Hot enough for you?
Remember Jackie Kessler? She looks so sweet in that photo; hard to imagine a face like that concealing a mind capable of writing like this:
He pulls his hand out of me and mounts me, thrusts himself deep inside, deep to the breaking point, then slides out and back in, and again, pumping, faster, faster now, his hands gripping my shoulders and my heart slamming against my chest and my groin is on fire, on fire, oh bless me I’m on fire and he’s smiling at me as he fucks me, fucks me raw and he says, “You’re mine.”
No, Jackie! Please say it wasn’t you who penned those words — not you, the nice Jewish girl (I’m guessing) my mom no doubt wishes I would have married. No! Please say it was a group effort from this trio. I could see them writing a few steamy sex scenes.
Sigh.
The one question I never asked Jackie in that interview (linked above): Do your parents know you write this stuff?
Pity me.
I spent the day immersed in scenery like this.
We’re looking out across the Smith River Valley at the Siskiyou Mountains in the distance. Looking down from our trail, we can see the South Fork of the Smith River:
This looks out of focus to me, confirming I am Teh Suxx0r at photography. Must. Take. Class. (On the other hand, some photos can be blurry as hell and they still rawk.) Trust me, the Smith is so clear, you can count the stones.
Two miles hike in, two miles out, with nothing to do at our destination but soak our tootsies in one of the nation’s few unspoiled rivers . . .
Saturday Flickr Babe: Sexy
Originally uploaded by tati.ana.
So much here that’s not told, not shown, but left to the imagination.
Live blogging, right . . . now.
D.
Quick note to my betas
Just emailed you the latest version of Technical Virgins. If you were expecting to get this and haven’t, I may not have your most recent email address. Leave me a note in the comments, or email me at
azureus
at
harborside (dot)
com
D.
Fourteen selfish things I could do with $330 million
Back when I was a grad student, my thesis advisor, a newly minted millionaire thanks to his very own biotech firm, bemoaned the fact he couldn’t do anything really interesting with “just” a few million dollars. He had to be worth tens of millions, or preferably hundreds of millions, or more. He meant that he couldn’t do any worthwhile philanthropic work with his meager riches, couldn’t set up a foundation, couldn’t get a new university building or even a hospital wing dedicated to him.
This was bullshit, of course — the philanthropic part, I mean. I’m thinking of the many local charities, women’s shelters, for example, which live and die each year for only a few thousand dollars. But the boss was thinking big.
The Mega Millions jackpot has reached $330 million. That’s not a record, but it’s close, and in any case it’s still a chunk of change. A generous person could do some good works with $330 million.
Or he could blow it all on himself and his family.
And after the spanking, the oral sex
But first, I have to distract my son. Look, Jake!
An interview with the creators of HomeStarRunner.
HomeStarRunner live at the Cork Opera House.
A special tribute to HomeStarRunner.
World of Warcraft meets The Simpsons.
World of Warcraft level 70 warlock action — with Nine Inch Nails background music.
World of Warcraft music video for Nine Inch Nails “Hurt”.
That’ll keep you busy. Nothing below the fold. Nothing at all.
Brain fry
Serendipity in the blogosphere:
Trying to find an image for “tacos cerebros,” I found The Steam Monkey, a Spanish/English blog — mostly Spanish — filled with provocative images (why, there’s one right now!) Not safe for work. Not safe for most of my readers, for that matter. But still . . . Steam Monkey’s July 24th post on obscenity is the most powerful and effective thing I’ve read on the thesis that war is the true pornography — and he proves his point primarily through images. NOT for the faint of heart, people. I’ve seen some horrible things in my career, but Steam Monkey’s second war casualty took my breath away.
And you know, it was all a mistake, too, because “brain tacos” would be “tacos sesos,” not “tacos cerebros,” I think. But there you have it. I search for the wrong thing and find a blogger with some wild sensibilities. I wish my Spanish were better!
Anyway, back to brain fry.
Subtitle: Why You’re Not Reading a Thursday Thirteen Right Now.
It’s work, of course, like always. But rather than wallow in self pity, I thought it would be more fun to search the web for actual brain fry recipes. Mostly, these are pasta & red sauce cunningly designed to look like brains. Boring! But here’s one for calves’ brains that’s the real thing:
Soak brains in cold water for 2 hours. Remove thin outer skin. Soak again in cold water for 3 hours.
