Jimmy’s Long Silence

Whoa. What a long time has passed, senioritas. Well, the inevitable happened to poor ol’ Smithers. Yeah, you guessed it honeys, my mother told me I better clean up my shit if I wanted to reap the benefits of her weekly Benjamin Franklin that went directly to cases of Natural Light and personal lube in bulk from the local Costco.

So’s I had to experiment for like a week of not drinking just to prove to her that her son isn’t a complete fucking rum head failure. I did fine, until the third day when I went into a little watering hole out by the airport where I socked back a few that were on happy hour special. Turns out, the place was a fairy bar. I guess I should’ve known by the dance music at 2 in the afternoon, but what the hell do I know? I didn’t care anyway. Hell, I’m as gay friendly as the next guy, you homos. A guy can knock back a few cold ones with a bunch of gay men, and have it be okay. I am totally fine with my sexuality. And besides, I’m half a fag anyway, since I like ladyboys. Went into the men’s room for a major crap attack after eating some tacos from the free buffet. Big mistake. There was a hole cut into the wall of the shitter, and as I’m getting comfortable, some wiseguy puts his member right through the fucking thing.

What do you think you’re doing, cowboy? Drilling for oil?!

Well, after cursing at this dude to put his rig away, I threatened to inform the proprietor of the establishment about what had just happened. See if ever return to this dump. Anyways, I finish my business on the pot, reach into the toilet paper dispenser to get to work on my fat arse, and discover that there is none left. Jesus Christ!

I kick open the door to the stall and splutter as loud as my voice can carry over the Swedish Supergroup singing about dancing queens, Where for fuck’s sake is the shitting paper!?

Yeah. Lousy time was had by all.

Anyway, after some twink brings me my roll of paper, I finish up and go back to my seat at the bar. I have to say one thing about these fruit loops, they throw a pretty mean party, so I tossed a few more cold ones back and actually got to talking to a few of them. Real sweethearts.

Well with my little sobriety experiment out of the way, and, hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, I start making plans for another big trip to the Land of Ladyboy Smiles. I contact Poppa Percocet who has been off the radar for a while now. He’s been hiding out in Cambodia, doing pills, whoring around, the regular shit that gets him into trouble with the authorities. I tell him, Jimmy’s laying out coin for a ticket soon, you better stock up. Though truth be told, I don’t know much about Cambodia, other than there are a lot of poor kids, and some wild shit happened when Nixon bombed the Anger Wat.

The only other thing I know about Cambodia is from the Angelina Jolie picture I wrote about before. Christ that picture still does it for me. Angelina, if you are reading this honey, Jimmy Smithers will donate his kidneys to some orphans if you would let me massage your tootsies with my exposed tongue after you have been wearing very heavy nylons for three days straight in the scorching heat of Africa while posing for photo-ops with filthy naked babies for the UN.

What I would give to be one of those poor and hungry black babies suckling at your mammary overflowing with the milk of compassion in the dust of some sub-Saharan nightmare!

Oh to dream my filthy dreams.

What else to report? I got a shitty job at the charity consignment shop. It’s part time and it’s run by the church that I never go to, except when my mother wants to go to Christmastime Mass, and I have to spray this perfume all over her clothes from one of those old atomizing bottles that she has had since Hoover took office, then go into that nightmare of a church with the stink of incense and flickering candles and the horrors of old people trying to sing in monotones about God knows what. And it barely pays for my Natty Light stash, and an occasional visit to the rub and tug, and there’s some old broad who I work with, but she plays some crazy religious music all the time from a beat up old cassette player that someone donated. She plays the freakin’ thing so loud that there is a weird rattling sound in the speaker. I like the job because I get to go through the boxes of old VHS tapes looking for an old shemale gangbang flick that might have gotten tossed into the box accidentally.

Anyway, I’m back. I’ll write more, and that’s a Jimmy Smithers promise!

She’s no lady. He’s a ladyboy!

Jimmy Smithers, your international lady(boy’s) man 


Jimmy’s July

Yo ho ho, homos! I am finally getting back the feeling in my fingers after the 4th of July accident this year. I won’t bore you with the sordid details. But when I woke up on the 4th around 4 am, I was feeling pretty patriotic. Yeah, it was early, but what the hell. I was also drunk, so I guess that didn’t help matters.

