Monday, 27 of March of 2017

Category » BAD TOUCH

The Men Of Southern Gents (A Sampling)

Have you ever considered a career in soft core pornography? Do you have flabby, pimple marked butt cheeks that haven’t seen the sunlight since 1971? Do you consider yourself to be a Southern gentleman? Or, at the very least, a big ol’ tub of fun lovin’ good times? Well, you just might have what it takes to become a model on Southern Gents! I think you might want to check out the competition first, though. There’s some winners on Southern Gents, so if you think you have what it takes to be a Southern Gents model, you better bring your A game!

JUST THE FACTS ABOUT THE MAN BEHIND THE SHACK

WHO:  Storm

LIVES:  Sin City

BORN:  October 1968

DRINKS:  Jack Daniels straight & ice cold Silver Bullets

EATS:  Fur pies, pink tacos, and shaved clams

PHONE:  Join The Shack Of Sin for this one!

FOOTBALL:  Diehard member of Patriot Nation

KICKBALL:  I have my own damn kickball team “wanna kick some balls with me?”

MUSIC:  Hell yeah…in fact, CRANK IT UP!

QUOTE:  Rock On

 

Here’s a sample of what Storm is brining to the table:

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A Little Bit About Beau Jingles….

The Basics

Birthday – February 7, 1972
Sign – Aquarius
Marital status – I have fiance and we are swingers.We love to share!
Height – 6’0″
Waist size – 38
Shoes size – 11
Eye color – Hazel
Hair color – Light Brown
Job – Computer Geek and Amateur Photographer
A few of my favorite things.

Colour – Dark Green, Blue, Earthtones

Drink – Guinness, New Castle Brown and White Russians

Shot – Cabo Wabo Tequila

Food – Steak

Music – Rock and Roll, Hard, Soft anyway I can get it…

Cologne – To be honest I don’t like cologne, on occasion I will use some Aqua Velva aftershave, love the burn.

Dessert – German Chocolate Cheesecake.

The sexy and more important things.

Sexual orientation – Straight, but not phobic…can’t be when your cock happens to be in a mouth of a hot slut at the same time some other guys cock is in there too…:P

Body Hair – I keep myself shaved and trimmed in the right areas, and like to make sure all my hair is kept groomed and looking nice.

Turn-ons – a nice smile, great eyes, and a great ass…

Turn offs – conceitedness and lack of intelligence

Vacation spot – anywhere there’s naked people having fun

Measurements – Join my members side to find out!

Favorite position – depends on my mood but I am partial to Doggie, and cowgirl

Ambitions – to open my own business doing something I love

Weaknesses – damsels in distress, I like being their knight in shining armor…

 

Here’s a taste of Mr. Beau Jingles…Mr. Beau Jingles….Mr. Beau Jingles, dance:

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Age: 51
Marital status: Very happily married to Abbie
Height: 5’8″
Weight: 155
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Salt ‘n Pepper
Favorite Drink: Iced Tea
Favorite Food: Whatever Abbie’s in the mood for!
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Hobbies: My beautiful wife, Abbie, being the Southern Voyeur, and of course, SEX!
Favorite Sexual Position: Whatever pleases my partner!
Weaknesses: A woman with sexuality as well as beauty

Peek a boo, I see you! Now you are the voyeur by looking at Southern Voyeurs pictures! Irony complete!

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Stay tuned for more choice selections from Southern Gents!

 

 

 

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Jugga-DOA

What’s funnier than a dead baby?

A dead baby in a clown costume!

Isn’t she as cute a button?

Let me introduce you to Annabelle Lotus, daughter of “Juggalo Julz,” an “OLD SCHOOL NINJA..BORN AND RAISED FROM THE GHETTO STREETZ OF CHICAGO A*K*A CHITOWN..IM ORIGINAL JRB CHITOWN JUGGALO RYDA..BITCH! IM ONE OF A KIND..EITHER YOU LOVE OR HATE ME..EITHER WAY YA’LL STILL KNOW MY NAME..IM VERY BLUNT, HONEST & I KEEP IT REAL..I SAY WHATZ ON MY MIND WHEN ITZ ON MY MIND..I STRAIGHT DONT GIVE A FUCK!!”

