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March 11th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

What’s In A Glory Hole?

glory hole at Treadwell, Alaska, on Douglas Island near Juneau

It’s right there in Wikipedia: A glory hole is “a surface depression produced by block caving in underground mining.” Which is to say: you dig a lot of ore out of an underground mine, and eventually the roof falls in. You get a glory hole, a big dangerous crumbling conical pit. If you fall into a glory hole, you don’t come out again.

glory hole behind town of treadwell alaska

Nobody seems to know just when this mining term originated, but it was in standard use (albeit inside scare quotes to indicate slang) by the time The Colliery Engineer wrote about the Treadwell Mine near Juneau, Alaska, in 1904:

Treadwell Glory Hole 1904

(Click photo or here for article.)

In mining towns back in the day, a down-on-his-luck miner or a terrible public drunk (often the same individual) was said to be “down the glory hole.” A big hole you fall into and can’t ever hope to get out of again? It seems a reasonable analogy to alcoholism and despair.

Fast forward to sometime in the 1940s. Again nobody seems to know the details, but according to the Online Etymology Dictionary, a sexual connotation to the phrase “glory hole” arose in the gay community. You loyal ErosBlog readers know this meaning:

gay glory hole art

Press the fast forward button again. Now it’s 1981. The Juneau Cooperative Christian Ministry opens a soup kitchen and homeless shelter for local indigents and drunks. Their mission?

In response to God’s commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves, the mission of The Glory Hole is to provide food, shelter and compassion to achieve physical and spiritual well-being for those most in need.

That’s from their website. They’re good folks. There’s a vegetable garden on their roof. They rely on donations. (The PayPal button is on their page.) People of all faiths, or no faith at all, volunteer for them and support their fundraisers. All this info is on their website or in Google, not buried very deep.

Back in 1981, yes they did go there: they named their new soup kitchen “The Glory Hole.” It was a nod to local history and tradition, with the collapsed mines and the people who had metaphorically fallen in. Did they know about gay sexual slang, these charitable Christian people, back in 1981, in that little town with no roads going in or out, before the internet, before the cruise ships started bringing five million visitors a year? Would they have cared if they did know? Or would they have laughed it off as an irrelevant oddity of far-distant urbanites?

Fast forward again to 2015. There’s a re-dedication ceremony for the soup kitchen and shelter. Ostentatious ceremonial praying is involved, because that’s how religion is done. A photograph of the ceremony makes the front page of the local paper. (It’s still a small town where, apparently, not much happens.)

But this is the 21st century, full of net-savvy hipsters aware of all internet traditions as well as everything that’s on Urban Dictionary. If it clickbaits, it leads. Truth? Reportage? Journalism? 30 seconds of Googling? Nah, why bother! Scoffing is funner!

And that’s how you get a thing like this at a place like Boing Boing:

Notably naïve Christian group names Alaska men's shelter

Look at that smug headline again:

Notably naïve Christian group names Alaska men’s shelter “The Glory Hole”

Of course The Glory Hole in Juneau is not actually a men’s shelter, it’s open to people regardless of gender, which destroys the biggest part of the joke. (Xeni Jardin at Boing Boing grabbed that wrong detail, obviously without checking the charity’s website, from one of her credited sources, while grabbing the graphic from the other one.)

And about the naming of the place? It’s right there in the photo caption: the story is about the charity’s rededication, not its founding. The facility was set up and named back in 1981 (a fact that’s also on the website). So the newspaper story isn’t even about what the Boing Boing headline claims it’s about. Was it in fact “notably naïve” to name a soup kitchen after a strong local cultural tradition in 1981 in a town of less than 20,000 residents that was 1500 miles from San Francisco? I guess that’s a matter of opinion. But small town naiveté in 1981 wouldn’t be funny clickbait, would it? Nope, this will go viral a lot faster if you pretend the naïve act of naming happened in 2015. So let’s go with that, shall we? Hit the publish button! Viral viral viral!

Bloggers are generally not journalists. I don’t aspire to that standard, which is a good thing, because I can’t live up to it. Xeni Jardin, however, does claim to be a “tech culture journalist.” I guess “tech culture journalist” means never having to click through and check the website of the people you are making fun of. In order to find out if they are actually, you know, risible?

