This is my front page. All comments here are screened; if you don't have my email address, you can drop me a line here. If I know your email address, I'll reply by email -- if not, I'll reply to your comment, and then rescreen both your comment and my reply.
It's also got every tag I have -- this is because my current LJ style doesn't include a tag index. (At least half of my participation on LJ is on my Treo. I chose this style because it loads quickly and it's still readable on a small screen.)
I'd tell you more about myself, but that's what my profile -- and the rest of my journal -- are for.
...and giving a slightly more literal reading on the name "twatlight," it's sparklepeen (NSFW)!
For those of you at work, someone's gone and made a dildo that sparkles in sunlight, complete with ad copy that mentions all four books by name. (I think. It's too early in the morning for me to be sure.) I can hardly wait for some random crazy fan to throw it into a care package for Robert Pattinson or something. Or was that Michael Rosenbaum?
Not safe for work, obviously. Most of the photos are of women, though there are some men scattered here and there, and even if one or the other doesn't float your particular boat, the photos have artistic merit as well. Oh, and the site's in French.
Normally, I'm not that fond of techno, but this one's kinda growing on me. Just give it a chance... but give it a chance somewhere other than your workplace, okay?
A feisty raccoon has bitten off a pervert’s penis as he was trying to rape the animal.
Alexander Kirilov, 44, was on a drunken weekend with pals when he leapt on the terrified -- but toothy -- fur ball.
"When I saw the raccoon I thought I'd have some fun," he told stunned casualty surgeons in Moscow.
Now Russian plastic surgeons are trying to restore his mangled manhood.
"He's been told they can get things working again but they can't sew back on what the raccoon bit off," said a pal.
"That's gone forever so there isn’t going to be much for them to work with."
Racoons are already well-known for being cute little bandits, but that's clearly not enough for them, now that one of them has heard The Hedgehog Song. "Hey, you know that hedgehog in the song? It should totally be US! We raccoons should have songs about how we can't be buggered at all, and I know just how to make that happen!"
And his little raccoon friends will look at him funny. "Dude, someone actually tried to bugger a hedgehog once. It went very badly."
"Yeah. And one day, someone will try to bugger one of us! I mean, look at us, we're fuckin' adorable! And you know humans, they'll fuck anything! I've seen them on the internet! We just have to be ready!"
"But hedgehogs have spines! We can't compete with that!"
"Sure we can! We just have to be meaner! One of these days, some human is going to want my cute little fluffy ass, and after I tear him to pieces, I'll be famous!"
For those of you unfamiliar, Dokken was a hair-metal band in the eighties. They weren't terribly original, as such bands go, but they were quite competent at what they did: Don Dokken was a very good singer, and George Lynch was an excellent guitarist. They achieved some considerable fame back in their day, but broke up -- Don and George did not get along very well. (They both had egoes.)
I first discovered them in my teens because, well, a girlfriend of mine liked them. A lot. ( Dude TMI here. )
Have you seen all those ads for Viagra? Have you noticed that all the couples in those ads involve men in their fifties, with wives in their twenties or possibly thirties?
I can't be the only one who wants to see this convention turned on its ear. Maybe an ad for some sensual product for women, starring someone like Lynda Carter, or Ellen Burstyn, or Sally Kellerman -- a lady to whom the years have been kind, but there have obviously been plenty of them. (Lynda Carter is the youngest of the three, at 57.) Then it shows her starting to get frisky with a guy in his twenties, before the voiceover starts telling you what health issues you shouldn't have if you plan to take this drug.
Seriously, wouldn't that be an awesome ad? Wouldn't that kind of gender equality in media be great?
I'm totally not bringing this up because "cute younger man with hot older woman" is one of my kinks or anything...
Today, I have a few British documentaries for you. The first couple, I found a month or two ago while I was looking at some of my favorite idiots on a forum and trying (successfully, this time) to persuade myself not to start trolling them. I didn't really want to post them without something to balance them... but I just found that special something!
(I should point out that none of these videos can properly be considered pornographic -- they are documentaries in every sense of the word. Still, don't watch them at work, unless your workplace is okay with lots of skin and naughty bits flopping around, to say nothing of wasting company time watching hour-long shows on the net.)
The first documentary is on penis size, and all those guys out there who want theirs to be bigger. It explores an astonishing range of things that guys will do to themselves, or arrange to have done to them at a high price, in the name of having a bigger penis. (Warning to the squeamish: Mister Mark and his blob make an appearance in this video, and at least one guy is shown going under the knife.)
The second documentary is also on penis size, this time from the perspective of that small handful of guys who do have it, and somehow don't think it's the greatest thing ever. It turns out that having thirteen and a half inches isn't all it's cracked up to be. Are you surprised? I'm surprised. Holy shucking fit, I'm surprised. OMFG, holy crapshit, I'm surprised. And so on.
