Leaderboard

Thank you, AS. My faith in the descriptive power of our languege is reflated.

About two weeks ago, I was in Budapest, and next to my last eve, I had the pleasure of engaging the services of David Sweet, a very hot guy whose name fits him with the utmost perfection. He has his ad on both www.gayromeo.com as well as at www.rentmen.com. Go to the latter for quick and easy access, for I DO NOT KNOW how to upload! We had a stellar time, and he is indeed "super-sweet" in personality as well as in the "hard, hot, nicely muscular body!!!" He was interactive! {...a review will cum later!}

I realize language evolves but decimate means one in ten, not wholesale slaughter as so many seem to think it means. Best regards, RA1

Persona? …some junior-high jottings (which I managed to slip into the April Fool’s issue of the student rag, transcribing therefrom now): THE RAVEN (with apologies) Once upon an evening fated, while I tinkered, fascinated, With a quaint and curious flush ball from a toilet that was shot— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber pot. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber pot— For what reason, I know not.” Ah, distinctly I recall it happened in the early fall As each separate rattling flush ball sent its echo down the hall And the silken sad uncertain swishing of each flushing toilet Filled me with fantastic terrors heretofore unfelt at all; So I scarcely thought how strange that it would be for some oddball To come tapping at my chamber pot. [Here omitted several stanzas so odious, even I cannot bear to type them out again.] And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On that map of Lippincott just above my chamber pot And the Raven still is going, and the pot still overflowing, And his countenance is livid as a demon’s in the privy And my soul from out that pot beneath the map of Lippincott Shall be lifted—ne’er a jot! Persona, indeed.

Ewww... I'm starting to believe that your fixation on all things scatological is not just a pose of of the AS persona you created for BoyToy. LOL, that said, I have absolutely no doubt that those grade school boys were fascinated by the notion of playing around in a giant asshole. Perfectly age appropriate.

Or at least have given them a Blow job thru a glory hole !

Never, but then never been asked. (Alas!) My issue like yours is normally to prevent the toot, or at least delay it. But from trying to be on the giving end of watersports, my experience is that any bodily effluent is ready to hand -- until someone else requests it. Then, be it air, water or the Lord knows what (Suckrates forgive me ), of a sudden the valves lock shut. ...Tangentially reminded that in his brilliant parody of T.S. Eliot, poet Henry Reed at one point actually has the Almighty Himself let loose: CHARD WHITLOW(Mr. Eliot's Sunday Evening Postscript) As we get older we do not get any younger. Seasons return, and today I am fifty-five, And this time last year I was fifty-four, And this time next year I shall be sixty-two. And I cannot say I should like (to speak for myself) To see my time over again—if you can call it time: Fidgeting uneasily under a draughty stair, Or counting sleepless nights in the crowded Tube. There are certain precautions—though none of them very reliable— Against the blast from bombs and the flying splinter, But not against the blast from heaven, vento dei venti, The wind within a wind unable to speak for wind; And the frigid burnings of purgatory will not be touched By any emollient. I think you will find this put, Better than I could ever hope to express it, In the words of Kharma: "It is, we believe, Idle to hope that the simple stirrup-pump Will extinguish hell." Oh, listeners, And you especially who have turned off the wireless, And sit in Stoke or Basingstoke listening appreciatively to the silence, (Which is also the silence of hell) pray not for your selves but your souls. And pray for me also under the draughty stair. As we get older we do not get any younger. And pray for Kharma under the holy mountain. -- Reed, Henry. "Chard Whitlow (Mr. Eliot's Sunday Evening Postscript)." New Statesman and Nation 21, no. 533 (10 May 1941): 494 (.pdf) P.S. Have posted this here before, but worth repeating -- Dylan Thomas's uproarious reading-aloud of this piece, doing Eliot's faux-Brit accent to perfection:

Not sure if it would be possible to do, but what would be great would if there was a counter at the chat tab indicating the number of people there (or if anyone was there at any given time). Unless people specifically set up a chat session live at a specific time or something like that, more than likely the chances are people would go into the chat and probably see no one there and then leave. But if while surfing the site one were to see some activity there then others might stop by to say hi. Just an idea.

