girls who like men who wear kilts

The wise and incredibly hot Merrick says, of modern kilt wearers: The type of guy who wears a kilt regularly is not only stylish and can dress himself, but is, most certainly, a pervert. I mean, I know that kinky sex and nerdiness pretty much go hand in hand, but kilt wearers are just a […]

The wise and incredibly hot Merrick says, of modern kilt wearers:

The type of guy who wears a kilt regularly is not only stylish and can dress himself, but is, most certainly, a pervert. I mean, I know that kinky sex and nerdiness pretty much go hand in hand, but kilt wearers are just a class of their own. For one, you’ve got the obvious exhibitionist factor, because if you are wearing a kilt you better expect at least one bold lady (who may or may not be inebriated) to come up and ask if you’re wearing that kilt “traditionally”. She might even try to peek. And as a perverted wearer of kilts, you might just let her. Or encourage it. I think this is a good time to point out that if you want to be dating the type of guy who wears a kilt, you really have to be okay with this type of behaviour. Expect it, and expect it regularly. Those perverts. And for two? Well, I’m sure most guys are familiar with the appeal of a button fly on women’s jeans. Utilikilts, at least, are just a belt buckle away from a very… eye catching flourish of removal.

(I won’t quote the part where she then says kilt wearers are snuggly-wuggly little bunnies, you have to get over there yourself to see that part.

I point this posting out not just because she drops my name (though sure, that’s enough), but also because she does a great job of conveying the modern kilt thing, as fashion, lifestyle, and point of view.

I haven’t written a lot about kilts lately; I haven’t been working Utilikilts booths the last couple years, and wearing my kilt has become so ordinary in my life that it no longer seems to warrant special mention; so I like to see the female perspective on it.

Search Word Poetry

It’s funny, I’m suddenly seeing a resurgence it hits in my logs, on “survivor am naked“, which I think we can all agree is a worthy sight. Now, these never really went away; they’d turn up monthly or so, proving that america loves a naked,fake-breasted lesbian, no matter how long she’s been gone from reality […]

It’s funny, I’m suddenly seeing a resurgence it hits in my logs, on “survivor am naked“, which I think we can all agree is a worthy sight.

Now, these never really went away; they’d turn up monthly or so, proving that america loves a naked,fake-breasted lesbian, no matter how long she’s been gone from reality teevee. But when it was announced that she’d be in the currently-running Survivor: Fans vs Faves, the hit count went up, and is still going up.

Which is ok by me, even though I never actually posted the above-mentioned titty shots of Miss Survivor Ami.

But this brings us to the topic of Search Word Poetry (or as originally coined, Googl-oetry, though I don’t like that term, being that it can be from any search engine, not only google).

The idea’s simple; dig out the search-strings that brought readers to your blog from whatever logs and meters you may choose (urchin, sitemeter, whatever).

Use those phrases to create your own poetry.

Vis:

tell me more about the devil, who is he?
catholic ron paul?
polish guy and catholic in a boat joke?
phone numbers to recorded preachers?
bitch phone number?
pastor melissa scott sex life?

     —Exterminator

Aphrodite’s Greatest Failure:
How sexuality is viewed across religions,
Catholic churches view on premarital
Religions who allow sexuality.
Most men are by nature perverted –
The result of secret sin.
     —the chaplain

weird photos of naked girls
let’s see some women with nice asses that like sex
girls fuck with fruits
     —greta christina

gay crack head
morphine
subbing for algebra with kids that won’t be quiet
i hate texas
     —circe

Now, I wish to hell I was more a poet and could do what these lovely citizens have done. Because god knows I get some good search terms:

tentacle rape
soccerboy rape
butch daddy erotica
daddy fuck me harder
my neighbor sucked my balls her mouth
girls doing a snowball blowjob
best busty chocolate blow jobs
extrem big woman trampling
shoes kiss trample video
awk machine gun
how to roast a pig cinder block
chicken and pig, breakfast
roasting pig in virginia
i have a crush on adam duritz
question cross ring womens indian larry
perfect, lamar thought. just incest and old men with young girls fucking porn perfect
ass fucken sex
fuck me hard art
squid fuck
fucking tarzan
air stewardess fucked
spicy labia fucking images
tuna skroodle
sex skunked
naked taiko drummers
local loop call bugging beeping noise
virgin digital exercise your music muscle
titanic engine size
licked the scotch off her tits
she moaned car tits thrust show
jessi combs belly tattoo
jessi combs thong picture
pussy tattoos
moomin tattoo
what movies do maggie gyllenhaal get naked in
bars over eyes
starch and iodine leaks threw the bag results
my hand slid under her dress
hand in her panties
drenched panties
silky panties photos women pubic hairs
picked up her panties and stuffed them in her mouth as a gag

But you know, I just can’t seem to make it all turn into poetry.

