A Word From The Hammer

I just want it to be very clear, the opinions expressed in this blog are the sole expressions of the insanity escaping the skin barrier of Danny Hammer, its creator and (at the moment) sole contributor. Its purpose is strictly for entertainment (mostly at my expense, masochist that I am).

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Day 49: Tattoo Post

Well, chuckles, it's day 49. That means that I am just shy of halfway across the abyss of time that is the 100 Days without Spankings. Ugh. Only another 51 days to go (I can do math, too, Monkey Boner. You always be frontin' like I don't be knowin' shit.) That being said, this challenge is a stupid idea.
This post will eventually turn to (wait for it...) an extended critique of some the worst tattoo ideas EVER. Before we get to that, I would like to add an idiom to your collective lexicons (lexicon means dictionary, uncle pedo). "Low hanging fruit" is the term. Generally, this term is used in reference to the easy option, a task so easy to complete that you won't have to put that much effort into it. I would like to offer another option for it's meaning that is somewhat more relevant to the purpose and oeuvre of this blog (uncle pedo, you're gonna have to look that one up for yourself, you degenerate). "Low hanging fruit" is what I like to call the attractive party girl who, as long as you either time it right or put in enough time while drinking with her, you'll totally be able to bang her out at the end of the night. You might recognize this definition of the term from the popular television show, The Jersey Shore, as all girls from New Jersey are in fact low hanging fruit.  The first image, a hot piece of ass shaking her shit for the heavybrowed neanderthals is in fact a girl I would identify as low hanging fruit. One of those lucky date rapists is totally going to get his balls cleaned by her ass cheeks as he jack hammers her unconscious, drunk vagina. Imagine, if you will, that the chick in the pink tank top is an after picture, taken just before what the crime lab would call "the rape." Just some fun with terms for you, you savages.
Day #49 Worst Idea for a Tattoo EVER #1: Anyone's name that is not your child. I totally understand the desire to immortalize your children by injecting ink into your own skin. I think it's even more appropriate if a mother's tattoo of her child's name is either on her tits or just above her vagina. Classy. However, if any girl that I'm dating ever decided to tattoo my name on her body anywhere, I would run screaming away from that cunt, boobs, and the woman as a whole (or hole, lol, get it? Fuck off.) Even worse than someone else's name on your own body is your own name on your own body. I used to work with this girl who was really, really, very attractive who had her own name tattooed to where you would usually see a tramp stamp. If you live the kind of life that requires you permanently emblazon your name on your back for any onlooker to see, you really need to reconsider how you move through your days. This dumb twat went as far as to tattoo "My name is" in addition to just her name, and she did it so you could read it while filling her out like a check from both ends (like a pair of goddamn Chinese fingercuffs).
Day #49 Worst Idea for a Tattoo EVER #2: Face Tattoos of Any Kind. Mike Tyson was sceduled to fight Lenox Lewis a few years ago and he went crazier as a shit house rat. At a press conference, he told a female reporter that would fuck her until she loved him, told Lewis that he was going to step on his 5 year old son's testicles, and that he was going to kill everyone. That. Was. Hilarious (Nick Canon). What was crazy was he got a tribal face tattoo like a week before the fight. That's just bad planning. This lovely girl not only got a name tattoo, her name I can only hope, but she stuck that name to her face. What a fucking dumbass. Now the only employment options she's going to have is porn star, fluffer, or camera operator. I'd bang her. I would definitely face bang her and shoot Hammer cream all over that Catherine on her cheek. I do so love chicks with tattoos that aren't my name.

That's going to be all for this post. I have a shit ton more tattoos to talk shit about, but I'll hold off for just a little while. Bee tee dubs (text to speak, look that up) I definitely got a new tattoo. It took 5 and a half hours and it's not finished yet but it still kicks your tattoo's ass. In fact my tattoo donkey punches your tattoo every night before it goes to bed, so if you've been wondering why your tattoo hasn't been sleeping all that well, that's why. Here is a gratuitous picture of a hot, well inked piece of ass.

Danny Hammer signing off, jerk weed.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Women are the Devil

In this life, there are certain things that you can count on. One of those is that when you drink too much vodka, gin, wine and beer in the same night, you are not going to have the energy of a 20 year old the next day once the speed cocaine coffee wears off. Another of these life truisms is that women are complicated beyond comprehension. I don't care who you ask, man, manly lesbian, or really intelligent horse, everyone has a story about how difficult it is to comprehend chicks. Nevertheless, if I were going to fail in my goal to not intentionally shoot my load, it would totally be because some broad decided she wants to drain my mule. Regardless, women are, indeed, the devil. Today's post, therefore, will be a collection of stories about women ruining everything.

