tits on TV causes nitwit outrage

TV station WJLA in Washington, D.C., aired a news report earlier this week about breast cancer that included uncensored footage showing a cancer survivor performing a how-do demonstration of breast self-examination.

This has caused outrage in certain narrow-minded moralist interest groups that tend to get hysterical about anything that they perceive as sexual. Good lord, women touching their titties on TV and showing nipples and everything before sports and weather! What is the world coming to? This sort of thing will lead to rampant sex orgies on city sidewalks in no time.

"It could be done on a model or mannequin. It can be done through diagrams. This is exploiting women in order to exploit the audience," said an idiotic spokeswoman for an idiotic group called Concerned Women for America, commenting about the TV titflash.

Honey, teaching women how to save their lives by detecting cancer early is not exploiting them. Yoking them to some moralistic Victorian nonsense which may cause them to die early deaths is exploiting them. And further, demonstrating on a department store dummy's plaster tits is worthless.

Now go bake something or arrange some flowers or put underpants on your dog so we can't see his peepee. Because perceptive thinking is clearly not your forte and trying to milk some publicity for your sad little group out of this non-issue is beyond disgusting.

It should also be noted that news reports like WJLA's are exempt from the U.S. Federal Communications Commission's indecency rules, so what they did was entirely legal, which must piss off the moral fingerwaggers all the more.

graffiti tattoo

So cover your body with a tattoo that looks like graffiti on a freeway underpass. You could've saved yourself a whole lot of money and just done this with a fat magic marker. At least a month after your mistake, it would almost be worn away had you gone the cheap route.

serene nude beach

This week's Half-Nekkid Thursday photo was taken in February at a nude beach in a remote coastal stretch near what's known as the Limestone Coast about five hours below Adelaide in the state of South Australia. We were about to leave for the day, so I was going into the water to use the loo when Darling Husband took this picture.

I loved this beach because it reminded me of the Outer Banks in North Carolina, a place I visited several times as a child. My brother told me once that, on one of our trips while I was still in diapers, my mother chewed out a man for allowing his dog to crap on the beach. He insisted his pet was innocent. While she was still reading him the riot act, I pulled down my diaper and, in full view of them both, I plopped a fresh load on the sand.

naked athlete scandal

Queensland Reds rugby coach Ewen McKenzie, well known here in Australia and recently sacked by French Top 14 club Stade Francais, on Monday slammed his former employers in the media, saying they prioritized recruitment of good-looking players for the club's famous calendars and DVDs of naked athletes.

The controversy has caused an international scandal and ripples in French-Australian relations. Stade Francais club president Max Guazzini has dismissed McKenzie's claims as "rubbish."

"He has a marketing outlook which is not always in the best interests of sport," countered McKenzie.

"For example, Max could recruit one player over another just because he has a better look for the calendar.

"I had players in my squad who I never chose. Others were requested to leave the club because they didn't want to pose for the calendar any more.

"I had certain players forced on me who, for me, shouldn't have been in a team targeting the Top 14 title."

More details here. The photo below is of French center Geoffroy Messina.

does anyone actually believe these?

I'm sure you've seen these if you've visited adult sites. They're little Java ads that purport to be instant messages from sex-starved coeds. They're actually a come-on (d'oh!) to get you to sign up for some website.

Does anyone actually believe some girl somehow found out who you are, how to access your computer with IM software you don't actually have, and now wants to have sex with you? How seriously stoned or drunk do you have to be to swallow this?

Pasha

I think this woman is absolutely gorgeous. My husband, however, says she leaves him cold.

I asked him "what if I brought her to bed with me, then we covered ourselves in whipped cream and asked you to lick it off?"

He answered, "I could probably handle that."

I do agree she's a tad on the too-thin side. Five more pounds wouldn't kill her.

350

In an age where protests are so commonplace and frequently little more than annoyances, I thought the 350 civil disobedience yesterday was inspired and thoughtful. No screaming idiots smashing windows or screaming into bullhorns.

This is not a political blog, so I won't comment about the substance of the campaign. If you're interested, it's easily Googled.

roadside assistance

There's a pretty significant continuity error that gives some idea how this video was made. See if you can spot it. Once you crack that, you might conclude this video isn't actually that daring.

