Category Archives: beefcake

Obscure Presidents and the More Obvious

Standard

The always illuminating blog Cafe Muscato has a charming President Day celebratory theme. Which was handy since I had no idea today was President’s Day. Since retiring, keeping track of holidays is sort of moot. If you don’t work, everyday’s a holiday! Besides Muscato is located in Washington, where the day is more of big deal than anywhere else. I’m sure most Americans know it mainly as the Mattress Sale holiday and how did that wind up together anyway?

The “tune” included in Muscato’s post reminded me how littered with blanks my ability to name presidents is.  I’m OK for about the first five. OK, four. but after that, things sort of dribble out. I know there were two Adams, two Roosevelts and two Bushes (which, let’s face it. were two too many) and Millard Fillmore. San Francisco has an overabundance of streets named after mediocre presidents, including Fillmore, and the Fillmore, famous nightclub shrine of 60s Rock ‘n Roll, takes its name simply from its location, so that’s how Millard Fillmore is related to the Jefferson Airplane.

More interesting than presidents who ran on the Know Nothing Party (and thank you for THAT trend) let us turn instead to over-photoshopped beauties, a trend I mostly run across when shopping around for illustrations for this blog.

'A:.jpeg                 .jpeg

Do we think this guy looks like this in real life? Is it possible some creature resembling this walks into Starbucks and orders lattes? How could chaos not break out? There’s that Uncanny Valley thing, which wikipedia explains better than I do, to wit:

The concept of the uncanny valley suggests that humanoid objects which appear almost, but not exactly, like real human beings elicit uncanny, or strangely familiar, feelings of eeriness and revulsion in observers.

 

Revulsion may not be the feeling this youth stirs, but he doesn’t exactly look human either. I mean, I wouldn’t mind a few hours in a romantic setting with him, but still, that utter perfection looks like it owes more to Mattel than to good genes.

Also part of the photoshopping madness we have the “Just keep hitting the enlarge button”

BrandonIron_BigCock

Nobody loves a great big whopper better than I, but there comes a point when we’re back in the Uncanny part of town. I’m OK with a “touchup” let’s say, something that’s in the way of wishful thinking.  But honey this, this reaches structurally impossible.

Annals of Medical Triumph, Vol. Whatever

Standard

I went for an MRI late this afternoon.  This was not one of those “I don’t have anything better to do, maybe I’ll go in for an unpleasant medical experience” things.   Having gone to my back doctor for more than a year, I think he realized I was not just going to go away and so he ordered one to have a little look see at what is actually going on inside my back.  Why am I whining all the time, in other words.

Sweet pancakes of mine, I had always heard how LOUD an MRI is, but was unprepared for the reality of it.  It is stick your head in a jet engine loud.  I am of the generation that shared in the hearing damage of serious rock shows and none of them were this loud.  And that was with earplugs and these sound deadening blocks on my ears.  “Sound deadening.”  It is to laugh.

They shoved me into a tiny tube after repeatedly asking if I was claustrophobic.  How I wish I said yes, maybe they would have given me drugs.  mrpeenee’s new Rule Number 1: Always demand drugs when in a hospital.  Even if you’re just visiting some patient. Then the racket cranked up.

I remembered reading about some christian who chanted “Christ’s mercy” as he was being martyred (and these pagan guys in charge of martyring were terribly inventive.  Saints are depicted usually with some reference to how they met their grisly fate; Saint Lucy with her eyeballs on a plate, Saint Agatha with her titties on another plate, Saint Lawrence, who was grilled and toasted alive, is shown holding a griddle, which usually looks sort of like a waffle maker.  In the Sistine Chapel, Jesus is getting up from his chair and turning away from all the damned with this air of “I am through with you.  Later bitches.” and all the saints form a sort of scrimmage line between him and the out of luck souls trying to scramble out of hell.  But Lucy, Agatha and Lawrence, ready to tackle them and still holding those damn plates and griddle, give it the air of very odd buffet.  Christians.  So weird.)

Anyway, I tried mentally chanting “Christ’s mercy”, but it didn’t seem to do much, possibly because I am a heathen, so I switched it up to “RuPaul’s mercy, RuPaul’s mercy.”  That didn’t do much either.  I just gave up and started hoping I would begin hallucinating soon.

