It always amuses me when I link to something and then all the other big blogs link to it weeks later.

There’s a certain irony to this, given the way Fox commentators tend to froth away about porn. Notice the balls and cock entering a pussy there in the middle of the screen, under the text that says “slut chat”?

But what’s really funny is, the producers blurred out her left nipple.

We’re running out of month, so it must be time for this:

Although uncut penises are just about as rare as real breasts in American porn, you have clamored and I have found one — by going overseas, of course. Coincidentally, several of you have reminded me of the National Penis Day recently celebrated in New Zealand. Naked Protesters has the pictures:

That’s a fellow named Alex Behan.

Since I’m obviously not going to be winning the political correctness sweepstakes any time soon, I might as well post this picture of the gun-shaped vibrator:

Now that’s an object fraught with enough symbolism to fuel two whole weeks of heated discussion in a Women’s Studies classroom near you.

Found the picture on this archive page for SF Gate columnist Mark Morford.

National Penis Month is not forgotten. This is from a panel in a French-language comic book found on alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. cartoons:

People who condemn prostitution would do well to remember that there are always women for whom it offers a vastly better life than their next best alternative. I’ll let an Iranian brothel worker speak for herself on this point:

How old are you?

I’m fifteen.

Why did you leave home?

One day I was coming home from school when Abbas started following me, asking for alms. Every day for a week he followed me home, but I ignored him. Then one day I answered, and my brother happened to see me. He went straight to my father. That night my father beat me until my whole body was black and blue. Then he locked me in the cellar. There were rats down there. I screamed and shouted, but no one came to help me. I thought I was going to die from fright. The next day, after my father had gone to work, my sister passed a piece of bread and some cheese to me under the cellar door. For a whole month she did that every day. For a whole month I didn’t wash or change my clothes. There was a pit in the cellar where I went to the bathroom. Finally, I broke a window in the middle of the night and managed to escape into the street. I had no chador, so I stole one from the mosque. I was on my way to the bus terminal when I was picked up by the police. At six o’clock in the morning, they took me back home. I was beaten again. This time my father hung me by my feet from the hook he used to hang slaughtered lambs. That night my sister cut me down. She said, “Go.” I said, “He’s going to kill you.” She said, “You go, I’ll think of something.” She gave me a chador and some money. I went straight to the town square, found a ride, and came to Teheran.

And what do you do now?

I work in a house. The madam I work for pays me and lets me go out for walks.

Do you want to go home?

No. Once I called and spoke to my sister. She said that my father beat her for a week after I left, so she would tell him where I was. And my mother told her that if she sees me she’ll burn me alive.

Why?

My mother says that since I am going to burn in the next life, it is her duty to set fire to me in this one.

Thanks to Daze for the link.