Porn Is Great & Porn Is Good...Sorta

Today, please welcome another friend of the male persuasion (they sure love to make appearances on the Estro'hood, don't they? Yay!) Deacon Blue. Although I discuss a fair amount of S-E-X on AinE, I haven't really addressed the use of, or my opinion of, pornography. I love what Deacon has to say about it! Opinions, both agreeing or disagreeing are always welcome. Bring it on!

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I'm immensely in favor of gender equality and I put women every bit as high in my respect and esteem as any man, but there are two ways that certain members of the feminist camp (whether women or men) can piss me off immediately.

First, use the word “herstory” in any way that isn't ironic or in the context of something soaked extra long in estrogen and then tell me how sexist the word “history” is, even though the word comes from Latin and French roots and the “his” part has no connection to gender in the etymology of the word.

Second, tell me that porn is evil.

You might as well tell me athletic shoes are evil, because it's about the same thing. True at times, but not inherently true.

First, let me get some personal traits out of the way. I'm a feminist, progressive, Christian deacon who is largely pro-porn. I could throw a few other adjectives in there, I'm sure, but some of you might already be suffering from cognitive dissonance just from that.

Second, there was a sexual behaviors/attitudes study recently in which the investigators could not find a single man to participate who had NOT ever viewed porn. Considering how many hetero feminist women are able to find decent guys to be their partners, that's a pretty good indication that porn doesn't lead to sexual oppression or sexual assault. If it did, sexual assault would have gone through the roof as soon as the Internet became flooded with porn way back in the Web's early days. In fact, sexual assault numbers have gone down in the U.S. since 1992.

Is there porn that is evil, whether because of subject matter or the treatment of the people in it (especially the women) or the working conditions or other things? Sure.

But in general, working in porn is like any other job. If you enter it broken, weak, needy or disadvantaged, you may get taken advantage of. Desperate people in most areas of life tend to get screwed by the people with the money and the ability to hire them. Most of us don't worry about whether migrants or poorly educated folks or whomever is abused in other industries, so I'm not sure why women are considered more frail, helpless and in need of protection against an industry they can choose to enter...or not.

Besides, before you talk about how much of porn might be the result of exploiting women (if you're so inclined), you need to realize two things. First, you don't know shit about MY porn and where I got it or whether it hurt anyone along the way, so you can't judge me. Second, you need to shut up about it unless you buy straight from local farms and have your clothes made by local tailors and grow a lot of your own food and don't ever drive or rely on anything that uses fossil fuels and don't go on the Internet and...

...because damn near everything we buy, everything we do and everything we enjoy as conveniences in our daily lives at some point came about by someone being exploited somewhere. Probably a lot of somebodies. In your own country or abroad.

Even if you're in the U.S. and say “I buy American!” realize that plenty of people are exploited and misused in factories and mills and shops in your own nation.

Thing is, porn isn't the problem, just like capitalism isn't the problem, social programs aren't the problem, and “those people” aren't the problem. The problem is that everywhere you look, you can find victims and victimizers. People who misuse or play any system for their own gain at the expense of others.

So, with porn, it's like anything else. If you buy it, buy it from companies that have strong reputations to maintain, and are less likely to abuse their most publicly visible workers. Buy stuff that showcases performers who seem to have some kind of autonomy and power (their own sites or product lines, etc.). Buy porn produced in part or in whole by the women themselves; often, amateur and semi-pro porn falls into this category. Buy porn that has kinks or fetishes that really speak to you—kinky stuff often focuses more on the kink or fetish and might have little or no sex in it at all. And so on.

Bottom line: I'm not saying porn can't be bad. But I don't like to demonize an entire industry simply because there are some weak people and bad apples. I just try to shop as responsibly as I can.


By Deacon Blue

www.holyhell.wordpress.com
@thedeaconblue on Twitter

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To me, porn is like chocolate. 1. You have to get the good stuff. 2. Have fun and enjoy it in moderation. 3. Gorging yourself on it could possibly make you a little sick. 


Thanks again, Deacon Blue

What You All Must Think of Me!