They finally dragged me out.  The tech cheerfully said “Well, that was a long one, but we got some great pictures!” I was literally staggering and limping from being cramped and not moving for 45 minutes, but it was after 6:00, these guys were ready to get out of work, so they kept announcing that I just had to go through the double doors.  They had the air of a bartender shoving the last drunks out the room.

I didn’t care.  I was so glad it was over, I would have crawled out if I’d had to.  So now I’m  home eating Oxycodone and ice cream in about equal measure.  But we got some great pictures!  Maybe I’ll get some wallet size ones.

tumblr_p1ouxkFoXr1wcwc5eo1_500

Or maybe I would prefer these back pictures

tumblr_mk8wqwG0th1s6q0h2o1_500

Definitely.  Better than my back.

Substances

Standard

So Saki has the tiniest little substance abuse, or just substance great fondness.  Cat nip, of course.  The heartbreak of so many happy homes.  I keep most of his toys in a charming wicker basket in the living room.  Every other Monday, the cleaning ladies gather up all the toys that have escaped and put them back in the toy box;  I expect this is accompanied by a disapproving sniff.  I’m only surprise they don’t drop in a pamphlet about Jesus is The Light.

Recently I brought one of the catnip snakes up to my room so when those rare moments of consciousness pass by I can play with Saki, poor little neglected waif.  Now in the wee-est of hours, I will hear, somewhere out in the dark, Saki licking and sucking and grunting and making Nip Love to the Nip Snake.

tumblr_oi11plMqsu1qmm597o1_1280

Speaking of the Nip Snake

I have my own substance problems.  Using them isn’t the problem; laying hands on them is.  Last summer, my pain doctor started on a quest to find something to replace vicodin in my daily life.  He emphasized it was because along with vicodin comes ibuprofin or aceteminfin. neither of which are good for your liver.  This has nothing to do with Congress’s sudden feverish attack on opioids.  Oh no.  Thus began the Summer of Annoying Drugs.  Some made me sick, some made me crazy (literally.  The Children and Super Agent Fred developed this worried look about me) and then I found Opana.  I’ve spoken about this before; just as I got used to it working really well and being a great help, the FDA pressured its manufacturer into removing it from the market.

The press pointedly said the drug they were removing was Opnana Extended Release.  I was taking Opana Immediate Release.   Patience is not one of my many virtues.  I asked both doctor and pharmacist if that made a difference.  Nope.  It’s gone.  And so I wound up on Oxycodone, which I have long resisted since it is so trailer park trashy and you know what a Lady I am, especially about those things I put in my body.  Which is a temple.  And possibly a bowling alley.

Then yesterday at my monthly doctor visit, the good doctor said “You know, I’ve been thinking, the only thing the reports said they were removing was Opana ER, so I started wondering if maybe Opana IR is still out there, so I checked and it is.  Why don’t we get you back on that?”

Thank god for years of government work which has left me immune to fatheads.  I did not shriek about how that’s what I said in October.  I simply agreed, oh what a clever idea, aren’t you a good boy.

tumblr_p21kzkcD8b1tb9s1uo1_1280

Who’s a good boy?

So now I’m back on Opana.  My back and I are so very glad.  Of course, it comes in big ass pills, that I cut in half and then take every three hours, so I’m pretty much on a steady, higher plane.  OK with me.

And Saki is all nipped up, so everybody is happy.  Until our next crisis.

Dank

Standard

I had a day of errands yesterday, tedious, but necessary.   Since the first item on the to-do list was dropping the car off for its checkup, said errands had to be done on foot and the always charming subway.  At least, the transit people here claim it’s a subway; I think of it more as a very large petri dish growing ever more exotic contagions just waiting for me.

The weather was pissing.  I have lived here for 30 years and still do not have a decent rain coat.  Every winter, comes the rains and I am surprised once again.  I have this windbreaker kind of vinyl thing that I think of as my rain coat, but it’s really more of a fog coat.  Anytime the ambient water precipitates into more than the picturesque fog we’re famous for, the jacket immediately surrenders and I find myself wearing what is pretty much a wet garbage bag.  I have finally ordered a real rain coat.  I expect it to get here about the time the drought returns.

winter

The charms of San Francisco in the winter.

One of the few pluses to our adventures in soggy land, was that my path went past the old James Lick Baths.  These were originally a Victorian era bathhouse where gentlemen could go for their monthly bath.  I don’t think there were regular shenanigans, although, men naked together, how far off could shenanigans be?  It now houses some fancy schmancy architecture firm, I think.

lick baths

lick facade

It’s really a charming building.

What charms me is that San Francisco in the late 1970s had an abundance of the kind of bathhouses run specifically for shenanigans and nothing else.  R Man lived here then and had wildly sordid tales of the establishments,  One specialized in fisting. its signage nothing but a drawing of a muscular arm with a stripe ominously far up it.  One had the cab of a tractor-trailer truck where you could live out your trucker daddy fantasies.  The tubs R Man was fondest of wound up being the Episcopal Sanctuary and Hospice for AIDS Victims.  Of course, AIDS is what did in all those louche sex palaces.

Of course the tragedy of the plague is very clear to me. and the loss of all these naughty redoubts is just a small footnote along the way.  But oh, how wonderful it would have been had some enterprising homo gotten the James Lick Baths and re-opened them as a fuck and suck under its original name.

tumblr_p0eki1SxIx1tk4kpao1_1280

Sigh.  Both for the loss of the bath house culture, the plague, and a pissing, soggy day.

Once Again, Late

Standard

O little lamby eyed children, I meant to post something about the start of Carnival on its actual start date which was Jan 6, but somehow a week has snuck past.  It happens.

So Happy Carnival.  Carnival is the season that leads up to Lent and which finishes with Mardi Gras.  The general idea I was always fed was that it was a chance to get all the wildness out before Lent, a season when you’re supposed to be all pious and godly and pruny faced and give up shit in order to show your neighbors what a good christian you are.  In reality I assume it’s simply one of those pagan holidays the Church gobbled up to get the pagans in the pews.  Surely, at this time of the year, after you’ve been snowed into some hut with a bunch of other stinky vikings, all of whom eat far too much cabbage, you are ready to cut loose and so here we are with some patched together holiday.

I moved to New Orleans in 1980 specifically so that I could live there during Mardi Gras.  I had come to visit during Fat Tuesdays in college and had such a good time, basing my life on the idea of being in town when the holiday hit seemed like a brilliant idea.  And it was.

tumblr_oz0o9hjWi71wbmobxo1_540

I always wanted my costume to get me to look like this.

tumblr_ozc2hovhv11qdjggro1_1280

Inevitably it looked more like this.  Minus the striking head piece.  Mostly just a bunch of feathers and construction paper wadded up somewhere around me with some bananas and dirty feet.

I had no idea before I got there that there was an entire season of parties and parades and shenanigans that led up to the actual day of Mardi Gras, but once I found out about Carnival I plunged in with wild enthusiasm.  There is, or was, an air of giddy good times al over New Orleans during Carnival.   Any fuck up is shrugged off with an air of helplessness and the statement “It’s Carnival.”  Of course the street is suddenly closed because of a parade.  It’s Carnival. Of course you can’t get into your favorite restaurant because it’s closed for a party where people wear paper plates on their faces.  It’s Carnival.   Of course some former trick shows up at your doorstep and wants to spend the weekend.  It’s Carnival.

And that was the real thrill of the season for me: a substantial uptick in the amount of sex to be had, and I was already busy with a considerable quantity of boy pussy even without the whole “It’s Carnival” bit added in.

tumblr_oz5i7hIaHn1sn5hx6o1_1280

Mens would be so swept up in the Bacchynal of it all, I was able to snag creatures as heavenly as this.  I swear.  And then we would move along to the next one.

When I lived there. I can remember 4 bars, just in the French Quarter, that housed back rooms devoted to anonymous, but high quality, sex.  I would strike out late in the evening confidant I would spend the next four or five hours getting blow jobs and butt fucking strangers and thought nothing of it.  It didn’t seem louche or strange or sordid.  It was Carnival.

tumblr_p158bi5aKO1t4eyo1o1_250

Like this.

