December 8, 2006 at 1:18 am (Uncategorized)

Remember the classic horror film “Village of the Damned?” And all those creepy children with their blank, somehow omnipotent gazes? Very unnerving. There is something about a group of suspicious children that can really unnerve.

Then there’s the group of mutations from “The Hills Have Eyes.” Man, they were painful to look at. Through horrible genetic violation, those hillbillies achieved both sad and hideous. I’m getting the chills just thinking about it.

There’s a great episode of the X-Files where Mulder and Scully go toe-to-toe with a group of inbreds living in a shack on the edge of town. Their mother/sister lost her arms and legs and now is a deformed torso living under a bed. The brothers (one is also the father, however that works) are fiercely protective of the truncated mom and… well, that’s a family reunion where camera should not be allowed.

Creepy images indeed. But somehow, they just don’t compare to the following picture which plays upon President Clinton’s reputed prowess with the ladies. Good gawd, man. He should have left his seed upon Monica’s blouse.



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Waking the beast

December 7, 2006 at 4:40 am (Uncategorized)

93_3.jpgThe loosened shaker top, sending a cascade of salt down onto the victim’s French fries. Few things rival the hilarity of the shock and anguish of a person who has just had his fast food dinner ruined through one of the oldest gags in recorded history.

The shaving cream in the sleeping man’s hand. Oh, the joy of watching someone smear himself after you give his nose a little tickle. The dollops hanging from his face only add to the hysteria when the dumbass rouses from sleep and realizes he’s been had.

The elusive delight of a sleeping friend peeing his pants after you dunk the hand in warm water. Allegedly, this is one gut busting prank. Unfortunately, my few attempts at this failed miserably, although I did get somewhat pop a blood vessel just thinking about the possible results.

The thumbtack in the chair, the bucket of water over the door, the black ink on binocular eye pieces. There are countless ways to rile, embarass or amuse an unwitting friend. But dude, if someone is eight feel tall, covered in hair and wipes his butt with small forest critters, don’t do it.

Less subliminal and artsy than the Geico cavemen, the “Messing with Sasquatch” ad campaign deserves an honorable mention just for sheer sophomoric delight. As entertainment, it’s great. As a marketing tool, well… who among you can name the company old Bigfoot represents?

I thought so. Here are some videos.

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Santa Claws

December 6, 2006 at 1:42 am (Uncategorized)

scream.jpgChildren are smart. They know that a person who slithers down your chimney late, late at night is a the kind of person who will also touch you longingly while you sleep. They know that men with sprawling beards and thick mustaches likely have dark, dangerous secrets they want desperately to keep. And they know — intuitively, mind you — that they should run screaming from any old man who heartily implores them to come sit on his lap.

The children are right. Santa is one creepy dude who should not be trusted. Yet, year after year, we shove our children toward whomever has donned the red suit that year at the local mall. We push them forward even if they squirm and scream that they don’t want any part of the booze reeking dude with suspicious stains across the store bought beard. We do this because we want a photo, dammit, so that we can prove to our in-laws that we are good parents who indulge the kiddies in traditional holiday celebration.

The real Santa Claus may be a genuinely jolly fellow in spite of his cat burglar ways. But I don’t trust the mall replicas one bit and neither do many of these children with keen senses of instinct. But bah! Don’t take my word for it. Here is a collection of photos featuring homidical looking Santa Claus wannabes and the screeching children who hate them.

Merry Christmas to all. Just don’t go to sleep.

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I never thought your stories were true…

December 5, 2006 at 3:26 am (Uncategorized)

pentforumoct75.jpgThe Penthouse Forum has always pissed me off. Sure, I suppose you could end up bagging your girlfriend’s sister in the middle of a carwash while you’re wearing a Snoopy outfit and she’s dressed as Lucy. Surely it could happen, and God bless you if it did.
The thing is, if it DID happen, you’d run out and tell all your friends without consulting a thesaurus. You would not use terms like “throbbing member” or “ripe, juicy mounds” in the narration of this wild conquest tale. You’d tell it like it is and we’d pat you on the back and buy you beer. You lucky Snoopy, you.
But who am I to talk? I tried writing one of those things and spent half the time fanning away the heat of white hot story telling and the other half giggling maniacally. It was truly atrocious and now I write sex scenes only when I’m trying to distract a reader from glaring holes in a plot.
My hat is off to anyone who can fire off a libido tweaking narrative. Including the author of this tale, who wishes to remain anonymous. For obvious reasons. And if you want to weigh in with a smoking paragraph or two, by gawd let her rip. Winner gets a dose of penicillin and a case of Altoids. You know… the curiously strong mint.

