Booth Babes of the World

Also courtesy of the Mainichi Daily news is today’s gratuitously decorative element, in the form of smiling booth babes at the Tokyo Game Show 2002:

Consider this yet another entry in the “Why Young Japanese Males are Crazed Computer Gaming Fanatics” file.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Bacchus would like to know why nobody informed him, in advance when it would have done some good, that he had a vital need to attend the Tokyo Game Show.

They Should Do Cruise Ship Programming

From the Mainichi Daily News (logo shown below) yet another story about the myriad benefits of unbridled capitalism, as manifested in the form of unusual sex entertainment options offered up by the highly competitive sex industry in Osaka. Fried octopus balls on a living platter? No problem. Pre-chewed bananas? Just kiss the girl, she’s got ’em! Thirsty for breast milk? Will that be “on tap” or in a glass?

And for the main course:

For just an extra 1,000 yen on top of the regular 9,000 yen price, workers will wear panties made of paper and supply clients with a filled water pistol. The customer is then encouraged to blast the water pistol until it makes the garment dissolve or renders the panties so sopping they can only be ripped off.

Andrea Dworkin, your scholarship is calling.

Proposed New Year’s Resolution: Say These Things More Often

Shocking Shell offers a list of things she says you can only say at Thanksgiving. Here are three to give you the, er, flavor:

2. Tying the legs together keeps the inside moist.
11. Just spread the legs open and stuff it in.
14. You still have a little bit on your chin.

Popular Mechanics Comes Through Again

This picture is offered up as a warning to women who feel that powered woodworking tools are a perfectly acceptable default gift for Father’s Day:

Seriously, guys who get these things at a time when they don’t have a burning desire to build a gazebo will just dream shit up!

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In Which Catherine The Great Channels Obi Wan

“Use the horse, Luke, use the horse!”

Er, maybe not.

The image had to be shared, so here it is:

The truly frightening thing, however, is that somebody, somewhere, is selling these shirts. What’s so scary about that, you may well ask? (You may, as long as you do it well.)

Simply this. If George Lucas’s lawyers catch them, they (the lawyers) will try to do to them (the sellers) what the horse is doing to the naked silhouette girl on the shirt.

Only probably with less lube.

Update: The Reverse Cowgirl says T-Shirt Hell sells the shirt. Why am I not surprised?

Learn Something New Every Day

From part one of a two part article on Tantric sex in a South African publication called Women24, this handy tip for delaying male ejaculation:

At the point where you feel you might be reaching your peak, press your tongue against the top of your palate. “By tensing muscles in your mouth, you move blood away from your groin, giving you a chance to recover,” Sampson says. “Don’t feel embarrassed, though – it’s unlikely to cause too much of a distraction for your partner.”

From part two, instructions for the Thrust of the Phoenix:

Perhaps the most widely known tantric technique, this little winner can be used with any position. When you start thrusting, go in shallow (around two centimetres) for nine strokes, then one deep, then eight shallow, then one deep, working your way down to one shallow. “This has been known to give women who claim to never orgasm their first taste of the big ‘O’,” says Johnson. “Building slowly up to a big crescendo will have her willing you to reach the climax.”

“Nurse! We Need Two Kilos Of Penicillin, Stat!”

This fellow obviously has an extreme case of some loathsome disease. So why is he smiling?

But Where Are Her Leathers?

“Hey babe…nice bike!”

“Your Wife…Is She A Goer?”

In an oddly banal report, The Spectator describes an English farm wife who went “on the game” (as the Brits apparently say) to support the posh lifestyle to which her family had become accustomed before the hoof-and-mouth police came around and slaughtered the family herds. Hubby was surprisingly supportive:

“Mike and I talked about it for days. Neither of us had ever done anything like this before. At the beginning we worked as a team. We would do sex displays and threesomes, and it was perhaps a way of making it easier for him to accept what was happening. Then, after a while, I just started doing it on my own.”

To the delight of British accountants, this woman’s tale is not that uncommon:

“That’s how I met my accountant. He has three working girls on his books, and I don’t know about the arrangements he has with the others, but I pay him in kind and he seems quite happy.”

