Forgetting the fact that, apart from this page's untouchable awesomeness, this is a blatant rip-off of Dave's idea to start his own page...

And apart from the fact that my prematurely ejaculatory posting of Day 100 on Day 99 was more than a little embarrassing...

It occurs to me that, although I really have reached Day 100, it might as well be the first day of my Quit.

Just like, in my business, the end of each month simply brings another month of new challenges, I surmise that the next 100 days will not be without their challenges.

And I intend to crush them.

So, I've decided to post them here. If you are reading this, I call that it automatically means that you think I rule. I also call that it means that we're in the same place...

Whether you're on Day #1 or Day #365, a brotherhood exists between us and that alone gives you the right to post shit on my page - You're welcome to it.

I'm more glad to be here with you dudes than I thought I would be...

And I'm looking forward to tomorrow, which is Day #100... + 1.

Booya.

Since I already called that this is my very own page, I can add whatever I want.

And since today was Day #100 for me, I went back to look at some of the few posts that I put up over the last three months.

And in thinking that the remote chance exists that someone else might be helped by something from my own Quit, I thought I'd put some of those posts here.

The first one was my introduction or My Reasons for quitting.
Personally, I thought they were pretty good.

Another one I found was one I posted right after I told my wife about my habit and my decision to Quit.
That one was a tough one to write. Wicked helpful to me though.

The last one I posted right after I was considering a Cave.
That was one of the toughest times during my whole Quit.

Perhaps the most awesome thing to me about these posts are the responses that my Brothers gave. It's a little weird that it didn't strike me as awesome then as it does now.

If you're a new Quitter, these posts should illustrate the bad-assery of the support that you'll find here.

Yes, I congratulated you yesterday on 100 and will do the same today on your real 100.

Thanks for letting me post shit on your page bro, you rule!

Here's to your 100+1 'Cheers'

You Rock, Move.
Welcome to the first inaugural other-dude post on my page.

You don't win shit.

But you should be feeling an overwhelming sense of awesomeness at the auspiciousness of the occasion.

Thanks, Brother.

For your page to retain its intended awesome aura, it must be updated, and leave no post/response unanswered, otherwise it'll just be gay.

Hey, I'm 100 + 10 +1, there's not going to be another day like today for a while!
Congrats on the triple digits plus!

On this page, gayness and other forms of verbal ass-piracy will not be tolerated and will be otherwise strictly prohibited.

Lumberjacks, ninjas, and vikings are most certainly welcome.

As are True Quit Brothers.

Thanks, Roy -

A Rumination On The Thong

I was in the gym this morning doing my thing.
You know, benching 1,000 lbs and other pretty easy stuff like that.

In front of me, an older lady got on the treadmill to do her thing, and bent over to tie her shoe.

Now, before I get to the action part of the scene there is a small amount of character development that must take place...

This lady, although I'm sure she's a nice person, closely resembles a troll or some other nasty mythical creature of your choice.

She probably goes 250 or so and most of that is ass.
She's got a face that would stop a clock and a fro that probably hasn't seen a comb or brush since 1962.

Anyway, when she bent over in front of me, it was obvious that she was sporting a thong underneath her clam diggers.

Now, I've seen my fair share of thongs. I know fair well that there are moderate thongs and demure thongs, as well as other kinds.

This one was what you'd call a ho-thong. Like stripper nasty.

Simultaneously, I was both horrified and fascinated.

This was the equivalent of putting ho-panties on the bumper of a Buick.

But she owned it. Sporting that ass like a chick in a Busta Rhymes video.

And I gave her mental props because it occured to me that the only thing that rivals the size of that ass is the depth of her self-confidence. "Good for her" I thought. "And good for her old man too" I also thought.

(I've got to try to remember to remind my wife, when she's old and big, that thongs do it for me...)

And I also think that, as a dude, you could put a nasty, stripper-thong on a water buffalo and I would think it was hot.

Just something about it...

And now I'm stuck thinking about those 3 ounces of fabric covering 20 yds of ass...

This post serves only to move my Page Of Awesomeness ahead of Smokey's Page Of Douchery.

THANKS FOR A GOOD MORNING LAUGH!!!

Busted a gut on the thong story...I'll give it to you...YES you do own it..the thong and the ass that is! That is your mental picture to keep for the rest of your life..now I think I'll go wash my brain out with soap! 'crackup'

I am so awesome that I will sacrifice my own awesomeness to celebrate ndrooster's 8th green dot. Shplazamoh!! Put that bling on a piece of ryebread and call it my hero.

That, my friend, was awesome...

Day #102.

I've been reading, over the past few months, lists of all the things people won't miss about dipping or chewing. Lists that contain stuff about spraying dip juice all over the place and spitting into your wife's coffee cup and other crazy shit like that.

You guys are rude.

But there's one thing I haven't seen on any list.

