Burly Billy wants to fuck your fence.

The names Billy, but you can call me Burly, it's short for Burly Billy.  Can I just have a moment of your time to discuss your fence-less yard?  One of the true travesties of American life is a gorgeous yard without an equally gorgeous fence to enclose it.  Now I am biased, I do own and operate Burly's House Of Fences but besides that, I just can't bare to look at such a wasted landscaping opportunity.

I can tell you are skeptical but I think I know just the thing to get you interested in modern fencing.... Did you know that you can...... fuck a fence?...............  I know I know, it's funny to hear, but, man or woman, you can fuck anything if know where to stick it.

Take this for example, a classic, the Picket fence.  Now, Picket fences are known primarily as a pretty front yard enclosure, there are many financial benefits of utilizing a picket fence in the back yard too.  I normally build them to a height of 4 feet, although they can also be 3 or 5 feet tall to suit your desires. Picket fences are best used in situations where a small child or pet needs to stay close at hand, or if you are just into spinners.  A dainty little Picket fence is like fucking a cheer leader.  It's all spunky with little slots!  HOT HOT HOT!!

Slutty little Picket!

Personally, if you want to go with wood, I am a big fan of Split rail fences.  They are as beautiful as they are historically significant, and they can fuck like a tortured horse. Split rails were the most popular kind of farm fence at the turn of the last century.  Did you know that Abraham Lincoln supposedly used to "split rails" for a living?  "Splitting rails" is Barricadophile code for "he fucked fences". These types of fences can be built with either two or three rails, and can be enhanced with the addition of either barb, hog, or chicken wire, whatever your kink!

I'd like to Split that Rail...

If you like cold metal against your skin, you may want to try a residential Chain Link fence.  The "Chain Kink" fence, as I like to call it, is fucking sexy!  It provides the classic boundary for your property and offers medium security along with hot gaping metal holes. These fences come in a standard height of 4 feet, but they can be built as high as 6 feet tall. My residential chain link fence comes standard with a big, thick galvanized rail across the top.  This makes it easier to rock on top of and gives increased stability.

Sexy and See-Through

I see that the Chain Kink has stoked your imagination.  It that gets you hard, then you might be interested in my dirty little fence secret, the Security Chain Link fence.  Now listen friend, if your home needs maximum protection against potential thieves, vandals and dickheads, or you just like painful, badass, kinky sex, you'll want to invest in a security chain link fence topped with concertina (razor) wire and/or barb wire. These types of fences are typically used in commercial and industrial applications where perimeter security is at a premium, but I can hook you up.  This is the ultimate dominatrix of fences.  She will clean your pipes and have you begging for more.  Now this is not a fence for beginners.  If this is your first fence, we may want to try something that gives you less of a chance of castration.

Be careful with this temptress, she bites!

Now staying on the metal theme, I present to you, the Residential Wrought Iron fence.  This little bitch provides a classic boundary for your property and actually offers medium security, free of charge. These sturdy fences are yielding and reliable.  This is the housewife of fences.  This is a fence that you could fuck the shit out of and then let the kids play on.  A Wrought Iron fence will last for maintain it's beauty and pleasure giving abilities for years.  You never know, one day your grandson could be fucking this fence. She comes in a standard height of 4 feet, but she can be built as high as 6 feet tall.

Firm, reliable, it knows what your body likes.

Now some people get off on Vinyl fences made from PVC.  While not all that attractive, they will provide years of maintenance-free service. These types of fences are becoming popular with everyone from homeowners to farmers, because they're strong enough to do the job and clean up really easy.  You can spray whatever you want on a Vinyl fence.  Semen, vomit, blood, feces, whatever gets you off!  All it takes is a few sprays from the garden hose and your secret kink is washed away before the neighbors wake up.  Vinyl fences can fulfill many of your fencely desires, they come in a variety of shapes and patterns, from picket fences and basket weaves to shadow box and several full privacy selections. If you like your sex interracial, they come in two colors - white or tan. I can even install vinyl railings for your porch, stairway, or deck for ease of access.

Easy to clean!  Spray whatever you want on it!

