Shaved Ape submitted a new blog post:
Rick Grimes for Tampax Tampons - The Walking Dead
Rick Grimes for Tampax Tampons
Many people assume the secret to my two-year survival in a zombie apocalypse is due to my being a great sheriff or a good husband or a terrific father or simply being a natural born leader. But clearly it’s none of that. The secret to my success is Tampax tampons.
That’s right, Tampax brand tampons!
I start each morning by shoving a fresh Tampax tampon up into the rafters of my cunny thereby bolstering my confidence for the coming challenges of the day. And let me tell ya, this isn’t an easy world to live in, by golly! Every day I’ve got to strut around this prison we inhabit and micro-manage people; make sure they get their daily talkin’ to about stuff and things and whut not, replete with stern, exasperated look. Then I’ve got a dead whore wife to anguish about for a few hours. Then I’ve got a horizon to pensively stare at, with hands on hips, for a few more hours. Oh — and I’ve got some kids to raise also, my son Corl!and a daughter that my dead best friend fathered with my dead whore wife. Add to that all the crying jags I have to find time to fit in each day of The Walking Dead makes me busier than a one-armed man in a circle jerk.
Thank God for the cooling sensation and bubblegum fresh scent of a Tampax tampon doing its job to sop up all those angsty juices leaking from my lady parts! Being as busy and under stress as I am, without a Tampax “Pearl” snuffed up into my suzy I’d plum fall apart.
Oh I’ve tried other brands of tampons, all with disastrous results. You may remember the time I was first reunited with my family in the middle of nowhere Georgia only to immediately leave them to return to Atlanta to save the life of a meth-addled, racist, psychopathic stranger. Well, truth be told, I was out of Tampax tampons and the generic ones just weren’t cutting it so I simply had to go back and stock up. It’s all about priorities with me and I can’t make family a priority until I’ve gotten the tampon situation sorted. I didn’t find Merle on that return trip to Atlanta, but thankfully I did find the Tampax tampons I so desperately needed at a delightful Winn Dixie.
Then there was the time I got nearly everyone killed on Santa’s farm when it was overrun by that swarm of zeds. Later on when the handful of survivors reached a safe place, I was so overwhelmed by losing my stash of Tampax tampons that I lashed out and blamed the others for not respecting me enough as a leader — even though every decision I had made up to that point was a resounding failure. (Thank God Carol never found out that instead of looking for her lost daughter Sophia I was actually out scouting for feminine hygiene products at the nearby Walmart.) I’m ashamed to admit that I was operating with a pooch full of substandard generic tampons at the time, hence my bitter, bitchy mood. I’ve since learned my lesson and it’s Tampax tampons from here on in!
Then we found this prison where I thought I could lock myself away and concentrate on the procurement of Tampax tampons without any petty distractions like perimeter defense. Turns out the “Governor” of the town of Woodbury wouldn’t see fit to trade in Tampax tampons. Now I ask you, what kind of man doesn’t accept such a vital commodity as currency in a post-apocalyptic world? That’s just crazy! Sumvabitch kept trying to trade for toilet paper, which, while nice, ain’t nearly the gold standard that Tampax tampons are these days. I told that stump-humpin’ goober that he could stick his toilet paper where the sun don’t shine and that the ladies of the prison were content with using crumpled up old newspapers for both their pooping and menstruating needs, thank you very much! (Full disclosure time: I don’t share my Tampax tampons with anyone! Being the leader, and prone to crying jags and fits of hysteria as I am, I insist on possessing them all. You see, I need the cooling, reassuring feeling of Tampax tampoonies snarfed into my gooch to make sure I stay on an even keel. Anyone that’s got a problem with that can talk to my .357 Magnum Colt Python, noam sayin’?)
Of course I’d be lying if I said it was easy to keep a steady supply of Tampax tampons on hand. Even with search and scavenge parties it is getting harder and harder to procure the requisite amount my hungry kitty demands on a daily basis. Why just the other day I went through three new tampons before the noon sun reached its zenith. But in my defense it had been a rather weepy morning. I was feeling sad cuz I had been seeing my dead whore wife’s ghost walking through the septic field we poop in here at the prison. Dead whore wife looked so beautiful as she gingerly stepped through the piles of brown plop that lay like a minefield in the pasture. I was so enraptured by dead whore wife’s beauty that I couldn’t think of anything else, especially the snarling zombies only five feet away on the other side of the chain link fence. I know I should have been devising a plan to find some excavating equipment to dig a trench around the prison fence perimeter; a catch-all for the zeds that we could then eradicate safely at our leisure, but dammit, I had better things do to, like think about dead whore wife and Tampax tampons and lecturing my son Corl! on how useless firearms are for self protection in a zombie-filled world.