I usually do Five Funny Fuckers on Fridays because of the whole alliteration thing and shit, but it was a pretty damn funny week over on The Twitter side of things so I'm cheating. It's my blog. Whatever. I try not to have my two online worlds collide very often, but I absolutely must share with you what people have sent me. I'm sensing a trend as to what my online friends find and think, "Oh, Lady Estrogen would LOVE that." But you know what? They're usually right. It's fantastic! Keep it coming!

~1~ 

"At Breakfast or later in the day, a Dickens Cider is the perfect pick-me-up!"

I laughed for an hour and OH MY GOD, I am totally buying one of these t-shirts!

~2~

OK. So, I guess I should mention that I first came across a crocheted vibrator cozy on Etsy and posted it on Twitter.

But this? Totally trumps it:

Those are some funny looking cocks 'n nuts, yo! 

And more importantly, are these customizable?

~3~

This was sent to me as a DM, so this confirms it - vagina photos ARE sent as DMs. Ahem.

THEY ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL!

And OK, yes, if I had one of these, I would totally be doing rude gestures to it before I ate it out. 

I mean, all. ATE IT ALL.

~4~

This is a blog post that my warped sense of humor earned me an honorary appearance in. 

Why? Because I favorited Carri's tweets about how Anxiety Disorder can suck hairy balls... all types of hairy balls. Yay!

And now I am posting how she re-posted my tweet.

Put that Post-Post-Modernism in your pipe and smmmmmoke it! 

~5~

And the pièce de résistance...

And THAT, people, is what hard work can accomplish!

So. Fucking. Phenomenal.

Do you KNOW how many websites are out there about hoes?! It's an immense Google honor!

I wonder what other words I can type in that will result in my blog appearing on the first page?

You know I will be investigating.

Jeremy's New Filmography

If you are just tuning in to the Jeremy London series, you might want to rewind to the first and second installment... or don't... whatever. Also? It was Jeremy's birthday, so this also doubles as a slightly belated birthday present to the big man.
MY FULL SUPPORT, BRUTHA -- HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Now, roll out the fiction...

Lady Estrogen (that's me, yay!) has been working diligently trying to get Jeremy into some big projects over the past few months. She's not overly good at her job, but dammit, she tries. Jeremy humors his struggling agent, but mostly because he can't be bothered finding a new one. Lady E is relaxing at a booth with red leather seats. She has a portfolio case sitting on the table and she sips her coffee as she eagerly waits for Jeremy. He enters the café and spots her, giving an unimpressed nod that he has seen her and approaches.

Jeremy London: Hey. I got your text. What was so urgent? I have a busy day today.

Lady Estrogen: Sure you do.

JL: Real nice.

LE: You know it comes from love, Jeremy.

JL: What do you want?

LE: I've had a breakthrough! I'm so excited - sit down... please.

JL: Ugh. Fine. You have 5 minutes.

LE: I love how you make time for me.

JL: The clock is ticking.

LE: Okay. Okay. Look, I want to spice up your filmography a teeny bit. I think it might do well to beef up your resume. I mean... we all do it - why not actors?

JL: What do you mean "beef up"?

LE: I got some random movie posters and I've added you to them!

JL: You can't do that! That's just fucking lying. You're ridiculous.

LE: They'll get lost in between your authentic jobs. Like I said, it's just filler. See? Here's the first one I did...

JL: GANGS OF NEW YORK?

LE: Wuh? You've heard of it?

JL: Umm, yeah. It's a pretty big movie.

LE: Huh. Never heard of it.

JL: Go figure.

LE: I think you just mocked me, but I'm going to rise above, Jeremy. RISE ABOVE.
   OK. How about this one? Titanic? You like tits, right?

JL: TIE-TAN-ICK. It's another big fucking movie. And? It won, like, 10 Academy Awards.

LE: Wow. I really need to take a trip to Blockbuster.

JL: That's fucking closed, darling.

LE: WHAT THE HELL? Are you serious or just fucking with me?

JL: I never fuck... with you.

LE: Well, you're missing out, but anyway, how about this one? You can't tell me THIS one was a big hit. It's from a while back, so I used one of your younger photos.

JL: What the hell is wrong with you? What movies HAVE you seen?

LE: Well, Mallrats... at least most of it, anyway. They lost me with the whole "a schooner is a sailboat" realization. What a mind fuck THAT was.

JL: Also... Why the hell is my head so damn big?

