Before I crash into my nice, snuggly bed I found this awesome Flash fun (may be older, but new to me). MC Hawking: A Brief History of Rhyme. Aw, yeah! I’ll be one of pimp Hawking’s beeyatches!

Plus, yummy-looking candy bra and g-string that I really want.

And porn: a very hot girl. (nsfw; lame comments, but wow is she gorgeous or what?)

Here in this photo I present two of possibly the greatest computer deviants of our times, Karen and Macki, totally dorking out while making mud pies out of carcinogenic epoxy, on a collapsing paper plate, mixed by way of ruining a perfectly good screwdriver. We really shouldn’t let them off the computers…

I am beat, dead tired, covered in grease stains, bruises, have a nice new gash on my wrist from the hovercraft and I’m completely sore from pulling gears, cracking open linkages, assembling limit switches, metal fabrication — and I’m ready to drop. Yes, I’ve been working sunup to the wee hours of the morning at SRL; I have a week off from Fleshbot so I can fully devote myself to machines and mayhem, at least until next week. We’re getting ready for a show and I’ll be loading the trucks all day tomorrow, then I’ll hit the road with a few other crew members to race the trucks and hopefully make it earlier than others to a warehouse in the crappy neighborhood we’re invading; I’m hoping to get a decent corner of the floor to rest my head on for the next few nights. Work has been going on around the clock, but since I’m on the load crew I knocked off early so I won’t be tired while driving forklifts and rigging, starting at 8am.

This show will be insane. Even I’m like, whoah about a few things we have planned.

Side note: Those of you pseudo-famous personalities who keep bragging about knowing where and when the show is, we know who you are, and you are wrong. Think you’re tough? You’re no match for the conversation I had today with Mark about our shared love for would-be Valley of the Dolls entrant Britney Spears — I confessed to Mark (”I love how *anyone* can sing her songs!”), he confessed to me (”I don’t care what anyone thinks”) and he aptly continued, “Britney Research Laboratories. Have you seen her shows? There’s more fire than ours!” Then he hefted his rifle and blasted a round through a prop for the show (”because it really needs to look like a bullet hole”), and we went about our business.

I am a bit bummed that I can’t blog/liveblog this show, but it’s a stealth mission and I must remain down-low on the details; hopefully someday we’ll get another high profile show like Tokyo and I’ll be able to. But I will get fun pictures and video to share, and return with all my digits, I promise. Then my blog will go back to the usual sex, drugs and hornplay, as per usual, but most especially the sex. Oh, and here’s a new podcast (MP3) to keep you smiling and horny, a bend-over-boyfriend tale by Alison Tyler right in time for tax season, called The Last Deduction.

This is really amazing, in a “I can’t believe how lame people can be” kind of way. A fan just wrote me to tell me that my podcast address has been hijacked, and the guy is saying really bad things about me:

“Hi Violet,
Something VERY strange just happened. I was sitting at my laptop, minding my own business, when some guy’s voice starts playing over the speakers.

I was going to cut it off when I heard your name, so I listened. His name is Mark Hopkins and he apparently has a podcast called rizWords. He was badmouthing you. He said you were hogging bandwidth at rizen and that you suck because you haven’t told your listeners that you were switching to a different service, so he’s taking it over. This fucker’s sent me two of his “broadcasts” which quite frankly suck. He actually begged to be listened to even though, as he put it, he’s “not a hot chick who talks about sex.” Pathetic. I just checked it and iPodder was downloading 52 of this idiots podcasts. I stopped it.

I just thought you should know what this guy’s doing, hijacking your subscribers and putting you down. I know you probably don’t give a flying fuck that some dick’s saying bad things about you, but it pissed me off….”

My new podcast address is http://violetblue.libsyn.com/rss which has been on my site for well over a month now. I just sent off emails to online listings to update and make changes, so now I guess I’ll re-boroadcast the old casts in the new service, as I think this guy will take them down… and I’ll get my podcast station running (I’ve been having technical difficulties with microphones, sound and Garageband). What a dick!

This is just so cool, and safe for work: pop some bubblewrap now (via JohnandJohn).

