Indie (a): Independent; showing the spirit of individuality. Posh (a): smart, fashionable, elegant, stylishly luxurious, sexy, and polished.
That’s right, boys and girls! I know most of you come in here thinking, jeez, I sure wish I didn’t just look for “grandma’s loose pussy” on google search, but we all know you did anyways. (Welcome, by the way. No grandmas here, though.) So what better way to focus all that misguided emotion and testosterone than by visiting the coolest new porn site like, ever.
I know what you’re thinking: Dick, I’ve seen a lot of porn in my day, including some hot bitches, as well as some donkey porn and other pretty nasty shit. Question is, why should I even bother with just another site?
Well, the fact of the matter is this: nothing like this has ever been done before, especially for free. You can go to Suicide Girls.com and spend a shit-ton of money a month for some pretty nasty/freaky/scary girls, OR you can come to Indie Posh.com and look at all the hot bitches you want – for free.
Indie Posh.comhas only the highest-quality galleries of the chicks you and I both would love to fuck: the hot, punk, tattooed, indie rocker chicks with ATTITUDE. And guess what: you won’t find these awesome-ass girls anywhere else, because while the rest of the internet is looking at gaping holes and nasty back-alley hooker bitches, you get to look at some classy, tasteful nudes of some pretty awesome fucking girls.
No pop-ups, no blind links, just straight hotness.
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There’s this small talent agency on the corner, and this small Asian man in his 40s comes through the door, saying he’s got the greatest act anybody’s ever seen! The talent agent looks at him and asks him what it’s about. The Asian man, a small, thin, ugly man with a shitty Asian handlebar mustache tells him it’s nothing like he’s ever seen before – it’s a family act. The talent agent raises an eyebrow, painfully remembering the awkardness of the Betsy and Mary-Ann Keebler sisters juggling wine glasses at each other and cutting themselves very, very badly.
He’s seen a million of these “family acts” before, and they are always fucking terrible. The Asian man assures him it’s one-of-a-kind, telling him his family is downstairs in the lobby waiting. The talent agent figures it’s either this or masturbating into the microwave-heated bottle of peanut butter for the sixth time today.
“Fine, go ahead. Let’s see it.”
The Asian man steps out on stage, puts on a blindfold, and proceeds to strip buck-ass naked. For some reason, he has an unbelievably monstrous 14″ black cock (which is a rare occurence in the Asian community, by the way). He lays on the floor naked as the day he was born, and his huge erection sticks straight up over a foot into the air. Out comes his wife, who is this absolutely stunning Icelandic goddess with huge fake tits bolted to her chest. She drops her trenchcoat, revealing her completely nude body. There’s not a single hair on her entire body save for her long blonde hair. She lowers herself and starts fucking her husband right there on the stage.
While they’re fucking and sucking, their 13-year-old son comes out, who looks nothing like his parents. He actually looks completely Jewish. Big nose and everything. He drops his trousers as well, only to reveal a monstrous black penis just like his father’s! While his mom is fellating his father, he approaches his mother from behind and starts fucking is mom’s ass hard – with his huge fucking Jewish nose.
While they’re all fucking and sucking, the daughter (who’s strangely pure Hispanic) wheels out out the grandmother on a wheelchair, kicks her in the teeth, off the wheelchair and onto the floor, and then finally steals the hubcaps from the wheelchair. The grandmother’s back splinters like a toothpick, and she’s unable to get up. The daughter lights up a cigarette and gives it to grandma.
The mom, in an unbelievable act of strength and concentration, lights her own nipples on fire and picks up her son and husband and sets them on her shoulders ass-to-ass with their huge schlongs hanging out, as she steps onto the wheelchair and slowly starts spinning in place. While she carefully spins, the son and the father each bend over and give each other handjobs with one hand while simultaneously giving the reach-around with the other.
