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Monday, March 24, 2008
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 LINDSAY LOHAN & THE PAINFUL POWER OF TRUTH For the longest time President George W. Bush told us that the Iraqi government of Saddam Hussien was in possession of weapons of mass destruction. These weapons, Bush contended, could be passed along to terrorist groups and used against American cities. Of course, no rational person could imagine Saddam doing something so clearly suicidal unless faced with an imminent attack to remove his regime by the United States. For that reason, President Bush insisted on the invasion of Iraq. It has since been revealed that those WMD did not in fact exist. On the other hand, the United States military has a wide variety of weapons that can be used on American cities. I recommend starting with Detroit. There were any number of liberal idiots who were profoundly pissed about the truth of Saddam's weapon. But I was okay with it. Just because WMD was a particularly silly reason to go to war - and likely would have resulted in a chemical attack against New York if it was true - doesn't negate the fact that there were all kinds of other reasons to take Saddam down. For the better part of a year now, we've had Senator Hillary Clinton tell us about her heroic struggles during the battle of Tuzla. Hillary charged that hill and secured that airport, we're told, single-handedly, thus securing a Happy Easter for all of Bosnia's Muslims. When questioned closely, the Clinton campaign assured us all that Chelsea, Sheryl Crow and Sinbad were brought along only as an affirmative action program for useless people. And you know what? I wasn't all that shocked when I learned that someone named Clinton perhaps shouldn't be trusted on their memories of what they have or haven't done. This because I've always thought that Hillary is a cunt. You see, I'm rather fond of the truth, but I'm by no means married to it. Since I assume that everyone is an asshole anyway, having it verified for me isn't a huge priority of mine. That all changed last week when I learned that the truth is the most hurtful fucking thing on the planet and should be immediately outlawed. Most of us don't live the life of New York's new governor, Stevie Wonder David Patterson, who brings us on happy and exciting adventures of truth each and every day. No, the truth is Kyra Phillips and the rest of us are her sister-in-law.  And it couldn't be more appropriate that the truth's latest assault on me involves Lindsay Lohan.
I may not be a big believer in the positive power of truth, but I do believe in fate. And I know beyond any doubt that I will someday be ruined by my penis. I've known this since childhood and I've grown comfortable with it. That Miss Lohan instigates that genital apocalypse is a reasonable causation for my demise than any other. Actually, given her hobbies, it is far more than reasonable.
Unlike everybody's Drunken Stepfather ( link NSFW), I would never refer to any woman as a "vagina lickin' cokehead" as if those were somehow negative qualities. Any discerning gentleman will tell you that those are things that generally improve the modern woman.
Some of you have mocked and belittled my love for La Lohan, but I know that someday statues dedicated to it will be erected in town squares throughout the western world. And when I learned last week that there might in fact be a fucktape starring Lindsay ( also NSFW) out there, I nearly began erecting those statues myself.
If you really want to know why there was so little posting here last week, now you know. Things were so dire that the brilliant and beautiful Joan e-mail to express her concern for my welfare. It was an epic struggle between my mighty prick and right hand, and that my heart could keep up remained an open question. Luckily for all of you, I rest my buttplug and cock ring on top of my defibilator because the use of one almost always necessitates the others.
Sadly, the truth reared its ugly head just long enough to deliver yet another vicious blow to my testicles when it became generally accepted that the video was a fraud. I was despondent. Never before was I so convinced that nothing would ever go my way. I knew at long last that I was forever doomed to a life without hope. The experience was hurtful beyond words and I resolved to never trust the Internet again, allied as it is with both the truth and Al Gore, my two most deadly enemies.
 But even now, in the depths of my darkest hour, there remains hope, if just a glimmer. Although the video has almost conclusively been proven to be fake, my beautiful Lindsay thinks that it might just be real.
There are any number of things that can be said about a big-titted starlet with drug problems and the inability to remember which of her paramours that she recorded herself fellating, but any comprehensive list would start by saying that she should get a medal of some sort. If Congress isn't involved yet, it should be. It's not like it's addressing any other issue of importance.
