Tag Archives: fucktard

Friday Fuck Fun: Fucktards Get Stupid and Breed, Breed, Breed in this Treasure Island Media Flick

Friday Fuck Fun: Fucktards Get Stupid and Breed, Breed, Breed in this Treasure Island Media Flick

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Fucktard''s boxcover copyAnother Friday Fuck Fun looks at another Treasure Island Media movie, but this one goes hardcore.

The Romans called sex Insania Nobilis, the Noble Insanity.

Approach real sex, real risk and danger and you’ll feel your brain start to fog up. Get closer to the fire and your IQ plummets lower, lower, lower until you’re a raving buck-in-rut thinking from your lust-gorged crotch.

Treasure Island Media Director and Producer Paul Morris brings exclusives Ethan Wolfe, Jack Allen, Jackson Taylor and John Dahl along with Blue Bailey, B.J. Slater, Chad Brock, Christian Rock, Chris Kohl, Devlin Michaels, The Fucktard, James Roscoe, Jerry Stearns, Lito Cruz, Luca Bondi, Luke Bennett, Nick Moretti, Patrick O’Conner, Sunny, Trasher, Trevor and Ty Roberts to that animalistic place.

Instinct takes over and the men just fuck and breed in this barebacking, bucking and breeding blowout.

Oh, and keep in mind, Lito Cruz bred Joshua Chandler, who was recently interviewed by iBLASTinside Opens new window of a page on this blog. So there’s a nice DNA connection to this movie.

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iBLASTinside's Friday Fuck Fun

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Hot or Not? Why do gay men fuck around with you on photos?

Hot or Not? Can’t Fucking Tell!

I’m getting frustrated with online hook-ups.

Look, I get some fucking hot ass on occasion. But truth be told, it doesn’t have to be the bomb-diggity to make me happy Opens a new window from this blog. I’ll fuck you if you don’t smoke, your ass is clean with decent hygiene and we’re somewhere around height-weight proportional (and I’ll allow for a few extra pounds, but my cock just ain’t big enough for the junk-in-the-trunk chubs.

The rash of crappy photographs has me just fucking pissed.

A bottom makes me promise to send my face pic to him if he sends his. I agree. His face pic arrives. This is it. I didn’t need to blur anything. This is it in 100% glory:

Sunglasses and it’s fucking tiny. Sure, he looks like he’s got a decent body. Technically, he did send me his face pic. But what the fuck?

I actually purposely sent him a photo of someone else. But it was a face pic. I just didn’t say whose face pic I would send. I did fulfill my promise.

Speaking of great bodies, here’s one that arrived from a bottom asking to get fucked.

Now sweet as hell that looks. Muscular and perky. Great legs and back. Who wouldn’t want to fuck that?

But is it him? A few e-mails later, here’s the front side at a more appropriate size (I’ve blurred his face):

Now he’s not horrible looking but the legs are too thin and the waist too wide and obviously it’s not him in the original photo. What did he think? He could fool me? Or anyone?

Here’s the other kind of photos that are driving me fuck-nuts bonkers:

Can you see a fucking thing? Use a flash! Turn on some lights! Take the photo again. Of course, this disabled fucktard didn’t know how. I took care of it for him.

A little more work and I could have make it look a little more natural but you can see this hairy bear well enough to know whether or not he’s worth your time.

Finally, here’s one of my favorites. This one arrived also…

Um, too good to be true, right? Yup. I’ll tell you a secret: Did you know you could search by image? Took me two seconds to discover the commercial porn site this came from. Pretty much you can take any image and see if it’s posted somewhere out there or if someone is using it.

Stop fucking around with me. I’m tired of the bullshit. Be who you are or jerk off somewhere else (hey, this blog is a great place to do it, but I’d rather you click one of the ads).

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Revenge of RAGE Against the Bossy Bottom

A Bunch of Other Things About Bottoms That Bother Me

Revenge of Rage Against the Bossy Bottom

Bottoms can be so demanding. Look, I get it. Ultimately it’s the bottom that’s in control. They can close up their pussy and all the fun ends. But unlike women, men have an uncontrollable urge to fuck and get fucked. And it seems to me that bottoms need to just give up that control and let the fuck happen. It’s their job just to open their ass.

As I wrote last week Opens a new window from this blog, bottoms can be demanding even before you show up.

Here’s more demands and shit that pisses me off.

Draw Me a Map

I live and work in the Atlanta area and, just like any set of suburbs, it’s dotted with cities and communities — Marietta, Roswell, East Point, Stone Mountain, Gainesville, Buckhead, Stockbridge and a few thousand others. Fuck if I know where they all are.

This happens so fucking often, it drives me nuts. I’ll tell some stupid bottom where I am. His response will inevitably be, “I’m in Roswell. How far away from you is that?”

The little fucktard isn’t staying in a hotel. He lives here. I’m not Google Maps. Check it yourself.

When I travel, even I have another window open with Google Maps. I’d often travel to the San Francisco Bay area. I made sure I knew where I was stay (East Bay area) and if someone said they were in Emeryville or Castro Valley or Redwood City, I’d map that from where I was to see an approximate time.

It’s not fucking difficult.

Scavenger Hunt for Ass

This is a treasure trail, not a scavenger hunt.I’ve written about this shit before, but I’m going to put this shit out there again. Give me your fucking address complete with apartment number. Don’t give me a landmark at which to meet you. Don’t tell me to drive somewhere then text you when I’m there for the next set of directions.

I’m not on a scavenger hunt for a fuck. We’re not spies. Don’t be afraid I’m going to expose your ass to the whole world. I could give a shit about whether your mother knows you love getting mancum up your ass. I just want to fuck.