So two things:

1) go do your own and post it
2) if you get inspired by any of the above, post your result in my comments

Because someone has to make art out of all this, even if it isn’t me.

Wicked Witches

The whole reason for my recent SoCal trip was to see Wicked. I’m not going to try to write a real review of of it; I’m no expert on stage musicals, and can’t really accurately say how it compares to anything else in the genre. I also haven’t read the book, so rendering a judgement […]

The whole reason for my recent SoCal trip was to see Wicked.

I’m not going to try to write a real review of of it; I’m no expert on stage musicals, and can’t really accurately say how it compares to anything else in the genre. I also haven’t read the book, so rendering a judgement on how well they did with a largely-gutted plot isn’t possible for me.

What I’ll say though, is that I loved it.

Read the wiki page linked above for a detailed description; in short, it’s a re-imagined Wizard of Oz, from the point of view of a mis-understood Wicked Witch. The re-imagined fairy tale is a well-mined vein, but it’s rich in possibility; everything from fractured fairy tales to Into the Woods have used the device, and we’re far from done with it.

I don’t know how many people have attempted a re-imagined Wizard of Oz; my personal favorite was PJ Farmer’s A Barnstormer in Oz, which included a soft-core-porn, midget-sized version of Glinda, and all sorts of bizarre steam-punk-clockwork characters. More recently you may have seen Tin Man on the Sci Fi Channel, which managed to be both deeply tongue-in-cheek and deeply over-serious, but was most memorable (to me) for the fact that a large number of the cast were wearing Utilikilts.

But I have to say, Wicked did a fine job.

Read more “Wicked Witches”

Hollywood and Boot Star

Since I’ve been on a shoe theme, I might as well show off my version of hollywood shoes. I’ve wanted a pair of boots from Boot Star for ages, but the last two times I was in SoCal I managed to miss going in; first because I kept showing up when they were closed, and […]

Since I’ve been on a shoe theme, I might as well show off my version of hollywood shoes.

I’ve wanted a pair of boots from Boot Star for ages, but the last two times I was in SoCal I managed to miss going in; first because I kept showing up when they were closed, and the second time, on the way home from Disneyland, I wound up having to ditch a trip through LA because of a carsick kid.

So my one agenda item for this trip, after martinis at Musso and Frank, wasa stop at Boot Star.

Now, I really didn’t mean to buy anything. Boots like these, which I’d kill a man for, go for nearly two grand; and I just can’t bring myself to spend that kind of money on footwear, even if I was still rolling in dotcom era dough. My intent was really just to shop and torment myself (kind of the shopping equivalent of a strip show, where you can look and lust but not actually get any).

Unfortunately, the lovely salesgirl (Heather, whom I’d let walk all over me in her patent-leather-cowboy-boots anytime), pointed out The Sale Rack. And I say ‘unfortunately’ because saving money is the best way to talk yourself into spending it.

Which is how I came home with these – because, you know, everyone needs a pair of hollywood shoes.

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Shindig at the Chateau

I sort of intended to blog about my short trip to hollywood as it happened, every stripper-encounter, every meal or drink in a local hot-spot, every random celebrity sighting. It didn’t quite work that way in practice; work chased me down over and over, and I spent the majority if the two-days-three-nights in SoCal fielding […]

I sort of intended to blog about my short trip to hollywood as it happened, every stripper-encounter, every meal or drink in a local hot-spot, every random celebrity sighting.

It didn’t quite work that way in practice; work chased me down over and over, and I spent the majority if the two-days-three-nights in SoCal fielding questions and answering email.

That’s not to say there wasn’t fun to be had; but I didn’t manage to write any of it down as it happened.

When I say fun, of course, I mean, well, a celebs-eye-view of paparazzi action.

The party mentioned here was going on in my hotel wednesday night; I walked through the middle of it as I came home from seeing a show, after waking past an absolute phalanx of paparazzi to reach the door.

I was sitting in my room later in the evening watching celebs like Paris and Nicky Hilton, Gary Dourdan, Adrian Grenier, Gene Simons, etc etc, leaving the party and getting mobbed – and note that all those links are photos taken that night, as I was watching it from the hotel side.

I didn’t spend a lot of time actually *at* the party, other than walking past Elvis Costello and Diane Krall, Natalie Portman, Charlie Sheen and Jon Cryer, Matt Leblanc, and likely several others. The real entertainment was the view of exactly how insane the papaprazzi swarm was. Even when I couldn’t recognize the particular people from the back as they left the party, I could tell exactly how big a deal they are at the moment by the number of flashes that went off as they walked down the driveway.

