Nothing says Happy Valentine’s Day quite like some unsolicited smut. Don’t ask me how I managed to get this into a heart shaped box, but now that you’ve opened it…
Over the days leading up to Valentine’s Day, the search topic which has sent the most people to my blog is “detailed penis drawing“. Apparently drawing hearts isn’t how everyone decorates their cards. Either that, or they’re hell bent on rendering Cupid just right. I’m fairly confident that those faceless web surfers out there have been disappointed by having their search land them smack dab ( umm okay – bad choice of analogies) in the middle of my award-winning blog post* which featured an interview with politician/e- exhibitionist Anthony Weiner’s weiner.
It’s funny if you think about it. I mean, the internet has no shortage, so to speak, of pictures of naughty bits. If you want to see what a schwantz, some knockers, a va-jay-jay, or a booty looks like, you’re in the right place. There are many folks who would testify that even if you don’t wish to see any such anatomy, the internet will be more than happy to show you anyway.
Someone who is actively searching for detailed drawings of a ding-a-ling is probably not expecting to find one with a jaunty cap, cigarette holder and an ascot. A quick creative aside, I had considered drawing Anthony’s pecker wearing a “dickey” instead of an ascot, but as it happens dickey is funny to say but not all that amusing to look at. Besides, an ascot gives an air haughty sophistication, and goes incredibly well with a tufted smoking jacket.
I’m not particularly choosey about who reads my blog, in fact, I don’t even care if readers speak English. I get the occasional notifications of new followers and I’m happy to have each and every one of them. That being said, I’d like to take a moment to welcome the latest ones, including pp-looker, durtydurtydude, mindifistare?, holdstillwhileIgetmysktechpadandcharcoal, and of course package-chekker34.
I’d write more, but I’ve got a card to make for my wife.
*In the spirit of full disclosure, I’m pretty sure that post didn’t win any awards, which was unfortunate, because I had one hell of an acceptance speech written. I also had a snazzy smoking jacket picked out to wear the the ceremony!
It’s clear that Hollywood is pretty well tapped-out when it comes to new ideas. Heaven forbid they consider coming to WordPress and looking for some fresh writing talent. Instead, they’ve rehashed a fairy tale and added a generous batch of special effects to spice it up. I know my loyal readers will point out that I recently did the same thing with the Three Little Pigs in my erotic opus, Forty Seven Shades of Pink. In my defense, no one is paying me buckets of cash to write anything, original or otherwise, and I didn’t actually use any special effects except the pigs being able to dress themselves in lingerie. Let’s face it, they could already talk and build houses so that’s not exactly a quantum leap in believability.
I don’t have too many clear memories of my early childhood, largely because it was a long damn time ago. I’m told that my parents and grand parents read me fairy tales from time to time. Though my memory is admittedly a tad vague until early puberty, I’m pretty sure I would have recalled the part in Snow White wherein evil doers are sliced in half with swords and immediately turn into a million chunks of digital coal. I certainly would not have forgotten a witch who looks like Charlize Theron, spins in the woods and turns into a swirling flock of ravens like some bad-trip, M.C. Escher print.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I haven’t actually seen the new Snow White movie, and I likely won’t. I’ve seen the trailer a couple of times, and that’s more than enough for me. The special effects certainly looked dazzling enough, but to be honest, when you’ve seen one evil henchman reduced to a scattered pile of black rocks, you’ve pretty much seen them all.
Compared to most fairy tales, the traditional storyline of Snow White is not particularly reliant upon special effects. There’s an evil witch with competition issues and a talking mirror. The mirror tells her about a more beautiful woman, named Snow White (we’ll save the speculation about Hitler youth ideals for some other blog). The wicked witch can’t deal with being the second fairest of them all. She fails in putting a hit out on Snow White who escapes into the woods, eventually shacking up with seven miners who happen to be dwarfs. The queen hunts her down and slips her a poison apple which puts Snow White in a coma. Aside from the talking mirror, there’s absolutely no reason for special effects in the story. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen talking mirrors on sale at Bed, Bath and Beyond, in case you’re interested in getting one of your own. Bear in mind, those sassy bitches are on the clearance rack for a reason.