If you already know something about the Kuleshov Effect, that might help. You might be able to figure out more with this longer version here, which I've uploaded to RapidShare, a free download site. (It also doesn't have the wretched watermark seen in this sorter version.)

After this post has been up a day or so, I'll elaborate more.

Edited to add the next day: In the distant shots, he's wearing black underwear bunched under his junk. In the close shots, he's not. So the more careful close shots were obviously shot somewhere else.

The shoot wasn't that daring, because the opened hood entirely blocks the action for traffic approaching from the rear. Who knows if there's even an opposing lane, because you never see a wide shot of them bonking; the wide-angle overhead freeway shot that you see could've been shot anywhere and inserted, hence the Kuleshov Effect.

The trucks passing are not going that fast, so I suspect this may have been shot from an overpass to the car on the shoulder of an exit ramp.

how 'bout them raiders?

Thanks to regular reader Advizor54 for providing the lead to these images. One has to wonder the decision process that was involved in making himself look like graffiti on a freeway underpass. At anytime during the long, expensive, painful procedures during which this canvas was painted, did he ever have second thoughts? Did his feet ever drag on the sidewalk as he headed off to yet another appointment at Biggy's Pierce and Tatts Parlor?

In Southern California, this might be a particularly unwise tattoo choice because Raiders attire is strongly linked to gang membership. If this gentleman isn't a banger, chances are many people whom he encounters nonetheless will believe he is.

"Honest, officer, I'm a fan. A really big fan."

scene of the accident hnt

This didn't start out as an intended Half-Nekkid Thursday image. Darling Husband likes to take pictures during out sexual activities, but sometimes mishaps occur. On this particular occasion, I was giving him oral attention while he took a few photos.

He was suddenly gripped by several strong sneezes just as he reached the denouement and went off like a firecracker. The unintended consequences ended up on my throat. He was rather disappointed because he said he didn't even really feel the orgasm. Apparently sneezing while cumming is not like autoerotic asphyxiation.

m-m-melting

So I was searching through my zipped files for some archived pictures I have to use for this week's Half-Nekkid Thursday. Somehow in the process, I accidentally switched the default program for opening .zip files to Internet Explorer. (I think I accidentally right-clicked while opening a folder, then instead of using escape to exit, I hit enter and thereby changed the default.)

That created a total mess when I clicked on the folder again, because my laptop kept opening more and more copies of IE, a program I tend not to use anyway -- I'm a Firefox and Chrome fan. I had to shut down the laptop to keep it from going into complete meltdown, because needless to say the CPU was maxed out at 100 percent as the system kept trying to open still more versions of IE to read the zipped folder.

I managed to change the default to WinRAR, which is not my favorite program, but I cannot find what the original default should be. Windows Vista has triple failsafes to prevent users from changing important settings except when it comes to default programs, but if you do that, then tough shit, and you can't find out the original default.

I clicked the appropriate Windows help links to try to find the answer, and ended up on webpages where Microsoft wanted to sell me more software. Thanks but no thanks. If I had not installed WinRAR on my computer, I would have been totally screwed.

In the event you're wondering what the cutie below has to do with this post, he appeared on Google when I searched for "wizard of oz"+"I'm melting" -- try it yourself by clicking here to see. This image is pretty clever, too.

pregnant stripper beats 52-year-old stripper

Good news for Chetania Davis, the pregnant stripper pictured below, who was charged earlier this year for beating a 52-year-old fellow stripper with a stiletto heel at the Club 1245 in lovely Akron, Ohio. Chetania copped a plea the other day to felonious assault, and the judge suspended her six-month sentence.

The incident occurred after a dispute between Chetania and her 52-year-old stripper victim, Jo Ellen Nolan, about whether the latter was taking too long in the 1245 dressing room. The police report also said Chetania was angry that Nolan had been hired, thereby possibly diverting some of her tips.

After words were exchanged, Chetania grabbed a stiletto heel and hit Nolan several times in the face, resulting in multiple head wounds. The victim was treated at Akron General Hospital, where she received seven staples.

