Five Things: 11/12/13

1) I never thought that having a part-time news producing gig would turn me into a big sack of goo at the end of the day. But it has, and that’s a good thing. I can finally talk a bit about what I’m working on, and I must admit, it’s smashing.

If you’re interested, check out the site-in-progress. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to hear my dulcet tones reporting on allll sorts of goings-on and shenanigans.

I learned the hard way that I have a face for radio. Trust me, you don’t wanna see my mug. You’ll be scarred for life.

The app goes live on iTunes on December 3rd. For those of you who own iPhones and iPads, you can get the app for FREE FREE FREEE then. For Android users, you’ll have to wait a bit longer.

Stay tuned.

2) “I’m doin’ it for my kids.” Seems innocent enough, yes? You have a family. A mortgage, maybe a pet or two. Since families can be expensive, it’s best if both parents work, right?

(via GossipCenter)

(via GossipCenter)

Well, one would think this would be a good idea…yes.
Looks like the soon-to-be-ex Mrs. Tito Ortiz is returning to her former-career: Fucking on camera for shit-tons of money.

(via TeresAmerica.Blogspot)

(via TeresAmerica.Blogspot)

 

But, wait..if memory serves, didn’t Ms. Jameson spew at the 2008 AVN Awards that:

“I’ll never, ever, ever spread my legs again in this industry. Ever.”

Why? Well, she needs to support her family. Yes, I know that’s the reason she gave as to WHY she was leaving the skin-flick trade, but now she’s come full circle.
What a good mommy. Hope she kicked that boozin’ and drivin’ habit. And Tito.

3) Apparently, toilet paper isn’t enough for some folks. OR, some folks are so fucking lazy that they don’t know how to properly wipe their poo-covered evil eye, so some genius invented these:

(via Amazon.com)

(via Amazon.com)

I shit you not. They’re REAL.

You know, I’m not gonna go into it. For more info, just click here. If you like ‘em, I don’t want to hear about it. Same goes for if you use ‘em.

Of course, there’s a video.

4) Wanna know when you’re gonna take a dirt nap forever? Then buy this alarm clock. It’ll tell you when you’re gonna die every morning. That’s a good enough reason to get out of bed, unless today’s the day. Then, just lie there and wait for Death to spirit you away.

I’ve had a chance to ponder this and I think it’s brilliant! Imagine–alarm clock says you’re set to die in a week. What to do, what to do ….Hmmm..rubs chin..picks nose.. Maybe a crime spree? A drinking/meth binge? Run nekkid through your office and pee on your boss? Maybe diddle your boss or his/her spouse and FILM IT? Think about it–the possibilities are ENDLESS.

Via The Verge.

Alarmclock wakes you up with the time you’ll die

You’re welcome.

5) Oh, and here’s your 1980′s ear worm. Believe me, this hurts me more than it hurts you, but you must learn and that’s that.

Next time, just put the damn lotion in the basket, and you won’t be subjected to cheeeezeh listenin’ tunes.

 

 

Boned

Why am I surprised when an infamous person’s 15 minutes of fame is extended thanks to the brilliant idea of making a sex tape?

I keep hoping that humanity will man-up and put the kibosh on this phenom and actually heap huge rewards upon those of us who worked out asses off and played by the rules. But, as long as there’s a buck or two–or a million–to be made, Z-list celebs and their penchant for recording every fucking move for their half-wit fan base will continue until the sun explodes and kills us all.

Let this sink in and we’ll discuss it.

From The Daily Beast.

