Warm Off the Press: Weird Sex'al Tales of Yore

I initially read about this cautionary tale at Dailymail.co.uk. It’s not a tale of “yore” per se, but given our fast paced world of instant info, it’s “yore-ish”. And it should definitely make you cautious. I will start by telling dudes that if you are in Lancashire and you see this bitch

and think you’ll get a quick toss- do yourself a favor and think about baseball. Then turn the fuck around and walk away.

Her name is Dominique Fisher, and in the summer of 2008, she decided that she was going to go out and get some boy pussy. Dominique isn’t like other girls in that she evidently thinks that when she gives a guy wood, then he is wood, and starts carving shit into his skin- at least that’s according to Wayne Robinson and a jury.

Wayne Robinson was the unfortunate bloke who happened into the gods wicked sense of humor on that summer night in 2008, and they set him on a course which led him to Dominique Fisher. Dominique and Wayne, by their own accord, hailed the queen all night and; evidently decided to hook up again the next night. During their second night of ho-ho-ho and a bottle of rum-ming, after knowing each other a fort (-y eight –hour) night, Wayne decided to mix vodka and Vicodin. He must’ve been damn close to entering a dimension of visible fairies and elves because a kiss didn’t awaken him. Nor did that crazy hooka etching her name and other symbols of madness into his skin. When he came to in the morning, he realized what be-carved him and amazingly ran out without waking Dominique and feeding her couple of knuckle sandwiches. While we know that he had taken Vicodin with his vodka, they haven’t said what Dominique could’ve possibly taken to make her show us that she obviously has a PhD in crazy. Dominique was found guilty of “unlawful wounding” and walked away free.

MTV Strikes Again in the Friendzone

It seems as though SallyAnn Salsano hasn’t just been sitting around fist pumping and counting her monies. The woman who brought the world (much to its chagrin) Jersey Shore is back with another series called Friendzone.

The premise is pretty straight forward: One of two kids, who is the self-avowed best friend of the other, tells the latter that she/he has deeper feelings and tries to take it to the next level. Under the pretext of being wingman, the boy or girl asks the crush to help him/her prepare for a blind date- not knowing that he/she is the intended “date”. Just before the wingman walks away, the lovelorn friend reveals his/her true feelings, and thankfully MTV is there to capture the joy or heartbreak that follows. Nothing says that I love you and this is 100% genuine like having a camera in your faces when you tell your beloved and thirty million other people your deepest truest feelings and desires at the same time for the first time.

The first episode that I watched last night featured two sets of best friends, both a male and female pairing. In the first segment, it was the female who had fallen for her male best friend and wanted to tell him. The second pairing is a couple of friends in which the boy has fallen for his beautiful female friend. One was a success and the other a failure. Guess which one was which?

As a female, though markedly older than the kids featured, I can understand how it’s harder for girls to bridge the friend zone gap- especially when you’re in your late teens and early twenties. You want the spark, the excitement, the drama, the passion- and when that doesn’t happen initially, it’s hard to have the maturity required to appreciate your friend as a paramour. And that is unfortunate because those are the beautiful men that we should be flocking to, not the dirty-legged (slutty), obnoxious, yet hot or sexy cads we tend to gravitate toward. Oh, the humanity!

I can honestly say that I have only had one male best friend in my life. I have had many, many good male friends, but when I think of someone who I hung out with all the time- going to lunch, partying, staying up late having deep ass drunken conversations- there has only been one. And he was gay, so a potential romantic interlude was never even a part of the equation, so I cannot fathom the fear and trepidation that goes with telling someone so close to you in one way that you are feeling for him/her in a completely different way. In spite of my earlier sarcasm about the cameras, I have nothing but admiration for the fact that these kids had the courage to tell their BFFs at all. The risk of losing a friend for me would strongly outweigh gaining a boyfriend or girlfriend- maybe that’s why I immediately shut any possibilities from the jump. I’m not proud, I’m just being honest. They might be craving stardom, fame, money or anything else that can be gained by being on television, but the risk of a shattered heart that everyone can see and experience with them, makes them stronger in that sense than I will ever be.

