You Say You Want a Resolution?

You say you want a resolution?

Well, you know … we’re all full of shit.

Every year, we make the same New Year’s resolutions—which should tell us, by now, that we must not be all that serious about following through with any of it.

Otherwise, we’d have accomplished those missions, and moved on to new resolutions by now, right?

Survey says, in the coming year, you’re looking to:

1. Spend more time with family & friends
2. Exercise
3. Lose weight
4. Quit smoking
5. Have more fun
6. Quit drinking
7. Get out of debt
8. Learn something new
9. Help others
10. Get organized

That’s all well and good, except that, sadly … you’re doomed to failure, same as always.

Why?

Is it for lack of good intentions?

Probably not.

Lack of discipline?

You’re getting closer, but you’re not quite on the tickle button.

You see, the bitch of all these resolutions is … that they’re so damn contradictory.

How the hell are you going to have more fun if you spend more time with your family? And if exercising, losing weight, and getting out of debt were fun - you’d have done them already, right?

Do you really think your friends and family will enjoy your company while you’re quitting smoking and losing weight? 
With cranky old you, wallowing in the depths of deprivation and despair?

They’ll be begging for the return of the fat smokestack they know and love … while they conspire, to kill you.

And I don’t see how quitting drinking is going to help others. Think of the poor bartender who’ll miss your business (and your drunken performances) … and all the potential hook-ups who’ll miss out on you, now that you’ll no longer be rating them through beer goggles.

A perfect ‘10’ will become a so-so ‘6’. And a ‘6’ will become a ‘Sorry … I never want to see you naked.’

Poor, lonely skanks.

As for learning something new, that may sound constructive right now … but once you sober-up, it’s going to sound like a lot of fucking work. Ugh! No fun.

Same with getting organized … not to mention the grief you’ll take from your friends and family (with whom you’re supposed to be spending more time, don’t forget), for your new anal-retentive tendencies.

Which will inspire you, to conspire to kill them back.

So, what’s a New Year’s resolutionary to do?

You need a fucking list, that fucking works.

Try this on for size:

1. Don’t die (otherwise, what would be the point?)
2. Pleasure others the way you want to be pleasured (known as The Golden Shower Rule)
3. Stay out of jail (or you’ll be pleasured in ways you don’t want to be pleasured)
4. Work hard (use your imagination)

There you have it—these would be my big four. Not too many to remember, minimal contradictions … and you can be a fat slob if you want.

I know you can do it.

May the Porsche be with you! (I guess that will be if you have a really good year)

-Harlowe Pilgrim

PS. Thanks to John Lennon and Jesus for their image. :)

Copyright 2013 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC

This piece appears in the ebook Harlowe Pilgrim's Oh My Words! 2013.

Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,     Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.

Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim

Harlowe Pilgrim's Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

You could hear the bed squeaking, from me and my spouse.

Her stockings were flung on the floor without care,

Next to her red Mrs. Claus underwear.

The children were snoring, snuggled up in their beds;

I writhed as their mother gave excellent head.

With Mama on her knees, and I on my back,

I said "Come on up here, and sit on my lap".

As she slid down on me, there arose such a clatter,

But I tuned it all out—what the Hell did it matter?

She looked concerned. "Did you hear that big crash?"

"Don't worry a bit … just work that sweet ass."

I heard some more noise, then I was distracted.

She whimpered and moaned as her sweet pee contracted.

I gritted my teeth, to stay under control,

But it wasn't too easy, in that comely hole.

Once the moment had passed, she caught her breath.

And I wiped from my stomach, her wet G-spot mess.

"I heard it again, do you think it's St. Nick?"

"I was more worried 'bout you riding my dick."

"What if it is? Do you think we should stop?"

"Well, you're not underage, and he's not a cop;

We can't be the first ones enjoying a bone;

He'll do his thing, and he'll leave us alone."

She seemed to agree, and so went back to work,

On what promised to be, a sweet second squirt.

Again there was noise, this time from downstairs,

But when you're going to town, nobody cares.

She was again in the throes, when the corner of my eye,

Saw our door easing open, and the face of a spy.

The red suit and big belly gave away Old St. Nick,

But he had his pants 'round his ankles, and his hand on his dick.

My bride didn't notice, busy coming―not caring.

I shot Santa a look that said "Hey, I'm not sharing."

With a wink of his eye and a stroke of his crotch,

I got the picture; he was just there to watch.

Not sure what to think, I next hesitated;

While he stood in the doorway, and masturbated.

Once she settled down, I said in her ear,

"Don't look now, but Santa is here.

But let's not freak out; he's just horny, you know.

Let's do him a favor, and put on show."