Report: ‘Teen Mom’ Signs $1M Porn Deal

“Looks like Farrah Abraham’s “sex tape” is being made into a porno after all. The Teen Mom star reportedly inked a nearly $1 million deal with Vivid Entertainment for the release of her tape, after initially claiming it was for private use only. The porno with James Deen allegedly comes with a classy title, too: “Farrah Superstar: Backdoor Teen Mom.” While most suspected the tape was good old-fashioned porn, Abraham and even Vivid founder and co-chair Steven Hirsch ran with the “sex tape” ruse for a while. Deen, meanwhile, tried to set the record straight that no one would believe it was for private use. “I said I’m like the worst person for this job because, not to be arrogant, but people are gonna know me,” he told The Daily Beast.

farrah.abraham.500x332

For those of you who don’t know who Farrah Abraham is, she is one of the stars of MTV’s reality series “Teen Mom.” Like all of the participants on that show, Farrah realized that as soon as her water broke, being a teen mom just plain sucks wang because not only does she have to deal with the trials and tribulations of being a teenager, she’s also a new mom! From what I’ve heard, being a new mom at any age is the toughest gig around. From time to time I would watch the season which featured Farrah, but had to stop due to the chronic laryngitis I got from yelling at the tee vee.

Admittedly, Farrah was different from most teen moms featured because her baby daddy died in a car crash prior to the birth of their daughter, Sophia, so she didn’t have worry about which baseball cap the baby daddy would be wearing when he picked up their kid for a play date with his new girlfriend’s kid. Or whether or not his facial hair was properly cared for.

Admit it–that’s mighty sad.

However, throw in her porn paramour, James Deen

main_308960k

 

the sage advice of the King of All Snake Oil Salesmen, Dr. Phil,  and we can use an egg timer to tell us exactly when she’ll be spit out of the ass-end of the porn industry. Well, that and the fact that she’s about as bright as a dove bar.

Am I completely surprised by this? Nah, but what this tells me is I need to have a teen mom, make a sex tape and collect a sub-mental fan base.

I’m going back to bed.

A Somber Anniversary

This week marks a frustrating and sad anniversary for me: Two years ago–January 21, 2011–was my last day at my editing gig at a trade/B2B publication here in Chicago.

First, allow me to back it up a titch and regale you about how the fun began two weeks earlier.

I arrived at work on that crappy cold-as-fuck morning, had just enough time to put my stuff down on my desk, take off my coat, and say hello to my co-workers before the Editor-in-Chief asked me to take a walk with him. I found this a bit odd since he never paid me much attention, unless it was to gripe about something, or if he needed me to order some sort of pen.

So, when we rounded the corner that separated the newsroom from sales, and into a small conference room where the resident HR drone was waiting, my stomach flip-flopped. My mouth went dry and my chest felt like it was going to resemble Kane’s in “Alien”–but with my heart bursting out & smacking both the EIC and HR right in their mugs instead of a parasite that would eventually kill the entire fucking masthead. A wry smile crossed my lips for a brief second at that thought, but it quickly vanished when I heard the following:

“Um, yeah. Julia. We’re going to lay you off–it’s nothing personal of course–we’re just eliminating your position so we can add more to the sales team.”

What happened next few minutes was a blur. I do, however, remember giving the EIC a look that would kill a planet, tightening my jaw until it ached and feeling the tears starting to build up. Sadly, the death glare didn’t land because he wouldn’t look me in the face, but he did manage to set the land speed record for waddling out of the conference room so he could alert my colleagues of my fate.

You know, to save face and look like a fucking hero.

“Gosh, we really like Julia, but tight budgets are preventing us from keeping her on. So, I know she’s looking for work, so please help her out if you can.”

My immediate boss was absent that day so when she got my tearful phonecall an hour later, needless to say, she was furious. The next couple of weeks were a blur of phonecalls to friends slash possible employers, resume prep, buckets of tears, lashing out at everyone, allowing my shocked soon-to-be-former co-workers take me out for lunches and post-work drinks, and trying my damndest to not kick both the EIC and ME in the balls. It took alll of my god-given strength to NOT throw my ass in the shitastic Chicago River when I learned that an intern would be doing my job.

Not personal, eh? Go fuck yourself.

The last couple of years hurled all sorts of puke/jiz-filled crappy crap at me. I don’t know which moments were the most fucked-in-the-head: Was it the the snow storm that hit the area about a week after I was canned? Or was it the pubic-hair freezing cold that pounded Chicago in the ass afterwards? Or, was it going out to LA to look for work and have many jobs dangled in front of me only to have them taken away just as I was making arrangements to move my life west? Maybe it was three interviews I had with a certain Chicago media outlet that always hired someone too young and inexperienced over me, only to have that person leave a few months later because the work was “too hard.” This happened three times.

