Quick Update:
I am so excited to be at Hunter this time next year. I think any ideas I had about going to another CUNY school were totally dismissed tonight.
Pending essay completions review to follow
Tonight was the last night at Hunter but you should all go see a V-day event near you… until the violence stops.
I don’t want to die or anything but it would be kind of cool to sleep forever.
I don’t want to die or anything but those suicide pills look mighty tasty.
I don’t want to kill myself, but my carotid artery is pissing me off a lot.
I don’t wanna rob this bank or anything but fork it over!
I don’t want to run over these orphans or anything but no one will miss them.
I’m not suicidal but Mr. Spock sure inspired me to outweigh the needs of the me.
I sure don’t want to have an affair but my penis is in this lady pretty far.
I don’t want to die or anything but it would be kind of cool to veer off this cliff.
I don’t want to yell fire in a crowed theatre or anything but I did kind of start one just now.
I don’t wanna be an existentialist but I did just make god into a corpse.
I didn’t want to give you herpes but you sure looked like you needed some.
I didn’t mean to kill the guy or anything officer but he sure looked like he’d be better that way.
I don’t want to live in near absolute zero temperatures, but guys, let’s get our asses to Neptune!
I don’t want to starve my dog or anything but it’s a real pleasure not to feed it.
Listen, I wouldn’t pay for a prostitute — but you take checks right?
I don’t want to die in a vacuum but guys let’s depressurize this vacuum chamber while we’re still in it.
I am not father material but I sure spermed on your eggs!
I didn’t really want to pay for this prostitute but it looked like she had sex to sell and I had money to give.
Earthquakes aren’t my thing, I just like to chatter cities through tectonic shifts.
I don’t like to give people cancer, I just like to remove the protein structures in their cells that stop malignant run away cell growth.
Yeah, I support endangered species but I gotta eat this Koala.
I didn’t mean to drive in nontraffic areas only but all the other areas were occupied by automobiles.
I don’t wanna play God but seriously, get back in the Bio-vat!
I don’t want my lion to eat those people but I do want them to satiate its hunger.
I’m not a misogynist but spread ‘em bitch!
It’s not that I am against women’s rights, I just think they need to stay home more and tidy up…oh yeah and no voting.
It’s not that I was committing voter fraud, I just thought I’d vote for myself and then vote the way five other people would’ve voted like if they ever bothered to come out and vote.
I don’t wanna beat this joke to death, but here’s 30 more jokes in the formula.
I don’t want to tell you that your parents just died in an insensitive way but the dumbasses just drove their car off a cliff and turned into fiery corpses.
I don’t want to be difficult to communicate with but…
The waitress brings the scalding teapot to our table. She is tall and quiet, with a face like an open peony. I had watched her make my drink through furtive glances at the clock above her head. She’d dialed up a jet of almost-steam and sprayed it hard into steel and eager tea leaves, wielding boiling water with the casual indifference of many years’ practice. The out-in flick of a delicate stud from the flesh beneath her pillow lip is the sole betrayal of her hidden concentration as she makes her way over to us. Few seem to notice that fleeting dart of metal, that hint of doubt. To most, she makes it seem like balancing a breakfastful of plates, cups, spoons, knives and napkins is really no trickier than breathing.
I watch her as she walks her efficient waitress walk back behind the screeching coffee machine. After three years of passing in run-down corridors at university and the odd half-smile of mutual acknowledgement every now and then, we still don’t know each other’s names. Another thing she doesn’t know is that I’ve watched her shining nut-brown hair from the back row of countless lectures, my mind between her legs while my right hand made all the proper notes on dilated cardiomyopathy. So many times I wondered whom she went home to — a man, a woman, herself? — after the clock ticked past the hour and the class surged out of that grimy theatre like funnelled roaches.
I remember the year when her belly grew and grew, and then she stopped coming to lectures and then the next time I saw her it was small again. I once passed her as she huffed uphill behind a pram with a wayward shopping-trolley front wheel. In it, she pushed a baby girl with nut-brown hair and a face like an open peony. This morning, her uniformed black cotton clings to her stomach like the wrinkled skin on gone-cold custard. It reveals the only piece of her that is no longer smooth and crisp as a new apple, and somehow she is now more beautiful than ever. Her essence swims inside the jasmine tea that coils itself around me with its sweet corpse waft. I sip. I gulp. I drink her in, and burn myself ripe grapefruit pink on the inside.
There is toast, brittle and squeaking to the bite, and beside it a few neat squares of pale, dewy butter. I ate brittle, squeaking toast the morning after my last night beside another girl with nut-brown hair, although, in truth, the strongest memory I have of that final stay with her is one of loneliness and aching unfulfilment. Her family home smelled of baker’s yeast and the metallic tang of tank water. She was six months younger to the day, and she was ripe and lovely as a polished copper penny. She was stolen sherry, and breasts that filled my hands with unexpected weight, and yes, yes in the dim of bedrooms. She was the spike of grown-back hair that left me with my first beard rash of sorts, which everyone mistook for reassuring evidence that I’d been kissing boys. Years later, I would walk into a bakery only to feel that I was waiting at her kitchen bench again.
Her boyfriend was a redhead, just like me, and one day after school he left a lemon under one of my car’s windscreen wipers. It was squashed ragged, pulped to all but yellow rind beneath the fat tyres of his shining Commodore. There was a note: stay the fuck away from her you lezbo, and underneath, a picture of a bleeding, punctured cat with a carving knife through its heart. And so I stayed away. But today, she is spread before me on the table, the pale and dewy butter on my brittle toast. She drips into the bread and seeps onto the pristine white below for me to tidy-tidy with a licked finger.
There is jam; it is house-made, all red and syrupy and lumpy with whole berries. It is a cold and visceral déjà vu to one winter and a third girl with nut-brown hair, the last one I loved in secret. Her boyfriend of four months is at the pub, my boyfriend of five months is far away, and we are in her dorm room. I am dabbing Betadine onto the shallow slashes that cross-hatch the canvas of her upper thighs. The rust of iodine trickles and blotches stains all over sheets and clothes and skin; it mingles with the tacky blood that shrivels and darkens at the open edges of her cuts.
