adultszonly

Santa Comes Again

2012-01-21T15:56:00.001-08:00

SANTA COMES AGAIN (1989) by ScandyMan

Interesting terms defined

2012-01-18T19:58:00.000-08:00

Snargle-fart
A snargle-fart is the unique art of going to the bathroom to take a shit and while shitting, the shitter vomits simultaneously. This creates an epidemic of major proportions of bio-waste release.

An extra option is that the original shitter has the option of giving head directly after snargle-farting without properly cleansing themselves beforehand.

abc sex

Sex only on Anniversaries, Birthdays and Christmas

crop dusting

Passing gas in a stealth manor, usually while walking through a crowd or a group, so that someone else gets blamed for the stench, or at the very least people besides the assailent must suffer it.
v. farting while walking or running
n. crop duster
When crop dusting does NOT work:
1. on a treadmill (no matter how fast you walk or run)
2. with a strong tail wind
3. with a turnaround - for example, you crop dust while walking with your girlfriend, then she turns around and walks back to look at a display in a storefront window.

Son Of A B*tch! Banned Cartoon

2010-11-06T05:46:00.000-07:00

A tricky lady

2010-08-22T16:07:00.000-07:00

A fellow who loved doing tricks
Was in love with a gal who sucked dicks
She likened them to flutes
As she blew on those roots
Even though most of those men were just pricks

Speaking of turds

2010-07-03T16:48:00.001-07:00

Well I see you speak of a turd
That's such a crappy word
When you sit on the shitter
Don't be a quitter
Cause you can get a case of gerd...

Hobbies that stink

2010-06-29T14:08:00.000-07:00

There are lots of things that I save
But poop is not something I crave
I take quite a dump
Seldom a little lump
So if saved it I'd need a cave!

A sad tale

2010-06-22T11:26:00.000-07:00

A sad tale ©Rob Hood 6/22/2010
A woman succumbed to a whim
got a hamster stuck in her quim
She jumped all about
To get the damn thing out
But it was in there to the brim

The More Vulgar-minded - Oscar Brand

2010-05-23T11:35:00.001-07:00

Lydia Pinkham - Oscar Brand

2010-05-23T11:34:00.001-07:00

The Frigin' Flyin' Fort Oscar Brand

2010-05-23T11:32:00.000-07:00

"Guantanamo Bay" - Oscar Brand

2010-05-23T11:21:00.001-07:00

One Eyed Reilly - Oscar Brand

2010-05-23T11:18:00.001-07:00

"The Captain" - Oscar Brand

2010-05-23T11:16:00.001-07:00

"Barnacle Bill" - Oscar Brand

2010-05-23T11:13:00.000-07:00

And the Versatility of the F-Bomb

2010-05-21T15:40:00.001-07:00

McCarren Park Tree Gets a Clit Ring

2010-05-21T15:34:00.000-07:00

The tree trunk in McCarren Park that looks like a big ol' vagina got a sassy little clit piercing the other day

Red Wing

2010-05-09T16:22:00.001-07:00

There once was an Indian maid
Who always was afraid
That some buckaroo
Would fly around and fool
While she lay sleeping in the shade.

She had an idea grand
She filled it up with sand
To keep the boys
From forbidden joys
In Red Wing's promised land

cho: Oh, the Moon shines down on pretty Red Wing
As she lay sleeping
This buck come creeping
With his one good eye he was a-peeping
He hoped to reach the promised land.

He was an Indian wise
He reached for Red Wing's thighs;
With an old rubber boot
On the end of his toot
He made poor Red Wing open up her eyes.

When she came to life
She grabbed her bowie knife
It flashed in the sky
As she let it fly
And shortened his love life

cho: Oh the clouds go floating over Red Wing
As she lays snoring
Her life is boring
Why she'd even welcome Hermann Goering
Into the pleasure of her promised land.

The Winnipeg Whore

2010-05-09T16:20:00.001-07:00

My first trip up the Saginaw River,
My first time to the Canada shore,
There I met Rosie O'Grady,
Better known as th Winnipeg Whore.

'Come right in, I'm glad to see you,
Slap your ass across my knee,
And we'll have some fun together,
Dollar and a half will be my fee.'

Some were dancin', some were prancin',
Some lay drunk on the barroom floor,
But there I was in the northeast corner,
Screwin' the hell out of the Winnipeg Whore.

Then, in there walked some sons 'a' bitches,
Must have been a score or more,
Oughta seen me shit my britches,
Slidin' my ass out the whorehouse door.

A Clean Song

2010-05-09T16:17:00.000-07:00

There was a young sailor
Who looked through the glass,
And spied a fair mermaid
With scales on her island

Where seagulls
Fly over their nests
She combed the long hair
That hung over her shoulders

And caused her
To tickle and itch.
The sailor cried out
"There's a beautiful mermaid,"

A-sitting out
There on the rocks,
The crew came around
A-grabbing their glasses

And crowded four deep
To the rail,
All eager to share
In this fine piece of news.

Which the captain soon
Heard from the watch.
He tied down the wheel
And he reached for his crackers

And cheese which
He kept near the door.
In case he might someday
Encounter a mermaid.

He knew he must
Use all his wits
Crying "Throw out a line.
We'll lasso her flippers."

And then we will
Certainly find
If mermaids are better
Before or be brave

My good fellows."
The captain then said.
"With fortune we'll break
Through her mermaiden head-

-ing to starboard
They tacked with dispatch.
And caught that fair mermaid
Just under her elbows

And hustled her
Down below decks,
And each took a turn
At her feminine setting

Her free at the end
Of the farce,
She splashed in the waves,
Falling flat on her after

A while one man
Noticed some scabs,
Soon they broke out with the pox
And the scratching

With fury,
Cursing with spleen,
This song may be dull
But it's certainly clean.

Recorded by Oscar Brand, Bawdy Sea Songs

Kafoozalem

2010-05-09T16:13:00.001-07:00

(Chorus Below)
Hi ho Kafoozalem, the harlot of Jerusalem
Prostitute of ill repute
Daughter of the Baba.

Come listen to my tale of woe
It happened many years ago
When women rarely answered no
Way down in old Jerusalem.

(Chorus)

Kafoozalem was a wily witch
A horny whore, a brazen bitch
She caused all the lips to twitch
That liveth in Jerusalem.

(Chorus)

There was a prince both lean and tall
Whose manly arts made all to fall
His victims lined the Wailing Wall
That standeth in Jerusalem.

(Chorus)

One night returnin' from a spree
His customary leer had he
Looked down the road and chanced to see
That horny wench Kafoozalem.

(Chorus)

With artful eye and cunning look
She led him to a shady nook
And to her bounteous bosom took
The pride of all Jerusalem.

(Chorus)

But he was too abrupt, alas
And so he made a hasty pass
That knocked Kafoozalem to the grass
That grows in old Jerusalem.

(Chorus)

But Kafoozalem was overgassed
She arched her back and loosed a blast
That sent him flying far and fast
Sailin' o'er Jerusalem.

(Chorus)

And when the moon is bright and red
A flying form sails overhead
Still raining curses on the bed
Of that brazen bitch Kafoozalem.

(Chorus)

Source: Brand, Oscar.Bawdy Songs and Backroom Ballads, Vol. 3. Audio Fidelity, 1956.

Clementine

2010-05-09T16:09:00.001-07:00

Near a cavern, in the canyon, in the shadow of the hill
It was there I kept a cathouse with my oldest brother Bill.

(Chorus Below)

Oh, my darling, oh, my darling
Oh, my darling, Clementine
You are lost and gone forever
Dreadful sorry, Clementine.

Though at first we didn't prosper, soon we started doing fine
When a girl came down from Gloucester by the name of Clementine.

(Chorus)

She was brazen, she was scrawny, she had no gift of gab
But she had the kind of quim, boys, that would reach right out and grab.

(Chorus)

Then the nights were filled with music, the days were filled with song
Our safe was stuffed with money, Clementine was stuffed with dongs.

(Chorus)

But one day there came a stranger, this time she'd met her match
He had a rifled member, she had a smooth-bore snatch.

(Chorus)

Brother Bill was first to notice, he shouted to her, "Turn!&q$ But before those words were spoken, she was spilt from stem to stern.

(Chorus)

We tore that dude to pieces, he was dead within the hour
And we left his cursed member for the coyotes to devour.

(Chorus)

Every day down by the graveyard when they toll the mission bell
We all lay a wreath of roses 'round the quim we loved so well.

(Chorus)

Source: Brand, Oscar.Sing-Along Bawdy Songs & Backroom Ballads. Audio Fidelity, 1962.

Chisholm Trail

2010-05-09T16:07:00.000-07:00

Well I reached in my pocket and I pulled out a penny
She says, "For that you won't get any."

(Chorus Below)

So come and tie my root around a tree, 'round a tree
Come and tie my root around a tree.

I reached in my pocket and I pulled out a nickel
She says, "For that you won't even get a tickle."

(Chorus)

I reached in my pocket and I pulled out a dime
She says, "For that you're wasting your time."

(Chorus)

Well I reached in my pocket and I pulled out a quarter
She says, "Young man, I'm a minister's daughter."

(Chorus)

And I reached in my pocket and I pulled out a half
She didn't even talk, just started to laugh.

(Chorus)

And I reached in my pocket and I pulled out a dollar
She took my hand and she put it in her collar.

(Chorus)

So I reached in my pocket and I pulled out a five
She says, "Come inside, we'll see if you're alive."

(Chorus)

Well I rode her a-standin and I rode her a-lyin'
If I had wings I'd a-rode her flyin'.

(Chorus)

And I went to the doctor 'cuz my gun was sore
"Good Lord," said the doctor, "it's the same damn whore."

(Chorus)

You can put away your holster, put away your gun
your bough's been breached and your shootin's done.

(Chorus)

Well the last time I seen her, I haven't seen her since
She was hustlin' a bull through a barbed-wire fence.

(Chorus)

Source: Brand, Oscar, and Dave Sear.Bawdy Hootenanny. Audio Fidelity, 1963.

Charlotte the Harlot

2010-05-09T16:06:00.000-07:00

Charlotte, the harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the prairie, the cowpuncher's whore.

Way down on the prairie where cowflop is thick
Where women are women and cowboys come quick
There lived pretty Charlotte, the girl we adore
The pride of the prarie, the cowpuncher's whore

It's Charlotte the Harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the prarie, the cowpuncher's whore.

She's dirty, she's vulgar, she spits in the street
Why whenever you see her, she's always in heat
She'll lay for a dollar, take less or take more
The pride of the prairie, the cowpuncher's whore.

Charlotte, the harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the prairie, the cowpuncher's whore.

One day in the canyon, no pants on her quim
A rattlesnake saw her and flung himself in
Charlotte the Harlot gave cowboys the frights
The only vagina that rattles and bites.

It's Charlotte the Harlot, the girl we adore
The pride of the prairie, the cowpuncher's whore.

One day on the prairie while riding along
My seat in the saddle, the reins on my dong
Who should I meet but the girl I adore
The pride of the prairie, the cowpuncher's whore.

It's Charlotte the Harlot, the girl we adore
The pride of the prairie, the cowpuncher's whore.

I got off my pony, I reached for her crack
The damn thing was rattling and bitin' me back
I took out my pistol, I aimed for its head
I missed the damn rattler, I shot her instead.

It's Charlotte the Harlot, the girl we adore
The pride of the prarie, the cowpuncher's whore

Her funeral procession was forty miles long
With a chorus of cowpunchers singin' this song
"Here lies a young maiden who never kept score
Young Charlotte the Harlot, the cowpuncher's whore!"

It's Charlotte the Harlot, the girl we adore
The pride of the prarie, the cowpuncher's whore!

Source: Brand, Oscar, and Dave Sear.Bawdy Hootenanny. Audio Fidelity, 1963.

Do They Hang Too Low

2010-05-09T16:05:00.001-07:00

(Chorus Below)

Any old storm, any old port
Life is long, love is short
Better get a woman, get a woman if you can
If you can't get a woman, get a clean old man.

Do they hang too low, do they swing to and fro
Can you tie 'em in a knot, can you tie 'em in a bow
Can you swing 'em round your shoulder like a European soldier
Do they hang too low in the mornin'?

(Chorus)

Do they feel too tight, do they rattle when you fight
Can you keep 'em out of harm, can you throw 'em o'er your arm
Do they irritate your knees, do they tear your BVDs
Do they hang too low in the mornin'?

(Chorus)

Do they hang way down, do they drag along the ground
Do they feel so cool and nice when they slide along the ice
Do they irritate when you snag 'em on the gate
Do they hang too low in the mornin'?

(Chorus)

Do they hang too loose from self-abuse
Do they tangle in a knot, do they bang around a lot
Do they twist a key, do you wish that they would shrink
Do they hang too low in the mornin'?

(Chorus)

Source: Brand, Oscar.Sing-Along Bawdy Songs & Backroom Ballads. Audio Fidelity, 1962.