Well okay, I’m actually featured in a superlative piece on sexual frustration by Martin Downs; I really like the context Downs gave the topic and it covers pleasure, rather than health (read: no “take a pill” mentality). It even includes same-sex couples! Cool! Now I will run around my living room in tight little circles screaming like a little girl! But even if you’re not all cranky from pent-up sex stuff, Prescriptions for Sexual Frustrations has a lot of insightful info in it, including tips from one of my sex-ed sweethearts, Lou Paget.

Update: I’m in this month’s issue of Men’s Health, too (print and web), in an article shockingly titled “32 Ways to Jump Start Your Sex Life.” I’m #22, which is totally spooky because that’s the day of my birth. But #14 was mine too, though I didn’t get credit. But than again, #13 is pretty weird: “ethnic restaurant,” “new part of town,” “dopamine” (a precurson to adrenaline)… um, I guess this article is for Whitey McWhitington whose date gets all freaky when you take her to the soul food restaurant… Oh, and then there’s #30: “You know her dreams–children, a beach house, season tickets to the Steelers–so tell her your plans to give her that and more. You’re touching a primal desire and emphasizing your long-term commitment.” This article smells like ass, yo. Now I will bite the hand that feeds and be the first one to offer to bitch-slap the jounalist that interviewed me. Or tell him to suck my dick, anyway (I have a collection under my bed in various sizes, colors and sparkles). And doesn’t someone run an article with that title every month?

I already have superpowers anyway. Now I will create a weather machine.

There were way too many funny entries, so enjoy the three excellent winning captions and indulge yourself with the runner-ups… The top three, in order:

“This was a gift to the President from Jeff Gannon.” –Noka, US

“You see, Mrs. Bush, the Exxxtreme 3000 dildo has a
flared base, which was the reason we were able to
extract it from Jenna’s loose, cavernous, ass.” –Chriso

“… no, Mrs Bush, in fact in this case ‘WMD’ stands for Weapon of Mass Dilation.” At which point Darren said “Oh, I’m sure you know a bigger prick, Mrs Bush,” and they all laughed heartily. –Randy Pan the Goat Boy, London

Laura Bush’s sloppy seconds:

“After we totally fuck the Earth, this is what we hope
to use to fuck Mars.” –Noka, US

“Ma’am, his head has been up there so long that I believe only our hunka-hunka burnin’ love size will give him any stimulation whatsoever.” –Spacekat

“So we figure that in order to accomplish his mission to fuck the whole
country, we’re going to have to have W wear this.” –Dan

“Why,” Laura mused, “does that thing remind me of Dick Cheney?” –Professor E, CA

“So that’s why W didn’t want me, Barbara and Jenna to help find those weapons of mass destruction…” –Jean Duke, Washington DC

Congratulations, winners! In tribute to the (Bush regieme’s) Attorney General’s new promise to crack down on porn, the winners will get mystery porn packages sent by me and will contain all the lubricious promises that a package packed with hours of masturbation can possibly provide, meaning some good porn and some lame porn. Special thanks to pjk for the pic!

Apparently they fired her while I was there, but I didn’t know it. And it’s still really impossible to resist making fun of Michele Zipp right now. Who doesn’t love a nice, hot piece of Republican ass? (Seacrest: OUT!) Well, okay, I met her for one second when I was in NY last week, and she seemed nice enough. But I’ll admit I was a bit cold toward her. It’s only because she violated me mentally with that awful essay, using Vaseline with sand for lube.

I don’t really like dems or ‘pubs; my dislike for what’s going on in the US is equal opportunity. But mixing sex and politics always kills my woody. Even worse when the visuals are cruel and unusual punishment (not to mention the grammar), as in what Zipp wrote in her bizarre little piece, the one that set me off before my trip. I can heal by sharing:

“Think about the George Bush/Dick Cheney camp’s phrase for the Iraq war: Shock and Awe. I don’t know about you, but I love to be shocked and awed nightly. And let’s just take a moment to look back at the two ‘dirtiest’ words I’ve used: Bush and Dick. Now that’s hot and it’s in the White House.”

“Look at Senator Kerry. After he lost to Bush in ‘04, do you think Theresa gave him some sympathy sex? I’d venture to say that I doubt it.”

“… And for some reason I think that, yes, Tipper gave Al some bush after George defeated him.”

“…please don’t hold me responsible for just putting forth my opinion.”