Place brains in large saucepan. Cover with cold water. Add salt, onion studded with a clove, bay leaf, thyme, and peppercorns. Bring to boil. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Keep brains in cooking liquid until ready to use in recipe. Then remove brains and drain them.
Okay, so that’s a brain boil, not a brain fry; but the same website has a recipe for Beef Brain Curry (Indonesian: Gulai Otak) and Beef Brain Sauteed in Spiced Sauce – (Semur Otak). Those count.
I’ll bet even The Sneeze’s famous Steve wouldn’t eat this stuff.
Anyway.
I had a Thirteen planned for today. I even wrote the first three items this morning. And then work happened.
But now I have a four-day weekend, and there’s always the Friday Fourteen.
***
Even if I’m not doing a TT, Darla’s courtship post deserves a shout. Go. Read.
D.
Sauna come-ons I can handle
It’s all these pokes, vampire bites, pirate invitations, zombie attacks, and naughty gifts I can’t manage. Facebook is stressing me out.
First, the sauna story. It’s not much of a story. In fact, if you don’t know my brother-in-law, I doubt it’s any kind of story at all. Well, here, try this: conjure in your mind the most macho homophobe you know. Good. Keep that image in sharp focus.
Karen’s brother managed the Y nearest my med school. Back then, I wasn’t much for exercise. I would go maybe once a week during an “active” phase, ignore the gym for months at a time, faithfully pay my membership dues — what a waste. When I did haul my flabby ass to the Y, I liked to lounge around in the sauna. I figured the heat would get my heart rate up into that critical target zone. Twenty minutes of that and my work was done.
One evening, I became aware of funny noises emanating from the only other person in the sauna. Slippery noises. Pud-pounding noises. As I left, I took note of a towel around the man’s waist and what appeared to be a busy hand.
Was this a come-on? Who knows. I was a little uncomfortable (although, unlike Tucker Carlson, I didn’t bring any of my med school buddies back with me to rough the guy up), so I left. No, the funny part came when I told my brother-in-law. He managed the joint, so I figured he would want to know so that he could tell the janitors to do some extra cleaning.
Okay, I’m lying. I knew he would have a fit and I was eager to see him unravel.
He wanted a physical description of the guy. Was he tall? Short? Old? Young? What color was his hair?
Sorry, man. I wasn’t looking that close.
Come on, I’m telling you, this is important. Everyone signs in. If you can think of any identifying information, we can figure out who it was . . .
On and on, way past the point of funny. I never could give him any info besides, “I’m pretty sure it was a guy.” I suspect the not-knowing drove him mad. Not long after, he began managing a different local Y.
Anyway, about Facebook. What is all this stuff? Every time I show up, there’s a half dozen new invitations. SxKitten and Dean keep biting me. Can’t they bite each other? And they want me to be a pirate, too, them and Da Nator and Cap’n Dyke; and people keep poking me! I get bombed and super-poked. People want me to be honest with them.
The only thing that sounds vaguely interesting: Shaina sent me a naughty gift, but to find out what it is, I have to add Naughty Gifts to my Facebook applications. And to do that, I have to send five naughty gifts to my friends.
Fine. Done. But now I get an error message telling me sorry, Facebook fucks up sometimes, hey, it happens. We’ll let our admin know sometime real soon, ‘kay? So did my friends get their naughty gifts, or not? And why can’t I customize the naughty gifts? WHAT’S THE DAMN POINT IF WE’RE GIVING EACH OTHER THE SAME NAUGHTY GIFTS?
I’m too Type A for Facebook.
D.
I am not gay.
Sen. Larry Craig, who in May told the Idaho Statesman he had never engaged in homosexual acts, was arrested less than a month later by an undercover police officer who said Craig made a sexual advance toward him in an airport men’s room. — IdahoStatesman.com
I have nothing but sympathy for the Republican senator from Idaho. The man devoted his entire professional life to defending and promoting solid Family Values by voting to impeach President Clinton (after all — Clinton was a nasty, bad, naughty boy), opposing a woman’s right to choose at every turn (0% rating by NARAL — such a badge of honor), and most of all, working diligently to scuttle any bill which might promote gay rights. Yes, you have to respect a man with such a wide stance on the issues.
And what does he get in return for decades of public service? He gets the shaft, that’s what, courtesy of the International Gay Conspiracy! This whole situation really blows.
I feel for this man, though, because I, too, am not gay.
Where’s Gonzo?
You’ve played Where’s Waldo with your kids, right? So you’re an old hand at this.
Find Gonzo.
Having trouble? Look again: