True story. Well, I’m sure the vaginas themselves didn’t hack my account, but someone did, and it wasn’t cool. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not pervy enough to post naked anything on any social media, unless my cats count as naked, and I don’t think they do. Yesterday, I was super bored and decided to check my history of tweets to see how many were funny and how many were just dumb shit like #WorkSucksHairyBalls. Out of nowhere, a bunch of Asian vaginas popped out at me. “How the fuck did those get there?” I thought. On closer inspection, I realized that “I” had retweeted the Asian vaginas in question.

You may be wondering why I keep pointing out that these vaginas were Asian. First of all, they were Asian. You could see the chicks they belonged to and these chicks were definitely Asian. (By the way, Asian vaginas are PERPINDICULAR to the ground if the owner of the Asian vagina is in an upright position.) Secondly, and I am hesitant to admit this, I am sexually racist. There are no fucked up weird moral ideas behind my sexual racism. I don’t believe in keeping any pure race or anything like that. I say, stick your dick in whatever color hole you want, as long as the hole belongs to a consenting adult. The point is that if I were going to retweet vaginas, they would most likely be vaginas of European descent. So yeah, these were Asian vaginas.

No one likes getting their shit hacked, but this one pissed me off. Why would someone hack someone’s twitter account just to post nudies? I deleted it immediately, which I now realize was a mistake. The goddamn Asian vaginas have been on my feed, or whatever you call it, for a few months, so what’s a few more minutes? I should have investigated. Maybe the pic led to a porn site. Maybe the porn site had some wild shit on there. (Dammit! I was just about to write myself into a really fucked up corner by accident. This corner would have gotten me on a list for sure and people would hate me. I hate when that happens. At least I caught this one in time.)

No one should ever post naked stuff on someone else’s social media. What if my fabulous girlfriend was not so fabulous? She might not believe that my account was hacked by the Asian vaginas. Then she might kick me out. Once kicked out, it wouldn’t be long before I was under the bridge sucking dicks for Keystone Light. Or living with my mom. Either way, that would suck! What if some future employer was doing some research on me, got past all the other crazy shit I wrote, but the Asian vaginas put him or her over the edge. I would be fucking pissed! What if my current boss went snooping around? She’s from central Asia! Oh boy, if she reads this, I’m fucked…which brings me to my actual point.

I am not as nasty as people think I am. Even when I used a literary alter-ego, people still thought I was running around saying and doing those crazy things. One time, I gave a lecture to friend’s class about writing and a couple stories I’d written. Right in the middle of my talking about masculinity and the Four Noble Truths of Writing, this dude said, “Hey, Trey. What kinda titties you like?” Jesus, I thought. I looked over at my friend and she gave me a blank look that actually said, “Hahahahaha! You’re on your own, buddy.” I turned to the student and said, “Um, do you mean my main character?” He said, “Yeah, whatever. Same thing.” I assured him, and the rest of the class, that it was NOT the same thing. Then I said, “He likes all kinds of titties.” He said, “What about you? What kinda titties you like?” I said, “I also like all kinds of titties. Next question!”

So, future and current employers, I’m not as nasty as my writing may lead you to believe, and I do not under any circumstances post pics of vaginas of any ethnicity on social media. 

And finally, to you, asshole hackers: I will be coming for you. You’re going to wish all I posted on your account was vaginas.       

Hi, Mr. GMan, I love your stuff. I just joined the cross-country team at my school and I’m wondering if you have any tips. I kind of suck.
Liam, 15 – Durant, OK

Liam, thank you so much for asking me a question that doesn’t have to do with sex. I have to ask though, do your parents know you read this? Jesus, I hope not. So glad you asked about running. I was also on the CC team and I also sucked. Coach McCready was an asshole. He used to chase me in a golf cart as I sprinted down the fairways during our golf course workouts. If I would have fallen, I would have died or been seriously injured. The whole time he was yelling, “Goddamnit, Edgington! Run. My granny runs faster and she’s been dead for 20 years!” One time, my dad accidentally ran over my foot as he was dropping me off at practice. Coach McCready called me a baby and told me to run it off. But as much of an asshole he was, he gave me one piece of advice that was priceless: Never stop running. No matter how slow you go. Even if you could walk faster. Never stop running. That piece of advice has never failed me. Not only do I run by it, but I live by it. There have been plenty of times in life that I could have walked faster, but I kept running. (You can learn all the other stuff about running from Runners World and the older guys on your team.)

