... en zo weten jullie meteen waarom wij nooit producten aankrijgen om te reviewen...

A banda The Peth, que eu já mencionei aqui, lançou ontem o vídeo da música Let's Go Fucking Mental. O clip, dirigido por Jake Chapman, é feito de imagens registradas por uma colonoscopia em Rhys Ifans. Isso mesmo, o diretor enfiou um tubo com uma câmera no ânus do vocalista da banda. Ifans canta na música "I look better from the inside out" e resolveu mostrar mesmo, mas não sei isso é exatamente o que podemos chamar de beleza interior. 

Alla hade vi väntat sedan Harry Potter Och Fenixordern gick upp på biograferna den 13 juli förra året. Nästa film var planerad för biopremiär i Sverige fredagen den 21 november i år. Men enligt Warner Bros kommer den 6:e och näst sista filmen om Harry Potter att skjutas fram till den 17 Juli 2009. Anledningen till att filmen skjuts fram är enligt Warner Bros att sommaren är en idealistisk tid för denna typ av familjefilm och refererar till Harry Potter Och Fenixordens rekord succé sommaren 2007.

Det ändrade premiär datumet kommer inte att påverka de kommande Harry Potter filmerna som egentligen är en film, men eftersom den sista och den slutgiltiga filmen Harry Potter Och Dödsrelikerna är så omfattande kommer den bestå utav två delar. Dessa två delar kommer att ha premiär med ett par månaders mellanrum, allt för att mjölka "kassakon" Harry Potter så länge som möjligt innan det hela är över. Den första delen är planerad premiär i November 2010 följt av den andra delen i Maj 2011. Manuset till Harry Potter Och Dödsrelikerna kommer att författas av Steven Kloves och regin den står David Yates för.

If Cruncher harboured a grudge against Molly in particular, or

hamsterdom in general, he kept his feelings well hidden; and before long

he was his old jovial caterpillar self once more. And for a while things

seemed to be getting along quite well. Until that fateful day…

***

Molly entered the living room of her delightful little cottage that sat

atop the hill that looked out over the charming rural town of Hamster

Heath. She carried a cup of tea and a huge slice of sponge cake.

Both dropped to the floor as she discovered her juvenile son, Horatio,

sitting on the carpet in front of the fire, sliding back and forth in a

provocative motion.

“You dropped your tea, Mum,” he observed.

“What the fluffing heck are you doing?” she demanded, “Did the late,

unlamented, Reverend Lewd teach you that?”

Horatio was puzzled. “I don’t need a crooked vicar how to teach me the

best way to cure an itchy bum:” he retorted, “I found out how to do that

myself. Do you still want that cake? It’s got Cruncher’s hair all over it.”

Molly didn’t, but she never said as much. Instead she walked from the

room like an automaton – which gave Cruncher, who was hiding behind

the sofa, the opportunity to leap upon the fallen cake, and consume it in a

trice.
261

Horatio became concerned for his mother’s well being, and stopped his

deep-pile bum-numbing regime. Jumping to his feet he made to follow.

“Mum?” he called to Molly as she receded along the hallway toward the

door - pausing just long enough to grab her hat and coat.

Then, without another word, she stepped out into the rain.

Horatio knew better than to interrupt one of her fugues. She was off on

one of her panic attacks, and that was the end of it. The best thing he

could do was clean up the mess on the living room floor, get his dinner,

and settle down to watch Rat Trek on television: She’d be back when she

felt so inclined, or when the police returned her intoxicated carcass.

***

Molly was indeed suffering from a panic attack. A memory nagged at

her heart, and a fear gripped her soul. Such was her urgency that she

fairly ran down Realsteep Hill. Only when the sign above the surgery of

Doctor Growbag hove into view did she finally slacken her pace.

***

Molly arrived at the door sweating and breathing heavily. To her

surprise it opened to her automatically. Uncertain, she stepped inside.

“Ah, Mrs Horseblanket!” The receptionist, Flotty Pañuelo, called out

in a welcoming voice from behind the counter, “ What do you think of

our new automatic door?”
262

Under normal circumstances Molly might have delivered an acerbic

riposte; but today circumstances were far from normal.

“I need to see Doctor Growbag.” she said, in a voice shrill with fear.

