A Modest Proposal – Male Sanctuaries

I propose a male sanctuary to rescue men from women the same way they do this for lions. In the animal kingdom the male lion stays home to feel important while the lioness does 95 percent of the killing. The lion with its beautiful mane lulls about. This is akin to the human condition where the female is the killer.

The same way we set up a lion sanctuary to protect lions, we should do the same thing to protect men from the aggressiveness of the species. Additionally, in the same way that lions hate and rebel against enclosures, men hate marriage. The enclosure is the equivalent of imprisonment, curtailment and removal of free choice and options.



The male is an endangered species which is why he thrives on sports and crowded sports stadiums. Want to know why? Misery loves company. And the castrated male of the species seeks the company of his fellow inmates and to escape the gaping teeth of piranha-like woman.

Women are like anacondas that kill us not with their venom but by encircling us and sucking the very life out of our lungs. After suffocating us with their powerful and muscular bodies they then swallow us whole into their stomachs and let their juices digest us. Because of all this we need sanctuaries now more than ever.

The secret desire of men to be masculine would be a place where men can belch and fart in peace. Not being nagged or having their imperfections highlighted by women. Men can be the pigs they really are. Other things going on in the sanctuary: eating with hands, watching mindless TV, not begging women for sex, beating their meat for release of anxiety and wonderful naps while snoring loudly.

A real life example of this idea is the military and war. Men love war because they can hang out with other men, fashion isn’t important and there are always hookers available. Don’t forget the weaponry of war is all cock shaped.

Women have children to further ensnare men. I would never be a fag because homosexuals are mere imitators of women. Why do gay men love Judy Garland? Because she is a caricature.

Most men in prison actually enjoy their cells without the constant nagging of women who want to move into bigger houses, hire maids and buying shoes.

In the animal kingdom the male seal has 20 female seals. It is natural for him to seek diversity while the women is happy being with one partner.

The perfect example of this idea would be to put men in a Bronx Zoo like setting where he can roam free with other men. No visible cages. We could set up a monorail for hookers or scientists to come and go.

This sanctuary represents the company and companionship of men where they can play poker, tell dirty jokes and wonder aloud why we were blindsided into giving women half our money. The only part of the women that men should really care about is their cave like holes. All the women I have been with have holes so devoid of life that I believe bats hang from their vaginal walls.

Men need money and power to get a women and a woman only needs great legs and a sperm swallowing mouth. The ideal man is Albert Einstein and the ideal women is Paris Hilton. There lies a world of truth and a reason for men to stay in their sanctuary.

The Bermuda Triangle of the Media Matrix

What you are about to read now you will read no place else. It has never been thought or articulated before. It is a triangle that you as the reader and I as the participant are to connect. This sounds very grandiose for a blog but I am nothing if not grandiose.

I can unlock this secret world by highlighting the use of the Speedgraphic (my favorite camera), the meaning of tabloid journalism and its gossip and the most forbidden world of all - our sexuality.

My father Sam was a press photographer for INP for 40 years, and as a war correspondent was on two ships that were torpedoed. He taught me his vocations and I was a press photographer at Boys High from 1950-54, the US Army from 1955 to 56, and had assignments with Jackie Kennedy in Pakistan and Fidel Castro in Cuba for various news organizations. I was a pioneer pornographer when I started Screw in 1968 and have 21 arrests to prove it. I was like Columbus who discovered America.

Gossip
The secret lives of public figures has always been fodder for the appetites of the general public. Although the media paid lip service to self regulation. Just look at how General Eisenhower and his mistress and JFK and his sexual dalliances were concealed at that time.

Photography
The big change in photography began in showing the dead during the Civil War. Then came the photos of assassinations of mobsters in Chicago gang land wars. Photography was the window to the world of things we never saw before. It showed real brutality. The most glaring example of this voyeurism of photography was in 1927 when a Daily News photographer concealed a camera around his ankle and went to the execution of a murderer named Ruth Snider. His photo showed her at the moment of her death. The only moment of equal import is the film of JFK being shot with his skull being split asunder.

