Gunning, and other useful prison terms.

Not too long ago Relevant Magazine published an article called “Is Masturbation Sin?”  by Jesse Eubanks. My first thought was, “your face is a sin.” But then my second thought, the more mature one (which is always second or possibly third in the lineup), was “maybe I should read this bullshit.” So I did.  And so did Sugardaddy, who had some interesting insights. (Thank you, my sexy little homersexual).  We will share these with you here.  The article is from a man’s point of view. He didn’t seem to elicit the perspectives of a woman when espousing his ideas, so I will do that for him here. I’m not going to be one of those people who stands around and complains that someone else didn’t do something helpful. No one likes those people.

The main issue Sugardaddy took with the article was that “disconnectedness” was being blamed on stroking the salami.  And as a man and woman who have been married for ten years and have experienced the gamut of “marital issues”, we can attest with the strength of a thousand suns that arm wrestling the one-armed champ is NOT the culprit for disconnection between us. Not even close.  I can expand on that at a later, more drunken, date.  And then on top of that, a female’s perspective on masturbation was no where to be found.  Here women are still struggling after FOREVER to understand their bodies, their sexuality, their needs and desires… much of this achieved through the exploration that is masturbation, and this goes straight up ignored during his belittling of the act.  That and– Sugardaddy just likes to watch me masturbate, so Eubanks can just go suck a cock.  With that being said…

In prison, masturbation goes by the term “gunning”. Therefore, in order to accurately relate to you as the prison bitch that you are, I will henceforth refer to it as gunning for the remainder of our time together here on this blog. Maybe by reading it, the chances of your gunning session being interrupted by a large greasy 55 year old white biker inserting his super-nast rod in your brown star… will increase.

What I don’t think people understand is that… gunning is one of the keys to world peace.  If everyone would just take a moment and partake in a little anal play while applying a vibrator to sensitive areas, mass conflicts would be resolved!  Babies would be reunited with mothers, mothers would stop getting acid thrown on their faces, chemical weaponry would cease to be used against your friend and neighbor.  It’s when dictators or mothers begin using butter or the blood of Jews as lube that we need to stop and say to ourselves “maybe something is wrong here.”

45387908714429798_7DvJ8hS6_fIn the article Eubanks states, “When we attempt to find fulfillment outside of God’s design, we may find temporary enjoyment, but ultimately it leads to pain, disconnection and death. It’s like donuts. They are delicious and when I eat them, a smile emerges from ear to ear. But they do not bring a lasting fulfillment and when my life is littered with donuts, it ultimately leads to pain, disconnection, death and husky jeans.” What I can gather from this is that 1) Eubanks has never actually gunned (or maybe he did it wrong?); and 2) is under the (false) impression that he can do a better job of flicking the bean than a woman can. Does he even know what a bean is, when I use that term? Tell us Eubanks, are you a master of the clitoris, so much so that you and your crusty donut must be the only one who touches it, and no one else?! PPBBFFFFTT! Holy shit, that’s funny to me.

He goes on to ask, “How can a spouse in the real world ever compete with the on-demand response of our fantasies that masturbation encourages? …In real life, people don’t want to have sex at the drop of a hat all of the time. People have emotional and spiritual needs that often must be met before they are ready for physical intimacy. There are no issues of love and forgiveness and struggle in the world of fantasy. There is no deep connection.”  I don’t know, maybe he never gets turned down by his wife. Let me tell you when Sugardaddy gets rejected: when the baby is crying, when I haven’t slept in days because the baby won’t sleep, when the 4 year-old won’t stay in her bed, when I have morning mouth, when I’m bleeding heavily, when I’m on a business trip, when I’m bloated, when either of us is sick sick, when one of our kids is in the hospital for months on end, when we’re stressed…. oh wait that’s potentially a lot.  Far be it for me to deny him a little cum in the bucket when I just don’t feel like giving it up.  And I’ll be damned if I’m seen as some sex slave who has to pleasure my man every time he gets a little wood. Which is a lot. Fuck that shit. If he wants to lead Pedro down the road of bulimia, he has my blessing.

I get sad when I see princesses that are ugly.

