Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Guns Is All About Sex

Hello Men, the Big Gun March is still a couple of weeks away, and it will be a game changer, but the discussion won't be enlightened much, and such is because we Amurricans keep dancing around the real issue: the NRA and its gazillions of guns is All About Sex.  Take away the guns from these girleens and you've basically cut their balls off.  And their diminishing weenies are all these menopausal toads have got goin' for themselves.  The March is only one part of these Changing Times we're living through (very exciting, actually, if you're on the right side of the fence), namely, the eclipse of White Male Entitlement.

A new truck used to be enough for 'em; but then trucks got girly, with little mirrors to check your make-up before you swaggered into the bar in the middle of nowhere redstate land.  Now it's a gun, and they gotta have not just one, but a whole garage full of guns...each time they look downwards and take note of how much Peter has shrunk, they gotta go out and buy another gun.  The first gun used to be a sort of rite of passage.  The rite of passage is a familiar theme in American teen literature.  It could have been illustrated by a horse, or a football, or a surfboard.  Boy grows up.  Boy Gets His First Gun.  And then another, and maybe yet another.  Some of these White Men are out of control. 

Full disclosure: I used to be a junior member of the NRA, albeit years ago.  But as we fired our .22's (single bolt action, dating myself, yipes!), we juniors knew it was all about gun safety and respect for the weapon.  That shit was hammered into us, and I learned it for a lifetime: treat every gun as if it were loaded, don't point it at anybody, etc.  It all sounds quaint now, because today Guns Is All About Sex, and while usually still more expensive than a hooker, but not necessarily.

There was a time when the NRA looked for the butchest, most self-assured type to serve as Spokesman for Guns.  Charlton Heston played it fairly well, if sometimes going over the top...'my cold dead hands'...pretty good Chuck, not bad for a dude who Gore Vidal alluded was too dumb to be gay.  But that was the gig, and I think a professional one, as Mr. Heston used to be a fairly liberal activist and Democrat, before the Guns.  At present, the NRA leadership looks so squirrelly as to make one wonder if the endowment matches to the proto-rodent exterior. 

Mark my words: the Gun Battle will intensify, and get butt-ugly, but in the long term, the right girls will win this battle. They've got no dick no lose.

Tuesday, February 6, 2018

Trumpkin Commie Stooges for a New Century

It used to be 'commie pinko fag.'  Which was worse?  To be a commie, Communist...as in Lenin, Stalin, Putin, for you youngins, or a 'fag?'  Well, it was a match, the terms went hand in hand, the worst!  A commie AND a fag...the lowest form of humanity.

There were (and are, apparently, according to current news accounts)...spies...or...commie 'sympathizers,' or stooges, what was called, back in the day, a commie tool.  Liberals could be dismissed as 'parlor pink' or 'wearing red pajamas.'  That would have been your Aunt Ida, and she was a Democrat of  course.

In the Bush era, the spies or commie tools were usually in financial distress...debts, outstanding monetary obligations were seen as the motives for spilling military and political secrets.  These guys were usually well-educated and did their damage from the inside.  A military profile was often the norm.  A woman was often involved.  No gays in this mess, however.  This environment seems to be absent in the current unfolding of events.  Today's stooges don't seem to have traveled this path, but the jury is still out.

Anyway, the media of an earlier time would not have pursued any gay angle even if there had been one, I think.  In the 1950's Alger Hiss case (leveraged to the max by primo Commie hater Richard Nixon), it was much later that a possible gay issue was revealed.  The obese, disheveled, schlumpy 'reformed' gaylena Whittaker Chambers went after Hiss after only after Chambers' alleged gay moves were rejected.  In retrospect, the Hiss case, could have been the ideal setting for 'commie pinko fags.'
But such was not to be.

British intelligence was thick with educated, posh gays passing secrets to Stalinist Russia during the 1950's, and there was a gay mafia within, some of whom ended up in Russia and part of the terms offered involved the Russians providing Soviet boyfriends.  Sounds pretty faggy.  The subject requires more study on my part, but 'commie pinko fag' certainly seems to be part of the mix here, a form of British social and sexual disaffection, homosexuality at its heart.