I've saved the best for last my friend.  The Aluminum fence!  These sexy little fuckers have recently evolved to become a cheaper, sexier, automated alternatives to the more expensive Wrought Iron fences. Like the vinyl fences, a decorative aluminum fence will provide years of maintenance-free security.  But the Aluminum fence can also do something that the other fences can't.... It can fuck you back! 

The Fence that can Fuck back!

These babies can be equipped with an automatic gate operator that swings or slides the fence open and closed.  I can tell from your expression and that bulge in your pants that you are titillated!  These fences will withstand years of harsh weather, and the only suggested maintenance is a good washing once a year.

The "Hips" of the Aluminum Fence.

As you can see, there are many choices of fence available in today's marketplace.  Take this chart to help you decide, and when you are ready, come on down to Burly's House of Fences and we will get some fence pussy all over your dick!  And some fence dick for the wife too!

 "Elliot, it is my understanding that you are very interested in the position of wage officer here at DriskolTec, and by the looks of your resumé I would say you are more than qualified.  But you must understand, Elliot, that we do not hire solely on the profile you prepared for us.  I would like to ask you a few additional questions that are designed to reveal some key personality traits that we may find desirable in potential employees, and maybe a few that we would prefer to avoid, as well.  This is by no means a test with right and wrong answers, but rather a study to learn about yourself and your motivations.  Do you agree to participate?"  The suited man never broke eye contact and appeared to never blink.  His expression was pleasant but seemed superficial.

"Of course sir, it would be my pleasure.  I am always eager to learn more about myself.  I consider introspection a very healthy practice."  In truth Elliot was nervous.  He had already completed a pretty thorough paper questionnaire, and the oral interview was in it's second hour.

"Excellent, Elliot.  We will begin in just a few moments, but please allow me to briefly prepare."  The man stood up, seeming taller than when the two entered the room.  He casually unbuttoned his pants and took them off, gently folding them along the pleats and setting them aside before again taking his seat.  Elliot wasn't sure if this was part of the test or if the man was just preserving the garment.  The pants did look very expensive...

"Thats much better.  Alright, where were we?  Oh yes!  Firstly, do you consider yourself a traditional man, or a man without conventional sensibilities?"  He sat with pen to paper in anticipation of the potentially revealing response.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I understand the question.  What is a 'traditional man' in your estimation?"  Elliot's question went unanswered, but the man hastily scribbled some notes and mumbled.

"Secondly, if you found yourself less than what you always thought you could be, would you endeavor to become what once you thought you never were?"

Elliot took a long pause... "Are you serious?  I have no idea how to answer that question."

"Aha, yes indeed."  The man scribbled more before asking again.  "And if you had really cold feet, like almost frozen, would you let me warm them up any way that I wanted?"

"Um, I don't know.  How would you warm them up?  With blankets or something?"

"Yes, Elliot.  Blankets.  But I might also want to hold them.  Make them warm with my neck-heat.  Nothing weird, just two men trading touches, nothing more."

"I am not sure I am interested in this job anymore.  You are borderline sexually harassing me right now, and I don't really feel comfortable here."  Elliot rose to his feet and began to leave the room.  The man stayed seated but stated no protest to his leaving.  

A few minutes after Elliot left the man pulled his pants back on, and took another look at his documents.  "Damn."  He thought.  "This kid had it all.  But he only lives a couple of blocks from here.  I think I will go lay in his driveway for a few hours."  He never let a good potential employee get away.  Especially one with such beautiful feet.

 We at Popular Irony are as shocked as the rest of the world when we heard the news of Tom Hanks' recent arrest in Atlanta, GA.  Long considered America's most beloved leading man, the star rose from his early comedic roles to become a greatly respected dramatic actor, producer, and even director.   But has he befouled his image enough with this recent situation to end his career?  Read on to find out!