At least that is what her MySpace page claims.

Well, unfortunately for li’l Anabelle, Julz, or “Juicebox” did give a fuck sometime in September 2007 and her boyfriend slipped his little hatchet man into her circus tent and blew a jugga-load. A few billion clowns swimming through a river of Spazmatic! and fighting for the center ring of Julz’s carnival attraction, and Anabelle made it to the top and wowed her mom’s womb with her trapeze act.

For six months Julz nurtured her growing Juggalette just as a responsible and caring mother should.

She sought the advice of both her doctor about physical does and don’ts during her pregnancy and a nutritionist concerning her dietary needs. She carefully watched what she ate, maintained an advised exercise regimen, and even spent her evenings curled up in a chair reading to her stomach.

Oh, wait, no, that was my sister.

For six months Julz nurtured her growing Juggalette just as an responsible and caring mother would.

With gallons of alcohol, and buckets of Xanax.

Oh, wait, wrong again. Sort of.

Julz didn’t know that she was with child for the first 6 months of her pregnancy. No reason why she shouldn’t be washing handfuls of Xanax down with a 40 oz of malt liquor. Who amongst us doesn’t do that? I apologize. I mean, why pay any attention to your body, especially when you haven’t experienced a normal menstrual cycle in 6 months? I’m sure she just figured it was the silly drug and beer binges playing jokes on her physiology. Sure, she was having sex on a regular basis, but condoms are, like, almost 100 percent effective, right? And why the hell should she have to be all responsible and shit? She’s a juggalo, motherfuckers, and accepted for who she is among her peers, no matter if she, like, totally killed her baby with negligence.

Sorry, I’m again incorrect.

It was the hospital that killed her precious Anabelle Lotus, not Julz’s habitual drug and alcohol habit that she carried her child with her through two third’s of her pregnancy. My bad.

Just listen to this phone conversation that Julz had with the radio station WFKO (W Fuck Off) in which she explains how the hospital was negligent, not her. She completely takes us through the procedures and practices that were done incorrectly by the irresponsible doctors and nurses that directly lead to them murdering her innocent baby girl.

Oh, and God, he was in on it too.

Well, I guess I’m wrong once more.

She didn’t explain any of that, she just glossed over the death of her child with a quick statement about how none of the doctors knew why her baby only lived for 13 minutes. Rather, she opted to use the majority of her interview pimping her dead baby for free t-shirts and concert tickets.

Because that is what you do when you’re a responsible and caring mother.

Can I call her a mom when she gave birth to a poisoned fetus that coughed its way through 13 minutes before cashing in its ticket for the ferris wheel in the sky?

Do you think it’s coincidence that she gave birth on Mother’s Day?

And that Mother Nature responded with an resounding “No fucking way!”

I know moms. I have one. And a number of my friends are as well. I can think of dozens of differences between them and Julz, but I think the main one is that their daughters didn’t slide out of their wombs as though the doctor had reached into a ghetto convenience store freezer and pulled out a luke-warm 2 liter of Faygo.

I guess it only seemed fitting to bury her in a converted Styrofoam cooler.

And yes, those are hatchet men stickers.

On a coffin.

What could be more respectful and reverent than cartoon characters slapped on the surface of the vessel meant to bear one from this life into the next? Or to attend the funeral of your “murdered” daughter dressed like you’re on your way to an Insane Clown Posse concert?

I guess we can all be glad that at least they didn’t have her cremated and turned her urn into a bong.

Cough, cough. “This hit’s for you little ninja!” Cough.

One thing that me and Juggalo Julz can agree on, is that Anabelle Lotus is certainly “in a better place.”

