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Showing posts with label Maiden's Breast. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maiden's Breast. Show all posts

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Disc Jockeys...insight on Bl** Jobs! Oprah says no such thing as bad one...





Howard a boob man!



Today, a couple of disc jockeys were chatting about an open letter to males that was published in one of the slick monthly mags by a celebrity flavor of the month.

Those dudes were pushing the envelope - the lip of it - anyway.

For example, on the subject of oral sex, one of the curious platter flappers asked a female in the studio who gave oral sex better.

Men or women?

She hesitated, giggled if I am not mistaken, then swore up and down it was a woman.

“Because they know what a woman likes.”

I can hear all those diesel dykes around the country panting at the thought.

But, you know what, the same applies to dudes.

Although Oprah once noted on her show that guys have asserted there is no such thing
as a bad blow job, I thoroughly disagree.

Nothing worse than a sloppy suck, that doesn’t arouse, or only chaffs the head!

Give me that man tool back, I’ll whack it off myself, thank you very much.

Actually, I knew a guy that could blow himself.

Disgusting thought, eh?

The naughty - but enlightening (in a sexual vein) - conversation turned to the female bod.

One jockey raved that a woman’s physical form was far superior to that of a man.

“It is so aesthetically pleasing," he gushed.

Somehow, I doubt that Perez Hilton would agree!

Oh, in that case, why not just stand her on a pedestal and jerk off?

“The boobs are the best. Even women love boobs, right?"

Even still, it is not always to sculpt the size and shape right.

Just ask Heidi Montag.

She may be able to float better in a pool, but any moment, it is wholly conceivable she may blow up or go bust if there's a boo-boo.

Reminds me of an old Nun joke.

Two nuns were walking in the garden at the convent when the one sister’s bra suffered a malfunction.

“Oh, Christ, my brassier strap broke,“ she cried out.

The other nun chastised her for using the Lord’s name in vein.

“What do you want me to say - my cup runneth over?”

Ba-dump!

http://www.thetattler.biz/

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

San Francisco...romantic's heaven! Chinatown, Top of the Mark, cable cars...


The last time I flew into San Francisco, the memories flooded in; after all, it was not my first trip to the Bay area.

In the early seventies, a group of Vancouver (B.C.) artists - myself included - were invited to exhibit paintings at the annual San Francisco Arts Festival.

So, I made my first trek to Frisco, when the liberated seventies were in joyous full swing.

On the evening of the unveiling, I was strolling idly through the displays of the colorful textured works of art, when I struck up a conversation with an elegant man in a business suit who was taking a quick gander at the paintings while he was on an intermission break from a celebrated Opera being staged next door.

When I let it slip I'd never attended a lavish stage production like the one underway at the Opera House - he urged me to return to the theatre with him to take in the closing act of the sold-out musical extravaganza.



"But, I don't have a ticket," I lamented.


That little hitch didn't deter the charming fellow one bit.

Here, take my program and my opera glasses. Walk in with me at curtain call, and they'll assume you were already a guest at the performance, out on a smoke break."


So, off we dashed, at the ready to launch our little scheme.

Shameful, I didn't feel guilty at all about trying to pull off the charade.

Besides, it was also an opportunity to test my acting skills.

When we approached the elaborate doors of the Opera House (my heart pounding madly in my chest) the usher gave a curt little nod - and we strode in confidently, he - none the wiser.

Ah, we slipped through with flying colors!

Joan Sutherland was magnificent, and her remarkable performance will be indelibly etched on my mind forever, along with other fond memories.

I'll wistfully recall the quaint old Victorian walk-up on California Street, for instance, where I bunked with good buddies on that occasion.

And, a romance which sprang up out-of-the-blue as I rode a noisy cable car up Nob Hill by the seat of my pants - was particularly memorable.

Shortly after catching the eye of a beautiful stranger that balmy evening, I embarked on a clandestine love affair, that would last three adventurous years.

As I jaunted around the city over the next few weeks, there was much to report on - the grandeur of Grace Cathedral, the peaceful Noe Valley in the shadow of the Maiden's Breast, intriguing Chinatown, and a smattering of other romantic out-of-the-way sights sprinkled about here and there in a city brimming chock full of history.


I half expected Mary Ann or Michael - Mrs.Madrigal, even - to saunter by on a quiet side-street, as I was swept up into the rhythm of the magical city.

After all, the Armistead Maupin characters (Tales of the City) are so vividly etched in my mind.

But now, I have a few of my own exciting tales to weave!


No wonder.

As I gobbled down the last morsel of tasty cuisine at a scrumptious Chinese dinner on Washington Street, my fortune cookie promised there would be romance and intriguing scenarios on the horizon.


William Saroyan's thoughts on the subject were well-taken.

"No city invites the heart to come to life as San Francisco does."



Old World charm of the Palace of Fine Arts,,,
 
coompax-digital magazine