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Why, frog?

I tweeted this admittedly kind of creepy, but hardly pornographic, face-torso picture of a painting the other night, and yfrog, Twitter’s photo hosting website, REMOVED IT. Really? This is the picture. Did it really deserve to be censored?

Never laughing again

Impersonating Lindsay Lohan

I pulled a muscle in my ribs/back from laughing too hard. This was almost three weeks ago. Then, my mom had the brilliant idea that I should ask one of my undoubtedly many druggie friends for a muscle relaxer. The first person I asked had some, of course. So I went to his house, then accidentally took 18 times the recommended dosage. The short version of that story is: I’m an idiot. I even tried to throw the pills up once I realized I’d taken enough downers to tranquilize Shamu. But I wasn’t very successful.

It took more than 24 hours for the drugs to purge themselves from my amazingly sponge-like head, whose task as Wooze Receptacle was unparalleled. And it took considerable effort for my lips to open and close at my command. Turning my head became a feat on par with bench-pressing a gorilla. Meanwhile, Wham’s “Last Christmas” played on repeat in my drug-addled mind. “Lash Kismas I gayou mah hawt…” It was terrible. And exhausting. And, as fate would have it, I was on deadline and expected to be funny or something. Jury’s out on that.

The worst part is that not only did I dope myself to oblivion, the pills didn’t even work! I was still in tremendous pain and slept horribly. My skin crawled and I kept tugging at every inch of loose skin, trying to rid myself of excess, and failing utterly.

The moral of this story is to never laugh again, probably. Or take your mom’s advice.

Whoooooa:

OkStupid

Photo by Piotr Bizior

From the MySpace Vault, with new additions added for posterity:

These are all first messages sent to me from random folks on OkCupid. I post them (mostly) without comment. I don’t post them to be callous, but to provide an anthropological glimpse of what women deal with on these kinds of dating sites. Of course, this is the 15% batshit fuckery quotient. 85% of emails received are not worthy of mockery, except maybe for their lack of creativity. Sics all over these, of course.

From a 25-year-old dude:

Hi. You seem tolerable. If you’re not, don’t bother writing back.

From a 38-year-old submissive male cross dresser:

Hi could you use a good slave? a slutty submissive male cross dresser that will dress and do as you wished i do love to please a woman and make her happy. could you be my Mistress?

my email is [redacted]

Ed note: This was a stock email that he sent to everyone. I know this because my girlfriend at the time also got the same message. And then he forgot he wrote to me already and sent it again a few months down the road.

From a 25-year-old straight girl in SF:

you seem healthy yaaay

From a 30-year-old man, who has written me MANY times, despite my non-responsiveness:

The cunnilinguist was crazy earlier forgive him. I am now in charge:

cunillingus will be performed at 12 midnight for all participating lezbianna goddesses == performed exactly as she demanded by any of three hooded and masked people she chooses (don’t worry this is just big mind pschizophrenia)

but to a more serious and light filled side now that I have demanded your attention

did you know how sacred cunnilingus is, how revered and how imprtant it is to the survival of our evolving race…?

Here is some historical facts: [And this is where he proceeds to completely plagiarize the Wikipedia entry on cunnilingus, despite not knowing how to spell it]

Although not spoken of openly in Western society until recently, cunnilingus is accorded a revered place in Chinese Taoism. This is because the aim of Taoism is to achieve immortality, or at least longevity, and the loss of semen, vaginal, and other bodily liquids is believed to bring about a corresponding loss of vitality. Conversely, by either semen retention or ingesting the secretions from the vagina, a male or female can conserve and increase his/her ch’i, or original vital breath. In Taoism:

The Great Medicine of the Three Mountain Peaks is to be found in the body of the woman and is composed of three juices, or essences: one from the woman’s mouth, another from her breasts, and the third, the most powerful, from the Grotto of the White Tiger, which is at the Peak of the Purple Mushroom (the mons veneris).

This is from the same guy:

looking to celebrate intenational v day today — would love to by performing sacred felatio to be honest… interested?

in the disguise of a god, consummating his service to the goddess of course

This is from a 56-year-old man in Chicago:

tell me why i should pick you -looking for a friendly talk-we can start anywhere-.i have no long didtance on my phone so you have to call my way-.my name is bruce [redacted] -. i live at [redacted] in chicago, il.- please call me between 2p.m. and 12 midnight central time-.call me till you get me [redacted] -get a phone card or something and call me please- i think age is a state of mind and to the people who think i too old to talk to and be with all i can say is you dont know me and i take a chance on anyone who wants to be with me amd talk with me to know me and to see me in person- the world would be a better place if people took the time to understand people of all races and to understand what the people is going though- i lose my family mom dad brother over the years- i just looking for good friends to be with- is that so hard to understand- friends who will call me up to see how i doing and to say you want to go somewhere – a movie zoo out for a cup of coffee etc etc- how can people be so cold to a friend in need- its easy to be hard to other persons that you dont know- there is no pity in the world for people you dont know well-

check me out with the cops if you dont trust me- better to be safe than sorry- bruce [redacted] [address redacted] [phone redacted]- what the world needs now is love sweet love- there is too little of it in the world -you have to call my way not me calling you- hope you understand what i saying i hope you understand i hope- i have a few rules that i hope you understand please 1- no lies no mind games no waiting games hoping you call me and see me no saying you want me and then never calling or seeing me be honest to a fault with me if you never going to call me or see me be honest about it so i can move on to the next person 2-talk to me on the phone and i tell you the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me god and if you dont like what you hear from me you can hang up on me…

Ed note: it goes on quite a bit further but you get the idea. I particularly like how he gave me his phone number and mailing address – more than once – and that I should “check him out with the cops.”

