The first question I fucking have is why do fucking people make it complicated? It’s easy to not fuck up the food you cook, it’s easy as hell if you just pay fucking attention. Y’all know I spend a great deal of time reading other people’s blogs. Y’all know I usually don’t fucking comment because people have said I drop too many fucking f-bombs. Probably some truth in there some where I’m sure. I visit a few handfuls of what I will call cooking lifestyle blogs, they range from gourmet to trashcan grilling and most things in between. I noticed a fucking trend I really don’t fucking like, across the board, but I saved my bitching and moaning for my own fucking blog because, well, that’s how I fucking am. If y’all have taken the time to read my last post you’ll see I demonstrated the right way to pan sear a fucking steak, but it goes deeper than that, much much deeper. I had read a few posts about doing a fucking gourmet pan seared steak. I must ask, what in the fuck are you people trying to do to me? Putting all this bullshit on your meat and you’ll never fucking taste the meat, just your bullshit. So, I got to thinking, eventhough I can be considered nothing more than an average cook who learned to cook by standing next to real humans, I still know that one needs practice. Food is judged by it’s fucking taste morons, even if it looks like a pile of shit, if it tastes good I’m going to eat it. But it seems like everyone is in some kind of fucking cooking competition, got to Tweet that shit, got to Pin that shit, and even Share that shit. Looks can be very deceiving, anyone can polish a turd for a fucking picture, but will you eat it?
Okay, I’ll agree there are many fantastic cooks out in the world, and your food is making people fat and happy. But, who are these motherfuckers who watch the cable food channels and surf the internet who all of a sudden are culinary experts? Y’all know who I’m talking about, we all have them in our families and lives, hell I’m probably pissing one of them off right now. With two big cooking holidays coming up fast we all know there are those people’s food we won’t fucking touch because it fucking sucks. Why? Because they can’t cook that’s why! Oh, but they try, right? Wrong! Copying something from Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook, or wherever the fuck else does NOT make you a fucking cook, really it doesn’t. But does this stop them from posting on their blogs? No. Does this stop them from inflicting their unimaginable culinary disasters on friends and family? No. If you can’t cook just own the shit out of that, you can never fake fucking steak, never.
So, what am I doing here? I’m trying to tug at your heart strings in hopes that one day soon we will be rid of the wannabe cooks. I pride myself self on the fact that I cook what I know how to cook, I grill in a way that food is edible, and I smoke meats in ways that will make you want to dry hump my leg with excitement. However, I’m a down home simple ingredients kind of cook. I do NOT bury the flavor of what I’m cooking in other bullshit, I’m simple in my methods. I have taught an ex-wife to cook, my wife to cook (in different ways, she’s a bad ass cook already), and all three of my kids to cook. Why? Because if we’re going to eat we might as well fucking enjoy the way it tastes. Right or wrong? But, my soon to be married 19 year old daughter has been exploring the cooking shows and scouring the internet for recipes to try. She can’t figure out why she doesn’t like the way the food tastes. My answer? You need to fucking practice, practice allot, make changes, own that shit until you can do it blindfolded, without the recipe card, and where it comes out delicious every single time. Me, I don’t have any recipes written down anywhere, but I do try to accurately share proportions when prompted, but I doubt it’s ever exact. An example, search my blog for details, I make what I call Diablo Scorpion Chili on a regular basis because my wife, her friends at work, and family can’t ever get enough of this high heat colon cleansing chili. It has been made the same way since I dreamed that shit up some 25 years ago to enter into a chili cook off. Not to brag, but best in heat, best in flavor, and best appearance tells me it might be good, don’t change a fucking thing.