Update: Since publication of this post, BoingBoing has modified their item by adding this paragraph, including a direct link to the charity in question, to the bottom of Xeni’s post:

They do good work. They feed and provide shelter to the hungry and homeless. After you finish laughing, consider donating.

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March 10th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

A Show On The Stairs

free butt show as she goes upstairs

This image came to me without any discernible provenance. However, I would not be at all surprised if I were to learn that the photographer was Elmer Batters, the legendary photographer of stockings, legs, and feet.

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March 9th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

Libido Mismatches In Marriage

Here’s a touching essay about the old familiar story of mismatched libidos in marriage. From his perspective:

There had to be the perfect confluence of events for sex to happen. My wife’s requirements were that her job had to be going well, the children didn’t need her attention, the house had to be clean, the temperature had to be between 76 and 84 degrees, and the Democrats had to control at least one branch of government.

Then his wife developed a medical condition and the drugs she was forced to take came with a known side effect of obsessive behavior. Luckily, she didn’t become a problem gambler or a compulsive shopper. Nope! Instead:

Her former parameters for sex became somewhat more generous. Now she merely had to have a job, the children had to be alive, the house had to be standing, the temperature had to be between 0 and 104 degrees and the Democrats had to control at least one branch of government. The combination of those things happening all at once occurred with great frequency.

You know that wasn’t going to last, and it didn’t. He crumbled under the pressure:

I started to fade. Whether it was the excessive demand, an aging libido or psychological stress (knowing that if I didn’t perform, she would have to go to other medications with potentially worse side effects), I was no longer able to consistently please her. Sex became more obligation than joy. I looked for ways to avoid it. In two short years we had completely switched roles.

Doh!

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March 9th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

He Has A Preference

There are a lot of people my age who aren’t wrestling with stuff like “preferred pronouns” because they haven’t ever heard of them and wouldn’t care if they had. But the younger generation is through it and moving on already:

So I was talking to a boy today and called him “dude” and he goes, “Hey, I’m not your dude. I want to go by bro.” And the very first thing that popped into my head was ‘wow, he has preferred bronouns’.

 
March 8th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

Tuesday Night Special

From Curvaceous Dee:

On Tuesday evening I had Hylas thoroughly bound: wearing latex shorts with a zip for access; a latex hood with open mouth so I could make use of his tongue; rubber mitts on his hands and sheepskin cuffs on his ankles; a spreader bar keeping his legs apart; and rope to ensure he was wide open for me. His cock was jaunty and veined with a ring at the base (plus bonus ribbon for prettiness and texture), and I’d taken great pleasure in opening up and filling his arse. In short, I’d been making most excellent use of him.

But Tuesday evening wasn’t all about him, or not entirely. It was about me enjoying myself — and while I took a lot of pleasure, both sadistic and sexual, in teasing and using him, I also wanted some attention myself. What was I to do?

It was easy, really. I took a break and pleasured myself next to him, knowing that he could feel me move and hear me cry out as I wanked, but was unable to do anything at all but be a pillow for me.

Cruel…but he doubtless enjoyed it anyway.

 
March 6th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

Much Better Than A Fancy Mint

“I’ve always thought the amenities at this hotel were as fine as could be. You two? You are about to prove me right.”

a pair of girls to warm his bed

This ALS Angels photo is via Kinky Delight.

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March 5th, 2015 -- by Bacchus

“You Should Have Put A Rope On It”

Here are some eye-catching sculptures in silicone. If erect is good and veins-bulgingly erect is better, then I suppose roped-so-tight-it-can’t-ever-soften is best of all?

Tantus Bound silicone textured dildo

Perfect for those who crave the ultimate textured dildo, the Tantus Bound textured dildo is medium sized (a bit over 6 inches) and has a realistic feel, but with a lot extra.

The lifelike glans, sculpted veins and textured skin-like surface are further enhanced by detailed ropes coiling from one end of the shaft to the base!

Enjoy heightened tactile pleasure with Bound, the first design from Tantus and SheVibes’ Vibeology, either handheld or with a harness. Its ultra-premium silicone material is firm but flexible, and warms well to body temperature. Perfect for solo or partnered play.

Some of you lot will no doubt prefer to make your own rigid toy at home using whatever volunteer phallus you have available. In which case, you’ll need rope!

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