a good washing, but you just haven’t had the time to hose it off yourself or get it to the local “touch less” carwash.

But today, as you prepared for the morning work commute in your mud-ravaged vehicle, you noticed a suspiciously odd message scrolled, scribbled, or possibly etched into the heavy cake of dirt on the rear hatch of your car.

As you looked closer to examine the peculiar mud markings, you notice a remarkably clear message:

“Wash Me”.

A quick glance around doesn’t reveal a lurking gang of miscreants. How did these words appear? Fear not, or at least, don’t fear too much. Your car is not the first to have paranormal markings appear on its grimy exterior, nor will it be the last or even fifth from last, but maybe somewhere closer to the middle range. Occurrences of this kind are quite common, although they are not reported with much regularity.

“You don’t see dirty children with ‘wash me’ messages carved into their foreheads,” said Crystal Klucher, a paranormal investigator who has theorized that Stonehenge was a Roman drive-thru restaurant for charioteers on the go. “You don’t see cryptic messages appearing on a mechanic’s oil-stained coveralls, or branded on the family dog. It seems to be a localized phenomenon confined to the backs, sides, and windshields or cars, trucks, delivery vans, and other dirt-encrusted automobilia.”

This car has the unexplained "wash me" sign clearly imprinted on its rear hatch.

Crystal has refutable evidence that many automobile engines vibrate at the same frequency as the 9th Dimension, and that idling vehicles act as impromptu portal gateways to this other plane of existence. Crystal argues that the dirt acts as a communications medium, and that higher beings of pure light and cleanliness communicate harmonically to those of us stuck on the third dimension through signs on back windows, bumpers, or wherever enough dirt accumulates.

“It’s even happened to me,” said Crystal. “I woke up early one morning and, sensing something was wrong, I went straight to my Sebring. There, scrawled on the passenger-side door were the words ‘wash me’, with a happy face right underneath it.”

This earthy message is very common on the back sliding doors of delivery trucks, sometimes with the word “please” amended to the end of the message. Other variations have been seen: I need washing, wash time, or I’m dirty. True numbers of this paranormal phenomenon are not known. People are either too afraid or embarrassed to come forward and admit it has happened to them.

“My latest research is centred on enabling people to accept these messages as messages of love,” said Crystal. “With proper technique people who are blessed by these occurrences can retune their vibrationary energies into alignment with the cosmic sphere and see them as they truly are, beings of pure light energy.”

Skeptics are not convinced.

Even motorcycles and other automobiles are susceptible to this sedimentary phenomenon.

“There’s a logical explanation for the appearance of sediment-based images on certain automobiles,” said Dr. Tse Ling-Phan, professor of Urban Mythology. “It’s very likely that this is prank generated by bored assembly line workers using high-tech acid-emulsives and space-age polymers.”

“There’s an indescribable catalyst, where the dirt is hyper-sensitive–like the silver material in an Etch-a-Sketch,” said Dr. Phan. “We think that the depleted ozone layer is allowing high-intensity gamma rays to react with dirt that come in contact with certain paints.”

“I think there’s an urban legend mentality about the whole ‘wash-me’ phenomenon,” said Luc Wharme, car wash jockey. “It’s more likely that the automobile industry is using a special acid-etch clear coat on the vehicles they sell. This coating makes it nearly impossible for for dirt, grime, and other mucky substances to stick to certain areas of the paint, thus revealing these mysterious messages. The question then is: if they can keep dirt from sticking to some parts of the car, why aren’t they covering the whole car with it? What’s going on there, eh? I sense a conspiracy!”

Like the mysterious crop circles in a farmer’s cornfield, the strange lights in the night sky, or the unexplained sightings of Howie Mandel on network television, the “wash me” phenomenon may never be fully understood.

Biting Satire is humor and parody with teeth! Please understand that this satire article is fictitious, and only intended for entertainment purposes. Copyright Biting Satire (this year).

The Hamburger Helper Helping Hand was never intended to to handle this kind of meat.

The Hamburger Helper Helping Hand, the friendly little General Mills mascot who entertained television audiences for years with his cute brand of commercial appeal, has fallen on hard times.

The pasty white creature is up to his knuckles in debt and there are rumors surrounding a suspected addiction to hand lotions. Hamburger Helper Helping Hand, or 4-H to his friends—the few that are left—is at the end of a career in show business.

“He was getting to be a real handful,” said Jean LeMain, 4-H’s former agent. “When he first started out he had a great work ethic; he worked his fingers to the bone. But then the fame got to him, and he started thumbing his nose at the very people who had helped him get his hand in the door. Eventually, he wouldn’t listen to anyone. ‘Talk to the hand’, he would say, before flipping them the finger.”

4-H started his career as a hand model and struggled early on to get hand jobs. Opportunities were scarce and the work chafed him, but all the time he held on to his dream, to make it one day in show business, to show up those who said he’d never make it, to make his mom proud.

