Spanish Bombs: Granada just named a plaza after the Clash’s Joe Strummer
p.s. awesome “SEX” graffiti in the background
Spanish Bombs: Granada just named a plaza after the Clash’s Joe Strummer
p.s. awesome “SEX” graffiti in the background
Please Start Banning Books Again
It’s been a while since anything besides people and their weapons seemed dangerous in America. There’s a lot of attention—and a great deal of money—spent on determining where the next physical threat is, and how that threat is going to kill us, but when it comes to protecting our minds from dirty things our stance is about as liberal as it gets. Profanity, outside of mildly offending someone’s taste, seems nearly impossible. Compared to places where you can be killed for speaking out or using sacrilegious images, this freedom is a good thing, right?
I’m not so sure.
I kind of miss the idea of cultural lines that one can’t step over. One of my most memorable high school experiences was getting a permission slip signed by my parents so I could listen to an audiotape of Allen Ginsberg reading “America.” Our teacher warned us it included vulgar language and homosexuality and drugs. Something about having to break a permissive barrier to gain access to that material grabbed my teenage attention more than any of the other stuff we were made to read that year—much of which I’ve long forgotten even the most basic elements of.
But “America” stands out in my mind. And not even because I think it’s a particularly great poem, but because in some way I felt being allowed to hear it was a privilege. Before then, my reading had been waning. I was a voracious book-face child until somewhere during middle or high school, when I became terribly bored with what I was assigned. But even my 16-year-old brain could tell there was something much more volatile under the surface of “America.” From there I set off on my own, first to Burroughs and Henry Miller, and eventually to Joyce, McCarthy, etc. It took a sort of brain bomb to get me going, but once I’d started I couldn’t stop.
Looking over a list of the banned and challenged books in US history, it’s impossible to argue that some of our most important works weren’t at one point considered wrong:
Moby Dick - Banned from English classes in Texas in 1851 because it “conflicted with community values.” Plus, think of how many kids in school must be making dick jokes every time it’s taught.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Called “trash and suitable only for the slums.” Not to mention depicted race in a way that many people today wish they could forget.
How Awful Are Those Free Porno Games on the Internet?
Most of the internet is devoted to games and porn, but the overlap between the two categories—video games that let the player pretend to fuck fictional characters—are often ignored, because ew. But it should come as absolutely no surprise that there are a lot of weird entertainments floating around for those who love gaming and jerkin’ it and are too impatient to do those activities separately.
A lot of these games are very lousy, and I should know—in a never-ending quest to reach the bottom of the internet, I’ve come across several of these depressing artifacts. I want to share my discoveries with the world so you too know that these things are out there. This is by no means a complete consumer’s guide, but I doubt you’d want to read that, anyway.
The VDateGames website hosts 23 different games featuring 26 different digital girls, all the work of one dude with too much time on his hands who calls himself Chaotic. He’s spent countless hours creating strange, sweaty point-and-click adventures—sometimes he makes people pay money for them, sometimes he releases them for free out of the goodness of his heart. His dedication is sort of admirable, in a way.
In the course of the average game on the site, a plasticky, laughably endowed 3D model arrives at your apartment door for a date, and then you navigate around a slideshow of urban imagery, taking your “girl” to a casino, a park, and even a strip club if you’re feeling particularly risqué. (It should be said that all of these locations are ripped directly out of Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Grand Theft Auto IV, and Hitman: Blood Money. I recognized them right away, and yes, I know what that says about me.) If you play your cards right, you can get your internet dick wet in a number of obvious sexy-fantasy conclusions. Threesomes! Public blowjobs! You can fuck an alien in one of them!
Problem is, these games are fucking impossible. To earn your gross sex scene you have to get a very precise set of circumstances to line up on your date. You’d have to be a legit psychopath to go through all the permutations and figure it out. Luckily (?) there is a legion of legit psychopaths on the internet who can provide detailed walkthroughs for every cum-soaked ending there is. But without those walkthroughs, you’ll probably spend a lot of your time on VDateGames getting frustrated instead of laid—just like real life. It’s seriously a byzantine process: “If you want to get her naked in the hotel room, you need to have had three drinks, win roulette at the casino, and purchase the camera at the store. What’s that? You bought the candles instead of the camera? Tough shit, horndog!”
I’ll admit that a lot of these models are remarkably well constructed, for what is essentially one man’s project that was likely cooked up in some creepy basement. But does this turn you on? Warning, don’t click on this; it is a GIF of computer-generated sex.
No, it doesn’t, because the VDateGames chicks are MAD DEEP in the uncanny valley. Unless you’re turned on by cyber-human nymphs who crave polygonal cock, these are probably not the games you’re looking for.
Animal Penises Are Super Weird
One of the great things about nature is that everything in it—dogs, flowers, snakes, whales, ants, jellyfish, crabs, toucans, everything—is either eating or trying to fuck at all times. Of the uncountable billions of organisms populating our planet, millions and millions of them are getting it on at this very second. P’s are going into V’s, eggs are being fertilized, the circle of life continues.
You probably didn’t learn very much about the sex lives of animals in school because your poor science teachers had enough to worry about without saying the words “elephant cock” in front of a room of teenagers. But animal sex and the evolved features of animal sex organs are often wonderful things, and there’s no reason that today’s young people shouldn’t learn about the tiny—and sometimes startlingly large—wonders that are animal penises.
So we got some of our contributors together and wrote about animal dicks. If you are excited to learn more about animal sex, we encourage you to watch Isabella Rossellini’s Green Porno series. Or just go to the park and see if you can catch squirrels fucking.
Photo via Flickr user jimg944
Did you emerge from the head of your father’s dick as a fully formed baby? Congratulations, you’re probably a sea horse. Sea-horse females impregnate males during one-night stands and leave them to foster their young without so much as paying child support, like a Beyoncé song in reverse.
Courtship begins when the female and male start scraping their tails along the sea floor. (Hot!) The male has his head tucked into his chest the entire time because he’s a little pussy bitch. The female circles around him, forcing him to pay attention to her colors. Then she grabs him with her tail and penetrates him. (Yesssss…) They swim face to face, locked together, as she excretes up to 600 eggs into his brood pouch. Then she fucks off forever.
After just a few weeks, the male undergoes contractions and finally blasts a bunch of miniature sea horses out of his little sea-horse dick.
How to Fake an Orgasm (A Guide for Dudes)
It’s ridiculous for a guy to even try to fake an orgasm. I mean, there’s hard fucking evidence of a dude’s climax, making it mind-numbingly obvious when he doesn’t. I’ve caught one man attempting to fake an orgasm in my life, and it was probably the darkest sexual experiences I’ve ever had. He was a guy who struggled to become and stay aroused, and I think in an attempt to impress me or assert his virility or something, he pretended to cum during a love-making session after weeks of us having unfruitful sex. I was suspicious from the outset, given his dick wasn’t all the way hard, and he was so dramatic with the noise making. It felt forced.
Because I am a psychopath who likes crime shows, I foraged through the trash looking for the used condom after he fell asleep. And once I found in the darkness, I stuck my finger inside to see if it contained the requisite man juices. Nada. Although I did feel pretty chuffed imagining myself as the foxy, not-afraid-to-get-her-hands-dirty star of my own sexy cop drama, SSI: Sex Scene Investigation. Sexy case closed!
I guess dudes probably fake orgasms for different reasons than women—women often fake orgasms to reward the man pummeling them, or to end unsatisfactory sex. I think maybe men fake orgasms in order to prove something to themselves and to the woman they’re doing it to. I guess there’s a whole other examination about how the fake orgasm shows the expected passivity of women and the activity of men (or to quote critic John Berger, the way “men act and women appear”) in society, but you came here today for the practical not the psychoanalytic. So if you are a whiskey-dicked conqurer or just a dude who has a hard time bringing it home, here are some tips about faking the big-O.
Wear A Condom
I know what you’re saying, “This shit happened on Friends. Monica totally thought Chandler made a baby insider her, but then he was like ‘Nah, I was faking it.’” But I am here to tell you, as a non-PG sitcom character, that Monica is an idiot. Even a day after protectionless intercourse, cum drips out of a vagina hole. No woman will believe you shot your load inside of her without physical evidence of that load. It’s just too easy to detect. In fact, if there’s a whole bunch of it, you can push it out in disgusting little globs if you strain a little bit opening a jar or taking a poop. So it’s going to be a big giveaway if you claim you’ve cum in a girl and there’s absolutely no wheatpaste snaking down her leg or raining in droplets when she finally stands up.
Don’t Over Dramatize
Traditionally, or at least in my experience, men are not very good at lying. Likewise, male perception is often a little bit skewed by their man brains, so what they think they’re doing is not actually what they’re doing at all. Case in point was my own experience with a guy who’d never let out so much as a barely audible gasp during sex, started yelling in my face while shamming a climax. Don’t do anything over the top, unless that’s your regular style. Girls are basically sitting around just looking for reasons to get pissed off at you or catch you out about something or anything, really, so don’t make it any easier for them than it already is.
Porn Star Karaoke Is a Thing (And It’s Awesome)
I grew up where all the porn is made. Not all of it, but most. I knew that growing up, then I left and found out other people knew it, too.
“The Valley. That’s where all the porn is.”
“Yeah,” I’d say, taking an apologetic sip of beer, shame, whatever.
Not that I was ashamed of the place, or that one should be ashamed of such an association. On the contrary—I was ashamed because I had absolutely nothing to show for my pornographic origins. I had no stories to corroborate the Boogie Nights fantasy of the Valley as the campus town for the co-ed fraternity Sigma Phi Big Porn. Growing up here, porn was just as distant to me as it was to anyone else—through a laptop with my mouse hovering over the X. And I was fine with that. You want to be fine with things like that.
But you also want places to deliver. You go to New York, you want a stranger to tell you to go fuck yourself. You go to London, you want a stranger to tell you to go fuck yourself while it’s raining. You go to the Valley, you want to see someone you’ve watched fucking. And so, finding myself here as an adult, I decided to do just that, in a minimall in Burbank, at Sardo’s Bar and Grill, the home of Porn Star Karaoke.
Watching Your Baseball Team Get Blown Out Is Like Anal Sex
As I watched the Cleveland Indians’ wholesale slaughter of the Houston Astros last week (the final score was 19-6), an odd feeling crept over me. It was horrible to watch a baseball team get absolutely creamed like that, but it was also oddly familiar, and not just because the Astros are terrible. The mixture of pleasure and pain that unfolded over nine innings—it started out scary, but ended up being kind of fun—was pretty much like anal sex. Actually, baseball blowouts—be they the 1897 Chicago Colts’ 36-7 record-setting victory over Louisville, the 30-3 destruction of the Baltimore Orioles by the 2007 Texas Rangers, this season’s 15-0 shellacking of the Nationals by the Reds—are exactly like anal sex. Here’s an inning-by-inning recap:
THE FIRST INNING: BACKDOOR PRESSURE
The initial runs that appear on the scoreboard serve as a quiet harbinger of what’s to come, much like the none-too-subtle pressure of a wiener knocking on your tightly clenched rosebud. This game won’t really be so bad, you tell yourself. Then another walk, wild pitch, ground-rule double, and you surreptitiously clasp your cheeks in expectation. But I never do anal!
THE SECOND INNING: PENETRATION
Much like the moment when your lover spits on your asshole, the appearance of an additional three or four runs in the second officially heralds that anal is occurring, and then—yup, that’s a dick in your asshole. Any hope of a comeback is shattered, and no amount of praying for run support will make that sweet pucker of yours any less penetrated. The flesh of your loins quivers, bases loaded, no outs.
How to Fake It (for Girls)
I rarely fake orgasms because I don’t believe someone who is fucking you poorly deserves that kind of payoff. More importantly, faking an orgasm is the biggest dick move you can pull on another girl. A faked orgasm during shit sex only serves to perpetuate a guy’s misconception that he has “moves” when he doesn’t, which he’ll likely use on the next girl unlucky enough to fall into his bed. By faking an orgasm, you’re inflicting a disservice to sisters everywhere.
That said, there are occasions when it is essential to fake an orgasm like when a) love or intense “like” is involved (ew); or b) the guy is doing a seriously good job, and it’s your purely non-physical disposition that’s in the way of coital finality.
