Reporters have been calling me since yesterday afternoon wanting my feedback on a startling discovery:
There’s a new celebrity sex tape for sale, children.
And most lovers think the mystery meat making lovelies with two fine brunette babies belongs to rock and roll icon (and personal friend of the Schmooz) Jimi Hendrix.
But it’s not.
I’m a wiser man now, and I think it behooves me to call out the truth.
It’s me.
It was 1968. I was rash and full of misplaced spunk. It had only been my third time loving man to woman to woman, and at that age, a boy feels scared in his loving. Like the flavor’s gonna run out before you know it. He needs something to make each time linger just a little bit longer than it should.
Which explains the tape.
I’m not proud of it. Loving is a sacred act that should be shared between you and the eager bodies that greet you on scented sheets, ya dig?
Once you get the idea to make your funky rumba a cinematic affair, you’re begging for a heap of trouble.
Feelings get hurt. Genuine, caring gestures can look cruel or arrogant. And hey, maybe you weren’t so sure that the lady with the gossamer lips tracing your being was old enough to vote.
It’s these things that can end you, dear readers.
Now that I’ve shared with you my personal pain, I’d like bring up some other individuals that found themselves in a similar sticky fondue of fornication, and show you what you can gleam from their sad tales:
1) Rob Lowe - It’s 1988, the Democratic National Convention is in full swing, and civic pride is pulsing through your loins.
What better way to celebrate than by making those sweet, raucous sounds that celebrate the soul?
Rob Lowe’s plans went awry, however, when he filmed himself making love to an underage girl.
What you need to know: If there is any doubt, lovers, any doubt whatsoever about the legality of the lover you’re bedding, be smooth.
Ask them about college. Their major, the dorm life, etc. Be safe – if they don’t give you an answer you like, you need to do the right thing, and send that wicked piece of forbidden goodness out of your sight.
2) Jayne Kennedy The first African-American actress to grace the cover of Playboy, Jayne Kennedy is as shrewd as she is lovely. She also was one of the first women to break into sports broadcasting. However, somebody still managed to break into her house and steal a sex tape featuring her and her former husband.
What you need to know: I don’t care if you make a tape of your carnal configurations and put it in a lead-lined vault, flanked by a thousand guards.
Somebody is still gonna find a way to take a look at your unclothed goodies, ya dig?
Keep your erotic entertainments locked in your brain bank – it’s better that way.
3) Dustin Diamond - In 2006, the actor who played “Screech” in Saved by the Bell had a sex tape of his released called: Saved By the Smell.
What you need to know: Remember, lovers who make sex tapes aren’t kind lovers, you dig? Their loving is selfish, bitter.
You put your sexual stock in risk every time you agree to gyrate for the homemade lens. Nobody wants loving from the ladies who had a piece of that dirty Diamond. Unless you want to spend your lusts sulking in solitude, please lovers, please put the camera down and leave it to the professionals!
What else have your learned from celebrity loving captured on celluloid?
- Reginald Thurgood is known to his legions of fans as "THE SCHMOOZ," an international Rhythm and Blues singing sensation who has made love to thousands of women across the planet and loves to share every poetic detail. He answers all questions on love and relationship...as he is an expert, baby.
OK, as you'll remember from my last article that my store was vandalized by a bunch of whiny hipsters who got mad when I called Vince Neil a douchebag. As a public service announcement, I've prepared a guide to spotting a hipster. Whether or not you take revenge on them for... well, whatever, is all on you.
Spot The Enemy - Anyone who spends a hour to look like they spent no time getting ready is an idiot. You know the type, the fake vintage T-shirt from Nordstroms that cost $50... usually depicting a old sports logo, or a pretending to be a shirt from a make believe small-town restaurant from a "really funny" city in Missouri. Bonus points if the shirt has some dumb sexual innuendo on it. Nothing says "I've got some edge" like advertising a passive agressive tea-bagging.
Here's the irony - Irony is stupid and far too passive agressive. I much prefer a blunt force "fuck your face" approach to life. Case in point. If something sucks, it sucks. A shitty movie doesn't magically become good because some guy from a TV show that was cancelled is the lead character.
Failure is an option - I guess working in the men's department at a department and telling everyone you meet that you're a singer/songwriter/avant filmmaker/blogger extrodinaire/poet/graphic designer/actor/web design guru/spoken word artist/someday going back to finish that philosophy BA/vinyl collector/has a great idea for a novel is better than actually doing it. But hey, you gotta make that commission, right?
Stupid Politics - I get it, you don't like Republicans (as well you shouldn't), but can you form a reason other than, "man, fucking conservatives ruin everything, huh huh huh." Getting all the jokes on The Daily Show doesn't make you informed. Having a friend with a blog that has 12 subscribers and steals articles from other sites doesn't make you connected to politics.
The Worst Taste Imaginable - Don't get me started. Hipster music might just be the worst kind of music ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. I'm honestly about to punch my keyboard thinking about it.
Moving on...
The Most Pussy "Vices" Possible - At one point, I dabbled in the whole straightedge thing. You know, back in the days when it was fun; before it got all militant with rules and stuff. Besides, I also decided that was fun to sleep with chicks. Anyway, since then I've developed a vice or two. Hipsters, holy christ, they think that a six pack of cheap beer is partying. The cheaper and more piss like, the better. Then, they get really crazy and suck on flavored, filtered cigarettes. After a night of this, they're the first ones to call in to work "hungover." I can't even think of all the times I woke up still wasted and just called in "I quit" to work.
- Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store.
All right, you angry Internet nerds, get your flaming fingers limber and ready!
I’m ready for a fight. Got my sprits recharged, thanks to our resident writer, The Schmooz.
Nothing like getting a Captain Crunch from a lady to help release the tension.
Look, as you all know, I grew up with government-sponsored day care. Most of you call them orphanages.
Everything horrible you can imagine about being a kid happens in orphanages. Kids become human ashtrays, rats nibble on their toes at night, and the food is either moldy or so salty it tastes like an unwashed jock strap.
Naturally, we orphan kids did all we could to escape dealing with this never-ending crap fiesta. Glue-sniffing was epidemic.
So was comic book collecting.
Once a week, when the orphanage made us walk into the city to go to church, kids like me would swipe comic books from the newsstands we passed. The better the comic, the more respect you received.
Little kids would steal shit like Archie or Spiderman. Simple little stories and lots of pretty pictures, depending on the artist that drew Betty that month.
I’d never steal anything better than Swamp Thing. Those comics had a dark magic to them, and even though the lead guy was pretty messed up, I understood him a lot better than some moron in a cape with stupid powers.
But the kids who received the most beatings swiped Iron Man comics.
Time for a harsh truth, nerds.
Iron Man is and has always been a lame comic book superhero. Deal with it.
People who collect Iron Man comics or are rubbing themselves all over in anticipation for the movie coming out this weekend just have a sad robot fetish, that’s all.
Here’s why you should drop Iron Man and go read some good comics:
1) Rich white people do not make for exciting heroes - Orphans hate it when comic book heroes are full of “boo hoo, my mommy and daddy are dead and left me with all this money and my life is so miserable” crap. If Tony Stark was a real person, I would have broken his kneecaps with a sledgehammer and pissed on his wounds.
Look, you’re rich. In America, that means you’ve already won. Relax, go bang a prostitute, and get over yourself.
And don’t even bring up Batman. Same thing and you know it.
2) People without any superpowers are stupid comic book heroes - If your only actual super ability is the ability to graduate from MIT when you were fifteen and then make some stupid tin can that gives you your powers, you’re not a goddamn super-hero... you’re a super-mechanic.
