I have been amused, over the years, to watch the never-ending arms race between the penis pill spammers and the spam filtering industry. The spammers are endlessly creative at finding descriptive phrases that contain no uniquely filterable keywords. Two from today’s inbox:

“Set your wife on fire!”

Er, what? That’s a crime, or several of them.

And then:

“Girls will call you Largissimo!”

Somehow, I doubt it. How would that sound? “Hey, Largissimo, when are you coming over here to set me on fire?”

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This happy bit of lovingly-drawn prostate stimulation is in honor of Violet Blue’s pegging post and column from last week:

Source: alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. anime.

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When the party has progressed beyond a certain point of general inebriation, there comes that time when dancing on the bar turns into naked dancing on the bar. And when that happens, sometimes you see naked people who — how best to say this gently and without being body-judgmental? — were not first on your list of people you were waiting to see naked.

The truly fun thing, though, is that if the party’s going well enough, nobody cares, and it’s a good time anyway:

This rough-hewn nude table dancer is from an illustration by French illustrator Albert Dubout.

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I’m not a fan of the Subway sandwich shops; going to one of them strikes me as a lot of standing in line for a result that’s usually little better than a wrapped sandwich from the deli case. I particularly don’t like being subjected to blank looks from slow fast-food workers who act as if simple instructions like “lots of onions, please” is some deeply incomprehensible request in a cryptic ancient tongue. Dude, I don’t need you to carve me a mathematically perfect rocket combustion chamber out of stale cheese; I just need you to move your baggie-wrapped fingers to the onions bin, grasp, return to the vicinity of my sandwich, and release. It’s not rocket science. And, please, stop drooling on my sandwich.

Honestly, I’m being unfair. I live in a tight labor market, where the fast food stores are always hiring, and cannot afford to be fussy. And even then, Subway is a franchise; one store is not like another. But still. My local Subways are terrible, and I hate them.

Bad as they are, though, there’s always a worse one. Case in point: the Subway shop (location unknown) that caters to bigots, by firing a sandwich technician after a customer complained that the dude was also a gay porn star. The dude in question makes movies under the name Kurt Wild, and here’s the email (circulated by his agent, as reported at Fleshbot):

Hey everyone.

I just wanted to tell everyone that I was just fired from my work at subway because I have done gay porn. A customer said they wouldn’t even eat there at subway anymore because of my past work and said that if I wasn’t fired then they would boycott the store. What I say is, if one person can try to ruin me everywhere I work… maybe I should take a stand and boycott their store too if they can’t let people’s privacy be treated right. I should have the right to work anywhere I can and it isn’t right or fair that people can keep me from working simply because of a “gay” issue. If a girl did what we do it would probably be ok.. and if a guy does straight porn.. he is bragged about. When I do gay porn, I feel a bit lynched for the rest of my life. Not right. Thanks for reading.

- Kurt Wild

Now, I’m not one to cry boycott. It would be stupid in this case, when there’s no accountability to the Subway “brand” by individual store owners. But seriously — are there really still people out there who are dumb enough to be worried about gay cooties, and shameless enough to admit it?

Apparently, there are, and they eat at Subway.

This is another fine demonstration of that ancient truism that, if you take the world’s horrors and turn them over to the artists and pornographers to play with, they’ll improve on them and turn them into something fun. (At least, they will if you’ve got a sufficiently flexible definition of “fun”.) For an example, consider this dank and anonymous prison “stress position” as implemented by the clever pornographers at Bound Gods:

Considering the helpless exposure of the position, it might also be a snapshot from the secret fears (or, maybe, fantasies?) of that boorish guy you know, the one who is always making stupid and nervous jokes about not dropping the soap, whenever the topic of somebody going to prison comes up in conversation. Show him this kind of gay porn? There’s no telling what he’ll do.

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Here’s a fanciful re-imagining of the Sphinx:

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Cleaning out my inbox this morning — an Augean Stables if there ever was one — I found an email, most of a year old, from Neil. It featured this link, to the story of TV producer Mary Walsh, trying to emulate Spencer Tunick. She hoped for 500 bare asses on the windblown dock in Newfoundland, but she got fifty. In December, air temperature, 12 degrees (-11 C):

Shiver.

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I found this florid description of mutual oral sex in Sadopaideia, so called because most of the 1907 book involves whipping and spanking. (The subtitle is “Being the experiences of Cecil Prendergast, undergraduate of the University of Oxford, shewing how he was led through the pleasant paths of Masochism to the supreme joys of Sadism.) But, for that sort of thing, you often need an initial seduction, and in this passage that’s going swimmingly:

I felt her right arm round my waist and her left hand began to unbutton my fly from the top. Before she had time to undo the last button John Thomas leapt forth ready and eager, but she slapped it and pushed it in again and undid the last button and fumbled for my balls and gently drew them out. I drew back a little from her and lifted her petticoat right up, disclosing the daintiest of black silk openwork stockings with pale green satin garters, and above them filmy lawn drawers with beautiful lace and insertion, through which the fair satin skin of her thighs gleamed most provokingly. At the top there appeared just between the opening of the drawers the most fascinating brown curls imaginable.

I feasted my eyes on this lovely sight, undoing my braces and slipping my trousers down. Her hand immediately left my balls and began to fondle my bottom, stroking and pinching the cheeks while she murmured, “You darling boy, oh, what a lovely bottom.”

I was eager to be in her, but the brown curls fascinated me so much that I could not resist the temptation to stoop down and kiss them. I was rather shy of doing this, as I had never done it before, and though I knew it was usual with tarts, I was not sure if it would be welcome here. Judge of my surprise, then, when I felt Mrs. Harcourt’s hand on my head gently pressing it down and heard her saying, “How did you guess I wanted that?”

She opened her legs wider, disclosing the most adorable pussy, with pouting lips just slightly opening and showing the bright coral inner lips, which seemed to ask for my kisses. I buried my head in the soft curls, and with eager tongue explored every part of her mossy grot. She squirmed and wriggled with pleasure, opening her legs quite wide and twisting them round me. I followed all her movements, backing away on my knees as she slipped off the chair, until at last, when she drenched my lips with love, she slipped on the hearth rug. Then, as I could scarcely reach her with my tongue in that position, and didn’t wish to lose a drop of the maddening juice, I disengaged my legs from hers and knelt down to one side so that my head could dive right between her legs. This naturally presented my naked bottom and thighs to her gaze.

“You rude naughty boy,” she said, smacking me gently, “to show me this bare bottom. I’m shocked at you.”

Her hands again fondled my balls and bottom, and I had all I could do to prevent John Thomas from showing conclusively what he had in store for her.

I had no intention of wasting good material, however, and was just about to change my position so that I could arrive at the desired summit of joy when I felt her trying to pull my right leg towards her. I let myself go and she eventually succeeded in lifting it right over, so that I was straddling right across her, and we were in the position I knew quite well from photographs, known as sixty-nine.

My heart beat high. Was it possible I was to experience this supreme pleasure of which I had heard so much? I buried my head between her thighs, my tongue redoubled its efforts, searching out every corner and nook it could find, and just as it was rewarded by another flow of warm life I felt round my own weapon, not the fondling of her hand, but something softer, more clinging, and then unmistakably the tip of a velvet tongue from the top right down to the balls and back again, and then I felt the lips close round it and the gentle nip of teeth. This was too much, John Thomas could restrain himself no longer, and as I seized her bottom with both hands and sucked the whole of her pussy into my mouth, he spurted forth with convulsive jerks his hidden treasure. When the spasm was over I collapsed limply on her, my lips still straining her life.

Link via Spanking Blog.

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Folks, I apologize for the mess here earlier today. I rather botched my WordPress upgrade, resulting in a borked blog for about six hours and then (after technical support bailed me out by the judicious application of almost-fresh backups) the loss of comments made in (roughly speaking) the last 24 hours. If you’re one of the people whose comments were lost, my apologies.

An alert reader sent me this link to a Craigslist post featuring what looks like a semi-nude (one boob) shot of vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin in her beauty queen days, complete with huge 1980s hair.

The nude picture was found in company with this pageant bikini-contest shot:

Is this Palin? I dunno. It could be a random brunette with “Alaska” photoshopped onto the banner. It could be her. I just dunno.

