Quote of the Day: A wise woman...

Chocolate and Pearls has Some New Cards!

To see all cards go to http://www.zazzle.com/chocolateandpearls

                                                                 (cover and sample text)

Quote of the Day: A Man is like a Cat...

Quote of the Day: Love Begins with an Image...

MMA Fighter Ray Elbe...One Broke Dick

O.K.  I know that most mammals have bones in their penises, but since humans don't in spite of the "boner" misnomer, I didn't know it was possible for a man to fracture his penis.  Until today.  Until MMA fighter Ray Elbe decided to come forth with his tale of penile woe.

According to Ray, when he and his lady were in Malaysia enjoying some sexy love times earlier this month, she bobbed when she should have weaved while she was on top of him, and crushed his special area. He bled like a stuck pig, passed out from the pain, and was rushed to the hospital (or as they call it in the 2nd official language in Malaysia: hospital).  The doctors performed emergency surgery for a "slight" (a quote, obviously not Ray Elbe's word) tear in his urinary tube, gave him some anti-erection medication (not sure what the meds were, but I am imagining photos of Honey Boo Boo's mother June in a two-piece bikini with that rope of fat around her neck for the win on my guess) to take for 2 weeks, and other than stress dreams and trying to trauma block out a pain that must have been akin to having a baby come out of his pee-pee hole, Elbe seems to be physically okay.

Ray chose to tell his version of a 21st century PSA (send a picture of yourself in an ambulance to TMZ) to the world because until it happened to him, he didn't know it was possible.  When he looked online after the fact, he was shocked to see that it's a pretty common occurrence but many men don't go to the ER when it happens because they are embarrassed and many don't realize, beyond the excruciating pain, the potential for serious internal injuries and long term damage when a cockeyed dick enthusiast's heat is even slightly misaligned with a heat seeking moisture missile.

While I feel bad for Elbe, I feel much better about myself.  I know that I am not a good sex person, but I can now take comfort in the knowledge that while I have made some dicks go limp, at least I have never fractured one (aiming high, bitches).

I also feel bad for Elbe's girlfriend, who according to him promised a threesome of his choice when they get to the Philippines, to which he added (regarding the Philippines), "...usually has some solid talent."  Great.  You basically already told the world that she fucks like a blind epileptic having a grand mal seizure, and now you're gonna put her in a corner and have her simulate sex until you're sure she learns how to ride right by watching some prostitute of questionable gender pound on your Wii. (Sorry, but that girlfriend isn't getting close to his penis again until she has some Phenobarbital and night vision goggles- I don't care what she promised.)

To read more about what a fractured dork means (from a doctor and; not just my sagacious ass) and see what to do if your spastic Magoo lover breaks your johnson, click here.

To read more about Ray Elbe's story at TMZ, click here.

Quote of the Day: It's easier to keep 1/2 a dozen lovers...

Quote of the Day: ...the object of our profoundest worship...

Quote of the Day: A Man Never Knows...

Quote of the Day: Beautiful Maleness

TYG (That's Your Girlfriend): Jana Lawrence

If “elegance” now means drunken, trashy, slovenly harridan, then its epitome is Jana Lawrence.  According to the Huffington Post, this delicate flower blossomed into a bouquet of skank while watching the SEC Championship game between Georgia and Alabama at El Jinete restaurant in Dacula, GA.  As you read about Lady Jana’s antics I know you will probably find yourself repeatedly asking, “What becomes a legend most?”

Evidently this borracha must have been drinking Los Jinetes Cuatros (the Four Horsemen)  because she lost her mind and left it on the bathroom floor next to her morals:  Bitch started cussing people out and flashing her boobs.  But the coup de foudre for this shining example of exquisiteness personified? Rubbing the genitals of another female patron and licking her face.  Such a fuckin’ lady, right? 

When the management finally had enough of her foolery and sexual battery and tossed her out, she reacted in true drunk fashion by not going home, but moving onto another bar/restaurant.  The second establishment she infested was called Friends, and Jana did her best to not make any by licking on peeps again and grabbing random dudes' in their "special area".  

The manager finally told her to hit the bricks because her ass was hanging out of her pants, and she acted like she was reaching for her pocketbook to douse herself in some more “demure” and “genteel”, but instead reached down and pulled her pants further down.

When the cops came to take her away ha, ha- she poured more of her special Jana sugar on them calling them racial slurs, and names like the English term for cigarettes,  as well as threatening to bury them under the jail.  After she finished insulting and inciting the boys, she offered some Sapphic Cellblock H action to the female officer on duty.  Umm.  Sounds sexy in a vomit inducing game of "Death is Not an Option" kind of way.

The 46-year-old walked around the Grand Canyon to get her secret wish to go to the pokey because she told the cops before she vomited on herself and passed out (I would assume) that she was glad to go to jail because her husband “beats her ass” and couldn’t get to her there.  How any man could be driven to beat on such timeless radiance is beyond me.

This ray of sunshine, veritable poetry in motion, Jana Lawrence, was ultimately charged with sexual and simple battery, public indecency and drunkenness.  She remained in jail at press time.

To see the full Huffington Post article, click here.

Quote of the Day: I'm Being Treated like a Sex Object...

Quote of the Day: Lover knows more than logician

And on the 8th Day God Created the Septuagenarian Venus that is Hattie Wiener

Why do I keep hearing about that Honey Boo Boo when the real summit of beauty and grace on TLC is Hattie Wiener?  Although Hattie has been featured on 1 or 2 other TLC shows, I was only introduced to her goddessity on Sunday’s episode of “Extreme Cougar Wives”.  The show is complete crap, but sometimes you have to pick through cow dung to get to the Psilocybin mushrooms- and Hattie is a lovely, lovely trip. 

This holistic life coach and expert in anti-aging and sexuality who has authored/co-authored 3 books, is like Tallulah Bankhead, Blanche Deveraux, and Mae West all rolled into one sexy girlfriend.  Who happens to be 76.  She swims, she works out, she masturbates, and she is a straight up, unapologetic, young-dick-haver.  On the episode of “ECW” that I saw, she had 2 dates with a 29-year-old cub, and then met another young 25-year-old cat at the swimming pool!  I hope I still even know what a penis is when I am 76, let alone be active enough to still go on dates and mack on dudes.

Say what you will and hate all you want, but this woman should be celebrated.  If not for her refreshingly cavalier attitude about sex, particularly, senior sex, then for her self-awareness, self- knowledge, and self-honesty.  She has realized what path makes her happy and is following it as she enjoys her soul’s journey.  It’s not about achieving a goal or finding something at the end, it’s about making the most of the ramble.  Some might call her a spiritual slut, and she probably wouldn’t care, but we all would so much happier if we spent less time hatin’ and more time realizing what would make each of us happy and guide us to our own paths. We would do well if we all were as soulfully aware as this bar-hopping gangy who says "hell yeah" to sex on the first date. 