On one fine Mardi Gras afternoon, I fought my way through the crowd up to the balcony around a bar called Lafittes in Exile.   There was a wall of men hanging over the railing which provided a shield for me to get down on my knees and go to town on this cute, cute boy’s wiener.  I had only really got rolling when an employee tapped me on the shoulder, not to berate me, but to ask that I take it inside.  I was annoyed.  I found out later from friends who worked there, it was simply a duty that got handed out to patrol the balcony and stop nasty business from getting out of  hand.  The job was called Cock Cop.

I don’t know why they bothered, it was never that uncommon to run across a couple of guys engaged in sodomy in some doorway.  Ah, l’amour.

tumblr_p21cmteoOS1qc2o9so1_500

Or this.

Of course all that’s done and gone and I feel sorry for the queers of today who missed it.  But, oh whatever Saint blessed me with the idiotic idea to come live in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, my most sincere thanks.

57ed6fdd1b00000d0cef3471

Saint Buttus Fuckus, we give thanks for your many gifts and for protecting your devout followers from STDS.  Amen/

Thank God That’s Over

Standard

That’s what Mary said after she finally popped the biscuit out of the oven.  Little did she know.

I had a lovely christmas, thanks.   Secret Agent Fred was over at his abusive boyfriend’s place (which is actually Fred’s place, but when the boyfriend becomes too abusive, Fred comes over here to hide.  Life is so complicated.)  So it was just me and Saki and some banana pudding and some left over home made chicken pot pie (beyond delicious) and some fudge, also home made, and some oxycontin.   Saki would stand on my chest screaming that it was time to feed him, I would stumble downstairs, scrape out the cat food, eat a piece of fudge and fall back in bed.  Fabulous.

As is this mid-century Norman Rockwell knockoff.

tumblr_o08p7wEr4o1u2k3y1o1_500

You know those two gentlemen on the end of the couch are planning sodomy once they’ve fed their wives enough Manhattans, those teens by the clock are tripping like a thousand screamin monkeys and think they’re talking to Chrissie Hynde and the old farts in the kitchen are chained to the stove after last years’ “incident.”  Happy Holidays bitches.

Speaking of planning sodomy, here:

tumblr_p14hzmJgfg1sxq2tro1_500tumblr_owfqaye8my1rhej2io1_1280tumblr_ostqdrA9wb1qkopyqo1_1280

 

No Bahs, No Humbugs

Standard

As i mentioned recently, I have decided to make peace with Christmas decorations.  Afterall, no matter how I spit and fume, they are not going anywhere, they are (sort of ) attractive, and all too soon tax season will be upon us; save your venom for then.

In that vein, I decided to photograph the prim and terribly quiet neighborhood I live next to (their home owners association will not accept our street.  How mortifying.) and which I drive through to the grocery store.  When I say they are prim and quiet to the point of being prissy, I mean that for the balance of the year.  Come Yuletide, these motherfucker start slinging gaudy, vulgar decorations around like a dock whore on a crack vacation.

My apologies for the crappy  quality of the photos, it’s the best my phone can do at night on the way home from the grocery with me just leaning out of the window.

IMG_20171218_203030399

The classic California Xmas: a palm tree wrapped in lights.

IMG_20171218_203951835.jpg

Or just some random bush

IMG_20171218_203438213.jpg

I am actually old enough to remember when they introduced simple white lights as an alternative to all the cheery colorful madness.  They seemed SO minimalistic and tasteful.  Now  I think they’re just dull.  Step it up bitches or step off.

IMG_20171218_203244507.jpg

The “Why Bother?”

IMG_20171218_203823291.jpg

And the grand finale, “The Blockbuster.”  I only regret I couldn’t capture the tinkling carole music that I assume grinds aloong nonstop and which, were I their neighbor, would drive me to attck it with a pick axe.

Please note, none of these trashy hoes are on MY street.  I look out my window and all I can see are those awful compact fluorescent lightbulbs lighting front porches waaiting for UPS men to draw near.

