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I saw this cover being displayed on television this morning [2.27.14] during a newscast regarding his first arrests which were accompanied by video shots, etc.. Although I don't like or approve of all of the antics and problems "The Bieber' has had, this shot of him is so inviting. I'd enjoy giving this hottie yet very troubled young "twink" all of my mouth and tongue ALL OVER!!!!! I'd like to watch a hot top, big dicked hunk fuck him into oblivion!

Star Whores featuring Lube Thighstroker Hand Solo Princess Labia OB-Gyn Kenobi STD-O Grand Muff Merkin Dark Spatter (gave up on that one) You can imagine what the 'Testar' was to look like.

I think the escorts would still do it, just not with us. Best regards, RA1

Perhaps MsGuy's Black AMEX came through.

Sounds so much nicer than the truth: "Well the religious crazies were gnawing at my right tit and the tourist lobby was gnawing at my left. I was squirming like hell but then the NFL stuck hot needles through my nips * and I saw the light." * The NFL commissioner allowed as how he would reserve judgement on moving next year's Super Bowl from Arizona until the matter was resolved. (The NFL cancelled a prior Super Bowl in Arizona when it refused to recognize Martin Luther King Day as a state holiday.)

And the dominoes keep falling... http://wfpl.org/post/kentucky-must-recognize-out-state-same-sex-marriages-federal-judge-rules

What might cause a model's profile to completely disappear? Are they very strict over at F4F on conduct? I know they have a no fruit and no fists policy, but what else might get someone disappeared from one minute to the next?