“Lest we forget that Arnold married into the most famous blue party family: Democrat wife Maria Shriver is part of the Kennedy clan. I imagine their sex life to be rigorous, sweaty, and non-stop-until-she-comes kind of sex.”

“Red, the Republican color, is the color of lust, romance, passion, the devil, and Valentine’s Day. Democratic blue is cool, detached, icy, blue balls.”

“The Democrats of the Sixties were all about making love and not war while a war-loving Republican is a man who would fight, bleed, sacrifice and die for his country. Could you imagine what that very same man would do for his wife in the bedroom? He’d go down on her trying to get her to achieve the ultimate victory: orgasm.”

“Maybe Laura [Bush] gives really good head.”

“If you are a Democrat then maybe these stats (and highly-informed, albeit biased opinions) will make you want to bed a GOP supporter.”

Like, war is *so* hot. Um, is a female Republican pornographer the same as a Jew for Jesus? Needless to say, caption contest winners are going up tomorrow, with a few runner-ups.

So much to make fun of! That is, unless the visuals have you ready to pound finish nails into your gums. Now you have an idea as to why I was reluctant about my trip to meet with Playgirl. What does this editorial have to do with a women’s wank magazine, exactly — and why do I care? I care because there aren’t any women’s wank magazines, and we desperately need one, and we don’t need one that runs pieces that might belong in a high school newspaper if they didn’t have sex in them, or visual imagery that makes me want to rinse my eyes out with lye. This, and Sweet Action, are *it* for the multitudes of girls like me who want to see explicit male sex marketed to us — and I totally will pick up gay mag Inches to get turned on before I’ll grab a watered-down glossy.

I think Zipp had an inherent distaste for the material, gleaned in her AVN quote, “I’m very proud of the redesign I did for 2005. It’s more women friendly, more erotic, rather than straight-out, X-rated and explicit.” C’mon — we can do much, much better than that. What is “women-friendly” porn, exactly, when you’re talking about women who are buying a magazine to look at porn? Porn does not need to be made “safe” for women; watering it down is insulting. The problem was that Zipp’s idea about marketing the magazine toward women, as opposed to gay men, meant that it had to be made safe, not all nasty and gross like homos or what men would want to see. (Hey, this guy’s a virulently straight, self-professed, pro-porn right-winger.) Maybe Republican women want Zipp’s idea of “erotic,” though I doubt it — especially the women in the White House. But now I can skewer her as Republican and I can say that Playgirl *used* to be Republican porn for women. When you think about it, that explains everything.

And the whole situation explains exactly why I’d never read or bought it. I can’t talk about what I did in NY, but I can say that I didn’t hold back my opinion about women and porn and sex, at all. And you know what? Now I want to work with Playgirl.

I got back from NY having seen none of NY at all. I saw the ugly unwashed butthole known as JFK for a long, long time, rode in a limo for the first time in my life (coke and whores not provided) and walked a few blocks, but that’s it. Oh, I had a de-lish Brooklyn IPA before I passed out from exhaustion. I didn’t get to see Rachel who wanted to make me cupcakes, or Paul who wanted to photograph me, or anyone. Then my flight was delayed for mechanical engine failures, which was totally fucking scary and made me decide I am not traveling ever again unless I am sedated. And I want all families to know that if you have a litter of three or more squalling infants, and no consideration for other human beings, DO NOT TRAVEL. Ever. I got back from NY, had the world’s worst jet lag, then went immediately to SRL and floated around the machine shop like Mr. Mackie on South Park when his head is all big and he floats away. I spent the rest of the weekend doing SRL stuff, making parts for a machine that shoots huge flames, and feel pretty good about the world. Except for having to erase the still-fresh images of narcotized mannequin Maria Shriver having sex with the Gropenator, but then again, I’ve seen the inside of a slaughterhouse before…

As of tonight, my reign of terror on Fleshbot is over. Well, mostly. I’ve been filling in for Jonno for five days (of working from am to… am) and it has completely consumed me; add to this a very stressful wrap-up with my Best Sex Writing book that is still managing to be stressful and reminding me that being an editor is worse than herding pigs on ice. Also, Playgirl is flying me to NY tomorrow at 5am for meetings about who knows what… I’m feeling deep under water, with a lot of work and no pay.

