FUNNY PAGES:

ALL NATURAL:

You know he probably does that like three times a week.

But Sir Samuel L. Jackson has the right idea. (He's not really a knight, he just makes motherf@%kers call him Sir.)

"Siri… write a blog post for me today."

"Siri? Hello?"

Well, so much for my attempt to phone it in this week. (My God… that was awful.) But with technology as amazing as it seems to be these days can you blame me for trying to take the easy way out this time around? Trying to get Apple's wondrous interactive personal assistant software to put my thoughts out there for the masses — all 19 of you — seemed like a fine idea in theory. In reality, not so much, didn't work at all. Guess the app can't do everything you ask of it… or her. I guess referring to Siri as a female is fine seeing as they gave her that sultry, slightly condescending bitch-like tone of voice. (Sooooo hot.)

Yeah, as if anyone needs a reminder for that.

Perhaps writing blog posts goes a bit outside of the program parameters. Still some things that require a man to just roll up his sleeves and do for himself rather than let some automaton do for him. Or maybe Siri can actually handle creative writing chores and I wouldn't have any way to know since instead of talking to the real deal like my man Sam up there… sorry… like SIR Samuel, I was just standing in the middle of my living room barking orders into a half-eaten Little Debbie snack cake that I found between the sofa cusions. Don't even own a damn iPhone. I'm just a sad shell of a human being pretending to be tech-savy and cool with a stale old fudge brownie square, an over-active imagination and a healthy dose of self-delusion.

And yes… I'm totally gonna eat this brownie because I really have no shame.

Speaking of shameless acts, let's talk about nudists. I don't know what that word makes you think of, but for me that word conjures up NSFW images (consider that a warning) from old 1950s era magazines masquerading their archaic form of pornography under the guise of lifestyle publications. Dusty tomes with titles like Sunshine & Health or Bare Essentials Monthly or Living Free & Easy, every one of them a collection of grainy black and white pics of happy naked people doing everyday shit, just like clothed people of the era did all the time. They walked hand-in-hand with one another, smiled and laughed, rode bikes, attended barbecues, went fishing and hiking, even had polite conversations with their equally naked neighbors.

"Gee Ms. Fleming, this isn't really what I meant about wanting
to touch your…  never mind. I guess this is nice too."

And they played volleyball… lots of volleyball. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to find one such mag that didn't feature at least one photo of nude volleyball. It's pretty much the sport of choice for those people. Probably because it's one of the few that doesn't require you to wear a cup which would get in the way of the nudity and all. I'm just guessing really, I don't know anything about nudism. What with that law that requires me to keep my clothes on at all times. And by 'law' of course I mean wife.

It's always fun until Betty jumps up and spikes her own tit.

But that was then. Those nudists were all young and healthy and toned and not so horrible to look at… through the hole in the fence. Unfortunately it seems that today's nudists are still the same people from back then, just a lot older… and grayer… and lumpier. But still playing volleyball.

"Let's get a game going! Everyone pick a side. It's Wrinkles vs. Stretch Marks."

However, in all the images that come to mind when I hear the word nudists, there's one constant. They're always at a camp somewhere, isolated, bucolic and green. I never think of nudists in the city, in public, in restaurants. Yet apparently, this is a thing now, naked people getting together in big cities like Manhattan, taking over eateries for Clothing Optional Dinners or CODINNERS as they're known.

Imagine if you will, you're a server at some fancy upscale mid-town bistro. You've just started your shift, the manager informs you that the place has been rented out for a private party and then this walks in the door.

CHECK PLEASE? 

Of course it's not really THAT bad — at first. They do walk in fully clothed, can't just go traipsing through the city with your bumps and fuzzies catching breeze. Well I mean, you can, there are people who do, but good luck getting a cab like that. Once they arrive at the venue though it all comes off and the coat-check girl earns her money for the evening by having to watch them undress and then keep track of every stitch and article of clothing they toss at her. (Hope she wears gloves.) After that the server gets to spend the evening maintaining the strictest eye contact and being extra careful not to spill the soup. And hopefully any stray hairs found in the food are simply treated as unavoidable happenstance. At the very least, naked dining saves the server from having to witness that embarrassing moment when guys open their pants after a big meal. Because that's always pretty awkward. So yeah, get to avoid all that. Yay.