Actual Fake Police Photo

 Early Sunday morning on January 29 police responded to an anonymous tip that directed them to the 2100 block of Atlanta's Clayton County ghetto to investigate an animal cruelty claim.  Upon reaching the scene the officers present observed "a dozen or more" men running from an enclosed parking area.  Several men were apprehended along with one man that was tentatively identified as actor Tom Hanks, despite the suspect's vehement denial of this identity.  This preliminary deduction was confirmed through fingerprint records accessed through cooperation with authorities within the State of California.  Upon interrogation Mr. Hanks reportedly became physically violent, so much so that he was required to be restrained for over three hours until his release to the custody of his wife, Rita Wilson, who posted the $25,000 bail required by the state.

At the scene several illicit drugs were seized along with eleven fighting roosters, each clad in fighting spurs and some showing damage from recent contests.  The remains of three deceased cocks were also collected, along with a half-eaten drumstick that was found in Mr. Hanks' left front jeans pocket.  A total of $1,300 was discovered at the scene and confiscated as evidence of illegal gambling.  And under the  Animal Fighting Prohibition Act that was signed by former President George W. Bush in 2007 the penalties that Hanks faces should he be convicted have stiffened, allowing imprisonment for up to three years.

But what may be more potentially damaging than imprisonment is the loss in consumer support, as there has already been reports of defacement of Hanks' position on the Hollywood walk of fame since his arrest Sunday morning.  Long considered the all-American good guy that mirrored a Rockwelian persona that is fading in this modern age of moviemaking, Hanks faces losing not only his freedom, but the love of millions and the coinciding diminishment of market value as an actor.  Our investigative department has uncovered public offers by fringe news organizations for a copy of the interrogation video that allegedly reveals a shocking and unexpected side of the beloved American icon, complete with racist, misogynist and crude language, and dangerous physical volatility.  Should this footage be leaked it would quite likely mean an end to the positive public image he has until now maintained, and transition him to late-night talkshow joke fodder forever.

We at Popular Irony would like to remind our readers that we never engage in unethical practices such as paying for the illegal release of fake police video footage, and despise animal cruelty in any form.

I recently had an opportunity to engage two of my interests when I combined my love of science with my rampant alcoholism, thanks to the product "Spike Your Juice".  I purchased this online for about $15 and got everything I need to turn six 64 oz bottles of juice into prison wine in just 48 hours!  This is a chronicle of my first batch, which was finished just last week.  Enjoy.

As you can see, here is my ingredients list.  I am using cran-pomegranate juice, but you can use any filtered juice with greater than 20g of sugar per serving.  And remember, junior scientists, cold kills the yeast so NO refrigerated juice, only room temp stuff.

The operation couldn't be simpler.  Just pour the yeast packet into the juice (keep in mind that this is not store-bought yeast, but has a sugary coating to boost reproduction and accelerate the fermentation) and replace the cap with the included gas lock lid, which allows the gas to escape without introducing additional unwanted bacteria.

Now I play the waiting game.  The instructions say it is ready after two days, but three days allows for more thorough fermentation leading to a much more dry and boozy wine.  And since we all know I am looking less for taste and more for shitfacedness, I opted for a three day brew.  It smells like cheap wine.  Because it is.

I decided to down it all in one night, as quickly as possible.  You know, for science's sake.  I used my favorite "Batman Forever" commemorative McDonald's glass, and it came out to 8 full glasses which I eliminated in about three hours.  It was surprisingly good, considering this is essentially the same product brewed in plastic sacks under prison bunks.  Did I get drunk?  Very much so.  I wish I could give a more descriptive account of the aftermath, but I topped off the wine with whiskey and managed to destroy the secure conditions of my testing environment.  I guess I will need to make more, maybe with a higher sugar content, and I might employ a coffee filter in the final stage.  In the name of science.  As a sidenote... if you ever plan to pursue any home experimentation I only ask that you heed the warning on the box:  Never replace the screwcap on your juice after spiking.  It will explode all over the place and leave your home smelling like the final round of a hobo orgy.  Seriously.

Subjected to the pressures of Washington and the liberal media, we at Popular Irony have been forced to break the top secret seal once again. 

We introduce you to another member of our highly classified, elite, anti-terrorist unit, P.I. JOE.  Below is our newest soldier to be "unclassified".  Give the picture a click to view ShitStorm in all his full size P.I. JOE horror.

