Roger's Gay Taxi

Feels Like the Last Time

2007-05-20T19:13:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the delays in posting, it's been a relatively obnoxious Spring what with trips to the emergency ward, endless back troubles, Cooter calling me Twice (! WTF !!!) to deal with hitchhiker processing, the Special Olympics, I mean, I have only so much time and when I can only leave the West Wing for a maximum of 8 hours a week things stack up pretty fast.

I got into a fight with the Irish Cow the other day because of our mutual delusions. So, according to the Cow, he always has at least 4 beautiful women interested in him but one that he is chasing and is unattainable because of religious differences (hint: he is a neo-con Libertarian, you figure out the rest). But while we were relaxing and looking at my nude photo I mean painting the other night in the West Wing he brought up the old cliché that you should treat your significant other like you're never going to see them again when you part with a heartfelt embrace, because of the vagaries of existence and things like car wrecks, terrorism, and fast-acting V.D.

Well, like everything with the Cow, he is only half right. You see, like most of middle class or as I might refer to, bourgeois America, people get kind of perverted and get by living only half of their lives, you know, drinking Light Beer, eating at Chain Restaurants, driving Mazdas, you get the picture.

I spit my beer on the Cow and explained my philosophy: No, you fucking shit. You don't "kiss them" or "hug them" like it's the last time you're going to see them. YOU FUCK THEM LIKE IT'S A FUCKING NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST IN 15 MINUTES. I shouldn't have to qualify this for you, but, anal, oral, 69, b&d, waterworks, cleveland steamer, talking dirty, shit, man, the fucking works. EVERY TIME YOU ARE OUT OF EACH OTHERS' SIGHT. Or going to be so for more time than it takes to accomplish the requisite list of necessary bodily functions, like a minimum of 45 minutes. That's like $80 in the cab!!!

Just so we're clear on this shit.

Bobby Brown Likes Dried Up Poo

2007-02-27T15:57:00.000-06:00

Look, I may have a fascination for it myself. I've always given props to Mr. Brown for bagging such a lovely lady, but the fact that he has the wherewithal to probe around in her butt looking for nuggets of wisdom is just icing on the cake. Or fudge on the sundae. you get my drift. Bobby Brown Banged Up For A Month

When I'm an Old Woman I'll Wear a Big Purple Strap-On

2007-01-22T20:15:00.000-06:00

Because Purple is so Sexy.

Hot Asian Chick Digs Buttsecks and Boyfriend-Bung-Banging

2006-11-29T11:27:00.000-06:00

Wow, just discovered through Steve Jobs' Blog a link to a very enticing, smart, and sexually adventurous co-ed.

I wonder if she and her wuss-ass boyfriend ~~need~~ understand their need for a third party who might be a hot, bisexual cab driver with a light case of the Gout?

Her lovely blog is located here.

What a Month!

2006-11-06T18:17:00.000-06:00

Well, here in the sanctity of the West Wing it's been a rough month. Usually I'm one who adores the spotlight, but all this media attention is getting a bit much. First, as I've already posted, some of the three-way congressional page instant messaging sessions I was involved with got out and made a little bit of a scandal. Sheesh, it's not like they were that bad, kind of like Junior High Health Class.

Meanwhile, that starts to die down a little bit and that this little tiff with a certain Fundamentalist Pastor I've been massaging, selling drugs to, and banging on the side takes on a life of it's own.

Still, while I'm waiting for things to die down a little, I'll offer up these words of advice if you find yourself caught in a similar pickle.

What's the first thing you tell a John who's nervous about his wife finding out about his little session in the Gay Taxi? To repeat these words:

'Oh, honey... I wouldn't have been having those meth-fueled ass-banging sessions with that gay hooker if you hadn't have let yourself go like that!'

North Korean Test Appears to Be Fairly Small

2006-10-09T19:50:00.000-05:00

...just like Kim Jong Il's penis.