“Paradox of Power” by Lostshoe Walkingaway

When I signed up for the required political science
class, I never could have foreseen how weird it would
turn out. The first day, drudgery. The prof stood
there droning in monotone, in his suit & tie, skinny
white-haired man. Not really salt & pepper, he had
some but not that much of the pepper. He was skinny,
not at all good looking, kinda nerdy looking. I
thought he looked familiar but couldn’t remember where
ever seen him before. (Later I realized that he looked
just like Phil Jackson.)He stood there looking so
uncomfortable, kinda rocking from one foot to the
other, sometimes I wondered if he was in pain. I
thought, I would be really self-conscious standing in
front of a bunch of people and talking for a living,
being looked over & judged, so I tried to not be too
judgmental of him and listen for the information &
knowledge he had to offer.
Sometimes he presented political ideals which really
appealed to me and said what I think, better than I
could say it. Other times, he told the opposite
political perspective & pissed me off. I think it was
about the third class when I noticed he was wearing a
wrinkly shirt. I was distracted by it, a very wrinkly
shirt. Why would he be standing there in front of us
in a shirt that needs to be ironed? Obviously he
doesn’t have a woman in his life. A woman wouldn’t let
him wear a wrinkly shirt; she might not iron it for
him herself, but she’d tell him to iron it, or have it
done at the cleaners, or at least make sure he buys
perma-press shirts.
My mind wandered in directions I didn’t expect. I
tried to concentrate on the subject, but somehow I
found myself thinking inappropriate thoughts. The
following week it continued, and so I went to his
office in the teacher’s section of the college.
I told him I had to drop his class. He wanted to know
why. I admitted that I couldn’t stop thinking about
having sex with him, and I had decided that I wanted
to date him, so I wanted to drop the class.
“You want to date me?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You are setting me up for a lawsuit! Forget it! You
will not win a sexual harassment suit against me!”
“No, not at all. I don’t want to sue anybody,” I
responded. “I just want to drop the class and then go
out with you.”
“You are a student, it is not ethical, I cannot date a
“I am an adult. I’m 38 years old, I am NOT a CHILD,
and I have the right to choose whoever I want to fall
in love with. Who has the right to limit my pursuit of
happiness, just because I’m also pursuing an
education? That makes me mad!”
“Even if you drop the class, I couldn’t date you for
at least a year.”
“OK, I’ll drop the class & wait a year, then we can go
“You think you’ll still be interested in a year?” he
asked, and I said yes.
“Oh, I see, you are trying to guarantee an A from me
by using your femininity.”
“What? I’d never thought of that!” I emphatically
exclaimed: “I want the grade I earn, and nothing
“In that case, stay in my class, and wait a year, then
we’ll se if you still are interested.”
“Oh, that would be hard, I keep having inappropriate
thoughts about you.”
“Well, try to find some self control. You need a
politics class to get your degree, and the other
professor has been ill, who knows when you’ll be able
to get the requirement taken care of. Just get through
this class and then we’ll talk about it after a year

At the end of the semester, he called me to his
office. He said, “I’ve scored your exams & papers, and
have your grade. You earned a B.”
“Oh, good, thank you.” I said.
He looked at me, seeming to expect some other
response. “You aren’t mad that you didn’t get an A?”
“Of course not, if I earned a B, I earned a B. It
wasn’t my best subject. B is a good grade anyway.”

