Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

My body’s pretty hot and I think I got a shot
I wanna be the girl on your screen
and the guy at Circuit City said I could show my titties
with the cutest little webcam machine
Well the hits start coming and they don’t stop coming
My web page rules, keep the memberships coming
If I wanna have sex, I do it on cue
I still get laid and you can watch too
So many friends, it never ends
and you’re all invited for weekends
Really want you to see me screw
It’ll refresh in a minute or two

Hey now, I’m a Porn Star, got my clothes off, come see
Hey now, I’m a Web Star, turn the web cam on me
and now I wanna show you
all my fantasies coming true

It’s a great gig and I hope it gets better
Just watching my stats keeps making me wetter
But my parents just don’t understand
the way they keep begging me to find a good man
I tell them yes, I completely agree
but it’s gotta be one that’ll satisfy me
so I keep trying ‘em, one by one
who’dve thought the internet was so much fun?

Hey now, I’m a Porn Star, broadest bandwidth, come see
Hey now, I’m a Web Star, turn the web cam on me
and I’m here waiting for you
if you’re twenty-one, come on through.

Hey now, I’m a Porn Star, double-jointed, come see
Hey now, I’m a Web Star, turn the web cam on me
I’ll show off what I can do,
teach that JennieCam a thing or two

Somebody once asked what I didn’t put in FAQs
Was there a single thing that I hadn’t tried?
I said yep, I hadn’t had sex
with the mayor and a string quartet
but you should all log in next Saturday night
Well the hits start coming and they don’t stop coming
My web page rules, keep the memberships coming
And all you need to see my ass
is a modem and AdultCheck pass
Gave up some poon this afternoon
And we’ll talk about it in the chatroom
I know my man will understand
Cuz I can type with just one hand

Hey now, I’m a Porn Star, here’s my girlfriend, come see
Hey now, I’m a Web Star, turn the web cam on me
I’ll show you all I can show
get your credit card, click below

As we enter a new era, full of the promise of better lives for all registered Republicans, we approach a slight bobble in the road: our new president seems equally interested in improving education for all and in stomping on birth control alternatives, which leads to a bit of confusion amongst health educators. What do they tell the kids? Do they mention it at all, and risk censure and loss of federal funds? True, such a sanction has not been passed, but the topic of “abstinence only” based sex ed has been coming up again and again and it takes a brave person indeed to chance being the test case.

Fortunately Hoot Island steps up, ready and willing.

We would like to present our own series of animated musical shorts that help teach kids the important facts about reproduction and relationships while at the same time remaining harmless cartoony shows. We haven’t hammered out all the details yet, but here’s the first one. Please let us know what you think.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

A couple of kids, ages indeterminate but they’re horribly cute, wander into their big sister’s room.

Boy: Woof! Sis sure had a tough lock on her door. Now we can dig through her lingerie drawers. But I wonder who that sad little blue tablet is?

We pan up to see a small round compact-sized box, open, with a darling little animated pill sitting on the edge. He is wearing a forlorn expression, and he begins, as all animated drugs must, to sing.

I’m just a pill.
Yes, I’m only a pill.
And I’m sitting here on this window sill.
Well, now your sister’s s’posed to take me
When she gets out of bed.
So there’s no repercussions
When she has sex with Fred.
But if she takes me she won’t be a mom
At least I hope and pray that she will,
But today I am still just a pill.

Boy: Gee, Pill, you certainly take your job seriously.

Bill: Well I have to. I can’t do anything about preventing disease, but I can help keep her from getting knocked up. When I started, I wasn’t even a pill, I was a bunch of herbs that women ate or stuffed or smoked to keep from getting saddled with a youngun. Some folks back home decided they wanted something more dependable, so they called their local biochemist and he said, “You’re right, there oughta be a pill.” Then he and his partners sat down and figured me out and introduced me to women everywhere. And I became a pill, and I’ll remain a pill until your sister takes me.

I’m just a pill
Yes I’m only a pill,
And she doesn’t need the medical bill.
Well, now I’m stuck here unswallowed
And she’s out on a date
Where she’ll get good and hammered and she’ll fornicate
And she can do it if she takes me soon
How I hope and pray that she will,
But today I am still just a pill.