I know some of you think I’m hard on Corl!, but what you don’t understand is that I’m trying to teach him to be a man. That’s why I ditched our firearms and picked up a garden spade in an attempt to teach my son how to be a farmer — a Tampax tampon farmer! The idea came to me one night while I lay in my prison bunk being sodomized by the meth-addled, cross bow-wielding biker thug from our group. Since it was his second round of the night he was slowing up which gave me time to go to that quiet place in my mind and think. I had been worried about the dwindling supply of Tampax tampons that was out in the zombie-scorched world. What could I do to fix the supply problem? Then it hit me, the old prison exercise yard wasn’t being used so I could plant some tampons there and see how they grew. Georgia has great soil and lots of sun and with a little lovin’ care I would be harvesting Tampax tampons before the first Winter cold snap!
With hoe in hand my son Corl! and I took to farming like a whore wife takes to her husband’s best friend and before you knew it we had planted enough Tampax tampons to insure a bumper crop. Oh, my lady parts became as moist as a snack cake that day, that’s how overjoyed I was by the sight and smell of freshly tilled soil and the strings of seed tampons poking out of the ground. Life was going to be beautiful — but then that cranky old “Governor” had to shine around again and ruin everything by driving a tank right into the middle of my tampon crop.
If only I could have killed that bastard myself I would have, but I’m a weak and attenuated excuse for a man and had to rely on a woman to do the job…again. As I stumbled away from the prison in tears I bumped into Corl! who was also sobbing. He had been unable to save my remaining stash of Tampax tampons before the prison was overrun with zombies. We did manage to find a blood-stained baby carrier that belonged to dead whore wife’s illegitimate child (What is her name???) but it was empty of tampons. This made both me and Corl! sob even harder. Lurching away from the tampon-barren scene I keened and wailed for the loss of the only succor I had known in a zombie-filled world.
Now here I lay in a random house, catatonic (between crying jags) at the loss of my precious Tampax tampons (for at least three more episodes — if not more, so settle in for a boring ride when season Four resumes). Each day my vagina grows more red and puffy and weepy. Corl! has taken to scouting the neighborhood in the hopes of finding something, anything to ease my pain but alas, has not found anything yet save for a used bar of Dove soap and an athletic sock, which will have to do for now. No matter though for I am a true Southerner and I will rise again. As God is my witness, I will find a well-stocked larder of name brand feminine hygiene products and I shall never go Tampax tampon-less again!
Rick Grimes
Continue reading the Original Blog Post
Rick Grimes for Tampax Tampons - The Walking Dead
Rick Grimes for Tampax Tampons
Many people assume the secret to my two-year survival in a zombie apocalypse is due to my being a great sheriff or a good husband or a terrific father or simply being a natural born leader. But clearly it’s none of that. The secret to my success is Tampax tampons.
That’s right, Tampax brand tampons!
I start each morning by shoving a fresh Tampax tampon up into the rafters of my cunny thereby bolstering my confidence for the coming challenges of the day. And let me tell ya, this isn’t an easy world to live in, by golly! Every day I’ve got to strut around this prison we inhabit and micro-manage people; make sure they get their daily talkin’ to about stuff and things and whut not, replete with stern, exasperated look. Then I’ve got a dead whore wife to anguish about for a few hours. Then I’ve got a horizon to pensively stare at, with hands on hips, for a few more hours. Oh — and I’ve got some kids to raise also, my son Corl!and a daughter that my dead best friend fathered with my dead whore wife. Add to that all the crying jags I have to find time to fit in each day of The Walking Dead makes me busier than a one-armed man in a circle jerk.
Thank God for the cooling sensation and bubblegum fresh scent of a Tampax tampon doing its job to sop up all those angsty juices leaking from my lady parts! Being as busy and under stress as I am, without a Tampax “Pearl” snuffed up into my suzy I’d plum fall apart.
Oh I’ve tried other brands of tampons, all with disastrous results. You may remember the time I was first reunited with my family in the middle of nowhere Georgia only to immediately leave them to return to Atlanta to save the life of a meth-addled, racist, psychopathic stranger. Well, truth be told, I was out of Tampax tampons and the generic ones just weren’t cutting it so I simply had to go back and stock up. It’s all about priorities with me and I can’t make family a priority until I’ve gotten the tampon situation sorted. I didn’t find Merle on that return trip to Atlanta, but thankfully I did find the Tampax tampons I so desperately needed at a delightful Winn Dixie.
Then there was the time I got nearly everyone killed on Santa’s farm when it was overrun by that swarm of zeds. Later on when the handful of survivors reached a safe place, I was so overwhelmed by losing my stash of Tampax tampons that I lashed out and blamed the others for not respecting me enough as a leader — even though every decision I had made up to that point was a resounding failure. (Thank God Carol never found out that instead of looking for her lost daughter Sophia I was actually out scouting for feminine hygiene products at the nearby Walmart.) I’m ashamed to admit that I was operating with a pooch full of substandard generic tampons at the time, hence my bitter, bitchy mood. I’ve since learned my lesson and it’s Tampax tampons from here on in!
