Monsieur knows a lot about entertainment. Know a lot about perversions

total found: 1000

No texts were found for the "by phrase" mode, the result is for "any word"

Our man is in France for the first time and decides to run into
Try a French restaurant.
But I confused it with a brothel, and there are also tables there,
They drink coffee, everything is generally civilized.
He sits down, which means he is at the table, and the master (M) approaches him.
(M) - Monsieur wants a girl?
Ours - Nope..
(M) (with interest) - Then, probably, a boy?
Ours - Oh, what are you talking about...
(M) - What then does monsieur want?
Ours - Yes, I would like a rabbit, and with mayonnaise..
(M) (admiringly) - Oh!! Ms. e understands a lot about perversions!!

A climber who has been lost in the snow for a week comes across
to a high mountain brothel. Madame meets him at the door:
- Monsieur, do you want a woman?
- No no no no...
- Monsieur, do you want a girl?
- No...
- Monsieur, do you want a boy?
- No, give me chicken baked in dough.
- Oh, monsieur understands a lot about perversions!!!

Foreign husbands. Popular models.

Many domestic consumers increasingly prefer
foreign husbands. When choosing a two-legged friend, it is important not to make a mistake. Here
the most popular models today.

Australian.
It is widely believed that they do some things like rabbits, but we hurry you
It's disappointing - that's how they eat.

American.
Unpretentious in food, eats straight from the refrigerator. But you'll be tired of doing the laundry
his flags.

Arab.
Taking on an Arab alone is difficult. It's better to team up with three friends.
But he will overwhelm four people with housework - cleaning his machine gun, burning
American flag...

Brazilian.
Life with him is a continuous carnival with songs and dances. If you get tired of it,
just give him a tambourine.

Negro (political correspondent: "afro-mazy").
He is very good in bed: from morning to evening he lies in it and does nothing.

German.
The main advantage is that he knows fashionable language. Don't be afraid that he's a pedant
- this is not a perversion at all, and it is not transmitted to Russians.

Frenchman.
Inquire about the presence of a technical inspection and the mileage of the brothels. Not
take one with low mileage - it’s more expensive for yourself.

Japanese.
Economical choice. Doesn't take up much space. It is important to make sure that this is not
Taiwanese fake.

The man decided to buy a parrot. I went to the market and looked at one
From the counters there is a cage with a parrot and the price is $1000.
Well, he asks why it’s so expensive?
They answer that the parrot is very smart, knows a lot of words and easily
is studying.
The man paid, brought the parrot home, set up the cage and waited. Parrot
is silent. The guy waits for an hour, two - no sense. He starts:
- Well, talk, go ahead... Gosha is good, Gosha is good.
The parrot is silent.
This goes on for several days. The man is completely desperate, sits angry with
with red eyes, looks at the cage and shouts in anger:
- Gosha is good, Gosha is good!!
Parrot:
- Man, tell me, what are induction and deduction?
The man looks with dumbfounded eyes:
- Wow! Why were you silent before??? Yes, I don’t know such words!
Parrot:
- Well, who would talk to such an asshole?

Take off your panties and turn around.
- No, Dima, I don’t want it in the ass.
- Don’t be afraid, Natasha, it doesn’t hurt.
- And Lenka said it hurt.
- Lenka was spinning, I couldn’t really hit it, so it turned out to be painful.
- I'm shy.
- Natasha, we have known each other since school. And in general, I should be embarrassed
No need. For me it makes no difference whether you are a man or a woman.
-Can you not look?
- How will I get there if I don’t look?
- And you feel it.
- You can think of it too, by touch... Okay, open your mouth. Here, swallow it... Only
the pill is nonsense. The injection is more reliable. Go tell it there so that the next one
came in.
How sick of all this I am!
It's a damn job giving flu shots to those women from the textile factory...

America. Texas. One farmer's ranch.

A farmer drives around his property in a jeep and listens to the radio along the way.
The news is broadcast on the radio:
"...
- Russian scientist Sergei Vypendreshkin from the village of Lukoshkino, while at
myself at home, lying on the sofa, I came to the conclusion that to reduce injuries
American farmers need to move from raising cows to
breeding rabbits..."

