Yesterday's Texts.

(image from dscrub.com)

I got this text yesterday afternoon.

"It sucks you have to go to work. thanks for being a great host! I will see you soon I'm sure. mwah!"

For some retarded reason, my phone doesn't always show people's names when they text me so I never know who's hitting me up. It was an 804 number so I figured it was someone I knew. I texted back, "Who's this."

"Claire. You're dumb. haha."

Claire! Total bro from Richmond. Now I was confused as shit. Was she at my crib? "Dude this is Callie, what are you talking about? Are you in town?"

"Claire! not Callie."

Me: "No, I'm Callie, you're Claire."

"haha like Crackie's Callie? I am so confused."

Me: "Yeap I think you originally texted the wrong person lady."

"You are in my phone as this boy I banged last night. haha. I don't know how you got there. hahahaha"

What an assperson! I hope she keeps me saved in her phone under "boy I banged last night"and then finds his real number somewhere.


Weekend Bonus: "stop stalking me" email!

After his most recent (read: umpteenth) unsuccessful attempt at winning me back, my ex from six months ago sent me an email today while he knew I would be at work calling me, and I quote, a "trifling, untrustworthy, unsupportive, unsympathetic, unreasonable, bratty, manipulative, negative, man-hating, loose stank pussied, large jawed, fat bitch."

This was in response to me telling him (pretty kindly, I thought) that while it broke my heart to let him down yet again, I didn't have anything for him, and shit just was not gonna happen.

At first it made me sad, and then it made me want to vandalize his building, and then I remembered that sometimes nothing settles the soul like a good solid ethering. Thought you all would enjoy...

I have held my tongue through all this and never said a single word to intentionally hurt you...until now. Go fuck yourself you fucking pussy. Oh you mad? Why don't you sit alone in your apartment with no one to talk to because everyone hates you because you're such a fucking pretentious asshole, crying into your piles of dirty socks and blunt guts and lyrics sheets of d-list local rappers, writing me another gay ass diatribe. "She doesn't love me? I'll show her! After she reads this she won't even know what hit her!" You're a fucking clown. You think I thought for a second that you meant any of those disses? Nah, I might be a lil on the chubby side and I have my bad days no doubt, but I'm still the best pussy and the nicest, most realest bitch who will ever sniff twice at your stank ass and you know it.

I, on the other hand, don't miss your dick one fucking bit. I'm happier with my hand. You could have changed into the chillest, most productive, most rational person in the world, and still the thought of laying beneath you as you fucking pounded away with not even the slightest thought towards what feels good to me makes my pussy want to crawl into a corner and die. You fucked me like you were playing a video game, it was all I could do to stay awake.

You were a jealous fucking insecure baby whenever I paid any attention to someone else, male or female, friend or not. You acted like I was two steps away from walking out on you for the entire duration of our relationship. You were always so scared and insecure so you'd pick fights with me all day, how was I supposed to be attracted to that? Did you honestly think that I would ever be able to respect you after that? You insult everything you don't understand, true sign of a fool. You've been wearing the same outfit for four years, you walk like a hobbit, you smell like something that fucking died, and you have the upper body of the runt of the litter. You ain't shit, your beats ain't shit, your boys ain't shit, your dick ain't shit, your mama ain't shit, your sister ain't shit, your nickle and dime ass weed operation ain't shit, your lab ain't shit, your swagger ain't shit. Basically, from about a month in, I knew you were probably going to be one of the biggest mistakes I'd ever made but I was too much of a sucker to break things off. Thought maybe you'd come around. But nope...you sucked from the beginning, you sucked throughout, and you'll suck forever.

I never wanted to tell you these things because I know your crazy mom fucked you up and you have absolutely zero self-confidence, and I didn't want to further compound it. But fuck it, you deserve it. You hate me so much, why the fuck have you tried to get me back twenty fucking times? Player please. I'm 500% better off without you, and you'll be lucky if you ever meet anyone with half the spark I got in one titty. You're fucking dead to me.

And don't bother responding because I blocked this email account, which, by the way, is the fourth one you've created to torment me with. So you're blocked...AGAIN! Now get a life and stop fucking stalking me before I gotta throw a bag of shit through your window like you did your old boss, you crazy bitter fuck.

