This Week's Best Thing Ever

Despite the unfortunate typo in its name, KarmaSheetra's Kama Sutra-on-a-sheet looks like the world's best Twister game.

Then again, maybe your karma is that you'll get laid Friday night. In which case, the world thanks you for your good deeds.

Rob

The 8 Ball Knows

At Folk Fest, there's a lot of hanging around at night, wandering through camp, or sitting around a campfire. And since you're on a field full of strangers (or best friends you don't know yet), well, it's a good idea to have an icebreaker. Hence: The Magic 8-Ball.

Jay started bringing a Magic 8-Ball to the campsite a few years ago, and we've used it to start conversations, settle disputes, and find our way around the camp so we can encounter secret bars(!). The 8-Ball is invaluable. Mostly, we ask people if they have questions for the 8-Ball. We hear lots of questions, dish out lots of billiard-style wisdom, and everybody's happy -- although more often than not, the answer hedges a bit, such as "Signs point to Yes" or "Outcome hazy. Ask again later."

We prefer that they ask the question aloud, but if they don't, we just assume the question is about whether they'll finish the night with a little naked wrasslin'.

We're always right about this, by the way. It's the only thing people are shy about -- usually because their prospective wrassle-mate is standing right next to them.


(Oh, wait - one last order of business. Mom, this might be a good time to stop reading. Just pretend I end this story with something you'll find really funny.)

But I just related this story to a friend in an e-mail, and I thought I'd share it with you, too. Because the World Must Know.

Sometimes they're not shy. A woman came up to our campsite, shook the 8-Ball and asked, "Will I get head tonight?"

The Magic 8-Ball for once did not equivocate. "YES." That's it. No hedging, no weaseling -- just Yes. She was going to get the headiest head in the camp.

She was very pleased. "That's right," she agreed, making a circular scrubbing motion around her midsection before she walked off: "It's 'cause I baby-wipe that shit!"

Ah, camping! Hope the 8-Ball got that one right, since she put in the effort.

Rob

Welcome to Puerto Plata! (Special TMI Edition)

Lots of stories to catch up with, so here's one from our first day in Puerto Plata.

After our flight from Newark, Kathy and took the shuttle from the Puerto Plata airport to our resort. Our room wasn't quite ready for us, so we sat at the bar and the bartender (a vivacious and funny woman named Miriam) served us drinks of increasing strength. Mine was a rum/vodka/orange juice concoction called a Happy Happy, which certainly had that effect. The fact that we were finally on vacation helped, too.

Eventually, the porter took our bags to our room and we started to get set up there. And a little while after that, we discovered we hadn't locked the door, because the maid walked right into the room. Now, to spare my honey any undue embarrassment, instead of saying what we were doing, I'll just list the various things we weren't doing.

• We were not playing Scrabble.
• We were not watching TV.
• We were not filling out Sudoku boxes with random numbers.
• We were not not having sex.

That about covers it, I think.

Anyway, the maid just stands there, speaking very quickly in Spanish, most likely explaining how very embarrassed she is. But she just stands there. And talks and talks. And then, finally, runs out of the room. She's mortified, I'm sure. And Kathy and I burst out laughing.

"That's it," I say. "By the time the week is over, we're banging a maid." Kathy automatically fist-bumped my outstretched hand, and then said, "I can't believe I just fist-bumped that."

But she did.* And for the rest of the week, our maid was all smiles whenever she saw us. Even when we were dressed.

Rob

*Although we didn't, of course.

This Really Ties the VHS Collection Together

I saw this on Val's site, and just thought it was just too good (and thorough) -- and had so much pride of craftsmanship -- not to share. It's a *little* NSFW, but considerably less that you might expect from a trailer for a porno. Not just any porno...  the Big Lebowski porn parody. No nudity here -- just dirty stuff.

Me, I'm curious how they'll handle the scene where Walter explains what happens when you find a stranger in the alps.

Rob

When Voices Through the Thin Walls Speak of Abberant Behavior

Okay, RNC Chairman Michael Steele has a bit of a reputation as a clown, going wildly off-message and always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. He's also got a rep for wasting Republican donors' money, something I am totally down with.

But this is the best money-wasting yet.

Via Washington Monthly, today I learned that the Daily Caller reports that:

Once on the ground, FEC filings suggest, Steele travels in style. A February RNC trip to California, for example, included a $9,099 stop at the Beverly Hills Hotel, $6,596 dropped at the nearby Four Seasons, and $1,620.71 spent [update: the amount is actually $1,946.25] at Voyeur West Hollywood, a bondage-themed nightclub featuring topless women dancers imitating lesbian sex.

(Emphasis mine, but honestly? Probably yours, too.)


