Thursday, September 30, 2010

Intercourse, Pennsylvania judge cited for handing out condoms inside acorns

Acorns that contain condoms, held as evidence by Capitol police, are displayed after being taken out of an evidence envelope. These were brought in after being opened.

A magisterial district judge from Intercourse found what he considered a joke to be no laughing matter.

Isaac H. Stoltzfus was cited for disorderly conduct for handing out hollowed out acorns that contained condoms to passersby over the noon hour on Sept. 21 in Soldier’s Grove in the state Capitol complex, said Department of General Services spokesman Ed Myslewicz.

via Penn Live

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

If You're Going to San Francisco....The Six Feet Under Club offers sex in a buried coffin

As hard as this may be to believe, the Six Feet Under Club (6FUC) is far less perverse than it sounds; it doesn’t involve corpses or zombies, though I’m sure it will attract plenty of vampire and undead fetishists. And let’s be honest. Who hasn’t had a passing fantasy of coffin sex after seeing some of the many deathly hot vampires in the media as of late? Besides that plush coffins look damn comfortable.

6FUC was formed to create a blend of public performance art and voyeuristic porn. Couples can sign up to be buried together in a crude coffin large enough to house a small elephant or sex scene, though not a sex scene involving a small elephant, unless of course the small elephant is your penis. The space will be extremely intimate and isolated from the outside environment. However, a night vision webcam in the coffin will project the buried action on a wall where an audience can watch. In this way, the intimacy of the act is preserved while simultaneously being displayed in a public forum. Most importantly, no corpses will be harmed or displaced during the filming of these scenes.

6FUC’s purpose in mixing private and public sex is to question why this universal and unifying human experience is one of the most privately guarded and buried secrets. And like all erotic themed art, it gives people an excuse to explore their own sexual interests in the guise of intellectualism.

The action is scheduled to go down in San Francisco at Arse Elektronika’s Space Racy conference, which explores the architectural spaces that contain and define our sexuality: motels with hourly rates, swinger clubs, phallic architecture, sex furniture… While you may not be able to get to California to join the underground club, I wouldn’t be surprised to see similar “clubs” spring up at upcoming fetish events. If you choose to go down this dark corridor of sexuality, make sure you have someone on the outside you trust to dig you out again, a way of signaling outsiders that something is wrong, and a source of oxygen. Otherwise you may quickly become part of the growing club of people who die during sexual arousal due to a self induced lack of oxygen.

via Creative Loafing

Poked by a Bottle

A new print and outdoor ad campaign for Skyy Vodka depicts a woman clad in red leather tights and high heels by a vodka bottled. Marin Institute watchdog Bruce Lee Livingston said, "This is just ridiculous, it's porn-a-hol. Underage kids will look at this and associate sexual prowess with drinking Skyy."

Well, duh. Alcohol does increase sexual prowess but we guess that's besides the point. Livingston thinks the ad industry can't regulate itself and said, "The FTC should be all over this."

Branding expert Steven Addis thinks the ad is crass and told USAToday, "It's just jamming a bottle in a woman's crotch,. A great ad uses heart or mind. This one's starting below the waist."

Defending the ad, Skyy Marketing Director Maura McGinn (now that's funny) said, "It's about the content of our product. We're an adult product consumed mostly in the evening and in flirtatious situations."

Our opinion? Well, at least she isn't being blown to bits Michael Bay-style or tortured Saw-style. Oh wait. That would be perfectly fine because, well, blowing shit up is absolutely fine in America but alluding to sex, even in the slightest, is just wrong. And harmful. And bad. And will ruin the purity of every last American. Because sex is evil. Sex is the Devil!

Skyy Vodka should be hung for this travesty, by God!

via Adrants

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

I Have No Idea What's Going On Here

EL GUINCHO | Bombay from MGdM | Marc Gómez del Moral on Vimeo.

French Euro MP in oral sex slip-up

Former Justice Minister of France and current Euro MP Rachida Dati has become an internet sensation after mixing up the words fellatio and inflation during a TV interview.

Both the words sound similar in French and the tongue-tied MP told Canal Plus: "I see some [foreign investment funds] looking for returns of 20 or 25% at a time when fellatio is close to zero."

The French word for fellatio is fellation, which sounds similar to the word inflation.

via TVNZ

Monday, September 27, 2010

'Toilet Art' infuriates neighbours

Derby County's goalkeeper, Stephen Bywater, has angered neighbours with an erotic ‘artwork’ - which includes a portable toilet and a sex doll - in his garden.

The ‘artwork’ features a blow-up sex doll, mattresses and vandalised horse box

Bywater created the eyesore featuring a blow-up sex doll, a defaced portable toilet and bright blue horse box.

Residents begged the player to take down the monstrosity but the 29-year-old insists the work, which includes rubber genitalia, is his ‘masterpiece’.

Neighbours have asked police to step in but officers remain powerless and have tried to find an ‘amicable solution’ to the row.

A 75-year-old neighbour, who wished to remain anonymous, said: ‘We are totally bewildered by his actions.’

Derby County FC said it ‘completely disassociates’ itself from Bywater’s misguided creative attempts.

Bywater later apologised for artwork at his home in Sutton-on-the-Hill, Derbyshire.

‘I acknowledge that this does not reflect well on me as a professional or the club in general,’ he said in a statement.

via Metro

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Very Slow Sex

[via the great grandguignol]

And Now, Your Moment Of Zen -

Buy This Book: Little Miss Dynamite By J. Troy Seate

Got a book for you, folks, that I will guarantee you'll enjoy: Little Miss Dynamite is a brand new collection by the always kisk-ass J. Troy Seate. Here's a taste and here's where you can buy the whole book.