Superheroes either magically receive their powers late in life or are born with them. Anyone else is just a poseur wanting to spice up their humdrum life by slapping on a costume that does all their work for them.
3) If you can only fight pathetic villains, you are a pathetic super hero - Spiderman gets Dr. Octopus, Kingpin, The Green Goblin. Hell, even Batman had some colorful baddies – the Scarecrow, Harley Quinn, and The Joker.
What does Iron Man get? Stilt-Man. A man who wears a robot suit with telescopic legs.
Pretty fucking sad, if you ask me.
All right morons, you’ve been patient enough.
Tell me why you think Iron Man sucks or is the best thing in the world since you’ve discovered how to masturbate!
- Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it.
These are the issues defining us and our times. But is this only the tip of the iceberg? Is there more to come out about our candidates as this election season rolls along through the dog days of summer?
I’ve spent my afternoons for the past month doing the work of the mainstream media and digging up what the next scandals will be for Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, John McCain, and even that pesky Ron Paul. It’s disturbing. Very disturbing. Consider the following to be a blockbuster preview of the scandals coming soon to pundit show near you!
McCain Wipes Back-to-Front – It’s come to my attention the presumptive Republican nominee, Senator John McCain, uses an unconventional method of wiping after performing a number 2. You know, dropping the grandparents off at the old folks home. Making a Napalm run on the jungle. Dropping a Deuce. He goes back-to-front. This smacks in the face of all things traditional. We knew he was a maverick, but who knew that he was THIS much of a maverick? What does this say about his stance on health care? Can he be trusted to fix a broken health care system.
Hillary Plays Dirty Monopoly – Based on her wins in blue collar states like Pennsylvania, on the surface it looks like Clinton is truly the woman of the working class. She’s in debt and married to a hillbilly. Blue collar all the way… Then why does she ruthlessly go for Baltic and Mediterranean avenue in Monopoly, huh?
And why does she make it her first point to put hotels up on those spaces, viciously driving up the rents, and driving out the poor people to look for apartments on Oriental avenue? It doesn’t stop there either. Where she’ll settle for a railroad monopoly, she then uses her rent money from her first monopoly to buy up the light blue pieces of Vermont, Connecticut, and the previously mentioned Oriental Avenue. So much for the poor finding refuse on the South Side of the City. With Hillary, you either have to afford St. Charles Place, or you don’t exist in her world!
Obama Went to a Bad Brains Concert in ’81 – I heard on very good authority that, as a young man visiting Washington, Obama went to an all ages venue in urban DC and saw a Bad Brains show. Vans gave me the low-down on Bad Brains. An all-black punk band of all Rastafarians.
Many will tell you that Bad Brains was the best band to come from the DC and were also the most radical. How well did Obama know Bad Brains. Did he most? If so, how’s his technique? More importantly, does he still listen to Bad Brains? These are all questions that need answering. Hopefully, we’ll get the answers we need.
Ron Paul Rack Up Late Fees Like No One’s Business – Go to any video store in the greater Texas area, and ask them who their favorite customer is. I’ll bet you dollars-to-joints that you get “Ron Paul” as your answer every time.
Is it because he supports no tax on corporations?
Wants to promote the growth of small business?
Nope.
He couldn’t return a dvd on time to save his ass. According to him, he has the right to keep it as long as he wants and no entity has the right to express control his freedom, late fess be damned!
He kept a copy of “The Devil Wears Prada” for weeks, and held onto the newest “Pirates of the Caribbean” for well over a month even when he KNEW that other people wanted to check it out. Selfish to a fault, or a connoisseur of decent-at-best mainstream cinema? Maybe we’ll never know.
Unfortunately, now that he’s become a non-factor in the election, we may never get the answers we crave and the issue of corporate late fees will be buried once again. Another casualty of the manufactured corporate media. Makes me sick. How about you? What do you think?
- Bustamante is the current Tennis instructor at a swanky Newport Beach, Ca. country club/yacht club. Not much is known about Bustamante except that he taught junior high math for a period of time in the 80’s, and that he’s pretty phenomenal with a hackysack. He was good enough to go pro, but corporate sponsorship just wasn’t there for the sport to get off the ground in the mid 70’s.
Orbits observed, planets contemplated, stars held in awe.
The heavens are too grand for description for even an accomplished wordsmith as I.
Let us just say that the heavens are indeed heavenly.
As mankind learns more and more about the objects in the sky, the more we can all celebrate our own existence.
Everyday our celestial scientists are discovering more and more planets orbiting other stars far, far away.
Most of the planets in our own Solar System seem to be made from gas, which is certainly a misprint in someone’s observation notes from long ago.
Even I, a writer, know that gas is lighter than air… and you can’t form it into a ball shape, with or without rings.
In any event, rocky planets like the one we are on now are rare in the cosmos it seems.
As yet, however we seem to be the only living beings on any planet. Not only do we live - we are self aware, can use both written and spoken communication, have invented the wheel, baseball, and the automatic Donkey tail trimmer.
I’m no Buddhist, but I am not sure if even God could have invented these all by him/herself(s).
As a youth in Ohio, I would sometimes love to find a quiet place outside at night. Once I was sure I was alone, I could stare awkwardly skyward and take in the immense tree in our backyard.
Then I would walk toward the highway so I could get a better look at the stars. When there was no traffic, very late at night, I would be flabbergasted by just how many stars there are in the sky. And just how much noise the horn from an 18-Wheeler will make.
Lately it has occurred to me that since we humans seem to be the only intelligent life in our version of the universe, then we must be indeed the center of our universe.
We are the only interesting thing happening really. There are no Olympics in Alpha Centauri, there is no Rachel Ray show in the Galaxy of Andromeda, and certainly there can be no hint of Playstation 3 in all the stars of NGC 1437.
With the responsibility of being the absolute center of all things comes great responsibility.
I know to some of you that might sound redundant, especially if you are reading this article out loud. But think about it. Without us thinking about, studying, and occasionally making whoopee under the stars… would the stars actually exist?
If Helen Keller were alone in the forest and a tree fell on her foot…would she say “OUCH!!!”?
No, because we would not be there to observe her cry.
The universe knows we are here. Every once in a while it will send us a “hello” card. So far the “hello” cards have been in the form of asteroids.
So far the cards have arrived when the only life on the planet was pea brained lizards, and some minor mammals, perhaps a mime or 2...
In any event, not much happened when the “hello” card touched the Earth: A few fires that were so small that they put themselves out after a few years, some insignificant and weak species got tired of the marshmallow roasting weather and gave up.
Soon after, President Kennedy was elected.
Now that there is so much exciting human life happening… the next time the universe says “hello” there might be some actual damage.
Things to cherish before the next universal “hello.”
Laserdiscs - Same size as a vinyl Long Play record… only it has more than music on it… an entire MOVIE!!! When the asteroid hits these will be difficult to find, let alone play.
Puka Shell Jewelry - Yes, they are every where now. Necklaces, bracelets, ear rings. But when the asteroid hits humans will begin using them as replacements for missing teeth, and in some cultures as currency. One word. HOARD!
Electric can openers -With little or no electricity following the universal calling card, the tasty Ravioli that you have come to love will be locked in it’s tin coffin for eons.
Friendliness - Sadly, when times are tough, as they assuredly will be post “hello,” people will be less likely to gather for drinks and scrabble.
Well, they will be scrabbling for sure, but not for a 7 letter double-word score, but instead for bandages and fresh water.