Busy Weekend

It’s been a busy weekend at ErosBlog headquarters, which explains the dearth of blog entries:

As you can see from the picture, the ErosBlog pre-Thanksgiving party got a little wild. What with one thing and another, production suffered. (Bacchus, on the other hand, did not suffer.)

The hard working staff nymphs who do much of the work around here put down their tools and loudly demanded quality time with Bacchus. Attempts were made to restore order, brisk spankings were delivered, and stern admonitions were made…all to no avail. The nymphs would not be denied, and in the end, the bacchanalia could not be averted.

If you believe all that, you have a promising future in Arizona oceanfront real estate. This much only is true: your humble scribe did in fact go for a pleasant hike with an actual unattached and not-obviously-crazy woman.

Not Kidding About The Bad Writing

In one minor respect, the Gor books are like Scientologists. That is, there exist folks who object to any mention of them, unless it be a rousing and completely unequivocal denunciation.

It has been pointed out that the use of the word “yummy” in the previous entry disqualifies that entry from the “unequivocal” category. Accordingly, as a gesture of placation, please accept this link to a web classic, the ancient and notorious (but viciously accurate) parody: Houseplants of Gor.

An excerpt for flavor:

Borin picked up the watering can, and muchly watered the plant. The plant cried out. “No, Master! Do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. “Please, Master,” begged the plant, “do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. It was plant. It could be watered at will.

“I Regarded The Screen. It Was Pleasing To Me.”

There is a new Gor book out. By John Norman. Published in August, 2002. Available on Amazon. In hardcover, no less. All 717 pages of it.

It’s called Witness of Gor:

The Amazon review begins:

Deep within the cells of Treve, a glorious and mysterious city at the center of Gor’s struggle for supremacy, awakens a nameless slave girl who will witness events about which others will only dare to whisper.

This Gor phenomenon…mere words are inadequate. Slave girls. Yum, yes. Bad writing. Also yes. Ouch ouch ouch please make the pain stop it hurts to read this broken limestone gravel prose ouch. Yes. Ouch.

“Please, no, Master!” I wept. Then I felt the lash. I stumbled back in agony, turned about, and fell to the carpet. There the leather once more informed me of the displeasure of my master. I screamed, miserable. Then another blow like lightning was on my back and I sobbed at his feet, on my belly on the rug.

More slave girls. Has the slave girl concept been adequately reinforced? Gorean slave girls get whipped a lot, and either like it and “juice” for master, or don’t like it but “juice” anyway. Did bad writing get mentioned?

It goes without saying — nope, wait, it’s too late for that — that Gor is politically incorrect, and the National Organization of Women will take away your membership card if you admit to liking this sort of thing.

Oh yes, don’t forget the slave girls. They are generally pretty yummy. Also pretty much naked and in chains, or leather cuffs, or binding fiber, or whatever else Tarl Cabot and his fellow hulking brutes have handy for the restraint and entertainment of naked slave girls.

If you are a fan of the Gor books, you needed to know about the new book. If you don’t like them, you probably rolled your eyes and groaned when you saw this blog entry. If you never heard of Gor…well, you are either incredibly lucky or astoundingly unlucky, depending on the extent to which badly written (but much whipped and very juicy) slave girls float your boat.

‘Tis The Season To Get Jiggy, Tra La-La La-La…

Reuters via Yahoo reports that June and December are the months in which teens are most likely to lose their virginity. Apparently Christmas is romantic:

Levin and colleagues dubbed the December peak in coital activity “the holiday season effect,” and noted that this was when young females in romantic relationships were the most likely to have sex for the first time.

Or perhaps the teenage male youth of today have discovered the virtues of Bacardi 151 as an eggnog “flavoring.”

“Dr. Atkins, Your Girlfriend Called”

Kim Kelly wants to lose some weight. So she’s going on a 100% man juice diet. Or so the promotional press release reads:

For the entire month of December Kim Kelly will diet by eating nothing but cum for an entire month!

Beginning December 1st/2002 BBW Live’s “Queen of Princesses” Kim Kelly will be attempting to add her name to the star-roster of “Sexual World Record” holders by sucking down a minimum of 90 cum enriched meals… and probably a number of “snacks”. That’s a diet of nothing more solid than cum, at least three meals a day for a month!