So’s I rummaged around in the closet looking for something fun from last year, some firecrackers or even a few of those that explode in different colours in the nighttime sky, then I cranked up some tunes on the Hi-Fi, mostly Lynerd Sinnard, poured myself from the gallon jug of vodka and mixed it with grape juice, then headed out on my porch.

The pre-dawn darkness was great. The perfect time. Just Jimmy Smithers, his jug of special sauce, Linnard playing Sweet Home Chatanooga, and, oh yea, I propped Lady Yu Hu up on one of the patio chairs so she could dig the scene too. Man, I was on a roll.

But here’s where it all went south, honeys. Yeah, you guessed it. The fuse got all buggered up or something and it took off right out of my  hand prematurely, leaving a pretty nasty burn mark up my wrist and forearm. It hurt like hell, and I barely got the damn thing off when the phone starts ringing, dogs are barking, all this heavy bullshit. I took a pic right before I lit it to give you a better idea of the fun times Smithers was having while all you dog-farts were eating wieners and drinking Apple-tinis in the backyard with your wives and homo friends.

That reminds me of the 4th of July picnic in Bangkok Jimmy used to cruise when he was living la Vita Loco in the Land of Vertical Smiles. Talk about hot action. After spending too much time in Cascades in Nana all the time, I really started to miss good ole’ fashioned American-made and brewed beer. That’s why when I was in town, I’d mosey on down to the Independence Day picnic just for the ice cold Budwesiers and hope to Christ that I didn’t make a fool of myself and soil my diaper.

Well, it always happened. Once I really made an ass of myself. Some bigwig from the American embassy was at the celebration, and I drunkenly rambled on about the UFO landing in Arizona that happened in like 1937. I told him about a guy I knew in rehab whose brother was a guard at the secret place in the desert, and he had to shoot anybody who went near the rubber alien men. I guess I just thought he would know about it, since he was some head honcho over at the embassy and they need to get briefed on all the crazy secret shit like the Lock Ness monster, Big Foots, and the movie they made about the moon bounce.

So’s I got to the part about the Martian bodies, and how they look all gray and humanoid-like with these really big eyes that make them look like my grandmother’s eyeglasses, and that there is a secret hangar called Studio 54 in Arizona where the United States government employees are extracting DNA from the poor little guy’s nutsack and trying to read his brainwaves with an X-Ray, or probe his little balloon-knot anus, and shit like that, when the dude basically said “Excuse me…” and left me hanging there sweating like a douche with my Budwesier in my hand getting all warm. Man, I felt like a real schmuck. I felt like Big Baby Kenny Ng does every time he approaches some Buddhist teenagers to invite them for a soda pop. I just limped away to get another cheeseburger and to look for Lima Bravos who may have gotten past the metal detectors. Not that I’d be having any luck with them.

Speaking of Lima Bravos, it’s been a long time since old Jimmy got his hemorrhoidal sphincter worked out by a ladyboy. I know. I go on and on about them, but truth is, I wish I had more luck with them. There are a few trannys in my suburb, but they mostly hang out at the truck stop out on the interstate. I can count them all on one fist. There’s “Chanel”, “Lani” and “Trevor”, the black dude who puts on some crazy wig and calls himself a lady. They all have had enough of my shit by now. Man, I gotta get outta here, like Big Baby Kenny Ng. He’s got the right ideas about food, Ladyboys, Thailand, illegal gambling, and sexy Buddhist school girls he likes to nail. He’s the man. And now he’s living it up in the Land of the Rice Cakes.

So’s I was cruising the internet for a new ladyboy website, when I found this pic. Man, Jimmy Smithers is jealous. This guy scored big time. I wish Big Baby Kenny Ng would teach a class or something at California University about how to succeed with the ladyboys. Because, I think the ol’ Jimmy Smithers special formula is losing its mojo. Anyway, what I would give to be this guy, if only for a brief minute before I blow some beans into my adult diaper.


She’s no lady! He’s a ladyboy!

Jimmy Smithers, Your International Lady(boy’s) Man!