LE: I don't know - I matched it up to the dude's head underneath. I guess his head was big too.

JL: You mean LEONARDO DICAPRIO?

LE: Who?

JL (rubbing his forehead as if he's getting a migraine): Really?

  Actually... all of these posters have you replacing him with me. Did you notice?

LE: Total coincidence. Is he the orphan from Growing Pains?

JL: That detail you know, but Titanic you don't?

LE: I heard Kirk Cameron is selling bibles or some weird shit like that. Now that's def-in-ite-ly not the Kirk Cameron I masturbated to as a young girl.

JL: Wow. Have you been huffing glue?

LE: I don't think so. Why? Do you know many glue huffers?

JL: THAT was an insult. And your time is soooo up. 

(Jeremy is getting up out of the booth and adjusting the collar of his jacket)

I don't think I'll be needing your "ideas"... EVER.

LE: Wuh-wuh-wait. So, it's a 'No' then?

JL (with a look like someone just shit in his mouth): It's a big motherfucking NO.

By the way, don't text me again. If I need something, I'll be in touch.

LE: I'll reduce my services to only 7 PERCENT. How'd that be? I'll get you a limo! A nice stretch job with a TV and a bar! How's that sound?!

JL (He doesn't look back as he walks away from the booth): Don't care! Don't call!

LE (whispers dramatically to herself): I will win you back, Jeremy. 

(yells across the café): I WILL WIN YOU BACK IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!

Hohum: A poem

Hohum my chum,
Hohum my chum,

Please keep away from my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

I do not like it up my bum.

Would you like it here or there?

I would not like it here or there.

I would not like it anywhere.

I do not like it up my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

Would you like it with my thumb?

Would you like it with some rum?

I would not like it with your thumb.

I would not like it with some rum.

I do not like it here or there.

I do not like it anywhere.

I do not like it up my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

Would you do it with some lube?

Would you like it if I squeezed your boob?

I would not do it with some lube,

And what the fuck does squeezing my boob

have anything to do with wanting to put your dick up my ass?

Anyways...

I would not like it with your thumb.

I would not like it with some rum.

I do not like it here or there.

I do not like it anywhere.

I do not like it up my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

Say! In the dark?

Here in the dark!

Would you, could you, in the dark?

I would not, could not, in the dark.

If you could not, would not 

let me try that route,

Then could you, would you, up MY shute?

I would promise not to toot.

I would not do that up your shute.

And, oh my fucking god, the fact that you bring up tooting

is the exact reason it's so repulsive.

A queef? Sure. But a toot? Heinous!

Anyways...

Not that route. Not up your shute.

Not in the dark.

Don't leave your mark.

Not with your thumb. Not with some rum.

I will not do it here or there.

I will not do it ANYWHERE!

I do not like it up my bum.

I do not like it, Hohum my chum.

You do not like it. So you say.

Try it on me! TRY ME!

And you may.

Strap it on and you may, I say.

Hohum!

If you will let me be, I will try it.

You will see...

SAY!

I like it up your bum!

I do! I like it, Hohum my chum!

And I would fuck you here and there.

And I would fuck you anywhere…

And we could do it in the dark.

And with some lube. 

What the hell? Go ahead and squeeze my boob.
I do so like it up your bum!

Thank you!

Thank you, Hohum my chum.

For showing me it's good, so good, you see!

But still...

You ain't ever fucking doing that to me.

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Thanks to Brandon (Lost in Idaho) for nominating me for Dudettes: The X-factor. Yay! Smooches ;) 

Squawk!

It was Multitasking Mumma's birthday and she was trying to be all like "Ohh, I don't care about it this year."
OK, so as to not put words in other people's mouths, this is how it actually went down on The Twitter:

Blardy blar blargh. 

Well, darling - because you don't care so much, here's me totally not caring right back...

SQUAWK!

Love ya, darling.

Posttraumatic Shit Disorder

Some people shrug at the concept of PTSD, thinking it’s all in your head – well, YES, as a matter of fact, it IS all in your head – just like all the other types of psychological disorders and suppressed issues that many people have. We carry that shit around like baggage, but not physically – in our heads. I had a minor case of PTSD, and although I didn’t fight in Iraq or anything major like that, it was still a pretty intense feeling that I didn’t expect, nor could I control it when it happened.