Thank you so much for writing me that little love note! It feels so awesome to stop trying to make amends with you and just own up to the fact that you're a fucking loser dickhead piece of shit mouthbreather that I'm never going to have to talk to again. If you were here right now I would slap you, spit in your face, kick you in the nuts and steal your cat, who is awesome and who you do not deserve. I'm gonna go enjoy my life without you in it now. Later!

Hell hath no fury...shit, we ain't gotta tell y'all...



I need to have sex. It has been three days since my last orgasm and I know death is near. Wait my guy just called and demanded sex. I will get back to you.

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The Vegas Male Thong

As a resident of Vegas, let me tell you: Vegas loves nothing more than to put dicks into thongs. Hello, gift-wrapped cock. Hello, unpeeled banana. Shall I sing to you the ballad of the thong while a thong-string plucks away in the distance between the open-back resonator of distant buttocks? (Hint: I shall).

The thong is a reminder ribbon tied around the dick: Do not forget! To fuck me!

The thong is the outlined map of the cock and balls, the topography of the land with one national language: Fucking Spoken Here.

The thong is a straitjacket to help prevent the dick from going crazy. Dick, when I take this off I know that you are going to lose your mind.

Thonged dick, like a sea turtle stuck in a longline fishing net, your prowess is wrongly held captive. I wish to free you. Wriggle out, nimble meat tube! Fuck me so that I may go trawling for other dick in the sea!

The thong is like a drag racing parachute that has opened to slow down the dick on its journey to pussy. If it weren't for its hesitant caution, there might be fire.

Thong, you are a silky cocoon that will one day burst open to help a boner take flight.

Behold: the Male Power Sheer Bong Thong 442-07.

Why is it called "bong?" Why not. Who is not getting high off of this cock. It is brimming with THC: Tasty Human Cum. I love that it is camouflage, as though the dick is hiding from me in the woods. Come out, dick, I can see you. Come out with your head held high.A personal favorite are the mesh thongs. They take cock down to lunchlady town, sexy hairnet style. One could rock this bald, but tufts of pubes forced into a hold-pattern, quilted in time, make this an especially delicious concept for those of us who like to be furminated by manbushes. This thong could even make crabs seem a little cute and in-theme. Quick, turn diseased pubes into kitsch by adding a tiny starfish and a shell with eyes glued on! Crisis averted. A fuck that would normally have to be canceled can now proceed.

There is also the balls-in-one. Two balls combine forces. It is a cooperative thong. If you fantasize about fucking cyclops men, chances are you will love the balls-in-one. Go ahead, dick, put both your eggs in one basket.

There are even thongs with cock rings. With this ring, I thee fuck. I promise to be faithful and true until I cum. I promise to comfort and keep you, if comfort means hopping up and down upon your purple little head until it grows violet.

Yes, summer approaches. There is nothing like lowering a thong that has been moistened with sweat, then peeling apart the various sandwich pieces of the dick-and-scrotum-melt. Extra mayo, please. If you listen closely, you will hear the sound of plastic cling wrap. That's right, the thong has kept these treats locked in fresh for your pleasure.

Im going to tie you up and take pictures of you.

"So you want to get tied up and fucked?"

"Mmm, I'm not sure."

"Would pictures of my dick help?"

"More CBT pics?"


I met Stu in D.C. at a rope bondage class event. He was tied up and suspended in the air by a gay Top, and looked really relaxed. "Hey, do you like CBT [cock and ball torture]?" he asked me. "Yeah, I do," I replied. So, I tied up his cock and balls with some parachute cord into a pair of chastity panties. His dick was turning blue, and then he had to pee, so we undid one piece of the cord, and redid it when he got back. As it turns out, Stu is super into ball stretching, tease, and pussy torment. One week later, I was back in D.C. crashing at his house and agreeing to let him tie me up for demonstrative purposes (at least at the club). I got to experience my first rope suspension, and was lucky to have it done by a nice Jewish guy with a really nice dick.

