Don’t invite him to the prayer session.

Remember the night of the manic stricken craze when we created Uncle Avocado? On different sides of the world, doing the same thing, with our respective liquours?

Remember the days following? When I told you upon it’s completion? How we then concocted a far fetched plan, that some day in the some place, was when it was to be seen for the first time?

Think of all the detail that went into him. The dirty fingernails, the greasy scalp with thick buildup, the worn tweed burgundy suit,  disgusting socks, the smell of rotting hard boiled eggs and cold tobacco, big huge nose, bounty of ear hair, hands that are too soft, wrinkly dick, and potatoes in his pockets.

Well my favorite friend, I’ve met him.

I met him four years ago and didn’t realize it.

As of late I realize how much badness comes with him. So much more than we ever could have anticipated.

But I must say, the vision is strangely correct. Personality has a peculiar way of translating well to scent and touch.

And, his first name started with R.

Touch your lips and rub your fingers really fast over that one.

Masturbating with Mayo

Here it is, after much talk and an even longer wait:

Masturbating with Mayo

Beware, it’s going to be insanely gross, crass, and all too graphic. It’s a place for the disgusting to go and die.

My dear friend Cado and I are the writers for this specific blog.

You’re welcome.

The Cleto Cupid.

Cleto Cupid…
He was so very stupid.

Cleto Cupid never washed his hands after he pissed, even if they were caught in the line of fire. Sometimes when this happened, he would quickly try to touch someone, and laugh to himself. He was a dog, marking his spot.
They, well, they were just coated in his piss.

Cleto Cupid never had any lovers. In fact, even in the utmost privacy, he never touched himself. Cleto Cupid thought the penis was “a gland”. He so disliked the penis that he refused to wash it.

Cleto Cupid smelled of rotting cottage cheese.

Cleto Cupid was a drip of man tucked into greying navy trousers. He always called them trousers, never pants, never slacks, always trousers. Trousers reminded him of the holes in his socks. He did not frequently launder his socks.

One day while visiting a modern art museum, Cleto Cupid became crazed with gluttony, and died a hilarious death.

No one noticed.

The shady old guy who runs the toll booth terribly misses Cleto Cupid.