My Instant Messages are a Matter of Public Record

2006-10-02T20:31:00.000-05:00

GayRoger69 (7:35:45 PM): not yet

Skippy4ever (7:36:06 PM): cool cool...

GayRoger69 (7:37:27 PM): how my favorite young stud doing

Skippy4ever (7:37:46 PM): tired and sore

Skippy4ever (7:37:52 PM): i didnt no waltzing could make you sore

GayRoger69 (7:38:04 PM): from what

Skippy4ever (7:38:34 PM): what do you mean from what

Skippy4ever (7:38:42 PM): from waltzing...im sore from waltzing

GayRoger69 (7:39:32 PM): tahts good

GayRoger69 (7:39:32 PM): you need a massage

GayRoger69 signed off at 7:39:37 PM.

GayRoger69 signed on at 7:40:35 PM.

GayRoger69 (7:42:27 PM): love to watch that

GayRoger69 (7:42:33 PM): those great legs running

GayRoger69 (7:46:33 PM): did any girl give you a haand job this weekend

Skippy4ever (7:46:38 PM): lol no

Skippy4ever (7:46:40 PM): im single right now

Skippy4ever (7:46:57 PM): my last gf and i broke up a few weeks agi

GayRoger69 (7:47:11 PM): are you

GayRoger69 (7:47:11 PM): good so your getting horny

Skippy4ever (7:47:29 PM): lol...a bit

GayRoger69 (7:48:00 PM): did you spank it this weekend yourself

GayRoger69 (7:43:27 PM): well dont ruin my mental picture

Skippy4ever (7:43:32 PM): oh lol...sorry

GayRoger69 (7:43:54 PM): nice

GayRoger69 (7:43:54 PM): youll be way hot then

Skippy4ever (7:44:01 PM): haha...hopefully

GayRoger69 (7:44:22 PM): better be

GayRoger69 (7:53:24 PM): on your back

Skippy4ever (7:53:30 PM): no face down

GayRoger69 (7:53:32 PM): love details

Skippy4ever (7:53:34 PM): lol

Skippy4ever (7:53:36 PM): i see that

Skippy4ever (7:53:37 PM): lol

GayRoger69 (7:53:39 PM): really

GayRoger69 (7:53:54 PM): do you really do it face down

Skippy4ever (7:54:03 PM): ya

GayRoger69 (7:54:13 PM): kneeling

Skippy4ever (7:54:31 PM): well i dont use my hand...i use the bed itself

GayRoger69 (7:54:31 PM): where do you unload it

Skippy4ever (7:54:36 PM): towel

GayRoger69 (7:54:43 PM): really

GayRoger69 (7:55:02 PM): completely naked?

GayRoger69 (7:55:51 PM): cute butt bouncing in the air

Skippy4ever (7:56:00 PM): haha

Skippy4ever (7:56:05 PM): well ive never watched myslef

Skippy4ever (7:56:08 PM): but ya i guess

GayRoger69 (7:56:18 PM): i am sure not

GayRoger69 (7:56:22 PM): hmmm

GayRoger69 (7:56:30 PM): great visual

GayRoger69 (7:56:39 PM): i may try that

Skippy4ever (7:56:43 PM): it works

GayRoger69 (7:56:51 PM): hmm

GayRoger69 (7:56:57 PM): sound inetersting

GayRoger69 (7:57:05 PM): i always use lotion and the hand

GayRoger69 (7:57:10 PM): but who knows

Reader Mail: The Gay Leading teh Stupid

2006-08-22T16:32:00.000-05:00

Dear Gay Roger,

I am a normal, hetero guy, maybe even super-hetero, just like you. I like nothing more than a good football game, a 15-pack of beer and a lesbian video going on in the background. I've had _lots_ of chicks (over four, if you count the heavy petting with my cousin when I was 15).

