I’m here to talk about bimbos!

Biblical bimbos!

Photogenic Mormons are doffing their tops for the good of their faith. And I’m conflicted.

Sure, there’s no better score than a guy with self-esteem problems — the sort of “issues” that cause him to seek out religion and beefcake photography. Yet still, I can’t help feeling skeptical.

Under the aegis of its parent company Mormons Exposed (I kid you not), the Men On A Mission Calendar features “twelve handsome former missionaries who have dared to pose bare-chested.”

The project is supposed to be all about the spiritual beauty that comes from within, not just trading in sculpted torsos and great abs. The copy writes itself:

“Rod loves his position as a missionary, spends hours on his knees, and will give you the shirt off his back. Turn-ons include topless testifying, constitutional amendments, and tending to the lepers.”

Have a listen to the venture’s co-founder and producer Chad Hardy as he elaborates on the calendars raison d’etre and try to keep a straight face: (read the full article)

Here at Nightcharm, we can sometimes get a little cheeky with content, so whenever we color outside of the PC lines, we expect to get our asses spanked and usually do…because we’re nasty boys.

So fair warning: this is likely the least PC thing you’ll ever read on this blog, and it only gets raunchier from here.

I’m here to talk about sluts. Gay sluts. People can say the term is judgmental and perjorative, but they can bite it, because the reality is this: sluts exist. We’ve all met them, and some of us are them. I’d go so far as to say that every gay man has a moment just like Molly Shannon in Superstar wherein their internalized conflict between social responsibility and the pleasure principle results in a paroxysm of “I’m not a slut! I ain’t no slut! I ain’t no slut!” Some work through it; others give in and spread like it’s the sale of the century.

Let’s get the etymology of the term down first. “Whore” and “slut” are too often used interchangeably. A whore fucks for cash, fame, or career advancement, sometimes even marrying and/or having a child to anchor their mark — anything to get that check. A slut operates on sheer animal lust, selfishly screwing those they aren’t even particularly attracted to without thought to consequence for themselves or others, never getting enough.

It’s all about the dick. (read the full article)

Imagine as a gay man that you had to forever be trapped in your worst phase of emotional development. Frozen in your most naked uncertainty, shame, self-doubt, isolation, and vulnerability. This is your beginning and your terminus. Do not pass go. It doesn’t get better.

Now you know what it’s like to be a hardline Moral Conservative.

This is the zone of arrested sexual maturity that all the Family Researchers, Concerned Mommies, and Don’t-Teach-The-Wittle-White-Kids-Anal NOMers not only are condemned to abide in but choose to abide in. And this is the emotional dungeon they expect us to dwell in.

You see, being a sexual hysteric who has to avert thine eyes from exposed lady parts and men’s high-sitting, provocative hindquarters is a choice. There’s nothing natural about it because it requires so damn much work. Yes, you may be able to have an adult sexual relationship with a man you have a genuine regard for in which you navigate issues like STI prevention and dating exclusivity with a certain adult grace, but sexual moralists instead worry about aping the unions of mythical people who lounged photogenically by waterfalls and talked to the animals. You can enjoy porn in the same manner that a moderate drinker can handle booze, but self-flagellators fancy themselves sexual werewolves who’ll terrorize the countryside if they see anybody jizz onscreen. And yes, you can crank one off by yourself with the knowledge that you’re not hurting anyone, but these latter-day buckle-heads? If even one motile sperm cell doesn’t end up in wifey’s Garden of Eden and fertilize an egg that will become a precious cherub, then they’ve just committed murder.

So really, that curvaceous, hirsute, marble-fleshed hot piece with the cascading stream in the corner of your screen is a flagrant genocidal maniac.

Like Hitler. (read the full article)

“Tomorrow, a healer’s going to tell us about the Mother Goddess being spotted everywhere, and he’s gonna teach us how to find and turn in heretics!”

Picture this: An oppressive One World government outlaws Christianity, condemning any and all who preach the Word of God to be corralled in internment camps for reconditioning or executed if they fail to comply. Now that the Liberal Agenda has culminated in imminent apocalypse, teachers are at last free to begin indoctrinating children about how marriage is for chumps while instructing them in the intricacies of ritual animal sacrifice. A star pupil — known as “The Monster” to his still-righteous family — decides turning in the faithful (now branded “sickos”) to the Progressive Gestapo headed by a New Age Healer in superhero attire is a great way to turn a buck, a move which ultimately triggers the Rapture and dooms the little prick to Hell as people vanish out of their clothes.

So everything turns out for the best.

A delve into the universe of Christian fundamentalist comic book artist Jack Chick will acclimate you to a stunning array of batshit plots that will have you alternately groaning, shaking your head, spit-taking your Riuniti all over your keyboard, or rolling on the floor. Colloquially known as “Chick Tracts,” these gospel-themed comics have been distributed by buzzkill churches, schools, and summer camps for four decades now in an effort to save precious little minds from the perils of secular culture. (read the full article)

Because Republican sex farces just keep coming (and coming) — we knew it was time to rummage through the archives and repost Senior Editor John Calendo’s informative guide originally published in 2007 as a Nightcharm public service offering.