Today's stooges may be motivated by greed, but the narrative is still being played out.  Real estate deals seem to be the bottom line with unsavory Russians anxious to convert their useless rubles into American dollars through real estate investments.  And there are stooges willing to help them, for whatever reason, we will see.  But we do have Russian commies in the White House Oval Office.  We do see GOP and Russian chumminess that must be rockin' old Richard Nixon in his Republican grave.  We have yet to understand the level of commie and stooge cooperation in the technological tinkering with the American electoral process.  Commie, yeah.  Pinko, oh yeah.  Fag, still missing...but this trail has far to go.

Monday, December 11, 2017

Roy Moore Didn't Help with Girls' Homework

Try for a moment to imagine yourself as a bible-thumping, God fearing Kristian gentleman in your early 30's in the morass that is Alabama.  And being a firm believer in Scripture,...you are...still (!) chaste.  A virgin, and possibly intimidated by real women.  I don't recall Scripture devoting much space to the virtue of chastity,...yet Kristians seem to put a high value on chastity, although in reality, chastity won't get one very far. 

And knowing your Bible inside and out, you know that Moses had 2 wives, and Solomon had 3, and David...well, David had 8.  Some barely more than children.  Well, that would be enough for any clean, pure, white Kristian virgin man.  Hell, let's hit the mall.  Fresh young girls.  No tainted hellfire belles for this guy.  Young girls...inexperienced...incapable of criticizing his clumsy, hicky moves...too young to protest those uncool hands, and easily shamed.  It all makes sense to me, and I'll leave it there.  Perhaps it will become clearer after this election tomorrow.

The most obvious comparison that comes to mind is the monumental Lewis Carroll who penned some of the finest words in the English language.  Lewis Carroll had a similar interest in little girls.  Google is burgeoning with images of Lewis Carroll together with his little girlfriends in sausage curls and flouncy Victorian party dresses.  He loved to sketch them in the nude, and wrote poems and stories for them, including one notably named Alice.  The comparison fails, though, on a couple of scores: first, Lewis Carroll seemed to lose interest in his girls as soon as they reached puberty, which is when Roy Moore seems to have demonstrated his interest... in the women who have come forward in our current controversy.  Second, Lewis Carroll was a genius...not just a witty, trenchant writer, but also a mathematician, photographer and clergyman.  Roy Moore, not so much.  The Kristian believes rather than thinks.  Roy Moore can't seem to think of what to do.  He went into hiding for several days after the women's disclosures were made.  A plausible excuse for Roy Moore's creepy pursuit of vulnerable, impressionable young girls, sees to have eluded him.  As for the girls now women: their homework's done.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

PozCum Fetish

The Folsom Street Fair is the daddy of all fairs, and I gave this year's a pass.  I don't have a lemon-sucking smirk as I write this; I love Folsom!  Kristians who approach life from the perspective of defending themselves from a so-called 'gay agenda,' are correct in their collective outrage.  Folsom is the greatest of marketing tools for anything gay, even though, as anybody who's attended understands, Folsom in itself is not really gay.  It's inclusive of a wide...wide...range of fetishes, as adherents come out from the woodwork (as they say) and let their hair down...wow, I'm just spewing all these cliche's, but Folsom always flirts with becoming a big cliche to the most discriminating of us.  One of my favorite cartoons is one published by Playboy Magazine decades ago but could describe Folsom today: a leatherclad woman with whip in hand, gazes into the mirror, saying 'Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, who's the kinkiest little housewife in Hutchinson, Kansas?'  That's what Folsom is becoming, and I'm all for it.

But for all the fetishes celebrated, at least one remains unacknowledged: poz cum.  Well, there are other opportunities to celebrate the donation and reception of that nasty, poisonous man juice, and fortunately, the big bad world gets less and less like Hutchinson, Kansas, by the day.  So let me celebrate Folsom for what it is: the freedom to be what you are and maybe for what you want to become,...in your way and in your own time.  Kristians, be outraged.  Hutchinson, Kansas is not all what it seems to you.