A world-wide calamity faces The Examiner’s crack news journalist as he investigates the day that vaginas quit pussyfooting around.

The SEX Files

It all started on August 3, 2011. I keep late hours and was seeking a few more precious moments of quiet slumber when my phone rang mid-morning. Finding the phone through ocular cobwebs of steel, I said, “What?”

“Have you heard what’s happening?” Jimmy, from the newsroom, asked.

“What this time? Another homicide?”

“Turn on the news, man. You ain’t going to believe it. The boss wants you to call him as soon as you get your act together.”

I reached for the TV remote and punched in the numbers for CNN. The male news anchor appeared a bit discombobulated. He was on split-screen with some scientist from a research lab.

“What do they think caused it?” the anchor asked.

“We’re investigating.”

“So the official spin is that scientists and doctors aren’t yet willing to speculate?”

“That’s the case at this time.”

Speculate on what? I wondered.

“The head of Homeland Security is advising everyone to remain in a secure location until further notice,” the CNN guy said. “We are about to show you a piece of footage from the White House shot moments ago. We warn you that it is shocking.”

We all like “shocking,” so I rubbed my tired eyes for a better look-see. What I saw was a first for live TV, and I’ve witnessed a lot of shit as a reporter. The clip showed Madame President at the pressroom podium. She stood in front of the news cameras with a quirky smile and suddenly unbuttoned her jacket and blouse. She pulled the garments open to reveal two large saggy breasts.

“Give sex a chance. We want cock!” she screamed into the microphones. She turned to a male aide and grabbed his crotch. The other women on the podium began to remove their clothes. Then the tube’s picture went black momentarily before returning to the newsman.

I flipped over to MSNBC, wanting to catch that scene again. Instead of the sexy anchorwoman I was used to seeing, another male was broadcasting. “Earlier, the Pentagon placed the nation on top priority alert as the first reaction to this phenomenon was that it was some form of terrorist attack. Reports currently streaming in indicate, however, that this occurrence is happening worldwide.”

I watched, fascinated. Pictures from the capitals of Europe showed women stripping off their clothes and running through the streets after men—not to harm them, but to fuck them. Another piece of film from the Middle East showed females tearing away their black robes, and yet another clip from some unidentified location had filmed nuns leaving their habits behind in a convent and hitting the streets.

“Holy shit,” I exclaimed. I called the chief’s number in the newsroom while hastily pulling on some clothes. The news angle slammed into my frontal lobe with overwhelming force and unleashed a tremble from my spine into my extremities. Whatever was going down would be the story of a lifetime.

“Ed, it’s me, Dave.”

“Dave, we’re going to try and cover this thing, somehow.”

“The tube said that we were now under martial law.”

“Screw martial law. We’re the fucking press. Martial law ain’t gonna mean shit to these sexed-up femmes.”

Even in a crisis, Ed was all business, the consummate professional, and the voice of reason. “We can’t compete with the on-air media, but we can start recording our impressions and take interviews,” he told me. “Work is the best antidote right now. Take your equipment and start talking to people. If this is temporary, we’ll have the human-interest story of all fucking time. If it’s permanent, it’ll be the story of a brave new world.”

He was right. “Okay,” I agreed.” We had to do what we could to record this experience. Better than sitting around wondering what might happen next.

Before turning off the TV, I witnessed MSNBC’s female co-anchor appear on-screen behind the man providing the updates on this developing story. She was totally naked. She grabbed at the man’s crotch, but was quickly subdued by technicians and pulled off-camera. My eyes grew to the size of saucers. I had always wondered what she would look like naked. Now I knew.

Being a pro, the newsman straightened his tie and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse Lisa. She’s another victim of this terrible aberration that is apparently a worldwide epidemic. We must all pray this condition is only temporary. We should stay in our homes and remain calm. Specialists from around the world are communicating to try and determine what has happened.”

It was obvious that the “specialists” were clueless. As a newspaper guy, I had seen hurricanes, floods, tornadoes, earthquakes, and war rip people’s lives apart, but this was a whole new form of crisis. Apparently, the females of the earth were experiencing a real-life version of Girls Gone Wild.

I shut off the tube and stepped out of my front door. I realized there were no sirens outside. In every other crisis or catastrophe I’d experienced, sirens screamed from patrol cars and fire trucks. But I did hear something even more ominous—my next door neighbor, Big Bad Bertha.

“Dave, it’s you,” she bellowed.

She made a beeline for me. I was seeing more of Bertha than I had ever cared to see. She bounded across her lawn to mine. Her big tits swayed and her cellulite jiggled. Her arms shot forward and wrapped around me, damn near knocking me to the ground.

“Fuck me, you big hunk,” she chided and grabbed for my zipper.

I managed to break free from her power hold and outrun her to my car. I climbed inside and fired up Ole’ Betsy. As I backed out of the drive, Bertha threw herself onto the auto’s hood, screaming at me to stop and fuck her. Her huge melon tits squished against the windshield and obscured my forward vision. I backed out of my drive, and just when I thought I was headed down the street with a new, huge, pink hood ornament, another male neighbor appeared in his yard. Big Bertha slid off and headed for him at a full gallop. George saw her coming, dropped his newspaper, and ran for dear life to the protection of his house. I gunned Ole Betsy, leaving behind my quiet little Peyton Place of a neighborhood.