Roll Your Leg Over

2010-05-09T16:03:00.000-07:00

If all them young ladies was up for improvement
I'd give them some help with a ball-bearing movement.

(Chorus Below)

Roll your leg over, roll your leg over
Roll your leg over the man in the moon.

If all them young ladies was little white kittens
And I were a tomcat, I'd make 'em new fittins.

(Chorus)

If all them young ladies was B-29s
And I was a fighter, I'd buzz their behinds.

(Chorus)

If all them young ladies was bats in a steeple
And I was a bat, there'd be more bats than people.

(Chorus)

If all them young ladies was wheels on a car
I'd be a piston and I'd go twice as far.

(Chorus)

If all them young ladies was little blind moles
I'd find their burrows, I'd fill in the holes.

(Chorus)

If all them young ladies was mares in a stable
I'd be the groom, mounting all I was able.

(Chorus)

If all them young ladies was diamonds and rubies
I'd be a jeweler and I'd shine up their boobies.

(Chorus)

If all them young ladies was singin' this song
It would be twice as filthy and ten times as long.

(Chorus)

Source: Brand, Oscar.Bawdy Songs and Backroom Ballads, Vol. 3. Audio Fidelity, 1956.

The Bastard King of England

2010-05-09T16:02:00.000-07:00

Now the minstrels sing of an English king of many long years ago
He ruled his land with an iron hand though his morals were weak and low
His only other garment was a dirty yeller shirt
With which he tried to hide his hide but he couldn't hide the dirt.

(Chorus Below)

He was dirty and lousy and full of fleas
But he had his women by twos and threes
God bless the Bastard King of England.

Now the Queen of Spain was an amorous Jane
A lascivious wench was she
She longed to play in her loving way with the king across the sea
So she sent a royal message with a royal messenger
To invite the King of England down to spend the night with her.

(Chorus)

Well when Phillip of France he heard it by chance
He declared before his court,
"The Queen prefers my rival just because I'm somewhat short."
So he sent the Count of Zippity-Zap
To give to the Queen a dose of clap
To pass it on to the Bastard King of England.

(Chorus)

When the King of England heard the news
He cursed the Gallic farce
He up and swore by the royal whore he'd have the Frenchman's arse
He offered half the royal purse and a piece of Queen Hortense
To any British subject who'd undo the King of France.

(Chorus)

So the Earl of Sussex jumped on his horse and straightway rode to France
Where he made a pass and he stripped the sash from Phillip's pajama pants
And in front of a throng he slipped on a thong
Leaped on his horse and galloped along
Draggin' the Frenchman back to merry England.

(Chorus)

When the King of England he saw the sight he felt in a faint on the floor
For during the ride his rival's hide was stretched a yard or more
And all the maids of England came down to London town
And shouted 'round the battlements, "To hell with the British crown."
So Phillip of France usurped the throne
His scepter was the royal bone
With which he bitched the Bastard King of England.

(Chorus)

Source: Brand, Oscar.Bawdy Songs and Backroom Ballads, Vol. 3. Audio Fidelity, 1956.

Better off Ted Offensive Out takes

2010-05-09T15:55:00.000-07:00

Making the 2010 Pirelli Calendar

2010-01-31T06:38:00.000-08:00

The Making of the 2010 Pirelli Calendar by Terry Richardson from Rafael Rubira on Vimeo.

Drunk History

2010-01-29T17:55:00.000-08:00

Witness history as it's never been told before: Drunk.

Brothel pricing Chicago circa 1900

2010-01-25T05:53:00.000-08:00

The Everleigh Club was a high-class brothel which operated in Chicago, Illinois from February 1900 until October 1911. It was owned and operated by Ada and Minna Everleigh.Opening of the Everleigh Club

Prior to relocating to Chicago, the Everleigh sisters toured brothels in many cities, trying to find a location which had "plenty of wealthy men but no superior houses." They were directed to Chicago by Cleo Maitland, a madam in Washington, D.C., who suggested they contact Effie Hankins in Chicago.[1] After buying Hankins's brothel at 2131-2133 South Dearborn Street, they "fired all the women and completely redecorated the entire building with the most luxurious appointments available. Silk curtains, damask easy chairs, oriental rugs, mirrored ceilings, mahogany tables, gold rimmed china and silver dinnerware, perfumed fountains in every room, a $15,000 [equivalent to $369,205 in 2007][2] gold-leafed piano for the Music Room, mirrored ceilings, a library filled with finely bound volumes, an art gallery featuring nudes in gold frames—-no expense was spared. While the heavyweight boxer Jack Johnson thought the $57 gold spittoons in his café were worth boasting about, the patrons of the Everleigh Club were obliged to expectorate in $650 gold cuspidors."[3] The Everleigh Club was described by Chicago's Vice Commission as "probably the most famous and luxurious house of prostitution in the country."[4]

Prior to the opening of the Everleigh Club, Ada was responsible for recruiting talent for the club. She started by contacting her former employees in Omaha and spreading the word through brothels across the country. She conducted face-to-face interviews with all the applicants.[5] The brothel opened on February 1, 1900 with little fanfare, and turned away many of the clients who initially appeared because the Everleigh Sisters did not deem them suitable for the clientèle they were seeking. Once the club was open, Ada, who was quieter and more reserved than her sister, took on the responsibility of making sure the club was kept up to standards. She oversaw cleaning and renovations.[6] Ada was also very much taken with the gold leaf piano in the Club and once claimed she rejected a suitor because he disapproved of the piano.
The club's heyday

The clientèle of the Everleigh House included captains of industry, important politicians and European nobility and royalty. Among their clientèle were Marshall Field, Jr., Edgar Lee Masters, Theodore Dreiser, Ring Lardner, John Warne Gates, Jack Johnson, and Prince Heinrich of Prussia.
The Everleigh club's Japanese throne room

By 1902, the club expanded and the sisters were making donations to the First Ward Aldermen, "Bathhouse" John Coughlin and Michael "Hinky-Dink" Kenna to ensure their continued leeway. After the Club was closed, Minna Everleigh claimed in testimony that she "always entertained state legislators free in the club."[7]

On March 3, 1902, Prince Heinrich of Prussia visited the Club while in the United States to pick up a ship built for his brother, German Kaiser Wilhelm II. Although the city had sponsored numerous events for Heinrich, his main interest was a visit to the club. The sisters planned a bacchanalia for the visiting prince, including dancing, dining and a recreation of the dismemberment of Zeus's son. During one of the dances, a prostitute's slipper came off and spilled champagne. When one of the prince's entourage drank the champagne, he started the trend of drinking champagne from a woman's shoe.[8]

On November 22, 1905, Marshall Field, Jr. suffered a gunshot that would prove to be fatal. Although newspapers reported it was an accident and occurred at his home, there is some evidence that he was shot by a prostitute at the Everleigh Club.[9]

The club employed 15 to 25 cooks and maids.[10] Gourmet meals featured iced clam juice, caviar, pheasants, ducks, geese, artichokes, lobster, fried oysters, devilled crabs, pecans and bonbons. There were three orchestras, and musicians played constantly, usually on the piano accompanied by strings. Publishing houses would publicize new songs by having them played at the Everleigh Club. The house was heated with steam in the winter and cooled with electric fans in the summer.
Standards at the brothel

The Everleigh sisters had standards for their employees:

* "To get in, a girl must have a pretty face and figure, must be in perfect health and must look well in evening clothes."
* "Be polite and forget what you are here for. Gentlemen are only gentlemen when properly introduced.... The Everleigh Club is not for the rough element, the clerk on a holiday or a man without a check book."
* Their employees had to come to the house of their own free will; the Everleigh sisters would not deal with pimps, panderers, white slavers, or parents eager to sell off their daughters.
* Girls needed to prove they were 18 years old and undergo regular exams by a doctor.
* Drug use was grounds for terminating a girl's employment.

This led to many prostitutes desiring employment with them, as the girls would have a safe environment to work in, good accommodations, and better clientèle. When Everleigh House opened, admission was $10 (the equivalent of $246 in 2007[2]), dinner was $50, a bottle of champagne $12. Private time with one of the girls was another $50. The prices only went up from there, so that it was difficult for a caller to leave without spending at least $200. A decent working wage at the time was $6 a week.
Closing the brothel

Following a 1910 Vice Commission report that noted there were nearly 600 brothels in Chicago, Mayor Carter Harrison, Jr. ordered the Everleigh Club to be closed on October 24, 1911.[11] The sisters retired with an estimated million dollars in cash (the equivalent of almost $22,000,000 in 2007[2]) and traveled in Europe before eventually changing their name back to Lester and settling in New York City. When their brothel business closed, Ada was 45 years old and Minna was 47 years old.

Minna, always the more outspoken of the two, responded philosophically, stating "If the Mayor says we must close, that settles it.... I'll close up shop and walk out with a smile on my face."[11] And so they did. She later stated "If it weren't for married men, we couldn't have carried on at all, and if it weren't for cheating married women we could have made another million."

Shortly after the brothel was closed, Everleigh testified against Chicago aldermen "Bathhouse" John Coughlin and "Hinky Dink" Kenna. Although Everleigh announced she would make her testimony public, threats by "Big Jim" Colosimo to kill Minna and her sister if the testimony were made public kept her silent. Nevertheless, Chief Justice Harry Olson of Chicago's Municipal Court released her testimony which outlined the schedule of graft due to the aldermen in return for allowing operations to continue in the Levee District.

The building which housed the Everleigh Club was eventually razed in July 1933. Today, a public housing project stands on the site.
References

* Abbott, Karen (2007) Sin in the Second City: Madams, Ministers, Playboys, and the Battle for America's Soul. New York: Random House ISBN 9781400065301
* Asbury, Herbert (1940). Gem of the Prairie. New York: Knopf.
* Hermann, Charles H. (1945) Recollections of Life & Doings in Old Chicago: from the Haymarket Riot to World War I; by An Old Timer (Charles H. Hermann). Chicago: Normandie House; pp. 240 ff.
* Hibbeler, Ray (1960) Upstairs at the Everleigh Club. Volitant Books
* Kanin, Garson (1980) Smash. New York: Viking
* Masters, Edgar Lee (1944) "The Everleigh Club" in: Town & Country, April 1944
* Wallace, Irving (1965) The Sunday Gentleman. New York: Simon & Schuster
* Wallace, Irving (1988) The Golden Room
* Washburn, Charles (1936) Come Into My Parlor: a biography of the aristocratic Everleigh Sisters of Chicago. Knickerbocker Publishing
* Wendt, Lloyd; Kogan, Herman (1943), Lords of the Levee: the story of Bathhouse John and Hinky Dink, Indianapolis, New York: Bobbs-Merrill Co., pp. 320–322 (reissued under title Bosses in Lusty Chicago, 1967 by Indiana University Press, Bloomington ISBN 0253201098; reissued as Lords of the Levee, 2005 by Northwestern University Press, Evanston ISBN 0-8101-2320-7)

Brothel pricing circa 1868

2010-01-23T11:15:00.000-08:00

Adam’s Family Jewels

2010-01-22T04:33:00.000-08:00

Adam’s Family Jewels
by Tibor Krausz

Keep that Bible out of reach of children.

“And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and He took the bone of Adam’s penis and made him a woman.”

Er, wait, wasn’t it from one of Adam’s ribs that Eve was created?

Not according to Ziony Zevit. A professor of Semitic languages at the American Jewish University in Los Angeles Zevit posits that the Hebrew word tsela (literally “side,” but traditionally translated as “rib”) employed in Genesis refers in fact to Adam’s member.

Zevit, author of the forthcoming What Really Happened in the Garden of Eden?, argues that, etiologically, “rib” doesn’t make much sense in a story pregnant with sexual innuendo; nor is there precedent in ancient Near Eastern mythology for it to feature as an instrument of creation. Instead,tsela was likely a euphemism for the baculum, or “penis bone,” found in the males of most mammals. The Bible uses various euphemisms for male genitalia but never a specific word: two of them, “bone” and “flesh,” in the pertinent verse may be double entendres when Adam welcomes Eve as “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (Gen. 2:23).

Despite macho boasts of having a “boner,” there’s of course no bone in the human male’s reproductive organ. According to John Kaltner, Steven L. McKenzie and Joel Kilpatrick’s recently published compendium of titillating biblical tidbits, The Uncensored Bible, where Zevit’s suggestion receives prominent treatment, the authors of Genesis believed that the human male lacked this specific part of his anatomy precisely because the first man’s had been removed to create Eve.

We already know that the authors of the Bible are hardly trustworthy in matters of biology. Leviticus, after all, attributes only four, not six, legs to insects and appears to classify bats as birds. But Zevit’s interpretation also indicates that scripture isn’t nearly as chaste as we’re normally led to believe.
Buy the book.

Buy the book.

