They have little panties. I saw this one sans panties. Score!
26.4.09
25.4.09
22.4.09
What Makes for a Moist Panty?
There are a lot of ways to get a pantypair moist. It isn't always hobknob and tomfoolery, you know. There are subtle nuances to be taken into consideration, little things humans can do to make a girl a little warm 'down there'. Take for example, my personal adventure this past Sunday, when I got paid to be a golf caddy.
I drove out to (some golf course) with my co-panty-wearer, both of us wearing matching American Eagle golf shorts and polo's. (Too cute...) Our mission: To be as ridiculously adorable as we could while fucking up their game and making them happy about it. Also, to wash their balls. Over and over. Now, at this point, the day could have gone either way; they could have been super lame and tried to grope us or proposition us, or they could be totally awesome and hilarious and realize that golf is about drinking, and hot chicks make you hit better. They chose the latter route, and at the end of the day, ended up scoring better than the previous day. All four of them. (I was in the fun cart, of course, and stayed amply sun blocked-worry not dear readers!)
So, how does this make for moist panties? Ah...So many reasons. They were respectful, they didn't have to lie to their wives (and awesome wives can make my panties damp too) and they never asked us to do anything, they were simply appreciative to have us around. This type of behavior is found in a rare breed of man, a breed of man that knows life is fleeting, and have fun with it while you can. Why not hire a coupl'a ladies to drive you around on some grass if you can?
It's the fun, devil-may-care hilariousness of an attitude that makes a moist panty, the type of non-chalance towards the quotidian that can drive a woman nuts. It doesn't always need to be about sexy-time, not always about money, not always about getting things, sometimes the panties that get moist are the inner-panties if you will. Just knowing there are good people out there who just wanna have a good time is enough to make me go change my drawers again.
What kind of experiences have YOU had that made your inner thighs sticky? Has someone ever bought you a drink and then didn't expect a hand-job? Has anyone opened the door for you without staring at your tits? Have you or anyone you know been appreciated for what you are by someone (guy or girl) who did simply that with no other agenda? If so, we'd like to hear about it! Leave us comments and stories about your inner-panty-moistness, and the best story will be featured as a guest commentary.
You stay classy, planet Earth!
I drove out to (some golf course) with my co-panty-wearer, both of us wearing matching American Eagle golf shorts and polo's. (Too cute...) Our mission: To be as ridiculously adorable as we could while fucking up their game and making them happy about it. Also, to wash their balls. Over and over. Now, at this point, the day could have gone either way; they could have been super lame and tried to grope us or proposition us, or they could be totally awesome and hilarious and realize that golf is about drinking, and hot chicks make you hit better. They chose the latter route, and at the end of the day, ended up scoring better than the previous day. All four of them. (I was in the fun cart, of course, and stayed amply sun blocked-worry not dear readers!)
So, how does this make for moist panties? Ah...So many reasons. They were respectful, they didn't have to lie to their wives (and awesome wives can make my panties damp too) and they never asked us to do anything, they were simply appreciative to have us around. This type of behavior is found in a rare breed of man, a breed of man that knows life is fleeting, and have fun with it while you can. Why not hire a coupl'a ladies to drive you around on some grass if you can?
It's the fun, devil-may-care hilariousness of an attitude that makes a moist panty, the type of non-chalance towards the quotidian that can drive a woman nuts. It doesn't always need to be about sexy-time, not always about money, not always about getting things, sometimes the panties that get moist are the inner-panties if you will. Just knowing there are good people out there who just wanna have a good time is enough to make me go change my drawers again.
What kind of experiences have YOU had that made your inner thighs sticky? Has someone ever bought you a drink and then didn't expect a hand-job? Has anyone opened the door for you without staring at your tits? Have you or anyone you know been appreciated for what you are by someone (guy or girl) who did simply that with no other agenda? If so, we'd like to hear about it! Leave us comments and stories about your inner-panty-moistness, and the best story will be featured as a guest commentary.
You stay classy, planet Earth!