The thing I take away from all of this is that now any time I go out to eat, I'll have to make sure to find out if the place I have in mind has ever played host to such events. Because there is just no way of knowing what's been left on those chairs and I seriously doubt most restaurants are gonna spring for proper steam cleaning. Best you could really hope for is a shot with a decent stain remover and a sponge. And even that's probably asking for more than they're willing to give.

"Oh my God, I usually try to avoid laughing so hard because…
you know. But these aren't MY chairs, so f@%k it."

I'd ask Siri to find such places so I could properly avoid them in the future but I ate my brownie phone. And I think 'brownie' might have been an erroneous assumption on my part because that didn't taste like chocolate… or cake… or even food for that matter.

Am I gonna die?

By the way, since I've got you here, I just want to say I absolutely love doing this blog. It's great fun for me. Even if no one read it, I'd still be doing it. (Not sure if that's admirable or sad.) But there are those of you who do read it and I'm grateful. In the past what I've done is to post on average once a week and that's usually some long-form type of rambling nonsense. (Like what's going on just a few paragraphs up for instance.) Then I post notice to Facebook and Twitter to let you know to drop by. Still going to be doing that, but also going to try posting shorter bits and quicker hits on a more regular basis. I feel true blogs should do that. So basically I'm saying you should stop by unannounced every so often and see what's happening.

Starting next week sometime. Today's Thursday, tomorrow's Friday. That means it's almost the weekend. Plus it's a holiday weekend so now is definitely not the time to start new things like frequent blogging or new diets, bathing or any other such major life changing shit. What am I, a socialite?

So with that I'll say, Happy Memorial Day to you all. Shout out and much love to all those who have served and given their lives in service to this great country as well as to those who continue to serve today. Thank you all.

PEACE!

DEARLY BELOVED:

Mmmmmm, tastes like fabulousness…
with a lemon curd filling.

All right, I wasn't going to voice an opinion on this, was just gonna leave it alone and not say anything. But then Biden had to go and open his big mouth which of course got his boss to chime in on it. Well naturally because those two chucklenuts are talking then I guess I might as well go ahead and do the same now since the three of us all live in the same time-zone and it'd be kinda awkward for me to be silent on the matter while they're flapping their gums. Only makes sense, am I right? So for the record, let me officially express my views on gay marriage: I don't give a f@%k!

Now those of you currently rocking an alternative lifestyle just hold on, that was not meant as a condemnation. Just saying that I give as much of a f@%k about you guys getting married as I do about straight people doing likewise. And that is to say none at all. I don't care if men marry other men just the same as I don't care if and when men marry women. And I don't care if women marry other women either. Well maybe I care a little bit about that last one. And by 'care' I mean fantasize a great deal to the point of being an obsession that one might think to be unhealthy if one were to ever get a glimpse of my Internet history. (Should really get around to deleting that.) 

Of course all lesbians act this way… when they know I'm watching.

The only marriages I give a real damn about are my own and that's the way it should be because they're the only ones I gotta deal with. Wait… did I just pluralize that whole sentence? Shit! Slipped up for a sec. Must be tired… don't usually do that. Look, let's just pretend I didn't say that, okay? Just for the sake of argument we'll say that I'm married to a wonderful woman and leave it at that. Don't concern yourselves with the three ladies that could actually claim to be the aforementioned wonderful woman and I'll continue to hope they only ever meet around my deathbed sometime in the distant future. And that's probably gonna be a pretty awesome spectacle. Well, maybe not for them because they'll be all mad and shit. Probably not so much for me either because… you know, deathbed and whatnot. But it'll be something for my legion of future grandchildren to see. You're welcome, my little legacies.

"Mr. Savage, all three of your wives just met out in the waiting area.
You want me to go ahead and pull the plug now before they come in?" 

All right, enough of my sad future demise and back into to stuff that matters. While my sense of general apathy for all relationships that don't include me probably goes a long way towards making me the most tolerant person in America, there are plenty of others who don't share my superior worldview. Such people will usually truck out the same tired old bible passage to justify their belief that marriage should only be between a man and a woman. Talking about Leviticus 18:22 which says: "Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is an abomination." The exact wording varies depending on which edition you're reading from but that's how the text flows in my bible. Yes, I have a bible. No, it doesn't burst into flames when I touch it. (Bleeds a little but that's all.) No mention of woman lying with woman as an abomination though. That's simply because women didn't really start doing that sort of thing until the early 1970s, right around the time they also discovered the female orgasm. Safe bet one had to do with the other. (These are facts.)