After a hurricane caused a shortage of free-flowing electrons hereabouts, my cousin went to Sears and got a kerosene-powered household generator. But the wife won't let him use it, for fear of blowing up the house and himself. In that order of concern, I think. For no real reason, that brought this to mind... The Night the Bed Fell by James Thurber I suppose that the high-water mark of my youth in Columbus, Ohio, was the night the bed fell on my father. It makes a better recitation (unless, as some friends of mine have said, one has heard it five or six times) than it does a piece of writing, for it is almost necessary to throw furniture around, shake doors, and bark like a dog, to lend the proper atmosphere and verisimilitude to what is admittedly a somewhat incredible tale. Still, it did take place. It happened, then, that my father had decided to sleep in the attic one night, to be away where he could think. My mother opposed the notion strongly because, she said, the old wooden bed up there was unsafe- it was wobbly and the heavy headboard would crash down on father's head in case the bed fell, and kill him. There was no dissuading him, however, and at a quarter past ten he closed the attic door behind him and went up the narrow twisting stairs. We later heard ominous creakings as he crawled into bed. Grandfather, who usually slept in the attic bed when he was with us, had disappeared some days before. (On these occasions he was usually gone six or seven days and returned growling and out of temper, with the news that the federal Union was run by a passel of blockheads and that the Army of the Potomac didn't have any more chance than a fiddler's bitch.) We had visiting us at this time a nervous first cousin of mine named Briggs Beall, who believed that he was likely to cease breathing when he was asleep. It was his feeling that if he were not awakened every hour during the night, he might die of suffocation. He had been accustomed to setting an alarm clock to ring at intervals until morning, but I persuaded him to abandon this. He slept in my room and I told him that I was such a light sleeper that if anybody quit breathing in the same room with me, I would wake Instantly. He tested me the first night-which I had suspected he would by holding his breath after my regular breathing had convinced him I was asleep. I was not asleep, however, and called to him. This seemed to allay his fears a little, but he took the precaution of putting a class of spirits of camphor on a little table at the head of his bed. In case I didn't arouse him until he was almost gone, he said, he would sniff the camphor, a powerful reviver. Briggs was not the only member of his family who had his crotchets. Old Aunt Alelissa Beall (who could whistle like a man, with two fingers in her mouth) suffered under the premonition that she was destined to die on South High Street, because she had been born on South High Street and married on South High Street. Then there was Aunt Sarah Shoaf, who never went to bed at night without the fear that a burglar was going to get in and blow chloroform under her door through a tube. To avert this calamity -for she was in greater dread of anesthetics than of losing her household goods-she always piled her money, silverware, and other valuables in a neat stack just outside her bedroom, with a note reading,: "This is all I have. Please take it and do not use your chloroform, as this is all I have." Aunt Gracie Shoaf also had a burglar phobia, but she met it with more fortitude. She was confident that burglars had been getting into her house every night for four years. The fact that she never missed anything was to her no proof to the contrary. She always claimed that she scared them off before they could take anything, by throwing shoes down the hallway. When she went to bed she piled, where she could get at them handily, all the shoes there were about her house. Five minutes after she had turned off the light, she would sit up in bed and say "Hark!" Her husband, who had learned to ignore the whole situation as long ago as 1903, would either be sound asleep or pretend to be sound asleep. In either case he would not respond to her tugging and pulling, so that presently she would arise, tiptoe to the door, open it slightly and heave a shoe down the hall in one direction, and its mate down the hall in the other direction. Some nights she threw them all, some nights only a couple of pair. But I am straying from the remarkable incidents that took place during the night that the bed fell on father. By midnight we were all in bed. The layout of the rooms and the disposition of their occupants is important to an understanding of what later occurred. In the front room upstairs (just under father's attic bedroom) were my mother and my brother Terry, who sometimes sang in his sleep, usually "Marching Through Georgia" or "Onward, Christian Soldiers." Briggs Beall and myself were in a room adjoining this one. My brother Roy was in a room across the hall from ours. Our bull terrier, Rex, slept in the hall. My bed was an army cot, one of those affairs which are made wide enough to sleep on comfortably only by putting up, flat with the middle section, the two sides which ordinarily hang down like the sideboards of a drop-leaf table. When these sides are up, it is perilous to roll too far toward the edge, for then the cot is likely to tip completely over, bringing the whole bed down on top of one, with a tremendous banging crash. This, in fact, is precisely what happened, about two o'clock in the morning. (It was my mother who, in recalling the scene later, first referred to it as "the night the bed fell on your father.") Always a deep sleeper, slow to arouse (I had lied to Briggs), I was at first unconscious of what had happened when the iron cot rolled me onto the floor and toppled over on me. It left me still warmly bundled up and unhurt, for the bed rested above me like a canopy. Hence I did not wake up, only reached-the edge of consciousness and went back. The racket, however, instantly awakened my mother, in the next room, who came to the immediate conclusion that her worst dread was realized: the big wooden bed upstairs had fallen on father. She therefore screamed, "Let's go to your poor father!" It was this shout, rather, than the noise of my cot falling, that awakened Herman, in the same room with her. He thought that mother had become, for no apparent reason, hysterical. "You're all right, Mamma!" He shouted, trying, to calm her. They exchanged shout for shout for perhaps ten seconds: "Let's go to your poor father!" and "You're all right! " That woke up Briggs. By this time I was conscious of what was going on, in a vague way, but did not yet realize that I was under my bed instead of on it. Briggs, awakening in the midst of loud shouts of fear and apprehension, came to the quick conclusion that he was suffocating and that we were all trying to "bring him out." With a low moan, he grasped the glass of camphor at the head of his bed and instead of sniffing it poured it over himself. The room reeked of camphor. "Ugh, ugh," choked Briggs, like a drowning man, for he had almost succeeded in stopping his breathing under the deluge of pungent spirits. He leaped out of bed and groped toward the open window, but he came up against one that was closed. With his hand, he beat out the glass, and I could hear it crash and tinkle on the alleyway below. It was at this juncture that I, in trying to get up, had the uncanny sensation of feeling my bed above me. Foggy with sleep, I now suspected, in my turn, that the whole uproar was being made in a frantic endeavor to extricate me from what must be an unheard-of and perilous situation. "Get me out of this!" I bawled. "Get me out!" I think I had the nightmarish belief that I was entombed in a mine. "Ugh," gasped Briggs, floundering in his camphor. By this time my mother, still shouting, pursued by Herman, still shouting, was trying to open the door to the attic, in order to' go up and get my father's body out of the wreckage. The door was stuck, however, and wouldn't yield. Her frantic pulls on it only added to the general banging and confusion. Roy and the dog were now up, the one shouting questions, the other barking. Father, farthest away and soundest sleeper of all, had by this time been awakened by the battering on the attic door. He decided that the house was on fire. "I'm coming, I'm coming,!" be wailed in a slow, sleepy voice-it took him many minutes to regain full consciousness. My mother, still believing he was caught under the bed, detected in his "I'm coming!" the mournful, resigned note of one who is preparing to meet his Maker. "He's dying!" she shouted. "I'm all right!" Briggs yelled to reassure her. "I'm all right!" He still believed that it was his own closeness to death that was worrying mother. I found at last the light switch in my room, unlocked the door, and Briggs and I joined the others at the attic door. The dog, who never did like Briggs, jumped for him assuming that he was the culprit in whatever was going on and Roy had to throw Rex and hold him. We could hear father crawling out of bed upstairs. Roy pulled the attic door open, with a mighty jerk, and father came down the stairs, sleepy and irritable but safe and sound. My mother began to weep when she saw him. Rex began to-howl. "What in the name of God "s going on here?" asked father. The situation was finally put together like a gigantic jig-saw puzzle. Father caught a cold from prowling around in his bare feet but there were no other bad results. "I'm glad," said mother, who always looked on the bright side of things, "that your grandfather wasn't here." http://english.glendale.cc.ca.us/bedfell.html