The new movie, if the title is accurate, focuses more on the early part of the story and the huntsman’s role as failed hit-man. Certainly there is room for the character to deal with the turmoil of his task. Again, no real reason for additional special effects, unless the film makers decided to go with the miniature angel-huntsman on one shoulder and the little devil-huntsman on the other, but I didn’t see that in the trailer. A quick consult with some blog writers and we might have had the angel-devil on the shoulders scene, but nooo, those big wheels out in Hollywood couldn’t be bothered.
Obviously, Snow White as a story doesn’t really need special effects, gratuitous or not. Another part of the problem is the special effects themselves. With the advent of computer generated imagery, the wonder of special effects is no longer wondrous. Once upon a time, movie-goers would speculate for days about “how’d they do that?”, scanning the edge of the screen for tell-tale silouettes of wire or looking for the zipper on the back of the Godzilla suit. Today, we don’t even bother wondering how the magic happens.
I know how to use my computer like a typewriter to write these dopey blogs and to look at porn research online. There are hundreds of thousands of twelve year olds people who can do so much more with a computer than me. They can do things like make Spiderman swing from buildings or create dog-beasts from thin air to chase the last few Hunger Games contestants to the final fight scene. Hell, computer experts can even see about getting me an upgrade on my airline tickets (though they can’t consistently get me an emergency exit row or bulkhead seat). I would love to say how much I appreciate their facility with the keyboard and mousepad, but as long as Spidey doesn’t break up and freeze into a pixilated mess of red and blue, midswing, I don’t even notice their work.
Sorry Hollywood, adding a bunch of eye candy and razzle dazzle is no way to fool us into thinking we didn’t already know this story line since we were 4 years old. Now when “Jack and Jill, Terror Hill” comes out, I may have to change my stance and go see it. Rumor has it the scene where Jack breaks his crown is incredibly gruesome, plus we finally get to find out what a crown is.
Now that the author of the “Shades of Gray” books is likely swimming in a jacuzzi filled with C-notes and caviar, I thought I’d take a stab at some of this erotica stuff myself. Rather than waste valuable energy developing a plot, I’ve opted to just rehash a classic- inserting juicy parts as I go. I’ll just slip them in slowly, but with urgent determination, again and again.
Once upon a time, there were three little pigs, Francine, Gloria and Beulah. All three of the pink, succulent porkers were mesmerized by thoughts of the new guy in town, the roguishly handsome Mr. B. B. Wolfe. They nestled together in the comfort of Francine’s California king-sized bed, beneath the tangled sheets in a sea of eager, pink flesh and tightly coiled tails. They whispered to one another about B.B. and his devilish good looks. Each hot breath filling their pointy little ears, until they could hardly stay still from the excitement.
They’d heard that Wolfe had a fondness for tail. He’d surely want theirs, and they quivered in a volatile mixture of fear and anticipation. Each piggy had her own views on how best to build her house to keep him out.
Buelah set to work on her plans. She set out from the comfort of the bed and hastily slipped into her work clothes, not even pausing to bother with her thong. In truth, Buelah seldom wore a thong, she’d long ago grown tired of untangling her curly tail from the G-strings.
She got working on her new home, which would be an earth-friendly, straw design. As she busily tied the bunches of straw together, her mind kept drifting to B.B. There were rumors in the village that he had a penchant for ropes and hand-cuffs. She found it hard to focus on tying the bundles as she imagined her own hooves being wrapped in twine, unable to move as B.B. helped himself to a wolf’s share of her fatback. She imagined herself squealing in pain and pleasure, helpless as Wolfe did as he pleased. Though she was a successful, self-sufficient young sow, she had to admit to herself that it made her pork loins tremble at the thought of being used by Wolfe for his every whim.