Books like The Harlot by the Side of the Road (1997) by Jonathan Kirsch and The X-Rated Bible (1999) by Ben Edward Akerley have done much to shed light on scriptural ribaldry. The Uncensored Bible, written by a pair of Bible scholars at Memphis’ Rhodes College and a satirist, now furthers the cause with additional examples of sexual escapades unearthed by scholars from beneath the ambiguous expressions and euphemisms of biblical Hebrew. The new hypotheses come with varying degrees of plausibility (Was Joseph a drag queen with his “coat of many colors”? Did Ishmael molest Isaac?), yet on the whole they ensure the Bible is more risqué than ever. Notwithstanding Bible-thumping puritans who claim scriptural authority for their censorious prudery, the Good Book is replete with lewd metaphors, sexual innuendo, and outright obscenities, often starring some of the Bible’s most famous characters.

To win the hand of Michal, King Saul’s daughter, the young David must prove his manliness by performing posthumous circumcision on a hundred slain Philistines. The episode recalls the ancient Egyptian practice of keeping dead enemies’ manly appendages as trophies of war. In a memorable putdown elsewhere, the Prophet Ezekiel derides Egyptians as priapic fornicators whose “emissions are like those of horses” (Ezk. 23:20).

In court we swear to tell the truth with a hand placed on the Bible. But in the book itself, Jacob, nearing death in Egypt, asks Joseph to swear an oath not to bury him there by “put[ting] your hand under my thigh” (Gen. 47:29). Earlier in Genesis, Jacob wrestles with God, who touches “the hollow of his [Jacob’s] thigh” (32:25). “Thigh” happens to be a biblical euphemism for male genitalia; it’s from Jacob’s “thigh” or “loins” that his numerous offspring sprang. The practice of swearing an oath while touching one’s or someone else’s testicles was common in the ancient Near East (Abraham also orders a servant to do just that in Genesis 24:2). Its linguistic memory survives in our word “testify”—testis being the Latin both for “witness” and the male generative gland.

Far from being embarrassing anachronisms in a timeless tale, the naughty bits do much to enrich biblical stories by affording us insight into the beliefs and ideas of ancient Israel. As literary depositories of antiquity’s customs and beliefs, the biblical texts are fascinating documents. It’s when antiquated religious prescriptions and practices are treated as an enduring moral authority that trouble starts. Taken together, the Bible advocates a rather curious set of “family values.”

Take incest. Adam and Eve’s sons and daughters couldn’t have perpetuated the human race without it. And while early Israelites prized virginity, they also considered it a mark of hospitality to offer their wives and daughters to male guests for complimentary sexual services, just as it was a father’s right to sell his daughter to be a “maid servant” (Ex. 21:7).

In the famous story of Sodom, Lot, the nephew of Abraham, volunteers his virgin daughters to placate randy Sodomites seeking to “know” his male guests—two angels in disguise, as it happens. Later, while he’s in a drunken stupor sheltering in a cave after God’s destruction of Sodom, Lot is raped by these same daughters to “preserve the seed of our father” (Gen. 19:32).

Deuteronomy, meanwhile, prescribes the amputation of a woman’s hand for grabbing a man’s family jewels, or “secrets”—even those of an attacker as she comes to the rescue of her husband (Deut. 25:11-12). A biblical scholar, Jerome T. Walsh, has argued that the text in fact stipulates another punishment: the shaving of the offending woman’s pubic hair to shame her. Either way, incapacitating an attacker in a tried-and-tested method would seem preferable to letting your husband perish lest you overstep the bounds of propriety. Not by the lights of the Bible, though.

Not even the most devout can afford to interpret the Bible too literally—selective reading is inevitable. Yet many people still think that without the Bible (and religion in general), we’d all be morally adrift in a sea of licentious barbarism. Judging from many a biblical passage, the reverse is true: sexual civility requires ignoring scripture.

The biblical books were products of their times. Across the barren lands of the ancient Near East, fertility cults proliferated and erotically-charged fecundity was a mainstay of creation myths. In a Sumerian epic of the third millennium BCE, the water god Enki fertilizes the land with his ejaculate. Not to be outdone, the Egyptians’ hermaphroditic sun god Atem generated lesser deities through masturbation.

In Genesis too, fertility is a divine gift, and infertility a curse. The Creator’s first words to Adam and Eve are the instruction to “be fruitful and multiply” (1:28). Soon, God also promises Abraham to make him “exceedingly fruitful” (17:6) and orders him to seal their covenant with circumcision—in other words, to tamper with his reproductive organ.

One of my favorite scholarly theories is that the prototype for the idolatrous Israelites’ Golden Calf may have been Apis the Bull. Often represented with an enormous wiener in line with the phallic-centrist norms of the time, the Egyptian idol was the centerpiece, so to speak, of a popular cult that incorporated a 40-day festival, during which female worshippers would expose themselves before his statue in hopes of divinely-assisted conception—a kind of frenzy which, I guess, would help explain the intensity of Moses’ rage at Mount Sinai.

And let’s not forget Onan. An enduring byword for masturbatory tendencies, this son of Judah is condemned to death for “wast[ing] his seed.” But he wasn’t masturbating, an act that is never directly addressed in the Bible; he was engaging in coitus interruptus, which “was displeasing to the Lord” (Gen. 38:9-10), with his dead brother’s widow out of fraternal obligation. In the end, it’s elderly Judah himself who unwittingly impregnates his daughter-in-law when she tricks him into taking her for a prostitute, thereby siring the grand dynasty that leads to David (and thereon to Jesus). Some family values.

It’s time to face up to it: Just as the unadulterated originals of popular folk tales collected by the Brothers Grimm were often sadistic, scatological and pornographic (no, Prince Charming didn’t wake up Sleeping Beauty with just a kiss), so too the Bible is no innocent bedtime story. It isn’t a fount of moral clarity, either.

Nice bikini girl magic

2009-08-08T07:09:00.000-07:00

Funny Videos

50 Demented Children’s Books

2009-07-26T12:50:00.000-07:00

http://www.manofest.com/Galleries/Funny/50-Demented-Children-s-Books/50-Demented-Childrens-Books_41-5066.html#joomimg

2 Extreme weddings A/C

2009-07-21T05:54:00.000-07:00

Disney Memorial Orgy

2009-07-12T07:22:00.000-07:00

Kinky Friedman - They Ain't Makin Jews Like Jesus Anymore

2009-06-21T09:15:00.000-07:00

Stephen Lynch - Summer Nipple Songs

2009-06-20T06:28:00.000-07:00

Tom Lehrer- Smut

2009-06-17T05:22:00.000-07:00

A collage of people and animals doing weird, strange, deviant or just plain stupid things.

2009-05-31T07:20:00.000-07:00

Mary Roach: 10 things you didn't know about orgasm

2009-05-21T12:05:00.000-07:00

http://www.ted.com "Bonk" author Mary Roach delves into obscure scientific research, some of it centuries old, to make 10 surprising claims about sexual climax, ranging from the bizarre to the hilarious. (This talk is aimed at adults. Viewer discretion advised.)

SNL’s Motherlover: UNCENSORED version!

2009-05-20T15:59:00.000-07:00

Every curse word on The Sopranos (yes, all 6 seasons’ worth)

2009-04-08T07:53:00.000-07:00

the sopranos, uncensored. from victor solomon on Vimeo.

France's First Lady

2009-02-26T16:42:00.000-08:00

This is verified. In this power point, the pictures are of:

Carla Bruni - The Nude First Lady (Of France)

*

Carla Bruni, who recently married noted ladies' man Nikolas Sarkozy and became the First Lady of France, used to be a model. A naked model. A nude—and relatively tasteful—portrait of Bruni by the photographer Michel Comte is up for sale at Christie's in April. The press duly reported on the upcoming sale, but there's been an admirable sense of maturity about it across the board. By contrast, imagine the prospect of a nude Hillary Clinton portrait surfacing. Or not. Michelle Obama perhaps???

Playboy: The Hugh Hefner Story

2009-01-27T12:29:00.001-08:00

Playboy: The Complete Centerfolds.
Chronicle Books. October 2008.

Steven Watts. Mr. Playboy: Hugh Hefner and the American Dream.
Wiley. October 2008.

The Complete Centerfolds is a coffee-table book compiling every Playboy centerfold published from the magazine's inception in 1953 until 2007. Six short essays preface the decades, but there is no other text. As you might expect, the pleasures of the book are instant and visual. My favorite Playboy centerfold is Miss September 1983, dressed for a college football game in striped socks and a tartan scarf. She has a flask, a fuzzy wool cap, and a team pennant. Her neo-Gothic surroundings are meant, I think, to evoke Yale. A single branch of ivy cascades next to her, and a textbook lies abandoned at her feet. She is naked. It sounds funny in writing, but somehow there's nothing funny about the photograph, or about any of the photographs in The Complete Centerfolds. Is laughter an anti-aphrodisiac?

The first thing that strike the casual reader is the anatomical variety among bunnies. Nipples, for one thing. Some are as big as cupcakes, others are the size of a penny. They are occasionally erect and come in a range of colors as varied as drugstore lipsticks. Pubic hair is another delight to behold, appearing first in 1971 and thriving until 1997. Gauzy coronas of pubic hair, technicolor dreampubes of every shade. You forget how assertive a healthy growth of hair can look. It comes as a pleasant shock in the midst of a creamy-smooth expanse.

Pubic hair diminishes as the nineties draw to a close. Neat triangles turn to Band Aid-sized strips, which become little Hitler mustaches or nothing at all. The modern crotch is a bit prim, a bit less forthright. You'd think that depilation would lend a youthful look to the genitals but it has the opposite effect instead, making the girls look older and slightly jaded. (Intimate grooming signals forethought.) The youthful quality of the early centerfolds disappears.

A 1956 memo to Playboy photographers listed Hefner's criteria for the centerfolds. The model must be in a natural setting engaged in some activity "like reading, writing, mixing a drink." She should have a "healthy, intelligent, American look—a young lady that looks like she might be a very efficient secretary or an undergrad at Vassar." Many centerfolds feature the implied presence of a man: a flash of trouser leg in the corner, a pipe left on a table. These props transform the pinups into seduction scenarios. Their premise is simple: by identifying with the absent man, a viewer can enter the scene.

The centerfold's signature is what we might call the "Playboy aesthetic"—something responsible both for Playboy's long run of success and its schmaltziness. As Hefner put it in a letter to Russ Meyer (director of Faster, Pussycat! Kill Kill!), the ideal centerfold is one in which "a situation is suggested, the presence of someone not in the picture." The goal was to transform "a straight pinup into an intimate interlude, something personal and special." Playboy readers are meant to be participants, not voyeurs. Hefner's vision of American sexuality was a distinctly pasteurized one—sex cleansed of its ugly (and often exciting) power plays. "Clean sex," he insisted, "has greater appeal than tawdry sex." Strippers, threesomes and S&M had no place in his magazine. The Playboy centerfold was a world away from the European ideal of a sexually-sophisticated temptress. Hefner's girls were always girls, first of all, or bunnies— not women. There was no knowing gleam in a centerfold's eye.

By packaging the photos with cosmopolitan content (stories, interviews), Hefner hoped that sex and culture would seep into each other by dint of their page-to-page proximity. A taste for babes, he claimed, was just as fine a taste to cultivate as one for Scotch, fast cars or sharp suits (all of which Playboy advertised). The magazine lavished its readers with aspirational rhetoric. In 1955 Playboy described its typical reader as being "in the midst of the biggest buying spree of his life. Cars, cameras, and hi-fi cabinets. Clothes, cognac, and cigarettes." When these items appeared as props in the centerfold layouts, their connection to a stupendous sex life was visually underscored. Of all the lifestyle accessories Playboy celebrated, a bunny was the easiest to enjoy vicariously.

In those days Hefner liked his centerfolds "round, soft, and with a maximum emphasis on the beauty of being female." The Playmates of the first three decades follow this formula, flashing biteable bottoms and breasts. Things go downhill in the 1980s as breast implants became popular: the new boobs are globe-like and tactile only in the way that bowling balls are tactile. Some of them cast a glare, like cartoon balloons. Food metaphors no longer apply.

Something else (related) happens around this time: Playboy ceases to be about the erotic everyday encounter. Flesh and blood women turn to images; the "girl next door" becomes distinctly mediated. The bunnies were always mediated, of course, but something about the earlier photographs made you forget the medium and feel as though you were staring straight into the eyes of a luscious partner. Enthusiastic photoshopping has aided the transformation. Gone are the freckles and downy arm hairs of the predecessors. Breasts are surgically standardized; gym routines and spray tans produce identically toned and tinted bodies. Girls of all ethnicities blend together into one latte-colored woman, and the result looks computer-generated. When you try to imagine how the models might feel and smell, things like rubber come to mind.