He got his big break in 1963 as a meat handler in a series of commercials for Steak Boy, a precursor to Hamburger Helper. Talent scouts liked his fresh, scrubbed look. Before long he was promoting sausages and finger foods. In 1977 because of his hands-on experience in the kitchen he was handed the Hamburger Helper account and became a superstar.

With the fame, and everything he ever wanted came, came an attitude that he was indispensable. He had to be treated with kid gloves by his handlers.

“I loved him,” said Mittsy Mitten, a close-knit friend. “He was hand-some. But then he started to change. He stopped clipping and he started neglecting his cuticles. I would catch him looking at bare hands on the Internet. He became distant, and refused to make glove to me. ‘Not tonight’, he would say, ‘I have a hangnail’.”

The rumours of Mr. Hand’s excesses started to surface. One woman in New Jersey was caught using his middle finger to pleasure herself. He was frequently seen drunk and shouting to cars of female college students that he could add flavour to their sex life. “I’ll be there when you need a helping hand!” was his stock phrase.

Eventually, 4-H left Mittsy and his career behind in 1996 when General Mills pursued a new advertising direction, leaving him out of production.

Mr. Hand saw this as an opportunity to get his fingers wet in another industry. Unfortunately he had been spoiled by his years as top dog and couldn’t settle as merely a helping hand. He landed a string of low-end jobs as a sock puppet, but left precipitously when his boss continued to rub him the wrong way.

In 2001 Mr. Hand was stung when General Mills revived the hand helping out with Hamburger Helper, but gave the thumbs up to another actor. Despondent, sick from scented hand lotions, and with liver spots appearing everywhere, Mr. Hand finally checked into a clinic.

Mr. Hand, calloused from years of rough-handed living, is slowly recovering and coming to terms with his new position in life. He’s tired of the late nights and rough mornings. He just wants to get off the night table and back into product promotion… before he dies of a stroke.

Biting Satire is humor and parody with teeth! Please understand that this satire article is fictitious, and only intended for entertainment purposes. Copyright Biting Satire (this year).

If I'm going to donate my sperm, I'll probably need a jug like this.

I appreciate this opportunity to be able to donate my most worthy seed to such a humane cause. Infertility, although I have never experienced it first hand, is as I hear, a very serious problem facing the many men who tragically, are much less virile than myself.

But if you seriously want me to donate my semen to your clinic, I’m afraid I’m going to need a much larger cup.

You see, the men of my family are unnaturally potent, and as such, your puny sample container will be less than adequate for my more-than- ample store of procreative liquids. In fact, I doubt that a whole tray of your little cups would be enough to contain my surplus supply of spunk.

It’s true. My body is a wellspring of genetic material, a virtual keg of cum, with my well-endowed cock as the spigot that lets the love flow like a creamy babymaking brew.

I’m certain you’ve had boastful claims in the past, men who have pretended to be brimming with love juice just to bolster their self-esteem and mask their genetic deficiences, but let me assure you, that I am a man who would have no difficulty filling your entire quota of man syrup.

Yes, my loins contain enough ejaculate to re-populate a small war-ravaged country. And I swear, if I had to, I could put out a house fire with my money shot.

So honestly, if you’d like me to donate my spooge, I suggest you get me a bucket.

Biting Satire is humor and parody with teeth! Please understand that this satire article is fictitious, and only intended for entertainment purposes. Copyright Biting Satire (this year).

We're not saying that Danny Bonaduce was ever involved in child pornography.

HOLLYWOOD– It’s sad when you watch a low-budget adult pornographic movie and you recognize one of the characters–a former exploited minor. “Hey, I used to see that kid act in pre-teen fuck films. I wonder what he”s doing now?”

Child porn stars are often stereotyped, one-dimensional characters that utter ghastly written lines from poorly rehashed scripts–if there ever is a script. It makes it nearly impossible to for them to grow as legitimate porn actors when the audience and public just want them to remain perversely cute and vulnerable.

These kiddie porn stars from yesteryear, the underaged stars of old stag films, already know how hard it is to find roles in today”s adult film movies, even if they are old enough to grow their own porn moustaches. Too often the sleazy producers can”t work with far-too-recognizable faces that once worked successfully in hard-core child pornography.

“It’s hard to make that big jump from child porn sensation to adult porn star,” said Dick Lotzachyx, blue movie producer, and director of such underground films such as “She Said She Was 18, But I Knew She Was Lying”, “Don”t Tell Your Mom I Wore Your Underwear”, and “I’m Not Really Your Uncle”.

“The child sex star gets stereotyped because he has a unique quality, and even when he or she reaches adulthood, all the viewer remembers is that naked little kid with the overused catch-phrase. That’s usually the french kiss of death in this industry.”

When puberty hits some of these kids, the troubled former child porn stars face new challenges. Although they’ve been in front of the video camera for years, it”s difficult for these young xxx’ers to make the transition from kiddie porn to adult porn.

