Archive for the ‘Men and Women’ Category

HERE YESTERDAY… HERE TODAY

April 5, 2020

Social Media has taught me one important thing:
when the threat of death faces people on a daily basis…

Taking DMT has changed people more than this feeble outbreak (and no, it’s not an epidemic here).

Nothing changes.

The TDS still think Trump is the font of all evil.

Withers still howl: “SHE WON BY 3,000,000 VOTES!”

Berners still believe a fraud who sold them out 4 years ago won’t do it again.

At 7pm each day, people who fancy themselves THE RESISTANCE loudly cheer their government enforced confinement.

People still think those who disagree with them are stupid.

People still call for UNITY while attacking positions they oppose.

Congressman Schiff wants to impeach Trump again.

The Newly Woke still think shouting “SOCIALISM” and “GREEN” will improve things.

FOX viewers and Rachel Maddow fans still feel superior to each other.

The Home of the Brave still quivers in endless fear.

The Land of the Free still demands a LEADER.

As always, BLAME is immediately assigned – based on one’s prejudices.

Jesus-Christers still exploit anything that comes down the pike to end abortion.

Vegans still denounce omnivores.

Politicians still exploit any crisis for personal gain, regardless of the damage they cause.

The “RISK TAKERS” of Wall Street still demand and get “bail-outs.”

Celebrities still think they’re important.

Interest Groups still compete for top victimhood status. 

The Middle East Maniacs still riantly revel in their traditional hatreds, killing as they have for over 70 years.

Obsolete Belief Systems withstand all pestilence like Neolithic monuments, outliving the events that birthed them.

American Mass shootings go on and on and on.  

People still say “I’ll start that diet Monday.”

Al Franken, without a trace of irony, GROPES for a comeback.

Newt Gingrich and Kathy Griffin and Hillary Clinton all continue to labor under the delusion that their slurred babbling has even a modicum of relevance.

Madonna still cannot see that she has all the youthful sex appeal of a platter of refried beans.

Every unverified claim by any Gyno-American is still absolutely true if you hate the accused.

That NY Times’ has-been Maureen Dowd still slathers on make-up like she’s Emmett Kelly.

Joe Biden has yet to learn that he’s in the 21st Century.

Jeff Bezos still wants MORE.

Sen. Schumer still lectures us in the sanctimonious tones of a rabbi who was defrocked for embezzling.

The Obamas still wag their finger at, and scold, a minimum of nine people a day.

History shows us humanity never changes.
This pandemic – one of thousands people have endured – verifies it.
We’re who we always were. And always will be.
And, of course, I’m still the smartest person in the room.
As is everyone else…

GOT SOMETHING TO ADD TO THE LIST?
SEND A COMMENT…



Up Date

Speaking of things that NEVER CHANGE

MORE TIMES BULLSHIT
Here’s THE LATEST TOTAL BULLSHIT about the pandemic from The NY Times. From the April 5, 2020 edition:
CHRISTINA DIES

BULLSHIT:
How they describe this article about a “celebrity” famous for HAVING ONCE BEEN FAMOUS:
“This obituary is part of a series about people who have died in the coronavirus pandemic.”

NOTE: “IN the coronavirus pandemic”… NOT: BECAUSE of the pandemic. That, of course, includes EVERYONE who dies now. It’s like the rooster who believes he made the sun rise.

REALITY:
“Her daughter, Lucinda Zilkha Francis, said she had been suffering from several autoimmune disorders, including relapsing polychondritis, for approximately two decades. On Friday, her family learned she had tested positive for the coronavirus.”
“Her medical conditions were often debilitating: ‘It’s hard to plan a new album when you don’t know if you will make it down to the end of the street from one day to the next,’ she told Time Out New York. But in recent years, she had recovered enough to begin traveling.” (THE 19th PARAGRAPH!)

Remember: WHO THE HELL’S GONNA READ
THE SECOND PARAGRAPH?

===

This unfortunate person was THE WALKING DEAD.
A head-cold would’ve sent her to the ER.
And NOWHERE do we see that Coronavirus MADE HER ILL.
NO mention in the article WHATSOEVER of COVID-19, the disease.
Just the now-ubiquitous unquestioned claims from FAMILY MEMBERS.
Conflating NOVEL CORONAVIRUS with COVID-19 is how these bastards DELIBERATELY INCITE TERROR… for financial gain.
That is what makes this DIABOLICAL.
The Times is not alone in this deception.
I have even heard “news” people breathlessly refer to CORONA-19

If you allow yourself to fall for this LETHAL BULLSHIT then you have been WELL-TRAINED and yes, you are COMMITTING SUICIDE.