She’s feeding worms and a myriad of burrowing insects, and providing nutrients to the topsoil.

I can see her casting shadows over the ground in the shape of flower petals, instead of growing up to be just another Juggalo.

 

 

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Night Of The Loving Dead

24 year-old Anthony Merino is a stud.

I can say that with unabashed admiration and an entirely unwavering sense of my own sexuality.

His MySpace page (now defunct) is testament to that statement. Competitor in Fear Factor, practitioner of the Martial Arts, owner of sports cars and collector of very foxy and well-endowed women.  He enjoys classical music when he is “studing.”

He may appear to be your average jock, but listen to that ladies, this man has style and class. After a long hard day of hitting the books and the weights,  Tony wants nothing more than to enjoy a cold one.

As he describes himself: “I work hard, so I party hard, that’s my motto.”

And party hard he does.

Or should that be “party stiff?”

You see, dear reader, in addition to “weight training, playing football, making mix dance/club mixes, and going out to the hottest clubs in NYC,” Anthony also enjoys bumping uglies with the recently deceased. That’s right ladies, Anthony is a necrophiliac.

The first chink in Tony’s armor is subtle, but there for the trained eye to notice. He lists in his books section Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman. Obvious. Gaiman is a goth icon, and we all know that goth leads an interest in all things dead which in turn leads to eventual necrophiliac tendencies when coupled with individuals who contain an unyielding sense of passion, as exhibited by one Anthony’s choices of favorite movies: Too Fast, Too Furious; which is arguably the most romantic slice of homo-erotica ever filmed. He was able to see past the the facade of underground racing circuits and machismo to the heart of the movie; two men and their inability to properly express their white hot desire to engage in some hot, hot man-on-man ass-fucking. Hence the repetitive double entendre with automobile jargon and rooster-chesting. Anthony decided a course of repression was not for him.  He would stop fighting his deepest desires, fling open the floodgates and let love loose.

He says that “I never seem to have enough time to do all the things that I would like to do.” So modest, this man of immeasurable love. And although he makes this claim, events would lend evidence that he was genius enough to combine his love of histo-technology, his field of employment, with his undying love of loving the dead.

On Halloween evening of 2007, Anthony was caught red handed with his purple-veined member inside the body of a 92 year-old blue-haired stiff.

You call him dead granny fucker.

I call him true romantic.

How many of you are passionate and spirited enough to look beyond the confines of mortality for true love? Your feeble flesh may not be able to court the dead and romance rigor mortis, but that is your cross to bear, not Tony’s. He is enlightened. He can love a woman in all stages of life, even in the absence of. His fingertips work like magic on the zippers of body bags. His tongue can thaw cold and stiffened muscle.His white hot cock will put a little rouge into even the most frozen of cheeks.

Both sets, baby.

How many nights found our boy Tony slick with sweat? Not from burning calories down at the local gym rubbing his rock hard body up against other hard bodies, but from his own fevered desire. The local paper opened to the obituaries in one hand, and his other wrapped around his stiffened, purple-vein throbbing cock. Teeth clinched against each other as he madly stroked his inflamed member, picturing a tagged toe. Imagining running his hands up a pair of varicose laden thighs. Slowly tracing a cold and stiff labia, an ice cube clitoris with his burning tongue.

“Come here Gramma, let me melt away those blues.”

Anthony may beat off to the thought of necrophilia so much he gets a hard-on every time he opens the fridge, but he is no pervert.

You certainly may shout your socially programmed adjectives, but you cannot deny truth when it slaps you in the face like a cold dead fish. Anthony may choose to call himself a fighter, but he is first and foremost a lover. To take the steps he has is to exhibit intestinal fortitude most of us cannot even comprehend. All over this country of ours morgues and mortuaries are full, thousands of souls lay inside cold meat lockers, souls that only wanted to be loved.

To be touched.

To be caressed.