“Their egos are already fragile when they”re young,” said Phil Mapance, executive editor of Teen Fisting Magazine. “But after they’ve had all that fame and adulation from performing questionable and possibly illegal sex acts in dozens of adult films — and suddenly overnight you’re too old to appear in an orgy with a group of underaged cocksmokers — how do you deal with that sense of loss?”

With the exception of a few porn stars who have bridged the gap from child porn star to adult film sensation, Traci Lords, Ron Jeremy, Mickey Rooney, most former child porn actors struggle to adapt to a life outside the satin sheets.

While some remember the childhood sexual successes of appearing in films as exploited and mentally abused minors, others dwell on the fact that they didn’t have what it takes to develop into major stars of XXX rated movies.

But though the transition is difficult for those young souls who fucked and sucked their way to the top of their profession, we mustn’t feel sorry for them when their 15 minutes in the spotlight doesn’t make it to thirty. After all, they had their cum shot at fame, which is more than most kids will admit to.

Biting Satire is humor and parody with teeth! Please understand that this satire article is fictitious, and only intended for entertainment purposes. Copyright Biting Satire (this year).

Fluffers find it hard to keep up with the fast-paced pornographic film industry.

ON THE FILM SET– They say that the job a person does tells a lot about the person. Well, I’m a fluffer in the adult film industry. So what does that say about me? I’m a good person, I’m well compensated, and I don’t think I should be judged based on my career choice. I’m not ashamed at what I do–because a fluffer has an important job. After a long, sweaty love scene, someone needs to restore the pillows to their original volumous condition.

The work of the fluffer can be critical to the success of the porno film. If the pillows are flat and lifeless, the sex scene can falter. Even when watching adult movies, people notice the little details. In porn, the bed, along with the pillows, sheets, and coverings are key film elements, props that the actors must utilize to maximize their “performance”. And so it’s up to the fluffer to ensure that those pillows, comforters, and blankets are as poofy as a Barbra Walter hairdo.

But the job of fluffing is not just about the pillows–there’s a lot more too it. It can also involve sofa cushions, memory foam, duvet covers, and so much more. Sometimes the pace is so hard, I can barely keep it up. By the end of the shooting day, my wrists are so cramped I can barely prop up my own down-filled double-sized pillow at home. It ends up lying there flat and lifeless.

Before I got into fluffing, I worked with the housekeeping staff at a major hotel. One guest was so impressed with my bed preparation skills that he asked me if I wanted to be in porn movies. Now, my work is being appreciated by a greater audience, and as a professional, the only real difference is that I don’t leave mints on the pillows.

When my parents found out I was a fluffer, they had some concerns. But one day I brought them to the set and let them watch me work. After they realized what my job entailed, they were somewhat relieved. I mean it’s not like those other girls who jerk off the male porn actors just to keep them hard between scenes. What are they called again?.

Biting Satire is adult humor and parody with teeth! Please understand that this humor satire article about fluffers is fictitious, and only intended for entertainment purposes and those over 18 years of age. Copyright Biting Satire (this year).

These censored boobie graphics really piss you off.

It happens like this: you’re home on the couch watching a re-run of MacGyver at 1:35am when on comes an extended commercial for some “chicks gone crazy” DVD.

You watch a short clip of a tipsy young blonde dancing and smiling and flirting with the camera.

She lifts up her top and shit!– digitally-imposed tassles are appearing in the supple area where her nipples should be located.

Is this a freaking joke? What kind of cruel hoax is this? What demented teet-sucking soul decided that it was necessary to cover up the only really tasty bits of this nubile college exhibitionist?

Fuck the nerve of them! You weren’t even thinking of sex until this nympho-mercial came on! You were minding your own business, happily dozing off to mindless late-night television. But no…some jerk ass had to cock tease you with the possibility of candid nudity, only to rob you of that one pleasurable moment with a cruel graphic edit.

Covering up these naughty parts is just plain cruel.

After that pubic-ity stunt, do these assholes think you’re going to get off the couch and order their little Spring Break flash fest?

After leading you on with a temptation of delicious boob flesh, only to revoke it like Dick Cheney’s hunting license, do they honestly believe that you”re going to shell out $29.95 (plus shipping and freakin” handling) to see what lies beneath those bouncing little logos?

Do they really think that you’re such a desperate horn-monkey that you’ll do anything to see what’s underneath those Photoshopped pasties? Fuck yes—I mean NO!!!

It pisses you off to no end. Because you know this commercial wasn”t even edited by the network–it was the fucking distributors!

Why would you want to buy it? If those breasts were deliberately masked by the purveyors of this voyeur-porn, how would you ever able to trust them?

If those flesh marketers are trying to extort money from you in order to free those remarkable breasts from their digitally-censored prisons, I would say to them: “Fuck you, girls gone wild!” and flip over to Showtime where you can stare at all the late-night boobies you can handle. Failing that there’s always good old Internet porn.

Biting Satire is humor and parody with teeth! Please understand that this satire article is fictitious, and only intended for entertainment purposes. Copyright Biting Satire (this year).