A Confident Mrs. Smith

It’s just like they say, confidence is always sexy. “If there was one thing that Mrs. Smith was sure of…”

What? It’s just an old TV commercial. Don’t have such a dirty mind.

A Review of Levitra

Halley Suit reviews a new wonder drug: Levitra Proves Disappointing. Caustic fluids warning: don’t be drinking them while reading this.

Hand Me Down That Can Of Beans

From Write Only Media comes one of those widely-circulated email funnies; in this case, a not-so-funny list of things British women supposedly have written in the “Father’s Details” section of child support agency forms. A few items from the list:

02. I am unsure as to the identity of the father of my child as I was being sick out of a window when taken unexpectedly from behind. I can provide you with a list of names of men that I think were at the party if this helps.

07. I do not know who the father of my child was as all squaddies look the same to me. I can confirm that he was a Royal Green Jacket.

11. I am unsure as to the identity of the father of my baby; after all when you eat a can of beans you can’t be sure which one made you fart.

What a lovely metaphor. Not.

The Nymph In My Net: Touching

Isn’t it an amazing feeling when you click random blog links and stumble onto a post that feels like the author was eavesdropping in your brain? I’ll tell you what I mean:

I’m a hands-on sort of guy. I love to touch and be touched. But I’ve never been very good at it. The lady I used to be with a few years ago was the sort who always managed to shrug my hand off her arm, or turn away just as I was reaching for her. Always so innocent and seemingly random or accidental, it took me years to catch on to the fact that she just didn’t like to touch. Even early in that relationship, I often wished she’d touch me more. I’m not talking about sex, here, although I could. I’m just talking about a friendly gesture as we would pass in a hallway. A hand touching a wrist, that sort of thing.

The Nymph does not have this not-touching issue. Quite the contrary. She warned me on the phone, seemed concerned even, that she’s “hands-y”. I said “Sounds yummy to me!” and meant it from the bottom of my heart.

Hands-y? She is, too. And I love it. I never want her to let go. But she keeps making comments that make it clear, she’s worried I’ll grow to think she’s clingy. The woman actually jokes (the “ha ha, only serious” kind of jokes) that I’ll get tired of her “hanging on me” all the time.

That’s so not going to happen. Have I mentioned I love it when she touches me? Or, that I’m touching her just as much, and feel like I can’t stop?

It’s like Dan wrote about his Amber (links long gone):

When we first got together, I came to understand how starved Amber was for this kind of attention. She was actually afraid that I was going to get *tired* of touching her. What I realized was that I’d been starved for years for someone *to* touch, and she’d been starved for years for someone to touch *her*.

A perfect match!

We now return you to your regularly-scheduled (i.e., non-sappy) sex blogging.

Working In A Brothel

Interesting article on brothel life, courtesy of the Ratty’s Ghost archives. There’s something for everyone in there, including frustrated economists:

Most brothels have completely unacceptable pricing structures, which one is expected to follow. Prices vary according to the location and quality of the individual brothel, but most of the time, whatever the asking price is, it’s insulting when you consider the cost of living and the price of other services in the area. Escort services are even worse–some of them charge as little as $200/hour, and you’re expected to give half of that to the house, and another $10-$20 to your driver, leaving you with eighty dollars, for which you’re expected to let the client fuck you. (Right. That’ll happen.)

Needless to say, it’s not a good idea to go along with that kind of stupidity. You can get $80/hour doing an ordinary job, for Christ’s sake. There’s no point in doing something which may or may not even be legal in your area if you aren’t going to be well-compensated.

Thanks to Daze for the link.

The Nymph In My Net: I Like Nets

So when The Nymph was here, we had a conversation. It was pretty simple, it went kinda like this:

“I never want you to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“So don’t.”
“Well, I have to go home or my family will call the FBI.”
“Well, come back right away then.”
“OK.”

I figured I shouldn’t tempt the gods by exulting too much. But now the airplane ticket has been purchased and packing is underway. This is turning into a fairy tale. Don’t pinch me, I don’t want to wake up.