Collect them all!

 If it was the receptionist's job to make visitors feel welcome then she was failing miserably.  Vic Musket stood in the center of the room as the nervous woman cleared her throat to catch his attention.

"Mr. Stokely will see you now.  Please follow me to his office." She said, then began winding her way expertly through the labyrinth of glass walls and hallways to a set of tall oak doors.  It took all of her strength to wedge them open.  Clearly this building wasn't disabled-friendly.

Bert's figure cut a shadow that was considerably larger than Vic remembered from twenty years ago.  He gripped a double scotch in one hand and held the bottle outstretched in the other.  "Vic Musket.  I believe I owe you a drink."

"That's kinda why I'm here..." Vic paused to pull deeply from the bottle, stopping his host mid-stride as he was retrieving a second glass.  Bert realized he would never get the $500 bottle of scotch back.  "I really got my testicles tangled back in the city, and I could really use the help of someone with political connections.  As you mentioned... you owe me a favor or two..."  Vic pulled open his shirt to reveal a pink scar in the center of his chest, seemingly right over his heart, leading Bert to assume that perhaps he didn't have one.

"Well, the DA out there is my kid's godfather.  Anything you ask, consider it done."  Bert replied with the utmost confidence while sipping his scotch.  "What's the damage Musket?  Did you kill a whore, or something?"

"No.  But all the evidence says that I did."

"Jesus, Vic!"  The businessman said, dribbling scotch onto his silk tie.  "Are you fucking kidding me?  I'm not sure I can pull hard enough to get you out of a rape-murder!"

"I didn't fucking murder anyone, dammit!  And the sex was completely consensual.  Paid for, but consensual.  I'm being framed by someone powerful, so I need my most powerful ally.  Can you help me here?"

Bert was pacing back and forth now, knowing perfectly well how big of a shitstorm he was walking into if he decided to help Vic out.  He knew that this kind of shitstorm always gets in your mouth, but if you throw enough money at it you can at least avoid the hepatitis.  "I'm in.  But let's be clear... when this is done I never want to see you again."

A big smile came across Vic's face.  Once again the piss from the sky was turning into rain.  If there was really a God up above then he must be evil to look after a sinner like him.

To be continued...

"One of my greatest passions is fitness. I would be the happiest woman in the world if I could just tan and relax and workout all day.  I go to the gym everyday of the week and twice on weekends, and have always struggled with the big, heavy glass doors at the entrance.  The other day I was walking out after a particularly hard workout when my phone rang.  I was fishing in my purse for it while holding open the door when.... Snap!  The door fucking crushed my fucking finger!  Cunt fucking whore!  Oh, Jesus.... God fucking damn this fucking hurts!  No, God!  My finger is fucking CROOKED!  Aaagggh!" -  

Bonnie Arthur, Granger NV

"I grew up surrounded by wilderness, and to this day most of my personal hobbies and pastimes involve the outdoors.  I particularly enjoy horseback riding and archery.  A few months ago I had just finished a Saturday afternoon excursion with my favorite horse when I decided to do some target practice with my compound bow.  After a few dozen shots without incident I faltered and the arrow slipped from by grip for a second and... Goddamn my fucking hand!  Aaaaghh sweet mercy it fucking hurts!  Why didn't it go all the way through?  Now I have to drive myself to the fucking emergency room....  Ahhhh!  It fucking burns!" -  

Glen Boughby, Charlotte NC

"My girlfriend and I recently became engaged and decided to move in together.  This meant getting a bigger apartment and finally clearing out the bachelor pad.  I had mostly finished with all the small stuff when it came to moving furniture.  Well my fiancee wasn't much of a help in the heavy lifting department, so I was pretty much on my own with the couch.  I moved it slowly, inch by inch, and was trying to lower it gently down the porch steps when it began to slide.  I quickly grabbed hold and.... Fucking shit!  Goddamn fucking BASTARD!  Is it gone!?  Is it gone!?  Oh my God my fingernail was ripped off!  Aaagggh fucking hell it hurts!    Look at the blood!  LOOK AT IT!" -