The birth of photography was the equivalent of the creation of the internet. They established a delivery system for the taboo and the concealed.

Pornography
Streaming video is like painting the Mona Lisa by the numbers. What was originally innovative and creative is now mindless and cliché. We now have assassination by clit. Our secret life is now on the computer and millions of DVDs. Photography brought us the horror of tragedy. In 1982 Sony brought us the Betamax and X-rated video could now be viewed in our own private homes. No longer mesmerized by memories now wilted by time, porno films gave us a new clarity. Our cocks and pussy are mere puppets to be manipulated by the flesh of sundry fuck films. Our desires and testosterone are now the lubricant for men. And as usual money and stature are the allure for women.


But tanks to Hugh Heffner, Al Goldstein, Larry Flynt, Albert Kinsey, Masters & Johnson, Henry Miller, DH Lawrence, the explicitness of this old violence has been replaced by the joy of sex. Sex replaced gore and violence with blow jobs and pussy eating.

Man doesn’t change, but the secrets of his activities do.

Pedophiles Should be Fed to Wild Dogs

About the only thing I find detestable about sex is that I am not getting any. My ex-wife Christine wouldn’t let me have sex, eat her pussy or ass for the past two years. This lack of nutrients has forced me to take lithium daily and wack-off even more than that. I am on every vitamin that exists in this world including Flintstones to make up for this nutritional deficit. I desperately need pussy juice in the same way I need oxygen to live. I am so horny that for the first time in my life I am dreaming of sucking cock and having sperm lubricate my throat.

One of my ex-girlfriends was a dominatrix. She made money pissing and shitting in guys’ mouths. That’s where I draw the line. That, and eating scungilli. I will fuck a guy in the ass, let him blow me, and I would even have sex with a Jewish woman (if she shuts up for a while) but the one verboten activity I loathe is the exploitation of children.

In ancient Greek times pedophiles would argue that the older Greek man would become the patron of young children. I disapprove. And though a 17 or 18 year old cheerleader will capture my interests, young children are not to be objects of pleasure for adults. That is slavery, inhuman and debasing! Though I believe in almost total freedom (I have been a member of the ACLU since I was 15 in 1946) I believe that pedophiles are vermin and should be castrated. They do damage like cancer cells and the Nazis in concentration camps. I would not shed one tear if all of them were exterminated. To repeat, the only sex I find utterly repugnant is adult-child sex.

If it were up to me cyberspace would be reserved for my words only and not the warped proclivities of child fuckers. My sentiments are shared by the owners of Booble and every right thinking person in the universe.

Pedophiles, for those of you living in the black lagoon and feeding on larva, are quasi human creatures who are attracted sexually to the very young. Some of them are so advanced in their dementia that they follow pregnant woman around in the hope of having sex with the fetus. I knew of one pedophile that was so off-balanced that he would visit his friends at the moment of conception. Pedophiles are apex predators that hunt and haunt playgrounds, amusement parks and the flickering computer images on Myspace. They swap stories about their day-to-day encounters with minors. There are many thousands of pedophile sites but I won’t list them here because I do not want to encourage neophytes in their search for young flesh.

Most pedophile photos are obvious because they show explicit intercourse. It gets murkier with very young children who are clothed but are in provocative positions. These pictures are obviously intended to appeal to prurient interests but are harder to press charges against. An example of this, without sounding like a pedantic lawyer, is the ‘lascivious exhibition’ standards set forth in the United States v Dost case.

Bottom line is that pedophiles don’t want to have sex with their peer group but rather exploit the less sophisticated and the more naïve. For the pedophile it simply comes down to power, control, and satisfying their selfish needs at the expense of our most vulnerable. No punishment is severe enough and even Dante in his magnificent Inferno and the Nine Levels of Hell would have to create even a hotter and more violent punishment. Hitler stopped at gassing the Jews but for the pedophiles in our midst I would slowly rip their flesh off, put them on a rotisserie and barbeque them as food for wild dogs. Although now that I think of it, the ultimate punishment would be to have them serving adults fries at McDonald’s or caramel macchiatos at Starbucks for eternity.

