The Beautiful Kind

According to liberal blog Think Progress, the online porn industry has seen a surge in sales thanks to this year’s economic stimulus package.

Read more about it here.

I got my check the other day, but

a) since you can get tons of porn online for free

b) I know Bush wants me to spend it

I’m going to put it in my savings account.

OK so here I am getting ready to review sex toys, and am obsessed with sock monkeys and Pez dispensers and all KINDS of useless crap, but I think we should kick off the “It’s Broken” theme week with a 20 minute video on The Story of Stuff. Notice how Annie Leonard acts like she is talking to a bunch of children. It’s like Blue’s Clues for the masses. Hopefully, we get a clue.

Stay tuned in the upcoming week for stories about broken dicks, pussies, hearts, and more. Groove off of other people’s pain. Do you know the fancy word for that, boys and girls? Schadenfreude.

Check this out, dear readers:

Dear Beautiful,

ha ha, you will love this, my husband is a security guard and two valets walked in talking about the gay pride parade and going to the strip club. He told them that we would be there and hopefully they would run into each other. Then he told them that they should check out your website sometime.

They Loved It and the next day told his boss that he should check out the website that he told them about. Well, he got called into the office and was fired for solicitation of sex! So, my husband has been fired over your web page, just for mentioning it. He said that at least it was worth it.

Wow. And here I get annoyed every time I hear my site is blocked at someone’s place of work. Hell I even heard it’s blocked at St. Louis Bread Co.

I also hear that a lot of people have a ritual of reading it first thing when they get into the office, before other people arrive. I’ve also heard some people save it til the end of the day as a reward for a hard day worked. However you handle your TBK habit, be careful with it. Let this be a lesson.

Meanwhile, I think this guy is going to find a job where he can talk about my website, like as a bouncer at a strip club. His wife told me they hang out there enough anyway, he might as well get paid to do it instead of doing all the paying out!

Beau: I think I’m going to go see a movie later today. (gets online) Boy, there are a lot out I want to see - the new Hulk movie, Get Smart, Love Guru, Zohan… are you interested in any of those?

Me: Um, no. I’m not into recycled schlock, thanks.

Beau: I guess I’ll go by myself.

Me: You know what would be cool? If you were to buddy up with a group home of mentally retarded people and take them to see these kind of movies. They would love it, you’d have company, and it would be good community service.

Beau: Does it ever get tiresome for you to be so much better than everyone else? Does it ever get wearisome?

Me: I am pretty exhausted.

Heh, I ratted him out.

Beau was talking to this plump middle aged woman about how men don’t like the skinny model type. He said most men prefer curves, which elicited an approving gleam in the woman’s eye.

I blurted, “YOU like skinny girls.” I proceeded to tell her about the time he hugged a thin, sparrow-like woman - you know, the kind who smokes and looks like she could be folded at the waist and knees and stored under a bed? He told me he liked the way his arms held so little, and feeling her rib cage. Her expression slowly transformed into a scowl.

This forced him to admit that his preferences have changed since meeting me, that now he appreciates curves and ass. Do you think this means he has matured? Before me, did he not think about the pleasure of grabbing a woman by the waist, or holding on to her “fuck handles” as he eloquently describes the pleasantly padded hip bones in one of his blog posts?

In a comment a while back, I suggested that maybe dom men prefer skinny girls because they get off on the frailness, and that sub men prefer bigger women because they want to be crushed. What do you think? Personally, when it comes to women, I like all body types. When it comes to men, I used to like skinny boys and grabbing on to THEIR hip bones as they thrust on top of me, but that has changed in the past year. Now I get excited at the thought of a big dude pinning me down, someone two or three times my size lording their strength and power over me. What size partner do you prefer - small, medium, or large?

From Emily Post Etiquette book, 1950:

To the modern generation it must seem fantastic that not so very long ago all make-up was considered wicked.

Remember that a mask can never take the place of a face. The face of a clown is grotesque — it is meant to be. If cosmetics are to add to beauty, they must be the allies, not the enemies, of nature.

For those whose eyebrows are too heavy or straggling, plucking is to be commended, because neat edges tidy the face just as clipped borders tidy garden paths.

I have been losing a lot of bets lately. True, I won the bet about whether cows grow horns, and the one about whether hens need a rooster present in order to lay eggs, but I was recently humiliated when Belle won the bet on the difference between annual and perennial plants.

You’d think I’d have learned my lesson, but nooo, I got reckless with another bet with Beau about Watership Down.

He said, “I think Richard Adams was a British author.”

I said, “I think he was American.”

With a gleam in his eye, he said, “Wanna bet?”

Me, being the rash Book Slut, said sure.

He said, “What do you wanna bet?”

I thought for a second. “How about a rim job?”

He said, “Boy am I going to like having my ass licked.”