"I'm nauseous--I have to come down", I told Stu. After he untied me, I found out that he'd been wearing a stainless steel ball stretcher all night. Hot. I was turned on, and got to experience that nice Jewish dick for the rest of the night. Stu isn't a fuck and roll kind of guy. He doesn't like to cum as much as he likes to be teased--and denied orgasm. Perfect. The next night he shaved my pussy, tied me up, and fucked me (another rope bondage first for me). With those decorative dick pics that he gave up to the cause, who could argue with his favorite position? Feet tied sole to sole, and then tied to the wrists, with legs above the head. He wanted to fuck me with his balls. I said, "Maybe the next time we get together." I was already in sensory overload, and was not going to get over it for quite a while.

Words and Photographs by Domina Doom- Professional Dominatrix
WhoresNotBores Blog


Lack of Sex In America


I was very excited when I found out Durex was holding a Global Survey of sexual activity. I was one of 26,000 respondents to share their weekly satisfaction. As a Virginian born and bred I love my country. I knew that it would be a long shot for us to be number one but come on we didn't even make it to the top three. Come on Ligers lets step up the game. Poland is ranked before us. Poland? Seriously. I am changing the name of this survey to THE TOP VACATION DICK DESTINATIONS. So first on our road trip is Greece with a 87 percent weekly satisfaction rate. Brazil is sexually dancing right behind with 82 percent followed by Russia, China and then Poland. The United States of sexual frustration put out at 53% putting us at 19 on the list.

I will not stand for this. As your elected first lady of fornication I promise you these hard times will past. Or should I say these soft times will get hard. They will get harder and harder until we have exhausted all means to satisfy you.

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Dicks In Our Box: I'm going to teach you a lesson

I am listening to Fugazi and trying to decide what underwear I should wear. Do I stay sexy and go black and sheer or do I wear something normal and cute. Do I want him to know that I am planning to have sex with him. I think I am thinking too much.

I decide on normal underwear and a fancy push up bra. The bra is uncomfortable I can't wait too take it off. I arrive at his house. He is beautiful. I remind myself not to tell him he is beautiful.

I pull out a wine bottle opener and I start drinking directly from the bottle. He is trying to impress me. He is babbling on about music and politics. I want to fuck. He gets up and sits closer to me. He kisses me. Soft. He kisses me. Hard. Clothes off heels stay on. I want it badly. He notices. He teases me with his massive dick. He kisses me like he wishes he loved me. I kiss him back the same. I am sitting on his lap and his nails are digging at my back. He makes me beg for it. I would bark like a fucking dog for this guy and drink water out of a bowl if he asked me to. He fucks me from behind on the sofa. I can feel every inch of him inside of me. My body opens up to him like a flower to sunlight. We have amazing chemistry I can feel energy in him when we touch.

He makes me beg to get on top. He kisses my neck and says "I know you are holding back tell me what you want". I tell him I want him to put his hand on my neck and pull my hair. I tell him I want him to fuck me like its the last time he will ever cum. I tell him to tell me how much he wants me and how Good I feel. I make him switch positions with me. He gets on all fours and I slap his ass with one hand while I jerk him off with the other. I use my own cum as his lubricant. He tries to hold back his moans. I kiss his back and bite his shoulders. He rolls his head and looks back at me. He looks so strong and confident. I lick his asshole and finger him until he cums. He tells me he's never done this before. I tell him we can try anything that he likes we can both be student and teacher. We get dressed and drink a few pbrs and then I go home. It was a good night. He is interesting. Very young and at times immature but he has a sweetness in him that is very pure. My Infatuation for him has turned to admiration.

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Ich Leibe Dick!

Bwahahaha! Check out the Vice interview in German at http://vice.typepad.com/vice_germany/2009/03/ligerbeat.html for all you schnitzel hounds out there.

Dear Heavy Nose Breathing Man,

While I can understand being a little short of breath while running to meet the subway, there is no good reason why you should spend the entire 20 minute train ride essentially panting through your nostrils. I see upon closer inspection you have what seems to be end stage syphilis covering what must have once been you nose and mouth. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to hell for my shitty thoughts, but I dont need to get there faster by sitting in your syphilitic miasma, which is making me increasingly more paranoid by the minute. Seriously guy, we live in the first world and last I checked, it this isn't the lords usual way of smiting people anymore. Go to the doctor, get some penicillen, and while your there, get a referral for throat and nose specialist. I don't not pay my taxes just to listen to your panting, laborious breathing disrupt the calm of my subway man hunting.
All the best,
Yung Ho

Clit'rature: The Treatment.