I turned on the radio. The all-news station was speculating about what could have caused women to suddenly break free of their morality and go on a dick-hunt. Although those weren’t his words.

The shrinks had already come up with a label for the phenomenon. It was being called Deviant Sexual Behavior Syndrome, or DSBC, but the newscaster referred to it as “the Sex Files, for short. Had a mad scientist gone Stephen King’s “super flu” one better? he rhetorically asked his listeners. A researcher in a lab who is concerned only with empirical results, breakthroughs, the advancement of knowledge, not consequences? Had some third-world demigod released a poison agent that first steals women’s modesty, and then leads to something worse? I sure as hell didn’t have an answer, but I decided the place to start with interviews was the shopping mall nearest my house.

I wheeled into the mall’s parking lot. Two women were pursuing a man across the handicapped parking. One of the women wore a lightweight top, but was naked below the waist, having discarded shoes, skirt, and drawers somewhere along the way. The man wore some fancy sneakers and was putting space between him and the two women. They pulled up and appeared to be looking for other prey. I kept going.

On the edge of a pickup bed, another woman had her legs wrapped around a man who was pumping her for all he was worth. His pants were puddled around his heels, and it occurred to me that this was not a horrible calamity for everyone. For many men, this was their wildest dreams come true, a fantasy beyond anything they could have imagined—a world full of women who wanted to get shtupped. For the first time, I thought about Zelda, my girlfriend, and wondered if she was shtupping everyone in sight. Her libido was pretty active to begin with.

The radio voice was providing updates. He said that children did not seem to be affected. The disease was only in pubescent women and older. Thank goodness for that, at least. Further, pregnant women also seemed to be immune. More small favors. That information should give the eggheads in the head-sheds a leg-up on what was causing this.

I pondered over the social fiber of our society. Women were more than one-half of the world population. Were wife and mother duties gone forever? What about traditional occupations such as nurses and teachers that were so vital? I wondered what this would do for rapists and procurers of sex. Would they have a heyday, or would they be more frustrated than ever without the element of power?

More information from the airwaves. On the negative side, I have been informed that there are huge traffic jams snarling many of the nation’s roadways that lead to girls’ schools and convents. My questions answered. So, there would be plenty of places around the globe where men would not be fleeing. I could picture the new curriculum on high school and college campuses. They would be teaching Semen 101 by now. I wondered what it might be like around Hef’s Playboy Mansion at the moment.

Big questions would require insightful editorials. I started to formulate my first story as I pulled up in front of the mall entrance. I placed my press pass on the dash board. An armed security guard walked up to me.

“I’m with The Examiner,” I told him. “I’m going to try and make some sense out of this.”

His metal nameplate read Joe-something. “Good luck,” he said.

I stepped out of my illegally parked car and flipped on my pocket recorder. “What have you observed?”

“The women have gone bug-fuck, basically. They’re all messed up. They come up to you and ask for sex.”

“So they ask rather than just start tearing at you like an animal?”

“They smile and ask first, but they have this kind of wild look in their eyes,” Joe said, looking at the recorder. “And they grab at your pants even if you say ‘No.’ But in my case, they seem to respect the pistol.” He looked at his weapon with admiration. He was some schmuck who had finally gotten the opportunity to use his gun for something besides posing with it in the mirror. “The ones that approached me looked down the barrel and went off to look for other men. Most of them have left because there aren’t that many men in the mall this time of day.”

“Come in with me, would you?” I asked. Joe seemed doubtful. “You’ll get your name in the paper,” I said.

All is vanity, I mused, as he led me in through the automatic doors. Inside was a scene that made me think of Viking rape and pillage. There were only a few people in the mall’s foyer, but they were busy running around like it was a Three Stooges world. But, unlike the Stooges, most were in El Buffo. One man, a store clerk perhaps, was pinned to the mall’s floor by two naked women who had placed their knees on his arms. A third woman was working his penis, trying to induce an erection.

“But I’m gay,” the poor man whined.

“You’ve got a dick, buster. Use it,” one of the females yelled at him.

Once the man’s cock reached her rigidity requirement, she pounced on it and started to undulate. Apparently, women were willing to work together for the common goal. I gave no thought about helping the man out of his predicament. I report the news. I don’t alter it. Besides, I wasn’t ready to have the three sirens turn on me.

Another woman appeared from nowhere and stood in front of the two of us. She looked to be in her early thirties, not at all bad to look at, and she actually had her clothes on.

“Hello, handsome,” she said to me.

Joe reached for his pistola. “Easy, Joe. She seems calm. I want to interview her.” To the woman, I asked, “Would you mind telling me how you’re feeling at this moment?”

“I feel fine, but I’ll feel better after we have sex.”

“When did this feeling—”

Damned if she wasn’t unzipping my fly and reaching for my jewels. My thoughts were racing helter-skelter, but I didn’t try to stop her. I thought maybe she would talk while I let her mess around. “Ma’am, can you explain why you have this urge?”

I thought she was going to answer me, but instead she liberated my penis and started sucking it. Joe and I watched her in amazement. Now, I was part of the story.

“We’ll be able to laugh about all of this some day,” the security guard said with a false laugh.

I wasn’t laughing. Something had gone hideously wrong and thrown my world into chaos. But it felt so damn good. There is something to be said for spontaneity. I couldn’t deny it. I wanted the erection, and I wanted to fuck her. I had already convinced myself that my beloved Zelda had, by now, run from her office to the athletic club next door and spread for every hard dick that was willing to do her. And this woman was better-looking than Zelda.