All my cards are black, just not AMEX or still valid. Best regards, RA1

I'll bet there are some stunning white twinks at the following schools: Ole Miss, University of Southern Mississippi, Auburn and the University of Alabama. I don't know Mississippi very well, but I've been to Birmingham a number of times and can't believe how cute those Southern boys can be. Lots of light eyes and hair.

Who could this be?

are you using "personality" as a synonym for "BODY" ???? then YES....

AS, I'd tell you to go fuck your Moma but you would.

Vanity, thy name is OZ. But I gotta admit it was the best review I've read in a long time.

LOL, I thought I read somewhere your twice born Supreme Court Judge was still out campaigning to pave Alabama all over with copies of the Ten Commandments. Want to make a side bet on whether Alabama or Mississippi will fall first?

A very good review can be found here: http://www.boytoy.com/forums/index.php?/topic/13967-trick-a-boytoy-movie-review/

I think you said it the right way AS. It is the dominoes effect. It seems to be falling all over. Kentucky. Texas. Now, if we can get the redneck fuckers in Alabama to fall in place.

I was thinking less of dollars and more of 'opportunity cost' in terms of things Congress doesn't get around to. Of course, that assumes that they have other things they could be working on. OK, never mind.

You have good taste, Tomcal. #119 is definitely the pick of the litter.

Looks like OZ's programmers fixed it, as I think your instructions are equivalent to the ones I posted and that have been working up until a week or so ago. I've been able to link successfully today, and didn't have to get anywhere near the 'light switch' to do it. As I understand it, the light switch doesn't generate any new or different code. It just exposes the underlying HTML code that the more user-friendly edit menu generates. If that menu-generated code is faulty, the underlying HTML code will be faulty too. It's just that seeing the HTML code in raw form (you should pardon the expression) might allow the cognoscenti to diagnose what's going on. There are still a few things that I can't get the user-friendly edit menu to do reliably and need to muck through the HTML code to fix, but only wearing galoshes and never sure of success. For example, in case anyone is still reading, I've been having trouble posting and centering images lately. It turns out that the user-friendly edit menu is generating a size tag rather than an image tag. So I can fix it with HTML code behind the light switch, but somewhere I think there's a glitch in the edit menu as the size tag is there where it shouldn't be and it didn't generate itself.

Light switch? I don't see no stinking light switch! ==== Son of a bitch. It worked! ==== OK, try following magic formula and see if it works for you: 1) Highlight and copy the web address to be linked. 2) Highlight the words that are to anchor the hot link. 3) Click on the link icon to get to link menu. 4) Paste address into URL box & click OK.. 5) Post the post & check if the link works. 6) Celebrate. Especially if the magic works twice in a row. Come on now, celebration Let's all celebrate and have a good time, yeah yeah Celebration We gonna celebrate and have a good time

When I click your 'agreed' link it takes me to the BoyToy home page. While I find much that is agreeable there, I don't notice anything that relates directly to your link. Mind you, I'm not complaining. Flipping the 'light switch' would probably be a good start to diagnosing what's going on, but trying to turn us all into HTML jockies might ruffle a few feathers.