Molly’s state of mind transferred to Flotty, “What is it?” she squeaked

as she hopped from her seat in anticipation of some fearful revelation.

“I can’t say!” Molly wailed, “I’ve got to see the doctor. I’ve got to! I’ve

got to! Now!”

This outburst elicited results. Flotty began bouncing nervously upon her

swivel chair; and Doctor Growbag entered, at speed, from his consulting

room.

Growbag saw, in an instant, that Molly was the bearer of bad news.

Behind him P.C Bootsie could be seen upon the couch with his trousers

down. Growbag turned to him, “I’m sorry Police Constable Bootsie, but

something has come up. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now. Flotty will

give you some ointment for your… er…um….”

Without a word, P.C Bootsie clambered from the couch, and hoisted up

his drawers. But Molly held aloft a paw, “Please, P.C Bootsie; will you

wait? We might have need of you.”

This suggested some impending disaster to Doctor Growbag:

“Molly – inside here – now!” He roared.

Once inside the sanctuary of Growbag’s consulting room, Molly rushed
263

to his desk, and started rubbing her posterior against the roughest corner.

“By the Saint of All Hamsters,” Growbag exclaimed fearfully, “you’re

not suggesting…?

“I pray that I’m wrong.” Molly replied gravely.

“Do you have evidence?” Growbag enquired desperately, “Silly me – of

course you do – otherwise you wouldn’t be here. What is it?”

“Horatio has started scratching his bum.” she told him.

Growbag tried to make light of this, “Well he’s at that age: All boy

hamsters of his ilk scratch their bums: Some of them do it in public.”

“Not like beasts of the field.” Molly spoke the words that Growbag least

wanted to hear.

“This is bad: Very bad.” Growbag dropped into his chair. “And what of

you?”

“I found myself using the bath towel.” she confessed. “That was three

days ago: I’ve used every cream I can think of – but it’s no use: My ring

piece is on fire.”

Growbag looked at the police constable uncertainly.

Molly read his mind, “P.C Bootsie has the same problem, doesn’t he?”

Growbag nodded. “It’s happening all over again, isn’t it?” he croaked.

It was Molly’s turn to nod. “He’ll have to alert the authorities.”

“But it’s been twenty years since the last outbreak.” Growbag
264

complained, “I thought we had it licked for good last time.”

“Don’t mention licking.” Molly scolded the doctor, “I’m fighting a

battle with my instincts: I have this overwhelming desire to salivate all

over my succulent membranes as we speak.”

Growbag was descending into despair, “I was such a young hamster last

time: I was barely out of college: I went from administering aspirin – to

applying cold compresses to thousands of rectums. I was too young: Still

green behind the cabbage patch, so-to-speak: It all but broke me. I can’t

do it again! Really I can’t!”

Molly demanded that Growbag pull himself together and unplug

Bootsie’s ears.

Growbag agreed, but the instruction was never made: Instead P.C

Bootsie unplugged them himself, and strode forward determinedly. He

pulled up short at the sight of Molly thrusting the handle of Growbag’s

umbrella up the back of her dress.

His shoulders slumped as he began scratching at his own rear end.

“I may be a stupid old male hamster,” he said miserably, “but even I can

recognise Wet Tail when I see it: How long have we got?”

And for the first time that day, Molly and Growbag had reason for

cheer: Things could have been worse: It wasn’t Wet Tail:

“You’re not going to die, Bootsie,” Molly told him with something
265

resembling a smile, “You’ve got Hamsters’ Arse. We all have. You must

notify the authorities immediately.”

Bootsie didn’t respond to her smile with one of his own: He was old

enough to recall the last time Hamsters’ Arse had struck the land. It had

come close to bringing down civilisation as the people of Hamster Britain

- from the lowliest flea-milker – to the president – all succumbed to their

base instincts and had behaved abominably. It had been close: Would

they be as lucky this time? With a sigh he reached for the telephone.

