the emperor's new moonsuit

I've harped here before about how fashion designers make women look ridiculous. That's the case for men, too, as the recent Paris show by American designer Thom Browne well demonstrates.

His models appeared onstage in spacesuits, which they removed to reveal ridiculous suits of the sort seen below. Browne obviously went out of his way to emasculate men and make them look like adolescents in ill-fitting Sunday suits selected by their mothers. I think my grandmother had porch furniture with that same fabric as the one on the right.

The orange 1960s mod lipstick and Jackie O glasses are a deft addition to this clown show. The models themselves look sickly with their poultry legs and pale skin. They make Pee Wee Herman appear robust and virile in comparison.

The fashion media was all abuzz about Browne's fiasco and raving about his alleged genius. I'm reminded of the final scene in Robert Altman's brilliant fashion industry satire Prêt-à-Porter, where an angry designer sends all her models on stage stark naked at her final show, and the trend slaves think she's brilliant, not realizing they're the butt of her joke.

scary erotic

Sometimes I stumble on the strangest things by accident online, and this is one such example. The guy in this clip dresses up in all sorts of skin-tight animal costumes and then vamps in feral poses and circumstances. The results are posted on his YouTube page.

I found this particular selection both erotic and scary. He has a nice physique and moves well, but the creeping up the steps and the eye makeup are weird. I think if I saw this video when I was about ten, I wouldn't sleep for a week.

With that said, thinking about my husband in this getup, sneaking up the steps to ravish me, sure makes my motor purr. I need to get him a spandex suit of some sort for bedroom play.

lady splat

What a practical outfit to wear while flying: nosebleed platform shoes with leather chaps that drag chains and a train behind you. Yes, she nearly busted her ass in the terminal. You can see more pictures of this catastrophe here.

I wonder how she would have reacted if the airport screeners didn't allow her to fly with her dragging chains and platforms which could hide a weapon or dangerous powder.

prank?

The Husband and I were driving inland the day before yesterday on a fairly remote road about an hour and a half from where we live when suddenly we had a blowout in the front right tire.

While he's pulling to the side of the road, we had another, in what turned out to be the right rear. He reached a stop safely, we get out, and see all the tires had quite a few nails in them.

Fortunately we were in cellular range, so he called 000, which is the equivalent of 911 here. We walked back down the shoulder a bit and, sure enough, the roadway is filled with nails in both lanes.

James has one of those portable triangular signs in the boot to warn of hazards, so he put that in the one lane, but we had nothing to put in the other. Fortunately, the road didn't have too much traffic, so we were able to flag down vehicles before they reached the nail patch.

The police came to the scene speedily with cleanup people soon after, but needless to say our day was ruined and we had to stay overnight while tires could be located and installed. Fortunately, insurance will pay for new tires and our related costs. The only one that seemed to enjoy the mishap is the elderly dog that we're caring for; she had a wonderful time.

One of the officers on the scene told us they've had this problem in the area before. It seems to be a prank because nothing is the subject of a local protest. As well, there are no houses in the immediate vicinity, so it's not like the troublemaker could watch what his (or her) handiwork.

I guess some moron is just delighted at the inconvenience he (or she) caused. Fortunately nothing more serious happened. A less skilled driver might have panicked and caused an accident.

twittilate

I generally find Twitter uninteresting because it seems to have become the medium of self-obsessed narcissists. An interesting exception is a popular page called Twittilate (link here), written by a woman, and features little snippets of poetic erotica. Some samples:

My pulse races, I lean back against the rough damp bark and surrender myself to you. Willingly.

Warm water streaming over my head and face, running over my shoulders, flowing off the ends of my nipples in merging and dividing streams.

The rough hair at his groin rubbing against my buttocks. Smooth thick cock cleaving easily along my crack. His strong thighs under my own.

I wonder if she's imagining these, recounting them, or texting as it actually happens? Do check it out.

inappropriate

I have what has sometimes been called in inappropriate sense of humor. It has gotten me in trouble in the past. One of the many things I like about Australia is how people here are much the same way. They find almost anything funny, and if you can crack a good joke, even if it's wildly inappropriate, they won't hold it against you.

So with that said, right now, a Michael Jackson punchline is running around in my head...

face hnt

Has this girl lost her mind? What kind of Half-Nekkid Picture is this? Kittens? Really?

Those who know the secret, however, will know exactly where to look.

vintage heartthrob

The Husband and I try to watch one vintage classic film a week. Our latest was Sullivan's Travels, which is both funny and an exceptional classic. I saw it quite a while ago, probably when I was still an adolescent.