“Joe, why don’t you take a walk?” I said shakily. “The interview is getting a little personal.”

“You said my name would be in the paper.”

“Yeah, I’ll get back to you in a minute. It’s not her fault,” I added. “They obviously can’t help themselves.”

The woman pulled off my stiffening prick and slipped out of her shorts. She had long tanned legs. “If you’ll fuck me, I’ll talk,” she stated. Without waiting for my answer, she placed her palms on the edge of a huge cement planter by the mall’s entrance and offered me her ass.

The ball was in my court. I could cut and run, or I could fuck for fun. My cock had not reached its zenith, but her mouth had accomplished enough to give me penetration power. I sat my recorder on the planter.

The woman who was furiously polishing the purportedly gay man’s knob, let out a hoot of victory. “Yeeeeaaaahhhh!” Another woman took over as the man begged for penile mercy.

In the meantime, my cock found my sex-crazed stranger’s moist vagina and I put my automatic transmission into drive. “Talk to me,” I instructed. “Why are you begging to get fucked?”

“It’s like an itch I can’t scratch, newsboy,” she panted. “But this itch…Oh…Fuck me…This itch is way up my pussy. You’re my third fuck of the day and that itch is getting stronger.” Her painted toes spread further apart on the highly polished floor and she rose higher on the balls of her feet. “Come on now. Fuck that itchy pussy. Don’t disappoint me.”

Thinking about her itch was enticement to try harder and go deeper, even though it was obvious to me that an army wasn’t going to satisfy the condition these female’s condition was in. “So your desire is getting stronger each time?” I asked needlessly, just for something to say as I approached the brink of explosion.

“That’s right. Come on now, damn it. Fuck me like you live—hard.”

I figured the interview was over when I climaxed. I reached for my recorder and pulled away from her. I had given it my best shot and hoped my semen had not done more than attack that itch. My fuck-buddy looked over her shoulder and saw that I was receding back into my zipper.

“Can you go again, or do I have to go after that dufus guard?”

“I think I’ve got my story,” I told her. “But thank you, I guess.”

“Anytime.” She left her shorts behind and strolled over to look at the three women working over the gay guy, wondering if he would be worth the wait. I picked up her shorts—sort of a visual aid for the story I might be writing.

I didn’t see Joe and didn’t care to. I left the building only to find three men and five women fucking and playing with each other. The women looked to be in major heat and the men grinned and hollered like they had hit the million dollar slot machine. I wasn’t about pass any judgments. I was the neutral news guy, after all, and I’d had knocked off my own piece of the action before transcribing a single word.

I took my cell phone from another pocket and called the office. “Chief, this is Dave. I got an interview with one of these horny broads. I’m coming in to type it up.”

“Better go home and email it to me. We’re barricaded inside the office. We managed to force all the women into the hallway, but some of them are still trying to get in.”

“Holy shit,” I said for the second time. “What about Daphne? I always liked her figure.”

“Like all the rest. Stripped off her clothes and lay spread-eagle on the floor, offering to take on all comers. If it hadn’t of been in the newsroom, I’m sure half the guys here would have gladly fucked her silly. It’s like Pagan Rome, but it’s the females that are trying to take what they want.”

“Okay, I’ll go home,” I told Ed, but my curiosity about Zelda’s state of mind and actions tugged at me. I punched her number on my cell.

Ring, ring, ring. I started to disconnect when a male voice came on. “Thrill me,” the voice almost shouted.

“Can I speak to Zelda?”

“Zelda. You a friend of hers?”

“Sort of.”

“Not too good of a friend I hope. She screwed everybody that would fuck her in this building. Even offered money to whoever could last the longest. I won the loot. She’s nuttier than the rest of the broads. We tried to get her out of here, but she told us it would take more than her boyfriend to put out her fire. She said she wanted as many hard dicks as we could muster. You still there, mate? She’s not your sister or anything, is she?”

“Is she still there?” I answered weekly.

“Said she was going next door to fuck some of the steroid freaks.”

I hung up. I was glad I had put the wood to the woman at the mall. The world had turned upside down, and all the women in it had apparently turned bottoms up. Suddenly, I didn’t care much about sending in a story. The story was already in every house and street around the world. As long as this lasts, people would be too busy fucking, or getting fucked, to read.

If I went home, Big Bad Bertha might be hanging out. “So what?” I told myself. Getting lost in those gargantuan tits might be fun—once, anyway—and it could all end as quickly as it started. I decided to drive toward the palatial mansions by the lake. If everyone wanted to fuck, why not get with the women and their daughters who would not give you the time of day…until this unusual day?

I paid a guy a thousand bucks for a large bag of Viagra and got down to some serious roadwork. I became a slave to every cute nympho that craved cock and stopped only when I needed to heal. The story I finally wrote was about just this: Life goes on.

The Sex Files, or DSBC if you prefer, took its toll on relationships for sure. Housewives and girlfriends who couldn’t be satisfied by their husbands or boyfriends went AWOL. Life as I knew it had ended in the blink of an eye. Fashion vanished in an instant. Appearance no longer counted for much.

When the weather permitted, non-pregnant females between the ages of fourteen and death where seldom found wearing so much as a stitch. There was a half-assed government campaign that preached, Get Pregnant and Get Well, but that didn’t hold much water because all women wanted were to have that burning itch in their pussies scratched. Make Me Happy. Give Me Cock was their fervent and relentless battle cry.