Day #44 Story About a Woman Ruining Everything #1: Adam and Eve get kicked out of paradise. On the surface this story always seemed a little simple. God says' "Here is everything you will ever need. Just don't touch the fruit off that tree over there." Since God had constructed humans without curiosity, he figured there would be no problems. But then you start thinking about God knows everything and God is all the time and it gets a little wacky. You honestly mean to tell me that He couldn't see the snake talking the nude hottie into putting the forbidden fruit in her mouth? And where was that retard Adam? Off naming things? The story becomes commentary on two different but related issues: 1) Slithery assholes will try to talk your girl into putting things in her mouth whenever you aren't around, and 2) If you want to be happy, you can't try to know too much. For this lapse of judgement, humanity was cast out of paradise and the Israelites wound up building the pyramids. Christianity and many, many wars ensued. All thanks to that twat, Eve. That's why a douche is named after her.

Day #44 Story About a Woman Ruining Everything #2:Samson and Delilah. Samson was a rock star. Delilah, his main fan. Although all she really wanted to do was bang him, cut his hair and leave him. She banged him, and then while was sleeping, like some kind of College Humor drunk passed out gag, she totally chopped his hair off. This was important for two reasons, he was the first Jew in history to have really nice hair and he was super strong and the hair was the source of his power. Weird? You bet. If all it took to get really strong was to not cut your hair, the Greeks should all be playing catch with minivans, they are a fucking hairy people. After the groupie cut Samson's hair, he was captured by who the fuck cares and chained to a building that was designed more poorly than this Donald Duck mechanical ride-on toy (No, uncle pedo, I don't have one with a boy on it). Eventually, Samson regained his strength and pulled the columns out from their precarious position, just barley holding up the building, crushing himself and proving that women are in fact the devil.

Day #44 Story About a Woman Ruining Everything #3: Elin Woods can't just leave shit alone. Who hasn't wanted to swing a golf club at Tiger Woods' head when he came home stinking of champagne room sex and sparkling slightly? His ex-wife, Elin, certainly has. In what has become the single worst image blunder of a legendary athlete, EVER, Tiger Woods has come to be synonymous (it look it up Jimmy) with banging out a shit ton of hot skanks. Here is a short list of the girls who either came forward or who were outed by someone else (haters): Rachel Uchitel, Jamie Grubs, Kalika Moquin, Jamie Jungers, Mindy Lawton, Cori Rist, Holly Sampson, Joslyn James, and the list continues. For a longer list with pictures go here. After ruining Tiger's image, Elin has had a ridiculous effect on his golf game and athletes banging strange across the country. Nobody wants to be the next golf-club-in-the-face husband who has to give up his career to go to sex addiction counseling. Thanks Elin. Thanks a lot. On a different topic, I would love to see her tits, vagina and ass. Just saying.

So, there's my case for women being the devil. It's a flimsy case, I know. I didn't even mention crazy girls who threaten to kill me in my sleep. I've actually gotten that one from girlfriend who followed it up immediately with "I would do anything for you, that's how much I love you." I got into some serious trouble that night for not saying "I'd do anything for you too," yup. In these moments I would like to direct your attention to the Crazy/Hot Curve. Some people like to think that the proportion of crazy to hotness creates a straight line, effectively bisecting the quadrant. Those people are assholes. Crazy-hotness creates a curve that looks like this. This graph was created by Kevin over at Yellow Magic. He provides an in-depth explanation. I won't. Let's just say, my bat shit crazy ex-girlfriend dropped below the curve, into the undateable area that night. Her hotness, and willingness to have sex anywhere, did not support her craziness. She can go fuck herself. And if you get a chance to watch her fuck herself, it really is worth seeing once.

That's all I got this time. I haven't splooged in 44 days, women are crazy, and the show, "How I Met Your Mother" sucks moose cock.