The lovely Chetania was arrested in April, and her MySpace page shows a June picture where she says she was eight months pregnant (and huge) at the time. That means she was six months along when busted and still stripping.

I've worked in a few strip clubs that left something to be desired. I never had to fight over dressing room space nor worry about pregnant dancers and fiftysomething women luring away my tips. That leaves me wondering what Club 1245 must be like and the men who frequent the establishment.

pretty decent blowjob

The contributor of this short clip on RedTube titled it "Amazing Blowjob." I don't know if I would go that far, but she does a fairly decent job. If this is a true amateur video, they obviously had a friend in to film for them. Darling Husband said she'd be cuter without the glasses, but I know some guys have a thing for that.

Marilyn tattoo

Some people have emailed me and asked why I dump on tattoos. I don't dump on all tattoos, only bad tattoos. I'm married to a man with three tattoos, two he's come to loathe and one that he likes.

This tattoo here is incredibly well done. I would quibble with the rather large size and would suggest the flowers distract from the effect. I'm wondering if they came before or after Marilyn. Somehow they don't quite work together. The portrait, however, is astounding.

But, um, you know, still, it's forever.

scary

Yes, kiddies, if you accept $2 million to model his underwear, you have to let the orange zombie paw you at the photo op.

Is it just me, or does anyone else also think she's trying to look like Jessica Rabbit?

am I annoying?

I stumbled on the hilarious website Am I Annoying? the other day, which has been around for eight years.

The site features various anecdotes about celebrities and public figures frequently considered annoying and weighs their pros and cons, e.g. "why he might be annoying" versus "why he might not be annoying." Each person on the site also associated with various categories, like "I Probably Banged a Porn Star" or "I Assaulted My Fan" or "My Private Phone Call Was Made Public."

If you're in the market for some diversion, be sure to check it out.

vault hnt

I found this Half-Nekkid Thursday picture, also from about two years ago, when I was looking for the cat ones. I cropped the top edge but, thanks to the strategic placement of my fingers, position of the camera, and overexposure, it's saved from being rampantly pornographic. There were companion images that were not nearly so, shall we say, restrained.

to I or Y?

I have one of those diminutive names that can either end in I or Y. There are countless ones like this in English: Tammi or Tammy, Cindi or Cindy, Candi or Candy, Patti or Patty, etc.

For a long time I was a Y, but then when I became an exotic entertainment professional, which is a nice way of saying I became a stripper when I turned eighteen, I changed from a Y to an I. For the next five years of working mostly in my birthday suit, I therefore remained an I.

Now, however, that I'm no longer in a profession that requires a certain kitteny coquettishness designed to garner large tips from slavering males, I'm thinking of going back to the Y spelling. I've decided that, by the end of the year, I'll make the final decision, and then it will stay that way for good.

masturbation fantasy

I found this on my hard drive today. I wrote it about five years ago when I was particularly horny and missing the services of a friend with benefits who was out of town for an extended period. I vaguely recall he wrote back a ten-word email with about seven misspelled words, saying he couldn't wait to get back to town to see me. He was cute and hot and a pretty good lover; however, he was not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

I thought about you, lying awake alone in bed this morning. My fingers stole into my panties and a fantasy took hold of me.

I had hired a workman to install a new fence in my yard so I could sunbathe in the nude. He was a short man and nothing to look at, but I noticed at once he had brought a helper, who I realized was you. You were shirtless and wearing only old jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, and a ratty baseball cap.

I watched you secretly as you worked digging post holes in the yard. I was mesmerized by your thick, sweaty chest muscles and powerful arms. I could tell by the way you moved under your jeans that you weren't wearing any underwear. When you turned to the side to deposit the dirt in a pile, I could see the large bulge of your cock and balls. Every now and then, you reached down to adjust your manhood in your jeans. Were you thinking about me?

While you toiled outside, I was called away to the phone, but when I was finished, I realized you and the other workman were quiet in the yard. I saw his truck had left and suspected you two had quit for lunch. But I went downstairs and was shocked to see you were still in the side yard. You had your jeans down to your knees, and I thought at first you were urinating into my roses.