I would love to hear from people who were old enough to go out drinking, but chose to stay home and watch Ross and Rachel in prime time television: Did you ever crush a best friend? If so, did you ever tell the person, and if you did, how did it work out? Was your friendship jacked up, did you hook up, or did you get drunk, get over it, and crack up?

For those interested, check your local listings for the time and days to see Friendzone on MTV.

Disgusting + Hilarious= Sex with an Ass (And no, it’s not a excerpt from my journal)

Sometimes when you read a blog, it feels as though the blogger has reached into your mind and expertly braided words that you know (but wouldn’t think to pair together) into a perfectly beautiful plait that flows down the back of lyrical hilarity. That being said, when I first read about the following story in the Huffington Post, I had planned to write a blog myself. Then I saw what Michael K over at dlisted.com had to say and knew I couldn’t surpass this catty, debauched cyber front/clock/call-out (minus the Brenda Song/Trace Cyrus comment because I’m not sure who they are). Read on and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did:

Ass Sex: You're Doing It Wrong

Some things you just can't find in a Lonely Planet travel guide. Here's one of those things: In the Zimbabwe town of Zvishavane exists the wrong stuff that when snorted or smoked causes your brain to seep out the kind of fuckery-coated hallucinations that not even Alan Ball could dream up. That is one of my only explanations for why this happened.

The Sun (of course) reports that a 28-year-old nasty ass fucker named Sunday Moyo (quick side whisper: that's a really good drag name) was arrested on Monday in Zvishavane after he was caught doing a donkey the way no bitch should do a donkey without getting permission from said donkey first. The police found Sunday performing a sex act on the donkey who was lying on the floor while tied to a tree. Earth to PETA, stop photographing F-list titties and get on this. Shit.

Sunday was charged with bestiality and the court ordered him to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. Why must his head be analyzed by mental health professionals, you ask? Well, first of all, he raped a donkey. Second of all, the power of crazy was with him in full force when he told the court the reason for why he fucked a donkey:

"Your worship, I only came to know that I was being intimate with a donkey when I got arrested.

I had hired a prostitute and paid US$20 for the service at Down Town nightclub, and I don't know how she then became a donkey. I think I am also a donkey. I do not know what happened when I left the bar, but I am seriously in love with the donkey."

Why do I have a feeling that this same speech came out of Brenda Song's mouth when her mother asked her why she was marrying Trace Cyrus?

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Sofia Vergara

Today's Forecast is breaking new grounds: For the 1st time, our featured hot is a woman. I have been thinking about including a female for a while, just to be fair and give some well deserving she-honey her props, but I couldn't think of who I should pick for this milestone. Then I saw a picture of Sophia Vergara in a bikini. Her. Done.

I know that most people reading this could give a fcuk about words and just want to get to the photos, and I get it. However, you should know few things about this beautiful woman in case you're ever on Jeopardy or someone holds a gun to your head: She's 39, was born in Columbia, has a 19-year-old son (talk about a MILF!), almost graduated from dental school, was discovered walking on a beach in Columbia, she's 5"7, she's a cancer survivor, an entrepreneur, and in 2008 Vergara was 62 on Maxim magazine's "Hot 100" list. There, that wasn't too painful was it? Now you can see the pics of the all the lovely that is Ms. Sofia Vergara.

Air Guitar Goes NC-17

If you haven’t heard about it, don’t feel bad, I thought it was a joke my first time. And speaking of first times, what I am talking about is Air Sex & I guess it’s time we all lost our air virginity. Yes, chirrun, Air Guitar’s creepy, unemployed uncle who lives in the basement and promises to buy you beer if you bring your high school female friends over to party has stepped up the game.