I discovered a little restaurant within the college,
called the “Sunshine Place.” It was run by the
students who were studying to run restaurants &
hotels, that sort of thing. SO the students gave
wonderful service, since they were doing this for
their experience & grades. The college administrators
and faculty were the main customers. It wasn’t closed
to students, it just wasn’t really known by very many
students, and probably most students didn’t want to
have lunch with their professors.
I hated the students’ cafeteria, it was so noisy &
distracting I couldn’t think or read there. In the
Sunshine Place, I could sit and read as long as I
wanted while sipping tea in real ceramic cups &
saucers, and have soup & rolls. That was only a couple
dollars. I liked having tea in a real cup, not a paper
or foam cup. There were friendly hellos with other
customers, and I was soon having occasional lunch
conversations with several of the teachers. Well,
mainly, there was a shop teacher, and an English prof
who occasionally shared my table. When it was crowded.
Or better, when it wasn’t crowded.
One day, my old Poli-sci prof spoke to me, he had
something to ask me. I went to his office where we
could talk. He showed me his calendar and said it was
just over a year since I had finished his class. Did I
still want a date with him? Yes! I agreed & we set the
time & day for our first date.
He took me to a fancy French Restaurant where the food
was wonderful but I had some trouble enjoying a meal
that cost enough to feed my kids for a week.
Afterwards, he asked if I wouldn’t mind if he stops
really quickly to pick up something at his condo. I
don’t remember what that was now. I do remember him
getting out a tray and sorting & rolling a joint! He’s
not just an intellectual college professor, he’s also
a guy who gets high in his living room! I laughed, it
seemed funny to me, made me realize that I might be
making assumptions about him and not seeing him
clearly. There’s more to a person than what you see at
work. After he rolled it, I just took 2 hits, but
declined any more, explaining that I just get too
sleepy and then I’m no fun. We watched a video or
something while he smoked his joint.
He asked me questions about my past lovers and got me
talking. After awhile, he confronted me with my
numbers. “So I’ve been listening to you and it sounds
as if you’ve been with about 15 men in your life so
far? And over twice as many women?” I found the
numbers disturbing but could not refute it. I had
never thought of it that way, I’d fallen in love, it
didn’t work out, so I’d found someone else. Now I
found someone really great, and I was afraid that this
good man would
reject me because of my past, too many lovers. He
asked if I’d had an AIDS test & said that I had, so he
said that’s OK, we’ll use condoms anyway.
Although he’d seemed skinny, he had surprising
muscular legs & butt, he was actually quite beautiful
from the waist down, and we joked about that. Well, I
couldn’t believe, here I was, I’d wanted him for over
a year & now I was in his bed.
Did he say that or me? I don’t remember, but I do
remember him saying that he was surprised I want him,
rather than a certain English prof that I’d been
lunch with earlier that week. I said, the English prof
wasn’t interested in me, and he said, oh yes, he’s
I was in the middle of sex with this man, in
missionary position, and my mind was having that
moment of questioning– what am I doing? I am making
a choice
that’s ruling out another possible choice? I could
have had that sweet English prof, so cute and romantic
and deep, and instead I am in bed with this stiff
intellectual man, who I’d thought I wanted & now I got
him. I don’t want to do this. I said it out loud. “I
don’t want to do this.”
“What do you mean? You’re already doing it.”
“Let me up, I need to go to the kitchen (I don’t know
why I didn’t say bathroom) I need to get up.”
‘Not now, it can wait.”
“NO, I don’t want to.”
“We re already fucking. You want to stop now?”
“I want to stop. No means no. I’m saying no.”
“Isn’t it a little late for that?”
I wondered, a woman is supposed to always have the
choice to say no, but what about changing my mind in
the middle of the act? Is there a point where it is
really too late to say no?
“I’m sorry, I’m changing my mind, I don’t feel like it
“I don’t care, I’m almost finished.”
I struggled, I couldn’t get my legs between my hips &
his so I could push him off, he was too strong, and he
had my arms down.
I said, “I should gouge your eyes out now, but you are
holding my arms.”
He released my arms, while still keeping my lower body
held down with his. My hands free, I could reach his
face. I thought of the rape – defense advice the
feminists always give, they say to use your thumbs to
press the sides of the eyes & pop the eyeballs out, to
get a man to stop. I looked at him, remembering the
movie “JAWS” and the fisherman with the eyeball
hanging, and I thought, about the blood getting all
over me, and I thought, how is that better than
having sex against my will? I knew I didn’t want hurt
“Are you saying you want to have sex with me whether I
want to or not?”
“Yes, it feels good. I don’t want to stop.”
Then I wrapped my legs around his hips, locking my
ankles together over his butt, and said, “Fuck me
then. Make me feel your power! Make me feel the power
of your
cock in me!”
And I fucked him hard even though I was underneath
him, I rocked my hips, used my Kegels to grasp &
release as I held on and rocked…. he hollered so
loud when he came the neighbors probably heard him.
Exhausted, he lay in my arms, quivering with pleasure.