Woodstock '99: A Shit Pond

OK, so it was because of my experience at Woodstock ’99 that I had developed Posttraumatic Stress Disorder – go ahead and laugh. I know it sounds ridiculous – it does to me as well. I had written about my experience in this story, but I might have treaded lightly over the sanitation issue – or rather lack there of.

It was beyond disgusting.

Thanks to the intense heat and over-priced water, I managed to become dehydrated enough that I didn’t seem to have to pee the entire weekend – and as for the deuce? I simply told my body that I would NOT be doing that – and so I didn’t...

Fraser Island, Australia

About a year went by and I had moved back to Australia for University. My friend and I took a tour up the Gold Coast which included a trip to Fraser Island. It was beautiful – with the sand dunes and wild, yet tame dingoes roaming around. There was one thing missing – modern plumbing. At first, I didn’t think anything of it – I wasn’t overly a fan of port-o-loos to begin with, but I hadn’t been confronted with having to use one since Woodstock.

There was also an added complication – I was on my period. Fantastic! So, there was no way I would be able to convince THAT bodily function to go on strike as I was able to do before. We had set up camp and it was time to take the trek to the cluster of blue shit boxes. We joked about our Woodstock experience while approaching them and although I laughed, I could feel my heart rate and anxiety level rising.

When I opened the door to the port-o-loo and that pungent scent of chemical toilet mingled with feces that mounded high enough that I could see it, I slammed the door, backed away far enough and collapsed onto the ground. I broke out into a cold sweat and began to hyper ventilate, however I managed to calm myself down enough so at least I didn’t pass out. After a few minutes, I was able to ask my friend to see if she could find one that was less full – as I knew, however unbearable it would be, I still had to go through with it.

It was still quite a few minutes before I was composed enough to get up off the ground and face that fucking disgusting port-o-loo. I tried not to touch the seat, although I wasn’t quite tall enough to avoid contact entirely. I also tried not to breathe in and I concentrated on getting my task over with as quickly as possible. I was still sweating and I could feel my heart pounding in my burning ears. It was one of the worst moments in my life – and it was all because of a damn toilet.

So, no – I don’t drop to the ground when I hear a car back-fire or have blackouts, but even public toilets have the ability to make me uncomfortable now; as long as they can flush, I try to deal with it.

Like John Cage from Ally McBeal –
“I like a fresh bowl and remnants upset me.”

My Seven Wonders

This week's prompt from Mama Kat's is to list Seven Wonders that I've seen with my own eyes. There are two very different ways I could take this, emotional experiences or geographical. Since traveling is very near and dear to my heart, I'm going to focus on geography... for the most part.

7. Seeing Les Demoiselles d'Avignon by Picasso at the MOMA in NYC actually reduced me to tears. It was one of the two most powerful artistic experiences of my life. I was with my "homo-hubby" who then claimed that I was the one being a drama queen. Sure, sure, my beloved poof -- Shut it!

6. Walking (slowly) up the Eiffel Tower because my then boyfriend, now husband, is terrified of heights. Lesson learned? Don't go when you're a student and save up for the god damn, motherfucking elevator. Aside from that, it was amazing to see all the iron work up close and the views of Paris were gorgeous.

5. Although not nearly as touristically (yeah, I think I just made up a word) famous as the Parthenon, when arriving at the Temple of Poseidon just outside of Athens, I knew I was somewhere special. Perhaps it was because it wasn't so over-run with people, or under intense restoration efforts, but those ivory columns overlooking the sea were simply incredible.

4. Although I actually found The Louvre to be pretty boring (how much Rococo art can one actually stomach, I mean, really?!), I then... THEN, I found the Musée d'Orsay, which is the home of many of Manet's works, including Olympia. Oh my darlings, I cannot express how much I love that painting. She's a sexy, scandalous bitch! Once again, tears.

Olympia {Source: Wikipedia}

3. Reaching the top of Ayers Rock was visually amazing and also an impressive accomplishment for me. I have short legs, and I really fucking hate climbing pretty much anything over a 10degree incline. At some points the angles were quite terrifying. Once you get there, the view from the top is surreal - looking out into the absolute flat nothingness of the outback.

