Thirteen things I learned from Cosmo, Part Cinq
Pity me. As you read this, there’s an excellent chance I’m a mile above America, wedged between George W. Bush’s Last Vocal Supporter and a Moonie behind on his conversion quota. Times like this, I wish I knew some relatively obscure foreign language — Yoruba, perhaps — in which I could repeat, “I don’t speak English.”
See, no matter how badly you pronounce, “I don’t speak English,” some wag will point out that you are, in fact, speaking Engish. Yuk. Yuk. So I need a language — something guttural, something phlegmy. I mean, a guy can pretend to be asleep for only so long.
*please please please no coughing sneezing children oh PLEASE*
. . . because I always catch stuff on planes, too. Bad enough that snot rockets are a hazard of my profession. Gaaaah, enough kvetching already — let’s find out what’s new in this month’s Cosmo.
Dangerous love
How far would you go for love?
Note: for the purposes of this post, and because I’m a guy, sex = love. The two are interchangeable. No, don’t bother to argue with me.
World Sex Records tells us, “Menstrual blood, placenta, and genitals have all been devoured to increase sexual prowess. Semen was also popular. (“The semen of virile young men should be mixed with the excrement of hawks or eagles and taken in pellet form.”) Chinese eunuchs, seeking regeneration of their lost sexual organs, would hopefully eat the warm brains of newly decapitated criminals.”
Sex is not without hazard. Heart attacks, seizures, and ruptured aneurysms number among the risks. And whatever else you do, don’t take “blow job” too literally. Blowing into the vagina during cunnilingus can result in air embolism and sudden death.
There’s risk, and then there’s risk; autoerotic asphyxiation is one well known way to off yourself in the throes, but the Darwin Awards site has many more creative ways of turning the little death into the Big One. Whether it’s inadvertant carbon monoxide poisoning, sex at 80 mph, or sex in the road, cars and sex don’t mix. Exceptions granted for the back seats of parked cars in dark, secluded places.
Needless to say, membership in the Mile High Club is only granted to survivors.
Fortunately, some horror stories are only urban legends. A man did not electrocute himself by masturbating into an electrically-stimulated cow heart, Catherine the Great was not crushed to death having sex with a horse, and [insert name of most hated rock star or starlet here] did not get a gallon of semen pumped out of his/her stomach. Damn. I always liked that tale. At least it’s true that Marilyn Chambers really was the Ivory Snow Girl.
Happy Valentine’s Day, droogs.
D.
Candle in the swirling dark
Yesterday, Melissa McEwan of Shakespeare’s Sister announced her resignation from the John Edwards presidential campaign. This followed shortly after Amanda Marcotte’s similar announcement, and, as I understand it, both women stepped down for the same reasons: they were tired of being chum for the irReligious Right’s single-digit-IQ trained barracudas. Read this for background.
The only flickering light in this dark, dismal time is the fact that Melissa and Amanda are now free to fight back. And you can fight back, too.
Visit Melissa’s and Amanda’s blogs. Give ’em some love. Link to them. Join Driftglass, Blue Gal, and the rest of us in our blogswarm. Kick up a fuss.
D.
PS: While we’re at it, how about a Googlebomb for William Donohue? Check my left sidebar Googlebomb category.
PPS: Shakes is keeping track of the blogswarm here. I almost forgot . . . I AM SPARTACUS! Bloody hell you’d better believe it.
Okay, folks, I’m tired of messing around.
I want to see Kris Starr’s athletic, toned ass. NOW. Go donate money to a highly worthy cause — only $21.50 to go, dammit. And now that I’ve pimped this contest twice, I’m expecting front AND rear views, thank you very much.
***
What kind of evolutionist am I? A piss poor one, evidently. I missed Charles Darwin’s birthday yesterday, but thankfully, Blue Gal didn’t. She’s supporting the First Freedom First petition and I am, too, so get your hineys (toned or otherwise) over there and sign. (KEY POINT, vis a vis Darwin: “Public schools should teach with academic integrity and without the promotion of religious preference or belief.”)
But if that’s too high brow for you, go spend some time at the Darwin Awards page. Or not, because if you do, you might ruin my surprise for Valentine’s Day.
***
And don’t fret about the Thursday Thirteen. I’ve got that covered.
***
And, oh, if y’all aren’t Corn Dog readers yet, what’s the matter with you? Great story here, and don’t skip the comments.
***
That’s it for now. In the comments, open mike for self-pimpage. Write anything primo recently? Let everyone know.
D.
Alien landscape
Ever since college, and perhaps even longer than that, I’ve had a recurring dream of a rocky area set aside for hikers. Once, and only once — I was in med school at the time — I explored far enough that I found a cave. Something of great importance was in the cave but I never found out what it was. I’ve been trying to make it back ever since.
Back here in the real world, I think this is why I love places like Red Rock Canyon (near Las Vegas) and Vasquez Rocks (in So. Cal.)Â Both places inspire the same feeling in me: the expectation that just around the corner, I’ll see the rocks of my dreams, and perhaps also the cave.
The older I become, the farther I get from that landscape. Last night, I tried making it up there on my ten-speed; but it was winter, and folks were telling me how treacherous the hiking had become, what with all the snow and sleet. I never even got a glimpse.
From childhood, I recall other places of power. A desolate road, a hidden beach. Walk a little farther and I knew I would find myself in another world, one that obeyed different rules. Back then, the idea of escape to another world fascinated me, asleep or awake. But with age comes contentedness, and maybe that’s why those other worlds have slipped away; I don’t need them now. I don’t even need the promise they hold.
They’re always to the northwest, these regions. Go figure.
D.
SBD: Jackie Kessler, author of Hell’s Belles
As promised, I have something — someone — special here for Smart Bitches Day: Jackie Kessler, author of Hell’s Belles. Look at her. Oy, so cute.
Flickr Follies for the evening, and a review
Sunday caught me between two hefty posts — Saturday’s story, and tomorrow’s interview with Jackie Kessler. Since I’m too anal retentive to let a day go by without a post, here’s a Flickr image for your contemplation. From Ga Music Maker’s photo stream:
But if you simply MUST read some stuff by yours truly, here’s my review of Interzone #208. That’s what I’ve been working on for the last two weekends. Enjoy.
D.
‘Twas a dark and stormy night.
The 2006 Bulwer-Lytton Contest winners have been announced. Here’s the runner-up for the Romance category:
Sex with Rachel after she turned fifty was like driving the last-place team on the last day of the Iditarod Dog Sled Race, the point no longer the ride but the finish, the difficulty not the speed but keeping all the parts moving in the right direction, not to mention all that irritating barking.
Dan Winters
Los Altos Hills, CA
You want to read the first place winner? You’ll just have to go see for yourself!
Hat tip to Bill in Portland Maine, at Daily Kos.
D.
The Starr Tukhas Challenge!
If you want to see Kris
look like this
then you need to enter Dean Cochrane’s Nearly Naked Challenge. All it takes is some of your cold, hard cash, people, and Kris will strut her bikini-clad stuff!
(Kris, how much extra for the purple dye job?)
D.
PS: Blogflux Pinger won’t ping for me anymore! I think it has something to do with my sexual content. Anyone know another pinging service I can use — one that is, perhaps, less discriminating?