You Can Go Home Again

In the old days people thought the world was flat. Common sense instructed denizens of ancient times that whatever direction they sailed into, they would fall off the face of the earth. Man is intrinsically an ignorant pile of protoplasm.

Not realizing what was the cause of the bubonic plague and infections, the medicine of that day were not much different from the witchcraft of the Dark Continent. Examples of our intellectual limits are most dramatic when it comes to our belief in the supernatural and the man-created gods of the Greeks, the Romans and our need for a supernatural being called God.

Heaven and hell are adult fairy tales that give us hope in the face of our deteriorating bodies and the certainty of our death when we are then turned into worm food. When we decompose we will be in neither hell nor heaven and the simplistic hope of Muslims that virgins await their arrival after they blow themselves up is ludicrous. Life is but a brief stop on the way to our physical oblivion.

We hold tightly onto the mirage of love, friendship, loyalty and honesty. A recent book called “The Female Brain” highlighted the differences between the minds of men and women so let’s touch on that right now, shall we?

Women think about sex once a day; men think about it every 58 seconds. Men are merely containers for their testosterone. They are the cavemen of yore, always on the hunt. Like seals and most other animals they want harems and repositories to dump their sperm. To be macho is a redundancy for being male. In a gay world any hole will do. A gaping asshole or mouth is home for the hot wad. We would fuck wildebeests and buffalos if we could catch them and felt the urge.

Women, for the most part, play it cool. It is unfair that a sex-loving woman is a slut and a sex-loving man is merely normal. Men are the aggressors. Men are on top and doing the penetration. Exceptions to this rule are bull dikes pumping their timid female partners. Men see the world as one giant bed where they will lay their partners down and with all the gusto they can muster and arrive in spasms of orgiastic joy. It is this dance of our chemical and intrinsic differences that have created the world we live in; bordellos, mistresses, topless clubs, pornography, engagement rings and picking up the check for dinner.

We are salesmen trying to sell Eskimos a fridge or an empty-headed bimbo the bullshit that we really care about her. We will fill her head with nonsense as the foreplay we need to fill her vagina with our cocks.

If I can fill her gaping pussy with my man meat she will be my savior thanks to her torrid acceptance of my erect appendage. I have returned to the first hole I knew, my mother’s pussy when she popped me out. When I am lapping labia or crawling into my new pussy I am returning to the womb. I am returning home. Some writers have argued that you can’t go home again but I intend to prove them wrong.

When I was born 70 years ago I was too stupid to lick my mother’s pussy, it was too bloody. I have spent the rest of my life trying to make up for that lapse. The female cunt is my validation and affirmation that life is not simply a veil of tears. Though it is a fabrication to believe that cunnilingus is my salvation it sure as hell beats bowling. And unlike licking an ice cream cone, it has a low-fat content.

Women and men are as different as dolphins and anteaters. Women have antennas on their bleached hair that are constantly aware of the emotions and needs of those around them. The only antenna a man has is his cock, which picks up the vibrations of a willing clitoris. Though the antennae are metaphysical, the brain circuitry and hormones that make women so much more attuned, and some would say beholden, to the emotions of others are very real. It’s these physical attributes that make the women and the womb the desired home for our tongues and dicks.

We want to have women as blankets for security. Women represent home and hearth and encircle us with their love. Sometimes their love is like a bear trap and a prison. But when everything is in harmony, a woman’s serenity, it is the perfect fit for the male’s aggressiveness. Women are less likely to cheat and seek other cocks while men are always on the hunt. When most women cheat they seek the joy of lesbianism and other friendly vagina. The absolute proof that men and women are different is demonstrated by going to any playground in the world. The boys are running around like chickens without heads and the girls are more sedate and self contained.