I realized this when I saw a picture of Princess Beatrice this week. I’m sorry Princess Beatrice. I’m sure you have a stellar personality.

I’ve been waiting for FIVE FUCKING YEARS to congratulate Katie Holmes for leaving Tom Cruise’s crazy ass. That stupid bitch made me wait longer than I thought! Turns out there was a contract or something. And *gasp!!!!* apparently scientology was partly responsible for the split. Um who didn’t see THAT coming???  Pfffffft.

Well, Katie, as an old married woman to a younger, less mature married (soon to be divorced) woman, I have some advice for you. After so many years, it can be a little rough getting back into the dating scene. You see a hot guy in a steaming hot parking lot, and all of a sudden your panties are wet and you get arrested for dry humping someone because it “wasn’t consentual”. (Although we all know that if he didn’t want my crotch on his leg, he wouldn’t have worn that old t-shirt and those perfect jeans. That slut.)  There are a whole lot of things you shouldn’t say to a man (or woman) upon this all-too-exciting reentry. Because you’ll get fucking arrested, Katie! I know they didn’t have restraining orders in Dawson’s Creek OR in the church of scientology, but this is the fucking real world, bitch.

Don’t say this shit:

“I wanna use your face like a thigh master.”

“What does a girl need to do to get you and your friend to Eiffel tower this bitch?”

“I wantchu to wear me like a mask.”

“It’s the end of the world and my pussy’s your only salvation.”

“I’d like to wrap my legs around your waist/head.”

“There’s a fire in my uterus and the only thing that can tame these flames is your semen.”

“My throat’s sore. I hear semen is good for that.”

“I can’t get pregnant from anal.”

“I want your penis in my vagina.”- (actually have used this one, then we got married!)

“Have you ever had a tuna taco?”

“Please put your coin purse on my crotch pocket.”

“My vagina would look awesome on your penis.”

“My lady balls would like to meet your man balls.”

“You’re getting my lady dick hard.”

“You’re making my lady balls tingle.”

“Hide your chocolate bunny in my Cadbury. I want the cream all over my face.”

“My nipples are hard, wanna feel?”

“No really, feel how hard my nips are. They could cut glass.”

“These are real, wanna feel? You need to feel with your mouth, that’s how you know for sure.”

“My clitoris would look good in your nostril.”

“Our lady balls should scissor.”

…………You’re welcome.

A special thanks goes out to doodoomamajuju and ‘trickdaddy for their contributions to this post. May the Lord bless you and keep you. May his face shine upon you and bla bla bla you know the rest.

All this shit is so 1994.

I see it as my job here at Milk & Honey ~ Geeks & Gangstas, to keep all my sexy crackas up to speed on the latest trends and fashions of our time. It’s a responsibility I take seriously, particularly because some of my crackas are a little slow on the uptake.

Let me begin by reminding you all that it is the year of our lord Two Thousand and Fucking Twelve (2012 A.D.).  It’s no longer two centuries ago, or even the 1990’s, where apparently it was socially acceptable to stand by and watch, or even participate, as innocent people were hunted down and killed because of their skin color or ethnicity.  These atrocities were flanked by other crazy bullshit, like the show Full House parading across our TV screens, or Blossom for that matter.  Some shit just shouldn’t happen anymore, primarily because it never should’ve happened in the first place.

Since this important detail has apparently alluded some of my cuddly little bunnies, I thought I’d detail several of these 90’s trends that are simply not fashionable these days, so you can please stop doing them now.

Junior High School.

That’s where I was in the mid-90’s, and I’m never going back there. The only upside to junior high was stabbing my best buddy in the leg with a pilot pen.  Which was the beginning of our now S & M relationship, which takes place all via text and facebook.

Natural Disasters.

Tsunamis, hurricanes and earthquakes are so passe. Get with the now, Earth.

Killing Black people.

So, I see someone didn’t get the memo… like George Zimmerman, along with the State of Florida’s entire executive branch and judicial system… To whom I now direct the question, “What the ffffuck?”

I won’t comment further on these obvious shenanigans at this point, because I by no means want to make a joke of this very real bullshit, and the absurdity speaks for itself.  A more appropriate and thoughtfully articulated commentary on this can be found over HERE at Brown Betty’s.  What I want to emphasize from her words is an appeal to all my lovely crackas to not be desensitized to the blatant personal and systemic racism of our day.  Let’s leave that shit in the last millenium, shall we?