Well, no damn thing! - thought the farmer, - we’ve never had one, from the sofa
didn’t get up, doesn’t know anything about our cows, but keeps trying with his advice,
his mother!
...
Then the farmer sees one of his cows lying down in the middle of the road.
He slows down the car and starts honking at the cow to get out of the way.
But she doesn’t even listen.
Then the farmer gets out of the car, approaches the cow from behind and gives it
good kick. She jumps up and kicks the farmer in the face with her hind hoof.
... An hour passes. The farmer, having come to his senses, feels his broken
bloody nose and black eye...
- Yes... Rabbits, their mother... These Russians are always really nothing until the end
They can’t tell.

CLITORA DIARY

January 30, 2006 How I hate those extended nails of hers. Again
hurt. Everything hurts.
February 3rd. This one was watching lesbian porn. I saw a lot of ours. That's it for them
It's good there... I came twice. Fine. The second time was out of envy.
February 5th. This one made a noise. Some drunk guy with two-day stubble
he breathed fumes on me for a long time, then scratched me all over with his cheeks and fell asleep
pressing it with his forehead. It never came to language. This one started crying and so did I.
I wanted to, but I can’t.
February 6. This one was looking at me in the bathroom mirror. She said that I
small. Bitch.
February 10. The neighbor downstairs is leaking again. This one bought some new ones
gaskets They smell like chamomile. I'm suffocating.
The 14th of February. Wow! Wow! This girlfriend was given a vibrator. Seems
My personal life will finally begin. I'm shuddering with anticipation!
February, 15. It's much better than her fingers with extended nails, but
certainly inferior to the language. Although this may be a matter of practice. Overall he
very cute, trembles so touchingly.. We agreed to chat
someday when Eta falls asleep.
February 20th. How tired I am. Why can't I control myself?
Why am I completely dependent on her insatiable libido? Tired of cumming
with a wave of her hand. I want independence. I talked to my neighbor, she promised
help - work on vaginal orgasm, if it works, I'll take it
vacation.
February 23. This one boomed again. Much better this time. A LOT!!!
At first I thought that everything would go to the neighbor. But on the second run I was a little
not licked to death. I'm still dizzy.
25 February. I thought that I was essentially lucky. Take to
For example, my neighbor - they constantly shove something at her, I couldn’t stand it...
February 27. We visited the gynecologist. No attention to me. I'm starting slowly
hate your neighbor - why is all the attention only to her, although pleasure
more from me???
28th of February. I'm still angry, I don't talk to my neighbor and I can't finish this one
I give.
March 1. Ah, spring.. The mood is so romantic that while Eta was sleeping
I just finished out of some kind of existential delight. This one thinks
that it was all because she was dreaming about Brad Pitt. Stupid! Yes, I prefer Sean Penn
like.
March, 3rd. In the morning I was shouting to each other in my heart with my distant neighbor. Him too
not sweet. His life in general is shit...
March 8. On corporate party the boss pressed this one into a corner in
toilet, rubbed me with his finger for a long time, all to no avail. Maybe I'm frigid? This
The truth is she still pretended that she had finished, but I can’t be a hypocrite!
9th of March. The neighbor downstairs has another flood. How annoying this is. Is this really
will it last a lifetime? I started to scold her, but she called me names
I'm a nerd, but I have nothing to object to. Withdrew into himself.
10th of March. Because of the neighbor's flood, Eta agreed to let the boss in
only to a distant neighbor. How indignant he was later. He doesn't like it
case. But is she really asking, she’s a damn selfish... And the boss -
asshole, doesn't pay any attention to me at all.
March 13. This one cried all day because of the breakup with her boss. And I'm glad.
In the evening we consoled ourselves with a vibrator. Feel better.
March 25. This one seems to be in love. I can feel it. They are only
They kiss, but everything inside me is already freezing. How nice it is.
30th of March. Everything was!!! He is very attentive and sensitive, he did everything right,
I was already flushed with pleasure! I told my neighbor that at this rate
Cunnilingus will need to be renamed clitorilingus! Jealous of me.
Apparently, nothing comes of vaginal orgasm.
April 17. The progress is obvious. They don’t forget about me, neither does the neighbor
happy, says that This One managed to find some strange thing in her
point. She is optimistic about the prospects for vaginal orgasm. I
For some reason I am also in a positive mood. Apparently, when This one is happy, I
automatically good.
May 30. Dear Diary, I’m sorry I haven’t written for a long time. A month later at These
wedding. I don’t know what benefit this will do to me, but everyone is happy - including the neighbor
below, and a distant neighbor. I heard a rumor that they were coming internal changes V
This one. The neighbor says that she will have a hard time. But we're all together
We hope for the best.
What else remains?...