This is partly the book's fault. Centerfolds that appear in the magazine are accompanied by a block of text describing the model's job, activities, hobbies, and attitudes—bits designed to enhance the bunny's appeal by demonstrating her personality and sexual interests. These are excluded from The Complete Centerfolds. The book's pages, too, are reduced to a rectangle only slightly larger than a Chinese takeout menu. Why have the publishers done such a thing? To scrimp on costs? To give the book a modicum of portability? It still weighs nearly six pounds—no one is toting this thing further than the distance from coffee table to lap. Plus, the allure of a pinup was always its mondo size. The book's shrunken pages undermine the tone of luxe comprehensiveness suggested by its press materials and ritzy design (matte black cover, discreet bunny). To catalogue every centerfold would be amazing indeed, but these are just girls without clothes on. Still, there are worse ways to pass an hour than with 648 cute nudes.

+ + +

Steven Watts' Mr. Playboy is a biography of Hugh Hefner and an account of Playboy's trajectory. In a way, there is nothing in the 450-page book that you can't parse from the centerfolds. If the Playboy centerfold easily stands in for the magazine, the magazine easily stands in for Hefner, who comes across less as a person than a sensibility. Watts, a history professor at the University of Missouri, has a tricky subject in Hefner. How many ways are there to say "shifting bevy of girlfriends"? How can a biographer get across the gooey sentimentality of his subject without floundering in clichés? The book opens with a forlorn twenty-six-year-old Hef standing on a bridge, muttering "Is this all there is?" and silently vowing to escape the ennui that threatens to suffocate him. The episode marks a turning point, and within fifteen years Hefner takes the country by storm. Thankfully, Watts makes it clear that Hefner is the one who sees himself in such cornball terms.

In many ways, the Playboy founder seems a person specifically bred to be the subject of a biography. We learn that he was inspired by The Fountainhead and Jay Gatsby. In Mr. Playboy we get the story of a man obsessed with crafting his own story. The biographer's instinct to mythologize is inverted as Watts goes about politely demystifying (or complicating) Hefner's gilded self-conceptions.

The most interesting parts of the book involve Hefner's childhood. As a kid consumed by pop culture, he doodled and daydreamed his way through class. When a girl rejected him in high school, the young Hefner gave himself a montage-worthy makeover: buying new duds, improving his dance skills, learning hip expressions, and adopting a "suave manner." Many people revise their image in high school, but Hefner was eerily thorough, producing an entire comic series about his new self. He described the character in writing as "a very original fellow" who "calls everyone 'Slug' or 'Fiend' and his pet expression is 'Jeeps Creeps.'"

The campaign was successful. Hefner grew into a popular and unusually horny teen. He also came to consider himself a sort of representative American male, confident that his own dampened urges and acquisitive mania were shared across the nation. What Hefner wanted, he figured, America must also want. Throughout his biography, Watts regards Hefner as a sort of human Richter scale attuned to the subterranean desires of American males. It is this instinct, combined with a right-place/right-time circumstance, to which Watts attributes Playboy's success.

What Hefner wanted, in his words, was "a pleasure primer styled to the masculine taste." The quote is revealing. It nods to Playboy's instructional quality and to Hefner's belief that a man might become his ideal self. In Hefner's terms, masculine taste is a single and definable force. As Watts puts it, Hefner "edited Playboy for himself." He was a work-obsessed, bunny-centric monomaniac, the "editor, publisher, and, at the same time, audience" of the magazine.

If Hefner's private yen for sexual and material plenty was risqué in his youth, a certain freedom was de rigeur by the mid-1960s. Teens were no longer punished for cuddling in the rumble seat, and everyone knew that nice girls enjoyed sex. The 1970s brought trouble: economic decline soured Playboy's buy-more credo, and rival magazine Penthouse took a bite out of Playboy readership by offering raunchier material. X-rated films like "Deep Throat" and "Behind the Green Door" attracted huge audiences. The Playboy enterprise collapsed in the 1980s.

As a record of influence—Hugh Hefner's influence—both The Complete Centerfolds and Mr. Playboy are entertaining. His achievement was to give great credence to his fantasies, and to the idea of fantasies in general. His gift was to commercialize something he knew from personal experience: that girls liked sex. More specifically, that they liked sex with Hefner. He extrapolated from this.

Hefner fit the cherished American mold of an ambitious, diehard dreamer and his description of the Playboy Mansion sounds a little like Xanadu—a place where a person "could work and play without the usual inconveniences, conflicts and concerns that were commonplace in the outside world." It is an apt summary of his business model. Step one: articulate fantasies. Step two: realize them.

The point of the Mansion was the same as that of the centerfold: a place in which to enjoy an idyllic sexual experience. The act of unfolding the spread, like undressing a girl, was meant to give the reader a private sensation. Just him and her; no politics, judgments, or restrictions—none of the things involved in a public discourse about sex. Such things have always been excluded from Playboy. They are too complicated.

Sam Kinison - Pocket Toys

2008-12-30T17:15:00.001-08:00

Old Chisholm Trail

2008-12-28T13:55:00.000-08:00

Old Chisholm Trail
Immortalia, Oscar Brand, llewtraH
Come along boys and listen to my tale,
A jigging and a frigging on the old Chisholm Trail.
chorus: Come tie my root around a root around a tree,
Come tie my root around a tree.
I come out of Alice with the longhorn cattle
On a ten-dollar horse and a forty dollar saddle.
Sitten in the saddle with my hand on my dong,
Shooting jism on the cattle as we ramble along.
Boss says "Cowboy, you better shove,
The steer you shot was my own true love."
I jumped in the saddle and the saddle wasn't there,
And I shoved seven inches up the old gray mare.
I'm lying in bed and counting sheep,
They look so pretty, I just can't sleep.
With my ass in the saddle and my pecker all sore,
I spied a little lady in the whorehouse door.
I reached in my pocket and pulled out a penny,
She says, "For that you not getting any."
I reached in my pocket and pulled out a nickel,
She says, "For that, you don't even get a tickle."
I reached in my pocket and pulled out a dime,
She says, "Young man, you're just wasting time."
I reached in my pocket and pulled out a quarter,
She says, "Young man, I'm a minister's daughter."
I reached in my pocket and pulled out a half,
She didn't say a word, just started to laugh.
I reached in my pocket and pulled out a dollar,
She took my hand and put in in her collar.
I reached in my pocket and pulled out a five,
She said, "Come inside, we'll see if you're alive."
I rode her standing, I rode her lying,
If I'd a had wings, I'd of of fucked her flying.
I went to the doctor for my pecker was sore,
He said, "God Damn! It's the same damn whore."
The Doc took a look and then said, "Cough."
I coughed so hard my balls fell off.
Put away your holster, put away your gun,
Your barrels been breached, and your shooting's done.
The next time I seen her, she was shitting on the floor,
And the wind from her ass blew the cat out the door.
The next time I seen her, the weather was hot,
And the roaches run right out of her twat.
The next time I seen her, the weather was cool,
She was fucking herself with an entrenching tool.
I went down to the cellar to get some cider,
There I saw a cockroach jacking off a spider.
I went down to the cellar to get some gin,
There was that cockroach at it again.
The last time I seen her and I ain't seen her since,
She was jacking off a man through a barbed-wire fence.
(Ft. Ord 1953)
(Immortalia)
I rode out of Alice on an October morn,
My horse was a gelding and I had a raging horn.
We didn't reach town till winter, eighty-two.
My ass
was a draggin' and my pecker was too.
I went hunting tail for a prlor house whore.
I didn't have enough so she kicked me out the door.
Reached in my pocket, took out six bits;
She said, "Young man, you can flick my tits."
Reached in my pocket, pulled out a buck;
She said, "That's more like it, now let's fuck!"
I gave her the dollar and she took it in her hand.
She said, "Young men, will you long pecker stand?"
I jumped off my horse, and bolted the door.
She said, "Come and get me, I'm a damn fine whore."
I grabbed right ahold and I threw her on the grass.
My toe-hold slipped and I rammed it in her ass.
I fucked from the rear; I fucked from the front.
I fucked her up the ass when I wore out her cunt.
Lying or standing, she's a buckaroo's dream.
I fucked her nearly senseless and I filled her up with cream.
I paid another dollar and I got another ride;
Put my cock inside of her and couldn't feel the side.
The hair on her pussy was a strawberry brown
And the crabs on her belly were jumping up and down.
Took my old pecker to the watering trough;
Washed him and I scrubbed him till his head fell off.
The next time I seen her, she was floating down a stream
With a belly full of clabber and a cunt full of cream.
The sun shone down on the nipples of her tits;
I knew she was a whore and I didn't give a shit.
The next time I saw her, she was jacking off my hound,
And the jaws of her twat were drippin' on the ground.
Her tits hung down like a pair of wooden buckets,
And her cunt stunk so bad, my dog wouldn't fuck it.
The next time I saw her, she was jacking off her brother;
The crabs on her ass were fucking one another.
Her cunt was so big that no man alive could screw it;
A cart-horse saw it and he went right to it.
The next time I saw her, she was standing by the door,
And the hair from her cunt hung down to the floor.
So I grabbed her by the neck and I threw her on the grass,
Then I stretched her cunt from her navel to her ass.
So I grabbed her by the waist and I threw her on the bed,
But the wind from her ass killed my dog stone dead.
The last time I seen her 'fore I went back on the trail,
And the drippings from her cunt left a track like a snail.
I saddled up my horse and we hit the cattle trail,
Never thought no more of that greasy piece of tail.
Spent three nights in a bedroll full of fleas,
So damn cold that I thought my balls would freeze.
Five days later and my prick turned blue;
I ran to the doctor and he don't know what to do.
So I went to another and he said, "Cough!"
And I coughed so hard, both my balls fell off.
In about nine days, I looked for to see;
Chancres on my pecker were big as a pea.
He said I'd got a bad case of the red, white and blue;
Crabs, lice, and crawlies and the whole damn zoo.
Red with the itching and blue with the clap;
White where it's falling off and won't grow back.
Got ointment for the itching and my pecker turned green.
Doc said I'd got the worse dose of pox he'd ever seen.
The whore found out, and called me a kid;
Told me to remember her, and by God, I did.
Gave me some lotion and my pecker went black.
It might have cured the chancres but my ball began to crack.
"Well," said the doctor, "I'll tell you what I'll do.
Gotta saw your pecker off and both balls too."
Guess you won't go whoring and you'll never get a wife."
Then he sawed off my manhood with his mule-skinning knife.
I met a whore in Alice and she gave me the syph.
My balls dropped off and I can't get stiff.
A cart-horse saw it and he went right to it.
The next time I saw her, she was standing by the door,
And the hair from her cunt hung down to the floor.

Blinded by turds

2008-12-28T13:37:00.000-08:00

There was an old lady who lived in the street,
Her passage was blocked up from too much to eat,
She took stomach pills without reading the box,
Before she could think turds were flying for blocks.

Chorus:
Too-ra-li, too-ra-li, too-ra-lay, too-ra-lay,
A rolling stone gathers no moss so they say,
Sing along, sing along, with the birds, with the birds,
It's a wonderful song but it's all about turds.

Well she ran to the window and stuck out her arse,
Just at that moment a p'liceman came past,
That poor old p'liceman was eating his pie,
Whena steaming hot turd hit him right in the eye,

[Chorus]

Well he ran to the East and he ran to the West,
When a further consignment hit him right in the chest,
Well he fled to the North and he fled to the South,
When a bloody great turd hit him right in the mouth.

[Chorus]

The next time you walk over Waterloo bridge,
Look out for a p'liceman asleep on the ridge,
His chest bears a plackard, around it these words,
"Be kind to this cop who's been blinded by turds"

[Chorus twice]

Strange ads

2008-12-14T06:56:00.000-08:00

Ten Angry Reporters Meltingdown & Blowing Up(Compilation)

2008-12-09T06:08:00.003-08:00

Ten Angry Reporters Meltingdown & Blowing Up(Compilation)

2008-12-09T06:08:00.001-08:00

The "F**k It" Puppet (Funny)

2008-09-27T06:59:00.000-07:00

What if Sesame Street had adult humor? This would be it.

3rd Race at The Honeymoon Is Over Downs A/C

2008-09-11T15:31:00.000-07:00

The Best of TV News Lip Slips

2008-08-16T06:19:00.000-07:00

Animal sex tape

2008-06-17T16:14:00.000-07:00

Eveready Harton: world's first porn cartoon character?

2008-06-11T15:28:00.000-07:00

Created anonymously by a group of professional animators in about 1929, the silent short Eveready Harton in Buried Treasure is a gleeful exploration of the penetrative arts.

The four-and-a-half-minute short follows the travails of the uncomfortably well-endowed title character as he wanders a barren landscape in search of satisfaction. Along the way, he encounters a self-pleasuring maiden, various sexually aroused animals, a surprised husband, and a cow-humping farmer, whom Harton challenges to a duel. A penis duel.

Eveready Harton in Buried Treasure is one of the earliest examples of an animated porn film. According to its Wikipedia page, several famous animators supposedly made the short for a private party in honor of the pioneering animator Winsor McCay, whose work greatly influenced Walt Disney and is still held in high esteem by Maurice Sendak, Chris Ware, and other luminaries.