 Bryan Felcher, San Francisco CA

"I have been a hardworking man my whole life.  It's how my parents raised me.  I enjoy a good days work and have never done a desk job, nor could I.  With over twenty years of labor under my belt without serious injury I stopped being as careful as I should be last year at the factory.  I was working on the fanblades in the jet lathe and forgot to cut the power first, when Jackie bumped the instrument panel and... Holy fucking agony!  Oh, cruel God  kill me now!!  My flesh has been spiral cut like a honey-baked ham!  God make it stop!  PLEASE God make the pain stop!" -

 Hank Frother, Benton CT

Bear and man has for many years been inseparable, since back in the times when man chase food with sticks and rocks.  Bear represents power, honor, and sexual virility to rest of the animal kingdom.  Here is bear being large and quiet.  He does not need to be loud because he is powerful, and he fears no other animals.  Look into bear's eyes.  Bear is looking back at you.

 Many men owe their livelihood to bear.  Bear has given much effort and served well in many ways.  If dog was not so eager to please bear would be called man's best friend.  Bear can work for man as transportation, and works better than car because car cannot maul attackers, only run them over.  This man is very old because bear protects him in dangerous village.  He was certain to die many times if bear did not devour attackers.

 Bear is also excellent racing animal.  Although very fast themselves, bear prefer to race as jockeys.  Bear make excellent jockeys because they can speak to horse.  Bear tells horse "If you are slow I will eat you.  I am bear." and horse always run very fast.  Although some bear is very large, other bear are small and make good jockeys.  Look at super fast bear win races!

 But sadly some bear hurt man.  Man is too bold when walking in bear territory and forgetting he is delicious.  When bear makes man dead many other men attack bear.  Bear is not used to attacks and runs away from aggressive man.  Man is very angry and chases bear with stick, hoping to make bear hurt or dead.

Men learn to enjoy hurting bear and tries to find new ways to fight.  Man covers bear mouth and claws and fights him.  Although very funny watching at the time, man changes to thinking this is cruel to bear.  Actors in movies and politicians make hurting bear not good anymore, and man stops bear-punching sports.  Now man only shoots bear, and only if he gets bear killing license.

Far from wanting to hurt bear, man now loves bear.  Some man likes to pretend to be bear, have body hair and growl like bear.  Internet has many pictures of man-bear like this picture.  Man-bear shows how much happy he is.  He is very happy to be man-bear.

 This morning I woke up and performed my civic duty in typical American fashion: involuntarily.  I went to the courthouse and served as a juror for the second time in my life, and managed to be dismissed by pretending to have tourette's syndrome and interrupting the judge every four minutes by screaming "Cunt!  Fucking anal whore!" and so on.  That got me thinking... What are the best ways to avoid being selected as a juror?

The judge gives you ample opportunity to save yourself the burden of participating in the justice system by asking several questions to the jury before selection begins.  The man in front of me said that he held a bias against the local police department because "they are all a bunch of ticket-mongers".  Another woman claimed that once saw a house burn down and it would be too much for her to serve on an arson case (how convenient).

These people are rookies.  The lawyers will see right through your objections and select you out of spite.  You have to appear willing to serve, and demonstrate that you would be a terrible choice for the jury.  I say that you wait for a bathroom break and then spark a conversation with a stranger.  Then loudly tell a racist joke, making sure the whole court can hear.  Bonus points if your joke targets the race of the defendant or judge.

Another great trick is to pick a person in the courtroom, if you are a man make sure it is a female, then just stare at them throughout the proceedings.  Whenever the court tries to get your attention shout loudly and act startled.  After a few outbursts one of you will have to go, and hopefully it will be you.

Reverse psychology will work in this scenario if applied properly, as well.  Act super enthusiastic to participate in jury duty, listen attentively and sit up straight.  Then periodically wink at the defendant.  You will certainly be confronted for tampering with the trial, so just deny any wrongdoing and repeat.  They will have to let you go.