Sucking your boss’ dick.

If I learned anything at the ripe age of 16 from a certain Monica Lewinsky, it was to not get caught up in the very bad decision of sucking my boss’ dick.  The only thing about that situation that makes any damn sense to me at all, is that her boss happened to be the most powerful man in the world.  Outside of that, let’s leave that shit in the 90’s.

Taking Native people’s land.

As in “Hey, let’s clear this Mohawk burial site and expand this golf course. Oh and some luxury condominiums would be swell.”  Let’s. Stop. Doing. This. Shit.

Having actual sex in person.

Who needs to risk an unwanted pregnancy or acquiring an infectious venereal disease, when you can just have sex via webcam? You’ve got the visual, you’ve got a few handy tools and lubes… Real life sex is so old school. (And downright dangerous.)

Ethnic cleansing.

As in Hutus massacring 800,000 Tutsis (or 20% of the Rwandan population) in just 100 days, or Serbs rounding up entire cities of Muslim Bosniaks, putting them in concentration camps, and systematically torturing the men and raping all the women.  May I suggest a little something to my fellow human beings?  That is not okay! I don’t care if Yugoslavia deteriorated and you gotta figure out what land you’re gonna set up your shit on. Figure it out, and don’t be a dick!

The Macarena + Chumbawumba = I hate my life.

No seriously, when I’m at a wedding reception and the Macarena comes on, I literally start asking my friends and neighbors for a gun or semi-sharp object so that I can kill myself.

Fear of Y2K.

Hey, preppers, the fear of the world disintegrating ended as I made out with my high school boyfriend in his truck on New Year’s Eve ummmm… twelve years ago.  (But if “the shit hits the fan”, can we be besties?)

Having the “gay” disease.

Now that the World Health Organization has removed homosexuality from its list of diseases, it’s okay to go ahead and be gay. Go on now. It’s okay, little bird. Spread your wings and fly.

This one goes out to K-Money, my sexy harbor ho. Now that I’ve gotten the cynicism out of my system, I’ll write a more positive ode to the 90’s. I promise, boo. BTW, some of these “related articles” may or may not make this post look less crazy… you decide.”

Guilty pleasures. Or, reasons I’ll likely burn in hell.

The hottest ho I know (we’ll call her “The Destroyer”) asked me to blog my guilty pleasures.  And when The Destroyer asks a question, mama answers.  Plus, what better way to kick off the 2012 holiday season of “Warmth in the Arctic Circle” (WAC), than by telling you the dark things that make me happy?  Once I started making my long and dirty list, I started asking my shady friends what their guilty pleasures were… some are listed here, but I won’t say which ones are mine and which ones belong to those sluts. We gotta keep it interesting.  I would like to begin by asking sweet little baby Jesus to forgive himself for the way he created us.

People falling down.

People falling down is funny, so long as they don’t hurt themselves (I’m not that much of a dick). I almost ended my marriage once because I laughed my ass off when Sugardaddy slipped and fell at his office after hours and, unfortunately for him, I was there to witness it in all its glory.

Fights that include bitch slaps

This doesn’t need much explaining. It just makes me happy.


Like a cold beer on a hot summer day, or after I play sand-volleyball. Or before. Or during. Or right after I have a baby. I’m talkin’ like, the doctor hands me the slimey little baby in one hand, and some nameless bastard (or my husband) hands me a cold beer in the other. You have to ignore the dirty looks you get from the hospital staff. They’re just jealous because you’re drinking and they’re not.

Fashion Magazines

I know… I’m supposed to hate these things. That’s what the 2nd wave feminists told me. Luckily, I’m like a 3rd or 4th wave feminist (if there is one, I don’t fuggin’ know). So I like things that look pretty. Including women and their clothing and accessories. Specifically, shoes and purses, blue jeans, hairstyles, hairstyling tips, fitness motivation, and makeup art.  Maybe I have a hard time actually applying this crap to my life, but I like to read about it. I think of it as a time-out from real life, where I often sport workout items, not so much because I work out all the time, but because they’re stretchy.  I also enjoy Esquire magazine. The writers are funny, and they always feature curvy women. I’m thinking about contacting them to have them permanently airbrush me. That’s how it works, right?