However, she’s quoted as saying she also plans to eat “plenty of banana smoothies” because “I’m not going to kill myself for this.”

Don’t Mess With The Bear

By popular demand (hey, it’s safe to assume the person who asked is popular) the thumbnails of the comment enforcement bear have been linked to the full sized version of those files. Fans of kinky anime-style illustration may hereby commence rejoicing!

I Guess It’s Worth A Try

One may presume that the photographer responsible for this project adheres (pun intended) to the following ancient and venerable maxim:

“There are very few personal problems that cannot be resolved by application of suitable quantities of duct tape.”

This One’s Not In The Manual

Perhaps a reader more worldly than Bacchus can help out here. What in the name of Aphrodite’s delicious underpants do they call this sex position? 96?

Ah, That Explains It

It’s Fun-With-Photoshop time for the strange crew over at Fark.com. This week appears to have been declared National Abuse of Trademarked Icons Week, and some of the results are eye opening. Not for the squeamish or easily offended.

Coming Together in Global Harmony

Feel the warm sweaty karmic breezes, people! Globalgasm encourages you to join in a “monthly digital orgy with the intent of healing the planet.”

ErosBlog is nominally in favor of sex-positive grunty goodness of this sort, which puts a considerable damper on the exuberant derision that might otherwise be directed at this new age foolishness.

The world needs an injection of focused, positive, sexual energy. If we all do it at the same time, we can build off each other and elevate the vibe to an earth-shattering level.

Huh? Do we also have to sing Kumbaya in harmony while we “do it”?

Fortunately for everyone, Acidman has already weighed in on this attempted virtual clusterfuck, and since he was considerably nicer than Bacchus had planned to be, that’s probably enough about that.

Just Like Gilding A Lily

Bacchus gets no kickback for this crass commercial link. Not even, worse luck, an offer to participate in product testing. Seems there’s a new line of lip balm (is that what the kids are calling it these days?) with flavors like “Strawberry Snatch” and “Shaved Peach.” Their slogan? “For the Tastiest Lips North of the Hips!”

Bacchus was not born yesterday: these clever kittens don’t say whether the heads of their beds point north or south.

PussyPuckerpots.Com — it’s “Ladylicious!”

Later update: According to their creator Stacy Bias, these products were discontinued in 2006.

Bring A Wheelbarrow Full Of Pound Notes

Daze Reader alerts us to an erotica auction to be held on Thursday, November 21st.

There’s an illustrated catalog that’s well worth a visit, even if you don’t have thousands of pounds to drop on yummy dirty pictures. (Yes, the estimates are in pounds — this appears to be one of those veddy British auctions from one of those veddy British auction houses.)

The illustration accompanying this entry is borrowed from the auction catalog. It’s by the artist David Wilde and the title is “Juliette”.

Acidman’s Minions

Comment Or Else!

The logs say y’all are visiting, but none of ya have left a comment in days. So it’s time for a brand spanking new policy. If you don’t leave some comments, Bacchus will be forced to turn this angry little bear loose on yer asses! Won’t you be sorry then? Oh, you betcha. You can’t begin to imagine — the comment enforcement bear is mean!

Fun with Furries

This is too cute. From the twisted perverts (Bacchus means this only in the nicest possible way) over at BDSM Cafe we have Beanies in Bondage. Once again, Bacchus is not making this up.

Folks, this is why you read ErosBlog. Admit it, you know it’s true. While those other sex blogs (and most of the other blogs in the blogosphere) were linking to the done-to-death Bondage Barbie story, Bacchus went out and slaved away over hot link lists until he could bring you a hogtied furry stuffed bear wearing a ring gag and and a blindfold. Why you would want to see this remains a mystery, but at least it’s different.

“Husband, A Towel! Lickety-Split!”

