I’ll tell you in advance what the truth about Kelly is. She is beyond spectacular. And she has that “real woman who likes to pose” thing going on. Everybody loves that kind of model. When we interviewed Kelly the first time she was at SCORE (an audio-only interview), and I saw her for the first time, I hallucinated the word BOMBSHELL flashing over her head, like a neon sign on the Las Vegas Strip. It was a sign of things to come. In today’s SCORE Theater vid, Kelly keeps falling out of her lingerie thingie, some lacey outfit cut like a monokini. It seems designed to keep slipping off. Kelly is also pretty much stark naked for a lot of this vid. She talks about modeling at SCORE, meeting Karen Fisher (both were on the SCOREtv Holiday Edition show and that ultimate fantasy threesome a few weeks ago), what she thinks when she looks at her videos and photos, what her husband thinks (she wouldn’t be here without his urging) and more. And all the time, her tits keep falling out. Keep in mind that this is all new to her. To repeat a phrase we started using years ago, there’s no “man-ass” blocking any views of Kelly’s heavenly sights in this vid. Dave stays off camera as he probes Kelly like Mr. Spock doing his Vulcan mind meld thing. We are also treated to the exciting sight of Kelly rubbing one out and doing other titillating things. If you enjoyed last weekend’s hot Kitana Flores body show, tune in for Kelly today inside SCORELAND.
Before you challenge Karina Hart to a game of strip poker, make sure she isn't best friends with Chris Moneymaker.
On Friday, a group of us from SCORE all went out to lunch, like we usually do. The topic of conversation ranged from the girls currently filming in the studio to the New York Mets and all the way back to our worst sexual experiences ever. We really do cover a lot of ground at these outings. And while hearing the tales of Dave’s failed sexual conquests would certainly be the height of anyone’s lunch hour, the topic we touched on the most was your glaring hatred of all things me.
It’s an odd thing. You tell me not to paint visual pictures of my personal masturbation sessions, and I oblige. (And believe me, if I could take anything back in life, it would be that first post. What the hell was I thinking?) You ask me for pictures, and I plaster an enormous one across the top of each post. You beg me to talk about boobs, and I come to you with a shameful confession about my girlfriend’s monstrous rack. So far, I’m 0-3 with a couple of strikeouts and a weak grounder back to the pitcher.
So, let’s try something a little different…
From here on out, you guys get to pick the topic. I said I wanted to make this interactive, and what better way to do that than to give you complete control of the content reaching your screen? Each week, I’ll go through the comments section. see what you guys wanna talk about and choose a topic that seems like it would make the least amount of people hate me. Remember, there are no boundaries, so no topic is too disgusting, offensive or stupid. (Except turkey sandwiches. That’s just dumb. Learned THAT ONE the hard way.)
Since I’m already running long this week, I’ll keep this week’s topic short and to the point:
What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in order to see a pair of oversized boobs?
During my younger years at a house party, I challenged a drunk, well-endowed girl to a game of strip poker. I had no idea she was an online poker junkie. Took her all of 15 minutes to have me with my pants around my ankles in front of the entire party. It was mortifying. I still haven’t fully recovered. And I never did get to see those warlocks.
What about you guys? What traumatizing events have you put yourself through just to catch a glimpse of some super-sized fun? And ladies, what’s the dumbest thing a guy has ever done to try and sneak a peak at what you’re packin’? Also, don’t forget to drop some topics in the comments section, while you’re at it. I swear I’ll do my best to stay on your good side.
Look up. See that picture of Faith up there? Never let it be said that I don’t take constructive criticism. Now that that’s out of the way, I do have a couple of things that I should probably clear up.
First off, The Bucking Bronco isn’t my name. It was strictly the name of the column. Unfortunately, there was some confusion between Dave and I, and the next thing you know, I’m the douchebag known as The Bucking Bronco. Believe me, as awesome as that name might sound, (heavy sarcasm implied), I think I’m just gonna go ahead and stick with Adam. What you’re reading, however, is… The Bucking Bronco.
Secondly, despite what a few of you may think, I am not, in fact, the janitor at SCORELAND. I’m actually below him; something like a janitorial assistant. It pays well, and I get to carry the bucket.
Now let’s get down to business. This column is sort of an open forum. You can either read it and be on your merry way or join in the discussion and make this a more interactive experience. Don’t hold back, either. Anything goes in here. Just think of it as a night out at the bar with the boys. And ladies, you are most certainly welcome–and openly encouraged–to join in the conversation. I don’t think you’ll hear any complaints from the guys.
So if you’d like to join the fun, follow along. Otherwise, feel free to just sit here and stare at that picture for a while. Nobody will judge you for it.