But I do more, I even share with pictures here on occasion, people actually write to me thanking me because it all tasted as described. Why? Because I don’t do all the bullshit, basic is the best flavoring. Anyway, my question still remains, why do people try to “fake it” on the internet? People try their recipes I’m sure, as I have, and most times I’m not impressed. I’m no expert when it comes to cooking, but I don’t get complaints either. My fucking wish I have for people learning to cook or wanting to learn something new is to spend time with other humans, whether it is family or friends, and be shown in person how to make a recipe work. Let’s face it, if it looks pretty but tastes like shit then you have failed. My family knows I don’t mind eating the ugly mistakes if they taste great. Our daily food consumption should be eating simple meals, inexpensive meals, and meals we want to eat. I like to try new things too, but some science experiments are best left to the experts and that for fucking sure is not me. So the next time you get a wild hair up your ass, try making something new, posting it online, just make sure it fucking tastes awesome. If not, its pretty hard to fuck up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, just keep that in mind. I hope we all learned something today, if so there is hope for us humans, if not we’re all fucking doomed.
It’s never to late to follow T.S.O.T.S.B. on Pinterest because that is where I put all the pictures posted here and thousands more I don’t put here. As always, I offer everything y’all never knew y’all needed to see all in one place for your growing viewing convenience.
But wait! What’s the hurry? What’s the big deal? Sit back a moment and I will explain to y’all why the weekend being here is such a big deal. Don’t freak out if y’all have submitted before and it was published, I really love you repeat offenders and I will post for you again. As y’all can see, here at The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog, I’m pretty open minded as to what I post myself. Anyway, your information can be as private or as public as you want it to be. Upon request I also add your blog so others may find you as they grope around the internet in the dark. I also provide the donating party of the story and pictures a link to place on their blog to use as they see desirable. Want more information or want to just see what has been posted before? Just search The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog for “Magic Weekend” and enjoy.
So, that’s why I’m here today. It’s time for y’all to tell your fantastic stories about your weekend for the “world” to see. So what did your Magic Weekend involve? Sex, Jail, Blood, Money, or Fame? Got questions? Just ask me. Fair enough? Great, lets GO! Be sure to include your pictures with your story!
Submit your stories & pictures to:
Over the years we, meaning my wife and I, have found that Christmas shopping, as we know it, is usually done well before black Friday ever arrives. This year, being no different, we (she) was done, but then again, we don’t buy much for too many people, usually just the kids and my granddaughter. So, for fun, keeping with our little “family tradition”, we always go to the Katie Mills Outlet Mall the last weekend before Christmas. Why? If we have no need to go why go, is that what y’all are asking? Its easy, since we don’t have a “need” to be there or go there it makes it “fun” for a people watcher like me. My wife, on the other hand, likes to go be amongst her people, shoppers in a frantic, and just see if there are any five for one specials at Bath & Bodyworks. It also gives us a chance to go into Fredrick’s of Hollywood, since Victoria’s Secret has been sucking hind tit for the last ten years or so, because she loves to buy lingerie even though it ends up on the floor in a heap after five minutes, but it does keep things interesting wondering what she is wearing under her hoodie footies this time of year. Have I ever mentioned we don’t buy each other presents, we never have. But, she always buys some very interesting lingerie and then gives me a fashion show of sorts. Its all good clean fun. Every year, since the beginning, we go out, I give her my ideas, say ten to a dozen, then she buys what she wants, then I’m surprised. The cool thing about the Fredrick’s of Hollywood out there is that it does not make them (employees) uncomfortable when I’m in the changing room, try that at a Victoria’s Secret, it isn’t going to happen.
So, we unleash our kids on the mall, giving them a rally time, and my wife and I go to all her favorite stores, this is the perfect time to try on clothes, especially because we both know we’re just “window shopping”. We hit about fifteen of the big brand name places, you know the ones, they are jam packed with crazies that are only at number two on their list of many. Its fun to watch the feeding frenzy knowing that we are only really there to run interference and give grief to those ladies trying to just get through one more day. You would think at our age we could find better ways to spend our time or have better things to do, but we don’t, this is what we do for fun, free entertainment is always a great deal in my book. Hell, we even wait in line to see Santa Claus, kidless of course, where we both sit on Santa’s lap at the same time. And, no, we don’t spend the $39.89 for the cheesy picture either. This year I think ol’ Santa was trying to cop a feel on my wife, his hands weren’t always in view, and my wife isn’t talking. Anyway, this year’s wait was only 38 minutes. Again, its just something we do, and we have never been told NO by Santa either. We cannot say the same about the Easter Bunny, this year she was a bitch and told us she didn’t take pictures with adults. She wouldn’t even just let my wife, all 109 lbs of her, sit on her precious lap. Hey, we take it when we can get it. I have always wondered what kind of person wants, therefore makes a choice to do so, to dress up as a seasonal character for the sole purpose of have kids ride your lap. Seems kinda creepy to me, but I’m just saying.