Our mothers and grandmothers were in the mix as well. Fortunately, with all the erectile products and nostrums available, the old men tried their darnedest to take care of the seniors. Women started organizing Fuck Festivals. But, after a while, there didn’t seem to be much fun in all the sex without the “chase factor.”

The scientists squabbled and searched for a genetic answer for the plague that had swept across the face of the earth. They were fairly certain it was a respiratory condition, but could not figure out where it originated, or how it traveled so fast, or why it affected only females. The Trekkies knew it had to be an alien thing. The preachers prayed for salvation and called the phenomenon a wrath on a godless world. And, of course, they claimed it was a precursor to the Apocalypse.

Women’s only relief from their constant need was when they slept. That’s how the men eventually got the upper hand. The women of the world, as many as could be corralled, were sedated while they slept, just enough to keep them under some semblance of control, and then chained to their bedposts, if need be.

And, after a time, men were not so sure that they wanted women to behave. Free love was a powerful aphrodisiac and had a way of catching on. A lot of men used to spend their money on attracting and holding onto women. Now, finances were used for more practical purposes like ballgames and fast cars. Governments began devoting less and less money in pursuit of a cure. We all became more native.

I never caught up with zany Zelda. But I didn’t need to because there were more than enough women around to take care of basic physical needs. The saying about getting more ass than a toilet seat had truly come to pass for guys like me who didn’t have a wife or family to worry about.

But then I made a near-fatal mistake. I bought a pretty young vixen home with me. One of the unwritten new rules was to never let a woman know where you live. It was bad enough that Big Bad Bertha lurked next door looking for every opportunity to have her massive itch scratched.

So I brought this Trudy home, along with her hot little itch. I fucked her in every room except the closet, wore myself to a frazzle, and I crashed. When I woke the next day, I found myself tethered to my bed, spread-eagled, and defenseless. Trudy had called her girlfriends—five of them—to come over for a dick party. She had located my stash of Viagra and forced more than a doctor would recommend down my throat.

Big Bad Bertha took notice of the female parade in and out of my door and saw her opportunity. The others let her squat on me while they took a break. Bertha’s elephantine tits and sloppy love canal rode me hard and put me away wet. My heart palpitated and my sweat glands secreted. My drug-induced hard-on was my enemy. If the wild bunch hadn’t realized my eventual need to eat, sleep, and crap, they might have kept me tied down until I was fucked to death.

When my medication finally wore off, they moved on to greener pastures, but the incident brought one sobering fact home: women could eventually subdue men and turn us into fucking machines. If we could sedate, so could they. My outlook on life abruptly changed. I did not want to become a misogynist, but I was scared.

Five hundred years ago, King Henry VIII complained that the world was ruled by women’s crotches. The truth of it had come to pass. Maybe one day, enough of them will be pregnant that some form of order may return to society, but that would create and even larger problem.

Frankly, I’m beyond wondering if the Sex Files will ever have a solution and what might eventually become of this blue bauble in a sea of night on which we reside. I work from my home and I barricade my doors and windows before sleeping to avoid being taken hostage by any more hot pussies.

Because, next time, they might not cut me loose.

Elmo Gets Some By Ralph Greco, Jr.

Elmo Gets Some

Wasn’t there somebody on hand at Sesame Street that saw Katy Perry in that outfit before they taped?

As the show’s executive producer, Carol-Lynn Parente, points out, the show books celebrity guests in the hopes to “to go after those younger parents who may not have grown up with ‘Sesame Street’ and may not seek ‘Sesame Street’ out.” and that, “We would never, never produce anything that we thought was inappropriate.” No reason then for me to think this was anything more than S.S. catching the boo-boo a little late in the game, right? I mean, such a well-respected American T.V. network as PBS wouldn’t stoop to all this for just cheap publicity, would they?

Let’s face it, the popular pop star Ms. Perry has got a nice cleavage, and though it’s won a whole bunch of awards and shit, isn’t S.S. still a fantasy show? Those freaking Muppets are not real, kids as well as parents are aware of this. I say anything you go on there with, even a costume that is a little revealing, still exists in the cartoon, surreal environment of puppets popping out of garbage cans and Bert and Ernie’s don’t-ask-don’t-tell living arraignments.

Let me tell you a story.

Once long ago, when I still believed in the healing powers of art and thought that society could still be uplifted from it and that the laughter of little children was the best sound…ok, you get what I mean, right? I was part of a little community children’s theater near my home where I helped with sound and things of that nature, talentless slug that I am I couldn’t do much else. We were putting on some such play ‘inspired’ from some such Disney movie (it doesn’t matter which one, when it comes to Disney’s output of the last 20 years or so and the way we performed Disney’s output of the last 20 years or so, it’s all the same insipid story). In one sequence our director decided it would be funny if the main character (a girl) sang a particular song draped atop an upright piano with her fuzzy cat friend sitting below her mock playing, ala a barroom torch-song belter and her world weary ivory tickler. It’s a scene we’ve seen from hundreds of recreations of 1880’s taverns and smoky backrooms where a woman lounges atop a piano, sings a sad tune and acts dejected, exhausted or both. At the end of the tune, the girl in question, reached over and took a swig from a glass poised near her, kicking-it-back so to speak in one long throated gulp in effect ending the scene and the tune.

We got so much guff (and not from the kids’ parents but…well…the person’s name or my suspicions will remain nameless, not that you’d know who I was speaking about) that we had to drop the drink, so to speak.