Danny Hammer signing off.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

The Incongruity Between Mouths and Vaginas

I've been holding my semen in my balls for a grand total of 40 days. As we celebrate this milestone, known as Lenting off, I'm forced to reflect on the fact that had I not lost my will to change the channel from Cinemax After Hours that fateful night 41 days ago, I would be halfway to my ultimate goal of 100 days. 40 days is pretty good, you cock fag. How long could you last, huh, asshole? Nevermind, this isn't about you anymore. It's entirely about me.
A few posts ago I mentioned that I might be facing a "test of my resolve." I didn't really explain what that meant, except to paraphrase the gayest straight movie of all time, Top Gun, by saying that a girl may have just been writing checks with her mouth that her vagina could not cash (that's for you Gracie). Well, her vagina bounced. Turns out my resolve is so strong it scares willing sex partners from miles away. That's either a fortuitous coincidence (serendipity) or a tragic state of affairs. I guess it depends on how you look at it. In honor of the deal that this pussy with a vagina made and then broke I thought I'd list a few of the biggest deals that never actually happened.
Day #40 Deal that Never Happened #1: Lance Bass, Cosmonaut. In 2001, Lance Bass of the megahit queer funfest boy band, NSYNC, began negotiating with the Russian space agency so that he could buy himself a ticket into space on one of their vodka powered space needles. They told that singing fairy that they wanted $20,000,000 (that's 20 million, uncle pedo) to shoot him out of our atmosphere on a Soyuz rocket. In September of 2002, it became clear that he couldn't come up with the money and so failed to become the youngest person ever in space, third tourist in space, and first man-who-has-to-wipe-splooge-off-his-chin in space. I can think of one space he will be getting shot in, his ass. Get it. Gay. Fuck off.
Typical Patriots fans
Day #40 Deal that Never Happened #2: New England Patriots Sign Deal to move to Hartford, CT. Also in 2001, the only team in the NFL to have an offensive lineman as their mascot, and it was the center (you know, the guy who for most of the game has another man's hands up his crotch/ass/rubbing his balls gently), decided that they needed to move from Foxboro, MA to a city that has only had one other professional sports franchise, the Hartford Whalers. For a detailed history of the Hartford Whalers take a shit on the floor of your kitchen, push it around a little bit, and there you go. It turned out the Pats only wanted to use Connecticut to make Massachusetts jealous so they would buy them a new stadium. This is the sports franchise version of banging a chick less hot than your girlfriend so she'll finally give up the anus, for your cock, instead of going straight for the Screendoor Kitten, again.
Day #40 Deal that Never Happened #3: Saddam Housein will Totally Let the Weapons Inspectors in. In February of 1991, the Iraqi army invaded a small, oil-rich strip of land that had once been part of their territory. In the middle of the 20th century England gave Cuwait its independence from Iraq so naturally, Iraq was the evil, land stealing villain. The United States along with like fucking 200 other countries (did you know Australia has a real army? Yeah, neither do they.) invaded Iraq, saved Cuwait, and imposed harsh sanctions with the help of the puppets United Nations. One condition of the easing of sanctions, meaning we would agree not to bomb the shit out of them, was that UN weapons inspectors were to have free, unfettered access to all of Iraq. Saddam Husein was all, "bullshit." And the UN was like, "Fuck you." So, in March of 2003, after the Taliban from Afghanistan attacked the United States, we declared war on Iraq. (That doesn't even make semse if your high as a fucking kite) Saddam never held up his end of the deal so we tracked him down in a hole in the ground, put him "on trial" and hanged him, and made his head pop off (gross). I remember I was at a college football game, some fucking bowl game that was sponsored by a company that doesn't exist anymore, when the guy behind me received the news on his Blackberry (sponsor?) that Saddam Husein's sentence had been carried out. "Saddam's dead! Yeah!" I don't know how an old Iraqi dictator dying enhanced that shit bird's life but I can say for certain that since Saddam died I have lost those unwanted pounds, my cock grew 3 more inches, I won the lottery, and I have begun having to turn down blowjobs from models like crazy. (No, no, no, not sarcasm. Verbal irony)

I fucking love this picture. Love it.
This has been a really serious post, for the most part, so now have some images of a big-titted beauty almost showing you her milk dispensers. You should recognize the nun as the nun with big jugs from the post about how I'd still be an enthusiastic Catholic if my church had a couple hot pieces of ass in penguin suits running around. She is a German model named Annemarie who just cannot seem to keep her fantastic chesticles covered. Her tits are so wonderful that Monkey Boner and Snorg Tits are both extremely angry with me for posting more of her pictures. Not really. But in my mind they are wrestling with eachother over who gets to tell me how unhappy they are with me. <sit up break>
Looking at her hurts my cock.