Anyway, my current girlfriend has an extra large clitoris. In fact, it's larger than my penis. I just thought I should write you to double check: If she fucks me up the ass with it, there is nothing gay about that, is there?

Yours,

Desperately Seeking Anal

Dear Desperately Seeking Anal,

No, unfortunately there's nothing gay about that. But you may have proven the existence of God.

The First Cut is the Deepest

2006-08-16T13:59:00.000-05:00

It's been a long, hot summer of sin and perspicacity. I have revelled in the pleasures of the flesh, I have travelled thousands of miles, and used gallons and gallons of lube, all without leaving the sanctity of the West Wing (i.e. Living Room). I finally took it upon myself to get rid of some of these incompletes that have been dogging me, some of them since grade school. I plowed in, or perhaps it's more appropriate to say cleaved, and have made good progress, but several weeks ago my back finally rebelled and forced me to stay away from the taxi.

This of course caused me to fall into a deeper depression than I was in the first place, since as you know I both take pride in my work (transportational and sensual) and gain a large chunk of my own sense of identity through the self-definitional process of its execution. So all of a sudden, without the usual "johns", "tricks" or "fares" telling me "Gee, Roger, that was the best I've ever had!" or "I haven't been fucked like that since grade school!" I was spiralling down.

That, and the loss of income. I'm a large man, with large appetites. And these appetites need capital to sate them. So with no capital coming in, Rog was definitely hurting. And with my back, I couldn't service the landlady to pay the rent either! What was I going to do???

This is where my friends stepped in. Cooter, Skippy, Zornig, the Cap'N and Miss Meems all volunteered to do one cab shift a week for me to pay the bills. The fact that they all needed about 10 hours of community service a week from Cooter's Tornado Party /Orgy debacle was beside the point. It was truly endearing to see them driving the cab and pleasuring the customers for money which was going straight to me. Special Props to Cooter for the strict discipline she brought to the job, and Props as well to Miss Meems who approached the hand jobs with such gusto that she sprained her wrist. Been there, done that!

The back is still out, but now that I'm getting used to the new lifestyle I don't mind it so much at all, in fact, I kind of like the sound of

Gay Roger the Pimp.

Now that is a jingle

2006-07-21T16:03:00.000-05:00

Happy peanuts soar
Over chocolate-colored mountaintops and
Waterfalls of caramel,
Prancing nougat in the meadows sings a song of satisfaction to the world.

A Sentimental Education

2006-05-27T11:40:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when I'm in seclusion in the West Wing (read the "Living Room") for three weeks at a time I don't answer emails, return phone calls, go to work, or provide CPR to my octogenarian landlady downstairs. Sometimes, like Cooter, I just need some ME time.

During these periods of reflection I sometimes work on my forthcoming autobiographical novel, Ass Be Not Proud. Let me recount to you a little passage from my hot life that I reflected upon during my last period of meditation and solitude, and leave it to you, gentle reader, to ponder its implications for both Iowa City and our culture, as a whole.

As you may know, for several years I managed a convenience store in Coralville, the Handy Job. (It's a little known fact that all convenience stores in Iowa have to have a sexual overtone in their name. I think Branstad passed that law.) Anyway, one of my duties at the Handy Job was to stock the cooler, and pull stock from the cooler and bring it into the convenience store.

Sometimes, this really got me down, since, as those of you who know may know, before my ass went, my back did. The two may be related, but I don't want to get into that here and now. Suffice to say that I labored on in the sub-zero temperatures moving heavy boxes for several years, occasionally throwing my back out and being humiliated by my supervisor. The usual stuff.

However, one summer morning I was in there doing the usual stocking of the boxes when it hit me like a flash of lightning and the scales fell from my eyes. There I was, in the cooler, Stacking Boxes! Stacking motherfucking boxes!!!

Just like lesbians!

Lesbians love stacking boxes!

I quietly wept with the beauty of my sapphic approximation, quickly masturbated a couple times, finished Stacking Boxes (Hooray!) and strode back to manage that hellhole with a song in my heart.