Hey you know what else the bible refers to as an abomination? Shellfish. Or as the Good Book puts it: "Whatsoever hath no fins or scales in the water, that shall be an abomination unto you." (They really liked throwing the A-word around back then.) There's a couple more verses on stuff of that nature, laundry list of other things we're not supposed to be eating and/or laying with in a sexual manner. But my bible's becoming kind of illegible from all that blood so I gotta put it down now. Again though, the first thing I took from all that was that as far as the gospel is concerned, God hates people in lobster bibs as much as he hates people in same-sex relationships. 

Nice to see you boys are wearing protection
while you subvert God's law.

Just don't bother telling that to the holy-rollers because they'll be quick to point out that the shellfish thing doesn't count because it happened in the Old Testament. Say, know what else happened in the Old Testament? Yup, the book of Leviticus. In fact, the shellfish thing is Leviticus 11:12, just a few pages before the thing about laying with dudes. So how does shrimp cocktail get a Mulligan but my cousin Carl and his "special friend" Rodney are going to hell for the things they think no one knows they do? And the fact that they're both allergic to shellfish has gotta have some kind of ironic component to it. Crap… did I just out Carl and Rodney? Sorry fellas, again, I'm tired and don't usually slip up like that. But really, it was time. And to be clear, I personally don't believe God hates anyone for loving another of his children. That's just how I see it.

Putting religion aside for the rest of this post, (probably better that way) as for that nonsense about gay marriage threatening the sanctity of traditional marriage, well that shit's been bandied about for a while now, so most likely I have nothing new to add to that discussion. Still, that's never stopped me before so let me just throw out this simple pop quiz. In the house next to mine we have what we'll label Situation-A. Carl and Rodney got hitched and moved in with their two tiny accessory dogs, Little Miss Thang and Mmmm-Hmmm. (So happy for those guys even if they are only figments of my imagination.) In the two-story colonial located on the other side of my happy home we have newlyweds Beth and Allie who live with their three children. All three kids have Beth's eyes, Allie's nose, different daddies and various hair/eye color combinations. (We don't know where the f@%k they came from and we don't wanna know where the f@%k they came from. Just don't stare at them and for God's sake don't EVER feed 'em after midnight!) Beth, Allie and their freaky offspring are Situation-B. Now I ask you, which living situation is more of a threat to my marriage? The answer of course is Situation-C for Candice, the desperate widow across the street that I regularly bang on Saturday afternoons while both our kids are playing freeze-tag with the genetic oddities over at Casa de Lesbian. Candice is cool, good people, salt-of-the-Earth type, you'd like her. Real shame what happened to her husband though. And I hope they find the random black guy that killed him that night while I was somewhere else and nowhere near the scene of the crime. (wink) 

Is it wrong that that's actually MY underwear on the floor? 

Hear that conservative lawmakers? You wanna protect traditional marriage? Then put your money where your mouths are and make adultery illegal, plain and simple, end of story and shut the hell up! Because as long as Newt Gingrich can cheat and re-marry at will and have his pal Rush Limbaugh bring a shiny new wife to each ceremony then no one should have to listen to anything any of you have to say on what makes a mockery of traditional marriage.

Beth and Allie's tribe segues us nicely to my final point because we can't have this discussion without mentioning children since there's that very popular and catchy little tune that concisely lays out the proper order of such things. You know… first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby carriages and all other types of stuff that apparently results from kissing in a tree. With that kind of hard science behind it I'd be remiss if I didn't mention little ones. Also be remiss if I didn't drop the word remiss in here somewhere because I just love the way it sounds. REMISS! That being said… REMISS… and now it's been said again, I have no problem with children being raised in a same-sex environment. Especially considering that I know more than a few "traditional" couples that I wouldn't trust to properly care for a f@%king cactus much less raise a child. Yet they're free to have as many as they like simply because nature gave them the ability to fire babies out like some sweaty Pez dispenser. Well nature gave me the ability to do plenty of things that the law says I'm not allowed to do even in the privacy of my own home… or especially on the steps of the Chinese embassy. Same sex couples wanna do the surrogate thing or the artificial insemination thing and have babies? Fine by me. They wanna adopt and provide a loving home to some needy kid? Even better. 