In the morning. I kissed him all down his belly to his
thighs, I licked him up & down & around & around,
flicking, teasing, squeezing, before covering the head
with my warm mouth as I worked the shaft with one hand
and slowly my other hand’s wet fingers explored the
sensitive skin below, carefully finding his butthole,
putting spit on my fingers & rubbing the hole watching
for his reaction, he relaxed so I continued, until I
was assfucking him with a finger of one hand while the
other hand was going up & down the shaft while sucking
his head enthusiastically. Soon, he came into my
“You swallowed?”
“Yes, it’s 55 calories & the same amount of protein as
“Oh, now I’m a serving of spinach.”

He made breakfast, “machaca” which is eggs & beef
scrambled together, it was very rich & filling. He
asked me why I had wanted to stop and I said because I
didn’t think he’d want to have sex with me if I was
thinking about another man; he said, “Why not, I was
too.” I ignored what he seemed to have said, because
it didn’t fit my idea of what kind of person he was.
I learned more about him, as he told me about his
life. When he was hired to this community college
teaching job, he’d been homeless, had a student loan
to pay, selling encyclopedias door-to-door. When he was
interviewed for the job, he said the college president
asked him, “You are qualified for the job and I like
you but, how do I justify to the College Board why I
hired a white man over a minority or a woman?”
He said his response was, “I’m gay. Now you can tell
the college board I will sue for discrimination
against gays if I am not hired.”
“You lied and said you are gay to get the job?” I
asked, pissed that affirmative action was being
maligned. “No I didn’t lie. You know I’m gay, the way
you sucked & assfucked me this morning.”
“Oh, no, just because I put a finger in your butt,
that doesn’t make you gay. Everyone likes that, if it’s done right & they aren’t
too inhibited. You are gay if you are attracted to men & have sex with men, or want to.”

“I do have sex with men,” he told me.
I asked about his past lovers and he said he didn’t
have any. Then he said that what he likes is to go to
public bath houses in LA and have anonymous anal sex.
I started to freak out. When I was 19, I had begun
having lesbian fantasies, so I had gone out to gay
bars & met lesbians, and I was told very clearly, that
a lesbian occasionally needs to get fucked by a man,
(once a year, she said) to pick a good friend, a
straight man, but NEVER have sex with a gay man who
does anal sex. Off limits! Lesbians will never want
you after that, I was told. In the era of AIDS, that
seemed like important advice.
So now I was worried about that. He called me
homophobic! Homophobic? No way!
He said that I was a hypocrite, pointing out that I’d
also had numerous partners. I said, yes, but I was in
“You were in love over 40 times?” he confronted me.
“Well, I thoroughly felt in love at the time, but it
didn’t work out, it didn’t last.”
“You feel that you are in love because of your female
hormones, they make your emotional and irrational. Men
are more honest about it, that’s all.”
“But anal sex with anonymous partners?” I was still
upset. I felt like the “hero” had transformed into the
“villain”- the prince charming into the beast; the
savior had
become the devil! Why does that always happen? Men!
He showed me his enema bag, which I had seen in the
bathroom and wondered why he had a douchebag. It
looked the same as an old fashioned red rubber
now he explained it’s use. He showed me the contents
of the big trunk in his room. It was his toy box! It
was full of condoms of varying thickness & colors &
flavors; various dildos & what he explained were
“butt-plugs” in many sizes, and there was a box of
gloves and a tube of lubricant. He brought the
smallest butt-plug, that was the size of a finger on
the tip, but the larger part was about the size of an
penis. He brought the gloves & lube. I let him know
that I would have nothing in my butt, or- nothing
larger than a finger if I did, and he agreed to
respect my wishes.
He let me try to use the little butt-plug on him, with
the lubricant generously applied, I inserted it into
him somewhat hesitantly. But I got into it, rubbing my
vulva on his butt-cheeks, pretending I was fucking
him. We both got tired of that in a few minutes. He
asked me to put on the glove. With a lot of KY jelly,
I slipped a finger into his butt. Then he asked me to
insert one more, and another, and another, until my
hand was sliding in. “More!” he insisted. Pretty soon
my hand disappeared up to my wrist. He said to make a
fist. “You’ve got to be kidding?” “No, it’ll feel
good,” so I did. I couldn’t believe what I was doing.
There I was with my fist inside this man’s rectum. I’m
‘fisting’ him! A rush came over me, a feeling of awe.
I said I
can’t believe how this feels. He asked if I like it, I
said it’s a rush, but it seems like it’s not sexual
for me, it’s power.
“Power is an aphrodisiac,” he quoted.
“But WHO has the power?” I asked. “Me, because I’m the
one fisting you? Or you? Because you persuaded me to
do something I thought was repulsive?”
“Ah! The Existential Paradox of Power!” he stated.
I’ve been reading Jean Paul Sartre, Simone de
Beauvior, Marquis de Sade, Frankle, Neitsche, & Yalom
for years, but I never thought I’d find their meaning
with my fist
in someone’s ass.
Then he cried, “Stop – now it hurts! Unclench & slowly
slide your hand out,” he instructed, and so I did.

