“We're Bumpin' Boobies, Having Us a Ball, Y'all” – Peaches & Herb (with Some Assistance)

There are still eight months to go until George Bush hands over his presidency but it seems he already feels like celebrating.

After greeting US Air Force Academy cadets at a graduation ceremony in Colorado, he started horsing about with one graduate.

The president shocked onlookers when he decided to give one soldier, Theodore Shiveley from Plano, Texas, the most bizarre salute — a “chest bump.”

“Come on, bitch!” the president thundered into the microphone beforehand. “It's graduation. Time for you to smell what the Iraqis's got cookin'!”

When the young 2nd Lt became to well up with tears, the president soften, “I'm just kidding, dawg. You're Air Force, like me. I wouldn't do that to you. This thing is a land war for the army boys and the marine grunts to hash out. Not us. There's no need to worry.

“Now, come over here and bump titties with the old man, commander-in-chief style.”

Thank You, Weezer

It's all of YouTube compressed into three minutes and eighteen seconds and set to music.

Now, what did you get me for Memorial Day?

But Even She Can't Get Me to Ride a King County Bus

This book is a homage to the subway, to those places everyone uses every morning to go to work and that nobody pays the least attention to—the places millions of people use, but which nobody ever stops to observe their use of light or their architecture. I wanted to put nudes in the subway, to divert everyone from their obligations and troubles.


I've voted three times for a Seattle light rail system, and each time, I've been outvoted by the opposition, I'm guessing, because of the strong ad campaigns of the car lobby. Thanks to my friend in France, the worm has turned.

I can feel vagina-kissed turnstile against my groin already.

Never Too Drunk for Porn

I'm on vacation this week, so posting is going to be (has been) slow. I'd apologize, but, honestly, I'm too drunk to care. See you (when I'm sober) in a few days.

That Anus Has to Go a Long Way

For us, producing hand made chocolates is an art. The art of producing our chocolates with the utmost care, in true tradition of Belgian craftsmanship. These chocolates are created with one thing on our mind: to produce a combination of taste and touch that takes you to chocolate anus heaven.


And if the current economy has all your money tied up in food and fuel and mortgage payments—leaving you out of the Belgian chocolate market—don't worry. You don't have to sacrifice edible pleasures for worldly necessities—not when I can take you to chocolate anus heaven for nothing.

Just remember: be gentle and considerate.

Penises Have Come a Long Way since You Were a Kid.

Flying RC Penis Disrupts Garry Kasparov Speech

After the security guard swatted it to the ground, Kasparov says, “I think we have to be thankful for the opposition's demonstration of the level of discourse we need to anticipate. Also, apparently most of their arguments are located beneath the belt.” Someone in the audience shouts, “Finally the political power shows its face!” Kasparov quickly replies, “Well, if that's its face…” to laughter from the audience.

Chuckling, Kasparov then turned away from the mic and toward an aide, whispering, “Bring it to my room, find me a suitable remote, and prepare my midgets. I'm in a mood for merry sport.”

Feel Shame

When you wake up in the morning in an unfamiliar place,
And you can't remember where or when let alone her face,
You cannot find your shoe and your hair smells like a bar.
But you kind of feel excited because you got really far.

Last night, I was sure that I was with a ten;
Then, this morning when I saw those Kankles, I had to think again.

Ohhh, I will not be ashamed (be ashamed)
To walk the crowded streets alone
In yesterday's outfit and cologne.
Oh, how I'll push through the day (through the day)
In my tiny ruffled mini-skirt and some guy's XL t-shirt,
Oh, I will not be ashamed.

I went to a theme party, not planning to stay long
But in the morning I found myself still dressed in a thong.
I see my professor walking by and I'm feeling like a freak.
I wonder what he'll think when I take his daughter out next week.

Oh, we will not be ashamed (be ashamed)
I'm feeling like a greasy mess,
Still rocking out in my bride's maid dress.
Somehow, we'll push through the day (through the day)
As we walk that rotting, crowded plank called Walk of Shame
We will not feel ashamed.

I tried to learn my lesson
Time and time again
Tomorrow, when the clock strikes 2:00
I'm back in love again, back in love again


If you don't feel shame, you're not doing it right. Seriously.