16.4.09
Things to do when you're trapped in downtown Oakland alone in a Victorian mansion:
1. Smoke copious amounts of hash during panty-less sewing time.
2. Take down a big Oakland press fulla joe and clean the house like a spider monkey.
3. Play skin fiddle.
4. Create a shrine to the original MP's.
5. Walk around wearing only the "because I can" bracelet.
6. Practice jazz hands in the mirror.
7. Repeat #3
8. Make voodoo dolls/ knit dog sweaters/ create found art from pharaoh hair.
9. Decide whether your finger stinks or my butt hurts.
10. Listen to Lil Wayne at high volume and pretend Josi is here to grab an umbrella with.
DVD of Coolrunnings
Why I feel that the universe is rife with humor and loaded on cheap chardonnay:
Upon arrival in the one horse burg I shall refer to as Man-z-needa I was the victim of an immediate match makers folly. Now on her behalf she only referred to this "man" as a potential booty call (which as I type this fills me with self loathing and a strange sense of dread), it was not one of those "OOOh you will be so perfect together snarf snarf barf barf", for that she will be allowed to live. Any how we arrive at a party out in the twigs, I love the area, it's beautiful and you have utter freedom to ride dirt bikes or dirty boys, what eva. This party was filled to the brim with hill billies all hopped up on kabobs and light beer, again, totally up my alley. So far so good, right? Our little posse of gods hottest girls nearly shut the shit hole doooowwwn. The music stopped, eyes shifted in our directions, and on cue some one releases a dozen doves. Cuntry boys know hot when they see them and they act accordingly. None of that too cool to drool bullshit you get in the cities of 10,000 or more. And then I lay my brilliant blues on the man piece intended for my consumption. Sweet mother of god was this person a disaster. Leather pants, leather coat, your accountants hair cut, your creepy cousins grin, shorter than Mr. Burns (though similar in body fat content), and the conversation skills of speed dater. Fuck me running. I nearly walked up to my friend, the devils own match maker, and punched her in the throat. However, she already knew how repelled I was the second she laid eyes on him as well and felt like a shit stain already. Turns out her only real memory of him was one shrouded in alcohol and wishful thinking. The drama turned to comedy when he decided the room was warm enough for him to remove his jacket and grace us with the sweetest sleeveless jean vest I have ever seen. It bared just enough mid riff to elevate him to god status at the FOLSOM STREET FAIR for fuck sake. It took every bit of my being to not roll on the floor in histerics. I hope Jesus is watching and keeping some sort of score because I deserve sainthood or at least some sweet ass for this one. Lawdamercy.
The funny thing is that this town is straight choked full of honeys. Unfiltered, free range homeboys who are totally capable of creating MP's. I know this because I have been the proud wearer of said undergarments on many occasion.
I miss my Fingers Stinks and Butt Hurts like a mother but it is my duty as an ambassador to MPP's every were to take full advantage of this strange new land of milk and honeys. I will plant my flag on the peak of Mt. Manhood and then, only then, will I return. Triumphant and slick with moisture.
In times like these it helps me to remember the vocal stylings of one George Thoroughgood.
"And when I walk the streets
Kings and Queens step aside
Every (man) I meet
They all stay satisfied
I wanna tell ya pretty baby
Well Ya see I make my own
I'm here to tell ya honey
That I'm bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone"
Until next time,
Don't forget to wipe.
14.4.09
Things to do when your trapped in Bend Oregon by Frozen Moisture
1. Fantasize about all of the boys equally as snow bound, probably wearing nothing but wolverine fur skin rugs and a smile.
2. Drink your body weight in sugary liquors blended with chocolate.
3. Eat your body weight in salted meats and/or macaroni and cheese mixed with the kitchen sink.
4. Fondle the lap top like it's the formally mentioned wolverine skin swaddled honey.
5. Begin a game of Risk that you will still be playing long after your hair falls out and you buy that rug that makes you feel/smell like Burt Reynolds.
6. Listen to everything Lil Wayne has ever touched with his raspy pipes.
7. Wax intellectual about the merits of getting cosmetic surgery vs. growing a personality.
8. Listen to Ms. My Butt Hurts slouching towards an A in Meth 10.
9. Weep salty tears over been ripped violently from the loving arms of my butterbean. Once said tears are dry, cry more. This should occupy at least the afternoon.