If you haven’t tried it, maybe you should.  I’m listing this as a guilty pleasure because sexting gets such a bad rap. If your sex life isn’t enhanced in even the slightest degree by sexting, then maybe you’ve got some bigger problems on your hands. Just sayin’.

E! Entertainment Television

I could sit on a sofa and watch that train wreck all day. I like watching pretty people who shop all day, especially when their lives occasionally completely disintegrate before the eyes of the entire world. Then I remember they’re real people, and I just sink into an existential stupor, contemplating the meaning of life, the dire struggle of so many people around the world with access to next to nothing that they need to survive, and which celebrity’s Prada bag I liked the most. It’s okay though, because I’m drunk when this happens. Which leads me to…

Britney Spears

So what if I like a little post-apocalyptic orgy action, taking place to a catchy pop song? We were also born just nine days apart, so I’m fairly certain that we have some sort of psychic connection. It explains her nervous breakdown a few years back. I would’ve come forward and taken responsibility for that, but I know she likes all that attention. You’re welcome, Britney.

Fist fights

If you are crazy-sexy-hot, dirty, sweaty, and not wearing a shirt, I wouldn’t mind seeing you engage in a fist fight with another man. Email me if you are interested in an audition ( The closer it looks to this scene from Sherlock Holmes, the better.

Watching people squirm

Like telling your racist homophobic step-grandmother who hates your family that her grandson is gay and in a committed relationship with a black man. Or telling your husband about the dirty things your in-laws likely do to each other. Pure joy.

Smoking cigars

It’s bad for you, the whole mouth and throat cancer thing… but the taste of a cigar and a stiff drink on the lips of an attractive man makes mama want some.  Which leads me to…

Masturbating during the kid’s nap time

Nobody, not even Chuck Norris himself, can get my two small children to nap at the same time. So I don’t even need to explain that this one isn’t mine, but I’m jealous as hell of that crazy slut. Anyone who is awarded this kind of leisure time is my idol. Teach me, master.


Apparently this is a big no-no, but mama likes. Warmth, Vitamin D, my skin moving from pastey blue to simply pastey, ignoring my 4-year old while she plays dangerously close to the water… these are all good things.

White girl privilege

While this one has its many downsides (like the fact that it is even a social reality), it’s one that I’ve intentionally used multiple times to get what I want.  Like when I was 18 and living in a semi-racist town, and my friend Kerry (who is also a white girl) and I crawled into the back of my buddy’s pickup truck to scare him as he started driving away, and then he swerved all the way down my street to get back at us, and then got pulled over by a cop on a motorcycle as he pulled into my dad’s driveway.  Kerry and I stopped just shy of taking our shirts off for that guy to keep my friend from getting a ticket, but he was putty in our hands. I’ve always wondered if he realized what a tool he was as he drove away on his little cop motorcycle. Oh well– mission accomplished.

Touching and sniffing soft leather products with no intention of buying them

It’s soft and it smells good, and it’s expensive. You understand…

Flirting with old men or hot guys just to know you’ve still got it

If you have two kids and stretch marks, you understand.  A girl just needs to feel desired sometimes.  And, old men’s equipment may not work anymore, but their minds are still as dirty as ever. Sometimes they need an extended hug. Be a good neighbor!

Hail Snooki, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

I come today with an encouraging word for my catholic brothers and sisters.

Firstly, God bless you.

Secondly, in the midst of political and religious tension relating to the provision of contraception to my catholic sluts everywhere, and in a bold statement of faith and religious fervor, Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi is pregnant with the Messiah’s second coming (blessed be the fruit of her womb).  Snooki, being a pure catholic woman, is preparing for this virgin birth with her fiance, Jionni LaValle (let’s just call him “Joseph” for short). Joseph, who plans to marry Snooki rather than have her stoned according to tradition, will help raise this virgin-birth Messiah, and says “We are not going to screw this up.”  Well I sure as fuck hope not, Joseph. There are an assload of catholics in America who are fighting hard to restrict women’s access to contraception, in order to protect the Holy Spirit’s ability to make babies where it wants to. If any of us find out you impregnated Snooki with this holy child, thereby usurping the Holy Spirit’s power and authority, ER’body in the club gettin’ tips! And then your ass is getting excommunicated, beeitch.