Now you play games with me, that does piss me off and, well, then I might see about scaring you by posting you and your rather bad tattoo on Craigslist for the world to see that says, “I love man dick and my cunt craves cum.”

Just kidding.

I don’t even bother with fucks that won’t give me a full address.

You Can Find My Photos…

Send me your phucking photos. I’m not going to A4A or Manhunt or wherever you say your photos are located. Just send them to me. Don’t make me go search for me. Don’t give me the send to receive shit.

The funniest S2R ones are the young ones. I think because they’re 21 or 28 that a 45 year old will jump at the chance to fuck with them that I’ll send mine then they won’t have to reply with theirs.

I’m not that desperate.

When I have a dry spell, it’s usually because I’m being a little picky and I want some strange. I mean, there’s always my go-to asses I can fuck. But I want something new.

And don’t give me the fucking excuse you don’t know how to attach photos or a virus corrupted your drive or you’re on your work computer. Doesn’t work. (If you were on your work computer, dumb ass, you can’t be sending me nasty e-mails about how much you want my cock in your ass; that’s a lot worse than sending me a clothed pic. I know. I’ve worked at places that monitors IP packets and we look for words like “cock” as much as e-mail attachments of naughty photos.)

I Only Get Fucked at My Convenience

At times, a bottom needs to host and I’ll be hosting. But a bottom who only gets fucked at his convenience at his place? Fuck no.

There’s been this very hot piece of ass on BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window I’ve wanted to fuck and breed for sometime. He pops up on occasion inviting me over to his place. Always his place. It’s not like his place is downtown. It’s outside the Perimeter (that’s what we call the by-pass interstate that surrounds Atlanta) just like where I live. This little cunt has a car. He just won’t put his bubble butt into it and come see me.

Oh well, he’ll never get my load.

I don’t mind bottoms hitting me up when they’re horny. That would be great. I’ve got a few bottoms I know who actually do a good job of attempting to always be prepared.

Don’t Stop Me Mid-Fuck for a Hit of Poppers

I love poppers. But unless I’m on for a long-term session, I only take one hit of poppers. It’s just before I cum. Everyone who reads me knows this and everyone who’s ever been fucked be me figures this out.

First, in the sequence of who gets hits when, the top always gets the last hit. Bottoms go first then tops go last.

I’m with a bottom the other day. He takes a hit and hands me the bottle. I do my hit. Then the little fucker takes the bottle back and snorts another one. Meantime, I’m here with my cock in the wind as that warm rush hits me waiting on him to get his ass wrapped around it.

Not cool.

Another bottom I’ve given a hit to, taken mine and I’m riding his ass to breed him. I’m doing my usual, “Do you want my load?”

“Wait!” he exclaims, like something horribly wrong has happened. Like his wife has suddenly come home or something. His body tenses up. Since he’s about six inches shorter than me and a hundred pounds lighter, he moves under me in a way where I’ve only got my cockhead in his ass.

Again, I’m thinking something is wrong.

“Where’s the poppers?”

“What?” I say.

“I want another hit of poppers.”

“WHAT?” I say.

“Where’d the bottle go?”

I handed him the bottle and let him take a hit. I stop fucking him, politely, like I’m some sort of machine.

“You ready?” I ask as he’s put the bottle cap back on.

“Yes.”

I go back to fucking his ass.

What he doesn’t know is that final crescendo of popper high crashed against the rocks of me not cumming. I fuck him in a couple of more positions. Then I pull out, walk across the room and begin putting my clothes on.

“What’s up man?” he asks.

“I gotta get back to work,” I say, since it was my lunch break.

“You’re not going to cum?”

“No,” I say. “It’s not going to happen.”

I leave him, practically in tears. I could have held him down and fucked the shit out of him. Then I would have shot a load in his ass. A big one. He would have loved that. But it was much more painful for me to walk away from him without leaving a load in his ass like the last four times I fucked him. He loved my huge loads.

I’ve received a dozen texts from him asking what went wrong, if I’m angry at him.

Bottoms are such clueless bitches.

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Good Top, Bad Top, Evil Top, Glad Top

Good Top, Bad Top, Evil Top, Glad Top

Morality is a funny thing. I’m so used to being told that I’m bad, evil and going to hell by the radical right, it just seems to roll off me like I’m coated in Rain-X and it’s a light shower. It doesn’t even bother me. So when some members of the Gay community — even barebackers with their own questionable place to stand on a position of greater morality — begin to question whether I might be “good” or “bad,” one is left with a little Judge Not Lest Ye Be Judged in your soul.

Sometimes I feel like the slut about to be stoned.

Nonetheless, it’s not anything like the OTHER 99 PERCENT or a goodly chunk of the unemployed — of which I am one. We attempt to find work, fill out countless forms online, write, rewrite, rewrite, recast, alter, edit, reformat, update and rewrite our resumes again only to go on job interviews that look promising then some fucktard in the 1 percent decides his gold parachute needs more diamonds and platinum encrusting so he decides to announce a hiring freeze.

Sex is one of those things in which we have completely under our control. It’s not the color of our skin, our birthplace or luck. Sex isn’t a roll of the die. It is a choice whether we engage with a stranger or date for a time.

We have to remove the morality from fucking. It just simply doesn’t work. What does is personal accountability. Now you can run to a dictionary and splice terms with me but I’ll give you my basic lesson difference between responsibility and accountability.

Responsibility is being able to answer for one’s conduct and obligations to another person, group or entity.

Accountability is being able to answer for one’s conduct and obligations to oneself. 

We need not rely on anyone else. The choices are our own. With sex, you are accountable only to oneself.

If you’re fucked up enough to turn your back on someone holding a loaded gun who swears they won’t fire it into your backside, then you need to have your head examined.

Hate me if you want, but there’s a lesson to be learned here. Better you read and learn than fuck and regret.

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