Peckerwood Manor

Welcome, fellow trollops, to the latest edition of "Who's This Week's Thirstiest Ho?" Today's trio are drier than a crumbling wine cork between an overflowing Dumpster and a leased Chevy Trax behind an off-ramp 7-11, so they need all the moisture they can get. First, we have perpetual thirsty gal, Gwyneth Paltrow , who's an expert at gaining attention, what with her vagina-scented candles (did she ever say whose vagina it smelled like? Was it  Oprah's vagina? Justin Timberlake's ?  That Damn Judi Dench's ?). Then there's her instructions on how to yawn properly (yes, she insists, you're doing it wrong; I'm assuming it's all about opening wide-wide-wide, like giving a blowie to The Hammaconda ); how to speak kind words to water before drinking it (to encourage it's "good molecular structure") (huh?); and how to pump oxygen with a catheter up your b-hole, followed by a deep, spiritually-uplifting coffee enema (the latte

Welcome, fellow trollops, to the latest edition of "Who's This Week's Thirstiest Ho?" Today's trio are drier than the driest piece of Melba Toast, so your choice will be difficult. First, we have perpetual gold-digging mattress-actress, Sam Asghari, who hit the big-time when he married Britney Spears (code name Backwater Barbie). Almost immediately, she started yapping about family and them poppin' out a big ol' litter of chirruns, which Sam was totally into because who doesn't want to be a bio-dad Kevin Federline once divorce rears its head. Ka-ching ka-ching, and all you have to do is convince the judge that you're the better parent, which, let's be honest, is easier than a dead whore in the case of our Batshit Brit-Brit. But something funny happened on the way to dadimony. Either Sam couldn't spunk inside Britney's no doubt vajazzled vadge - the zircons spell out "Bagina" because that's what she called it as a four-year

Welcome, my chickens, to the latest edition of "Who's The Thirstiest Ho?" First up, we have Mark Ruffalo, who's baring his man teats and arm pitties for all to see while posing like a bloated squid that's tranqued on benzos and ready for either a wee nap or a moment of lazy-I'll-just-flop-here-and-you-do-me sexytimes-while-my-tushy-burps-a-blaster. I s this thirsty? Oh, my goodness, yes it is.   Also, what is "Perfect" magazine? And do they really think this dead-eyed crusty moose-knuckle is "perfect" or "sexy?" This picture screams raunchy unwashed ball stank, it screams a desperate combover to hide a beachball-sized bald spot, it screams a filthy hairy back sprouting mushrooms and infested with gnats and fermented feta cheese, it screams crutch tips and house slippers and dried earwax specks dotting a black turtleneck and power walking at the mall and nipple-high pants and enough nose hair to knit a sweater.  "I'm 55 no

Greetings, Manor Hors! Periodically, "The Roving Pecker" presents urgent missives from filthy esteemed guest writers. Today's is from SaucyKitty! What’s that saying? If it’s not medically approved for your purpose/needs, then don’t take it? Guess Sharon Osbourne wishes she knew that. Sharon, best known for staying with a batshit crazy rock and roller for aeons, formerly hosting The Talk, not to mention “starring” in a mediocre reality show (really, aren’t they all?) is now on a campaign to get people to stop using Ozempic for weight loss, particularly teenagers. Meanwhile, there is a global shortage of Ozempic. This means that people like FatherSaucyCat (aka my Dad) have to take other diabetes drugs that may not be as well matched to their needs. Dad, for example, is having massive stomach issues with his current diabetes drug. My take? If you are not obese and are just looking to drop 10-20 pounds, you should perhaps try other methods for weight loss. Some people actua

Fancy some sliced cow scrotum? Don't get me started on how bologna is made or what goes into it, just know that I can't recall the last time I ate it - and I'd like to keep it that way. As a wee kidlet, sandwiches with two slices of bologna, one slice of Kraft American cheese and a slathering of French's yellow mustard (on Wonder bread)  (of course!) were a lunchtime treat at the Bree Daniels household, each one lovingly prepared by Mama Daniels with a Misty Lights ciggie dangling from her lower lip. This was just before her and Papa Daniels gave up the coffin nails for jogging - relentlessly; morning and evening! - since everyone on earth took up jogging at the time, including President Carter. They even bought " The Complete Book Of Running ," by Jamie F. Fixx. Never mind that Fixx died of a heart attack at age 52 on one of his runs. Can we blame it on the bologna? Even if you don't eat bologna, many things are "full of bologna," or "a bun