Happy Running, Little Buddy,
GMan

 
GMan, I think you are like the hottest guy of all time. Anyways, my question is, do guys really care if you like swallow?
Sierra, 26 – Farmer’s Branch, TX

Sierra, thanks about me being the hottest. #Blush. I’m sure you’re hot too. Send me a pic. Down to business: This is actually a pretty complicated answer. Dudes, in general, are so happy about getting a blow job—I’m assuming that’s what you’re referring to—that they don’t give too much of a shit where their “love batter” goes when it shoots out. I’ve discussed this with my buddies quite a bit. Most of us have had some pretty bad ones. Most of us have been left with tooth marks. Almost all of us just let it ride. It’s not great, but you’re still getting a blow job, which is awesome! Now, if he doesn’t bust a nut, you’ve got a problem, and I say, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Sierra?” The main thing is finishing the job, so to speak. I know most of you ladies don’t want that shit in your face or hair, and I’m totally cool with that. On the titties is pretty nice, that is assuming that he’s actually looking where it goes. I personally don’t give a flying shit. As to your actual question, swallowing is a cherry on top of a lovely ice cream sundae. Either way, you’re still eating ice cream.

Slurp,
THE G


Hey, GMan. My boss is a total asshole, but I can’t quit my job. I really need it. If I get fired, my girlfriend will break up with me and I’ll end up under a bridge sucking dicks for Bud Light. HELP!!!
Alan, - 35 Allen, TX

Wow, Alan, you must be a huge fan! Thanks. I am completely familiar with your predicament. I recently had one of those “Your’e Fired, Fuck You I Quit” scenarios. Guess what? I’m not under a bridge, and I haven’t sucked any dicks yet. I had worked there for too long but I needed a final kick out the door. #FuckingBlessed. If you really have to stay, you should start fucking with your boss for fun. Use words they don’t understand. Bildungsroman is a good one, though it’s a little hard to work that into a conversation. Do gross shit to your boss’s stuff. Doodoo on the door handle of his Escalade. Boogers in his Gleneagles Country Club coffee mug. Stuff like that. See how many hours you can go without working (see previous post). My record is 46. But really, Alan, it’s probably time for you to go. Make a plan and tell your asshole boss to go fuck himself. It’s going to be scary, but you’ll be just fine.

Good luck,
GMan, Esq.


Dear Sir, I have a new lady friend and I really want to please her…sexually. Can you tell me where the G-Spot is?
Elmer, 86 – Krum, TX

Holy shit, Elmer! I have the nastiest scene imaginable going on in my head right now. Dude, you’re 86! I’m going to quickly pretend that your new lady friend is between the ages of 18 and 48. Somehow thinking of you fingerbanging an 80 year old makes me think of my Gam Gam getting fingerbanged and that’s fucking sick. #PretendingHard. I knew this question would come up sooner or later, so I might as well get it out of the way.

First of all, the information I’m about to give you may not help you at all. Every goddamn vagina on the planet is different. Seriously. Even when you know where to start, you’re probably going to have to do some digging. And not to discourage you, but I’m pretty fucking sure that many chicks don’t even have the G-Spot. Or they have the Spot, but there are no Gs there, if you know what I mean. Anyway, as you perform the following moves, go slow and pay attention to her. (And clip your nasty old man fingernails.)

Step One: Get your new lady friend in a proper fingerbanging position. I suggest on her back and you sitting to her right, facing her. (Left if you’re left handed.) Play around down there for a while until she’s good and wet. This won’t take long because she’s 20. Use lube otherwise.

Step Two: After the flower has bloomed, jam your finger in there. JUST KIDDING. Don’t ever “jam” anything in there. Gently insert your middle finger into her sacred Yoni. Your palm should be up. Then bend your middle finger up until it hits the front wall of the pussy. It should feel like corrugated skin/flesh. That’s the spot! Sorta.

Step Three: Once you’re there, you should make a windshield wiper motion with your finger. The flesh there should swell, or somehow move, or something. Who the fuck knows? Anyway, if you’re doing it right and she can be G-Spot-Stimulated, orgasms should start flying out all over the place. Yay! And don’t get discouraged if nothing happens. If you start to freak out, read the Kama Sutra or go to tantra.com.

Happy Hunting,
GMan

That's a bad pic of me in front of my Magnets Chair. It showcases my awesome design skillz!


Dear future employers, none of this is true. None of it.



