Rugby Player Almost Loses Penis
Apparently, a rugby player nearly lost his manhood in a tackle.
“There’s a photo of me screaming in pain, and I finished out the half. The pain was alright and then at half-time I was like, I’ve got to have a look. I checked on it and the skin is half ripped off and I was like, ‘Shit, where’s the doctor? Where’s the doctor?’
“They had to go and get the UTC doctor and he came in and checked it out and he was like, ‘Oh man, you’re going to have to go and get stitches,’ so I had to go to the clinic that night and they had to put 11 stitches around it to put the skin back together.
“I showed all the boys and they were pissing themselves laughing. In all of my career I’ve never heard of anyone having anything like that happen – 11 stitches in the dick."
Girls Are Trouble
"Order custom jackets directly from me via DM or email lizilsleyy@gmail.com xx"
This girl makes these jackets.
Facebook Dumped
There's a mildly interesting NYT article about "The Facebook Breakup." And the company's Compassion Team. And what it's like to have your relationship denouement played out live online.
“It’s not to say that Facebook shouldn’t make it easy to click that button to avoid certain painful memories,” she said. “But the reason we’re looking through those old love letters is we’re trying to work through our past. I think we just have to acknowledge the humanness of that process and be compassionate with ourselves. Life is supposed to be complicated.”
[NYT]
Movie Recommendations: "Love"
If you haven't seen Gaspar Noe's "Love," please do. I watched it on Netflix, I think. Not in 3D, unfortunately, which means I missed the extra impact of that shot where the guy moneys at the camera, but one does what one can. Sure, some uptight assholes thought it was gross, meaningless, and perverted, but they say that like it's a bad thing. I found it to be beautiful, brave, and unblinking. It's about a guy and two girls, and there's lots of sex. What's not to like?
Hello?
Let's Get It On
An image from the "Caged Heat" editorial that Steven Klein shot for Interview magazine.
Jenna Jameson Got a Dog
"Fatty the turkey pot pie 🐾"
Retired porn star Jenna Jameson got a dog.
El Chapo & The Girl
Image via Rolling Stone
The New Yorker has a semi-intriguing profile of Mexican actress Kate del Castillo's involvement in the whole Sean Penn-Rolling Stone-El Chapo saga. Now that Mr. Chapo is back in the pokey, del Castillo claims to be bizarrely unaware that Penn was doing a profile on him, despite her personal involvement in their meeting.
The piece includes some love-ish texts that The Chapo sent del Castillo.
"Amiga, if you'll bring the wine, I'll also drink yours. . . . I'm not a drinker, but your presence will be a lovely thing and I very much want to get to know you and become very good friends. You are the best in this world. . . . I will take care of you more than I do my own eyes."
Return of the Reverse Cowgirl
"🙌🏻"
Or something like it. After several aborted attempts to refocus this blog, I'm trying here again. This time around, I'm taking another pass at sex blogging. We'll see how that goes. Thanks for your patience.
Bodybuilding Body Painting
Image via The Atlantic
Don't Jizz on the Seats
Image via The Verge
The Wall Street Journal has a lively review of the new $253,242 Bentley Bentayga.
Leaving me midslide for the moment, let’s interrogate this notion of a quarter-million dollar SUV. It’s frustrating because it brings into proximity contrary notions: luxury and utility. This has real-world consequences. For example, after climbing up and down from the Bentayga a few times to take pictures, I found mud from my shoe had smooshed into the driver’s door speaker grille (from the esoteric and awesome Naim Audio company), previously pristine as sterling. I also did unspeakable things to deep woolen floor mats.
[WSJ]
Instagramz
If you're looking for cool people to follow on Instagram, here are a few I recommend.
"Vegas, you're one dope-ass cunt who likes money ✌🏻"
Jacq the Stripper: author, dancer, sextrepreneur.
"should I wear this to my psychiatrist appointment today y/n @_namilia_ @vfiles"
Maidenfed: model, fetishist, hater-obliterater.
"Share is one of my virtues. . . . #eroticart #arterotica #drawing#female#girl#pigolin"
Pigolin: artist, troublemaker, pervert.
Go Away, Gwyneth
Gwyneth Paltrow and co. have bought Larry Flynt's to-be-closed Hustler store on the Sunset Strip, and the Blonde Monster is going to tear the structure down and turn it into some stick-up-the-ass club for douchebags.