It’s exciting about Playgirl, yet apprehensive. I love Jayme Waxman, one of their writers; she’s such a living doll and has a real sex ed background. But I’m not sure what they want from me, and I don’t know if they’ll want to hear my opinion about their magazine. I read the April issue, with a three page piece in it that slams Democrats and touts Republican values, especially in the bedroom, which I found very insulting and repulsive, even as a non-partisan person. *So* not wankable. Of course, I read this after I had agreed to write them a fiction fantasy piece, which I wrote (hot: a real fantasy about a marching band) and turned in last friday. I just don’t know what’s going to happen in NY, except that I have some pretty defined views about politics, women, sex and porn, and I only see a shadow of them in those glossy pages — but then again, I don’t see any hot porn magazines out there for chicks like me except openly gay ones, and the closest was Sweet Action (though I only saw the first issue). In fact, chicks like me have to really hunt for porn we like in general, but you know that.

It will be my first trip to New York. I’m cranky that my time will be completely occupied by work and I won’t get to sightsee or see people I know there that I really want to hang out with in their natural habitat. For instance, I’d like to see Times Square, the park, ground zero, the sex museum, the Daily Show, Steven Colbert’s banana hammock, and oh yeah, friends. Luckily my pal Carly will be there at the same time and she said she’d take me somewhere in the 2-hour window I’ll have free — anywhere! I don’t care!

As you can see by the pics, I did get time away from the ‘Bot to do some work with other bots at SRL; a much-needed respite, and a real need as we have a show coming up very soon. Inbetween Fleshbotting Wet Stewardess Orgies and Furniture Porn I’ve spent my time at the SRL shop getting greasy, cut, sore and exteremely happy working on the machines, getting ready for ‘the big push’ to showtime. There are a few key crewmembers missing from this show which means the knowledge falls to remaining core members, like me (and many others). Which is cool because I’m one of the younger ones there, and female. So I’m needed more than usual, which I really like ’cause I love that feeling of being needed and having a place where I belong and stuff.

About Knock ‘Er Loose: that’s basically a kind of Liquid Wrench, a liquid lube for loosening up screws, bolts and other stuck things. See, WD-40, that’s for housewives, just like those Slimline vibrators. Liquid Wrench is like those alien-looking Japanese vibes that hit all the spots at once, the kind with three prongs if you know what I mean. Knock ‘Er Loose is like this bastard lube that Mark got for free because the hardware store had to pull the product from the shelves because of complaints about the name; we keep a piece of the Knock ‘Er Loose box on the wall next to the bible with shotgun holes through it and a homemade pitchfork through the holes, left over from when we had our big bible burn. I digress. I worked over the weekend getting the Inchworm ready for its new hydropump, a 5-gallon tank of hydraulic fluid, and the gears had to be changed to accomodate the new and improved size. Because SRL machines are made as they are modified (they evolve, which is how they survive), everything is welded and bolted on as the machine breaks and modifies with new tech over the years. Getting one gear off and the new one on took two days because of the way history had decided the permanent placement of the shaft (now the dirty talk). Yes, I spent all weekend lubing up a shaft and pulling on it; a dream job if there was one.

We had to heat the gear to 400 degrees to get it to expand enough to pull it on the shaft, very dangerous and fun. Unfortunately the set screw in the gear was heated as well, making the screw seize up, and I had to get all lubey with the Knock ‘Er Loose to get the screw to move.

I’m still covered in bruises, scrapes and grease stains on my hands and arms; I hope they like it at Playgirl that I’m no manicured muffy.

So no Fleshbot for me while I’m gone, and a break will be nice — but I’m stoked that Jonno liked my work, and tonight he asked me to stay on as his co-poster. Yay! I love it. It was intense, searching for stuff all the time, making sure everything is fresh, current or unused, keeping up to the minute with sex news. (Aside: I have a new favorite blog I *love* to watch, Unscathed Corpse.) Very exciting. I even posted a celebrity nipple slip, which kinda make me throw up in my mouth a little but was still fun because I got to make fun, biting the hand that feeds. Then again, this may mean I’m on a fast downhill slide…

