At the age of three, I already didn’t want to be a girl. I saw from watching my mom what it was like to be a grown-up girl and it didn’t look good. Here are the few memories from childhood that I hadn’t managed to suppress:
We came home once to find our apartment ransacked by burglars. I was forced to drink powdered milk everyday, which I hated. My dad chasing my mom with a big knife into the kitchen. My brother and I, who were kneeling facing the wall as punishment for who-knows-what, turned and watched them run by. Screaming. My dad coming in the bathroom interrupting me and my brother taking a shower together. He came in to punish my brother, hitting him on the butt. My brother remembers us hiding under the dining table while chairs were being thrown around. Apparently my dad used to bring women home, even when my mom was home.
Needless to say I was a sad little kid. By the time I escaped to the U.S. at age six I told myself my life starts now and never to look back. Keep reading »
I don’t think it gets much more scatological than this.The 2013 Ladies of Manure Calendar is a “tasteful synergy” of sexy women and composting. It’s meant to support the Fertile Earth Foundation, which spreads the word about the eco-friendly practice of transforming your organic waste and “humanure” into “super rich black gold.” Put simply, it’s a $25 calendar filled with pictures of scantily-clad ladies getting their poop on. Either literally putting poop on their body, or sitting on the pot, or posing with toilet paper. They are serving sexy composting realness, as RuPaul would say.
But before you write them off as “crazy poop-loving hippies,” you might want to take calendar as an opportunity to rethink what you’re doing with your waste. (No thanks!) No one needs to sweep the forest. I didn’t come up with that line, the narrator of the promotional video for the calendar did, and I really liked it. I’ve included the video after the jump for your viewing pleasure. But for now, let’s look at Miss January taking a dump. Is this turning anyone on … to composting? [Gothamist] Keep reading »
Tom Finlay, a 48-year-old stone mason, experienced a miracle with a pair of 66-pound boobs. That sounds wrong; I’ll explain. The Aussie was standing in a sculpture garden next his five-foot, hand-carved statue of the Venus de Milo when an “almighty kaboom” blew her apart. The only thing that remained were her breasts — mostly intact, except for a slightly damaged nipple.
“There was a clap of thunder and the sculpture blew up like a rocket-launcher had hit it … The lightning looked like a serpent. Everything disintegrated but the breasts,” Finlay reported.
He wasn’t sure if the incident was a “sign” from above, but he was amazed. When asked what he would do with the miracle boobs he said: “I might mount [them] and hang them in my office.” Good idea, dude. Boobs prevail again! [NT News]
Women have no secrets. Not really. We readily spill the beans about everything from the guy we hooked up with to our marital problems. Discussing our lives is the glue that keeps book clubs together. But there’s something we need to talk more openly about: penis size.
Not that we haven’t been discussing size, but we’ve only been doing it in hushed voices after several martinis. Why? Because men have made size a taboo subject, even though they’re the ones who are obsessed with it.
Our silence isn’t helping. Men foolishly seem to think size is a big deal, or the only deal. This is evidenced by the overwhelming amount of emails for penis enlargement procedures clogging up my spam folder. Men get hung up on equating their masculinity or their sexual prowess with their penis size. That couldn’t be further from the truth, at least, from the female perspective. Keep reading »