My fondest memory of the Hustler store is the time they asked me to do a reading there, and I gave some sort of a lecture about how to make bukkake comics. I blew up the panels so they were very large and propped them up an easel. (I think it was the prequel to this one.)
[TMZ]
The Rialto Report
If you haven't checked out The Rialto Report, do. It's an amazing, unrivaled collection of "Oral history, audio, photo, and documentary archives from the golden age of adult film in New York, and beyond."
Take, for example, "Deep Throat" shooting locations:
The opening scenes were shot at Handsome Harry’s place. Handsome Harry lived in Fort Lauderdale. He was a bachelor, maybe 28 or 29 years old, a nice gent who lived solo in his ranch-style house with a swimming pool. Most of his waking thoughts turned lightly to love in any season… and swings and orgies. Our crew – and our project – could not have been more welcome.
Handsome Harry never could figure out why after a long hard day in front of the cameras we weren’t all chomping at the bit to swing into a wild orgy.
We're #1
A fun image by Jaime Rojo via This Isn't Happiness.
What I'm Reading
"👀"
Currently I'm reading The Other Hollywood: The Uncensored Oral History of the Porn Film Industry by Legs McNeil.
Entertainment weekly called it "eloquent and sleazy."
I opened a page at random, and here's what I read:
JOHN WAYNE BOBBITT: But she'd had it all planned out already. The week before she'd threatened me with a knife, but she didn't point it at my dick. She knew exactly what she was doing when she sliced me. Believe me, it was premeditated.
[Amazon]
Porn Watchers Are More Feminist Than Others
According to recent research published in The Journal of Sex Research, those who watch porn are not, in fact, misogynist pigs. In reality, they're down for making love, not hate.
According to radical feminist theory, pornography serves to further the subordination of women by training its users, males and females alike, to view women as little more than sex objects over whom men should have complete control. Composite variables from the General Social Survey were used to test the hypothesis that pornography users would hold attitudes that were more supportive of gender nonegalitarianism than nonusers of pornography. Results did not support hypotheses derived from radical feminist theory. Pornography users held more egalitarian attitudes—toward women in positions of power, toward women working outside the home, and toward abortion—than nonusers of pornography. Further, pornography users and pornography nonusers did not differ significantly in their attitudes toward the traditional family and in their self-identification as feminist. The results of this study suggest that pornography use may not be associated with gender nonegalitarian attitudes in a manner that is consistent with radical feminist theory.
Take that, Gloria Steinem.
We All Watch TV
Image via FoodieCrush
Maureen sat on the sofa, watching "The Ellen Show." Technically, the show was called "The Ellen DeGeneres Show," but Maureen thought of it as "The Ellen Show" because while the show had guests and talked about other things, the show was really only about Ellen. On the TV screen, Ellen smiled brightly, flashing her unnaturally white teeth. Instinctively, Maureen smiled back. Today, Ellen was wearing a white jacket that nipped in at the waist and a pair of dark blue slacks. There was something comforting about Ellen: her idiotic dancing, her non-confrontational clothing choices, her weirdly glowing skin. "That is ENOUGH," Leonard barked from the next room. Maureen stuffed another Tagalong Girl Scout cookie into her mouth. Without chewing, she compressed the cookie between her tongue and the top of her mouth. The insides smooshed out, pushing gooily between the gaps in her teeth. Leonard was talking on the phone. Probably to some person selling newspapers. They were always calling, and Leonard was always roping them into long-winded conversations about global warming and whether or not the country was becoming more communist or not. Maureen chewed slowly and tried to remember the Girl Scout's name. Something terrible ... like ... Regina, but starting with a W. The girl had smelled poorly and not left when Maureen had told her no. Instead, the girl had leaned her head against the screen in the door until Leonard had seen her there, and gone out with five dollars, and taken the Tagalongs. On the show, the scene cut from Ellen on the sound stage where she went to work every day to one of her producers standing on a front porch somewhere in America. A woman opened up the front door, saw the Ellen producer, and screamed loudly. The producer followed the woman who was running away down the hall. Eventually, the producer was able to cajole the woman back in front of the camera. The woman was panting heavily, her glasses