I wish all music videos appeared this way!

2008-06-07T17:56:00.000-07:00

Sigur ros-gobbledigook
by shyboy

Vagina Kazoo

2008-06-05T20:34:00.000-07:00

JOHN VALBY - DR DIRTY - HILLARY CLINTON

2008-06-04T10:13:00.001-07:00

Whose Line is It Anyway: Blooper 3

2008-03-26T06:15:00.000-07:00

Whose Line Is It Anyway? - Bloopers 3 - More bloopers are a click away

Jerry Sadowitz: The Total Abuse Show

2008-03-21T06:03:00.000-07:00

Jerry Sadowitz, the man who claims to hate everything, performs live in concert with his magic tricks and offensive humour. RT 53:19 and circa 1988. The Jerry Sadowitz Total Abuse Show played to packed houses and to rave reviews. You won’t see it on TV, so catch it here: live at The Bloomsbury Theatre, London.

Man vs. Girls Gone Wild

2008-02-08T04:17:00.000-08:00

Bear Grylls teaches you how to survive an onslaught of boobies on Mardi Gras.

2008-02-01T20:42:00.000-08:00

Star Trek Orgasms

2008-01-30T07:05:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure these were taken out of context, but you be the judge.

TASTiSKANK: The Sex Song

2008-01-30T06:47:00.000-08:00

Featuring comedy duo and Broadway stars, Sarah Litzsinger and Kate Reinders.

George Carlin on State Prison Farms

2008-01-25T14:08:00.000-08:00

Classic Carlin on how to rid the nation of our four of the most twisted groups for good.

Did You Know Tom Mabe?

2008-01-18T15:30:00.001-08:00

Good Morning

2008-01-18T14:51:00.000-08:00

99 words for boobs

2008-01-18T13:19:00.000-08:00

John Valby (aka Dr. Dirty): Yukon Pete

2008-01-16T09:43:00.000-08:00

John Valby, a dirty comedian from the Northeast better know as Dr. Dirty, recalls a tale while doing a live show in New York.

John Valby (aka Dr. Dirty): Yukon Pete
Uploaded by Killstain

Jason Byrne

2008-01-16T09:33:00.000-08:00

Irish comedian Jason Byrne tells us all about a laydeez 'first time' on the World Stands Up

Comedy Blue: Jim Jeffries

2008-01-15T14:49:00.000-08:00

Jim Jeffries is what is commonly referred to as "filthy", but we dont often get to see him saying exactly what he wants on TV.

However, in this set taken from the comedy show "Comedy Blue", Jim is given free reign to say what he pleases.

Please be aware that this video contains very strong language, and themes which are suitable for neither work, the easily offended, nor children. You have been warned!