That's it. I guess not banging that chick is good for the project. 40 days is a long, long time. Ugh.

Here's one last image I found when I typed "serendipity cunt" (don't ask) into the Googles. It's a two frame tutorial on a particular kind of self defense. Hilarious. Like Nick Canon.








Danny Hammer signing off.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Tolerance

(Warning: there really isn't a joke in here for quite some time, nevertheless I tried to make the following rant at least sound original. Also I'm not going to waste a picture of an angry monkey here. They are too precious to be wasted on actual anger.) I know that I have posted about my tolerance for other people's bullshit before, but in the immortal words of Jack White "It bears repeating, now." Without getting into specifics, people trying to stop me from doing the things I have decided to do piss me the fuck off. People who ignore the fact that they know who I am so they can hide behind their idea of what someone in my position should be, in some nonexistent hypothetical world where cigarette carton smoking overly masculine meat packers from Pittsburgh and serpenty cunts are not challenged by people telling them the emperor not only isn't wearing any clothes, but instead is dipping his balls in everyone's mouths calling it soup. Fuck these fucking fucks. Loyalty is a fucking good thing. Sneaky little fucks that sidle up to whoever can help their causes the most for the moment are NOT THE GOOD GUYS. These slimey mother-fuckers are going to bite you in the ass, dip shits. Go fuck yourselves. Stick this whole goddamn thing up your salty, loose lipped vagina you yeatsy, oozing twats.
Well, that last few sentences of vitriol was brought to you by EVERY DUMBASS CUNT THAT STANDS IN MY FUCKING WAY. You know who you are. I fucking dare any one of you to go toe to toe with me. I would like nothing better than to throat punch, then face fuck, then curb stomp, then deadman rape you all. You insignificant fuck wads.
Today's obstacle report: Day 37 Obstacle #1: Friends of Old Dead Guys on Facebook. This picture here is a hot German broad in a bikini who friended a dead psychologist who came up as someone I might know. Of course I don't know him. He's fucking dead. I wouldn't mind getting to know what this chick's bikini looks like as a spunk rag though. I love Europe.
Day 37 Obstacle #2: Ashley Pridgen of Snorg Tees. (sponsor?) Ashley looks supremely bangable. I'm not sure if this picture is before or after the breast reduction but titties. I mean as it is her shirt says something right tit, something something left tit, something something BOOBS, irrelephant. Titty fuck. I would titty fuck that faux hipster until the dumb, knit hat she’s wearing weaves itself into the leather on my couch. Impossible you say? That’s what the French said when we told them showers make you not stink. Look how great that turned out, well… bad example, douche pipe.
Day 37 Obstacle #3: Leryn Franco. I know. I already mentioned her as an obstacle back on day # I haven't jerked off or banged a random piece of ass for almost 40 days so leave me the fuck alone. You might be surprised how often this chick comes up in conversation for me. Or maybe you wouldn't be surprised at all. Either way, lick my taint.

Fuck the world. I'm thinking about getting another tattoo. I figured it might take my mind off things. I found a place that will ink you as long as you sit in the chair and don't need to get up or anything. I'm patient like a mother fucker. Just ask the lady breast feeding what she thinks are both her children. Retard.

Danny Hammer signing off. Fags.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

35 is a Really Good Number

35 days into this ridiculous challenge and I'm starting to hallucinate. Not the kind of sex-involved, stripper-esque hallucinations you might think I'd be experiencing, no, stupid pot smoking conspiracy theorist hallucinations. It feels like there are people waiting around the corner to jump me, like people in authority are conspiring against me, and like friends are preparing to betray me. All that being said, everyone who knows about the 100 days of no-stroking have been super supportive.
So, what do you think? Obstacles? Un-obstacles? How about one of each? Holy shit, uncle pedo, shut the fuck up. According to Penis Whale, I never posted anything about... Day 35 Obstacle 1: The Hot Chick Behind the Counter at Panera. So I'm there one day and I see this girl wearing a black polo shirt, ribbon in her hair holding her pony tail in back and to the side slightly. She looks like she could either be vaguely Hispanic or Israeli, either way I really want to see her tits - they are beautiful. She looks a little young, which isn’t surprising since she’s working at a “restaurant" during the day when real people are doing things that matter to other real people. Let’s be honest, she’s working the counter, not even baking the bread. I have some work for her. Knights of Columbus! Now she’s talking about how she had to take a shot and have a couple drinks to get in a good mood. Do I have a type or what? (shut up Christine, keep reading).
Day 35 Obstacle 2: Allison Brie and Gillian Jacobs almost kissing. That cute, hot girl with the amazing rack from Community (and that period drama abortion Mad Men) almost kisses the slutty hot girl from community (whose boobs are right here). What else do I need to say “Schwing?!?” Shut the fuck up.
Day 35 Un-obstacle 1: This ridiculous dog face web page. You move your pointer across the screen and the dog face follows it. I spent so fucking much time playing with this bullshit thing that I thought I was retarded stoned. I mean I was 3 minutes away from trying to hump a doorknob (If you can dodge a wrench you can dodge a ball).