Now the disclaimer here is that the distinct possibility exists that the following is a can-hiding method previously unemployed by even the most ninja-fied dipper. It may be shocking as well as disturbing...So if you're a 5-year old, you may want to fuck off.

Simply put, I will not miss hiding my dip can behind my ball sac.

There I said it.

For those of you who reside in warmer climes, you may have noticed the proliferation of short pant wearing dudes. Well, I don't live in warmer climes, but I am one of those dudes.

Many types of shorts, for those of you who are unobservant idiots, do not have pockets.

(Personally, I think shorts with pockets in them are gay.)

Now, if your powers of reading comprehension are anywhere north of retarded, you will have taken from this that I very often wear shorts with no pockets.

Which, of course, leaves a stealthy dipper to ponder the question about where he will hide his dip can.

Well, one of the most unique and ground breaking innovations known to mankind is, of course, the ball sac.

Incredibly versatile, this globular feat of human engineering can be scratched by its owner for spine tingling pleasure.

It can be kneaded, like a hairy loaf of bread, which results in a pleasurable feeling, albeit different than from scratching.

It has a seam, but no opening.

And on holidays, you can even paint a face on it to make a goulish sac-o-lantern.

Being the rock star that I am, I had added another amazing feature to my sac.

I could hide stuff behind it.

Using the inherent properties of my bag, I found that a can of dip was the perfect size to be hidden behind its bulk. Jammed deftly between the rear bumper of my nads and my gootch, I found that my Grizzly can would allow itself to be safely transported about. My versatile bag hung perfectly about the can, rendering it completely undetectable.

Now if your wife is at all like mine, she is a fan and enthusiastic supporter of your "danger-area".

This is a source of concern for dudes hiding shit behind their balls.

While you are transporting your dip can in the space between berries and gootch, it is vitally important to keep people from groping you. This is to say that, while the ball-notch method is otherwise impervious to detection, if your wife happens to grope you while you are transporting, your shit will be ruined. Game over.

Not to mention that your local health board would probably frown on you putting something in your mouth from a container that you kept in such close proximity to your tailpipe.

Unbelievable.

And don't judge me either, bitches. I never drank my own spit or anything gross like that.

But now that I'm not wedging cans of Grizzly in my crotch pocket, I wonder what a newly rational person could do with all that genital storage space...

Words can not express the sheer awesomness of this post. 'worship'

This is a great confession.

Now, have you come clean with the "lemme bum a dip off you" boys yet?

Them peeps "taint" gonna be real happy.......

That "Area" is a perfect storage site for your "Smokeyg" signed HOF knife and coin- I keep mine in a pocket, but you know if it is a valuable- keep it in a safe place!

I always thought it would be awesome to have my stomach covered with ball skin. Imagine all the things you could carry by pulling it out into a pouch. If you forgot your long sleeves you could wrap them up in your warm tummy-blanket. Forgot your raincoat, no problem with your insta-hoodie!

We just don't get confessions of this quality in the May '09 group. I am left in awe!!!

<<Colonel renders a standing ovation>>

Personally, now that I'm no longer using my sac for a stealthy dip can hiding place, I've started keeping my pocket change back there.

It's incredibly convenient.

When buying a cup of coffee in the morning, it's admirable to be able to do a manly squat-wiggle and have quarter fall out from behind your balls.

Makes people think you're literally made of money...

It only took two days to squish me like bug. Your awesomeness potential has blossomed into a tingly ballbag. Good shit SWJ...good shit...and just for being super awesome...good shit.

SWJ: I do not believe that your wife is a fan of your danger area. As a married man, I find the concept utterly dubious.

But regarding the sac business, I won't call you a liar. I also hid my tin behind my balls. Did you ever stash a can there during a hot summer day and sweat through the label on the lid, leaving a messy network of partly glued paper globs in your grundle muff? I do miss that.

First, never question the undeniable attraction of my bag. Or I will ruin your shit.

Second, although my nads are awe-inspiring, they have also been known to perspire.

This, in manly circles, is commonly known as "Swamp-Ass" or simply "Swamp".

Hiding things behind your balls is best left to professionals, due in part to the unsavory effects of Swamp-Ass.

Aside from making your gootch smell like a grass fire, Swamp is exceedingly viscous, and makes whatever you hide back there really slippery.

Although I have never experienced Ball-Sac-Hiding-Place-Swamp-Slippage, it has been known to cause many a dude to get his shit stomped after unwillingly exposing whatever cargo he happened to have been carrying.

What's more, picking the sweaty remains of a two-inch adhesive label out from behind your jewels is not only unsanitary and embarassing, it's also gay because it causes you to have to spend way more time playing with your chassis than is socially acceptable.

This is just one more reason not to use tobacco.

Because your shit might fall out from behind your bag at an inopportune moment.