Now consider these facts…

1.) This scene took us out of the setting of the play, since the play took place in an ‘Arabian’ world (am I coming to close to revealing what Disney movie we were ripping off?) and not in a western smoky barroom.

2.) The audience got the visual joke and laughed.

3.) This was a surreal moment in an already cartoon-y play.

4.) It was obvious that our tween-aged heroine wasn’t swigging real alcohol and to tell you the truth, I’m not even sure we even put any liquid in the glass.

My point being, sometimes you just got to go with something, even slightly bawdy, like my example or K. P.’s dress, because, to tell you the truth, the kids, who we are so often trying to protect, get the joke, aren’t even looking at the offending décolletage and when it truly comes down to, probably just laugh when they don’t understand what all the hoopla is about anyway.

Friday, September 24, 2010


I am thrilled to tell you all about publication of my collection of stories, with SIZZLER RENAISSANCE.

Here's the introduction.

The stories in this startling collection grew out of the author's fascination with fetish. For instance, the obsession that some folk have for feet. A different object might do it for someone else, as with the woman in "La Petite Danseuse." There's a woman being gently pointed in the direction of slavery by a wise boyfriend. There are knowing Mistresses and their willing male submissives. There's a strong, gorgeous man going slowly crazy with his need to be a Mommy's boy. A woman on the receiving end of a dirty phone call takes control. You'll also find exhibitionists and voyeurs, plus the humorous result of a Halloween prank. Finally there's a retelling of an ancient Greek myth centred around a very special bull. The author says, "My understanding has deepened through writing these stories. I've talked to people who have had their lives changed for the better, when they have finally embraced their fetish."

Cross posted from billierosie

Emergency bra

Bra turns into gas mask in case of emergency

A bra that can turn into gas masks was introduced last year at an Ignoble Award, an annual tribute to scientific research that on the surface seems goofy but is often surprisingly practical, news reports said.

According to new reports, Ukraine physician Dr. Elena Bodnar created the Emergency Bra after having witnessed the devastating effects of the Chernobyl nuclear plant disaster in 1986.

The Bodnar’s Emergency Bra can be purchased for just $29.95 at

via Korea

O Canada, I'm a-cumin'

Vancouver residents who like to toss barbs at cross-country rivals in icy Toronto now have more than just a superior hockey team to brag about: Our women are also sexier.

That’s according to a new study of Canadian women between the ages of 18 and 24. It found that more Vancouver women are having sex, and having it more often, than their counterparts in Toronto.

The study, conducted by Vancouver-based market research company Vision Critical, found that 47 per cent of female Vancouver respondents said they had sex on a regular basis, compared to 40 per cent of Toronto women.

But both fell behind the 55 per cent of Montreal women who said they were sexually active on a regular basis. (If only the Habs could transport that energy onto the ice!)

By region, Ontario came last (42 per cent) behind the West (51) and Quebec (55), with women in the Prairies (59) reporting the most bed-rocking action in the nation.

The study also found the largest proportion of respondents (25 per cent) had sexual intercourse three or more times a week. Twenty-three per cent said they had sex twice a week and 15 per cent said they had sex once a week.

Asked about who they discussed their bedroom secrets with, 58 per cent of respondents said they turn to friends, while 22 per cent said they like to keep their gossip to themselves.

The report found that the male condom and the birth-control pill were the favoured contraceptive tools of choice. Fifty-three per cent of women reported that both parties took responsibility for ensuring effective birth control is used.

The sample size was 1,002 with a margin of error of plus or minus 3.1 per cent, 19 times out of 20

via The Province

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Girls Kissing Girls

Britney and Madonna did it; so did Scarlett Johansson and Sandra Bullock. And so do women in bars, at mixers, on the street and, increasingly, in private — especially when those women are college students. The “it” is the kiss, of course, and even before Katy Perry celebrated the all-girl lip-lock in song, it was clear that the party was definitely on.
Girl-girl kissing is not new, anymore than boy-girl or boy-boy — or any of the other mix-and-match combinations of genders and numbers in which sexually charged human beings can find themselves. What is new is the openness with which girls are sampling from among their own, and the way the phenomenon has rapidly gone from startling to titillating to, if not quite commonplace, at least not all that uncommon either....

via Sexoteric

I kissed her, then she slapped me, end of story.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Whatever Lola Wants

The Satin Dollz in "Whatever Lola Wants" from Dan Blank on Vimeo.

Purdue Student Paper Runs Instructive Rape Cartoon

Purdue University paper The Exponent ran a supposedly funny cartoon Friday depicting a sex position it called "The Prestige." But to many readers, it looked a lot like rape.

The cartoon showed a couple having sex doggy-style, when the man sneaks away and, without the woman's knowledge, is replaced by another man. Man #1 then waves at the woman through a window — "If properly executed," reads the caption, "the receiving partner will be astonished as if a magic trick has just occurred. Tah-dah!" Leaving aside logistics (its unlikely that the receiving partner would fail to notice this little switcheroo), "astonished" might not be the most accurate word for the woman's likely emotional state. Perhaps "enraged" or "violated" might be better.

What the cartoon depicts is a man having sex with a woman without her consent, which isn't magic, it's rape. And while we're sure the cartoonists will say they were just trying to be funny, joking about sexual assault harms not just survivors, but everyone on the Purdue campus. Writes the website Students Against Abuse,

In 2009, women made up 42% of students enrolled (39,697). It is the opinion of the creator of this site, that The Exponent is creating an unsafe environment for its female students as well as depicting females as sexual objects, whose victimization is viewed as a source of entertainment.