If doctors give people a placebo cornstarch pill and tell them it has specific “side effects” including hives and a fever, many who take the
pill WILL GET HIVES AND A FEVER.

NOCEBO SIDE EFFECTS

From That RADICAL CONSPIRACY-FILLED Magazine… THE SMITHSONIAN.

This is how the mind/body works.
And now we’re FLOODING people full-time with
DIRE HORROR stories
of this new disease.

BRILLIANT fucking move…



 

Vintage Sex Humor

March 19, 2019

Recently, while looking at a string of YOU BET YOUR LIFE shows, I stumbled upon this product:

grouchobox Transparent small

During the course of a show, Groucho took a few minutes to offer what we now call “a shameless plug.” Naturally he did it in a very funny way. I have no idea if the product scored a hit in its day. Back in 1954, these napkins sold for $1, which comes to $9.40 now – still not an extravagant price for some laughs. They go for about $25 when offered today on sites such as Ebay.

Take a look at a contemporary ad aimed at retailers. Note the oh-so-subtle influence of the then-current panic Americans felt concerning Russia. Good thing those paranoiac days are gone forever…

Naturally, such scintillating advertising aroused my interest. So faster than a Millennial can cry “Trigger Warning,” I decided to hit the interwebs and scour out out as many of these “Funny As Thermonuclear War,” “Sure-Fire Sales Dynamite” napkins as I could locate. While I fell short of locating them all, here are a few:

Stewardesses small

By A Nose small

Groucho Balloon small

Nuclear Kiss small

Looking over these vintage funnies, all I can say is: thank the gods that we here in the 21st Century have grown so enlightened and so woke that sex is no longer a laughing matter! What on earth WERE we thinking back when sex was considered… enjoyable?

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UPDATE: I wonder how people today would react to THIS once-popular book from 1960…

Featured Among the ribald doggerel:

I met a girl the other night
What a time
What fun
No sorrow.
I’ll not forget the other night
The case comes up tomorrow.

And this charming toast:

Here’s to the breezes
Which blow through the treeses
That lift little girls’ skirts
Above their kneeses
Little boy seeses
Does as he pleases
Gets social diseases
How ’bout that

Ah, what sophisticated charming humor!

And it even appealed to the illiterate!

Comedian Jackie Kannon – he of New York City’s RAT FINK CLUB – saw his career take off with his ribald compilations of old but risqué wheezes. In fact, “blue” doggerel and jokes became something of a cottage industry for Kannon:

For The John copyWell, it’s a living…
As an actor/comic Kannon appeared on one of the most revered comedy albums of its day – one that is still in print on CD: You Don’t Have To Be Jewish.
On this hilarious slice of ethnic humor Kannon, the son of a Rabbi, holds his own with some of the top comedic talent of the 1960s.

You Don't Have To Be Jewish

That’s Jackie Kannon up front in the Napoleon get-up – looking for all the world like Lenny Bruce auditioning for the lead in Désirée.
Alas, Kannon died in 1974 at the age of 52. His career merited a meaty obituary in the New York Times (which listed his age at death as 48), with a photo yet!

Kannon Obit copy

From the Times obit: Mr. Kannon was once described by John S. Wilson, a music critic of The New York Times, as “a slender, wiry man with the cocky bearing of a James Cagney, a vast store of quips that fall close to both sides of the borderline of propriety and enough of a singing voice to intersperse his comments with song.” Mr. Wilson noted “the startling conjunction when ‘Give My Regards to Broadway’ is sung to the tune of ‘Mack the Knife.’”