Two days before, she’d seen one pink line, and then another, appear on a white plastic stick as she slumped against the wall in the communal bathroom. She calculated three and a half months. But that bleak evening, she had sobbed and bitten her fist as the toilet filled with red and syrupy and lumpy, and then something grey, and then more red. And when it stopped, she broke her plastic safety razor open with a skill honed through long habit. Later, she bled raw grief onto my fingers as I tried to make it better with iodine and tears and fumbled kisses everywhere and did not succeed. But this morning, she is the sticky sweet on my toast, layered over butter and beside my jasmine tea.
They are already becoming my body as I finish the last few precious crumbs. I pick up my basket, cross the dark floor, and leave the café with the man I am to marry as the glass door to Utopia swings shut behind me.
A woman is driving at night on a narrow country road. At the same time, a man is driving in the opposite direction on that same road.
Never underestimate a woman driver!
When they narrowly pass each other at high speed, the woman rolls down her window and loudly shouts – HORSE! Immediately the man shouts back – BITCH!
The man laughs. He is proud to have reacted so quickly to the shouting woman and takes the next turn in the road, maintaining his high speed.
Moral of the story:
Men never listen, and when they do, they don’t understand one word a woman says.
NOW THAT IS WACKED!
Special Thanks to Glenda Gomez for this great pic and story! Bless our e-mail box.
I hear quite often (in fact, it might even be considered bitching!!!) from guy friends about how “all the girls just want to date bad boys”. Apparently, it’s an epidemic. Personally I think it is a misinterpretation.
Women don’t want to date “bad boys”. When I think of a bad boy I think of someone with limited education, a criminal record and an overabundance of tattoos. Not sexy.
Women just don’t want to date wimps. Period.
Someday, if I'm a nice boy I may get to touch a boob. Maybe...
Let me break this down for you. That’s right. Grab pad and pencil because The Love Doctor is about to speak.
A wimp is about as likely to get a woman turned on as Conan The Barbarian is to take part in Swan Lake.
Ignore these helpful tips and you are on your own. I even know where you’re going to be sitting…in that delightful little place ALL women have called “the friend zone.” Seriously, we’ve got a seat all reserved for you.
To begin, women DO love a kind and sensitive man they can trust who treats them with respect. However, there are times when too much chivalry becomes a handicap. If I am on a date and I am feeling lukewarm about a guy, wimpy behavior will ALWAYS kill my girly hard on.
"May I please touch your boob? Please?"
Example: “Can I kiss you?” I am a big fan of manners but if things are going the way they should be, I will be sending you signals. NEVER ASK. If you have to ask, it would probably be a very bad idea. Strike “probably”, it IS a bad idea.
Example: “Can I hold your hand?” I have to admit, from the female perspective, it is really sexy when the guy just casually and naturally reaches down and takes my hand in his. It could be while we are crossing a street or sitting in a cab. It’s a turn on. However, the catch is, it cannot look contrived or as if you put a load of time into thinking about it or getting your nerve up. Guys, don’t take her hand if yours is clammy, wait until you’ve chilled the fuck out if you’re feeling nervous.
Look what happens when you say "yes" to the guy who asks permission. Geeky babies...on the upside though, they will probably always obey you.
The point here is, it’s weird if you ask to do “xyz”…the woman wonders, “what next? May I remove your bra?” Or “pardon me, I was wondering if I could have your permission to have sexual intercourse with you this evening?” It’s an ugly, downward spiral. You don’t want this. Trust me.
EMBRACE your inner manly man.
Before you run to kill a twelve pack and crush the empty cans against your head listen for a minute.
I’m not talking a
Han Solo doesn't ask permission. Han Solo is like a chocolate lava cake served on a chocolate platter with a side of new designer shoes and...well.. you get the idea.
bout benching 300 or being able to catch a hockey puck in your teeth. What I am trying to say is women like a man who knows his own worth. A man who has the ability to walk the very fine line between egotistical and confident behavior. Confident and attentive men don’t need to ask for permission. They pay attention to the situation and if they feel that the light is green, they go for it. They don’t talk about it….and it’s smokin’ hot when they go for it.
www.blogsurfer.us
A new Final Fantasy XIII character was recently revealed in the form of Lightning’s younger sister, Serah. But some people have noticed that she bears a striking resemblance to Kurumi Imari, a character in the strange high-school hentai game Bible Black, and some even claim that Imari’s appearance was inspiration for the character. While there are some similarities in both their hair and clothing, I’d personally chalk it up to being a coincidence.
A threesome with a curious turn, as Phinehas ’spears’ an Israelite man and Midianite woman (Genesis 25) while they are engaged in the act. Phinehas was able to penetrate both of them – quite a feat that has not been repeated since. But, once again we cross that invisible beyond which artists have generally not wished to go … except for:
Saptamana asta am fost la concertul lui Puya, apoi la cel al lui Connect-R. Impresiile au fost pe masura artistilor(daca-l pot numi asa pe Puya). Diferenta dintre cei doi a fost ca intre vinul rosu si vodka ce se vinde in paharele la buticul din colt J E adevarat ca stilurile abordate de cei doi sunt oarecum diferite, totusi racnetele(ca altfel nu pot sa le spun) in microfon ale lui Puya sub nici o forma nu pot fi numite nici hip hop, rap sau orice alt stil. Recunosc, imi plac unele piese ale lui, atat timp cat nu sunt cantate live. Lasand la o parte capacitatea de a sustine un concert live, Puya nu are nici charisma unui artist care sa poata surprinde publicul cu ceva deosebit. De departe se vedea ca a venit sa urle o ora in microfon , sa-si ia banii si sa plece. Cel putin asa mi-a lasat mie impresia…
La celalalt pol, Connect-R, care nu prea ma impresionase pana atunci in mod deosebit, m-a uimit prin prestatia sa scenica, prin simplitate, voce(canta foarte bine live) si nu in ultimul rand prin faptul ca a pus suflet. Se vedea ca omul asta inafara de a face bani, canta din placere. A revigorat si a innebunit toata lumea din club prin prezenta sa.
