PINUP ART GONE WRONG

I'm a fan of good pinup art. It's always been a part of my life. We moved a lot when I was a kid, but no matter where we lived, my mom always hung some vintage pinup art in the bathroom. Carrying on the family tradition, my bathroom is graced by multiple works of pinup artist extraordinaire, Gil Elvgren. There's something so fun and cheeky about pinups created by paintbrushes rather than cameras.

But when pinup art goes wrong, it goes really wrong...
The piece of trash pictured here is Exhibit A.

I don't even know who the "artist" is, and I think it's for the best. If I knew who he was, I might have to book a ticket, hop on a plane, knock on his door and kick him in the ass for shitting on such a great art form. Let's count the many ways this picture assaults the senses:

1. I understand this "artist" is trying to preserve his subject's modesty by covering up her nipple. But does she have to be squishing her tit like an ill fitting push-up bra, thus giving it the look of an unused water balloon discovered under the deck chair three days after little Jimmy's party?

2. Why the orange? Is this "artist" showing off the skills he learned in Art Class 101? Who eats an orange with wine? That's just too much acidity. Besides which, how could she peel the orange while wearing white opera length gloves?

3. Note how the pearls are in the glass of wine. Pearls before swine, yes. Pearls in the wine, no. You know why? Because they will become discolored. No woman would allow this to happen. Not with her good pearls, anyway.

4. That Chianti bottle in the basket image must have really entranced a certain generation of men. Whenever my dad talks about "bohemian" life, he always strings together the same sentence: "It was real bohemian. You know, with the candle stick in the Chianti bottle."

DO YOU KNOW THIS WOMAN?

For years I've described a certain kind of plain woman simply as "WOMAN".
She's the kind of woman who is fit, has good clear skin, healthy teeth, nice hair.
She is a nice physical specimen.
But she has no style and is duller than a non-alcoholic wedding reception.

I use this term because they remind me of Biology textbook illustrations like the one above.
There's nothing wrong with this woman. But no one, not even a horny 17-year-old is going to get a boner by looking at her.

The funny thing is, I've noticed over the years that a lot of men wind up marrying "WOMAN".
Sure, they'll date the gorgeous TV producer, the hot model, the sexy actress/waitress. But somehow they hit the age of 35 and marry "WOMAN".

I actually asked a sampling of men in the Wall Street area about this phenomenon. I asked them if they'd noticed that a lot of men tend to date the hot ones and marry the dull ones. I wondered if they'd even know what I was talking about. Or if they'd pretend not to get it. But to my surprise, they all knew exactly what I meant. And you know what most of them said?

"Because we're tired."

DANGEROUS NUDITY

I am just devastated.
A kindred spirit has been arrested in Illinois:

DELHI, Ill. - Here's a tip: Bartending nude can get you arrested.
Sheriff's deputies doing a routine check this week at a southern Illinois bar say they discovered a not-so-routine sight. Authorities allege that 33-year-old Janet Brannon was naked while serving bar patrons at the Cabin Tavern in Delhi (DEL'-ee).
Brannon was arrested and charged with misdemeanor public indecency. She was freed on $8,000 bond.
She was the only bar employee working at the time, so the tavern was closed Thursday.

See, this is where I take issue with government interference.
Pre-arrest, life was good for the patrons of the Cabin Tavern.
Happy Hour was truly happy.
Post arrest, there was no nudity AND no booze.
This is a horrifying miscarriage of justice.

That said, here's my list of The Top 5 Worst Jobs To Do In The Nude:

1. Totem pole carver
2. Olympic trampolinist
3. Pit Bull trainer
4. Smelter
5. Beekeeper

BONUS: The Guy Pictured Above

Any others?

ASS ASSESSMENTS

So-
I was just thinking about an ex co-worker of mine.
A while back, he stumbled into work, slumped into his chair and announced, "I love puttin' it up the butt."
I turned in his direction and said, "Well, that's nice. Everybody needs a hobby."
Undaunted, he continued with "Seriously man. I'd buy my woman any kinda Coach bag, any kinda...you know...shoes. I'd give her mad cash if she gave me anal on the reg. Not just like on my birthday or Christmas. But on the reg."