Fifty Shades of Jimmy Smithers

My mother called me last week on the telephone, and she started droning on and on about some new book that all the ladies in her building are reading: 50 Shades of Earl Grey, or some shit like that. She’s going on and on about how she really loves the book, so’s I hold the phone away from my ear: blah, blah, blah. I’m like Great, Mother. Gotta go. I’ve got lube all over my hands. But I don’t tell her this. I say some shit like the cats just vomited all over my vinyl Freddy Fender record collection, just to get her to shut up.

So, get this, I tell my bartender, some minx named Ellie with sagging whiskey tits and a tattoo of a rainbow-colored unicorn on her arm, about this book, and she launches into this shit about it being a porno book, or something like that, only she calls it “erotica”. No shit? Ellie tells me she read the whole trilogy and that the books are about some guy named Earl Gray who likes to tie his bitches up with electrical cord. Whoa, I say to Ellie. I could write a book like that! I tell her that I just tied up Lady Yu Hu last weekend, and I put a sack over her face. She loved every minute of it. Ellie just laughs at me as usual. She thinks I’m bullshitting her.

But she really got my mind humming. I love that kinky shit. If ladies like my mother are really running through several pairs of panties over this Earl Gray guy, wait till they get a load of the fifty shades of Smithers. I’ll blow their minds. Tie them up, tickle them with goose feathers, put a sack over the head, tie them to television console, bend them over the ironing board, make them piss in the litter box, shit like that. That takes care of chapter one.

Yeah, now Jimmy’s really getting some steam here. Maybe crank one of these books out every week like Stephen Leather does. He’s been writing erotic short stories! Unbelievable. He’s like the next Anais Nin! I gotta get my hands on “Banging Bill’s Wife.” It’s probably awesome. I need some good one handed reading material….my subscription to Frock Magazine is ending very soon.

Anyhoos, my 50 Shades of Jimmy Smithers will be more like non-fiction smutty stuff. Me meeting up with some babe (like the chick who works at Dairy Queen — call me, Tanya, if you want to make a quick 50 to kick me in the nads again), spanking her with with a toilet brush, farting in her face, all the good stuff. We are talking Hot. Smithers. Action.

Anywhoos, I got lots of research to do, but luckily I have Lady Yu Hu to practice on. I handcuffed her to the shower rod last night, but because it was made of plastic, the whole thing fell into the bathtub and Lady Yu Hu was none too pleased. I was bummed. We were both soaking wet, and the little key for the handcuffs got stuck in the shower drain. So’s, I had to drag Lady Yu Hu and the shower curtain rod out into the living room, manoevre my fat ass into the tub on my hands and knees to retrieve the key. Then the telephone rings (Saphan Loy again) and the cats are all mewing for something to eat. God damn it!

In other news, and this kind of sucks ass, I was farting around on the internet again and noticed in the browser history on my old Gateway (yeah, the one running Windows Millennium Edition — take that Apple!) that someone’s been using the computer, and not at my normal Asian Ladyboy sites, like Stickmanbangkok.com or bigbabykenny.com. Someone was looking at Tagged.com. So I looked around some more, and much to my freaking horror, I found Lady Yu Hu’s profile! That two-faced silicone fuck twat! What’s even more shocking is that she is getting friend requests!

A quick perusal of her profile, and I discover that one of her “friends” is starting to get real chummy and sending her gifts and and love hearts and shit. Here’s a pic of the dude, so if you are ever down in the Philippine Islands, tell him to keep his dirty hands off the send button. Filthy pervert! Get your own Japanese fuck doll…this one cost me a pretty penny, Lothario!

Oh well, maybe I’m too possessive. Maybe Lady Yu Hu should have more opportunities to fuck other guys, or cybersex them, show them her plastic pussy on the webcam, or whatever. Maybe we should have an “open relationship.” I know that love is really heartbreaking, but what the hell? I thought that me and Lady Yu Hu were tight like that. Sure, I’ve been a little distant lately, hitting the sauce and sinus meds a little too hard, not paying as much attention as I should, and my crap attacks aren’t the prettiest thing in the world. But fuck me! What does this Burmese guy have that I don’t??

Lady Yu Hu is in the bedroom closet. We had a big fight about her Tagged account, so I put her in there for a while to cool off. I got to get back to my Book 50 Shades of Jimmy Smithers. Yeah, maybe that will get my mind off things.