Acelasi lucru se intimpla si in viata de zi cu zi. Cei care traiesc cu pasiune, fac lucrurile din placere si dau dovada de multa energie, sunt ca un magnet pentru ceilalti oameni. E ca sexul. Daca-l faci cu placere se numeste dragoste, daca faci sex de necesitate se numeste simplu: sex. Eu vreau sa cred ca tot ce facem vine din suflet. De asta intotdeauna trebuie sa faci ceea ce vrei tu nu ce iti spun altii ca ar trebui. Trebuie sa crezi ce vrei tu nu ce iti spun altii ca ar fi mai bine. Trebuie sa gandesti si sa actionezi asa cum simti tu. Oamenii care fac lucrurile din pasiune sunt acele persoane care traiesc cu adevarat, gresesc ireversibil, invata usor si mereu merg cu capul sus.
P.S.: TOT CE TREBUIE SA FACI ESTE SA FII TU…INDIFERENT DE CE INSEAMNA ASTA
I can’t help but think at times about how hung up we all are about sex. I say “we” as in the proverbial ”we,” as in no one is excluded. We use sex for everything; it’s pretty much just like any other commodity. Women use sex to get guys to do what they want. Men use sex (for everything). Advertisers use sex to sell just about anything short of baby food. Why? Because we love it!
But it’s not without its hang-ups. Specifically, I’m thinking sex and how it pertains to homosexuals.
Over a matter of time in our little history in this country, we’ve watched homosexuals struggle for equal rights, slowly coming out of the closet full of fear of what the ignorant and angry might do to them. And slowly they’ve had less and less to fear by means of retaliation for their… well, for being them. But I’ve had a hard time trying to grasp onto the WHY. Why are homosexuals so disliked? Why do people get disgusted with them, to the point of hatred sometimes? It just doesn’t seem to make sense.
But then I thought about it some more. I think it’s because they’re called homoSEXUALS. These people, who’s faces cringe at the thought of a homosexual couple, can’t distinguish the 95% of their lives they spend doing the same things everyone else does, such as go to work, cook dinner, go shopping, from what they do that last 5% of the time: have sex (by the way, I wish we were all so lucky as to have sex for 5% percent of our life!).
From the heterosexual’s point of view, they don’t want to think about that! But they do. But really, they should stop it. That’s sick! I don’t go up to couples walking down the street and to their face act horrified by the idea of what they do in the bedroom.
But I won’t blame this whole thing on heterosexuals being scared of what they don’t understand. I think this whole thing can be taken care of right now with a simple twist in semantics. I propose that instead of homosexuals, we now use the term homolovables. Because, let’s face it, that 5% quote above, even that’s a stretch. But especially to our GLBT brethren out there who are in committed relationships, they spend far more of their time in love.
That’s my proposition. Homolovables: Say it with me! I say we all get our heads out of the gutters and start treating people like people; ie. how we want to be treated. I’d like to think we’re all adult enough to stop playing foolish games like denial of equal rights just because someone’s different. Haven’t we gone through all that already?
A tearful Tiger Woods apologized to his wife, his kids, his parents, his fans, everyone in the room, everyone watching on television, and to a potted fern next to the lectern for having the kind of sex life most men only dream about.
Because the soulless ratings whores in the news media saturated the universe with Woods’ private sexual escapades with real whores, Woods had no choice but to read a carefully prepared statement to a room full of carefully picked spectators, without answering any questions that aren’t anyone else’s business anyway. At one point he held his onion-drenched hands up to his eyes and cried. Then he hugged his mom and ran like hell back into “rehab”.
What kind of rehab? Probably he sits in a quiet room while someone with a calculator adds up all the money he’s lost in endorsements and winnings, while Tiger studiously chants “money not pussy, money not pussy,…”.
Many of the companies Woods worked for as a pitchman have said they will take him back now that doing so has the least shred of respectability attached to it, no matter how tenuous. They of course have not apologized for over-reacting in the first place and dropping him because they are fearful mercantile whores.
And one of the whores Woods had sex with has hired attorney-to-the-scummy Gloria Allred and held a press conference where she claims Woods lied to her. She claims he said he loved her, and that she was the only woman he was cheating on his wife with. Allred will seek undetermined damages for Woods deceitful behavior in lying to the woman who was screwing him behind his wife’s back.
Elin Woods, Tiger’s wife, was not present at the completely spontaneous scripted and planned apology. She has not decided yet if she will stay with Woods, or leave him to do her own reality show “I Can Now Make More Money Than He Did By Being A Victim”.
Blue & Bald. Like your girls with that cue ball look, Keith Allen Phillips will make you happy!
Send in the Clowns. Signe Kristine’s stream is more than a little weird.
She’s A Very Rare Bird. Josh Exell’s stream is another offbeat photostream.
Like an Egyptian. Austin TX has girls, nude girls and definitely strange girls…
Mrs. Cyclops. When viewing Eroganza’s photostream think pretzels.
Backtalk Baby. Amazingly, the rest of Maxim Off’s ’stream is virtually normal!
Beyond Twisted. Some artists are so weird they defy definition. d.rex is for sure one them…
Masked for Painting. The rest of Cameraforaface’s stream has some fine bondage photos!
So, I am facing 36 hours of no sleep almost: this night at 4.30 am the Lakers battle the Celtics at Staples Center after having won the first game post ASG, and Kobe the God won’t probably be there again.
Kobe still not playing also after All Star Game
*sigh*.
But I want him to heal for April so it’s all okay. I am just sad to not have him cos Celts can be tricky and I always love to beat them.
We can still beat them also without Kobe, but with him I was SURE we would have eventually prevailed, while now a little bit of Fate is upon us.
Let’s see.
I will be watching a battle and I like it.
Half of the game will be actually watched by me and Karim on our way to the airport for catchin the flight to New York and then from there takin the one to Los Angeles.
The awesome Kobe
You know… the 18 hours stop there only.
The stop that among my business meeting will see Karim and I have *some fun* along Mashudo, again.
Whoooooo!!!! Who wanna sleep actually???
I don’t 
The tattoo keeps buggeringme but now less. So I should be fine by the time it’s needed. And my “bloody days” are ending as well.
TMI?
I did not ask you to read here.
You know I am extremely open about natural stuff.
But okay, I let you have some Kobe’s eye candy now.
