If you’re like us and abhor your typical generic sitcom for its callow puerility, hermetically-sealed staginess, eye-rolling reliance on familial relations, and catch phrase-happy brats, then NBC’s Community may have slipped under your radar. Convention-breaking, wordsmithy, and deadpanningly unsentimental, the series — actually lensed at two L.A. community colleges — follows the continuing adult education misadventures of a motley, makeshift family of losers and wandering souls addled with neuroses and just gnawing at the bit to fuck the hell out of each other (read the full article)

Memo to Right Wing blowhard pundits: when your parody habitually outmans you in every department, admits his persona is an irredeemable narcissist, and looks like Gay Superman on an Aspen vacay while doing it, you’ve probably descended into utter irrelevance.

Twilight Star Reveals He Hates Women’s Private Parts.

So reads the headline over at MTV Australia. Ace reporter Sophie Barnett fills us in with the following facts and opening bombshell: Robert Pattinson has hinted he may be gay. Or a straight zoophile. Frankly, we’re not sure

The Twilight actor — this decade’s answer to C Thomas Howell or Christopher Atkins — who’s been linked to his anemic, “I’m, like, so bored with fame and money…” co-star Kristen Stewart, has sparked rumors about his sexuality after he likened lady parts to shellfish or peanuts following a typically tawdry photo shoot for Details magazine. Class…

We’ll let Bedhead explain it himself:

“I really hate vaginas. I’m allergic to vagina. But I can’t say I had no idea, because it was a 12-hour shoot, so you kind of get the picture that these women are going to stay naked after, like, five or six hours. But I wasn’t exactly prepared. I had no idea what to say to these girls. Thank God I was hungover.”

So maybe’s he’s just into ass? Or strictly oral? Frottage? It only gets weirder. Figuring alienating legions of female fans and making himself look like he’s been huffing paint thinner just wasn’t quite enough of a self-lit immolation, Sparkly continued to elaborate. You see, the girly crevice may be a turn-off, but trunks — that shit is fucking hot. (read the full article)

Not all ethnic stereotypes are bad. Some are, frankly, fucking awesome.

“Frankenstein would want your mind…your lovely head…”

So sings Alison Goldfrapp in “Lovely Head,” referencing the famed doctor and his patchwork man, herself the possessor of a massive voice that seems like it was somehow transplanted into such a petite frame.

It’s a line I’m always repeating to myself, largely because it plays on my knee-jerk attraction to men with big, blocky heads. As a child I was quite smitten with Boris Karloff as the Frankenstein Monster in a very Spirit of The Beehive way, and today I still get swoony whenever a guy with a serious flat top crosses my path.

Primary sexual characteristics are great and all, but sometimes it’s really the little personal details that are the most exciting. I’m partial to a very defined cupid’s bow shape to the upper lip and ears that have an elven sharpness to them. Kirk Douglas has that divot in his chin, and the reason Matthew McConaughey has his arms crossed on every one of his movie posters is because he has muscle penguin guns. John Allen Nelson — another very formative part of my childhood — has the most sky-high nipples I think I’ve ever seen on a man, while Justin Theroux’s incredible Bela Lugosi hairline makes me hot and envious.

(read the full article)

Ever wonder how, where, and when the vulgarities of our society got their starts?

A friend once asked me who gave the very first blowjob (I guessed one of those slutty Ancient Romans, maybe even Caligula himself), and that in turn had me positing who might have coined the slurs and filthspeak — specifically the ones centering around sex acts — that we take for granted today.

I’m sure there must be renderings of pictographic proto-porn in Neanderthal caves, and certainly the tribe had some verbal classification for the males of the clan who wanted to go all Quest For Fire on each other’s asses. The word “fuck” is often misidentified as a medieval acronym (“For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge” or “Fornication Under Consent of the King”), though it does date back to at least 15th Century Germany. “Fag” and “Faggot” had nothing to do with sexual orientation in their original British context until around 1914 in (natch) America when they supplanted “Fairy” and became common nomenclature in straight and gay circles for demarcating an effeminate man from a straight or straight-seeming one. (read the full article)

To be a bankable Hollywood action star, you have to have some requisite aces up your sleeve if you hope to achieve success.

You have to sleep with the right people. You need to symbolically connect as straight men’s dream projections of their own idealized selves, while simultaneously embodying a fantasy mate for women and gays — one capable of merciless defense and slaughter, usually while shirtless. You need a PR machine at your back that will propel you up the ladder. You must marry a blonde woman, likely younger than you and willing to accept a prenup so you can trade her in for a less mature model when she hits her early 30s. (read the full article)

Howdy, welcome to the Shady Lady Ranch, a place where young women with zero self esteem and nowhere to go in life can come have greasy truck drivers and meth-smoking Vegas drifters defile their bodies for a little green.

With new, ground-breaking, state approval for male sex workers, Shady Lady Ranch could soon become Shady Lady and Cock Ranch once they hire a few hung men who know how to treat a hole. Despite all that occurs under their roof as a professional enterprise of fucking, owners Jim and Bobbi Davis are squeamish at the prospect of homoseckchuality occurring within the walls of their smut ranch.

The Los Angeles Times reported that before Nye County approved the addition of studs to Shady Lady Ranch, Bobbi Davis bemoaned: “It seems the biggest hoopla is a great fear in some people’s minds that some kind of homosexual activity might go on …It’s not my intent to encourage or promote or to turn my business into a ‘gay property.’”

Oh dear lord, not a gay property! Quick hide the children under the bed … next to the anal beads and dildos. It’s silly piety to fear gayness in a brothel, because it already happens. Every time a girl-girl-guy “couple party” occurs at Shady Lady Ranch or any Nevada bordello, they’re officially a gay property. We can argue about the meaning of “gay” or lesbian exemption from gay panic all day, but I know whorehouses don’t care about being called misogynistic for objectifying women, so they won’t care about being called homophobic for denying credit-approved guy on guy sex. (read the full article)