Not out of a sense of obligatory or familial sympathy, but true love and passion!

Come on, do you see that body?

Why waste it on the apathetic living?

Anthony chiseled his physique with years of discipline and sweat and blood and tears into one fine corpse-fucking gorgeous machine.

His paramour is 92 years young, and crying tears of joy as I write this.

As you accuse him of “desecration!,” she is sweetly whispering “consecration.”

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Koyaanisqatsi: Life out of Balance

Back in 1985, I saw this movie while visiting my friend Mark at Washington University. We had heard about it and were happy that the local PBS station in St. Louis was playing it on the air in its entirety. And even despite the fact that we were watching it on a 13″ black and white television with crappy reception, it really struck a chord with me. Here’s the basic description from Wikipedia:

 

Koyaanisqatsi (English pronunciation: /ˈkɔɪ.ɑːnɪsˈkɑːtsiː/ KOY-ah-nis-KAHT-see), also known as Koyaanisqatsi: Life out of Balance, is a 1982 film directed by Godfrey Reggio with music composed by Philip Glass and cinematography by Ron Fricke.

The film consists primarily of slow motion and time-lapse stock footage of cities and many natural landscapes across the United States. The visual tone poem contains neither dialogue nor a vocalized narration: its tone is set by the juxtaposition of images and music. Reggio explains the lack of dialogue by stating “it’s not for lack of love of the language that these films have no words. It’s because, from my point of view, our language is in a state of vast humiliation. It no longer describes the world in which we live. In the Hopi language, the word Koyaanisqatsi means “crazy life, life in turmoil, life out of balance, life disintegrating, a state of life that calls for another way of living”. The film is the first in the Qatsi trilogy of films: it is followed by Powaqqatsi (1988) and Naqoyqatsi (2002). The trilogy depicts different aspects of the relationship between humans, nature, and technology. Koyaanisqatsi is the best known of the trilogy and is considered a cult film. However, because of copyright issues, the film was out of print for most of the 1990s.

 

 

So, while  I was looking at the latest news headlines today I started hearing the haunting Phillip Glass score from this film, and suddenly all the imagery from it started flooding my mind. I’m glad that I was able to find a streaming free copy to share with everyone, and I hope you take the time to watch it. It’s really (depressing) great!

 

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“The Story of Johnny Head-In-The Air and His Lawyer” with a side order of schadenfreude

 

 

it’s almost impossible to believe this, but i kid you not, my little kittens.

i don’t care if you don’t like cats, i’m not literally calling you a cat. it’s meant as a term of endearment, so don’t get all put out over it. it’s a compliment. why are you such an asshole?

______________________________________________________________________________________________

part one:

so, this all starts with a really stupid, litigious, woman, who has inexplicably made the news in the last couple of days.

 

she was texting while walking in a shopping mall and walked right into a large decorative water fountain.

 

this wasn’t an unfortunate accident! nobody pushed her on purpose or otherwise.

 

she’s a grown woman and it was her own willful neglect of her own safety that caused this. if you’re that stupid, and that unaware of your surroundings, don’t leave the house without protective gear. better yet, take a helper with you or just stay home.

 

 

 

free safety lesson: this part is serious.

PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR SURROUNDINGS!

walking into fountains is the least of your worries when you’re not aware of who and what is around you. there are real life human predators out there, just waiting for easy pickings like this. you might as well have a target on your back. i’m saying this to men too, but, unfortunately, ladies happen to be at a higher risk for violent attacks (sexual or otherwise).


i’ve seen quite a few serious injuries and had a couple of my very own. i’m not claiming to have any medical expertise, but life experience has taught me, that when you’re seriously hurt, you don’t get up and walk away, while doing an almost 360 degree survey of the area, as you’re simultaneously climbing out of the water. she looked a lot more concerned about her bruised ego, than any bruised body parts.