...and that song was by the Indigo Girls.

Car. Number 1: The Derriere Guarde

2006-05-22T17:41:00.000-05:00

Ladies and Lesbians, I present the first in a 72 part series dedicated to the cars of sex, those automobiles which, much like vibrators, have made a technological impact upon the very fabric of our cultural sexuality.

Cars today are all about "safe this" and "airbag that" and "RUAS hygiene shield." Enough already!

Part of the allure of having sex in a Ford Pinto was the potential danger of an explosive rear-ending. I have heard the gas tank could blow up as well.

Taxi Zum Klo

2006-05-16T06:21:00.000-05:00

Snapped this photo in George's men's room the other night. I think the penis is Angie's as it appears to be coming from the women's restroom.

Chicks Dig Marxism-Leninism

2006-04-20T06:53:00.000-05:00

I've always known this, but here's the proof:

Cocks in Fox

2006-04-01T13:35:00.000-06:00

Fox
Cocks
Box
Locks

Cocks in box.
Cocks in Fox.

Cocks in fox in socks in box.

Cocks in Fox on box on locks.

Chicks with clits come.
Chicks with Cocks come.
Chicks with clits and blocks and cocks come.

Look, sir. Look, sir. Mr. Knox, sir.
Let's do tricks with clits and cocks, sir.
Let's do tricks with chicks with cocks, sir.

First, I'll make a quick trick clit stack.
Then I'll make a quick trick cock stack.

You can make a quick trick chick stack.
You can make a quick clit cock stack.

And here's a new trick, Mr. Knox....
Cocks in chicks and clits on fox.
Cocks in Fox on bricks and blocks.
Clits and cocks on Knox on box.

Now we come to clits and cocks, sir.
Try to say this Mr. Knox, sir....

Cocks on fox tick.
Cocks on Knox tock.
Six sick bricks tick.
Six sick chicks lick.

Please, sir. I don't like this trick, sir.
My tongue isn't quick or slick, sir.
I get all those clits and cocks, sir,
mixed up with the chicks with cocks, sir.
I can't do it, Mr. Fox, sir.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Knox, sir.

The Freewheelin' Gay Taxi

2006-04-01T10:04:00.000-06:00

The naked power of economic systems has existed since before the dawn of history, maybe extending back as far as the twilight before the history of the night before. These saucy historical epochs have lead many naive historians down the garden path of lust, sin and villainy (such as my historian friend that recently had the double appendectomy, the Irish Cow).

Historical incentives such as free soap, bonus french fries or sexual favors can make a trasty addition to an after-dinner mint, and make an interesting speculation as to the analysis of personal reflection in the Pan-Arab Post-Cheney Middle East.

I like my car racing ...Gay.

2006-03-31T07:18:00.000-06:00

As much as it pains me to admit it, Mookah was entirely right in the comments the other day. NASCAR is fully gay. I offer two examples:

"NASCAR fans Can't Decide If Latest Daytona 500 Win Makes Jeff Gordon More of a Homo or Less of a Homo" - Link

and of course, the mother of all gay racing sites, Gaytona.com

My Taxi is Gay!

2006-03-20T21:26:00.000-06:00

I'm not surprising anyone here, anymore. Maybe poor lil' 'ol innocent Coot... nah, maybe not.

Speakin' of the old Devil herself, she turned me on to a cute little Meme. I think she meant Meems because maybe Miss Meems thought it up, but then again, I'm not really sure. The point is, you ask yourself these questions, fill up your blog with the answers, then everyone fills up your comments and their blogs with their answers and their responses to your answers. So it's like a big cluster-fuck, or a circle jerk, or some kind of something where everyone comes all over everybody else. While they're thinking about themselves. You know, been there, done that.