Human fantasy is truly a limitless thing, and when it comes to sex, even a professional “mass entertainer” would envy the ingenuity, resourcefulness and imagination of the average citizen. As they say, the toastmaster is good, and the competitions are interesting. And who else, if not the representatives the oldest profession to know what kind of perversions are in use among the people today, and what, so to speak, costs.

Today we decided to prepare for you a selection of anonymous stories from prostitutes about the craziest things a client has ever paid them for, from the popular English-language social network Reddit.

Essay on “Why I Love Sex?”

“I started my career as a sex worker when I was only 19 years old, and don’t judge me for it, I had my reasons. If we talk about strange clients, then once I came across a guy about 40-45 years old. In the tone of an authoritative university teacher, he demanded that I write an essay in literary English language on the topic “Why do I love sex?” at least 300 words. At first I thought it was some kind of prelude to role-playing game about a teacher and a depraved poor student, but no. He more than an hour sat next to me, watched me write, corrected spelling and lexical errors. I never had sex with him, but at the end, when he was paying, he said that the topic was not covered, and in general, I should work a little on my grammar.”

"Poor little dead stripper"

“A friend of mine worked as a bouncer at a cheap strip club, and he said that the bosses there didn’t particularly mind the local girls giving clients little “private shows” (if you know what I mean) after the performance. This guy, my friend, was, although kindest soul man, but in appearance he looks like a real gangster face. So, one of the local ladies had a rather terrible regular client who paid very well, so she agreed with my friend that for 30% of the “fee” he would hang around the area and insure her in case of an emergency. Why such precautions, you ask? It's just that this crazy guy was paying this girl almost four hundred bucks to lie on the bed with her head in his lap while he just stroked her hair and kept saying, "Poor little dead stripper."

Religious ecstasy

“I usually specialize in sadomasochism, you know, “mistress on call.” So, I had one regular client who paid for me to splash boiling water in his face and at the same time read passages from the New Testament. This is simply a grand prix in terms of the degree of abnormality. Compared to this guy, even the psycho who paid me to dress in all blue and pretend during sex that I was the girl from the Willy Wonka cartoon who turned into a blueberry pales in comparison.”

Honest taxpayer

“One guy paid me to fill it out from dictation. tax return no panties. 300 USD/hour.”

Literary connoisseur

“A friend of mine told me about a guy who paid her to stand in the corner, facing the wall, completely naked except for her combat boots, and read James Joyce’s Ulysses out loud.”

Who doesn't like dentists?

“I worked as an administrator in a sadomasochistic brothel, and we often had one unusual client. He paid girls to pretend he was giving them a dental exam, but instead of teeth it was their toes. Yes, yes, this is very strange. He ran an electric toothbrush over their feet.”

“The ABC of Health” with Malakhov

Admit it, dear readers, do you like chicken? With a golden brown crust, with baked apples... do you like it?
…is there?
Don’t rush to throw rotten tomatoes at me - this is not an idle question at all) The fact is that after studying the sites and forums of foreign and home-grown food bloggers, I came to the conclusion that for many cooks, chicken is not just one and a half kilograms of meat and bones, but also a whole an unplowed field for satisfying various base instincts.