Permalink 36 Comments


December 4, 2006 at 2:23 am (Uncategorized)

badonkadonk2.jpgIsn’t Amazon great? Without getting dressed, you can order some of those transexual romance novels you like so much, buy a flame resistant suit, pick out an MP3 player and plenty of John Denver to upload onto it, get a fresh Tai Bo workout tape, and order another Farrah Fawcett poster to replace the faded one above your computer. Or Sean Cassidy, depending on your proclivities.

And now, because Amazon knows that your neighbors are out to get you, there’s a personal armored tank that you absolutely must have. Order this sucker today, and by tomorrow, you’ll be cranking tunes at 2 a.m. and daring your traiterous neighbors to do something about it.

Remember that 1984 movie “Tank,” with James Garner and C. Thomas Howell? Yes, you can be that cool. Here’s how the bad ass Badonkadonk is described on the Amazon page:

The JL421 Badonkadonk is a completely unique, extremely rare land vehicle and battle tank. Designed with versatility in mind, the Donk can transport cargo or a crew of five internally or on the roof, and can be piloted from within the armored shell or from an exposed standing position through the hatch, thanks to special one-way steel mesh armor windows and a control stick that pivots up and down to allow piloting from the standing or seated positions. The interior is fully carpeted and cozy, with accent lighting and room for up to five people. A 400 watt premium sound system with PA is mounted to project sound both into the cabin and outward from behind the windows. The exterior is a steel shell with a rust patina, and features head and tail lights, turn signal lights, trim lighting, underbody lighting, fixed slats protecting the windows, and a unique industrial-strength rubberized flexible skirt that shields and protects the wheels to within an inch of the ground, while still allowing for enough flex to give clearance over bumpy and uneven terrain. Master power, ignition, all lighting, and stereo features are controlled from a single switchboard to the left of the driver, again accessible from either the seated or standing position. Standard drive is an air-cooled, 6hp Tecumseh gasoline (unleaded only) engine, with centrifugal clutch, giving the Donk a top speed of 40 mph. This vehicle is not licensed for use on public roads, and is intended as a recreational vehicle only. Badonkadonks are produced on an order-by-order basis, with each one having it’s own unique set of features. With your order is included unlimited consultations with the designer and manufacturer concerning all relevant options (a representative from NAO will contact you shortly after your order). Price does not include shipping and handling.

Badonkadonk on Amazon

Bandonkadonk: an alternative definition

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Dancing around the law

December 3, 2006 at 12:13 am (Uncategorized)

alcoholic.jpgWe’ve all seen the guy outside the bar who will do a little dance for a shot of booze or some pocket change. A source of amusement for some, these dancing rummies have reached a stage of alcoholism where the liver can no longer produce pride and self-respect. Now and then a good hearted soul will come along and hand the tired sot a sawbuck and get him out of two-stepping for the night.

The following is a tale of two men asked to perform tricks to get out of a financial inconvenience. People make deals every day, but it’s not every day that police are on the demanding side of the bargaining table. Whether this is a gross case of racism or just discretionary policing is up for debate. Something to consider: if the litter bugs in question had been accountants from uptown, would they have been asked to prepare tax forms in exchange for leniency?

Deep thoughts. And on a weekend, yet.

