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Friday, February 20, 2015



Yep... I hear the world is ending and one day it will in fact end.
Can't be helped.
So we may as well enjoy the ride...
Click below to have a listen...

Monday, January 26, 2015


There's this weird thing I heard about...

A husband doesn't give his wife flowers during 20 years of marriage. Not once. Not when their kids are born, not on anniversaries, not on birthdays, nada, zilch, zero, bupkus. Oh, wait. One time he told his secretary to have flowers sent to his wife when he closed a big deal and wanted to celebrate. ie: Take memo. Send flowers to me via wife.

Okay, maybe I'm hopelessly romantic but I love buying flowers for my girl - or for anyone. Who doesn't? Who would flip it off as ridiculous and say: "Flowers? Oh, c'mon. Grow up already."
Is that like a special kind of sociopath? The non-flower buying type? Is it in the DSM nut categorizing manual? Should be.

Flowers are a crucial part of any successful relationship and an important marital aid. Not only do you get to look like a good guy in the flower store and on the way to giving the flowers to that special person, but when every woman and relatively enlightened guy sees you, as you're marching along with a bunch of colorful flowers in your fist, bright eyed with happy anticipation, they all go: "Awww... what a good guy."

But the non-flower giving guy had his reasons, apparently. He felt flowers were corny and unnecessary. If I was a woman and a guy went two weeks without flowers, forget two effin' decades - I'd be throwing his butt onto the curb with the trash. No flowers, huh? Okay, no nookie. Whaddaya mean that won't work? Why not? Oh, c'mon, grow up, sex is so corny and unnecessary. I've had the kid. What do you need sex for?

Now here's the really weird part. The wife in this spousal partnership, or whatever you'd call a thing where the guy never buys flowers, she felt she couldn't impose on him to be someone he's not - ie: a flower-buying guy. She didn't feel she could force him to not be a self absorbed a-hole who can't think of anyone but himself for a single moment. Oh, well, sure, I get that. Live and let live. "He just doesn't have it in him." Uh, yeah.
No wonder their love life stinks.

And she actually wonders why things have gone flat? Why the magic's worn off and the fire's died, etc etc? Duh. Here's a clue, Dr. Watson. A pathological lack of flowers would undermine the whole shebang and turn it into a she-not-bang. How hot are you gonna get for a guy who's NEVER bought you flowers? Seriously. Imagine the underlying pathology. Some sort of really bizarre enabling kinda unspoken freak show. Yesh.

And how the hell does he get sheepish and apologize for being a jerk without flowers? What the hell? How does that work? When you've messed up and pissed her off, there's a law somewhere on the books that says you MUST go to a good flower store and get her a bunch of nice flowers - not corner store dying carnations, but real flowers. And no, not a big bushel of melodramatic blood red roses.

Don't put some big pressure on. Just drag your ass in there with some nice flowers, you shrug and mutter: "Sorry, baby... I know I been a real jackoff."
And she'll pout and reply: "Yeah, you have."
And then you give her the flowers. And if you haven't screwed up really bad, she'll smile that in spite of herself Okay, I guess you're not a total jerk smile and your ass is hopefully out of the fire. Try pulling that off without flowers. You'll be lucky to sleep in the garage.

Or what happens when at the last minute you're going to someone's house and you grab a bottle of wine and....? Yeah, flowers. Show up with just a bottle and you're a lush. Show up with flowers and wine and it's a bit of class. Your hostess looks at you and thinks, Hm... I guess he isn't a total dirtbag, after all.

And what about all that other stuff - anniversaries, birthdays, other happy occasions? As my mum used to say: "Don't show up with empty hands a'swingin'."

Amazing this is even a topic of any kind. Seems implausible. Of course the worst part is the wife putting up with this creep's no-flowers psychosis and even making excuses for it and claiming to be no worse for wear. Nice try but I did notice she cringed when he touched her.

So remember... When in doubt - flowers.
My personal fave, wild flowers

Thursday, January 15, 2015


I was told to check out a new online magazine called Adult.