2. The Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG) is my Mecca. I can remember the smell of the crisp air and fresh grass; the sounds of the crowds cheering; and the tastes of fresh meat pies and warm jam donuts. It's the only place I've actually fell in love with a sport, and the city that holds its heart... and mine.

1. Going up to a small island in Georgian Bay where my father had written in giant letters his name and the year, 1968; he would have been 15 at the time, and it's one of only two things I've ever seen in his own handwriting (the other being a doodle on his school desk). I felt more close to him floating in a boat in front of that rock face than I ever have at his grave. It was faded by the sun and weather, but still clear enough to take my breath away.

Anonymous, motherfucker!

I am branching out today and going to do a movie review, sort of - at least it's my version of a movie review that includes "environmental circumstances". To be honest, I cannot believe I have waited this long, since I'm such a movie geek freak fan.

Before the movie started, or rather, even before the lights dimmed and the previews began, I was on The Twitter. (Yeah, yeah, big fucking surprise... let's move on...) We chose the 3rd row from the back, and being polite, not directly in front of the two women in the row behind us; just off to their left. As soon as I unlock my phone, we hear very clearly, "Just my luck! I always sit behind SOMEONE that is on their phone during the movie. *tisk* Ugghhhh! I can't stand it!"

WHAT. THE. FUCK. was up her fucking ignorant ass? It's not like the movie was even close to starting! Fucking hell, I was furious, and yet, I did nor said nothing. Even my husband was annoyed with the obnoxious banter of these women, which says a lot, since he usually ignores everyone. They actually got up AND MOVED, but unfortunately, we could still hear their conversational vomit about really important shit, like analyzing the plot line of the latest Twilight installment. Fucking save us!

I usually try not to be a shallow person, but when I feel like her inside is ugly and annoying, I have no qualms in describing her appearance (however hyper-exaggerated it may be) to being likened to that of a fucking middle aged Northern Reflections donkey whore.

Donkey whore (a.k.a. Douche muppet)

OK. On to the movie.

Anonymous is the latest to jump on the Queen Elizabeth I bandwagon of possible angles of her life, and although the actors and performances in its predecessors were impressive, this plot line is by far the most interesting interpretation. The Virgin Queen? Not this time. 

It is a period drama, and despite the occasional humorous dialogue and action scenes, my husband did nod off a few times, but I loved it. I think Rhys Ifans finally got a good leading role to sink his teeth into. It was great to see Vanessa Redgrave and Joely Richardson both play the Queen as well; perhaps not as stellar as Helen Mirren or Cate Blanchett, but impressive nevertheless. Sebastian Armesto played an impressive role as the playwright Ben Johnson, although there were many times that I just thought he was the lesser paid version of Orlando Bloom... I mean... is he really even that busy these days?

Two other things slightly plagued me throughout the film.

1. Helen Baxendale played Rhys Ifans' wife (who was previously Emily on Friends) and every time she took a nostril-flared snit, I wanted her to say, "Ross! My name isn't Rachel; it's Emily!" and...

2. David Thewlis (previously rocked Lupin in the Harry Potter saga) played William Cecil, the biggest fucking sneaky asshole. Every time he did something horrible, I thought, "Lupin! Why you gotta be like that?!"

Apart from that, I thought the story as a whole was very well done. I will heed this warning - it does have a pretty huge twist; one that will greatly impact my viewing perspective and enjoyment, particularly of the sex scenes when I eventually watch it again, but I say no more. Ahem.

As for the douche muppets behind us? I dreamed last night that I turned around and kicked her ass. After my victory, I leaned over her and said, "Bitch? I'm soooo going to blog about you." 

And now I have. 

The end.

Happier than a pig in...

SHEEEE-IT!
Today is 11.11.11. 

(Not to be confused with the American way of writing it, 11.11.11. Pssfft!) 

The O.C.D. in me is so happy that I can barely find the words to express myself. Fuck it. I'm going to get someone else to demonstrate for me instead. Perhaps... maybe... The Animated Woman? Oh yes, that's much better. SWEET!

Spectacular, right?! Yes, I'm THAT happy. Next year's 12.12.12 will be the last one of the century - if you want to put it into perspective that way. And if I don't get laid on THAT day, there's going to be some serious repercussions. 