So anyway, joyeux Noel, bitches.  My plan for christmas? Extra oxycodone and consciousness only when Saki absolutely demands it for me to feed him.

My security guard will be enforcing this.

5307184114_5b816397bd_zabc

Rants, Rants, and More Rants

Standard

So what have we learned from trying the Ice Age Paleo Foods All Tacos, All the Time Diet?  A secret to a happy life is to avoid crappy food that makes you long for Alka Seltzer AS YOU’RE EATING IT.

tumblr_p12i4wZ6ob1r81f3ao1_500

I stumbled on this room and was struck by a couple of things 1) I could furnish probably 10 – 15 rooms with all that crap and still have a lot of fringe left over and 2) what are the chances of finding your phone or your glasses or last night’s rent boy in there?  And yet, I like it.

My gardener, who is driving three hours up the coast to spend the day with his semi-invalid mother who doesn’t like his boyfriend, asked me today what I planned for Xmas.  I said I was going to take Oxycodone and stay in bed all day.  We both knew he envied me, but talked about pruning the tibouchina and how nice the ceanothus looks with all the little stick dead branches meticulously removed instead.  I still like my plan best.

Saki has decided he wants to live the life of a wild, free feral cat and so has taken to trying to squeeze out the backdoor if I happen go out there.  Since his idea of making a break for it constitutes trotting two feet out onto the patio and then stopping and waiting for me to pick him up and carry him inside, progress has been slow.

tumblr_n8ztvupefj1qhq1sso1_500

It’s my blog.  If I want to insert random muscle butts, I will.  At least until the death of Net Neutrality starts charging me extra for it.  But who wouldn’t pay for pussy like that?

I have taken to shaving only on the nights before I know I will have to leave the house the next day.  Since that is becoming  a rarer and rarer event, I now look like a not very competent pedophile who’s going to ask you for spare change.  You will not give it, and I will scream “Yeah, Merry fucking christmas you cheap motherfucker.”  I  have it all planned out.

I’ve decided to quit complaining about Xmas decorations being flung about starting before Halloweeen and just go with it.  Last year at this time I was in a Houston hotel that’s connected to a shopping center, the decorations of which would cause temporary blindness they were so extravagant.  So this year, avoiding downtown, the decorations seem innocuous.  They’re an attractive enough addition to the local scene; they are, afterall, decorative.  Turns out being a shut-in has its advantages.  The military industrial retail complex and the christians are going to shove christmas down our throats anyway.   Just relax your gag reflex and it’ll all be over soon enough.

There. think of this as my christmas card to all of you from me and Saki, the Evil and Adorable cat.  hugs.

tumblr_ol4e9hiHEP1t9650qo1_1280

The Spirit of Christmas Butt Plug.

The Ice Man Cometh

Standard

I have always been skinny, but when R Man died, I sort of let things get out of hand and lost 10 or 15 pounds which put me in Gaunt territory.  My doctor has been haranguing me to gain weight ever since.  I think he just does it out of habit now.   And I have.  In fact at this last check up, I weighed more than I ever have, 187 pounds.  Doctor Man still thinks I need more.  Some people are never satisfied.

I asked him about joining the meal delivery program I had volunteered at for years.  I figured they owed me.  The good doctor said “Ugh, you don’t want that.”  Instead he suggested Ice Age Foods, which he has been using for a while.  As its name suggests, it is based on the ever so hip Paleo Diet.  I explained I do not do “hip.”  But he said it was good and good for you, low fat, high protein, blahblahblah.

Since I am above all things else, lazy, I figured a company that brings me food couldn’t be all bad so I sprang for a month’s trial.  And honestly, it’s not bad.  The odd part is that everything tastes like tacos.  Since I love tacos that’s not a problem, but it does seem like an unlikely niche to plant your recipes in.

So far I’ve had Lasagne Tacos, Pork Stew with Meatballs Tacos, Tri Tip with Yams Tacos, and Lemon Pepper Chicken Tacos, which by far were the worst.  I have never put a food product in my mouth that was as tough as the chicken.  I gnawed on it for a while and finally spit it out and it looked exactly like it had when I put in.  Plus, lots of odd little bones, possibly not even chicken.  So really it was Tough Weird Meat and Bones Taco.