Sunday, September 17, 2017

Kenny's Raw Fucks Marks a New Age: A Review

Well, it had to happen.  It probably happened a while back, but with Kenny Host's debut video for Treasure Island Media, I chose to notice...and it will probably change the way I see porn and buy porn in the future.  The star is Negative and on Prep...as they say.  The star is fetish specialist Nate Grimes, and he's superbly versatile: he can fuck like a stallion and he can take it like a real pig whore, yeah, the cum just flows out of his well-drilled manpussy.  He's still a bit too clean-cut for my taste, but as I see more of him, I expect this opinion to change.  I need time to create my own fantasy situation for Nate, that's how porn works for me, it inspires...and good sex gets better.  I really do believe in stars, and well, it is a relationship...they get it started and my dirty little mind takes it from there.  It is visual and it is mental, this relationship and gets dollars out of my pocket and into the pockets of pornographers and that's how this business should work.  Once in the WeHo bookstore, Circus of Books, where I had gone to see if I could scare up a copy of Kenboy's so-called conversion party (Hot Desert Knights, c. 2000), I happened upon a dvd with a full-frontal erect Marco Cruise on the cover.  I had already worked up my own fantasy profile for Marco: blue collar Latino daddy etc., and I forgot all about Kenboy, and bought the video.  It turned out to be a not-very-good effort from a second tier studio...not Marco's fault but, since I already knew him, I wanted him to be shot a certain way and he wasn't.  But they got my money, just the same.  I've even forgotten the name of that dvd.

Basically, Neg on Prep is truly unsexy.  It's safe and it works, and that changes things for those of us, (poisoned in childhood by clueless nuns and priests and old maid aunts & uncles), who get off on sex being filthy, risky, reckless and taboo.  A cynic might feel that with negative porn stars, every bareback experience is potentially a conversion.  I don't even think that way, but it does change the fantasy route where pornography is supposed to take me.  Last year while grazing on Barebackrt, I saw a bull run (as opposed to a cattle call) in the party listings, for tops to fuck Dolf Dietrich.  Every one of the bitches responding identified as being 'neg + prep.'  This for a sleazy Manhattan bar scene.  Yeah, it's changed.

Meanwhile, Nate Grimes can become a superstar if he wants, and I hope he wants; he's great.  And as for Brian Bonds, Timarrie Baker, and Justin Case...they all make the grade and I'll be watching their careers and I'll be buying their shit.  And it was great to see machotop Steven Richards sit on a raw cock...that alone is worth the price of this video.  Kenny Host covers some new territory with his first effort.  One thing about Treasure Island Media that is not mentioned often enough, is value.  There are a dozen episodes in this video, all cum-laden, and with absolutely no reason for fast forwarding.  Manly men, rivers of cum.  Kenny Host's Raw Fucks!  Buy it off the TIM website, as I had to...just about every porn outlet has stopped selling collateral.  Circus of Books, both Silver Lake and WeHo have closed!! Another posting, some other time, for now, buy this video, pozfanatics.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Bareback Videos: A Full Circle

Yeah, so I was stoked at the prospect of hitting my local porno shop, gettin' my hands on Treasure Island Media's latest, 'Kenny's Raw Fucks' and making a night of it: porn in my pocket, hittin' my fave spots in the Castro for a couple of cocktails, get home, relax and absorb what promises to be some good old fashioned raunchy sex on video, free from interruptions and friendly intrusions.  Just me, Stoli and Kenny Host.  On such occasions, sex can wait.  That's why I buy this stuff, rather than subscribe to a streaming website: I want and need the collateral evidence of filth.

Except that my local shop has reduced its inventory to just a single rack of boring programmed porn from people like Titan.  It possibly makes business sense: for all the shelf space devoted to porn, the yield probably doesn't measure up.  I checked around the other shops, even the local smut emporium in my mother's dusty Central Valley cowtown (where the porn palace now resembles a Walgreens), and it's the same story: you won't be able to buy Kenny Host's epic off the shelf.  So it's back to the mail order game.  Mail order...it went downhill after shopping malls came to predominate the retail scene...and now it's back.  Amazon, Zappos, etc. show no sign of retrenchment.

Today I will order 'Kenny's Raw Fucks' online and wait patiently for the postman to deliver.  I'm especially interested in this video: it has some old faves, Jon Shields, my buddy Jayson Park (!!), Brian Bonds, pozdicks galore, and Nate Grimes, who may or may not be the fetish star from the old Kink Studios.  The 'new Dawson' TIM says.  We'll see.  I'm sorry we'll have to wait this time, like in the old days.  F..u..c..k!

