When I was, oh I don't know, 12? 13? (1962? 1963?) me and my friend Kenny found our way into an abandoned, closed club of some sort and found PURE GOLD! Actual late 50s girlie mags. Boobs out the yin yang.
glad to hear it! haha I remember that feeling of securing the trove. Also once me and my friends found this game on the internet, it was basic but infuriatingly difficult computer game, where if you want they showed you boobs. We'd compete for hours
Wong Channel, this is a hysterical article. I love the "debased" catalog...worse, I can completely associate with that event and its getting passed around. One of my friends discovered a "dirty" book called "Candy" by Terry Southern. It was actually satiric and we all recognized it, but so what, it had 'things' going on. Suffice it to say, we were attentive to its message.
I found a Sunday sport (a sports newspaper with boobs) under my grandfathers bed and we took it off his hands. Haha I can imagine reading between the lines of just about anything
I had to call my friend over to the house when I found out typing 'n' in google search autocompleted to 'naked'. I didn't know how to delete the history and still remember the raw panic I had waiting for my friend to show up like an IT helpdesk technician 5 mins before DAD returned from work.
haha I remember that shit. I once found my older bro had printed out a photo of Britney Spears topless, and I wrote “I know you’re a pervert” on it, then put it back in his drawer. A few years later, I would buried that in the garden
Hahaha, I have a few younger brothers so I witnessed various iterations of this. One particularly harsh one was my mum found a 'lads mag' under my bro's mattress, so for his birthday my parents got him a cake shaped like a pair of tits. I'm chuckling just thinking about this
hahaha that's fucking funny from your parents. In primary school, we didn't know you could just google stuff, but we found a crappy internet computer that if you won you saw a photo of boobs. It was really hard as well, we had a crack team gathered around, pooling our minds together just for a glimpse
Kazaa and Limewire were an absolute minefield! I remember spending hours downloading "Jill Kelly Jenna Jameson XXX Lesbian Hot.mpeg" only to find it was deviously mislabeled and was in fact a scene from Faces of Death where a bloke got stabbed in the neck.
Turns out those two titans of erotica never even had it off together!
I mean I suppose that at least had the element of being a pleasant surprise, even if your old man was there to sort of pile on the embarrassment.
In my case it was frankly horrifying. I'd waited hours for what I thought was going to be the greatest thing I'd witnessed in all 14 of my years, pants down and everything, raring to go, to then be confronted with the most graphically violent thing I'd seen prior to ISIS becoming a thing. Still scars me to this day!
I'm so old (60 next week yaaar) that masturbation in my day wasn't called jerking off, it was called "Taking Sir Timmy to the Tailor" and you had to wear your Sunday best with polished shoes while performing it.
It leads me to the mournful conclusion that the hand-shandy has always been joyless, and that all the technical facilities in the world can't cure the elemental pathos of it.
Little quote from Samuel Beckett circa 1945, an 80-year-old wank anecdote you may like:
"Now if there is one thing I abhor, it is someone coming into my room, without knocking. I might just happen to be masturbating, before my cheval-glass. Father with yawning fly and starting eyes, toiling to scatter on the ground his joyless seed, that was no sight for a small boy. Harshly I recalled him to the proprieties."
I bet Sir Timmy was one of the best-dressed cads in that slum you calla cul-de-sac
Every happy ending deserves a sad conclusion. You can’t have private access to that kind of sensory detonation without a period of gloom. If every tug led to Rome the human race (of which I actually consider you a member) would flitter into dust
I’d wank Becket under the table - and did at his insistence at the staff dinner. Another example of smoothness of prose not equating to a comparably smooth shaft
"Omne animal post coitum triste est", as they said in the old Latin class. Feeling blue after a shag, as you uncouth oiks would say.
You impugn the name of Sammie Beckett at your peril, scallywag. A Nobel laureate casting his seed is not to be sniffed at, at least if you don't want Oirish jizz up yer nostrils...
I ejaculate in Latin, and I don't mean that as a brag. It is a source of great pain and embarrassment for me, and has led me to a life of unsexed solitude.
Beckett is noting more than a footnote in the gutter of the margins of my works. Beckett is a charlatan and grifter. My name will outlive Beckett's if it's the last thing I do
OMG this cracked me TF right up!
When I was, oh I don't know, 12? 13? (1962? 1963?) me and my friend Kenny found our way into an abandoned, closed club of some sort and found PURE GOLD! Actual late 50s girlie mags. Boobs out the yin yang.