What the crap is it? Glad you asked. Invented in Japan (shocking) in 2006 by a group of bored men without girlfriends (even more shocking), Air Sex is a competitive performance activity where clothed men and women simulate various sexual activities in front of an audience and judges. The phenom grew quickly in Japan after being reported in Japanese magazine, Weekly Playboy. It was introduced to the West when it was picked up by an English language website, but it wasn’t until after a BBC documentary and a couple of YouTube videos later that it officially became a thang in America.

In 2007, The Alamo Drafthouse in Austin, Texas began holding bi-monthly Air Sex competitions. In 2009, they toured the country with comedian Chris Trew, who acted as the host. After picking winners in each of the 14 cities they visited, they invited the sex simulators back to Austin for the Air Sex Championship.

According to the airsexworld.com website, there are only a few rules for the competitors:
1. Consextants (my word) have about 2 minutes to perform their routine.
2. Consexulators (my word as well) must perform to music.
3. Don’t come for real (dat's da rules).

Seriously, that’s the 3rd rule. Since some of the Air Sex venues serve food, all orgasms have to be simulated (“…but, I didn’t ask for Ranch on the side…” Sorry, I’ll stop. I just grossed myself out). And, no, you cannot be naked since the venues also tend to serve booze. They didn’t mention who determines or examines for evidence, but I presume and hope it’s not the waiters in said venues.

Trew also says on their website about what to expect if you’ve never been to an Air Sex show before:

“Here’s what you need to know: it’s a lot like Air Guitar, but instead of rocking out with an imaginary guitar, you’re making sweet and/or filthy love with an imaginary sex partner. You choose a clip of music, you show up in whatever sort of wardrobe you like, and you come up on stage and show everyone how you do it. Or how you wish you could do it. Or how you once had it done to you, and oh my god was that a bad idea and while it’s embarrassing to show that act to a room of strangers, you know that you need to do it now in order to make sure that no one else falls down the same rabbit hole you got stuck inside. Or, you know, just do it however you want.”

So, boys and girls, they are still doing Air Sex competitions. In fact, I failed to mention that the 2009 Grand Champion was Shanghai Slammer from LA ;


& the 2010 Champ was Deep Southern Fried Sex (can it get any sexier?).


The 2011 Championship will be held in Austin on December 3rd @ Highball. If you’re in the area and want to see images like these come to life... (You know they are hella funny & your ass will either love it, have a great story to tell, or both!)

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Henry Cavill

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane... oh, wait. It is a bird. And right above this text is Henry Cavill, the star of 2013's Man of Steel. This tasty lookin' Taurus Water Pig- which sounds like someone's description of his sexual proclivities on Grindr & not an Western/Eastern astrology sign - was born May 5, 1983 in Jersey (old Jersey, part of the Channel Islands- not New Jersey part of the Douchebag Islands). Henry was born the 4th of five boys, and has said that if hadn't become an actor, he would've joined the army or become an Egyptologist. He could definitely do me more before 9AM than the rest of y'all could all day and that's all I know. Anywho, I digress.

Henry's first role was in the Count of Monte Cristo (2002), after which he continued on with some television works that I had never heard of and some supporting work in movies throughout the early 2000s. I am being blase about these roles and parts because, as you can see from these pictures, this cat is rather like a chameleon and if you weren't looking for his ass in any of the nonchalantly aforementioned, you probably would've missed him. Henry's big break- or rather, the point that bitches all over America hit pause on their DVRs & asked all at once, "Who IS that?"- came in 2007 with Showtime's The Tudors. Cavill made everyone's special area glisten for three years as we watched him play the part of Charles Brandon, 1st Duke of Suffolk.

Once called the "Unluckiest Man in Hollywood", Cavill was up for the role of Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)- the role went to Robert Pattinson. Then, Stephanie Meyer, author of the Twilight series called Cavill her "perfect Edward" and fought like the undead to get him cast as Edward Cullen. We all know who got that part as well. Also in 2005, Henry was one of the final contenders for Casino Royale, but the producers wanted an older James Bond and went with Daniel Craig. Can't a chap get a break, damn?!