Arizona Cops Tell Two Black Drivers They Can Rap Their Way Out of a Ticket

TEMPE, Ariz — City leaders have apologized after a program on Tempe’s cable channel showed a white police officer telling two black men they could get out of a littering ticket by performing a rap. Tempe Mayor Hugh Hallman and Police Chief Tom Ryff apologized for the show Thursday and suspended its future production after black community leaders voiced outrage and disappointment.

“I accept responsibility for the actions of my staff and apologize to any members of our community who have been offended,” Ryff said during a news conference Friday.

150_3971.jpgThe segment appeared on “Tempe StreetBeat,” a program produced by police in the Phoenix suburb that followed several officers on patrol. It shows Sgt. Chuck Schoville pulling over two men in August in a mall parking lot.

He first asks for a name and ID from the driver and then asks the two men if they know how much the fine is for littering. The officer then tells the men that they can avoid getting a littering ticket “if the two of you just do a little rap about — what do you want to do a rap about? Littering? About the dangers of littering.”

The two men agree, and each performs a short rap, laughing afterward. One says, “The dangers of littering, you will get a ticket. If you ain’t wit’ it, you better be experienced.”

The second man raps, “Yo, I just got pulled over ’cause I threw my trash out the window when they rolled over. They got behind me and pulled me over.”

Schoville then says, “You know why you say I’m right? Because I got a gun and badge. I’m always right. That’s the way it works, right?” The three laugh and the two men get in their car.

Leaders of chapters of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People and the National Action Network expressed outrage and demanded that the city act.

The Rev. Jarrett Maupin of the National Action Network, who was at Friday’s news conference, said he had accepted Hallman’s and Ryff’s apologies and intends to make sure the police department makes good on a proposal for an African American advisory board and increased diversity training.

“It’s important for police officers to realize that black people do not speak hip hop,” Maupin said. “We’re not all rappers and thugs and gangbangers. We speak the English language and we’re entitled to the same amount of respect.”

Click here to see the arrest and the rap.

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Harry Potter burned for your sins

December 2, 2006 at 2:15 am (Uncategorized)

book_burning_penn.jpgI remember that night in Kennedy Park as all those Harry Potter books were heaped up high and prepared for the flames of censorship. Only, the group that planned the burning forgot to get a permit and so they had to settle for cutting up the books, instead. While there is something comical about a band of crusaders trying to hack into a very thick volume with very cheap scissors, the ultimate purpose of the exhibition was as ugly as ever. Here was censorship at its most vile. Here was a group of do gooders condemning a beloved story because they perceived it as evil adn full of witchery. Child corrupting witchery, no doubt.

And as frightening as the originators of the plan were to me, the hordes that fell behind them was even more disturbing. Average men and women who should fight for their freedoms were instead pumping their fists and screaming their support for the censors. Their eyes glazed over with the vacuous sheen typically seen in cows led to slaughter or followers of charismatic cult leaders. And they kept coming and coming, men, women and children who looked completely normal but who so easily allowed themselves to fall under the spell of the man at the podium.

I had an unsettling vision that night of growing legions gathering in number and strength around the globe. I saw them pointing out the books they deemed inappopriate and casting them out. And while my imagination usually tends toward the overly dramatic, there is no hyperbole at all about that bad dream. Every day, books are challenged and brought up for public scrutiny. Soccer moms who haven’t so much as burped in years will still rant about the evils of “The Catcher in the Rye” and insist that it be removed from high school book shelves.

Harry Potter is doing fine and so is J.D. Salinger, other than the fact that he’s dead. But the price of freedom is eternal vigilance, of course, and so I like to revisit the issue every now and then. And so for your nostalgia and unease, here’s a partial list of challenged books followed by a longer list of same.

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain (contains racial slurs. Imagine that: racial talk in the era of slavery.)

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck (foul language and it does not represent traditonal values. Whose traditional values, ya bastids?)

Go Ask Alice by Anonymous (a teenage girl’s horrible experience with drugs. Not appropriate for teenage girls to read about.)

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (described as “filthy and trashy” by a New York school district).

The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton (teenage characters from broken homes. Certainly not something you want a teenager from a broken home to read about.)

A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein (irreverant attitude about child disobedience. If you don’t let your kids look at Silverstein sketches, they will be perfect.)