Anecdote on the topic:
Paris. Evening. A hungry tourist enters a brothel by mistake. The head waiter approaches him:
- Monsieur wants a girl?
- No…
- Monsieur wants a boy?
- No…
- What does Monsieur want?
- I’d like some chicken...
- ABOUT! Monsieur knows a lot about perversions!

It seems to me that this is the principle that guides a good half of the chefs who donated their creations to today’s selection. And now - to the point, why bother...

First, take a look at this photo of smoked chicken...

To the inexperienced viewer, perhaps. It will seem that she is simply doing yoga in depth, but believe me, this is not so. They impaled the chicken and stuck a wooden awl into it... for better fixation.
Hard. There is no alternative.

But don’t think that twisting an unfortunate bird into a ram’s horn is the worst thing cooks can do. At the same time, she at least retains her birdlike appearance, and many of her sisters, due to misfortune, are not even given this.
You can't imagine how many perverted chefs are trying to accessible ways put a human face on a chicken!

Here she is - the lady on eggs - sitting cross-legged among salads and bowls of red caviar. Notice that they also dressed her in a headscarf to make it more beautiful. I’m silent, silent, silent about boobs in breadcrumbs... Someone is clearly missing something in their life.

Next comes the blast: attack of the clones! Five identical chickens, nesting in vaguely overcooked garbage and carrying this garbage, on occasion, quail eggs. Well, tell me which ones they should carry, if they are authentic chicken eggs do they replace their heads?

So that the hen aunts would not be painfully bored of dying from a knife and fork in their female company, the good cooks sculpted a whole sculptural group called “KuroBards by the fire.” “Potatoes”-eggs are quietly “baking” in “coals”-chips, and bards are leisurely playing “My dear, forest sunshine...” on mandolins and cellos.
Damn sur...

Have you ever wondered what extraordinary thing to prepare for February 23? Now you will know for sure: a military rooster in an apple helmet with a star. And don't argue. Only this way and no other way. Set a reminder in your phone for the 22nd.

Just don’t forget that chickens are people too, and they won’t mind enjoying group gatherings in a hot tub before pleasing you. Well, do you feel sorry for water for chicks? You yourself know that it’s more pleasant to fry a washed chicken than a grimy one... Fry it in a frying pan, damn it, and not as you thought!

And here is the chicken, cooked almost to the point of being completely unusable. I re-tanned in the solarium in the “turbo grill” mode. Apparently, for this occasion he wears panties made of mayonnaise. To cover burns that are incompatible with life.

We also have whole recipe, obtained from a site under the modest name “yummy.com”. Greetings from Dr. Lector. Write: first you need to skin the poor bird, and then fill this skin with all sorts of junk to the very eyeballs, until the chicken looks like a mini-airship with wings.
By the way, I once had the opportunity to try such an airship performed by a certified cook with experience. I'll tell you honestly - absolutely inedible rubbish. I hope that at least the author of this dish did not kill himself in vain...

And, by the way, she was right, because her friend did not have time to escape, and this is what happened to her.
The spread out carcass was covered with all sorts of garbage, in which you can see dried fruits from the drunk compote, and orange peels... The apotheosis of mockery of a corpse, I think.

Now freeze in awe: before you is an adept of decay and hopelessness - a zombie rice snowman. He's already pulled the legs out of the asses of at least half a dozen chickens, and now he's staring at the eaters.
Run, guests, run!

The next dish also carries a deep meaning. It’s called “A Cookie in your Pocket or Bite it Slopingly!” Briefly and clearly.

But let’s not look at parts of chicken bodies for too long; let’s return to whole chickens. Or roosters?
By the way, what kind of character do you think is in the next photo? Zigzag Macryak from Disney cartoon? And why does he need an umbrella and a hat made from half an orange? In my opinion, a tin foil hat would look more appropriate. Moreover, on the head of the cook. So that extraterrestrial civilizations finally stop whispering recipes for new masterpieces to him.