She looked unsure a second, then started to smile.

"Old guy like that, it's probably been quite a while."

With that she climbed off, and laid down on her side.

"I don't mind showing off, but I'm too tired to ride."

"Okay," I said, "guess that it's all up to me."

"Just open me wide, so Santa can see."

I raised her leg high, it was almost a split,

Giving Santa a view, of my wife's perfect slit.

He smiled so big, I knew he approved,

Then I slid my shaft, deep into her groove.

She squirmed and I groaned, both feeling so good,

And Santa was working it hard, like he should.

I picked up the pace, and she squealed like a whore;

I saw Santa grab something up off of the floor.

Then I let loose, she let loose, and Santa did too.

Into my wife shot my gusher of goo.

We both looked over, at the end of our dance,

and saw Santa did his, into her underpants.

"I hope those were dirty; hope that was okay."

Neither of us had a clue what to say.

"That was fun," he continued, "but I'm out of here.

Now you know Santa comes at least once a year."

He pulled up his pants, and was gone in a flash.

I gave my wife a slap on her fine ass.

"You really did good, I think we made his night.

He'll be thinking of us, for the rest of his flight."

Then she eyed the red satin wad on the floor,

Soaking in Santa's shot from before.

"I'm happy for him, but what about me?

Better be some new panties, under that tree!"

And I heard Santa exclaim, as he drove out of town,

"I'm coming back to this place―they have the hottest sex around!"

-Harlowe Pilgrim

Copyright 2012 Cock and Bull Publishing LLC

This piece appears in the ebook Harlowe Pilgrim's Oh My Words! 2012.

Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,     Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.

Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim

This Season’s Biggest Toy

It’s always a big deal to get your hands on the season’s biggest toy.

But toys that big aren’t for everyone.

It can be an awfully tight squeeze … especially in a little … stocking.

And, although everyone likes tearing open a gift, nobody wants a busted box.

(I know that’s a stretch)

You want them to come and have fun … so give a gift that will tickle them pink.

For that, I recommend my novel, Jesus Vs. Santa.

A delicious mix of humor, filth, and blasphemy … it reads like a movie, and eats like a meal.

We’re talking all the fun of a giant phallus, with none of the walking funny after you use it.

Sure, they’ll still be a little sore on the inside (from all the laughing), but nothing that will require medical attention (or stitches).

Most likely.

And if you already got them the big toy? Just keep it for yourself. It wants to live with you anyway.

See? Now everyone’s happy.

Wishing a Merry Christmahanakwanza, to you and yours.

-Harlowe Pilgrim

Copyright 2013 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC

Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,     Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.

Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim

How Sexy is Mrs. Claus?

How sexy is Mrs. Claus these days?

You tell me!

Santa is a very lucky man …

https://www.pinterest.com/harlowepilgrim/mrs-claus/

-Harlowe Pilgrim

Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,     Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.

Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim

Is Santa the Coolest Fat Guy Ever?

Is Santa the coolest fat guy ever?

I think so … check him out!

https://www.pinterest.com/harlowepilgrim/santa-claus/

-Harlowe Pilgrim

Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,     Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.

Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim

Santa and Mrs. Claus Interview, with Harlowe Pilgrim

Hello, this is Harlowe Pilgrim.

When my novel Jesus Vs. Santa wrapped, I conducted a series of interviews with some of its biggest players. The following is my interview with Santa and Mrs. Claus (also known as Kris and Jessica Kringle). 

Pilgrim: Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus! Welcome, it’s good to see you. Ho Ho Ho!

Santa: Ho Ho Ho! I think you stole my line there, Harlowe.

Pilgrim: Well, I’ve written it so many times ...

Mrs. Claus: I’ll say! Jesus Vs. Santa is full of Ho Ho Ho’s!

Santa: Full of Ho’s? Ho Ho Ho!

Pilgrim: (laughs) I think you mean …

Mrs. Claus: Yeah, the laughing kind of Ho Ho Ho’s—not the skanky streetwalking kind.

Pilgrim: I’m glad we got that straightened out.

Santa: Yeah, I thought I missed something there, for a minute. I was just about to re-read the book!

Pilgrim: Maybe you should—Jesus told me he edited a few things.

Mrs. Claus: He did?

Santa: Then I’m probably not reading it again. If he’s been fucking around with it, I probably don’t want to know how.

Mrs. Claus: Agreed. He probably doesn’t.

Pilgrim: So … now that you’re book stars, is life treating you any differently?

Santa: Don’t forget kid, we’ve appeared in lots of books over the years. But I have to say, ever since we appeared in Jesus Vs. Santa, my wife is sure getting a lot more interview requests. And requests for photo shoots. And video shoots. The adults only media seems particularly interested, for some reason.