He’s the Man of the Year (right) for GQ and he had an amazing photoshot and interview:
Check Kobe’s out in GQ
After the sporty bites, let’s now dwell into what makes me shine the most, (ah: if you wonder why I cut the sport section without discussing of the awfulness that was Milan VS Manchester United on Tuesday, be charming, please. I was at the STADIUM. It was like witnessing a friend’s death. I can’t speak of that. I am still grieving… let me forget it ever happened, okay? thank you), namely MUSIC, of course.
Still amazed at the way Adam totally sounded like Stevie Wonder on We Are The World 25 (I adore when he sings in normal vocal tone, his voice is soooooo precious and unique), let me give you some info bites and share a couple more videos.
Slash has talked a bit with Los Angeles Times about his incoming April album.
He was actually the one coming to Adam for it!!! Man, when I read that I was amazed.
Man knows what to look for.
Read it yourself:
Slash interview about his solo records, and guests on it
Talkin about the Divine Creature, he spoke again hours ago, with a short message that is so easy to decode it’s unreal .
He wrote just:
“I love today”.
Adorable he is. Guess the past 8 days have been so totally perfect for him. Well, I had no doubt being in Vegas surrounded by models would have pleased him. But I guess he’s in his usual “15 days of compulsive sex with the partner of the time” “15 days of involvment” pleasant rush now, which makes sense.
I know that when he’s happy, I am happier. I might kid on his sexual compulsions, but I actually don’t, cos being very similar to him in some of these stuff, I see where he comes from and what he is in real search of.
I know when he will find the right one he will slow down his antics. Just like I did. But until then, darn, I rejoice thinkin of the fun he shares. And I TOTALLY back him on that. Go baby
So it’s all okay. Have fun and be happy, Adam. I so love thinkin of you shining (I wrote him back exactly that on twitter).
More surprisingly music bites, beside the impressive chart performances of Sade (LOVE the Queen Sade) and of We Are The World 25 (in merely two days… take that, useless and tasteless critics…;)) comes from the most unexpected source.
The Osservatore Romano (Catholic Roman Church and Vatican daily newspaper) listed 10 albums which are in their opinion the best music offered in decades and which should save music listeners from the Sanremo (Italian music festival, currently on) garbage.
I was shocked, pleased and utterly amazed when I read that.
This is the surprising list (and amazingly good) the Osservatore Romano made up (chronological order):
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Seems that Oasis, now that they are disbanded, are starting to gain the deserved recognition for having been one of the most influential, imitated, musically mattering and driving forces in the past times. Practically all of the musicians I love that were FOLLOWING their creation and birth claim they love and owe to them (included my babies’, sweet Maroon5 of course).
It’s a joy to see these shows of respect. Finally.
Enjoy the video of Morning Glory, so to keep celebrating the totally deserved (sorry, beloved Coldplay, but you also know this is right) achievement for “Album of the past 30 years” Oasis had at this week Brit Awards:
(I won’t try to comment on Liam’s behaviour…. guy is made so, we can’t really change that…)
Talkin about talent, and the way talent can actually create beauty out of garbage, check this AWESOME version of the forgettable “Don’t Stop The Music” (the dance trash track Rihanna did… well, the dance trash track Autotune did for Rihanna, at least) by Jamie Callum. I was blown away by how good this is.
The lyrics seem to gain a decent sense sung and played so soulfully.
I immediately bought it from iTunes.
Ah, the good talent can actually do…:
It’s really a MAJOR step up. anybody graced with a pair of ears MUST see this.
Okay.
This long, hectic, infinite day is on and I have to take this meeting for drawng the final lines on the biz that comes up Saturday.
I hope Los Angeles’ weather will at least be fair. I know I can’t cruise this time, but I love the warmth and the sun there in Winter. It sets me up right.
Tonight, battle with Celts is on.
Watchin half of it while driving to airport and being in Malpensa will make me look like an ass but who cares. And then Karim’s there, so… who cares. I have all that I am in need of.
Catch you of course as I get back from USA.
I guess prior to it will be impossible.
You know, threesomes and all that will make us being pretty taken away
Be shining!!
I will *def* be.
with the publication of David Levy’s Love and Sex with Robots in 2008, more people than probably should have started thinking about the precisely those things in the future. will it be possible to have meaningful, even romantic relationships with robots in the future? is this an inevitability? what, then, is the future of human relationships?
while the answers to these questions may still be uncertain, one thing is sure: people will definitely be banging robots (which, by the way, is going to make it pretty awkward if/when they become self-aware…). after all, if a disproportionate amount of money and medical research has gone into guaranteeing that men way past their reproductive prime can still have sex, then we’d be kidding ourselves to think that a good deal of money won’t find its way into this area of “research,” wherever it may come from.
the latest development, in any case, comes from Germany, where the company First Androids has created a sex doll that breathes, has a pulse, and responds to organism (it comes equipped with a fake g-spot). oh, and it can be put into multiple positions, of course.
over at Jezebel, Kate Harding discusses some of the glaring problems of these types of dolls, particulary the extent to which “they’ll only contribute to a thriving culture of misogyny that reinforces unhinged lonely dudes’ belief that women’s ability to refuse sex is an abstract problem to be solved.” She continues,
There’s nothing inherently wrong with banging an inanimate object — who among us hasn’t? But there’s a lot wrong with blurring the line between inanimate object and female human being so aggressively that the primary distinction becomes her capacity for consent — and the lack thereof becomes the fake version’s chief selling point. There’s a big difference between wanting to simulate the bullet points of real sex, and wanting to simulate every last detail save the humanity of the person you’re screwing. [emphasis added]
of course, this is based on an understanding of sex dolls as a temporary replacement for real sex with real women — but what happens when sex robots (or robots more generally, with which we just happen to have sex) replace relations with the opposite sex entirely?
in a 1997 article discussed at Paleo-future, Joel Snell wrote about some of the potential impacts of sex with robots in the future. among the consequences, he foresaw “technovirgins” — those who have never had sex with another human being — addiction to sex with robots, experimentation with sexual orientation, and perhaps the destruction of existing marriages (not to mention their prevention). the troubling thing here, once again, is the prevalent idea — seen as an incentive — that sexbots “won’t say no” and “will never have a headache or demand alimony.” yikes.
will sex with robots replace sex with other human beings? it seems doubtful as long as people still crave love and genuine interaction with other people — consent and all — especially since there’s more to sex than a relatively warm body stored conveniently nearby. but what happens if/when we begin to have genuine interactions and emotional relationships with robots in general?
this, obviously.
and it will be our only hope.