At the time, I don't recall noticing that Joel McCrea, the male lead, was quite striking. I did this time, however. These two pictures don't really do him justice, but he has a wonderful, subtle sexual magnetism about him.

I noticed when he was shirtless that his nipples seemed almost nonexistent. I wonder if they did something to make them disappear so as not to offend sensitive minds of the era?

a little notorious

New York magazine has a nice interview in their latest issue with the ever-fantastic Helen Mirren. The 64-year-old "Hell," as she's known to her friends, appears in a few nude shots in the spread. She'll soon appear in a new movie playing a madam at a Nevada brothel. I hope I'm as feisty and sexy and notorious when I'm sixtysomething.

fake or real?

You don't have to look long to find porn clips on the internet which supposedly were made at bachelorette parties and feature women engaged in sex acts with male strippers. Most are obviously fake. This compilation, however, looks like it might be the real thing. The ladies do look pretty buzzed.

I have not lived a sheltered life, but I've never seen this happen at any bachelorette party I attended, although nearly ever one featured male strippers. Some women at such events appeared rather louche and completely smashed, yet they never crossed over this line. While the guys might have stripped completely, they never allowed the women to handle their junk nor did they get hard. I do seem to remember a few grabbers

My husband used to moonlight as a party stripper, and he confirmed that nothing like this ever happened on his watch. He did note, however, that women frequently grabbed at his junk or tried to pull down his thong, although a quick hip movement kept them out of range. (He did not strip completely but wore a semi-sheer thong that did not hide his religion.) The few times they were successful, he says, the women could really hurt because they tended to grab and pull.

satire

The spill is in the news here daily in Australia but usually as a single story. I hear the coverage is wall-to-wall on some US outlets. Here's a bit of topical humor that hopefully no one will find offensive.

etchatoo

I can't deny that this is both very well done and quite clever -- a drawn tattoo of an Etch A Sketch reproduction of Van Gogh's "The Starry Night." With that said, I'd think your loved ones would grow a bit tired of seeing this day in, year out, slapped on your back like a billboard. Will the punchline still play thirty years down the road?

marketing misstep

Apparently the marketing people at Johnson & Johnson lead rather sheltered lives. Either that, or their customers do.

island in the stream

My poor husband never gets to play Half-Nekkid Thursday, so he's featured this week. If you're clever and know where to look, however, you might find something new from me, too.

new look?

I'm considering adopting this look. Of course, I'll follow her advice about bleaching my hair twice in one week. (Actually, I think it's technically called stripping when you remove all the color, not bleaching, but let's not be picky.) What do you think? Too subdued?

crime wave

I have to admit I laughed a lot when I first saw this on the interwebs. I have a mental picture of a fusty librarian pulling out a copy of The Little Engine That Could and, whoa, hold the phone Matilda. She obviously was so upset she made several grammatical errors while typing out this edict.

How often is this happening? Is this an urban crime wave that has completely passed by those of us who don't browse in children's libraries?

And what will happen if she catches you dressing Donny in a fresh Pamper back in the periodicals? She'll call the diaper police? In Los Angeles, they actually have library police who wear uniforms, carry guns, and have patches that say "Library Police." I shit you not.

I once checked out a book from the library and found a flattened piece of tinfoil inside that once had something burned on it. I had no idea what that was about so I tossed it in the kitchen trash, where my roommate found it later and had a cow. Turns out someone had used the foil to smoke heroin. I couldn't believe I was that naive not to know that. But, hey, I was so busy having sex when I was a teenager I had no time for drugs.

baby clothes

Before the pregnancy quest began, I never gave baby maintenance much thought. Sure, I saw them all the time, but they were rather generic to me, in all honesty, sort of like cute puppies.

So if I end up being pregnant, I realize that will mean 1,001 decisions I've never even considered before. The kid will need clothes. And lots of them. I'm amazed how fast my husband's young relations outgrow their clothes.

I have some definite "don'ts" already, though. I hate overly adorable stuff. I will not buy any matching parent/child outfits. Kids clothes should look like kids clothes, so no leather baby miniskirt. I also don't like anything that objectifies the kid. This T-shirt is cute, but this particular variety of cute would wear off really quickly, like within twenty minutes. Besides, kids shouldn't be punchlines.

In case you're wondering, yes, I do plan on taking parenting classes if and when I get knocked up. This will be a monumentally huge step, and I don't plan on screwing it up.

the rule of celebrities

Having lived in New York, Los Angeles, and Vegas, I saw my share of celebrities, like most residents. You ran into them at the oddest places sometimes. I saw some famous men when I was doing exotic dancing. The ladies room was a common place I saw famous women.