 

she wants to sue the mall, because some people (specifically security), laughed at her stupidity. she didn’t stop there though. oh no! she practically advertised how stupid she was all over the media, opening herself up to a hell of a lot more laughter, and then had the nerve to be shocked that many did not sympathize with her!

 

her feelings were hurt. that’s all. she wants money, because her feelings were hurt.

 

that’s ridiculous! you don’t deserve a windfall (or would it be a mall-fall in this case), for that.

 

i refuse to join her pity party. she’s an asshole!

 

there are, of course, no shortage of lawyers, ready and willing to step in and help her out.

 

(calm down, my warm and fuzzy little legal eagles; she has apparently already settled on one.)

 

whether she winds up actually needing a criminal defense lawyer or civil attorney (or both) remains to be seen, but i’m not going to get any deeper into that part of her tale, as it still seems to be developing and i feel myself starting to stray off topic. some of the legal issues are brushed upon in the first video of her, which is from a news report.

 

 

 

news report with woman in question and her lawyer:

they’ve disabled the embedding, so you have to look at this part on youtube.

news report video: click here

 

 

security-cam video of woman falling into shopping mall fountain while texting aka the schadenfreude portion:

 

 

part two:

the first thought that came to my mind when i saw her story was “Die Geschichte von Hans Guck-in-die-Luft” (english translation: The Story of Johnny Head-In-The Air”).

 

she is one person who i think could have benefited greatly from the frightening childhood tale that i am about to share with you.

 

i grew up with a german childern’s book called “Struwwelpeter” (english translation: Shock Headed Peter). if you’re not familiar with this now semi-legendary literary masterpiece, let me give you a brief overview here.

 

originally written in german by heinrcih hoffmann in 1845; it is basically, a collection of cautionary children’s tales.

 

just in case the carefully worded prose of his tales were not sufficient to help sink the message of terror into your kid’s soft, stupid, little, skull all by itself, he also filled it chock full of some of the most beautifully gruesome illustrations ever put to paper.

 

a book for children that has been scaring (and scarring) the shit out of them (or helping them hold they’re feces in, if they happen to be the anal retentive type.), for 166 years.

 

don’t get me wrong, there are some very useful tips for the unworldly and uninitiated young human, specifically surrounding the subjects of the most elementary laws of physics.

 

i was under the impression that these lessons were generally learned by a combination of trial and error and the helpful advice of your wonderful parents. if you still refuse to learn, or are just unable to learn, that you, as a human, do not happen possess the power to bend time/space/gravity etc. at your will, then here’s the book for you!

 

i personally wouldn’t recommend stories that end with the worst possible scenarios as a primer for my kids. then again, i don’t have kids, so who am i to speak on such subjects. i just know how it affected me.

 

the forceful, nightmarish way that these lessons were told and illustrated… well, let’s just say this, i’m sure i’m not the first person to mention this book in a therapy session or two.

 

 

please, also note, that this is probably the least gruesome of all the tales in this book, it was just the most appropriate for this post.


 

part two addendum:

if you’d like your own brand new, physical copy of this great coffee table, conversation starter piece (great for a first date, boring party, nosy landlord, etc), please visit the beautiful bill shafer at hyaenagallery.com and he’ll take care of you.

 

you can shop with him online or visit the shop/gallery in burbank, ca.. just click the link above and the magic will follow…

there is a lot of phenomenal original art all over that place too!

 

 

ok. enough with the plugs for my pals. here’s the story:

 

“The Story of Johnny Head-in-Air”

As he trudged along to school,

It was always Johnny’s rule

To be looking at the sky

And the clouds that floated by;

But what just before him lay,

In his way,

Johnny never thought about;

So that every one cried out

“Look at little Johnny there,

Little Johnny Head-In-Air!”


Running just in Johnny’s way

Came a little dog one day;

Johnny’s eyes were still astray

Up on high,

In the sky;

And he never heard them cry

“Johnny, mind, the dog is nigh!”

Bump!

Dump!