Hotdogs for Homophobes

2008-01-07T19:58:00.000-08:00

Jimmy Carr: Fuck Buddies

2008-01-05T05:34:00.000-08:00

jimmy carr encounters some fuck buddies in the audience at standup london 2005

Getting Laid in NYC: Technology for the Single Man

2007-12-29T03:27:00.001-08:00

Getting Laid in NYC: Technology for the Single Man
I made a spreadsheet a couple of weeks ago, because I was curious about dinners.
My buddy Jeff and I have long-since known dinner is the death-knell for getting laid, but
I had never taken a statistical look at the stuff. Out of about 30 girls I could think of off
the top of my head, I only had sex with 2 or so. Really shitty hit rate. Dinner is a terrible
approach if you want to get laid, and I will explain later why. It’s fine in a relationship,
or after you’ve had sex, or with a girlfriend, etc., but never initially, and never if your
goal is to get the girl naked.
On the other hand, drinks at a sexy lounge after 10pm is always the right move.
Lounges are ideal for a number of reasons, and when I look at my hit rate there, it’s
significant. Of the roughly 40 girls I’ve brought to my favorite spot on the Upper East
Side, about 30 have come home with me and about 25 of those have banged. That’s a
much better hit rate than dinner, and yet I am always amazed to walk down the street on a
given night, especially Friday night, and see all these eager guys sitting across from a
smirking woman. The usual end game there, in my experience, is a fat bill, a bloated
stomach, some yawns and a peck on the cheek, with the guy standing foolishly by as the
girl steps into a cab waving good-bye. Home to porno. Why? Because women know
how to play the game better than men do. Think about all the time they spend reading
dating and relationship magazines, and books – you think they don’t know more about
the playing field than men? Come on.
The idea for this book has been on my mind for some time, and grew directly out
of my experience hustling in New York. I wouldn’t call my game dating, really, because
often I just have a single goal. I often meet women I like, and it may develop into
something akin to dating, but I still (at 30) enjoy the hustle.
A girl I used to sleep with thought it would be fun to write a relationship and
dating book with me but that never got off the ground; another girl (whom I’ve slept
with) asked me and some other bachelor friends to write an essay or short piece on
bachelorhood in New York. I don’t know if they got around to it; I didn’t. But I’ve
always been interesting in gender politics and the battle of the sexes and how to get laid,
etc. I come from a divorced home, and was raised mostly by my mother. We are very
close and I’m sure that contributed to my fascination with and understanding of women.
Anyhow, I’ve always thought it was interesting but never got around to writing
anything. Recently, however, several friends have encouraged me to write a book about
getting laid, because I do it well, and it seems to be the one thing that holds my interest,
and to which I devote considerable time and effort. They say write what you know. I
know how to get laid in Gotham on the cheap.
What I write here is what I’ve found to work and what I do in my own life. None of this
material is hypothetical. I just had sex with my 100
th
women; I should have made a t-shirt
for her. I keep a spreadsheet of these girls, just as a record, with an “X” if they let me
bang them in the ass. I’m 30, and most of these women have been screwed since I moved
to NYC 3 years ago – about 70 of them. That’s more than 20 girls a year, and I had a
girlfriend for a spell. Also, although there are some rough ones in there, most of the girls
Page 2
are good-looking (7’s or 8’s) and several are 9’s and 10’s, including 3 super-hot models.
And I don’t have any money.
For Starters – The Marketplace
I realized about 8 months ago that my hit rate was skyrocketing. This winter and
spring I had some incredible weeks: 4 girls in 5 days; 2 girls in one night, etc. I thought
about why things were so plentiful and the answer was: I had a system. I think most guys
spend time and money in the wrong place and then get frustrated when they don’t get
laid. Or, worse, they find that one girl who they can get the honey from and they stick by
her side no matter what, like a puppy. I’ve found that with a system and a deep pool of
talent, pussy is really the second most abundant commodity on earth, after water.
The first thing to realize about women, especially the hot women we all gawk at,
is that we don’t have their perspective. As guys, you and I might think, “Oh man, she’s
so hot. How could I get such a fine chick, etc.” What men don’t realize is that even
stunning women are plentiful; they may be a bit more high-maintenance, but they are not
in short supply, especially in a metropolitan city like New York. I always imagine a
bunch of models or dancers or actresses changing in a locker room. They look around at
all the beautiful flesh surrounding them and get a sense of their commodity-nature; they
are just one of many. Keep that image in your mind; women lead men to believe they are
unique, but secretly they know they are just one of many like them. In fact, in the world,
women outnumber men significantly, something like 51% to 49% for men. That’s
statistically quite significant, and there are real evolutionary reasons for that, but who
cares right now, and that’s not what will get you laid. Just remember there’s no shortage
of pussy. One good exercise is to pass patio restaurants on a summer night, and notice
how many women are eating with other women (especially in NYC). You think they
want to be eating with their complaining, whining friend, who is depressed and with
whom they have to split the bill? Of course not! They’d jump at the opportunity to be
with a guy, so ask them out and then bang the shit out of them! This leads me the first of
many insights:
• Never let one bitchy or unresponsive girl get to you or affect your outlook.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a cool response or flat rejection from a girl only
to approach another girl 2 minutes later and hit it off, and be in the back of a cab getting
head 15 minutes later. That’s the beauty of being a man – you can always walk away
from a situation that has bad energy. My friend says the single most powerful word in
the English language for a man is “Next!” One of the key characteristics of an effective
hustler, and I see it in my friends who play the game the best, is an ability to walk away
from a negative situation immediately and brush it off, preparing for the next opportunity.
That leads me to my next point which is:
• There are 3 types of girls around: yes, no and maybe girls
Again, the effective hustlers know how to judge the three types and work accordingly.
All guys know the “no” girls. They are sticks in the mud, stand-offish, difficult,
Page 3
Princesses. Any guy who has been laid several times knows this type of girl. He
probably has a gut instinct that she’s going to be hard to get in the sack. “Yes” girls, by
contrast, are flirty, fun, open with body language and game for anything. They allow you
to ask them back to your place with ease. The problems are the “maybe” girls, especially
if they are hot. Even after years of practice, I still can get stuck on these types, but as
soon as I recognize the direction we’re going I can make the call. The “maybe” girls are
where most guys get hung up spending all their money and time, thinking that they will
get her. Careful, gentlemen, you are dealing with pros. Even other women will admit
how manipulative a woman can be. Don’t assume you’ll wear here down or trick her.
It’s better to walk then to throw more energy at these problem girls.
So, back to the system. Prior to recognizing how effective a system for getting
laid could be, I would take my opportunities where they presented themselves: poolside
at a wedding, on the Chinatown bus between Boston and NYC, in a cab, in Central Park.
Don’t get me wrong, there is not a wrong place to take a woman. But if you want to get
laid with a minimum of time, energy, hassle, bullshit, and most importantly, cost, then
you should work out an effective system.
Think about it. All other business enterprises have a system to deliver a good or
service: Starbucks coffee is fresh, hot and strong because of the system and protocol the
baristas follow. Any successful business must follow a blueprint if it hopes to achieve
significant results; the same applies to shagging women, believe it or not. Do not leave
your sex life up to chance – what women often call “romance”. Take charge of it.
So, we have this large market of single men and women. A city like NY is ideal,
because it’s concentrated, and there are so many people and the city is sexy and
anonymous. By the way, anonymity is key because as a hustler, I try (as I encourage you
to) all types of new methods and approaches; some work, some work brilliantly, but alas,
some fail and fall flat. In this city, who cares, because chances are you won’t see the
person again, and even if you do, by that time you’ll be a confident playboy and who
cares what one stupid bitch thinks, anyhow.
So, it’s a market, and there are plenty of girls for everyone. Also, to us they may
be hot and sexy, but to themselves and other girls, they are just competition, and have
their own un-sexy habits like farting, burping, bad breath, fat thighs etc. Don’t fall for
women’s façade. It’s been my experience that women are heavily front-loaded in what
they can offer - their value-proposition. She may look fit, sexy and sophisticated, but
after you’ve banged her and she’s naked, with mascara running down her face and she’s
trying to stuff her thighs into a pair of too small jeans at 2am, you’ll realize she’s just
another person trying to get by. Don’t be intimidated.
Step 1 – Contact
I have never done online dating. I can’t recall the last time I was set-up. And after a few
retarded episodes with blind dates, I refuse to do that. All my pulls are in the flesh, and
I’m aggressive. I believe it’s a lot about chemistry, and a privilege of males is that you
get to choose. If you see something you like, go after it. It is caveman style, but I bet
cavemen had pretty good sex lives. In fact, I’m sure they did, because we’re here. So,
Page 4
make like Zog and take what you are hungry for.
1
Women respond to a hungry man,
believe me. Girls often tell me, after we’re lying in bed chatting, that it was in my eyes;
that was what turned them on and made them feel pursued. They knew where things
were heading.
There is no wrong place or time to make the approach. I’ve picked up girls on the
street, of course, but also the subway, coffee shop, plays, weddings, buses, restaurants,
etc. I’d say that 90% of my game takes place on the street because I walk a lot (also
keeps me thin and fit, a must for the hustler) and that’s where the girls are. When I had a
car in Boston 5 years ago, I remember thinking how I wasn’t meeting as many girls;
obviously there are no girls to meet in my car! I was on the “T” less (as the subway is
called in Boston. Don’t ask.) and therefore wasn’t meeting the college girls going around
town. I also wasn’t pounding the pavement. Another point that is obvious, but guys
make this mistake all the time:
• Pick-up girls midweek in the middle of the day while they are walking around.
Do not attempt to hustle girls on a weekend night when you are competing with
every other Dick.
I have two advantages over the average guy in this regard: a) I live in New York b) I have
an unorthodox work schedule. I am sure that there are systems to get laid in LA (Hugh
Hefner probably has the patent) but since that city is sprawling and requires driving, it’s a
whole different game. I’m born and bred in Santa Monica, and lived there till I was 18,
so I know a bit of the game. It seems cliquier to me and because of the car culture, harder
to have contact with the ladies.
2
Here, in NYC, they flow by like sardines in the ocean.
Too bad they don’t make nets.
On the second point, it helps that I take a leisurely stroll to get coffee at Starbucks
on 66
th
and Madison every morning around 10 and that I walk to work (my day job is as a
SAT tutor) in the afternoon. These are the hours all the guys are breaking their backs
downtown to earn a buck so they can take some broad out on Friday and not-bone, as my
friend Adam says. So it’s too easy midday on the street. Not many other players around
and women (for some reason I’m not clear on) think it’s more innocent if you get their
number at 1:15pm on a Tuesday on Lexington Ave., then at some bar Saturday night.
Because it’s also a common pitfall of most guys I’m going to make a bullet point for it,
but it should be somewhat obvious:
• Trying to get a girls number (or worse, trying to bang her) on a Saturday night at
a crowded bar is a loser’s gamble.
1
Little secret: the hottest ones are the easiest to fuck. Why? Because they are most confident, and don’t
guard their pussy like it’s their only asset. That’s my true experience.
2
One revelation I experienced upon moving to New York was sheer exposure to so many single, hot
women. I’ve come to realize that one way women create the illusion of scarcity is by staying at home or
only getting done-up and going out on the weekend nights. For some reason, in other cities in which I’ve
lived (Boston, LA, Philly) there would be one or two hotties, here or there, and we’d talk about them for 10
minutes after spotting them. Here, due to public transportation and the street, I’ve got a much better sense
of the market, and I have realized that there are a lot of sexy girls for every guy (not least because our gay
compatriots are out of the game. Hallelujah!)
Page 5
You’re competing against every other guy, first off. The girl’s ego is ballooning, because
if she’s halfway decent looking, and the guys are beer-goggling, then she’s been hit on by
a platoon of fools and you know how much women like attention (turns out they’d rather
have attention than sex) and if you’re in a city like New York, you have the added
competition of the city itself. By that I mean the myriad things she’d rather do then go to
your place and suck your cock. No matter how suave, clever, funny or good-looking you
are, I’m here to tell you that you’ll look rather dull next to New York Fucking City going
off on a Saturday night. So be prepared for a long and tedious battle if you’re trying to
get her to your place on a Saturday night; more than likely she’ll only lose interest in the
night when she starts to tire, at which point working on you isn’t her focus. She’s ready
for sleep.
Weeknights are different. As I mentioned, women are creatures who need
attention and they are getting less of it during the week; it’s often said that women cheat
as a result of an inattentive husband, whereas men cheat because we can’t control our
hormones and libido. So, the obvious play here is:
• Meet girls one-on-one during the week, when there’s likely to be a lull in even
the most popular girl’s social calendar.
Nothing is more welcome than a phone call or text message from you when she’s getting
nothing from friends, family or other guys, and she’s sitting at home feeling lonely and
unwanted. I’ve found that girls I can’t even get to have a 5 minute conversation on a
Saturday night will come all the way uptown to have a drink with a guy they barely know
if it’s a quiet Tuesday night. Play the cycle of the week to your advantage. Get the
numbers during the day and during the week, and arrange the meeting during a weeknight
when you will get a women’s full, undivided attention.
Another note about weekends: keep those for your men. Having lived in the city
for a few years now, and arriving at an age – 30 – when I’m starting to know what I like
and what I don’t, and choosing the former, I’ve come to appreciate the value of exclusive
time with my men. My schedule is drinks with girls Sunday night through Wednesday,
and often Friday as well because it’s an early night because I work at 8:30 on Saturday
morning. Thursdays, perhaps the best night of the week to go out, I usually go “window
shopping” with a buddy, a wingman. We usually go out to check out the hot scenes and
look at the girlies all done-up. We may meet a couple girls, even get digits or get laid,
but the bulk of my work is not accomplished here. Saturday’s are reserved for dinner
with the boys. I don’t see them all week because everyone works hard in this city, and I
enjoy nothing better than grabbing a big meal and relaxing with a good friend or two,
perhaps having a stogie afterwards. We may or may not go chasing after dinner, but
we’re all cognizant that Saturday is the hardest pull, for the reasons mentioned above.
My advice is to keep one weekend night free to eat with your boys: they’ll keep you sane
and stave off loneliness, plus it’s the ideal time to recount stories of the week just passed.
So we’ve talked about the when and the where’s of meeting the girls – midweek
daytime, in a non-pick-up environment – but what exactly do you do when you see that
foxy, confident, almost bitchy women sauntering down the street towards you?
The Intro – “Hello, I think you’re cute”
Page 6
Whatever you’ve heard about not paying compliments to women is bullshit. Women like
flattery, they like flirting and sexual tone and many of them appreciate a direct approach.
I can’t remember the last time I used a “line”, both because they sound cheesy and are
retarded, and also because who has time to remember that shit when a hot chic passes in
front of the radar.
Women are animals, just like us, and they sense things from a gut level, as all
animals do. Confidence and a sense of urgency are your two allies in this endeavor. The
confidence will come as you continue to hone your craft and reap the prodigious benefits
of your system. In general, women respond to body language and timing as much, if not
more, than the content of what you are saying. You can tell in 2 seconds if she’s
interested, and get a good sense if she’s a yes/no/maybe girl. “Yes” girls will be
appreciative, reciprocate your attention, stop what they are doing, give you their
attention, and in general enjoy the interaction and the feeling of sexual tension between
the two of you. The other “maybe” girls will give you some leeway, but in general will
be difficult and you’ll feel the work you’re doing.
My friend Jeff is the master at reeling them in. Persistence is the key here, as is a
sense of humor and a feeling that it’s your prerogative to engage these women:
• You are never “bothering” a girl by hitting on her. Remember that it’s your duty
as a man to engage the opposite sex and initiate contact. Don’t get into thinking
you’re being intrusive, she will let you know.
I remember a funny comment this black guy made on a street corner in the city. He was
checking out a hot chic as she walked around the corner and I caught him staring. We
made eye contact and he says, “I’m just doing my job.” He was, and I appreciated it.
I’ve also found other men to be generally admiring and supportive of the pick-up.
By that I mean guys understand the rap, and don’t look down on a guy who takes the
shot. I’ve tried to rap to a girl in a crowded subway before and she just gave me air and
the look away or a few unfriendly one-word replies. My shtick fell flat, and 5 guys were
right there watching. Not a one smirked or laughed; most guys give props for taking the
shot. They’ve been there, or appreciate that you went in for the kill.
Back to the “maybe” girls. They are the ones that engage reluctantly and have
unwelcoming body language, or keep question the pretext of your meeting: “But I don’t
know you?” Also, I’ve gotten the “I’m in a hurry to blah, blah, blah”. You’re in a hurry
too, tell them. I guarantee you their time is no more valuable than yours. The “no” girls
are unresponsive or snobby, or give you the “Who are you?” look. Walk away
immediately. They give off bad energy and can kill an unpracticed guy’s spirit. For
some reason these types want to discourage sex and playfulness between the sexes.
Brutal. Don’t be afraid to walk away mid-sentence. I’ve literally stopped talking and
turned and left in situations where I’m up against a brick wall. You can’t win those, and
remember, “Next!”
Regarding the approach, there’s no right way to initiate conversation. The “head
on” is decent. Also the side by side, “My, you’re in quite a hurry!” works well. I’ve had
tremendous luck with the Two-Step Look Back™, in which I make strong, suggestive
eye contact and then give a look back a couple of seconds later. If the girl is likewise
Page 7
craning her neck, you’re golden. She’s interested; just wave her over as you get your
phone out. You “can’t talk”, though. Remember, you’re late for __________.
Also, a word about nerves or guts. My friend Arefin asked me this little riddle:
“What killed the warrior?”
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“Hesitation,” he said. We were talking about girls.
I’m sure all of us guys, no matter how dashing, suave and successful today, once
had real trepidation at the thought of approaching a female stranger and making
conversation. First of all, it becomes second nature the more you do it. The benefits of a
good rap reinforce the exercise, as well. Also, recognize that you will fall on you face
many times, especially if you’re young. But, practice makes perfect, and if you can
practice in an anonymous setting like NYC, then there’s no fall-out when you totally
bomb. Also, as I’ll say more than once, confidence, body language and appearance are
more important than what you say.
Get the Number – In less than 1 minute
Keep in mind that like all people girls, especially hot ones, are moody. You need the
contact information of course, otherwise you can’t pursue her. However, you don’t need
to do anything charming, memorable or “cute” when you first meet her. The only
purpose is to get the digits so you can contact her later. After that, keep moving. You
have nothing to say to her, anyhow; you’ll just fuck it up. I’ve found many a reluctant
girl is only too happy to see me midweek for a drink. Remember, their moods will
change, dramatically, and often.
So what do you say to these fickle, sensitive beasts? It doesn’t really matter. It’s
more the timing and body language. I’ve found that the quick move works best.
Walking by a girl, or past a table where she’s eating, whatever, I usually try to make eye
contact, and if she notices me, I acknowledge by saying, “I want to say ‘hi’ because I
noticed we made eye contact, and this is New York and if you don’t take advantage of
moments like these they tend to just pass, blah, blah, etc.” Or, if there’s no eye contact I
stop them and say my standard, “I think you’re cute, but I’m in a rush and late for a
meeting. How ‘bout you give me your number and we’ll grab a drink around here some
night.” That usually works, or at least gets them interested. The yes/maybe girls will
perk up: they know you find them attractive, appreciate that you are confident enough to
tell them so in a polite way, and you have a plan – the drink. That’s all that needs to
happen on the initial meeting. Ideally, you should see her, engage, talk for 45 seconds
while you’re entering her digits, and then smile (or wink, if you’re good at it) and rush
off to your “meeting”.
3
Don’t run.
3
If you’re in some situation where you can’t leave immediately, like sitting next to a woman on the
subway, etc., wait until you have about 1 minute left with her before striking up conversation. There’s
nothing more awkward than silence between two strangers after they’ve said hello, and even Shakespeare
couldn’t be charming for more than a couple of minutes off the bat, so have a planned exit. In the subway
example, get off and switch cars, if you have to.
Page 8
The less than one-minute engagement works for a number of reasons. First off
all, it prevents the guy from doing anything stupid or awkward, or revealing too much. A
nervous guy can torpedo a promising situation by talking too much and turning the girl
off, or freaking her out, perhaps by mentioning he lives at home with his folks, or
something like that. The less talking you do, the better. Women, as well as men, like the
fantasy or “romance” of meeting “that guy”, and since almost no guy is ever going to
live-up to some bullshit Prince Charming archetype (who wants to, anyhow) at least
prolong the fantasy for your benefit. This leads to the second reason the one-minute
engagement works: it maintains the intrigue. “Who was that dashing stranger I just met
in the rain?” she thinks as you walk off with your raincoat trailing and your umbrella
extended. As they are reeling from the encounter, trying to process what just happened
and remember the fine details of what you said, and how you looked, and just how you
stood, you’re already gone, not there to fuck it up. They’re hooked. Their mind is
already working on you.
A Note on Appearance
It is important to look good. Looking your best will improve your hit rate. In particular,
if you’re working the street game, keeping a clean-cut “I have a job and pay my rent”
look will work to your benefit. The wheels in a girl’s head are relentless, and looking
responsible and somewhat trustworthy (but not at the expense of sexiness) will counter
the “I just met this guy on the street - I don’t even know him!” alarm in her head.
Confidence and experience here can make up for a lot, and it’s true that good
situations often arise when we least expect them or are ready for them, so avoid being a
slob. You’ll appreciate later when you’re pulling her panties down and she’s smiling at
you. For all the work they do on themselves – waxing, plucking, gym, diet, clothes, hair,
make-up, etc. – the least we can do is shower and brush our teeth.
I have a few preferences and tricks that my running mates share. One is the scruff
factor: in general guys look sexier with a couple days growth. Job permitting, let it grow.
It’s better for your skin, and most women like the look. With clothes you have many
options. One general rule is that shoes are important; they tell a man’s social class, I’ve
heard. I generally have two looks – downtown and sexy or uptown, successful and slick.
Girls respond to both, perhaps for difference reasons.
My downtown look is (and keep in mind this is Manhattan, fashion capital) a pair
of Helmut Lang faded jeans, black Kenneth Cole belt, Timberland Chelsea boots (good
for winter, too) and a tight-fitting Dolce & Gabbana black t-shirt. Uptown is a solid blue
Zegna spread collar shirt (no tie), navy Armani black-label suit, and Ferragamo Daniely
shoes. Every guy has his particulars; I find these two outfits cover the bases.
My friend Jeff turned me on to this little device that can handle bad-breath – an
Oolit tongue scraper. It’s just a strip of plastic with a serrated edge, but it does get the
guck off the tongue, especially in the morning, and especially in the morning after
smoking a cigar the night before. He folds one into his pocket when he goes on dates and
does a few scrapes in the bathroom before making out; I keep mine at home. Use varies,
depending on hygiene and self-consciousness level, I suppose.
First Contact – What now?
Page 9
Technology is a wonderful thing. We can get the number and so easily put it into
our cell phone, often with one-hand, looking cool while we do so. I tried the pick-up
game a bit when I first got to NYC without a cell phone. Take it from me, it’s a bit
tough. Not only is it burdensome to write numbers down, but also sketchy and a big red