Eventually we wound up at Fredrick’s of Hollywood. I determined this year that their goal was to make slutty lingerie available to everyone, I don’t remember seeing any 5X sizes last year. Which was a bitch this year because we were having a difficult time finding anything in a small/medium. My wife has an issue you see, petite 5’2″ body but 34DDD chest. Yes, I’m lucky, I get that, but it is a pain in the ass as well because sizes which should fit her don’t without blowing the buttons off. Anyway, the shame of what I’m trying to say is it would appear the market for lingerie has changed. No, I don’t have a problem with that fact, but places should remember that there are still some petite women out there in the real world who need to buy clothes for work and play. And no, so just keep your comments to yourself, I don’t have an issue with plus size women, that wasn’t the point I was making, I was merely mentioning that in this store particularly, I have never seen anything above the XL size. So, to sum up, its the same small ass store, but their inventory for people my wife’s size has dropped considerably. Yes, everyone should have the same shopping opportunities when shopping for slutty lingerie, but it shouldn’t be at the expense of reducing the quantity of smaller sizes in all their options. Anyway, I could go on and on and on but there are other things to talk about. I will say one thing about women knowing what size they wear, most of them don’t. How can that be? Why does a person who wears 3X clothing normally think that because its lingerie she could maybe make a medium fit? Yes, I did witness this first hand, because she stepped out of the changing room in the medium to ask her significant other if he thought she needed a large. Guess what his answer was. I don’t know personally, because we were gone shortly afterwards.
We had some jean shopping to go do, yes to actually buy if they had her style and size, again, we have found many places don’t carry size “0” anymore unless you order it online. However, lucky for us we did get instant purchase gratification at her two favorite stores. My wife is simple when it comes to jeans, she wears two brands, one being Guess and the other being Rockies. The hard part for her is picking what color and/or shade that tickles her fancy this year. Lucky for me, she doesn’t mind wearing the tight jeans, nothing against baggie jeans, but her preference is wearing them tight. I tell her either way is fine, I have for years, but in the end she always goes for the tight look because she likes it and she knows I like it as well. The western store has an interesting flow of customers, it goes in every direction. This is where our afternoon got interesting. We had made our way through the herds of people, we made our way through the racks, and we waited in line for her to get a changing room. Fucking place has 25 changing rooms for the women, 8 for the men, out of the 25 changing rooms they were only using 11 for the women and 2 for the men. When her turn came after 28 minutes she begins her ritual, try on a pair, step out to look in the octagonal surround mirrors, come give me a good look, and slink away back into the changing room for the next round, each round takes 7 to 8 minutes for her. On her second trip out she caught this kid, I say kid, early twenties, checking her out, game on, now she turned up the heat, now its time to fuck with the punk. Although she will never admit to doing it, I can see it, I’ve been checking out my wife’s ass for 16 plus years, I know when she is strutting a little harder than normal. About the time he had his tongue down on the carpet I watched his wife/girlfriend/significant other (so hard to tell these days, nobody wears wedding rings anymore) slap him across the face and asked what in the holy fuck did he think he was doing checking someone else out. Ok, sure, there’s some insecurities in that relationship, that’s obvious as hell, but she wants to make a scene.