Day 35 Obstacle 3: Jwow. I mean shit. I fucking hate the Jersey Shore mongoloids more than anyone I have ever met, but I'll stare at pictures of Jwow for days. FOR DAYS. I found this picture with a few more in a gallery called "Jwow Wears a See-through Dress" over on What Would Tyler Durden Do. Instant erection. I completely understand that her tits are fake and her voice would make me wish I was listening to nails on chalkboard instead of the inane word vomit falling from her lips, but I'd fuck her until chafing occurred, on my cock. Between her and the broad behind the counter at the Panera I frequent, raw chicken, at the wishbone end, just seems goofy.

Day 35 Un-obstacle 2: Powerthirst. (Haha, see what I did? Obstacles and Un-obstacles woven together! Oh yeah, well, go shit in a hat.) Watch and enjoy, you fucker. The first time I watched this fucking thing it was all I could do to muster up a preposterous response, a preposteronse, if you will.

So, that ends this little jaunt through my mind. My balls are huge. Just saying.

Stay tuned.

Danny Hammer signing off.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

3 is Prime, 11 is Prime, 33 is not so Prime

Well, douche fucks, I'm 33 days in, more irritable than ever, and happy (happy being a euphemism for incredibly frustrated). While there have been no more misfires (since that last leg-gluing extravaganza), I have begun to experience the fastest erections I could have imagined. I was sitting at the Chik-fila (sponsorship?) down the street, enjoying my tasty chicken sandwich, when a beam of sunlight struck my crotch and immediately a skin rocket launched in my pants. Like I said, no more misfires, so we're good there. Just the same, I went to my friendly neighborhood porn and sex toy shop  and picked up a bottle of what was labeled Pro-Longer. Guess what it does. That's right, Erection Bat, this stuff makes you not shoot your load so quick. Crisis averted.


Today's obstacle report is brought to you by (here's a good spot for some lucky business to sponsor me). Day 33 Obstacle 1: Sexy Catholic Church Imagery. I spent ten years in Catholic schools asking uncomfortable questions, swearing, and fistfighting at recess. All we had were two nuns that combined had live something like 350 years. One of them was a cyborg, too, well that might be overstating it- she had prosthetic body parts, more each year. The other one was just angry ALL THE TIME. What made things worse, was my family, good Italians that they are, felt like they needed to befriend every stray penguin that came walking out of the convent at the end of the block (penguin, slang for nun, get it? No, uncle pedo, the priests were not in your club.) Our nuns were the meanest old ladies you could ever meet, and they hit me a lot, with rulers and chalkboard erasers and one time a plastic leg (I totally deserved that one). We had nothing even approaching the level of hotness portrayed in this picture of
what could become my only reason for going back to church. Not to mention this picture, NIPPLES. I don't remember why I was looking at religious images, but, wait- it was when I was looking for that picture of Vin Diesel as "The Good Priest," what an ass. Anyway, Nipples. I really like how she looks like she's about to say something. Unfortunately, I woudn't be able to hear anything she might say over the sound of her glass cutters etching themselves on my cock's memory. And while we're discussing that picture, let's talk about the next obstacle, Day 33 Obstacle 2: Cartoon Character Fan Art. Fan art, or fa'nart as I like to say it, is what you get when a lonely post-high-school boy with some unused artistic ability starts thinking dirty, dirty thoughts about his video games, his older brother's favorite cartoon, and his little sister's favorite movies and jerks off just before he draws the thing he was thinking about. The file name on the Nipple-nun over there is ariel_halloween.some shit. Ariel is the little mermaid's name (connection!). Since the first appearance of a part woman part sea creature in the Odyssey (Sirens, Richard), mermaids have always represented a kind of dangerous hotness you only get to see nowadays in certain neighborhoods in Miami, Brooklyn, and wherever Sarah Palin goes. Just to be clear, though, the little mermaid was a round-edged cartoon with a happy ending. I would seriously consider cutting fingers off to get a happy ending from the mermaid in this picture. Check out the rest of the hot Disney pieces of ass in the collection. The art is pretty good and I love upskirt pictures (Alice in Wonderland). Fa'nart doesn't stop there, no, no, no, no. Check out this pic of Velma from Scooby Doo. Who doesn't like a little underboob with a side of unsuspecting look on her face? Nobody. It's awesome. And, last and the very least in this collection of sexy cartoons, Princess Peach from the Super Mario Bros. series. Girls putting their stockings on, or taking them off (unless you're one of the fucking weirdos with the silk stockings fetish) are super fucking hot. That's why you pigs are seeing this particular image. There's a collection of different sexy Princess Peach images out there somewhere, but the mongrels who like to draw this bitch don't have anywhere near the artistic prowess of the Disney Princesses whores art or even the understated style of the Velma piece, so you can find those yourself, ass clown.