flag to girls that you’re broke, don’t have a job, don’t have credit, etc. Somehow get hold
of a phone, it’s the key tool of the trade.
So you have a phone, but how do you use it? When I first started hustling,
midway through college (up to that point I had girlfriends, like everyone else…) I used to
get worked-up about the initial call, and would get nervous, with butterflies. Inevitably
the call was awkward, I said stuff I wasn’t overjoyed I had said, and the relationship
wasn’t necessarily moving in the direction of me having sex with the caller on the other
end. That was 10 years ago, and things have changed, especially with technology.
It is the era of the text message, and men all over the world should be thanking
their lucky stars. Not only is this the most effective way to control the conversation and
avoid missteps, but you can now reach a larger audience. As my friend Nathan says,
“Text messaging has got to be the worst thing that has happened to women in a long
time.” It removes that old filter that used to prevent all types of guys from getting laid,
something we call “Women’s Intuition”. You know what I’m talking about. You leave a
pleasant voicemail on some chic’s phone after meeting her, but you ramble a bit and the
tone of your voice becomes increasingly less confident and unsure of itself. You hang
up, dissatisfied with the call. It’s the Swingers dilemma – do you call back, etc. (Never
call back, by the way). She senses your nervousness, gets turned off, and deletes your
number.
Luck favors the laconic. Until you’ve had sex with a woman, it’s my experience
that less talking is better. Women tend to be better talkers and can intuit a tremendous
amount from some guy who is yapping his gums off. Keep things unspoken, or refuse to
divulge stuff; above all, keep it playful, flirty and mildly combative. The French have a
word for it – badinage – which means playful, verbal banter.
So keep it light and frothy. But hold on. I want to talk about first contact, before
you meet for a drink. You can always call to say hi and schedule the drink at your spot.
That’s standard. For that, I recommend midday, when you’re at work, real quick “can’t-
talk-now-but-want-to-see-you-soon” call. Calling during the busy business day prevents
you from talking too much and revealing something that will make her suspicious or
disqualify you completely.
It turns out that at lot of the game is avoiding pitfalls. In fact, I think women, in
general, want us to make love to them, but guys inevitably screw it up. I’m sure you’ve
heard, or are aware, that a woman will decide in the first 5 minutes if she’s going to sleep
with you, and then it’s up to you to stay the course or fuck it up in any number of ways.
The best thing for us men, I’ve found, is to stick to a script and veer off infrequently.
I’ve tried almost everything in the book, here in this dating laboratory we call New York,
and I’m codifying what works, and what doesn’t. Disregard this advice at your peril.
So, you’re sitting there Tuesday afternoon with a few numbers in the pipeline and
maybe you’ve left a few short, not too sweet, voicemails, about “hey, let’s grab a drink –
Page 10
does Wednesday night work?”
4
That’s a good start. But here’s where leverage really
comes into play. To eliminate the wavering voice, her intuition and the fact that you
don’t have a deep, husky voice from the equation altogether, use a text message.
This seems obvious, but it works wonders. Not only do you have time to
compose your message calmly, but women love to read and write. Getting little
messages via phone gets them excited in the way a little girl gets excited about a letter
from Daddy when he’s away. There is something more fun or romantic, and mysterious
about texting, I don’t know. Plus you can make outrageous propositions that you could
never deliver with aplomb over the phone, much less in person.
I often send a text to a girl I just met who doesn’t have my number. She
invariably answers, “Who’s this?” and I explain and ask when we’re going to have a
drink, etc. Bye the way, if you get into this, buy an unlimited text messaging package
‘cause the shit gets pricey, especially when executing the following.
So here’s where leverage (as my finance buddies like to say) comes in: group
messaging. I was saying earlier how it’s a market, and it is. Well, any Wall Street trader
will talk to you about testing the market to see what’s out there – what the appetite is on a
particular stock. Same thing with girls. Who knows how the bitchy, disinterested French
girl you met last Friday afternoon on Madison Ave. is feeling today, Tuesday, at 3pm? Is
she depressed, lonely, feeling ugly, unappreciated, far from family, etc. Perfect time for
you to drop in with an SMS.
Here’s what I do. I am usually sitting at my desk, doing a bit of tutoring and it’s
early afternoon, nothing going on tonight. My phone allows me to send bulk messages to
up to 20 recipients so I go through the phone book and “Add” the first 20 number to my
message. Then I compose a brief message, something like: “What’s up for tonight?” or
“Any news in your life?” or “What are you doing?” or, my personal favorite because of
its economy: “Tonight?” I do this till my current pipeline is exhausted; recently that was
at least 4 batches for about 80 girls, and then, with my phone on silent so as not to disturb
others, I set it on my desk. The response is usually overwhelming.
I can only keep 30 messages in my inbox, so there is a lot of “Delete All” and
then continued correspondence. The point is that you can blanket a lot of women, and
make demanding, last minute offers (ex. meet me tonight, 10pm at this lounge, in my
hood, etc.) and see what the market thinks. You’ll be surprised what a woman will do to
avoid sitting at home alone watching “Sex in the City” reruns and eating a tub of ice
cream. Just like a market, you’ll get a huge initial response, and then others will trickle
in over the hours as latecomers get the message. There’s nothing better to get a women
interested than to tell her you can’t make it anymore, that the offer’s off the table. Do it
nicely, though.
Why Dinners Invariably Fail if You’re Trying to Get Laid
I’m not sure how this started, but some girl must have suggested dinner and a guy with no
plan and an inability to close must have agreed. Let me say again, as I did in the preface,
4
You can filter the market rather easily in your choice of meeting time. In general, “no” girls will put up a
stink with a late drink during the week. “Yes” girls, on the other hand, are game for most anything, and
will rarely balk at a 10pm first drink Tuesday night at a quiet uptown lounge. You’re time is valuable; use
such screens.
Page 11
that dinner is the death-knell for getting laid. And yet the restaurants are packed every
night with first-daters eating away. This is because women are much more clever at
getting what they want from relationships than are men.
This bit on dinners deserves bullet points for the thick-headed:
• Dinners cost a bunch and you pay; you are judged on how costly the dinner is.
• An hour (or more) of talking and eating across from a girl is too much time
before closing – your bullshit starts to smell.
• Eating is the antithesis of sex. It smells and makes the girl bloated and physically
self-conscious.
• Food coma can set in, making you tired, and causing you to yawn, which her
oversensitive ass thinks is because you’re not interested in her.
• You may fall into the “boyfriend” category and she will not give it up because
she doesn’t want to ruin it.
• There is no alcohol in her system.
• You, eating, can be a turn-off; consequently, you have to watch your manners,
making the meal a chore.
• After a while, the girl you thought was so hot starts to resemble a sister and
whatever sexual tension may have existed yields to a “friendly” feeling.
Do you need more reasons? Dinner is fine with a girlfriend, or a wife, even a female
friend you’re not attracted to, but please don’t waste time, money and probably you’re
only shot at this girl by taking her to eat. You’re not trying to feed someone; you’re
trying to get laid. The only exception to this is if you invert the order of the date: meet,
fuck, and then eat, after you’ve worked up an appetite. Doesn’t this make more sense?
Didn’t your parents always tell you not to swim after eating? Swim first, and then eat. I
owe this insight to a great mentor of mine, the indomitable and loving Dominick N.
The reason I am so adamant about this comes from experience. When I was in
my twenties, new to dating, I used to take women out to eat. Almost to the one, I would
end the night befuddled and frustrated. What had started out so well eventually petered
out. The reasons above are all legitimate. In particular, two points need elaboration.
First, is the physical nature of eating. If a girl eats a big pasta dish with garlic and
seafood, and then has dessert, and coffee and gets completely stuffed (remember, you’re
paying so they often attempt to gorge themselves on your ticket) and is conscious of her
strong food breath, you really think she’s going to let you undress her? Doesn’t she have
to take a mean shit? Or fart? Sounds gross, but think about it. This is the most unlikely
condition in which she’ll put out. Secondly, even if wine is part of the meal, or there are
aperitifs or port at the end, it will be diluted by all that food. And, as we’ll see alcohol
does (and has for centuries) play a central role in lower inhibitions, loosening the girl up,
etc. You really want your booze dollars diluted like that?
Where to Meet? – The Lounge
A bar is too noisy and uncomfortable; restaurant disqualified for the reasons
above; your apartment, too forward (usually). That leaves the lounge, which is a brilliant
invention in its own right. My friend Jeff and I have often mused about opening one in
Page 12
Boston, which is notoriously light on places to take a girl for a drink. Here are the
requirements for a good lounge, of which there are many in NYC, several close to my
house:
• Enticing, dim lighting; no overhead lighting for our brothers who are getting thin
up there.
• Comfortable couches that make the girl relax and allow you to be physical
• Nice, ambient music that is not too loud; a DJ is usually too much.
• Steady flow of cabs outside to fall into upon departure.
• Wait staff and bartender who get it and know your system.
Because this is the first time you’ll really engage the girl, the setting needs to be
advantageous and play to all your strengths. Do not let her choose the spot; elements you
can’t control will usually work against you getting laid. Make sure she comes alone.
5
It’s also very important to have an understanding with the bartender and waitress,
which usually means you tipping them well so that they follow your instructions to a “T”.
I don’t drink and haven’t done so for 10 years, but for all you booze-hounds out there, my
advice is: take the night off. This brings me to an important rule of the game:
• You should not drink while “on the job”.
Booze your tits off with your buddies on Saturday night, not here. Banging this chick is
going to take your A-game and you don’t want to be dull. Until you establish yourself
with the bartenders and get comfortable with your spot, you should show up a bit early,
well-dressed (it doesn’t hurt to throw on a suit, at least not in NYC) and post up at the
bar. Quiet nights are best, because they’re more intimate, and also because you’re more
likely to find an open couch or nook in which to cuddle.
Tell the bartender how it is - she works for you for the 2 hours or so you’ll be
there. I tell them I don’t drink but that I am meeting a lady, and that I don’t want her to
feel uncomfortable so could they please bring me seltzer waters, in a high-ball glass, with
a lime. And call it a Tom Collins. Or a Gin and Tonic if you prefer. Never leave your
drink, and don’t let the girl sip it – she will freak out, I guarantee you. If you go to the
bathroom, take it with you. When done, take both her glass and yours to the bar and give
them to the bartender. Also, I find that drinking 2 or 3 seltzers on top of the meal I ate an
hour before (solo or with a buddy) can be a challenge; I usually tell the bartender to make
mine almost entirely ice; hers, little ice and stiff.
Bring the drinks back (it’s best to order at the bar while she’s sitting on the couch
so she can’t hear the conversation) and do a nice little toast, making strong eye contact
when the glasses clink. Avoid giving orders to the waitress out loud because she may
here you say “Tom Collins” and respond, “I thought you were drinking seltzer” or
something worse. Advise them to NOT announce your drink when they hand it to you, as
5
This is an obvious point, but I’ve had weird situations and my friend Nathan once met a girl, invited her to
a drink and she brought a friend. Can you believe that shit? He rightfully refused to pay for their booze.
Also, it’s a statistical fact that it’s far harder to have sex with a girl when she’s in a group setting. Partly
girls don’t want to disappear and hence be labeled a slut and partly they are having “fun” with others,
making it nigh impossible to isolate a would-be candidate. Avoid at all costs; reschedule, if you must.
Page 13
they often do: “Apple Martini for the Lady and a seltzer for the Gentleman”. You’ll be
fucked if they do that – not the good way. Also, and I learned this the hard way, don’t let
the girl see the bill. Sure drinking water keeps the cost down, but she’ll flip when she
reads, “Seltzer - $4.00” after you’ve been drinking “G&T’s” all night. I was able to
avoid terrible embarrassment one night when precisely this happened by looking
sheepishly at Nicky, and saying “Look at that – they undercharged us. Should I mention
it?” She was still suspicious. Save yourself a huge problem - keep the bill private.
Conversation – What the Hell do I talk about as this Girl gets Liquored-Up?
As little as possible, is the answer. At least about yourself. Guys are notorious for
blabbing on-and-on about themselves when out for the first time with a girl. Girls have
different brains than we do and follow different cues; talking about your job may seem
interesting, and the part about you being “employed” is, but frankly, women don’t give a
shit about most anything a guy does, except his ability to pay for her and how he fucks
her.
Just have cash to settle the bill and cab fare (discussed later) and let her know you
do something during the day, preferably a “job”. The focus of the conversation should be
on her for 3 reasons:
• It keeps you enigmatic and mysterious
• Women love to talk. It’s how they get comfortable.
• She will reveal whether or not you can fuck her in the next 2 hours.
Given women’s ability to romanticize any situation and fantasize about men and
relationships (who watches Soap Operas, eh?) what you don’t tell them about yourself
they will supply from their imagination. This excites them and they do a better job of
making you into a sexy, mysterious lover than you possibly could by running your
mouth. I have never had a woman who was at a loss for something to talk about,
particularly concerning dating, relationships, men, sex, marriage, etc.
Anything about how the two genders relate is ideal subject matter. This serves
two purposes. It gives you a reservoir from which to draw because there is abundant
material here and you can fill up an hour with Q&A fairly easily. Open-ended questions
work best, such as “What do you think of dating in New York?” Put the bit in their
mouth and they will take the reins. It’s also great because if you direct the conversation
by asking probing, but discreet questions, they will tell you if they’re promiscuous,
chaste, into blowjobs, etc. Asking why their last relationship ended is always a good
springboard, and comments like “having fun”, “dating”, “enjoying being single” are
essentially euphemisms for unattached sex with mysterious men like you.
A Word on the Proper Use of Time
Until you’ve had sex with a woman, time is against you; once you’ve been with her, it’s
your ally. Closely aligned with the notion of the romantic is the feeling of urgency. For
some reason, things moving quickly are more romantically compelling than a drawn-out,
methodical courtship. From first meeting, to planning the drink, to meeting at the lounge,
Page 14
and now, to the first physicality, timing is crucial. Move too fast and you startle her
(although you’ve be surprised just how fast one can move in a frenetic city like NYC);
move too slowly, and you become a yawner, forever resigned to the hell of the “friends
zone”.
A standard timeline would be meeting, call or text the next day saying hi and
setting the drink date for 2 days hence. Time between initial meeting and drink should
never be more than 5 days; you should always try your best to fuck her after that first
night, as well:
• A woman will forgive an overly aggressive guy more readily than a passive
milquetoast. The former clearly desires her (of which she is perpetually
insecure), the latter seemingly does not. A woman cannot bear a repeat of a
situation in which she questions her desirability.
So go for it. By the way, guys, stop telling yourselves, not a little patronizingly, that you
are “preying” on that innocent girl; that making a move so soon would be untoward:
• A woman rarely, if ever, is unaware of the romantic implications of a given
situation.
Women are so much more prepared, from an early age, to deal with and understand sex,
than are we men. It is a constant part of their biology because of menstruation, and
giving birth is arguably the most important fact of their entire existence. If you think
they are naïve, think again. Many times I’ve considered a situation in retrospect and
thought how much of a dolt I’d been to have missed the signs: it was late at night, we
were alone, she was looking longingly at me, and her posture was upright, confident and
ready. Everything was great, except for the fact that I couldn’t make the move because
we’d just met that afternoon, or it was the cousin of so-an-so, etc.
Two stories illustrate the point. When I was 16 or so, I was at this French
summer day-camp picnic in Topanga Canyon in LA and several of us took the car to the
beach. Everyone got out except the cute female driver and me. I was in the passenger
seat and we were sitting in the car on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway on a warm
summer afternoon with a gorgeous view. I had a hunch this girl liked me, and then, get
this – she reached into the glove compartment to get lipstick. I sit there like a fool while
you slowly circles this stick around her lips. I had to ask may buddy later what her
actions meant. Retarded!
The second story happened 2 years ago, here in the City. I worked for an
investment manager in this tall apartment building (we worked from his beautiful home),
and I met a very sexy girl in the deli below. She gave me her number, etc. Turns out she
was a dentist, didn’t leave for work till late in the morning, and yes, she’d love it if I
would bring some tea by at 9am when I got to work. So I did, a few times. Only
problem was we’d sit next to each other on her couch, very close, sipping our hot teas,
talking bullshit and I could feel the tension and desire so much I was sweating, and my
heart was beating. But I kept telling myself, “I can’t grab this girl and kiss her, and suck
on those luscious tits, and stick my tongue in her pussy because it’s only 9am.”
Page 15
Turns out people have sex before noon in NYC. I eventually took her to dinner,
etc. Later I did come over late-night and we got in bed, but the energy was flat, and
nothing happened. Lesson? Do it when you feel it. Lisa G. is my dentist today, and I
still go out to see her in Brooklyn. We have a laugh about those mornings. I once asked
if she would have slugged me if I had made a move one morning. She laughed, “It takes
a lot more than that to upset me.” There you go.
Getting Physical – Seating Arrangements
Face-to-Face Sitting across from each other is sometimes unavoidable, but is often a hard
gulf to breach. There is the obvious benefit of eye contact, especially when setting is dim
and candle-lit. Also, there is the forced, and a bit desperate, arms-across-the-tabletop, in
which the woman gently massages your forearms. This can work, and give you a sense
of her touch. What’s most important about physical contact, of course, is that it makes
the woman relaxed. That is, unless you’re a jumpy, jittery motherfucker, in which case
put down this book. So, she can kneed into your forearms, which feels great, meanwhile
talking to you about her _____________ (cat, brother, father, roommate) and all the
while relaxing to a point where she’ll open up more, physically. There’s also the footsie
angle, but I’m not sure that’s still in vogue.
Side-by-Side Most men have a better side, or think they do. Mine is to my left; I think
my profile on that side is better-looking. Choose a side and play it. In general, because I
like my left better, I like to have the girl sit to my left. That way, I come from a point of
strength.
What this position lacks in visual intimacy, it makes up for in physical intimacy.
From the side you can extend for the old arm-around-shoulder. You can talk in a low
voice because you’re telling here something “discreet and private” when in truth you just
want to breathe warmly on her ear and neck to excite her. Thighs and crotch are now
within reach and can be grazed and palmed casually as you get up, sit down, lean-in.
This stuff sounds too detailed, but it’s crucial to condition the Pavlovian female to
expect physical closeness from you. To playboys it comes naturally – just go to some
real hot restaurant or bar and watch some stud with a beautiful girl on each side. It’s all
jaw, shoulder, palm and breasts, in a sea of hair. Women like to be touched. You don’t
initiate here, and you’ll be labeled a psycho when you reach for her pussy in the cab or
after 3 minutes of formal bullshit back at you apartment.
When to Leave
I’ve been experimenting with this part of the system. I guess it’s the one area that’s still a
“work-in-progress.” Knowing when to leave, or said another way, when to stay put and
have another round, is crucial. Ultimately, it’s a judgment call, but I’ve recently tried to
see how soon I can pull it in the name of research and economy (another drink for her is
$12 and for you another fucking glass of seltzer water). Obviously, more liquor makes
things easier – to a point. I am usually out of the lounge after two drinks, sometimes
three. I imagine if I held longer I would encounter a couple of problems I avoid: a soused
girl that stinks of booze and is too uncoordinated to play and may possibly boot, or a
Page 16
more cautious girl that takes note of her drunkenness and becomes guarded, and
suspicious, knowing her resolve is down.
I would counsel three drinks and then split. I’ve taken girls out and they’ve
betrayed their horniness by sucking down the drinks with fervor. I’ve also had to stand
by and bullshit while a girl nursed her drink for an hour – brutal.
Also, recognize that you control the tab, as you’re paying, and can cut it off, or
walk from the date at any time. Last week I had a drink with this Korean girl – cute,
from the supermarket, digits in literally 30 seconds – and after one drink I laid it out. I
don’t recommend this level of candor, but I told her that we’d had one drink and did she
want to join at my place for a second. She demurred, and as I had a buddy with a
promising situation downtown, I told her that if we were going to have a second drink (on
me, of course) and talk more of the same – work, life in New York, relationships – I
wasn’t interested. This was a “maybe” girl and I made the call. Carlos and I had fun
downtown that night.
One last note on leaving the lounge, the last neutral public place for you both. I
often say I know of a place where we can have another drink, and that I’m tired of this
joint. They agree and ask “where?” Here you should be vague, because she may want to
map out the night along her blueprint, which may involve the following number of
hummers: zero. Tell her it’s a spot uptown and then walk out, hail a cab and pile in.
The Cab Ride
The 6 minute ride from my favorite lounge to my apartment is a crucial testing
period. If I have my hand in her panties and her mouth is around my cock, she passes the
test. Everyone’s happy. That isn’t often the case. More usually, they’re coming back to
your place, a bit tipsy, and now would be a good time to test the physical boundaries a
bit. Kissing, breast and crotch action is explored. Also, their willingness to put their
hands on my alerted member is usually telling.
I only give my home address when getting into the cab. If the woman wants to
“get another drink” somewhere else at 1am on a Tuesday night, she’s being difficult.
Which brings us to axiom 42:
• Most difficult women remain difficult.
It’s like Newton’s First Law of Motion (I was a physics major in college). Opening your
wallet all over town in the fading hope that this chic is going to give it up is a rookie
move. Always be prepared to walk from the pussy, particularly at the cab ride stage. It’s
like ripping off a Band-Aid™ – it’s better to do it in one move. It will sting for 20
seconds. Go upstairs, jerk-off, check you wallet to note that you just saved yourself $50
and go to sleep. “Next!”
The Apartment
I have the smallest apartment in Manhattan. Literally. My friend Micah and I
laugh about hosting a dinner party in this large closet, complete with a butler carrying
Page 17
hors-oeuvres on a silver dinner tray. The place has one window, no kitchen, a shared
bathroom down the hall and a little mini-fridge that sits above incongruous $2000
Armani suits in the closet. And yet, I screw more and better looking girls than all my
friends in the City, many who have infinitely nicer digs.
The reason is two-fold: the power of the system to bring the woman to a point of
no-return, and second, what I will call “presentation” but which is actually an optical
illusion. The system, from first meeting on the street 3 days prior, has worked magically,
and the woman is all but ready to get naked. The apartment, at this stage is simply a
private place to shag, whereas it usually is a tremendous bargaining chip in the male
population’s never ending quest to copulate. The other reason, having to do with
presentation, is comical, yet effective, and bears elaboration.
As said, I live in a box. A box in the most expensive neighborhood in the
country, but a box, nonetheless. As the woman trails behind me at 2am, ascending the
stairwell to my floor, I have the plan in place. There is only a single leather chair with
ottoman in my apartment, and here she must sit. I’ve usually prepared before heading out
that night, and so all the lights are off and there are a couple of candles and matches by
the front door. I’ve found that women will tolerate most anything, provided the
experience is candle-lit.
So I lead, opening the door into darkness, immediately grabbing a candle or two.
These I light, place on either side of the generous leather chair, motioning to her to have a
seat as I remove her coat. Coat hung in the closet, candles flickering laterally, she gets
cozy in the leather. We are ensconced in a little globe of light, the outlines of my meager
apartment hardly visible beyond.
It’s all yours from here…
Copyright © 2005 by Paul Anton Janka. All rights reserved.
Feedback: playingotham@gmail.com