My wife is cruel to other women, and men alike, she just turned 40 (now I’m probably dead) and works hard to keep her body the way it looks. She made a choice long ago that she wasn’t going to be one of those wives that just say fuck it and not care how she looks. And no, I honestly don’t think its for me, she has been like this before I met her, I do benefit of course, but in my opinion it is her pride that keeps her motivated. She sees people (especially family) and does not want to be those women. I stay out of it, I have no room to say anything, I’m in my mid-40s and haven’t exactly taken the best care of myself. I could do better, but I’ll admit I’m lazy. But, we do walk every night, we do our five miles, of course I do five and hers ends up being like 8 because she laps me so many times. She is one of those women who is proud of the curves she does have and proud as well for the curves she does not. Her downfall, really, if y’all asked me, is the fact that she work in a doctor’s office, she sees so many people with weight related health issues and she has commented to me that she plans on never being one of them. Perhaps she self aware, perhaps its vanity, perhaps its pride driven by the fact that she is a very strong willed/minded individual, perhaps its her stubbornness that drives her not to just age and settle, who knows.
Anyway, back to the mall. When the shopping was done and we continued to meander around, I discovered she had these two, lets call them high school age teenagers, following us around everywhere we went. I would look over and catch them, make eye contact, and they would act like I didn’t know what I was seeing. After confirming this is what was going on I whispered to my wife what I thought was going on. I was not prepared for all hell to break loose, but it did. We were in some store looking at purses for my wife, who wants (not need) a new purse. I find it strange that she wants a new purse every year when the current one is still going strong. I often point out I have been using the same wallet since 1989. Is it beat up? Yes. Is it wore out? Yes. Do I think I need a new one? Hell no. Funny part about that is she bought me one last year, put it in my Christmas stocking, its still in the box in my top dresser drawer. Anyway, she noticed one of these boys with his phone out pretty regularly and always being held in a somewhat discrete fashion. She put two and two together and had an OMGWTF moment, her gut instinct kicked in and she wanted to know why they were taking pictures of her, if that was what she was doing. She quick formulated a plan, we moved on to the shoe store, and she made herself “available” for unobstructed view. While they were distracted I went and stood behind them, and sure enough, they were taking pictures, mostly when she was bending down/over trying to get a tittie shot I guess. I text her to quickly walk towards them so they would be forced to turn around right into me. When the jig was up and they had been cornered my wife layed into them (verbally) in that harsh “motherly quiet tone” of fury women use. I didn’t get to hear all of it, but I know they erased the pictures off their phones with her watching. Sad thing is that the blonde haired boy was so scared of her he pissed his pants a little, his friend was nice enough to point it out as they walked away. When I asked what she said I was told to not worry about it.
That ends up being our holiday story. As uneventful as it was, it is what we do. We like to get out with all the freaks, frantics, and royal fucktards on the final weekend of shopping before Christmas only because we know we don’t “need” to be there, but we like to go out too, why let everyone else have all the shopping nightmare fun.
So, I’ve mentioned before, my Magic Weekend inbox is overflowing with great stories, some extremely long, and some which are short and sweet. This next one I’m posting is on the short side. Annabel has been a very regular contributor to The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog, so when I see she has sent me something new I usually go ahead and check hers out first. Although, this time she was full of surprises, this time she sent in a personal story for the Magic Weekend, and I knew I had to post it right away. Y’all will see, as per a promise I made last month, that I’m going to try to post the pictures sent to me without to much damn censoring, but as you call tell, female anatomy is rather challenging to work with to edit it where one still has an idea of what the pictures are trying to illustrate. I think most of y’all can do the math to see what two plus two equals. If not, there’s absolutely no fucking help for you. So, without further delay, please enjoy her story, I know I did.
Dear Scorion Sting-
As we both know, I’m a regular sender of information, pictures, and ideas, because I try to carry out my role in The Scorpion Army. I have seen many of my ideas posted in your blog so I thought you might enjoy something not so generic and a little bit more personal. So, I will make this simple because I made a premeditated choice this past Saturday night. It was my 21st birthday and I wanted to get myself something rememberable. I had wanted, since I have been 16, to get my clit pierced, a VCH, a vertical clitorius hood piercing, but never have. For my birthday this year it was going to be my gift to me because nobody else was going to get my kitty fancy jewelry but me. I was ready, I really was, I took extra time shaving, making sure I was so smooth that water beaded up on the skin. Mission accomplished. I put on loose, baggy warm up pants because I was told that one’s clit gets pretty swollen and sore afterwards. In the end I was as ready as I thought I could ever be, and to say I was excited is an understatement, because I’m fucking extatic.