I should point out—because even grown men don’t yet seem to grasp this concept yet—the path to orgasm relies as much on mentality as it does on physical acts. So you can fuck all the right buttons, and hover just near or around climax for a bit, but unless your mind is completely present, it’s not going to happen. That doesn’t mean the sex isn’t lovely. It just means it’s been a long ass day and everything is distracting right now.
Here’s how to fake an orgasm when the penis in your vagina deserves it most, but you have that instinctive feeling that it’s just not going to happen tonight (or this morning, or this afternoon, or whenever you happen to be fucking)…
Baby, Arch Your Back
OK I got this one out of a Miguel song, but if you’re going to fake an orgasm you may as well make it as cinematic as possible. When you’re having a real orgasm you are so removed from the moment in your ecstasy that you might not concentrate on the inherent sexiness of your movements. Use this opportunity to inhabit those moves. Writhe around, push your hips up (or down if you’re on top), and be all lithe and serpentine, the way movies would have you believe people look during sex. BONUS: The dude fucking you will be so enraptured by your alluring posturing that he probably won’t even notice you’re faking. He’ll think he’s hit the jackpot, which he has, duh.
Lips are another part of your body that you can luxuriate in your deception. You’ve probably never seen your face mid-climax, but I’d bet good money it looks similar to the face you pull when you’re struggling to lift weights at the gym. Pout your lips, half close your eyes in that hooded, seductive bedroom way, and grab your own hair like a stripper mid-dance (where it would usually be matting into dreadlocks at the back by this point, flick it about like there’s a fan in front of you instead, but not too much, because you don’t want to look like you’re having a fit).
Trash-Mouth Cinema Is Alive and Well in a Brazilian Prison
On February 25, 2013, federal police in Caxias do Sul, Brazil, arrested the director Sady Baby and his girlfriend, Patricia, at a routine traffic stop. Sady had been missing since 2008 when police accused him of hiring a minor, who was supposedly his daughter, to play a role in his latest movie, The Director’s Daughter.His arrest was a shock to many, not only because he had been missing for so long, but because there were rumors going around that he had committed suicide by throwing himself from a Uruguay River bridge.
Sady Baby is the stage name of Sady Plauth, the infamous actor and filmmaker who blew up during the decadent boca do lixo [“trash-mouth”] era of Brazilian cinema. The numerous low-budget productions from that time were almost entirely devoted to explicit sex, and Sady was at the forefront. In a twisted way, he represented an expression of Brazil’s deepest feelings. The best way I can describe the mantra of this movement is with a line from one of Sady’s films, Orgy Bus: “Working is for morons. If this country is fucked, then let’s fuck.” His work often pushed the boundaries of sexuality, exploring taboos and controversial subjects like zoophilia, rape, and necrophilia.
When I was around seven, I used to go to Balneario Camboriu in Santa Catarina for summer vacations with my family. Every day, at the edge of the beach, a guy with curly blond hair, a Viking hat, and a G-string thong would get on a megaphone and announce the beginning of an erotic play called Soltando a Franga, which, loosely translated, means “Release the Inhibitions.” Years later I realized that the strange man hosting sexy public theater on the beach was Sady Baby himself.
I wanted to speak to the father of Brazilian smut, so I visited Sady at the Caxias do Sul penitentiary.
Luana Scarlet holds a snake that will be shoved into one of the actors during Sexual Feelings of a Horse.
VICE: The majority of your work was done decades ago, but many of the themes remain taboo today. What’s the creative process surrounding work controversial enough to offend generations of people?
Sady Baby: I watched a lot of movies and always felt like something was missing. I noticed that everyone has a perversion, a fantasy, but they’re ashamed to expose it or talk about it. I started to put that in my work, and it went well. At the time people would stop me in the streets. Some would compliment me and others criticized me, but there has always been an audience for that, you know?
Did you know that you are something of a cult figure in pornography?
I had no idea.
Yes. A journalist in Sao Paulo is writing a book about my career. It will be released next year, but I never cared for any of that. I’m a simple guy. I’ve always respected people. One of the most important things to me is when someone stops me on the street and says, “Hey, I really like your work.”
I read somewhere that Gio Mendes is writing your biography and the title is Every Pussy Has a Price. Is that right?
Yeah, that’s right. But I don’t go anywhere with a title like that.
Sady doing sexy stuff with Marcia Scarpette near a waterfall in the city of Guararema.