Scrolling through the list of nominees for this year’s Academy Awards it dawns on me just how few movies I’ve been to see over the past 12 months. I saw Up on a plane and Hurt Locker on DVD. Although a huge movie fan, I’ve always shied away from going to the cinema, preferring to wait til the DVD release. Yes, I’m fully aware that films were made to be watched on the big screen, but it’s always been a less than underwhelming experience for me.
Whatever The Drifters may think, Saturday Night at the Movies was always a wasted night for me. I could never get comfortable, movie houses having a penchant for packing you in, in rows of seats with airliner leg-room. You couldn’t get a beer (well not in the UK anyway), which means 2 1/2 hours of your weekend wasted, and I always manage to sit in front of someone annoying bastard from one of the following categories:
1. He’s seen the movie before and would give his mates/girlfriend a commentary of the film, using helpful phrases like “oh, this is a good bit” or reciting the upcoming line 2 seconds before it was delivered.
2. He’s bought out the concessions stand in the foyer and would rustle and chomp his way through the whole movie, right in your ear hole.
3. Him and his missus are copulating throughout the film with the accompanying squeaks, giggles and groans being very off-putting. And it’s even worse if the couple happen to be sitting in front of you. A silhouetted head bobbing up and down in the row in front of me once made me miss every third frame of Schindler’s List
4. He laughs heartily at every single gag in the movie, as if he was the scriptwriter.
5. He’s pissed, so all of the above could apply.
And before you tell me that multiplexes now have huge sofas and bars with proper food and drinks served to you, it’s too late. The die has been cast, and anyway it’ll still be full of gits.
No, even for one with such tolerance for and love of my fellow man, I prefer to watch my films at home from the comfort, peace and quiet of my own sofa, where the only sound is the door of the fridge opening when the Incumbent opens another couple of beers.
It’ll be the first time in ten years that I won’t be participating in TIME magazine’s Oscar Sweep, where we’d predict/guess who will win which category. But seeing as I’ve watched very few movies this year my chances of winning would be, at best, minimal. Although some of the awards they hand out are so obscure that it’s a complete lottery anyway (who makes notes on their favourite Writing from an Adapted Screenplay ? Certainly not that girl sitting in the row in front of me blowing her boyfriend)
So when the time comes I will be hoping that Hurt Locker romps home with the award for Best (Only)Nominated Picture Seen by Me This Year and UP walks away with Best Animated Feature shown by Oman Air Last November.
Obviously we’ll all be biting our nails, hoping Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen wins in the category of Sound Mixing.
.
There are a few things in this world that get me inspired…music….love….the usual. But I found something today that got me excited. Rose Orange. Rose Orange has been introduced to me by the lovely redjotter and I am feeling inspired.
“Rose Orange: Make Love, Make Art”
Isn’t that beautiful? Rose Orange wants to show the world the complexity, intensity, subtlety and beauty of love, in many ways, shapes and forms and from many different makers.
So if you are someone with a creative output (jeweller, illustrator, poet, fine artist, etc) and have ideas or discussions based around this topic then Rose Orange wants to hear from you.
The work that I produce is inspired by love. Love between friends, siblings or lovers. Love can be pure, funny, heart wrenching, twisted, confusing, it can be hard work, unreal, it can be simply perfect. Whatever form love takes I try and translate that into jewellery. A narrative if you like.
Blood, Sweat & Tears. What really goes into a relationship...
Maybe Rose Orange would like to hear from me? This could be the project that sparks off an exciting range of jewellery from Vanilla Ink.
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Today Yahoo News reports about a rather interesting incident that occurred late January. Turns out a 24-year old Thai chopped off part of his dick at our airport and happily tried to board the plane home after.
When Ekphala Ploykaew suddenly felt the need for amputation at 5 am, he managed to find his way to the back entrance of Popeyes Chicken & Biscuits and grab an 8 inch knife.
An hour later, a toilet cleaner called airport security as he found a pool of blood on the floor in one of the cubicles. As you can imagine, the search for a man with a bloody pair of pants on didn’t take that long. A wound was found on Ploykaew’s penis and flesh was missing as well. He was charged with stealing and received a 14-day jail sentence.
bron: thedarkside.hk [10-2-2010]
1. Stop, drop, and roll doesn’t work in Hell.
2. If you mis-type “wordpress” by one letter, you get a really shocking surprise by getting a XXX rated site. Want me to tell you which letter to type wrong? Well, not gonna. Nasty little boys and girls will just have to go thru each letter one by one.
3.Food stamps and welfare really get people to respond on a local forum……Food Stamp Fatties as does this meth-head.
Hello world!
Well, my attempts to go to bed early have failed once more, for it is 1am, and I am still awake. But, alas, I figured I would update you before I hit the hay.
I just got finished watching one of my favorite movies (Choke (2009)) with my next door neighbor and her boyfriend…. and I can’t help but feel a little messed up after watching it with them.
You see, I’m a huge fan of Chuck Palahniuk’s work, Fight Club, Invisible Monsters, Survivor (which is quite possibly my favorite of all his novels), and of course Choke. And keeping with his average style, Choke is a story about a messed-up guy who finds himself within a very messed up world.
So, the main gist of the movie/book is this: Victor (played by the dashing Sam Rockwell) is a sex addict who works as “the backbone of colonial America” (aka he’s one of those people who reenact life back in the 1600s). At the same time, he is trying to support his mother, who is living in a mental institute for demensia. He struggles with his addiction, his mother, the hot new doctor at the institute, all while choking on food at restaurants to get money. But when he finds out that he is the half-clone of Jesus Christ, he now reassesses his whole existence.
Now, honestly, the talk in this movie is profound. Victor provides a lot of insight into his world (as he is also the narrator of some scenes). As the audience watches, we realize the trouble he is going through and seeing his issues and ideas along with him.
The main drawback of this movie is that it is riddled with graphic sex scenes.