I get to the tattoo shop, you can omit the name if you like, but its a place you have mentioned before, I just know you don’t like giving free advertising. Anyway, sitting in front of Magic Needle I found myself growing really impatient, it was time to go, my wait is finally over. Once inside I was asked if I had an artist preference and if I wanted a male or female artist. It doesn’t matter, just as long as their aim is true and straight. After filling out all of the legal release paperwork I was led back to a room, instructed to lay on the table, and to remove my sweats. There I laid, for what seemed like an eternity, on the table with my pants in the chair, getting a slight chill, but flushing with heat because I didn’t know what was about to happen. As the seconds turned to minutes, Ron enters to explain the process, gets his tools ready, and here we go. I only felt his warm fingers, a cold clamp, and a sharp snap of pain. Then it was over, no foreplay, no teasing, just stuck it through. I will remember that feeling for the rest of my life as there has been nothing to ever compare it to so far in my 21 years. Want to talk about making me instantly wet, that did the fucking trick 100 fold!
Then, Ron turned to me and mentioned that they had a special going on, get one piercing and get your next one half off if done in the next seven calendar days. So I told him if he has time I got a nipple he could pierce right now. He smiled, got prepped, I showed him where, and like lightning my nipple was also pierced. You can only imagine the sensations that were going through my entire fucking body, in fact I don’t even think I am capable of explaining it right. But my sensitivity was increased like a billion times over. When I was done I was led up front to pay, this is also where they gave me my care for new piercings literature. Mentioned one shouldn’t touch the areas unless cleaning for 5-7 days, fuck that, I couldn’t stop touching either one the entire ride home. Now I just needed to get fucked hard to seal the night for me. But, no luck, I went home alone. Lucky for me I had a very lonely cucumber which had no prior obligations to handle my immediate needs, so it all worked out for the best if you ask me.
I know you have this stupid rule about using pictures with full nudity but there is no other way to show you what I had done but to just send pictures of myself, plus I know you can make them usable. Now, realize this morning, as I write this email, I’m a little sore, but I know Monday morning I’m off to work, with no one the wiser of my weekend. Glad I wear skirts, going commando for a few days should be interesting, hope nobody at the office gets an eyeful. I think I hit the blood part of your criteria, don’t know if letting a cucumber have its way with me counts as sex, but it did the fucking job for me!
Annabel H., Houston Tx
I told y’all it was short and sweet, and as much as I wish I could share with y’all her beautiful VCH and horizontal nipple piercing, all the censoring, as you can plainly see, blocks what was so nicely done. I had to salvage at least two of the eleven great pictures she sent in so just deal with it. Yes, I know, all is blocked from view, just imagine a horizontal stainless steel stud pierced through her nipple and a vertical stud through her clitoral hood. Well folks, that’s it for this one. Keep sending in your Magic Weekend stories, keep sending in your pictures, and just keep doing all the crazy shit that y’all do every single weekend.
When I get super bored I look at the statistics for T.S.O.T.S.B. to see what leads y’all here and to see what links/pictures y’all click the most. Y’all might not know but this particular blog has only been around here on wordpress for 14 months and some changes. In 14 months I have tried my best to have a vast array of different posts, different shares, and a handful of staple regulars. Two of the most popular “features”, as told by the statistics and comments, are the Bartender Stories and The Magic Weekend stories. I shouldn’t find it odd that those two areas of my blog are the most searched and sought after, but I really do. The biggest complaint I get from readers is that I censor some of the pictures I post, I get told I operate using a double standard because I oppose censorship yet I enforce it strictly on my blog. Eventhough I have explained that I wish to keep my blog at a PG rating to a NC17 rating. Plus, I know people, and I know people have a grand enough imagination to put back in what I’ve censored out.