Girl: But what if she doesn’t take you? Doesn’t she have any other ways to stop babies?

Pill: No, I’m one of the lucky ones. Condoms are too awkward and mood-breaking, diaphragms are worse, and teachers and clinics are afraid to discuss abortions because they might lose funding. If it gets worse I might disappear.

Boy: Disappear?

Pill: Yeah, disappear in the return of “morality” and “wholesomeness”.

Boy: Then what happens?

Pill: Then women lose control of their reproductive cycles again and they’ll have even more abortions..

Girl: Oh no!

Pill: Oh yes!

I’m just a pill
Yes, I’m only a pill
And if she can’t use me to prevent God’s Will
Well, then she’ll have to think of something else
She’ll have to use tricks
Like a back-room abortion
Or RU-486
But if she takes me she won’t be a mom
How I hope and pray that she will,
But today I am still just a pill.

Boy: You mean the government might try to tell her that she can’t control her own body?

Pill: Yes, that’s called being pro-life. She can still use rhythm methods, jumping up and down a lot, and prayer.

Girl: But that means she has to rely on luck or iron will power. It’s easy to become a mom, isn’t it?

Pill: Yes!

But how I hope and I pray that she will,
But today I am still just a pill.

A young woman runs into the bedroom, glares at the kids, and flops onto the bed.

Sis: No problem, Pill! I blew him!

Pill: Oh yes!!!

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Only the beginning of our new Whorehouse Rock series. Check back for the next ones, “Erectile Dysfunction, What’s Your Function?” and “Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, Get Your Tampons Here!”.

Maybe I’ve lived on the island too long, but when someone tells me there’s a special week set aside for getting drunk, eating too much, losing your inhibitions and exposing your nude body to the world, my first question is, “Just one week?”

Mardi Gras is upon us, and I’m afraid I may be too late. Thousands of women around the world are already in the thick of it, popping their puppies out of their shirts for a handful of cheap plastic beads, and thank God for those women. But far too many of them are inexperienced beginners at the fine art of public flashing. Hard working New Orleans police spend their mornings searching Bourbon Street and collecting the injured from the field, transporting them to the Breast Trauma Center at River Oaks. These poor girls are strained, tit-whipped, and destined for long months of intense physical therapy and cocoa butter massages.

Even though there are only a few nights left, I’d like to offer some tips on proper public personal expression.

Practice.

Sure, it looks easy. Flip it up, flip it down, catch the beads. But like any physical activity it requires practice and preliminary stretches. Stand in front of your mirror, lift your head and look up, and grab the bottom of your shirt. Then lift your shirt up over your breasts and hold it beneath your chin so your torso and face are both visible. Hold it for a count of three, then lower your shirt in one smooth motion and giggle uncontrollably. Repeat. Keep this up until your arms are burning and your neck is sore. Ha! Not so easy now, is it? Check the time – did you make five minutes? Ten? Then how are you going to last a whole weekend? Practice, girlfriend, practice!

Get some of those wrist weights to help build up your arm muscles. If you have beads from last year wear them, or buy pounds of them from a dollar store to wear while you train. As they accumulate on the big nights you’ll find yourself with more and more to manuever around, best to get ready for it now where you can get your wrist movements smooth and confident. You’ll also need to practice catching beads flung at you from a great height; throwing them as high as you can in your back yard is a good way to get ready for this.

A helpful friend is good, as they can spend the next few weeks yelling “Beads!” at you at random intervals to help increase your response time. Repetition, repetition, repetition. Be sure to flash in different directions. You don’t want to master flashing balconies, only to trip while awkwardly flashing an alleyway.

Begin a healthy diet of wheats, grains, fruit, and vodka to bring your alcohol tolerance to competitive levels, and learn to pace yourself so you don’t burn out by Saturday night.

Observe some common sense safety rules. Ladies who are especially blessed have been known to have lower back strain, so please: flash with your knees, not with your back. Carpal tunnel from repetitive flexion at the wrists is not uncommon, so be sure to wear braces on your wrists, and take a five minute rest for each hour of flashing.