I wished him best of luck with his quest for anal on the reg. Although I reminded him that he shouldn't take for granted the wondrous, nutmeg scented joy of holiday anal.

For the entire day, he continued to assess women as to whether or not he'd "put it up the butt".
Any woman who dared stray too close to him was subject to his anal analysis. Producers, editors, interns. The cleaner even made his assessment that much easier by bending over to empty his trash.

As it turned out, only one woman was not worthy of his anal attentions, primarily because she had smelly breath. He then changed his mind and said, "Maybe I'd buy her some gum. Then I'd put it up the butt."

Another co-worker and I were discussing a new employee at the Assignment Desk, stating how competent, kind and smart she was. Naturally this guy butted in and said, "I'd put it up the butt."

The point is: some people really have no business doing employee reviews.

BLACKBALLED AT THE NUDIST CAMP

Good morning Peons!
Today, we have a new mystery to solve...

PARIS (Reuters) - France's data protection authority has given permission for a nudist resort to keep a "black list" of guests barred from its facilities, the organization said.
The Rene Oltra nudist center in southern France was obliged to seek permission after a person complained of being denied a reservation, the authority said on its website. French law requires organizations to seek authorization to keep lists of individuals denied use of their services.
Contacted by Reuters, the resort declined to give further details regarding individual's exclusion from its site.
The centre's rules require guests to abide by its "naturist ethic" of nudity at all times, weather permitting, and bans upsetting other guests or failing to observe hygiene standards.
"But nudity is not exhibitionism. Any indecent behavior will be sanctioned by immediate exclusion," the rules say.

Now-
While this is very interesting, they neglect to explain why these guests are being barred.
Thus, I am forced to draw my own conclusions.

POSSIBLE REASONS A PERSON COULD BE BARRED FROM A NUDIST CAMP:

1. Skips around a little too carelessly with scalding hot Starbucks coffee.

2. Repeatedly accosts other nudists with the accusation: "Hey, you got your chocolate in my peanut butter!"

3. Tends to experience severe "treatment effects" after cheating on the ALLI Weight Loss Program

4. Looks, points and says, "Man! Check out that gunt. I thought there was a no fat chicks policy here! Where's the fucking manager? If I wanted to see Orca I'd go to Sea World."

5. Does morning "yoga" a la the Anonymous Obama supporter from the "Smokin' Presidential Polls" post.

Any other ideas?

MAID GETS PAID (AND THEN SOME)

This story baffles me:

TAMPA, Fla. (AP)
A nude maid is accused of really cleaning up at a Florida man's home. The Hillsborough County Sheriff's Office said a 50-year-old man hired the maid from the Internet on Friday to clean his Tampa home.

Authorities said the woman arrived at the home in a one-piece, light colored dress. She took off the dress and cleaned the house for $100-per-hour. Sheriff's office spokeswoman Debbie Carter said the man told deputies he left the maid alone in the bedroom to clean.

When the man's wife came home from vacation, she discovered $40,000 in jewelry missing from their bedroom.

Now:
If you're paying a woman $100 bucks an hour to clean in the nude, I'm gonna assume you aren't actually looking for a sparkling clean home. You're not doing the white glove test. You're not sniffing the air for that "pine fresh scent." The point is to sit there and masturbate while she bends over and pretends to dust under the bed.

So why was she cleaning ALONE in the bedroom? You could hire some dull, unattractive, clothed maid to do that for a lot less money. What was this idiot doing while a paid stranger was cleaning the bedroom, alone, in the nude?

And where does a nude maid store $40,000 worth of stolen jewels?
(I know, I know...The obvious answer is "up her twat". But $40,000 worth? Those are some fine tuned Kegel muscles.)