Associated with the above links, I give you the #1 picture that gets “clicked” here, in 14 months y’all clicked the below picture 8892 times.
The #2 picture that gets “clicked” comes in at 6389 times.
The #3 picture that gets “clicked” comes in at 4129 times.
The #4 picture that gets “clicked” comes in at 3956 times.
The #5 picture that gets “clicked” comes in at 3921 times.
Note to reader, not ALL of these 5 pictures are found on the panel to the right, y’all had to hunt for a couple of them. In the end I’m very happy that my “advertising” interests readers enough to click on the picture. So, I guess the big question I have for y’all is what makes y’all click what y’all are clicking? Also, I would like to add that every single one of the links to the right get very regular daily clicks, which I appreciate y’all looking at my blogging friends as well. It will be interesting to check back in a year to see what the picture statistics look like then. Well, that’s if T.S.O.T.S.B. is still around.
But y’all already know that my inbox and fb messenger is always open. One of my favorite things about this blog is all of the emails and messages I get from readers who want to share one thing or another with me and most of the time so it can get posted on the blog. There is a long history here with quite a few if my readers, especially the transplants who followed over from blogspot. Everyone knows that if you send me pictures that I will most likely post them up so everyone can see. The latest group of pictures were to say hello, show me tattoos, show me the Halloween costume that was picked, and yes, let’s not forget showing the boobs, boobs are always welcome and always appreciated. With that being said, here are the censored versions of what I pleasantly found waiting in my email this morning. Thanks for sharing, I look forward to more in the future.
Each time I see Kitty checking out my blog I joke silently to myself that she must be addicted to the sting. Well, a fan is a fan, I’m perfectly fine with it. Speaking of which, weren’t y’all supposed to send me pictures of your computer with my blog pulled up? What happened? Y’all ain’t skeered are ya?
Where in the fuck do the politically correct morality police get off being my mother? Why in the fuck have they chose to subject me to hundreds of e-mails a week and hundreds of spam comments a week? Who the fuck do these people think they are? What in the fuck do they think they can change about my blog? When in the fuck did I become a fucking interest to the fucking politically correct morality police? F.Y.I., y’all will fucking find the morality police is only one of the many names used to describe the fucked up groups of people whose self-appointed job is to enforce standards of moral behavior and religious adherence among the general public, these bleeding pussies are here to protect us from the real world. Have these fucking freaks of nature been having a spell of moral panic? Is their moral panic over an issue deemed to be a fucking threat to, or shocking to, the sensibilities of “proper” society? How about y’all just have a very tall glass of shut the fuck up for a minute.
If you haven’t fingered it out yet, this is my politically incorrect declaration about the morality police fuctards who feel it is their god given right to bombard the Sting Of The Scorpion Blog with all of the bullshit that they disagree with that I say or I post here. So, let me start off with a big GO FUCK YOURSELF to get this kicked off. What does what I write about have to do with anything in the fucking lonely lives of the morality police? I know what I fucking post and I sleep fucking great at night. In some way I have touched these little bitches in a special way, like how a girl gets finger fucked for the very first time. I guess because they like the way I touch them that they need to bitch at me like my ex-wife who is, to date, at the very top of my “cunt list”, but these fuctards are a very close second. So I say the word, and many variations, FUCK, does that make me a bad person? I post pictures of women with tattoos and women packing heat because those are things I really fucking like. I regularly talk about how fucked up the VA is because I’m a disabled vet who is a part of that fucking broke system. Does the fact that I was a bartender at a full nude strip bar (and liked it) a problem because I write about it or because it is an industry that exemplifies gratuitous nudity in exchange for money? It is a historical fact for those followers of the bible that “Jesus Loves Strippers” but that is something that the morality police like to forget.