Yankees vs. Red Sox - This might be among the rare good things that will come out of the big “hello.” We will no longer have to listen to, watch, or read about “the greatest rivalry in Sports.”
With any luck, since the last time there was a “hello” it was to giant lizards… the universe will this time decide to say “hello” to the Green Monster.
We can only hope that the universe is that literal.
What other things should we cherish? Leave a comment!
- Stephany Ericson is an award winning author of children’s books (“Pasta Rat,” “Compromises are for Sissy’s,” and “Daddy Loves Mommy Even in the Middle of the Night”). Raised in Pacoima, Ohio by loving grandparents, educated in the Arab Emirates, and employed for 17 years by Art’s Pastry Shack she brings to her readers sugar coated, heart warming stories of redemption all wrapped in a non-traditional Burqua.
By The Schmooz - theschmooz@hotmail.com
Hey there, grasshoppers and katydids!
Your buddy, The Schmooz, just came back from the trip of a lifetime.
China.
That stranger shrouded in mystery, teeming with sensual promise.
Turns out there was a whole bunch of lovers who wanted to get together in Singapore and throw a New Science of Happiness and Well-Being Conference.
Now, normally, I think China, I think of some pretty serious individuals.
Hardworking, no-nonsense.
Lovemaking quick, isolated and cold.
But that ain’t it, no how - ya dig?
There were some out of sight, climax-making, funky junkies when I was there, let me tell you, and between their jasmine-scented thighs, I gave many, many thanks to their supple breasts, their eager eyes, and their quivering quims.
Along with my loving adventures, I was also there to perform in the city for this special occasion. I even gave a few workshops on improving self-esteem, and I also got to judge a brand-new contest Singapore came up with: “Singapore’s Happiest Person.”
Flying back home, the hearty and tangy musk of a stewardess still lingering on my lips, I thought about this country, and how we’re not too far off from China.
Sure, we’ve got a lot more choices, but most of us are pretty glum.
I’ve met Tonto, and that fellow’s got to be the saddest sack of doorknobs I’ve ever seen.
[NOTE FROM THE CHIEF: It's either that, or I'm developing Bell's Palsy. - Tonto]
So I’m gonna break off a few words of wisdom to help you spring happiness into this nation.
If enough people pass the love around, it’s only gonna be a matter of time before the loving grabs a hold of you and makes you delirious with joy.
1) This week, give out some mercy loving - Now I know all of you have a specific shopping list you expect in a lover before the clothes shiver their way to the floor.
This week, go for broke. If you normally reach the little death with Ivy-league, white-collar men, give a janitor with a crooked smile a throw.
If women with black lipstick, multiple piercings, and an intimate knowledge of anime make your parts all aglow, give the quiet, unadorned religious girl a chance to drag her nails down your back.
Be fierce with the chance to love another creature on this rare and unequaled earth; it’ll change your life.
2) Leave random notes of kindness everywhere you go - Don’t matter if you’re the Poet of Perpendicular Passion like me, or if you get sweaty stringing two words together.
See somebody who needs a little perking up? Take out a pen, write them a quick little note letting them know how special they are, and leave it somewhere where they’ll find it.
Don’t leave your name, don’t watch ‘em pick it up.
3) Help out your tribe - Some folks are just too shy or hurting to get the right kind of loving they need.
See, I don’t rightly know all the fine people who write on this site, but I’ve made sure they feel a little special before the week ends.
Tonto’s gonna get a visit from an old lover of mine who’s a journalist with creamy brown skin and a penchant for boxers.
Stephany will open her door this week to see a six-foot-eight Swedish man named Jergen who’s unrivaled in domination.
Linus should get a phone call from a Russian filly who looks ravishing in white.
And there are others, all making their way by plane, by car to help out those poor and quieted individuals who face life one dreary day at a time.
Now, go out there and make this nation happy again!
Any other ideas on how to spread the joy, or your legs?
Leave a comment!
Love,
THE SCHMOOZ
- Reginald Thurgood is known to his legions of fans as "THE SCHMOOZ," an international Rhythm and Blues singing sensation who has made love to thousands of women across the planet and loves to share every poetic detail. He answers all questions on love and relationship...as he is an expert, baby.NOTE: If you enjoyed this piece, travel on down to Why "The Man" Really Wants You to Hold Off on Screwing Until Marriage, Childhood Games That Teach You to Lie, Cheat, and Steal, and How to Avoid Sleeping With Your Twin!
By Vans McCoy - vansmccoy@hotmail.com
Man, I’m pissed off right now.
Some dipshit hipsters threw a rock through the front window of my video store last night.
Of course, I have no definitive proof, but when has that stopped anyone from being judge, jury, and executioner?
Here’s what I know. Last night, some fake ass hipsters… oh wait, how do I know that’s what they were? I’ll tell you.
[NOTE FROM THE CHIEF: The following has been edited out of this post. I told Vans that he should do a whole new article on “How to Spot a Hipster.” Look for it to come later this week! – Tonto]
So, anyway, these used douches ask me, “Hey, what’s up dude? Like where can we find ‘Adventures of Ford Fairlane?’ Do you have it on blu-ray?”
“No, just a fucked up VHS tape with a preview for ‘Cool as Ice’ on it.”
They thought that was cool, and asked where to find it.
“It’s in the douche bag section.”
I have a section in the store specifically for the work of major league tools. The Vin Diesels and the like.
I explained that Ford Fairlane has a special place in that section due to the large number of douches in that film. “Dice” Clay. Wayne Newton. Robert Englund. Even a Cameo by Vince Neil.
That’s when the hipsters had enough.
They went off about how Motley Crue rules, and how Vince Neil is awesome, blah, blah, blah.
I realized that I didn’t need 99 cents that bad, and told them to get the fuck out of my store and to go to the other video store down the street where they film porno in the back room.
I show up to work this morning, and there’s a brick with a Motley Crue sticker on it surrounded by shattered glass next to the New Releases section.
So now, I hate Motley Crue even more than before.
Here’s why:
The Stupid Ass Name - In particular the two dots over the "u." They say it was inspired by Lowenbrau beer.
Idiots. They don't even put the dots over the "u" on the beer, yet the crue does.
Drinking bum piss makes for a better alcoholic drink than Lowenbrau. This is a fact.
Vince Neil Killed a Guy – Vince got drunk and drove to the liquor store with a buddy. To no one’s surprise, they crashed. The buddy was killed. Vince was sentenced to 30 days, and served 18.
I did more time in ’84 for punching a German at a gas station. How was supposed to know he was an Olympian?
Vince Neil Had Plastic Surgery – Umm, maybe I’m just not into it, but I don’t see how you can call yourself a hard rocker when you had a VH-1 sponsored “makeover” for everyone to see as he was pushing 40.
Is that Rock and Roll? Or is that Soccer Mom?
Shout at The Devil, or Shout at the Stylist?
Young Crue Fans Are Idiots – Just because some tattoo chick on TV likes wearing torn clothes, making the dumbass “rock on” sign, and likes the Crue, doesn’t make them cool. In fact, it might make them lamer.
Now, I get the single, fat guy with a strange balding pattern on top of his head that still longs for the day when his acne didn’t get in the way of scoring with some slag at The Whiskey. He still likes Motley Crue. He should.
The LA Glam Scene Was NEVER Cool – Never. Ever. Ever. Not in ’82. Not in ’86. Not even in the famed summer of ’89.
Unless your gig is chlamydia and dried coke residue. If you long for the days of skinny hillbillies from Kansas coming to LA to be nasty strippers and rockers then by mean... It's just more proof that nothing good ever came from the Midwest besides Husker Du.