***
Sorry, that’s all for now. Hopefully you’ll be able to read the remainder of this exciting/inspiring/highly entertaining/rip-snorting/hilarious/bloody awful/pile of dung (delete as applicable) tale at a later date. That is when a publisher of great vision and intellect recognises its true worth, and makes it available to all and sundry as either an E-book or the good old-fashioned paper version.
Until that time (or when I give up, throw up my hands with despair, and place the complete work here, free-of-charge) please peruse other chapters of my Hamster Britain stories: You may not know how the stories end, but you can enjoy the bits leading up to it. Oh, and please leave a comment. Tell me if you liked it (or thought that it should be thrown out on the compost heap). Suggestions are always welcome. Well, not always welcome. Nice suggestions: That’s what I’m looking for. And adulation too, of course. That goes without saying. You show me one author who doesn’t seek adulation..…

Dr. Isaac Frankenfark, a physician with New York City's Mount Cyanide hospital who specializes in obesity-related health issues, said an old-fashioned medical treatment has the best chance of solving the obesity crisis in children.

"In the 19th century, a woman who wanted to lose weight would ingest the eggs of parasitic worms," Frankenfark explained. "The eggs would hatch in the woman's intestinal tract and the worms would take up residence there, feasting on food as it passed by them. The result was rapid weight loss for the woman, followed by really big worms wriggling out of her anus at night in search of a better life. It was a win-win situation for both the woman and the worms."

Frankenfark believes it's time to resurrect the human and worm alliance for the benefit of children.

"I see many obese children at the hospital every day," he said. "If children are obese, they are likely to be obese as adults, too. And obese adults are much more likely to have obese children. Worms can break this cycle."

There are benefits for parents who give their children worms, Frankenfark said.

"It makes parenting much easier," he noted. "Parents can feed their children a steady diet of pizza, fast food, potato chips and candy bars and the kids won't gain an ounce of weight. This will save parents a lot of time, as they will no longer need to cook for their children."

But infesting your children with parasitic worms is not without its downside, Frankenfark cautioned.

"The child is likely to be surprised when he or she wakes up in the morning to find a pile of worms squirming around under the covers," he said. "When that happens, parents should explain to their child that it is just undigested spaghetti from the time the family went to that nice Italian restaurant. There's no need for them to know they have worms."

(Photo by Tim 'Avatar' Bartel, Wikipedia)

"Frauen lassen sich überall piercen
und Tattoo's einritzen ...
das Gesicht liften ...
Falten straffen ...
sie lassen per Kaiserschnitt entbinden...
das Fett absaugen ...
die Oberschenkel straffen ...
die Eierstöcke abschnüren ...
die Tränensäcke reduzieren ... Silikonimplantate einsetzen ...
sie entfernen sich Haare mit Pinzette
oder heißem Wachs ...
und dann lassen sie sich
NICHT IN DEN ARSCH FICKEN, WEIL DAS SO WEH TUT?! ^^

Because she's the first dog I've ever had on my own, she's the first one I've had to clean up after. The dogs we used to have on the farm when I was growing up must have pooped somewhere, but never anywhere close to the house, and even if they had, I doubt whether it would have been a big concern, considering all the other poop that was around, mostly chicken poop and cow poop. Of course, from time to time, some of that poop did have to be cleaned up. Cleaning out a hot, stinky chicken house was a horrible task.

But when I got Annie, I knew that I would have to clean up her poop. I think if you have a dog in the city, you have to clean up after it. There are laws on the books, but I'm embarrassed by how many dog owners I see walking their dogs when I'm walking Annie who don't or won't clean up after them. But that's another gripe of mine, not my particular one of the day.

So when I got Annie, I was prepared. I had bought the little rolls of bio-degradable bags to use to collect her poop, and still save plastic grocery bags just in case I run out of the other. At first it was a little "icky" cleaning up her poop, but after a short while, it wasn't "icky" or disgusting, just part of the routine. I'm sure the reason that some dog owners don't, or won't, clean up after their dogs is because they think it's disgusting--because it's poop, and they don't want to even feel the poop. (Using the bags is super easy--put your hand inside the bag, grab the poop, turn the bag inside out around the poop, tie the end in a knot, and toss it away.) You don't even have to touch the poop. But so what if you did? Would it be a big thing? Just wash your hands! Think how many parents have had to change dirty diapers. There's poop in them too. But what would happen if they didn't clean up their babies after pooping?

My point is that if you have a dog or a baby, you have to clean up the poop. And, soon enough, it's part of the routine. Cleaning up the poop, and the poop itself, is no longer something disgusting. It's part of the norm, like washing the coffee cup that has been sitting with a half cup of coffee with cream in it all day. You wash it; it's clean. It's not something "icky".