The third documentary explores breast size, again from the perspective of those people who have it in abundance, and rather wish they didn't. Again, I can only claim to be surprised with a lot of sarcasm on the side. Big boobs can cause back problems? Nooo! Never would have guessed! Please, say it's not so!
All three of these are interesting, even enlightening in a weird sort of way -- and surprisingly tasteful, at least insofar as the subject matter allows it. You never see Americans even showing documentaries like these, let along making them!
"Hi! Several years ago, I did drugs with Barack Obama and went down on him! Recently, I announced it to the world! I hope you can look past my long, distinguished, twenty-seven-year career as a criminal (with special emphasis on fraud), and see my story for what it is. Oh, and I have a lawyer, and I've been holding press conferences. I asked him to wear a proper suit, including slacks, but he decided to wear a kilt. He says that it's because he has such a large endowment, and as such is uncomfortable in slacks. Oh, and on the subject of big ones, Obama wishes he had a big one, but alas, he doesn't (here, at 4:17)!"
I like to think I'm an imaginative sort, but this story is way beyond the upper limits of my creative powers. Well, perhaps I might write something like this, as a joke. I'd probably throw it in the recycle bin immediately afterward, dismissing it as "too unrealistic." But then, reality has a way off getting away with things we'd never accept in fiction.
This twit begs for Carl Hiaasen to write about him, don't you think?
(Note: This entry is about all the sex I had at BayCon. Despite the fact that I successfully kept it in my pants this year¹, it may still be kinda long.)
With any kind of magic, there are dangers to casting a spell that is bigger than you are. I recently learned that costuming is a form of magic.
My costume this year was the Dread Pirate Roberts. A simple spell, as far as the components go: a scrap of leather with eyeholes cut in it; a black t-shirt cut up, and tied into a bandana; a poofy black shirt and tight black jeans I already own. I didn't even have proper boots, and was just wearing black sneakers. This costume was surprisingly little work; it took me all of fifteen minutes to get it together at home, and about five minutes to put it on before I left my hotel room.
As myself, I'm fairly well-assembled, but not devastatingly attractive or anything; I just have a few striking features, and enough confidence (on my good days) that I'm sometimes mistaken for it. As the Dread Pirate, I was apparently sex-god on toast. I got a lot of good offers. Several women, and a few men, all conspired to inform me that if I had the inclination (and the stamina), I could have probably spent all three evenings of this convention bouncing from one bed to the next.
There were other effects, too. I'm a redhead, and as such, I tend to be very easily identifiable... usually. Covering my hair meant that I could step outside myself, at least partly because a lot of people who know me didn't instantly recognize me; many didn't recognize me at all, until I spoke to them. An odd feeling, that. I wouldn't do it every day, but occasionally it can be fun.
So far, I've just been talking about my costume, when in fact a whole lot of magic was flying in all directions, most of it by costumers much more skilled than me². What of all these people? Do they gain some immunity from other people's spells, being more knowledgeable about how those spells work? If two people in costume pick each other up and decide to get to know each other a lot better, does the spell end the moment the costumes come off?
(The answer to this last question, as I learned from a friend well-versed in this sort of magic, is that it does, but not immediately.)
A few people were interested in the guy under the mask, though. In particular, I was propositioned by a woman I regard so highly, I'm really tempted to brag about it. "Holy shit, [Jane] fucking [Smith] wants me!" As it is, I declined, but only for reasons having to do with my own issues; if not for those, I'd totally have jumped at the chance. Still, I was well past flattered, and into honored. The best offer I got the whole con!
(And [Jane Smith] is the only name you guys are getting from me. I haven't dropped names from my LJ up to this point, and I'm not starting now.)
One other wrinkle: there was a panel I intended to go to on writing outside your social group. A sci-fi writer can write about alien beings without anyone raising an eyebrow, but if a straight white male author writes from the POV of a black character, a woman, or a gay character -- especially a gay character -- people will sometimes get upset. I went into what I thought was this panel, and after about five minutes, I realized that I confused that panel with the GLBTQ panel. Oops.
This sort of mix-up is the kind of lame plot device I'd be hissing about if I saw it in a bad sit-com, and here I am in real life, subject to that mix-up. And just as it would in a bad sit-com, this led to a few awkward moments later... but I've had practice in dealing with those.
(Comments are screened.)
My reasons for doing this have to do with personal issues. I've already dropped hints about them in other LJ entries; if I decide to write about them more candidly, it will be in a locked post.
Of course, not all of the people in costume did it well. Some people are just plain bad at it, or choose costumes that suit them very poorly. I didn't see any 102-pound guys dressing up as Conan, or women with nasty skin conditions in skimpy chainmail... but I did see one guy who was paler than me (which should be impossible), in a kilt, with nothing on above the waist except for pasties with tassels. It was somewhere between amusing and horrifying.
