From an interview story in the April 2008 Esquire magazine:

I realize that I’ve spent a couple of hours showing Clooney sites about Clooney, but I haven’t asked him, Does he ever go on the Internet?

“I go on YouTube when somebody says to look something up,” he answers. “There was one a few years ago that killed me. Look up ‘monkey smells butt.’ ”

I type it in. Up pops a video of a chimp sticking his finger up his butt, smelling it, then promptly passing out.

Clooney roars with laughter. “He just smells it and goes woooah and flops off the side. That always kills me.”

At this point, I make a segue that seemed relevant at the time but in retrospect was probably a very bad idea. “You know,” I tell him, “I asked the guy who does the Esquire Web site what I should show George Clooney, and he said, ‘Show him 2 Girls 1 Cup.’ ”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the most disturbing video in the history of videos.”

“Show it to me.”

“Really? I don’t know.”

“I can take it,” Clooney says. “I’m a grown-up. We’re all grown-ups.”

“It’s scarring. It’ll scar you forever.”

“Is it long?” he asks.

“No,” I tell him, “but it’s so disturbing. I saw it once and can never get it out of my mind. I can’t watch it again.”

“I want to see it.”

Well, he asked. After a bit of searching, I find the link. I click it.

After several seconds: “It’s not so bad,” he says.

Three seconds later: “Oh.”

Another two seconds: “Oh, my GOD! Oh, my God!! Oh, my God!”

Clooney puts his hand over his mouth like he’s going to throw up. He bolts from his chair and walks out of the room.

Clooney’s longtime PR guy, Stan Rosenfield, wants to know what the fuss is about. Clooney tells him he just watched the most repulsive video he’s ever seen. Rosenfield wants to see it.

“I want to go at least one second more than George.”

“I’ve got to watch Stan watch it,” Clooney says, recomposing himself. “It’s like the rodeo — see how long you can last.”

Rosenfield lasts three full seconds before walking out.

Clooney, having regarded himself all morning, now just watches, doubled over with laughter.

Warning to mercifully innocent readers: Don’t try this at home. Or, at all.

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This is an oil-on-copper work by an artist (Adam Johan Braun) who lived between 1748 and 1827, so it’s from at least 180 years ago, minimum. If the artist painted this work before he turned sixty, it’s a cool two centuries old. Talk about kinky themes being timeless:

Found by a Spanking Blog reader in a European auction catalog. Details here.

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Cory Doctorow has a recent article in Information Week on how to get bloggers to write about you. It’s pitched to the world in general, but much of the advice is pertinent to bloggers as well. The whole thing is well worth your time, but I’ll quote a couple of paragraphs that say things I’ve said before, only Cory says them better:

What makes a site blogger-unfriendly? I’ve been keeping a list for the past couple of months. These are simple design and deployment mistakes that kept me from picking up a link and reposting it where millions might find it. Here’s the list, a kind of anti-checklist for anyone who’s spending money and time trying to get a message out:
…
Linking policies are ridiculous. There is no legal right to control who gets to link your Website (no more than you have the right to control who gets to hand out driving directions to your office). The lawyer who advised you to put up a “linking policy” describing the “terms and conditions” under which the world is allowed to link to your site is an idiot who owes you your money back. Standing on your lawn, shaking your fist at the airplane flying overhead and shouting “Get out of my sky” makes you look like a dork — so does threatening text about linking to you. At best, you’ll make bloggers snort derisively and then go link to someone else.
…
Forget the “copyright protection” Javascript. Some sites have bizarre Javascript that pops up snotty little copyright messages when you try to right-click on an image to save it. OK, we get the point: you don’t want people to copy your images. We’ll just move on. Enjoy your obscurity.

From Vintage Lust:

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Greta Christina has a good essay up on the Blowfish Blog on sexual perspective and the reasons we aren’t very accepting as a culture of other people’s sexual tastes:

So unless you’re pathologically stubborn, you eventually learn perspective. You figure out that, as much as you may personally dislike broccoli or blue cheese, Wagner or Western Swing, people who eat it/ listen to it are not mentally deranged. (Or the reverse: that as much as you may personally enjoy these delights, people who don’t like them are not pathologically cut off from the one true source of pleasure and meaning.) People still do sometimes make personal judgments about others based on their tastes in food and music; but those judgments don’t usually result in people being sent to the county jail or the loony bin.

But when it comes to sex, most of us don’t get that kind of training. People don’t come back to work on Mondays and chat about how they tried spanking over the weekend, they way they’ll chat about how they tried a new Moroccan restaurant or went to see a German funk band their brother told them about. They don’t go to parties and share a funny story about the new buttplug they just bought, the way they’ll tell a funny story about trying to make a salmon souffle for their in-laws or the weird harpist who opened for Radiohead. (Well, they sometimes do at my parties . . . but you know what I mean.) Most of us haven’t been regaled with myriad and varied stories about exactly what kinds of sex other people like, and why exactly they like it.

It’s better now than it once was, by a long shot. The amount of sexual information that’s easily available today far surpasses anything I had when I was young. But most of us still don’t get exposed to a widely varied range of sexual tastes . . . not the way we get exposed to a barrage of different tastes in music and food, simply as part of everyday life.

And I think that casual barrage is exactly what we need to break through the intensely personal, intensely visceral nature of our sensual experience and give us perspective on it. It’s what we need to teach us that other people really and truly feel differently about sex than we do.

I have to agree with this as a matter of personal anecdote. Although I considered myself a fairly free-thinking and tolerant guy when I started this sex blog more than five years ago, some of the distancing remarks in my old archived posts (like this one, where I was obviously anxious to express my distaste for bukkake) make me wince in embarrassment now, so clear is it to me that I was uncomfortable with the sexual diversity I was reporting on. But the constant barrage of sexual information that I’ve processed in the course of writing this blog has given me much of the perspective Greta is writing about. The most unusual sexual practices now typically strike me as no more problematic than a taste for live grubs or pickled beets — I’d strongly prefer not to have any, thanks, but I’m not disturbed or surprised (ok, still a little surprised, sometimes) that somebody else finds enjoyment there.

While hitching rides in Germany, that is:

I can see how this would work for the young lady. But I should think her two boyfriends and their trashbag luggage would be slowing her down.

Update: I’m sorry to report that I’ve had to delete at least four comments from people who managed to be rude or superior or condescending about pointing out that this image was photoshopped from a non-nude scene in a movie. However, I’m quite grateful for the information, and especially for the original image provided by Azi in a comment that nicely avoided all the “ZOMG! Internet points for me!” attitudes I was busily moderating away. Thanks, Azi!

Anyway, here’s the unmodified real deal, which I like every bit as much:

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We don’t do unicorn chasers here at Eros Blog, but I’ve got the next best thing to cleanse your mental palate after that last post. What have I got?

I’ve got the the Governor of California as a young man, ripped and oiled and giving a lift to a lady, the two of them not wearing enough clothes between ’em to make up one good Austrian flag:

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