If nothing else, Lindsay Lohan has managed to accomplish what Jesse Jackson failed to do over and over again. She and her wandering oral cavity have managed to keep hope alive.
And for just once in my life, the truth might actually be on my side.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: She By: Gram Parsons From: GP Labels: Big Ups To Bloggers, Celebrity Skin, Fuck Tapes R Us, Journalists Are Swine
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Thursday, November 22, 2007
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 GIVING THANKS FOR THE AMY FISHER FUCK TAPE AND WHAT IT CAN TEACH LADIES ABOUT THE MAKING OF LOVE
If I were to venture a guess, I'd say that about 85% of my readership resides within the United States. As you may or may not know, today is Thanksgiving there. Canada's was last month, and the rest of the world is comprised of godless, heathen cocksuckers. Because everyting is bigger in America, those bastards get a fucking four day weekend out of the deal. And that pisses me off. If a holiday in Canada falls on a, say, Wednesday, we just get the preceding Monday off. Americans get to bail on the balance of the week. It isn't that I'm not understanding. Killing an entire continent of Indians and taking their land makes for a lot of thanking to be done. I'm just jealous, that's all. In Canada, we only get one day off for Thanksgiving, presumably because we only sent our Indians to the Arctic Circle where they all committed suicide. Canadians are pretty cowardly that way. We tend to elect Jean Chretien-crazy, not Andrew Jackson-genocidal. Long story short, nobody's reading this until Monday at least. The only reason that I'm writing at all is because I'm incredibly bored. I also tend to have a lot to say when I know that no one's reading. In the next couple of day's I'll tell you seven things about me (because Token told me to), share my thoughts on on the tenth anniversary of the death of Michael Hutchence, which was actually today, and tell you the story about some Texas fuckhead who shot two guys breaking into his neighbor's house. But I probably won't get around to these things until the weekend. I also want to express the only thing in my worthless fucking life that I'm thankful for. That would be celebrity sex tapes. I hate celebrities with all of the intensity that I hate everyone with a better life than I have. And that includes you, Jesus Martinez! That is to say I hate pretty much everyone. But my hatred for celebrities is so much greater, if only because they're celebrated for pretty much nothing. But they do give me the gift that keeps on giving: they fuck on video and that video invariably ends up on the Internet.  As it happens, the more obscure a celebrity you are, the more like it is that you have a fuck tape floating about.
I'm sure that if everybody thinks back really hard they'll remember Amy Fisher. Back in 1992 Amy was a Long Island high-school tart who was fucking the audaciously dagoish Joey Buttafuoco. There was something almost cartoonishly magnetic about a car mechanic named "Buttafuoco" that Amy couldn't resist spreading her nymphette legs for.
But if this story only involved a characature of an Italian male stuffing his sausage into an underage girl, no one would care. But there was so much more to this story.
Amy was never one to do things halfway. Not for her the surrupticious schtuppings that most of us who have sex with married partners settle for. Fisher had to shoot Joey's wife in the face. And that's where the news - and the fun - really started. Amy Fisher was to be forevermore known as the "Long Island Lolita," despite the fact that Nabokov's heroine was only 12. And didn't shoot anyone in the face. And that the name "Humbert Humbert" doesn't inspire half as many involuntary giggles as "Joey Buttafuoco" does.
 Some say that shooting Mary Jo Buttauoco was Amy Fisher's worst crime. This is because some people are unbearably stupid. The most intolerable act of this young girl is causing Geraldo Rivera to literally shit money for the better part of a decade. I think we can all agree that this is unforgivable and should have resulted in Ms. Fisher's being torn to pieces by rabid hyenas. Anything that makes Geraldo money is inherently evil. That's just the nature of things.
Anyhow, Amy went to prison for seven years and accused a bunch of people of raping her. She was released in 1999 and everyone hoped that after an initial victory lap of TV interviews she would sink into anonymity.