Hattie Wiener is my new hero.  After her divorce at 48, she built it and they came (and so did she, evidently).  I want to be her when I “sept up” (hit my 70s), and I don’t care who knows it.  She is so bad ass, she makes Betty White look like a punk.  And err’body knows that Betty White ain’t no punk.

When your last name is Wiener, whether you dig it or not, you are gonna get clowned.  When your last name is Wiener and you love dick, well, that’s the universe telling you something and you should listen.  Thankfully, Hattie did.

“With or without a partner, I’ll keep dancing.” – Hattie Wiener.

Quote of the Day: Woes of Loving a Pretty Man...

Quote of the Day: Victor Hugo & a Kiss

Thanksgiving Day Hollywood Style: Turkey, Stuffing, and a Beatdown

I know that I am not supposed to delight in men beating the crap out of each other.  Especially in front of a child- even if she was rushed away before the actual fisticuffs, she had to get a sense of the mood and that is not cute.  But when I heard that Olivier Martinez bam-bammed on Gabriel Aubry's face in Halle Berry’s driveway- something very primal came out of me.  I immediately had visions of ancient warriors, gladiators, invaders, and destroyers.  And I liked it.  I know it's the 21st century, and we should all know better than to let our fists be our words, but sometimes we forget that we are just basically animals that have shoes on and opposable thumbs. 

Something about the idea of these two beautiful men beating on each other- while screaming and arguing in French no less- was so brutally masculine and unapologetically, well, violent, that it made me feel very feminine because somewhere in the twisted, vodka soaked noodles I call a brain, there lurked a desire for two beautiful men to be fighting over me.  And what woman in her reptilian base brain, wouldn't be turned on by that?  Especially if the dude you were engaged to beat down the man who you not only kicked to the curb, but who seemed to start the whole mess.  I'm sure when Halle finally calmed down, and Olivier came back from ER with only a swollen hand and scratch marks on his neck, she probably let fly with a primordial scream that reverberated through eons of dick-hungry women, ripped his clothes clean off his body and dirty-verbed him all night long. I sure would have.  

And it's frightening, but somewhat refreshing to know that the man-cave-fight-club thing can still bring out a lusty, however brief, desire in us women when given two hot-ass opponents.  Again, I am not a proponent of  this type of violence, but for just a moment, I had to be honest with myself and admit that the idea of the clash these present day Titans was super sexy.  I will also say, though, that I believe the whole thing could’ve been made better, a whole lot sexier, and far less bloody if they had just settled it the way all good looking men should handle disputes:  Turkish Oil Wrestling (click here to read more about Turkish Oil Wrestling and see photos).

Gabriel is obviously not the brightest person in the world.  Hell, he might not be the brightest person in a room full of 3-year-olds:  You're a model and you make a good chunk of your living from your face.  Why would you risk that by going after a former boxer?!  And if this is you showing the world that you don't have rage issues, then you were obviously Valedictorian at the Lohan School of Issue Denial.  Finally, for your viewing pleasure (displeasure?): Here’s a picture TMZ.com posted of Gabriel’s now broken mug.  Frenchman 1, French Canadian 0.

Erotic Art in The City

Hey chirrun-
If you're going to be in San Francisco this weekend and your eyes want to get laid but the Folsom Street Fair isn't your bag of sex toys, check out the SF Erotic Art Exhibition 2.  The exhibit starts today, Friday, September 21st and goes through Sunday, September 23rd.  And it's HELLA cheap- $5 (you must be 21 to enter).  For more details, go to http://www.eroticartevents.com/

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Petr Jiracek

Okay.  As I stated in an earlier post, finding biographical, "National Enquirer"-er information about some of the lesser known footballers has been like trying to find Plutonium. Because of this lack of internet information, my new Euro 2012 boo, Petr Jiracek, is a mere shadowy figure in my dreams. My Czech incubus.  There is not dust on this kid on the interwebs in the form of good, juicy gossip that we girls care about.  So, I will go with the bare facts that I have learned, and then I will replay the interview that Petr and I had in my head after I obviously ingested some bath salts.  And, yes in that interview I did try to eat his face- but not in the cannibal Miami way. Kidding.  There is no interview- I am not that crazy.

This 26-year-old midfielder is a 5"11 Pisces Tiger born on 3/2/1986.  He plays for the German team Vfl Wolfsburg after signing a four and a half year deal in December 2011.  Goal.com just named him World Player of the week Monday, but I knew that on Saturday after the game in which they defeated Poland 1-0. Not only did Jiracek score the beautiful winning goal, minutes later he took a shot to the face to block a long- range Polish attempt.  Hmmm.  A dominate and a submissive? I can get on dick with that (apologies- he brings it out of me).

Please let me say that I don't think for a hot minute this dude is the best looking or best player I have seen since June 8th. He's not.  But he's a great athlete and when those crazy ass, nearly demonic eyes are stilled, as in the lead picture, I want him to lie with me in the grass looking up at the sky until we can perfect the castle in the clouds in which we are going to live forever.  Yeah, that.  There is just something about him.

When I watch him charge down the pitch-hair flying, eyes ablaze, face set in a fierce mask of steely determination- he doesn't seem so much to be chasing a ball as he seems to be leading a people.  I want to jump on a horse and charge behind him and kill anything that threatens him, then stretch along beside him and have his babies.  He brings that crazy-murderous-emboldened-frightened- I will do anything for you- but if you betray me I will do anything to you- Medea type madness.  And if I can get all that through the television, can you imagine what would happen if I met him?  I'd probably sniff his neck for an obviously and inappropriately too long amount of time, orgasm, and start crying.  I kid, bitches. Only 2 of those 3 things would happen. Seriously though, he's mad intense and I find that I love that so much-perchance because it's the opposite of me, but that's more a discussion for my Snoopy journal than this blog.

I know that when the Czechs play Portugal tomorrow many eyes will quietly sneak side glances at Crissy- no matter how much bitches claim to hate him and chant "Messi" while he's playing.  He's a pretty, pretty man- my eyes will surely be watching him too. But when I see my modern day foot warrior charge down the pitch, that's where my eyes will land and stay: on this Petr Jiracek ("Jiracek" doesn't really translate to English from the insane babble in my brain, but it basically means, "I will drag you in a cave and take you, and you will like it.") And although Portugal is heavily favored in this match, and I have thus far been unable to decide which team to scream for through the end of the tourny, I know now that I will be on my horse behind Jiracek and his men until the final whistle is blown.

