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 I know, Miss Piggy is supposed to be the hot chick, but I never really got it before. The photo below, however, is somehow...intriguing. She seems so much hotter now, especially considering she's 2 feet tall and has a Frank Oz hand up her ass. Let me just think about this for a while. *unzip*
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 Ah, morality works best when data is cherrypicked. A large US university has done a landmark study showing that sex is better if you wait until you're married. Of course, it's one of the largest religious schools in the US, but what advantage would they have to publish such results? I know that all of my best experiences have been with somebody who's been morally fearful of doing the thing that they're doing for the first time at that moment - my dentist choices work exactly that way. "Excuse me, Mr. Dentist: have you been terrified of teeth up until only a few minutes ago? Hop on in - my cavities are ready for you!" The study, of course, only asked married people - it would be too hard to ask voluntarily single people if their best sexual experiences have been before getting married. I think what they've failed to realize is that the sex you're getting now is the best sexual experience you've ever had. The study's main point is that people who wait until marriage for sex have better relationships overall, but there's a correlation/causation problem here...when Brigham Young's Mormon Manufacturing Plant is citing studies which bolster Mormon Teachings, I doubt that a proper comparison of other possible causes, but, hey, if you're questioning your faith and need facts to reassure you, just keep doing what feels wrong, because someday, Brigham Young University promises everything will be better - just look at the data.
 Scientists have developed spray-on clothing that conforms to the body's every curve, and can be peeled off, washed, and reworn. The company, Fabrican, has chosen the least appealing photo in the world for their page header, but seems to be the real deal. The video on the Guardian page shows them spraying the shirt right on to a buff guy, but I don't think this has much application beyond dressing sexy people. "Sorry, Cletus, but you'll need to hold on. I need to get another jug of pants from the basement. Your 56-inch waist is taking a bit more than I expected." Think about it: sweatpants are curve-conforming enough on a 56-inch waist: imagine that in a completely skintight version. Dear god, it'll make you go blind. ( via)
 Hugh Hefner, Mr. Bachelor of the Universe, has decided to marry "Playboy Bunny" Crystal. I'm never one to begrudge a guy getting married, so my hat's off to you, Mr. Hefner. Only an asshole would make old jokes. My only worry: what happens to the Girls Next Door now? It's the only thing scheduled on my Tivo - do those things ever die of disuse? At least those dumbas twins are out of the picture: jesus christ, they need to go work at the post office for a while to get some freakin perspective about where they sit in the scheme of things. Hef, on the other hand, fights of First Amendment rights, donates a bunch of his money, always seems to be a genuinely nice guy, so if he has found a hot piece of ass that he wants to devote the rest of his life to, here's to you, Mr. Awesomest Man In The World.
 Merry Chrismas everyone! Hope you got lots of good shit under the Christmas Tree, you're getting to spend time with all the people you want to, and don't forget it's back to work on Monday so get your fun done now.
As we've seen so many times before, flowers and butts just seem to go together. I suspect that, when the rest is such a beautiful woman, you need to make...that...a little more appealing, so to speak:
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Over at A Slip of a Girl, a fine friend of this blog, you have a chance to win a 1-year gift subscription to the vintage erotica website Delta of Venus. Since it's that time of the year, Slip would like to know who you'd give the gift of retro smut to beneath the Xmas tree - although you're welcome to keep it, if you so choose, too. All the rules and information on entering are found at A Slip of a Girl, so put your writing hat on and you might get to see some fine natural black-and-white boobies for free!
 When I was in high school I carried around a deck of cards in my letterman jacket; we played bullshit before school, in study hall, after lunch, and my deck got the crap beat out of it so I had wrapped it in masking tape. If I had this awesome 'deckONE' deck of cards, people might have been more careful with my cards, and the '25% thicker' box probably would have stood up better. Even still, the deckONE looks more like a 'special occasion' deck of cards, for when Professor Moriarty, Captain Nemo, that Steamboy kid, and the Matrix stop by for canasta.
 A study in Bulgaria went to great lengths to determine the rate of puberty today versus our father's generation. They did so, of course, by measuring people's testicles and penis. Who's got the biggest penis? Farm kids got the biggest penis! As a farm-grown kid with a huge cock, I gotta say I fucking told you so. Sure, it's not much - but when it comes to dick size, seriously, it may as well be a damn mile. The rest of the story is pretty common; they've been saying men and women are reaching puberty at younger ages now than ever before, but, really - did I tell you about the part where rural kids have big penises? Yeah, it's true, Bulgaria says so.
This fucking explains everything you need to know about guys wearing jeggings: "All the guys here wear jeggings," chirped a helpful American Eagle saleslady. "My gay friends wear them with their Uggs." What you've got here is what happens when you let a Esquire writer try the most unholiest fashion faux-pas and then photograph him doing it. Jesus christ, look at it for yourself:
 Yeah, ladies, that's a guy who not only doesn't fit his jeans, but wears blue-bumblebee-striped sweaters out in public.
So, here's the thing, if you didn't figure it out yet: skin tight clothes suck. They fit you funny, they don't protect you from the elements, and they're what fashion-retarted gay men wear with Uggs. If a fashion-retarded gay man is wearing them, just how fashion-retarded are you gonna look, Mr. Boob Afficianado? Seriously, if Conan fucking O'Brien thinks you're funny looking, you're bottom-of-the-barrel, Mr. Meggings. Here, go buy some Dickies with a socially-conscious charity involved, and give up on that jeggings bullshit.
 Something's awesome in the state of Denmark: a Denmarkian politician has announced his plan for fighting oppressive fundamentalist extremism: BOOBS. Citing conservatism's disgust towards the naked human body, Mr. Peter Skaarup figures that as long as topless sunbathing is allowed and encouraged in Denmark, they've got nothing to fear from religious zealots. The Conservative party in Denmark said, come on, how can boobs defeat extremism?, at which point a woman lifted her shirt, causing the members of the conservative party to shriek like little girls, cover their eyes, and run in circles until they crashed into each other, their heads colliding with little coconut noises. As for the naked Denmarkite boobs? Regardless of their antiterrorist weapon capabilities, I say let's keep them out - just in case it works. ( via)
 Although the gruff-voiced, burly, tall woman had the demeanor of a drill sergeant during the Golden Girls years, it turns out Bea Arthur was a fucking Marine during WWII. And, according to the Smoking Gun's files, she was a stone-cold fox, too. Yeah, who hasn't masturbated to a Maude Nick-At-Nite marathon, but according to her USMC files, she was sexy, she liked to shoot guns, she was a god-damned truck driver, so if you didn't know by now, NOBODY FUCKS WITH BEA ARTHUR. It's too bad that women were relegated to the behind-the-scenes work in the military at that time, because I'll bet you could airdrop Bea Arthur behind enemy lines with nothing but a tommygun, five grenades, a pack of toothpicks, three pieces of chewing gum, and a map to Hitler's home, and WWII would have been over in the time it would take for Bea to steal a Panzer tank. Which is about fifteen minutes by my calculation, slowed only by the tensile strength of German armor of the time. Her Marine superiors thought she was "over-agressive" and "argumentative", but then they never saw her rip a guy's lungs out through his ribs simply for stealing her parking spot. Rumor has it that Bea was scheduled to command during the Bay of Pigs invasion, but Sid Caesar wouldn't give her time off, that bastard. Sid shit on the entire Cold War, which is why he was blacklisted well into the 21st century. Bea Arthur: hero of democracy. Oh, and she was damn sexy back in the day.
Crushable asks: why doesn't anybody use condoms in movies? The answer is simple: in the movies, somebody can get hit with a frying pan until unconscious and then wake up later; they can fall from great heights without shattering bones; they can jump from moving vehicles without becoming hamburger - so why is it hard to believe they can fuck without consequence? It won't be a big thing to get changed, though: in movies, when somebody gets shot, they immediately fall down dead within a fraction of a second even though there's no blood to be seen. Movie sex should fall into that category: fuck without a condom, you're hit by a bus. While fucking. Immediate consequence, and then death. That'll teach those 16-23 males for whom movies are made something about sex.
Here's the deal - you're better off getting drunk together than one drinking more than the other. Codependent drunks have better relationships -- yay! Oh, and getting wasted while your partner doesn't sucks. I get the impression this was written by those stereotypical scientists who lead sheltered lives and never dated a partier because it looked fun and learned a life lesson about it later. I like all the quantifying and measuring and stuff, but, geez, anyone who went to college has this figured out by now. Well, all except those wacky, wacky drunks - they're either the sober, annoyed one now or they're still pissing people off. Moderation is key, at least that's what Cuervo says at the end of their commercials.