It was also very interesting to get so up on where and how to find this information in the blogosphere, and see the various media as they operate, watching sex stories hatch and travel around the ‘net, see how various people handle the topics — and see just how much Fleshbot is watched. I saw certain well-known sites pick up items I had posted, and regurgitate the material, post it on their own sites, and even in the same order that I had put it up, with no reference to Fleshbot. I experimented with them to test my theory. I watched sites try to slam, scoop or discredit things I posted. Facinating. Most of all it’s fun to put my POV out there in the porn world; a world that typically calls anal sex “a pop in the pooper” deserves a bit of indy punk, girl-powered, all-gender and all-orientation sex-positive upheaval. Plus it was real fun to say that Bruce Willis huffed rails off Lindsay Lohan’s ass for his 70th birthday. ‘Cause that’s what I would do. Dammit, that’s what I *will* do.

My pussy has a first name. It’s B-r-i-t-n-e-y. It’s okay, she can’t spell. My pussy does not have a last name, for obvious legal reasons. And today I found out that my pussy can write. To my great dismay, she wrote me this letter:

Hey Violet, hihihi!

Omigawd, how are you? I’m like, totally fine and stuff. Yesterday we went for a walk and that was rilly rilly fun because you wore that black denim Dickies skirt, y’know, the one that’s kinda tight but comfy and short even though you almost NEVER wash it, and I totally watched the ground go by which was kinda cool ’cause we walked through the Castro where all the gays are and I feel totally safe there, and plus the sidewalk is really clean ’cause they practically have rugs from Dax on the sidewalks. OMG — that would be SO COOL!!! I wish they would cover the sidewalks there with Flokati rugs, that would look so neato through your panties, cuz I totally peek out your thong all the time when you’re not looking. See, you’re not the boss of me… [read more]

Last night Jonno gave me the keys to Fleshbot and cut me loose — I’ve been totally freaking out and shaking like an heiress’ inbred pooch ever since. He’s on his way to LA to cover the GayVN’s, and after a week of me feeding him 4-6 posts a day, with him as a sassy human filter, he’s having me take over for almost a whole week. It’s really scary; not just the extremely buggy old-world version of MT Gawker uses, but the pressure is intense. I think the chances are pretty good that I’m not quick enough on blogging celebrity nipple slips and sex tapes, mostly because they’re, like, so hot. But you do have to love it when your boss signs off his email with, “…and feel free to call if there’s an emergency or whatever (lawsuit, Lindsay Lohan bukkake video, etc.)”

You must be thinking, who is this Jonno guy and how do I know him? I first met Jonno via email when he started Fleshbot and emailed me to see if I’d be interested in offering up a quote for the then-fledgling site’s front page. Typically I’m pretty guarded about giving up quotes; while a flattering request, I often perceive it as a cheap-ass way for authors and “critics” to get their names on movie/book packaging, and I only will do it if I like the item in question (which doesn’t always make me popular). But I loved Fleshbot from the start, gave him a quote to use, and in a matter of time my quote got bumped from the front page by fancier quoters like The New York Times and Wired, whoever they are.

Anyway, I occasionally heard from Jonno in the way that frequently posting sites with connected/overlapping content do — shared links, “hey did you see this, it goes with your…” Until this year’s AVN convention. My dear, dear pal Carly had arranged a big sex writer’s dinner in Vegas for a bunch of us to meet each other, and while I met lots of people I’d only emailed with previously, two people were missing due to flight mishaps: Tristan and Jonno. Over dinner I learned from Carly that Jonno was, in fact at that very moment, sequestered in her hotel room in a robe with a bottle of something very alcoholic, tethered to a phone trying to find his lost luggage. After dinner I tagged along with Carly to her room and the meeting between Jonno and I was one of those things: the kind of instant recognition between friends, where you both swear you look familiar, finish each other’s sentences, etc. Striking. And surprising to discover at the world’s most superficial convention. The next night we found each other at a big, awful porn star party, and I wrote about the rest of my fobiles running around being fag hag for a weekend. A few things stay marked in my memory. I have many gay male friends, but Jonno is the most affectionate and warm gay friend* I’ve ever had — lots of close contact and warm hand-holds in crowds. He went out of his way to introduce me to people he really likes. And once, in a crowded taxi, the conversation went, “Oh my god, have you seen (blank)? She’s such a …” and Jonno cut him off and said, “Stop! Don’t you ever say a bad thing about a woman in my presence, ever.”