Trick Here we have another genre-busting gay movie that proves not all queer cinema has to be about gay bashing, AIDS or ridiculous camp drag stuff. Really, any genre of film can be turned into a gay movie if writers and directors realize that gay people are just people. That the plot of the film is a gay guy figuring out that gays are not as weird as he thinks just drives this point home. Trick is, despite the title, simply a standard Hollywood romantic comedy where the plot is boy meets boy, boy loses boy, boy gets boy back. And instead of having the gay best friend of one of the characters providing quirky comedic lines, we get Tori Spelling providing quirky comedic lines. The movie focuses on Gabriel who, despite being a writer of musical theater songs, isn't a cliché gay at all. In fact, he's so turned off by the clichés of gay life that he doesn't feel like he's really gay or belongs. Camp, drag queens, political activism, gay pride - none of that stuff does it for him. He's just a normal guy who likes sucking dick. Because he doesn't feel any connection to the gay community at all, he doesn't even think about getting a boyfriend and instead just does random one-night stands whenever he's horny enough. One night after a three-month dry spell, he hits a local gay bar. He's hit on by every stereotypical type of gay dude possible and leaves disgusted. But he's followed out by a hunky dude who is one of the go-go boys at the bar. The go-go boy tries to pick him up and he figures, why not partially because he wants to find out if the boy's nickname, Beer Can, accurately reflects the size of his dick. When he takes the go-go boy home, however, his fag hag (Spelling) is at his place printing out a bunch of her resumés, and she just keeps talking and talking and not getting the message that she should leave so the two of them can bone. After she finally does go out the door, Gabriel's roommate turns up with his girlfriend (they share a studio apartment) and the roommate and his girlfriend start making out so erotically it totally turns off both Gabriel and the go-go boy. So, they decide to see if they can use one of Gabriel's friends' places to fuck in. They track the dude down and just as he's about to give them the keys to his place, his ex-boyfriend turns up, they make up and Gabriel and Go-Go Boy are out of luck. Next, they decide to hit a bar Go-Go Boy knows about where people can fuck in backrooms/dark corners. But this becomes a disaster too - first because there is a drag queen there whose persona is Tori Spelling's character on Beverly Hills 90210. Having a drag queen around who looks just like his fag hag turns Gabriel off a bit. Even more of a turn-off, however, is the fact that he quickly figures out that Go-Go Boy has literally fucked every single dude hanging out in the bar. This freaks Gabriel out so much that he just walks out of the bar without saying goodbye. He heads home, but Go-Go Boy follows him. They then try to go back to his apartment, figuring that his roommate and his girlfriend may have stopped fucking by now. They have, but when they arrive the girlfriend is still there naked and it turns out she's some weird new-age sex counselor who tries to first give them weird relationship advice and then tries to get Go-Go Boy interested in her. Gabriel reaches his breaking point and screams, I just want to get laid! At which point Go-Go Boy is like, Hey, I really like you. This isn't just about sex to me. I want to get to know you. If I'm just a pretty boy to fuck, fuck off, and storms out. Gabriel then runs after him and they decide to hit a diner. Of course, Fag Hag Spelling is there with about 10 of her friends all of whom run over and share the table with them. He wants her and her friends to take off because he's desperate to tell Go-Go Boy that, yeah, he does have feelings for him, but can't bring himself to say that for the first time in front of all of this comic relief (including Spelling screaming, I really like fish, maybe I'm a lesbian!). Finally the other characters leave and Gabriel and Go-Go Boy finally have some real alone time. They talk and both admit that they are totally into each other. They have their first kiss and it's electric. They realize they love each other and that while they both need to go home and crash, they will meet again the next night and have a real date, because they have the love bug. That's when the movie ends as it would with any romantic comedy. Gabriel, of course, realizes that he doesn't hate gay people really, just the shallow gay people he'd been hanging out with before. Now that he knows and is in love with a normal gay guy, he accepts himself for what he is, and it's clear there is going to be long-term romance with Beer Can in his future. The only unanswered question at the end of the film is, if you are dating a dude named Beer Can, exactly how much lube are you going to need to buy? I'm guessing he probably headed over to Wal-Mart and bought a family pack. Anyway, if you like romantic comedies but are tired of them always being about Meg Ryan falling for Tom Boring As All Hell Hanks, then Trick is for you. cc boytoy.com 2013