Welcome to The Bucking Bronco…
Whether you’re married, have a live-in girlfriend or still stay at home with the parents, odds are you likely run into the exact same problem as the rest of us: where the hell can I jack it? In a perfect world, In a perfect world, we would have the perfect solution. Unfortunately, this Utopian concept isn’t as widespread as one might hope, so we just have to sneak off and take care of it ourselves every once in a while. Nothing wrong with a little jerk before work.
Today, we’ll try to figure out some of the best and worst places to bust out your light saber when you’re trying to play a little Hand Solo. All locations will be rated on a cup size of A to DD.
The Computer Room [Grade: A-cup]
I know there’s a computer with access to the best of what SCORELAND has to offer, but is this really the ideal way to go about your business? Have you ever tried to do this with other people in the house? It’s the least enjoyable jack you’ll ever have. Every time your chair makes the slightest noise, you minimize the porn window, so only a sports site is showing.
Have you even imagined what that would look like to the person walking in? There isn’t enough time to minimize the window AND stuff everything back in your pants, so you close the most obvious one first (the porn) and then do your best to put the biscuit back in the basket. Meanwhile, they’re watching you tug at your zipper while there’s a giant picture of Derek Jeter across your computer screen. Good luck explaining that one to the wife. Luckily, you won’t have to. She knows that your obsession with marginally talented shortstops isn’t what had you with your pants around your ankles.
Also, how do you handle clean up? Tissues? Towel? Tube sock? No thank you. You’re better off taking your laptop and heading to the next location…
The Bathroom[Grade: C-cup]
The bathroom is the only room in the house where you can lock the door, hang out for 45 minutes and nobody will ever question it. In their minds, you probably just ate at the Dirty Sanchez Taco Emporium for lunch, so not only do they not want to know, but you’re also in no danger of anyone demanding to come in once you’re situated. Need to brush your teeth, honey? “Uh, no thanks. I, uh… I’ll just go to work with the smell of onion bagel on my breath. I’m good.”
The other good thing about the bathroom is that there’s minimal cleanup. You can blast one right into the toilet, flush, wash your hands and then you’re free to go. No messy tissues or sticky towels that need to be shamefully hidden at the bottom of the laundry hamper. Just a quick flush and not even the cast of CSI will be able to figure out what you were up to.
The only thing I hate about the bathroom is that I always feel dirty doing it in there, like I’m doing something morally wrong. I think it has something to do with the lighting. It makes me feel like I’m jerking off in a mental hospital. But perhaps that’s just a personal hang-up.
The Shower [Grade: DD-cup]
When you need a little privacy, there’s nothing better than popping one off in the shower. There’s soap right next to you, no mess, no cleanup and it just feels like something that’s supposed to be done in there. If there were an official shower checklist, I imagine it would go something like this:
_ Wash hair
_ Pee down the drain
_ Wash body
_ Sing loud and off-key
_ Jerk off
_ Dry off
_ HELICOPTER!
I’ve also recently learned about something called the shower beer. I’m not exactly sure where it would go on the checklist, but its future inclusion is mandatory.
The Bathtub [Grade: B-cup]
Someone pointed this out in the comments section last week, and I thought it was worth a mention. I’ve never actually tried this, but I think he might be onto something with this whole “floating balls” theory. Weightless jerking? It sounds like it might have its benefits, especially for those of us who aren’t in the best of shape, but there’s just one question that needs to be answered: What do you do when you’ve finished and everything is floating on the surface of the water, just above you? That’s gotta be an awkward moment.
I think this one has all the potential to be a D-cup scenario, but until we find a solution to that problem, I can’t grade it any higher than a B-cup.
Well, that’s all I got for you today, folks. Thanks for hanging around, though. If I forgot to mention anything or you know of another place to sneak one in, share it with us in the comments below and help your fellow SCORELAND Blog readers out. Also, as a personal thank you for making it all the way to the end, I offer you this…
Because, really, everyone should have a little Faith. THAT’S how we reward you here at the SCORELAND Blog.
Now if you’ll excuse me, these floors aren’t gonna sweep themselves.
Good afternoon, folks. I’m Adam and I’ll be steering the ship of masturbatory celebration today. I know change is scary, but I have the utmost confidence that you all can survive a few hours without flirting with Maria or belittling Dave. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I think if we really give it a shot, we can make it through this one together.
Do you trust me? Good. Then follow along.
They say the eyes are the gateway to a man’s soul. I’d say that statement is absolutely correct.
According to Google, in 2009, you jackals were more interested in porn than both Barack Obama and the New York Yankees…combined. But what does it all mean?
It means that if the eyes are the gateway to a man’s soul, then his soul is a majestic land of threesomes and anal sex. Because, clearly, that’s all his eyes have been staring at these past 365 days.