It coulda been the publisher in Florida who flat-out asked me my age during a phone interview, and when I gently reminded him that what he was asking me was, gosh, ILLEGAL, he proclaimed he didn’t care. I ended the interview soon after.

Perhaps it was the approximately 500 carefully crafted resumes with the appropriate key words and phrases I sent out that were probably mocked, laughed at and tossed in digital circular files–I have no idea which one of these events have helped push me down Crap Mountain the fastest, but I do know this much–

THE LAST TWO YEARS HAVE BEEN A MAJOR PIG FUCK.

Somedays, I can’t move. I don’t leave the apartment. I read my New York Times, the New Yorker, maybe watch my stories on the tee vee, watch porn on the computer–anything to distract me from the fact that I am a miserable failure. While I am well aware that there are many in my situation–and in worse situations–I can’t worry about them. Does that make me cold & heartless? Naah, it makes me realistic because I highly doubt they give a red rat’s ass about me.

Other days, I work on my book that no one will ever read, do Bikram yoga and consider cooking meth in my kitchen. I help other friends find work, read reports and a thesis or two for a pittance. I cheer when my friends find work, and am sad for them when they lose their jobs. My happiness for their successes is genuine, but so is my anger and resentment. It’s difficult to be around friends who are successful and have jobs, so I don’t go out much. Plus, this city is expensive.

I’m thankful for my health (knock on wood), and the facts that I’m well-educated, and don’t have a mortgage or kids to worry about. I don’t want to think about where I’d be if either of those were a factor.

I felt some cold-comfort upon learning that both the EIC and ME were canned under new management. Since it’s not my style to revel in someone else’s misfortunes, my happiness immediately turned to concern because they both have families and mortgages. But then again, they’ll probably find work before I do, so fuck ‘em.

So, what am I to do? Keep getting out of bed every day. Keep on with the writing because my book is turning out to be a gem.

And most of all, not listen to those folks who tell me I can’t succeed. One of ‘those folks’ happens to be me, but that voice is getting fainter and fainter with each passing moment.

I think Madonna said it best below.

McCrabass+Porn=Faith Restored

Now, you all know that I once worked in the movie biz, correct? I ain’t shittin’ you on this tasty tidbit, monkehs. It’s all that time spent in dark, dank editing rooms with mostly self-important gasbags who wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for the casting couch or nepotism, that have helped make me into the McCrabass that I am today, and for that, you should be fucking thankful.

I was involved in the great celluloid caper for a long, long time. Most of my tenure in Hollywood was fun, but sadly, the more craptacular moments tend to be in the forefront of my memory these days. Don’t know why that is, but I’m thinking it has to do with the ancient hospital bill I found the other day –I sliced the tip of my finger off with a butt splicer while working on a film directed by Adam Rifkin.

Or maybe it was the ripping good yarn I told a friend recently about getting chewed out by a very angry lesbo broad editor from Philadelphia, who hated allll straight women–especially ones who were smarter and more LIKABLE than she ever could be –even if she had the large rod removed from her anus.

(courtesy Ebay)

(courtesy Ebay)

I don’t know what caused me to only think of the few realllly shitty times I had working in editing. It happens from time to time in life, see.

However, earlier today, my good pal Alice, alerted me to the fact that the AVN Awards took place in Vegas the other night, so I had to check out the most clever titles from last year. Wouldn’t you know it? The titles alone have not only restored my faith in filmmaking, but in humanity as well.

Take a gander, won’t you? And if these titles don’t titillate you and warm the cockles of your heart, then you have bigger problems than I ever will.

Thanks to Gawker for this list.