Except for certain instances. No child
should be raised in a bad 80s sitcom!

Guess I should kinda wrap this up though because I have another cactus to bury. Don't worry about what he was doing playing in traffic in the first place! You mind your business and stop trying to tell me how to raise my plants or my kid! Where is my kid anyway? Whatever, I'm sure he'll find his way home again like always. He's resourceful like that.

This was a long one today but I had a lot to say on the matter. Think we've covered all the bases here, you know where I stand and there can be no ambiguity on the subject. Also, I love the word ambiguity even more than the word remiss so this was a good paragraph for me. Last thing I'll say is this: What we call French kissing here in America is simply called a kiss over in France. A Mexican stand-off south of the border is just a f@%king stand-off. And we're not really gonna be the free and just society we like to think we are until same-sex marriage simply becomes marriage. (*sniff* That's beautiful man.) And now I'm done with the speechifying.

Besides, a few years from now married gays and lesbians are gonna realize their mistake and know how good they had it before and regret everything just like the rest of us. Hey conservative lawmakers, wanna have some real fun? Deny same-sex divorces, then it'll be a party!

PLANET OF THE CAPES:

This picture actually makes me swoon. 

I remember it like it was yesterday… even though it was really like twenty-seven years ago. It was a Saturday, I was visiting my local comic book shop… local being a relative term since the place was about four towns up the line and required bus fare and a couple transfers to get to. But that's neither here nor there and not important to the story. Forgive me for even bringing it up. You're not gonna forgive me, are you? Just gonna hang on to this and hold a grudge like always? Just like that time I forgot your birthday. Fine… whatever. 

I was hitting the shop with a buddy of mine, Rob was his name and also in attendance was a guy Rob knew named Brian whom I'd briefly met once before. But this was my first time being properly introduced to Brian and it was a pretty cordial affair right up until we walked into the shop. The shop in question was a place called Galaxy Comics in Norwalk, CT, long gone and very missed by now, much like its owner Fred G. (R.I.P. dude.) Anyway, we all walked in together to the sight of the new comics displayed on segregated shelves, all new offerings from DC Comics (home to the likes of Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman) to the left and the offerings of their esteemed competitor Marvel Comics (producers of Spider-Man, The X-Men and that fine bunch of folks pictured above) to the right. Or actually, that might have been the other way around, Marvel might have been to the left. I mean really, twenty-seven years dude, I'm lucky if I get the names right at this point.

But what I do remember clearly was immediately leaving the pack and making a beeline for the DC side as Brian did likewise toward the Marvel section. And in a moment neither of us will ever forget, we looked at each other from across the room, saw the obvious joy and excitement we each had for the heroes and fictional universes being put forth by the two very different comic companies. Both of us had made a silent statement, pledged our fanboy allegiance to our respective favorites and in that shared moment we simultaneously had the same thought: "He likes THAT shit? What a loser." Been best friends ever since.

Well Brian's a west-coaster these days but he's still my boy, we're still emotionally close, he's still my brother (wipes a tear) and I think about him almost every day. Especially over this past weekend, right before this happened to me*.

*Not a depiction of actual events, since I would never wear a 
tie with a Double Windsor Knot. Also, I'm not a white dude.
And most importantly, headless corpses don't write blog posts!

Well that's what it felt like anyway when I went to see Marvel's The Avengers at my local multiplex. (Ooohhhhhhh!) Sorry, swooned again. Sat there in the theater and had my mind-hole f@%ked by the massive cinematic rod of awesomeness that Marvel unzipped before my eyes. (A totally unpleasant but fairly accurate description of the sensation.) And my boy Brian was right there with me in spirit. His was the little voice in my soon to be exploding head whispering: "Where's your DC Comics now, loser?"

Damn him and his spectral self, he was absolutely right. The Avengers raked in close to $207 million dollars domestically in its opening weekend. And Marvel did it with characters that only six years ago were not nearly as recognizable as DC's big guns. 

I'm sorry, who the hell are you again?

I don't think it even matters what The Dark Knight Rises does in theaters later this summer. The end of Chris Nolan's epic Batman trilogy might get near the $200 million mark, but probably won't do it in the first weekend. I'd love to be wrong about that, I really would, but I mean The Avengers had… EVERYTHING!