So, you say, where does religion come into all of this?

Well, a lot of the things people go "ick" over are because of something their religion has taught them, and sometimes their culture. But a religious "ick" is very different from a mere cultural "ick".

Meat is a good example. Some religions forbid eating pork. Some Jews have to have a kosher kitchen, and surprisingly, their counterparts, the Muslims, have something nearly the same. For the most part, they won't eat ham and shrimp and other foods because of the culinary rules of the religions. I've seen them in places where a variety of meats are available--and if there's ham or shrimp on the table, that "ick" factor comes into play, but it's a religious "ick".

In some countries, people eat foods, especially meats, which bring out the "ick" in people from other cultures. The French and the Kazakhs eat horse meat. Some Koreans and Chinese eat dogs. In some places, they eat monkeys. Those are all high on my "ick" factor for foods. I remember one time I went to the meat case in a store here in Houston and saw package after package of wrapped-up chicken feet, but people from a lot of cultural backgrounds cook up chicken feet in one way or another. We raised, killed, scalded, plucked, cleaned, cut up, and cooked our own chickens on the farm, but the chicken feet always got thrown out to the dogs, along with the entrails. Chicken entrails (guts) and chicken feet are very high up there on my "ick" factor as food. (How do you do with eating chicken guts?)  Eating testicles of any animal is pretty high up there too. Unknowingly, I ate some goat testicles when I lived in Greece. The "ick" factor came into play later that night.

I'm not saying there is anything wrong with people having an "ick" factor, but we should understand why we feel that way. Culturally, things that some consider foods are not foods to others. Personally, chicken feet are not food. I just don't see anything edible about them. Dogs are not food because they are pets. Others see it differently; it comes from our perspective of what is food and what is not food.

But this religious "ick" about food is another matter. People adhere to their beliefs because some old book, the Bible, the Talmud, the Koran, or some other religious book contains rules about what could be eaten--in other words, what was healthy to eat--thousands of years ago. We've got all kinds of books with rules about this today, what to eat if you have high blood pressure, what to eat if you have diabetes. We also have books that can tell us what wild mushrooms are edible, what cereals have the highest fiber content, what fruits contain a lot of sugar. Nobody--but nobody--today would equate any of these "rules" to some religious rule. And this is wherein lies the problems with religion and the "ick" factor.

Which brings about the mistake made by these religious people--of any hair-brained cult religion--and their viewpoint against homosexuality. They try to use a few lines of text (which have been translated and interpreted through a number of languages over a couple of thousand years) to try to prove that homosexuality is wrong. I would bet that 95% of these people who think this way couldn't even find these texts in whatever book they purport to believe in, let alone really be able to explain what the text might even be saying. In reality, these people--and others--who disagree with homosexuality are just trying to use religion to justify their own "ick" factor.

As a society, we have made sex--any kind of sex--"icky". We can't really talk about it; it's too "icky". Therefore, when most straight people start to have to deal with something like homosexuality, the "ick": factor really kicks in. A straight guy really gets disgusted when he thinks about what two gay guys might do with each other. (Strange, though, how most straight guys get really intrigued if it's two women doing something with each other.) I think a lot of other people just have fallen into society's view that anything sexual is basically something that can't be talked about. And the religious hardcore just use their religious book to support their own "ick" factor: "It's something disgusting to me, so I'm going to use my Bible to prove it."

PENIS. VAGINA. PENIS. ANUS. VAGINA. PENIS. VAGINA. PENIS. VAGINA. PENIS. VAGINA. ANUS. PENIS. VAGINA. PENIS. PENIS. VAGINA. VAGINA. PENIS. PENIS. ANUS. PENIS. PENIS. VAGINA. VAGINA. ANUS.

Look at these for several minutes. You can even think of them in different combinations and orders. You can get over your "ick" factor. Or maybe, you can't. As a gay man, reading the word "vagina" is OK; anything more personal would still be pretty "icky".

One thing we need to understand about our "ick" factors: they are not moral issues, nor should they be something that governments make laws restricting. This is the problem that is gotten into when governments start legislating based on religious "morality" (my quotes because I do not consider a lot of so-called christians moral in any way whatsoever): Should Ahmad feel guilty because he ate a ham sandwich? Should you feel guilty because Ahmad ate a ham sandwich? Should you feel guilty because Ahmad ate a ham sandwich? Should you feel guilty because Ahmad ate a ham sandwich? Should Ahmad be punished because he ate a ham sandwich? In the end, none of those should matter under the law. The only thing that matters is this: Ahmad should be punished if he stole the ham sandwich.