Flight date is just after Valentine’s Day. I teasingly tried to suggest that she was doing herself out of her traditional chocolate allotment that way, but I got firmly instructed that I had missed the point: the timing was cleverly designed to allow me to purchase her Valentine chocolate on February 15 at half price, and therefore it had better be a nice big double-sized ration, Buster!

I guess it’s time to start practicing my couples skills. “Yes, Dear.”

“Grasp Firmly With Both Hands….”

My grandmother used to believe that a young lady should never be seen to drink in public. It’s entirely possible she would feel vindicated by this photograph:

On the other hand, it’s also possible the young gentlemen present will be, er, intrigued by the young lady’s enthusiastic two-handed grasp on the beer hose.

Not An American Girl

Here in the United States we are accustomed to a certain emotional transactionalism, a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately style of equitable dealing that, at least in the sexual arena, may not always be a real comfortable fit when it’s wrapped tightly around the different values and responses men and women bring to sex. Men and women steeped in the values of classic American feminism may not approve of the following, but it’s hard to deny that Dora sounds pretty pleased with herself when she writes (at Taken in Hand, link via Spank Directory) about The Importance of Making Myself Available:

It is wonderful when we have sex and I am on fire with passion or I pick up that passion during the act, and it is an important part of our marriage and sex life, but I think the other times are just as important and, in another way, wonderful. Those are the times when it didn’t matter if I was in the mood or not, because he either needed so badly to have that pressure relieved or he just found me so adorable that he had to express it by taking me on the spot.

Those times I do not get any orgasm but I have the pleasure of having a husband who is happy and cheerful and humming. And sometimes he is even able to help decorating the table for a dinner party just because he has got it. To see him like that is a much more quiet and subtle satisfaction than an orgasm, but to me it is just as good.

Maybe I am more practical about it because I am the farm girl I am, but to me it is and always was a very natural thing that the male has different sexual needs than the female. To meet those needs and even enjoy it as much as I can in some way or another has always been a natural thing for me, because I believe that a wife has a duty to be supportive and loyal, to let her husband feel loved and appreciated, to please him and make him happy, and to comfort him and cheer him up and help him to regain his confidence and self-esteem when he needs it.

Compare and contrast: Why Your Wife Won’t Have Sex With You.

Couples Calling The Phone Sex Line

Doxy the Phone Slut is back. She writes in her usual entertaining style about the challenge of receiving phone sex calls from couples:

Couple calls are always fascinating to me because, well, it’s not just a guy jacking off into his old Slayer t-shirt in his parents’ basement. At the very minimum the guy has to be able to bag or rent a person willing to engage in sex acts with him.
…
[S]ometimes it is people who have pretty much worn out their own ideas and are looking for new ones which can be a tricky dance of the first water. Because if they haven’t tried it before that means they didn’t think of it. And is that because they would be adverse to it, or because they just haven’t been exposed to it? I once really freaked out a woman by suggesting she rim her husband’s asshole. Another guy got angry because I asked him if he’d ever spanked his wife. Knowing what is out of bounds for people is hard. And if it’s “out of bounds” is it REALLY out of bounds, or do they just want to pretend it’s out of bounds so that you can “force” them to do things they’re trying to pretend they don’t want to do?
…
So much of this job is tightrope walking. Dominate me, but don’t fuck me in the ass. Have my sister catch me jerking off, but NOT my mom. I wanna fuck the high school cheerleader down the block, and the girl scout up the road, but the brownie is OUT of the question. There is serious Forrest Gump “phone sex is like a box of chocolates” karma in the mix. And that challenge is what keeps the job fun and exciting.

Which of course reminds me of the old joke:

Q: “How does a Cub Scout get to become a Boy Scout?”
A: “He just has to eat a Brownie.”

