Fun Free Pages

How to have fun in Cuba

FM — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 18:39:44 +0000

I just got back from a once-in-a-lifetime trip to old Havana. It’s no secret that the Castro regime is desperate for hard currency (especially U.S. dollars). I’d also heard that the Cuban Ministry of Tourism was pulling out all the stops in a last-ditch effort to attract white upper class U.S. males (translation: disposable income) who were seeking nontraditional vacations.

Fellow members of the above target group, stop and think a bit about what you’d like in a no holds barred tropical vacation:

Smooth, aged in wood, dark rums for around $2 a bottle?
Absolutely stunning senoritas who do anything you want for $100 a night, or if you’re on a budget, a first-class blow job for $20, no extra charge for a facial cumshot?
Primo Columbia flake cocaine at $500 per oz? This is absolutely fresh unstepped-on high quality nose candy – minimum 95% purity. WARNING: Do not, under any circumstances, try to leave Cuba with even a trace of this shit on you.
A wild deep sea fishing expedition where you fish with hand grenades and belt fed machine guns?

All this and more is available on what the Ministry of Tourism has dubbed their “Silver Bullet Package.” The package consists basically of prepaid hotel accommodation and prepaid meals. The hotel was clean, comfortable, but a little run down. Even the best hotels in old Havana seem a little seedy by American standards, but the staff go out of their way to make sure that the package members are pampered. The meals were a very pleasant surprise-unlimited quantities of fresh seafood, fruits, and fresh bread – but be warned that lunch and dinner are strictly BYOB. The hotel provides setups and mixers of course. This could have been a problem except that black marketers hawking good rum are numerous in the neighborhoods around the hotels. A small tip to a bell hop will put you face to face with a fellow selling hootch out of a suitcase. The bottles are unlabeled, but the dark rums I tasted put Myers Dark, Mount Gay, and Bacardi Dark to shame for about $2 a bottle!

As you might guess the day to day routine involves lots of eating, drinking, snorting, dozing, and loitering. Taxi rides to the foreign beaches are fairly easy to find but I found the beaches strangely boring – most of the USDA Grade A pussy centers around the hotels and doesn’t really get strutting ’till early evening. The ritual is as follows: Interested gents should sit out on their balconies an hour or so before sunset and look for young girls sauntering down the boulevard. The “working girls” are hoping to make eye contact. If you see a senorita you particularly like, wait ’till you catch her eye and give the universal “come on up” hand signal. The more seasoned pros will find your hotel room from your balcony’s location. Sometimes it pays to run down to the lobby to meet her but it’s usually not necessary. My favorite was a young slender brunette who called herself Maria. She claimed to be 14 (but was more likely 16 or 17), was light-skinned and a dead ringer for Paula Abdul. I nearly ejaculated when I heard her prices – $100 U.S. for the night, any sex I wanted, or if I was in a hurry $20 for a blowjob. I’ve never been comfortable with long term relationships, so I was leaning towards the latter option. I asked her if she was an expert at oral sex. She must have read my mind -she swore she gave the best blowjob in all Havana, then smiled, and put her arms around my neck and added: “If I like your cock you can cum all over my face.” God, that settled it. I slipped her a $20 bill and she put a pillow on the floor to kneel on. This wasn’t one of those midtown Manhattan “hurry up and come so I can cook up another shot” blowjobs, no siree. This was more like “Honey, I really really love my new mink coat. ” Full eye contact, lots of licking and teasing. She must have liked my cock, because when I was ready to shoot she lifted her head back, positioned the head of my cock just over her chin and jerked me off – my favorite way to cum. She got up smiling and asked “You like?”. When I caught my breath, I sighed “Bueno, muy bueno”.

When she had tidied up and left, I laid out 4 fat lines, snorted up, and called room service for more diet coke, ice, and limes. I fell asleep sucking up rum & cokes, reading “Boy Clinton” by R. Emmet Tyrell, and day dreaming about Maria. What a country, this Cuba!