And today, sometime in the middle of the night before my first post, Jonno went and wrote this about me!

So now I’m the sorceror’s apprentice, and Jonno is teaching me the evil ways of Fleshbottery. Well, don’t let me do all the informing, check out this (not too recent) interview with him here.

* Why do I make this distinction? My straight male friends/family in SRL and the Marching Band are very, very affectionate with me; lots of hugging, arms around each other because we’re standing in proximity, etc. For some reason that’s missing from my relationships with gay men. (I don’t know if Michael Soldier’s parting lip-kiss after I interviewed him a few weeks ago counts, oh the tension…) But then again, the SRL/Band guys aren’t exactly your regular straight guys — in fact, not at all. There is quite an interesting history of bisexuality among the ranks of SRL men (a history always in the making, I understand), and gender/sexuality has always been fluid and a non-issue among core members. We’ve all shared near-death experiences at every show; our priorities in the way we relate are vastly different than, say, someone from Hollywood or the Marina district in San Francisco. An SRL sex map would be very amusing; Kinsey would love it. And while I don’t profess to know much about the preferences in the Marching Band, again, gender and orientation are a non-issue. I don’t know what I’m trying to say here, except that this type of open affection and acceptance is a value to me, and I’ve never experienced it in the “straight” world, and very little in my gay cirles, too. But you know, I think the word “straight” should always be in quotes anyway…

Sent to me just now: cool time-lapse video of the death of the Chicago Sun Times building. Begins with men, ends with machines, all destruction, yay! Warning: sappy music, but evokes a nice meditative mood…

http://www.pixelplay.org/jeff/suntimes/

I’m procrastinating that thing I have to write for Playgirl. Not because I don’t want to, not because I’m out of ideas (not by a longshot), not because I got my shuffle and it takes like a thousand hours to charge (but — w00t!), and not because it’s hard to tone down my fantasies for Playgirl. Okay, the last part is true. And even though my nose is sore from ejecting beverages every hour reading your captions for the Laura Bush photo, that’s not it either. No, just because procrastination is the porn writer’s friend. Gives us more time to wank off.

Not that I’ve been a total wanker — I at least did an interview with Web MD today (I’ll post the link when it goes up next week). I’ve been a busy Fleshbot bee; at the end of the week I’ll be posting by myself while Jonno goes to the GayVN’s — yikes! And upon finding out that Suicide Girls rejected my first photoset (they say it’s common for first sets to be rejected), I edited the hundreds of photos down, cropped and posted them as a striptease vignette here. SG told me it was because of the quality of the photography, but haven’t replied to my query email with a recommendation on who I should shoot with next — and it’s been several weeks since I asked them. I’ve technically been accepted and have a profile (not live yet). I’m just too busy Fleshbotting and doing the unemployed writer hustle to kill myself to find a photog for a session that may or may not work, and would result in $300 that would likely go to pay the photographer. I’m not too discouraged, just mulling things over. So enjoy the photos — they’re all mine now, and yours, too.

Now I must write dirty things. Here’s a too-weird-for-Fleshbot link: Amputee of the Month (don’t worry, it’s all fake).

This picture needs something. Don’t you think? It needs your love. Look, I’ve read some of the hilarious things you’ve written in my photo album (many times making my nose into a water/coffee/wine shooter). So here’s the plan:

Give this photo a caption. I will pick three hi-larry-us winners: the winners, in tribute to the (Bush regieme’s) Attorney General’s new promise to crack down on porn, will get mystery porn packages sent by me and will be featured here and on my front page. Mystery porn packages will contain all the lubricious promises that a package packed with hours of masturbation can possibly provide, meaning some good porn and some lame porn. Then again, one girl’s lame porn is another guy’s hot wank session… I promise that there will be boobies, people humping, grunting, sweating and spurting, there will be naked genitals rubbing on things, and I guarantee that every piece ‘o porn would make Condolezza Rice claw out her own eyes in abject horror at the sight of actual human beings celebrating being human, because she is a she-Terminator powered by tiny demon monkeys from hell running on little rusty hamster wheels within her hollow metal chest cavity. Ew, sorry I mentioned Rice and porn in the same context, ew, ew, (rinsing eyes with gasoline)…

So do it. Take your hands out of your pants for a minute. Just a minute — it’s okay, I do it, too. Tweak your nose (and other sweatier parts) at the Bush administration and win a weird/scary/hot/alien/mystery porn package from a girl whose books have been banned and targeted and protested by Focus on the Family. Think about it — what is Laura thinking? What is that man saying? Where should that alien probe go?