Is your world going to hell? Are things going bad for you? Well, right on YouTube, there are two solutions for all of your problems. Just don't watch these at work, okay?
I stole the first solution from ms_daisy_cutter, and sadly, this option is only useful for a small minority of guys. The video is not really related to the music, aside from a few visual puns.
This other solution is from the fucked-up blog of Plushie Schwartz, and it can be used by most guys.
I have a few friends who follow Craigslist, and every now and then, they send me the most entertainingly fucked-up shit.
What kinds of shit do they send me? Usually "X seeking Y." Or "X seeking X." Back when I had more free time, I liked looking through the personals in free newspapers, usually snickering. The one that amused me the most was "Pirate seeks wench to walk my eight-inch plank," usually with some reference to "plundering the poop-deck." Yarr. I'm guessing he never found a wench, because that ad appeared in the personals every week for a few years.
(He might have just been playing to the wrong audience. I'm pretty sure that claiming to have an eight-inch plank is far more likely to attract other pirates than it is wenches... and I'm sure that his desires for the poop-deck didn't help him get any booty. But I digress.)
For the longest time, I have admired the dynamic between this cross species couple. But then, sometime during the 80s, a commercial for the Muppets: Live on Stage added a new dimension. In it, a stretch limousine was pulling up in front of a theater. A footman opened the door, and a shapely, rather thick leg stepped onto the red carpet. As the rest of the form followed, it was revealed that it belonged to a woman wearing a full bodied Miss Piggy costume under an alluring evening dress. AND I WANTED HER. And, to be quite honest, I've never stopped.
Some time ago, I found an original full head rubber Miss Piggy mask, circa 1977, complete with a full head of long blond hair. I am looking for a tall, sexy BBW, preferably over 300 pounds, to wear this mask to bed. She should also be open to playing with plastic wrap and liquid latex. Blonde is best, I suppose, but not necessary. Who knows – for the right woman I might just get a green rubber suit and a Kermit mask.
I hate to say this, but if someone made a porno of this, complete with Miss Piggy and Kermit masks, I'd totally buy it -- it appeals to my fucked-up sense of humor. Then I'd invite a few friends with similarly fucked-up senses of humor over, and make a shitload of popcorn.
While I was standing under a tree for shade yesterday, someone drove up to me and made a very bold pass at me: an offer of a ride (double meaning intended, though it took me about five seconds to catch that), and some observations regarding my anatomy. If I weren't straight, I'd have probably taken him up on the offer -- as it was, I blushed and walked away in an uncomfortable hurry. About twenty steps later, once he was safely behind me, I reacted a lot like the female alien in this cartoon:
Now, I have an excellent idea: I'm changing the subject. The cartoon from which I borrowed these images is by Phil Foglio, probably one of the best comic artists on the web. He does Girl Genius, Buck Godot, and What's New? with Phil and Dixie. (Buck Godot has been in print for years, but it was originally in black and white. He's got a colorist updating it, a page at a time.)
He also did XXXenophile, a clever and genuinely lighthearted porno comic, but he appears not to have it online.
Sat, Mar. 1st, 2008, 10:43 am Because advertising can always be much worse!
You know those AT&T ads, where they talk about "more bars," and put lots of visuals in the background? Five stacks of newspapers, each one taller than the one before it? Five skyscrapers, each one taller than the last? Five baguettes in a grocery bag, sticking out to varying degrees? Five flagpoles in a straight line, viewed from an angle that makes them look like those little bars that tell you how much signal your phone is getting?
Then, picture what this ad would look like if it were filmed in a sex shop. Five stacks of DVDs. Five dildoes lined up on a counter, ranging from "shot glass" to "Mr. Ed." Five butt-plugs in a row on a shelf in a glass case, ranging from "noob" to "Kirk Johnson." A flogger sitting on a shelf, with five strands of different lengths spread out under it.
There's a sex shop in my town. I wonder if they'd help me film an ad like this -- I feel safe in guessing that no one's ever asked them that before!
Pony is an orangutan from a prostitute village in Borneo. We found her chained to a wall, lying on a mattress. She had been shaved all over her body.
...If a man walked near her, she would turn herself around, present herself, and start gyrating and going through the motions. She was being used as a sex slave. She was probably about six or seven years old when we rescued her, but she had been held captive by a madam for a long time. The madam refused to give up the animal because everyone loved Pony and she was a big part of their income. They also thought Pony was lucky, as she would pick winning lottery numbers.
...they would come in especially for it. You could choose a human if you preferred, but it was a novelty for many of the men to have sex with an orangutan.
The village liked having this orangutan sex-slave so much that it took 35 policeman with automatic weapons to rescue it.
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flamingchords's journal
mischievous
