I recently inherited an unwound scroll, currently framed but previously rolled up inside a mezuzah, beautifully and ritually correctly written by a great-granduncle of mine, named, I believe, Herschel.
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"Alienation of affection" lawsuits: pretty darn retrograde. Did we ever discuss this? Is it down the hoohole?
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Pretty sure it's come up. But maybe I'm confusing that with affection for aliens.
6: I'm for 'em. Long as they don't catch on in Canada. Is that in any way problematic?
#6. I'm boggling at this story: Pageant organizers want their tits back. I'm struck by how such a prosaic legal squabble sounds so science-fiction-y. Maybe it's the weather; maybe it's the bobpocalypse.
Can someone put out a Republican's Greatest Hits CD? I know Hatch and John Ashcroft are big song writers. Are there others out there we can tap?
the price tag of those brazen implants the beauty queen carries on her waifish frame.
1. I would have thought bronze implants would have looked more fake-y.
2. Why does the pageant pay for these things to begin with? Is the subsidy meant to level the playing field, so that poor contestants have just as much chance as rich ones?
3. She should totally give the physical implants to them, just to be difficult.
Or pull a Merchant of Venice: "You can have them back, but you have to get them out, and if you injure me doing it I'm suing you."
13: you should take this case, pro bono.
#13. "If you prick me, do I not leak?"
Remind me why Utah statehood isn't an ongoing First Amendment violation.
Has there been any mention 'round here of Jonathan Littell winning this year's Literary Review Bad Sex in Fiction Award?
Her vulva was opposite my face. The small lips protruded slightly from the pale, domed flesh. This sex was watching at me, spying on me, like a Gorgon's head, like a motionless Cyclops whose single eye never blinks. Little by little this silent gaze penetrated me to the marrow. My breath sped up and I stretched out my hand to hide it: I no longer saw it, but it still saw me and stripped me bare (whereas I was already naked). If only I could still get hard, I thought, I could use my prick like a stake hardened in the fire, and blind this Polyphemus who made me Nobody. But my cock remained inert, I seemed turned to stone. I stretched out my arm and buried my middle finger into this boundless eye. The hips moved slightly, but that was all. Far from piercing it, I had on the contrary opened it wide, freeing the gaze of the eye still hiding behind it. Then I had an idea: I took out my finger and, dragging myself forward on my forearms, I pushed my forehead against this vulva, pressing my scar against the hole. Now I was the one looking inside, searching the depths of this body with my radiant third eye, as her own single eye irradiated me and we blinded each other mutually: without moving, I came in an immense splash of white light, as she cried out: 'What are you doing, what are you doing?' and I laughed out loud, sperm still gushing in huge spurts from my penis, jubilant, I bit deep into her vulva to swallow it whole, and my eyes finally opened, cleared, and saw everything.
Not bad, but Richard Milward was robbed, in my opinion.
17: Milward was robbed mightily:
Meanwhile, down in Vaginaland, Mr Condom's beginning to feel a bit iffy. He's overheating. For some reason, the shagging seems to be twice as fast this evening, and he grimaces as he gets flung willy-nilly in and out of the pink tunnel. He starts getting friction burns, hanging onto Bobby's stiff penis for dear life, headbutting Georgie's cervix at 180 beats per minute. 'Help me!' he yells in the darkness, feeling himself melting. The sex only seems to be getting faster though, and Mr Condom squeezes his eyes shut as Bobby groans and the friction starts getting unbearable and Mr Condom thinks he's going to be sick and the searing pain the searing pain and Bobby groans again and suddenly squirts a gallon of white molten lava from his Jap's eye, exploding through Mr Condom's heavy reservoir end and Mr Condom screams and screams and vomits ice cream into Georgie's vagina.
Holy shit.
You think that's bad, you should read Orrin Hatch's entry. "Let the Eagle Soar," indeed.
You can clear that Eagle Sore right up with a little medicated ointment.
I swear to god, these people need to take a breather every once in a while.
I dunno, I kinda like it when apo and LB crack wise.
a magical composite of shaman, acrobat, and animal
Phillip Roth clearly knows some of the people I work with.
I call people like that shacromals.
"This sex was watching at me, spying on me, like a Gorgon's head, like a motionless Cyclops whose single eye never blinks, like a jackbooted octopus wearing, on every tentacle, those hooker boots that suddenly have become so popular, the tentacles waving, at me, just like in those Japanese comic books. Little by little this silent gaze penetrated me to the marrow."
See. All that passage needed was a firm editorial hand.
#25. I know a woman who's a shaman. I call her a sham-wo.
Writing in detail about sex in a non-pron work is sort of like tequila on a school night: it's seldom as good an idea as it seems like at the time.
28: text based porn can get pretty laughable, too, but at least the writers are allowed to use clichés freely.
Hey, so, remember the job possibility I mention a few months ago that occasioned my switch to a less personally identifying pseud? Well, I got it! I start in January!
Anyone have any suggestions for where to buy a couple of decent suits for not too much money? (Moving from the software biz to the government is going to require a wardrobe overhaul.)
Mentioned. No one hired me for my careful typing skills.
eBay. No, for men's clothes I have no idea, but congratulations!
Tonight at midnight jos a bank is doing a buy one get two free sale online. Lowest cost prob $500, but that'd get you three if you know your measure, and are bold.
Thanks!
I don't think I'm bold enough to buy a suit without seeing it in person.
Would lulav have been too on-the-nose?
You put your lulav wherever you like. All I know is, his etrog has an intact pitom.