For advanced tactics, spend the last twelve hours eating chili until you are sick.  Bark out a few five-syllable farts and the court will throw you out.  At first you may only be granted a bathroom break, but persist with the flatulence and you will win in the end.  Sneak in a stinkbomb for emergency assurance.

And there you have it.  A comprehensive list of proven methods to avoid your civic duty.  Thank me on the way out of the courthouse.

 Vic Musket stood in the shadow of the Renaissance Tower in downtown Dallas.  He was awkwardly dropped off by a big rig in the middle of the morning traffic rush at the heart of the city, and was now faced with the task of tracking down a powerful businessman that once vowed his life to a filthy teenage alcoholic.  A teenage alcoholic that grew into a middle-aged alcoholic and now stood accused of a murder he didn't commit.  But even with this weighing in on him the only desire in his mind was to wash his face, and as soon as he reached the gutter he eagerly splashed the putrid water onto his chin and scrub away with his jacket sleeve.  Visions of the lady trucker's legs parting replayed in his mind, reminiscent of someone pulling open a hot grilled cheese sandwich.  Only less tasty.

Satisfied that his beard smelled more like the putrid water and less like trucker snatch, Vic marched over to the massive tower and entered into the lobby.  This wasn't going to be easy.  Vic knew the man's name was Bertram Stokely, but was positive that the man himself would recognize him only by sight, not by name.  And he was going to have a hard time explaining their relation to the likes of a receptionist.

Twenty years prior the two men met here in Dallas.  Bert was a slacker college student away from home for the first time in his life, and Vic Musket was a 17 year old hustler and gambler that called the streets home.  They both happened to be in a seedy bar in the wrong part of town, Bert was there pursuing a prostitute, and Vic practically lived in the men's room at the time.

Over the course of the night Vic watched the college kid get more and more aggressive with the whore they called "Candy", but was really named "Mildred" as he progressed to increasing stages of drunkenness.  The two were dancing in a way that looked like it required contraception when suddenly Candy started shouting.

"You motherfucker!  You just jizzed all over my favorite stockings!  That's gonna cost you." She started pulling visibly stained nylons from her ample legs while the embarrassed Bert sheepishly looked on.

It turned out he was trying to lose his virginity, and couldn't control himself.  Now he had Candy AND Sweet Teddy the pimp demanding he pay double the going rate for the pop and the cleanup. They kinda had a point, and Bert would have gladly paid.  But when he announced that he only brought $43.76 to cover drinks, a few games of pool, and a lay...  Sweet Teddy pulled a knife.

These days Vic Musket would have sat and gladly watched as Sweet Teddy gutted the rich kid in front of him.  But twenty years ago Vic still had some humanity left in him, and quickly rose to the helpless boy's aid.  Drunkenly stumbling between the two men, Vic grabbed Bert by the collar and managed to drag him out of the front door onto the sidewalk.  Once Vic looked around and saw that Sweet Teddy hadn't followed them outside he looked and was surprised to see that Bert appeared to be unharmed.  Unharmed but appearing to be in shock, staring at Vic's chest.  Vic traced his gaze to the area just below his collar bone, which now had a large switchblade handle sticking out of it.  As Vic slumped to the ground Bert snapped out of his daze, and proclaimed that he would go to get help, and frantically thanked him for saving his life.  As Vic passed out he felt Bert stuff something into his pocket.  He said something, but it was lost to Vic's fading consciousness.

After awakening in a hospital room the next day, Vic was told about how they had received an emergency call from an anonymous young man that saved his life, and he required a blood transfusion.  Vic raised hell until they gave him his stuff back, and angrily checked himself out of the hospital against the urgings of hospital staff, and before the police arrived.  When he stuffed his hand into the pocket he pulled out a card.  A student ID with the name "Bertram Stokely" on it.

Twenty years later Vic stood in front of the receptionist at the head office of a multi million dollar corporation and held out that very ID card.  "Take this to Mr. Stokely and tell him an old friend is here to meet with him." Vic said it forcefully enough to draw no complaints from the 19 year old temp behind the desk.  She ushered off to deliver the message without uttering a response.  Vic waited.

To be continued...