Exponent editor Zoe Hayes says the paper didn't mean to "condone non-consensual sexual situations," and the staff plans to discuss the cartoon in the paper today (today's issue isn't online yet — any Purdue students want to scan that discussion for us?). But like the editors of the Johns Hopkins News-Letter, maybe the Exponent staff should have thought about the misogynistic implications of their content before it went to press.

Update: Hayes has issued a full apology, which states in part,

I deeply regret that I didn't see what was depicted, and I apologize to the campus, to any survivors of sexual assault and, well, to any decent person who saw the graphic Friday and was offended. You're right. We are absolutely in the wrong on this one and we're doing our best to correct it. Part of that includes heightened awareness, on my part and on the part of the opinions editor, of what constitutes an acceptable graphic or editorial content. Part of that is painfully reviewing this issue in the light of comments on various websites and Facebook pages – both those attacking and those defending us. And to those defending us: While we appreciate some of your arguments on our behalf, ladies and gentlemen, suggesting that someone was "asking for" rape is misguided and precisely the problem here.

via Jezebel

Back when I was a kid I always heard "It isn't rape if a woman lays back and enjoys it." Hmmm....

Women's breasts do not have equal protection under the law

Indiana's Court of Appeals just made a terrible decision. They ruled that a women's bare breasts do NOT have equal protection under the US Constitution. Of course this is just the opposite of how the NY Supreme court ruled in 1992 where a judge in NY said "One of the most important purposes to be served by the equal protection clause is to ensure that 'public sensibilities' grounded in prejudice and unexamined sterotypes do not become enshrined as part of the official policy of government."

Here's the story:

"A 16-year-old girl accused of exposing her breasts on an Indianapolis street can’t argue that the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution gives her the freedom to do it.

The Indiana Court of Appeals ruled Thursday against the girl’s claim that Indiana’s nudity law violated the 14th Amendment’s equal protection clause...

The girl’s attorney said Indiana’s nudity law was unfair because it covers the nipples of women, but not men.

The appeals court says the citizens of Indiana have spoken on the issue through their elected representatives.

Click here for the full story

The court saying the citizens of Indiana have spoken on this issue through their elected representatives is probably the WORST cop out excuse that justices can ever give.

Listen to these other cop out judicial excuses.

In 1857. in the Dred Scott case US Supreme Court ruled Blacks were not citizens and congress did not have the right to ban slavery. Bet the Indiana justices would agree here.

In 1896, Plessy v. Ferguson US Supreme Court upheld repressive Jim Crow laws in the south.

Now here are some famous brave decisions that went against a lot of public opinion.

1954 Brown V. Board of Education of Topeka overturned racial segregation in schools.

1925 Scopes Monkey trial. TN Supreme court overturned lower courts rulings that it was illegal to teach evolution.

It's a sad day in Indiana to find their justices so bigoted against women.

Remember, up until the 1930's, men could be arrested on beaches in the US for being shirtless. Even in the early 1960's men could be arrested in Central Park NY for being shirtless. Those were bad laws that have mostly just been ignored as many are still on the books. The judges in Indiana could have pushed forward women's rights in this case, instead, they treat women like 2nd class citizens.

Now Americans should have known this would be the decision as the here are some "good" Indiana laws still on the books that should be enforced just like the law against this women.

1. Bathing is prohibited during the winter.
2. Citizens are not allowed to attend a movie house or theater nor ride in a public streetcar within at least four hours after eating garlic.
3. Monkey's are forbidden to smoke cigarettes in South Bend.

It is good to know that the smart justices of Indiana have not overturned these laws. After all we don't want Indiana citizens needlessly wasting water in the winter by taking baths.

via Womens Breasts

Monday, September 20, 2010

Want to get spanked?

Cecelia Tan is one of the authors of the anthology

Beth Wyld, erotic author writes:

Did that grab your attention? Well I'll be reading spanking fetish erotica so the titled worked for me. ^_^
I'll be hosting an erotica reading event titled aptly, Literary Foreplay, this Friday evening the 24th at Cecelia Tan's FFF from 8-9, directly after which begins the CAPEX party. I'll also have a vendor's table on Saturday. Please come show your support for this wonderful yearly local event Cecelia puts on. This will be my first time attending and I'm very excited.

Below you will find more links and info as well as the schedule and location. Hope to see you there. If you have any questions feel free to email me and if I can't answer it I will forward it on to the powers that be that can. ^_^

From Cecelia Tan:

We're getting very excited for the fourth annual FFF Carolinas in
Charlotte at the end of the month!

The weekend of Sept 24-26th 2010 will be our most event-packed
fleamarket yet, with a full slate of classes running from Friday
afternoon through Sunday afternoon, two major dungeon parties, a slate
of presentations for aspiring activists and those wanting to get more
involved in the community from the Carolina Leadership track, the
return of the Whip Lounge, the Ikaros Fetish Art Photography exhibit,
and more.

The full list of classes includes:
How to Have a Successful Kink Relationship
CBT 201: Sharps!
The Service Submissive
Mental Aspects of Spanking
Hands-on bullwhip cracking
Massage for subs
Protocols and Rituals
Stranger Danger
English Style Caning
Creating Sacred Space
and many more

(Literary Foreplay is Friday from 8-9)

See the complete, up to date slate here:

Vendors include:
Leather by Danny
Pendragon Chainmail
Rainbow Rope
Bill Stevenson, Whipmaker
The Latex Store
S.M. Hertz
Ms. Martha's Corset Shoppe
Circlet Press
Beth Wylde
Phaze Books
Big Bob's Knife Store
O Whips
Strapp Leather
Symbolic Treasures Jewelry
and more!