1)      This one is obvious, but for those who are new to the Lazy Bastard Game, I’ll say it anyway. ALWAYS have multiple tabs open on your computer and make sure a few are legit work websites. You need an escape plan. Imagine you’re going to town on PornHub, watching some sexy eastern European also going to town, solo, when you’re boss rolls in. (Solo cuz who wants to see all those giant peckers? Shit! I just realized that my fabulous gay readers, who I love, may want to see giant peckers. You guys probably want to watch the Solo Dude, so you don’t have to look at all those nasty titties and pussies. Jesus, why am I giving porn suggestions to ANYONE?) Anyway, your boss says, “Hey, what the fuck are you doing?!?!” You say, “Um…beatin off?” If that happens, you’re probably going to get fired. Or arrested. You didn’t have an escape plan. But, if you have multiple windows open, you can always switch over to something like anxietyandpoopingyourpants.com. (I currently work in the mental health industry.) While you’re closing the porn tab, you need to get your dick/flaps back in your pants. Now that I think about it, you should probably not beat off or jack your clit at work. Forget that last part.

While you’re doing whatever the fuck you’re doing that isn’t work, make sure you don’t wear both earbuds. You might just be looking at Facebook and jamming out to some Justin Bieber or other gay shit like that, but you still don’t want your boss to sneak up on you. If you hear them in time, you can always switch over to makingmyassholebossmoremoney.com. They like that kind of shit.

2)      Poop a LOT. I do this anyway, but some of you may be more regular than I am. (I lost my gall bladder in a terrible drinking accident.) Whether you actually have to poop a lot or you’re just faking, you need to be able to say that you’re pooping without actually saying that you’re pooping. I suggest carrying moist wipes any time you’re walking around the office. Maybe you need to take a smoke break or some other shit you’re not really supposed to be doing. If you’re carrying moist wipes out in the open, nobody will say shit to you. They know you’re going to poop and they know your poops are messy. The 7-Eleven wipes are high quality and the package eye-catching. It’s red, orange, green, and purple and ugly as shit. If you really want your butt wipes to stand out, you can go for the old-school Wet Ones in the giant plastic container. No one can miss that. You can grunt softly as you walk by, if you want.

3)      Match your leisure/extracurricular activities to your work activities. My boss always wants me to write pointless article about The Magnets. I can do that shit in my sleep. I’ve written hundreds of them, and they all say the same thing. I can write a new one in about five minutes. So I write the new one and leave the document open. Then I open another Word document and start working on my latest blog, or story, or whatever. Unless your boss sneaks up and gets really close, you don’t even have to switch to the other document. If your hobby is fantasy football or something like that, you’re on your own. I don’t know how to fake that. If you happen to be a writer, don’t put anything in all caps until the final draft. For example, FUCK SHIT CUNT PUSSY TITTIES. (Holy shit, my boss just came in as I was writing that “fuck shit cunt pussy titties” part. I did not take my own advice and it was already all caps. I don’t think she saw it, but I’m sure I looked kind of guilty. I was able to switch to the article I’m writing about Celebrity Suicide and The Magnets before she got too close.) Where was I? Oh yeah, don’t use all caps on dirty words in your first draft.

4)      This one is similar to #3. Ask for extra assignments. These extra assignments should look like the shit you want to do while you’re not working. Asking for extra assignments always makes the boss happy. They think, “Wow! Trey is a real go-getter!” If you work for a small/new company, you can always offer to build them a website. If you don’t know how to make a website, go to one of those free web building sites like weebly. You’re kind of a retard and should be working at Kroger if you can’t figure out how to do it with those templates. If they need you to build them a website, they don’t know shit and will be easily tricked. Start their page with some pretty pictures. I use pics happy people and The Magnets Chair. In a couple minutes, it will look like you built an entire website, even though there is no content and it doesn’t do anything. After that, you can start working on your own webpage for whatever the hell it is you do for yourself. Writing, photography, crossfit, Solo Girl/Dude porn, foodie shit, etc.

You can also do this with Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest. Tell your uninformed boss about all this fabulous new social media. Tell them that their business HAS to have a Facebook page. (Same with Pinterest and Twitter.)  Setting one of those up takes even less time than a shitty website, but the boss doesn’t know that or they would have made that a long time ago. Now that you have a Facebook page for your boss, you can fart around on your own Facebook page. The kitties are waiting for you.

You can also ask if you can write a press release. It doesn’t matter if you’re not a writer; that shit is all over the internet. And while you’re googling how to write a press release, you can look at all kinds of wild shit. Two Girls One Cup and Sean Bean memes are waiting.

Now get to work farting around! And remember, if you have other great ideas for farting around at work, post them in the comments section!

I wrote this in my head while pooping, while reading Men’s Health, while thinking about Feminism.