Meanwhile, the grandma pulls her moo-moo back and starts shooting smoke rings out of her decrepit old cunt over the entire spectacle, while the daughter simultaneously bends over, aims, and shoots ping-pong balls out of her ass precisely through the smoke rings and directly into her brother’s and father’s mouths, alternately. This continues for a good while; spinning nipples-on-fire masturbation reach-around mouth-catching-ass-projected-ping-pong-balls-through-smoke-rings-shot-from-grandma’s-filthy-old-cunt, until they all collapse into a big pile of sweat, shit, and semen and start fucking and sucking each other. The son starts fucking his sister while the father fucks the wife, then they all yell “Hup!” in unison and kinda do a little bunny hop over one, and the son starts fucking his own mother while the father starts fucking his own mother.
For the grand finale, they all perform a circlejerk over grandma, but here’s the kicker: grandma’s dead. They all take a bow while wiping the shit, blood, sweat, semen, and tears from their mouths. They’re all panting, with that “eh? eh??” look on their faces. The Asian father steps forward, panting, and pleads the talent agent for his approval.
“I have never seen anything like this in my entire life! What do you call your act?”
I’ll just let you know that I’ve been swamped with side projects for what seems like the last month or so, and I do feel like complete shit for not updating. I tried putting up my best-of collection, but of course that doesn’t satiate all my loyal daily readers, and to you I profusely apologize.
I do want to let you know that some pretty fucked up shit happened in the meantime, and I wouldn’t be a sucka and hold out on you bitches.
I’ll finish the story with Georgia girl (she’s gone now), how I lost my booty call (this one hurts, literally), and what happened last night to get my car towed and impounded.
Sit back, relax, and just wait a little longer.
You exhibit less patience than a toddler on a dulce de leche high, for fuck’s sake.
Ha! I kid. You people are wonderful, all of you. And go ahead and keep sending me pictures of you in your panties, ladies. It’s the only thing that helps me through the day.
Personally chosen by me, The Big Dick. These are my favorites for whatever reason. They represent my best work, and best exemplify the character and flavor you’ll find in most of my posts. These are in chronological order, so for you psych majors, that means the oldest ones go first.
Kinda like seniors at the buffet.
Remember, you can always click the “best of” link up on top to see this page.
And if you haven’t already read these, you’re in luck. Enjoy.
I decide to invite Georgia Girl and a couple of her friends to accompanty me to the country club, where we go swimming in the pool and sip mojitos under the sunbrellas. We have a great time; I throw her off the side of the pool, we have a swimming contest, and then the girls lay out in the sun to try and work on their tans while I sit next to her and make wonderful conversation.
She’s smart, she’s funny, and she just loves to laugh. She seems so carefree. So relaxed. Like nothing can – or ever will – bother her. And yet deep down inside I can see she’s a cynic; she’s a thinker. Her eyes dart back and forth smoothly, taking every last bit of information in. She’s got smarts.
She gets up, stretching her perfect, tanned figure out in her white swimming suit, then gives me one of those looks as she dives elegantly into the pool. She swims the whole length underwater, and once she reaches the other end, she comes up slowly out of the water, nose first. Just like in the movies, her hair falls straight back as she wipes the excess water off her face. Her boobs are floating on the water. I catch my mouth dropping slightly, so I hit the diving board.
I completely fuck up the one-and-a-half, belly flopping with the intensity and splendor of a drunk sea lion. After a few choice curse words muttered underwater, I come back up to find her laughing out loud at me – accompanied by her friends and like thirteen kids that suddenly materialized out of nowhere. “It was on purpose, weirdos. You act like I hate bellyflopping like Shamoo or something.”
Thank God for the rum in my system, otherwise that might have hurt more than it did. I’m sure I’ll feel that one tomorrow. I swim over to her, and she’s smiling ear to ear. I take her hands and pull her over to the corner. I pull her close and I stare into her eyes, looking deep inside to see what I can find. I see genuine happiness, a little sarcasm, and a spark. That’s good enough for me.
I lean in and kiss her on the forehead. She smiles at me, smirks maliciously, and throws her arms around me as she delves into a deep, huge kiss. I would have said something to the kids, but I wasn’t about to stop this girl. I just put my hands on her hips and let her do all the work. By the time both of us came up for air, we were both smiling like idiots. And her friends were all just shaking their heads with the absurdity of it all.
