Mom gets a lot of blame.

Pop psychology dictates that she’s at fault for her kids’ (especially the boys’) sorrows; if she isn’t smothering and controlling, then she’s distant or just absent. Too much love or not enough — either way, it either supposed to make us gay, strand us in childhood, or turn us into hooker-preying serial killers.

But what about the Horror of the Father? How many different ways can dear old Dad screw us up? He’s long been posited to be the factor that drives young women onto stripper poles, and ex-gay therapy would have us believe we’re seeking his love/approval in other men as adults, but stripped of all the armchair psychology and soap operatics, the Horror Hag’s other half — the Father Ogre — is more that just a Grim(m) Fairytale. (read the full article)

GLAAD (the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation) is singularly obsessed with promoting so-called “positive images” of the gays, so I don’t get why this new scene from our Raging Stallion theater is not a GLAAD award winner. For a society where some think gays (the male kind) are weak, what could be better counterpoint than three musclebound leather studs fucking and sucking with deep abandon?

So what if when Antonio Biaggi leans back against the St. Andrews cross as Enrique Currero and Marcos David lap at his long prick, it turned only 10% of the religious right instantly pro-homo. That’s still, like, hundreds of thousands of newly pro-homo cock owners. Think of the benefit to gay-owned underwear businesses alone!

Then when shaved head sexpot Enrique gets fucked by both Antonio and Marcos in their shiny leathers with cocks glistening and gorged, it distracted anti-gay activists enough that gay marriage passed in Iowa for fucks sake. And that’s still good enough for a GLAAD award?!

Well, make it up to these hard working, hard pumping studs. Our Raging Stallion theater demands your full sexual attention. The way to get there is to join the Inner Circle right now! Then write a letter to your congressperson or something.

Methinks somebody’s a little ruffled that he spread for votes and still lost. (read the full article)

Chemistry is a mystery. Testosterone-fueled homo superstars Matthieu Paris and Scott Tanner have it. Levi Johnston and that elusive 16th minute of fame don’t.

These two strong, masculine, big-dicked, tatted men work hard on their bodies. They have high standards for whom they hook up with, including on screen.

This high production value scene from Barback (new in our Raging Stallion theater) starts with them trading eager, skilled blow jobs. With their cocks primed and hormones raging, Scott takes complete charge of Matthieu’s experienced asshole.

They fuck long, hard and deep in multiple positions, giving each other a high impact sex workout that would put every personal trainer’s regimen to shame.

Join the Inner Circle now! Unzip and let go.

If you’re a certain variety of geek, then cryptic polysyllables like Nyarlathotep, Yog-Sothoth, and Shub-Niggurath will have a significance for you outside of bringing to mind Native American-titled hamlets scattered throughout Southern New York or the sound of violent hay fever.

You’ll know them as key cognomens in the works of author H.P. Lovecraft, the celebrated fantasy writer who dreamed up not only a new form of horror, but a mind-bending cosmogony chronicling humankind’s infinitesimal place in the universe. I’ve long contended that if Creationism — which only raises more questions than it answers — is taught in schools, then Lovecraft’s collective Cthulhu Mythos should be part of the curriculum as well. In this cosmic horror, the earth began as but a petri dish for great, protoplasmic gods who fell from the stars, dwelt in imposing temples, engineered lesser forms of life (man decidedly not being born in their images), and ultimately abandoned it — or were banished from it — for far-flung gulfs in space.

I wonder if H.P. — who died unknown and flat-busted — could even begin to comprehend the loony array of public domain merchandise his life’s work has inspired; not only can you have titles like At The Mountains of Madness, The Dunwich Horror, and The Doom That Came To Sarnath populating your book and DVD shelves, but his stamp appears in comics, action figures, role-playing games, plush toys, water bottles, t-shirts, posters, bedroom slippers (!), and most recently…

…a 13” hand-crafted silicone dildo… (read the full article)

Words and sayings that are overused or subject to malapropism ultimately lose all real meaning.

Every chick and her auntie is a “diva,” even though the term can only really be applied to an accomplished opera singer, an awesome 1981 New Wave movie, and Annie Lennox’s first solo album. Any form of calamity, misfortune, catastrophe, or upheaval is a “tragedy.”

What preening narcissist doesn’t always trigger “drama!”? Osteoporotic Rachel Zoe has literally beaten “literally” into the ground, and look what the Dubya years spent on the Dark Side did to “patriot,” “terrorist,” “elitist,” “embolden,” “freedom,” “victory,” “stay the course,” “global war,” “weapons of mass destruction,” and “nookular.”

I fear now that “gay icon” may have officially jumped the shark. (read the full article)