Send me: your caption, the name you want me to put on my site in association with your caption (your privacy and confidentiality are utmost), and any website you want me to link to. Then, if you make me cry and cringe and spasm with horror and delight over your caption, I’ll email you and ask for the snail mail address to send your mystery porn package. Special thanks to pjk for the pic!

I’m really sinking my teeth into my job as a Fleshbotette — what girl doesn’t love trolling weird porn sites all day and seeking out visual sex adventures going on tips and hints? But here is the fun side effect I know you will love: some things are just *way too weird* to go on Fleshbot. And dear readers, I will share them with you. Kind of like how sometimes you share your photos and videos of your penises with me. Not that I’m complaining…

My days have been spent in tangents of slightly hallucinatory pornographic threads (it feels like being on mental porno acid, anyway). I follow come-drenched big-boobed Manga link threads and seek out evil hotspots, looking for hard and delicious memes to spread. I’m really just trying to justify a porn habit, but to you I’m trying to justify how I ended up in The Doll Album — a Fotki or Flickr for owners and lovers of RealDolls. Spend a little time with the over 13,000 intimate and lovingly constructed photos by doll afficianados and you’ll see why it’s so fascinating to me. Yet I just can’t help but scrutinize the furniture, the stuff on the floors and on the bookshelves of the doll owners, how they dress the dolls, what their houses look like… what they do with their doll collections… People, this is exactly what will happen when Pris-like fembots hit the market.

I’m in this month’s Wired! Annalee Newitz features me in her (print and web) article about Adam Curry and Podcasting. So that means I’ve “done” Wired three times — the other two being a Wired.com story and Gina Lynn’s Wired column. Though I guess technically, that means Wired has “done” me… Hmmm. Hot or not?

Did you notice anything different about me? Not the hair. Nope, same boobs. That’s right — I changed my job. I know, I wanted to stay unemployed for as long as possible, but some sexy Italian guy made me an offer I just couldn’t resist. Now, if you go to Fleshbot, you’ll see my name on the masthead under Jonno’s, as “Assistant Guest Editor!” Wheee!

So — surprise, surprise, my job is to look at (or rather look for) porn all day. Again! Truthfully though, we’re going to see how it goes with my schedule and talents, and if all goes well, I might have the “Guest” removed from my title and assume the role of Jonno’s right-hand girl in the Fleshbot Empire. Which is not a bad place to be, I’d imagine. His boyfriend is ho-ot!

It’s an interesting development for me, seeing as how the rough book deadline/Marching Band/David Byrne experiences last week sort of shook up my perspective. Then, on Sunday I went to the SRL shop, we had a crew meeting about our upcoming show (stay tuned to the SRL website because my lips are sealed), and then I pulled off a BBQ in the rain, in honor of Hunter S. Thompson. Of course, with the SRL crew in attendance the BBQ fire was entertainment for an hour, entertainment that singed someone’s eyelashes off (not mine; I know who to stay away from when they have an air hose in one hand and lighter fluid in the other). We all watched “The Crazy Never Die” on Mark’s big TV, a documentary that the Mitchell Bros. made of Hunter visiting the SRL shop and coming to one of our shows. Mark regaled us with crazy stories of Hunter’s mini-bar and pill station he set up in the office (by the couch I sleep on during shows), and how he was so unpredictable, fucked up and crazy that he actually had to be watched pretty closely with the 10-barrel shotgun (duh!) and the hand-held flame thrower. Thompson said some really amazing things in the video about the Regan administration using the book of revelations as some sort of sketchy guide to running the country, and Mark and I each drank a shot of Bushmills to Thompson on that point — that it’s just as true for the regime running the country today.