Cujo by Stephen King (profane language. But apparently the part about a St. Bernard eating people is okay.)

Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume (teenage girls have periods and stuff. For God’s sake, don’t tell the kids.)

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut (“vulgar and offensive.” Ah, so’s your mother.)

Lord of the Flies by William Golding (demoralizing because it implies that man is inherently a savage. This is among my favorite books of all time, so cut that shit out or I’ll kill you with a sharpened bone.)

Carrie by Stephen King (more girls menstruating, swearing and stuff.)

How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell (wagering and other socially unacceptable activities. Ah, eat my worm.)

Top 100 recently challenged books

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Mandy speaks: The Best of the Worst

December 1, 2006 at 1:54 am (Uncategorized)

Recently, a major literary award was handed out. No, it was not the Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Award or even the Man Booker Prize, but it is an award of special significance and distinction:

golden-trophy.jpgLONDON, England (AP) — First-time author Iain Hollingshead scooped a dubious literary honor Wednesday, winning the Bad Sex in Fiction Award for his novel, “Twenty Something.” Hollingshead beat established writers including Booker Prize nominee David Mitchell, best seller Mark Haddon and literary maverick Thomas Pynchon to the prize, which aims to skewer “the crude, tasteless, often perfunctory use of redundant passages of sexual description in the modern novel.” Judges were moved by Hollingshead’s evocation of “a commotion of grunts and squeaks, flashing unconnected images and explosions of a million little particles.” His description of “bulging trousers” sealed the win, the judges said. “Because Hollingshead is a first-time writer, we wished to discourage him from further attempts,” the judges — editors of Literary Review magazine — said in a statement. “Heavyweights like Thomas Pynchon and Will Self are beyond help at this point.” Hollingshead, 25, who received his award from rocker Courtney Love at a London ceremony, said he was delighted to become the prize’s youngest winner. “I hope to win it every year,” said Hollingshead, who receives a statuette and a bottle of champagne.

I would love to know whether or not British publishers use the “Bad Sex in Fiction” award as part of the marketing strategy for their authors. Here, if a book wins (or in some cases merely nominated) for a major award, that book is typically reissued with some kind of sticker or label telling the reader what award the book has won. What happens when a book has won an award for being, well, bad, especially in an area like sex? After all, there’s nothing worse than a badly written sex scene.


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Cold Call

November 30, 2006 at 2:14 am (Uncategorized)

Alright people, I’ll come clean with you. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, I’ll understand. I just can’t live with this horrible secret anymore. I’ll hang on to the secrets I have about prostitutes, drug use, strange emergency room visits and tender moments with farm animals. But this one… this one is eating me up.

outrage.jpgI used to be a telemarketer. There, I’ve said it. You may start throwing rotted fruit or feces (Weasel) now.

My fling with over-the-phone sales lasted just a few weeks and I was absolutely horrible at it. There was nothing high pressure about my high pressure pitch. I would typically begin robustly enough, but midway through the speech, I’d start apologizing for the intrustion, agreeing that it was rude and offering never to call again. This before the person on the other end of the line even declined the offer.

I sold magazine subscriptions or some shit like that. Although as far as I recall, I don’t think I sold a single one. I collected a small check for my efforts, endured a windy speech from the sales manager about how I might have the right stuff if I just worked on my delivery, and beat feet to a bar to wash away my shame. I’ve been washing ever since.

As far as I’m concerned, the better a person is at sales, the more loathsome he becomes. I always want to be rude to those guys but I can never pull it off. Except for that one time, when an aluminum siding salesman called while I was having a tender moment with a farm animal. Boy, I let THAT guy have it.

Here’s a classic case of telemarketer revenge. It’s safe for work and absolutely brilliant. Resume feces flinging.

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All apologies

November 29, 2006 at 12:55 am (Uncategorized)

geico_cavemen.jpgThe Geico cavemen are very enlightened about their heritage. They are also cultured, well dressed and Epicurean in their tastes. We see them dining with the Geico brass, doing talk shows to augment their complaints of prejudice and traveling to presumably exotic vacations. We’ve come to love these Neanderthals because we perceive them as underdogs trying to overcome ostracization and bigotry.

With that being said, one question has always nagged me. Do you think these much maligned primitives are gay? Or just meterosexuals without the hair maintenance?

The apology

The airport

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