But if You Want to Tip, $15 Million Is Standard ($20 if I'm Able to “Rope” a Calf)

Takashi Murakami, the artist known in part for his work on Louis Vuitton handbags, just saw his sculpture of a nude anime-looking dude ejaculating sell for $15 million at auction. As we reported previously, it had only been expected to fetch up to $4 million.


I know. That looks quite impressive, but, actually, it's very easy to do. Sweet talk me sometime after a few drinks, and I'll show you.

And it won't cost you no $15 million dollars, 'cause I got a little thing called “artistic integrity.” With me, it's all about the ejaculation (and the semen rodeo, obviously).

Imitation Is the Sincerest Form of … WTF?!

Guy screaming at David Blaine: Stop putting shit on our bodies. Stop it, seriously. If there's a fucking ace of clubs in my ass, I'm going to sue you.

David BlaineI'm not going to do anything else to you guys, all right? But before I go, here's a sign. You come here. When I count to three, I want you to flip the sign, and I want you to read it. Okay, 1-2-3:

The Sign: I'm not reading that fucking sign. I'm not reading that fucking sign. So fuck you, fuck you, and your fucking demon magic, fucking demon shit. Fucking, fucking, no. If I go home and there's a fucking ace of clubs in my ass I swear…I, I… (exasperated gasp) I will fucking go apeshit, you fucking demon.

If you go home a find an ace of clubs in your ass after talking with David Blaine, street magician, going apeshit is, probably, the appropriate reaction.

Of course, if you go home and find the ace of spades in your ace and you go apeshit or blame it on Barack Obama, well, that's probably racist, definitely Clinton-esque.

“Better than Mango?” Mango?! That's Crazy Talk, and I Will Not Allow Heresy of that Kind on My Blog

“Extraordinary Breastfeeding” is a documentary that aired in England a few years ago and focused on the country's discomfort with breastfeeding. Issues raised in the film included the right to breastfeed in public, breastfeeding adopted children, and at what age children should be weaned off breast milk. (The average age around the world is four years old, and the World Health Organization recommends that children be breastfed until they are at least two and a half years old.) One woman in the documentary, Veronica, believes that children should decide for themselves when they want to stop. Her daughter is about to turn eight, still breastfeeds, and has absolutely no plans of stopping. …

Voice-over: Bethany and Eliza Robertson have been breast-fed for many years, and Eliza is still breast-feeding at seven.

Mom: You can see from Eliza lying here, they take up a lot of space. And it's not quite the same as a little infant tucked away in your arm. But, you know, clearly, they get as much pleasure and as much comfort as a newborn does.

And one of the really nice things as children grow older is that they can verbalise their experience and tell you how much they enjoy it.

Bethany: I remember it tasting really, really sweet.

Voice-over: Her eldest sister Bethany was breast fed until she was five and still has fond memories.

Bethany: Better than anything in the world. Better than a mango even. I'd rather have lots of breast milk than a million melons. …

Mom: They won't breast-feed forever. It's just that simple. They will not breast-feed when they go to college or get married. …

Go to college? Get married? Seriously, you think those are the proper boundaries? Really?

I don't blame the kids. Who amongst us hasn't pouted, shouted, begged, or cried for a woman to give us access to her breasts? Who wouldn't do that now? (Show of hands.) Luckily, that rarely works: women, generally, don't give in to that nonsense. They just say, no.

Mom, you've got to grow a pair, cowgirl up, as it were. That kid is too fucking big to be breast-feeding. Seriously. When the kid is big enough to enjoy a post-meal cigarette and reflect on the teat-y goodness of the libation — “Sweet as treacle, but with a grassy undertone that lingers on the palate between gulps. It's not as good as the '07 (my god, what could be?), but mom knows what she's doing: that's damn fine titty ” — it's time to wean.

Please, God. I've Given You the Pass on Curing Cancer (or Even Bunions). Grant Me This and We'll Call It Even

Frank:A porn video game? It can't be done. Look, Tre, history's greatest perverts have tried — Walt Disney, Larry Flynt, the Japanese — but they can't do it, because of the Uncanny Valley.

Let me show you something. Check out this chart. You see, as artificial representations of humans become more and more realistic, they reach a point where they stop being endearing and start being creepy. …

Tre: Tell it to me in Star Wars.

Frank: All right. We like R2D2 and C3PO … and up here, we have a real person, like Han Solo. … But down here, we have a CGI Stormtrooper or Tom Hanks in the Polar Express.

