So… back in January we learned that Dillinger Escape Plan vocalist Greg Puciato was totally dating porn star Jenna Haze. This just weeks after he went shitzoid on mushrooms, an incident which required the dispatch of 6 police officers, several EMTs and an entire fire truck (your tax dollars hard at work there, people).

Now I know rock stars will be rock stars, but neither of these things sat well with me. Particularly because I don’t view Puciato as a quote unquote “rock star.” (Is it redundant to put “rock star” in quotes after prefacing it with quote unquote?)  No, I don’t have anything against porn stars- they have kept me company many a lonely night- but this seemed like a slide towards the douchey behavior normally reserved for people like Dave Navarro and Tommy Lee.

Don’t get me wrong, I can see the allure of fucking a porn star, but taking one home to Mama Kin? Everyone wants a freak in the sheets, but I’ll take a nun on the streets, thank you very much. This just goes to show that men can be as emotionally motivated as women, and what starts out as the fulfillment of a fuck fantasy can quickly morph into a co-dependency nightmare.

Because after you’ve had your fill of acrobatic mushroom sex, what reason is there to stay in this type of relationship? I mean, Greg comes off as a pretty intelligent dude, so what can he possibly find intellectually stimulating about THIS?

But what the fuck do I know? Love makes you do crazy shit. Like play chair wrangler for Taylor Momsen, she of the previously underage chest meat. This, more than the porn star dating and recreational drug use, has me concerned. I don’t want to be that guy, going on about “keeping it real,” but how do you go from THIS, to this:

I guess we’ll have to chalk it up to artistic growth. It just goes to show, the less you know about your heroes’ personal lives, the better. As long as Ben Weinman doesn’t kick him out of the band for doing drugs and Dillinger continue to make ball-blistering music, I’ll be happy.

As for Greg and Jenna’s relationship, I truly hope they’re happy. Turns out, Haze recently retired from performing; maybe she did it for him? She’s taken similar dick sabbaticals in the past. From Wikipedia:

During most of her time at [Jill Kelly Productions], she performed exclusively with women, out of loyalty to her then boyfriend, an industry cameraman.

I can’t hate on that. And the pair make a cute couple, even though Greg is looking a little too Jersey in some of these pics.

As if fathers didn’t have enough to worry about, there is a disturbing new trend sweeping the nation. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you have a virginal young daughter on the precipice of womanhood, chances are she’s already filmed herself in an inappropriate romp with the family pet and uploaded it to youtube.

I don’t remember exactly how I stumbled upon this particular perverted Wonderland, but it is entirely possible I was chasing a white rabbit at the time. Needless to say, if I wasn’t on some sort of FBI watch list before, I most certainly am now.

But they won’t catch me; I’m fucking innocent. And these vids are totally street legal (even though most of the participants aren’t, canines included).

Now there are two ways I can roll with this. One, shine a light on how masturbating miscreants are getting their legal fix of illegal kicks right under our noses; or two, address the deeper issue at hand, which is this: no matter how much a lady doth protest, she is secretly turned on by letting Rover come over and giving that dog a bone.

And as recent studies indicate (and by “studies” I mean me studying these videos), this perplexing predilection seems to manifest itself during the onset of a young girl’s adolescence. Not convinced this is actually a thing? All you have to do is click the “watch on youtube” button on any one of these videos and check out the aggregate of sexually curious pre-teens documenting their forays into simulated canine copulation. Sure, these exploits have been filmed under the pretense of humor (or the influence of alcohol), but something in the arched backs and raised posteriors of these young girls tells me there is a taboo element of excitement as well.

Used to be, a father’s biggest concern was how to keep his daughter down on the farm after sending her to a racially integrated high school. Now he’s got to worry about Princess liking the farm a little too much. Survey says, his number one nightmare used to be a Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner scenario. Now it involves Great Danes and “knotting.”

What’s a daddy to do? Get her a cat? My high school girlfriend had a cat that would fly across the room and scratch you in the face if you looked it in the eye. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that furry prick was probably a jealous lover.

