warning: locker-room talk If I touch myself, and tell, I’m a pervert, a man whose hand needs an exorcist, scolds the public, lewdness, unless I flaunted Chinese finger tricks on my clit, and got it printed in a New York Magazine; then I’m a feminist, the avant-garde, therefore, I applaud; congratulations, charge the sessions to my card … Continue reading
Trumped. That bitch, the witch who wished upon a star too many, Springsteen made no difference; vanquished, our champion. She fought valiantly, with dignity and composure, shouldered the sins of Clinton Inc. that bore his first name, through thick and thin, as a good Christian wife should, yet God shamed her. A heart of gold, … Continue reading
Instead of skimpily clad women hooking consumer goods to make men shop more so we can shag more how about diverse beautiful male hands to supplant those sexist ads because thoughts of fucking my own hand can be just as effective in making us want new cars.
Chas Newkey-Burden delivers. Wake up, Neo. “The typical culprit is the middle-class man who has reached that symbolic moment in life when, full of regret, he consigns his acoustic guitar to the attic. Then, the moment he is in all-male company, out pour the denunciations of his better half… systematically, they paint a portrait of … Continue reading