Clearly a man of many parts… Yet Jackie Kannon’s magnum opus remains Poems for The John which still sells briskly at Ebay. Songs for the John rarely turns up – making this LP a collectors’ item.
While Kannon was far from the only comedian whose career went into the toilet, he’s probably the only one who profited from it…

Songs for the John

A Tale For Our Times… From 35 Years Ago

May 12, 2018

I received the following anecdote from a person who, for reasons you will surely understand, wishes to remain anonymous. In case you missed it in the news, NY State Attorney General Eric Schneiderman – a politician widely expected to win election as governor and then run for president – resigned after The New Yorker magazine made public the stories of several women who allege they had violent sexual encounters with Schneiderman.
Mr. Schneiderman, it must be noted, denies these allegations and has stated: “In the privacy of intimate relationships, I have engaged in role-playing and other consensual sexual activity. I have not assaulted anyone. I have never engaged in nonconsensual sex, which is a line I would not cross.”
My correspondent relates the following:

   The recent Eric Schneiderman story immediately brought to my mind something that happened to me long ago.

   If you cringe at personal carnal details, you should stop reading now. I will present nothing crude, but it does get rather personal. I promise to present this in as tasteful a manner as I can.

   Back in the mid 1980s I attended a rent party held in a loft off 10th Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen. A most fascinating woman friend of mine, an artist, lived in the enormous space with several other people and, as happens with young people starting out in New York City life, they’d fallen behind in the rent. Rent parties happened all the time in the city back then – and the few bucks required to gain entry provided plenty of fun (and drink) all night long.

   Within 30 minutes of the doors opening, the party started cooking. Over 200 people had already arrived and more kept coming. Wine and liquor flowed. Music filled the loft. We all had a blast. I’d call the atmosphere one of joyous fun. People made friends. Whether we’d see each other again or not made no difference.

   At one point during the party I found myself talking with a couple of interesting young ladies. I don’t recall the details of our conversation (for reasons you will soon find obvious), but during our chat we all started laughing. And then another young woman crossed the loft and came over to us. Till that moment, I had not known of her attendance at the party. Oh, I knew her all right. We’d had a rather odd “relationship” a year or so earlier. She fancied herself a “free spirit,” meaning she thought it amusing to say and do things that upset people. Things like shoplifting in bodegas…

   When our laughter died down, the “free spirit” looked at the two women, pointed a thumb at me like a hitchhiker, and said, with a sunny, cheerful smile, “He’s a very funny guy. But he’s no good at all in bed.”

   This, naturally, drew startled looks from the women. But I had expected something like this from the “free spirit,” so I nonchalantly turned to the other women and said, “Well, the concept of ‘good’ in bed depends on the compatibility of the people involved. For example, this young lady found me extremely disappointing because I flatly refused to tie her up, gag her, and then beat the hell out of her while raping her.”

   You have no doubt heard the expression, “her jaw dropped.” Well, the “free spirit’s” mouth opened into as wide an “O” as her lower jaw mechanism could handle as it dropped down. Then tears came to her eyes and she cried, “I can’t believe you told them that!”
   I said, “Hey, you brought it up. I just wanted to explain what you meant.”
   And with that, the “free spirit” ran off and the rest of us continued our discussion. To this day I have no idea what we talked about.

To understand what happened that night, and why the “free-spirit” said what she said, we need to go back a year or so before the party.

I always liked this woman, the “free spirit,” who I will not identify here. We’d run into each other now and then and we got along well. She once gave me a few dollars when I needed it. Probably no more than $10 as I recall. Some months later, she needed money, about $300. So I gave it to her and told her this makes us even. She initially rejected the money and the idea that it makes us even, saying she had given me far less.
“It only matters,” I said, “that you gave me what I needed at the time I needed it, and now I want to give you the same thing: what you need when you need it. The amount doesn’t matter. This balances us out perfectly.” 
I happen to look at things that way. She accepted the money and soon after that, we started seeing more of each other. And then, well, if you cringe at personal carnal details you should heed my warning at the top.

   One night as we engaged in an intimate physical act for the first time together, she began shaking violently and then started crying. I immediately stopped what I was doing and asked her what happened. She hissed out, “I can’t!” then started crying again. After a moment, she added “I can’t do this without thinking -” and the dam burst. I held her as she heaved and cried. This went on for maybe a half hour. Any “romantic” thoughts I had harbored vanished in the face of a clearly uncontrollable emotional crisis. I held her till it started to ease for her.

    When she had settled down a bit, but still through tears, she said her reaction had nothing to do with me. It involved her father and I will not relate any more than that. But when she finished explaining, I understood her reaction completely. After a few minutes laying quietly side by side, she said, with an air of resignation, “I guess we should start over now,” and squished her face and eyes shut looking like someone preparing for something akin to a firing squad.

   I told her no, we will definitely not start over.