One thing I've noticed about celebrities in the flesh is that they very rarely look like they do on screen. They're shorter, paunchier, and older-looking in person -- and often badly dressed. They often look worse than their paparazzi shots, which always made me think many of those are pre-arranged.

The only celebrity I've ever seen closeup who looks as good as he does on screen is George Clooney. Maybe that's because he's never tried to hide his wrinkles when he's on camera. I didn't see him in a club, by the way. It was at a screening where I was fully dressed. He checked out my tits before he looked at my face and then smiled.

the mirror lies

I thought this was funny. At the same time, there is a hard truth operating here -- men get an easier pass on looks than women. As a result, women look for the tiniest flaws in themselves because society makes them hypersensitive about looks.

Consider this: Why are older male movie stars still cast in rugged, sexy roles where they get the hot young girl, but equally famous actresses of the same age are cast as somebody's grandma baking cookies?

When will a major studio make a movie about a heroic sixtysomething woman who rides off into the sunset with a hot young stud in his twenties?

the good wife, circa 1939

A friend found this somewhere on the Internet and emailed it to me. You may have to click on it to read the full-size version.

It's a sort of report card a husband was meant to complete to rate his wife. Certain "skills" would lead to positive rating "merits," while alleged drawbacks would earn "demerits." Presumably if her scores were lower than he desired, she got a talking too (or worse).

Have times ever changed. My favorite is a demerit for "wears red nail polish." Sex is not mentioned, of course, but the wife can be marked down for being tardy about going to bed such that she "delays till husband is almost asleep."

It would be fun to do an updated version of this. Of course, may sex questions would have to be included. "Is enthusiastic and often suggests felatio" is one that comes to mind.

summer memories hnt

While most of my readers are enjoying summer weather, we're in the equivalent of December here Down Under. Sydney winters are quite mild, so I shouldn't complain. Temperatures hover in the high fifties or low sixties during the day, then slide into the forties over night.

I love the climate here, but I still haven't adjusted to the inverse seasons. It's June and I'm missing summer weather. This picture was taken during a hot day at our favorite secret pond in February, a month I hardly associate with "summer."

true animal passion

According to a recent fascinating article in The Wall Street Journal, scientists have discovered that certain upscale human colognes and perfumes are particularly alluring for wild felines like tigers and cheetahs. The big cats will investigate and rub on surfaces sprayed with certain fragrances for more than ten minutes.

The kitties are quite selective, however. They don't like Estée Lauder's "Beautiful" or Revlon's "Charlie" and will linger over them for only a few seconds.

Calvin Klein's "Obsession for Men," however, was the big winner, with cats savoring the scent for more than eleven minutes. Nina Ricci's "L'Air du Temps" was very popular, too, at more than ten minutes.

While at first such a study might seem frivolous, the scents can help attract rare cats in the wild for population studies.

The short video below provides an overview if you don't want to read the news article.

snakes

This picture was in the news a few months ago here and I just found it again in my bookmarks. The little girl is three years old, from Queensland, and that's her pet snake, which measures about twelve feet. The critter is a carpet python, a native of Australia and also a popular pet.

The kid apparently started playing with the snake before she was a year old. Obviously she's not being raised by helicopter parents. Hopefully they don't leave the two alone. While carpet pythons apparently have never attempted to kill a child, they have been known to eat pet cats and small dogs.

Australia doesn't seem to be any more or less snake infested than places I've lived in the US. We do need to watch out for the charmingly named Common Death Adder. They do not flee from humans and have one of the deadliest venoms in the world, helped in part by the fact that they strike repeatedly. Fortunately, I have not seen any of those. Yet.

rigged?

The oil might level the playing field somewhat, but he's much larger and quite muscular, so I think he'd still get the advantage pretty fast. That makes me think this is rigged. He could probably whup her inside a minute.

I would be even more mismatched if I tried this with my husband: he weighs more than twice what I do, is eight inches taller, and can bench press more than four times my weight. Still, I'm tempted to try. If only I could think of a place we might do this that wouldn't make a complete mess. I want to try to wiggle away while he slowly overpowers me. A little monsoon is forming in the panties just thinking about this.

I get very turned on by being dominated by my male partner but in a nice way. I've written about that here before. The whole idea of a man wrestling me, then overcoming me, then having sex while I struggle helplessly rings my bell. It's not a rape fantasy, by any means, because I must be a willing participant for it to be exciting.

The struggle and submission aspect is what excites me. That's why I like bondage but not sadism. I love being tortured by cunnilingus while I'm bound, but I have no interest in having someone tan my backside with a riding crop.

