It’s so much easier when people send you links rather than sleuthing around the depths of the internet. This link comes courtesy of Carl; a man so mysterious he doesn’t even have a website of his own I can link to. But seeing as I link to everything, let it be that because he didn’t provide me with a link to his namesake, I am forced to associate him with this.
With that, here is the site he sent me today to a website focusing on urinals. Now I don’t normally take notice of urinals because of the unwritten rule that when going about one’s business you either stare directly ahead at the tiles and use the force to guide you or downwards with a very narrow, unwavering focus. Never ever to your right or left. It’s impolite to stare at another man’s unit.
The site is wonderful. Most interesting are the lists of top urinals in the world and the accompanying photos. My favourite is The Felix. It would be a privilege and a pleasure to relieve myself in that.
Darling, you’ve got a nice smile, complexion and curves. Why are you sticking that finger up your nose? You know everybody is looking. Oh, I see. When people look it makes you want to go knuckle deep. I hate to say this, my sweet, but it’s simply not going to work out. Maybe it’s our different background. Me being the son of a trapeze artist and you being the daughter of a revolutionary. That coupled with the whole nose-picking thing makes things a little bit too difficult. It’s me. I wish I had a stronger resolve. You need a man that can accept that habit and love you for you. I’m not that man. Don’t cry, It’s not that bad. Really. You’ll see. These things take time. You never know. Perhaps one day you’ll meet a man that shares the same interest as you. You’re too good for someone like me. I’m sorry, Babycakes.
As someone who survived four years of art school I find it refreshing to hear a voice that accurately portrays the life of an art student. No, I’m not talking about about Daniel Clowes comic/soon-to-be movie Art School Confidential but rather Eon Mckai’s Art School Sluts. Will I denigrate my colleges and say that this film bears more to the actual goings on as opposed to Clowes portrayal? Probably. But then again I have no tact and have burnt most my bridges so calling art students sex-crazy sluts is like calling the sky blue.
The films features amateur actors in every conceievable deviation of sex and a totally bangin’ electro soundtrack. It’s available to order on DVD right now. Post-Modern irony or not one thing is clear; Art School Sluts are easy!
“Comments (0)” Seems to be a trend around here. Come on people. Get your hand off your crotch and on the keyboard and start typing.
Seems like everyone has a blog these days. Even ummm… a werewolf. Poor lad having to face transforming into a werewolf every full moon. Geez, the only transformation I’ve seen through my blog is from nice, innocent, introverted gentleman to sex-crazed deviant. I would have been better off as a werewolf.
Here’s an excerpt from his October 29th posting:
Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. I have a pretty good excuse though.
I’m a werewolf. Fuck.
Last Wednesday night, a blood red full moon, shadowed by the first lunar eclipse that ever fell on a World Series game, caused me to fall to the floor, start uncontrollably screaming, and transform into a beast.
I can’t believe I missed that fucking game. I was wearing my El Guapo shirt at the time, too- and it’s totally fucking ruined.
Every once in a while it’s good to embrace your geek side. In my case every once in a while happens to be every fucking day. Last weekend I went to the Vancouver Firefox release party. Firefox being of course the web browser recommended by flashcube.org.
Now a common deduction would be that this would be an invitation for disaster and it would have been had I not been so tired after going out really late the previous evening then going to get my hair done in the same clothes I was slept in while smelling of the Wendy’s grilled chicken sandwich I had five minutes previous.
Too bad the organizers didn’t fucking show up as I was to contend with ASCII porn (of which our waitress was very impressed with) and Quake matches over a Wi-Fi LAN. Once that happened I knew it was my time to bow out graciously. Little did I know what was to follow later.
If love was gentle, seductive, from another time and planet, and involved fresh fruit it might look something like this. Watermelon Love is a short film by Joji Koyama and is easily the most oddly erotic things I’ve seen in a while.