I'd love to see how hubby is spinning this to his wife. Chances are he's shelling out a whole lot more money for a whole lot more jewels.

VJDUTTON=BUNGHOLE BLEACH

I was just going through my e-mail accounts today, clearing out the refuse, and I noticed that no fewer than three people from three different states recently emailed to inform me about Anal Bleaching techniques.
And these were no mass e-mails.
This was no "Hey guys (friends, family, funny co-workers) check this out!"

No, it was more like, "What? Anal Bleaching? I've gotta tell VjDutton about this one. If there's anyone out there who needs to know about Anal Bleaching, it's my pal VjDutton. I just can't get this Anal Bleaching missive out quick enough. Damn it, I'm not even gonna use spell check. No time for that nonsense. Curse this slow computer! VjDutton needs to know about this ASAP."

Thanks to all of you. Really. You've changed my life.

FLY THE FRIENDLY SKIES

Just read this from Reuters:

FRANKFURT - German nudists will be able to start their holidays early by stripping off on the plane if they take up a new offer from an eastern German travel firm.

Travel agency OssiUrlaub.de said it would start taking bookings from Friday for a trial nudist day trip from the eastern German town of Erfurt to the popular Baltic Sea resort of Usedom, planned for July 5 and costing 499 euros ($735).

"It's expensive, I know," managing director Enrico Hess told Reuters by phone. "It's because the plane's very small. There's no real reason why a flight in which one flies naked should be more expensive than any other."

The 55 passengers will have to remain clothed until they board, and dress before disembarking, said Hess. The crew will remain clothed throughout the flight for safety reasons.

"I wish I could say we thought of it ourselves but the idea came from a customer," Hess told Reuters by phone. "It's an unusual gap in the market...I don't want people to get the wrong idea. It's not that we're starting a swinger club in mid-air or something like that," he added. "We're a perfectly normal holiday company."

This is my worst nightmare.
Can you imagine experiencing turbulence in a plane full of nudists?
What kind of seats does this plane have? Apparently skidmarks aren't just for the runway anymore.
What if someone drops their bag of peanuts on their lap? Will they be picking them out of their pubes?
What about the seat belts?
What if someone gets a boner during the safety demonstration? Or during any part of the flight at all, actually.

I'll say this though--
I'd like to see a remake of the "Airport" disaster series with an all nude cast.

THE MAD POOPER OF MADISON

Here I am, calmly enjoying last night's pasta ala vodka for breakfast, listening to salsa music, when suddenly I come across this article from The Associated Press:

"MADISON, Wis. - Repeated discoveries of human feces in clothing and other items left in an apartment building's basement laundry room led to charges Thursday against a 19-year-old man. Authorities said Ronnie A. Ballard was arrested after a woman whose laundry had been soiled chased him back to his apartment in an adjoining building.

Residents also reported finding feces in shoes and boots in an apartment hallway and in washing machines where it soiled a comforter, baby clothes and other items that had to be thrown out.

Ballard was charged with three counts of disorderly conduct, three counts of criminal damage to property and one count of bail jumping. Court records showed he also is facing charges of lewd and lascivious behavior in Waukesha and Lincoln counties."


First off-
Kudos to the woman who chased this guy back to his apartment! Lady, you are a superior crime stopper. That's commitment! I guess poopy laundry will put a spring in your step.

But secondly-
How does this happen? At what point does a person decide to wake up, get a cup of bowel churning McDonald's coffee and poop in his neighbor's shoes?

BACK TO BASICS

We've had some very thought provoking topics around here lately. With reasoned debates, interesting perspectives and impassioned beliefs.
But today, I'm offering up THIS.

I suspect we all know a guy who could benefit from such a contraption. The fact that it is not currently available at a Target near you is a form of sex discrimination. And with all the idiotic shit offered up on HSN, all those enthusiastic bitches shilling endless forms of Tupperware and festive doo-dads, where is the entrepreneur willing to help the legions of fat naked men across this nation?