The Chairman of the RNC has dropped two grand at a fetish club? Here? Apparently the servers for Voyeur are overloaded right now (understandably; click the link in a day or two), but here's a description for ya.

Kathy and I just watched David Lynch's Blue Velvet last night, which explores the kinky, sadomasochistic  underbelly of small-town America. Maybe it's the 20-some years of life I've lived since first seeing it, but as much as I enjoyed the film, I've got to echo part of Roger Ebert's assessment: "What are we being told? That beneath the surface of Small Town, U.S.A., passions run dark and dangerous? Don't stop the presses."

Still, even though I know this stuff in my gut, the GOP connection still has the capacity to surprise. Not because Steele would go to the Voyeur club (obviously taking others, probably party donors), but that he'd be foolish (and, I suppose, law-abiding) enough to keep records of it for the Federal Election Commission. 

So here's to you, Michael Steele. I raise a glass of Pabst Blue Ribbon in your honor.

[Update: the RNC claims it wasn't Michael Steele at the club, but a "non-committee staffer," whatever that is. Even if that's true: Way to run a tight ship, man. And I still think this is the Best Thing Ever.] 

Rob

A Grand Old Puritan Tradition

Meghan McCain is confused:

Here’s what I’ve never understood about the [Republican] party: its resistance to discussing better access to birth control. As a Republican, I am pro-life. But using birth control and having an abortion are not the same at all. Actually, the best way to prevent abortions is to educate people about birth control and make it widely and easily accessible. True, abstinence is the only way to fully prevent pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases. Still, the problem with abstinence-only education is that it does not make teenagers and young adults more knowledgeable about all the issues they face if or when they have sex—physically and emotionally.

Yep, that’s sure a confusing paradox. Or it would be, if you take the goals of the Repubican anti-abortion forces at face value. It’s a real stumper.

But suppose—just suppose—that the anti-abortion factions aren’t just anti-abortion, but they’re against sex altogether. A bunch of bluenose prudes, not wanting anybody but married folks like me to be getting it on.

Then maybe, just maybe, anti-abortion isn’t about stopping a medical procedure. And it’s not even about saving a life (or a potential one).

It’s about punishment.

No abortions, no condoms, no morning-after pills? It’s all of a piece. These things all remove or prevent the physical consequences of sex. There’s a pro-life bumper sticker that’s been around for a while, that reads “It’s a child, not a choice.” But the fact is, the pro-lifer’s behavior isn’t about the child at all. It’s not a child; it’s not a choice: It’s a consequence.

A baby is as good as AIDS is as good as the clap. Anything to scare people away from doing it.

I’m not saying this is the motivation behind the majority of the party; I suspect that there are far more Republicans than they’d like us to believe who’d be perfectly happy to let Roe vs. Wade stand, even if they have a personal problem with abortion. (I even suspect Meghan McCain is one of them. She writes, “As a Republican, I am pro-life.” I wonder if the reverse would be true?) But the true believers who so assiduously hammer the anti-abortion plank into the Republican platform? If they really thought abortion was murder, they’d be welcoming every chance they had to stop even one. Every condom, every pill, could save a life.

But the one crime worse than murder, in their minds, is sex. And they want to make sure it doesn't go unpunished.

Rob

Better Living Through Euphemism

For your edification, the Ministry of Community Wellness and Public Service presents CanadianSexActs.org.

Rob

In Which My Dirty Mind Wanders

So I've been looking at scientific journal citations for eight days straight, and it's starting to take the color out of the world. And, as all the articles I'm dealing with are in the same field -- neurology -- I've been recognizing the same names for quite some time now.

So, as I see a familiar scientist listed as the author of yet another article, with many of the same people he or she has worked with in the past, but in a different order, with a few new names thrown in for good measure, I do what anyone would do:

I pretend they're all having sex with each other.

The history (dare I say the annals?) of neurological pathology and experimentation has some of the kinkiest partner-swappers the world has ever seen. In my mind, the citations read like this:

North, P., Jameson, J. Jeremy, R. Giovanni, A., and Lee, H. 1992. Repeated exposure of pizza girl and pool boy to latex, baby oil, and various syrups available at the International House of Pancakes: A study in endurance and stimulation. The Secret Journal of a Horny Housewife, Vivid: 69-L7.

You should see the abstracts.

Rob

If You Go Out to the Woods Today, You're In For a Big Surprise

Years ago, some friends and I were at the San Diego Zoo, where we encountered an animal we'd never seen before. Heck, I'd never heard of it, and I don't think Chris and Allen had either. The animal was the takin, a hoofed mammal that's a relative to the ox. Here's one:


Anyway, this creature was entirely new to us. And the sign made us even more curious. The bold print read:

Takin
From Behind, Like Teddy Bears

The story under that headline (and I might have every single detail wrong, but I've never forgotten the gist) explained that the daughter of the naturalist who was studying the takins used to only be able to catch a glimpse of their hindquarters, as they'd always run away when people approached. She's see them darting into the forest, and, only seeing two of their legs, thought they looked like teddy bears standing up.Hence the subhead, "From behind, like teddy bears."

