Friday Fluffer - Sporting Douchebags.

Integrity is considered an old-fashioned word in today's "progressive" culture. Finding the easy way out, lying, taking the money, choosing personal satisfaction over doing the right thing; these are the pathways to a thoroughly modern style of unapologetic fame-fueled douchebaggery.

There are plenty of bloodless narcissistic zombie heroes to go around. Today's is Lance Armstrong. No-one gives a shit about him, but I think of his children, and all the children who look up to all the celebrity zeroes who take what they can. The example set by famous people, in the way they treat their children, wives and husbands, affects us all, because famous people are the culture. Armstrong made you and me part of something smaller. What I cannot understand is how he can look into his kids' eyes. Does he not see a monster reflected?

And so we return to the pile of putrid dog vomit that is the Tiger Woods tale. The Mail Online has this story, claiming that Tiger and his ex-wife Elin are on the verge of reconciliation. She'll have him back in exchange for a $350 million no-cheating clause.

Yeah. There you go. The bedrock of any good home for a young family is created from a cash-backed good-behaviour bond. Not, say, from refraining from boffing any groupie who wandered along, instead spending the time in his hotel suite writing stories for his children, or otherwise doing something worthwhile. No, because now he's different, and has the collateral to prove it.



Bottoms Up, Culture Warriors.

Expecting the Unexpected

 Eliza Dushku

Meeting and dating someone in quick succession can be one of the funnest things in the universe. If you feel you have something with this new person the exhilaration of discovery is like a drug. Gimme more!

The downside of that is if it doesn't work out, you end up in a relationship with some sketchy dude who sells you low-grade shit at street-plus prices. Wait. That's another kind of drug, although the analogy holds pretty well.

We singles are all looking for that starburst of wonder and goodwill, elusive as it might be. There's no way to pre-figure the feeling, the chemistry follows no particular rules. Encounters with this drug are not restricted to singles either - I can think of at least three married women with whom I've shared that moment of singularity, of knowing. Fortunately, my better nature prevented anything more happening. There are quite a few what-ifs hanging out there in the universe.

Like any drug, mutual discovery is best enjoyed in the right environment. Bathrooms and cars are fun, but more appropriate when you're both on a slightly more solid footing. Passion can overwhelm common sense, so at least in the beginning some dating structure is good.

That's an old-fashioned view, I understand. Trouble is that heightened emotions - all I can think about is HER - leave no room for circumspection. It's all about wondering what she's doing, whether I need a haircut and how her pussy might taste.




Bottoms Up, Newly Acquainted.

The Pits

Armpit tattoo photo credit.

It's automatic, I can't help it. Whenever I see a woman's exposed armpit, I figure she's thinking sexy thoughts, because I sure am.

How many women understand the Power of the Pit? Of all the green lights, the deliberate exhibition of her armpit is a double-strength sign of sexual interest. Hands above head in a sleeveless top, she's game for it, baby.

Either that or she's bored as hell and just wants to stretch.

Armpits raise all kinds of emotions around the obvious issues: hair and smell. Men talk about these lofty matters all the time. Just the other day I had a long chat with a mate about how to deal with the situation when you make a move on a woman only to find she's hiding a couple of musk rats under each arm. I said to grin and work through; he wanted to catch and release those things.

Each to their own, right?

One woman friend had a - short-term - lover who got off on licking her armpits while he was fucking her. Problems here include the obvious one of the non-deliciousness of anti-perspirant.

As I say, each to their own.

In any case, if women don't realize how sexually loaded their armpits are, high time they were.




Bottoms Up Pit Warriors.