10. Consider a trip to Newport Markup to buy whippets with which to annihilate the last vestiges of brain activity.
2. Drink your body weight in sugary liquors blended with chocolate.
3. Eat your body weight in salted meats and/or macaroni and cheese mixed with the kitchen sink.
4. Fondle the lap top like it's the formally mentioned wolverine skin swaddled honey.
5. Begin a game of Risk that you will still be playing long after your hair falls out and you buy that rug that makes you feel/smell like Burt Reynolds.
6. Listen to everything Lil Wayne has ever touched with his raspy pipes.
7. Wax intellectual about the merits of getting cosmetic surgery vs. growing a personality.
8. Listen to Ms. My Butt Hurts slouching towards an A in Meth 10.
9. Weep salty tears over been ripped violently from the loving arms of my butterbean. Once said tears are dry, cry more. This should occupy at least the afternoon.
10. Consider a trip to Newport Markup to buy whippets with which to annihilate the last vestiges of brain activity.
13.4.09
Oh, FEET.
"Walkin around on those, whaddya call 'em? oh, FEET!" Ah feet. Glorious, beautiful, rub-able feet. Mermaids be hatin.
I have a friend who has a friend who dated a guy who knows someones brother who's a DJ. And this DJ is dating this chick whose favorite movie is The Little Mermaid. So, being the typical "I will do anything to slay this pussy" kind of guy, he made a song using a bite from that song. Now, he's a good DJ, I've heard his stuff, but I can't imagine who in their right or wrong mind would ever want to take credit for something so heinously lame.
I mean, hey, we here at MPP are all about gettin that poonanny taken care of, but not at the expense of creating terrible music and unleashing it upon the masses. Maybe in a steel warehouse in Russia in 1992 this might have been acceptable, along with pacifiers, glow sticks, strobe lights and candy necklaces. (Oh my gawd, all I see are sweaty, tightly clad Russian men with fishnet shirts and gold chain necklaces, ewww!) But here and now, this simply will not stand. No one wants to be part of your world.
They say that the fan-to-talent ratio is highest for DJs, and this guy is helping set that curve. So do us all a favor, DJs, make like a Barisone and get your shit right. No pussy is worth putting us all through a terrible auditory hell. At no point ever should a Disney sound bite be anywhere near anything that closely resembles a track that might ever be played to the unsuspecting public. The only reference we want to hear concerning 'feet' is in reference to length - flaccid or otherwise. Off you go now, take your dingle hopper and thingamabobs and get workin on that new track. A good one this time, one that makes me make happy puddin on some feet.
Yoda Leg
Yoda-Leg: What happens at 5am when manequins and Jedi Masters cross paths.
Other definitions include:
A side effect of travelling light speed on the Millenium Falcon.
: What you sing in the alps when you lose a leg and want to find it.
Yoda-leg-hee-hoo!!!!
: When a Yoda-Leg infests your home, call 1-800-SLAP-A-QUEEF for all your Yoda-Leg removal needs. They've got the know how to keep your kids safe!
: Bring to Victorian we must! Bloody Marys we must drink!!!
9.4.09
butterbeans
We can't tell you exactly what defines them. Je ne se qua, we suppose. But we most certainly know them when we see them. Mmmm....have some!
6.4.09
What not to do
Sure fire ways to dry up my pantaloons, not a list, more like a Moses coming down the mountain with some fucking gospel for your ace.
Do not, I repeat DO NOT, touch me unless I touch you first. Your sweaty fat hand has no business on my back. When I say no touchy touchy with my finger waging in your face that is usually a good indication that we will not be fucking. Rejection hurts, I know I have been there but telling me that I am a lesbian is just bad form. Mike Tyson called he wants his manners back.
If under some freak turn of events I allow you into my home for a sleep over you must leave in the morning. I may act like I am cool with you tagging along to breakfast but trust me I am only being polite. This side of my personality is like Sasquatch, every one knows someone who has "seen" it but no one has glimpsed it themselves. The only people I don't tire of are called friends not one night stands. Have some dignity and catch up with me later. Because god knows you are no Surly and can't hang two nights in a row without passing out standing up and giving yourself a head wound, bleeding all over my Obey jacket and making me spend the bulk of my night playing hide and seek. Many are called but the chosen are few.