Now, there's a certain myopia to jargon. If you're familiar with a word, you know just how it's pronounced, how it's used in a sentence, etc. You don't think about misinterpretations. As a zoologist, you know that "takin" rhymes with "rockin'".

Not so with your casual passersby. To us, well... I won't go into the details, but I think this picture says it all.


Rob
(P.S. You're better off not Googling "teddy bear sex," like I did to find that picture. Trust me on this.)

McCain Gets Kinky

John McCain has called Barack Obama, Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid a "dangerous threesome."

Seriously.

I can think of a much more dangerous threesome.


And now you'll never sleep again.

Rob

Sexy Beasts

If I hadn't spent a late night in the city last night, I'd be watching the debate here.

What fun!

Rob

Something in the Okeechobee Water?

Apparently Rep. Tim Mahoney (D-Fla.), the guy who replaced Mark Foley after his sex scandal, is having a sex scandal of his own. Said to be vying for his seat (metaphorically... but in this district, I don't blame you for wondering) are Paul Reubens, Heidi Fleiss and the corpse of Fatty Arbuckle.

Rob

Say What You Want About Spitzer...

...but he hasn't been caught participating in Nazi-themed orgies. I swear, the human mind is a snake pit.

More appropriate themes for orgies?

• Gilligan's Island.
• King Kong versus Godzilla.
  
• Senate Subcommittee on Foreign Relations.
• Arbor Day.
• Exiled in Space!
  
• UFC: Ultimate F***ing Challenge
  
• Rollerball.
  

and

• Slap leather! The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral.

Remember:

Arbor Day = HOT.

Rob

Cue the Drunken Trombones

So last night, after intending to do this for years now, Kathy & I finally made it to a burlesque show in NYC. Starshine Burlesque was having its final performance at Rififi, and we decided we wanted to see them before they moved.

Man, was it a good time. The pre-show go-go was by Scarlet Sinclair, shakin' it in a black, KISS-inspired outfit. Nothing says "kiss my ass" like big pictures of Gene Simmons and Peter Criss on yer heinie. (Update: Scarlet's posted a photo from last night on her livejournal page.)

The show itself started late -- around 11 p.m. instead of the posted 10:15-ish start time. Because of the packed crowd (and despite Ms. Sinclair), I was getting a little cranky -- I was in a winter coat and sweater, and was dyin'. Then, when we got to the stage area, we found ourselves in a standing room only area behind two very tall women. I was getting a little grumpier.

But then the show began. And man, what a good time, right from the start. First up was Tigger, our transvestite emcee. We'd actually seen him before, on Pants-Off Dance-Off, but here, he was really in his element. He got the crowd cheering and dancing to the "national anthem" (that Old-Time Stripper Music Whose Name I Know Not), ran a drinking contest, and gave out spangly awards to members of the crew and the audience. All the while introducing dancer after dancer: Jo Boobs, Darlinda Just Darlinda, Julie Atlas Muz (who performed what was probably my favorite routine of the night, putting clothes on and packing up to "Another One Bites the Dust") and Miss Delirium Tremens.

Last but not at all least were Starshine's producers, Little Brooklyn and Creamy Stevens, who said goodbye to the joint. Brooklyn's routine was the title song of Rififi, joined by her husband, dressed all in black to offer her shadowy assistance in disrobing. Finally, Creamy Stevens' final routine was to "Auf Wiedersehen" from The Sound of Music. It's not a song that I'd ever imagined I'd watch someone take off her clothes to -- but now that I have, I doubt I'll ever forget it.

What stands head and shoulders above everything else, though -- even above the talent and dedication it takes to pull a show like this off, every week, with such panache -- is the sheer amount of joy in the room. The people on stage love what they're doing. The people in the audience--as many women as men, if not more so--love watching them, and they love the experience of watching them, which is a little different than the watching itself. The hoots and whistles and cheers -- it's all participation. Everyone has their own little piece of the action.

And when it comes down to it, don't we all want a little piece now and then?

Rob

The Bootylicious Gwen Stacy

It started out with foreign comics...

I'd seen posts in a couple of places linking to Brian Hughes' Again with the Comics. Hughes has displayed a bunch of Mexican Spider-Man comics from the sixties and early seventies, called El Sorprendente Hombre-Araña (The Surprising Spider-Man). Originally reprinting American Spider-Man comics, the weekly series eventually overtook the American publication, and new stories were commissioned for the Mexican book only. This also included new covers.