Therefore, it’s 100% logical that there’s no reason to have nostalgia for anything from that period. None.
Every Side Project Sucked Bad – Let me get this straight, I guess four negatives makes two positives, because individually they’re all negatives.
Tommy Lee thinks he’s a rapper. Fail. Vince Neil thought he could be a solo artist. Fail. Nikki Sixx has been in a million side projects? Can you name one?
A Clothing Line? – Nikki Sixx, you know, the hard partying bassist who actually died for a while on heroin, has started a clothing line that available at Nordstroms, Neimman Marcus, etc. You know, places where you go to try on clothes with the sole intent of stretching them out in the dressing rooms and wiping your ass with them.
Worthless clothes for yuppies? Way to go, Rocker-Man. Keep that street cred respectable.
Whatever… I have a window to fix.
After that, I have some ass to kick.
Click HERE to leave a comment! - LINK FIXED (bash away!)
- Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store. NOTE: If you liked this article, inject your way over to In Defense of Billy Ocean, The 9 Most Overrated Songs Ever, and Why Marcel Marceau Was a Dick!
[NOTE FROM THE CHIEF: Linus petitioned me with a new feature on Tonto and Friends (are any of these people really my friend...) where he appoints an honorary mime. He said if I didn't, I'd wake up one morning "in a tub of ice and my diseased liver would be somewhere in Pakistan." - Tonto]
Hope you half-baked Internet hippies enjoyed yourselves yesterday.
I know I did.
Nothing like breaking into a house and robbing the place when the owner’s stretched out on the floor, potato chip crumbs stuck in his beard and grinning like he just won the fucking lottery.
Look, it’s no secret that the number of mimes in this world is shrinking.
The pay’s lousy, the craft’s been distorted and slandered by the media, and most people who call themselves mimes suck harder than Stephany in her publisher’s office, looking to turn her crazy little words she wrote on a cocktail napkin into a book.
That’s why I’ve decided to give the mime profession a little PR boost, seeing as I’m the most prolific mime around.
Each month, I’m going to nominate a person (living only – otherwise, Steve McQueen would win every time) who best personifies the hard-living, mad dedication to life and art that a true mime should possess.
The criteria for being an honorary mime are as follows:
Personality
Criminal Element
Artistic Passion
Cruelty
and Fighting Style
With that in mind, let’s introduce the first recipient of the Honorary Mime of the Month award:
Gary Busey
Personality: Busey has enough personality to power a large city. Anybody who can say the following quotes below with a straight face has got to be a true character:
- Fear is the dark room where the devil develops his negatives.
- Drinking your own blood is the paradigm of recycling.
- You know what 'FAILING' stands for? It stands for 'Finding An Important Lesson, Inviting Needed Growth.
Criminal Element: The fun never stops in this category.
Drug abuse? Check.
Snorting cocaine off of a dog? Check.
Motorcycle accident without a helmet? Check.
Joining Promise Keepers and becoming a born-again Christian, only to keep beating your ex-wife? Check, check, check.
Artistic Passion: Are you kidding? He’s never done a role without the patented Busey passion.
Here’s a beloved clip showing off the charm:
Cruelty: On his reality show, “I’m with Busey,” he had his co-star drink a gallon of milk on a hot day until he vomited.
Pretty classy stuff.
Fighting Style: Crazy, crazy, and crazy.
If you came at him with a knife, he’d bite your arm off with those spear-sized teeth of his.
If you pulled out a gun, he’d bust out one of his black-belt martial arts moves, and end up wearing your spinal column as a belt.
Any other reasons why Busey should be an honorary mime?
- Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it.
A lot of people are gearing up for what many consider a major holiday this Sunday.
It’s April 20. Known in some circles, in addition to calendar makers across the world, as 4/20.
It’s like Independence Day for pot smokers. It’s a day where pot smokers across the world sit around and get high, so it’s basically like every other day.
The story goes that in 1971 a bunch of high schoolers from San Rafael High School would meet at 4:20 near a Loius Pasteur (who also happened to complete the first pasteurization test on 4/20/1862) statute and blaze it up. It spread, proving that at the very least, a saying is addictive, and there you go. 4/20.
I first heard about it at a post Vietnam War “End the Next War” rally in 1976.
What about the non pot smokers? Or what about the people who want to add a little something special to their party?
Thanks to realms of history, there’s plenty of other things to celebrate, like the first pasteurization test mentioned above) on 4/20 instead of the magic plant.
Or, you can use these to enhance your celebrations.
4/20/1884 - The Pope Gets it Wrong! – Freedom lovers and potheads alike have plenty of reason to celebrate the publication of Humanum Genus by Pope Leo XIII. This was Pope known for saying things like, “"is quite unlawful to demand, defend, or to grant unconditional freedom of thought, or speech, of writing or worship, as if these were so many rights given by nature to man."
In his Humanum Genus, Pope Leo argued that people weren’t created equal, revolution (cultural or otherwise) was bad, and that there should be no wall between church and state
What a toolbox.
So light up and laugh because he got it oh so wrong… or just continue living your life, also proving that he got it terribly wrong.
4/20/1918 – Red Baron’s Last Stand – Famed World War I fighter pilot, The Red Baron, shoots down his 79th and 80th air combat victories, making him the most successful fighter pilot ever. He would be shot down the following day.
Far be it from me to celebrate a German war hero, but I do know that everyone’s favorite beagle, Snoopy, was a big fan.
Therefore, I’m a big fan.
What better way to celebrate 4/20 than by watching a Peanuts cartoon?
4/20/1926 – Let There Be Sound – A pot smokers best friend can be his or her collection of movies, and in 1926, Warner Brothers announced the Vitaphone, a way to bring sound to film. Yes!
Just imagine what we would be without had there not been sound invented.
No Three Stooges. No Reefer Madness. No Cheech. No Chong. No Dude. No The Wall.
Plenty of good reasons to celebrate!
4/20/1972 – Whooooooo-hooooooo! – It’s Carmen Electra’s birthday! Time to celebrate! There’s nothing funny or clever to write. Just look at the picture!
How are you celebrating 4/20? Click HERE to leave a comment.
- Bustamante is the current Tennis instructor at a swanky Newport Beach, Ca. country club/yacht club. Not much is known about Bustamante except that he taught junior high math for a period of time in the 80’s, and that he’s pretty phenomenal with a hackysack. He was good enough to go pro, but corporate sponsorship just wasn’t there for the sport to get off the ground in the mid 70’s.
I just returned from a backpacking trip across Europe with one of my students from the country club. Her husband went to Cabo "on business" and she wanted to get even by rediscovering her outdoor roots with a man who never lost his (me!).
You business guys may snicker at the guy with long hair and funny theories, but I get your women when you're not looking.
Anyway... that's not the point of this article.
I want to share the contents of a document I found in an English pub. I got into a conversation about art, censorship, and conspiracy with an old patron of the British theater and after several pints she said she wanted to share something with me that she'd never given to anyone before.
I thought I was headed into Schmooz territory for a moment, but was quickly brought back to the world of conspiracy and cover up. That's where I belong.
She showed me a letter sent to the Queen Elizabeth trying get Shakespeare censored!
So, check this out: this is most definitely the first attempt to censor theater in the world. The modern world at least anyway. I guess there's been Tipper Gores in every generation.
Your Highness,
My name is not important other than that I'm a loyal British subject and have been my whole life. This past weekend, I took my family to the Globe to see the new show by this Shakespeare fella. I was not impressed to say the least. I have never seen such filth in my life. To think that my ancestors died in the Great Crusades for this makes my stomach turn.