When your friend yells at you while you’re carrying groceries in the house and you can still let go, spin, flash your jugs, smile, and catch the bags before they hit the ground, all without breaking stride, you’re ready for the big time.

Prepare.

Select your outfit carefully; you’ll want something stretchy that clings to your curves but lifts easily over your sweet, sweet knockers. C cups and up, you may want to consider a top with a built-in shelf or support web (it’ll be a long night). Don’t think that small breasts are a disadvantage! True, they’re harder to see from a distance, but they’re every bit as exquisite, plus they’re easier to flash. You only have to pull your shirt up, not up and over. The saved time can really add up.

Take care of your breasts. Even up your tan (if desired) and check for stray hairs or blemishes. I recommend a few weeks of nightly massages with a good vitamin E cream. Not only does that help keep your skin healthy and supple, it also helps you get familiar with your breasts so the three of you are forged into a powerful team. Also I really like thinking of all of you rubbing your slippery tits, over and over, around and around…

Pay special attention to your nipples. Left alone, they’re very likely to get raw and sensitive from all the activity, so spend some time now pinching, tugging on them and twisting them lightly to build up their tolerance. Oh, yes.

Don’t neglect the rest of your body! You’re going to be walking a long way, you want legs that can handle it. Your walking regimen should eventually be five miles a day, with flashing stops every ten feet or so. If you’re going to be spending any appreciable amount of time on the shoulders of a friend, preliminary training is vital for both of you. Also dieting.

Your outfit.

As mentioned, soft and clingy works best. Bikinis get tangled, dresses get stretched out, tights are impractical, and anything bulky is going to wear you out faster. Don’t pick something that has to be pulled down, it’ll only get stretched out and large-breasted women risk getting stuck trying to pull it back up.

You’ll also want to choose the rest of your outfit just as carefully. Thongs are standard now, so watch that razor stubble. Make sure that whatever underwear you’re wearing is clean since it’s almost certain your picture will become a permanent part of the Internet and you don’t want your grandchildren seeing you in dirty underwear. Do you want your third-grade English teacher to die of embarrassment? Do you?
Try to make sure your tattoos and piercings (if any) are coordinated. Body paint should be either decorative (turning your pups into puppies, or flowers, or eyes, or anything roundish) or declarative (”No war!” “If you were my boyfriend, you’d be home now!” “Suck on these, frat boy!”) and should be easy to touch up. Keep sparkles and heavy makeup away from your chest – too much danger of abrasion or fire hazard.

If you work for a really prestigious business, like Citibank, the Christian Science Monitor, or Congress, consider wearing a company t-shirt. Hey, advertising is advertising.

Bring a couple strings of beads with you to start off with, to seed the pot, as it were. And a colorful fanny pack makes a good place to carry extra lotion, bail money, and your lawyer’s business card.

Wear some comfortable shoes (if you’ve got a balcony spot you can go barefoot, but arch support is still important). And remember that whatever you wear, you’re stuck with for hours. With that in mind, go wild. It’s Mardi Gras!

Choreography.

It’s not just flipping and walking. There’s an art to it, a style, a manner that draws the crowds and the webcams.

First, wear the outfit you’ve chosen. No good to practice a move only to find that your feathers cover your goodies.

Now, go back to your mirror. Skip along a little bit, “notice” someone watching you, and smile at them to get their attention. Now grab the bottom of your shirt.

Don’t pull it up immediately! Keep your hands there for a moment – that’s the universal sign for “tits coming!” and it signals everyone around you to check their camera settings. Giggle to yourself, like you don’t believe you’re doing this, then whip your shirt up to your chin and stand proudly for a measured count of three. Do not cross your arms, you don’t want to obscure your vision. Also, by lifting straight up you throw your elbows out straight, which will whack passersby that might be getting too close. You may wish to shake a bit. Laugh while you hold it. Bring your shirt back down fast and bend over slightly, like you’re embarassed by all the cheering, then get ready to catch the beads and move on.

For variety, some advanced techniques involve rubbing your breasts, cupping them and holding them up for presentation, and licking your own nipples.