I took her downtown later that night to a new creperie I’ve heard about, and we enjoyed our dinner. My phone was ringing off the hook, but I dared not answer it. I knew my crew was itchin’ to go downtown and get my ass drunk (apparently, it’s a great time. Or so I hear). We got a complimentary dessert crepe from the owner (you’re so cute together!), and she chowed down on it as if it was going out of style. Apparently, this girl knows exactly what she likes, and goes for it. Which is good. Especially if she likes me.
I take her back home to my pad, and I pour a couple cocktails as I put one of my favorite romantic comedies. She cuddles up next to me, and we laugh and joke the whole way through. I’d tell you which one, but then I’d have to kill you. It’s one of my secrets. The girls absolutely love it, and even though I know every single line in the movie, I still laugh out loud. By the time the credits roll, she heads to the bathroom to freshen up (probably some bubblegum to mask her breath). When she comes back, she smirks at me, pushes me over on my couch, and jumps on me.
Oh, shit. It’s on.
She attacks me with kisses. She’s swirling her sly tongue in and out of my mouth, and it’s driving me crazy with desire. I pull her hair back and kiss and nibble on her neck, and she lets out an audible moan of surprise and satisfaction. She likes it.
I slowly let my hands work their way down to the back of her neck, then to her shoulders, then to her arms and her side. I start working my way back up towards the finish line at the Twin Peaks when she grabs my hands and shakes her head not even close.
What the fuck? This is supposed to be turbo-dating! According to my calculations, day two would approximate out to two months, and by the evening it would be pushin’ three! So what gives?
Without missing a beat, my hands work their way around and non-threateningly back up to her shoulders and neck. She’s kissing me with definite passion, that’s for sure, but now I can’t tell what her motives are anymore.
Does she just want to be make-out buddies? Is she waiting for later? Is she a virgin? Does she have a fucking douchebag boyfriend back home she’s guilty about? My mind is racing, and I can’t even feel my lips moving anymore.
“What’s wrong? Is it because – oh, that.”
“No, no, it was my mistake. I shouldn’t have even done something so crude. I apologize. This is only our second day knowing each other, and I keep forgetting that.”
She looks down, pulling her hair away from her eyes. She sits down. “There’s something I…forgot to tell you.”
Oh, God. Here it comes.
continued tomorrow…
Today’s Daily Challenge: Give out a High-Five-Who’s-Gay. That means every time you see someone you know (buddies, coworkers, bosses, neighbors, and grandparents), go ahead and give ‘em some skin, my man. I’m talkin’ at least twice per conversation ("Long time no see! High-five! Leavin’? Ok, well, high-five, then!"). Just when you get everybody feeling good about themselves with all these rad high-fives, approach someone you don’t like and right after asking them for a high-five, right at the apex exclaim, “Who’s gay!?”
They’ll sit there stunned with their hand straight up in the air while everybody stares and laughs.
What do you do with a girl who’s only in town for a week? That is the question I have been asking myself over and over again. Do you take her out to a dinner and a movie, going through all the motions? Do you be straight up with her and tell her you’re only in it for the no-strings sex? Do you follow her to her hometown? Although there are several ways to go about it, only one will get you the best results.
I met this gorgeous blonde girl yesterday who’s only in town for a week while she visits family and goes to a wedding. She’s got long, blonde hair, a perfect smile, and is very outgoing and loves to laugh. I like that in a girl. It exudes confidence. It tells me she’s not afraid of who she is, and tries not to be too serious with life.
She was sitting with one of her cousins at a local coffee shop I like to frequent, and she caught my eye the moment I set foot inside the establishment. She was a shining angel, radiating rays of sunshine everywhere. She was wearing a fitted white top, and it accented all her right curves.
I got my coffee and strategically sat within her line of sight. I pulled out the paper and turned on my iPod and started doing my thing, not giving her a second glance. I caught her looking a couple of times, and the second time I held her gaze for a second, then flashed her a big-ass smile. She smiled back, embarrassed that she was caught staring.
Immediately, I stand up and make my way over there, all smiles. Her cousin doesn’t seem to approve of me just yet. Most people don’t. I just need a little time, and an in. I make a crack about how I saw bright rays of light emanating from within the windows of the coffee shop, and I had to see whether there was an angel trapped inside or just a flashlight rescue party in full swing.