Is this what we fought for? To see people using the most vile language?
Oh, the words they utter from their mouths. I would have covered my children's ears but I was too busy covering my own.
As a result, my children heard every slang, curse, and jest uninterrupted.
They heard such pornography like, "That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman." I'm sure you're just as shocked as I am.
What exactly is this telling our young children? I hasten to even think what an impressionable young man, or woman, would think about Shakespeare saying that the only way to win the love of a woman is to be good at eating pussy?
If that 'twere the case, I'd be a single shopkeeper. Instead I have two children and have to spend late at the shop just to put grog on the table. I never had, nor do I have now, the time to spend idly between the legs of a woman!
And now my oldest, my son, runs around the house at all hours like he's Macbeth.
He's out of control. He goes on and on about To-morrow, and To-morrow, and To-morrow and so on.
He jumps off the couch with his sword and says the forests is moving and pretends to see the severed head of his pal sitting on the dinner table. My daughter thinks it's hilarious.
Don't get me started on her, my wife took her to see this play about the Shrew. I thought it would be a play about a harmless bird, but no. Now the two of them tell me in unison, "Asses are made to bear, and so are you."
The last straw came two weeks ago. Alas, my dear neighbor, a Mr. Samuel Wickersmire, recommended that I take my family to see this “Twelfth Night or What you Will.”
I should've choose "what you will."
It starts off pleasant enough with a shipwreck and the twins separated and whatnot. That’s fine. I enjoy that.
But then… oh lord, then the drunks start to show up and girls dress like boys and then the other girl wants to… I guess I’ll just use his language: the girl wants to try to make a baby with the other girl.
I saw some men in the audience drooling in anticipation. The saliva formed little pools of joy on the corner of their mouths. Their heads leaned forward while their midsections leaned up.
Oh my god!!! Listen to me! What have I become?
I brought my loving mother to see this show. I was embarrassed for her. There she was, my mother, laughing aloud at this debacle and debauchery, but I know she was just in denial.
If she has been affected by this man as I have… Lord help her.
I know you are quite fond of Mr. Shakespeare, but I beg you, please do what is right for England and the world. If we a stop to this man, we can save future generations from seeing these stories about sex and killings and demons.
What good can this add to the general public? Not much if my opinion is to be asked.
We owe this to ourselves and to our children. I know you are childless, but I ask you to view the world as your children. I am only one man but I'm convinced that this madness must end.
Shakespeare must be stopped before he goes too far with his blasted influence.
Respectfully, your humble subject, Harold Tittleman IV.
- Bustamante is the current Tennis instructor at a swanky Newport Beach, Ca. country club/yacht club. Not much is known about Bustamante except that he taught junior high math for a period of time in the 80’s, and that he’s pretty phenomenal with a hackysack. He was good enough to go pro, but corporate sponsorship just wasn’t there for the sport to get off the ground in the mid 70’s.
Oh, you better watch out You better not cry You better not pout, I’m telling you why Benedict is coming to town
That’s right. The Pope himself, the world’s most irrelevant leader, is making his appearance this week in the United States.
Most people in America treat Catholicism like it’s a beloved flea-bitten mutt: they fuss and coo over the parts that make them feel all warm and fuzzy, and block out the times it takes a nice, long, dribbling shit on the carpet.
And it’s pretty funny to watch this new pope’s blood pressure boil over it.
He’s a more traditional pope, who believes that every single word and idea of the Catholic faith must be honored.
In short, he’s bat shit crazy.
Since I’m a huge fan of chaos, here’s some fresh ideas on how to bring a little spring in your step this week while politicians and the media practice their most pious faces before this costumed clown.
1) Solve two problems at the same time - Because the Catholic Church is as progressive as an episode of “The Andy Griffith Show,” they tend to scream and holler anytime people try to bring up preventing AIDS by condom use.
And, you’ve got the constant issue of rape and sexual abuse swept under the rug by Catholic clergy.
Why not use these two problems on each other? All you would need to do is recruit fresh, recently infected boys, and sneak them into congregations throughout the United States. When the urge to rape emerges, the priests get stung, and the Catholic Church has no choice but to take notice.
Pretty hard to beat your breast about an abstinence policy to prevent HIV and AIDS when your spiritual leaders have Kaposi’s sarcoma.
2) Get to know your new deadly sins - Pulling off sloth, gluttony, wrath, lust, greed, pride, and envy in one go just doesn’t cut it anymore.
According to the Vatican, the modern seven sins to avoid are these:
- Bioethical violations, such as birth control - Morally dubious experiments such as stem cell research - Drug abuse - Polluting the environment - Contributing to the wider divide between rich and poor - Excessive wealth - Creating poverty Not very sexy, I know.
But don’t lose hope! Use this week to see how many you can commit in one scenario.
Try this one: While filled to the gills with trucker speed, slap on some condoms and have a threesome with women that you’ve cloned in your very own stem-cell research lab, built on the former grounds of a rent-controlled low-income housing complex. Your lab is made of solid gold, and gives off enough CFC to tear a hole in the ozone layer the size of a monkey’s fist every hour.
Any other fun ways you can celebrate the arrival of His Holiness?
- Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it.
What a bullshit way to leave this taint of a world!
Getting beaten to death by an angry Internet tool, ending it all by having your web fans click a button on your site that gradually lowers a plugged toaster into your warm bath – those are stellar ways to go.
Go outside, get in a fist fight, buy a prostitute, urinate on a priest, steal some candy! Anything – just don’t spend all fucking day sitting at the computer.
Normally, I wouldn’t give two fucks and a suck if you fat Internet crotch stains dropped dead or not. But, a fresh start on life brings about new change, you know?
So, here’s my two cents on how to keep ticking and still get people to read your glorious thoughts:
1) Once a week, do something out of character - Bloggers get heart attacks and die because they’re single-minded bores who obsess about the most banal issues.
If you met them at a party, you’d want to grab the nearest centerpiece and shove it down their throat until they slumped over and spasmed in a pool of their own waste.
Bloggers can fix this by taking an hour a week to do something that isn’t the center of their Internet wankfest.
If you write about technology and gadgets, go downtown and see some good art.
If you blog about stupid, tedious celebrity gossip, crack open a copy of the newspaper, toss out the entertainment section, and read it cover to cover, just so you can understand that nobody cares about celebrity divorces in Tibet.
2) Remember this: you will NEVER get rich blogging - Don’t tell Tonto this, but most people who run blog sites find that their bodies turn to shit within a year.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the next time I surprise Tonto at home demanding my money, he’s around nine hundred pounds and confined to his bed.
There are countless blogs on the Internet, and very few of them make more than the cost of a hand job.
So, calm the fuck down, write for fun, and get a real job – that way there’s some cash in your pockets when I beat your ass and mug you.
3) Don’t do it all yourself - Yeah, I’m sure punk bitches like Vans would tell you that, when it comes to getting blogs done, DIY is the only credo one should have.
It’s crap.
Doing a good blog takes a lot of effort.
Hell, even doing a shitty blog takes a lot of time. If you split it up and have different people do content or marketing, or word of mouth, I’m sure you won’t be meeting the reaper before all your hair falls out.
Now, get back to your blogging, you Internet slugs, and leave a comment as well!
LINUS
- Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it.
By Vans McCoy - vansmccoy@hotmail.com
There’s Donnie, and Pookie, and DJ, and AJ, and Jordan, and BJ, and Billy, and Danny, and Tommy and…
You got the “tough” one, the leader, the shy one, the baby, and the douchebag one.