Chapter 1 — it was a dark, stormy night……and Jimmy Smithers stopped at a hardware store before picking up Tanya from her afternoon shift at Dairy Queen but he also got her some ointment for the cracking sores between her toes at a drug store not far from the hardware store, but they were all out, so he had to drive in the freaking rain clear cross town to the other drug store and his cell phone battery was running low and Tanya had to tell him what aisle the fungal cream was found in, and he was this close to cancelling the whole fucking thing because he didn’t know what kind of rope and c-clamps to get at the hardware store and was pretty humiliated by the whole episode when the dude who worked there asked him all sorts of hardware related questions, and Smithers had to lie and tell him he was building a wine rack in his garage, or some shit like that.

Ok, bitches. Stay tuned for the hot stuff. Coming soon!

She’s no lady, he’s a ladyboy!

Jimmy Smithers, your international lady(boy’s) man.

Jimmy’s Colonoscopy

Well, bitches. Lordy, so much has happened I don’t know where to begin. So’s, I’ve been unemployed for the past few months, so I’ve had lots of time to chat on ladyboy forums, download quality transvestite articles from the interwebs, checking out the hot erotica fiction at my public library, and also other shit that’s kind of top secret right now. The Saphan Loy guy has been hassling me for a new story, and I’m like, calm-the-fuck down, honey, I’m busy. He calls me a few times a day to hurl abuse at me. I’m like, whatever, fucktard. But I don’t say that to him directly, because he’s kinda powerful, and would have my nutsack in a sling.

So’s my mother’s been paying my rent, which, yeah, is kinda humiliating. It gives her a lot of say in my world. Like when I should bathe, and I should wipe my ass better and get a job, that kind of motherly shit. Oh, on the job front, i had a few interviews for sales clerk positions at the Sears and Roebuck Company at the Hilldale Shopping Mall (not it’s real name, i don’t want you nutjobs knowing where i mark my territory), and the Blockbuster video store that has been converted to an adult video store with a pretty lame bisexual section if you ask me. Both times the douchebags who were interviewing asked me about my blog and said they Goggled me. Jesus Christ. Who the hell are you, the CIA?? I can write whatever the hell I want. Last I checked, we weren’t living behind a Bermuda Wall or something like that. So’s I say, yeah, I write a blog about ladyboys. Man, I might as well have just said I’m a Nazi sympathersiser. They looked at me like I just mudded my shorts, which I probably did.

Anyhoos,  they asked me more about this and that, and did I like to use the computer, how often did i write, shit like that. I’m like, fuck me raw, Kojak. This is going nowhere. Oh, get this. They asked me about the people I write about, like Big Baby Kenny Ng, that fat bastard who hasn’t written about hot Asian ladyboys in like more than a year. Then, the next question, What about Poppa Percocet? Then, who is Lady Yu Hu? 

Basically, it cost me a job at Sears Roebuck (see if I ever buy a claw hammer and duct tape from those assholes again), and it may have cost me a job at the adult DVD store. You would think that a guy with a healthy interest in Asian ladyboy dominatrix videos would have a leg up….or maybe a dick up over the competition. But this pencil-necked dork (the owner’s freakish son, Ryan who wears black fingernail polish), just let me sweat there for a while after asking about ladyboys. Then, yeah, you guessed it lovebirds, I had a crap attack. Ryan says, like a real smart ass, the restroom is for employees only. At that point, I’m done with the interview. So’s I say to him, look Ryan. I don’t give two fucks if you don’t want me to work here. You either tell me where the crapper is, or I’m going into “Preview Booth” number 3 and doing my business right there on the floor like a fucking barnyard animal.

The old Blockbusters Video store

He looked a little surprised, then was like, I was just messin’ with you, Jimmy. Here’s the key.

Yeah, I let loose in the bathroom. I was like, I am not even flushing or washing my hands. The sign says that only Ryan has to wash his hands, anyway, cause he’s an employee. Ryan and his father’s nasty store can go down the shitter too, for all I care. I’m thinking, I’m not coming back here to add to my transvestite porn anytime soon.