Now normally, I don’t give girls compliments. Compliments are sleazy in their own right, and it sends the wrong message, especially when you first meet someone. Same with presents; they’re just ticking time bombs, and they’ll always end up blowing up in your face. Someday I’ll go into more detail about this, but for now, trust me: compliments and presents – while nice and thoughtful, even if they’re completely, totally sincere – always lead to problems because they send the wrong message.
I strike up a conversation (with both of them, lest I should falter and forget to include her own cousin in the colloquy), and pretty soon I have them both laughing about some of my mishaps at some weddings I’ve been to (I once danced with an older lady who later turned out to be the bride’s mother, and I had to hear shit from my crew for the following two weeks).
Her body language is saying it all. Her legs are uncrossed now, her stance is open (no crossed arms) and pointed directly at me, she’s rubbing her knee softly and playing with her hair, and she’s leaning forward, all ears. And she’s got both rows of her beautiful teeth smiling right at me. This girl is amazing. Everything is going well, that is, until she tells me she’s only in town till the weekend, at which time she’ll say goodbye to her family and go back to Georgia.
I start panicking, but then it slowly dawns on me, this could be a beautiful thing. And then I start asking myself, what do you do with a girl who’s only in town for a week? I run all the options through my head while I listen to her tell a story about her hellish flight here. I could ask her to go on a typical blue-collar dinner-and-a-movie and hope something develops. I could go to the wedding (crash the wedding?) with her and show her a good time. I could show her around town for a day. The possibilities are endless. But it the bomb’s a-tickin’. Five more days and she’s gone. There really is only one way to go about it. I take a deep breath, take a good, long look at her face, and decide right then and there: it’s worth it.
I will fall in love with this girl for 5 days.
We will be inseparable for the next few days, every moment spent in each other’s arms. There is no greater sorrow than losing someone special, which only makes the joy of being together even sweeter. With that deadline approaching, she will move faster along the relationship than in the timeframe she normally operates under. Come Goodbye Day, we will have gone on dates, fallen in love, talked about our future together, made sweet, sweet lovin’, and experienced the sorrow of breaking up.
I got her number yesterday, promising her (to her cousin’s slight dismay) I will show her the world (but mainly just Boise). And now it’s today, the clock is ticking, and time’s a-wastin’. Cross your fingers, people.
Angels need lovin’, too.
Today’s Daily Challenge: Approach a complete stranger with a foreign accent. No, it doesn’t have to be a certain one, only the one you’re most comfortable with. No Kentucky Inbred Drawls, either (nice try, you fucks). Try a Mexican accent, or a French accent, or even a Cockney accent (if you’ve watched enough Guy Ritchie movies). Do it at the grocery store, or the convenience store, or wherever you’re at tonight. See how people treat you differently. How they look at you funny, and how they get that air of superiority just because you happen to sound different. Tell them where you’re from. Look at their eyes and begin to see the stereotype matching forming in their brains.
Then assume regular accent and call them out on it. Make them feel like shit for succumbing to tired ethnic clichés. Tell them not to judge people based soley on the sound of their voice or the color of their skin, and make them feel like a pile of shit by the time you’re done. Congratulations! You’ve just broken an ethnic stereotype! One down, 600 million to go!
There’s no post for today, but I would just like to introduce my faithful readers to a new daily feature I think will really take off. I’m calling it the Dick Shagwell Daily Challenge.
Each day, after each beautifully-composed and well-written piece of heavenly prose I post, I will append a daily challenge to my readers. I know most of you don’t really step out of your personal bubbles all that often, but I plan on changing that. Want to score better with the ladies? Here’s your chance to get there. Want to have a great conversation piece next time you’re at work with something crazy/stupid/just plain weird you did the day before? Shit, wanna just make a difference in somebody’s life? You can sign up right here.