:blink:


mule quietly eases back thru the door hoping nobody saw his truck in the parking lot........

I got pics

Thought Of The Day...

Reasons Why Lo Pan Is The Shit

1.If you don't know who Lo Pan is, go fuck yourself. Or at least click here.

2.No one can step to Lo Pan's shit.

3.Lo Pan has magical powers. Like a leprachaun except not gay.

4.No one else could make wearing a housecoat look so awesome.

5.His pimp-hat has a giant nail through it. Undeniably kick-ass.

6.Lo Pan has the best job in the world. His job is to shit-stomp basically everyone.

7.Even if he didn't have a job, Lo Pan would just sit around doing bad-ass stuff like look at porn during church. Except he would also probably get bored at church and start randomly head-butting people, including little kids.

8.Lo Pan's name is cooler than yours. I think everyone should be named Lo Pan.

9.Every movie ever made could have been improved immeasurably by featuring at least one scene of Lo Pan wrecking someone's shit.

10.Lo Pan's mustache rules. And it's not a Fu Manchu. It's a Lo Pan, bitch.

SWJ, I am familiar with Swamp. It is the affliction that sets off conversations like these:

*Dean hugs wife tenderly*

Wife: "You smell."

Dean: "Like what?"

Wife: "Like stinky. Gross."

Dean: "Toss my salad?"

*embrace ends*

The Greatest Phone Game Ever Invented

Yesterday I was talking on the phone in my office to some douche-bag.

And I inadvertently invented possibly the most awesome phone game in the universe.

Really, it is undeniably illustrative of my incredible powers to accidentally invent something so enjoyable, but I digress.

Anyway, this guy who, if you ordered one of him over the phone and were mistakenly shipped a truckload of assholes instead, you'd probably just keep the assholes - thinking that you got a better deal - was going on and on to the point at which I was very seriously considering poking myself in the eye with a pencil.

At some point, he asked me a dumb question. And while I was pondering the momentous stupidity of the inquiry, he apparently thought he had been disconnected.

And The Game was thus invented.

Here is how it works:

When conversing with an idiot (Player 1) over the phone, you (Player 2), say nothing. Simply let them blather on and on. The conversation will then evolve into something like this:

DOUCHE: "Blahblahblahblahblah"

ME:

DOUCHE: "Hahaha. Know what I'm saying...?"

ME:

DOUCHE: "Hello....?"

ME:

DOUCHE: "Hello...? What the...?"

If you are me in this scenario, you win.

It occurs to me that this would be even more fun when conversing with a wad like this guy in person. You could adopt a vapid stare and allow your silence to stomp the shit out of whatever nonsense he's going on and on about.

You can add levels of difficulty by either seeing how many times you can get your simple-minded adversary to bleat "Hello...?" into the phone before he hangs up. Or you can simply start making noises instead of talking.

Pressing the phone up to your ass and dropping a bomb into it is a good move, for example.

Belching into it is also awesome.

If Lo Pan thought that talking on the phone was cool, he would win this game by farting a magical ass-blast into the phone which would cause Player 1 to spontaneously combust.

(Lo Pan doesn't talk on the phone though. He's too awesome. See post below.)

And by the way, extra points should be awarded in this game if Player 1 is someone moderately important like your wife or your mom.

This Thought Of The Day from yesterday was so awesome that it was my
Thought Of The Day for today too...

The game I invented yesterday is equaled only by thinking about how much ass Lo Pan kicks.

Reasons Why Lo Pan Is The Shit

1.If you don't know who Lo Pan is, go fuck yourself. Or at least click here.

2.No one can step to Lo Pan's shit.

3.Lo Pan has magical powers. Like a leprachaun except not gay.

4.No one else could make wearing a housecoat look so awesome.

5.His pimp-hat has a giant nail through it. Undeniably kick-ass.

6.Lo Pan has the best job in the world. His job is to shit-stomp basically everyone.

7.Even if he didn't have a job, Lo Pan would just sit around doing bad-ass stuff like look at porn during church. Except he would also probably get bored at church and start randomly head-butting people, including little kids.

8.Lo Pan's name is cooler than yours. I think everyone should be named Lo Pan.

9.Every movie ever made could have been improved immeasurably by featuring at least one scene of Lo Pan wrecking someone's shit.

10.Lo Pan's mustache rules. And it's not a Fu Manchu. It's a Lo Pan, bitch.

SWJ

You are right on two things

1 - Lo Pan is way awesome.

2 - Your page is way better than Smokeyg's. Such originality and creativeness.

Thank you for the kind words, JP.

However, we must remember to allow room in the world for tolerance.

We are obligated to embrace all people, not just those like you and me who Bring The Shit.

There is clearly room for This Page as well as Smokey's page too.

Just like there's room for both Spike TV and the Oxygen Network.

Best....movie....ever...

