April 8, 2009
Would you French kiss Shane MacGowan, deeply and passionately, for a minimum of a minute per kiss, twice a day – once immediately after he woke up and once just before he
fell asleep passed out – every day, for a year?
Jeepers. It’s hard to know where to start with this one, so I guess I’ll start here, with an inside view of Shane MacGowan’s mouth (pay close attention right around the :30 mark; there’s a close up of it there.). If ever there was someone who does not fear the Cavity Creeps or Yuck Mouth, it is Shane MacGowan, lead singer of the Pogues and the original Pete Doherty. Never a man to turn to for dental advice, MacGowan has pretty much said fuck you to toothpaste and dental floss, opting instead to embrace a life free from the tyranny of daily brushing and regularly scheduled visits to the dentist. The Tic Tacs that once filled his mouth have rotted down to his gums, and those which MacGowan did not erode away with constant boozing have been destroyed in more creative ways: Two were knocked out when he drunkenly fell over a wall while attempting to vomit up booze; a bunch of others fell out in 1996 when, according to longtime girlfriend Victoria Clarke, MacGowan tried to eat a copy of the Beach Boys’ Greatest Hits, Vol. 3 LP while tripping balls on acid. (Congratulations, Vicky! Hold on tight to that one!) I have a pretty good feeling that his mouth first thing in the morning is absolutely rancid, and that in the wee, shitbombed hours before he turns in, it might best be described as putrid. Add in the chronic halitosis caused by non-stop drinking, puking (at a 2002 concert in Dublin, he threw up on audience members in the first row) and tooth decay, and I’m sure it smells like an animal that sleeps in its own dung crawled down his throat and just fucking expired there. Oh – I almost forgot – have you seen If I Should Fall From Grace? The documentary about The Life of MacGowan? You should, if only to see him drool into his beer as he slurs poetry and to watch spit fly from his mouth as he laughs at his own jokes. And you know what all that adds up to? A no on this dare for me. I get nauseous just thinking about that smell, a sickening stench that stays with you all day long, no matter how much you try to brush or gargle it away – and then you have to go back for more at night! No. Thank. You. I’m sorry to be such a wimp but I don’t think I could keep food down. It would be a road straight to a cavernous state of depression for me.
As a bonus, I want to share with you a story a friend told me years ago. He’d gone to see the Pogues (or the Popes…I don’t remember now) and, of course, everyone there was singing along and all that, when MacGowan suddenly left the stage. The band played on for 20 minutes while audience members wondered aloud where he’d gone and if he’d ever come back. When he finally reemerged, Shane MacGowan ran onstage, grabbed the mic, and shouted, “Ahhhh…there’s nothing like a good shite!”
So, again, in conclusion, no. No. No.
March 24, 2009
Would you become a regular at a sex/swingers club? You must participate regularly and enthusiastically!
As you can tell by reading this blog, I have negative associations with many, many things (what can I say – I’m just judgmental like that). Toward the top of this lengthy list are sex clubs and “swinging.” Whenever I happen to think of them (and it’s not often), I envision faded, stained upholstery and the pudgy, leering face of legendarily unattractive pornographer Al Goldstein, who was one of the talking heads on a program I saw a while ago about sexuality in the 70s. Interspersed with his crass commentary (big surprise – he liked to hang out at the buffet table*) was footage of Plato’s Retreat, one of the most famous sex clubs of all time, and everyone (well, every man) was kind of pasty and hirsute. It was just so off-putting. While having a million dollars would be fantastic, I’m not going to have semi-anonymous sex on a regular basis with a bunch of sweaty strangers to earn it. Like it says in the bio, I’m really quite prudish.
* Yes, these places had buffet tables. I don’t consider myself to be overly fussy when it comes to germs and food safety, but really.
Have you ever seen The Lifestyle? If you haven’t, do. For the innocents who have not, a little primer: The Lifestyle is a documentary about real life swingers. Perhaps the message most obviously learned from the film is that, if you are looking for a community of sexy, glistening hardbodies to do it with, swinging is NOT the scene for you. Conversely, if you are looking to take up with a group of aging accountants and engineers with soft, doughy flesh and insatiable sex drives, then by all means, GET YOUR SWING ON. I like to think of it as a Scared Straight for those who might otherwise end up in a sweaty pile of scary.
February 13, 2009
Would you fellate a horse?
This question makes me want to yak. There is something so specifically disgusting about horse penis even in the general vicinity of my mouth that it makes me dry heave even to think about it. First of all – and I’m about to get real specific so, if you’re squeamish, SAVE YOURSELF; TURN BACK NOW – have you ever seen a horse penis? Ugh. They’re literally about 20 inches long. The truth is, the idea that being “hung like a horse” is a desirable thing for a human male is a total load of shit, and the only men who even come close to having horse-sized penises are the grossly deformed. Horses smell like the barnyard animals they are, and I want to point out the most glaring problem: THEY’RE HORSES, FOR SHIT’S SAKE. Plus, one of my clauses for doing dares is that they can’t be a threat to my sanity, and I’m pretty sure that once you drink horse cum for money you go to a dark place from whence you never return.