I crept closer on my bare feet and was struck by the sight of your magnificent bare buttocks. I realized you were not pissing on the flowers but, in fact, you were masturbating. I watched the thick muscles of your back clench as you squeezed your cock, which was hidden from my sight. I could hear you make soft moans as you frantically stroked your organ.

I crept closer and closer, at once shocked and fascinated that you were jerking off in my garden. Were you thinking of me? Soon I was standing only a few feet to your side and just behind you, out of your line of sight. I could see just an occasional glimpse of your thick, hard cock as you worked it in your fist. I suddenly realized I was also masturbating. My skirt was bunched up in the front and my fingers were inside my panties, pinching my swollen clit. I continued playing with myself as I watched you, but then I couldn't help myself and let out a tiny moan.

You turned suddenly, horrified at having been discovered in your most private moment. You turned away so I could no longer see any glimpse of your fantastic cock. You tried to reach down to pull up your jeans, but you seemed to lose your balance, and with your jeans bunched around your boots, you began to tumble backwards. I reached out to steady you and felt my hands closing on your taut, sweaty flesh. You regained your balance but still tried to yank up your jeans.

"No, that's all right, don't stop," I begged. "Please. Don't stop."

You turned your head, and your face bloomed into a lusty smile. "Okay," you said, turning fully toward me, and I saw for the first time, unobstructed, your glorious cock, which was still rigid and erect. I brazenly reached out my hand and began stroking it slowly. "That's so nice," you said in a low voice. You must have seen that my other hand was inside my panties, so you pulled me closer beside you and slipped your fingers down to find my hungry clitoris. You expertly began to knead my swelling bud as another finger dug deep into my vagina.

We stood in near silence for several more minutes, each pleasuring the other. After a while, however, I could tell you were closing on orgasm, as was I. You were moving more into my fist as I stroked you, almost fucking my tight hand, and your fingers on my clit were more forceful and insistent.

"Oh!" you gasped as your cock suddenly erupted in a fountain of ropey semen that sprayed all over the roses and dripped on my fingers like melted ice cream. At the same moment, I was seized in the claws of a powerful orgasm. My clit throbbed as you continued to stroke me to high climax. After we finished, we just leaned silently against each other for a few moments, each trying to catch a breath, gently stroking each other's organs. But then we both heard the other workman calling your name in the distance, so you hiked up your jeans without saying another word and disappeared.

All that was left of you was your milky white juices dripping from my fingers. I slipped them into my mouth and hungrily drank your juices. I wondered if you, out in the yard somewhere, were tasting my cunt on your fingers.

porn boys vs. normal boys

Pornstar Annette Schwarz's most recent blog post:

Often people ask me, "can a normal guy still satisfy you?" And I am always so surprised by this question, because the answer is: "yes of course and much better than a porn boy."

First of all, I can’t stand most of the porn boys. They are so full of themselves. They don't know how to seduce a girl and think it works like in porn -- you get pussy like you order a beer.

Sorry, in real life, you need an interesting conversation first. Make yourself interesting; that's the truth!

Porn guys are usually worse than girls. You need to tell them non-stop how good they look, that they’re the best! If you don’t say stuff like this, they’ll tell themselves -- that’s even more embarrassing.

I could never be with a porn guy in real life. Sure they fuck good, but normal guys do, too. Sure, they have big cocks, but normal guys can have big cocks too!

I love that normal guys know how to treat a woman and how to talk about something besides what kind of workout they do!

Okay, sometimes/often I need sex without all the talking, too!!!

That's Annette below in action. I took a few editing liberties with her post and cleaned up some of the whoopsies because English is not her native language.

my coochie consolation

One of my favorite things in junior high was borrowing stroke magazines from male classmates. They thought I was so cool to be interested in sex, unlike the other girls.

I distinctly recall at, even that tender age, I knew the magazines were mostly bullshit. Most women were not as sex-crazed as the publications tended to project. The blank looks in many of the models' faces hinted to even my juvenile eyes that they were only doing this for the cash. Still, I loved looking at the people fucking.