And I have become a huge fan of this page. I stop by daily to see what else in here could make the secretary look at me like Im nuttier than squirrel shit for laughing like a goon from my office

Please compare and contrast Lo Pan and Chuck Norris! I need some clarity on badassednessism!

For the sake of comparison, here is a partial list of things that kick ass:

1. Lo Pan

2. Meat

3. Lesbians

4. Hippos

5. Sunny-D

6. Porn

7. Me

8. Sneezing

9. Pop-Tarts

10. My balls

Now, for the contrary point of view, here is a partial list of things that most undoubtedly do not kick ass:

1. Dora The Explorer

2. Puppets

3. Your ex-wife

4. Quiche

5. Zamfir, Master of the Pan Flute

6. Kleenex

7. The Oxygen Network

8. Pigeons

9. Crotch rot

10. My neighbor

I realize that this is not the comparison between Lo Pan and Chuck Norris that you specifically asked for, but you must understand that such an inquiry is like asking someone to compare the similarities between Zeus and Dr. Phil.

Please feel free to comment.

Note however, that if you disagree with anything above, you're a fag.

Undoubtedly more unabashed awesomeness----give yourself an Arod kiss in the mirror!

Day 106.

My Bathroom Sucks

I was sitting in my bathroom the other morning, thinking about ways in which I could possibly be more awesome and it occurred to me that my bathroom needs a makeover.

The renovation suggestions that follow will, of course, never come to fruition at my house because my wife, in matters such as these, is my Kryptonite. Whenever I come up with man-tastic inventions or ideas, she becomes my all-powerful arch-nemesis.

I mean, I could be victorious over her if I really wanted to, but that would mean punching her head right off.

And that would probably upset the little kids in her Sunday School class.

Anyway, as I was sitting there delivering the mail and listening to the bath fan make a horrible noise, I invented a new bath fan, among other awesome bathroom accoutrements.

My new bath fan would not only play Twisted Sister when you turned it on, it would also pipe my stank over to my neighbor's living room.

Come to think of it, it would also pipe in the smell of bacon.

My new bathroom would be huge.

It would be colossally big enough to house my other invention, The Shit Couch.

Instead of sitting on the same toilet that the underlings in my house sit on, my shitter would be a full-blown leather couch with holes in it just the right size for my ass.

I would go in, take my pants off, sit on my Shit Couch, and Take Care of Business.

It would be just like when you watch porn when your wife's not home - That's the only other time it's acceptable to sit on your couch with no pants on.

Only this way, it wouldn't be disturbing and gross.

While I was sitting on my Shit Couch listening to Twisted Sister kick ass out of the fan, I would watch my big screen TV, which would only get two channels: Hustler TV and Speed Channel.

Only the Speed Channel would not have any of the gay shows it has now.

There would also be an invisible force-field outside the door with cameras so I could watch people getting their shit wrecked when they tried to bust in on me.

I would decorate the walls with lightning bolts and pictures of me.

It would be so awesome that I would never come out. I would just stay in there all the time.

I would make it my job.

And people would pay me too, because my bathroom would be the best one in the universe and people would send me money in exchange for an autographed action picture of me taking a dump.

I would have millions of friends because everyone would want to come over and take a shit at my house.

I would call up Lo Pan because we would be tight, and He would come over and hang out in my bathroom.

He would do magic tricks and shoot magical flames out of His ass just for me and my friends.

We would laugh and clap and it would be the best time ever.

Anyway, when I told her about them, the arch-nemesis that I'm married to was not too fond of my inventions.

She said that there was no way that she would let Lo Pan put on a magical ass-blast demonstration in the house...

Feel free to comment. If however, you don't agree with my inventions, you're a douche.

I'm sorry, but puppets do kick ass. Have you ever REALLY played with a puppet? (Clearly not.)

And please...let's be fucking reasonable about quiche. I KNOW you like bacon, eggs and cheese. You're telling me that putting the preceding into a CRUST, for the love of God, does not kick ass? Don't be an asshole.

now that is the sweet smell of success! 'crackup'

Dean -

If sitting around eating quiche and playing with puppets does it for you, so be it.

Just so you know, quiche is pizza for homos and French people. But it's a free country...

While you're at it, perhaps you could increase your ass-kickedness exponentially by simultaneously watching Dora The Explorer and listening to your Zamfir 8-tracks.

And you don't have to use goddamn cuss words all the time either. It's not fucking nice.

Penis-wrinkle.

Look, man...I have kids. Do you expect me to NOT watch/masturbate to Dora?

Shit...that's not exactly what I meant. Anyway.

I hate the French. I hope we have a meeting of the minds on that. They were useful c. 1780, but have let us down since.

I like it!!!!!!! The only thing different in my bathroom would be outernal standing by 24/7 to wipe my ass when I am done!!!!!!! 'arse' 'arse' 'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup'