WFMU's Beware of the Blog

This Week in Sex: Cut and Paste

I just got home from my company non-denominational winter holiday you-have-to-go-unless-you're-dead-or-dying party. Here's the dirt:

• The fiance of someone I work with was just circumcised so they can have a good old-fashioned Jewish wedding (complete with panty check--I didn't know that was part of it, but I'm Catholic). I wouldn't tell the whole world about his penis, except I also found out it will be covered in our local paper, so you can read all about it yourself in the wedding section in March. At the party, a friend and I realized that this fiance could answer the question we were debating: who has more sexual pleasure, the cut guy or the uncut guy? Also, I admire the fiance, but if someone said "let's get married, but before we do that, let's cut the tips of your tits off," well, I don't know if I have the capacity to love that much.
• A guy I work with was circumcised at age 11. His parents said, "Hey, let's go to the doctor's office and just talk to him about it." When they got there, they said, "Hey, while we're here, let's have the doctor have a look." When the kid's pants were down, they said, "Hey, let's chop off the top of your penis." Then they injected his little boy penis with two needles full of anesthetic, pulled the foreskin out, clamped it, and sliced it off while he watched. He hollered during that last part.
• The parents of a guy I work with want him to try to convince his younger brother to get circumcised. The brother is sixteen.
• I think circumcision is barbaric. Don't tell me it's hygienic, like your thingy is gonna fester and fall off because you can't wash under a little flap of skin. Lady junk is all flaps of skin and we do ok.
• It's not so easy to enjoy your meal while talking about genital mutilation. But great party!

Turns out getting a vasectomy looks like a worm being yanked out of the ground by a bird, if that bird had a long, pointy, silver tweezer-beak.

Jewelry made of bits of Barbies means a Barbie butt bracelet.

Furniture made like body parts means fugly-ass furniture. via metafilter.com/tags/sex

Statue with business end exposed in shop window is means bad art with lots of talk about it. P.S. Statue is a table pedestal. Please stop doing that with the naked bodies and the furniture and all.

This Week in Sex: Baby, It's Cold Inside

Station manager Ken forwarded me an email from the Netherlands which said: "Could you slip this to Amanda?"

Sounded great, until I found out "this" was a giant icy penis with its own parking space. Cold, people, cold.

The email continued:  "I think this one will fit nicely in her most informative blog."

(Editor's note: The pic purportedly ran in a leading Dutch newspaper, and blog is the Dutch word for...something giant penises fit nicely into.)

Grandmaster of Iron Crotch Tu Jin-Sheng pulled a rental truck around a parking lot a couple times with his penis. I don't know why it is important that the truck was a rental.

There oughta be a law. There is, and it is the best law ever. A judge in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, makes guys who get busted for peeing in public apologize in public--in a letter to the editor in the Fond du Lac Reporter. For example, Michael Huebner of Madison, Wisconsin, wrote: "I am so terribly sorry for urinating outside of a public place in your city. It was not a very intelligent thing to do." Amen! You could revitalize certain dormant political parties with this stuff.

Things you didn't know you needed to worry about. Your labia should be tan, but your anus should not, especially if you want to "keep your bum-hole looking younger." If I could see it, maybe I would care more.

mp3s of radio commercials for schlocksploitation movies. This is the best thing I am slipping you this week, so go check it out at toestubber.

This Week in Sex: Trashbox

Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable, because we've got a big sticky wad of smut for you this week. Make sure you grab a handywipe on your way out.

Plug and play. Momma's got a squeeze box, and it's the iBuzz plug-in that syncs up a vibrator to the beat of the music on your iPod. (Handywipe, please.) Wanna visit the Iorio International Accordion Museum? Me too. [via boingboing]

What not to wear:

• If anything will make you keep it in your pants, it's boxers with HIV on them. [via popgadget]
• You can wear teeny condoms, but you better not talk about it unless you are Enrique Iglesias. You know, you probably shouldn't talk about it either, Enrique.
• Backless panties: perfect for lady plumbers.
• Furry, heated wonder bra is supposed to reduce energy consumption, but it will never be made or worn, so never mind.
• Imagine how hot super-long socks are to people who think plain old regular socks are hot.
• Can't have too many novelty aprons, Dad. Now go carve some turkey.

This Week in Sex: Random Acts of Smut

New sex poll says Americans Bulgarians Indians South Africans Kiwis Aussies Malaysians Singaporeans Canadians Chinese college students Greeks have sex. Or not.

You're fired. Scooter Libby's dirty thriller The Apprentice is being reissued, but the good parts are already dog-eared here.

Really Cool Adult Movie Posters of the 60s and 70s, when X-rated meant something, and that something was way less graphic and way more graphically interesting than any beer ad today. P.S. Who knew the Inkspots had a porn career?

Remember your gay hankie codes? If you need to brush up, they're here.

In my world, farting is mostly funny, rarely sexy. Further confirmation we do not live in my world.

"Some penises I have known": a sculpture for sale on eBay. My epic novel Some Dicks I Have Known is still in progress, but you can option it.

"What's next? Sambo ham sandwiches and Ku Klux Klan juice?" said the Rev. Paul Scott, a  leader in the national boycott campaign against rapper Nelly's energy drink Pimp Juice. With all due respect, I think the Reverend was over-reacting--there's about as much chance of a Sambo sandwich as there is a rapper named Nelly hitting the charts. Word is that Pimp Juice "tastes like a mixture of semen and urine," appropriately packaged in can that suggests exactly that. It's been around since 2003 and is available internationally, but I've never seen it here in Brooklyn, which makes me think the target market is suburban ravers. (It glows in the dark.)

Amanda's Record Fair 2005 Photos

The wfmu record fair isn't all butt-crack boys and goth girls. Well, there is a lot of that, but there are other things, and I took pictures of some of them for you. By the way, these aren't just blurry, crooked pictures, they're Arty pictures. Arty, I tell you. With informative captions.

They don't call it a record fair for nothing. See, a lot of people looking for records. See, a person looking for records. See, dj Rich models looking for records at the wfmu dollar record table.

Swag and the people who pimp it. Swag central. Vinyl killers Swagster Megan and dj Gaylord. The debut of the new  battery/manual-powered Eco-sensitive Hybrid Vinyl Killer 2005.

Things you can't buy at the record fair. Museum of pretty records. Don't touch the museum of pretty records. Life-sized Bette Page (they don't say it, but it's understood that you don't touch the life-sized Bette Page).

Just because they call it a record fair doesn't mean it's only records. It's things that look like records (ok, they actually look like cds, but they're paintings by Steve Keene), things that are made of records (bracelets and bags by HiFi Bags), and things that have nothing to do with records, but need good homes that aren't wine bottles (Corky Critters).

This Week in Sex: Sucktastic

Last week in sex:

• Recycle your holiday pumpkins into sex toys. Big, orange, un-sexy sex toys. (How will the diy sex toy people recycle christmas trees?)
  
• Check out what dildos went as for Halloween, and what the dildos did before that.
• Dirty laundry update: Last week we told you about vagina underwear (specifically, we told you not to wear it). This week it's frozen ground beef panties. Again, we ask you not to wear them, and we are backed up by the federal government (finally, some support here!) because the beef may have been contaminated with E. coli. Hats of Meat, however, are still tasteful and fashion-forward, wear well in the winter, and should be fine long as you don't get them near the dirty meat panties.

Last century in sex: U.S troops in London in WWII no match for "young sluts." But really, who is?

Color me horny. "Adult" paint by numbers, which is good because I don't understand the letters on that site. But that's OK, because the pictures are in the universal language of porn.

Nip/tuck. Do dogs know when they've been de-balled? I don't know if ball-replacement surgery helps, but having your owner wear a necklace with fake balls on it has to be a downer when you are trying to be a stud on the dog run.

Belly dancers. I'm not going to make fun of the 7th Annual Women's Belly and Womb Conference, where we will learn to love and know the power in our bellies and celebrate the magic of our womb today. As conference organizer ALisa (sic) Starkweather puts it, "Belly and Womb. Belly and Womb. You've got to know what's down in there. Belly and Womb. Belly and Womb. You've got to heal what you think you can't bear. Belly and Womb. Belly and Womb. Listen to your body. She speaks what's true. Belly and Womb. Belly and Womb. Honor the wisdom deep in you."  I'm listening to my belly and she wants to hurl. I'm going to honor that wisdom.

You're in trouble. They call it Urine Gone, but Urine Trouble would have been better. Order it "as seen on tv" and you get a black-light stain detector as seen on tv shows like CSI. And if you don't know why I mention this in a sex post, you aren't thinking about how gross/fun it would be to play detective in a motel room with that thing.

A blog of their own. Salon started a blog for the ladies, and lady-readers must be majorly pms-ing 'cause they HATE it. Maybe after a few days, a few pints of Ben and Jerry's, and a handful of Advil, they'll chill. One lady thinks it's "astoundingly sucktastic" to find some weird or funny or interesting tidbit in the news, add snarky comments, call it a blog, and think anyone besides your friends would care. Yeah. Right. OK. Are we meeting at the movies later? Call me! Bye! 

[You have to sit through an ad to get to Salon. Sucktastic!]

thanks to Corinna and SM Ken

This Week in Sex: Tricks and Treats

Ah, Halloween, time to mix the sacred and the profane, or if you're lazy like me, just go with the usual profanity. But if you want to get sacred, you can make your own church sign. Trust me, it's extremely satisfying--without the danger, guilt, and eternal damnation of church vandalism. Plus you can get your sign in fridge-magnet form, suitable for doling out to cranky kids who would actually rather have a fistful of fun-sized Kit-Kats or edible anatomical treats. [via]

Fun and (mind) games. Is she really going out with him? Love Cubes, the 1972 board game by the great Martin "Boring Postcards" Parr, is now online. Click on each member of a boy-girl couple to find out if they, uh, click. Take a Sex ID test courtesy of the BBC (only if you are at work and have nothing else to do). Make a sacred hula hoop. (Honestly, I can't think of any reason why you would do this. If you really need a hula hoop, buy one--it just won't connect you to the universe as well as the sacred kind.)

What not to wear. Let's start with boob scarves. Please don't wear boob scarves. No, vagina underwear. Please, please don't wear vagina underwear. No, wait, definitely don't wear a penis costume to a homecoming dance. Giant-inflatable-penis-boy got suspended and slapped with a sexual harassment citation. His parents, while agreeing he made a "poor decision," think he should have been cut some slack as this was his first offense for wearing a giant inflatable penis costume to a homecoming dance.

iPorn. Porn producers way into video iPod. Porn producers not that into video iPod. Oh, you silly porn producers, stop teasing us.

The biggest turn-off ever. Naked people sheets.

Lost in translation. I don't know what the captions say, but the pictures here are good enough that you can make up your own. Where can you register for a matching salt and pepper/dildo set?

MekSex. A site about sex and machines. By Sandy Beach, the inventor of the Tickling Machine, Fancy Panties, the Portable Tickling Machine, and the Invisible Tickling Machine, and Author of Sweet Agony, a novel featuring (you guessed it) tickling, and the nylon jersey fabrics used for women's evening wear in the 70's, particularly Qiana, and slinky bell bottom pants made by designers like Manning Silver, Rina, Funky and Estievo (didn't see that part coming, did you?). I heart Sandy Beach.

Hump day(s). A driver in the United Arab Emirates was sentenced to three months in jail for repeatedly having sex with a camel, who the driver said he had fallen in love with. The camel's sentence was a one-way ticket to the slaughterhouse, since its meat is now tainted by driver spunk.

It's a crime. No, not camel-humping in the United Arab Emirates. Teen sex in Kansas. And now homo-teen sex in Kansas is just as criminal as hetero-teen sex. That's progress, my friends. The Kansas Supreme Court ruled unanimously that Matthew Limon, now 23, will not have to spend 17 years behind bars for consensual sex a week after his 18th birthday with another male teenager. And for that we're grateful. We're also grateful that I didn't make a "not in Kansas anymore" joke. Because a lot of people are still in Kansas.

This Week in Sex: Magic

David Copperfield to 'magic' girl pregnant onstage--'magic' meaning to knock her up without physical contact. If he couldn't 'magic' his way into a girl's pants in high school, why should it work now? He should try to 'magic' me interested in his magic.

Doggy style. Meat-flavored condoms for dogs didn't work, surprisingly. Dog owners were left with pregnant puppies after dogs ate the condoms.

Birds do it, bees do it, single celled placozoans under seas do it. Even the world's simplest animals have sex. But you're still not getting any. You and David Copperfield.

And animals in art do it. The Kinsey Institute gallery in Indiana is having a show called "Passionate Creatures" about animal imagery in erotic art. I didn't know we were allowed to exhibit such things any more, even though the art and objects are from the past 2,000 years, so at some point somebody must have been OK with it.

Sixth Dalai Lama: poet/playa.

Fading In and Out

Last week I was going to post an exquisite elegy for my husband, Robert Boyd, who died on October 6, 2003. Among many other things, as "Mr. Boyd" he was an occasional WFMU dj, and that's how I became connected to the station. But I felt surprisingly sad on this year's anniversary, then I felt stupid for feeling still so sad, and then I felt stupid for feeling stupid, and then I didn't want to feel anything anymore, so I didn't write that damn elegy, and then I didn't write the funny smut I usually do, because feeling sad and stupid and empty does not generate funny smut.

Rob once said he believed in two things, and WFMU was one of them. (The other was not God, in case you were wondering--it was the Brooklyn Academy of Music, where we met, and he had worked off and on since 1987, and founded the BAM Archives.) Though he was sick for five years with an auto-immune disease called sarcoidosis, he died suddenly, from a pulmonary embolism. You would think when someone goes from being young and healthy to being in a wheelchair, and in and out of the hospital a lot, and on a list of medications as long as your arm, you might talk about the possibility of that person dying. We didn't, in case you were wondering.

This Week in Sex: Dumbass 'R' Us

Butt wait, there's more. A list of things people put up their butts. The medical term for this kind of person: dumbass.

(May I ask where you get a frozen pig's tail? I'm just curious. But not stick-it-up-my-butt curious.)

(I am also curious about "kangaroo tumor." I know I'm not the only one who thinks that's hot. There's at least that one other person.)  [via]

Don't you wish the internet came with instructions? Well, it does. Grab a pen, listen up, and take notes for future reference (mp3).

Take it off all over again. Strippers are back in New Orleans at the recently reopened Déjà Vu club on Bourbon Street. There are no tourists around, but there are plenty of police, firefighters and military personnel, which makes stripping and violating curfew "a public service."

Putting sex on the map. The Museum of Sex is Mapping Sex in America, and you can stick your little pushpin in it. Head to the MoSex site, click on the state where you did or thought or saw the deed, write it down, and regret using your real name.

They found that giant squid nobody believed attacked Captain Nemo in "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea," which you will remember was both a memoir of the famous expedition and a documentary movie. The squid doesn't look that giant. But what's the deal with that giant finger? Don't point that thing at me.

Most turkeys are bisexual. And other impressive true scientific happy hour facts I did not make up. (Also useful as tension-breakers at the family Thanksgiving dinner.)

Why buy when you can rent sex toys?

Don't you wish masturbation came with instructions? Well, it doesn't, but it comes with a thesaurus. And a hands-free option.

Good night. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs stab you in the abdomen. Or seal your vaginal opening with a mating plug. I hate when that happens.

Collect them all. Snuggly syphilis makes bedtime fun! You're gonna love gonorrhea!
(venereal diseases and more thanks to Station Manager Ken)
 

Trumped Up

Donald Trump came to Jersey City yesterday to announce that two big buildings will be built down the street from WFMU. Well, he didn't put it quite that way. Mostly he was fixated on the fact that the big buildings would be so big that they would be the biggest buildings in New Jersey. They'll be 55 and 50 stories big, while WFMU is only 4 stories not-big.

The Trump Plaza amenities include a fitness center, a basketball court, and a rooftop outdoor swimming pool. The WFMU amenities include a lack of fitness, an arcade version of Asteroids that doesn't work, and a basement prone to sewage backups.

Local pols bent over forwards to welcome Trump to the neighborhood. For his part, Trump commented incoherently: "I am the largest developer in Manhattan, and I am coming to Jersey City. So a lot of people come the other way, and I am coming this way, and I am pretty good at predicting trends, so let's hope that's a trend."

The Jersey papers made it sound like Trump was actually developing the property, but 1010Wins says "Metro Homes in Hoboken has essentially paid Trump a licensing fee to use his name on the project." So what we're talking about here are ugly big-ass buildings with ugly big-ass Trump bumper stickers on their ugly big-asses, unlike all the other Trump projects which are...well, just like that.

(And don't you think putting twin towers on the Hudson river and bragging about how tall they are is creepy?)

The $415 million project at Washington and Bay streets will have about 900 condos with prices estimated to start at $525,000. Plans are for groundbreaking in November, completion in fall of 2007.

This Week in Sex: Sex Ed

Sex isn't all fun and games, you know. Actually, it's mostly no fun and games. Which is why we bring you the Back to School edition of This Week in Sex. Take your hands out of your pockets and get learning, Junior.

Mommy, Daddy, where did the controversy about sexual education come from? Apparently, from this boring 1947 film. You can watch the movie, or just look at the thumbnails featuring a deeply suspicious dad. I prefer the Department of Agriculture sex ed film that takes the sex Ed Wood approach: if you like stock footage, a swelling soundtrack, and rabbit C-sections, this is the film for you.

Movie Club. If you just want to watch something dirty, which I know you do, there are about a kajillion other old  films on the Internet Archive, plus a handy subject index. They have non-sex stuff, too. Actually, it's mostly non-sex stuff. I just don't pay attention to it.

Biology 101. What's inside your boobs? I'm not really sure, but it's disturbingly glowy.

Career Counseling. You say you want to be in radio, but the results of your assessment test say you would make a great Hooters Girl. Congratulations!  Please take your Suntan-colored pantyhose and a copy of your Hooters Handbook, and remember that being sexually harassed is part of the job. (The pantyhose and the sexual harassment parts are just like radio, so don't be too disappointed.)

Linguistics. This guy spent a whole lotta time researching and thinking and writing about about the word cunt. (Whereas I just spent a whole lotta time watching the cunt circus.)

Science Fair. "How many angels fit on the head of a pin?" is a question for theologians, but "How many condoms fit on the head of a penis?" is one we can really wrap our hands around. And by "we" I mean the Science Project geeks, who I hope keep up the good work. A+.

Cosmology. If you think God is being a big dick with this weather, you're right. Rita looks like a big phallus. But if you think Katrina looks like a big fetus, and that means the storm is God's way of punishing us, you're wrong. Plus you're being a big dick.