You could get her a hamster.  Just don’t let her name it Lemmiwinks. Goldfish are also an option, unless your daughter is Japanese. Those guys are into some weeeeeeird shit. But if you really want to play it safe, you should probably just get her a pet rock. One that’s not too smooth, either. You don’t want her using it as some sort of pleasure pumice.

Add this to the ever increasing list of reasons why I never want a daughter of my own.

I lay snuggled next to Bigfoot, whose name was Leonard.

That is the actual opening line from Cum For Bigfoot 2, an erotic eBook by Virginia Wade. According to the Amazon description, it is a story that contains: oral sex, anal sex, double penetration, rimming, spanking, penetration with a large object, threesomes, and an orgy. The fact that they all involve a Bigfoot or BigFeet is implied. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

About a month ago, I wrote a post about a post I wrote for LitReactor on The Wild West World of eBook Only Erotica. A year or so prior to that, I had written a post entitled Bigfoot: Super Rapist. Little did I know at the time that the two went hand in hairy hand.

The versatility of Virginia Wade, author.

The fact that a sequel exists means that the first installment of Cum For Bigfoot must have been popular enough to warrant one. Hell, it must have been reeeeeally popular, because Virginia has also written a threequel, published February the 1st. Check out this amusing synopsis:

The Bigfoot saga continues with Porsche, Shelly, and Leslie’s abduction by a horny tribe of apes. In the third installment of the Monster Sex Series, Porsche and Shelly find themselves no closer to rescue, although relationships are forming between the apes and their captive fuck-bunnies. And, what’s not to love about an eight foot walking carpet with a huge penis? Could it be that Porsche is falling in love with her ape, Leonard? Will rescue finally cum for the girls or are they destined to have wild, hot, monster sex in the forest for all eternity?

So, I guess Bigfoot rape fantasies are a thing? Ladies, is this true? Couldn’t you just marry a Greek guy? In any event, it just proves the age-old adage: It isn’t rape if she enjoys it. Even if it’s by a hairy Neanderthal. Right, Greg Kelly?

Wild, hot, monster sex.

And if Big Foot rape isn’t your thing, don’t worry, Virginia’s got you covered. You can also be raped by Frankenstein or The Invisible Man. It’s all about options.

Remember when I got that Spotify invite from Douchey La Femme in Linkin Park? Well, I’ve been making good use of it, and I want to share the fruits of my labor with your languid loins. So without additional adieu, I present to you, for your listening pleasure, my very first playlist- The Soundtrack To My Lovemaking.

This guaranteed panty-dropper features such cock-rockin’ jams as “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon (not gay), “Making Love Out Of Nothing At All” by Air Supply (not gay), and “Turbo Lover” by Judas Priest (totally not gay). It’s also got some Wham!, Swayze, and Styxx for dat ass, so come get some.

Don’t be caught with your pants down without these pipe-layin’ classics. Trust me, even if she doesn’t want to fuck you, she’ll let you stick it in just so she can hear the end of “Headed For A Heartbreak.” Hell, she may even stay and cuddle a while to see what’s next. And don’t worry about getting her in the mood. If your ministrations don’t make her wet, getting double-teamed by the soulful duo of Philip Bailey and Phil Collins will. She’ll be so preoccupied with the melodic meat in her aural canals that she won’t notice yours betwixt her sticks. And if she is filled with disgust and regret the morning after and decides to report you, who’s gonna believe her when the police sketch comes out looking like the cover of No Jacket Required?

So what are you waiting for, lazy dick? Hurry up and download The Soundtrack To My Lovemaking. It’s like rock n’ roll Rohypnol.

Does a body good.

We all know the internet’s a strange place. Hell, I’m a major contributor. But it’s only strange because the world is strange- we just never had such unprecedented access before. In my day, you’d actually have to go to the library and dig around in these things called “books” to sate your curiosity for the curious. How do you think I learned about the Aves and the Apis? The encyclopedia and my mother’s romance novels, that’s how. Thanks, mom.