Wife Selling

From a comments thread over on Making Light comes this interesting article on the historical practice of wife selling. Apparently this was slightly less obnoxious than it sounds, and functioned as a means of adjusting unhappy marriages in an era where divorce was unavailable. And the ritual was entertaining, at least to readily-amused louts like me:

In Staffordshire, for example, the custom of wife selling followed a fairly rigid pattern. A man in search of freedom took his wife to market, with a length of rope attached to her neck. He paid a toll that gave him the right to sell merchandise, then paraded her around the market extolling her virtues. Interested males would then bid for her in a general auction. Once a bid was accepted the husband would hand over the toll ticket as proof of ownership, and the trio would then retire to the inn and seal the deal with a beer or two. Despite the lowly position of the wives in these transactions, most accepted the custom as a satisfactory way of ending an unhappy marriage. In many instances the sale was agreed by mutual consent before the auction commenced. However, it was accepted practice that the formality of the market place auction would always be conducted.

Rub These, Please

Here’s a little hands-on (well, mouse-on) fun: Touch Me.

Update: The link was emailed by a friend, but Jonno from Fleshbot wrote to point out that there are lots more spiffy/sexy animations on the site. Numbers 4 and 5: Yummy!

Warming Nipple Rub

It’s a cold winter day where I am, so it must be time to warm things up with a bit of gratuitous nipple rubbing:

Don’t you feel warmer now?

A Man Enjoys His Politics

A random text bite from the diary of a “fully-owned female slave”. Her Master has finally found a way to make politics entertaining:

Later, He had me pleasure Him orally while He watched the political show of the State of the Union speech. That was unexpected, as was the deepthroating expected of me whenever there was applause. May i just say the Man talked way way too long? my jaw aches tremendously and Master was devastatingly demanding for the whole hour with no intent of having me finish the job. i love very much to suck cock, and Master was making a variety of points with me, but this was the longest hardest blowjob of my life.

A novel method of forestalling political debate, if nothing else.

The Sexual Pravda About Ghengis Khan

From Pravda, which as any former student of Sovietology knows means “Truth” (the scare quotes being an essential part of the translation), comes this ill-translated “legend” about the sexual practices of Ghengis Khan:

The Great Khan respected the wisdom of Chinese. After hearing that they possess the secret of immortality, in 1222 Genkhis Khan invited famous monk and wizard Chan Chun from the banks of the Irtysh river. Genkhis Khan respectfully asked him for the medicine for eternal life.

“You poured out sperm into too many women to expect immortality”, Chan Chun replied.

He told shocked Genkhis Khan about Dao of Love — the doctrine of sex as the way to extend life. It was elaborated by the legendary Yellow Emperor who lived one thousand years before.

The monk said that during orgasm a man and a woman discharge the juices of the body, and his/her partner benefit from this by gaining energy. The man striving for immortality can have intercourse with many women only after he learn the skills of throwing them into ecstasies and not pouring out his sperm. In this way he gains women’s energy (Yin), preserving his man’s energy (Yang) for special cases — when he goes not to a concubine, but to a wife and wants her to give a birth to a son.

“Did you follow these principles in your life, Emperor?”, Chan Chun asked.

Genkhis Khan realized that he could expect neither immortality nor one more son.

Thanks to J. Orlin Grabbe for the link.

The Nymph In My Net: Fun With Toys

Way way back a long time ago, I teased The Nymph about the contents of my sex toy order. One of the items I ordered, as it turns out, was a Wartenberg Pinwheel.

She loved it. Oh, she whimpered a bit, especially when I first surprised her with it. But make no mistake, she loved it. Although she says she likes it better when it stays away from tender areas.

If you approve of squirming, you want one of these. A word to the wise is sufficient.

The Freedom To Be Naked

Although ErosBlog does not cover politics very much at all, I’ve long seen this sex blogging project as being my little contribution to a vital culture war. Because we are very sexual monkeys, control over sexual expression is one of the most important tools in the arsenal of the orcs who seek to govern and enslave us. (“Govern and enslave? Sorry, I repeat myself.”)