Tre: I'M SCARED! Get me out of there!

Frank: That's the problem. You're in the Valley now, and it's impossible to get out.

Tre: That's where you're wrong.

I was born to design a video game where characters get weird with each other for golden points. My genius will not be denied.

Let's hope there's a real genius out there saying the same thing.

And It Wouldn't Kill You to Walk Faster when You're Out and About

Secret Service supervisors engaged in crude sexual jokes and racially derogatory banter about blacks, and passed around an anecdote about a possible assassination of the Rev. Jesse Jackson, according to internal e-mails disclosed in a federal court filing on Friday by lawyers for black Secret Service agents. …

The e-mails offer a glimpse into the darker recesses of a secretive agency that is known for protecting presidents and other dignitaries but whose culture is regarded as one of the most insular in federal law enforcement.

The disclosure of the e-mails follows an incident last month in which a noose was found in a room used by a black instructor at a Secret Service training center in Maryland. Agency officials said the episode is the subject of an internal investigation. …

In some of the documents, the senders of the e-mails are identified by the jobs they now occupy as well as the rank they held when the messages were sent. For example, an Oct. 9, 2003, e-mail referring to a “Harlem Spelling Bee,” ridiculing black slang, was sent by Daniel Paulson, then assistant director in charge of protective operations…


Clearly, he got the post based on the idea that to catch a thief, you hire a thief; ergo, to prevent a racist from assassinating a black presidential candidate, you hire a racist who wants to assassinate a black presidential candidate. It makes perfect sense.

But just in case, Barry, my brother, every now and then, stop, drop, and roll. Erratic movement is your friend.

Seriously, Shouldn't That Be a Toothpaste Dispenser?

Penis Shampoo Dispenser.

8 inches of sheer bathroom pleasure.

A refillable willy shaped shower gel or shampoo dispenser.

Gift boxed.

Every day is Christmas if you're a dirty, dirty girl.

Now that they've cracked that mystery of science, maybe, the porn scientists can get back to work on my vulva tongue scraper.

Biff Loman, Ninja Penis Owner

If you think this kit can be used like this —

Cuckold: Is that your penis in my wife's vagina?

Cuckolder: One moment. (scribble, scribble, scribble.) Penis?

Cuckold: Oh, boy, is there egg on my face? My mistake. Sorry.

Cuckolder: No harm.

— you could be in for a very rude awakening. It's not nearly that handy.

I Said It Once, but I'll Say It Again: “Suck It, Bitches!”

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Next Time, Spend the Extra Centavos. You'll Never Be Ashamed of Quality

“I've done something really stupid in my personal life,” the AC Milan player said today.

“We are all subject to making mistakes and I made a mistake in looking for this. I did not at any moment know they were tranvestites,” the 31-year-old added in his first public appearance since the incident.

“I cried a lot afterwards. … ”


Well, yeah, that's why they call it The Crying Game.

Of course, there probably would have been less crying had you not been caught.

You should cry, too, tears of shame. I mean, seriously, dude, you live in Brasil, a country obsessed with beauty, and those are the transsexuals you got busted with? Come on: we've got hotter dudes in Seattle — SEATTLE. Feel shame.

Just Say, “No”

A Roman Catholic priest was sentenced Monday to four years in prison for having sex with two inmates while a chaplain at a women's prison.

Vincent Inametti, 48, worked at Federal Medical Center Carswell in Fort Worth for seven years until last fall. He pleaded guilty in November to two counts of sexual abuse of a ward. …

Both women were serving federal sentences for drug distribution conspiracy convictions. One met Inametti in 2004 after attending church services and becoming involved in the prison choir and Bible study classes, authorities said. The other met Inametti a few months later while working as a clerk for the prison's religious services department.

Inametti is a naturalized U.S. citizen who was ordained in his native country, Nigeria. Had he been born in this country, he would have known that fucking women will get you thrown in jail. Fucking little boys will get you a new parish.

Suck It, Bitches!

No, seriously, suck it. You'll be more satisfied in doing so than you would be in almost anywhere else in the nation.

Of course, this study doesn't take animals into the equation. Had they polled the beasts (I said, “polled,” not “poled”), Seattle would have been No. 1.

But 15 ain't bad.