I'm in such a generous mood that I'm giving away not one but TWO things from my shop to a couple of lucky, lucky ladies 

from yesterday's post. Comment #5 was by the Sarcasm Goddess and #14 was Sweaty. Yay!

My two gracious winners both chose the Cunt Dragon mug. Big surprise? Not really - it is rather fantastic.

The best part is that they would both like to say a few words upon accepting these ceramic masterpieces.

Sarcasm Goddess

Wow. This is incredible. Please bear with me as I try to gather my thoughts. I have dreamed of this day – the day I would win The Cunt Dragon Mug – ever since I was a wee girl. Finally, it has arrived.

The road here wasn’t an easy one. I’ve inspected a lot of vomit over the years, and while it sounds really glamorous, it wasn’t always as sexy as it sounds. But I never gave up. How could I? There were Cunt Dragon mugs to be won.

I would like to thank my mother, who taught me that anything is possible, as long as you set your mind to achieving it. My dogs, who always kept me in tip-top vomit-inspecting shape by puking all over the house at least once a week. My husband, who has always supported my dreams, even when others said the Great and Glorious Cunt Dragon Mug was unattainable. Some even said the Mug was a myth.

Well look who’s laughing now, bitches.

I, of course, have to thank the vomit, hundreds upon thousands of piles of it. I am grateful for vasectomies and the men who get them and the children who vomit about them.

And lastly, above all else I have to thank the Queen of Cunt Dragons herself, the one, the only, the incomparable Lady E. You have made all my dreams come true and I will love you til the day I die.

With Sincerest Gratitude,

Sarcasm Goddess

Do Sweat the Small Stuff

I could count with my middle finger how many times I have won something in my life--yep, not a lot. So it was to my utter delight when I received an email from my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time, Lady Estrogen, informing me that I, Sweaty, have in fact hit the jackpot and won this really awesome guessing contest she had recently.

Lady E's son obviously had inherited her f*cking brilliant mind, because during a recent bout of sickness, he barfed Alphagetti all over my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time (Lady E, that is) and sent forth a set of letters that spelled "vasectomy" on the carpet. Oh my gosh, how f*cking brilliant was THAT?!? Truly, it was a MIRACLE! Such a rare occurrence unbeknownst to me or should I say, mankind!

Have I mentioned that my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time, Lady E, is also generous and kind? So I wasn't surprised that she offered her followers a chance to win one of her ORIGINAL, one-of-a-kind Estro-goodies by guessing what the regurgitated word was. And so I did! And I won! I won, I won, I WON!!!

So here it is, my humble acceptance speech. Pledging my lifelong loyalty to my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time, Lady E, for proving once again that she is AWESOME, BRILLIANT, ORIGINAL... (even if she does not own a metal pet named Rihanna. Oops, was that supposed to be a secret, Lady E?). OK, I'll stop now. But not before I say it once again, that Lady E is my FAVORITE blogger of ALL time.

Love,
Sweaty

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My pleasure, ladies! Thank you for the flattering acceptance speeches :)
I love how Sweaty censored her "fucks" - so adorable! Ha. 
Your mugs are on their way.

Last year, I did a Remembrance Day tribute in honor of my grandfather. Always in my heart, today and forever.

Have a great weekend everyone!

De Heinz Intervention

You know what's worse than one sick child? Two sick children. I know I rarely make it a point to discuss "mother" crap on my blog, but FUCK ME. I can only be barfed on so many times before I begin to feel like a fraternity gang rape victim.

I sent out this tweet yesterday:

It was a reasonable success; appreciated by many.

Here's the catch.

If you remember what it spelled, everyone that mentions it in their comment will be entered to

win something from my shop -- your pick! Cunt dragon mug, Trooper t-shirt, Bajino Poster, you decide.

If you need help, here's the proof. See if you can make out what it spells:

"De Heinz Intervention"

C'ouch Sex

If this doesn't scream 'love', I really don't know what does...