I'm a demented old perv so it didn't really set my house on fire but I sympathize. 
The people who run it, they seem reasonable, mid-twenties MFA types. Very serious in their staff photos, long faces on them. Sex for smart people is a very serious business. I dunno. I felt bad for them in a way. Trying so hard to give fucking actual three dimensional meaning but with their limited experience.

And talk about an uphill struggle. Sex has been so degraded in the public sphere to be sold to the barely sentient drooling halfwit guys of the world - and we all know there's an endless supply of those morons. Part of the ongoing Moronification of the planet but that's a different story.

Of course Adult doesn't pay writers so it's for amateurs and content  is uneven. Most of the stuff seems diary based, without any larger context or subtext - as the pinheads of yesteryear once called something that means more than what is obvious. And I'm sad to say they post long winded polemics on the politics of sexuality, referencing acknowledged experts. Now that is a fucking fossil.

Well, I guess it's required every so often to drag out Kate Millet, Dworkin, Faludi, Greer, the whole gang, and hell, why not, even Naomi Wolfe. To me they all seem to be telling men the same thing, as Germaine Greer put it: "Fuck me, don't fuck me over."

Well, at least the women at Adult are doing it with more sincerity than stupid Kinky mag. Those fatuous clowns couldn't whip cream. Adult mag appears to have just started out, a romantic shot in the dark. But it's this thing of trying to be sexual without being sleazy, the bourgeois pre-occupation with being somehow relevant without genuine risk.

It doesn't really work that way. I mean, I'd probably perv them up in the right situation if I was otherwise unattached and it made emotional sense to me and I was in a good mood and they showed some initiative and were well behaved and polite and respectful and asked nicely and their first task, after being taken to the brink but not beyond, would be to go out and steal something for me. I dunno what. Something. Surprise me. Show some guile. And not something from a store. (You're not getting off that easy, baby.) But those kind of people are extremely rare and appear to be fairly extinct.

Their reward for succeeding? Same as mine was way back when, the first step on the road to the Garden of Earthly Delights. No guarantees you'll get there but you'll have ball trying. But middle class girls are often very proud and require a pass and I've been a soft touch too often but hey, I like women so shoot me already. It is endearing how every woman thinks only her particular pussy is gold plated, a real treasure. Like every guy is in love with his totally unique cock. Too bad neither is true.

An experience worth having is one of those things you can't beg, buy, borrow or steal. It's an affliction of youthful insecurity to not be able to admit you actually don't know shit. Hell, most people go through life and never get past Step 1.

I've noticed smart people can put their ego aside and actively seek out those who've been down the road they're curious about. What's down there, after the bend.. when it gets dark and the path narrows. You can guess and be very imaginative and poetic and even get all hot & bothered about it. But you haven't really gone there.
The Empress Theodora at the Colosseum, by Jean-Joseph Benjamin-Constant

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Where Amazin' Adolf and his Nazi hipsters are the height of fashion...

In some parts of the world, like east Asia, Hitler and Nazi imagery are the height of hip fashion. They're considered cool, super stylish and not a whole different than global brands like Hello Kitty or McDonald's.

Even governments get into the act, funding parades, plays, movies, magazines and what have you. In one officially backed film, school kids marched and carried banners of "Superhero Hitler" while singing about what an awesome dude he is and how much they dig his tunes.

Then there was some animated dreck of a cliche art student in smock and beret happily painting a portrait of Der Fuhrer looking fit and heroic as hell.
Yeah, many think he's still alive and recording new hits and living the high life somewhere out there in the land of Cool. 

The Israeli ambassador to Thailand said he was 'deeply saddened' by the Thai government funding various forms of artistic expression that treat Adolf and his Nazi pals as if they're rock stars. Officials were a bit embarrassed and said they'd look into it.

The doof who made one of these films was annoyed at anyone taking offense. "I don't see why it's a problem," the director remarked. "It's not about anything. It's just a movie."

Yep, everything from burger joints to handbags, music videos and swizzle sticks have turned the ol' psycho Austrian into a branding machine. A few days ago I ran across a motorcycle with big Hitler stickers on both sides, including a swastika. It was pointed out to me the swastika was actually backward to what the Nazis used, thus being the old Hindu symbol. Oh, well, in that case...