Favorite sexual positions
1. Bottom (face up)
2. Bottom (face down)
3. Seated on toilet (Blumpkin)
4. Dental Chair

Four Historical Monuments You've had Sex On
1. Steps of Old Capitol (It's an Iowa City rite of passage)
2. Sidewalk in front of the Biograph Theater. John Dillinger and I have a LOT in common.
3. Johnson County Jail. I don't want to talk about this one. But in retrospect, I learned a lot - thanks for the education, Lonny!
4.Coralville
5.-This one is more with than on but a facial ends up as on, so... Facial on the Black Angel. This was pretty hard to achieve and involved a pretty lengthy stepladder and Skippy providing support and KY.

Favorite Place to Have Sex
1. In the butt

Retrograde down the Roger-Wilco Chocolate Highway

2006-03-10T22:02:00.000-06:00

Thanks to all my family, friends, school-mates, cabbies, professors, and tricks for all the cards and letters you sent. I was all shook-up for a while, kind of like a bottle of coke.

I was free-wheeling with the Doors the other night, as I have wont to do every 6 months or so, but then my friend "the Himmler" told me that Jim Morrison just wasn't cool. Look, my friend is cool, not because of his German-reminding-me-of-Nazi-fantasies-name (although that doesn't hurt, per se), but because of his sensibilities. Like Jane Austen, what with all the foppish dandery and whatnot. To give you the full picture, I'm talking about crudité, although you all know damned well I can't eat raw broccoli.

So it always kind of hurts when a friend has to set you "straight". In the cab, I always say "forward, never straight!" and sometimes get the oddest looks from my fraternity/sorority clientele, who, very much like the "Mr. Show" sketch about the heavy metal band, don't realize the extent of their own rampant homosexuality.

But speaking of homosexuality: I need to set Pooter straight, (sic): I know all the arguments about football being gay, and becaues of my deep-seated love for Fran Tarkenton I have to reject them. If football is gay, then what are the cheerleaders doing there? Just watching? Watching men on men? And then watching each other? so it's kind of a dual-homo thing... but if America's most macho symbol of male sexuality is so homo, then you're saying...

Oh, I get it.

Never mind. There is nothing more gay than American Football, except American Football with Chaps.!!!!

The Parable of the Gay Fox

2006-02-28T08:29:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time, and a very good time it was, there was a moo-cow coming down along the road where Baby Roger lived. Baby Roger loved life in the country, where the cowboys dressed like ladys and a date with a sheep was a simple pasture's walk away.

But one day Baby Roger was running late and needed to get across the river. It was swollen with a torrent of water from the Spring Thaw, and what with his morbid fears and paranoias Baby Roger didn't think he could quite cross it on his own. He sat down by the polished stones on the river bank and began to cry.

"Waaaahhhhh!" cried Baby Roger.

"Don't cry, Baby Roger!" interrupted a stranger's voice.

Baby Roger roused himself from his tears to see the Gay Fox standing beside him with an inflatable raft and a bottle of "poppers".

"Don't cry, Baby Roger! I'll take you across the river," said the Gay Fox.

"Really?" Baby Roger questioned. Baby Roger was inherently suspicious of all modes of transportation, particularly planes and rafts.

"Yes, really," said the Gay Fox, and smiled with his large, foxy teeth.

"Hmmm, hey, wait a minute..." Baby Roger thought to himself, out loud. "You just want to get me out in the middle of the river so you can recruit me to gaydom through sodomy and oral sex!"

Baby Roger had heard about Teh Gheys from his local Christian Ministry.

"Oh, no, Baby Roger! I wouldn't do that!" said the Gay Fox, taken aback.

"Hmmm, all right then. But no funny gay stuff!" Baby Roger said, thinking his most macho thoughts of football.

The Gay Fox quickly inflated his raft and soon they were on their way across the river. Baby Roger was actually enjoying the ride across the velvety rapids. Then, they reached the half-way point and the Gay Fox began to fellate him.