Well, Amy settled down, married her grandfather some guy named Lou Bellera, and squeezed out a couple of kids. As couples often do, the videotaped themselves fucking. They were so happy.
However, the marriage wasn't without its trials. There was a brief seperation this spring and Amy was seen with .... Joey Buttafuoco. May the circle be unbroken.
Of course, Lou did what any of us would do with a video of ourselves fucking a woman who shoots people in the head: he sold it to a porno company called Red Light District. The tape was already in Red Light's loving embrace when Lou and Amy reuinited (and it felt so good.)
That means you and I get to watch a really old guy fucking the erstwhile Long Island Lolita. And who said every day can't be Christmas?
Anyhow, a six or seven minute preview of the tape has leaked (which couldn't be more NSFW. This is after all graphic footage of people fucking) and be seen here. As is the case with most things involving hardcore fucking, I'm sure that you're dying to know my thoughts.
 Firstly, Amy has held together quite nicely indeed. She has a tight little body that shows no sign of having shit out two kids and what looks to fake knockers but might not be. If that's what going to prison does for a girl's body, then more of you should really think about doing it. Think of it as a trip to a really intense spa.
If I were to offer any criticism about Amy's appearence, I would have to point to the tattoo around her navel. I found myself incredibly distracted by it because I couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be. Is it a shamrock? Amy Fisher isn't Irish. It might be an Iron Cross, but her dad's Jewish and he might be upset by something like that. There's nothing worse than looking at a naked girl and not being able to focus on her naughty bits because of something stupid.
The preview starts with Amy giving grandpa Lou a loving combination hand/blowjob. She does a respectable job of it, but I was most pleased to discover that Ms. Fisher has quite a pottymouth when the making of the love occurs.
If you don't talk dirty during sex, you're missing half the fun. After all, how are we supposed to know that you're our filthy little whore unless you tell us. Ladies, I can't tell you how disheartening it is if we have to keep reminding you. Also, calling us "Daddy" when we're about to cum is enourmously helpful. I'm gratified to know that Amy is aware of this.
The above is sadly mitigated by Amy's New York accent. It is well and truly annoying, and maintaing an erection whilst annoyed is always a challenge. Not impossible, mind you, but a challenge. It was difficult for me and I'm a goddamn professional.
 I was also disappointed by how unwilling Amy is to accomdate her man. As he approaches climax from her ministrations in the fist scene, Amy - as any good wife should - begs Lou to deposit his gunk upon her. Lou lets her know that he's favourably disposed to putting it on her face. She breaks the mood by insisting that it find a home on her breasts.
I have a couple of points that I'd like to make about that.
Firstly, a modern lady never refers to her "breasts" during the making of the love. It's entirely too clinical. When a gentleman caller is orally gratifying you, you aren't going to lay there and moan "you make my vagina feel pleasant." Hopefully, you're not going to ask a man to "spank my buttocks because I've been a bad little girl." They're your tits. Call them what they are, godfuckit.
Secondly, only allowing us to ejaculate on your funbags is fine when we're dating. Marriage is suppose to change that. Besides, don't you know that semen keeps your skin fresh and young-looking? Look, I understand that a young lady may not like having some dude cum in her mug, but I'm pretty sure that said dude isn't wild about making mortage payments or dealing with your fucking family, either. Marriage is about shared sacrifice. Or at least it used to be.
Then grandpa Lou attempts to satisfy Amy digitally and orally and appears to be unequal to the task, although Amy does a credible job of faking enthusiasm.
 Ladies, I want to help you help yourselves. Once your comfortable with the lost art of dirty-talk, you really should utilize it to tell us what you like and how we can do better. Never having had a really old guy invade my orfices, I'm no expert on this, but I saw Lou perform and it couldn't have felt that good. Help us truly earn our outsized sexual egos. Always remember, not all of us are sex gods like that Joey Buttafuoco. How can any of you fairly expect us to compete with that?