Today’s Daily Challenge: Hold the door open for someone. Yea, it’s not that hard, I know, but trust me, this karma shit will definitely get back to you. If the person is unappreciative or fails to say a simple “thank you", go ahead and catch up with them and give them shit. A lot of shit. “Just a simple fucking thank you would have done me fine, but your pathetic lack of general social skills must have gotten in the way. Oh, and you’re fat,” for instance. If they’re a good-looking bitch, who knows what might happen. And if she sees you opening the door for her kids, that’s bonus baby-daddy points for you!
Email me back with any short stories that come of these. As always, my email address is dickshagwell@gmail.com. I know most of you won’t get into fistfights over this one, but who knows. Someone will always takes it to the max. They always do.
Take it to the max, bitches!
Update: I’ve received word from a few of you telling me how pussy this whole thing sounds. Let me clear this up: my vision for this thing is for my army of Dick Shagwell followers to go and actually do the daily challenges. Just like in Fight Club, you gotta prove yourself first, and then you can get assigned newer and more…creative challenges. I want readers to tell me they haven’t missed a daily challenge in 3 months. This doesn’t mean that all the challenges are going to be pussy. I’m thinking of stepping it up and doing a “kick a whore in the ass and run away", or “hit on a girl by giving her all smiles with a huge hunk of spinach on your front tooth". Lofty, but attainable as well. Just like any good challenge should be. Hope this clears up some of the misconception.
Have you completed today’s daily challenge yet? Get crackin’!
Have you ever noticed how old people always seem to smell funny? Of course you have. Everyone has. They emit gusts of repuslive redolence at every step. It makes no difference geographically, either. You can have reekers in the plains of Kansas, the piers of San Francisco, and the suburbs of Chicago.
This is considered common knowledge. Well, duh; grandkids have been exposed to this malodorance since toddlerhood when visiting the grandparents. What I find interesting is that all senior citizens tend to smell the same. Especially the older women. Now, our older senior gentlemen are usually sending forth fumes consisting of encrusted urine, gingivitis, and underwashed undergarments. Again, common knowledge. Older ladies, on the other hand, tend to emit nasty effluvium in one of two flavors:
1) Wet Dog Funk. Yes, I said it. Don’t even deny it, because you know exactly what I’m talking about. It would be one thing to have an older lady giving her dachsund (for you psych majors: weiner dog) baths everyday and then considering the stray splashing water good enough to call a “shower". It’s another when the older lady doesn’t have a dog, or a neighbor with a dog, or even a neighborhood do-it-yourself doggy detailing shop. In short, no dog should mean no dog smell. Right?
Wrong. I went undercover to find out. I found a ladyfriend of mine sleeping naked, so I woke her up, fucked the shit out of her, and put her ass to sleep again. Then I went undercover again to get to the real dirt on this perplexing problem. Turns out there is no scientifically compelling reason for this. Besides passing gas every fourth step, old ladies just happen to naturally smell like a sopping wet german shephard dry-humped them first thing in the morning. And that’s the truth.
What’s there to do about it? Well, glad you asked! You should seriously consider purchasing a nice bottle of:
2) Old Lady Perfume. I don’t even have to describe it. You know exactly what I’m talking about. There seems to be only one type, because I have never smelled an old lady who wore any perfume other than this. It’s not very attractive, and chances are they sprayed entirely too much on ("too much” referring to any amount strong enough to kill smaller domestic puppies). Now, I want to believe in my heart of hearts that there are some older ladies out there who purchase fragrances other than Old Lady Perfume. I mean, come on. As kids, do you think they enjoyed smelling their grandparents with that ghastly stench? Nope. So why would they turn into seniors at their respective times and adopt the same fumes themselves? It doesn’t make any sense. No fucking sense at all.
But wait, there’s an explanation! After conducting a large-scale, statistically significant double-blind randomly-sampled survey (read: asking my grandma), I found out older ladies do wear other types of perfume. But upon immediate contact with their skin, a chemical reaction (that has yet to be researched) causes all fragrances – no matter how sweet and wonderful – to decompose into Old Lady Perfume. Try it yourselves, kids! Take some of your momma’s best perfume and spray the shit out of the nearest old lady (you can nab plenty at the neighborhood Golden Corral buffet) and see what kind of magical chemical concatenation of events take place. Once left to fester, give it a good whiff, and viola, you’ve got Old Lady Perfume! Makes a great science fair project! And grandma won’t mind, as long as you set a daytime television show on repeat nearby.