And if I know the catholic church and Mel Gibson at all, staying classy is at the top of the priority list for its followers.  Snooki has decided to take her new role as a virgin mother seriously. “I’m not living in that [Jersey Shore] house being pregnant. I don’t want to be one of those moms who’s pregnant in a club. It’s disgusting.” Praise Jesus and the saints.

Daily Mail reports ‘Asked what her first thought was after finding out she was pregnant, Snook replied: “S**t, I’ve been drinking!  I was worried. It was New Year’s Eve and we were in Vegas, so I did go crazy.”‘ By “crazy” she means they snuggled closely to one another at Sapphire Strip  Club while Joseph got a lap dance, as they read the sexy and pro-contraception book of Song of Solomon from the Holy Scriptures. The Huffington Post reports that “the book positively depicts a couple pursuing a love that is not approved by society. It begins with the woman wishing that the man would ‘kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,’ and soon she is inviting him to her bed of spices. The lovers do not live together, but instead must meet outdoors (e.g. 1:17) or in a parent’s bedroom (3:4; 8:2).”  Or in this case, the Sapphire Strip Club. Interestingly, I’ve never heard of chlamydia referred to as a “spice”, but whatever. I try to be an open-minded person when it comes to the sexual appetites of others.

The true and unaltered story of Ishmael, the fat ex-Wiccan.

I made a new friend. His name is Ishmael, and he’s a fat ex-Wiccan. I know what you’re thinking… “What the fuck??” (That’s what I thought too.) So I went ahead and interviewed him for all my crackas who, like myself, demand answers.

Forty Ounce: Ishmael, so… why the fuck is your name “Ishmael”?

Ishmael: Well, Forty Ounce, I was an on-again, off-again Wiccan for 10 years. When I wasn’t Wiccan, I turned to the Amish community to balance things out a bit. I guess you could say I’d lay down my sword, and pick up my butter churn.

Forty Ounce: So, what exactly about Wicca drew you in? You don’t seem like a total douchebag… I’m confused.

Ishmael: Paganism is all about the pussy. You see, Wiccans get to practice “free love”. I thought by practicing Wicca, I’d get all kinds of hot Wicca tail. For instance, if you are a skinny man with white skin and long black hair (or “Goth Wiccan”), you’re guaranteed a license to fuck that no one can take away, with unlimited quantities of ass readily available to you at a moment’s notice. But it’s not easy trying to get all kinds of goddess-loving-honey-pot when you’re a fat guy. So that freedom was WASTED.

Then I’d start to feel all down on myself about all the free cooch I wasn’t getting and I’d go back to the Amish community where it was perfectly acceptable, mandatory even, to get no snatch at all. But that’s not to say there wasn’t a kinky side to the Amish. There was what you could call an Amish “underground” community that practiced Pony Play.

But that wasn’t really my style, and I found it was really all about the shoes. I wanted a woman to dress up as some kind of slutty fairy/elf combo, not a horse with fashionable hooves.

After a while, I’d start to feel guilty for all the elf sex I wanted, but wasn’t getting (the only options with the Amish are Pony Play, or just a whole lot of sex with apple pie), and I’d return to the Wiccan community, where it wasn’t frowned upon to go ahead and tap that.

Forty Ounce: Well, weren’t you disappointed when you’d return to Wicca, only to be denied what you so badly wanted? How did you cope with that?

Ishmael: You could definitely say that, Forty Ounce. In fact, the only reason they even liked me was because I had no self-esteem. Wiccan women hate men, but they like the sensitive guys. So I was often used as a lesbian “vacation” for the ladies who just really wanted some cock every once in a while. Then they’d go back to their polyamorous communes, and I’d be left playing Dungeons & Dragons with the gay guys. They’re known in the gay community as the D&D gays, as opposed to “otters” or “bears”, etc.