So, as we watched the movie in our shanty basement, my neighbors tended to look at it as a nearly-pornographic sex-drive movie… they made comments and, I presume, were disturbed by his sexual tendencies. But as for me, well, I’ve seen this movie too many times to count.
Is it creepy that I enjoy this movie so much? Don’t get me wrong, the first time I saw this movie I nearly spat out my giant cup of water at the teevee screen because of its graphic nudity… but it wasn’t unexpected. I mean, the red-band preview even showed one of the violent sex scenes, so I knew what was about to unfold.
Still, though, I see this movie not as a pornographic sex-drive film, nor do I see it as some cheap comedy. I think it contains insight and beautifully crafted character development that most movies lack these days. Honestly, it is a very interesting movie.
I wonder if I’m a creeper if I watch this movie so much though. I mean, this was the second time in a week I’ve watched the whole movie, and the third time I’ve watched the last five minutes (I won’t tell you the ending, but I will say, it is probably one of the best endings to a movie I have ever seen. Thank you for using Radiohead’s “Reckoner!”)
Whatever the case may be, Choke remains one of my favorite movies, regardless of the sex and naked bodies.
by the way, I’ve come to the realization that this song may be my favorite song ever written. Thank you Radiohead for such a masterpiece.
Like most guys of my generation—I’m on the downslide to 40—I have fond memories of my first experience with pornography. I was 14 years old and my best friend had just discovered his father’s secret stash. We gathered in his basement and delicately turned the pages as if they might disintegrate. I asked him if I could borrow a few mags “just for the night,” which in hindsight was a pretty bold request. I was, after all, essentially announcing my intention to masturbate. Slipping past my parents with the stack of old Hustlers stuffed inside my jacket, I somehow made it to my bedroom and, not believing my good fortune, stayed up all night relishing the spoils.
To the modern 14-year-old, the scenario would be laughably quaint: There’s no stash to be hidden these days. You can “clear history,” along with any residual shame, in one click. At each adolescent fingertip is an inexhaustable stream of high-def images and Flash video—some 400 million pornographic Web pages in all. The sheer breadth is staggering: If you watched porn 24 hours a day, for example, it would take you several years just to get caught up on the 13,588 professional titles released in the United States in 2005 alone. Plenty more is out there in bulk on the digital shelf, no credit card required: bestiality, piss-drinking, throat-fucking, bukkake gang bangs, triple anal penetrations—all exhaustively cross-referenced. Any day now, some poor kid may actually go blind masturbating.
The awkward truth, according to one study, is that 90 percent of 8-to-16-year-olds have viewed pornography online. Considering the standard climax to even the most vanilla hard-core scene today, that means there is an entire generation of young people who think sex ends with a money shot to the face. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where the age divide falls, but it’s safe to say that the first purebred guinea pig to have grown up never knowing a world without fisting on demand is probably around 22 years old.
By the time they’re in high school, America’s porn-fed youth have already amassed an encyclopedic knowledge of smut. Seth Rogen, cowriter of Superbad—which features a now-classic scene of teenage boys graphically discussing hard-core sites—recently told me that one of his favorite pastimes is trolling porn message boards. “It’s hilarious how much these kids know,” Rogen says. “There’ll be arguments like ‘This is classified as gonzo, but I would say it’s more of a feature-BDSM. Also, they say this clip is taken from Handjobs #8, but this scene was actually first featured in Killer Grips #7.’”
Rogen might as well have been talking about brothers Travis and Cody, typical 21-year-old college students in Florida who tell me there’s one criterion at the top of their list when it comes to picking a fuck buddy. “Pubic hair is disgusting,” Travis says. “Girls should keep their vaginas porn-star trim.” Cody describes his first real-life ejaculate-to-the-face finale like this: “It was the happiest moment of my young life. There is just something about blowing a load in a chick’s face that makes you feel like a man.”
Source: http://www.details.com/sex-relationships/porn-and-perversions/200907/how-internet-porn-is-changing-teen-sex
www.mrlocario.com
Amid worries over gender imbalance in the world’s most populous country, a Beijing supermarket is helping unwed Chinese to find their marriage partners.
“The love supermarket was not created to satisfy a holiday need,” Gao Shan, the market’s manager, told Reuters on Tuesday, February 9.
“It was created so that singles can have the opportunity to leave behind their single life.”
Launched in November, the “I’m Looking for You” supermarket offers young Chinese the opportunity to find their soul-mates.
Members list their basic info, such as name, age, income and occupation, along with a picture, and this profile is available for others to view.
They are also asked what they would like in a partner.
The market has attracted more than 1,000 clients and successfully matched more than 50 couples.
The move comes amid growing worries over gender imbalance in the world’s most populous country.
State media estimates that more than 24 million Chinese men of marrying age could find themselves without spouses in 2020.
A government-backed study blames the imbalance on the one-child policy, which pushes many Chinese to seek baby boys rather than girls.
China is the world’s most populous country, with 1.3 billion population.
MatchmakingQu Hui, a 25-year-old teacher, has signed up to the market to find her soul-mate.
“I wish I could find my better half, that is my greatest hope,” he said.
“But if that doesn’t happen, I hope I can use this place to meet more friends. After all.”
Many single Chinese complain that hectic work and school schedules in the highly competitive society leave them with little time to socialise.
“I am a teacher, so the people that I can meet and socialise with are very limited,” said Qu.
Some clients went to the marriage supermarket under family pressures.
“My ideal woman would be someone who I can get along with, who is kind-hearted, and who is responsible,” said government employee Wang Jiaohong.
“My mother says that the reason why I haven’t found her yet is because I’m too picky,” said the 35-year-old.
“But in reality, I believe it’s because I just haven’t yet found my match. There are however some outstanding women here.”
bron: www.islamonline.net [9-2-2010]If you’re feeling sour rather than sweet about your 21010 Valentine, we’ve got suggestions for the Five Worst Valentine’s Gifts ever. These are little somethings that are guaranteed to offend. If you risk giving them, be ready to handle the fall out, or make sure the (misplaced?) object of your affections has a great sense of humor.
1) Sex for Dummies Book
2) Installing two person loo for your loved one to poo at the same time as you
3) Underwear to fit two people
4) Chocolate scale to remind her/him she’s got lots to lose
5) Remove your own dead skin and fallen hair
“What do you want to do next?” he asked me.