When at last her work was done, she sat back and regarded the fruits of her labor. Her new home was quite stylish, and politically correct from a renewable resource standpoint. The front door was hung in a flimsy frame made of bundled straw, and would take no effort for B.B. to blow it down. She knew she should reinforce it, but deep inside, her inner bacon bits yearned to be ravaged by the lupine lothario.
Gloria left the giant bed and wiggled her little pork butt over to her own construction site, where her new home was being built with sticks. Unlike Buelah’s hands-on style, Gloria favored having paid construction professionals doing her heavy lifting. She sat in the shade of a nearby elm and watched the team from Seven Dwarfs Construction as they worked weaving the sticks together to make the walls. It was a hot day, and the little men glistened from their efforts in the afternoon sun.
Gloria tickled her cheek with a piece of grass and wondered if what they said about dwarfs was true. She thought the one named “Dopey” looked especially virile. She dozed off and dreamed of two or three of her hot little laborers and B.B. Wolfe, all together with her back in the giant bed. Stubby little fingers pulled at her pink pigskin and a long hairy tail wagged in delight at the orgiastic scene.
When she awoke, the construction workers had left for the day. The house was nearly finished, except for the thatching of the roof. Gloria could plainly see that her money was not all that well spent. The house would never hold up to B.B.’s hot, powerful breath. Maybe Wolfe would show up at the exact moment she was meeting with Doc, the construction foreman. The wee builder could see for himself how little protection the house provided. One thing would lead to another, and Gloria would end up as the suckling pig centerpiece at the feast of their attentions. She smiled to herself and her pork belly jiggled just a little as her mind went back to her naughty fantasies.
Francine was happy to finally have the giant bed to herself. She rolled around in the cool sheets happy as a pig in poop. Her brick villa was finally done, and she would most certainly have the safest house of the three. She had a soft spot for both Beulah and Gloria, and they would be welcome to seek refuge in her home once theirs proved to be unsafe. She thought of the three of them together and cozy in the bed again. While their company was always welcome, Francine had a weakness for bad boys, like Wolfe. The very thought of him made her hog jowls flush and her chitlins churn. She put on her thigh-high stockings and her sexiest 12 cup Victoria’s Secret bra and waited as patiently as she could.
Francine was roused from her fantasizing by the squeals of her two friends. She thought that perhaps B.B. Wolfe had already chased them to her, but saw not a trace of him when she flung open the door. Before her stood Gloria and Beulah, their tails still very much intact, but their faces streaked with tears. She ushered her dear friends into the house to find out what was the matter.
Gloria started, “It’s that B.B. Wolfe!” she cried, “I was ready for him. My house of sticks is nearly done, at no small expense, I might add, and there’s no sign of him. I could have stayed in my old place and saved my money”
Beulah cut in, “My straw house was all set too. I waited and waited, but B.B. never showed up. When I spoke with Henny Penny in town, she told me what she had heard.”
“That B.B. is a kinkier rascal than we knew. He got us all worked up and worried about our tails, then he went and shacked up with Little Red, over in the hood.”
Gloria sobbed, “It turns out, B.B. is some kind of transvestite freak who’s into dressing up like Grandma and doing the whole role playing thing!” She wailed in falsetto “Oooh, what big eyes you have! I tell you it’s just sick!”
Francine knew there was no chance B.B. would be stopping by now. She said, “Cmon girls, I’ll make us some slop, we can climb into my bed and watch some cable to get our minds off things. Maybe there’s an old episode of ‘Sex and the Sty’ on.”
The three pigs walked into the brick house and soon forgot their disappointment. They lolled around on the satin sheets and watched the TV as Carnitas, Hamantha and the other characters negotiated the social world of the sty and vied for the attention of a guy named Mr. Pig.
The moral of the story: A wolf in sheep’s clothing may just be into that sort of thing -or- You can’t make a silk thong out of a sow’s ear.