Community Service. It's not porn, it's charity: make a donation to Katrina relief and see pictures of boobs in the virtual Mardi Gras that is Boobs4BourbonSt. You can donate boobs or money, or both. [via]

P.S. I double-dare you not to look at pets in uniform. (P.P.S. Now I know what I'm getting DJ Bronwyn for Christmas! Don't tell.) [via]

Thanks for the random acts of smut, Station Manager Ken.

This Week in Sex: Shorts

We didn't take our medication this week, so welcome to the short-attention-span edition of TWiS.

I'm not a doctor, Jim, I'm a pedophile. An article in the Huffington Post suggests that there is a connection between watching Star Trek and being a pedophile. Trekkies get hot and bothered by the idea. (I know trekkies like to be called trekkers, but trekkies are not the boss of me.)

How to measure your penis. Is it really that hard? Apparently this diy project might involve, like, math. Math + boner = need for detailed instructions.

Queerty in pink. New gay blog queerty. Check out Little Joe "Walk on the Wild Side" Dallesandro, be surprised he is still alive, and wonder what he looks like now.

News of the nude: Everyday nakedness in the Netherlands, where everybody who is naked is also white. That shaggy dude who walks around England naked got arrested again. Whatever.

Life is a cabaret again in Seattle. A temporary ban (that lasted 17 years) on new "adult cabarets," aka strip clubs, in Seattle was finally lifted. [thanks Liz]

Singing Lesbians to Rescue Opera House is my favorite headline of the week.

Tell your wife: it's not porn, it's art. Christie's auctions sexploitation posters.

Dirty laundry. Museum exhibition about underwear. Tell your wife: it's not underwear, it's culture.

He said, she said. In the tradition of other great games, like "Lesbian or Midwestern?" or "Gay or European?" it's "Female or Shemale: Can You Tell?"

We share DNA with these folks. I mean the people watching the monkeys having sex.

Can't. Stop. Playing. Monkey. Slots.

This Week in Sex: Go Fuck Yourself

Small consolations. Just when you thought things couldn't get worse in New Orleans, Dr. Phil went down to the Superdome for a "very special Dr.Phil", with Oprah and others hot on his heels, while Sean Penn in a leaky boat tried to rescue children. Dick Cheney must have thought thought, "Hell, if Oprah's there, I'm getting my ass down there too. Sounds like a party!" During an interview with the vp, someone off-camera shouted, "Go fuck yourself, Mr. Cheney!" Twice. I don't think it was Sean Penn, seeing as he was still bailing out his boat with a little red plastic cup.

The naked lady doth  protest. It could be worser: naked protesters could show up. Though in New Orleans, nakidity doesn't register the way it does elsewhere. Whereas a good old "fuck yourself" to the vice president gets the job done. It's the little black dress of protests.

It could be worsest. You could be wearing your latex underwear during the cleanup.

Girls with Glasses. You gotta pay for the dirty parts, but the videos of girls talking about their glasses are kinda sweet.

Guys and dolls. This is icky. Icky icky icky.

Look at our Naked Pictures Happiness. Read our bad poetry. Open wide your fly heart. This might make you feel icky, but not nearly as icky as if you looked at that doll sex site.

This room is to die for! Ever wonder where to put the dead body in your living room? Microsoft has a "crime scene with shapes" template that makes it as easy as Microsoft can make anything. Comes with icons for weapons, blood, and footprints.

Hello titty. Curiosities from a Japanese porn megastore. (thanks Station Manager Ken)

William Shatner and Frederica von Stade will sing a duet on the Emmy awards September 18. I don't know what this has to do with sex, but a girl can dream.

I blame pornography. Chris Martin says watching porn got his creative juices flowing.

Naked Gardening Day is September 10. "Why garden naked? It's fun!" Fun if you like bug bites, sunburn, and gardening. So get out there, you fun-bug-sun-loving gardeners!

Next week: Monkeys! (I know I said that last time.)

Month of the Month Club: September

There was a lot of debate in our recent editorial meeting, but this month in the Month of the Month Club we feature...September! There are just a boatload of Months in September. Who needs all these extra Months? Schoolteachers, direct marketers, dj's, and anyone else who can use a cheap programming hook.

Months to Freak You Out:

• National Food Safety Education Month. Slogan: "Keep Hands Clean with Good Hygiene." 
• National Preparedness Month. They have a coalition of the willing to freak you out. Slogan: "Get a kit, make a plan, be informed, and get involved," which is about three things too many for me to do. May we suggest: "Keep Hands Clean with Good Hygiene."
• National Ovarian Cancer Month. "'Turn up the volume' on the disease that whispers." In case you were wondering what that shushing noise was down there.

Months That Suck:

• National School Success Month. You can't buy me with promotional items. Well, wfmu can, but you school people can't.
• National Head Lice Prevention Month. How can you not love a site that says "Welcome to Headlice.org."

Mystery Months:

• National 5 A Day Month. I'm trying to think of what I have 5 of a day, and I don't think it's vegetables.
• National Youth Court Month. Royal adolescents? Romantic teens?

Months To Be Aware of:

• National Sickle Cell Awareness Month
• National Skincare Awareness Month
• National Menopause Awareness Month
• National Prostate Cancer Awareness Month. They have a coalition of the willing to cough. Arnold Palmer says, "There's no I in prostate cancer."

Months I Can Safely Ignore:

• National Self Improvement Month
• National Women of Achievement Month
• National Library Card Sign-Up Month, which promotes the "Smartest Card." (mp3)

Months When Somebody Could Put an Eye Out:

• National Sewing Month. "Sewing: The Alternative Yoga."
• National Baby Safety Month
• National Sports and Home Eye Safety Month
• National Alcohol and Drug Addiction Recovery Month

Months That Can Fuck Themselves:

• National Courtesy Month. Make that: Months That Can Please Fuck Themselves. Thank you.

This Week in Sex: Vegetarians.

In the interest of fair play and a balanced diet, which are not interesting at all, we're following up last week's This Week in Sex, a delicious array of meat, with this week's This Week in Sex, a skimpy side of veg. Enjoy. But you won't enjoy it as much as the meat.

Sex advice from vegans compiled by Nerve. A big topic of discussion: is swallowing semen strictly vegan? My theory: as long as you don't kill the guy to get the semen, it's fine.

Eat me. And by "me" I mean vegetarian foods that are aphrodisiacs. Or dirty baked goods. While you ponder this: Do you think handing out vagina-shaped candy might actually be a publicity stunt?

Drink me. Make your own beer cozy sex toy. [thanks Daniel Robinson]

The Vegan Vixen Show asks the age-old question, "What happens when a bunch of sexy vegan girls get together?" The age-old answer, "A TV show no one wants to watch." Producer Sky Valencia says "We wanted to appeal to the male audience, the hunters, the dogfighters, the burger eaters - you know, the guys who love Stuff and Low Rider magazine as well as Jack Ass and Howard Stern." You know what appeals to those guys? In a word, meat. And dog fights, but that's two words. (Apparently dog fights are big part of he-man culture.)

Vegetarian personals. The best part is being able to call up a map of everyone on the site. Perfect for vegetarian stalkers.

Tree huggers. I already wrote about these eco-porn people, and I still think they're stupid. The words eco-porn make me want to club a seal.

Vegetarian Radio. The words vegetarian radio make me want to club the seal next to that eco-porn seal.

Put down the gun. Oh, that's not a gun?  DC Comics told an art gallery and a website to stop showing paintings of Batman and Robin being gay. Which they are.

I mean not. Totally are not. Don't send me a cease and desist letter. (But they do make a nice couple.)

It's the end of the world. No, wait, in Malta they have come to realize "it is not the end of the world if one admits to browsing explicit sites on the Internet or buying sex toys." They have their own Maltese sex store, which is pretty much the same as other sex stores, but smarter, because it has the disclaimer,"These products are not intended for use by mindless morons."  This would effectively kill a business in the U.S., where all products are intended for use by mindless morons. Go Malta!

[Yes, I know those last couple got a little off-topic. Don't send me a cease and desist letter.]

Next week: Monkeys!

Rock On, Young Punks

A nice big Sunday article on Greasy Kid Stuff in the Oregonian.

Not so nice: only available for 2 weeks online, and mentions me "coming out of the shower" (eeeww).

Also not nice: no pictures online, so here's one of DJ Waah Waah spreading WFMU cooties to the good clean people of Portland. Let's hear it for viral marketing.

March of the Mean Penguins

I haven't seen that March of the Penguins movie in a theater, but I got my mitts on a copy.

I don't think it's that great.

At least it's short (gif).

 

This Week in Sex: Meat!

This morning, a guy at work told the whole office about a dream where he created a new sandwich. It was made of a hot dog with rings and rings of calamari on it--he gestured sliding all the rings on. Then all the guys started talking about what condiments would be on it (both mustard and red sauce, if you must know). Am I the only one who thinks they were talking about more than a greasy hot dog with shmutz all over it it? Yes, apparently I am.

It's so hot that you could fry an egg on the sidewalk (you know it's summer when the news desk tricks the cub reporters into trying to do that). And it's also so hot that an art salami left in a pool of water all summer started to get stinky. It got so stinky that they didn't want to keep it around, even as art. 

Meat doesn't grow on trees. It grows in a dish!  We live in a glorious age, when it's possible to grow "something like spam" (which is something like meat) "at an incredibly high cost." The result is supposed to appeal to vegetarians, because it's meat without murder, and carnivores, because it's meat and they love meat, but it will appeal to neither, because it's synthetic meat sludge. Incredibly costly synthetic meat sludge.

Stop the presses...Meat does grow on trees! Magical sausage trees.

No, wait...Meat in a can. I'm sticking with good old meat in a can.

Pig art personality test. I care little for details.

And the wiener is...not you. The Oscar Meyer Ride of Your Life Contest has ended, but you can get Bologna Song ringtones to ease the pain. 

Sausages and prepared meats from A to Z. OK, from A to W(iener). There is definitely a marketing opportunity for sausages and prepared meats in the  X, Y, and Z categories.   

"Send a salami to your boy in the army" has a nice ring to it, but not as nice as "send a salami to every soldier in the 42nd Infrantry Division serving in Tikrit." Operation Salami Drop: “We know there are a bunch of homesick men and women over there, and to be able to do something. ... How do you put words to it? You have to do something. I can do salamis,” Marc Brummer said. Marc Brummer, will you marry me?

Pigs in space. You know the Chinese are sending pig sperm into space, right?

So to recap: Meat sludge in a museum is art. Meat sludge in a lab is science. Bologna is in your phone. Salami is flying to Iraq. Sperm is flying to the moon. But a hot dog in a dream is just a hot dog.

This Week in Sex: Spit, Don't Swallow

Portraits of Paris Hilton, Ruben Studdard, and some other people I don't know who they are, in bubble gum. Because the media, like, chews you up and spits you out, you know?

Most importantly, you can commission a portrait in bubble gum. My holiday shopping is officially done.

This Week in Sex: Rainbows and Unicorns

As promised, I am filing this from the Headquarters of Greasy Kid Stuff West, where Belinda and Hova get up at the crack of dawn every Saturday morning to spin good clean records. Since I am using the Official GKS Computer, I think it would be impolite to ramble through the internet in search of bad dirty things, picking up and passing on god knows what.

So here's what I found in the way of family-friendly smut: pretty pretty penis unicorn shirts. Let's be honest: Male genitalia can be a little off-putting, rainbow unicorns are a little off-putting, but male genitalia sticking out of the head of a rainbow unicorn--well, that's just too fucking cute.

OK, that didn't work. My other inter-generational option was hobo porn. You know, hobos can be a little off...oh, never mind.

More and worse smut when I'm back in New York.

P.S. Belinda and Hova: Expect a dramatic increase in porn spam anyway. You're welcome!

This Week In Sex: Sex Blog Hussy Edition

When I was home last weekend, I was awakened Sunday morning by my mom abruptly opening the bedroom window shades and ranting about "sex blog hussies." I agree: sex blog hussies are bad, bad people. So I'm sending this one out to you, my fellow sex blog hussies. And to my mom, of course. (Who doesn't know I am a sex blog hussy.)

Cunnilingus Manifesto.  Stop whatever dirty thing you are doing and check out North Korean Supreme Hottie Kim Jong-Il's dialectical sex advice, set to Nina Simone. Also in German, French, and Spanish, by Young-Hae Chang Heavy Industries.

The Dawn of the Tool Age. The world's oldest dildo was recently discovered by German researchers, who were not surprised to find it right there in the drawer of the world's oldest nightstand.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Owwww. Ow. Ow. Ever wonder about getting a Brazilian wax? If this little video doesn't make you want to put your bare ass on a table and get the short hairs ripped out of it, well, you my friend are a pussy. [via]

There outta be a law. And there is. Are. Whatever. Pages and pages of sex laws across the ages and nations. For example, the missionary position is the only way to do it in my hometown of Washington, D.C. But it's still OK to be a sex blog hussy there.