From deep in the archives of I, Asshole, a sweet sweet story:

When I was a newlywed, my brand new husband and I used to play all sorts of little fun games together. One night we were laying in bed starkers and reading books, and I was also eating a box of jawbreakers. For his amusement (I always get into the most trouble when I do things for other people’s amusement), I started putting the jawbreakers one by one into my vagina. He laughed a little bit to humor me, and by the time I got up to about 18 or so he started ignoring me and went back to his book. Eventually, I fell asleep and he turned out the light. Suddenly, at about 2 am I woke up. I was uncovered and chilly; a moment later I realized I was also laying in a big wet puddle that seemed to have an epicenter under my ass.

“Oh God, I wet the bed.”

I considered my options. I could get a towel and cover it up; I could wake him up and inform him that his new wife of 4 months was a bedwetter; or I could smother him with a pillow so that no one would ever find out what happened. Being young and idealistic, I woke him and told him the truth, crying, and I have to say he took it very well. I couldn’t believe it was true; I’d NEVER been a bedwetter, and we hadn’t even been drinking or anything. Just before I ripped off the sheets, I caught a whiff of something… sweet. I bent down to smell the huge went spot and it smelled faintly sugary. Then I remembered the jawbreakers. I did a quick check to see if they were still when I deposited them before bed, and sure enough, they had completely dissolved.

The whole thing gave me a new appreciation for my vagina. If it could melt that much candy in four hours, what else could it do? Corrode steel? Turn lead into gold?

What in the name of Thor’s Tremendous Hammer was this “New Husband” feller thinking? “My lovely naked wife is putting candy up her whatsis for my amusement. What should I do? Should I ask her for a piece? Offer to get it myself? Hmm…what to do, what to do…I know! I’ll go back to reading my book!”

Somebody spent a little too much time on the short yellow bus as a child.

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Bardex Update

Just in case anyone was having trouble visualizing the item (or its uses) under discussion in the Bardex rant below, a quick visit to Double Bardex will fix you right up. It appears to be a Japanese site, and consequently unlikely to be taken off the net by the Bardex lawyers. [And yet, it finally went away.] The site shows several pictures of an “anal retention catheter” as Debrah now must call them, including one shot of the device inflated whilst inside somebody’s hairy butt.

Can We Have The Hillary Clinton Model?

The good news is: There’s a flash animation game (.swf file is here) allowing you political perverts out there to spank George Bush’s bare ass with a bare hand, a big old board with a hole in it, or what looks like a six-day-old mackerel fish.

The bad news is: eventually his bony butt gets all red looking, and then the game moves on to a whole new level: one is invited to send him his spanking via email, using suggested text which (if Bacchus is not confused) treads awfully close to violating that pesky law that makes it a felony to threaten physical violence against the august personages of our elected officials. Even in jest.

Whatever. All Bacchus wants to know is: Where can we find the Barbara Streisand version? Or better yet, Britney Spears? Or the Spice Girl of your choice?

If You’ve Got The Honey, I’ve Got The Time

From the all-encompassing Volokh Conspiracy comes word of a positively Bacchanalian festival: Splosh!

Splosh — is the most infamous night of squishy, sexy, safe and sticky fun with a menu of edible and slimy, tasty and grimy dishes and people.

On the messy fun menu:

Pudding, cake batter, corn syrup, liquefied bananas, oils galore, paints, gak, splosh paint, syrups, fruit loops, oats, flour, paste, fruits and veggies of all kinds and a rainbow of food coloring.

Alas, Bacchus is too many kilomiles away from San Francisco to make this party, even if he started walking now. And a good thing too, since each participant must bring a date. If Bacchus were to be attending, he would need to start taking applications for the Legion of Messy Nymphs on an accelerated schedule.

Hell, No, We Won’t Go

If there’s a defining theme to the dirty pictures that get linked and posted here, it is that they are different in some way from the “shaved and oiled genitalia in brightly lit living color” photography that comprises 98% of net porn. For the most part, “different” doesn’t necessarily mean explicit — but faint heart never won fair lady, so Bacchus won’t shrink from posting strong material if it meets the standard of being unusual enough to titillate this blog’s urbane and sophisticated readership.

With that fair warning, and without further ado, consider visiting The Clinic of Dr. Farrel. This looks like scans from a French language bondage and torture comic, and it contains harsh scenes of painful forced body modification and breast enlargement. You’ll like this, if you like this sort of thing.

The Pony Girls of Iraq

A report in The Scotsman claims that Uday Hussein is into pony girls. Well, sort of anyway:

A former security guard at Baghdad racecourse recently claimed that Uday and his friends would gather at the clubhouse where, after consuming prodigious amounts of whisky, they would force naked women to wear numbers and race around the track.

Now there’s an image sufficient to capture the mind’s eye…until brutal reality intrudes and reminds one of the terror that must come to these poor women when they are “invited” to go to one of Uday’s parties.

Nudity in the Public Interest

We now join Babs as she flaunts her stuff for the edification of the teenage neighbor boy watching from the window across the way:

This afternoon, Babs and her lover were goofing off on the air mattress in their guest room. They were fully clothed and the blinds were open. After subjecting Babs to some killer tickles on her quadriceps, the Lover rolled over on top of her, presumably to keep her from running away after the affectionate torture session. At that moment, Babs gazed out the window to the apartment across the way. A teenage boy was sitting at his kitchen table having a snack and happened to glance up just in time to see Babs’ lover cop a feel.

The young lad then rotated his entire body to face the window and sat watching intently for about thirty seconds. Finally, Babs looked right at him and waved. The boy put one hand over his eyes and turned his back to the window. However, Babs knew that he was bound to look again, so she got on all fours and did a few donkey-style kicks toward the window. Then, her lover started to smack her rear to get her running around the room on all fours, which she did.

Before Babs had even reached full trot, the boy vacated the kitchen.

Bacchus is pleased to find a sister-in-spirit who blogs in the third person for no discernible reason.

Moving rapidly along, it’s only fair to point out that Babs claims to have been put up to it by her lovely and talented pen-pal, the Crazy Naked Neighbor Who Thinks She’s a Superhero.

Bardex — The Rectal Catheters for Assholes!

Bacchus is pissed off. As a casual Google search reveals, there are lots of kinky people out there who enjoy giving each other sex enemas. And like any other kinky sex practice, it helps to have good tools. One brand of “anal retention catheter” (you know, a rubber tube for shoving up the ass, usually with one or more inflatable balloons to keep it there) is Bardex.

One would think that the maker of such devices would appreciate free publicity. One would be wrong. One must have failed to consider the kind of lawyers likely to be hired by people who make things to shove up your ass.

The result? Threatening letters to kinky folk on the web.

“By using BARDEX in connection with goods and services that do not originate with C.R. Bard, Inc., You are misrepresenting the source of these goods and services as well as deceiving the public. This use of BARDEX is likely to cause confusion as to origin of the products or services identified and dilute the value of our client’s registered mark in violation of the trademark laws. Furthermore, the manner in which you promote and advertise the products or services creates a negative image, damaging the reputation and goodwill associated with our client’s mark and products”.

The result? Some quality sites have been forced to revise their content — not because there’s any real risk that Bardex would win a lawsuit, but simply because the people involved can’t afford (in money, in time, or in energy) to fight.

What’s wrong with that? Well, as it happens, these lawyers are bluffing. The trademark law in question is the one that lets Nike shut down Ebay auctions for cheap Chinese knockoff shoes. References to bootleg goods really does “deceive the public” and “dilutes the value of the brand.”

The law does NOT let a brand owner decide how its products will be used. Nor does it allow the brand owner to stop people from talking about what they like to do with the product.

What Bardex is doing here — trying to stamp out web references to “non-medical” uses of its enema gear — is just plain old-fashioned cheap bullying. They don’t want their medical customers finding out (as if they didn’t already know) that people use their product to have a little anal fun. And they have learned that they can threaten folks who do that, to get them to shut up about it.

Alas, it doesn’t usually make sense to fight these assholes when they send their threatening letters. Although you could win in court, it could easily cost tens of thousands of dollars to get that victory. No little site about pervy sex has that kind of revenue, and even kinky folks have families to feed.

These guys know they don’t have a legal leg to stand on, but they know that when they send out their insupportable legalistic nastygrams, most folks will have no choice but to comply. Even by the ethical standards for which lawyers are already infamous, that’s just disgusting. Weasels Lawyers who lie, and know they are lying, and do it deliberately and with intent to intimidate, are just rotten. And so are the folks who hire them.