Amy then straddles her beloved in what looks to be an extremely awkward position, yet one that appears to stimulate her mythical g-spot. Or she's a pretty good actress.
I should note yet again that I'm only commenting on a peview of the entire video. This is only six or seven minutes. But there is something missing. There's a discerning absence of any ass-play at all. In my rather extensive experience with pornography, anal is something you want to be as front about as possible because, let's face it, everybody loves dumper coitus. But nary a finger enters that forbidden treasure trove and we're all poorer for it.
Having said that, I must admit that Amy Fisher is just cute enough and performs credibly enough that I would let her shoot my wife in the face should it become necessary.
Based solely on the preview, I'd recommend "Amy Fisher Caught on Tape" to everyone, but I'd recommend it to the ladies in particular. Within that six minutes, you can learn not only what to do, but what not to do in the boudiour.
They are as follows;
- Never have a distracting tattoo that we can't figure out what it depicts. Seriously, no good can of it.
- Talk as dirty as you can at all times when you're naked.
- Do not under any circumstances have a New York accent. Take a speech class. We'll thank you for it.
- They're your "breasts" only when you're with your parents, friends and doctor.
- Do not fake your orgasms. They only person who profits from that is Joey Buttafuoco. Use your newfound dirty-talk skills to educate us.
- Do not fuck
your grandfather Lou Bellera on videotape. His age is as distracting as your bad tattoo. - Semen will keep your face young looking. Facials also cure cancer. Google it.
- It's an exit and an entrance. You may not like it, but we really didn't want to give up our bachelor apartments either.
Now all of you should use your four fucking day weekend to enjoy the educational power of pornography. You'll thank me for it. Oh right. No one's going to read this until Monday. I forgot. Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Let Me Put My Love Into You By: AC/DC From: Back in Black Permalink Labels: Celebrity Skin, Fuck Tapes R Us, Relationship Advice
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Monday, September 24, 2007
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 YOUR SOUTHERN CAN IS MINE: REFLECTIONS ON THE MEG WHITE FUCK TAPE
I'm sure that there's been a woman in every man's life that he's been deeply attracted to but could never pinpoint exactly why. These women are rarely as beautiful as, say, Halle Berry or Selma Heyak. They are seemingly ordinary in every way but there's something there. Perhaps the fact that you can't put your finger on it adds to that mysterious appeal.
For me that woman is Meg White, the drummer for the White Stripes, even though she is the very definition of ordinary. Okay, that isn't entirely true. She has truly magnificent breasts. She's not unattractive, but she's hardly the type that you'd see on the catwalks of New York and Milan. If anything, she's the kind of girl that would get fourth billing in a porno produced by a San Bernadino biker club.
Having said that, there's something about Meg that causes a pounding throb in my crotch that is at once troubling and comforting. Such a sensation has always felt like home to me and is one of the few remaining things that reminds me that I'm still alive.
And when I read this morning that a fuck tape that may or may not feature Ms. White had leaked on the Internet that pounding nearly killed me once and for all. You know as well as I do that a better way for me to shuffle off my mortal coil does not exist, but I guess that it just wasn't my time.
Instead, I was spared by my penis, perhaps because it knows that I was born to chronicle such a film for you. I know that being a chronicler of celebrity fuck tapes isn't the highest of callings, but it appears to be the only thing I'm actually good at. Was I not the man who warned my humble audience of the horrors within the Screech fuck tape? I still view that as my greatest public service. I'm like John Wayne with a powerful grip and, no, my mother couldn't be more proud.
 I think that I actually believe that the woman in the tape is in fact Meg White, if only by her horrid taste in men. Jack White is among the creepiest men in modern music and almost shockingly asexual besides. The man possesses a level of androgyny that Marilyn Manson has aspired to for over a decade. This has only been reinforced by his bizarre experiments with facial hair that serve only to make him look like Michael Jackson. I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that Jack White had actually been euniched as an infant.