Many refer to these flesh deposits as the New Kids on The Block, or N.K.O.T.B. if you’re the type that puts the “urban” in suburban pasty teen.
Back in my younger days, let’s just say August 1988 for sake of argument, at the Great Western Forum in Los Angeles (technically Inglewood), and let’s just imagine that me and some the old TSOL boys – for the record I mean the old Orange County hellraisers, not the glam rock TSOL= fans (do any even exist?), decided to get drunk, drive to LA, acquire some tickets, and go to town.
Let’s say we sold bags of chopped parsley and crushed up Pez to willing buyers. Let’s say we openly urinated where we stood. Let’s just say…
Anyhow, now I hear the New Kids are back! As much as the milfhunter in me would love to go back to a concert… I’m a bit too old and mature to return to my old teeny-bopper fun ruining self.
That said, I figure this would be a good time to help define and explain proper mosh pit technique should any young readers have a free night and happen to stumble upon a dozen or so New Kids Tickets for your buddies.
Some people think moshing is just mindless anarchy set to a back beat. It is.
But, anarchy can be lots of fun when you have proper technique. Even at say… a New Kids Reunion show.
1. Proper Footwork is key – You don’t want to be some stumbling Neanderthal in there. You want to be smooth and save your energy for laying into people. When your turning the corners in the pit, you don’t want to cross your legs.
When your legs are crossed, you’re open to being tackled and knocked over.
Keep your center of gravity low, and try to keep your shoulders, hips, knees, and feet aligned.
When you do, you’ll be bulldozing people over with your proper technique.
2. Don’t Hit Anyone… Unless They Have it Coming – And by that, I mean if they happen to get in your way, they have it coming to them.
There’s no need for closed fists… unless they’re a Nazi. Then feel free to sucker punch them at will.
People are there to have fun, so a good forearm to the face, or an elbow to the ribs will be just fine.
3. Keep Your Face Protected – Don’t be obvious about this, otherwise you’ll look like a pussy, depending on the crowd.
At a New Kids Reuion show, just a random example, you wouldn’t need to worry about this as much.
That said, when your turning corners in the pit, bring your arms up to protect your face, because the corner is great place to cheap shot someone. Trust me.
Keep your elbows up in front of you and your forearms up in front of your face.
As soon as you complete the turn and re-enter the straighaway, go back to flailing your arms immediately.
4. Pace Yourself – I’ve seen a lot of talented moshers get winded early in the show and either miss the encore or start phoning in their moshing, in which case they open themselves up for getting hurt.
Unless you’re in good shape, you don’t need to mosh every song. It’s OK to take a song break and yell, “Get off the fucking stage.”
5. Don’t Hit the Old School Guys – Again, maybe not useful information when at an… I don’t know, a New Kids Reunion show, but good info to have nonetheless.
Sometimes there will be a core of older guys with runny, smeared green neck tattoos in the center of the pit enjoying the show. Leave them alone. Many of them have done prison time, and wouldn’t mind a chance to visit the old gang for 30 days on a puffed up battery charge.
Many of them are retired and only pit for special shows, like a Duane Peters show.
They may be older, but their technique (like mine) comes from the old school, lawless days of early hardcore where anything went and was encouraged.
6. Pick People Up – When you see someone knocked on their ass, you helped them up and shove them back in the pit. I don’t care if they have a broken neck or are knocked out, you don’t want them getting stomped because most likely if someone gets really hurt, they may stop the show and then no one has fun.
7. On Crowd Surfers – When a crowd surfer comes your way, you are obligated to not only float them, which is a major pain in the ass, but you are also required to make an honest attempt to take one of their shoes off.
Should you succeed in removing a shoe, you are then obligated to throw that shoe in the general direction of the stage.
Pick pocketing is frowned upon, as is cupping a feel if a girl is floated. However, should someone’s keys fall out… like if Mommy’s keys to the SUV fall out at a New Kids Reunion show for example, feel free to pick them up and fling those jinglers as far as you can.
Extra street cred if you hit Donnie in the face.
BONUS – How to Escape the “Fat Security Guard Waist Lock.”
This is a technique that I’m really excited to be sharing with you. I’m sure you’ve seen the fat, bearded, red-headed, wannabe biker security guards with their tight ass yellow polo shirts tucked into a pair of stained blue Dickies, right?
Of course you have.
Their favorite move of choice is to grab you around the waist with both arms from behind. If you don’t panic, you can very easily turn the tables on them quickly. Here’s what you do
Step 1. Drop your center of gravity a bit by lowering your hips. This will put the bouncer off balance and make him try to lift you instead of thinking (Remember: People become show security because thinking isn’t a high priority).
Step 2. Take you right hand, and push down the guard’s left wrist. You may break the lock, but if you don’t it’s OK.
Step 3. Still holding the left wrist with your right hand, reach through with your left hand and grab your right wrist.
Step 4. Pop your hips out and turn to your left.
Here’s a variation of this move:
With these tips, you should be able to survive your jaunt into the mighty mosh pit at any show you go to, especially a New Kids Reunion show.
I’m reminded of the words of the late, awesome Bill Hicks:
“You know which one is my favorite New Kids? The one who dies first! That’s the poster that’s going up on my fucking wall!”
Click HERE to leave a comment.
- Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store.NOTE: If you liked this article, rumble your way over to The Nine Most Overrated Songs EVER, Two Ways to Lie, Cheat, AND Steal, and 10 Songs You Shouldn't Get Busy Too... Yet You Probably Have!
By The Schmooz - theschmooz@hotmail.com[NOTE FROM THE EDITOR: It's rare when Schmooz gets upset. I've haven't seen him this peeved since the time he told me about smacking Puff Daddy (and here's Part II). Let's just say that Schmooz has a different take on courtship than our newest writer, Matthew McLaughlin... Sheesh, now Schmooz is upset. Linus is always upset... Stephany is upset because Linus is upset, and now Vans is pissed because he's been waiting to write about some New Kids concert.
I guess you can't please everyone. Or anyone. - Tonto]
Hey there, Cosmopolitan Chickadees and Maxim Men!
Let me start with a little trip down memory lane.
Your hero, the Schmooz was about seven years old, I reckon, when I first saw this advertisement for a product called Spanish Fly.
It was guaranteed to drive any human creature wild with desire.
Still no bigger than my best buddy in the world (this gentle bloodhound I named Scout), I didn’t know beans about sensual desire at that age. I just took one look at the pictures of all those happy people in the ad and I knew that I had to get me some of that magical powder.
So, I rode my bicycle to the corner store, gave the puzzled clerk every penny I earned raking leaves that Fall, and sped home with a box full of Spanish Fly.
Well, you can only guess what happened next, my kind readers.
I tried rubbing the powder all over me, trying to feel something different.
All it did was make me break out in hives. Big red splotches, the size of a quarter. My momma found me on the kitchen floor, naked as a mole rat, scratching myself with the salad tongs.
Man, oh man, did she tar my hide for that one!
After she whupped me good, she drew a nice bath for me, handed me some calamine lotion and explained to me that I had spent all afternoon rubbing myself with a poisonous beetle.
Which brings me to today’s article.
Lovers are lost and confused the world over, and for every kind, honest creature who wants to guide their spirits and loins towards satisfaction, there’s about twenty other individuals who get off on breaking people through lies and intimidation about the finer points of love.
I call ‘em love fakers.
That’s what they do. They write or talk up a storm, and in the end, a lover doesn’t find nary a bit of wisdom from these cynical critics dressed up in love’s good name.