Vale was there, and he slipped me a copy of J. G. Ballard’s Quotes (I missed the reading due to Extra Byrne Action), which is a pretty cool thing to have surreptitiously slid into your jacket — from V. Vale, nonetheless. I had woken up that morning really feeling like I didn’t have a job; kind of scared. No regular income, no health insurance. Life in a savagely, self-righteously wealthy country, disconnected. At the shop, there was my family — subversives with hugs and kisses, dirty shop monkeys, and most striking of all, I knew where everything was. This may not seem important. But when I needed a small flathead screwdriver to loosen a staple, I walked to one of our big tool chests, opened one of the dozens of drawers — I knew right where to find it. Not like my life at all. Driver, found; me, lost.

I went home and listened to David Byrne music on my iPod. I watched him sing every night for three nights, and every night he sang and played every fucking note with passion, intense passion. His arms were open; you could tell his heart was open to the world when his music came out of him. The incredible lightness of being, personified. Later at the after party, he heard a local band and asked them to play with him sometime, and he experienced every piece of art in the space. Some artists, they just get old and lame, or they just disappear, or they gate their minds shut and live life in a perverse act of mindless consumption — and some open every door they can find, and keep going.

I cried a little because I know where everything is at the SRL shop, and I’m tired of deadlines, and I have two books I have to finish now that aren’t me. They’re someone else’s ideas, and I’ll make them my life and my blood and they will *become* me, but they’re not from my skin. I went to bed and read the Ballard Quotes book, and read what he said about writing Crash. Understand that Crash is a lot where SRL comes from, that Ballard and Mark are friends, and before I knew any of that, Crash was the first book that I masturbated to while reading. Ballard said that writing Crash was like being helplessly tethered to a computer that was tracking an incoming missile. That’s where I need to be.

If you’re still with me, and you were hoping for sex, I’ll share the sex dream I had on Monday morning. I have to wonder if I’ve been watching too much Eddie Izzard:

It starts when I am in a hotel room with a fireplace, and I have a rubber sex doll on the floor beneath me, a RealDoll. I put a double dildo in my pussy and it feels good to fuck her with it; I imagine I have a dick.

One of the Marching Band horn players come in the room w/no shirt on, but he’s not the only one. There’s another cute Marching Band boy in the bed with no clothes on. I want to fuck them both. But one of them demands personal attention in a very fun and flirty/sexy way, not pushy, and we’re laughing, so I say, okay, meet me at the club.

I am earlier than he is; it’s some kind of sex club but there’s nowhere to sit or do anything, just a few people gathered here and there. Sparse. I don’t have the right top on for this sort of thing, but luckily there is a rack of fetish clothing for sale near the front door. I start going through the selections, they are awful crap and nothing will fit me. I see the Marching Band boy walking over, and he is in drag. I’m not into sex with men in drag. He has a god-awful red wig on (I’m thinking), and a hideous pink shift of some kind that he thinks is a dress but just looks like he ran though someone’s guest-room curtains, got caught, and said fuck it and tied it with a sash. I am very angry that he dressed himself so poorly. The first thing I do is rip off the wig with a yank, and he looks much sexier in makeup but short hair, and he looks like he deserves/enjoys my wrath. I rip that stupid dress off of him, pushing him down to the floor as I do it. He’s wearing fishnets underneath and no panties, high heels, and nothing else, and he has a huge hard-on strained by the tight netting. His makeup is smeared. It turns me on. Before I wake up I’ve ripped open his fishnets and am rubbing his cock all over my panties, hard.

Hmmm. Maybe I’m not getting *enough* Eddie Izzard. Or perhaps it’s my friend Chriso’s bad, bad influence — the picture on the right is his birthday party I managed to go to in the middle of all this, a “come as your favorite TV personality” party. He actually shocked me by dressing as Ab-Fab’s Edna. Then I shocked myself when after everyone left I yanked down his pants and birthday spanked him while his boyfriend filmed, and Hornboy and a hot leathercop watched. Can you guess who I’m supposed to be but not pulling off at all with my $9.99 wig?

And interestingly, links to my video and mentions my involvement with SRL, though does not connect the two… His description of spending time with Extra Action is really perfect. “Sexy utopia.”

http://www.davidbyrne.com/tour_journal_04.php

I have decided that I want to be a combination of David Byrne and Hunter S. Thompson and Ballard when I grow up. More on that next — it’s raining and my cat is outside, so I have to find him…!