I smiled at him and pulled down the garters of my white lace panties. “Something I haven’t done before.” I slipped the flimsy thing off my legs, threw it on the floor and spread my legs wantonly for his uninhibited view. I rubbed myself gently in front of his transfixed eyes.
“Eat me.” I purred. “Feast on this.”
“Wait…no one’s done THIS before?” he asked, confused.
“Of course not, silly. Let’s just say I was starved by my latest former. Basta. Go down on me. NOW.” I commanded, feeling the rush of pleasure from giving orders to my willing and able slave.
“Of course.” He grinned wickedly, moving to the lower edge of the bed. He pulled my slender legs towards him and positioned his face directly in front of my shaved pussy. He ran his tongue on the full length of my ccunt but stopped just as he was about to reach the clit. He lifted his head and grinned at me. I moaned in protest.
“Starved eh? So. Let’s make up for that.” He shifted his weight and started kissing the insides of my thighs. He made wet circles on the tender skin with his tongue, nipping and sucking as he made his way torturously back to my pussy again. He ran his tongue all the way up, this time reaching the clit.
“Oooh..” I moaned, moving my hips impatiently towards his teasing mouth. He gave me this huge grin and lapped at my pussy again, doing slow figure eights, licking up and down and then flicking lightly on my clit.
“Nipples and clit. You’re making this easy on me, you know.” He rubbed my already swollen clit with his thumb with increased pressure, which made me gasp out loud and my body shudder involuntarily. He rubbed and rubbed until my moans became audible enough to be heard in the next room.
“Oh shit! Shit! Ang sarap!” I whispered as I tried to hold back my orgasm. No, I thought. Not yet. I lifted my body and moved towards the headboard.
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
“Nope, nothing’s wrong. Go on, kainin mo pa ko. And don’t stop until I tell you to stop.” I spread my legs wider and pushed his head towards my cunt. I let him lick me up and down for a couple of minutes, then I reached out towards the bedside table on my right. After knocking down the remote controls to the floor, I managed to get hold of my cigarette pack. Making sure that he didn’t stop what he was doing, I took out a stick and lit one quickly. I took a deep drag and exhaled slowly. He looked up.
“May I?” I drawled as I took another drag of my cigarette.
“Haha. So that’s it. Smoking while having your pussy eaten. Sure. Tangina, ang sarap mong kuhanan ng picture.”
“Haha. Can’t do that right now. Continue what you’re doing. Don’t stop.”
He chuckled and went right back to business. He continued licking up and down nonstop and circling my clit with his hard tongue. I closed my eyes and took another puff, letting the waves of pleasure take over my sprawled body. He didn’t let up until I finished my cigarette. Then, after I stubbed it off in the ashtray, he grabbed my hips and used his arms to hold down my legs. He started eating my cunt again, more voraciously, now focusing more on my clit. He ran his tongue slowly all the way up to the base of my clit, then stopped for a couple of agonizing seconds before flicking it entirely with all the force that his tongue can muster.
“Oooh SHIT!” I gasped as I felt the powerful force of his tongue sweep across the tender flesh.
“So this is what you miss, huh?” he whispered, then proceeded to flick on my clit with his tongue relentlessly, until I was almost crying with helpless pleasure. His stopping for a few moments before licking the entirety of my clit totally killed me. “You bastard…” I whispered to him as he continued torturing me with his tongue. The sheets were soaking wet with my juices, which flowed continuosly from my swollen cunt. Just as I was about to think he was finally winding down, his hands reached out towards my breasts. His fingers started playing with my nipples while he continued eating my pussy.
“Tanginaaaaa!” I screamed. My shaking hands grabbed at the bedpost and my legs wrapped more tightly around his head. After a few minutes, he lifted himself off my hips and sat in front of my wide open legs.
“Kaya pa?” he chuckled. I can now see his straining erection trapped inside his black briefs. He took it out and started to stroke himself. “You want it now?”
“Please.” I pleaded.
“Hm. Wag muna. May kulang pa eh.” He pulled my legs towards him again and slowly inserted his middle finger inside me. He pushed in and out, slowly at first, then with rapid thrusts as my cries filled up the room instantly. Then he inserted another finger inside me, slowly opening up the tight walls of my cunt.
“Tangina, ang sikip mo. Grabe.” He started fingerfucking me, his fingers going faster and faster. I was already out of my sanity at that moment. I can feel the walls of my pussy tightening around his fingers, which made him increase his speed more. Then, without stopping the movement of his fingers, he bent down and started licking on my clit again, hard and mercilessly. I couldn’t take it anymore. I cried out and came hard on his fingers. My body was wracked with mindless shudders that wouldn’t stop. My pussy gripped his fingers so tightly, soaking them with so much pussy juice.
He couldn’t contain himself anymore. He got on top of me and rammed at my soaking wet cunt while I was still shuddering with the most powerful orgasm I had in weeks. “Grabe, ang sarap sarap mo talaga!” he moaned. He pounded on me mercilessly, using sharp, rapid thrusts that drove me to the brink of further madness until at last, he let out an inhuman groan and came hard inside me, his heart pounding wildly, his hands clutching my small waist. He lay still on top of me, catching his breath. After a couple of minutes, he whispered, “Are you sure your bed at home can take all these?”
I laughed. “We’ll just have to find out.”