Clever Title of the Year
Asphyxia Heels the World, BurningAngel/Vouyer
Brooklyn Egg Cream on the Roxxx, Seymore Butts/Pure Play
Chocolate Covered Crackers, Black Magic Pictures
Chocolate Yam Yams, Black Storm/Monarchy/Vantage
Does This Dick Make My Ass Look Big?, Vouyer Media
Look Mom, My First Black Penis, Mike Hunt/Juicy
My Wife Caught Me Assfucking Her Mother, Devil’s Film
Nice Shoes, Wanna Fuck?, Electric/Hustler
Occupy My Ass, Bobbi Starr/Evil Angel
She Plays a Mean Rusty Trombone!, Lethal Hardcore/Pulse
Show Me Your Shithole, B. Pumper/Freaky Empire
Somebody Shave Me, Zero Tolerance Entertainment
The Spit and the Speculum, Mike Adriano/Evil Angel
Subtle Fragrance of Her Private Parts, Swank/Pure Play
We Vow to Bang Black Beotches, Kelly Madison/Juicy

And, the mostest cleverest title is …

Does This Dick Make My Ass Look Big?

Hmm..dunno if I agree. Personally, I’m torn between My Wife Caught Me Assfucking Her Mother (Who hasn’t had that happen? It’s totally relatable, that’s why it strikes a chord with me), and the more high-brow The Spit and the Speculum.

Talk among yourselves about which one you like the best while I figure out how in the entire fuck I’m gonna get a press pass for the AVN Awards next year.

Les Jiz

NSFW! WARNING! PORNY IMAGES IN POST! REAL NASTY ONES TOO!

Some people are so creative. Especially porn stars. I mean, who else coulda come up with double penetration?

(Thanks to kingdong.com)

(Thanks to kingdong.com)

Now that I’ve given you ideas of how to ring in the New Year with your gardener and pool boy, let’s get on with my story.

From Moral Low Ground.

Japanese Porn Star Uta Kohaku Collects Fans’ Semen for New Video

I … I … yep.

(h/t espanol.lpcdigital.com)

(h/t espanol.lpcdigital.com)

I don’t know what was funnier–researching this woman and her quest to have her fans send her bottles of spunk, or hearing my friend’s comments when we happened upon an Asian porn site. The categories were typical: Bukkake, Threesomes, Girl-on-Girl… zzzzzz. But, what tickled his fancy was the “Asians with Big Tits” category because according to him, “Asian broads don’t normally have big tittehs.” Great. Now the world can go back to spinning.

Anyhoo, it turns out, Miz Uta Kohaku, who has starred in such classics as “Porn Star Virgin Tastes Male Virgin First Time” and “Nipple Play with Lesbian Duo“, was looking for co-stars of sorts for her upcoming opus “Semen Collection 2″ which can only mean there’s a “Semen Collection 1″ swimming around the universe for us to feast our eyes upon! HOT DAMN! So, her bosses at RADIX STUDIOS alerted the Twitterverse and lo and behold, Japan turned into one big circle jerk. The rest is history.

(courtesy capitalbay.com)

(courtesy capitalbay.com)

What is this world coming to?

 

 

Lookie here

The McCrabass blog is a distraction for me–it’s fluff, it’s fun–aka it’s mental masturbation.

I consider my blogging as a sort of “Artist’s Way” minus the touchy-feely-I-was-once-married-to-Marty-Scorsese-but-he-dumped-me-so-now-I-write-how-to-books-for-wannabe-artists-aka-bored-housewives –but with box wine, chocolate and Bikram yoga. Oh and dark purple highlights and buttloads of salty language.

Simply put, I’m a writer who blogs for fun. I’m not into that brand-building bullshit. (Side note: what the fuck is branding anyway? Why are we supposed to brand ourselves to each other? What the fuck does it have to do with the price of eggs? It doesn’t help people get meaningful work, believeyoume. It’s basically a bullshit term made up by marketers. You’re only a brand if you’ve been heated up on the range where the deer and the antelope play, and used to tap some livestock ass.)

When I’m not thinking up and composing posts, I’m writing my book and looking for a gig. That type of writing is my true calling, along with journalism which I happen to do quite well when given the opportunity.

The following list is made up of folks who are great writers and use their blogs to display their dog-given talent. Some days they write more than on others by using words and images–or just words or just images–kinda like yours truly here. I’ve been reading these folks for a long time now and I suggest you check ‘em out. They write to write, not for the nebulous glory of Internet awards but because they love writing. Oh, and they all have something to say which is the mostest important aspect.