It is advisable to bring a friend with you, not only for companionship and for splitting bar tabs, but to help protect you from the crowds and to provide additional choreography. If your friend is male, standing behind you and cupping your breasts is a great way to show them off and offer extra support at the same time. If your friend is female, double flashing gets more attention, especially if you touch each other while doing so. For some reason men love the idea that all women really want to kiss each other, and you can use that to your advantage, especially if your friend is cute and you always wanted to kiss her anyway. You did, admit it. You touched her that one time in the shower at the gym, right? Did she like it? Huh?

Style

This part is all yours. You’ll need to develop your own unique style to avoid fading into the crowd. You want to stand out, to get noticed, to get picked for the Girls Gone Wilder box cover. There’s the old standards: shy girl flashing because she discovers she likes it, bold girl flashing because she knows what’s she got and wants everyone else to see it, arrogant girl who knows what she’s got and wants everyone to see what they can’t have, drunk girl who’s flashing because she thinks she’s at Burning Man , horny girl who’s flashing as a live-action billboard, and any number of variations and combinations. What can you do to shake it up a little?

Go online and do a search for “mardi gras flash” to check out some sites devoted to the subject. I think there’s one or two. Which pictures do you notice? Buy the videos and watch them over and over to look for techniques and moves you can adapt for yourself. Practice on friends and relatives before you go out in public. You can even try video-taping yourself to watch later for mistakes, and send the video to professionals or adult webmasters for expert pointers.

Finally, remember that you’re doing this to have fun. Don’t get too tied up in perfectionalism, especially when you consider that any straight guy will want to see your tits no matter how you do it, and 95% of all the people you’ll see will be so wasted they won’t be sure what you look like anyway. Have fun, and remember to moisterize!

Make me proud.

[Screen fills with a starfield, and celestial music plays ("celestial" means lots of sitars, apparently). From below and offscreen a hand appears, zipping up the zipper on a pair of jeans that covers the screen. Light shines brilliantly from inside the zipper, forming the show's logo. Hold on the logo for a second, then it flips away to reveal a studio audience applauding. Our host Ricky Russell strides out from behind the curtains. He is short, squat, and looks like a smartly tailored mechanic.]

Announcer: Prepare to be astounded and amazed, it’s the Crotch Psychic!

Russell: Hi, everyone, I’m Ricky Russell, the Crotch Psychic. I’m here to listen to the parts of your body that you’re ignoring and to answer the questions that are crippling your love life.
[The crowd applauds again]
Let’s start right off with a few questions from our studio audience. You sir, do you, or your crotch, have a question for the crotch psychic?

Phil: Wow, yes, I sure do. My penis has been completely flaccid for almost three days. Three days, Ricky. I’ve never gone this long without a stiffy, and me and my wife Gloria are starting to get worried.

Russell: This sounds serious. First of all, when did you first masturbate?

Phil: Successfully? That would be June 23, 1991.

Russell: Ah, good, your penis is a Cancer.

Gloria: Really? But Phil’s a Sagittarius.

Russell: You can’t go by that, ma’am. It’s widely known that genitals can have completely different personalities from their owners, and those personalities must be carefully charted. Take Phil’s here, for example. Let me listen for a moment. (He kneels and presses the side of his face against Phil’s jeans front; Phil looks startled) Uh huh. Uh huh. Right. Really? Oh, well sure. I’ll take care of it. (He stands up) Gloria? The answer lies within you.

Gloria: What? Me?

Russell: Yes. You see, a Cancer penis thrives on the exchange of feelings. They need security and love to be wrapped in an environment of love and comfort. And that means blowjobs, Gloria.

Phil: (visibly cheering up) Oh, yeah?

Russell: Definitely. Cancer dicks need some regular hot tongue action to feel content. Phil’s penis desperately needs the feeling of you sucking it all the way down your throat while your hands stroke his balls.

Phil: He’s right! It’s working already! Welcome back, big guy!
[Audience applauds]

Russell: It’s simple if you just listen. Let’s take another problem. Excuse me ma’am, what can I do for you ladies?

Lucille: Hello, Mr. Russell. It’s my twat.

Russell: What seems to be the problem with it?