I think this would be a nice time to remind you about the true story of the man who loved horses. Meaning, loved to do it with them. His name was Kenneth Pinyan and – again, I’m going to get to specifics – one day, as he was getting fucked in the ass by an Arabian stallion that he’d nicknamed “Big Dick,” the horse’s two foot long penis perforated his colon. He didn’t immediately go to the hospital, despite being in an immense amount of pain, because how would he have explained? “Well, my boyfriend is an Arabian stallion and we were getting intimate while another guy videotaped it when all of a sudden he accidentally fucked my colon to shreds.” Anyway, by the time he made it to the ER, it was too late and he died. The case resulted in the passage of a bill in Washington State that makes it a felony to 1) fuck animals or 2) film animal fucking. There was also a documentary about Pinyan called Zoo (!) that did quite well at Sundance. The guy holding the camera, btw, was fined $300 and sentenced to community service. All true!
Is that too brief? How about this: NO. FUCKING. WAY.
January 26, 2009
Would you have unprotected sex with Pete Doherty?
Or Paris Hilton?
First of all, let me say that this question started off with Amy Winehouse in place of Paris Hilton, but then I thought about it and figured, while Amy Winehouse might be a crack stained junkie skeleton in jean shorts cut-offs with the smell of cheese oozing out of her gigantic pores and feet that smell like vomit (she never changes those shoes and you know she doesn’t shower regularly, and even when she does, she’s probably too out of it to take them off which means her feet are like Club Med for foot fungi and mold and I bet her toenails are like, three inches long and you’d have to cut them with hedge trimmers) and hard core, smell-it-from-20-paces-away halitosis (it’s not like she brushes her teeth every day or every week even and when she does get around to it she’s way too fucked up to do anything but a half-assed job) at least she’s talented, and for a hot minute there that beehive/pencil skirt/around-the-way-girl earrings look was working for her. I mean, you might think Amy Winehouse has made some seriously bad decisions but at least she isn’t a useless, racist, dumb-as-fuck party bitch who’s basically famous — literally — just for being a whore in every sense of the word and who — just to jog your memory — takes cell phone calls while doing it doggy style and single handedly lowers the mean IQ of the entire human race. If there is a god, he most certainly does make mistakes and if all the war and famine in the world wasn’t enough to convince you of that sad fact, then the very existence of Paris Hilton should.
At any rate, my answer to all of the above is no. Pete Doherty was at least sexy when he was the disturbed creative genius behind the Libertines but Babyshambles is just boring and I’m just one of those girls who’s turned off by jaundice and shooting up. Go figure.
No. I… Just no.
And for the record, I have to express my bewilderment that Pete Doherty was ever considered a genius of any kind. The Libertines were an okay guitar-pop band that wrote fairly basic la-la moon-June-spoon tunes, and Babyshambles are an embarrassment. People always point out that he won some national youth poetry award when he was 16 as evidence of his creative superpowers, to which I say: Have you ever seen the kind of poems that teenagers write? Being crowned top of that heap is like being the proverbial one-eyed man living it up in the kingdom of the blind.
Clearly, your own problems with crack and god knows what else are affecting 1) your music taste and 2) your blogging. The Libertines’ first album was like, this amazing crossbreed of the Jam and the poppiest elements of the Clash and the Libertines themselves and it was perfectly catchy and rough hewn and car
crash-y in all the right ways, and I loveloveloved it and an awful lot of that was Doherty’s doing. It’s just too bad he’s turned into such a boring caricature of a tragic rock’n’roll cliché. Same for Winehouse. It’s just sad and a great big yawn all at the same time.
January 19, 2009
Would you have sex with Ann Coulter?
What if “she” were a woman?
Ah, there’s so much to love about Ann Coulter…Who could forget her subtle exploration of race and religious identity after 9/11, when she referred to Muslims as “rag-heads” and “jihad monkeys”? Or that shining moment when she called John Edwards a “faggot” on live TV? And who among us didn’t nod in vigorous agreement when she recommended revoking universal suffrage? The fact that she resembles Johny Kerry in a bad wig is the icing on the cake. This woman is the total package, folks. And the way that Adam’s Apple moves up and down like a charmed snake…Actually, there’s a good chance that Ann might have a package. Hey, she said herself that she’s “more of a man” than any liberal. So, for a million, would you care to find out? This is your chance to get down and dirty with centerfold of choice for hairy-palmed fascists everywhere, folks! Although personally speaking, I wouldn’t touch whatever is lurking under that little black dress with Rush Limbaugh’s dick.
For me, the real question is, would I hate fuck Ann Coulter? And I’d have to say, no. No, I would not hate fuck Ann Coulter, not even for a million dollars.
P.S. Mann Coulter. Heh.