Speaking of books and the internet and romance, have you checked out the eBook eRotica scene lately? It’s like the wild west out there, if cacti and dirt were incest fantasies and Lolita fetishes. (Strangely enough, both the west and eRotica contain a plethora of steers and queers. Brokeback Borracho!)

Intrigued? Titilated? Looking to make a quick buck? Then check out my article on The Wild West World of eBook Only Erotica over at my writing day job, LitReactor:

We’re not talking Lady Chatterley’s Lover or The Story of O, here. Hell, we’re not even talking the bodice-ripping pirate rape of your mother’s Harlequin Romance. This is unabashed, down and dirty fuck fiction, made specifically to put money in pockets and a rocket in yours.

I even try my hand at writing my own eRotic story, although what I wound up with was certainly less pornographic than Fresh Teen Sluts: Bath Time With Daddy or Little Virgin Sister’s Webcam Show. I went a little more… classical. I guess that’s the influence of my mother’s romance novels.  An excerpt, submitted for your one-handed approval:

The undergrowth of her undercarriage shimmered with the sheen of her musk. Glistening liquid orbs trickled down the shaft of her pubic fronds, breaking up into even smaller droplets, ejected in an arc like seed as they met the pliant flesh of her quivering pussy cheeks. These satellite droplets fell like tears, splashing off the porcelain cliffs of her inner thighs, and ran down in rivulets to fill the basin of her cleft like some geological formation at the dawn of time.

“Be gentle, Sir Knight. It is my first time.”

She didn’t say it- she breathed it. The plea tumbled out in a whisper, the word “time” barely avoiding being sucked back in on a sharp intake of air as a finger dipped into her honey-pot.

“That makes this a first for me as well,” The Knight cooed like an over-confident pigeon. “For I have only known the hospitality of a lady by force.”

Her body stiffened, eliciting a smile.

“But you are different, my lady. You are the first I have wanted to give of herself… willingly.”

He hovered over her body, the proof of his words bouncing like a diving board moments after its athlete has gracefully floated towards the watery depths.

“My warrior is yours to command.”

Click on over to LitReactor to find out what happens next. I’ll give you a hint: it involves blue balls and Spike Lee references.

Is it weird that my mother used to rock out to this song when I was a kid? I came from a strict christian family where I wasn’t allowed to watch anything but Disney movies until I was 16, yet crankin’ this song in the car was no problem. Same goes for “Relax” by Frankie Goes To Hollywood. Did she not know the songs were about cutting through the vaginal underbrush with a throbbing flesh machete and some poor jizzlobber’s attempt to hold back while he’s balls deep in a mustachioed leather daddy’s hairy asshole, respectively? Or did she think I was so naive that I wouldn’t make a connection between the undulating rhythms and unsubtle euphemisms (although, Relax, don’t do it, when you want to cum isn’t really a euphemism, now is it?)?

Seeing ones sacred mother sing along to “In The Bush” is even more embarrassing than seeing Nicolas Cage as Donald Kaufman do it in Adaptation, which brought back all sorts of suppressed feelings from my childhood. Thanks, buddy. I had only just gotten past the trauma.

Either that or he desperately wants to be. Check out this article I wrote over at LitReactor for the evidence. It carries the Pedo Bear seal of approval.

When I was but a lad, I used to love me some Piers Anthony. The delicious puns of the Xanth series, the themes of science versus religion in The Apprentice Adept, the humorous take on humanity that was The Incarnations of Immortality- it was pure nerd heaven. I would eventually go on to outgrow his work, but not before I had devoured everything the man had written at the time. This included his lesser known efforts, not all of which were as kid-friendly as the Xanth novels. Which is how I came to read Firefly.

And if you ever come across Firefly, I suggest you run screaming in the opposite direction. And if you cum across Firefly, then you are a sick fuck. Seriously, this article is not for those with a sensitive constitution, or those teetering on the edge of sexual decency. Enjoy (but not too much).