Digging around on their website, I ran across this gem under the headline:

What’s with the Mexican Influence at Ice Age Meals?

So apparently I’m not the only whose noticed the taco theme.  Their answer:

most of the culinary ninjas in our kitchen hail from Mexico, Central and South America.

OK, glad you’re paying attention to their culinary background, but you do know most restaurant kitchens run on hispanic labor and they’re able to crank out French, Italian, Thai, Lesbian, whatever just fine.  Also, I want it clearly understood that had i known this company referred to their prep and line cooks and chefs as “culinary ninjas” I would have never gotten beyond that and moved on to some less ridiculous web page.  Possibly featuring naked men.

tumblr_o6scn40CuP1rgrjwao1_1280

not a taco

Since everything tastes like tacos, and since I am determined to undermine the whole “paleo” thing, I have taken to adding ground cheese to the dish and then wrapping it in tortillas.  When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.  When everything tastes like a taco, I don’t know, I seem to have lost the metaphor, but tortillas improve the dishes dramatically.

So, am I going to become a loyal customer?  Hmmmm, maybe.  After all, I love tacos.  On the other hand, I really would like lasagne that tastes like, I don’t know, lasagne.  I think the real test is coming up: Thai Meatball Curry.  I adore curry, but honey, Curry Tacos is where I draw the line.  We’ll see.

tumblr_ow8dfdqpFK1qhq1sso1_1280

khmer warrior taco

Skin Deep

Standard

So, after cleaning up all the scrapes and scraps and cuts and bits that came from my fight with the garden, I tried to be extra conscientious about keeping it clean and sterilized and, of course, it took about a day and a half to get infected.  I wound up on antibiotics that I finished yesterday, yay, with only puking once.  Any prescription that ends in “…xin” is guaranteed to do a job on my delicate stomach.  So that’s over, I’m guzzling yogurt to replace all the flora and fauna that the meds killed off in my gut and things will be great very soon.

In the meantime, let us turn our attention to a much more appealing topic, the ever popular Muscle Pussy.  I always try to include some example of it in my posts because 1) it amuses me and 2) there is so much of it available now through the magic of the internet.  When I was a young poof, I could never have dreamed of a day when there was such a wealth of beefcake spread out before us.

Usually, I just paste up some taut skinned youth and don’t really discuss it, but today I have to protest this beauty’s tragic choice of body adornment, or “ink” as the youth of today would have it.

tumblr_owib31bXdB1sxq2tro1_500

Look at that flawless, smooth, clear, satiny skin, tagged with the stupidest array of strip mall tattoo parlor art I’ve ever seen.  It looks like he just wandered in between his shifts at the Olive Garden and had them slap on whatever they had time to finish before he had to get back to work.

Oddly enough, considering what an old codger I am, I don’t mind tattoos in general, but if you’re going to cover a lot of ground with them, there should be some idea or concept that pulls them together in a cohesive style.  You know this boy, on the other hand, doubtless has Bart Simpson in there somewhere.  “Molly.”  Really?  What happens when Molly decides she’s a lesbian after all and dumps you and your beautiful tits?  And “1994”?  I remember 1994, sort of, what about it?  I know, it’s probably when he was born, which makes having this much numbnuts stupid tats just that much worse.  I can’t get over how lovely his skin is.  It’s like he has no pores.  To cover any of it seems like a waste.

tumblr_owhi34zcfe1sxq2tro1_1280

Then we have this boy, with a much more discreet and attractive… something.  And I’m talking about the tattoo, by the way.  I don’t know, is it backwards?  So he can read it while he admires his big, fat man piece in the mirror?  Is it “This end up” in latin?  Who knows?  And leopard skin hair!  I haven’t seen leopard skin hair since I was a gay young thing.  And that was a long time ago.

tumblr_ow2hr1IruH1sxq2tro1_500

And this last boy just because I thought he was pretty and had such lovely eyes.

All these came courtesy of the fascinating tumblr site Sparticus 2000 .  I cannot recommend cruising around there enough.