Craigslist is like the blue cheese of the internet. It’s a piquant Gorgonzola with a gentle hint of venereal infraction and oh-what-the-hell-it’s-Friday-and-I-ain’t-got-no-baby bi-curiosity. It goes well with anything acidic, like sarcasm, penicillin, and federal racketeering charges.
Craigslist epitomizes the you-can-too spirit of the internet, in that it takes on all comers (literally, figuratively, and esoterically), and sets them loose in the e-wilds of transactive fulfillment. How blue-veined your soul becomes is entirely dependent on the ph of your desperation. (And desperation is equal to or greater than the sum total of your grammatical errors.)
The beauty of Craigslist is in its simplicity; that, like in any blue cheese, the base fromage can be anyone or anything. For instance. Cute, HWP girl looking for a drama-free hepcat with tattoos who match hers? Penicillium camemberti. Stray dog in need of a quick, consequence-free nut? Penicillium roqueforti, all the way, baby.
Nobody gets it right the first time, folks. So please enjoy this practice quiz from your friends at Junkbuzzed. Match up the people seeking on the left with the people sought on the right. Think of it as the tree-cave from The Empire Strikes Back:
Luke: “What’s in there?” Yoda: “Only what you take with you.”
HINT: “Not Choosy” is assumed, not stated. And, uh…try not to lose your head.
Ladies – afraid your new internet beau is not the architect/Jedi/fashion photographer/professional video gamer/law abiding citizen that he claims to be? Fear no more! With the launch of Easy ID, you don’t have to worry anymore – just plug his name into the search field (assuming he gave you his real name), and you’ll know all even before your web-cam speed-date is over! When love meets the Patriot Act, you can never be unsatisfied.
Have you ever wondered how the dominant-submissive relationship model works with mice? Okay, us neither. But in an attempt to explain away why so many human submissives are so prone to depression, anger, and self-loathing, the fine folks at the Ariel University Center of Samaria, Israel, have opened up a veritable Skinner box (not quite as sexy as Pandora’s, but it will have to do) of cross-mating mice. Don’t worry; all the mice have safe words – “cheese!”
From the As If It Couldn’t Get Any More Obnoxious file: now you can do your online date-trolling on your iPhone!
And finally, guys looking for multi-orgasmic, potential-squirter women would do well to look for dummies. Because apparently the smart girls just can’t sex it up. Then again, the study is German.
Hulking mutant John “Bradshaw” Layfield helps enact our latent homosexual ‘let’s-play-fight!’ fantasies each week on WWE television as part of the promenade of glistening HGHed-up queenies in tight vinyl Speedos who pretend to punch each other in the head. But now he wants to help the little guy – he’s hawking his own “sexual enhancement” potion, Mamajuana, which contains neither Cialis nor anabolic steroids. “We’re going after guys who want to take it, not need to take it,” he said. Well put.
And speaking of those guys “who want to take it”, there’s something else they’re going to have to learn to take, if they live in Florida. State legislators are moving to neuter the trucks and trailer hitches of their constituents. In related news, the saying “balls-out” moved quietly back into its cold-storage tackle box as a euphemism. And in developing news, Florida today sunk another inch closer to obsoletism.
Political chair-sniffing: Australian for ewwwwww.
Canadian strippers see jobs outsourced to internet; vow to buy webcams.
And finally, if you’ve recently had a lukewarm orgasm, or didn’t have one at all, look at its label: it probably said Made in China. And if it was an earth-shattering, mind-altering orgasm, well…thank your Mexican friends. Thank you, NAFTA, for last night!
It is a bit of an understatement to suggest that this is not the best time to be an American soldier. You know the story: two wars, both ill-conceived and managed with nary a shred of competence; rampant foreclosures on the homefront, many falling upon the families of the soldiers abroad. And a profound refusal of the Senate to upgrade the articles of the GI Bill, as the military is afraid of treating their soldiers too fairly. Because, you know, happy soldiers might be less inclined to dodge roadside bombs and kill things.
And then there is the coup de grace, the proverbial money shot which the religious right (in the you-can’t-too visage of Donald E. Wildmon) and their senatorial adherents have tossed off across the collective nose of the military’s men and women with greater incivility and eye-stinging fluidity than the hardest of hardcore S&M porn. Specifically in the glory loophole-closing of the Military Honor and Decency Act, which, according to its anal-retentive architect, Rep. Paul E. Broun, would disallow the sale of any materials deemed pornographic or obscene on military installations.
The offending materials? Playboy and Penthouse.