The headline reads Jackson Broadens Exclusions for Sex Offenders, but it has nothing to do with  alleged sex-offender Michael Jackson. New Jersey's own Jackson Township, home to Six Flags Great Adventure, has expanded its ordinance prohibiting convicted sex-offenders from living within 2,500 feet of a school, park, playground, or daycare center. The revised ordinance includes amusement parks, movie theaters, and roller rinks. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want a pedophile living on my block, but my understanding of our justice system is that if you are convicted of a crime, and serve your sentence, you are free to go. Are we going to set up special zones for pedophiles? Pedo-ghettos? If so, I nominate Vatican City, where they can roam freely with their kind. Want something closer to home, complete with those forbidden amusement parks? Let's make it official and convert Jacko's Neverland into a Pedo-Preserve.

TWIS Gift Shoppe: Make a refrigerator magnet that is an exact replica of your lady junk. Just don't send it to my mom. You hussy.

Next week: This Week in Sex reports from Greasy Kid Stuff West in a kid-friendly version of your weekly dose of smut. OK, maybe not kid-friendly, but definitely from Greasy Kid Stuff West.

This Week in Sex: A Love So Forbidden

It's Friday morning, which means it's time to grab that cup of coffee, check the clock, and realize you're late! It's smut-thirty. But we didn't start without you, darlin'.

G.I. tracts. G.I. Joe is scary. Fan fiction is scary. But G.I. Joe fan fiction--well, that's just too fucking sweet.

Here's a bit from "G.I. Joe: A Love So Forbidden" (and rightly so):

At that moment, they had suddenly realized that even though they each were on different sides of the whole G.I. Joe/Cobra thing, they were still able to experience something wonderful between them.

That something is known as raw and untamed erotica ... and they were enjoying every minute of it.

A few minutes later, after he had placed his stiff cock inside her asshole, Blaine had used each of his hands to caress both her breasts and pussy.

'AAAAHHHH, COR-BLOODY-SHIT! THAT FEELS ... SSSSOOOO GOOOOD!" yelled a sexually energized Zarana. "DO IT, BLAINE! FUCK ME! I REALLY ... WANT YOU ... TO FUCK ME! AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!'

And here I thought I didn't like erotica, but I just didn't know it included yelling COR-BLOODY-SHIT!, which makes me melt every time.

"Attorneys find Dykes on Bikes offensive." No cor-bloody-shit. Twice, the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office has rejected the application of San Francisco's legendarily les-tastic Dykes on Bikes to patent its name, on  the grounds that "Dyke" is vulgar, offensive, and "scandalous." And not in a good way. The Dykes aren't offensive, mind you, it's just the word Dyke that the lawyers don't like. But that's the best part of the name. Without Dykes, you got no Dykes on Bikes. In case you didn't notice, I'm just trying to say Dyke a lot here.

Month of the Month Club

Last Saturday on Greasy Kid Stuff, Belinda and Hova mentioned that it was  National Cow Appreciation Day. Damn--I missed it again. 

We're more than halfway through July already, and it turns out I didn't know bull crap about this month.Yes, it's National Hotter than Hell Month, but I recently found out that July is also:

National Ice Cream Month
National Hot Dog Month
National Baked Beans Month
National Corn Month
National Fresh Fruit Month
National Blueberry Month
National American Beer Month
National Picnic Month (Go with this if you can't be bothered to celebrate all those individually.)

Lest you think that July is just a good month for sitting on your ass and eating, which it is, think again, because it's also:

This Week in Sex: Double Super Secret Edition

[not safe viewing for prudes, people who work for them, and big-government blabbermouths]

Even dj's get the blues. If you can do two things at once, you can read this and listen to Dave the Spazz rockin' it blue in a web-only special. Scott did the dirty work and put even more potty-mouth shows here. This is a full service operation, people.

The Good News. And here I thought it was the Internet, but no, it turns out it's "Masturbation: God's Great Gift to Us." God also takes a position on the wfmu beware of butt-sex debate. (Spoiler alert: He's a fan.) (Spoiler alert: God is my butt-sex co-pilot.)

It's a boy! “On the morning of the full moon day of June 21, I noticed my thing (sex organ) was not the same as before,” said Thin Sandar, a chicken seller in Myanmar. "And my breasts disappeared. So I called out and showed it all to my mom and dad. It was very strange." Thin is now Than (the male version of Thin), and is also getting out of the chicken business and into the local celebrity/monk business. Living the American dream, Myanmar-intersex style.

More chicken sex news, please. Since you asked nicely: Cocks engage in "seemingly meaningless sperm-free sex." Just like chicks, I guess. Dyke chicks. Slutty dyke chicks. 

DIY Department. Make your own menstrual pads, in assorted hippie colors.

You say it's a "little death," I say it's a big sneeze. This site is kinda pretentious and kinda fascinating. About them: "Beautiful Agony is dedicated to the beauty of human orgasm. This may be the most erotic thing you have ever seen, yet the only nudity it contains is the baring of beautiful souls." See what I mean? Plus they throw French around like that makes things extra-sexy. Give me a site with streaming video of fake chicken sex, in English.

Somebody could put an eye out. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, "the pole is no plaything." OK, I didn't say it, but the New York Times did in an article about NYC firehouses  phasing out the stripper poles they use instead of stairs. (You can check it out here without having to log in. Remember, we're a full service operation.)  Michelle O'Donnell took the "insert pole joke here" approach to this hot news story. For example: "In the firehouses of New York City, veterans have a deep affection, even a zealous sense of protection, for their poles." If I were Frenchy-pretentious, I would call that double entendre (pronounced dooble ontond and not actually used by the French, smartypants).

Sex crime blotter. In New Zealand, it's safe sex or else. In Jammu, India, the safest sex may be no sex.  And, because that last piece was so depressing, let's end in on a happy note in Spain, where same-sex can legally be married sex.

Got smut? Don't keep it to yourself where it's just gonna fester. Send it to me at amanda at wfmu dot org.