Then we found this prison where I thought I could lock myself away and concentrate on the procurement of Tampax tampons without any petty distractions like perimeter defense. Turns out the “Governor” of the town of Woodbury wouldn’t see fit to trade in Tampax tampons. Now I ask you, what kind of man doesn’t accept such a vital commodity as currency in a post-apocalyptic world? That’s just crazy! Sumvabitch kept trying to trade for toilet paper, which, while nice, ain’t nearly the gold standard that Tampax tampons are these days. I told that stump-humpin’ goober that he could stick his toilet paper where the sun don’t shine and that the ladies of the prison were content with using crumpled up old newspapers for both their pooping and menstruating needs, thank you very much! (Full disclosure time: I don’t share my Tampax tampons with anyone! Being the leader, and prone to crying jags and fits of hysteria as I am, I insist on possessing them all. You see, I need the cooling, reassuring feeling of Tampax tampoonies snarfed into my gooch to make sure I stay on an even keel. Anyone that’s got a problem with that can talk to my .357 Magnum Colt Python, noam sayin’?)
Of course I’d be lying if I said it was easy to keep a steady supply of Tampax tampons on hand. Even with search and scavenge parties it is getting harder and harder to procure the requisite amount my hungry kitty demands on a daily basis. Why just the other day I went through three new tampons before the noon sun reached its zenith. But in my defense it had been a rather weepy morning. I was feeling sad cuz I had been seeing my dead whore wife’s ghost walking through the septic field we poop in here at the prison. Dead whore wife looked so beautiful as she gingerly stepped through the piles of brown plop that lay like a minefield in the pasture. I was so enraptured by dead whore wife’s beauty that I couldn’t think of anything else, especially the snarling zombies only five feet away on the other side of the chain link fence. I know I should have been devising a plan to find some excavating equipment to dig a trench around the prison fence perimeter; a catch-all for the zeds that we could then eradicate safely at our leisure, but dammit, I had better things do to, like think about dead whore wife and Tampax tampons and lecturing my son Corl! on how useless firearms are for self protection in a zombie-filled world.
I know some of you think I’m hard on Corl!, but what you don’t understand is that I’m trying to teach him to be a man. That’s why I ditched our firearms and picked up a garden spade in an attempt to teach my son how to be a farmer — a Tampax tampon farmer! The idea came to me one night while I lay in my prison bunk being sodomized by the meth-addled, cross bow-wielding biker thug from our group. Since it was his second round of the night he was slowing up which gave me time to go to that quiet place in my mind and think. I had been worried about the dwindling supply of Tampax tampons that was out in the zombie-scorched world. What could I do to fix the supply problem? Then it hit me, the old prison exercise yard wasn’t being used so I could plant some tampons there and see how they grew. Georgia has great soil and lots of sun and with a little lovin’ care I would be harvesting Tampax tampons before the first Winter cold snap!
With hoe in hand my son Corl! and I took to farming like a whore wife takes to her husband’s best friend and before you knew it we had planted enough Tampax tampons to insure a bumper crop. Oh, my lady parts became as moist as a snack cake that day, that’s how overjoyed I was by the sight and smell of freshly tilled soil and the strings of seed tampons poking out of the ground. Life was going to be beautiful — but then that cranky old “Governor” had to shine around again and ruin everything by driving a tank right into the middle of my tampon crop.
If only I could have killed that bastard myself I would have, but I’m a weak and attenuated excuse for a man and had to rely on a woman to do the job…again. As I stumbled away from the prison in tears I bumped into Corl! who was also sobbing. He had been unable to save my remaining stash of Tampax tampons before the prison was overrun with zombies. We did manage to find a blood-stained baby carrier that belonged to dead whore wife’s illegitimate child (What is her name???) but it was empty of tampons. This made both me and Corl! sob even harder. Lurching away from the tampon-barren scene I keened and wailed for the loss of the only succor I had known in a zombie-filled world.
Now here I lay in a random house, catatonic (between crying jags) at the loss of my precious Tampax tampons (for at least three more episodes — if not more, so settle in for a boring ride when season Four resumes). Each day my vagina grows more red and puffy and weepy. Corl! has taken to scouting the neighborhood in the hopes of finding something, anything to ease my pain but alas, has not found anything yet save for a used bar of Dove soap and an athletic sock, which will have to do for now. No matter though for I am a true Southerner and I will rise again. As God is my witness, I will find a well-stocked larder of name brand feminine hygiene products and I shall never go Tampax tampon-less again!
Rick Grimes
Continue reading the Original Blog Post
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I dont see a way around that unless you publish it publicly first. After the post has been submitted publicly, you can make it private. That way, the post in the forums shows it came from you and not me.