Kenny's mom found his stash. It didn't go well.
glad to hear it! haha I remember that feeling of securing the trove. Also once me and my friends found this game on the internet, it was basic but infuriatingly difficult computer game, where if you want they showed you boobs. We'd compete for hours
Wong Channel, this is a hysterical article. I love the "debased" catalog...worse, I can completely associate with that event and its getting passed around. One of my friends discovered a "dirty" book called "Candy" by Terry Southern. It was actually satiric and we all recognized it, but so what, it had 'things' going on. Suffice it to say, we were attentive to its message.
I found a Sunday sport (a sports newspaper with boobs) under my grandfathers bed and we took it off his hands. Haha I can imagine reading between the lines of just about anything
I had to call my friend over to the house when I found out typing 'n' in google search autocompleted to 'naked'. I didn't know how to delete the history and still remember the raw panic I had waiting for my friend to show up like an IT helpdesk technician 5 mins before DAD returned from work.
haha I remember that shit. I once found my older bro had printed out a photo of Britney Spears topless, and I wrote “I know you’re a pervert” on it, then put it back in his drawer. A few years later, I would buried that in the garden
Hahaha, I have a few younger brothers so I witnessed various iterations of this. One particularly harsh one was my mum found a 'lads mag' under my bro's mattress, so for his birthday my parents got him a cake shaped like a pair of tits. I'm chuckling just thinking about this
hahaha that's fucking funny from your parents. In primary school, we didn't know you could just google stuff, but we found a crappy internet computer that if you won you saw a photo of boobs. It was really hard as well, we had a crack team gathered around, pooling our minds together just for a glimpse
Kazaa and Limewire were an absolute minefield! I remember spending hours downloading "Jill Kelly Jenna Jameson XXX Lesbian Hot.mpeg" only to find it was deviously mislabeled and was in fact a scene from Faces of Death where a bloke got stabbed in the neck.
Turns out those two titans of erotica never even had it off together!
I remember sitting down to watch Borat with my dad and it ended up a gangbang of saucy proportions! haha titans of erotica
I mean I suppose that at least had the element of being a pleasant surprise, even if your old man was there to sort of pile on the embarrassment.
In my case it was frankly horrifying. I'd waited hours for what I thought was going to be the greatest thing I'd witnessed in all 14 of my years, pants down and everything, raring to go, to then be confronted with the most graphically violent thing I'd seen prior to ISIS becoming a thing. Still scars me to this day!
Sam, this is one of your best, I'm LMAO, and hubby wants to know what it's all about. It's fascinating how you boys really are visual creatures.
Haha that’s awesome! A lmao is the dream. Let the lad see! He must learn on his own terms
I'm so old (60 next week yaaar) that masturbation in my day wasn't called jerking off, it was called "Taking Sir Timmy to the Tailor" and you had to wear your Sunday best with polished shoes while performing it.
It leads me to the mournful conclusion that the hand-shandy has always been joyless, and that all the technical facilities in the world can't cure the elemental pathos of it.
Little quote from Samuel Beckett circa 1945, an 80-year-old wank anecdote you may like:
"Now if there is one thing I abhor, it is someone coming into my room, without knocking. I might just happen to be masturbating, before my cheval-glass. Father with yawning fly and starting eyes, toiling to scatter on the ground his joyless seed, that was no sight for a small boy. Harshly I recalled him to the proprieties."
I bet Sir Timmy was one of the best-dressed cads in that slum you calla cul-de-sac
Every happy ending deserves a sad conclusion. You can’t have private access to that kind of sensory detonation without a period of gloom. If every tug led to Rome the human race (of which I actually consider you a member) would flitter into dust
I’d wank Becket under the table - and did at his insistence at the staff dinner. Another example of smoothness of prose not equating to a comparably smooth shaft
"Omne animal post coitum triste est", as they said in the old Latin class. Feeling blue after a shag, as you uncouth oiks would say.
You impugn the name of Sammie Beckett at your peril, scallywag. A Nobel laureate casting his seed is not to be sniffed at, at least if you don't want Oirish jizz up yer nostrils...
I ejaculate in Latin, and I don't mean that as a brag. It is a source of great pain and embarrassment for me, and has led me to a life of unsexed solitude.
Beckett is noting more than a footnote in the gutter of the margins of my works. Beckett is a charlatan and grifter. My name will outlive Beckett's if it's the last thing I do
Ejaculare humanum est; humani nihil a me alienum puto.
That's what Beckett said as they dragged him to jail for tugging himself off in the public urinarium in Paris one frosty morning.