The FFF is a place where all segments of the community can come
together to create something great. Our dungeon parties are community
run. Friday night, CAPEX will put on a dungeon play social in
Charlotte-area style, and Saturday a coalition of regional
organizations led by Master Pam will give us the party themed
"Midnight In The Garden of Good and Evil," sponsored by MAST:Raleigh
Durham, SC LOCK, Asheville Kinksters Association, Kinky Catawba, House
of Decorum, the Burke County Munch Group, and more.

Stay tuned to our Twitter (@fffcarolinas), Facebook page
(, Fetlife
group (, Livejournal community
(, or our blog
( for more news!

If you want to pre-purchase tickets, here's the deal!
Make your own hotel reservations for one, two, or three nights, by
calling the Ramada and asking for the $79 “fleamarket” rate, (704)
525-8350. Ours is the lowest available rate for the weekend.

Purchase tickets a la carte from the FFF payment gateway page here:

For those who are budget conscious, for just $15 you get in to all
three days of classes and demos. Buy Friday or Saturday night's
parties separately, or for $50 get the package that includes All

People who pre-purchase the all-events package for $50 get a $10 gift
certificate that can be redeemed at any vendor during the event! At
the door the full package is also $50 but no gift certificate is

If you're really pinching pennies, why not volunteer and earn free
admission? Details on what volunteer jobs are needed (class monitors,
wristband checkers, etc) are on this page:

The FFF Carolinas will take place
September 24-26, 2010
at the
Ramada Woodlawn Hotel
I-77 Exit 6A
212 West Woodlawn Road
Charlotte, NC 28217


For more info:

Cecilia Tan
FFF Director
FFF Carolinas
September 24-26, 2010 * September 23-25, 2011

Sunday, September 19, 2010

BLASPHEMY: by Jan Vander Laenen

As a convinced libertine and fervent adherent of free men’s love, Thomas had every reason to loathe the Catholic church. Hadn’t his entire behaviour been condemned in its ludicrous encyclicals, which were a downright assault on the most fundamental human rights and had an unmistakable Nazi odour; hadn’t he and his brothers been continuously chided from the pulpit by its representatives, a handful of priests who claimed to have a lease on wisdom, but knew nothing about real life, and that his sinful lifestyle could, according to that church, only lead to eternal damnation in the sulphur fires of hell?

No, it was a criminal swindle, the whole Jesus-Mary-Joseph story, and when he turned eighteen, when he was able to shake off the yoke of his traditional upbringing, Thomas had decided not to go into a church ever again.

In the meantime, he reached the age of twenty-six, and it was a sultry summer evening in Brussels, a summer evening when one can literally sniff eroticism and throw all one’s reserves and principles by the wayside.

Such as the principle never to go to church again…

As Thomas was strolling passed a dark, late Romanesque chapel near the Market Square, he came across another lad, a lad who looked at him invitingly and who looked particularly tasty with his sturdy legs and expressive dark head.

Thomas was no greenhorn anymore, he recognised immediately a member of his own, according to the Catholics, damned community, and decided to try to approach this enticing lad at once. He asked him nonchalantly the time. And whether he lived in the neighbourhood.

“I am staying in Antwerp,” answered the lad, with a strange, somewhat funny accent.
“And I do not live nearby,” Thomas had to add.

The lack of an immediately available bed could not however extinguish the urge in either to consume bodies erotically and voluptuously, so they pushed the massive, wooden door that gave access to an nearly empty church, except for an old woman who was praying.

The tiny confessional with purple curtains immediately became their love nest, a love nest where they could paw, and kiss and lick each other to their heart’s content.

And to spit on religion.

Because “repeat after me: Mary was no virgin, Mary was a traitor and had a Roman lover in secret,” Thomas panted while he sucked on his partner’s nipple.

“Mary was no virgin, Mary was a traitor and had a Roman lover in secret,” the young lad repeated in a whisper.

Repeat after me: “Joseph was no saint, Joseph was only a gullible cuckold,” Thomas hissed as he playfully bit his partner on the neck.

“Joseph was no saint, Joseph was only a gullible cuckold,” the young lad repeated.

Repeat after me: “Jesus was not the son of God, Jesus was a mentally deranged compulsive liar and the people were right to nail him on the cross,” Thomas cursed further, while he now kneeled with devotion and left a trace of saliva with his moist mouth on the hairy and curvy buttocks of his partner.

“Jesus was not the son of God, Jesus was a mentally deranged compulsive liar and our people were right to nail him on the cross,” the young lad blasphemed echoing Thomas.

At this point they both climaxed, and sprayed the wood of the confessional with their sinful sperm.

“Did your parents used to force you to attend mass every Sunday too?” asked Thomas by way of after-play when they had had their fill and were on their way out.

“Me?” asked the lad with a mysterious and somewhat indignant smile,” this is the first time that I set foot in a church. I am Jewish.”

“Shalom,” was the only answer that the somewhat surprised Thomas could think of. “If everyone,” the young lad continued, “if everyone had thought like this about Joseph and Mary and Jesus, our people would have been spared a heap of misery.” He gave Thomas a kiss of Judas on the left cheek and left the place of worship.

Thomas stood certainly twenty seconds somewhat surprised against a pillar. Then he took a step to the side, immersed his sperm-covered hands in the holy-water font, and washed them clean.

Cross posted from billierosie