Now I've read a couple of reviews that have urged DC to follow Marvel's lead, to get on the stick and finally make a Justice League movie a reality. For those of you who didn't spend your high school years extracting yourselves from lockers and pulling wedgies out of your crack, the Justice League is THE comic book super team. Or at least they were before today. 

Sure, you all look like a nice bunch of well-adjusted folks. 

But it would just be kinda like the space race at this point. Remember what the Russians did after America beat the them to the moon? Okay, most of you are probably too young to remember that but basically they just said: "трахните это!" (That's Russian for f@%k it!) No use being second to the moon and planting their flag next to ours, walking around in Neil Armstrong's footsteps. America got there first, peed all over it and claimed it as our own so why bother? Maybe not totally the same thing here but… kinda. 

"That's one small step for man… one giant reason for Russia to SUCK IT!"

I know there's distribution rights and copyrights and a whole lot of other legal reasons the Justice League hasn't happened yet. (F@%king lawyers!) But there simply has to be a way to work through that junk and by not doing so DC blew it, big time. Of course, it's not like they never tried with the Justice League before. There's been several successful cartoons and animated movies. There was also that time back in 1997 when CBS made a pilot film for a possible JL TV series. They just couldn't use Superman, Batman or Wonder Woman because… you know, legal reasons. So instead they had to run with a bunch of B-listers and unknown properties. Kinda like Marvel just did. How'd that work out back in 97? In a word… not well. Okay, that's really two words but I'll only charge you at the single word rate. You're welcome.

At least the masks made it easier for the actors' parents to 
lie to friends about what their children did during the 90s.

And it looks as if the Marvel hits just keep coming as The Amazing Spider-Man swings into theaters this summer as well which I'm sure will just add a few hundred more piles of money to the Marvel coffers. Then waiting in the wings they've got Captain America 2, Iron Man 3, there's another couple of X-Men movies in the works, possibly a third Hulk film, and of course, a just announced Avengers 2 in the next few years. Over at DC? Well let's see, Dark Knight Rises is the last Batman film for a while. Got the new Superman movie Man of Steel coming next year and if they at least get the costume right then it's already guaranteed to be better than the crap sandwich that was Superman Returns. I mean… 

Wait… THAT's the outfit?
Son of a bitch! 

AW SHUT THE HELL UP, BRIAN!

But never one to miss a perfectly good bandwagon… here's this week's strip. 

SKIN FLICKS 101:

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax… of cabbages and kings." ~ Lewis Carroll, 1872

But to hell with all that egghead nonsense. I'm here to talk about bangin' on film, so let's get to this week's installment of…

Okay, so this week's installment is also the ONLY installment, but whatever, stop quibbling. This stuff's important so pay attention. And a word of warning: if you're easily offended… then what the f@%k you doing here? But in fairness I guess I should provide you with a way out. So if you want to leave then click the link and you'll be taken somewhere safe. Ya big baby.

For you brave souls that stuck around, just let me say that our focus here today will be mainly on movies and video porn since any mention of print pornography would have to include these three cats.

From left to right: Hugh Hefner, Bob Guccione and Larry Flynt.
And ladies, try not to fall in love.

I don't really wanna talk about them because… ewww. Just back away from them slowly and let's get on with the history of cinematic fornication, shall we?

1972: Deep Throat, one of the first porn films in the history of the genre to actually feature a plot sees a limited theatrical release. It's also the first film to make pizza delivery a dirty, dirty thing. The film was controversial in many ways, most notably for its subject matter, the touching story of a young woman's quest to find her lost lady-button. As luck would have it (for any guys she happened to hook-up with) said button was eventually found to be located at the back of her throat. But unless she'd been on a liquid diet her entire life, shouldn't she have known this? You'd think her first clue would've been the way scarfing back a burger always caused her to spasm out and crave a cigarette or look for someone to cuddle. On second thought, I know plenty of women with normal anatomies who react that same way to food. So yeah, that behavior most likely wouldn't raise any flags. 

