Happy New Year!

I know, you’ve all said it so many times, it’s lost meaning. But for a change, I’m saying it with feeling, not to mention a silly grin on my face. The last few New Year’s Eve celebrations, I’ve said it but I haven’t really believed it. Life’s been comfortable, but when old year changed to new, there’s been nothing to suggest that the new years would hold any more promise than the old. This year’s different.

The Nymph called at (my) midnight, and our mutual wishes for a Happy New Year felt more like promises than like the usual vaguely hopeful admonition. Something to look forward to (and I don’t just mean her visit, as much as I am looking forward to it) makes this holiday a lot more fun.

She’s working tonight, but she’ll call again when she’s safely home. Meanwhile, I’ve got an open bottle of cheap bubbly to work on. And a good year to look forward to, by the grace of Aphrodite’s continued favor and with any luck at all.

I say again, Happy New Year!

From Boing Boing comes this news that Mattel has lost another round in its efforts to suppress Barbie parodies. Apparently the internet is once again safe for Food Chain Barbie as against the ravening depredations of Mattel’s lawyers:

(Long time readers will remember that abusing trademark law in bogus efforts to control the use of products in the stream of commerce after a manufacturer has sold them really piss me off.)

I wonder if this means that the thriving underground Bondage Barbie hobby is back in business?

An anecdote from the comments at Making Light:

Noah Webster, the famous lexicographer, was once found by his wife while he was kissing [or, alternatively, undressing] the cook [or maid] in the pantry. The wife said, “Noah, I am surprised at your action!” To which he replied, “No, YOU are amazed and offended, dear. WE are surprised…”

There’s been some nice feedback at FleshBot on my Unlimited Free Porn article. Glad I could help!

I missed this at Christmas, but it’s too funny not to link up anyway. From Hoot Island, an essay on Christmas blowjobs:

Ladies, does this sound familiar?

You try and try to ask your man what he wants for Christmas. You hint and you wheedle and you watch for signs, but no matter how you ask he just shrugs and says some some smartass comment like “A blowjob, why?”

Isn’t that just like a guy? You ask him a serious question and he answers with some lame toss-off answer like that. Well, speaking for guys around the world, I’m here to reveal the sincere and honest truth:

We’re serious. We really do want a blowjob.

There follows a long and amusing list of arguments in favor of Christmas blowjobs, my favorite of which is: “Every time you swallow, an angel gets her wings.”

I’m a pop culture illiterate, so it doesn’t surprise me that I’ve never heard of Michelle Branch or her music. That notwithstanding, Diablo from Pussy Ranch made me howl with laughter when she wrote:

This month’s Maxim cover features a half-naked Michelle Branch shielding her tender young breasts from a Photoshopped pillar of leaping flames. “Barbecutie!” the cover cleverly blares. I’ll bet earnest little Michelle Branch never thought she’d be likened to a McRib on the cover of a lad mag. She can strum a D chord, after all! She’s better than this, ostensibly! She wrote the theme song to Sorority Life, not that I pay attention to such things!
…
However, either Michelle’s asscrack has been airbrushed into nonexistence by Maxim’s art department, or she is, in fact, lacking a cleft between her buttocks. If the latter scenario is true, then we can assume that Michelle Branch cannot pass solid waste. That’s sad. Imagine you’re in the studio, recording your latest opus, and those knob-twiddlers from Maverick are pestering you. And all you can think is: I need to crap so bad. I wish I hadn’t loaned my colostomy bag to Madonna.

I suppose it’s that kind of urgency that creates truly exquisite, D chord-driven albums.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

Brrr….