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Ibrahim Afellay

Before the Euro 2012 started, I decided that I was going to go through each of the 16 teams and pick out some of the lesser known, at least on this side of the pond, hotties.  Yeah, easier said than effin' done.  Most of the information that I saw was statistical about the players and teams, but there was little to nothing in the way of photos or good, gossipy personal information.  Sad face with thumbs down, right?  Coupling that with the fact that I am lazy as hell, I decided to let that idea go and simply watch the tourny and enjoy the beautiful games.

Although the Russia/ Czech Republic game was painful to watch Friday, and it was shocking to watch the Netherlands go down yesterday to the Danish team, I am not one to harp on the negative:  When life gives me lemons..., I am thankful the thorns have roses..., since the house is on fire I warm myself. I am a walking positive attitude platitude. Yesterday was no exception.  Instead of bemoaning that the Dutch lost, I celebrated that I noticed Ibrahim Afellay for the first time, in spite of the fact he played on the Dutch team during the 2010 World Cup and the 2008 Euro Cup.

I probably hadn't noticed this rockin' Moroccan (heritage) because I have never ordered veal in a restaurant or in my boudoir, and Ibrahim is yooouunnggg. And though I am certainly no priest, this kid looks damn good.  He's like chocolate, candy, ice cream, puffy clouds, kittens, condoms, and vodka all rolled up in a fantasy.  A footballin', younger, tad bit browner, a little more Muslim-er,  Colin Farrell.  Seriously.  You can totally see it, right? I want to read him adult bedtime stories and spike his hot chocolate with Ecstasy.  Okay, maybe I am a priest.  Or Madonna. Or Sharon Stone.

Ibrahim, "Ibi" as he's called, was born April 2, 1986, in Utrecht, Netherlands.  He was named Best Young Player in The Netherlands in 2007, and has been playing for FC Barcelona since his debut on January 5, 2011. Unfortunately, in September 2011, Afellay suffered an anterior cruciate ligament injury during training and was out for more than 7 months.

Guess that gave him some time get even closer to his girlfriend, Dorien Rose.  Rose is a Dutch model, singer, and actress who is very popular in the Netherlands.  She has been described as a "mix of Olivia Wilde and at-her-peak Angelina Jolie" (ouch!)  Go ahead, Ibrahim, with your sexy little self.

A Billion Wicked Thoughts: Science Bangs our Dirty Minds

If you are waiting for someone to loan you 50 Shades of Grey or you are trying to pace yourself through the Game of Thrones series so you don't have to anxiously wait umpteen years for the next book like this stupid blogger, then I have a great book to recommend for you called A Billion Wicked Thoughts.

I can remember as a little nerd hooka in training, going to the library and seeing the Hite Reports on Female and Male Sexuality, which were probably the largest sex studies after Masters and Johnson, and Kinsey.  Even though I remember the reads being very "sciencey" and staid, I was fascinated, and always made a point to peek at one when I was there. It's good to know that the interest in what turns people on visits onto the third generation and evolves, and becomes A Billion Wicked Thoughts.

The authors, two neuroscientists named Ogi Ogas and Sai Gaddam, have brought the sexual attraction study game into the 21st century in a huge and interesting way ~ and in a sense, it went viral:  they examined what people do on the internet.  According to them, they studied "a billion web searches, a million websites, a million erotic videos, a million erotic  stories, millions of personal ads, and tens of thousands of digitized romance novels."  By combining this online behavioral data with neuroscience and past studies, they were able to give some sometimes surprising truths and insight about what turns us on.  Past research combined with more current genetic discovery led to some very interesting theories about why we feel funny about certain unexpected things and people and why.

Ogas and Gaddam theorize about a lot of things, including why women are turned on by the dirtiest shit imaginable, and why we (as women) don't realize or admit it consciously, but why we need to do it that way, and how they test this.  Why are straight men are obsessed with being dicks?  Oops, I mean big dicks- and not even their own; big cocks, black cocks, aggressive cocks having sex with their partners while they watch- cocks you would think they wouldn't think about so often-hell, at all- but they do and why, and how they test that. And how, in light of all of this aforementioned research, straight men can think that they are so different than gay men, which they are not but for their sexual hungers and desires? (Duh.)  How bisexual women answer sex questions more like straight men than they do gay or straight women (What you talking 'bout, Scientist?!), and how straight women love gay porn, its growing digital popularity, and how that's pretty normal.

I think that last thing is what made me love this book even more because for years I have battled straight female friends about my preference for gay porn over het porn. Even if the authors of this research are wrong in their theories, I finally feel vindicated. The Bible says it takes a child to lead them, but sometimes, it takes a loud drunk chick who thinks she knows what sexy is. 

You may have an "a-ha" moment as you read, you may have to call bullshit and put it down for a minute, but you"ll have to admit, regardless, that it's very interesting.  And I totally recommend it.

TYB (That's Your Boyfriend): Rudy Eugene

I like the Walking Dead.  I do.  I have watched all the episodes of the first two seasons and I have read the comic books.  Yeah, it's gory and graphic, but I can put all of that on pause in my mind because it is so far-fetched and fantastical, I know that it's never going to happen for real.  At least I thought that until Saturday afternoon when I read about Rudy Eugene.  Rudy it seems, likes to ingest things that are very high up on the no-no list. Like bath salts. And when Rudy eats/snorts/ingests bath salts, he loses his fucking mind and starts eating faces. Or at least that what seems to have happened on Saturday.

Larry Vega, the poor, poor man who will probably start snorting bath salts his damn self to get the hellish images he witnessed out of his mind grapes forever, told anyone who would listen that he saw a naked dude on top of another naked cat, but they weren't playing Leap Frog or doing the Horizontal Hustle.  No, Rudy had gone all Faces of Death on his victim and was "eating the other guy away, like ripping his skin."  After Vega rubbed his eyes a few times and surely asked himself repeatedly, "What the fuck am I looking at?", he screamed at Eugene to get off.  Eugene evidently wasn't done with his face buffet, and continued to Lector his victim.  Finally, Vega flagged down a cop, who also screamed at Eugene to stop with no avail.  He only turned around and growled like the undead and kept on eating until a bunch of bullets from said cop's gun locked his jaw forever.  The victim is in critical condition with "75%-80%" of his face missing.

According to the cops and an emergency room physician, the drug makes people delirious, it elevates their temperatures, they exhibit extreme physical strength, and they use their jaws as weapons.  And according to police president Armando Augilar, four other drug-use instances in Miami-Dade bear a resemblance to this attack. When did The People Under the Stairs come out in Miami?

I hope that the victim survives because no one deserves to die like that, but also so he can tell us what exactly happened.  I wish that Rudy Eugene had survived as well if only to see video of him after he sobered up and came back to sanity's side of reality and saying to the police, "I'm sorry, I ate what?!"

For more information on this story and to prove to your friends you aren't making it up, go to:
http://www.latimes.com/news/nation/nationnow/la-na-nn-naked-face-eating-attack-20120529,0,2974308.story

TYB (That's Your Boyfriend): Jesse James Thomas

Never mind the fact that you could probably just tape this mug shot to a jail cell in every episode of "Beyond Scared Straight" & still make delinquents cry, or that your man looks like he hasn't blinked since 1982, let's talk about what got this fish-eyed fool (never fully understood Aunt Esther's barb until I saw this picture and read the story) locked down in the pokey in the first place.

According to the Sacramento County Sheriff's Office, Jesse James, wearing a dark puffy jacket, a sombrero (yes, you read that right), and a boxing glove jumped on the hood of a patrol car around 12:00A.M.  The 55-year-old Thomas repeatedly screamed his name before jumping off the hood of said car and running even further away from sanity.  When the cops found him later, his crazy ass was lying in the street, probably still screaming his name, so he was arrested on suspicion of public drunkenness. After all that foolery they were still only suspicious?  Really?

What I don't understand- above and beyond where he found a sombrero and a boxing glove (not even a pair, just one)- is how he rolled up on the cops without them seeing him coming?  I'm sure this cat is bigger than Speedy Gonzales, the sombrero wearing mouse from the cartoons, and much louder.  How did they not see him coming- and how was he initially able to get away from the them and hide after he jumped down off the black and white? You can probably Google Map those big ass crazy eyes, surely you can see and feel them burning into you and your soul from the middle of a city street.

Seriously, those eyes are going to haunt my dreams.  I know that Tyra calls smiling with your eyes "smizing"- what do you call murdering a family of 4 or decapitating some hookers with your eyes, because that's what your man is doing.  You know he had all the room in the world in the holding tank because he seems the kind of crazy that will just leap on a dude and choke a bitch out  for smelling him wrong. You would have to be crazier than him to mess with him, and I just don't think that's possible.

Blindness, Hairy Palms, and Dead Kittens

If you've noticed more of the aforementioned afflictions this past month, don't worry.  It's not part of the Mayan Prophecy or anything like that.  It turns out that May is National Masturbation Month.  I feel like a bad mother for not letting y'all know this sooner, but I was too busy masturbating.  I kid.  I honestly didn't know until yesterday, but alas- the best has been saved for the end of the month- if you live in San Francisco.  I will get to that in a minute because we first have to discuss why May is Masturbation Month (and surprisingly it has nothing to do with Beltane).

For those of you who are too young to remember, or were too hopped on E at the raves to remember, in 1995 Dr. Jocelyn Elders, the most bad ass, honest Surgeon General ever was FIRED for saying that masturbation needed to be talked and taught about in sex education classes.  I know. This bitch had the nerve and audacity to encourage talking about the safest sex possible (unless you asphyxiate yourself or get something stuck) in a healthy, educational setting  to young people.  Dr. Elders being fired for that was like Celie telling Harpo to beat Sophia:  wrong.

In a show of support for Dr. Elders and as a way of speaking out against the irresponsible, sexually retarded  (and I mean "retarded" in its true definition, not "differently-abled")  beliefs that choke this country, San Francisco based Good Vibrations, the clean, well-lit place to buy erotica and pleasure items started National Masturbation Month (NMM). The intention behind NMM was and is to get people talking about self-pleasure openly and without being embarrassed.

The culmination of NMM has been, and continues through this year to be the Masturbate-A-Thon.  That's right- it's like Rule 34 jumped off-line and morphed into Rule 69:  If it's sexual and you can think of it, you can find it somewhere in San Francisco.  So for those of you out there who have always wanted to masturbate in a room full of strangers & not get arrested, Sunday, May 27th, 2012 is your chance.

The Center for Sex & Culture, at 1349 Mission Street, has scheduled this year's Masturbate-A-Thon from 10PM-12AM.  For the low price of $40, you can sponsor yourself or bring a sponsor form with pledges from your boss, mom, dad, memaw, pepaw, or in-laws; whoever you're not too embarrassed to ask.  The money goes to support CSC and their continuing efforts in sexual health and education.  There are various prizes to be won, an open bar, and a finger buffet (kidding about the last two).  For more real information, go to http://masturbate2012.tumblr.com, or you can check out their website @ www.sexandculture.org. 
See ya Sunday!!

A Smile about Sex (ASS) 5-2-12

copied from:  http://www.lilith-ezine.com/articles/sex/Sex-Jokes-and-Cartoons-IV.html

A Smile about Sex (ASS) 5-1-12

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Robert de Niro

In another Hot with a Chance of Sexy first, I give you the man who puts the "sex" in "sexagenarian": ladies and bitches, boys and girls, hogs and heifers, puppies and kittens, Robert De Niro. That it has taken me so long to include this man in the Hot with a Chance of Sexy feature warrants a kick in the tits for me because Robert De Niro is a bad ass.  What constitutes bad ass, you ask?  His talent, passion, smoldering "De Nironess", and the fact that he has had his name in a song title while he's still alive.  Not a lot of bitches can say that.

In fact, that Bananarama song, "Robert De Niro's Waiting (Talkin' Italian)", was my first introduction to Bobby (and I call him "Bobby" because we're cool like that in our friendship in my head) back in 1984 when I was 14.  I'd spent the seventies and early eighties watching movies like What's Up, Doc?, Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo, Little Darlings, Scavenger Hunt, and National Lampoon's Vacation. Robert De Niro, with his dark, serious, grown-folks movies was nowhere on my barely bleedin' tween ass radar.

Born in Greenwich Village on August 17, 1943, this actor, director, and producer has art in his blood. His mother was a painter and poet and his father was an abstract expressionist painter and sculptor.  Bobby Milk, as his friends called him because of his coloring, made his acting debut at age 10 playing the Cowardly Lion in his school's production of The Wizard of Oz.  From that moment, this sexy Leo knew what he wanted to do with his life.  He dropped out of school at 16 to pursue acting- studying at the Stella Adler Conservatory and Lee Strasberg's Actors Studio.

Bobby's first movie was playing opposite of Jill Clayburgh in The Wedding Party in 1963, but the movie wasn't released until 1969.  He got tons more attention playing a dying Major League baseball player in 1973's Bang the Drum Slowly.  I have never seen that movie, but I know that Bobby could still, to this day, bang my drum slowly and that's all I know.  Apologies- I digress.