crooked. "I'M ELLEN'S BIGGEST FAN," the woman shrieked. In the studio audience, everyone laughed jovially. "I do not agree with your positioning on Alaskan glacier retreat," Leonard announced haughtily. This was the segment where the woman who was Ellen's biggest fan got to choose between what she wanted and what she needed. "What'll it be?" Ellen inquired from the studio in her chipper manner and tilted her head at the camera like she was trying to hear the glaciers disappearing. "WHAT I WANT!" the woman screamed, strident and abrupt. The woman's family had crowded around her in the hall, which now contained the producer, the camera crew, the woman, the woman's husband, and the woman's son. The boy was wearing glasses and looked confused. He was maybe six. He had on a red polo shirt with his name embroidered over his heart. STEFAN, it read. "A trip to Mexico!" the producer shouted. The woman jumped up and down, almost crushing the boy and knocking the husband against a wall. Maureen considered what she would do if Ellen's producer showed up at her front door. Yell and cry, for sure, and then maybe pee a little in her underpants from the excitement and nervousness. She wondered if given the opportunity to pick between what she wanted and what she needed, what she would do. What they needed was new tile in the bathroom because every time Maureen took a bath, she was faced with not the shiny tile, but a gaping hole where the tile was supposed to be, and instead of there being tile there, there was the water-stained wall behind it. Maureen looked down at herself. There were Tagalong crumbs all down her front, and the box was empty. "Impossible!" Leonard chastised somebody he did not know and would never know. What she wanted was a cruise to Alaska. She would go by herself. She would witness the glory of the Aurora Borealis. She would eat freshly caught oversized shrimp. If things got too boring, she would throw herself overboard, and she would swim to a loose piece of ice, and she would build an igloo on it, and she would fish in the frozen sea. On the TV set, the applause was almost deafening.
The Wrapped Gift
Image credit: Christopher Herwig
Every so often, I'm not sure how often, Aimee Bender posts a Writing Exercise. The latest one is: "There is a wrapped gift at the bus stop." Here's my pass at it.
There is a wrapped gift at the bus stop, Maureen said. Next to her, she could feel Pauline stiffen. Pauline ruined everything. Panicked during bus rides. Screamed loudly if others stood too close. Fainted dramatically if storm clouds gathered overhead. Maureen took a step forward, daring to leave Pauline behind. Pauline gasped loudly. You can't, Pauline was saying. But couldn't she? Maureen considered and took another step. The wrapped gift tantalized. It didn't make sense. It was mid-April, and nothing interesting happened in mid-April. It wasn't Christmas, or Valentine's Day, or even some kind of special day. She took another step. It appeared the box had been wrapped in some sort of gauze, the kind she used to see when she was a nurse at the hospital. YOU CAN'T DO THAT, she heard Pauline shriek suddenly from somewhere in another world. Maureen watched as her hand floated out in front of her and wrapped its fingers around the box. The package was light, not heavy, and emitted no particular smell. She resisted the urge to shake it. What if there was something alive in it? She heard a noise behind her, which was probably Pauline either fainting or pretending to faint. And who could blame her? When Pauline was a toddler, her mother had shot her father in front of her, and then Pauline's mother had shot herself. All of this had happened as Pauline had eaten a bowl of SpaghettiOs in her highchair. I remember the drawing of the giraffe at the bottom of my bowl like it was yesterday, Pauline was fond of quavering every time she told the story, which was sometimes once a week, or even more during the holidays. Death was the rope to which Pauline clung, the thread by which she hung. Maureen slid the box into the front pocket of her coat. Briefly, she wondered if she should give it to Pauline. If whatever was in the box would fill up the hole that Pauline's mother had left inside her daughter. Maureen could see the bus coming in the distance. Probably, the bus wasn't even big enough to fill up the bottomless pit of want and need that was inside Pauline. She would open the present later, when she was alone, Maureen decided. Maybe it contained a jewel box filled with rhinestone necklaces, or a pet mouse that had been trained to stand on its back legs and beg for small bits of cheese, or a tiny golden gun with Pauline's name engraved on the side of one of its miniature bullets. You never knew, Maureen shrugged and stepped on the bus, not sure if Pauline was coming or was still prone on the dirty sidewalk, where she belonged.