"Hey, I thought you said no funny gay stuff!" Baby Roger exclaimed, surprised.

"I can't help it. (mmmpphhh) It's in my nature! (mmmppph)" mumbled the Gay Fox.

"Okay!" ejaculated Baby Roger.

And to this day the sound of running water gives Roger a raging hard-on.

The End.

A little something ...

2006-02-25T17:37:00.000-06:00

...Because I want you to know.

Vive la revolution Quailtard!

2006-02-22T08:48:00.000-06:00

A "quailtard" may best be defined as a small domesticated fowl, lacking any survival skills whatsoever, bred for its own destruction by its release from captivity moments before being killed at the hands of bourgeois businessmen or politicians with guns.

The "clever" or "outwitting" Quailtard is capable of flying up between these suburban "warriors" inciting them to discharge their weapons in each others' general direction. These most dangerous of Quailtard are the scourge of corporate boardrooms and smoke-filled political pork-barrel parties across the nation.

P.S. What's so wrong with shooting a load in your friend's face? Haven't we all done that at one time or another?

P.P.S. The similarity to the former V.P. is just gravy.

A Moment of Silent Lucidity

2006-02-17T17:52:00.000-06:00

Just so we're clear on this: I wear chaps because I want to, not because I have to.

My Night of Passion with Seamus Heaney

2006-02-02T08:48:00.000-06:00

People frequently get confused about cultural or sexual stereotypes. This is no big deal, and easily understandable given the poor quality of the American educational system these days ...So let me lead you down the garden path to the unbridled passions of poetry and a raging Irish alcoholic.

I came across The Poet in the back bathroom of Jo's Place. (Remember, Jo used to be married to K.P. before she became a Lesbian and joined the union. Then, oddly enough, for a while she was a Pipe-Fitter, then inherited some money and got her M.F.A. Hence, the poetry-friendly lesbian bar). I have a standing invitation chez Jo as the cabbie of choice, since I'm so lesbian-friendly I've been made an honorary lesbian by over 40 women's organizations. Hell, last Halloween I went as Bea Arthur playing Emma Goldman. Now if that's not Lesbian-Friendly, you'd better pry yourself loose from the toothy grip of Angie's Clam.

Anyway, spank my ass for my mental wanderings. As I was saying, I had to use the little boys' room to powder my diverticuli when I noticed a strangely attractive Irish man sitting, or rather laying, in a puddle of his own sick while being fellated by my friend the Man-Poet and his buddy Hippo Butt! "Schwing!" - I was instantly standing at attention, but didn't want to cut in on the Man-Poet's action. He was obviously calling the shots, mostly letting Hippo Butt lap at the vomit puddle.

I then noticed that the barely conscious, in-his-own-sick laying Irishman had written several poems, with his own feces, on both several yards of toilet paper and the restroom walls. The poetry was incredible, although I can't remember any of the particulars. It was way better than Cooter's, and even better than the Man-Poet's! (By the way, the Man-Poet even has an Associate's degree in poetry!)

Then again, I'm not much of an appreciator of poetry, what with my disability and all (the Color Blindness, not the Ass). So anyway, I fucked all three of them and then we got drunk and I fucked them again. It was pretty hot.

May I interest you in the PuPu Platter?

2006-01-30T09:08:00.000-06:00

Or perhaps you'd prefer the Man-Goo Soup? They both come highly recommended by both the chef, and myself.

Back before teh internets, children, people got their porn in magazines and VHS, with titles like Swank, Jugs, Oui, WeeWee, and of course my favorite, The Cleveland Steamer's Gentlemen's Companion.

Just wanted to remind you of this before the world before the magic of teh internets fades into a distant memory. Hell, grandpa used to jack off to crayon drawings scrawled on the outhouse wall. Now that I can download multiple streams of high-quality grade-A hot amateur MILF action at any time of the night or day, on my phone even, I have to say that the Enlightenment worked.