There are clear difference in the brains of men and women. It is scientifically proven. We should be aware of the differences and embrace them. Were that not the case we would all be gay. The ultimate philosophical truth is Viva la Différence. All men seek to be enfolded in the arms and thighs of the women around us.

Good Catholics drink the blood of Christ, but for me eating pussy is the religious ritual I most love. When I genuflect in front of a woman and drop to my knees and lick the walls of her fleshy snatch, I have entered my church. This is why I am able to put up with women for all these years. Licking a svelte girl’s ass and lapping her pussy are turn-ons. The thought of putting my tongue in a guy’s hairy asshole makes me want to vomit.

Fight Club

I’ve never hit a woman in my life and I don’t believe in abusing women. I don’t mind torturing and abusing my staff or someone who I think has crossed me. There are things that are done that need discipline but to hit a woman is unfair since we usually outweigh them and we are stronger.

On the seven or eight occasions I have been slugged by a woman - I loved it. One of my first girlfriends in college, an Italian girl named Camille (whose pussy tasted good but it was her garlic-filled meatballs that made me really fall in love with her) would slug me at times. What was exciting about that was that it proved she was awake. Most women don’t pay attention, they sleepwalk through life or just recite lines. But if they hit you there is a certain sincerity in that and that means they are there.

When one of my wives woke me up in the middle of the night and said "eat me" it was truly one of the two or three most exciting sexual moments in my life. It meant she wasn’t doing me a favor. I didn’t cajole her into a course of action and it wasn’t charity sex - she was horny and she wanted to cum and knew the friction of my tongue would get her off. That was great. When a woman pummels me or asks for sex it means she is an active participant in the theater of my life and makes me feel alive.

Listening to the Heart of Porn

Earlier today as I put my x-rated DVD in its slot (or is that slut) I did something I had never done before. My cock was tired and stayed small. I had bathed it in mineral oil so that it would slip around my hand like a wet bar of soap. The flickering images that my eyes gazed at were two super-sexy women in Fredericks of Hollywood outfits and a much too handsome male stud which a much too big cock. Thank God it wasn’t the portly Ron Jeremy because there would have been no room on the screen for the ladies. As one of the blondes mounted the stunt dick an image I’ve seen since thousands of times before my first fuck film 40 years ago, I noticed something new. And what was this new ingredient I have never seen, or rather heard, before…the dialogue. The cliché laden words from women and the grunts from the male prop. The script consisted of original dialogue like: Oh God, Fuck me harder, Cum on my face, Fuck me, Fuck me, oh Fuck me, Fuck me, Fuck me, Fuck me, oh Fuck me, yes Fuck me and err Fuck me.

It was like two mindless amoeba copulating and uttering grunts, groans and an occasionally deep breath to indicate there is still life in those pathetic shells of humanity. I realized that after looking at thousands of porno movies that the audio was as absent as the life and sensuality of the “actors”. There is no reality in a fuck film. There is no context. Where do these bodies come from? Are they aliens from another galaxy? Are they a new life form created in some Nazi lab? The one thing we can be certain of is that neither the act of simulated sex or simulated speaking has any relationship to real people. We are viewing a world devoid of substance and meaning.

Why didn’t the director (if there was one) insist that the cock sucking mouth of his porno queen at least quote Shakespeare? Or treat us to tidbits of fact for our self-edification? Perhaps some inspirational quotes or lessons in geography? The philosophy of Descartes, the poetry of Walt Whitman? Instead we hear the moans of the dead and the dying.

The sex is dead and pornography has become the graveyard of real sensuality, intimacy and emotion. The moral that you should take from these words is to be pragmatic about pornography, use it to release your testosterone and know it is no more authentic than the tears we see on a Broadway stage or the poppycock in our popular music. It is just helping us fight monotony and helping us make life more livable. It is a distraction with the hope that the real thing comes along. That we may actually find passion, love and meaning and the most elusive of all qualities in our life – truth.

