This is an actual email sent to the FCC and procured by The Smoking Gun via a Freedom of Information Act Request:

The Oprah Show described with graphic detail a sexual term known as “tossing salad.” It was so offensive that my child’s head literally exploded. Please ban free speech so this never happens again.

Ouch. “Literally”? “You keep using that word….“

Or something. I’m not sure I follow the lingo, but at least I’m not the only one:

Lifted without shame from Across the Atlantic.

P.S. Speaking of which, have you noticed that Shell and The Group Captain are now on the same side of the Atlantic and happily eating burgers with vegemite and A1 sauce together? They’ve spared us their transports of delight, but it sounds like they are having fun. Like the man from the A-Team said, I love it when a plan comes together.

P.P.S. I am reliably informed that vegemite is actually concentrated smegma.

Here’s a link and photo for you. Allegedly, Chelsea Clinton Topless:

Although I must say, it doesn’t look too much like Chelsea to me.

Update: Because, of course, it isn’t. Instead, courtesy Jonno at Fleshbot, we know it’s Abby Winters.

Update To the Update: Courtesy of Abby Winters’s comment, we now know it’s a model of Abby’s named Samantha.

2013 Update to the Update to the Update: It turns out that comment was not actually made by Abby Winters, a person who may or may not even exist.

Ever wondered why there are so many cute Russian hookers in your fair (non-Russian) city? The answer lies in economics.

Thanks to Daze for the link to this summary of the economics of hooking.

Naked Loft Party has a whole new look, and it’s spiffy.

Fair warning, top entry at the moment is an item entitled “Kink” that starts:

I pace around the living room, my face twisted into a grimace. No more 256 ounce SuperValu fountain drinks for me.

I hear the bath running.

“What the fuck is she doing in there? I told her I have to go.”

“Go in then,” Leslie tells me.

May as well the girls never lock the door anyway. I find Nova in the tub, splashing about in three inches of bathwater and playing with herself. She’s grinning at me.

The rest of that story goes exactly where you think it does.

From Savage Love, a letter in praise of stiff plastic lovers:

“Being with a mannequin is better than being with another person. (I like to think of myself as half of a mannequpple.) They put out and they do whatever you want.”

Whatever you want? I guess that’s true, if “whatever you want” is limited to having a lover who is lifeless and cold and just lays there doing nothing at all. [Unhappily married men may wish to substitute a crass joke about their wives for the text currently within these brackets.]

There’s also detailed advice on how to steal (yes, steal) the other half of your mannequpple.

Since this appears to be ugly dick week here at ErosBlog, herewith a picture (courtesy of that paragon of journalism, the Moscow News) of what is alleged to be Rasputin’s penis, on display in a museum in St. Petersburg: