Does anybody remember Pussy Ranch, the original Diablo Cody blog from back when she was a stripper and phone sex worker? It was an early ErosBlog favorite, when she still called herself “Darling” and long before she took up writing Oscar-winning screenplays for genuinely excellent movies with great if quirky music.

Sadly, Cody was also one of the people who was an early and influential progenitor of my distaste for blog vandals. The original Pussy Ranch vanished overnight, and subsequent projects (for awhile she had a blog-like thing in one of those “city newspaper” community sites, there was a more recent blogspot blog, and she does MySpace now) haven’t resurrected any of her old posts. I haven’t checked the archive sites, but it’s possible ErosBlog is now the only place you can read what she wrote about her 2003 engagement:

On Friday, Jonny presented me with a saucy new ensemble from Wet Seal (the man has some seriously excellent taste) and told me I should wear it for a “surprise dateâ€? on Saturday. But of course! I adore surprises.

So I donned the beaded top, miniskirt and pink fishnet tights on Saturday evening (Jonny wore an extremely hot new outfit as well) and we headed out. It turned out he had made reservations at our favorite sushi restaurant. We ordered cocktails and nigiri and commenced a fabulous meal. After finishing, we decided we were still hungry and ordered a second round of sushi.

So you can imagine my shock when the waitress arrived with a tray not bearing spicy tuna rolls, but a white ring box. “Here’s your special roll,â€? she said, barely able to contain her glee. Jonny dropped to his knee as I began bawling my fool eyes out in front of many gawking diners, and popped the question.

I had a surprise planned too: See, we’d been talking about getting engaged a lot recently, and I had a hunch a proposal was forthcoming. So several days earlier (as it turns out, the exact day Jonny had purchased the ring), I had secretly had the word “yesâ€? tattooed on the inside of my wrist. I’d hidden it with an AC/DC wristband and hoped my surprise wouldn’t be blown.

And it wasn’t; I whipped off the wristband and flashed Jonny my wrist. “Yes!â€? Onlookers applauded, and my feet haven’t touched the ground since.

I wanted my answer to last forever, and now it will. (In fact, it’s healing nicely.)

We’ve also got her advice for guys who call phone sex lines, as well as a short discourse on punching men in the stomach for money. And let’s not forget what she said about poor Michelle Branch, who got so roughly used by Maxim’s art department!

Diablo from Pussy Ranch has been doing working the phone sex lines lately, and she offers trenchant advice:

Note to callers: If you’re sharing an elaborate gay buttfuck fantasy with me, don’t randomly interject “Oh, and while the one guy is fucking me up the ass, I want Jennifer Love Hewitt to suck my dick.” I will bust a gut laughing, so don’t act all wounded about it.

And some etiquette as well, complete with grammar tips:

In an awkward attempt to transition to the action-packed phase of our interaction, I will say, “So, what do you like to do for fun?”

You always — always! — reply, “You.”

Excuse me while I heave with laughter. I’ve never heard anything quite so clever! Except, you know, the last four guys said the exact same thing.

Variations on this reply include “Green-eyed blondes,” “Hot chicks,” or, my personal favorite, “Watch girls suck my cock.”

Allow me to explain something: When I asked you what you like to do, I was using the implied imperfective tense of the verb. As in, “What do you like to do, as an ongoing thing, meaning something you have actually done.” I didn’t say “What would you like to do?” I didn’t say, “In a perfect world, where you look like Heath Ledger and don’t live with your mother, what might you enjoy doing?

Diablo Cody from Pussy Ranch writes:

“Yesterday, a man paid me to punch him repeatedly in the stomach for ten straight minutes. He explained that an incident during his childhood had spawned the fetish, and told me to punch him as hard as I could. So I did. I’ve never slugged anyone before, and I must admit it felt good.”

There are more things under the sun, Horatio….

I’m a pop culture illiterate, so it doesn’t surprise me that I’ve never heard of Michelle Branch or her music. That notwithstanding, Diablo from Pussy Ranch made me howl with laughter when she wrote:

This month’s Maxim cover features a half-naked Michelle Branch shielding her tender young breasts from a Photoshopped pillar of leaping flames. “Barbecutie!” the cover cleverly blares. I’ll bet earnest little Michelle Branch never thought she’d be likened to a McRib on the cover of a lad mag. She can strum a D chord, after all! She’s better than this, ostensibly! She wrote the theme song to Sorority Life, not that I pay attention to such things!
…
However, either Michelle’s asscrack has been airbrushed into nonexistence by Maxim’s art department, or she is, in fact, lacking a cleft between her buttocks. If the latter scenario is true, then we can assume that Michelle Branch cannot pass solid waste. That’s sad. Imagine you’re in the studio, recording your latest opus, and those knob-twiddlers from Maverick are pestering you. And all you can think is: I need to crap so bad. I wish I hadn’t loaned my colostomy bag to Madonna.

I suppose it’s that kind of urgency that creates truly exquisite, D chord-driven albums.

Diablo from Pussy Ranch is getting married! “Diablo and Jonny, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then two little babies in a baby carriage….”

Here’s how it went down, since I know you ladies need the details about this sort of thing. And besides, it’s pretty cool:

On Friday, Jonny presented me with a saucy new ensemble from Wet Seal (the man has some seriously excellent taste) and told me I should wear it for a “surprise date” on Saturday. But of course! I adore surprises.

So I donned the beaded top, miniskirt and pink fishnet tights on Saturday evening (Jonny wore an extremely hot new outfit as well) and we headed out. It turned out he had made reservations at our favorite sushi restaurant. We ordered cocktails and nigiri and commenced a fabulous meal. After finishing, we decided we were still hungry and ordered a second round of sushi.

So you can imagine my shock when the waitress arrived with a tray not bearing spicy tuna rolls, but a white ring box. “Here’s your special roll,” she said, barely able to contain her glee. Jonny dropped to his knee as I began bawling my fool eyes out in front of many gawking diners, and popped the question.

I had a surprise planned too: See, we’d been talking about getting engaged a lot recently, and I had a hunch a proposal was forthcoming. So several days earlier (as it turns out, the exact day Jonny had purchased the ring), I had secretly had the word “yes” tattooed on the inside of my wrist. I’d hidden it with an AC/DC wristband and hoped my surprise wouldn’t be blown.

And it wasn’t; I whipped off the wristband and flashed Jonny my wrist. “Yes!” Onlookers applauded, and my feet haven’t touched the ground since.

I wanted my answer to last forever, and now it will. (In fact, it’s healing nicely.)

Congratulations to the both of ya!

Darling at Pussy Ranch writes:

If I ever design a bra, I will call it “The Yum-Yum Holster” and it will have a charming center panel that says “Your Dick Here” in helpful embroidery.

Speaking on behalf of most of the men on the planet, this woman really needs to be a lingerie designer.

From Pussy Ranch, this exceedingly useful item of vocabulary:

Porn Shui: noun, refers to the art of positioning oneself in one’s office or cubicle so that one can surf porn undetected. Usage: “I have great porn shui; I face the hallway and the desk behind me is vacant.”

When I “worked” an office job, I was all about the porn shui.