Japan used to be a regional leader in this respect. At one point they had, and still might have, a hardcore right wing anti-Semitic party, using full-on Nazi regalia, jack boots, the whole schmear. This despite a dearth of Jews in the country.
"Kick out the Jews!"
"We don't have any."

"Well, then go find some and kick them out! Better still, gas them! Do I have to think of everything?"

In Thailand anyone who complains is told to take a powder, chill, sabei sabei, buddy, what's the big deal? So you don't like his music. What are you getting so excited about? Just change the song, ffs.

Some people say it's a lack of history classes in schools. The average person doesn't realize who Amazin' Adolf was and what he stood for. As far as most are aware, he's no different than a supermodel who's become a singing sensation. The guy's just trying to cash in on his cross-platform cachet. Wtf?

When I bothered to explain a little bit about who Hitler was and what he and his gang of psychos did, many people became incredulous. They smiled quizzically.
"Get the fuck outa here..."
"No, seriously. The guy headed up Germany for a few years, conquered most of Europe and killed millions. It was big news over there, this thing called World War II."
"No shit..."
"Yeah. I guess you guys missed it."
"Hm... I guess so... Well, he still looks cool."

Of course, the irony is the much-loved Adolf didn't considered Asians to be anything more than a species of ground-hugging monkey. Hitler's basic view was there's way too many Asians and they should be wiped off the face of the earth. Okay, maybe keep a few around to do the laundry...

Saturday, November 29, 2014


I used to write for a moronic so-called BDSM magazine called Kinky. They've been shit sniffing around again, wondering if I'm willing to once more bend over. However, we have something of a checkered past.

When I wrote for them, until last spring, they paid me a bit and promised gallons of "exposure." To what, they didn't say. Eventually it got to be a drag. Trouble was, they didn't pay for the majority of filler type crap they put in the mag, meaning the site's content was packed with "volunteer" submissions by cut-and-paste boneheads who wouldn't know writing from rat fucking.

Back in the fall of 2013, despite the dumb name, Kinky started out not too bad, had a bit of promise but all the content they ripped off from other fetish sites gave the thing a bad stink and eventually drove the whole shit wagon downhill. So the original publisher, Mike Stabile, and the original editor, Aleks Kang, they both quit and moved on. Underpaid and overworked, they were too smart to stick with that dog. I joined them not long after, especially when I realized my labors were netting me about five cents an hour.

And yeah, the name of the mag itself is pretty embarrassing. Kinky. Sounds so half-assed and indicates a serious lack of commitment to anything, especially anything hot. It's mealy-mouthed and bullshitty. "Hi, wanna get Kinky?" Ugh. No thanks.

Kinky's "volunteer experts" are led by an old creep called Master Simon. He's one of these pasty late-comer wannabes and claims he's been in the "BDSM scene" since 1975. He plagiarizes a lot of stuff, steals pictures and gets some geek to photoshop out the watermark, real low end bullshit. 

What's weird is the mag allows replies to his articles to go up unedited and they are usually vicious and justified attacks on good ol' Master Simon, his claims and sources, his credibility and his outright theft. Maybe the new publisher, who goes by the name Tomcat, maybe he has some sort of obscure digital fetish - does everything in his power to make himself appear to be a total fucking idiot with zero self respect. Hey, man, he's into it. He's not harming anyone...

Another problem is in the 1970's the term "BDSM" didn't exist, especially in the de-balled plasticized theatrical manifestation you get nowadays. Back then it was referred to as "criminal sexual deviancy" and included almost no women. It was pretty much a strictly homo bath house thing and it was fucking extreme but I won't go into that right now.

Anyway, tell me what sounds hotter, BDSM or Criminal Sexual Deviancy, being a "Kinkster" or being a "Deviant." Which would you rather be? Which party would you rather go to? Besides, this whole caring/sharing/nice people faring approach, this hideous middle class obsession with turning perving into a spineless little poodle every milquetoast can pet and jack off on, it is sadly ironic.

Kinky Magazine also has a couple of generic porn stars who "write" for them. These airheads couldn't Twit their Twat so they end up inadvertently but happily "celebrating" the cliche of the empty headed cocksucking porn skank. I watched a couple minutes of their cornball videos and, man, they are dead soft. I wouldn't cross the room to face fuck either of those doofi.