I’m not going to write up brief descriptions of their work because you need to do your own heavy lifting. You won’t regret it either.

In no particular order, if you may …

Reinventing the Event Horizon

Squathole

Lame Adventures

The Learned Fan Girl

Marguerite Darlington

The Musings of a Storyteller

Lloydville

Jonathan Turley

Rufino Cabang

CREW

UnfetteredBS

Robert Loerzel

Adventures By Kim

Violet Blue (NSFW)

Love Letters Are Dying

Herlander-Walking

Learn ‘em, know ‘em, love ‘em.

Swingin’ times in London town

The Games of the 30th Olympiad are plowing ahead, and we’re deep into the second week of stiff competition. Some competitors got off easy, while others went limp during their events. If you need to bone up on the results, check ‘em out here. Once you’re caught up, you’re ready to plunge headlong into the last weekend of competition. Enjoy.

Until next time, please enjoy some of the more memorable images from the games.

 

 

 

 

 

Putting on airs

There comes a time during long-term unemployment when a gal has to figure out what else she could do for a living. It would have to be something she’s good at, enjoys and will sustain her for a lifetime. While pondering my attributes, I decided to focus on my strengths — my intelligence, sense of humor, wicked wit, strong writing skills, wide knowledge of film making, and a built-in asshole detector — just to name a few.

A few friends have suggested I open my own business (doing what? Being a smartass doesn’t pay all that well). Small problem with starting  a business —  you kind of need a product to sell, and way to get and keep customers. I love how friends and acquaintances feel so triumphant when they tell me to ‘start my own business.’ That smugness is quickly dashed when I tell them I’m not an entrepreneur and not interested in ‘starting my own business.’ What’s truly is sad is they haven’t been paying attention and don’t know me well at all.

And, frankly, I’m sick of building my ‘brand’ and trying to sell myself to others. What brand would that be? Getting folks to click on ads on my blog is not my idea of ‘brand building’ — it’s bullshit and not worth the .001 cents I would get per click. While I’m at it, Tweeting and re-Tweeting my blog posts with the appropriate hashtags is not my idea of ‘brand building.’ Unless, of course, my ‘brand’ is porn because we all know that sex sells.

Until I spied this. From Untapped.Sf

I’ve edited it a bit since it’s waaay too long. Maybe Untapped.Sf should hire an editor.

Urban Profile: Jacki and the Business of Farting…for the Camera

Why didn’t I think of this?

Here’s a fact: WOMEN FART. Yep, we do. We belch, fart, rub one off every once in a while. We flick our nipples, use vibrators, pick our noses, scratch our asses, and walk around our abodes nekkid (shut UP).

In other words, we’re human.

With that, I don’t know why folks are getting their knickers in a twist about some broad who farts on video for money.

I met Jacki at a dance class three years ago. I remember noticing two things about her right off the bat. The first was a large, u-shaped scar on her chest that she made no effort to hide, and the second was just how open and upfront she was about…well, everything. Within minutes of meeting her, I learned that Jacki is, in her own words, a fetish video producer (more on this later), and that a few years prior she had had a life-saving lung transplant (hence the scar) born of a rare respiratory illness.

But first, who is Jacki and what does she do? Quite simply, this Bay Area native is a producer of farting videos. Her videos, which are posted on various fetish-exclusive sites are downloaded and paid for by hundreds of consumers. These video clips, featuring Jacki in various stages of undress, farting noisily into the camera, fulfill a niche community of men who get off on women farting. Yes, you read right. Men watch her fart and tell her how hot she is, how hard they are for her and her farts, and how much they want her to sit on their faces and fart on them.

Fetish isn’t something new to Bay Area folks. As a city that celebrates nudity, ass-less chaps, Kink.com and the Folsom Street Fair, San Franciscans are generally unfazed by what our more conservative counterparts call “sexual perversion.” But Jacki, my girl-next-door friend does not fit the typical profile of a San Francisco sexual deviant. With her fresh-faced cheeriness, completely unblemished skin (no tattoos, no piercings) and Euro-chic dress sense, Jacki looks like the furthest thing from a fetish girl. She jokes:

“When people hear that I’m in the fetish business they think latex, S&M, piercings and dominatrix whipping stuff. Seriously Suicide Girls is so 1998. We’ve moved on to farting people!”

