Wemen Don’t Want Compliments

Why not? I figured I should cross post that humorous complaint I mentioned in the previous post. winks Here it is for your enjoyment although slightly edited.


I wake up every morning and race to the computer to check Fet.
And guess what!!
Every single day, except for the odd rare day that the moon really did turn blue, my inbox, my OMG, it’s my inbox is Empty!

I see all my fellow sisters in wemehood getting all filled up by men. They get so filled that they get to OMG I know! How can this be real COMPLAIN!!

It’s NOT fair I’m telling!

You men have left me out! How can I appreciate the compliments you rain down on those complainers? I don’t even have a chance to critique and help your improve. pouts

So what you don’t know me. I’ve filled out a profile. I wrote some stuff. I even put up a few pictures. I’m not an unknown thing. I’m on every single day and I’m just waiting for all those compliments to start filling up. Damn it, I need those compliments to feel like a woman. You want me to feel like a women right?
Then give me the treatment! I need it! I need it filled up!

giggles I’ll even promise my complaints will blow you over the moon in appreciation. Yes? That’s what men want right, appreciation?
I can’t do it unless you men start giving me something to appreciate. 😉

Inspired by this quote: “Whats interesting is I don’t see threads on here of women bitching that strange men don’t approach them and compliment them.”

May your journey be one that finds your smiles.

Giggles for Profit

Where can I go to tell the world of my giggles? Oh, my. I enjoy posting things on Fetlife. Yet I do more lurking and reading than I do participate. That didn’t stop me from posting a rather tongue in cheek sarcastically humorous complaint about men not falling over backwards to fill my inbox several weeks back.

I figured I’d get swamped under in response. Nope. I got something rather and strangely different. I’m getting a whole lot more local responses and from some from rather intriguing Doms. Brave souls they are to send a message at all on Fet.

But then there is the super odd one who sends a friend request without a message. Checking out his profile, checks the pictures, turns the computer upside down…nope don’t recognize that appendage. Trust me, I would have remembered that one!

I guess he’d do as a flogging boy. I’m sure he’d do well as a peg boi. I’m in stitches waiting to see if he’ll respond to the message I sent him. Oh well, he really should have read my profile.  But still, I think I’d rather have him at my feet.  chuckles 

PRINGLES: Mature Humor. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.


Don’t even fucking say a word. I like potato chips, and can’t eat them very much or I’ll get fat.
I tried out these Pringles Fat-Free chips because they were super low-cal. BBQ flavor. the fuck.
The can said they had 70 calories per serving, which meant the whole can had 490 calories inside total. I could munch through a can in a day with my lunch, dinner, etc. So I got several cans, and began enjoying one a day for the past four days. But what they dont fucking tell you…
Except in tiny print you cant read without a fucking electron microscope
…is that the primary ingredient is something called “olean” which I have since learned is Latin for “Unwashable & Indestructible Ass Grease.”
Oh Yeah. I’m not even kidding.
So today, while I’m standing in the living room debating whether or not Laundry or Dishes will get done first, I get the urge to fart. I live alone, so sweet. I let the honk loose and its wrong. Something just sounded wrong. I know my own wind, and I have never farted a sound that sounded like a fart wrapped in a pillow.
Oh yes, something was very wrong. I had just shat myself. But this evil olean makes shitting yourself sound almost like a regular fart, and had I not been particularly attentive, it could easily have gone unnoticed, I’m telling you. THAT’s how utterly covert and evil this olean stuff is. What the fuck?! What if I’d gone out to hang with friends or gone for a drive, what then?
So I walk carefully to the bathroom and disrobe. before I even sit on the toilet, I wad paper and carefully wipe from the front. Sure enough, it was light brown, and had the texture of soft spackle. You fucking Pringle bastards.
I sat down and pushed a bit, and lo, out came a jet that I didnt even feel an urge for one minute earlier. It piled in the bowl like brown marshmallow fluff.
The problem rose when I tried to wipe. I went through a whole fucking roll of TP and could not get it all off me. So.
I jumped in the shower. Yep, its gross, but it had to be done. There I stood, water pouring down, cheeks spread, and using my own hand to make certain I’m clean.
That was when I discovered that after using my hand to wipe myself (before I soaped the area) my hand came back covered in some sort of transparent grease. It was so fucking foul. The grease made water bead off my hand. It was tacky too, and very difficult to manage.
So I grabbed the bar of saop and went to work.
You fucking Pringle bastards.
The bar of soap came away coated in grease as well, and would no longer wash. I had to turn the water to hot and massage the soap for five minutes to get it to the point where I could use it again. It took me an hour to get the fucking grease off my pucker. I shudder to think of what its doing INSIDE ME right now, but I will damned sure never eat that shit again.
Fucking Pringle bastards.
This is where the joke about “anal leakage” came from. its real. Fuck Pringles.
this is in or around ANAL LEAKAGE, ANYBODY?

Husband Wanted

A lonely widow, age 70, decided that it was time to get married again.
She put an ad in the local paper that read:


On the second day, she heard the doorbell. Much to her dismay, she
opened the door to see a grey-haired gentleman sitting in a

He had no arms or legs.

The old woman said, “You’re not really asking me to consider you, are
you? Just look at you…you have no legs!

The old man smiled, “Therefore, I cannot run around on you!”

She snorted. “You don’t have any arms either!”

Again, the old man smiled,”Therefore, I can never beat you!”

She raised an eyebrow and asked intently, “Are you still good in   bed???”

The old man leaned back, beamed a big smile and said, “Rang the doorbell didn’t I?”