Just because someone or some group of people think pork is disgusting does not mean any government should write laws not permitting other people to eat pork. Just because you think people having sex in a way that is "icky" to you does not mean that any government should write laws not permitting others from doing it, and in turn, preventing them from any other benefit (i.e. gay marriage) that the rest of society has without question. I know of no government that ever outlawed left-handedness even though a lot of grade school teachers who didn't like it gave a lot of whacks to little left-handed kids. I can't imagine anybody thinking that any kid ever chose to be left-handed, and, thus, to be whacked by their teachers. Nor did any gay person ever choose to be gay, and, thus, be called names, have beer bottles thrown at them, denied having rights that others have, or worse, being beaten or killed.

It's like this: if you don't want to pick up dog poop, don't get a dog, but your unwillingness to pick up dog poop should in no way interfere with my getting a dog, and, thereafter, picking up her poop.

(Oh, and if you've ever seen chickens pecking up their own poop and whatever else they might find, you might get some of that "ick" factor next time you stop off at KFC on your way home from work. Pigs, in my estimation, are a helluva lot cleaner than chickens, but neither a nice ham sandwich nor chicken salad brings out any "ick" factor in me.)

I have co-workers who love to eat sushi, which is raw fish and the bait that is used to catch said fish. I've known men who were prisoners of war in World War 2 who survived by eating rancid potatoes and rotted meat. I once knew a guy who would pour buttermilk, canned oysters, and Tabasco sauce into a 44-ounce cup and proceed to sip off of it in the summer heat whilst strolling around the little league fields in my hometown.

Nothing nastier than an old man sipping from a cup that smelled like sewage. Except, of course, the fact that the old man had to chew what he was sipping. Ugh.

But I found this photo yesterday that made my stomach churn. It's definitely not a real item this particular restaurant serves (at least, I sure as heck hope not) but just the thoughts it sparks is worth the look:

Now, maybe it's just my little warped brain, but here's some of the thoughts this picture inspired:

• If this were a real item, who was the chef that thought it up? What wacked-out wannabe gourmet, working in the BK test kitchen thought, "You know - an anus burger would be great!"
• Who in marketing thought there would be an audience for this?

"We can capitalize on the Fear Factor segment! Think of it - an entire line of Xtreme Burgers from the King: the Anus Steak Burger, the Spicy Chicken Spleen Sandwich, and the Crispy Fish Intestine Sandwich! Genius!"

• How many people stopped in and asked about the sign?
• And of those who stopped, how many wanted to try it?

"What do you feel like eatin' for lunch today, Frank?"

"I dunno, Jim."

"Hey, look - BK has an Anus Steak Burger value meal for $4.99. Wanna try that?"

"Sure, why not?"

• Does this appeal to the type of person who goes around saying things like, "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse!"? Would someone who would volunteer to eat a horse eat an anus steak burger?
• What kind of cheese do you serve on that burger? Just curious.
• What do you think the burger smells like when it's cooking on the grill?
• What's your advertising hook for something like this? Do you come up with its own jingle? Do you show the King... nevermind. To many weird directions for that to go.
• Is the person responsible for this burger the same person responsible for this?

So many questions, so few answers. But I, for one, can say this with absolute confidence: There are some things that a Southerner just won't eat. And a butthole burger would have to be near the top of the list.

And away we go:

rape movie, Boner, tits, pussy, rod, shaft, penis, dick, dong, hog, cock, balls, testicles, juggs, ass, anus, anal, butthole, cameltoe, panties, nipples, boobs, hummer, blowjob, bj, suck, lick, tongue, gag, fuck, fucking, sex, schoolgirl, cheerleader, jenna jameson, leah luv, ron jeremy, peter north, long dong silver, hooker, whore, slut, nympho, skank, BDSM, sado masochism, fetish, free porn, free porn movies, free porn download, free sex, hot teen, hot coeds, hot milf, hot gramma, hot for teacher, gangbang, orgy, track lighting, smoking jacket, perversion, forbidden sex, wet, juicy, cans, hot carl, angry dragon, dirty sanchez, cleveland steamer, doggystyle, piledriver, reverse cowgirl, union of the monkey, 69, feet, foot fetish, hairy fetish, smoking fetish, balloon fetish, beastiality, zoophilia, latex, buttplug, dildo, vibrator, masturbation, handcuffs, loonies, looners, furries, penetration, insertion, virgin, virginity, pee, pissing, piss, urine, ejaculation, squirt, squirting, cumming, gushing, man goo, semen, sperm, giz, facial, golden shower, clown porn, midgets, midget sex, amputee sex, bondage, torture, medical fetish, hentai and farting on cakes (yes thats a real thing)

Thats all I can think of. Now lets watch those ratings soar...

In order to familiarize consumers with the new shipping method, Target has announced a promotional discount wherein consumers who purchase over $50 in merchandise from their on-line store will be able to choose between having their package shipped via the old boxed method (paying standard shipping fees) and having their packaged being firmly wedged into the anus of an attractive male and then shipped (free of charge).

Now that we all know what's what, I'm here to tell you that many of you have been neglecting some of these parts. And none of these components should be ignored! Unless your girlfriend tells you to.

Here's what years of really crappy, completely unrealistic porn has taught men: women like your penises as much as you do. We like them so much that we hardly need anything resembling foreplay, and we have amazing vaginal orgasms simply from having you banging away at us.

And yet. Not so much the way it works.

See, men become aroused much easier than women. Perhaps you remember that from seventh grade math class, when you'd get those inexplicable erections and you'd have to walk down the hallway with your Pee-Chee folder in front of your crotch so no one would see your raging boner. Great! Lucky you! A stiff breeze can get you in the mood!

It takes a little more for women, I'm sorry to report. We've got six different things going on down there, and a lot of you are only paying attention to one or two. And not even paying attention in a helpful way. So! A brief rundown of the players:

The mons pubis (pubic mound) is sensitive. That's really where one starts. It's the gateway. Don't ignore it.

The clitoris has an unbelievable number of nerve endings. So many, in fact, that the slightest touch produces big results. Unfortunately, most men do not realize that the clitoral fondling demonstrated in porn makes women cross their legs and cringe in vicarious pain. In comparison, the vagina has far fewer nerve endings, In fact, only about the first inch, inch and a half of the vaginal wall experiences pleasurable sensation. So all of that deep thrusting isn't really doing much for the vagina, physiologically speaking. It's just fun, sometimes.

Add to that the neglect of the labia majora and minora. If you were to spend a little more time with these areas, you'd be shocked at the reaction of delight. They're loaded with nerve endings, but not the high concentration found in the clitoris that leads to discomfort when overstimulated. You can get far by paying attention to the lips.

Playing with the anus is something that your partner might not be down with. We'll talk more about this later.

So. Just a few things to think about. Don't think of Female Genitalia Land as that place where the vagina lives-- think of the whole area as an amusement park with five (or six) different rides.

NEXT UP: How to ride the rides.

Found this great little read full of very interesting facts about the human body - so prepared to get some in the next few posts ;) The book's called "My Brilliant Body, with the gross bits left in!". Yes, aimed at kids but still good...

Anyway, there was a section which I would like to share :)

During the late 19th and early 20th Century, the Frenchman Joseph Pujol was famous for his ability to fart at will by drawing air into his anus. He put on a stage show, calling himself Le Pétomane, which is French for 'The Fartiste'. Dressed formally, he would open with a rumble of cannonfire farting. Various routines followed, most spectacularly an imitaion of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. He could rectually project a jet of water a distance of 4.5m and to close, he sang a rhyme about a farm, punctuated with farts that sounded like the different animal noises.

as my xbox360 was spouting tech-gargon in spanish, I found myself laying awake, bloodshot eyes staring into the ceiling, trying to remember the dream that had just made me wake up screaming.

It was about a boy, who converted everything he lay his grubby hands on into linux operated machines, he would digg all day and night about the best linux apps, and at night he would plot to kill us all.

//Andreas

Have you ever eaten a chocolate that looked exactly like an asshole? No, not K-Fed Asshole...an ACTUAL asshole?

Well now the wait is over, as now you can!

Clicky below to check out the website!

Incredibale Edible Anus