The Handbag

2007-12-24T05:41:00.001-08:00

Bob Saget Sings an Old English Folk Song

2007-12-08T09:35:00.000-08:00

Mastercard Commercial

2007-12-06T17:07:00.000-08:00

It's Every Cuss Word We Know

2007-12-06T06:02:00.000-08:00

Robin Williams: Do We Look Like This?

2007-12-03T20:58:00.001-08:00

John C Reilly: Satisfaction Guaranteed

2007-12-02T08:08:00.001-08:00

Sesame street goes on the street. for real. Warning: not for children. not at all!

2007-11-30T14:17:00.000-08:00

Mixer At Delta Chi - Stephen Lynch

2007-11-29T11:18:00.001-08:00

Stephen Lynch Special Fred

2007-11-29T11:16:00.000-08:00

Stephen Lynch Dungeons and Dragons

2007-11-29T11:15:00.000-08:00

Stephen Lynch Gerbril

2007-11-29T11:14:00.001-08:00

Stephen Lynch Talk to me

2007-11-29T11:12:00.000-08:00

Stephen Lynch You caught me

2007-11-29T11:10:00.000-08:00

Stephen Lynch Ice Bowling

2007-11-29T10:59:00.001-08:00

http://www.brightcove.tv/title.jsp?title=377215296

Stephen Lynch-Why Mommy Left Us

2007-11-29T10:50:00.000-08:00

Louis and the Brothel (Part 6)

2007-11-29T04:52:00.000-08:00

Louis and the Brothel (Part 5)

2007-11-29T04:51:00.001-08:00

Louis and the Brothel (Part 4)

2007-11-29T04:49:00.000-08:00

Louis and the Brothel (Part 3)

2007-11-29T04:48:00.000-08:00

Louis and the Brothel (Part 2)

2007-11-29T04:46:00.000-08:00

Louis and the Brothel (Part 1)

2007-11-29T04:45:00.000-08:00

Short documentary about Louis Theroux's misadventures at the Wild Horse Resort & Spa, "the biggest and best brothel in the history of the state of Nevada."

louis theroux - thai brides (part 6)

2007-11-29T04:42:00.002-08:00

final part of louis theroux meets thai brides

louis theroux - thai brides (part 5)

2007-11-29T04:42:00.001-08:00

louis theroux - thai brides (part 4)

2007-11-29T04:40:00.001-08:00

louis theroux - thai brides (part 3)

2007-11-29T04:36:00.001-08:00