Daze and others have amply covered the case of Melissa Lincoln, the Nebraska lady who likes to get naked in public and enjoys making a buck when she does it. She’s been charged with public nudity, and faces actual jail time for it (although doubtless she’ll be offered a nice plea bargain that requires her to promise she’ll keep her pretty naked assets securely wrapped). After all, the point is to control sexual expression, remember? This isn’t about Melissa, it’s about reminding everyone that the orcs are watching and they will come for you if you don’t follow their rules.

Except that Melissa wants to fight. The liberty activists at the Liberty Round Table have been in touch with her, and it turns out that she doesn’t plan to knuckle under. She wants to fight this “all the way” and she doesn’t intend to plea bargain.

That’s a big ouchie, folks. A basic misdemeanor criminal defense starts at five grand, and that price assumes you’ll take any decent plea bargain. Appeals often cost thirty grand apiece, and you can need several.

The Knights of Nonaggression over at the Liberty Round Table have a list of what you can do to help, but the most obvious thing you can do is throw money. In Melissa’s case, the easiest way you can do that is to buy a membership at her web site. Sure, it’s commercial, but this is no “help me buy some fake boobs” bogus plea; the lady really does face jail time if she stands up for basic freedoms here. She will be under tremendous pressures to take a plea. As the LRT puts it:

For our part, we are not exhibitionists, but do believe that anything that de-mystifies sex, shows that good clean fun and healthy bodies are not ‘dirty’, is a very positive thing. There’s no end to the flood of misery produced by people’s twisted ideas about sex, love, and the human body, so we say: ‘Hurray for Melissa’s one woman war against benighted puritan attitudes!’ That Melissa’s site has a commercial side makes her work no less valuable — have not libertarians and objectivists always said that freedom is so valuable that there ought to be a way to promote it at a profit? We agree with Melissa; she has nothing to be ashamed of, not her body, not her pictures, not her profit.
…
It seems to me that there is no better way to show appreciation for an artist than to pay for her work; it has a better, cleaner feel than straight charity and allows her to be able to give some value in return for the help.

Indeed. And thanks to Don and Sunni at the Liberty Round Table for getting in touch with Melissa and publicizing her will to fight!

Vintage Blowjob

Here’s one of those wonderful pornographic wallet photos from the old black-and-white days:

There’s nothing new under the sun!

Via alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage on Usenet. See also Vintage Lust.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Penis Worship During National Penis Month
• Vintage Blowjob Redux
• Dworkin on Blowjobs
• A Little Manga Blowjob
• Some Things Never Change

Adult Blog Reviews

Starting to plow through my mailbag of stuff that came in while I was occupied. ErosBlog has been reviewed on the Ultimate Adult Blog List with some kind words said, although “Yuck !!!” seems like an overharsh condemnation of the (lack of) site design around here. Anyway, a potentially useful resource for finding adult blogs.

The Nymph In My Net: Missing Her

Well, the bad news is, I took her to the airport this morning. The good (fantastic!) news is: she’s coming back soon. Watch this space for for detailed updates, as events warrant.

It was a truly wonderful visit. Truth to tell, we didn’t get out much, although we did manage some sightseeing, a stroll on the beach with great winter views, some meals out with some of my local friends, and a few afternoons snuggled into a window booth at my favorite waterfront restaurant (drinking microbrews, eating appetizers, and watching the winter weather blow by).

Mostly, though, we stayed in. We’re still talking about how many salacious details to share with y’all; this has always been more of a third-party links-and-comments blog than a first-person “here’s what I did last night” sort of place. It might be a good idea to maintain that policy, especially since we spent a huge amount of time cuddling and canoodling and saying happy sappy stuff to each other (with earlobe nibbling for emphasis). This may be among the most vital and fulfilling of human pursuits, but it’s hardly the stuff of which great dramatic storytelling is made. (Although she does have the most tasty earlobes you could imagine.)