One of my favorite De Niro stories- of Robert the Younger - is about how he got the role of the young Vito Corleone in Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather Part II:  it was partly because Coppola remembered and was so taken with him from his previous auditions for Sonny Corleone, Michael Corleone, Carlo Rizzi, and Paulie Gatto, in the Godfather.  Who knows how many times he actually auditioned for those 4 roles, and whether or not he actually got, or was promised one or more. He still came back to audition again for Godfather Part II. Now that is tenacity, perseverance, and self-confidence mixed with a whole lot of sexy.  And what did it get him?  Just an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor.  Next time I feel like quitting something, I am not gonna go diggin' for that poem- I am just gonna think about bad ass Bobby D.

His 1973 collaboration with Martin Scorsese in Mean Streets, parlayed into a successful working relationship for the two of them that spanned decades.  All told, Bobby has done too many movies to list here, but interestingly though we tend to think of him in mob roles, he has done a wide array of films including Brazil, Midnight Run, Analyze This, Angel Heart, and Cape Fear. De Niro also showed his talent in directing with 1993's A Bronx Tale and 2006's The Good Shepherd.

This prostate cancer survivor has had some bad times while filming as well. In 1998, while he was shooting in France, he was hauled in by the French po-po for 9 hours and then questioned by a magistrate over a prostitution ring.  To say he was pissed and let them know he wasn't the one was an understatement to the fullest degree.  According to French newspaper, Le Monde, De Niro said of France,

"I want to get this fuck where he breathes!  I want to find this nancy boy...I want him DEAD!  I want his family DEAD!  I want his house burned to the GROUND! I wanna go there in the middle of the night and I wanna PISS ON HIS ASHES!"

Okay- that's a quote from The Untouchables, but it seemed appropriate because he was so mad. Actually he said that he would never go back to France, but he obviously recanted when he showed up as the President of the Jury for the 64th Cannes Film Festival in 2011.

Besides acting and directing, Bobby co-founded the film studio TriBeCa Productions and the TriBeCa Film Festival.  He co-owns Nobu and TriBeCa Grill, as well as The Greenwich Hotel and the restaurant inside of it called Locanda Verde.  He has been investing in the TriBeCa neighborhood since 1989 and has residences on the east and west sides of Manhattan, and an estate in Marbletown in upstate New York.  I'm sure all his successes have to be source of personal pride, but it also must feel good to know his wife, Grace Hightower, and 6 children and 3 grandchildren will be well provided for in the future.  Bad ass.

Love For Sail: Dignity Given Away for Free

I have long made fun of Lifetime for being Bravo's poor country cousin when it comes to reality shows, and with the Tuesday, April 10th debut of Love For Sail, I will continue to tease them.  I don't know why Lifetime just can't seem to pull it all together with these shows, but they are always the lady at the party who should've taken off one accessory before leaving the house, i.e., not quite right.

The Executive VP of Programming for Lifetime Networks, Rob Sharenow, must've been sharing some crack with his brain when he said, "A generation of viewers grew up watching the scripted series The Love Boat, and, inspired by that program, Love for Sail captures the fun and adventure of what it's really like to find romance on the high seas."  First of all, the Cruise Directors Bucko and Carmen combined couldn't add up to one Julie McCoy.  And secondly, I want to share now with Rob that Love For Sail is waaayyy more like the short-lived FOX show Love Cruise from the fall of 2001 (which featured 8 men and 8 women battling for $250,000.  The original air date of Love Cruise was September 11, 2001, which is kinda like naming your diet pills Ayds), than my hallowed Love Boat.

The premise for Love For Sail is actually a good one:  Trap 10 adventurous, love-lusting, fair to middling attractive grown ups on a cruise ship with lots of booze and roll the cameras. Period.  No one has to pack their knives and go, no one has to lip synch for their life, they are not fired, and the tribe hasn't spoken.  Just show up horny and drink. That's Reality TV 101, right? And you would think that the dynamics- 4 women and 6 men looking for love port side and starboard coupled with beautiful sunsets on the water in the background and amazing ports of call (which I have never seen) would inspire us to set our DVRs to tape every Tuesday night at 10, but they don't.  Why?  Because Love For Sail doesn't give us the chance to meet any of the contestants well enough to care whether they "find love" or fall into the deep blue sea. Yeah they show us the woman who's fallen into her cups at a deliciously awkward dinner, and yeah they show us the two chicks who choose the same dude for a date and the delusional slightly demented, somewhat funny arguments that ensue about who should step aside. But ultimately we know nothing about any of them and because of that we don't relate to them; if we don't relate, we don't care. And they present 10 new people each week for us not to care about.

My best advice to Lifetime is that they need to take a page out of the MTV/ FOX/ Bravo book and get people on their shows that we either want to be friends with, party with, or have sex with- and give us a chance to get to know them over a season.  If they are adamant about bringing newbies in each week, give us dynamic women who we want to be or be friends with- not seemingly whiny, self absorbed broads who have a skewed sense of their attractiveness and/or too much plastic surgery.  No one wants to hang out with those bitches in real life or watch them on television. (Oh, and make sure the dudes are hella funny and look good with their shirts off.)

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Simon Cowell

Err'body knows how much I love my dream baby daddy, Colin Farrell, or El Farrell as I have christened him on the fake birth certificate I had made up although I don't have kids.  If I ever have the opportunity to meet him, I'm sure the sounds of his security team screaming, "Ma'am put your clothes back on and step away from Mr. Farrell!" will be forever seared in my brain. Sigh.

What not many people know is that even though I have so much mad love in my heart for El Farrell, I still have room to love another.  And I do- but since I know how divisive he is and how strong people's opinions are about him- I haven't told many people.  Today, since we're all friends here, I will proudly tell y'all his name:  Simon Cowell.  That's right, bitches. Former American Idol judge, X Factor dude, one night stand robbery victim, he of the bizarre Shower Head looking hairstyle, short ass Simon Phillip Cowell makes this hooka feel like a grown woman in my Black Iris area every time I see him.

And it's not because he's a bazillionaire as I'm sure some of the more cynical among you have assumed- at least not in the way you have assumed.  I love that he has had his financial ups and downs and yet he never quit- what can I say?  I find tenacity sexy.  I also love that though he might be brutal in his opinions about people and their talent- or lack thereof- he has managed to remain friends with many of his exes, he definitely has a sense of humor about himself (voice on The Simpson & Family Guy episodes- as well as other comedic turns & self mockery), and he likes kids and puppies (giving to children's charities and a video for PETA), and I'll bet he's nice to waiters.

Simon was born on October 7, 1959 in Lambeth, London & raised in Elstree, Hertfordshire and given he's  a Libra Pig it's no surprise he likes things in excess.  His father was a real estate developer and his mother is a former ballet dancer and socialite.  His father actually helped him get him a job in the mail room at EMI Music Publishing, and helped him get re-hired later as the assistant to an A & R man.  After working his way up, Simon was eventually promoted into music publishing.

