When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for Robert Gindes to ask me to write something for Blazing with Phelps, pretty much humanity is fucking fucked. The first thing I asked myself when I was offered the gig was, "why me, Rob? Why would I write for such a stellar publication as this, when I could instead wallow in self-imposed anonymity at my own domain, damawesomemike.blogspot.com?" The second question I asked myself was, "Hardcore or Ebony?" (I was looking at porn while asking myself question number 1) Incidentally, the answer to both questions is Ebony.
I don't fancy myself a writer. Sure, I'll sometimes take pen to paper, scribbling furious confessions of love and loss into frenzied verse and turning the muddled confusion of my mind into a dazzling parade of simile, metaphor, and litotes, but I don't fucking enjoy it that much. I'd much rather be banging bitches.
Still, as God himself once told me, "First Blazing with Phelps, then on to the pussy I felt." Did that make sense? No. Did God actually say that to me?
Yes, sometimes I like to tell a joke or two at a party, but I don't think I'm funny enough for this site. I mean, I read it everyday. It's my home page; my temple; my synagogue; my the Muslim one. Humor oozes from this site like water from Anne Sullivan's hands. Oh, I think I found the one thing that BwP doesn't have enough of: Helen Keller jokes!
The problem with Helen Keller as a subject for a joke is that she's too easy. To bang, I mean. By the time she realizes what's going on, you're already inside of her. And that, my friends, is a well-executed Helen Keller joke.
Fuck it, I'm done. I would now like to invite all the contributors here at Blazing with Phelps to suck my penis; I just wrote a piece about nothing at all. I may as well have submitted a blank word document to Rob, so it would show up on this blog as a huge, black...void. That would have been an easier way to share my love of Ebony porn with everyone.