This site has yet to make a dime. Your host has no assets that can readily be attached. And your host’s host can be replaced, complete with a DNS update, in under 24 hours. So, Bardex, this is for you:

Deal with it.

Don’t Ask How I Found The Camel Toe Haiku

Folks, it’s time for camel toe haiku:

Riding on the seam
Split between good and evil
I cannot choose sides.

Or how about:

Twin islands rising
in a sliding Spandex sea.
Land ho, camel toe!

As my grandmother used to say, “Everbody’s crazy but me and thee, and sometimes I wonder about thee.”

Try My Ugly New Comment System

[This post is technically obsolete and has become entirely irrelevant; it is retained solely because there is no compelling reason to delete it.]

OK, no sex in this entry, just an explanation of my ugly new comment system.

I want comments. A blog just isn’t a blog without them. But I’m using a sort of unusual setup here. My hosting arrangement doesn’t allow any sort of server side scripting, and I like it for other reasons. So I’m using a freeware client-side database-oriented blogging application called (creatively) “Blog“. It’s handy as heck, but there’s a catch.

The catch is, Blog’s provisions for a comment system are email based and not terribly sophisticated. It works like this:

You click the comment link, you send an email. Thanks!

Blog checks its email every 10 minutes. (My email provider gets unhappy with more frequent checking.)

If Blog gets an email with a proper comment header (which happens only if your email client faithfully notices and inserts the proper subject string from the mailto: URL) the email is downloaded. Then ErosBlog gets immediately republished to include your comment.

Although the comment can contain any HTML you like, the system doesn’t automatically show the email address or web page of the person emailing the comment. Please do feel free to include these in the body of your email (although they won’t be clickable unless you surround them with the appropriate href tags).

Lots of problems with this ugly system. But, in a crude primitive way, it should make it possible to comment on my blog. I’ll look for a better way, I promise! Meanwhile, thanks for reading and commenting.

2024 Update: Amazingly, the author of the Blog software referenced in this post still maintains his old pages about it. And the Internet Archive still has a working copy of his erstwhile downloads page, with working downloads links.

I’ll Have The White

Apparently hraka is not all they like to eat over at Rabbit Central. This time, they have “sperm sommelier” tasting notes. You have to read it; it can’t reasonably be excerpted.

Low Vagina, Clueless Husband

Groovy Robin over at One Girl’s Life has had her mind officially boggled at the concept of labia reduction surgery. Bacchus being himself quite fond of the diverse glory of fleshy female parts in all the myriad ways that nature presents them, the very concept makes him cringe.

However, the interesting part of the post comes when Robin brings up a clueless ex husband. What in hell could this feckless moron have been thinking? Big head or little head, what was going on in there?

Actually, my first husband did tell me my vagina was too low. I always wondered “Too low for what?”

Speaking of Horny Gamers

Here is a Usenet classic you may have seen before:

THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO UNLAWFUL CARNAL KNOWLEDGE FOR FANTASY ROLE-PLAYING GAMES

This guide for the D&D crowd comes complete with lists like “Magic Items Your Mom Wouldn’t Approve of.” Bacchus could find uses for the Spectacles of Revealing, and the Wand of Elenora’s Embarrassment sounds rather fun also. The list of “Spells With Zip” includes goodies like Annihilator’s Penis of Power. If that’s a little too patriarchal for your taste, probably Kiss Of Slavery won’t cheer you up — you may want to get your hands on the Jackknife of Circumcision. Bacchus does not approve and is likely to retreat into his Marishar’s Miraculous Bath House, which might have been designed for him — note the command word, which Bacchus did not make up:

This one square inch marble block is carved in the appearance of a Roman-style villa with pillars at the front and erotic mosaics on the side and back walls. Once a day, the bathhouse can be invoked (command word Bacchus). It immediately grows in size until it is as large as a small house. It is identical to the statue, with high marble walls, and pillars at the front covering the entrance. The doorway is only large enough to allow one person at a time to pass through, and has a large brass door that can be bolted from the inside. Two large Iron Golems cast as Nubian slaves with scimitars guard the doorway. Whoever passes inside first is the master/mistress of the bath house, and all the creatures of the bath house will obey them. Inside the house is only one room, with two pools (hot and cold) and several marble slabs. gauzy silk curtains, cushions and tapestries decorate the place. Several swans (white if the master is good/neutral, black if evil) swim calmly on the cold pool. In the bath house are 2d6 beings of the same race and opposite gender, with 18 charisma and 18 comeliness. They are happy to please and have 20’s in any and all the new sexual proficiencies. If the master/mistress of the house wishes, the companions can be switched to any gender or species. Inside the bath house, it is always comfortably warm, and there is always food (as long as you like grapes and dates) and fresh water. Nothing from the bath house (golems, companions, cushions, water, food) can leave the bath house. If taken outside they vanish.

For the serious sex gaming grognard, there are detailed rules on the calculation of the duration of an in-game sex encounter:

After the initial rounds pass, the character must make a Constitution check for each round he/she wishes to continue. Modifiers to this check are from Table 1 and Table 2 And Table 3, plus cumulative modifier of -1. The character also needs to make a time to climax (TTC) check. A 1 on a 1d6 for males and a 1 on a 1d10 for women indicates such an occurrence. An additional TTC roll is made and a result of 1 indicates multiple orgasms (keep rolling while 1s come up).

Bacchus gives this link two thumbs (nay, Wands of Love even) up!

Is This Why Boys Play Games?

From Japan we have some purely ornamental material that may explain why the cream of Japanese male youth is so obsessed with video gaming:

Said to be from the 2002 Tokyo Game Show.

This One Is For Acidman

Since Acidman has decided that broken metabolisms are worthy of derision this week, Bacchus figured it was only fair to post a poster girl just for him!

Acidman, this cutiepie is waiting eagerly for you in your bedroom!

Acidman, of course, cannot offend…for he is Acidman. But it’s amusing to catch him in a moment of pure ignorant fucktard bloviation, for which Bacchus has gently excoriated him in his (Acidman’s) own blog comments.

UPDATE: A little bird told me the lady pictured might be The Supreme Bitch. But I don’t think so — she tops Acidman (now there’s a thought experiment worthy of a sex blog) with her claim that the problem with fat people (or “fatties” as she so charmingly calls them) is “sloth and laziness and a worthless, sedentary lifestyle.” Of course, she is The Supreme Bitch. A pity she didn’t get the memo about the difference between bitchy and ignorant.

College Girls Who Can’t Shop For Sex Toys

Cornell University may soon take to selling vibrators in the student infirmary, according to the Cornell Daily Sun. Apparently they will come with some suggested uses students might not have thought of without help:

As with anything else they sell, the dispensary will give out educational materials explaining how to properly clean a vibrator that two women are going to share and what exactly vibrators can be used for.

Bacchus would not have thought that your typical horny college girl would need such suggestions, but apparently Cornell girls are a little slow — so much so that they don’t even know how to order stuff over the Internet:

I’m sure there are people who are dying to find vibrators and they don’t know where to go, so Gannett, go ahead,” Keith Hermanstyne ’04 said.

Others took a more practical approach.

“I think one of the most important things is for women to be able to get themselves off. It’s better than going to the sketchy shop downtown where they have to check the batteries for you,” Sara Jacobs ’05 said.

Thanks Instapundit for the story.

It’s Good To Be King

Those damned lawyers mess up everything:

MBABANE, Swaziland – For centuries in this tiny African nation, the king of Swaziland, the supreme political leader and spiritual guide of the Swazi people, has taken his pick of young women each year to be his new wife.
…
The royal marriage practices are as old as the steep green mountains that ring this secluded country of sugar cane fields and cow pastures. Each year, the king has been allowed to choose one or more wives from thousands of young women who, naked from the waist up, parade before him during an annual springtime reed dance.

But now there is trouble in paradise. The king has chosen, the maid in question allegedly says “I’m going to make him the happiest man on Earth” — but she’s a year too young and her mom is pissed.

The king will be violating his own ban on sexual relations with female subjects younger than 19 if he marries Mahlangu. But it may not matter. When Mswati married another 18-year-old this year, he fined himself one cow for the violation – a small price for a monarch with hundreds of cattle to his name.