In a move upsetting mothers, pastors, rabbis, and priests (this could be the start of a really good joke), Atheist Agenda, a campus club at the University of Texas at San Antonio, is offering pornography in exchange for Bibles, or any other sacred religious text. I remember when I was in college, “Preacher Joe” used to stand on the library steps, shouting and sputtering, and telling us why we were all going to hell, and I think this particular stunt would have given him a heart attack on the spot. This stuff, “Bronze Aged tribal nonsense, these things written by people in tents ages ago” is smut, the Atheist Agenda folks say, which is why they’ve started the “smut for smut” program. Any student can find their meeting room, with Holy Book in hand, and trade it in for porn, which they’ve helpfully coded in levels 0 to 5 of hardcore-ness. I really wonder what their mothers think … [Boing Boing] Keep reading »
I have a friend who came to the United States from Israel to sing opera. He’s kind and funny, and when he sings, the air fills and tingles with his music. But too often, I’ve seen him looking sadly distant. He married his boyfriend last year in Connecticut, but then had to put him on the plane back home. At the moment they see each other once every few months, meeting up in Germany or Greece, but then each returning to a different country, oceans apart. Because our federal government doesn’t yet have an allowance for the partners in gay couples to immigrate on marriage visas, they’re being kept apart. And it sucks. Hopefully, more legislation rolls in like what’s happening in Maryland now.
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“Whatever [Woods'] personal life is, and this goes for me and him, his personal life is his personal life. Nobody has the right to place judgment or make any judgment on anybody else’s personal life when they’re not directly involved with them. I know my fans gave me a second chance. I think people always deserve a second chance.”
– Icky Chris Brown defends Tiger Woods, in true bro form. [MTV] Keep reading »
My best friend in the world was attacked. Her ex, upset and drunk one night, followed her home and up the stairs to her apartment door. Before she could close it, he’d muscled it open. She tried to force the weight of her body against it, to hold it shut. And couldn’t. He came through. He chased her through the apartment, bellowing about what she “owed him,” and knocked her down. He held her on the floor, but she got away, running down the street missing a shoe.
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I love my boobs. I even love the plethora of words to describe them: melons, knockers, headlights, hooters, jugs, bazoombas … My girls are small but perky and look fantastic in strapless dresses and T-shirts. I plan to keep them forever. So last year when the United States Preventative Services Task Force changed its recommendations regarding breast cancer screening, I naturally felt a little sore about it. Their statement suggested that women wait until 50, instead of 40, to begin receiving mammograms, and that the testing occur only once every two years, instead of yearly. I was more perturbed that the federal panel recommended against teaching women to perform self-examinations. And apparently, I’m not alone. Keep reading »
So this is creepy. Etsy seller Manllow has concocted the ultimate lonely “Twilight” fan’s companion — life-size body pillows that are “half man half pillow.” Edward and Jacob’s faces have been screen-printed over soft, snuggly pillow bodies for your cuddling pleasure! Unfortunately, the pillows are anatomically incorrect in their downstairs parts, like horrible Muppets. But Edward could watch you sleep, or Jacob could keep you warm and safe all night long, and the eternal war between vampires and werewolves could finally end.
At least Manllow has a healthy sense of humor, as she demonstrated when the internet exploded in response to these horrible Frankenpillow creations. She calls them: “The greatest gift of all time. 105% creepy and 5% lovable.” Yipes. Keep reading »
I used to view Valentine’s Day as annual torture from pink fluffy teddy bears, questionable lingerie advertisements, and the Hallmark overlords. So much worse than the iron maiden. Every year, V-Day signaled the boys I dated to forget everything they knew about me and my otherwise sane girlfriends to either retreat into nauseous couple cute-love or singleton-induced hatred for the world. Keep reading »