A great number of you who voted on the previous poll said that nudie pictures would enhance your reading experience of this blog.
Well, if it will make my weebles happy, count on me to deliver. Just as you asked, nudie pictures for my little arm-chair voyeurs.
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raccoon, au naturel
The Naked Mole Rat
Naked alien, posing.
Okay, okay, I’m teasing you a bit. Here’s the hardcore naked pictures you’ve been waiting for.
Naked Cock:
Naked Jugs:
Naked Pussy:
In an unusually honest and disgustingly accurate the House Republican Leader said
"Our Goal Is To Bring Down Approval Numbers For The Democrats."No real surprises there eh! The upper etalon of the once respectable Republican party absolutely no regard left for this wonderful country. They don’t even put on the pretense of acting in the best interest of the nation. Their ONLY interest is feeding their hatred, bigotry and greed.
Sometimes, when he just waited within the careless questions of his heart he couldn’t really hear himself. He wasn’t here. No being. Sometimes, when he wanted to talk to somebody, just expose himself in it utter most sensitivity, like a dead rose sinking in the flesh. The large metal clock TICKED, within the brass gold coated ring around its face. The train station was dead, despair was a constant character falling in love with his own hands, looking deadly and silently into them. He wandered past the metal enclosures of hotdog stands. The morning was never to come. He knew this cause he didn’t no one about it. He was so sure of his morning, but was it the morning of other people. Yet he hung around. His hoofs plastered and concealed into the ground with nowhere to go — but here and there. The favor was his coat, and it wasn’t about him naked and exposed in skin. More in the chastise of a strange convulsion.
The nuclear birds were singing black metal screeches that violated the tinge of humanity. There was a mystifying warning of a sort of decadent exposure of the nihilistic nature of the universe. It will, would have or should have sucked it all into a careless emptiness. The wisdom was shaken in him. Often contradicting himself. Nothing was new to him. All new appeared dead. And the dead even more so. Why is there still lust in a broken heart he thought. Staring lost into the magnificent concrete tiles of the train station. White and creamy tiles, seeping into its concrete base, where memories were never to come out again.
Why was there lust, and a dire craving for a crude sort of beastly passion that confided in him. Within the cage he himself was trapped in and battling his subtle consciousness. The tyranny of truth he thought, as he lifted his head up to the white lights, that glared onto him in an unbearable extent. Was the source of both condescending pillars of humanity. Exceeding that, life and all its equivalents in an unparalleled harshness. The ferns would feed you and yet prick you with its poison. And we shouldn’t pay any heed to this tyrannical exposure of the most blatant truth.
So there he was in the feathery texture of his wool peacoat seizing the opportunity of thought. And as he walked, disecting the universe in buddhist tradition, but with a Nietzsche facelessness. And all elements kept escaping him, transcending into further extortion of the sane, merging into either darkness or light. And asking more favors to rediscover what could possibly not, nor even ever will be.
Then he saw him. There he was, standing with a fine grey felt hat on his head, a polished alligator skinned suitcase in his right hand. And stark naked beyond the impenetrable.
“Men are so willing to respect anything that bores them.” ~ Marilyn Monroe
She is all there.
She has always been there….
She is as real as a cast iron pot.
Let’s face it, I have been momentary.
A luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.
She is more than that.
This is not an experiment.
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy….
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.
- excerpts from Anne Sexton’s “For My Lover, Returning to His Wife”
Nude Skydive is a very funny 2 1/2-min. commercial spot directed by Peter Harton for a Danish discount retail company. The topless women are plummeting faster than the prices at Danish web discount retailer Fleggaard in this humorously racy web film! While topless skydiving certainly sounds like interesting enough, I’ve actually posted this because I just love it when a golf or tennis match gets unexpectedly interrupted!