MS Paint Holocaust: Why does this naked chick have a belt on and why does she have a belly button where her vagina should be?

This week I was invited to make a guest appearance on the awesome fun-time homosexual podchat program know as KISSING CONTEST. Yeah, I’d never heard of it either. But it’s not often I’m offered speaking engagements, so I begrudgingly humbly accepted the offer. The popular cast is billed as being about movies, television, and sweet boys, and I was assured its rabid fanbase numbered in the tens. It’s hosted by a couple of sleazy white dudes and their young Asian cohort, and is broadcast at 1.21 gigawatts of power from Sawyer’s love den in the heart of the Brooklyn ghetto.

We mainly talked about horror movies and cracked a bunch of racially insensitive jokes. I was a little concerned about my annoying “on air” voice, but was assured I sounded like a regular TBD (tough black dude), which soothed my ego.  Unfortunately, that was filthy a lie. When I actually got a chance to listen the cast, I sounded exactly like the whiny Jew that I am.  C’est la vie.

La vie.

Check out Ghoul Chat: Kissing Contest #63 right HERE. Seriously, support these guys. They live in a crack house.

8 crazy nights indeed!

Goddammit! Somebody stole my idea! I was totally gonna sell it to T-shirt Hell and make a killing. I was so excited when I first thought of this, I jumped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my dripping nethers, and did a Google search in the Shia Le Buff.

Dirty minds must think alike, because I found the subject on the tip of many an online tongue, like so much twattle (HERE and HERE). Loose lips sink ships, so consider my cunt currency ship sunk. (I also would have accepted: Yonic Yen Yacht, Slit Salary Schooner, Pussy Peso Pinnace, Beaver Bankroll Boat, Financial Furburger Fleet, and Marine Money Minge.)

Hm… how about a phallic Man-orah? Goddammit! That’s been taken too. Looks like its back to the drawing board for me. Happy Hanukkah, everyone! I know it may be a bit premature, but if Starbucks can sell Santa Jizz Machiatos before it is even Thanksgiving, then I can give a preemptive Sephardic shout out.

Longtime, Sunshine/Sondheim/Sonatine.

I know, I know… I’ve been spending all my time with that time-burgling slut-mistress, LitReactor.  I think Mrs. Jabber is starting to get suspicious. I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this business trip/golf tournament/hunting weekend ruse.

But I’ve been doing great things over at ye olde reactor of lit, and I gotta tell someone about all the hot, dirty sex I’ve been having with someone who isn’t my wife. You want details, you horndogs?

-I wrote a couple columns about the Top 10 Literary Jerks of all time. It contains enough racism, sex, and violence to sate most of my regular irregular blog readers.

-I interviewed cult provocateur Dennis Cooper, author of the George Miles Cycle. If that sounds too highbrow for you, bear in mind that he writes almost exclusively about gay sociopaths, gay cannibalistic serial killers, gay rape and incest, and gay necrophilia.

-I also wrote an update on/conducted a mini-interview with MIA sci-fi author Jeff Noon. If that sounds too highbrow for you, bear in mind that his debut novel, Vurt, contains its fair share of hallucinogenic drug use, brother/sister incest, and Dogman sex.

-I also oversaw some controversial news posts that saw us being accused of sexism, racism, and fostering a literary male hegemony.

So don’t be fooled by LitReactor’s academic trappings, dear minions, we’re having a lot of fun over there. It allows me to indulge my love of all things literary, and still manage to flex my patented brand of flippant verbosity. So just like Bartles and Jaymes, I thank you for your support.

And just in case this post isn’t dirty enough to attract the usual amount of search engine traffic, I’ll be tagging it: UNDERAGE NUDITY, TEENAGE PUSSY, BESTIALITY, NAMBLA, HOT GAY SEX, and HOW TO SUCK YOUR OWN DICK.

Stay tuned, because the wife is expecting me and I’ve got a lot of horrific posts planned for thejabber. I’ll be covering such hot-button topics as homosexual African American astronauts, alien sex toys, underage teen bestiality porn, and much much more.