Check it, Peons: Your CNN Humiliation Compartmentalized

Monday, January 25, 2010


Our talented cinematographer Kristyn Martin sent me a clip from the Mama D's ORGASMIC! show and I just had to share its beauty with you. This is The Bukkake Klatch enthralling the crowd with their take on a classic love song, "Smell Yo Dick".

P.S. As usual, those of you who read this blog on Facebook will have to click on "Original Post".

Friday, January 22, 2010


For those of you who missed it, the U.S. Supreme Court just served up our 50 States on a silver platter to corporate interests yesterday. Corporations are now free to influence our political system and can conceivably dictate who wins and who gets stuck on the shitter without toilet paper or reading materials.

So it occurred to me that many of these corporations really wouldn't have to change their slogans much for their new role as political strongmen. Many of these famous slogans can be recycled. I just made a few subtle tweaks and presto! They're perfect for campaign ads. See for yourself:

Sprite: Obey Your Government

Smuckers: With A Name Like Joe Lieberman, It Has To Be Good

Energizer: Nothing outlasts The Schwarzenegger. He Keeps Going and Going

State Farm: Like A Good Neighbor, Newt Gingrich Is There

GEICO: So Easy Even Sarah Palin Can Do It

L'Oreal: Senator Mike Crapo--Because You're Worth It

Thursday, January 21, 2010


Every so often, some celebrity will be touted as "The Thinking Man's Sex Symbol".
These women are never bombshells.
They tend to look like Tina Fey.
In fact, Tina Fey was #2 on The Daily Beast's 2008 list of "The Thinking Man's Sex Symbols".
Now, Tina Fey is a very attractive woman. She is also undeniably talented and smart.

But I resent the fact that you never find bombshells on the list of Thinking Man's Sex Symbols.
Scarlett Johansson will never be on this list, even though she was smart enough to auction off her snotty Kleenex for charity, garnering $5,300 for USA Harvest.

So my question today is...
Why can't a "Thinking Man" lust after bombshells? Who decided that a person with a high IQ is automatically immune to the allure of big tits? That no one at MENSA appreciates a curvy red head who knows how to strut in a pair of bondage heels?

Fuck that.

Arthur Miller is proof that it can happen. Arguably one of the 20th Century's greatest playwrights, he fell in love with and married the ultimate bombshell, Marilyn Monroe.

Hugh Hefner loves busty blondes and is one of the most successful entrepreneurs that this country ever produced. I'd say he's a Thinking Man, even if those thoughts tend to revolve around ways to commodify sex.

Dennis Kucinich's wife Elizabeth is incredibly sexy, and he's one of the smartest politicians out there. (And yes, I know about the UFO sighting and I don't give a shit.)

Why am I crusading on behalf of the bombshell? Maybe it's because I love their sense of humor about sex. I love their charm. I love their strange power.
Let's hear it for bombshells and the Thinking Men (and Women) who love them.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010


Just woke up. I'm sipping some coffee and eating some left over pizza when I read this:
SEOUL (AFP) – South Korea's health ministry, which is charged with boosting the nation's low birthrate, is turning off the lights in its offices once a month to encourage staff to go home early and make more babies.

Now, that's a noble effort and all.
Government mandated fucking is beautiful.
But I doubt we'll see an increase of South Korean babies without throwing in some government subsidized vodka too.

Thursday, January 14, 2010


Our big Jet Set Mama D's Arts Bordello show is coming up on February 5th, and our visionary tech guru Daniel Figueroa just created this glamorous promo. Check it out and make sure you're a part of The Jet Set on February 5th!

Mama D's Arts Bordello Presents: The Jet Set from Daniel Figueroa on Vimeo.

Note: Those of you who read this blog on Facebook will have to click on "original post" to see it, since Facebook won't import videos.

Monday, January 04, 2010


I found a copy of Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love " in the laundry room of my building. It was resting next to a stray tube sock and a stack of Chinese restaurant menus. I needed something to read on the plane ride to Florida, so I picked it up.
What an insufferable book. I should have just read the Chinese restaurant menus instead.
This smug, annoying woman is privileged enough to travel to exotic locales to find Universal Truth. Then she yammers on and on about what she's learned in the most self-indulgent way.

She may have mastered esoteric chants in Sanskrit, but she sure never figured out when to shut up and let truth reveal itself without editorializing it.

Maybe I'm just lucky, but I've never needed one particular guru. And while I've both visited and lived in many places, I've never thought getting one's passport stamped is the key to Universal Truth. I found both gurus and truth this past weekend, and I wasn't even looking for them.

Then again, my gurus have always been freelance. A freelance guru will fulfill their duties and move on, never knowing they've been a guru at all. New Years Eve in the funky, beautiful little beachfront district of Gulfport, Florida was filled with them:

A Blue Moon peers through the clouds and the trees are lit with little blue lights as people walk their dogs, smoke cigars and hug their neighbors. We're staying at the Peninsula Inn, where the bartender also runs to the front desk when someone rings the bell and the waiter also vacuums your room. Somehow the waiter even knows which room we're in, despite never having met us before. Fat house cats lounge in the lobby.

Outside, tunes from the piano bar mingle with the techno thump of dance music from the gay bar down the street. A drunken Cuban woman at Peg's Brewery tells me how much she loves her 9-year-old daughter and gives me a kiss. We meet my parents at La Cote Basque, a crazy little family-run restaurant decorated with a mix of 70's wood paneling, Rococo and Victorian decor and a music box in the bathroom perpetually playing Beethoven's 9th. My parents are smiling. They've been married, divorced, and married again. They've been through treatment centers, rough times and illness. And here they are, laughing at jokes they've both told 100 times over, wearing the Christmas clothes I've given them.

After dinner, we go watch couples ballroom dance at the Gulfport Casino. Grandmothers and grandfathers, newly married couples, gay and lesbian couples. They glide along, fluidly executing moves that have always eluded me. There's something so reassuring about people wearing sequins and drinking cheap champagne on December 31st. I laugh as some woman in a sparkly pantsuit picks at the vat of free ziti with her fingers, spits a piece out and puts it back before heading out into the night.

Well past midnight, we spill out onto the beach and greet the New Year by putting our feet in the chilly Boca Ciega Bay...