Thanks for your patience while updates were few. I’ll attempt to resume normal blogging as I get caught up with stuff I’ve been neglecting. Stick around, this story just keeps getting better!

Barbie In Black

While I’ve been busy, Belle de Jour has been up to her usual fun. In an amusing post, she explains that “Anal sex is the new black” and writes:

I fully anticipate by next year Charlotte Church will have a glittery t-shirt that reads ‘My Barbie takes it up the ass.’ Maybe I should make one and send it to her.

Ha!

Pretty For The Doctor

So The Nymph told me a funny story. This is friend – of- a – friend- of – a – friend stuff, so take with appropriate grains of salt.

It seems this lady was lunching with a friend, and stopped at the friend’s house to freshen up before her annual gyn appointment. Seeing a tube of what is delicately advertised as “feminine deodorant spray” in a basket in the bathroom, she gave herself a generous spritz before heading to her appointment.

So when she got her feet up in the stirrups, her gynecologist’s first comment was “I see you made yourself pretty for me today!” She wasn’t sure what to say, so she didn’t respond. But when she got home, she had to have a look.

Imagine her chagrin. That feminine deodorant spray? Turns out it wasn’t. It was glitter spray….

The Nymph In My Net: Tangled Up

So we were wrasslin’ a little on the bed, and then the bedding got a little disheveled, and then somehow she got all tangled up in it, like this:

“A sweet disorder…“

Sweet Tattoo

Wicked/Sweet Jezebel wrote in to share her absolutely stunning new tattoo:

She credits ErosBlog (specifically, the art on this propaganda medallion) as inspiring the tattoo art:

I can directly attribute the tattoo I got for my birthday this week from material I gleaned from your website. Please note the similarity to the German coin you featured some months ago. I, of course, made some changes. The woman tied to my penis is holding her head up proud. Even though she is aware that she is, in many ways (but certainly not all ways), beholden to a penis, or man, she is proud of who she is and what she can accomplish.

We are truly honored to have helped. What an amazing piece of body art!

Picnic Table Sex

Some good friends sent me this picture. It seems that when they happened on the scene, she raised an eyebrow and said: “Table sex?” To which he replied: “Table orgy!”

Indeed. And thanks!

The Nymph In My Net: Running Short

It must be time to go outside. We are out of whipped cream.

So far, the Hershey’s syrup supply is holding up.

The Nymph In My Net: Oh What Fun

“My fellow Americans….”

Also, these turned out to be every bit as much fun as I predicted.

More later. Promise. Right now, I have much better things to do. She’s just stepping out of the shower….

Way To Subvert The Dominant Paradigm

So many ways to look at this. So many possible explanations, all coyly withheld by the website. But oh-so-undeniably cool, this pink tank:

And I like it a lot better than the last piece of artillery porn that got mentioned here.

The Nymph In My Net: Freakout Time

She gets here tomorrow night. Yay!

Waitaminnit, tomorrow? Ohmigawd, tomorrow? It’s time to freak out!

Only I’m not freaking out. I’m just excited. I should be all nervous and scared, but I’m not. I just can’t wait for her to get here.

Fair warning: blogging may be light during her visit. However, there’s reason to suspect quality will improve.

In other news, she and I are the subject of a Christmas fanfic. The Boss at The Collar Purple was inspired by the chained Christmas present and wrote “Christmas Presents” in our honor. And we are honored, although I’m not sure I could ever be this stern with a straight face:

He looked up at Nymph slowly, thunder in his eyes. “You opened the package, didn’t you?”

Struck dumb by the piercingly accurate accusation, she could only stammer, “W-what, what, I mean, why do you think ”

He interrupted her before she could complete the thought. “I warn you, the punishment for lying is much more severe than that for disobedience. Now I ask you again, Did you open your present?”

In a barely audible voice, she whispered, “Y-yes sir.”

“What was that, girl?”

She cleared her throat, but couldn’t raise her eyes to meet his. “Yes sir, I opened it.”

