From deep in the archives of I, Asshole, a sweet sweet story:

When I was a newlywed, my brand new husband and I used to play all sorts of little fun games together. One night we were laying in bed starkers and reading books, and I was also eating a box of jawbreakers. For his amusement (I always get into the most trouble when I do things for other people’s amusement), I started putting the jawbreakers one by one into my vagina. He laughed a little bit to humor me, and by the time I got up to about 18 or so he started ignoring me and went back to his book. Eventually, I fell asleep and he turned out the light. Suddenly, at about 2 am I woke up. I was uncovered and chilly; a moment later I realized I was also laying in a big wet puddle that seemed to have an epicenter under my ass.

“Oh God, I wet the bed.”

I considered my options. I could get a towel and cover it up; I could wake him up and inform him that his new wife of 4 months was a bedwetter; or I could smother him with a pillow so that no one would ever find out what happened. Being young and idealistic, I woke him and told him the truth, crying, and I have to say he took it very well. I couldn’t believe it was true; I’d NEVER been a bedwetter, and we hadn’t even been drinking or anything. Just before I ripped off the sheets, I caught a whiff of something… sweet. I bent down to smell the huge went spot and it smelled faintly sugary. Then I remembered the jawbreakers. I did a quick check to see if they were still when I deposited them before bed, and sure enough, they had completely dissolved.

The whole thing gave me a new appreciation for my vagina. If it could melt that much candy in four hours, what else could it do? Corrode steel? Turn lead into gold?

What in the name of Thor’s Tremendous Hammer was this “New Husband” feller thinking? “My lovely naked wife is putting candy up her whatsis for my amusement. What should I do? Should I ask her for a piece? Offer to get it myself? Hmm…what to do, what to do…I know! I’ll go back to reading my book!”

Somebody spent a little too much time on the short yellow bus as a child.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Man Training, Lollipop Edition
• Stick Candy Heaven
• Watch The Lollipop
• Honey, Flies, Bondage
• Got Orange Juice?

Just in case anyone was having trouble visualizing the item (or its uses) under discussion in the Bardex rant below, a quick visit to Double Bardex will fix you right up. It appears to be a Japanese site, and consequently unlikely to be taken off the net by the Bardex lawyers. [And yet, it finally went away.] The site shows several pictures of an “anal retention catheter” as Debrah now must call them, including one shot of the device inflated whilst inside somebody’s hairy butt.

The good news is: There’s a flash animation game (.swf file is here) allowing you political perverts out there to spank George Bush’s bare ass with a bare hand, a big old board with a hole in it, or what looks like a six-day-old mackerel fish.

The bad news is: eventually his bony butt gets all red looking, and then the game moves on to a whole new level: one is invited to send him his spanking via email, using suggested text which (if Bacchus is not confused) treads awfully close to violating that pesky law that makes it a felony to threaten physical violence against the august personages of our elected officials. Even in jest.

Whatever. All Bacchus wants to know is: Where can we find the Barbara Streisand version? Or better yet, Britney Spears? Or the Spice Girl of your choice?

From the all-encompassing Volokh Conspiracy comes word of a positively Bacchanalian festival: Splosh!

Splosh — is the most infamous night of squishy, sexy, safe and sticky fun with a menu of edible and slimy, tasty and grimy dishes and people.

On the messy fun menu:

Pudding, cake batter, corn syrup, liquefied bananas, oils galore, paints, gak, splosh paint, syrups, fruit loops, oats, flour, paste, fruits and veggies of all kinds and a rainbow of food coloring.

Alas, Bacchus is too many kilomiles away from San Francisco to make this party, even if he started walking now. And a good thing too, since each participant must bring a date. If Bacchus were to be attending, he would need to start taking applications for the Legion of Messy Nymphs on an accelerated schedule.

If there’s a defining theme to the dirty pictures that get linked and posted here, it is that they are different in some way from the “shaved and oiled genitalia in brightly lit living color” photography that comprises 98% of net porn. For the most part, “different” doesn’t necessarily mean explicit — but faint heart never won fair lady, so Bacchus won’t shrink from posting strong material if it meets the standard of being unusual enough to titillate this blog’s urbane and sophisticated readership.

With that fair warning, and without further ado, consider visiting The Clinic of Dr. Farrel. This looks like scans from a French language bondage and torture comic, and it contains harsh scenes of painful forced body modification and breast enlargement. You’ll like this, if you like this sort of thing.

A report in The Scotsman claims that Uday Hussein is into pony girls. Well, sort of anyway:

A former security guard at Baghdad racecourse recently claimed that Uday and his friends would gather at the clubhouse where, after consuming prodigious amounts of whisky, they would force naked women to wear numbers and race around the track.

Now there’s an image sufficient to capture the mind’s eye…until brutal reality intrudes and reminds one of the terror that must come to these poor women when they are “invited” to go to one of Uday’s parties.

We now join Babs as she flaunts her stuff for the edification of the teenage neighbor boy watching from the window across the way:

This afternoon, Babs and her lover were goofing off on the air mattress in their guest room. They were fully clothed and the blinds were open. After subjecting Babs to some killer tickles on her quadriceps, the Lover rolled over on top of her, presumably to keep her from running away after the affectionate torture session. At that moment, Babs gazed out the window to the apartment across the way. A teenage boy was sitting at his kitchen table having a snack and happened to glance up just in time to see Babs’ lover cop a feel.

The young lad then rotated his entire body to face the window and sat watching intently for about thirty seconds. Finally, Babs looked right at him and waved. The boy put one hand over his eyes and turned his back to the window. However, Babs knew that he was bound to look again, so she got on all fours and did a few donkey-style kicks toward the window. Then, her lover started to smack her rear to get her running around the room on all fours, which she did.

Before Babs had even reached full trot, the boy vacated the kitchen.

Bacchus is pleased to find a sister-in-spirit who blogs in the third person for no discernible reason.

Moving rapidly along, it’s only fair to point out that Babs claims to have been put up to it by her lovely and talented pen-pal, the Crazy Naked Neighbor Who Thinks She’s a Superhero.