Well, younger women are generally pretty useless fucks, almost as bad as younger guys. Just gormless. They think they're all that but know dick about dick, not a clue about 3D perving or any of what fuels the fires. Sure, any young porn hag can do quantity; suck cock by the mile, drown in bukkake and pull a train a thousand cars long, but they're far too dense to tie a knot one-handed, as the old saying goes.

So Kinky has asked me if I want to write for them again and do some more foul mouthed podcasts. But they insist no dogs and no sucking bleeding pussy. Wtf is up with that? Why are so many purportedly "kinked" morons so against sucking on a woman's menstruating pussy? What's not to like? The smell, the taste - the bloodier the better. As a friend once remarked: "Welcome to the Crimson Tide, baby."

Oh yeah, sugar... lemme spread your bloody pussy and suck it outa you like it is the end of life itself, like a consuming conflagration of vacuum faced cunt loving maniac, suck it even harder after it runs into your contracting asshole and comes back out so bitter on my tongue...
Mmmmm.... yeah... all that good shit... So anybody with a hangup about something so perfectly visceral, those gimps should stick to being 2D digital diddlers, a mile wide and an inch deep.

Anyway, so I thought I'd apply the D and the S in Kinky's BDSM ouvre and became very abusive, treated them like the absolute low life cheap fucks they are, starting with their cheapest trick and dirtbag owner, Peter Acworth. The guy made a fortune flattering the homespun pud pounders who pay good money to watch his ham-fisted Gotherina wank videos.

How his site's "members" actually get hard and jack off to that shit - Jeezus - it is a scarifying indictment into either how little imagination their sociopathic minds possess or just how little they actually get laid. It'd be depressing if it wasn't so pathetically funny. "Viewers" of these cheeseball Kink videos get to "critique" the "performances" and their semi-literate horseshit is a total scream.

Some long time Kink devotee will write hilarious crap like: "I found LaFleesha's performation to be inspirationed, adding heretofore unknown passioning to the form. Her bowel rimming scene in Fox Force 5 was especially moved yet lighthearted, manifesting a certain demental frissonation and creating a genuine andidote of access for the viewer. Kudos to LaFleesha. PS- Love the new asterisk tattoo on the end of your nose, babe."

So... my second debut with Kinky is not to be. We couldn't come to an agreement cuz even stupid old whores like me eventually learn to insist on getting paid real money BEFORE I sucka the big peenjo...

Sunday, November 23, 2014


When I was a kid my parents knew a couple called George and Georgia. Both were made of that exotic mongrel mix you get in southeastern Europe, the land bridge going into Turkey and the Middle East. Mobs of marauders and rapists have been through there for centuries.

George was swarthy and handsome. He'd have looked right at home with a top-knot and Fu Manchu, shirtless and carrying a scimitar. Georgia wasn't magazine beautiful but had a rare blonde sensuality. Not easy for a woman with pale hair, pale skin and pale gray eyes to come off fiery but she did it with a kind of deeper sweet hunger.

Their real strength was others didn't exist for them. George was a typical man of his era, tall and masculine, didn't dance, a sublime undertone of confidence and power. Women went all girlish and soft near him.

The same way men doted on Georgia's sweetness, which seemed to be for the whole world but she was just being a good girl. When those two looked at one another, they burned everything else away. Married but no kids, which was strange for the time and she openly dismissed the idea as "Not for us."

I guess they were too busy fucking to be parents. I was like ten or something and at some big wedding or baptism in a church basement me and a few other kids saw George and Georgia steaming up their car windows out in the parking lot. I guess they couldn't wait to get home, just had to take a break from the drinking and socializing to lay on a good fuck. They seemed a lot younger than my parents or their other friends. Fucking will do that. Amazing they didn't get sick of one another the way couples usually do.

Anyway, my original point was about this thing Georgia would do. A couple times she dropped George off at a cafeteria my old man owned a piece of. George was a highly skilled carpenter. He usually did bowling alley lanes with an uncle of mine but since my old man had found him a cool hotrod Buick at a good price, George came round for a few days and built a new cafeteria counter.

