Old postcard nudes are a favorite of mine, but this one from Rare Erotica is just about the prettiest I’ve ever seen:

From the notorious gaming blog Kill Ten Rats comes some dating advice in terms that gamers will understand:

If you are reading this, there is a good chance that you are a single, introverted, heterosexual male. As a public service, we are pleased to present some advice for gamers on Getting the Girl. You can get lots of dating advice out there, much of it conflicting, but you come to Kill Ten Rats because you know you can trust us. Also, we are tired of hearing you whine in guildchat about how you cannot get a date.

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Let’s talk equipment. You will not be wearing anything on your shoulders, nor a cape, nor a tabard. Leave the sword at home, too, no matter how cool it looks. While some people can successfully combine mix-and-match armor, you will just end up hideous and ineffective. If your closet is full of t-shirts from anime and They Might Be Giants, we have a problem. Luckily, there are many shopkeepers who can help you get equipment with the right bonuses.

If you need to read this, let us assume that you have little idea about fashion. Conveniently, shopkeepers are quite happy to sell you entire outfits at once. They even arrange them on headless mannequins around the store. Pick your level of formality and buy three. You are just starting out here, so do not trust your intuition on what goes with what; follow the template exactly until you get more experience. This is like when you tell the new guy at the raid to shut up and do what he is told; unless you can solo this raid, take the advice of the corporate shills, since they have spent thousands of hours working on this stuff.

If you are in doubt, ask a female who works at the store for a recommendation. Your future girlfriend/wife will be telling you how to dress for the rest of your life anyway, so start getting used to it now. Do not be embarrassed about asking for help; that is her job, she may be on commission, and who knows she may think it is cute that you are admitting vulnerability and asking for help. No, don’t hit on her. If necessary, write down which garments go together, especially if you want to try these slacks with that shirt.

This may cost a fair number of gold pieces. Luckily, you will not be out-leveling your IRL clothing anytime soon unless you are eating too much. This brings us to our next point: buffing.

Summertime, just sittin’ on the beach minding her own business, and suddenly she has to know: “Hey, what’s this in my panties?”

From Usenet.

If I used this for a quickie, I think I’d be yelling, “OUCHIE!”

Do companies just not proofread their packaging anymore?

From Bondage Blog comes a reminder of the timeless wisdom, that on the internet, people are not always what they seem. Verbum sapienti satis est!

It has been, by all reports, hot in New York City this summer. Or as Chelsea Girl puts it:

Step outside and it feels as if you’ve entered a hot, wet oven. You’re the pat of butter on the baked potato that is Gotham. It’s hot, hot, hot heat, wet and hot, and it cleaves to you, sweat-pressing your skin and enervating you with its doughy-moist succubus embrace.

You need to go somewhere the sun don’t shine. You need to find your place in the shade. You need to embrace your inner arctic. You need to stick an ice cube up your ass.

Yes, of course. My very first thought. Only, somehow, not.

Anyway, being a woman, she has to do it in the bathtub.

Which means she has to clean the tub first. Foreplay, I guess.

Nine paragraphs later (!) she gets to the good part:

You take a cube, you rest it against your asshole and you feel the immediate pucker of the asskiss, that quick inward convulsion, that wrinkle-crinkle in and up. And then with a deep breath, surely, remorselessly, unmercifully you use your index and middle fingers to push the ice cube into your ass.

The shock of the ice. Silver sliver ice-nine-esque core radiating. Like the plunge into a mountain stream from the inside. A swift round shot of pleasure/pain/pleasure.

Your breath inhales ragged-like. You imagine it’s not unlike the sensation of crack, only pure body.

It’s a very suggestively shaped bollard, I agree. And the Russian is tantalizing: “Here you may…” with a verb I don’t remember from my college classes, one that the online translators won’t translate. But really, I just like the photo:

From Urod.ru.