See you next Tuesday, Jimmy. New bukkake releases coming.

Ok, Ryan.



The highlight of my past few months of lounging around drinking Natty Lights and popping sinus pills, with the occasional email to Poppa Percocet, Big Baby Kenny Ng, or Saphan Loy, was the anal probe I got last month. Totally friggin’ awesome! They drugged me up on Propofol (yeah, the Michael Jackson juice), then inserted the crazy pipe into my asshole and took some pics. And, get this bitches: my doctor was a smokin’ hot piece of ass! Before they knocked me out, i told her, what, no foreplay, sweetie?

Too bad I don’t remember them lubing up my bunghole or anything. And I was a little embarrassed that all these young Filipina nurses would get a good gander at my tiny limp member. Like I said, it was over pretty quick. That Propofol is the magic Jimmy Smithers sauce. Now I know why Poppa wanted to score some in Cambodia. Man, did I drink the Kool-Aid bigtime on that one.

Anyhoos, I guess my doctor wanted to get to the bottom of my crap attacks once and for all. She was nice about it until she found out that I would pay with my overextended Discovery card, plus my mother’s debit card.

Bitches. They all want Jimmy’s moulah. Then I have to ask my mom for a loaner, and she hurls abuse at me about this and that.

Ok. That’s all for now.

I’m gonna write more this summer, since Saphan Loy is like, you better fucking write something. Ok, ok, re-fucking-lax, or I’ll kick you in the nads.

I’m about to put on some quality preggo videos, have a go at Lady Yu Hu, then call Big Baby Kenny Ng and ask him about some Thailand related shit and whether he can help Poppa Percocet who has been rotting in some hell-hole in Pattaya, pickled to the gills in Chang beer and Tramadol.

Jimmy Smithers

Your International Lady(boy’s) Man

She’s no lady. He’s a ladyboy!

Jimmy Goes to the Dentist

So’s, honeys. Here’s how it went down. I came off a rollercoaster of a holiday. The booze, the porn, the pills, the broads. By “broads”, I mean the women who work at my local pharmacy. Unfortunately, that was the only play I got the past few weeks. There’s one old bird who works at the counter there. A big woman with bad skin. But hey, Jimmy can take all the lovin’ he can get. We flirt every time I pick up my  hemorrhoidal creams. I usually say somethin’ like, it must be hard standing on those dogs all day, as I look down at her white old lady shoes, the comfortable kind that has no stylistic markings, other than to say these shoes are for old ladies, and they are comfortable. You know the kind. She usually giggles, and I imagine massaging those puppies while pumicing her corns and callouses. Then we talk about the weather. And then I leave.

Well, I had to go get a root canal this past week at the local clinic, lovebirds. So’s I go into the room, and an Asian bird greets me. Hiya, hon. Send the doc in, my tooth is killing me. Big mistake. Turns out, she is the doctor. Great. It’s Ho Chi Minh’s granddaughter. With a fucking drill in her hand. Now, normally I’m okay when an Asian chick puts something in my mouth: as long as it an Asian chick with a dick. But it’s hard to wrap my melon around Asian birds with needles and drills and shit.

So’s I already made a big fucking mistake, right? And I get my fat ass into the chair, and I immediately spot the needle in the bird’s hand, and she is going right for my gums with the fucking thing. Slow the fuck down, Miss Saigon! Bring the gas mask!

I need the gas badly. I can never take a root canal without the gas. She should have at least read my fucking chart before I even got there. Would it have killed her? So’s I tell the lady, Look. Gas me up. You can do anything you want in my mouth. Take a shit in it, for all I care. Just give me the gas.

So she cranks up the Nitro machine and puts the mask on my face, and in no time, I’m “comfortably numb.” Yeah, just like Pinky Boy Floydd. Once I relax a little, I start to worry that I will have a crap attack in the chair. But something else happens. Yeah, you guessed it, numbskulls. My 3 1/2 incher starts to wake up in my pants. Great fucking timing.

So’s, this lady dentist is listening to some crap on the radio, but I’m kinda zoning out, and that’s when I hear her say it: “This one for Mai Lai.”

What did you just say, you crazy fucking bird?