Luckily, Henry persevered, read inspirational poems like "Don't You Quit", and starting living "The Secret". I kid. I have no idea what his motivation was to stick with acting, but it seems to be paying off. He plays the lead role of Theseus in the upcoming Immortals movie, as well as starring alongside Bruce Willis next year in some mess called In the Cold Light of Day (and I only call it a mess because when you see the name Bruce Willis on the billing these days, your mind automatically envisions the Little Man movie critic vacating his chair right before you would). Continuing alongside his professional largess, Cavill got engaged to his girl, Ellen Whitaker, 2 days before his birfday earlier this year. Bully for the couple, but if it doesn't work out, he can always chill in my Fortress of Solitude.

Russian (Raggedy Anya) Dolls: What I Learned from Trashy Television

Lifetime is still playing broke ass cousin to Bravo and MTV's reality shows, and in case you need proof, check out Russian Dolls, the Плохо, poor man’s version of Jersey Shore. Don’t get it twisted- I got just as sucked in. Something about those marginally attractive, completely arrogant, unbelievable materialistic “friends” just got me all stupid, silly drunk on them and I couldn’t stop watching once I tuned in.

It truly was JS without so many obviously drunken antics, but they got down with hella doses of straight up crazy: Women going on 2 dates and calling dudes their “boyfriends” and wanting them to meet their parents, chicks dating dudes who get tattoos that read, “I won’t kill you, but I will watch you die”, and bitches who scream and lose their minds at beauty parlors when their cheap ass weaves, that Mattel wouldn’t put on a Barbie Loves Beauty Styling Head, don’t fluff and style the way they want. It’s a crazy deeper than Lake Baikal, truer than the cold of Siberia, and more addictive than vodka. These nuts work that Russian stereotype down to their furs and their rampant gossip. Loves it!

But my favorite part was the confessional, when they talked to one of the cast members, Eddie, and his best friend (read: They met at the auditions and got along), Albert. These fools obviously have a good, humorous rapport and Lifetime worked that. At one point, though, through all their eighth- grade observations and ridiculously chauvinistic, bullshit musings, these douche buckets actually say something that bears repeating- which goes to show everyone has value to someone at some point.

I can’t remember what they were talking about, and I refuse to use energy that could be applied to something productive that could truly enhance my life trying to remember what it was, but one of them makes this obvious and simple, yet amazingly profound (to me) statement:

“Russian women demand to be treated well. So, you treat them well.”

Now I know that all of our camp counselors and church advisers have told us girls that we should demand queen treatment since we were knee high to a grass hopper, but I think it’s worth revisiting again. In our culture, although we don’t admit it, we tend to bend to accommodate males. No one wants to be the bitch, or the asshole, and we end up settling for people and things that we absolutely know we shouldn’t. A Russian woman will tell you to “eat her fcuk” faster than you can say “Bolshevik”, flip her fur, add more lip gloss, and keep walking. No apologies, no explanations. I’m not saying that we have to be that hard- but we need to stand our ground better.

Why is there a stripper pole in my house? Why am I biting my tongue when you say something erroneous and silly when I know it’s wrong? Why I am I lowering myself to you when you should be raising yourself up to me? See, Russian bitches know this and even though I have always loved them, I never realized why. Until now. These women, who are so sistah on the inside, douse themselves in parfum "Ain't the One" and call it a day. And I love, love, love them for it.

I think that the Russian Dolls show has already died and been buried in a trashy television unmarked grave (I could be wrong), but if you get the chance to check it, do yourself the pleasure. It’s like tea, vodka, caviar, fur, and disco blue eye shadow all rolled up into one lovely babushka of a wonderfully bad, entertaining show.