He left and went to work with Iain Burton at indie label Fanfare Records.  He worked with Burton for 8 years, becoming a partner and building Fanfare into a successful pop label with lots of different artists including Sinitta.  They did well for a while, but by 1989, the label fell into the hands of BMG and a seriously in-debt Simon was forced to move back into his parents' house.  And now look at his ass 23 years later worth about $320 million dollars (according to biographer Tom Bower and the Sunday Times Rich List).  It must've taken an almost possessed drive to come up with his money making ideas and actually bring them to fruition- which makes for a great businessman, but a lousy boyfriend (which he concedes).

Speaking of Tom Bower, he just released his Cowell biography called, "Sweet Revenge:  The Intimate Life of Simon Cowell" in which he says that Simon had, "...20 years- more than 20 years- of humiliation."  I would like to amend that to 20 years and 1 night, because Bower reveals in the book that Simon had a one night stand with some hooka he met at Drai's in Hollywood (mistake #1), took her home (mistake #2), and she stole his wallet and his laptop, which had X Factor secrets on it.  He got the computer back, but (shockingly) all the money was gone from his wallet.  Oh, Simon.

In the book Bower also says that Simon had an affair with Kylie Minogue's sister Danii while she was a judge on the X Factor.  Yawn.  More interesting to me is that Sharon Osbourne is squawking that he cheated with multiple chicks while he was engaged to Mezhgan Hussainy. Hold on!  An incredibly wealthy man who is constantly surrounded by beautiful women actually cheated with one or more?  Wow!  The next thing you know the sun will rise in the east.  First of all, Sharon Osbourne needs to shut the fuck up considering she is married to a man who was in a little rock band called Black Sabbath.  Now, I am not a betting woman, but I am pretty sure five will get me ten if I say he was dirty dickin' around on her quite a bit back in the day.  She knows what wealthy, famous men are like & even more, she knows what women can be like around those said men. If Simon did cheat, which he probably did, he ain't exactly planting a flag in newly chartered territory.

And I have to say that although I am sad that the groovy kind of love we all look for didn't last for Simon and Mezhgan, I didn't want him him to marry her.  Not cos I thought he should come for me- I am not that delusional (besides, what would Colin say?)- but because I want a big personalitied, I-will- take- off- my- earring- and- fight- you kinda broad for Simon.  She's gotta be beautiful, graceful, and well mannered of course (remember his mama was a ballerina and a socialite)- but she's gotta be able to say "Not me & not today" with just her eyes to him. Like ghetto fab smizing.  And I'm sure Mezhgan's broken heart is slightly less cracked as she contemplates life and love in the $8 million dollar mansion he tossed her the keys and title to as she watched his $400,000 Rolls Royce get smaller when he drove off and left her in Iquityabitchville.

Are Gold Diggers Bio-Evolutionary Truists?

Like many Americans, you probably don't follow European football and so you're not familiar with Mario Batolli, a 21-year-old Italian striker who now plays for Manchester City (though perhaps not after they lost to Arsenal today and he got ~at least~ a 3-game suspension for a couple of dirty fouls). Batolli, sporting a shaved head with a mohawk down the center and dressing like a runway model, is a flashy personality in the divisive vein of T.O. and the insane vein of Rodman. Though he's never publicly called a teammate the "f" word, or tried to marry himself, Batolli is probably more famous for his activities off the pitch than on. And his latest is the most titillating for me: He admitted that he cheated on his girlfriend with the same hooker who had a threesome with Wayne Rooney 2 years ago when Rooney's wife was 5 months pregnant.

Much like the celebrity cheaters before him, Batolli didn't admit his infidelity out of a sense wrongness. In fact, a few days before the story broke, he revealed a jersey on the pitch in front of thousands of fans on which he proclaimed his love for girlfriend Rafaella Fico (an Italian lingerie model and television personality). No, the truth kicked its way out of his mouth because (word on the corner) was that the hooker he got with, Jenny Thompson, was threatening to blackmail him. Batolli must've shocked the shit out of her by punching her in the purse, basically saying, "Bitch, not me, not today," and telling on himself. I think Mario slowly realized that there's veritably a limitless amount of pussy available to him and a very finite number of pounds in his bank account, and chose not to give Jenny another sixpence. Again, like cheaters before him, as of now Batolli and his girlfriend are still together.

I told y'all all of that to tell you this, and though I am loathe to admit it, I will because it's true (& y'all probably picked up on it already): I am fascinated by celebrity gossip. Not all of it. Hell, not even most of it. But let my nosey ass hear about one of the endless revelations and accusations of infidelity, and I am all over that shit like a priest at a playground. Not that I expect beautiful, wealthy, and oftentimes psychologically jacked up people not to cheat- it's the opposite: I am drawn to the "every man-ness" of cheating. I am continually amazed that I am continually amazed by the fact that these cats live in a world where every word and action is watched and scrutinized, and they still dirty dick around knowing that they are more likely than not to get caught. That just tells me there has to be something to that base biological need to spread the seed.

And then of course you have to factor in the person he's caught with, and I repeatedly find myself wondering (assuming his tryst was with a woman), "What is she thinking? What was this to her? What did she really want?" Most people just call them gold diggers without giving it a second thought, and click to the next website. But I think that the true gold diggers are being viewed in a societal way and not biological, and I don't think that's fair. If men have a biological need to spread their seed, and some are more prone to act on it, then there have be female equivalents.

Firstly, let me clarify what I don't consider a gold digger: It's not the bitch who's at the club every night trying to get at good looking younger actors and athletes, it's not the girl who watches Million Matchmaker like it's a digital bible, and it's not the broad who has Gloria Allred's office number programmed in her phone already just in case. To me, these Hoellas and Sluttishas are women who want money and status so they can feel like they're better than everyone else, but are too lazy, greedy, and unimaginative to do it for themselves. These dirty legs are trading sex for money, and I don't care how much you pretty it up with Louboutins, Chanel, and expensive weaves, that's being a hooker. Straight up. And there's really nothing wrong with it (other than it being illegal) because trading sex for money is an exchange of power, but these bitches will never admit that. In fact, they get indignant and sometimes violent at the suggestion. Start talking about how much they "really liked" said dudes and thought something serious was going to come from their hook-ups. In fact, the only reason they are speaking out at that point is because they "feel bad" for the WAGs (yeah, that and the 5 & the 6 figure deals they got or will get. And it's not shocking. If you're gonna sell sex for money, there's pretty much nothing else you won't sell). Suddenly, these hos become gold diggers and that's not the right term to me.