Pabammmm! Oil painting with meat, or rather chicken, “The lady lay down and asked.”
Have you already seen the mayonnaise bra? Admire the mayonnaise boobs with olives.
It seems to me that if the Angels of the Apocalypse, instead of the expected horses, ride on such chickens, the effect will be much more heartbreaking. Sinners voluntarily kill apsten, just not to see this.

Looking at the next chicken, you understand that she is also ready to follow their example - she has even raised her wings to break her own neck. Apparently, they carried her past the mirror, and she saw in it her brand new tangerine tits and parsley skirt. Let's remember the poor thing!

There are so many good girls
How many affectionate names
And I got caught with a nasty face
AND strange name"Anton" –
sang the classic.
And on Anton’s birthday he received a gift from his loving friends - sunny Beach damn. There were no more gifts that day)

The plot, by the way, is extremely popular among the people. Here are some more chicks-from-wings for you.

And then oh... that’s just OOO! Even the lady in the picture had her hair standing on end, let alone the eaters!
Imagine - the waiter brings you a plate, and chicken wings are fucking in it...
I would experience Zen without leaving the table.

By the way, you know the expression “unclean misleader”? This is the permanent state of most chefs whose creations are included in today’s selection.
And, to make it clear what kind of unclean we are talking about - voila! Here he is, handsome, with horns, a snout and a bouquet of potato roses.

It was he who confused the two roosters in the next photo. No, I would also like to believe that the one below is a chicken, but she’s too bearded for a young lady...

If you think that the list of perversions in which a dead chicken can participate is exhausted, don’t flatter yourself.
Next photo I refuse to comment at all. We're freaking out in silence.

Chickens, as it turns out, can participate not only in gay parties, but also in BDSM practices, for example, tying up the victim...
If you click on the link under the photo, you will see something different. I didn’t bother dragging everything here...

12 years of fooling the church

Born in 1854 in Marseille, Leo Taxil, despite his upbringing in a Jesuit monastery, was distinguished by mischief and freethinking from childhood. When he was 19 years old, panic swept through the city. Everyone was talking about sharks ravaging local harbors, newspapers published terrible stories of fishermen miraculously escaping, swimmers abandoned the beaches. At the request of the municipality, the military sent an armed expedition, but found no traces of sharks. It turned out that the hysteria was created by our young hero, who falsified all the letters about sharks to newspapers.

Growing up, Taxil began to write a lot. His business card there were satirical anti-religious pamphlets. In 1879, he published the book “The Sacred Den,” in which he spoke about the crimes of the papacy over almost 19 centuries. It was followed by a series of other incriminating works. The clerics hated him. And suddenly Taxil declared repentance. He renounced his previous works and was readmitted to the Catholic Church. Moreover, he became a prominent religious activist. At that time the Church was at war with Freemasonry, and Taxil became one of the standard bearers of this war. In the books “The Devil in the 19th Century” and “The Antichrist, or the Origin of Freemasonry,” he accused the Freemasons of devil worship, unimaginable perversions, murders and the desire to seize world domination. The main source of information for the books was Mrs. Diana Vaughan, a repentant priestess of the Masonic lodge.

Taxil's anti-Masonic journalism caused wild delight among Catholics. Taxil was granted an audience with the Pope, who blessed him to fight the Freemasons. At the same time, some expressed doubts about the reliability of the sources in his works. Taxil promised to introduce them, as well as Mrs. Vaughan herself, at a press conference in April 1897. And at the press conference, which gathered great amount Those present, Taxil stated that ... his 12-year service to the church was a hoax, that Diana Vaughan was an ordinary typist, that all the anti-Masonic texts were sucked out of thin air, and that all this time he himself remained a convinced atheist.

The scandal was colossal. Reputation Catholic Church was seriously damaged, and Taxil himself returned to anti-religious propaganda, releasing several books, which were subsequently held in high esteem in the Soviet Union. However, his anti-Masonic writings, outlining the foundations of the Masonic conspiracy theory, are also often quoted - and, as a rule, without understanding that these texts are just an intricate form of trolling.