We have seen the old shit talk via the world wide interweb and here at MPP we feel that is some boner ass shit. It is bad enough that generation Z or whatever they are called are way quicker with their fingers then their mouths, texting first I Love Yous and myspacing break ups, but come on already. Most of you that are reading this probably aren't guilty of this crap but in the off chance that an impressionable mind on the verge of a drive by facebooking reads this and thinks twice then it is all worth it. Save your hate for the barroom brawl and your love for the drive in. They still have drive ins, right?
Acting like Tucker Max is retarded. Treating women like dumpsters is bound to catch up with you. And trust, we are all sitting around, popcorn buckets in our laps waiting for the big one to hit you. And it will. Oh yes. Building your ego on the bent backs of those who are too weak, stupid, or both is a mistake of biblical proportions. When so many people champion your fall the distance to the bottom measure is leagues, not feet. Take comfort in the fact that though people will be enjoying your eventual failure, at least that audience that you so crave will be there to watch you go down.
The list of what not to do is shorter than the list of what to do. Why? Because we are easy to please. We love cleaver, sexy people who can kick it tough till 7 am. We like girls that are fearless and boys that run with the ball. It is a simple thing, making panties moist. It always safe to err on the side of awesome, however. Just in case.
ps. If you post a bad photo (B+ or less) of MPPers we will retaliate with flaming bags of shit. Immature but effective. Just ask Ted.
As Regis would say, CHALUPA!
3.4.09
2.4.09
Other Possible Meanings of MPP
Inspired by Cutters rampage.....
Mega Pussy Power
More Pushin Please
My Peoples PoleHole
Major Package Phenominionoomom
My Pink Potato
Moist Panty Police
More Party Please
Massive Penis Protector
Naomi's 3 cents: Moist Poontang Pie, More Penis Please, or upside down, to the wearer, it'd be ddw, which we all know stands for dicks do well
And.....wait for it.....wait for it.....
Our personal fav
My Pretty Pony
Da da duh duh duh WHORE!
Mega Pussy Power
More Pushin Please
My Peoples PoleHole
Major Package Phenominionoomom
My Pink Potato
Moist Panty Police
More Party Please
Massive Penis Protector
Naomi's 3 cents: Moist Poontang Pie, More Penis Please, or upside down, to the wearer, it'd be ddw, which we all know stands for dicks do well
And.....wait for it.....wait for it.....
Our personal fav
My Pretty Pony
Da da duh duh duh WHORE!
The Bizzle
Took a small romp through the bustling day light of Down Town Oakland this morning. The people of this city make up the most vibrant rainbow of browns, pinks, blacks, and yellows. So super sweet to watch it all flow by you in all of it's glory. Crazy dude bumpin rap from a half open lap top, butchy chicks with aviators and leather flair, turbaned fathers with unsmiling faces, half pint black kids running circles around harried moms, skinny jean wearin hip boys and their cool chicks, gangs all here. An ode to the melting pot turned culture clash turned every day normalcy. I know it doesn't always work but today it did. We are all just some squirrels trying to get a nut.
We are heading over to Bend for the Hoop Convergence. Well in all honesty, Annie for the hooping, me for the merry making. It will also be the first small leg in my new journey back to my roots. We will be departing from ButterBeanville on the 9th and will both be needing some crash space for the weekend. (hint hint chris and erica).
Also, we have noticed that 100% of our blog followers are male so in reward for your patronage it will be blow jobs for all. Since Annie is linked exclusively to one of them I will be handling the other three. Now ladies do not fret. I am an equal opportunity hooker so sign up and get your free reward.
Stay tuned, we have quite the list coming for you later tonight and maybe a sneak peak at our Christmas Card.
Love Allways,
J and A
We are heading over to Bend for the Hoop Convergence. Well in all honesty, Annie for the hooping, me for the merry making. It will also be the first small leg in my new journey back to my roots. We will be departing from ButterBeanville on the 9th and will both be needing some crash space for the weekend. (hint hint chris and erica).
Also, we have noticed that 100% of our blog followers are male so in reward for your patronage it will be blow jobs for all. Since Annie is linked exclusively to one of them I will be handling the other three. Now ladies do not fret. I am an equal opportunity hooker so sign up and get your free reward.
Stay tuned, we have quite the list coming for you later tonight and maybe a sneak peak at our Christmas Card.
Love Allways,
J and A
1.4.09
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