In my opinion, a true gold digger is a maternal materialist, and from a biological stand point that's what she is supposed to be (though I am no scientist, I play one on a TV show in my head). Biologically speaking, men want young, healthy looking women who look as though they can bear and raise young. On that same base, primal level, women want men who will pass on the genes to ensure those young will be healthy and live long- and what better immediate proof than an older man? And an older wealthy man has shown he is physically strong enough and smart enough to survive and thrive: He's a biological genetic jackpot and women who want kids need him to win (from a very singular bio-evolutionist view point).

These women should be praised for helping to propagate the species and bumping us along evolutionarily- not scorned and mocked. At least not by other bitches like me who know we aren't gonna do it.

Coregasms: I Worked Out, I Saw, & I Came

According to an article at thebodyodd.msnbc.msn.com, women have reported having exercise-induced orgasms, called "coregasms" because of their apparent link to exercises for core abdominal muscles.

The online surveys conducted by Debby Herbenick, the co-director of the Center for Sexual Health Promotion at Indiana University, and her colleagues might not have been the most scientific ever conducted, but the results were interesting nonetheless.

Herbenick's data included 124 women who had experienced exercise-induced orgasms (when they weren't having a sexual fantasy or thinking of someone to whom they were attracted) and 246 women who revealed that they experienced exercise-induced sexual pleasure. Most of the respondents identified as straight, they were married or in relationships, and the average age was 30. Roughly 45% of the women said that their first experience was linked to abdominal exercise-mostly after multiple sets of crunches in which they really exerted themselves- while a significantly lower number replied that their "coregasms" were linked to biking/spinning, climbing poles/ ropes, weight lifting, running, yoga, swimming, elliptical machines, or doing aerobics.

It's not surprising to me that women can experience orgasms or sexual pleasure after working out, particularly after intense core work outs. Pilates looks to create a strong foundation for movement, which engages the pelvic floor muscles, including the PC (pubococcygeus muscle) muscles. The PC muscles are also essential in strengthening the Kegel muscles, which reputedly help with incontinence as well enhancing sexual pleasure. Even without doing Pilates or specific Kegel exercises, when we work out our abdominal muscles, particularly when we move into certain angles or positions, it has to affect our pelvic floor muscles as the muscles are all related.

And it's also not surprising that the vast majority of the respondents were of an average age of 30 and in relationships because I think that the older we get and the more sex we have, whether alone or with someone, we learn how to move our bodies and become more aware of how to achieve orgasm.

For me personally, while I learned how to best achieve orgasm with my ex-boyfriend, since I have become single again I have become an "onan-artist", and have learned (for me) that I can intensify my orgasms by flexing my abdominal muscles before I come. Since I have become aware of that sexual component of abdominal/pelvic floor/ PC muscle flexing, I have definitely noticed that when I do lots of core stomach exercises, there is a very real element of sexual pleasure. I haven't reached the apex of wondrous bliss of the 124 women in Herbenick's study while working out, which is good because I'd probably have a 24 pack on my stomach, but an underdeveloped everything else.

The Blind Item that Helen Keller Could See

Over at blindgossip.com the other day, they posted this teaser. Anyone who has recently glanced at the internet figured it out about three words in:

[CDAN] This B-list foreign born always movie actor just recently got engaged to a very high profile actress. Does she know about the two employees he is sleeping with whenever he comes to town?

I don't understand why they just don't come out and say that according to unnamed sources, "Olivier Martinez is dirty dickin' around on Halle Berry" and call it day? I also don't understand why, why, why after all this time and all these bad relationships she is still even willing to date any man in the entertainment industry? Supposedly Wesley Snipes (and not the one from 30 Rock) tried to force feed her a knuckle sandwich- in her ear- and deafed a bitch up a bit. And who knows all the strange and dirty she bullshitted around with before she became really famous, although we all know the unfortunate end-times she had with David Justice, Eric Benet, and Gabriel Aubry.

Don't get it twisted- I am all about love. I heart love a lot, and I understand that your heart doesn't listen to reason. In fact, recent studies have shown that the part of our brain affected when we're madly in love is also the part that's affected when we're madly doing lines of booga sugah. Robert Palmer was right, "...might as well face it you're addicted to love..." I understand all of that, but at some point, you have to take a step back, look at the entire wide screen, and see all of the flags on the field. Halle seems to have a thing for French/French inspired dudes (Benet, Aubry, Martinez) and sports dudes (Snipes-he's a martial artist as well as acting & not paying taxes, Justice-former baseball player). They are just not working out for her. In the words of Liz Lemon, "Shut it down."

And we're all thinking it, so I am just gonna say it: Olivier Martinez was probably born with a condom on because as soon as he exited "mom south", he began his never ending quest to get back in. And there are lots of women- I'm sure from a very young age- who are/were more than happy to oblige. He's one of those cats who just brings sex out of a bitch. You could slam your pinkie toe in a steel door, see a picture of him, and forget the pain because you're thinking about what he looks like naked & tied to your bedpost. I mean look at him in the picture above. I dare you to not think about sex. Maybe not sex with him (yeah, right), but some part of you is thinking about sex with someone. He brings that-with chocolate and ice cream- in pictures and movies (I wanted to kill Richard Gere for killing him in Unfaithful), can you imagine what he does to a bitch in person? Even though he's been lookin' a little raggedy lately, he still fairly drips sex.

And if we all know this and can see this, why can't Halle? Olivier is dirty hot like a stripper & should be dealt with accordingly: Get some mindblowing sex from him, buy him some cute trinkets, and then send him on his way so you can focus on a serious potential partner. Don't marry him, girl- he's gonna break your heart- just ask Kylie!

I believe that some people can change some behaviors, but this dude has seen more pussies than a veterinarian- I don't see that changing soon considering it already seems like bitches are getting naked when they stop him on the Rue de Voulez-Vous to ask directions to the metro. I am not hating on Olivier- I'm sure he's a good cat in many aspects, he just seems to have too much testosterone to be monogamous. And she seems to have a little too much crazy to deal with that.

What Smells So Good? You!

When I was a junior in high school, I experienced my first "sneaky hooka" naughtiness: I went into the elevator with a boy and made out during our lunch break. It was good innocent teenage- hormone-fueled-fun. He was a really good kisser (and so I was I for that matter). Ever since that day, I have loved the smell of Drakkar. I loved it so much that when it became Eau de Douchebag and dudes I would want to sleep with wouldn't be caught dead in it, I bought some so I could smell it when the mood struck. Even now when its grandson, Axe, is clogging sinuses all over the land, the rare whiff of Drakkar I get in passing brings a sly smile to my face because that happy high school elevator scene is seared into my nose's memory forever. For the longest time I thought the primary reason I liked Drakkar so much was because of that wonderful, original "scent memory", but according to a recent study, that may not the reason.