Somewhere, somehow, the morality police opened their doors to the anti-meat-anti-hunting-geniuses because they keep trying to tell me hunting to provide meat for my table is wrong. Wrong? It’s wrong? I do not, I have not, and I will not ever condemn a meat free lifestyle if that is the choice you have made. I may not understand your decision and I might joke about your choices, but your choices are yours to make. I would like to think if you want to be left the fuck alone about not eating meat that you should close your fucking piehole about my choice to stalk the meat, kill the meat, smoke the meat, and then eat the meat with my family. Y’all really need to back off this one because it isn’t ever going to fucking change, ever. Never once, however, do these fucktards ever get real specific about what rubbed their pussies the wrong way. Perhaps that is the problem, perhaps it is because of their own experiences that they must warn me that I am on the highway to hell with what I write about. Well, you stupid fucks, I write about what is in my life, around me, or the fucking things I like or dislike. Some of those things are fucked up, some of those things are the fucktards who get so pissed off at me for talking about their beliefs and how they live their life.
I think if I was a bleeding cunt that maybe I would hold that against the rest of the world as well. Is it because you suffer that you want to make others suffer? I was told once by my dad when I was younger to never trust something that can bleed for a week and live. He also warned me of the hypnotic spell the women will put men under, he called this the power of the pussy. He tried to warn me that she with the pussy is who is in charge. It’s true, for the most part, that because you have a pussy you think that all must bow to you, begging your little twat for forgiveness because we were born with a dick. All of the haters I have all have referenced that they are female, not one male has ever emailed me or spammed my blog in anger because of my topics or language. Why do you little bitches think that is? Need a bandaid? Perhaps you are angry with me because I write about your fucked up ways and your fucked up thinking, perhaps when you whip out your grammar Nazi handbook you should show me the part where it says that The sting Of The Scorpion Blog is supposed to give a fuck about spelling or proper sentence fragmentation. Fuck you, I’m not 6. Speaking of which, no, no I don’t think I will ever write with the maturity my age states I should have. I think it is just plain time for you politically correct bleeding pussies to just turn the internet off, turn your computer off, unplug the smart car, and go for a walk. Get outside into the real world with real people. Do keep your hole closed because if you act out in public as you do on the internet you might just not like the reaction you get.
Where do we go from here? It’s true, I don’t give a fuck about your feelings about what you may find at The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog. Why should I fucking give a shit and really fucking care? Come here if you want, don’t come if you don’t want, either way it doesn’t make a fuck to me because this blog doesn’t pay my fucking bills. In fact, it’s totally free. It’s free hosted, I don’t charge admission, I don’t ask for donations, and I don’t try to sell you stupid shit you don’t want. I do this shit for fun, I do what I do here for my personal entertainment, I write about the things I see or hear because it is fucking fun to do so. What’s even better that somewhere along the way I get to rub some of y’all pussiy fucktards the wrong way on a very regular basis. Except, nowadays I think we are past the heavy petting, we are past trying to shove three of my fingers thru your granny panties, we are past you not wanting to be touched “there”, no, I think we are to the point where I expose what has really been going on here, because not everyone gets to see you as I do. I know I told you that I wouldn’t tell everyone what a fucking little whore slut you really are. I know you wanted me to be discrete about your little secret of only letting all the guys ass fuck you so you can tell your future husband you truly are a vaginal virgin. Yes, your fucked up little secret is out now, boothefuckhoo. It is also pretty fucking obvious that you suck the cum out right out of that dick after they all pull it out of your ass because all you do is talk shit. So, shove a plug in your gaping asshole because you are dripping anal ooze all over my fucking blog.
Now, get the fuck out. Let the door hit you square in the ass. Don’t stop, don’t look back. All you will see is me bending over blowing you a big fat fucking kiss. I know y’all aren’t capable of listening, that fucking point gets proven time and time again. I get it, you fucking despise and hate me. I know y’all are too fucking stupid to listen. I know y’all will be back, y’all always fucking come back for some reason. Well, just remember I may not appreciate the fact that you suck in all of my fucking oxygen but since you always arrive with your panties pulled so deep into your bleeding cunts, I give y’all a break, because I like freaks, I even like you. So, polish up your badge bitches so you can continue to spread the your fucking legs and let out all of the things that are so wonderful about the fucking morality police. Until the next time we meet please feel free to fucking piss off.