And that’s why I’m here. To peer into your soul. To shine my flashlight on your late-night masturbation sessions. To peek in your window while you’re nailing the drunk girl from the bar. I’m here to bridge the gap between your world and the porn world. Hopefully, by the time I’m done with you, we’ll all understand one simple fact: you, me, the porn star you were jerking off to in that other browser window…we’re not really all that different, after all. Well, maybe she is. But not you and I.
Welcome to The Bucking Bronco, where we’ll take a look at the lighter side of some of life’s most private moments.
This week’s topic: Performing the perfect jerk.
Remember when you were younger and lived with your parents? Do you remember exactly how hard it was to sneak in a good jerk; listening like a fucking hawk because you never quite knew when your mother would bust down your bedroom door, like S.W.A.T., for no apparent reason? Whenever my mom would come to tell me dinner was ready, it always felt like she was auditioning for The A-Team. I never understood why she couldn’t just knock. Luckily, that all changes when you get older. Once you live on your own, you’ll jerk off right at the dinner table if that’s when the mood strikes. There is no greater sexual liberation than moving out of your parents’ house.
It should go without saying, then, that having your own place is the only way to perform the perfect jerk.
Ideally, it takes place early in the morning, on a day when you have nothing else to do. Maybe you’re sitting at the computer, maybe you’re making breakfast, but out of nowhere, you get that undeniable itch. DO NOT IGNORE THIS. IT IS YOUR CIVIC DUTY TO SCRATCH THAT ITCH. This is about the point where you move your laptop and the baby oil to the coffee table so you can lie naked, watching that Asian girl with the huge boobs get double-teamed, from the comfort of your couch. Normally, you would look around to make sure the blinds are closed and the volume on the computer is low, but this is the perfect jerk, so these things are of no concern to you. You’re on a mission. You apply the baby oil liberally and proceed to grunt and talk dirty to the inanimate piece of technology in front of you. Did you just ask your computer if it “liked that big dick?” Fuck. Yes. You did. Be proud.
After about 10 minutes, it’s time for the party to end. But you’re not about to bust into a sock or a paper towel. No fucking way. When you’re in the middle of the perfect jerk, the last thing on your mind is cleanliness. Instead, you just wail away at yourself until you shoot rope after rope through the air and across your stomach and chest, hoping your body acts as a human shield. If done successfully, you should be able to stand up, walk to the bathroom, rinse off and grab a sandwich before your post-jerk nap. For the life of me, I can’t tell you why, but turkey is considerably more tasty in the minutes just after you’ve finished strong-arming yourself. Trust me. It’s science.
So there you have it. The blueprints for the perfect jerk. Some of you already know exactly what I’m talking about. Those of you who don’t, I suggest you take the time to try it out this weekend. And don’t forget the barbeque sauce. (On the sandwich, of course. Well, unless you’re into that sort of thing.) You’ll thank me later.
Okay, so sometimes I do things I am not supposed to.
I can’t help it.
When the “they” in charge tell me, “Maria you can’t do this and that,” and, “Maria, you absolutely cannot post this and that,” all I hear is, “Maria, we are challenging you to break the rules,” and, “Maria, we triple-dog dare you to attempt to do this. DO IT! DO IT!”
I’m bad. I’m so, so bad. It’s an innate thing. I can’t change it.
That is why when a very-pregnant Kali West was in our studios and they told me, “You most-certainly CANNOT go in there and film her preggo and going at it for the blog,” that is exactly what I did.
I grabbed my video camera, walked into the studio and shot it.
Then I ran, ran like hell and threw this tape at Lester our video editor and told him this was our little secret.
He edited it, and I have sat on it for a few months, patiently waiting for the right time to post it. (You have to time your law-breaking the right way. If you jump the gun, chances are that gun will come back and shoot you in the ass!)
But I figured since Kali is now up on SCORELAND doing a Tits & Tugs scene, this would be the opportune time to give you guys this footage. Sorry it’s dark and grainy. I couldn’t exactly ask them to light it for me, now could I? And I was afraid that if I got closer, that I would have interrupted the shoot and then there would have been hell to pay.
Regardless, here are some interesting deets for you guys.
Kali was four months preggo when she shot Mamazon.
Kali was eight-months during this clam diddling video.
Kali is from Florida and has a 36DD rack.
Kali also stars in Chesty Preggos 2. (With Lorna Morgan, who really butters my biscuits, if ya know what I mean.)
You should, if you get a chance, check out Kali’s tug scene. But for now, enjoy this secret footage that’s not, so, um, secret anymore. lol Come what may, I am always glad to break the law for you guys. 🙂