About the cocaine: Shortly after they check in each package member will be invited by the hotel manager to stop by his office for a drink. There he’ll introduce you to a bureaucrat in the Cuban government who will offer you top quality cocaine at a fantastic price (see earlier reference). Don’t panic. The Cuban government is getting this shit straight from one of the Colombian cartels and using it to generate cash – one potential group of customers being foreign tourists. If you decide to buy, you’ll sign a form declaring that you will not sell, trade, or give any of it to a Cuban national and that you will not attempt to leave the country with any in your possession. Unless you like having cattle prods shoved up your shit chute in a vomit splattered cell in the basement of a Cuban jail, I’d strenuously adhere to these two provisions. Rememberthis isn’t America where you can whine for a lawyer and be out on bail in a few hours. DON’T FUCK WITH THE CUBAN POLICE OR MILITARY.

Next morning it was up and at’em early for the craziest deep sea fishing trip I’d ever been on. After a nice breakfast of dramamine, diet coke, cocaine and bananas I trundled on down to the hotel entrance where a taxi was waiting to take me and two other guys to the marina. Imagine our surprise when we pull into what looked like some sort of Cuban Coast Guard Station. We’d booked the trip at the hotel and had assumed we’d be going out on a typical deep sea fishing boat. It turned out the boat we’d be on was a small cutter complete with twin light artillery guns toward the bow and 3 belt fed machine guns, 2 on either side of the bridge, and one mounted at the stern. Also, my guess was correct, we were in fact at the Cuban equivalent of a Coast Guard station and the boat would be manned by its usual military crew. I was beginning to lose interest in the outing when the two other tourists and I were introduced to the three “mates” for the trip – perfectly tanned foxes sensibly dressed in deck shoes and thong bikinis. My curiosity aroused, we boarded ship and were soon underway. I settled into a comfortable snooze in one of the three captain’s chairs at the stern until we were well offshore.

I was woken up by the unmistakable feel of a large warm breast pressed into my cheek and nose. I opened my eyes to a bird’s eye view of a fine pair of hooters. Re-adjusting my focus, I realized I was being offered a drink by one of our mates. She said we’d fish soon and trotted off to fetch more drinks. It was then that I noticed the complete absence of deep sea fishing rods, outriggers, etc.. The boat droned on for a while longer, then my mate came back with a fresh drink and a fish net. Two sailors carried a wood crate over to where we sat and put it on the deck. From the bridge I heard some shouting and saw the captain pointing to the sea near us. My mate told me we’d found a school of dolphin (the fish, not the mammal). She slid open the top of the wood crate and handed me a pineapple grenade. Sensing my confusion, she smiled and said, “You fish, I net.”

What the fuck, I pulled the pin and tossed it overboard. A few seconds later, a low thud, a spray of water, and a bunch of floating dolphin! My mate started scooping them up and throwing them into the ice chest. The two other tourists and mates had been doing same, and it appeared that our 3 grenades had decimated the school, so we motored along in search of more. We spent a pleasant morning fishing in this manner. Around noon, a sailor lugged out a few metal boxes of belted ammo and loaded the stern machine gun. He turned to me when done, smiled and said, “Now, big game”. I couldn’t imagine what the hell we’d be shooting at,unless it was shark. My mate brought another ice cold drink, cozied up to me and clued me in: “We’re shooting what you call illegal aliens; they’re scum on rafts and homemade boats that are deserting Fidel’s paradise.” Hmm- I’d have to play this one by ear. We had shifted course a little while ago and in about an hour came within sight of a group on a raft trying to make it to the Florida Keys. The captain came down from the bridge, introduced himself, and took up position at the stern machine gun. As we drew along side, and just passed the raft, I saw his thumbs press the spade trigger. There was a deafening roar. Everyone on the raft was wasted. He turned to me, smiling apologetically, saying, “It may seem cruel, but these people, if they make it to your country, are just going to wind up on welfare or in jail. We’re doing both of our governments a favor.” He paused a few seconds as if for emphasis and added, “Here, it’s your turn next.”