 I am speechless. Why the hell didn’t I think of this? I’d be a gazillionaire by now had I done this first. Thank god for fetishes. Seriously.
Immersing herself full time in the world of selling fetish items, Jacki quickly became highly sought after. She soon transitioned her business from selling used items such as shoes and underwear (and tempting fate by shipping these items with the US Postal System) to filming and selling only fetish videos on the internet, her specialty being fart videos.

Her vidyas are plotless, last anywhere from five to ten minutes in length and are for sale via her website (which she doesn’t want posted). Candid is the name of the game with Staci — she just turns on the camera and let’s ‘em rip, but not after telling her viewers how bad she needs to cut one. Charming. And, what’s even better, is she’s basically a gal-next-door type. How refreshing, but the gal-next-door turn-on bodes well for someone like me, who looks like she’s just been found bound and gagged in someone’s crawlspace right next door, and is in dire need of a shower and a shave.

What’s even better about Staci is she’s a true Philosopher Queen when it comes to farting on camera, and what works and doesn’t. Also, her dietary needs that are helping her become as famous as Le Petomane. Spoiler alert — her roughage requirements aren’t that extraordinary.

“All farts are not created equal. Some men like farting girls in underwear, some men only like white underwear farts, some like thongs, some hate thongs, some like farts through jeans, some like bare-bottom farts, some like women farting on furniture, like chairs, or couches or mattresses. … Kashi cereal. I had some this morning, and now I’ve got so much gas!” she groans. “Raw cabbage will do it too, but who wants to eat raw cabbage?”

I’m in awe of this woman because she obviously isn’t filled with the crippling WASP prudishness that invades every single cell in my body. If I didn’t have family OR friends, I’d make over-40 farting vids because you know damn well there’s a market for it.

What makes me say something so bold?

“If you have a sense of humor about farting, you’ll stay young.”

Things not-so-mundane

I’ll be taking a little trip for a few days to defend my title.

So, until then, stay in the shallow end of the pool, don’t pick your nose in public and enjoy these fine tales I’ve highlighted below.

First, these are ugly, and I love Uggs. I just don’t wear them out in public because I don’t want to look like a hippo with suede legs and club feet. I don’t care how skinny you are — they aren’t flattering which is why I don’t get why any woman would want to wear something so unflattering on the most important day of her life. Suede cankles under silk. You may kiss the bride.

Um, nope. (photo courtesy of Clark+Walker Studio)

 

 

After reading this, I want a zebra and a drink. (from USAToday)

Iowa man with zebra, parrot arrested for DUI in bar lot

Breathe it in, folks. What about that hed stands out the most to you? I get the parrot and the zebra pairing since those are two species who might live in the wild together. DUI, man and Iowa, yep, kind of a no-brainer. However, when you put all those items together, you have a big bowl of wrong. It’s fun though.

“So, this man with a zebra and parrot walks out of a bar –

No, it’s not the set-up for a joke, but an intoxicatingly true story out of Dubuque, Iowa, according to news reports from the Hawkeye State.

Jerald Reiter, 55, of Cascade, Iowa, was backing his truck out of the Dog House Lounge parking lot Sunday night when police stopped him. His passengers? A small zebra in the back seat and a macaw parrot on his shoulder, the Telegraph Heraldreports.

Officers said Reiter’s blood-alcohol level was .14 (the limit is .08), so he was charged with driving drunk (officially, operating while intoxicated). He admits he was behind the wheel but was going to let his other passenger — his human buddy — do the driving, according to the local Gazette.

Reiter thinks someone in the crowd of gawkers called police to complain about the “welfare” of his novel pets, which often go for rides.

He said his local watering hole often allows pets, but not Sunday night, because the owner told him food was being served. TV station KCRG.com got a different story: no animals are ever allowed inside. (Will the bar owner be in the dog house if the alcohol and health inspectors stop by?)