Moving along to the nude picture you’ve all been waiting for:

Now, understand, I’m terrible with faces. My face recognizer is so bad that I don’t recognize my friends at the grocery store, half the time. And to me, this grainy black-and-white face doesn’t jump out as “obviously” Sarah Palin — either the current mother of five or the pageant beauty we saw yesterday. It’s just some random brunette showing a breast.

But if we believe the bikini shot…

It’s a clever sort of misdirection. Similar backgrounds, same white drape, similar hair. But to my eye, the face is much more bland. I can’t say it’s the same girl; I don’t think it’s the same girl. But, you know, it maybe could be, if a guy wanted to believe badly enough.

While still trying to decide whether I had a picture worth showing you, I moved my attention to the awesome hot leather miniskirt photo in the same Craigslist post. I was suspicious of that one; Palin is not that tall and her legs aren’t quite that thunderous. Final nail in the coffin: The Museum of Hoaxes has the source photo that Palin’s headshot was chopped from.

From there, I followed links through a ValleyWag story to this photoshop contest page, where, hey guess what? They have the nude picture already! It turns out to be an old internet photo widely circulated as being a nude photo of some celebrity I’ve never heard of, one Julia Louis Dreyfus. And even then, the majority of the sites showing it advertise it as a fake — so it may not even be Ms. Dreyfus.

I deem it unlikely that a nude photograph of Sarah Palin has been circulating for years on the internet, being deliberately mis-labeled as a Julia Louis Dreyfus nude. I guess it’s a theoretical possibility, but if I were you I’d be more worried about flying monkeys shooting out of John McCain’s ass.

Bottom line, folks: You can’t believe just anything you see on the internet. This will not be the last “nude Sarah Palin” picture we see. It may not even be the last nude Sarah Palin photo you see on ErosBlog. But the next time you see one, it would be good to remain skeptical.

To be honest, the most interesting photo to me is the bikini one of the girl with the “Alaska” sash. Is that Palin? Finding it in company with Photoshops makes me skeptical, but it’s an attractive photo (actually, video screen capture I believe) and I’d enjoy having it confirmed.

As always when Photoshop enters a discussion on ErosBlog, commenters need to remember that I am ruthless about deleting expressions of insupportable certitude. Opinions and arguments are welcome, but absolute claims and excessive certainty (”that’s obviously fake”, “Of course that’s real”) are rude and foolish and will be moderated away.

I’m crediting Wonkette with establishing the “GILF” meme back when Governor Sarah Palin of Alaska got sworn in:

She’s a former Miss Alaska contestant (Miss Wasilla 1984), and so you’ll see this old beauty contest mugshot being widely circulated:

Now that the cable news networks are reporting that she’s been tapped by John McCain as his vice presidential running mate, it’s time to remind the world that there’s a persistent rumor of a Sarah Palin nude photo “out there”. If it’s real, and it’s out there, and you have it, please send it along to ErosBlog, would ya?

The rumor surfaced during Palin’s gubernatorial campaign, when allegations flew around Alaska (and even reached my tender ears, the Internet being what it is) that such a photo was being circulated by her political opponents as part of a dirty tricks campaign. Although the story was not much reported by responsible press outlets, I got emails asking me if I knew where to get the photo, so I know the rumors were real; and there’s a shadow of them in the cesspools you find wherever newspapers publish “blogs” and then leave the comments open and unmoderated. (Ask Violet Blue how much to trust the stuff people write when they are fingerpainting in that sewage, though; she’ll give you an earful.)

I’d be more dubious about the whole story if not for the fact that one of my email correspondents claims to have seen the nude photo of Palin. Admittedly, the provenance on this story is so bad it’s classic: he says a guy in a bar showed him the printout of the email that was circulating. And, you know, it was a bar; the light was bad.

Since Governor Palin’s wild teen years were (if they happened at all) in the early 1980s, before the advent of digital photography, I’m pretty skeptical about the whole “nude photo” story. If the alleged shot ever surfaces, I’d expect it to be a photoshop of one of her beauty pageant pictures. She was a pretty girl in 1984, and she’s still - as they used to say in more delicate times and bad western movies — a fine figure of a woman.

Her husband, by the way, is a commercial fisherman (think Deadliest Catch), oilfield worker (think “drill rig at forty below zero”), and endurance snowmobile racer. He’s perfectly capable of kicking your ass, or mine, so be nice.