Every time it works the same. I wait until I really really need it, and then I call you, hang up, and start breaking up a Dutch, keeping one eye on the window, waiting for you to come through. Of course there are others, but sometimes I need to fall back on a good solid no-nonsense fuck, and you're always obliged to handle me. Today it's snowing, but I have a feeling you'll brave the storm to show, and sure enough, just as I'm waving my lighter over the freshly-rolled blunt, I see your figure, dressed all in black, cutting through the white of the snowy street beneath my window. I feel the butterflies start to go off as soon as I go down to let you in.

I open the door and you back me up into my room almost immediately, hands guiding my waist, get my clothes off and out of the way. I can tell that you're angry I've stayed away for so long. You knead my tits in your hands and kiss me, feel yourself getting hard. Trace my lips with your thumb, then push it into my mouth, parting my lips just enough for you to slide the tip of your dick across my tongue, feel my mouth wrap around you and take you in. Stroke the hair out of my face, wrap your hand around the back of my neck, watch my head move over you, all the way up, all the way down, until you can't take it any more and start begging me to stop so you can fuck me. I tease you some more and then gladly acquiesce.

You pin me down, spread one hand over my ribcage, wedged right up under my tits, and the other across the small of my back, right above my ass, because you know I like to throw it back but it's been a while and right now you just want to hold me down and give it to me hard and slow and feel me take it. Ask me how bad I need it, how much I've been thinking about it, lean your body down over mine, put your ear next to my mouth so you can hear my answer which comes out in garbled lovespeak. Take your hand off my back and wrap it around my throat, ask me to say it again. Then again. Then again: you make me feel so fucking good. Watch my eyes fill all the way up with love and then shut, watch my skin flush hot and my mouth open and close around your fingers and the skin on the back of your hand at the same time my pussy is sputtering all over your cock.

Once the aftershocks have subsided, you flip me over and pin my legs up, your big hands gripping into the soft arches of my feet as you move over me. Push it in deep and hold it, look at me like I'm a question you don't know the answer to. Let me reach up and pull your face down close to mine, slide my tongue and the tips of my teeth across your earlobes, feel my hand stroking your stomach, hear me tell you how bad I want you to pull out and bust all over my tits.

And then you can't help but do just that, and I bite my lip and giggle, and you pull me into the tightest stickiest spoonhug, and I trace my fingers through the cum on my chest and feel you bury your face into the nape of my neck, catching your breath against me. I pull the blunt off the dresser and blaze it up, the lighter illuminating us for three seconds, and then we smoke and bullshit and make each other laugh until we fall asleep all twisted together. I dip in the morning for work, leaving you to see yourself out until the next time I decide I need to get treated.

Words and picture by Tits Magoo.

Official Ligerbeat Casting Couch

We need this! Someone buy us this sofa!

The Notorious P.I.G.

What a slut.

If anyone were to ever compile a list of the greatest looks in history, Porky Pigging would have to be somewhere around the "gold jewelry" and "cute shoes" level of excellence. For anyone who refuses to acknowledge pop culture or is just straight up ig'nant, Porky Pigging is when one dresses soley above the waist, much like the beloved, stuttering cartoon character of your youth. This look works especially well if you happen to be wearing more than one layer up top, like a long sleeve/sweater deal, or my personal favorite, the turtleneck/scarf combo. Killer. Anyways, imagine my absolute delight when I discovered that this awesome look isn't just for the house anymore!

The best part about it is the guy in Dunkin Donuts they pick to interview. Seriously, he's like a walking Jeff Foxworthy joke, but you know, funny. I love how he develops this theory about how the pigger is actually some drunk redneck from the Daytona 500 who stole a Corvette. Pft, like he decided it was good idea to get some coffee to sober up or something. Actually, scratch that, I'd probably do the same thing.
However, I also found it hilarious that homeboy also blatantly admits our pigtagonist's bravery, saying "I usually wait till I get back to the house to do that sort of thing." Well guess what buddy, some people refuse to be pigeon holed like that. So this leads me to ask, is the world ready to see the Pig as the next big fashion trend? Who knows. But I do know that all it takes is one person, one brave soul, to make the jump off, to start the Porky Revolution.
Yep, that's all folks.