Listen up, fuckers: that's going to wrap up this post. I dig cartoon chicks sometimes, sometimes I like smacking my cock against the keyboard  to see what he types and then I send those messages to my friends (and once to my father because he was pissing me off so fucking much). The thought of people's eyes moving along cock-typed messages that I "composed" makes me laugh like a mother fucker. And believe me, mother fuckers laugh A LOT. A lot.

Keep your eyes open and watch out for a post coming soon about a test of my resolve. It might be really big challenge to the project, or it could just be some chick writing checks with her mouth that her vagina can't cash (Is it weird that that last line got me hard? Like really hard, hang a beach towel on my erection hard. Maybe it's weird, maybe you should check your email, Steve.).

Gratuitous hardcore porn image. Do not click on this at work, Sunshine.

Only two obstacles today because, because that's just what you get. Jeez. You are very demanding at times, did you know that?

Danny Hammer signing off. Bitch.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

A Serious Update on the Status of the Monkey

Ok, I... ah, have some news. Apparently, my mattress likes to molest me in my sleep. (Let me explain, Richard. Take your seat.) Years ago I was a student at a Jesuit, all-boys, Catholic high school. I lasted one year before the Dean of Discipline (actual job title) threw his arm around my shoulders and said, "Hammer, you can come back next year, but the faculty and staff talked about it and, well, none of us would mind if you didn't." Before that day, though, I had to take a theology class in which we, the boys, were taught, by a priest, about sexual functions. Now before you get your panties in a bunch, let me just say, I was never touched inappropriately by a priest. The knowledge that I wasn't attractive enough as a child is a burden I carry with me everyday. Someday I might be able to let that go. Nevertheless, the priest from theology called wet dreams, nocturnal emissions. Not that catchy, but you get the point, every sperm being sacred and all.
Let me be blunt, my mattress jerked me off two nights ago while I was sleeping and I awoke with the fitted sheet glued to my legs (yeah, there was a LOT of "glue" on the sheet). Immediately, I sat up, peeled the sheet off my leg, and began trying to inhale, really hard, through my cock in an attempt to vacuum the cum back into my balls, essentially creating a cock-uum (get it? ... whatever). When that didn't work, I cleaned myself up, and went back to sleep.
With the 100 day torture project in jeopardy, I began to research  the claim that 100 days of 0 male orgasms was in fact the goal to reach. I was able to find several articles that were more boring than watching whale shit sink to bottom of the ocean from a surface vessel (avast). This one, Hello, was the easiest to understand. Apparently, what I have to shoot for, by not shooting loads into my spankerchief, is 100 days of abstaining from sexual activity. I'm gonna give myself an A-OK on that, because I can't control what my mattress does to my junk when I'm sleeping, anymore than pornstars can go back in time and stop their creepy uncles, fathers, or older brother's friends from touching them in the naughty place.
That being said, I thought I'd share some un-obstacles with you savages. Un-obstacles are things that I encounter that I feel help me to not crank out daddy butter. Here we go:
First among my allies in not draining an erection, TLC. The Learning Channel has long been the place to find marginally informative, though most often modern freak show, programming. With shows like
The Little Couple, Hoarding: Buried Alive, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, and Sarah Palin's Alaska, this network has put on display some of the most interesting sideshow freaks, mongoloids, and (in Sarah Palin's case) imbeciles that television has ever had to offer. That being said, this screenshot of a "coming up" screen has done more to stop me from reaching for my skin mallet than saltpeter did for the American Revolutionary Army to give Abigail Adams something something to do so she would stop bitching at John. (Make the saltpeter, bitch, I'm writing the Declaration of Independence and Jefferson is a temperamental ass!) Uterus Canon?!? Super Quick Weddings? The Divorce Horse (I had to read that one 3 times to make sure I was seeing it right). Cake Whores sounds like what happens when a Twatish fatty washes out of the Biggest Loser bootcamp. YIKES. Here's to TLC keeping my junk limp. Thank you.
Next up, this creepy fucking picture. I think I get what they were going for, but the girl is topless in jeans wearing her bridal veil facing a goofy picture of herself as an elementary school kid. I checked with the pedophile that lives behind my apartment complex and he was even creeped out. What I do love love love about this image is the two tattoos just visible under the veil. I think if this girl had any curves at all it would approach titillating, but in this state, the back of her body makes me think the front of her body looks like a 10 year-old boy (No, uncle pedo, I don't really have pictures of a 10 year-old boy).