Hi, GMan! I love you and you are so hot! Anyways, my boyfriend wants to go to a strip club with his friends this weekend. Should I let him?
Amanda – McKinney, TX

AMANDA! What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with your boyfriend? You shouldn’t be “letting” him do anything. He’s a grown-ass man. If he wants to go look at some titties from time to time, you should embrace it and he shouldn’t be asking for permission anyway. Go look at dicks with the girls, or better yet, have a fucking Pinterest Party. And also, nothing happens at the titty bar. It’s like the art museum. You can’t touch the art. You can’t take it home for the night. It’s too expensive to buy, if in fact they are selling. Strippers and NOT whores; they’re just some sweet girls whose daddies won’t or can’t pay for college. The strip club is just an outlet for him and his buddies to bond. And if you think he’s not looking at the chicks at Whole Foods or wherever the same way he looks at strippers, you’re a fucking retard. Thanks for saying I’m hot.
Kisses,
GMan  


Wassup Playa!?!? My black friend says the N-word all the time, and he even calls me his N-word. Can I say the N-word?
Kevin – Plano, TX

KEVIN! What the fuck is wrong with you? Of course you can’t say the N-word. Unless with you’re with your white dude buddies. If you are with your white buddies, make sure you use the “a” ending, and always look around for actual black dudes before you drop it. There is one other way you can say the N-word. You need your Honorary Black Dude Card. This takes three signatures from legit black dudes. You can’t get Neil deGrasse Tyson to sign your shit either. I personally wouldn’t and couldn’t exclude Neil deGrasse Tyson, but the black dudes who signed my Honorary Black Dude Card said dudes like him don’t count. Just so you know what kind of black dudes count, I’ll tell you who signed mine. 1. DeShun the Definishun, my barber from “Itz da Kut.” 2 Lamante “Fotie” Jefferson. 3. Piano Terry, the crackhead/pimp from South East Dallas. And you have to get your card notarized. So, you can say the N-word if you get the Honorary Black Dude Card, but don’t try to say that shit without any of your black dude buddies there. You might get shot before you can pull out your card.
Your N-word,
The GMan

 
Dear GMan, What are your thoughts on a man shaving his boy bush? I heard the bush is coming back, but I’m nervous.
Jonathan – Lewisville, TX

Jesus Christ, Jonathan. Who the fuck says “boy bush”? I would usually just ignore your question due to your verbiage, but I’m getting this question a lot, so I’ll answer it. I’ve also heard that the bush is back, but I’m not one to follow rules set by the people who write those magazines that give us these unrealistic body images and fuck with our heads. Ryan Gossling and Christiano Ronaldo can lick my taint! I was shaving “G” into my pubes when I was 14. You think anyone else was doing baller-ass pube art in 1989? No. Anyway, if you’re gonna go full bush, you need to GO FULL BUSH. You gotta own that shit. You gotta tell people about it like a new tattoo and ask if they want to see it. Post progress photos on Instagram. Keep a Bush Blog. Be confident in that bush and the ladies will be confident in the tree. Hear me? (But if you have a tiny cock, shave your little boy bush.)

I’m going to go ahead and answer a few tangential questions about “The Pube Conundrum” before everybody starts emailing my ass. In my younger days I was obsessed with the full shave on a girl. It was rare, clean, and sexy. You could go down and not worry about coming up with a hairball. It was magical. As I’ve gotten older, my tastes have expanded. I like all bush styles. All bush colors. All bush lengths. I banged a chick who had flat-ironed hers a couple weeks ago. It was long and lovely. As long it’s so fresh and so clean clean, I’m putting my machete between my teeth and going for it!
Let it grow in peace,
le G


GMAN! Help! My girl cheated on me a couple of weeks ago and I don’t know what to do. Should I forgive her and forget it? Should I break up? By the way, she gang-banged a gaggle of Karaoke DJs.
Craig – Dallas, TX

Oh shit, man. I’m sorry to hear that, but I got good news for you. Let’s see if we can turn that frown upside down. While forgiving and forgetting is a nice idea, it’s also bullshit. You may be able to forgive her, but you won’t be able to forget. EVER. You’re going to picture a gaggle of douche bags pounding your girl with cheap microphones and trying to rap the latest Drake song. And really, you can’t remember something and fully forgive at the same time. Sad but true.

