“Use the horse, Luke, use the horse!”

Er, maybe not.

The image had to be shared, so here it is:

The truly frightening thing, however, is that somebody, somewhere, is selling these shirts. What’s so scary about that, you may well ask? (You may, as long as you do it well.)

Simply this. If George Lucas’s lawyers catch them, they (the lawyers) will try to do to them (the sellers) what the horse is doing to the naked silhouette girl on the shirt.

Only probably with less lube.

Update: The Reverse Cowgirl says T-Shirt Hell sells the shirt. Why am I not surprised?

From part one of a two part article on Tantric sex in a South African publication called Women24, this handy tip for delaying male ejaculation:

At the point where you feel you might be reaching your peak, press your tongue against the top of your palate. “By tensing muscles in your mouth, you move blood away from your groin, giving you a chance to recover,” Sampson says. “Don’t feel embarrassed, though – it’s unlikely to cause too much of a distraction for your partner.”

From part two, instructions for the Thrust of the Phoenix:

Perhaps the most widely known tantric technique, this little winner can be used with any position. When you start thrusting, go in shallow (around two centimetres) for nine strokes, then one deep, then eight shallow, then one deep, working your way down to one shallow. “This has been known to give women who claim to never orgasm their first taste of the big ‘O’,” says Johnson. “Building slowly up to a big crescendo will have her willing you to reach the climax.”

This fellow obviously has an extreme case of some loathsome disease. So why is he smiling?

“Hey babe…nice bike!”

In an oddly banal report, The Spectator describes an English farm wife who went “on the game” (as the Brits apparently say) to support the posh lifestyle to which her family had become accustomed before the hoof-and-mouth police came around and slaughtered the family herds. Hubby was surprisingly supportive:

“Mike and I talked about it for days. Neither of us had ever done anything like this before. At the beginning we worked as a team. We would do sex displays and threesomes, and it was perhaps a way of making it easier for him to accept what was happening. Then, after a while, I just started doing it on my own.”

To the delight of British accountants, this woman’s tale is not that uncommon:

“That’s how I met my accountant. He has three working girls on his books, and I don’t know about the arrangements he has with the others, but I pay him in kind and he seems quite happy.”

It’s been a busy weekend at ErosBlog headquarters, which explains the dearth of blog entries:

As you can see from the picture, the ErosBlog pre-Thanksgiving party got a little wild. What with one thing and another, production suffered. (Bacchus, on the other hand, did not suffer.)

The hard working staff nymphs who do much of the work around here put down their tools and loudly demanded quality time with Bacchus. Attempts were made to restore order, brisk spankings were delivered, and stern admonitions were made…all to no avail. The nymphs would not be denied, and in the end, the bacchanalia could not be averted.

If you believe all that, you have a promising future in Arizona oceanfront real estate. This much only is true: your humble scribe did in fact go for a pleasant hike with an actual unattached and not-obviously-crazy woman.

In one minor respect, the Gor books are like Scientologists. That is, there exist folks who object to any mention of them, unless it be a rousing and completely unequivocal denunciation.

It has been pointed out that the use of the word “yummy” in the previous entry disqualifies that entry from the “unequivocal” category. Accordingly, as a gesture of placation, please accept this link to a web classic, the ancient and notorious (but viciously accurate) parody: Houseplants of Gor.

An excerpt for flavor:

Borin picked up the watering can, and muchly watered the plant. The plant cried out. “No, Master! Do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. “Please, Master,” begged the plant, “do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. It was plant. It could be watered at will.