1972: (You know, just later that same year.) Behind the Green Door starring former Ivory Girl (Remember them?) Marilyn Chambers is the first porn to see a nationwide release with distribution numbers to rival mainstream films of that time. Green Door also made history as the first feature length porn film to contain an interracial sex scene. That was the part of Dr. King's 'I Have a Dream' speech that didn't make the final cut. "… when all God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics will be able to drink from the same fountain and tap from the same ass." All right, he didn't really say anything about a fountain, I just threw that part in. But racial politics aside, Green Door is most notable for its use of slow motion photography to produce a seven minute money-shot. Just thinking about that makes me wanna roll over and go to sleep. 

1973: The Devil in Miss Jones rode in on the coattails (As if any of them actually wore coats. Or any clothes for that matter.) of Deep Throat and Green Door and broke box office records for the time. Starring Georgina Spelvin, who at 36 was considered pretty old for a porn star (WHAT?) Devil was more commercially successful than both its predecessors combined. (Go on old girl! Represent!) The movie even competed against mainstream titles, finishing tenth in total box office for the year just behind Roger Moore's first outing as James Bond in Live and Let Die. There's a Pussy Galore joke to be made in there somewhere, but I'm really too tired to look for it. 

1977: Star Wars was released to theaters that year and while clearly not a porn film, today being Star Wars Day — May the 4th be with you. — we'll stretch the parameters since Luke Skywalker did lust after his sister, Princess Leia. And she was no angel either. Just look at the poster, the way she's all pushing up on him, sinful. And though we wouldn't find out about their family status until Return of the Jedi, six years later, it just makes me feel dirty thinking about it even in retrospect. And really, that's what porn is supposed to do, just make a motherf@%ker feel dirty. So it makes the list. Plus, without it this would be an entire blog post without a single geek reference. And that just ain't me.

1978: Debbie Does Dallas is considered by some to have been the end of the Golden Age of porn that Deep Throat had begun in 72. This claim is supported by the fact that besides this film and the three named previously (Star Wars doesn't count, but it should!), the average person would be hard pressed to name another porn film of any note. And Debbie Does Dallas is perhaps the most famous one of the bunch. Even though the title is absolute bullshit since the story does not take place in Dallas and the film's slutty heroine doesn't actually 'do' anyone from there either. Yet, no one filed suit for fraud, go figure. However, a lawsuit was filed against the film by none other than the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders who took issue with their uniforms being parodied in the marketing of the film. You'd think they'd have been flattered. A good porn parody is the ultimate sign that you've made it.

1979: Caligula, produced by Penthouse founder Bob Guccione… and that's all I'm going to say about that since I still don't wanna talk about him because… yeeeech.

This was the day my mom officially stopped cleaning my room.

The 80s: The era saw the VHS pretty much guide porno theaters down the path to oblivion. The long form porno film would eventually go along with them. Worth noting here is that the porn industry's backing of the VHS format was instrumental in making it successful over rival Betamax, even though Betamax was by far the better technology. Porn is powerful voodoo.

The 90s: DVDs became the thing and porn helped to make that happen as well. Years later the industry would do the same to help Blu-Ray beat out HD DVD as a preferred format. At this point I think we should count ourselves lucky that the industry didn't decide to dabble in politics. Or did they? 

"How YOU doin'?"

The 90s also gave rise (heh heh) to amateur porn. No story, no sets, no actors, just a bunch of exhibitionist a-holes who don't mind climbing into the back of a van and banging on camera for no money. All about having goals I guess.

This photo has not been doctored.
This guy just likes his bitches blurry.

The 2000s… or the Millennium… or the Oughts… (whatever the hell you wanna call it): The Internet got together with amateur smut and took a big crap on the porn industry as a whole. There were some in the industry who were actually into getting crapped on but I try not to judge… even though that type of thing is wrong and bad. Okay, perhaps I judge a little. The Internet helped take the amateur thing even farther by eliminating the need for studios, manufacturing, marketing or distribution. Just f@%k, point and click and congratulations, you're a porn star! Your parents must be so proud. 

And here we are today in 2012 as porn history was made once again, just this past week when none other than the Octo-Mom herself, Nadya Suleman signed with an adult entertainment company to do solo-masturbation porn. After three years of turning down such offers, Suleman, having just filed for bankruptcy, will unveil her echo chamber for all the world to see.

Artist's depiction of Ms. Suleman's…
you know… down there.

Soon after, porn will die choking on its own vomit.

Here ends the lesson. And if you think I came all this way just as an excuse to use that clown car graphic at Ms. Suleman's expense… then you know me so well.

COMIC SECTION: