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Hog's trip to the Bahamas. Big Fat Nasty Women let  it All Hang Out, Postcard Bims, Barbed Wire Pubes, and Hog Whores Out! See all the jokes and funny pictures! 


Hog's Trip to the Bahamas, Part 6: Lettin' it All Hang Out, Postcard Bims, Barbed Wire Pubes

I was doing some philosophizing while reclining on the beach. (Translation: I swishing around the lint in my bellybutton.) These BFN’s (Big Fat Nasties) who let it all hang out at the beach, they’re not em-bare-ass-ing themselves so much as their nubs. Now everyone knows what kind of fat ass you sleep next to every night. It’s like, if you’re overweight, that’s fine. There are still things you can do to be attractive. To be pretty even. But these SLOPPY, lard-flopping-over-the-sides drippy-jiggly buttocks bims need to be more conscientious of what they’re doing to their boyfriends and husbands. Men are very visual. When we love a woman, we love her for her heart. But we still judge OTHER men by how their bim LOOKS. I know it’s wrong. But that’s how our warped world spins. And, I know, when I see a nub with a BFN, I’m thinkin’, “Poor nub. If his woman rolls over the wrong way at night, he’ll be crushed!” Or sometimes I wonder aloud, “Did he buy her an engagement RING or an engagement CAKE?” Seriously, what would a BFN value more: a shiny stone encased in gold (non-edible) or a huge 3-tiered, rich chocolate cake? That answer is WIDELY obvious.

Hog the Ho!

Wondering how HogWild paid for this vacation? Let's just say it wasn't exactly Pretty Woman.

Hog also had to play Fetch-Doggie for some Elderly Black Leather Domanatrix Grandmothers.


So in short, if your ASS looks like a chocolate wedding cake, don’t wear a bikini to the beach! Wear a sail boat or something. Oh my goodness! There was this one BFN who was trying the old, “vertical stripes – slimming effect” with her bathing suit. Those poor stripes, as hard as they tried, could not stay vertical versus the powerful forces of massive mounds of outward marshmallow momentum. I swear those stripes busted off her bathing suit and quivered on the beach with cracked spines. Poor little guys.

Hog plays LifeGuard. Except he's only searching for Bim with Bouncing Buoys!

But in contrast, contrastly, in juxtaposition, conversely, on the contrary, (see what happens when HogWild learns that the “thesaurus” built into his word processor isn’t a cartoon dinosaur) there were mad hottie bims. I’ve coined a new HogWild phrase for these incredibly aesthetically pleasing women. You know the kind: hair is long and beautiful. Perfect. Eyes balanced on the front of her face. Nose the right size. Lips that you could kiss for hours. Delicate hands that were made for cooking me up a homemade dinner. Legs like a Barbie Doll. (Well, except for the working knees, that’s important so she can bend down and clean up the house.) The kind of girl that looks like she just walked off a postcard. A Postcard Bim™. You know how they have those postcards from the Exotics Islands like the Bahamas that say “Wish you were here!” and there’s this picture of hot tanned bikini models with their ample cleavages glistening under a waterfall. That’s the kind of girl who is a Postcard Bim. So from now on when you see a hottie-boom-body, you say to your buddies: “POSTCARD!” (And then remind them you stole that from HogWild and they should visit his mad-semi-hilarious net site, HOGWILD.NET)


But of course, all good things must come to an end. Some end with a police helicopter hovering above your home, some end with your mom unexpectedly coming home early while you frantically hit the eject button on the VCR, some end with a small cash payment to a guy named Vinny and the promise you’ll never again use your binoculars in such a fashion. But this time I was lucky enough to escape those usual HogWild endings. Just had a plane to catch to head back home: the Media Mecca of the Midwest, Dayton, Ohio. Back to my baby. My computer.


I had to prepare myself for the long journey. While Dayton is the Media Mecca, it for some reason isn’t a place where airlines make direct flights. Ironic, since Dayton pathetically announces at every opportunity that they are the “Birthplace of Aviation.” Funny, I thought that was Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. At least that’s what every single school textbook and trusted news source says. “BAH!,” says Dayton. “The Wright Brothers were born and raised here!” Fact. BUT, they DID have to leave Dayton to make any kind of significant accomplishment. So Dayton is like, “Well, they uh, first THOUGHT about flying here.” True. They wanted to invent the fastest way to get the hell out of Dayton! And they did. Speaking of Dayton, there are some Celebs from the area. In Sports there’s Roger Clemens, Mike Schmidt, and Charles Oakley. And there’s Rob Lowe too! I’m sure there’s others but I don’t know them. And someday in the anals of hysterectomies, uh history, it will be noted that Bronx-born HogWild wasted several of his most productive years in Dayton as well. No, I do enjoy Dayton. It’s relaxing. And convenient! Never before have I been to a “city” where Downtown is just right across the street from Uptown! And the skyline is so cute! If this skyline was in NYC, it would actually be tall enough to be the stairs to the Empire State Building. And of course, the Minor League Baseball Team. The whole town is a-buzz now that we have a Class A affiliate for the Cincinnati Reds. I mean, that’s cool and all. But what the people don’t know is that the team is actually a collection of Bat Boys in training. These players don’t go on to the Majors. I mean, they DO, but only in the capacity of fetching helmets, gloves and foul balls. 

My Dad STILL beats my ass in Ping Pong and he's like 112!

Hog gets serious when it comes to Ping Pong. It's the perfect Sport for HogWild. No Running. No Jumping. And the skill is all in the wrist! 

If you don't see the usual daily updates after this, it's because Mrs. P killed me for posting this picture!

I told you Mrs. P is always backed up. Here she is downing a bowl full of Prunes: Nature's Caramel-Maker. It's a good thing Mrs. P doesn't support my hopes and dreams by looking at my site, because I'd be a DEAD MAN!



 C'mere KIDDIES!

Hog does his best impression of a Pedophile. And what the hell is with that dangling Superman piece of hair on his forehead?

Where the hell was I? Oh yeah, flying home. I won’t go through how small these planes are again. I’ll just say that mid-flight the pilot had to get out and re-adjust the paperclip on the underbelly. But in the airport there was this woman. No, this BEAST. She had hairier legs than me! And she wasn’t even French! Good God woman, how do you walk with that much wind resistance? Maybe it was to protect her from bug bites—a natural mosquito netting. Totally nizASTY! Ugh! Looking at a bim with that much leg hair just makes you think, what if I extrapolate this data and imagine how much hair is in her Swamp Pocket? AAAAAAH! Like a Jungle. You’d need a machete just to do-it. If she was ever attacked by a rapist (a pretty damn desperate one), I suppose her pubic hair-net would serve as a penis fly-trap not allowing the man to penetrate. Or judging by the coarseness of her leg hair, it would probably act more like BARBED WIRE! Ah! Now there’s some protection against rapists! HA! That’s what I gonna make my (future) daughter wear when she goes out on her first date. I’ll tell the young lad, “Now I approve of you seeing my daughter. But I’m warning you. Don’t try anything. I’ve equipped her crotch with the Electrical Barbed Wire Snatch Hatch 2000™.  As in 2000 mega-volts of electricity that will be running through your little penis, causing it to explode into a million little penis parts. Understood?” That’s not too overprotective, is it?

Hint anyone?

While watching TV in the Bahamas, this baseball game was on. Notice the HUGE Viagra ad facing the pitcher. Is that not distracting? I bet he subconsciously went to adjust his jock strap like oh, 1000 times during this at bat.

So on the EIGHTH leg of our Journey home, we get bumped because the stupid flight is overbooked. Cmon! This leg was from Miami to Cleveland. How am I, a rational human being, supposed to believe that so many MIAMIANS wanted to escape the beautiful beach weather of Southern Florida to go to--- Cleveland? So many that they couldn’t accommodate them all? Please. Clevelanders go to Miami and never come back. They’re like, “Dude, this place is just like Cleveland except the weather is 1000 times nicer, there’s 1000 times more things to do, and their basketball team has made a serious run in the playoffs at least once in the last 75 years. We’re stayin’!” 

Next on FOX, "When Nose Hair Attacks!"

Hog is finally captured by own monstrous nostril vines.

I was just about to go ape-tish on the airlines by screaming like a chicken set on fire when they did something I never thought they’d ever do. They (I still can’t believe it) bumped us to 1st class! HogWild riding in FIRST CLASS for the First (and last) time! Ya gotta understand, usually they make me ride in NO Class. It’s like, “We invite our Platinum-Plus-Premium-Super-Special members, our Gold-Tooth Members, our Silver-Haired Members, and women with small, obnoxious children to board first. Next rows 25 and higher. Now, rows 10-25. Now is general boarding for everyone except that bootleg-looking urchin with the scraggly goatee . . .” 


But damn! I SEEN THE PROMISED LAND! I BEEN TO THE MOUNTAINTOP! So much leg room. For the first time, I could breathe without having to tuck my lung under my arm. Amazing. The stewardesses were cordial. My pillow didn’t smell like an old man’s ass. The aisle was lined with diamonds and the my tushee was cushioned with clouds from heaven! This is the only way to fly! 


But it was short lived. That’s why I enjoyed every single bite of the delicious dinner they served. It was grilled chicken with a side of manna. Incredible. But on the next leg we got the unfortunate displeasure of boarding when Captain Stewardess was there. It was this Flight Attendant guy. An older gentleman. All business-like. He’s wearing these white gloves with his perfectly pressed suit. He’s inspecting the aisles, being all anal. And he’s delegating! He’s snaps his finger and the other stewardesses jump! And this guy walks around and says to me, “Sir, you must have your seat at an 90 degree angle and your For religious purposes, the Bartenders in the Bahamas aren't allowed to actually MIX the Mixed Drinks. window shade up before take-off.” He barked his orders with such authority I responded like a scolded dog. DAMN! Captain Stewardess! Sheeeee, I wasn’t gonna take that from no Captain Stewardess. Later on I rang my little bell and I was like, “I need more juice.” He didn’t even consider my request. His response: “Flight Hospitality Conduct Code 235.2 section A forbids me to honor your request. No additional beverages may be dispensed 24 minutes prior to landing.” I was livid, “Get me more juice, BITCH!” Now he was pissed. “My name tag clearly states my name as--”  I snapped back, “I don’t care WHAT your dorky name tag says Captain Fruit Bowl, give me my Juice!” The cool thing was, when I got off the plane, next to the limo drivers holding up the name signs of their customers, they were the cops holding up a name sign just for me!

Thus (finally) concludes Hog’s trip to the Bahamas. If you missed any parts, check ‘em out in RANTS!


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