Down they fell, with such a thump,

Dog and Johnny in a lump!

 

 

Once, with head as high as ever,

Johnny walked beside the river.

Johnny watched the swallows trying

Which was cleverest at flying.

Oh! what fun!

Johnny watched the bright round sun

Going in and coming out;

This was all he thought about.

So he strode on, only think!

To the river’s very brink,

Where the bank was high and steep,

And the water very deep;

And the fishes, in a row,

Stared to see him coming so.

One step more! oh! sad to tell!

Headlong in poor Johnny fell.

And the fishes, in dismay,

Wagged their tails and swam away.

 

 

There lay Johnny on his face,

With his nice red writing-case;

But, as they were passing by,

Two strong men had heard him cry;

And, with sticks, these two strong men

Hooked poor Johnny out again.

 

 

Oh! you should have seen him shiver

When they pulled him from the river.

He was in a sorry plight!

Dripping wet, and such a fright!

Wet all over, everywhere,

Clothes, and arms, and face, and hair:

Johnny never will forget

What it is to be so wet.


And the fishes, one, two, three,

Are come back again, you see;

Up they came the moment after,

To enjoy the fun and laughter.

Each popped out his little head,

And, to tease poor Johnny, said

“Silly little Johnny, look,

You have lost your writing-book!”


 

part three:

several years ago, i became aware of a very different, and quite brilliant band, called the tiger lillies, who put on a whole musical show, based on all of the stories in this book. here’s a video that includes a live version of ‘snip snip’, which also happens to be the story that scared me most of all. it still does.

 

 

 

The Tiger Lillies – “Snip Snip”

 

 

 

 

part four – wrapping this up:

i have so much more to say about all of the other issues that this whole ridiculous display raises about our collective sense of arrogance, entitlement, and devolution into textbook sociopaths, but i tried really hard to stick with my original idea here.

 

that is, to compare this incident with a great/horrible children’s book and to turn y’all on to a beautiful band of artists called the tigerlillies, a great writer named mark ebner; creator of “Hollywood Interrupted” (he inadvertently made me aware of this watery mess by posting a video).

 

 

i chose to use the english translation here, since the 10 or 12 readers that i have are mostly english speaking.

 

however, the english translated source includes the same disturbing illustrations as the coveted german one

that i still have sitting on my bookshelf from my childhood.

 

 

i have also included a link to the entire book (english translation) here, for your amusement, horror,

or anthropological studies.

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Animated Cartoon Frog Snuff Film – Teach Me (NSFW)

Having been on the internet since 1993, it’s hard to remember some of the better things I have stumbled upon. However, every once in a while a brain cell will fire off in my skull and remind me of a hidden treasure. Such is the case with this wonderfully demented cartoon ‘Teach Me’, created by the good folks from The Comic Book Factory.

 

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Jonathon “The Impaler” Sharkey

Jonathon “The Impaler” Sharkey threw himself into the race for Minnesota Governor on January 13, 2006. His thirteen point platform included helping farmers, improving the public school system, and advocating for better benefits for United States veterans. However, it was his “coming out” to the media as a Hecate Witch, Satanic Dark Priest and Sanguinary Vampire that grabbed Jonathon national and international attention. His candidacy marked the beginning of the largest amount of media coverage ever given to an unknown third party candidate running for Governor in American history.

“Minnesota has hosted an interesting run of political candidates, from retired wrestler Jesse Ventura (Minnesota governor from 1999 to 2003) to former Saturday Night Live star Al Franken (the contested winner of a U.S. Senate seat in 2008). But perhaps the most intriguing candidate was Jonathan Sharkey, a self-proclaimed Satanic Vampire and Hecate Witch, who ran for the office of Minnesota governor in 2006. W. Tray White’s documentary Impaler follows Sharkey as he contends with the media frenzy inspired by his 13-point political platform which includes impaling criminals on the lawn of the governor’s mansion.”



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