I was amazed to discover that stroke magazines are still being published in print form. With porn so Internet-centric now, who spends money on a stroke magazine?

historical twitterers

If you like history and humor, check out HistoricalTweets.com, where you'll find scores of tweets from the past like these. You can also submit your own.

saggy pants

I have always been mystified by why some younger men think this look works for them. I call this "incontinence chic," because it appears they've dropped a large load in their pants.

How can this seem anything other than laughably foolish? I imagine you, like me, have seen men or boys' pants actually fall down on occasion when they wear them like this. I also remember watching an episode of COPS once where the criminal was thwarted in his escape because his baggy, saggy pants fell while he was running, thus tripping him up and allowing the police to capture him. The look on the officers' faces was priceless.

I'm sure some future anthropologists will spend countless hours on their dissertations pondering all the societal meanings in this style, much like the high hair and absurd bustles of pre-revolutionary France.

companion hnt

This week's Half-Nekkid Thursday is a companion to last week's, showing a little more of both the kitty and me, shot about two years ago. I'm a neat-nut, so the messiness in this house always bugged me; however, I wasn't about to be the bitch's free maid, thus I didn't pick up after her. I never really liked this picture because it makes my legs look knock-kneed.

what's wrong with this picture?

I'll admit I'm not the word's greatest speller; however, I never hesitate to use the dictionary for important communications.

This sign brings to mind Abraham Lincoln's advice: "better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt."

how to pick up men

A commenter wrote in response to Saturday's post, when I mentioned about breaking the ice with a cute guy, "hmmm, how would you start a conversation with him without being obvious?"

To begin, I believe an outgoing personality helps if you have one. I think I'm blessed in that department. I usually can walk up to almost anyone and start a conversation. When you're a stripper or an exotic dancer, this is an almost essential skill. If you don't talk to the guy, he won't tip you, simple as that. Because the house gets a cut of your tips, you don't earn enough, you're out the door for good.

Now some conversation starters that work in a strip club won't work when you're out in public trying to pick up a guy. For example: "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Christian Bale?" If you walk up to a complete stranger someplace, that sounds like a lame come-on.

There are, however, ice-breakers that work well in any public situation. The key strategy, I think, is to ask something harmless and to be able to pull off an innocent look. For example: "Aren't you Kendra Hentner's boyfriend?" (There is, of course, no Kendra Hentner that you know; I Googled the name and came up with zero hits.)

Now almost certainly he'll answer no, because after all, who the hell is Kendra Hentner? Chances are he'll look at you with a slightly confused but cute smile wondering who the hell you are. If he's a bit shy, he'll blush.

You can gauge his level of interest by watching where his eyes go and how he physically responds to you. If he stops what he's doing, turns or moves toward you, and the eyes do a quick "check out," then you've landed yourself a hot prospect. If he only throws you a quick smile and continues what he's doing, then chances are it's a no-sale. His girlfriend or wife has already fitted him for a short leash.

If he's a hot prospect, a good follow up question is: "I'm sure I know you somehow. You look really familiar."

This could lead almost anywhere, but now he has the ball, so let him run with it. Talk for about five minutes about whatever subject he has raised and then anxiously check your watch.

If he strikes you as weird, that's the moment you can bow out. If you want to continue this, work it into a situation where you can see him again real soon.

If he's a loser, you say, "oh shoot, I'm late to pick up my boyfriend. I gotta run. It was nice talking to you."

If he's a winner, you say, "oh shoot, I'm late to pick up my friend Elizabeth."

You've now lobbed the ball into his court. If he's a red-blooded male, unless he's painfully shy, he'll ask you to meet him for a drink later, go to dinner with him, go to a party, or something like that.

If need be, you might have to nudge him: "Are you doing anything later [tonight/tomorrow night etc.]? Do you want to meet for a drink or something?" Think on your feet and improvise accordingly.

Be sure to schedule something after the sun goes down, if you want to get him into the sack. Meeting for breakfast won't lead to seduction and sex. Meeting him for dinner will, if you play your cards right.

(If you're wondering who the eye candy is below, he's David Williams, an Australian rugby league player, widely known as "Wolfman" for his often feral look.)

why do women have sex?