Past researchers have discovered that a group of genes called MHC (major histocompatibility complex) is related to whether or not a person is sexually attracted to another based on his/her scent. They found that people are most drawn to people with different MHC genes than themselves.

August Hammerli, a researcher at the Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich and also the first author in a study published online in the International Journal of Cosmetic Science, believes that MHC genes determine our preferences for other smells. While Hammerli theorizes that people prefer scents that may best best enhance their own natural odors to potential partners, his latest study seems to indicate that your genes determine what perfume scents you like best. It also suggests that it may be tied in to the scents you find attractive in others.

Hammerli's study included 116 males and females who were asked to smell 10 different things including cinnamon, moss, rose, and cedar, which were varied with different concentrations and in different settings.

The ratings varied with clear winners and losers, but for each scent the intensity of each participant's preference depended on their particular set of MHC genes.

I always thought that I went into that elevator to be naughty and then realized that I liked how that kid smelled (and kissed). But maybe I smelled him on a more innocuous, primal level and I liked it so much I then decided to go into the elevator with him to learn more about it. Or perhaps I am just a sneaky hooka who likes to make out with men in elevators.

Palace of Broken Hearts: A Museum of Lost Love

When I think of Eastern European people, two words immediately come to mind: passion and perseverance. So when I first read about The Museum of Broken Relationships, it wasn't surprising that the idea was born of two artists in Croatia.

The couple, Olinka and Drazen, were in the process of breaking up after four years. In sorting their possessions, the valuables with monetary meaning were easy to divide up- you take the TV and I will take the computer. It was the emotionally valuable objects that they found hard to let go of: like the Little Wind-up Bunny that they put in each others' suitcases for trips, and photographed doing wildly amazing things on said trips. Who was going to get the Little Wind-up Bunny?

Instead of battling each other, they put their feelings on display let the world take ownership as they began collecting mementos of break ups from others as well. After entering their collection into a local art festival, they soon found themselves putting up installations in Berlin, San Francisco, and Istanbul. Seems like the splitting of a broken heart resonates deeper and further than an exploding Krakatoa.

Back in Zagreb, Olinka and Drazen refurbished a palace to permanently display all of their "I loved you so much, why aren't you dead?" mementos of formerly lava hot love. Each room of the palace is arranged by theme, and holds a couple of dozen items.

For the grand opening of The Museum of Broken Relationships, the mayor of Zagreb offered to do a ribbon cutting, but was shut down in favor of two high-profile Croatian actors who had famously split up. The artists told the mayor if he wanted to cut the ribbon, he'd have to leave his wife first.

To find out more about the museum, please check out their website here: http://brokenships.com

Hot with a Chance of Sexy: Chris Tamburello

All this time I have been yammering on about how much I love my reality shows, and it dawned on me recently that I have never done a single Hot Forecast on any reality show contestants. What?! How is that possible? Oh, yeah- there aren't a lot of hot dudes on the reality shows that I tend to watch. OK- that's not entirely true. Sometimes when you've eaten a loaded lemon bar and consumed a bottle of wine, you look at your television through the appropriately hooded eyes and think, "Damn! He's hot." But then you sober up and realize he ain't all that. Or, if he is really hot, you learn more about his dickish television personality, and that minute you wanted to jump his cock quickly passes.

I have realized in time, however, in the world of my reality shows, that a person can come back to television enough times that you develop a "through the television" (TTT) relationship. It's like in relationships in real life- sometimes you love him to death, and other times you want to kick his cock off- except you only know the bits of him that didn't wind up on the editing room floor, and he doesn't know you exist at all.

All that being said, let me introduce you to my TTT manchild- CT- Chris Tamburello. We first met CT on the Real World: Paris, and while I initially thought he was cute- just a big ole dude on a stick- I could also tell there was something a little off with this kid. He revealed himself to be funny, yet shady at times- and that was fine. But then, toward the end of the season, when this Cancer Monkey (7-16-80) got all chimpanzee mean and totally aggressed his friend Adam (a much smaller dude than him) the alert was sounded. It was basically a test- but I knew that "code- red-not- a- drill" was coming.

MTV had already begun the Challenges, and given CT's physique & physical prowess, that one of his personalities was really funny, and that he had an amazing face, I knew I would see him again. And I'm sure that he participated in Challenges, but the first one in which he really stood out for me was The Duel. Watching him fall for cancer survivor Diem Brown was the highlight of the season for me, and I loved him for being so gentle and patient with her. And, yes, I would agree it was a groovy kind of love.

But in the following Challenge, Inferno 3, his brain started bleeding Jose Cuervo or something, because he lost his effin' mind on the first night and for reasons I don't think I fully understood at the time or remember all these years later, attacked Davis from RW: Denver and dotted his eye with some knuckles. Huh?! Where is gentle-loving-Diem- CT? Who is this kid attacking (once again) a dude so much smaller than him? And why would you fly 30-something-hours to South Africa to get drunk, attack, and get plunked right back down on a return trip? I know there are bars closer to his house in which he could've performed this tomfoolery.

Then came The Duel 2 in Brazil where CT busted out his PhD in Psycho and proved that there wasn't a bitch in the cast who could come close to that level of deranged. Ever. He looked sanity in the eye, slapped it away, and said, "Bitch, I ain't the one." In a nutshell, this nut and Diem had broken up, but when he zoo/prison-banged Shauvon from RW: Sidney outside in the yard, Diem clocked him on it- and he again came after Adam because he thought Adam dogged him out by telling Diem. How CT avoided prosecution for an attack so violent it almost looked like an episode of When Animals Attack is beyond me, but when MTV sent him packing that same first night, I thought that the last time I was ever gonna see my TTT manchild again- and I was okay with that. When we found out later than his brother had been murdered before the Challenge started, it made his rage more understandable, but certainly not excusable.

Well, obviously it was excusable to MTV, because they gave CT an audience test-drive for a single Challenge: Cutthroat Gulag competition in 2010. I guess his reviews must've been good because they brought him back to the Challenge: Rivals the next season where he was paired with (you guessed it) Adam. Though they didn't win, I loved CT again because he was totally supporting Adam (in front of the cameras anyway) and literally tried to carry him over the finish line in their last competition.

His crazy beautifully competitive ass is back for this season's Challenge: Battle of the Exes with Diem. We'll see which CT crosses the finish line this time. Oh, and just a little incentive for CT to quit threatening to smash a bitch's head "and eat it!" in the Challenges: He and Kenny S. "Mr. Beautiful" (self-proclaimed) have both competed in 8 challenges. Kenny has banked $273,997. CT? $21,000.

Stop beatin' asses, CT, and start kickin' some.