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Nude Skydive: Topless Women Plummeting Faster Than the Economy!Please Share This:
Maintenant que je bouquine pas mal, je peux enfin faire mon hardcore à anticiper les sorties plusieurs mois à l’avance. Par exemple, le dernier roman de Nick Hornby, je l’ai pré-commandé, reçu et lu en trois jours. L’auteur d’High Fidelity a passé la cinquantaine et se serra fait attendre trois ans avant de sortir un nouveau livre. Un retour aux sources avec des personnages hantés par leurs obsessions culturelles et leurs problèmes sexuello-amoureux. Après avoir été un poil déçu sur Slam, son précédent opus, j’espérais retrouver l’auteur qui m’avait scotché la tronche, celui auquel on m’a parfois comparé à la lecture de mes propres textes (« Y’a un peu de Hornby dans ce que t’écris, j’aime beaucoup »). Fuck, Nick, me déçoit pas sur ce coup là ! Dans tous les cas, la couverture est suffisamment jolie pour que je me refuse à ranger le livre plusieurs jours après la lecture. Puis le titre, la classe quand même.
Duncan est un quadra fan de Tucker Crowe, une star du rock qui a disparu du milieu musical depuis près de vingt ans sans explications. Depuis quinze ans, Duncan vit avec sa petite copine Annie, qui réalise de plus en plus que leur relation ne va nulle part. Elle voudrait que Duncan se préoccupe plus d’elle, qu’il lui fasse un enfant. Au lieu de ça il passe son temps à errer sur des forums musicaux pour disserter à l’infini sur son idole. Lorsque Crowe sort Juliet, Naked une version acoustique de son meilleur album Juliet, Annie est la première à l’écouter. Elle déteste l’album, Duncan l’adore. Annie réalise alors qu’à force de vivre avec Duncan, elle en a fini par être anesthésiée, ne plus avoir d’avis sur rien, laisser le temps passer. La critique virulente de Juliet, Naked, qu’elle rédige sur Internet fera office de déclaration de rupture. Ce qu’elle n’aurait pas pu prévoir, c’est que son texte poussera Crowe à sortir de son silence et nouer un début de relation avec elle.
Si d’après le synopsis vous pensez que ce roman est l’histoire d’Annie, vous avez perdu. Enfin, non, c’est bien l’histoire d’Annie. Le problème c’est qu’Hornby alterne les points de vue narratifs et passe trop de temps sur Duncan et Crowe, qui ne sont qu’accessoires. Si Juliet, Naked a bien est problème, c’est que trop de pages sont dévolus à des scènes ou des personnages qui n’en mériteraient pas tant. Je me suis retrouvé face à des phases de textes pénibles car à côté de la plaque, ou en tout cas à côté de ce qui m’aura au final beaucoup plus dans le livre. Hornby parle de musique comme personne et construit une réflexion sur la manière dont la culture peut cimenter un couple et lier les individus. Des pistes de réflexion très intéressantes, émaillées de passages vraiment bien sentis, touchants ou drôles. Autant j’avais trouvé Slam cohérent mais plat, autant je trouve Juliet, Naked inégal mais avec de bons morceaux parasités par des éléments plus creux.
En revenant à ses obsessions sur la musique et le couple, Nick Hornby se rapproche d’High Fidelity, dans lequel il avait malheureusement déjà tout dit. Juliet, Naked, sans être raté est trop hétérogène à mon goût pour s’élever au rang des meilleurs romans de l’auteur. Je n’ai plus qu’reprendre mon mal en patience. A dans trois ans !
Demain on parlera de gens qui sont morts.
STEAL THAT PITCH STAGE !!!
Le truc fun, c’est que j’avais bousculé tout le pitch d’un de mes futurs projets (Perfect Ten) parce que je trouvais l’intrigue de Juliet, Naked trop similaire. Il s’avère que non, mais que mon personnage féminin tente la même chose que le perso féminin d’Hornby. Funny.
He could poke someone's eye out with that thing!
OK, here’s the thing naked jogger man, wearing running shoes, sunglasses and a pouch around the waist is still pretty much classified as being starkers (any way you look at it!!!!). When Swiss police in Thugau stopped a 26 year old nude jogger and questioned him about his lack of attire he told them he was doing it “to allow his skin to absorb more oxygen”. Hmm, yeah in the good old days that might have seemed a logical explanation but police are a lot more smarter now, the “swinger” was given an indecent exposure warning and told to cover it up. Absorb that through your skin Mr!
Psst I hope it wasn’t cold!