Sure enough we did a wiki search and Adams was British.

“DAMMIT!” I shrieked.

.

(Speaking of wiki, have you seen dickipedia?)

Seen in the supermarket - they are called “the grandmothers of shrimp.”

These kind of rocks were everywhere. I think Chinese royalty and rich people are into them. Everytime I saw one, I thought, “I got a rock,” from It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. You know, when Charlie Brown goes trick-or-treating and the asshole neighbors keep giving him rocks? Oh, never mind.

Ha ha, just kidding. SO not Chinese, and SO not ugly. Unless you think Girls Gone Wild is ugly.

Painting seen in hotel hallway. Not even fit for a doctor’s office, I say!

Live bullfrogs also in supermarket, note open sores.

Here are some ugly things I saw in China:

Whoever designed this light fixture should be horsewhipped.

I SO don’t want to munch on this carpet.

Scary mannequin boy

The worst fruit bowl ever

hardcore recycling

One of the best parts of the China trip was that I drank beer daily, lunch and dinner. A bottle of beer = $2.50, a bottle of water = $3.

So one day I drank two beers and then boarded a bus. The plan was to drive two hours north to a fabulous tourist trap that would put Branson, MO to shame.

Needless to say, within 30 minutes I had to piss. Badly. I hated to put the other 30 people out and ask the driver to stop, so I started brainstorming. (Come to think of it, I think I had to piss the entire two week trip. If I wasn’t dealing with squat toilets and no paper, I was dealing with being out and about and no comfortable toilet for miles. I mean, kilometers. In other words, China is a mecca for people who are into watersports.)

ANYWAY, there I was on the bus with a bursting bladder. The executive director of the tour was dozing in the seat in front of me. Beau was sitting next to me.

“I have to piss, COVER FOR ME,” I hissed.

He looked confused but went along with it.

I dipped into my purse and pulled out the plastic baggie I got from TSA at the airport, inspected it for holes, then proceeded to pull my pants down.

I positioned myself over the baggie and OCD-style checked over and over again to make sure I was aiming right, then let loose.

My piss didn’t smell like urine, or even beer. It was reminiscent of… goddess water. HA! Nonetheless, it promptly began dripping on the bus floor through the tiny hole in the baggie I overlooked. NO WONDER buses smell like piss. It’s because of fuckwads like me! And homeless drug addicts.

I stopped mid-flow and went into panic mode and whispered to Beau, “It’s leaking, do something!!”

He grabbed a water bottle, which still had 1/4 water in it and gulped it down, then grabbed a paper clip and held it under the baggie, poked a bigger hole in the baggie, made a funnel and caught the flow in the bottle. My hero!

Then I wiped with tissue, and we stuffed the whole mess into the bottle and capped it. We disposed of it at the next rest area (which was like a creepy disgusting futuristic apocalyptic film - I’m talking SERIOUS POLLUTION, a thick grey haze hanging down and oppressing the lungs. I felt like a two-pack-a-day smoker as soon as I stepped off the bus and wanted to cry for all the people who had to live there) and I finished my goddamn piss.

Don’t worry, I cleaned the bus floor. I’m not that kind of tourist.

I hope this post made you want to pee. Jesus my eyes are turning yellow just recounting it.

Beau and I experienced our first round of lifestyle discrimination when we attempted to book a bed and breakfast in the southern part of our state. We were planning on treating TBK to a hot weekend of sex, three-person baths and… well, sex. I did a quick search for bed-and-breakfasts within a reasonable drive and came across one boasting queen sized beds and garden tubs in every suite – excellent. So I called.

Me: “Hi, I’d like to book a room.”
Her: “Okay, the blue suite is available.”
Me: “Great. Two things though: One is that we’ll be coming in at about three in the morning, is that a problem?”
Her: “No, no problem”
Me: “Cool. So the other thing is that there are three of us.”
Her: “Two adults and a small child?”
Me: “No, three adults.”

A long silence followed.

Her: “Well, we have an adjacent room you can rent…”
Me: “No thanks, we all can share a queen bed.”

Another long silence.

Her: “Umm… well I just don’t know about that.”
Me: “Really, we already share a queen bed at home.”

This time, the woman was silent for so long, I thought she may have hung up the phone.

Me: “Are you still there?”
Her: “Yes.. umm… ahh… well I could see a king sized but a queen… no… erm…. Well I just don’t know…”

I wait.

Her: “I don’t think I am comfortable with that.”

I thanked her, and hung up.