How can you identify love fakers? Here’s the questions you gotta ask:
1) Does the speaker call themselves a love god? - You know the type; some low down gutter snake who’s convinced that they, and only they, are adored by all who love.
That ain’t right, ya dig?
Love is about plenty. There are plenty of people in this world who need loving, and even me, The Schmooz, know that there’s plenty of lovers who don’t dig me.
Some people like caviar, while others go mad for day-old muffins and a pat of jelly. Tastes run wild and rapid from form to form. A true teacher of the Tao of Touch is always aware of this.
Anyone else is truly a love faker.
2) Do they take offense at specific types of loving, or positions? - If you’re listening to or reading somebody take umbrage at loving that doesn’t jive with their own paint-by-numbers way of making their body sizzle, you’ve got a bonafide love faker on your hands.
To be a student of love, you gotta realize that loving is done on so many levels, and with so many varying orifices. I give mad props to my brothers and sisters who love man-to-man, gal-to-gal.
And all you other brothers and sisters cowering in fear over the taboo that Saint Sphincter holds, take ease. Take ease. You don’t have to love in any other way other that what gives you joy.
However, I wouldn’t want a creature of love to spend their entire life not knowing how a certain part of their body can make them feel miraculous, ya dig?
Love is about trying new things, when the mood and the lovers are right.
3) Do they seem straight-up ignorant? - Can they find the G-Spot?
Can they name and perform at least three positions from the Kama Sutra?
Do they know the best etiquette for hosting an orgy?
Proper way to spread chocolate on a lover’s curled lips?
Best technique for pampering a lover when they’re sick and in the mood for a carnal
caress?
Tried and true ways to make relationships with convicts work, especially in regards to conjugal coupling?
If they don’t, step away from what they’re selling, brothers and sisters.
And send your questions my way!
Got any love/sex questions?
What’s the worst advice you’ve ever heard/read? Leave a comment!
Love,
THE SCHMOOZ
- Reginald Thurgood is known to his legions of fans as "THE SCHMOOZ," an international Rhythm and Blues singing sensation who has made love to thousands of women across the planet and loves to share every poetic detail. He answers all questions on love and relationship...as he is an expert, baby.NOTE: If you liked this article, warm your cockles over to Gifts to Avoid Giving Your Woman, Valentine's Day Mishaps Throughout History, and Quick Ways to Turn Household Items into Prophylactics!
By: Matthew McLaughlin
Being the ultimate man, I know my way around the ladies.
Unfortunately, the rest of you guys do not.
So as a service to my loyal readers, here is an article that will hopefully turn you from lame, ‘oh-my-God-he-is-such-a-loser’ status to ‘well-I-won’t-break-up-with-him-until-I-meet-someone-better’ status.
Trust me, all of the following advice came straight from your girlfriend’s (and your sister’s) mouth, so it’s important advice. By the way, tell your girlfriend that I don’t call any girls back so she shouldn’t take it personally.
A – Anus: Exit only my friends. This part of the female anatomy is like that old, abandoned house at the end of the block – dark, scary, and if you enter and are lucky to come out alive, will haunt you for years.
B – Breasts: Fun to look at and even better to grab, these round bags of awesomeness are God’s little gift to the hard, working man.
However, under no circumstances, should you ever try to use the cleavage as a ‘human beer holder.’ Not only will she not appreciate it, but she might spill your beer.
C – Cunnilingus: Better known as mouth love on your girlfriend’s fun-zone. If you dare to take a trip to the depths of the Swampy Abyss (as I call it), not only will your girl be happy, but she may just return the favor.
At very least, she’s buying the first round of drinks at the bar the next day, so there’s that.
D – Doggy-Style: As controversial rap group, 2 Live Crew, once said, ‘face down, ass up, that’s the way we like to…’ respect our women! Never force her to do ‘The Lassie’ as some girls find it demeaning.
However, if she jumps onto all fours and makes like Old Yeller, have some fun. Just don’t shoot her at the end with daddy’s shotgun, even if she does have rabies.
E – Erection: iagra is for old men so you shouldn’t need it. However, sometimes you get ‘Whiskey Dick’ from drinking too much and Mr. Peepers is not quite working like it should.
No fears, simply step-up the foreplay – which your girl will love – and wait for the little old bugger to start working again. Once hard, throw it in as soon as you have the chance or it may just die for the night and she’ll leave disappointed, frustrated, and excited to come to my house.
F – Foot Massage: If Marcellus Wallace would push Tony Roccamora out of a window for touching Mia Wallace’s feet, then you know it means a lot to a woman – even if Samuel L. Jackson disagrees.
A foot massage will lead to much more if you know what you’re doing (If you did not get the ‘Pulp Fiction’ reference, then stop reading this now, you’re not a real man and this article can not help you).
G – G-Spot: Like the Lochness Monster, Bigfoot, or the Boogieman, the G-spot on a woman is mere legend, does not exist, and no man will ever find.
H – Horniness: Here’s a little secret for you – women are just as horny, if not more, than us guys. You probably just do not turn her on.
What do you do? Ask. Ask her what turns her on and do that. If her answer to this question is ‘your brother,’ well then, you have much bigger problems.
Sorry.
I – Intercourse: Sure, some of you guys will say ‘at least I got mine’ after two minutes of awkward, nerdy sex, but a girl is a delicate, horny beast (see above) and needs more than a quick pump during a commercial break of SportsCenter.
If not, she may go elsewhere to satisfy her needs (also see above).
J – Jokes: Never, in the history of sex, has making jokes during the lovin’ ever been funny. You are not Dave Chappelle so don’t waste your time trying to make her laugh.
If you make her laugh during sex, well, it’s probably not because of your jokes, rather your lame attempt at ‘satisfying’ her. The jokes she tells her friends about your performance and the size of your penis the next day at work, however, will be hilarious!
K – Kinky: Not all girls are kinky. Do yourself a favor and save that ‘Reverse Flying Double-Fisted Baby Koala Bear’ move you saw in a porno and just go with what turns her on.
Either that, or introduce things a bit more slowly and see if she is into it. She is not Jenna Jameson, and from what she told me last week when she and I were having intercourse, you are certainly no Peter North.
L – Lesbian: Remember how I said earlier that breasts were God’s gift to the working man? Well, lesbians are God’s punishment for our sins.
M – Masturbation: I know you haven’t gotten any in a long while, with your face looking the way it does and all, however, your ‘love pole’ is not a toy so put down the JC Penny catalog or Hillary Duff CD cover and go find a girl in real life.
Only masturbate under dire circumstances, you know, when your girlfriend is out of town and her sister won’t come over.
N – Nude Pics: If your girl says she is willing to take nude pictures for you, never – and I mean EVER – make a joke about them showing up on the Internet.
Not only will she never take said pics, but she will never trust you again.
Besides, there are probably nude pics of her online already so a quick image search on Google will give you what you need (Yes, I posted them last month).
O – Orgasm: A guy can orgasm after two turns and a twist of his 3-inch erection.
A woman, however, needs more time.
Also, if she seems like she’s faking it, she probably is.
Like with horniness above, find out what turns her on and give her a reason not to cheat on you. Besides, if you take her to the ‘Big-O,’ she won’t insist on taking you to dinner with her parents and might just try that Koala Bear move next time.
P – Penis: Mine is a great size that satisfies girls every time. Yours is a little small and shaped like a rotten zucchini.
No worries.
Although women lie and say it’s ‘not the size, but how you use it,’ your small, vegetable-shaped wiener can be enhanced by the whole ‘sexual experience.’