Not that I'm particularly proud of this, but several years ago I ran into a guy at a local fairgrounds who invited me back to his place and let me know that his biggest turn on was having someone hunker down over his face and fart on him. "I don't care if it smells.", he said shyly, blending reassurance with encouragement. He was sort of young, I thought, to have developed such a refined fetish but I'm a pretty chacun-ȧ-son-goût kinda guy, so I gave it my best shot. Nada. And I tried. More than once. Hovering, hunching, and heaving till my hamstrings started seizing up. But nothing. Weird, because my challenge up until that day centered more around how not to break wind during a casual encounter. And here, when they were wanted most, the nether breezes had died down so completely that I wondered if somebody had buttoned my bunghole when I wasn't looking. I've been pee-shy before but never fart-shy. Since it's the weekend, and since we're sharing, has anyone else ever had this phenomenon manifest itself in their personal or professional lives? PS: Tossed his number a few years ago and never ran into him again, though I did subsequently develop a hankering for fair food, especially chili cheese dogs.

Does that mean there are two of you? Best regards, RA1

So its True, Hollwood folk are just like me and you ? Knew it ! And YES, I most heartily AGREE, there is way too much Hollywood sex talk and useless gossip on THIS site :frantics:

Mai oui, bien sûr.

P.S. Why you should trouble yourself to pardon the month is left as an exercise for the reader.

BTW- I don't recommend this but you can get rid of all your internal gas at once during an explosive decompression. A kind of explosive fart. You other choice during is to have a LOT of pain from trapped gas which needs to equalize with the reduced atmospheric pressure you now "enjoy". Practicing or experiencing a sudden and rapid decompression is something military pilots and other pilots do in an altitude chamber. The two basic goals are to let you experience the debilitating effects of even relatively low altitudes (like 25,000 feet) and also experience the release or not of internal gas. Usually when an airliner has a pressurization problem, there is not a sudden and rapid loss of pressure. Blowing out a window will not suck people through the resulting hole. If you think it might, be sure and sit next to a fat guy who will tend to plug up the hole, rescuing everyone from the "movie-type" fate. Also firing handguns with ordinary rounds in them will not cause a pressurization problem and may not even piece the skin of the aircraft, depending. However, do not plan on landing on the ocean and settling to the bottom with lots of time to be there ala one of the Airport movies. Landing a jet on the ocean usually causes damage to the aircraft, the Miracle on the Hudson notwithstanding. Best regards, RA1

Some patent medicine were good, if they had enough laudanum and alcohol in them. I have never used Beano but I am glad for the user report. I always figured if you ate enough BBQ with your beans, the effect would be lessened and, of course, with enough beer, you don't care anyway. Best regards, RA1

I think he did some more orchestral stuff but can't say whether or not it was recorded. He was at one point the highest-paid entertainer in France. Not sure if your interest lies more in arrangements or in technique, but the latter is examined more fully in The Crepitation Contest in which Paul Boomer takes on Lord Windesmear. The business end doesn't get started until almost six minutes in.

Monsieur Le Petomane has long occupied a very special place in my imagination. Sadly, the reality as presented on this scratchy record in no way matches the concert I had pictured from verbal descriptions. Once again, AS, you succeed in popping my balloon: Not cool, AS, not cool at all.

No one ever heard of Beano? Or, is that beside the point? Best regards, RA1

Who needs Poppers when you can just FART ? Fart loud and proud, and NOT into a pair of Fart stffling panties......

Well I have to wonder how big it has to be in order to be allowed to stay there. I fear that I may not measure up

Cue hito - "I want a family like That ! "

Wouldn't it be marvelous? http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/10/06/gop-house-2014-polls_n_4050686.html