“Go to the table, bend over it, and grip the far side.” She hastened to comply with his order. Her palms were sweaty against the wood of the table and she fought down the urge to wipe them on her clothes.

My oh my, did it suddenly get warm in here?

Sweet Fantasy

Kinkspeak wrote in to alert me to her brand new erotica blog, Exit To Erotica. Here’s a sample from a bit called “Sweet Honey“:

right now i am having fantasies of bathing in warm honey. i imagine first placing my foot into it, feeling the warmth oozing in between each toe and then stepping in and slowly immersing bit by bit the rest of my body until only my face is uncovered. i lean back and let my hair also become saturated with honey.

honey. filled with antibiotics that not only soothe your sore throat but also smooth over your skin. honey, yellow and clear, melted gold.

Mmmm, honey. “Will ma’am be wanting her licking boy later?”

A Large Cold Mouthful

Here’s what happens when hot-blooded young ladies in northern climates are forced to amuse themselves, with nothing but snow to work with:

Cock Under Lock

When I first got an email from D about his new “Cock Under Lock” BlogSpot blog, my first thought was “eh, that’s about 180 degrees backwards for a sex blog, isn’t it?” But as it happens, the device appears to come off fairly frequently. Apparently D’s lady merely got tired of sharing him with his extensive porno collection. Except on her terms:

I was making a joke referencing a porno I owned, and that E found somewhat repulsive, called “Ass Cream Pies“. At one point describing the kind of cum eating some of the girls do in that movie (read the description if you want to know) . E was so abhorred by this, she said, “that’s it! I’m tying you up and making you drink a shotglass of your own cum. So you can know what it’s like”. I was both turned on by this but also knew that I would not want to drink it after I came. But I was mostly turned on, and looking forward to getting some sort of release.

True to her word, when we got home I was promptly tied down again. She then decided as part of my punishment I would have to watch the Porno in question whilst I was imobilized. This went on for about 45 minutes. I was excited but unable to do anything to further my enjoyment. While this was going on E just sat on the computer doing online shopping and emailing. Eventually she proceeded to unlock the chastity device. I was already semi-hard, but once freed, became almost instantly erect. She started teasing me with light strokes, making me increasingly more rigid. I was as swelled up as I’ve ever seen myself. If that wasn’t enough she inserted the “Tristan” butt plug into my ass. She left the room for a moment and returned with a glass….

Have You Got A License For That Thing?

Here’s a kooky joke from the new-to-me Northern European Sausage Factory:

Ethel was a bit of a demon in her wheelchair, and loved to charge around the nursing home, taking corners on one wheel and getting up to maximum speed on the long corridors. Because the poor woman was one sandwich short of a picnic, the other residents tolerated her, and some of the males actually joined in.

One day, Ethel was speeding up one corridor when a door opened and Kooky Charlie stepped out with his arm outstretched. “STOP!”, he shouted in firm voice. Have you got a license for that thing?” Ethel fished around in her handbag and pulled out a Kit Kat wrapper and held it up to him. “OK” he said, and away Ethel sped down the hall.

As she took the corner near the TV lounge on one wheel, Weird Harold popped out in front of her and shouted, “STOP! Have you got proof of insurance?” Ethel dug into her handbag, pulled out a drink coaster and held it up to him. Harold nodded and said, “Carry on, ma’am.”

As Ethel neared the final corridor before the front door, Crazy Craig stepped out in front of her, stark naked, holding a very sizable erection in his hand. “Oh, Good Grief,” said Ethel, “Not the Breathalyzer again.”

Intrauterine Explosive Devices

I thought this was a joke when I posted it. But in these trying times, jokes have a way of becoming reality (at least in the tabloids). From the New York Post, based heavily on reportage in London’s Mirror, the following horror:

A she-bomber planned to blow up British Airways Flight 223 over Washington with plastic explosives hidden inside her body, a chilling new report says. U.S. security services told Scotland Yard that the woman – almost certainly linked to al Qaeda – planned to hide 8 to 12 ounces of the material tucked inside her reproductive region, London’s Mirror newspaper reported.