And the final un-obstacle for this post, the National Creation Museum, yilch. I still cannot believe that people in the world believe that the world was made by an invisible man with a big white beard in the span of 6 days (day seven is for rest, you heathen) and all that was done 5,000 years ago. I bet these cousin fuckers use cell phones and computers and drive cars. I just don't understand how bible fanatics can use some technology but completely ignore the fact that SCIENCE DOESN'T JUST WORK WHEN IT'S CONVENIENT FOR YOUR BELIEF SYSTEM. And if I have to hear how "evolution is a theory because they're still not sure about it" I promise I will anus punch the person who says it (man or woman, I can hear you uncle pedo - I will not need you to anus punch any children. Yes, I'm sure.). At this point in human history there might be more evidence and wide acceptance of the theory of evolution than there is for the theory, YEAH, THE THEORY, of gravity. Guess who gets the first Monkey Blowjob in the history of this blog, yup, the National Creation Museum. Fuck-tards.
Well, that's going to just about wrap things up here. I have to go wash my sheets because of my stupid cock stroking mattress. I hate doing laundry. If I could punch Doing Laundry in the throat with my foot, I totally would. So, bye for now fuckers. 


BTW, it's day 29. Fuck.

Danny Hammer signing out.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

The Other Side of 1/4

26 orgasm-free days. Oh. What. A. Feeling. I thought for a change of pace (verbal irony) we'd explore some more of the obstacles in my way to the worst case of blue balls since 18 year-olds started to go to strip clubs thinking they had a chance with the dancers. "Oh, baby, I love when you look at me like that," you know, with your cock in your pants and your wallet in her hands. Nevertheless, here we go:

Kittens. Soft and furry, cute little heads with their big eyes looking up at me, especially when the packaging they come in is boobs with the slightest hint of a tanline. Kittens could be the death of this project. They could indeed. 
Women's Track and Field. Two words, dickbags: Leryn Franco. The Paraguayan track star could grasp my javelin anytime she wants, no really, I'm pretty sure she could straight kick my ass (like I'd mind anyway). Any sport that has as a component an event that has the word pole in the title (not pole cat, you hillbilly sister banger) is A-OK by me, which brings me to Erika Prezerakou. I don't know if she's any good at vaulting poles but <insert 'working a pole' joke here>, know what I'm sayin' LOL, LOL. Right? Ugh. And don't even get me started on Olympic swimmers. Alright, I'll just say it: Haley Cope is so fucking hot I want to punch her in the stomach. There I said it. Feel good about yourself, Natalie Portman?

Cycle Spinning Class. I'm not saying the girl next to me in the class last night was in the room naked, I'm just saying that she didn't spend a second in my head wearing anything but the pigtail braids on her head and the eye makeup on her, ah, eyes (shut up). Not to mention the damn bike seat. It wasn't particularly sexy or anything like that, but all day today I had to keep adjusting my boxer briefs (a little something for my lady followers) because it felt like I had been straddling a picket fence all damn day. My taint hasn't felt that bad since the summer I spent at that sleep-away camp in New Hampshire, those jewish kids really knew how to inflict some pain with their lacrosse sticks. What? Get your mind out of the gutter. Monkey Boner, as always, you are excused, sweety.