I mean, let’s say I played the wizard Vorsongarix, got him to level… say…19. And Vorsongarix gave me confidence because he was like me, only skinny instead of fat, and his intelligence was the source of his power. He could wield magics that could destroy the huge muscular, beautiful bad guys. He was my fantasy of revenge against the superficial and stupid people of the world by the power of overwhelming brains.

Forty Ounce: Gaia. That bitch. It seems like Mormonism would have provided you with a healthy compromise.

Ishmael: I thought about being a mermaid once. Seems like they’d get a lot of sex.

Forty Ounce: Are there any special memories from your Wiccan days that you’d like to share with us?

Ishmael: I once had a friend who was convinced that, given enough “energy”, a person could fly on their own power. I’m not sure what kind of energy he meant (kinetic? electrical? heat?), but he told me this when I was like 15. Even my other pagan friends were like, “Um… listen… I don’t wanna talk shit but… don’t listen to him.”

I also once went to this fall fest with my witch ex-girlfriend and her coven, and they were doing this whole ritual. Picture a bunch of grown-ups wearing dresses and costumes and prancing around, and they were all “we’re going to call the corners and draw a circle!” Once a circle has been cast in a ceremony (you call the four corners, and “draw” it with a sword around the group) you have to “cut” a pretend door through the circle if you want to get out. Start at the ground with your ceremonial knife, cut upwards and over, until you’ve drawn a door in the air, then you can walk through it without “breaking” the circle. All so you don’t fuck up the “energy” that never actually gets identified. So, at one point I was like “Shit I gotta go take a mad pee pee”. So I turned to the robed person to my left and said “Hey, I gotta go drain the lizard”, and they were like “Oooh! Don’t break the circle. Let me cut you a door!” So then, they pull a dagger out of their robe (to which I was thinking “alright now here’s a party I understand!!”) and I waited patiently for her to cut a bitch but to my dismay not only did she NOT cut a bitch but she literally cut an imaginary door in this imaginary circle drawn on this hard concrete floor so that I could exit the circle and go pee pee. I wanted to shake her, but she had a knife.

Forty Ounce: What kind of music do you listen to?

Ishmael: Oh… mostly Coldplay.

***The names in this post have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals who have contributed absolutely nothing to our country, by cutting fake doors in the air and other useless shit like that.

Say goodbye to all those disabled assholes in your life!

Or not disabled. Whatever. Who the fuck’s counting?

Lucky for me (let’s be honest– ALL of us), some cuddly academics out of Oxford University published an article in the Journal of Medical Ethics, which says ‘newborn babies are not “actual persons” and do not have a “moral right to life”.’  You can read more about it here.  It basically says that killing newborn babies is different than killing an “actual person”, because in this case you’re not keeping the babies from achieving their life goals.

“The reason is that, unlike the case of death of an existing person, failing to bring a new person into existence does not prevent anyone from accomplishing any of her future aims.” (After-birth abortion: why should the baby live? Pg. 2 Alberto Giubilini, Francesca Minerva)

Well, who says I give a shit about someone else’s life goals? Fuck it. If we’re aborting people, let’s do this shit!

Go ahead and get one last look. Cuz I'm aborting this fucker.

Let’s start by aborting everyone in Iceland. They’re inbred, and they’re White (we’ve got enough crackers on this earth, right?).  We’ll take their island and get crunk, ya’ll!  Except Bjork. We’ll keep her. I enjoy her album Vespertine. I find it morally relevant.  Oh, and if we abort all the Icelanders for those reasons, we’ll need to go ahead and abort all the Amish people too. Done.

Adam Levine of Maroon 5. Not morally relevant.

Disabled feminists. Dragging us down. They’re only weak links in the cause.  Time’s a-changing, ladies. We need to keep up.

The Fresh Beat Band on Nick Jr. They make me want to kill myself, so preemptively aborting them will improve quality of life everywhere.

Albert Einstein. (He’s a Jew).

My little brother. Been wanting to abort him for years.  Just finishing what my mom couldn’t start. Later, asshole!

Oh, and Sugardaddy wants to abort Ryan Seacrest, as well as the stockboy at the grocery store that gave him the evil eye when he picked up that bag of Funyuns. Happy Anniversary, baby!