From a 34-year-old man in Indiana:

Hey Cornhole,

Have a nice weekend and don’t hurt anybody.

From a 22-year-old dude in Chicago:

come down to pint, in wicker park, between 11 and 6, thursday through monday, and order whatever’s on special. do not identify yourself to anyone. eat quietly, leave, and never make any mention of it to me. it’s a bit of a fetish for me.

love, nick

From a 26-year-old dude in SF:

I’m sure by now you’re sick of guys propositioning you for sex, asking your hand in marriage, or worse…to meet their mothers. Don’t worry, I’m one of the sane ones ;-)

I found your profile refreshingly honest and I think you are amazingly cute. But don’t let your head get too big now, I haven’t seen your cooking skills yet ;-) . Write me back if you want to chat sometime :)

I did not note the ages of the following dudes:

Dude: It’s too bad you’re a student or I’d probably date you.

Me: I’m not a student.

Dude: It really is unfortunate.

______

I love telling erotic stories to make women climax in their panties and no this is NOT cybersex because erotica involves romance where cybersex only involves a man climaxing and leaving without satisfying the woman. Would you like to hear one sometime?

______

Are you really a man or are you joking?

And of course, who could forget the ran-stone cowgirl dude.

More fuckery:

Welcome to Sen Frankiscaw

photo by Louie Grenier

What the hell is up with San Francisco pronouncing things whatever way they feel like?

Examples:

San Franciscans: ValenCHA

Everyone else in the world: Valencia

San Franciscans: San Raf-ELL

Everyone else in the world: San Rafael

San Franciscans: Actual spelling – Vallejo. Pronounced – Valay-ho

Everyone else in the world: Vy-ay-ho or Vale-JO. If you’re going to be white about it, GO ALL THE WAY, ASSHOLES.

Oh look, it’s the Gelden Gate Bwidge! I’ll be jumping off now.

Goodbay.

Related

Was it the pun?

My blog post “Is Auto-Tune Killing Pop Music?” somehow garnered over 20,000 page views in two days. It’s also in the “most read” sidebar on Mother Jones’ homepage. I’m not really sure why, but color me elated. I think it may have been the Jay-Z pun.

You tell me?

__

Related:

Guessing Games

Amusing conversation with the manager of my apartment building:

Him: Hey…you…I never remember your name…Polly?

Me: It’s Anna.

Him: Right! And you live with your girlfriend…Polly?

Me: No, but just keep guessing that. I’m sure eventually the answer to the question will be Polly.

Maybe a fill in the blank:

_____  wanna cracker?

_____amory?

_____ Shore?

"you are SO getting some tonight."

Valentine’s Day is coming up, and I know this because of the dozens of marketing emails I’ve gotten recently, with long subject headings and lots of punctuation, such as, “Lesbian Authors’ Reveal Sex Secrets to Married Men in New Book Available Today!” and “Exquisite Mouthwatering Food is The Key to the Ultimate in Romance and Relationships!” Even though lesbians aren’t allowed to get married in most states, that doesn’t mean we don’t want to help! And to the second one, Using a Really Awesome Thesaurus Still Won’t Make Your Stupid Ridiculous Cookbook Any More Interesting.

None of these emails have yet to compete with HottieGram, however. HottieGram is a personalized Valentine’s Day video that you send to your boyfriend/baby daddy/prison pen pal. Since I can’t seem to describe it without laughing/vomiting, I’ll let the video speak for itself. (Warning: NSFW)

Yes. I’m going to “reward” my boyfriend for making reservations? That’s like rewarding someone for turning the oven on correctly. And yes, I’m going to pay a Playboy model to take her shirt off IN A VIDEO. Like there’s a shortage of boobs on the internet. I looked, honey! I couldn’t find boobs ANYWHERE on the internet, so I bought this for you instead.

Let’s reverse the sexes, just for a moment and pretend that for Valentine’s Day, your boyfriend gave you a link to a short film composed of talking penises that mentioned your name. Would that make you want to “get some” tonight? Because that’s just as ridiculous as the premise of a HottieGram.

Like Cosmo’s suggestion of making a ponytail with your dirty thong to “drive him wild,” HottieGram is predicated on the notion that you alone are not sexxxy enough, and must rely on professional boob-showers and underwear gymnastics if you expect to get anywhere in your relationships. Oh, and don’t forget the Exquisite Mouthwatering Food either.

creepy sex ed video from the 70s

This is a hilariously horrifying video about masturbation. It also seems to imply that this kid is masturbating to his mother at the end. WTF.

Just, wow.

what the what?

Finally, nudity AND puns. I don’t know who I feel more sorry for, the chicken or the model who probably had to lick him/her hundreds of times before this photographic gold was captured.

This is from the 2010 Pirelli Calendar (whatever that is)

The right to bear arms – chair edition

Searching for a reading chair on Craigslist has become something of a part-time job for me. Instead of monetary compensation, I am rewarded anew each day with posts like this:

Finally, someone else shares the dream of being able to read AND shoot things from the same location! But what if I want to shoot space aliens, you’re no doubt wondering? How will I lure them close enough to my armed chair in order to annihilate them?!

Oh, that’s a relief. But I’d really like any chair I own to have at least seven adjectives in its title, so that I may delight my friends with my “vintage retro principal military tanker desk metal chair seat.” Preferably, it won’t even actually be a chair.


Perfect!

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