Lucille: It’s gone bone dry and won’t lubricate for anything. We’ve tried all of its favorites – oils, hand cream, whipped cream, pictures of Jessica Alba, nothing. It’s really causing problems between me and Gina, here

Gina: It’s a Libra, Mr. Russell.

Russell: Hmmm. Let’s have a listen. (He bends over and pushes his ear into Lucille’s groin) Well, hello little lady. What’s all the trouble, then? You don’t say? Really? More than anything, huh? That’s interesting. Yes, I’ll tell her. What? (He looks up to Lucille’s face and chuckles in an avuncular manner) It’s the cutest thing, she wants me to give her a kiss. Do you mind?

Lucille: Uh, I, I guess not. Honey?

Gina: Hey, he’s the psychic, right? (Russell smiles and grabs Lucille’s hips to plant a big smacker between her legs. Lucille gasps and runs her fingers through Russell’s hair)

Russell: (Standing back up to face a slightly glazed Lucille) The problem here is a simple one, I hardly had to ask. Lucille’s twat is a Libra, so right away I know that beauty, balance and harmony are important. Libra pussies have a great need to share, to be fair and impartial. They have a very active, outwardly radiating personality, and that’s why it’s drying up.

Lucille: I don’t understand.

Russell: By limiting yourself to Gina, you’ve bottled up your twat’s natural Libra expressiveness and generosity. What’s more, the dryness symbolizes the desiccation of your sex life. You need to open yourself to more things, more liquids.

Gina: So what should she do, Mr. Russell.

Russell: I think the fastest way out of this difficulty is for Lucille to blow me right away.

Lucille: But, I’m a lesbian!

Russell: My dear, your pussy knows what it needs. I’m only trying to bring the two of you together again, to the point where you’re perfectly in tune with its wants and needs and you’ll never need or call me again. But I don’t want to cause a rift in your relationship, and in fact I can see this as a potential bonding moment for you and Gina. You should both blow me, without delay.

Gina: (Taking Lucille’s hand) If you’re sure it will help

Russell: I don’t think I’ve been more positive of anything my whole life. Folks, while we’re doing what we can for Lucille, please watch this tape of a case I dealt with over the weekend in Calvaras County.

[Lucille and Gina argue as the camera pans to the big screen and we see Russell outside an expansive farmhouse]

Russell: I’m at a farm just outside Angel Camp, California, to address the problem of Mr. Jackson Bryson, millionaire and cattle baron. [A graphic of a piece of stationary spins out from the side to fill the screen] Mr. Bryson’s anguish was brought to my attention by a letter from his wife Carla, who writes

Carla’s voice: Dear Mr. Russell. We’ve been watching your show for two years, and we’ve been very impressed with the way you’ve solved all those problem peckers. My husband used to think you were a scam artist, and that you just picked cases you knew you could solve, but over the years we’ve become convinced. The reason I’m writing is that tragedy has struck at home. Jackson’s prick has lost its will to live. We’ve been trying the remedies that we’ve heard you advise so many times, but it just doesn’t seem to be working. Can you help? God bless you, Carla Bryson.

[The letter folds away and we see Russell in a well-appointed room with expensive furnishings. He is sitting by the bedside of Bryson, a frail man who looks about a hundred years old. Standing on the other side of the bed is a stunning brunette wearing a halter top and crack-hugger shorts.]

Russell: Mrs. Bryson, what can you tell me about Jackson’s penis?

Carla: Oh, Mr. Russell, it’s been terrible. No matter what we do it just lays there like a little worm. It used to be so tall and strong, like a big worm!

Russell: What have you been doing to help?

Carla: Well, we watch all your shows, and we bought your book “Swallow and Thrive,” so I followed the health regimen you have in the back. Every morning I wake up early, bathe and oil myself, and make breakfast, then I bring it in here and pull down his sheets and suck him off.

Russell: And does it respond?

Carla: At first it does, but right after he comes it just goes limp again. Then he eats breakfast and goes out to work. The other boys I dated didn’t do that! It’s just so sad!

Russell: Is that the only time?

Carla: Oh, heavens, no! When he comes home for lunch I’m on him at the door, gulping away. Lately at night he tries to hide in the bathroom but you can open those doors with a penny, you know? But his poor thing barely twitches, it takes me almost an hour to get a spurt out of him, and by then he’s wheezing and clutching his chest and his left arm is all crooked.