I thought about what he said, what an overcrowded cesspool the U.S. was becoming, and I realized he was right. The last thing our country needed was more penniless, illiterate niggers. I hopped up in the captain’s chair behind the stern gun. By God, here was my chance to do something positive about the situation when all of our fucking politicians were busy transforming the whole goddamn country into Newark, N.J. My mate whispered in my ear, “If each guest gets one boat, the three mates give everyone on board a blow job.” That’s all I needed to hear. I’d done 4 fat lines in the head below deck just a while ago and I was primed. After about 30 minutes of search time we spied another raft. The captain pulled along side about 50 yds. away and then turned to give me a full field of fire. I lined up my sights on the middle bunch of wretches on deck then pressed the spade thumb trigger. Some of them were
blown overboard, some cut in two by the burst. I lingered on the trigger just a tad longer than professional, but God it felt good. A cheer went up from our crew, and I moved out from behind the gun for the next tourist’s turn. We scored our next two refugee crafts in about 1 1/2 hours, and I and the other two tourists were treated to first class blow jobs below deck. Afterwards we retired to the stern to sip drinks and watch the mates service the crew. It was a beautiful finish to a beautiful day – the late afternoon sun, the rum and cokes, and all the cock sucking. The only thing in life that comes close to watching your cock slide in and out of a beautiful girl’s mouth, is watching someone else’s cock do the same. On the taxi ride back to the hotel, I thought that with all the vomit inspired tourist spots in the U.S, like Disney world, our sterile National Park system (No Hunting, No Fishing, No Camping, this is your National Park, enjoy it!), the usual obsolete and meaningless monuments (Statue of Liberty), why the fuck hasn’t someone come up with a Silver Bullet Package for the good old U.S.A? Why the fuck do healthy normal males with normal interests have to travel to Cuba for something like this?

When anal sex with a black girl goes wrong

FM — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 23:59:52 +0000

Me and a couple of guys went out one night clubin. We were all having a good time dancing with some hotties having a few drinks, getting drunker than fuck! Well one of my friends hooked up with this black chick and they decided to take off a little bit earlier then the rest of us and go back to his place. He takes her back to his place and puts on the Marvin Gaye CD to make it romantic! Just wait to hear how romantic this shit gets. So they are getting it on and he decides he wants to fuck her in the ass! He’s fucking her in both holes and finish’s while he doing her in the ass right. She stays the night and leaves the next morning. When he wakes up he said his dick was hurting him really bad. He was really wigging it and went directly to the doctor to get tested for an STD since he only knew this chick for maybe an hour before having some gross ass fucking sex with her. The doc does all the test he can on him and gets the results and confirms that he’s clean. He tells my friend that if his dick is still hurting to after a few days to come back. Well he lets it sit for a few days right? And like 3 days later his dick is all fucking purple and shit! He is really freaked out now, he’s calling me all physc’d out afraid their going to have to cut his shit right off! So I go with him back to the doctor and they examine it and take some x-rays of his stuff. The doc comes back in and tells him that he has a chili seed stuck up his pisshole, and that it’s irritating his cock. So they have to go in and remove it surgically I guess… I didn’t ask how they got it out. So the point is, is that he got that chili seed while ass fucking her. I guess she had a turd up there waiting to come out with a few chili seeds stuck in her shit then right?

Random Pictures On The Drive

FM — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 18:33:49 +0000

Here’s a random update of some pictures I came across on my drive at work. I’m going to start dumping all that I have on here so you mothertruckers can get some good laughs throughout the day.

Dog, Drop That Ball; You Look So Silly!

FM — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 22:07:40 +0000

Toronto Raptors Mascot Devours Cheerleader

FM — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 17:26:29 +0000

No related posts.

The Random Image Viewer

FM — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 22:35:27 +0000

Most of you guys don’t know about the funfreepages random image viewer. All you perverts out there have made the top 20 just a list of big breasted women. I ain’t complaining. Anyway, very soon, I will convert the images to something a bit easier to navigate through (and search).

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

FM — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 20:15:29 +0000

KINDERGARTEN TEACHER: To get to the other side

PLATO: For the greater good.

ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross roads.

KARL MARX: It was a historical inevitability.

TIMOTHY LEARY: Because that’s the only trip the establishment could let it take.

SADDAM HUSSEIN: This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and we were quite justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it.

RONALD REAGAN: I forget.

CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK: To boldly go where no chicken has gone before.

HIPPOCRATES: Because of an excess of phlegm in its pancreas.

LOUIS FARRAKHAN: The road, you see, represents the black man. The chicken ‘crossed’ the black man in order to trample him and keep him down.

MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.: I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives called into question.

MOSES: And God came down from the Heavens, and He said unto the chicken, “Thou shalt cross the road.” And the chicken crossed the road, and there was much rejoicing.

FOX MULDER: You saw it cross the road with your own eyes. How many more chickens have to cross the road before you believe it?

RICHARD M. NIXON: The chicken did not cross the road. I repeat, the chicken did NOT cross the road.

MACHIAVELLI: The point is that the chicken crossed the road. Who cares why? The end of crossing the road justifies whatever motive there was.