Lady: There's nothing on TV tonight.
Husband: Wanna fuck?
L: Well, when you say it like that... Yeah!
He starts taking off his clothes right there.
  Oh, you mean down here?
H: Yup. That OK?
L: (giggles) I guess.
I start taking off my clothes while he goes to lay down on the carpet, naked and staring at me like he's the cat that just ate the canary. I look down... full cock and barrel salute.
H: I'm ready.
L: I see that!
We start some rolling around and the carpet was getting a little scratchy. And the toy train that stabbed my ass didn't help.
  Want to move to the couch?
H: Sure. Want me to kneel in front of you?
L: Sounds good. Is that OK?
H: Can you shimmy your ass a bit further forward on the couch?
L: How's that?
My ass is 2/3 off the couch and every muscle in my butt, arms and thighs are beginning to throb. I'm fucking out of shape, yo!
H: Better.
Now? There is a stabbing pain in my left ass cheek - cramp. CRAMP. CRAMP!
L: Oh my god. Oh my god. Owe! Ass cramp, hun!
H: I'm almost done, hold on! Hold on!
(Time lapse approximately 6 more frantic pumps)
  Ahhhhh.
  Wow. That was terrible.
L: You really know how to talk sexy to a girl.
H: Ha! Sorry... it was awkward. I didn't like it.
L: Yes, your sperm seemed highly disappointed.
H: Bah. You know what I mean.
L: Yeah. So... you going to walk the dog?
He's re-dressing but I'm still on the couch, naked.
H: Yes. Did she crap at 5 o'clock?
L: Uh huh. She'll just need a pee before bed.
H: OK.
L: I'm going to go upstairs and finish myself. If you come back in time, you can help me.
H: Na. I'm good.

Yes, that.

Five More Funny F*ckrz

I haven't done a FFF for a long time, so I thought I'd take this opportunity to get caught up on five of the things that made me laugh in the last little while. Some are from ages ago that I had stumbled on while... you know... wasting time working hard.

1. Scary Mommy wrote her own version of the "Go the Fuck to Sleep" book a little while back called "Wake the Fuck Up". If you haven't checked it out, it's fantastic. Oh, and it's also highly offensive to annoying husbands, so if you're that, well... sorry.
My favorite stanza:

"I know you feel sick but I do as well
My nose is stuffy too
and my throat sore as hell
Please stop complaining
It’s just a little cold
So shut up and cope
You’re not that fucking old"

2. I have recently been turned on to Avitable and I had a few pokes around the other day and came across this, umm... photo of a turkey. Since we're pretty much 1/2 way between Canadian Thanksgiving and the American holiday (and I still have a pumpkin transformed into a turkey on my front porch that is mildly rotting) I think this is a very suitable festive link to share with all of you. 

WARNING: His nut sack had been used to create this image, but don't worry, I'm sure his balls were not harmed in any way during the making of this... art?

3. My bloggy boyfriend Lost in Idaho (we're still, like, totally getting those middle finger ring tats, just you wait) took a little visit to Preston, Idaho. Do you KNOW why that town is so damn significant? Well, I'll give you three hints: Ligers, Pedro and Lafawnduh.

Oh yes, it's where Napoleon Dynamite is from. Gosh!

Swoon, baby, swoooooon!

So, because of my love for this movie (I own a 'Vote for Pedro' t-shirt), I might be a little bias of this post, but  I think it's awesome. That is, unless you've not seen Napoleon Dynamite. If that's the case, this post won't make any fucking sense to you. Sorry.

4. The Animated Woman did a fabulous illustration last week (all of them are fabulous, but because this one is slightly deviant, I love it a tiny bit more than the others). It describes her, and most of our current feelings towards that gawd damn Klout thingamajigger. You know what I mean....

It's entitled "My KLOUToris." 

Do YOU know where it's hidding? 

Ahem.

5. This last one I came across via The Twitter. @looneytunes tweeted this link and wouldn't you know it? It's actually allowing me to embed it, so dammit, that's what I'm going to do. It's a performance by Stephen Lynch and the song is called, "What if that guy from Smashing Pumpkins lost his car keys?" Of course, referring to Billy Corgan. It's pretty fucking hilarious, especially if you happen to be a 90s grunger kid like me. There's a couple F-bombs (shocker, I know) for those of you who might be listening at work. Yeah, that.



And that brings me to the end of another edition of 5 Funny Fuckrz. If you have one that you think I've missed reading and totally feel like it deserves a shout out, please let me know. I LOVE reading good posts! I try to keep up with my blog reading, but it's pretty overwhelming at times. Twitter has become my blog reader these days. Tweet me some good shit and I'll stop by for a visit. Yay!