I think it boils down to: trust allows control, so I can surrender completely.

what's your fetish?

You have to click the excellent chart below in order to see this fascinating bit of sex education. I've heard about many of these fetishes, but quite a few were also new to me, too. How about you?

This was created by Katharine Gates, author of Deviant Desires: Incredibly Strange Sex. She sounds like an expert on the subject.

I am curious about some of these. Do people really get turned on by bad breath? Or bug bites? And toe jam?

my tumblr is not dead

Several regular readers have written to ask why I killed my Tumblr.

In a sentence: I didn't.

It's still very much alive and well.

What happened was this: I accidentally erased the wrong code in one of my widget boxes on the right, so the click-through no longer worked. I couldn't find the original widget coding I used, so I made a note to whip up something on my own.

I crafted a new button today which now appears again, this time with more visibility. For those who enjoy my Tumblr mix of erotica, you can easily find my page once again. The lovely lady below is just one sample of what appears over there.

a tip about seducing women

I cannot tell you the number of times I've heard women tell a version of this story, something that I too experienced more than once in my single days.

You meet a nice, cute guy. He's funny, witty, a great conversationalist. So you decide to go back to his place for some intimate action. Just as you reach his threshold, he says something like, "it might be a little messy." He unlocks the door and you see...

Oh. My. God.

It looks like a Meadowlands landfill. No vacuum, rag, or cleaning rag has ever touched any surface. The years of detritus and filth are ground into the carpet and upholstered surfaces. He has to get you a towel, which looks used and suspiciously discolored, just so you can sit in the couch.

You excuse yourself to visit the ladies room. There is no toilet paper but you do find some musty tissues in a roach-crowded cupboard. The toilet seat is a Jackson Pollock study in shades of yellow droplets. A hardened detritus of whiskers and shaving cream rings the sink. Of course there's no soap. Or towel.

On your way back to the living room, you pass his bedroom. Through the open door you see the floor is littered with food wrappers and dirty laundry. The white sheets are tinged gray and other, more ominous shades from a habitual lack of washing. The air smells of a stuffy lockerroom.

You return to where he's seated with an eager grin of anticipation on his face, legs spread wide in the universal symbol of horndoggedness.

"I think I'm getting a headache."

My worst memory of an apartment that several cute guys shared: dying cockroaches trapped in the pooled grease on the stove beside a sink brimming with dirty dishes garnished with fuzzy technicolor mold that would make Alexander Fleming proud.

Guys, your place doesn't have to be featured in Architectural Digest, but at least pick up and clean once and a while. No woman wants to come down with hives after going back to your place.

pealing the peach hnt

My husband loves to see me model underwear. He sits, utterly entranced like a cat watching a dangling string, while I prance this way and that, bending and turning.

I tried to think like a man does. Wouldn't the faster I got out of the panties, the sooner he'd get the goods? What's with looking at the packaging?

No no no, he explained. Would you like to eat a succulent, ripe peach, without seeing it first, admiring it, then slowly pealing away the skin and taking a bite? Delay both prolongs the pleasure and intensifies the experience, he insisted.

tattoo intervention

Most of us would step in to help a friend who was having substance abuse troubles.

So I ask this question seriously: does anyone ever do intervention for a friend about to get a tattoo? How about more than one?

Many people believe tattoo addiction is an actual malady.

She's cute and pixie-like now. The tattoos work with that. At fifty, it will be a different story.

Were she my friend, I think I'd try to talk her out of the ink. They're very well done, so they weren't cheap. Rather than spending the money on turning herself into a doodle pad, I would have recommended -- tactfully, somehow -- that she invest it in having her teeth fixed.

stereotype rant

The Husband is a big boy. I've written about that before. He can bench press more than a quarter ton and eats like a starved horse. No matter what, he works out daily, both with cardio and massive weights. I'm astounded sometimes at how strong he is.

He also is extremely careful about his health. He eats all-natural like I do but is much more scrutinous about whether something has any fat or about thirty-eight other verboten ingredients. He takes vitamins and protein supplements, but nothing else. He does not "juice" or use any performance-enhancing drugs nor has he ever. And don't bother writing an anonymous snarky comment like "he's lying to you" because I know he isn't.

When I've been out with him, on several occasions I've heard someone make a snide remark behind his back about how he must be using steroids. I assume that's because he's a big dude. Given that Australians tend to be more polite and less prone to shoot off their mouths in public, I have to think more of them are wondering the same quietly to themselves.

So here is my rant: just because a guy is big and muscular doesn't mean he's using steroids. Yes, many big guys do. But not all.

End of rant. For the record, that's not my husband below. It's a dame.