The bareback porn era started almost 20 years ago, in the midst of AIDS, safe sex, and fear, if not hesitation to the point of tedium.  I rented a fisting video called 'Depth Charge' and my life changed: it showed bare knuckled fisting.  There was a sequel, as I recall, and some raw dick insertions were included.  Fleetingly.  Michael McKey, the videographer for Steven Scarborough (the director, if I'm not mistaken), went out on his own and produced a couple of outright filthy, raunchy videos starring a mostly bearish cast selected from his clutch of Phoenix buddies.  It was about 1998, 1999.

Then I read a review of 'Raunch Lunch,' I think that was the title, or something close to that by a guy named Paul Morris.  The review was in one of the so-called 'zines of the era, hastily copied and stapled, available off a shelf deep in the rear of the City Lights bookstore on Castro Street.  I bought it, via good old fashioned 19th century mail order.  It starred my favorite nom-de-porn...Wyatt Trash (!), and though it would be another couple of years before I put my ass on the mattress, I was already mentally a barebacker.  There was nothing I wanted more than Wyatt Trash's daddy dick up my butt.
'Raunch Lunch' proved to be tame compared to Paul's sequel, 'Breed Me,' which featured a headless bottom coaxing multiple loads out of his ass, as bells tolled.  This blew me away, and I did the mail order thing until TIM started marketing its product on pornshop shelves.  It must have been a Tom Shannon video, slightly pre-Dawson, because Dawson was never VHS, as I recall, and Tom Shannon was in 'Animals,' 'Plowed,' etc....we were trending, overlapping VHS to dvd.  It was about 2000.  The fact you could buy the stuff over the counter turned out to be pretty meaningful, in retrospect.

So now we're there again.  Except in the old days, Paul actually included a stamped (a real stamp pasted with somebody's saliva) return envelope for your mail order check.  Think about that for a moment.  And where TIM is today.

So, I'm so looking forward to Kenny's renditions of raw fucks.  The vodka's waiting.

Monday, August 7, 2017

Folsom 2017, Up Your Alley, San Francisco Gay Pride

I missed the SF Gay Pride Parade this year, and don't care.  I gave Up Your Alley a pass, and don't care.  I haven't written off Folsom, however, probably because, unlike Pride, it doesn't try all that hard at being inclusive.  Folsom remains a festishist event, and a chance to meet kindred spirits, old friends and make new ones.  But we'll see; a lot depends on who's appearing on the entertainment program.  In years past, I've enjoyed Varla Jean Merman singing for real, an outrageously awful but still fabulous Dirty Sanchez, Heklina's ass eating antics and Kimo's hilarious '20 Years of Madonna in 20 Minutes'.  Uhm, that would be 30 Years now, but that's what it takes, I guess.  I checked the website and couldn't find the schedule.

As for Gay Pride and any related excitement, the Parade has become the victim of its own success: this is not really bad, but it is different and it shows how far we've come from drag queens lounging in limousines and go go boys (porn stars, barbacks) doing their thing on flatbed trucks.  Now we have 500 Yahoo types marching followed by 500 guys from Google and 500 more guys from Salesforce, going on and on; last year the Parade went on for about four hours and I'm assuming the same for this year's.  Lost, among all of this, are a dozen (or so, one does lose interest) so-called grand marshals, their impact enfeebled by the magnitude of the event.  When I was a youngin, my next door neighbor enlisted my attendance at a local parade where John Wayne was to be the grand marshal, and he was!
He sat on the back of a Cadillac (a big car, anyway) convertible and shook the hands of all the parade goers who approached the car while the marchers fumbled on.  He was gracious and fulfilled what a grand marshal should be: the exclamation point to a parade's relevance.    At the San Francisco event, I've observed Cyndi Lauper and Chaz Bono, among others, living out their grand marshal-ness, squeezed into tiny sportscars idling down Market Street and having no impact whatsoever.  A grand marshal, like the beauty queen or Santa Claus, should come at the end of the parade and preferably on a big float: this is IT folks, this is the end of the Gay Pride Parade,a big deal.  I'd like to be able to say, 'Remember, that was the year, it was Chaz Bono!"