AKA: Frogs of War – Laufzeit: 94 Minuten – Land: Neuseeland
Die “Feebles” sind schon ein merkwürdiger Haufen. Ob drolliges Nilpferd, fremdgehendes Walross, krankes Karnickel, sensationsgeile Fliege oder schüchterner Igel – hier kommen einige Charaktere zusammen. Was gut ist, schließlich wirken alle an der großen Feebles-Variety Show mit, die schon bald live im Fernsehen übertragen werden soll. Es wird gesungen, getanzt und improvisiert… aber hinter der Bühne geht erst so richtig die Post ab. Hier ist nichts mit Kuscheltheater – es werden Intrigen gesponnen, es wird fremdgegangen, es werden Drogen konsumiert; und Geld wird nebenbei noch auf etwas “andere” Art und Weise herbeigeschafft… Eines Tages muss Heidi, der heimliche Star der Show, mit Entsetzen feststellen dass ihr Gönner und Lover Bletch fremdgeht – woraufhin sie die Show etwas anders inszeniert als geplant. Es wird schmutzig, pervers, und brutal…
Dieser Film ist wohl – ohne Frage – als Klassiker zu bezeichnen. Und zwar in mindestens doppelter Hinsicht: zum einen war dies nach “Bad Taste” das zweite Werk von Regisseur Peter Jackson. Und zum anderen war dieser Film durchaus etwas besonderes: als Persiflage auf die Muppet-Show wird hier Anarchismus im Puppentheater zelebriert. Dieser Film dürfte Grundstein für viele neuere Produktionen oder gar Musikbands (vergleiche “Puppetmastaz“) gewesen sein. Doch was taugt der Film – aus heutiger Sicht – wirklich noch, neben der Rolle als “Grundstein” in der Karriere Peter Jackson’s ? Nun, und an dieser Stelle mögen mich Fans des Streifens schelten – vielleicht habe ich es verdient. Doch was ist denn nun mit dem Text des Backcovers, der ein extrem anarchischen, zügellosen und “versauten” Film versprach ? Ich habe mich jedenfalls etwas gewundert, dass im Film nur relativ wenig davon zu sehen (und zu hören) war. Auf mich und aus heutiger Sicht wirkt er eher brav (naja) – aber auch damals kann er nicht wirklich geschockt haben. Die Brutalität, die in “Bad Taste” noch ganz andere Ausmaße annimmt, ist hier vergleichsweise auf ein Minimum reduziert. Bis auf die Endszene gibt es eigentlich kaum Splatter-Szenen (nicht, dass ich zwingend darauf abfahre), und auch die Dialoge sind größtenteils noch im Rahmen. Nun gut, etwas expliziter als bei den Original “Muppets“, gewiss… aber irgendwie noch nicht genug.
Aber nicht nur das – sie sind auch noch stinklangweilig. So empfand zumindest ich – und ein weiterer Mitseher an diesem DVD-Abend. Wir stellten uns die Frage, ob es vor 20 Jahren anders gewesen war – heute kann dergleichen aber nicht mehr als “extravagant” oder besonders anzüglich gelten. Ein bisschen Fremdgehen hier, ein wenig Drogen dort, und antürlich die nötige Prise an Liebes- und Sexszenen. Gähn. Mein Ansatz: wenn man schon einen Film macht, der ausschließlich in der “Puppenkiste” entsteht, hat man doch eigentlich alle nur erdenklichen Freiheiten. Warum aber werden diese in diesem Fall nicht wirklich ausgenutzt ? Als überaus nervig empfand ich auch die ständigen Singszenen (die auf der deutschen DVD übrigens nicht untertitelt werden), die weder durch musikalische Finesse (das wäre ja auch was) noch durch guten Wortwitz glänzen. Nein, sie unterbrechen lediglich den ohnehin schon sehr dünnen Handlungsbogen, und die sehr vereinzelten Lacher. Immerhin, es gab einige Szenen die durchaus Potential haben. Der auffälligste Charakter war meiner Meinung nach Trevor (die Ratte), der quasi der “böseste Bube” der “Feebles” ist. Er dealt mit Drogen, betreibt ein kleines Pornofilm-Business; und macht Sebastian (dem Igel) die angehimmelte Herzdame streitig. Andere Charaktere, wie der “Regisseur” der Show (mir entfiel gerade das passende Tierpendant) nerven einfach nur, und sind kaum interessant, provozierend oder witzig.
Zu den positiven Aspekten des Films zähle ich die allgemeine, sehr bunt-trashige Aufmachung und die Bewegungen der Puppen, sowie die Sprecher (sowohl im Originalton als auch in der guten deutschen Synchro). Auch der Sound sowie die “Effekte” (nun ja) sind entsprechend dem niedrigen Budget gut umgesetzt und tragen zur merkwürdigen Gesamtwirkung bei. Wobei, wenn wir schonmal dabei sind – was genau Sinn und Zweck dieses Films ist, vermag ich nicht zu sagen. Mich vermochte er weder zu unterhalten, noch nahm ich ihn explizit als “Meilenstein” für irgendein Filmgenre wahr. Dafür fehlt ihm einfach der gewisse Witz, vielleicht auch der elegante, zwischen-den-Zeilen versteckte. Alles ist eher simpel gehalten, für Lacher sollen allein die schrägen Tierdesigns und das Interagieren derselbigen sorgen. Nun, bei mir hat das augenscheinlich nicht so gut geklappt. Wenn ein Puppennilpferd durch die Gänge watschelt, dabei über einen hässlichen Wurm stoplert; oder aber eine überdimensionale Fliege ihre Fotos im Spülkasten entwickelt – dann sieht das zwar absurd aus, bringt mich aber eher zum staunen als zum lachen. Ich staune schlicht, warum dieser Film überall in so hohen Tönen gelobt wird. Einfach nur, weil es ein “Klassiker” ist… ?
Gegen Ende hin war ich jedenfalls froh, dass das Ganze überstanden war. Vorher gab es noch einen recht heftigen Amoklauf zu sehen,der für mich weniger mit versteckter Kritik als mit Geschmacklosigkeit zu tun hat. Klar, die arme Heidi hat es nicht leicht. Warum sie dann aber alles und jeden Niedermacht, erklärt sich mir nicht wirklich. Es musste wohl einfach sein, damit der Film einen entsprechenden Abschluss hat (“der Wahnsinn wird mit Wahnsinn dem Erdboden gleichgemacht”). Wie dem auch sei, ich bin etwas verwundert. Schauspielerische Leistungen in dem Sinne gibt es auch nicht zu beurteilen, weshalb ich es wohl ausnahmsweise mal kurz mache.
Also endlich und schlussendlich: “Meet The Feebles” mag ein Klassiker sein, für mich ist es jedoch einfach nur einer der schlechtesten Filme die ich je gesehen habe. Auch mich interessiert, warum ich so empfinde – ich bin gerne bereit, mich bei Kaffee und Kuchen an einem Diskussionspodium zu treffen. Ich vergebe ganze 20 Prozentpunkte für diese filmische Grotte, huldige aber trotzdem Peter Jackson für viele seiner anderen Werke.