I try to speak, but I can’t, because there’s a vacuum in my mouth. Maybe I misheard. Yeah, she couldn’t have said Mai Lai. Maybe “open wide”?

Whatever the case, I start fantasizing about Dr. Mao. I’m a soldier in Vietnam, captured by the VC. She has been called in to extract some critical information from me. I resist, feebly. Then she breaks out the dental equipment. I wet my pants and spill the beans about my platoon’s movements through the jungle, how many virgins we despoiled, how many villages we plundered. I tell her everything. Hey, I’m no John McCain! To reward me, she lowers my trousers and takes out my 3 1/2 incher, gives it a few vigorous rubs, and extracts my DNA manually to feed the water buffalo and chickens and ducks with.

Whoa, that is hot, ladies!

Next thing I know, she’s done with the root canal, or whatever the hell she was doing in there. I can barely speak. My mouth feels just like it does after I perform oral on a Thai ladyboy at Cassanovas: numb and wet, and tasting of chemicals.

Wow. That’s it for now, babes. After I had my turn with Ho Chi Minh’s daughter, it was, yep, you guessed it fruitcakes, Lady Yu Hu’s turn.

After me, it was Lady Yu Hu's turn in the hot seat.

Time to crank up the VCR and check out some bukkake action, then rub one out.

She’s no lady. He’s a ladyboy!

Jimmy Smithers, Your international lady(boy’s) man

Jimmy’s Triple-XMas Wishes

Yo, ho ho, sweet bitches. Jimmy’s on a roll. Been drinking for the past two weeks or so, trying to ratchet up my blood alcohol content to unbelievably stinking levels. Charlie Sheen is as winning as Charlie Brown compared to me. As you all know, without much work, I’ve been forking over the food stamps for my daily whack-fest of Natty Lites, Peach Schnapps, and sinus meds. Wow. I’m talkin’ killer levels. The old VCR has been firing on all cylinders. Although yesterday, I had some major difficulties getting my old Gangbuster 2 to play. You know, the one with the black basketball team and the petite Tokyo street-walker?

So’s you know, life this high is as good as it’s gonna get for good ol’ Jimmy Smithers. But it’s been a wham-bam-thank you ma’am kinda year. To celebrate, Lady Yu Hu has gotten quite a few good rides lately. The stains across her rubbery abdomen bear witness to that mother-effin’ fact.

Anywhoos, my mother came over to the apartment to wake me up this morning. She opened all the shades and told me to get my fat lazy ass up. Luckily, she didn’t see Lady Yu Hu in the closet, or the stack of transsexual porn on the coffee table. My mother was on and on about Xmas, and all this other shit. I’m like, Chill-fucking-Ax, mother. You are so lucky I’m not in Thailand; you wouldn’t hear from me for weeks, while I drunkenly hit every single ladyboy bar I could find (my hemorrhoids be damned) while I allowed myself to be fucked like a red-neck prom queen.

Hmmm. If I had the good fortune to be in Thailand during Xmas, what would I do? Let’s see. A quick perusal of the things on offer over on the Stick’s site lists a bunch of lame, inedible buffet specials at mediocre brothels. So’s, I’d get out my well-fingered copy of Sukhumvit Psycho’s Massage Guide to Testicle Massages (the perfect stocking stuffer) to look up a hot, old Thai lady who is also an expert at the Asian Testicle Massage (ATM).

Here’s what I would do, honeys. To get things started, at the ass-crack of dawn, I’d pop open a Chang and swallow a few Xannies. Yeah. That would get the old Smithers love engine purring like a pussycat. Then, after assaulting myself with some dishwashing liquid, I’d get dressed in my diaper, my best wife-beater, and a pair of soiled khaki shorts, and head out into the streets of Bangkok to see if there are any straggler ladyboys trolling Sukhumvit. I’d let them grab me, grope me, and steal my special decoy wallet. The petty thieving bitches!

Then, oh, around 10 am or so, I’d find some Thai cougar to massage my aching back and asshole for a while as the sun really starts to heat things up in the Big Mango. Yeah. That’s right. Here’s a hundred baht for your troubles, sweetheart. And clean the fucking linens once in a while, will ya?