 Lili wore her turquoise swimsuit because she was warned she would be getting wet. When she saw there was a bubble bath instead of a pool, she still hopped in. It turns out, his idea of "get wet" was more focused at her panties...and a few minutes later, he succeeded: 
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 The New York Times is predicting that the built-in camera on smartphones will kill point-n-shoot cameras. Or, rather, that the point-n-shoot camera built into a phone will discourage people from buying a standalone point-n-shoot, which only makes sense. Come on, why carry more than one thing? People have stopped wearing wristwatches because of phones, for god's sake, who's going to carry around yet another electronic device only to find the batteries are dead when they try to use it. Now, if people will only start complaining about how shitty cellphone cameras are, they'll start putting GOOD cameras in celphones. I admit, I take a lot of pictures with my cellphone, but I have my nice cameras (including my K1000) when I really want to take a good picture. Pro photographers, for years, have carried around a Polaroid camera for staging and lighting purposes, so it doesn't hurt to have one in my phone. There's a bunch of stuff I would have missed if I didn't take pictures with my cellphone. They've done the small-cheap-camera thing better than the other small-cheap-cameras, so don't fault them for being easy and portable - fault them for tiny sensors and crappy plastic lenses.
 Got $70,000 lying around and looking for a remote hideaway? The Unabomber's 'hideout' is on the market. Located in oh-so-very rural Montana, the ramhackle home is now a museum, so you'll have to bring along a camper or tent or something to sit in while writing your confusing screeds against modern society. Don't worry about if the septic system is up to code or if there's lead pipes that need replacing: it's got no running water, no roads, no nothing -- it's a fucking Gilligan's Island, but with less ocean and more mailbombs. So, more like Gilligan's Planet.
It's a fact, ladies: old men get plenty of ass. According to Dr Sanjay Gupta, septuagenarians and up still get a satisfying amount of fucking done, regardless of how wrinkly they are, how bad their sleep apnea is, or how awesome their erection is. That last one is, of course, sponsored by Enzyte, for all your old-man-boner needs. Anyhow, the article says that men in their 70s had quite a bit more sex than the men in their 90s, mostly because who, really, wants to fuck a 90-year-old when there's so many randy 70-somethings around? I know I don't. Oh, stop with all the ewwww bullshit: you guys should be high-fiving it each other to learn that you've got, what, forty or fifty years of fucking ahead of you! That's awesome as shit, right there.
There's a super-gory videogame out called Splatterhouse, and part of their promotion they got one of the charaters to pose naked for Playboy. No shit, she's a computer-generated naked woman. Those ITT commercials need to put this stuff in their commercials: " I was a fucking loser before going to ITT, and now I spend all day rendering realistic nipples for videogames. There is a god!" Review of the game, and the centerfold at Playboy.com, however I've got a larger scan of the "Miss Splatterhouse" centerfold here.
 When you need to be competing in a race for your life, breaking through walls and drinking weird glowing water, or otherwise raping your childhood, you need your own TRON lightbike. They say this one is street-legal, but I highly doubt it. That wouldn't stop me from whipping down 94 at a hundred miles an hour to stay ahead from the computer-tanks. The headline of one video talks about a Playboy shoot, but I couldn't find it.
 Kael Lagerfeld's talents have been put to good use on the most naughty of promotional productions, the Pirelli tire company's catalog. The theme is mythology, and I guess that pretty much involves making women take their clothes off in front of a black background and photographing them. Oh, well, who am I to complain?
There's a making-of video here.
 The website is pretty clear to say "DON'T PUT THIS SHIT ON YOURSELVES, WOMEN," which makes me a bit queasy to think about a bottled scent imitating a woman's vagina. With it's comfortable "roll-on applicator", where the hell are you supposed to put this slightly yellow *shudder* substance? On your penis? On the cat? Around your tomato plants to keep the rabbits away? Maybe somebody just wanted to get some use out of their witty "smellmeand.com" domain, or maybe it's all a ploy to get people to put their vagina-logo wallpaper on their PCs, thereby helping identify douches. The male kind, not the kind designed to counteract this product.
Hello, All! A perfect storm of Blogger fucking up their software and more layoffs at work is where I've been since last winter. But, summer has been good, I got a friend to put together some blogging software, and now I'm going to get back into it. Maybe not 5-posts-a-day, but something.
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