I'd be sitting outside peeling potatoes in the alley way and see them pull in and she'd wipe his mouth and his mustache with her hand. Actually, more like fondle his face and mouth, this really slutty smile on her. I didn't recognize it as such then, being just some stupid kid, but I realized later on what her look meant.

I asked my old man about the mouth fondling and he was never a subtle guy. "She wipes her wet pussy first," he grunted then gave me a leer and winked but didn't explain further and I didn't ask since I had no clue what he was talking about.

George and Georgia looked so natural in his hopped-up Buick Skylark coupe. They were a pair of Balkan fuck freaks yet easily slipped into the beautiful American open road forever nihilism of that very romantic era. Now it's all about gas mileage and hard-on drugs and traffic tickets.

I'm talking about ancient ideas pushed so well by those old hotrods merging speed and love in a perfect way cuz they had a front bench seat, like a big sofa, so were pretty much made for George and Georgia. Not like cars nowadays with the straight jacket bucket seats you're strapped into and can't touch each other. Well, maybe hold hands.

Try giving a driver's seat blow job in your average commuter car today. The one doing the blowing will end up eviscerated by some lever or other plastic protuberance - and you'll both get a raft of tickets issued by some safety-obsessed paramilitary idiot cop.

The crazy thing is not long after George built the cafeteria counter they were both killed in a high speed crash. The police said it happened for no apparent reason on a straight away, during a warm sunny day. So I figure they must have died fucking, Georgia straddling George in the driver's seat, the windshield fogged up, her ass knocks the steering wheel sideways and the Buick bashes into the guard rail at 100 mph and goes cartwheeling down a steep rocky gorge to explode on impact - their huge A-Bomb mushroom cloud of burnin' hot love. Talk about going out in style...

Friday, November 14, 2014


I was recently sent the following message from what I'm told is a local swingers collective. I think I'll give up trying to write satire. The names have not been changed in order to protect the credulous...

If you come alone or with your partner please be here no later than 6pm; please bring a chemise or something similar to wear when not actively engaged. You do not have to, it is not required but most of the ladies like slipping something on even if it is waist or hip long when they take a break for a drink or snack, or go to the bathroom to freshen up.

pleas email us at and all we ask for is a face picture so we know who is showing up at the door. this is not required either but is a good comfort factor for us.

I think the youngest is 30 and the oldest, bringing his GF too if I remember right, is 65 or 66 and I am 60 and I am a Master.

I hope it is not a problem that all the males are white.

When you get to the house we will give the ladies a quick tour, we have three bedrooms and three full baths w/three showers.

One bedroom has a king sized bed and one has a queen while the middle room has a double.

We have a range of toys and equipment, all well sanitized but pls bring your own if you wish something specific.

If you have special requirements, pls write them down so it can be circulated among the men attending so there are no awkward or embarrassing moments.

Please let me know if you d can tell me Saturday. We want to make sure the guys know who does so they do not try anything with those that do NOT.

Okay, we currently have several couples; 4-5 single men and 2-3 Single females.

We are in the Esmeralda apartments; 64-66 Soi Nagmduplee, Rama 4 Rd.
Apt 7C, tell the guards you are visiting RichardMcCormick.

Nagmduplee is Sathonr area; behind the big Q House Lumpini.

It can be accessed down Sathon Soi 1 or off of Rama 4. Soi 1 dead ends on nagmduplee , turn RIGHT, 25 ' entrance to Esmeralda on RIGHT we are in UPPER tower.

From Rama 4 you turn directly onto Nagmduplee. Stay straight, all cab drivers want to turn. When you pass the only 7-11 (scary I know) you are close. Stay straight. Pass the intersection (Soi 1 enters on your right) and again stay straight and 25' on right side

Walking distance from the 7-11 or the IBIS Hotel on Soi Nagmduplee.

Again - upper tower.

Anything else? Oh, no drugs, no drunks and no vulgar language. We will have drinks and snacks. We just folk to have fun and get what they want.

And please be aware we practice safe sex and keep to strict safe word limits and all encounters will be monitored to keep all safe and for no misunderstandings.

And if you wish a particular group activity such as GB, please let us know beforehand to again ensure there is no embarrassment.


Master Richard