Harry Potter. Emma “Hermione” Watson is 18. London Bridges are wonderful. To borrow from the Urban Dictionary (no, Gavin, I mean urban, if I meant black I would have said black): The true "London Bridge" occurs when two girls are being done doggy style, facing each other and making out while the two lucky men high five over them. That's one extra cock than the usual good kind of threesome would seem to indicate, but it's extra cool 'cause of the high-5. Just call me an Anglophile I guess. I said ANGLOPHILE. Clean out your eyes, you fucking jackass. Sheesh.

Friends of Mine Talking About Showering Together. Ok, first of all, it was a couple, a straight couple (Jimmy, that means a guy and a girl. Showering together just means a hug. Why are your parents letting you read this? Go to bed.) Now, admittedly it wasn’t the thought of these two showering that made me take a situp break specifically, but rather the memory of showering with girls in the past. There is nothing in this world quite like hugging a soaking wet girl while your cock is hard so that it rubs up against her undercarriage. Uh oh, situp break...Ok. I'm just saying, showering-banging a chick is right up there with the Screendoor Kitten, the Flying Camel, and the Grunting Porkchop (Petunia). Just for planting the thought in my head, Christine and Sidney get Poo Fling. Fuck you very much, douche-fags.

Alright, my hand is tired, so I'm going to stop typing. Since I stopped "vaulting my pole" (felt forced, eh, fuck you) the muscles in my forearms have begun to atrophy. What does that say about me self-pleasure habits? Only that I used to do it right. 

See you fuckers around.

Danny Hammer signing off.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, over. (Day 24)

Ok, first of all, last night was scary. In addition to forgetting to pay my electric bill (resulting in a brown out, fuckers) dreams are starting to get a little freaky. Not Rick James freaky, just plain freaky. Last night's adventure involved me and a friend talking about how much he was like his dad as we walked through a garden. Freaky, right? No, ok, the guy's dad was Satan and the garden was made of souls. At one point we walked right up to a woman's body, with her head and shoulders buried under the dirt and her arms sticking up, chained to posts (I know exactly where this came from, and I don't feel right about it at all), her pelvis undulating, nude. I said something like, "I used to do that to her all the time." I never did that to a girl. There were several girls I have met in my life whose personality could have benefited from more naked, undulating vagina and less looking at me, but I never did anything about them.

Next on the WTF post, let's talk about odd Google images. I typed "abstinence" into the search bar (preoccupied, no, why do you ask?) and in the top row on the first page I got this picture of what looks to be a hispanic teenage girl, lying facedown with circles hovering over her mouth, anus, and vagina. Good, good, bad? Where are the circles around her hands? Between her tits? Behind her knee (what?)? This abstinence-only movement is seriously underrated. I had no idea that the Christian right advocated girls giving up the sex in a very uncomfortable place (the backseat of a Volkswagen?). I'm gonna start calling them the Christian Tight, because of how tight I'll be with them, friendwise (what did you think I meant, fish-loving Asian).

That brings me to this picture. I typed "angry monkey" into the search bar this time and I got this, cleavage-tastic picture of two Brazilian(?) women. I don't know what they're smiling about, but I love the one with earring's idea of "wearing a top." I'm gonna give her the monkey boner of the week for her use of the least supportive brazier since Tara Reid's awful plastic surgery. And while we're on the topic of "monkey boner," this is what I got when I went looking for an appropriate picture for the most well deserved award ever. That is, until I saw Google's definition of a monkey boner. I really don't feel like I'm in a position to disagree. After all, if you disagree with Skynet too many times the nuclear holocaust will be precipitated. No one wants that, no one except the machines. If Judgment day (the Terminator version, not the Kirk Cameron version) were to really happen, I would not want to have to explain to the entire human race that I caused their end because I disagreed with Google over whether the fine piece of ass in the red dental floss bikini was actually a monkey boner or a gift from the gods (yeah baby, pantheism, coming soon to mall near you).

Well, I think that's gonna be it for the Hammer today. I will leave you with one of my two favorite monkey pictures of all time. There's nothing like a good bubble blowing session to set me at ease. Enjoy. Have a good one. Rub one out for me, but definitely do not think about me while you do it, unless you look like a monkey boner. Then think about me all you want.


Danny Hammer signing off.