Then, time to eat, because around that time, the Smithers sauce is spent (if the massage lady did her job properly with the old prostate), and I be gettin’ hungry, ladies. Fried rice, a few bottles of Chang, another Xanny or two. Winning? I call it Shit-eating Grinning.

Okay, girls. I’m getting so worked up just thinking about XXX-Mas in Bangkok that I’m gonna go molest myself and discharge a long ropey wad of Smithers Special Sauce onto Lady Yu Hu’s rubber feet while watching some kick-ass bukkake porn and drinking egg-nog and brandy (a gift from the guy at the adult theater out on Route 17).

So, ho ho ho to you, skanky hos. Looking forward to some fine ladyboy action in the New Year. Diaper me, booze me, tatoo me, screw me.

She’s no lady. He’s a ladyboy!

Your international lady(boy’s) man

Jimmy Smithers


Dick the Halls with Balls and Holly

Well. The inevitable happened: good ol’ Jimmy Smithers was sent packing at the tyre center. Yep. Packed up my desk, turned in my little laminated badge, and said sayonara, fruitcakes, I’m off like a prom dress. Then, I put my shit in my mother’s Ford focus, and I didn’t look back. Linda and Kim can kiss my fat hairy white ass. Bitches. Before signing off, I deleted everything I ever wrote for those bastards on the computer, then streamed a long-ass video of some hot gangbang action onto the network server. I know I created extra work for Warren, and he doesn’t deserve that, but I figured he’d tell them what I did, and that would piss them off.

Still, I was depressed and needed a drink, so I stopped off at the liquor store to get a gallon of “Old Man” vodka, the kind my grandpa used to drink because it was the cheapest stuff they had. I also bought some Gatorade to mix it with. Then, I got home, took off all my clothes, drank one of my concoctions, and popped in some vintage bukkake porn on the old VCR, dragged out Lady Yu Hu from her closet, and waited for the magic to begin. The romance.

The cheaper, the better

Lady Yu Hu wasn’t feeling it, but I was after a few Gatorade and Vodkas. So I had a go at her, but she seemed distant. Detached and aloof, not into the bukkake or transvestite videos. Anywhoo, she knew something was wrong. But I busted a nut anyway, then immediately felt a crap attack and rushed into the bathroom. Boy, I was so depressed, I didn’t even clean up Lady Yu Hu’s nether-regions until much later. At the liquor store, they were playing some shitty holiday music that got me in an even fouler mood. Maybe I should decorate the apartment with that old box of tinsel and decorations my mother gave me?

So’s. What else. Oh, yeah, my bud Big Baby Kenny Ng has stopped posting on his blog, and this is depressing too. I used to really love reading his stories about Thailand and ladyboys. He was the man! The fat man! But I guess the Stickman is right when he says he is the only only one left in the Thai scene. Who would have thunk it? He is still going strong, taking pictures of children and women’s asses. He’s like a real photojournalist. Capturing that squalid little world of his. I don’t blame him. It’s lonely at the top. Keep on keepin’ on, Sticky. Maybe one day someone other than you will publish a snapshot you took.

What else? I’m sorry to say that the LB action is non-existent in my hometown. Occasionally, a friend of mine, we’ll call him “Renee”, will put on a dress and whack off with me, but that’s about it. He’s been hitting the meth pretty hard lately, and I think he sold his women’s clothes to a pawn shop. What with the price of meth so high, and the holidays coming, he probably needed the money.

My friend, "Renee."

I finally bought Hangover II on DVD, just so’s I can look at Kimmy, the hot TS who stars in that film. Yasmin Lee, I would have your baby, if I could. I mean, if men could get pregnant by ass, by way of some kind of ass-womb, and you seeded me properly. You are a hottie and a sweetheart! I keep forwarding it to that scene, and it makes me long for Bangkok and the hot LBs there. It also makes me fantasize that one day, someone powerful will read my little blog, and give me enough money to live in Bangkok and compete, head to head, with the infamous Stickman. Now, that would be something.

I’d write more, but I made a batch of egg nog with some brandy and raw eggs, and my ass is begging for the bowl. I’ll also write more about the Poppa, despite his recent threats via email.

That’s all, ladies.

She’s no lady. He’s a ladyboy!

Jimmy Smithers, Your International Lady(boy’s) Man