[thanks to Station Manager Ken for doing the right thing and sending smut]

This Week in Sex

(definitely not safe for work, probably not safe for home,  basically not safe anywhere)

Insane clown sex posse. Let’s be honest: Clowns are a little scary. Sex is a little scary. Clowns having sex—well, that’s just too fucking sweet.

Go baby go! A recent study discovered that when men watch porn with other men in it, their sperm becomes more mobile.  The theory is that the risk of “sperm competition” (i.e., that  a woman may have more than one partner) jacks up the sperm count and quality. The study was done in Australia,  where I discovered that the sperm swim counter-clockwise.

How to Procrastinate: Tip No. 8—Go with the Flo

I am enraptured by this site: flocabulary.com.

The idea is that you can fabricate a mo’ better vocabulary by listening to “rap” songs that use capacious words. This is not a very advantageous idea, especially if you like 1) songs, or 2) words.

For  two bucks, Flocabulary provides an mp3 and lyrics, with the SAT-caliber words linked to brief definitions. The study materials include bizarre "use the word in a sentence" examples that feature mooning celebrities, recovering alcoholics, and people with dogs for body parts. The study materials could use a copy-edit by Gaylord. As could we all.

Here’s one mp3, and some lyrics to get you started:

    When I was nascent, being formed in my mama’s belly,
    It was so cozy I wanted to stay there forever, indefinitely,
    It was all obscure, totally caliginous and dark,
    I could hear the melodious sound of my mama’s beating heart, then
    BOOM I was born shrunken like a prune, a former plum,
    Shot out the womb like a gun into the room

(I’m old school. If you don’t know what caliginous means, look it up.)

And an example of the study guide:

    sagacious - (adjective) shrewd, showing sound judgment
    When it came to electing a Corn Growers Association president, everyone turned to the most sagacious member: old Jim "Corn Eyes".

Whence my forthcoming bloggification commences: illicit and prurient material appealing to the baser natures of all.

I.e., next time: porn.

How to Procrastinate: Tip No. 7—Seriously, Beware of The Blog

Every time I check out this blog, or post to this blog, or think about this blog, or try not to think about this blog, the insanely infectious Burt Bacharach song “Beware of the Blob” starts up in my skull. Station Manager Ken will think I don’t realize that “Beware of the Blog” is a clever allusion to the B-movie featuring an enormous, hostile liver, but he basically thinks I’m retarded, which means I have to make it clear that I get the blob/blog joke. I get it, but that doesn’t make the loop in my head any less aggravating.

In case you’re not familiar with the tune, I found an mp3 snippet that should be just big enough to lodge itself in one of the furrows in your brain like a piece of popcorn in your back teeth. If you want the whole song (and you have been warned), you can listen for the classic version by The Five Blobs on Dave the Spazz’s show, or the Guy Kluczevek cover on Greasy Kid Stuff. Here are the lyrics, smartypants, in case you think you have managed to elude the Blob:

Beware of the Blob
It creeps
And leaps
And glides
And slides
Across the floor
Right through
The door
And all around the wall
A splotch, a blotch
Be careful of the Blob

(repeat x infinity)

The most maddening thing of all is that I have a sure-fire way to delete annoying songs from my internal iTunes. Simply sing, out loud, in its entirety,“Chapel of Love” by  the Dixie Cups. This will erase the offending song while not itself getting stuck in your head, like a refreshing palate cleanser. Works every time.

So why is the Blob beating the Dixie Cups in the smackdown for my limited brain bandwith? 

Next time: smarter-sounding words (for porn).

How to Procrastinate: Tip No. 5A—Drown Kitties (continued)

Swag protest via kitties update:

Mark Magowan sent us a note saying "we are all so sorry," and included this picture. 

By "we are all so sorry" I think he means "we have your number, irredeemably promiscuous promoters of satan's work in swag."

Next time: everything you've been waiting for.

How to Procrastinate: Tip No. 6—Jersey City Goes to 11

Did you know Jersey City is a "Sexy City"?

Apparently no one else did, either. A recent poll done by some annoying deodorant company found that Jersey City is the 11th Sexiest City in the nation. This is such powerful branding information that WFMU is going to change its tag line to “Freeform Station of the Nation, in the 11th Sexiest City in the Nation.”

What constitutes “Sexy”? Apparently these deodorant  scientists used some special metrics to figure it out, but over here in the Department of Procrastination Studies we need to see for ourselves.

A note on scientific methods: Station Manager Ken sent me this article (you have to do a minor log-in to read it, but I read it so you don't have to) two weeks ago, and I want to be clear that it’s not that I put off writing about it until now. I was doing research. OK, last Friday night I did some research.  I could have just made some crap up while I was watching the umpteenth rebroadcast of “160-Lb. Tumor” on the Discovery Health Channel, but I did not. I chose to do participant observation, an ethnographic method in which I have extensive training. As this site says, "Think Jane Goodall studying chimps."

Since I had only been out in Jersey City one night in my entire life, I needed expert advice. I don’t know why—this is science, so I’m reluctant to offer a hypothesis without some evidence to manipulate to support it—but the wfmu dj’s were useless informants. They don’t know from Sexy. I have a cousin who lives a few blocks from the station, and she is  super-Sexy (imagine an unplaticized Irish Cher), so I asked her to be my guide/driver. It was cold and I didn't want to walk.

Evidence collected 2/18/05:

The evening started out with the needle on the Sexy Meter bouncing into the red. I was at wfmu to stuff envelopes* for the marathon. When I walked in, volunteers Taso, Ryan, Bill and Charlie were sitting around the table under the supervision of Volunteer Coordinator Scott, looking like the Fab 5, but not so gay. But so Sexy!

Sexy Swagster Megan was also there and interrupted her game of computer Scrabble (the computer spelled “boner,” which I took to be a good sign) to help me plan my itinerary. Turns out Megan does know from Sexy. Scott began frothing like a mad dog when he started talking about bars where the “cute fake people hang out,” so I stopped listening to him, and excluded his data from the experiment.

Cousin Cher and I went to the Hyatt first.
Not Sexy, unless Empty is the new Sexy. But it was early.

Next stop was LITM, which stands for “love is the message” (down, Scott, down!). The meter went into the red as soon as we walked in and saw two extremely cute girls making out at the front of the bar. I think lesbian love is a better message. The bartender might have flirted with me, but I was too busy getting the gossip on my extended family to pay attention.

