National Penis Month continues. But I figure, hey, if we’re worshiping dick anyway, let’s show it being done right:

The artist is Loic Dubigeon.

I found this over at Smitten, which I haven’t read in far too long:

Me: Do you love me?
Alex: Yes.
Me: How much?
Alex: (Spreads arms) This much.
Me: Prove it.
Alex: How?
Me: Two carats worth?
Alex: You want hummus with those, right?

The man doesn’t want to live, but he’ll die well.

Ok, it’s officially National Penis Month here at ErosBlog. National Penis Month will continue until the guys who can’t stand to see dick stop whining about it, or until I get bored, or until it’s July, whichever comes first. Hint: the more you whine, the longer it will take me to get bored.

I stole this particularly fat-and-healthy-looking cock specimen from Spanking Blog.

And since ThatGirl started it: “Penis penis penis penis penis!”

Rupert unwittingly allowed himself to be rooked into a family shopping outing that included a stop for his wife to pick up some underwear. At, it turned out, Victoria’s Secret. He learned some things, including:

Men: Never take your daughter to Victoria’s Secret.

She might ask what is the difference between briefs, bikinis, low-rider bikinis and “boy-cut” panties (which, apparently, Victoria’s Secret calls “hot pants”). To illustrate her quandry, she might hold up one of each garment so labeled. There is no difference immediately apparent to a Mere Mortal, which is to say, to a man. And because my mind works the way it does, I automatically use every ounce of topological imagination I have to picture my daughter wearing them in sufficient detail to be able to describe how they hug her body differently.

My gorgeous sixteen-year-old daughter. In Victoria’s Secret underwear. Yikes!

I am unable to avoid this mental picture once the question is asked, even if it wasn’t asked of me (which it was not). Even if my daughter were not, well, a Babe (which she is).

At which point there is really no choice. I must either leave the store or gouge my eyes out. Possibly both. Oh, look, a B Dalton’s.

One of the unexpected side benefits of the growing rage for candid upskirt photography is this final definitive answer to that age old question: What does a Scotsman wear under his kiltie?

Knowledge I could have done without.

Woe be unto him, who would be deserving of this curse:

May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your pubic hair, may you be forced to lick sweat from the balls of every water buffalo in Asia, and may you forever share your house and bed with a woman like this one:

I get pretty lazy about sex acts that require alot of work, like blow jobs: I can live the rest of my life without doing it, honestly. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike them but I wouldn’t miss them either. Let’s just say that I give enough to shut the guy up but I need to be motivated, like if he decides to cook me a great dinner, or takes me out someplace fun. I know, I’m supposed to just love doing it without thinking about what I may get in return but blow jobs are not a labor of love to me….

I’m not saying cutting corners on giving blow jobs is admirable, it isn’t, but I’ve done my share and if I have to use a little teeth to discourage some guys from ever asking again, I’ll do it. That way, it’s got to be so bad, they’d have to be masochists to ask me again. (I only did it lightly, as the last thing I wanted was for the guys to get hurt. I just wanted it to be bad enough that they wouldn’t want me to blow them again.)

Attributed to one “Laura the Tooth” (well, actually just Laura) over on Yellow Curious, the curiously racialized blog where every person mentioned gets identified by race before the author says whatever it is he has to say about them.

I get a lot of people who write in looking to get on the blog roll. Whether that happens tends to depend on intangible factors, but it almost never happens immediately. Usually I dump those emails into a folder to look at when I’m short of blogging material; and there’s stuff a year old in there that I haven’t looked at yet.

I can’t offer tips on what’s likely to strike my fancy. But I can offer the following tips on what not to do:

1) Send me an email about your nifty blog — and omit to send along a link. Believe it or not, this happens a lot.

2) Ask for a link…but don’t put up a link to ErosBlog. For extra points, ask for links to your “blog” that doesn’t have any outgoing links.

3) Ask to “exchange” links. I figure, if you like ErosBlog, you’ll already have a link up. And if you don’t like it, odds are you’ll “forget” to put up my link later.

4) Ask for a link to your nifty new blog “that only has one post so far.”

5) Ask for a link to your blog — that doesn’t exist at the specified URL a mere week later.

I could go on in this vein, but that’s a good start.