Something must be done about this travesty in modern American society. And who better to step up to the plate and take charge other than your man Dick Shagwell? I decided to do a little experiment on my own and see what an older lady would smell like without the the Old Lady Perfume. After unbeknownstly stealing my own grandmother’s unlabeled antique bottle of who-knows-what, I went back and visited her three days later (just enough time to make sure all her pores were free of contamination).
I couldn’t even step into the house. It smelled like semi-digested popcorn piss, curdled yogurt poop, and festering undercooked chicken sweat, rounded out by a pugnacious stench of a wet (and probably dead) golden retriever. And that was just my grandma, not her kitchen. It all makes sense! The only aroma strong enough to conceal/cancel out/overpower their natural putridity is that fucking Old Lady Perfume! It all makes sense now!
My nose started bleeding, and I threw the bottle in like a hand grenade and made a run for it.
About Me: I'm not gonna lie. I'm kind of a big deal. I'm kickin' it in the great city of Boise like any late-twenties bachelor should, laying bitches left and right. Well, maybe once in a while. OK, so pretty much never. So follow me on my misadventures as I try to unsuccessfully regain the glory that I once referred to as my "Playa Dayz". Lock up your wives, daughters, and reasonably good-looking grandmothers, because Dick Shagwell is on the prowl!
Indie Posh.com has only the highest-quality galleries of the chicks you and I both would love to fuck: the hot, punk, tattooed, indie rocker chicks with ATTITUDE. And guess what: you won’t find these awesome-ass girls anywhere else, because while the rest of the internet is looking at gaping holes and nasty back-alley hooker bitches, you get to look at some classy, tasteful nudes of some pretty awesome fucking girls. 
He’s seen a million of these “family acts” before, and they are always fucking terrible. The Asian man assures him it’s one-of-a-kind, telling him his family is downstairs in the lobby waiting. The talent agent figures it’s either this or masturbating into the microwave-heated bottle of peanut butter for the sixth time today. 
She gets up, stretching her perfect, tanned figure out in her white swimming suit, then gives me one of those looks as she dives elegantly into the pool. She swims the whole length underwater, and once she reaches the other end, she comes up slowly out of the water, nose first. Just like in the movies, her hair falls straight back as she wipes the excess water off her face. Her boobs are floating on the water. I catch my mouth dropping slightly, so I hit the diving board.
I took her downtown later that night to a new creperie I’ve heard about, and we enjoyed our dinner. My phone was ringing off the hook, but I dared not answer it. I knew my crew was itchin’ to go downtown and get my ass drunk (apparently, it’s a great time. Or so I hear). We got a complimentary dessert crepe from the owner (you’re so cute together!), and she chowed down on it as if it was going out of style. Apparently, this girl knows exactly what she likes, and goes for it. Which is good. Especially if she likes me.
What the fuck? This is supposed to be turbo-dating! According to my calculations, day two would approximate out to two months, and by the evening it would be pushin’ three! So what gives?
She was sitting with one of her cousins at a local coffee shop I like to frequent, and she caught my eye the moment I set foot inside the establishment. She was a shining angel, radiating rays of sunshine everywhere. She was wearing a fitted white top, and it accented all her right curves.
1) Wet Dog Funk. Yes, I said it. Don’t even deny it, because you know exactly what I’m talking about. It would be one thing to have an older lady giving her dachsund (for you psych majors: weiner dog) baths everyday and then considering the stray splashing water good enough to call a “shower". It’s another when the older lady doesn’t have a dog, or a neighbor with a dog, or even a neighborhood do-it-yourself doggy detailing shop. In short, no dog should mean no dog smell. Right?
Nope. So why would they turn into seniors at their respective times and adopt the same fumes themselves? It doesn’t make any sense. No fucking sense at all.
After unbeknownstly stealing my own grandmother’s unlabeled antique bottle of who-knows-what, I went back and visited her three days later (just enough time to make sure all her pores were free of contamination).