After reading these suggestions, Nightcharm encourages you to contact your Congressman directly and voice your concerns. (For a more speedy response you might try writing him directly via Craigslist or Grindr.)

In the wake of the next gay Republican sex scandal, your child will have many questions. They will hear things at school and from the television that will trouble them. You can save them a lot of confusion if you speak to them now during this brief respite between arrests and indiscretions.

Sit your child down in a safe and non-threatening space — a beautiful hillside gold with autumn leaves will do — and then in a calm, reassuring voice touch on the following points:

1. When Two Men Fall in Love …

When two men fall in love, little Johnny or Jane, they sometimes meet in men’s rooms and, entering the last two stalls at the farthest end of the lavatory so they won’t bother anyone or be bothered, they enjoy the warmth of each other’s company.

When one of these men is not really in love but is a policemen whose job it is to prevent the sharing of warmth and good feeling between two men, then the other man is arrested. This is called entrapment, and though it has questionable legality, they do this in places run by our friends the Republicans.

Now you’re wondering why Republicans who love the Constitution so much would want to do something not quite in keeping with the Bill of Rights. Republicans, you see, hate taxes. They hate taxes so much that they have no money to pay the Fireman and the Policeman and the Mailman. So they entrap people and say they will put their names in the newspaper unless the people pay them money. And those fees and fines go to run the city and light the streetlamps and fix the roads.

And that’s why Dad can afford to send you to a nice school and pay the doctor out of his own pocket and still drive an SUV and run the computer all night when he downloads his pictures. It’s all good, little one. The two men who fall in love in the bathroom are part of God’s plan because God loves all the children and wants the mail to be delivered.

2. What is a Gay Republican, Daddy?

Gay Republicans are one of the strangest mysteries in the universe, little Johnny, lovely Jane. And scientists are not quite sure why they exist.

You know that comedian that Daddy likes, Bill Maher, he was on that talk show with the funny-looking guy in the suspenders. And the funny-looking guy — Larry King — was surprised to hear that Ken Mehlman was secretly gay because Ken Mehlman was one of these big Republican Committee people in charge of getting other Republicans elected and helping to scare voters about gay men sharing warmth and good feelings with each other in a civil marriage and not just in bathrooms. And at first Larry didn’t believe it and he asked Bill how that could be, a Republican being a gay man, and ol’ Bill shot right back : “Because Larry, hating yourself is the greatest love of all.” That’s the closest to a scientific theory I ever heard, Sunshine. (read the full article)

The Black Gestapos! Ass Bandits of Auschwitz! The Kenyan Connection! Aztec Headhunter Revenge! Muslim Terror Babies Take New York!

When you’re a Fundy, the world is just a non-stop ethno-sploitation movie marathon.

You’d think it would be positively exhausting losing your marbles about the prospect of every feared minority getting money or obtaining opportunity, but no, the Right Wing Freak-O-Matic runs on a carbon-based combination of embittered Confederate resentment and down-home fire-and-brimstone white panic.

In a way I understand why the Gays are such a common go-to collective nemesis for them; not only are we a domestic threat, but our simultaneous two-pronged opening siege against marriage and the military leaves only professional sports and rap music left to conquer by our third and fourth waves. And really, isn’t that exactly like a Zulu bull attack?

It always comes back to Africa.

Yes, the DADT repeal really brings out the crazy from our favorite hand-wringers and teeth-gnashers, each subsequent pulled-out-of-thin-air apoplexy going further over-the-top than the one preceding it. Haven’t we just about heard them all by now: the cries of imminent Apocalypse, the undermining of our national strength by nellies with guns, the good ol’ boy gay-baiting dressed up in carefully-couched wordage, the “Please! The children! What about the children!” mommy fits? HuffPos’ Jason Linkins nailed it with his deft assessment:

“This only reinforces my belief that the best military-themed slashfic is written by homophobes.” (read the full article)

Christianity really is just Scientology for faded Conservative actresses, D-List action stars, actors-turned-politicians, beauty queens, and teenage gospel singers who aren’t ready for slutty make-overs.

We kid Michele Bachmann because we love.

Seriously, the distinguished Congresswoman from Minnesota is a precious gift that keeps on giving.

Her graces are countless: the Joan Crawford eyebrows, the Glamour Shots hair, the Fargo accent, the perpetual glassy stare, her magical ability to pull numbers out of the air and convince herself they’re material by repeating them endlessly, her railing against socialism while pocketing a quarter million in federal farm subsidies, her assertion that women are getting abortions with the casual ease that they pick up frappuccinos, her Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court understanding of American history. Every time I think she’s drained the well, she knocks another one out of the park, and her latest one is a home run. The verdict is in:

Michele Bachmann has no gaydar. (read the full article)

“Daddy might be nuts — but he’s screwed on the right bolt!”