It’s a nutty life, being a celebrity; seeing it first hand from the inside really drove that home. And it’s funny to walk into a scene like that and have every eye go to you, asking the silent question are you anyone?

Hollywood and Spike heels

I’m staying for a couple of nights in gray, rainy hollywood. I’d like to say that I’m here for the oscars, which are this coming Sunday and for which several blocks of hollywood blvd are blocked off; but no, I’m here instead to enjoy a wednesday evening show of Wicked (which in itself is a […]

I’m staying for a couple of nights in gray, rainy hollywood.

I’d like to say that I’m here for the oscars, which are this coming Sunday and for which several blocks of hollywood blvd are blocked off; but no, I’m here instead to enjoy a wednesday evening show of Wicked (which in itself is a good thing)

I’m staying in hollywood’s gothic glory, the Chateau Marmont (or ‘chateau marmot‘ as my mother and and children would have it); site of John Beluhi’s tragic death, and setting of episodes of Entourage, recordings by Anthony Kiedis and Ville Valo, and where bad girls like Britney and Lindsay get themselves in trouble.

It’s a hotel with a past; the kind of hotel where people look at you as you walk in and out to see if you’re anyone. It’s been here since the early part of the century, and one cannot help but wonder, who else has slept in this room.

I’d like to say I’ve been in the bar, drinking with people who make too much money and spend too much of it on cosmetics and cars; but alas, most of my day I’ve been working, solving all the problems that followed me out of work on a tuesday. I’m not out long enough to have actually nailed anything down, as I did when I went to fiji five years ago, nor even long enough that I needed to tell anyone but my boss; so of course my phone has rung a dozen times, and in the hour I spent in the air with my iPhone switched off, I got 10 emails I needed to answer and a half dozen texts.

Still; working in a king size bed at the Chateau beats being in my office.

It wasn’t all work today; I managed a very fine lunch and several martinis at one of my favorite restaurants, Musso and Frank; the kind of place that reeks of ambiance, the kind of place where cops and writers, stars and moguls, politicians and gangsters, strippers and hustlers, tourists, locals and as-beens all step in for a perfectly grilled steak and an ice cold martini. It’s the kind of place where the characters in my head meet and talk, brood, or seduce one another.

I also managed to have one of those moments I’m prone too, where I encounter a woman who gets into my head in a huge way.

Hollywood blvd is lined with sleaze, and I mean that in both the very best and very worst way. Cheap, glittery sex stores, tee-shirt emporiums, the kind of shops that have name brands on everything they knock off. The too-beautiful and the broken down, the very rich and very poor, the shiny and the tarnished meet in mid-block, the lines where one becomes the other never close to sharply defined. This means it’s both a great place to shop for things you can’t get anywhere else, and a great place to watch people.

Case in point; where else could one find, not one, but many places to buy thigh-high, florescent green plastic platform boots with seven-inch heels – in a men’s size fourteen.

These sorts of stores draw me in; places that sell cheap leather and the sort of lingerie you’d only see on someone paid to wear it, or someone who can’t tell the difference between whore-hot and whore-sleazy. The sort of stores where the shoe soles are not made for walking, but for pointing toward the ceiling.

We were browsing in one such store – my youngest daughter in a frenzy of fashion-shopping, finding the innocence and charm in all that vinyl, my older one trying to look pointedly away from all that funk and sleaze only to find it’s every single place she can think of to look.

I was admiring a rack of stainless-steel-and-leopard-print stiletto heels (wondering vaguely what they’d feel like walking up and down my spine) when I noticed a very pretty young woman trying on a pair of shoes in the back of the store.

Now, I’m not really a foot fetishist; I love women’s feet in that I love every single thing about women’s bodies. Feet are important because they are connected to ankles, calves, knees, and on up, every inch being something love. But – well, some things make a fetishist of me, at least for a moment.

She was trying on the sort of shoes no one – at least no one I’ve ever known – actually wears; this sort of thing.

“Those shoes look incredibly good on you,” I said to her, as she got up and wobbled across the store.

“Thanks; I don’t know if I can walk in them though.”

I looked at her feet, at the six inch spiked heels, at the impossible arch of her instep in them, like a body stretched just short of breaking on a rack; that perfect point of tension that’s just short of too much.

She had tattoos on her feet and ankles, lovely curves to her calves, and these shoes did things to her legs and feet that would break hearts and start wars.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

“They’re not really made for, you know, walking,” I said.

She smiled at me in the mirror, then went on practicing walking in them, wobbling around and looking at herself. I helped her look.