Have a gawd damn fantastic weekend, everyone!
MUAH.

I couldn't stay

There were a few tweaks of interest last week when I mentioned in my "22 Things I've Done" list about how I had to be dragged through the departure gates by airport security.

Oh, yes they did. Well, "dragged" is a tad overly dramatic; perhaps I should use "escorted".

So, there we were -- waiting for my flight to begin boarding. We sat, and sat some more. Nine of my friends came with me to the airport to see me off; nine, including Jason. We sat there, tired, hungover and barely spoke... just waiting. No one knew what to say. Everything had been said the night before, at various points of intoxication. Everyone that was at the airport had been out with me that night, along with a few others that couldn't make it to the airport. There was a lot of drinking, drugs and (only with Jason, of course) a lot of sex. Sad, emotional, drunken, sloppy sex.

We were together that night and into the early hours of the morning. Things were said that made it even more hard to leave that afternoon; things about our future together.

There are a few important points that I must list to paint this picture accurately:
1. As per Rotary protocol, I had to wear my Exchange student jacket at the airport that had a plush platypus sewed on the left sleeve and a kookaburra attached to my right shoulder, like I was a fucking Australian pirate. It was very difficult to be sad and sexy wearing that bullshit.
2. Nick had showed up to the airport as well, but didn't say goodbye since we had fallen out months before. He just wanted to show up, apparently to "stick it to me". D-R-A-M-A.
3. There were a couple Rotarians there as well, but more to make sure I got on the plane, rather than to lovingly send me off - there was no love loss between me and their organization, to put it mildly.
4. I have much of the night before and scenes from the airport on video... that's right, VIDEO. It's the most painful train-wreak collection of footage that I will never be able to delete, nor will I ever fucking show it, so don't ask. Besides, I'd have to convert it to digital and that's just too much effort.

Anyhow, there we all were, silent, staring at the floor, avoiding each other's gazes like we were all awkwardly waiting for me to be executed.

First boarding announcement. 

It came over the speakers and instantly, I began to panic. My hear started to race and I felt as if I was going to be sick. A couple of my friends had also begun to cry. Jason kept holding my hand, constantly varying the degree of tightness. I avoided eye contact with him for as long as possible. I tried to take deep breaths but that just made the panic set in worse.

This was it; I was really leaving.

Second announcement.

We had to start to slowly moving towards the gate at this point. We moved as if the 10 of us were a single giant amoeba, slowly oozing towards the doors. I could feel hands on me, trying to comfort me. One of my friends gave my kookaburra a pet - I knew she meant well but I didn't find it amusing. I wanted to rip that motherfucking bird off my shoulder, but I didn't. My feet started to get heavier and I felt faint - likely due to the mild hyperventilating.

Third announcement.

The Rotarian came over to tell me it was time I went through. Fuck you! But I knew he was right. I was going around the circle for the umpteenth time, saying final-final-final goodbyes, I love yous and promises of writing or calling. Jason was always the last in the rotation. When I knew it was the 'real' final, I began to outrageously weep. I was balancing on hysterical like a tightrope. Jason tried to calm me down, but it didn't matter.

I love you.
    I love you. 
      I love you!

To this day, I'm not sure if one of the Rotarians got security to intervene or not, but a giant hunk of a woman approached me and asked if I was ready for my flight in a very stern yet condescending tone. She shuffled me through the automatic sliding doors, but I couldn't see anything from the tears, nor did I care. I looked back one last time when the doors slid open again for someone else and all my friends were still there. I tried to run back, but the woman now had a firm hold of me... and my passport.

The rest is a blur. I don't remember getting on the plane whatsoever. I just remember the sadness and desperation. It was nearly a 20 hour flight with 2 stop-overs. I was OK until I saw the CN Tower, then I started all over again. The poor person sitting beside me didn't know what the hell was wrong with me. I really, really didn't want to leave Melbourne, my friends, my love.

What can I say? Me and airports do not go well together.
It seems as though I'm always saying goodbye to significant chapters of my life whenever I'm at one.
Maybe I should just stop moving.

{Photo credit: Steve Davidson}