Mrs. Claus: He says you made me a sex symbol, Harlowe.

Pilgrim: Whoa, that’s giving me a whole lot of credit I don’t deserve. At most, I helped expose you as a sex symbol.

Santa: That’s fair enough.

Pilgrim: I’d like to know how the world ever got the impression she was the old, grandmotherly type anyhow.

Mrs. Claus: I think it was all those other books, and the TV specials and things. I have tended to keep kind of a low profile over the years, so I bet they just went ahead and gave me an appearance that was age appropriate for Santa.

Santa: Age appropriate for Santa? Ho Ho Ho! That’s …

Mrs. Claus: Ridiculous, we know.

Pilgrim: That is not how Santa rolls.

Santa: Ho Ho Ho! Not so long as I can help it! I think I’ll stick with hot blondes.

Mrs. Claus: Ahem.

Santa: Hot blonde. That’s what I meant to say, Jessica Kringle.

Pilgrim: (laughs) So how about you, Santa? Has the book made you a sex symbol?

Santa: I’ve always been a sex symbol, Ho Ho Ho!

Mrs. Claus: Yeah, to himself. I doubt his sex symbol-ness has occurred to anyone else, though.

Santa: What do you mean? What woman wouldn’t want a piece of this?

Mrs. Claus: Um … most of them, besides me?

Pilgrim: (laughs) What a thing to say.

Santa: Ho Ho Ho! Yeah, ouch—that kind of hurt.

Mrs. Claus: Now, wouldn’t it be more cruel of me to foster your delusions?

Santa: Damn … now I’m delusional, too. Maybe fostering my delusions would be a little nicer.

Pilgrim: I find you sexy, Santa. If that makes you feel any better …

Santa: I hope you understand, it really doesn’t.

Mrs. Claus: I’m mostly kidding anyways, you nut.

Pilgrim: (laughs) I thought we all were.

Santa: Ho Ho Ho! Of course … I … was just kidding … the whole fucking time.

Pilgrim: We knew that.

Santa: Wait—so don’t really find me sexy, Harlowe?

Mrs. Claus: Ahem …

Pilgrim: Yes, well, moving right along …

Santa: Hey—are you two just trying to change the …?

Mrs. Claus: Subject? Who, us?

Pilgrim: Santa, we’re trying nothing of the sort. Frankly, I’m a little insulted. So, how about them elves?

Santa: The elves? What about them?

Pilgrim: They seem kind of … well, short, for starters.

Mrs. Claus: Yes. They’re elves.

Santa: Yup. That’s the stereotype—tiny little elves. That’s why they appear so small in the book.

Pilgrim: Aren’t they always that small?

Santa: Nope. Jesus Vs. Santa is chocked full of special effects, and those little buggers are one of ‘em.

Mrs. Claus: Kris …

Pilgrim: You mean to tell me and our audience that the elves were only small for the book?

Santa: Yup. It was all just book movie magic.

Mrs. Claus: Really, Kris …

Santa: It’s true. In real life, we’ve got some elves as tall as pro basketball players. And they can dunk with the best of them.

Pilgrim: Really? I had no …

Santa: Nah, not really, Ho Ho Ho! I was just fucking with you.

Pilgrim: Aw, you were?

Mrs. Claus: You took the bait, Harlowe.

Santa: You sure did, Ho Ho Ho! Sink, line, and hooker.

Pilgrim: Isn’t the phrase, ‘hook, line, and sinker’?

Santa: Well, maybe it is, but good luck getting a sinker to turn tricks for cash!

Mrs. Claus: Can’t say I didn’t see that one coming.

Santa: Which one coming? The hooker? Ho Ho Ho! Then she shouldn’t get money too, should she?

Pilgrim: Not really sure how that works, Santa.

Santa: You know who I ask all my whore questions, don’t you?

Mrs. Claus: Oh no …

Santa: Ho Ho Ho! That’s right—our little friend, Mary Magdalene.

Pilgrim: Mrs. Jesus Christ.

Mrs. Claus: I feel so bad when you guys rag on Mary for all the prostitute bullshit.

Santa: Come on, honey. We tease because we love.

Pilgrim: She seems to take it okay. And she gives as good as she gets, from what I’ve seen.

Santa: Not only that, but Jesus thinks it’s funny. How bad could it be, if the Prince of Peace is okay with it?

Mrs. Claus: You of all people should know the answer to that, Kris.

Pilgrim: That’s a hell of a point, actually. Don’t you remember the shit that happened in Jesus Vs. Santa? Maybe you should re-read the book.