This means foreplay, sweet-talk, and lasting power. Give her an hour of mediocre pleasure and it will make up for your lack of size in the ‘Man Department.’
Q – Quiet: If your girl is quiet in bed, then there are two explanations.
One, you’re not turning her on, and well, kiss your relationship goodbye.
Two, she’s a mute and then, CONGRATULATIONS!
Sorry to any women who might be reading this, but sometimes us guys just don’t care about how your day at work was. Just saying.
R – Reverse Cowgirl: This, my friends, is not a good position to have your girl in.
While normal, the normal cowgirl position – where she is facing you – is fun, the Reverse Cowgirl doesn’t allow you to see her face during the deed.
She’s probably yawning, rolling her eyes, or staring at that picture of your brother on your desk. Keep her facing towards you and if she’s still yawning, then you are a poor excuse for a man.
S – Sado-Masochism: I’m not into chains, whips, and leather outfits, but maybe you are.
If you do decide to venture into this arena, have a complete psychological evaluation of your girlfriend done beforehand because if you’re not careful, and your girl’s crazier than your senile 94-year old grandfather, then you might not make it out alive.
Use a ‘safe word’ and always remember that drawing blood and kicking you in the balls with stiletto heels is not ‘sexy.’
T – Tongue: This one will be simple and straight to the point – use it!
See ‘Cunnilingus’ from above and you will find yourself with a much more relaxed, less we-need-to-talk, less cheating-on-you girlfriend.
U – Underwear: We guys may not know what the hell kind of secret Victoria is hiding, but women do.
Buy her sexy lingerie.
Not only is it fun to look at, but if you have a good imagination, can make the whole experience that much more fun. Buy her ‘stripper undies’ to really get your fantasies going.
V – Vagina: It’s not something that’s fragile like a 3-month old baby’s head. Do everything you can to it that your girl will allow. Poke, lick, penetrate, shove, touch, finger, suck, jump inside, tease, and kick as much as you can.
If you can do all of this at the same time, you’ll never be single again.
I can. Tell your sister.
W – When?: Remember, girls are just as horny as guys are so just about any time is right for sex.
She may be fantasizing about me when reading her Cosmo, but she’ll settle for a few minutes of your unsatisfying love in the mean time. You may have to get her ‘in the mood’ first, but if you know how to do it, then you’re good to go.
Seriously, a girl wants sex all day too, so you don’t have to wait till after Jay Leno to get some. imply tell her what she wants to hear and you can have it at any time of the day. Well, except when Oprah’s on.
X – XXX: This one is the exact same as ‘Kinky’ from above.
Never try to force her into something she is not comfortable doing or she may just stop doing anything at all with you. If you are not satisfied with her sexual repertoire, then dump her and find a porn star to date.
Good luck with the syphilis, though.
Y – Yesterday: Yesterday, the planets may have aligned, the stars shifted, and you were actually able to satisfy her, but that doesn’t mean you should replay the same awkward moves that finally got her scream out your name – rather than mine.
Different days mean different moods and therefore, a different technique may be needed to make her happy. If you only have two moves, practice on your next-door neighbor until you get it right.
Z – Nothing. Nothing is sexy about the letter ‘Z’ so there is nothing to be said. Wait!
I forgot! Your girlfriend was into mythology and likes to call me ‘Zeus’ in bed rather than ‘God.’
So there you have it guys. Now, you should be able to satisfy your women. If not, turn gay because no girl will ever want you anyways. Maybe next time I’ll come back with a woman’s guide to sex.
Until then, good luck guys and happy intercourse!
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NOTE: If you enjoyed this article, get your ABC on over at Answers to ALL your Love and Sex Questions, Where are They Now? The Brady Bunch, and Gifts Guaranteed to Impress Your Woman!
By Linus, the Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com
Hey.
If you think bouncing back from the brink of death has mellowed me out, think again.
I was walking over to my regular street corner, about to unveil a new performance piece entitled, “Blood is Cheap and Pain is Free,” when I see some piece of shit hippie sitting cross-legged on my spot, playing “Blowing in the Wind” on a homemade sitar.
I hate Bob Dylan and I really fucking hate hippies.
They smell like a week-old urinal cake at a Denny’s.
I hate their runny, lukewarm optimism and their laziness which made this world ripe for the sharks to tear it all to goddamn pieces.
Also, hippies don’t pay for the work I do. No, I don’t want to barter with you, and take your shitty poem or a flower or a lock of your girlfriend’s lice-addled hair in exchange for what is most likely the best piece of art you have ever fucking seen – I want money.
And Bob Dylan is their shriveled up turd of a god. Say anything bad about Bob Dylan, and some keyed up flower child is gonna cut you with a copy of Rolling Stone.
So, this peace-lover’s banging away at his noise machine, and he’s painfully trying to sing the song like Dylan.
Big fucking mistake.
I decided to play it cool. I snatched the sitar from his hands, and graciously broke just one of his legs with the instrument.
As he lay there, screaming like a stuck pig, and attempting to shove his shin bone back inside his skin, I asked him why he chose to pollute my corner with Dylan.
And then, he dropped a bomb on me.
Apparently. Bob Dylan just won a Pulitzer Prize.
Read that again.
Bob Dylan, a SINGER and SONGWRITER, won an award that goes to WRITERS.
That’s like giving Morgan Freeman a Nobel Prize, just because you think he’s a swell actor.
It’s bullshit.
Bunch of old baby boomers and hippies see the shadow of death all around them, and they’re trying to make one last effort to shove their self-proclaimed geniuses down our throats.
Not gonna work.
I’m here to expose all the crimes Bob Dylan has committed. And they’re not born out of need, like organ theft or stabbing a hippie in the eye with a sharp rock for giving you bad news. They’re just masturbatory, wasteful acts:
1) Bob Dylan fathered Jakob Dylan - I don’t wanna hear about how Dylan was the father of insightful, political lyricism and all those other accolades that make you Internet nerds all hot and bothered.
His sperm made Jakob Dylan and Jakob Dylan is a worthless artist.
Let’s examine one of Jakob’s most treasured lyrics, shall we?
Well this place is old
It feels just like a beat up truck
I turn the engine, but the engine doesn't turn
Don’t you get it? Dylan’s a fucking genius! Really! He managed to use the subtle, bracing metaphor of a car to describe a place, and then he…
No.
No, it’s garbage. Bob Dylan made garbage, and therefore he too is a waste.
2) Masked and Anonymous - Here’s how it breaks down: Half of you don’t even know what the hell I’m referring to at this moment, a quarter of you think this movie is the worst piece of pig vomit ever made, and a quarter of you eat the curdled empty metaphors and discount characters this movie recklessly spits out with a fucking spoon.
This movie was partially written by and stars Bob Dylan as Jack Fate, an iconic rock legend, playing one last concert in a corrupt and misbegotten America.
It’s as fun as it sounds. You want to see some unintentional comedy, take a look:
3) Bob Dylan made Rolling Stone a circle-jerk magazine - With Dylan, Rolling Stone became obsessed with canonizing him in every way possible. Guess which song made number one on Rolling Stone’s 2004 lists?
“Like a Rolling Stone,” of course.
More time wasted on Dylan’s every move made Rolling Stone completely ignore other musical genres until they became a pathetic dinosaur.
Any other reasons why Bob Dylan sucks dolphin dong?
Leave a comment!
LINUS
- Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it. NOTE: If you liked the hate-filled comedic blast, mumbles your way over to 10 Things that Really Piss off a Mime, Fun Ways to Spend Your Upcoming Tax Refund, and Five Questions you Should NEVER Ask a Mime!