From Salon:

Women just don't think about sex all that much. They have sexual fantasies only twice a month. Sometimes, they have sex simply out of a sense of duty.

Disagree with any of that? Find those sweeping statements enraging? So did I, at times, while reading "Why Women Have Sex," a groundbreaking new book by clinical psychologist Cindy M. Meston and evolutionary psychologist David M. Buss, two researchers at the University of Texas at Austin who have conducted a wide-ranging survey into the dark corners of our sexual subconscious.

The standout finding, one that feels decades overdue, is that women have sex not for babies or emotional intimacy but rather for reasons of attraction and pleasure, because "it feels good." In other words: the same reasons men have sex.

And men aren't the only sexual conquistadors: Women enjoy the thrill of the chase and can be just as viciously competitive with same-sex rivals. And, speaking of competition, the book posits a theory of "mate copying," in which women are drawn to men who come pre-approved by other women. (Indeed, who hasn't experienced a sudden tingle of attraction upon seeing another woman go after a man who was previously uninteresting?)

Plenty of fascinating generalizations are made, but the book's real takeaway is that there is tremendous individual variety among women.

Article continues here, with a Q&A interview featuring the book's authors.

hookers & porn are not tax deductable

A 78-year-old retired Brooklyn tax lawyer said he will continue to challenge state and federal rulings disallowing medical expense tax deductions he claimed for spending on prostitutes, porn, sex toys, and erotic massages.

The U.S. Tax Court recently disallowed Halby's federal tax-return deductions for 2004 and 2005. Last year, the New York State Division of Tax Appeals ruled the same way for his state tax returns from 2001 to 2005.

The ruling came despite Halby's meticulous efforts to prove the deductions were reasonable medical expenses to fight depression and erectile dysfunction brought on by age.

All told, Halby spent about $322,000 to satisfy his carnal desires, according to court papers.

In 2002 alone, Halby deducted $111,364 for "therapeutic sex" and massages "to relieve osteoarthritis and enhance erectile function through frequent orgasm."

(Sources here and here, just so nobody thinks I'm making this up.)

I don't understand (some) women

I recently read a novel where a female character ponders: "men often desire a woman before they know her, while women are too often obligated to develop sexual desire after the fact."

While this appeared in a novel set in the early twentieth century, unfortunately it's still true.

I'm a woman who, like most females, knows many other women. And I have to say, I just don't get this about my frigid "sisters," to borrow a term from feminist-speak. I never have.

I'm now happily married. I have no interest in sleeping with anyone but my husband. With that said, I see certain men, and I still think, "wow, I bet he's a hot fuck."

A case in point, I saw a young guy in the supermarket the other day stocking shelves. He didn't notice me checking him out, but if I was still single, I certainly would've struck up a conversation with him with an eye toward getting him into bed sooner rather than later. He was good looking and very muscular with sensual lips. I know enough about men to know he probably was a pretty decent lover.

I know other women who think like this way about men, but they're a definite minority. I tend to form friendships, with a few exceptions, with women who think like me.

I just can't understand those "other" girls, the ones who have little to no interest in sex.

I feel like Cher in Moonstruck; I just want to slap them and say "snap out of it!"

Where do women learn this kind of stuff? Their mothers? Is it all biological?

Maybe it's the whole societal thing, with women still programed to think about finding a husband.

crispy cross

A regular reader alerted me to the site UgliestTattoos.com where I found this gem. A gigantic upside-down bacon crucifix hovering above your asscrack just screams "class act," doesn't it?

ye olde half-nekkid thursday

Darling Husband and I took a somewhat unexpected trip north of Brisbane this past weekend and did not return until later than expected, so I had no time to organize a complicated Half-Nekkid Thursday. I didn't want to skip another week, so I quickly looked on my hard disk and found this.

The picture is about two years old, shot back when I lived in Vegas and rented a room from a terribly messy woman with whom I did not see eye to eye. I liked her cat, though, and he liked me more than her, which became one of many sources of friction between us. She recently married a man who came on to me several times when they were engaged. I was smart enough never to tell her about that nor did I take him up on his solicitations.