Santa: Yeah, well some of that was kind of troubling … and unpleasant, but … Ho Ho Ho! A joke’s still a joke, right?

Pilgrim: (laughs) Yeah, I guess it is.

Mrs. Claus: (sighs) You guys are something else.

Santa: You are too, sweetie pie.

Pilgrim: Aw, shucks.

Santa: Ho Ho Ho! I did not call you ‘sweetie pie’, kid. But I could go for some.

Mrs. Claus: Always.

Pilgrim: Well, on that note, I guess I’ll let you guys go. Thank you so much for coming in.

Santa: You’re welcome. Coming in was our pleasure.

Mrs. Claus: You’re such a pig, Kris. Bye Harlowe.

Pilgrim: Goodbye, guys.

-Harlowe Pilgrim

Copyright 2012 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC

This piece appears in the ebook Harlowe Pilgrim's Oh My Words! 2012

Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,     Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.

Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim

Santa and Mrs. Claus in Bed

(Chapter Fifty-Nine from the novel Jesus Vs. Santa by Harlowe Pilgrim)

“Oh, baby,” moaned Mrs. Claus, “you’re getting me sooo good tonight.”

“Thanks, honey.” Santa was breathing hard. “I’m doing my best.”

“I can tell. And you feel like you grew two sizes!”

“I don’t think I did, but thanks anyways. You really have me going—I could drive nails with this son of a bitch tonight!”

“You just hold my legs up, and keep doing what you’re doing. Oh God! It feels like you got bigger.”

“I thought you just got tighter.” Santa reached down and wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the base of his burrowing shaft. “Holy shit! I am getting bigger!”

“Oh, baby! Are you all right, Kris? Maybe it’s something you ate. Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck no! You just keep your ass right where it is.”

“Okay. Oh, God! You just got bigger again!”

“Are you sure you’re okay, honey? I don’t want to hurt …”

“Ohhhhh Godddd! Shut up and fu… Ohhhhh Godddd!”

“Shutting up and fucking, honey … shutting up and fucking.”

“Good boy, Kris! Ohhhhh Godddd! Goood boy!”

“Whoa! Holy shit!” Santa felt down between their legs again. “Fuck! It’s as big around as a baseball bat! My hand doesn’t even reach around it!”

“Are you okay, Kris? Whats’ going on … Ohhhhh Godddd! It feels so good, but … oh fuck! You have to get that out of me! Kris! You’re going to split me in half!”

“Okay … I … uh … wait a minute … holy shit! What the … I can’t stop fucking!”

“What? You always say that! Oh Kris! You … your cock is getting HOT!”

“It is! Ahhh! I can feel it too! I don’t know why, but I can’t pull it …”

“OUT! KRIS! Get that thing out of me! You’re going to split me right up the …”

“Oh Jess! I feel that feeling coming on …”

“KRIS! TAKE IT OUT! It’s burning hot! I can’t take it—I’m going to BURST!”

“Oh, baby!” Santa said. “I’M GOING TO BLOWWWW!!!”

The mushroom cloud erupted high into the air, as Santa, Mrs. Claus, and the whole damn State of Hawaii were vaporized in a flash of atomic passion.

“Whoa!” Santa woke suddenly, and bolted upright. “What the … did my dick explode?” He lifted the sheet, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Goddamn … that was a fucking dream?” He looked down at his side, and saw his wife snoring peacefully into her pillow. “Where the hell does a dream like that come from?” He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”

Drenched in sweat, his heart still pounding, Santa stole off for the bathroom. He peeked back at his wife, just to make sure she was still there, and pinched himself, to make sure he was really there.

A piss, a face washing, and a cool drink of water later, Santa settled back into bed, and waited for sleep to come. He noted the clock on the table next to the bed showed 1:03 AM, and closed his eyes.

He fought for what seemed like an eternity to get back to sleep, but thanks to the ceaseless noise of his own wheels turning, he never made it under.

The clock displayed 1:04 AM when next he opened his eyes.

“Oh, you’re going to play it that way, are you?” He sat back up, got out of bed, and started feeling around in the dark for the clothes he’d cast off before rocking and rolling with the Mrs. at bedtime.

Except for the wedgie he got for mistaking his wife’s thong for his own boxer shorts, he was able to get himself dressed in the dark with nary a hitch. “I don’t know how Jess wears those things,” he said, “but at least I won’t have to floss my ass-crack again anytime soon.”

###

Read the other 92 Chapters of Jesus Vs. Santa!

Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at Amazon, iBooks,     Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.

-Harlowe Pilgrim

Copyright 2012 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC

Follow on Twitter @ https://twitter.com/HarlowePilgrim