Having worked up an appetite from doing all this science, we went to the Hard Grove Cafe for steak sandwiches. I was ready to call the research over, but then we hit Sexy pay-dirt. Cousin Cher was waiting for the Ladies Room, and it was a long wait. Finally the door opened, and it was not a Lady but one of the Hombres who worked in the kitchen. Then the door shut. After a few minutes a Lady did come out and oh-so casually returned to her table. Cousin Cher and I analyzed the evidence and concluded that there was something Mucho Sexy going on in there. Something that might have even been Sex.

Since I had to get back to Brooklyn to get a few hours sleep before returning to board op for Greasy Kid Stuff Saturday morning, we decided our rigorously scientific experiment had run its course.

Scientific conclusion: Next to the envelope-stuffing table at wfmu, the Ladies Room at the Hard Grove is the Sexiest Place in the 11th Most Sexy City in the Nation.

*Brownie points for me!

Next time: porn? Maybe not, my mom's in town.

 

How to Procrastinate: Tip No. 5—Drown Kitties

SWAG PROTEST

The U.K.'s Foreign Investment art group has announced that it will drown three kittens to protest the Tate Modern's commodification of conceptual artist Joseph Beuys.

In a statement, they said that they are "really angry about the current Joseph Beuys exhibition, where the Tate Gallery has decided to take upon itself to sell key fobs with little bits of felt inside, small blackboards with chalk, jigsaw puzzles and biscuit tins making a mockery of the artist's work. [...] On their website they describe him as being charismatic, innovative, influential and unconventional, so they key fobbed him."

The event will take place in a special at home exhibition in South London on Monday, February 28, 2005. For information contact mcgowan1@camb.linst.ac.uk.

The artists feel they have no other option but to drown the kittens, saying, "We feel really bad about the kittens but it's the Tate Gallery's fault blame them."

If three kittens = a key fob, how many get offed for a clock?

(Oh yeah--Next time: porn, but not just any porn, Jersey City porn.)

How to Procrastinate: Tip No. 4—Gawker Shocker!

A while back, I took this crappy cell phone picture of one of those “don’t walk” signs in downtown Manhattan that have been neatly transformed into the heavy metal devil horns. (Or maybe it’s the sign language sign for peace—I always get the devil horns and the peace sign confused—but I suppose it’s more likely that the vandals are the metal heads than the deaf people.)

Gawker just noticed one of the signs and posted a tongue-in-cheek piece saying it was not the sign of the devil but the sign of the shocker.*

Duh! How dumb are they! Stupid bloggers. I thought bloggers were supposed to break news and know stuff. Let’s all feel superior in our ability to distinguish between the dirty and the satanic hand gestures.

(Um, seriously, it's the devil horns, right?)

Next time: porn. But this time was kinda dirty, so stop whining.

*If someone's looking over your shoulder, like your boss, you might wanna save this link for later.

How to Procrastinate: Tip No. 3—Talk Dirty to Me

I’m happy to see Station Manager Ken and Music Man Brian dropping the f-bomb in their recent posts. That's leadership! Frankly, I thought the fmu djs were going to rain a shit-storm of curse words upon the blogosphere. Since even thinking about things like poopy on the radio is gonna cost $500,000 a pop, let me remind everyone that online shit is FREE.

However:

I do wonder, and this is gonna show how long it’s been since I’ve had a real job, how much “indecency” generally causes corporate online V-chips to kick in? I don’t want my potty-mouth to single-handedly keep you guys from procrastinating at work.

Next time, maybe: porn.

How to Procrastinate: Tip No. 2—Rasterbate

You heard me.

A raster is essentially the bit-mappification of a digital image that plots the original onto a grid. The “Rasterbator” takes the image in the grid and works some crazy math mojo on it, and you can print it out as a HUGE multi-page pdf.

If you are simple-minded and like things big (say, if you are from Texas), this is the way to go. But if you are more artsy-fartsy, you can make the cells in the grid more abstract.

Like this little fella: from a distance it’s just a penguin, but up close it’s Art.

(Since I am not just a procrastinator but a lazy, plagiarizing procrastinator, I stole this idea from Shannon Holman, Poet Laureate at Apartment Therapy, where you can steal lots of other ideas.)

Next time: porn. I know I said that last time, but I got distracted by Rasturbation.

How to Procrastinate: Tip No. 1—The Internet

Since the mists of Time began to clear, and the beginnings of Life began to coalesce in the Primordial Sea, and maybe a stray spark from a lightning bolt or whatever accidentally caused a blob of goo to congeal into something that could use a qwerty keyboard, Man has wondered, “Why are we here?”

The Internet is the answer to this question. Actually, it doesn’t answer the question, but it makes it easier to avoid, which in my book is as good as answering it.

Andy Warhol once said that the most difficult thing in life is figuring out what to do with the next ten minutes. At least I think he said that (I could look it up but I’m writing this right now so I’ll get to it in a sec). He’s more famous for that famous-for-fifteen-minutes thing. Man, he sure rode that one to the bank. Anyway, I don’t think he would mind having things he didn’t say attributed to him. In addition to reproducing mass-produced images, this guy made an 8-hour shot of the Empire State Building into a movie. Hey, if you want to fill some time, you could either 1) go see that movie, or 2) stare at this picture for 8 hours.

The thing with the movie is that it is actually 8 hours and 5 minutes, so at 7 hours and 55 minutes you might want to think about what you’re going to do with the 10 minutes after the film is over. I’m just giving you the heads up.

In order to procrastinate effectively, you must chose something to avoid. Without the delicious frisson of guilt hovering at the fringes of your chosen activity, you will not be procrastinating, but merely wasting time.

Let me recommend: getting a life. To be clear: the thing you are avoiding is “getting a life.” You can be more specific (avoid getting out of your chair, or avoid getting your job done, or even better, avoid getting a job), but I urge you to Dream Big. I once worked with someone who said, “Reach for the stars and maybe you’ll hit  the lamppost,” which seemed like a dumb-ass thing to say. Why would I want to hit a lamppost?  I’m a lazy mofo, but I’m not a vandal. At any rate, I don’t work there anymore so I don't have to listen to that crap.

In conclusion, though the official story is that the internet was invented by the military/Al Gore to communicate top-secret info/bore us into a drooling coma, this is only partly true. It was invented by the military so we could park ourselves in front of the pretty pixels and look at porn instead of going outside to play.

OK, I’ll keep this short. I know you have things to not-do.  Mine is not-blogging.

Next time: porn.