A pork-barreled paucity of decency awaits after the jump. MORE>>
The Baby-Boomers. Those pot-bellied, oft-rehabbed Randy-Pans of AARP, Rogaine, and cataclysmic cholesterol levels are at it again. They soused themselves for 20 years on sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. They awoke from their orgiastic stupor to find they’d sired us. And let us be frank: we are far worse than they could ever hope to be. I wonder which generation is worse off for us.
Anyway. The sex and drugs foreclosed on them years ago, in the ever-ampling of their Dockers and Just Say No PSAs. Then they sold rock n’ roll to Big Advertising so they could pay for their condos and sports cars. (And a quick mid-80s return to that old lover, cocaine.) And now, they’re getting old. They’re gonna die soon. And they’d really, really like to get back into the game, in a replaced-kneed sheep-jump through the inevitable firewall of carnal shock and awe.
And as it always is with the Boomers, the fucking at hand is big fucking business. Case in point: Eons, one of the many in a growing gaggle of Boomer hook-up e-joints. But Eons has something a little more pragmatic in mind: the Longevity Calculator, which ostensibly matches up the increasingly decrepit by guesstimating their number of remaining days on earth.
“Hi, I’m Fred. I’m 61 years young, and according to the Life Estimator Flux Capacitor 2000, I’ve got another three years left to fuck the honeys! I’ve got two tickets for Eddie Money!”
Has love has ever seemed more prosaic, more perfectly pitched?
- If you are a Mountie and put up a personal ad looking for a nice transsexual or transgendered girl to settle down with, then the Royal Canadian Mounted Police would rather you did not include a picture of yourself in full dress reds.
- An enterprising young inventor was indicted for selling a “men’s enhancement” food supplement called Boom. The main ingredients? Chocolate and Viagra.
- They say every man thinks with his penis. Especially when it comes to Craigslist. Now you can find out how smart your penis really is - there’s a new online dating service for the sex-starved intelligentsia. The catch? You have to pass an IQ test in order to join. Who wants to place bets on how quickly it devolves into a bunch of MIT developers emailing their man-junk amongst each other?
- A sort-of update on the link between masturbation and a decrease in a man’s chances of developing prostate cancer. Bottom line? Keep jackin’ it.
- Thirteen alleged sorcerers have been arrested, accused of using that old black magic to, uh…steal or shrink men’s penises. That’s what you get when you steal the number of the guy in front of you.
We don’t think that the suffocation death of a Tennessee man from a bondage scene gone wrong is particularly funny. We read the news a few days ago and felt a bit sad just like news of any senseless death. But, since rope and ball-gags were involved it has become a much bigger story and the media outlets are falling over themselves to play up the salacious angle. Actual
media fuckery headlines related to the story:
Wife Held in Kinky Hubby’s Bondage Death
Woman Offs Husband in Sex Ritual
Wife Accused Of Deadly Sex Crime
Woman Left Her Husband for 20 Hours Bound, Gagged
Of course everyone knows that headlines like this grab readers and viewers. Death and allegations of murder are always sexy but if you add in kinky fetish sex bondage rituals, they can only get sexier. Instead of clucking mournfully, though, take this chance to familiarize yourself with smart play practices. (Pro tip: They don’t include leaving a bound person alone, ever)
Where Chantix, Rimonabant, Taranabant, the sacred rivers, ran
Through pleasure-centers measureless to woman and man
Down to a sexless, melancholic, even suicidal sea.
Probably not quite what Coleridge had in mind. Think of it as a King James rewrite, but with the pharmaceutical pill-mongers as the chief translators.
Which sets things up perfectly. From Yahoo:
“Two years ago, scientists had high hopes for new pills that would help people quit smoking, lose weight and maybe kick other tough addictions like alcohol and cocaine. The pills worked in a novel way, by blocking pleasure centers in the brain that provide the feel-good response from smoking or eating. Now it seems the drugs may block pleasure too well, possibly raising the risk of depression and suicide.”
Step into my nicotine-stained pleasure center after the jump. MORE>>
Breaking news from Gay.com: (I have always wanted to say that.)
Frequent masturbation may help men cut their risk of contracting prostate cancer, Australian researchers have found. It is believed that carcinogens may build up in the prostate if men do not ejaculate regularly, BBC News reported on Wednesday. The researchers surveyed more than 1,000 men who had developed prostate cancer, and 1,250 men who had not. They found that men who had ejaculated the most between the ages of 20 and 50 were the least likely to get cancer. Men who ejaculated more than five times each week were a third less likely to develop prostate cancer.
Ah…I feel better already. And I’m no longer panged with guilt over all my one-handed conversations with Ellie. But what would Carl Monday say?