When the flight was over the nation’s capital, the bomber would go to the bathroom, remove the explosives and detonate a blast that would blow the aircraft out of the skies.

A Homeland Security official said he was unaware of a specific threat of a female suicide bomber who would hide explosives in her body.

But he added, “We’ve had concerns about IEDs” – improvised explosives devices.

As a result, airport security screeners check for women wearing loose clothing and other signs the official declined to talk about.

“Smuggling a bomb onto a plane by this method is one of our worst nightmares,” a senior Scotland Yard source told the newspaper. “If you do not have specific information about the suspect, it would be impossible to carry out an intimate body search of every female passenger.”

Indeed.

Carrie Fisher In Chains

Ok, people, you all know that the best parts of the Star Wars movies were the parts featuring Princess Leia as Jabba The Hut’s slave girl. In case you had forgotten, check out The Slave Leia Pictures at Leia’s Metal Bikini.

Thanks to Attu for the link.

Dick: An Awakening

Time lapse photography of arousal, from “Dick? What Dick?” to “Ready, Ma’am!” in 30 seconds:

If you find the tiny pictures unsatisfying, you know the routine: give the small pic a little stimulation with your mouse and it will grow for you.

Concert Flashers

There’s something to be said for loud music:

Thanks again to Your Dirty Mind for pointing to this gallery of concert flashers.

Sniff Your Fingers…And Grin

On a message board I’m not going to link to because of the sheer weight of dumbassed adolescent misogyny over there, some troll posted the following query:

After you finger a girl what do you do to get the smell off your fingers?

Soap and water doesnt usually work….

I dont like shaking ppls hands knowing my hand smells like tuna lol.

Any suggestions?

Most responses were even stupider than the question. However, one grownup posted an answer that really made me grin:

Find a woman whose pussy you love, and you’ll never want to be without her scent on you… ever. Nothing like sniffing your fingers 3 hours after sex and reliving it all over again.

“If you don’t love pussy THIS MUCH you are not big enough to get on this ride.”

Fun With Camera Phones

From the most-viewed section of the interesting Mobog phone-cam photoblogging site:

2004, It’s A Good Year So Far

Happy New Year!

I know, you’ve all said it so many times, it’s lost meaning. But for a change, I’m saying it with feeling, not to mention a silly grin on my face. The last few New Year’s Eve celebrations, I’ve said it but I haven’t really believed it. Life’s been comfortable, but when old year changed to new, there’s been nothing to suggest that the new years would hold any more promise than the old. This year’s different.

The Nymph called at (my) midnight, and our mutual wishes for a Happy New Year felt more like promises than like the usual vaguely hopeful admonition. Something to look forward to (and I don’t just mean her visit, as much as I am looking forward to it) makes this holiday a lot more fun.

She’s working tonight, but she’ll call again when she’s safely home. Meanwhile, I’ve got an open bottle of cheap bubbly to work on. And a good year to look forward to, by the grace of Aphrodite’s continued favor and with any luck at all.

I say again, Happy New Year!

Life in Plastic, It’s Fantastic

From Boing Boing comes this news that Mattel has lost another round in its efforts to suppress Barbie parodies. Apparently the internet is once again safe for Food Chain Barbie as against the ravening depredations of Mattel’s lawyers:

(Long time readers will remember that abusing trademark law in bogus efforts to control the use of products in the stream of commerce after a manufacturer has sold them really piss me off.)

I wonder if this means that the thriving underground Bondage Barbie hobby is back in business?

We Are Surprised

An anecdote from the comments at Making Light:

Noah Webster, the famous lexicographer, was once found by his wife while he was kissing [or, alternatively, undressing] the cook [or maid] in the pantry. The wife said, “Noah, I am surprised at your action!” To which he replied, “No, YOU are amazed and offended, dear. WE are surprised…”