-Belle

Here is what The Beau had to deal with the other day:

- We were all fooling around when he had to extract himself from the girl pile and go off to a gig. Then the gig turned out to be canceled but we didn’t get a chance to resume that night.
- The next day we took a road trip and finally got to a hotel room. He had us all positioned in bed and was about to go down on us when The Belle suddenly piped up that she wasn’t “feeling connected.”
So he stopped what he was doing and we all sat around for long enough to talk to her and help her feel better. By then it was late and we decided to go to sleep. I resolved myself to no sex, and rolled over, then all of a sudden he had her on top of him and was tapping me on the shoulder to get with the program.
- In frustration, I flipped out and told them I just spent the last hour powering down my sex drive and now they wanted to boot me up again. I also accused him of always going to her when he was feeling sexual.
“How come every time I get a hard on, one of you freaks out?” he asked plaintively.
- We went to sleep. In the morning he got on me and got me off, fucked the hell out of me, then we tried getting her off, but by the time we got to his turn, it was time to check out of the hotel and he had a headache.

FUCK BALLS!

But hey, the stars finally lined up and we had a lazy Sunday afternoon session, we all got off, and everyone lived happily ever after.

The end.

A friend of mine told me (this is the only way I get my news, from gossipy friends) that Jenna Bush got married and he thinks the guy, Henry Hager, is gay. Do you think he’s gay? I looove the name Henry.

This doesn’t look gay to me. It looks kindof “Girls Gone Wild in the White House.”

This pic just pisses me off - there’s another cross looming. But I cropped the pic so it’s slightly less annoying. Ha ha!

TBK stands for “The Bitch Kind” right now - I am PMS-ing and sick as fuck godammit. This post is allowing me to sleep in an extra hour tomorrow.

Stay tuned for upcoming posts on prison life, an interview with an STD expert, a new twist on WAINGL, pussy gardens, what I did to deserve 20 licks, and beer swapping. BEER swapping??

Have you ever read A Confederacy of Dunces? When I saw this pasty display, I went in to an Ignatius J Reilly rage, complete with sputtering and burning indignation. What’s so scary about female nipples??

This next week will feature a lot of breast play here at TBK.

A triad relationship takes maturity and patience, and you need the right people/personalities to make it work. I don’t think a competitive spirit would fare well. Definitely not a person who is into manipulation.

When we told a good friend that we were thinking of adding Belle to our love nest, he was understandably wary. He said, “Man you’ve got a great thing going, why risk messing it up?” Well, you certainly don’t want to try this kind of thing when things are rocky.

That first week she moved in, I felt the same fear I felt when I went into labor and my water broke and I was about to give birth. I thought, “no way fuck this shit i want out!” In both cases, I asked for it, wanted it, and now that it was for real, I doubted my ability to handle something so huge.

But hey, I survived nine hours (only nine hours!!) of labor and produced a great kid, and it was totally worth it.

Still, I was freaking my shit out over this triad thing - instead of focusing on having a new partner to love, I kept thinking about how I would have to share Beau full-time from now on. I’m a champ when it comes to sharing my partner for a night or two, but 24/7? Would my needs get met? Would we lose what we had before?

I fantasized about running away from the tangled mess I created. What’s more, I decided that since they both liked playing video games, shooting guns, and riding motorcycles, they would go off and be cavepeople together and leave me to sit and cry and masturbate to independent films while eating tofu. I couldn’t see where I fit in.

I’ve had a few freak outs in the past six weeks, usually triggered by me feeling left out for one reason or another (like the time they didn’t realize I was in the house and they shut the bedroom door and started fucking) and each time my lovers go out of their way to reassure me that they aren’t going anywhere. The freak outs feel like panic attacks, my heart races, my stomach hurts, and I feel like I can’t breathe. That first week I had one that lasted three days. Talk about emotionally exhausted. Now they last less than an hour.

How should I respond to this myspace message I received last night?

im tired of getting rejected and stuff so im going 2 kill myself if u dont give me a chance 2 fuck u?? if u dont give me a chance i’ll kill myself

Seriously, it doesn’t get more desperate than this. Turn on.
I think I’m going to ask him to videotape it. I LOVE snuff films.

The other day The Belle and I were reorganizing the bathroom, and The Beau’s colleague, who was visiting for a music rehearsal, asked to use the restroom.

He stood in the doorway, and I turned to answer him and chatted him up.

It was only after I walked out of the bathroom that I realized I was holding an enema and vaginal cream applicator.

I know, I’m on a gross food kick lately. Look at these turtles I bought at a country grocery store that other day:

They were grey and petrified. Even so, I bit into one. Bad idea. Seriously, I wonder how old they were. I’m guessing 200 years old. I gave them a proper burial.

My mom has been eating a lot of pork rinds lately. Mmm, flayed pig skin seasoned with smoke flavoring.

Here’s the wrapper of a bag she just finished, note the happy pig wearing the chef hat:

Here’s the other side:

A closer look:

I like how this company profits off the mass slaughter and mutilation of pigs so people can snack on their blistered skin, yet they use this bible quote to sneak in some proselytizing. I wonder how much God loves slaughterhouses.