Meg's carnal co-star looks sleazy in the most pedestrian way. If anything, he looks like a head injured John Mayer and how can you not hate John Mayer? My initial impression was that this gentleman wouldn't seem out of place being interrogated by Chris Hansen. And that first impression was by far the most favourable.
More shocking even than the Meg White's disasterous choice in paramours is how timid the tape actually is. If this is the cause of the anxiety that forced the White Stripes to cancel their tour and forfeit millions of dollars, then Ms. White is almost supernaturally modest. Running less than three minutes - a sad circumstance whenever it occurs and something that is always the fault of the male partner - it isn't a performance to be proud of, but it certainly isn't worth abandoning one's career over, either.
I've long dreamt of the day when I would see Meg's bountiful bossoms denuded of that annoying red t-shirt she seems to favor (link NSFW), and I wasn't disappointed. Verily, those are knockers for the ages, milkbags that will forever be noted in the Book of Life. I suspect that they'll be the "rosebud" that haunts me to my dying breath. Also, she appears to be aware of the value of a Brazillian wax during any romantic encounter. I love all women who fuck on camera with only the satisfaction of my demented libido on her mind, and I would gladly see her nude again in any venue she chooses.
 Which brings us to the performance itself. Note: This link leads to the video and is decidedly NSFW
Have these people never heard of forplay? Are they afflicted with some allergy to oral sex that medical science has yet to bother itself discovering?
Perhaps I was raised better than most men, but I wouldn't dream of merely mounting a woman from behind and aimlessly pumping away. My friends, if a young lady deems you worthy of a visit to ber boudoir, you should repay that kindness by ensuring that not one of her orfices is left unexplored by your tongue, fingers or both. A very special lady once told me that a woman is a delicate flower and I've known since childhood that delicate flowers should be cherished and devoured ever so slowly. On an unrelated note, did you know that opium is a delicate flower, too?
Indeed, Meg's anonymous lover does shove his fingers in her mouth, but only after he has insterted himself within her nether regions and commenced his amateurish thrusting. This is the sort of lovemaking that one would properly expect from a high school sophmore or an aspiring date rapist, not the lover of a beautifully breasted international rock star.
If I were ever filmed giving any woman such lackluster coitus, I would imagine the only way that my honor could be restored would be a very public suicide of the sort made famous by the Japanese and R. Budd Dwyer. One can only imagine what would happen if someone dared give Courtney Love such a remedial fucking. Blood would be spilled and it almost certainly wouldn't be the Widow Cobain's.
The greatest tragedy of this sad documentary is that not only does Ms. White accept such a substandard rogering, she actually seems satisfied with it! When I first saw her look of carnal gratification and heard her gasps of bliss, I could feel my heart breaking. I had thought such women existed only in fairy tales or had been long ago incarcerated for setting their pathetic partners on fire as they slept.
 Worse still, Meg has at least one orgasm at this fool's inept ministrations and perhaps two. And the one that I'm sure of came when her fuck buddy had grown weary of his demonstration of banging for beginners and took his proper place on the bottom. At that point, I became fully disgusted with my penis and everything it represents.
For that reason, this video is worthwhile if only for its educational value. In it we learn that Meg White is the white tiger of undersexed women. We spend our entire lives hearing about them but never expect to see one in its natural habitat. Now you can. And like most things in nature, it isn't as wonderful as you'd been led to believe.
When I had started the video, I did so knowing that I would pretend that the stars were myself and the lovely De. But within seconds I knew that I could never subject someone so precious to such a tawdry underfucking. I just don't have it in me.
It was fully twelve hours ago that I first saw this tape and I haven't stopped weeping for Meg White since. People at work were starting to stare.
Update: Meg's "people" are denying that it is her on the video. If true (and those shills lie for a living), I'm happy for her, but sad for myself. Nothing ever works out my way, godfuckit.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Your Southern Can Is Mine By: The White Stripes From: De Stijl
PermalinkLabels: Celebrity Skin, Fuck Tapes R Us
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