I made a vague attempt to leave her alone, but found couldn’t. “They just look make your feet look incredibly sexy,” I said, and she smiled and thanked me; it was the kind of smile I’ve seen before from women who make a living being sexy, but it was also real, with barest touch of self-consciousness about a compliment from a stranger.

“I’m used to platforms,” she said. And I began to visualize tucking dollar bills in her g-string.

I had to walk away from her, my kids interrupting me before I could say more; I was going to ask to see her tattoos, to give me a chance to look at her feet some more; maybe ask her is she was a dancer, and more importantly (since I already knew the answer to that), where she danced.

I lost the moment though, and when I looked back at her she’d decided against the shoes, walking away with empty hands and flip-flop clad feet.

“I don’t think I could walk in them,” she said to me, as se left the store.

“too bad,” I said to her back. Too damned bad.

I was distracted for a good hour, thinking about it, as I found Musso and Frank and ordered lunch; my mind filled, not with images of her hips, or thighs, or face or breasts, as would usually be the case after such a moment, but with images of her feet. I could not get them out of my mind.

Fetishes are funny things.

RIP: David Caruso Jr.

I just read this note on the Dave’s Custom Skulls site: Dave’s Battle with Cancer ended on 2-15-08. Hopefully you were able to know him or maybe were one of the few hundred people around the World to have had the Opportunity to Receive and Enjoy one of his Custom Rings. He will be Missed […]

I just read this note on the Dave’s Custom Skulls site:

Dave’s Battle with Cancer ended on 2-15-08. Hopefully you were able to
know him or maybe were one of the few hundred people around the World
to have had the Opportunity to Receive and Enjoy one of his Custom Rings.
He will be Missed by us all.

My sympathy and condolences to Dave’s family; tragic news from one of my favorite skull ring makes.

I never got around to buying one of Dave’s rings; I regret that now. His work has a rebel yell style to it I love, and I’ve meant for two years to get one of his engraved wings with FTW on it.

Dave’s father may still have some of his work left; I don’t know. I’ll update here later if I hear he does.

UPDATE:

Dave’s father had two rings left. I picked them both up, and I’m keeping one for me and will pass the other to a deserving individual. Give me a yell if you’re interested and we’ll talk.

Movable Type 4 template designer

Ok, so I need some help from a template designer who knows movable type 4. I don’t need a lot, but I do need someone else to suffer the slings and arrows for me. Payment will be in sexual favors and good old yankee dollars. I don’t intend to port my old template as is, […]

Ok, so I need some help from a template designer who knows movable type 4.

I don’t need a lot, but I do need someone else to suffer the slings and arrows for me. Payment will be in sexual favors and good old yankee dollars.

I don’t intend to port my old template as is, but I want to keep some of it’s elements, so I’ve got a pretty clear idea of a starting point.

Brave New World in Gray

I know. I know. It’s scary in here. Different. It’s ok. Really. It’s the same old moronosphere with a new skin. Change is good, they say, and if it isn’t, change is still change. The real story is that I’ve just upgraded to Movable Type 4.1, and because the folks at six-apart feel the need […]

I know. I know. It’s scary in here. Different.

It’s ok. Really.

It’s the same old moronosphere with a new skin. Change is good, they say, and if it isn’t, change is still change.

The real story is that I’ve just upgraded to Movable Type 4.1, and because the folks at six-apart feel the need to change things completely, whle feeling no need at all to maintain backwards compatability, everything in my blog design had to be abandoned in order to convert.

It took me a really long time to feel ok with that. But I think I’m there. And I gotta say, this took a hell of a lot less time than trying to convert everything, even if the result is somewhat grim. I=n fact I managed to do this in between tasks today while waiting for builds to finish

Don’t worry, my logo, at least, will come back. I’m attached to it. I just have to figure out how these fucking widgets work.

Sad Songs of Server Troubles

You may have noticed we’re having some server instability around here; comments disabled for various moronosphere-hosted blogs, server not responding, etc. For those of you I host, you’ll have seen it as well when you try to post. We’re working on it. We have several small problems that are adding up to a systemic pain-in-the-ass, […]

You may have noticed we’re having some server instability around here; comments disabled for various moronosphere-hosted blogs, server not responding, etc.

For those of you I host, you’ll have seen it as well when you try to post.

We’re working on it. We have several small problems that are adding up to a systemic pain-in-the-ass, and solving these issues has more to do with bandwidth (ours, ie, time to work on it) than with any seriousness of the problems.

Fixes should be in place soon, though we may have some downtime somewhere in the next week or two while we update things. I’ll post warnings before that happens.