And boy, did those cover artists like Spider-Man's girlfriend, Gwen Stacy!

A lot.

Especially her butt.

It must've been a real kick in the pants when she died.

Anyway, one of the blogs discussing these comics is Occasional Superheroine -- and a commenter named Valen linked to a news story about how much people love butts. Valen offered it as evidence of Latin America's fixation with cheeks -- I see it as much more universal. The thing is, the story was in Spanish, so I ran it through a translator in order to attempt to read it. (Just copy the url into the box and select Spanish to English; I couldn't arrange a direct link.) Among other fun things, it coins the word culocracia -- a rough translation of which would be buttocracy, or, as it defines, "the government of the ass."

The translation is awkward and quirky, but it offers reasons why butts are so popular:

Unlike the mammary silicones, that are acquired and they are enjoyed the operating room when coming out, the beautiful ass demands intense and permanent work. Just now, which it is so easy to become of a prodigious advantage, desire moves towards another objective: most indefinite of the sexual symbols, the only one which nobody lacks. The obsession by those young, fibrous and hard tails also expresses to one more a more permeable society to the sexual ambiguity, in which travesti is the new queen of the conchero.

This just flat-out kills me. Wonky translations are fun. Wonky translations of pseudoscientific justification for instinctual desire? Awesome.

I also notice that while the story itself pays homage to both male and female butts, the accompanying art only shows the ladies. I can think of a couple reasons for this:

1) The photo editor is a guy who really knows what he likes.

2) I have some cookie in my browser that lets their website know the sort of butts I, personally, would like to see,

or

3) I got so distracted by all the ladybutt that I totally missed all the man-rump on the page.

Because if the editor thinks women don't like a nice butt, I can think of someone who'd strenuously disagree.

But(t) anyway, please raise a glass with me in celebration of "young, fibrous and hard tails." Ain't nothin' sexier than fibrosity.*

Rob
*I'm guessing "fibrous and hard" is a poor translation of "muscular and firm."

Putting the Sub in Subway

I heard on the traffic & transit report on the radio this morning that the B & D lines were suspended.

I didn't know there were B&D trains! I'll have to grab a studded collar and ball gag and head on down.

Rob

Unusually Refreshing

The Shield is generally not considered a very funny show.

In my estimation, it’s one of the best cop shows ever – brutal and unflinching, with the charismatic Michael Chiklis at the center of it as detective Vic Mackey. He’s so tough as Mackey that were he to fight Chicklis’s Ben Grimm from the Fantastic Four movies, I’d put the money on the cop. Mackey always seems to find a way to win that puts him in an even worse position than before.

But the show doesn’t get much credit for being funny. Nonetheless, humor is a great way to release the tension before building it again, and the show occasionally has a laugh-out-loud moment, like this one in which shady cop Shane Vendrell has brought a Russian prostitute in for questioning. She and her hooker flatmates had been robbed a few weeks before, and Shane has pulled her away from work to find out who. This being The Shield, he’s going to release her as soon as he gets her to ID the perps. And that’s when we get the following exchange:

HOOKER: Is this going to take long? I have an appointment with a big tipper who’s into golden showers, and I have to start drinking iced tea to get it how he likes.

SHANE: I’ll bring you the mug shot book. And a Snapple.

Best product placement ever.

Rob

More than 50% of U.S. Teens Have Had Oral Sex

According to a the National Campaign to Prevent Teen Pregnancy. The 54-55% figure may be a little off, but it's certainly more than a handful. So to speak.

Reuters has more.

Rob

What's happenin' hot stuff?

Through the magic of Sploid, I found this story on the web. (And through the magic of a search engine, I found it again when I got home.)

Basically, it says that Chinese men have penises the same size as everyone else. Big deal, huh? But check out these key paragraphs (the last sentence is the zinger):

The average length of their flaccid penises was 3.33 inches, which compared
favorably with similar studies on other men overseas.

Germans have average lengths of about 3.4 inches, Israelis 3.27 inches, Turks 3.07 inches and Filippinos 2.89 inches. Italians were the longest at 3.54 inches, and Americans averaged 3.46 inches.

The study did not measure the penises when they were erect.

Ok, I the only one who can't figure out why anyone would care about this information? Erect, sure, I can understand that. But flaccid? Who the hell funded this study, you eggheads? Did they even tell you why they were interested?

I mean, really.

Rob

Have I told you lately...

how much I love Mark Morford? Twice a week, I get his column emailed to me at work -- it never fails to give me a subversive smile.

The headline of his new column? "America Loves Kinky Sex" Go read it.

Oh, and speaking of Kinky...

meet the next governor of Texas. Why the hell not?

Rob