FREUD: The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road reveals your underlying sexual insecurity.

BILL GATES: I have just released the new Chicken Office 2000, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your chequebook. Unfortunately, when it divides 3 by 2 it gets 1.4999999999.

OLIVER STONE: The question is not “Why did the chicken cross the road?” But is rather “Who was crossing the road at the same time, whom we overlooked in our haste to observe the chicken crossing?”

DARWIN: Chickens, over great periods of time, have been naturally selected in such a way that they are now genetically dispositioned to cross roads.

GRANDPA: In my day, we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Someone told us that the chicken had crossed the road, and that was good enough for us.

EINSTEIN: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road moved beneath the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.

BUDDHA: Asking this question denies your own chicken nature.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die. In the rain.

MICHAEL SCHUMACHER: It was an instinctive manouvre, the chicken obviously didn’t see the road until he had already started to cross.

ANDERSEN CONSULTING: Deregulation of the chicken’s side of the road was threatening its dominant market position. The chicken was faced with significant challenges to create and develop the competencies required for the newly competitive market. Andersen Consulting, in a partnering relationship with the client, helped the chicken by rethinking its physical distribution strategy and implementation processes. Using the Poultry Integration Model (PIM), Andersen helped the chicken use its skills, methodologies, knowledge, capital and experiences to align the chicken’s people, processes and technology in support of its overall strategy within a Program Management framework. Andersen Consulting convened a diverse cross-spectrum of road analysts and best chickens along with Anderson consultants with deep skills in the transportation industry to engage in a two-day itinerary of meetings in order to leverage their personal knowledge capital, both tacit and explicit, and to enable them to synergize with each other in order to achieve the implicit goals of delivering and successfully architecting and implementing an enterprise-wide value framework across the continuum of poultry cross-median processes. The meeting was held in a park-like setting, enabling and creating an impactful environment which was strategically based, industry- focused, and built upon a consistent, clear, and unified market message and aligned with the chicken’s mission, vision, and core values. This was conducive towards the creation of a total business integration solution. Andersen Consulting helped the chicken change to become more successful.

JERRY SEINFELD: Why does anyone cross a road? I mean, why doesn’t anyone ever think to ask, “What the heck was this *chicken* doing walking around all over the place anyway?”

BILL CLINTON: Let me repeat myself, I did not have sexual relations with that Chicken, Miss Chickpensky.

COLONEL SANDERS: I missed one?

Fucking Spam From India

FM — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 15:47:33 +0000

I noticed a large surge of traffic from Indians as of late, and many of them are interested in fucking the babes I have on this site. Some of the comments these visitors are leaving make you wonder how horny these dudes are. A few people left their phone numbers while this one guy just went ahead and posted his entire home address, in hopes of one of the models to come visit him. What the fuck? At first, I figured it’s just spam from Indian workers, but there are no URLs or trackbacks being sent. All comments are posted from legit yahoo.in (Yahoo India) email addresses. I’m going to go ahead and post the funniest one I have received to date:

“your beautiful if you r in bangalore lets fuck, send your contact number”

When anal sex with a black girl goes wrong

StileProject Being Reborn

FM — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 21:21:16 +0000

Everyone knows StileProject and how filthy that place really is (I love it). The webmaster, Stile, is considered to be the grandfather of “japscat”, “goatse” and other shocking adult material. This motherfucker went through the dot com bust and lived to tell about it. About 4 months ago, Stile decided to finally sell the main site off (stileproject.com) along with his network of sites (stilenet) only to be boo’ed on a very popular adult webmasters forum. The asking price? 2 million, and he wanted a job to work for the site instead. While most people saw this as a sign that the site isn’t generating any revenue, this is not true. Kevin, his partner since the start of the site, has found a job with a large tech company, second to Microsoft (I would say either Apple or Google). Stile didn’t want to continue the site by himself with the departure of his partner, so he contemplated cashing out.

Regardless, the son of a bitch is relaunching StileProject as a tube site on November 1st. We’ll see how this turns out very soon.

Two Girls One Cup: Mobile Edition

FM — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 03:20:49 +0000

A couple of guys decided to purchase a 37″ LCD television, setup a cellular GPRS connection and stream porn to it… while driving around town. If this isn’t the most original thing you’ve seen, I’d love to hear your ideas out there guys. I think this stunt should win an award for most creativity with use of technology.