Reiter’s girlfriend, Vicki Teter, told the Gazette that their animals “are a big part of the family,” and that she understands people’s reactions to their exotic pets.

“It’s not everyday you see somebody that’s got a zebra or a parrot in the house, and who knows tomorrow what might be in our house,” she said.”

I got nothing to add, except for the video….

Pennsylvania police officer broke into neighbor’s house, did laundry, cops say

I bet the homeowner wouldn’t have pressed charges had the officer done his clothes too. From the AP.

“AVALON, Pa. — Dirty clothes have a Pittsburgh-area police officer in hot water.
coplights.jpgView full sizeThe Patriot-News
Rankin police Officer Jason Rocco is charged with trespassing and criminal mischief for allegedly breaking into a neighbor’s home to wash his clothes.

Rocco was arraigned Saturday and released on his own recognizance.

WPXI-TV reports the home’s owner noticed his electric bill was unusually high, given that he hadn’t lived in the house for months. When the owner visited, investigators say he found the dryer running with Rocco’s clothes inside.

Avalon police who questioned Rocco say he told investigators the home’s back door was already broken and he “just had to do some laundry.”

A phone listing for Rocco could not be located Wednesday. A preliminary hearing is scheduled for Thursday.”

I don’t blame him for not going to a laundromat. The last time I blessed one of those establishments with my presence, I caught some slight-in-stature man trying to steal my knickers.

When I asked him why, he said, “The goat outside told me to.”

“That’s not a nice way to talk about your boyfriend.”

“Cunt.”

 

I want one of these t-shirts in every fucking color of the rainbow, then I’d give one to every woman I know. I’d wear this rag every damn day too. I don’t care if crewnecks are unflattering, or if they’ll start to fray after being worn day in and day out. It’s message is spot-on.

This has to do with an incident on an American Airlines flight where a woman was removed because she was wearing a t-shirt like this one. According to the airlines, the message on the shirt was offensive so she was told she either had to cover up the shirt or change into something more appropriate, or not fly. (I.E. something with no swears or offensive imagery on it.)

Now, had I been wearing this shirt and was asked to remove it, I would’ve. Sure. Why not? But, I’m gonna add a wrinkle — why replace the shirt? Why not just go topless? Shit howdy, I would. What’s the big deal? Seeing a nice pair of boobs isn’t the worst thing spied on a flight these days. We’ve all seen worse — from people travelling in pajama bottoms, (“the slobification of America” — thank you Tim Gunn), to this sassy gent.

When was it okay for American Airlines to make political statements by dictating what a passenger wears on her t-shirt? Like I stated earlier, I’ve seen much worse on flights — demeaning tattoos, over-pierced bodies, heinous t-shirts that are demeaning to women and minorities and I’ve never seen a member of a flight crew bat an eye — even after a fellow passenger complained about a sexist t-shirt that barely skimmed this other passenger’s ample tum-tum. All the flight attendant could do was shrug her shoulders. Funny, there’s a clause in an airline’s contract of carriage that the airline may refuse transport or remove a passenger from a flight if the passenger is “clothed in a manner that would cause discomfort or offense to other passengers” among other things. Most airlines’ contracts of carriage include such clauses, but the language may be different. I’ve rarely seen or heard of this rule being enforced.

Finally, this is my new favorite Tumblr. It’s replaced this blog.

Indifferent cats in amateur porn

It’s got cats, it’s got porn. What more could you possibly want?

McCrabass speaks!

A friend, Matthew Aaron, from Chicago has decided to take pity on me and let me be a guest on his Internet radio show. Fortunately, my parole officer has allowed this and will be here soon to take the anklette off to make participating just that much easier.

So, if you’re around a computer at noon PT, please tune in. I have NO idea what’s going to happen. Matt said we’re gonna wing it and one of us will either end up in traction or in a Magdalene laundry. Whatever happens, it will be fun — that I can guarantee.

Here’s the page for the show — I believe you have to subscribe in order to get access to the podcast.

http://www.thematthewaaronshow.com/

Please be gentle with the criticisms — it’s my first time.