Occasionally I will get the illusion of truth in porn when I see something raunchy like a girl choking on a cock (which I really like) but then it all comes crumbling down when I look at my male member and realize there is no chance that I can choke it anymore without some pharmaceutical help.

Alligator vs. Snakes (Not on a plane)

I feel very lonely at this moment. I am living in my four floor walkup hovel in Howard Beach, which is this wilderness of self-congratulatory imbecility, and I am lucky to be living in this shit-covered street with other defeated denizens of a cruel world. My alienation and isolation can be broken via several choices: stay on the internet, which is like being a refugee in a Harlem library; book a dumb, old and aging hooker who will throw me a fuck for a pittance; read an engrossing book or a newspaper splattered with the most recent NYC murders; anything to help me take my mind off the good old’ days when my body was young and I had money and nine girlfriends a week who would help me spend my loot. None of these choices are exciting to me so I will probably masturbate, take 10 milligrams of valium and take an old man’s nap.

Lithium (300mg each pill) was like a guillotine that cut my head off. I remembered and thought about nothing and twice in the last four months I wound up in mental institutions and I am still not sure how I got there. But the real dark side of these experiences was that Jamaica Hospital Mental Ward just sent me a bill for $1900. I could have stayed at The Plaza for a lot less and had better food. The other bill I got was from the Howard Beach fire department for their limousine like transport to a different nuthouse.

When I was 450 pounds three years ago I would eat gargantuan meals to sedate myself. Now that I am 70 years and a svelte 185 I simply stroke my male member and ejaculate to calm my nerves and validate my masculinity. In the old days there were female mouths to swallow my spunk but now I use a pale sponge or Bounty ™ to catch my drippings. My weight loss is thanks to Dr. Arrone in NYC who sent me to Lennox Hill hospital for gastric bypass surgery. Looking back, he should have sent me to a divorce lawyer to protect my balls and a smart non-thieving accountant to prevent my many embezzlements.

I have other choices, as a sex and love addict, to continue my pattern of self-destruction and oblivion by finding other wives. This is a much harder task because of my poverty. But I need a wife or a live-in girlfriend to blame my catastrophes on. I am like that famous zeppelin, the Hindenburg that went down in flames in NJ. Wherever you put me I will burn and so it seems I am being prepared for hell. I need a woman in my life to not only hate but to plan my murder of (poison is best, as bullets are too messy).

My real excitement as I have always said is the History Channel, Court TV, CNN and what really pumps blood into my dick is the National Geographic Channel. Tonight they are scheduling a gripping saga: a 15 foot anaconda is going to fight and then swallow a six foot alligator. It reminds me Linda Lovelace of sucking my cock in 1972.

Women who are the dark side of life have positioned me into a philosophical dilemma: a bullet from a .38 or Ambien to become a Rip Van Winkle without consciousness. My failures in life have included five ex-wives, bankruptcy, and an amoral son who after robbing me of a million miles, my watches traveled the most obvious road possible - he became a lawyer.

Since life is filled with so many booby traps there are no good choices. After our mothers popped us out of their cunts which was the highlight of my life - death is more appealing. But like the sirens of old who would tease us to further self destruction there are some aspects that keep me from suicide. The reason I haven’t killed myself even though I live in a toilet waiting to be flushed I that I still have pleasures and memories of pleasures. I haven’t eaten pussy in two years but I do have memories of how delicious it is. I hope before I croak in my VA hospital I get a thin-ankled and willing damsel to sit on my face. I miss the elixir which is pussy juice and rather than bob for apples, dreaming of bobbing for clit keeps me going. Do not forget the joy of freshly ground coffee and lobster rolls at Nathan’s

Additionally, before the Alzheimer’s wipes the blackboard of my mind clean the other people who keep me alive are the magician Penn Gillette (whom I love and will be forever grateful) and my favorite website Booble, and the fine people who work there (especially Bob), for giving me this outlet and permitting me to live with some dignity.