STROKER QUALITY CONTROL

So-
I just got off the phone with a relative of mine who lives in Canada. He said that as a way to make extra cash, he does porno quality control. (We are a very refined family indeed.)
What is this you ask? Well, he gets paid a buck a movie by a local Adult Entertainment Center to sit and watch porno (yes, I keep referring to it as porno, because I think it sounds funnier.) This is to ensure that no one has edited their own home movies into them...
I am NOT making this up.
Apparently, some people are so desperate for their 15 minutes that they will rent porno movies and spend the time and effort to add in x-rated footage from their all-inclusive honeymoon at Sandals resort in the Bahamas.
While this type of quality control operation may sound like a cushy gig, he says it gets pretty dull. So he sets up a couple televisions side by side, puts the DVDs on fast forward and plays the Benny Hill theme for his personal amusement.

I got to thinking about other things that would be funny if they were edited into a porno:

1.) Celine Dion's performance of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long".

2.) The intro to "The Facts of Life".

3.) Clara Peller's "Where's The Beef?" commercial.

4.)The Solid Gold Dancers.

5.) Three Bongs and A Tootie

COUNTDOWN TO FLACCIDITY

A little while ago, I was out with some friends who told me that although they are not anywhere near eligible for AARP, they have taken Viagra, just to heighten the sexual experience. The only issue, said one of them, was that he had a hard on for 12 hours.
12 hours!
It got my wheels spinning, imagining what the experience must have been like for this hapless young fellow. So I came up with this...


I suppose most people view Erectile Dysfunction drugs as a means for old men to terrorize their fossilized wives and young mistresses, and as fodder for stale jokes about failed politicians. But the way I see it, you hear what you want to hear with the ad campaigns for these drugs, depending on who you are. Gramps hears that his long dormant pecker might actually twitch when the nurse bends over. I hear that my dick will be harder than Michigan steel, a California Redwood and a New York D.A.’s soul.

I probably don’t have to tell you that I find this concept fascinating.

Now, I hasten to add that I'm 28 years old I don't have any problems in this department, so the attraction was more like those college kids in the 1950's that tried to see how many people they could cram into a phone booth. You know, exactly HOW HARD for HOW LONG could I get? The idea appealed to the scientist in me. Of course, I didn't have any idea that the experience would last 12 hours.

12 hours.
That's 720 minutes.
That's 43,200 seconds.

That's a mighty long time for your member to stand at attention.

So in the spirit of empiricism, I decided to keep a precise log of each hour that passed. The results are printed below for the benefit of future drug-fueled sexual swashbucklers:

HOUR ONE: Great. I have sex four times with my girlfriend. She knows she's in for the long haul, so she came prepared with KY Jelly, the massive "anti-family pack" of condoms and Pizza Hut on her cell phone speed dial. We know we aren't going anywhere tonight. The sex is stellar. She moans, cries and makes some noises you normally hear from the fatty in Human Resources as she devours a Hostess ho ho.

HOUR TWO: Still great. Although, now I have to pee, and my dick is still rock hard. I try to twist my pelvis over the toilet and point my dick down into the bowl. But, I ultimately face the shame of sitting on the toilet like a girl, my rod (and yes, in the condition it's in, it makes sense to call it that) resting against the rim at a rigid 45 degree angle.

HOUR THREE: More sex. I explore her in every position possible. We get a little winded and decide to try less athletic things with my dick. We measure it with a ruler, hang a spoon on the end of it and don a shotglass on its head.

HOUR FOUR: She gives me head, but it isn't very fun because I can't come and after 15 minutes, she has a slight case of lock jaw. We are alarmed at first, wondering how we would explain things if she had to be rushed to the hospital: Me with a visible hard on, and her with an open mouth like a German blow up sex doll. Fortunately, her mouth returns to normal and we order pizza.

HOUR FIVE: Eat pizza. Wang still hard. She takes a bath.

HOUR SIX: We consider doing it again, but watch a Seinfeld rerun instead. I wonder how Jerry got so many attractive women with his stupid bleached white tennis shoes and suburban pantry-stocking housewife jeans. I don't say anything, because if my girlfriend thinks he's hot, I don't want to know.

HOUR SEVEN: Schlong still hard, and I start to get a little irritable. To cheer me up, my girlfriend tries hanging various items of clothing on it. We start slow, with just a sock. We proceed to add one glove, a scarf, and a pair of boxers. Finally when we add a tank top, it droops a little.

HOUR EIGHT: Still hard. We have more sex, but it's kind of like eating the last serving of mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving. They tasted good at the beginning, but you don't really want a third helping. On the other hand, a third helping won't kill you. So you eat them, but they’e kind of cold, and you don't feel so great afterwards. Then you wonder why you had the third helping.

HOUR NINE: Had enough of my hard on. My girlfriend asks if it's possible to O.D. on an Erectile Dysfunction drug, and if there is some kind of hotline to call. She then admits that if there is a hotline, she wants the job of being the operator on the other end. We imagine all the different people calling in: "I gotta get to work in the morning!
How can I meet Mr. Beasley from accounting in this condition?” We picture Elmer Fudd and Yosimite Sam with everlasting hard ons, calling the hot line. Funny, except my girlfriend’s Yosimite Sam impersonation sounds more like rabid televangalist. You’d think the idea of my girlfriend sounding like rabid televangalist would automatically cause my penis to soften, but it doesn’t.

HOUR TEN: Hard on jokes are not funny anymore, as my pecker is still rigid. This is one of those: “This will be so funny in hindsight” situations. But right now it sucks. I try to sleep, and find that I am in the realm of pregnant women and women with large boobs in that I cannot sleep on my stomach. As this is how I normally sleep, I cannot get any rest. I am a prisoner of my hopped up dick and I don't like it anymore. I slap it back and forth a few times, watching it spring back up and then decide to masturbate.

HOUR ELEVEN: Even though this is the city that never sleeps, it feels as though my penis and I are the only two citizens of New York who are not sawing logs. We watch late night infomercials, and I make a mental note to buy myself Time Life's Soft Rock Collection and improve my abs.

HOUR TWELVE: At last I'm free! I've never been so happy to be flaccid in all my life. My dick looks curiously deflated and worn out as it droops woozily, and I finally slip into bed and fall asleep. It occurs to me that I will not be trying this again until I’m at least 75.

FITNESS FANATICS

Like many companies, CNN offered up a gym for its employees at a reasonable rate. Many employees were excited about it. How great, how convenient that you could cart all your gym shit to work in a duffle bag, work out, shower, put your sweaty gym shit back in the duffle bag and then take your place at the audio board, switcher or satellite operations area.
Me, I knew better. I never once set foot in there.
Because the ugly truth about workplace gyms is this:
Unless you work for Playboy enterprises, nobody wants to see their co-workers naked.
Nobody wants to bear witness to their naked co-workers weighing themselves, rubbing their balls, re-arranging their pubic hair and then return to work and sit next to them in the newsroom. It's hard to take your boss seriously when you know the answer to the boxers or briefs question first hand. Especially when the answer is briefs. Especially if they're purple.
It's disturbing.
Worse, I had a friend tell me not only did you see all your co-workers at their most vulnerable but,
"You never get to see who you want to see naked. It's always just some tired old cooches you don't want to look at."
Another friend didn't understand why I had such a problem with the prospect of seeing co-workers in various states of undress...until he saw one naked co-worker in particular. This co-worker was a stout, short, fat, balding man. So one afternoon this friend of mine was getting dressed in the locker room, minding his own business. He was suddenly panic stricken when he saw this flabby yet jovial co-worker strutting around in the dick-swinging buff; oblivious to the way in which his natural state accosted every eyeball in the room. This affable chappie was talking to people, laughing, telling jokes like he was at a church picnic.
My friend hot-footed it out of that locker room and said,
"I couldn't believe it. He looked like a naked Ziggy cartoon."