Russell: This does sound serious. Let’s have a listen. (He lowers his heads to Jackson’s crotch; Jackson screams in his sleep and tries to curl up and roll on his side but is easily held in place by Carla) Hmmm. I yes? In English, please, thank you. Yes, that’s better. (Carla clasps her hands, rapt attention on her face) Ah, I see. That explains a lot, thank you. Carla?

Carla: (Rushing around to sit next to Russell) Yes?

Russell: You’ve been doing exactly what Jackson’s poor prick needs. But it needs more. (Behind them, Jackson can be heard whimpering) At his advanced years, it takes a special effort, but I think you’re just the special girl to do it. Are you?

Carla: Oh, yes, Mr. Russell!

Russell: What I want, and what his prick wants, is for you to double your efforts. Suck on him in the middle of the night, and meet him out in the fields during the day. You need to remind his prick that it has a job to do and appeal to its Calvinistic nature.

Carla: Excuse me?

Russell: It’s a workaholic, Carla. It expects to pull its weight, but it’s been coddled and allowed to rest far too often. Tell me, does Jackson have any other dependants? (Behind them, Jackson’s hand rises weakly before falling back to the bed)

Carla: No, I’m his only relative.

Russell: How difficult for you. I’m afraid that the responsibility for his health and his financial holdings falls squarely on you. Suck him hard, Carla, no less than seven times a day. Don’t let him stop you, either. He’s a proud man, he won’t want to admit his weakness. You may need to tie him down to do it right. Surprise him in the dead of night. If you have any attractive girlfriends, ask for their help. He’ll be right as rain in no time.

Carla: (Throwing her arms around Russell and burying his face in her cleavage) Oh thank you Mr. Russell! I will! I will!

Russell: (Muffled) And please call me in a week, I’d like to come check you out. Check up on you! I’d like to check up on you. And Jackson, of course. (The camera shakes for a moment and Russell looks just above it for a second. A silent one-sided argument is seen.) My cameraman would like to check up on you too, preferably Thursday night around 10, if that’s all right. We just don’t want you to feel you’re all alone, Mrs. Bryson. (He turns to the camera) And now back to the studio.

[Cut to the studio, where a relaxed-looking Russell is standing onstage.]

Russell: That’s all we have time for, but please be sure to tune in next week for another episode of Crotch Psychic! And stop by our website at Discovery.com for more tips on how to keep in touch with your crotch! Must be over 21.

Whenever I begin preparations for a trip, there is always one big concern. Not what clothes to pack, I’m the sort of annoying person who throws some stuff into a backpack a few minutes before leaving the house. Not what books to take, although that’s usually tougher. Not even how to coordinate phone calls home, we’ve got that sort of thing worked out already.

It’s what sort of filth to take with me.

Okay, I could be in the weird minority here, but I hate being stuck in a strange city, in my hotel room alone, with no porn. At home I know what to find where, at friends’ places I usually have free run of their movie stash. But at 3 in the morning when the ice machine outside my door has woken me up for the fourth time in 15 minutes and I’ve already taken three showers, that’s when I start going through my bag to see which magazine or book or CD I’ve brought along. Sure, a lot of motels have adult movies available and they’ll do in a pinch — and I admit I even prefer the long distance, full body shots they tend to favor as being more fun to watch than the series of 10 minute long gynecological closeups the video versions use — but you never know what you might get. At times I’ve found myself picking the ones with the weirdest names just to give the desk help something to chuckle over when I check out.

Nah, I prefer to pick up something for the journey. That way it’ll always remind me of the good time I had, especially if the porn in question turned out to have been the high point of the trip.

This brings us to the biggest problem — how to get this stuff through airport security. I can tell you now that I’m an especially difficult person to embarrass. You have to care what people think of you to be embarrassed, no worries there. But I don’t want to hold up the line or delay the flight or get arrested or, worst of all, get singled out as the guy to muscle into the bathroom once we lift off. So I’ve devised a list of helpful tips for getting your smut through safely and silently, and I thought I’d share them with you.