   “You have to,” she said in a pleading way as if she found it important. “I understand why,” she added. “I can take it. Just go ahead and do it.”  She squished her face again.
   “Why do I have to do anything?” I asked. She told me that she knew that if I didn’t continue… then I would probably die.
   “WHAT?!?” I shouted in spite of trying to remain calm. “I will die? How?”
   She blushed and said, “You know…” I told her no, I did not know.
   She whispered (why she whispered I never knew since we had nobody else with us) and she said to me, as though speaking to a moron, “Your BALLS will explode.”
   Before I realized it, I shouted, “Where the hell did you hear that?” I vividly remember seeing myself as Dave the astronaut in 2001: A Space Odyssey after HAL said he knew of the plot to disconnect him (“Where the hell did you get that idea, HAL?”) and it occurred to me that some guy or guys had fed her the old “blue balls” malarkey as a way to force themselves on her. The sheer cruelty of their action showed in the scrunched up face she made as she prepared to sacrifice herself for the sake of my very life.

   So I said, “Oh shit,” told her not to believe that stuff, and suggested we get some sleep. Over the next weeks we grew closer and we had something of a physical relationship going when she hit me with her Big Idea: She told me that she could only really enjoy sex if she had no choice in the matter; she needed it to happen against her will. So she enthusiastically suggested that I tie her hands behind her back with my necktie, gag her, then pummel her (anywhere but the face) and rape her. Not act like I would rape her, but actually rape her. All this would happen with her consent, she assured me.

   As she described what she wanted me to do, I saw clearly that this went way beyond any consensual act of “bondage” or “role playing” with their pre-arranged safety checks. The whole thing went against my nature. I could not do it. I just cannot get into that. She kept telling me that she needed to submit to real force, that she could not act willingly, in order to enjoy herself. Knowing what I knew about her history, I could see why she felt that way. But I had no intention of taking any sort of advantage of that kind of misery.

   I told her no every damn way I could. She kept pleading, promising me a good time. Now, don’t think I present myself as Sir Galahad about this. My demurral had a practical side as well as a principled side. I knew that during the course of enacting this “game” I will have left behind all the criminal forensic calling cards of a whole portfolio of felonies. I pictured myself shuddering in a small cold room deep in the bowels of the local station-house, facing a glaring 1,000-watt light bulb as I endured the grilling of a horde of beefy, enraged cops, all of whom have young daughters at home:
“Just answer yes or no! Did you tie her up?”
   “Did you gag her?”
   “Did you beat her?”
   “Is this your tie?”
What could I say that wouldn’t have me digging my own grave?

   Aside from my personal revulsion at her suggested “game,” if this troubled woman later changed her mind about it, I knew I would have absolutely no way to prove it all happened consensually and upon her instigation. If I tried to explain what really happened, I would seem, at best, like a cad blaming the “victim.” And to back up my story I would have to reveal the horrific story the woman had told me about her past – with no way to prove a single word of it.

   Knowing what she had revealed to me about her childhood, I realized I could not take the chance that at some point in the future she won’t feel regret or disgust over this and use it as a weapon to hurt me. Hurt me with charges of Rape in the First Degree (Penal Code §130.35), Unlawful Imprisonment (§135.10), Menacing in the Third Degree (§120.15), Assault in the First Degree (§120.10). That right there added up to well over 100 years in prison and any competent Assistant District Attorney could find more charges, all of which I would have no power to convincingly deny. Here I had not yet reached the age of 30 and already I faced a life stretch up the river. And as I said, the whole charade struck me as repulsive anyway. I cannot do something like that either in reality or “in fun.” Violence just doesn’t turn me on.

   No matter how I looked at it, I did not consider that game worth the candle. The whole thing not only turned me off, it left me too vulnerable in the hands of a person with some serious and profound problems; problems that I did not wish to toy with. I had no intention of paying the price for what someone else had done to her. This boy had read too much James M. Caine not to see a potential set-up in the making. All “film noir” stories require a willing sap who falls into the machinations of an alluring but troubled dame. Not me, tootsie.

   So it never happened.

   Does this sound a touch paranoiac? We soon drifted apart and I didn’t see her again till that party, where she indeed used that proposed encounter as a weapon. For practical reasons, if not ethical reasons, I knew the moment she pulled that stunt at the rent party that my refusal may have disappointed a lady, but I had made the right choice.