Here’s what you do, Craig: Tell her to go fuck herself immediately. Then go to the titty bar with your buddies and fuck the shit out of stripper. You’re probably wondering how you go about fucking the shit out of stripper. Easy. You need about 1,500 bucks, three days, and exactly two of your buddies ready to go to the titty bar three nights in a row. (I don’t have the time to go into the theoretical part of all this, but my book entitled “Rock You Like a Candy Cane” is coming out this Fall.) Wear a button-down shirt and nice pants. Drink liquor and not beer. Don’t wear cologne. You want her smell, not yours, and that shit is kinda gay anyway. Once you’re in the club, pick out a couple of girls you like. Don’t go for Super Stripper. Go for Girl Next Door. Tip them on stage and ask them to come over. Don’t waste time or money on random bitches who come by your table. If one of the girls you picked asks if you want a dance before she sits down on your lap, send her on her slutty way. Once you’ve got your girl in your lap, smile at her like you’re a little kid on Christmas. Practice this in the mirror or you may have the wrong kind of smile on your face. Do NOT touch her, even while she’s sitting on your lap. You want her to think you’re shy. Do NOT touch her during your lap dance. During your lapdance, look at her face the entire time. Her FACE. After  couple dances, ask her to keep her dress on for the next one. She will think this is sweet. You want her and not her titties. Also, it might make her a little insecure, which helps. I know it’s an asshole move, but I happened upon it by accident. My initial intentions were pure.

Tell her you’re a writer and you’re working on your first book. Tell her it’s about booze and girls. Doesn’t matter that you’re not a writer. Do NOT tell her that you’re in a rock band unless you are an actual rock star. (If you were a rock star your girlfriend wouldn’t have ganged-banged a bunch of Karaoke DJs.) Buy her all the drinks she wants.

Shit, I’ve rambled on a little too long about banging strippers. Basically, you should be able to close from there. She’ll give you her number. You might think, Oh sweet! I’ll call her tomorrow and we’ll bang. Nope. You have close that night.

It doesn’t always go down like that, so you might need to go a few days in a row. After you bang your stripper, take a fully clothed picture with her and post that shit on Facebook. Unfriend your Ex eight hours later. She will have seen it and so will all her girlfriends. She will notice that you are no longer friends. It will hurt her. You will still be sad about your Ex, but you’ll also have some stripper pussy under your belt, which eases the fuck out of the pain.
Good Luck, Brother,
GMAN   

Well guys, that’s it for this week. If you have a question for the GMan, fill out the form on the “Contact” page and ask away. And remember, The GMan ALWAYS Hits the SPOT.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to die in it. Actually, I probably won’t die; I’ll be a paraplegic or some other kind of plegic. I won’t be able to get a job. I’ll end up sleeping under a bridge and sucking dicks for Keystone Light. (That’s how it always goes.) But how the hell am I going to get to the bridge if I’m a paraplegic? Not like my girlfriend is going to give me a ride to suck dicks under a bridge for booze. Shit, shit, shit. My mouth might not even work—for drinking or sucking. I’m screwed. You might be wondering why I think I might die or end up handicapable from the elevator in my office. My first clue was the old man who got on with me last week.

“Thank the Baby Jesus, you’re here,” he said.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“This goddamn elevator scares the hell out of me. I don’t think I can take another drop.”

I said, “Drop?” That word has never been so scary.

“Yeah, this damn contraption dropped me a while back. Not all the way down, but a good ten foot.”

“Jesus,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here, too. At least we can die together.”

“Yep,” he said.

We made it to the bottom with no drops, but my confidence in the elevator was not elevated at all. On the way back up—don’t ask me why I didn’t take the stairs—I noticed that the guy in charge of the regulating board of elevators and other vertical conveyance type shit is named Richard Kuntz. No shit. I don’t trust Mr. Kuntz at all. I’m sure he got bullied a lot as a kid and it probably hasn’t gotten too much better. I would probably be so pissed off at the world that I might sabotage elevators to get back at all the assholes who made fun of me. “Gay Trey” was bad enough. I was going to take a picture of his inspection placard for future evidence, or at least a funny post on Instagram, but I‘d left my phone on my desk. (I always think of great pics or funny tweets when I don’t have my phone on me.)

The reason I’m on that elevator so much is that I smoke and I don’t have much to do at work. As the day went on, I mostly forgot about Mr. Kuntz and his fucked up elevator. I was reminded the next morning. I was standing there, waiting for that slow piece of shit, when a dude with a giant belly and his almost-hot girlfriend/sister/wife walked up. He was wearing a NASCAR t-shirt, with what I imagine were “special sauce” stains on it. Apparently, he WANNA GO FAST. The chick looked at me and said to him, “I hope they fixed this thang since last time we was here.”

“I bet they hadn’t done nothin,” he said. I quickly realized that I was on a busted-ass elevator with a dude who weighed at least 400 lbs. I was pretty sure that I would be the first one eaten if we got stuck.

It’s been a week since I wrote that first part. I haven’t died yet or lost the use of any body parts. I didn’t drink and I didn’t suck any dicks. I have heard more horror stories though. One lady said she was stuck on there for 3.5 hours. If that happens to me, I’m going to piss on the floor and smoke cigarettes.

#SoBlessed