Know a lot about perversions

Not just Tokay for melancholy

That day we were sitting in a small restaurant. An ordinary restaurant in Paris. No, I'm lying - the restaurant was not quite ordinary. Small, but very cozy, and moderately popular, which is rare for Paris.
L. and I sat at a table in the twilight and, as usual, were sad. A thin candle with a soft pine aroma, quietly burning, tried to distract us from another attack of melancholy.
- Maybe another glass of Tokay? - L. raised her grey eyes, fluffing your eyelashes.
I smiled. When L. played with her eyelashes, it was so touching and charming that I couldn’t help but smile.
- Do you think a glass of Tokay will save a dying cat? - I raised my glass, observing the “mouse tears” - those few drops that remained in the glass.
L. gently ran her elegant finger over the glass. I understood her without words... as I understood my angel. Many thought that we had learned to understand each other at a glance... and they were not mistaken.
- Do you mind if it’s not just Tokay?
-Are you in a playful mood today? - she asked half-affirmatively.
- Maybe... You know - I not only reflect the mood of the interlocutor, but also the opposite mood.
“I know,” L admitted unexpectedly quickly. “It’s your charm to be mysterious and remain natural.”
I smiled. I liked L. and I didn’t want to deceive her intentions.

The waiter quietly materialized next to the table a few seconds later. I had nothing against it - it's their job to anticipate the client's wishes.
- Tokay, monsieur?
- Your proposal is not without meaning, but... we’ll probably do this.
And I laid out short plan further actions.
The waiter opened his mouth. He wanted to ask, “Has Monsieur gone crazy?”, but the restraint he had trained over the years took its toll.
- Are you sure, Monsieur?
- Yes, sure. “Monsieur knows a lot about perversions,” I reassured him.

Wow... a soft fog,” L. looked in fascination at what was happening in the glass by candlelight. - I used to think it was beautiful legend. And so - you look and feel incredibly happy - I touched a little miracle...
“Yes,” I agreed. - Although this is only an illusion.
“It’s okay,” L objected. “It’s still something special.” It's so beautiful that my angel flutters with delight.
- It's called "Terror of the Gods." Legend claims that every time people drink this miracle, the gods are horrified that it is available to mortals.
“What a beautiful Maya...” a thoughtful smile played on L.’s lips.
- I thought that a little impossible would be good for us. The better the maya, the greater the contrast with real world. Do you remember what Snika said? “If there were no illusion, how would we know that we were living in reality?”
- Snika said that you should stick to cat zen and delve into what she says inner voice tail,” L added and winked slyly.
“She’s probably right,” I admitted, “cat Zen speaks of an intuitive vision of true reality.” Cheshire reality.
- Is it when you always leave and always come back?
- Yes, sure. Otherwise, you become too attached to others... Do you know how awkward it is to feel your influence?

While L. and I were rapturously indulged in melancholy, Sheir came into the restaurant. Sheir kept us company from time to time on various occasions, so there was nothing unusual about his appearance here. As well as the fact that he paid attention to us.
- Hello, furries! - Sheir carefully and unobtrusively sat down at our table
Having quickly examined the situation on the table, he asked:
- What are we drinking?
While I was wondering how best to explain the “origin and pedigree” of what was poured into my glass, Sheir took it and tried it.
- Listen, isn’t this ambrosia? Amazing stuff, I already like it.
“Sheir, this is a special recipe,” I explained.
Sheir nodded and, beckoning the waiter with his finger, pointed to the glass:
- Same for me...
How the waiter didn’t get knocked down, I still don’t understand. He nodded silently and wandered off to fulfill the order of the next “offender.” I sympathized with him - it is difficult for a person with traditional taste to understand us, brought up on irrational views of this mortal world.

Half an hour later, when we were leaving this cozy restaurant with regret (Share promised to show us “one interesting thing”), the waiter, handing us the bill, decided on an unthinkable question.
- Tell me, monsieur, did you really like it?
I wanted to say, "Yeah, that reminded me of Trayastrix." But I didn’t have time. L. smiled slyly and said:
- His name is Maltese Cat, and he knows a lot about perversions.