Friday, October 31, 2008


If you care not only about your country but the planet it dominates:

--show the backbone we proved we don't have in Canada recently and turn down the party that best represents the interests of the wealthy parasite classes.

--say NO to the party that took you to war and murders countless people in Iraq on the basis of lies, imperialism, and a self-indulgent narcissism that calls itself "patriotic."

--say NO to a presidential candidate who thinks that any tiny effort to share the wealth in your country just a wee bit more fairly is some kind of abomination.

--say NO to the Republicans. I don't expect miracles from the Democrats, for they also are in thrall to capitalism. But there at least you find some people who want to put a break on the increasingly insane imperialism, the increasingly rampant exploitation of the poor by the rich both inside your nation and your empire.

--say NO to the Republicans, who will do anything to make you feel good about America no matter what it does. Sometimes the truth is hard. You, like the rich nations of the world in general (such as my Canada) are doing a lot of things wrong. You need to repent. You need to turn around. Anyone who tells you pleasant lies about this is a self-indulgent wimp: yes, even if he was a prisoner of war. Don't forget that Hitler spent four gruelling years in the trenches of WWI and was decorated (twice, I think) and he never denied his molly-coddled ego any lie, cruelty, or self-indulgence it craved.

Those Americans amongst you who, like myself, believe in God, know this: She loves you no more than (and no less than) Her other children. Look into your hearts. Has she given you a mission to dominate the world? Has she given anyone a mission to assert the abomination of capitalism (which has the shamelessness to call itself "democracy") anywhere? Jesus Christ and Capital are irreconcilable enemies. You cannot serve two masters. You cannot love a brother or a sister while you seek to push them into the gutter while marching down the stony road of social Darwinism.

Sunday, October 26, 2008


You know the insipid image we have of that Virgin Mary, a women one cannot imagine taking sides in a political struggle? Check out the Magnificat, i.e. Luke 1.46-55 [italics mine]:

"And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord, And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name. And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation. He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree. He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away. He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy; As he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed for ever. "

This is something for the cheerleaders of empire (I am thinking specifically of the American Empire and the Capitalist Empire) to think about.

Monday, October 20, 2008


A common theme in Biker's work is the accidental (or "accidental") stripping of attractive women down to their underwear or to a state of nakedness. Comical humiliation, as you all know who have spent any time at my blog or website, is right up my alley.

Now I love sturdy foundation garments, and I love situations where women are embarassed by their own figure-controlling underwear. Unfortunately, Biker does not usually draw pics of women in the more heavy-duty types of undies, preferring bra, panties, and garter belt in many instances (Benny Hill springs to mind. That is, Benny Hill situations, not Benny Hill himself!).

However, this pic is different. Imagine the audacity of one women simply hiking up another woman's dress in public to reveal her stalwart OBG! I mean, the nerve! The cheek! Or, perhaps I should say, the cheeks!

Is there no end to such insolence? Who knows? Maybe next she'll haul the poor thing's tight little dress right up over her shoulders and trap her that way, making her stagger about with her arms wrapped about her head and unable to escape...

Thanks again to Biker for permission to post his terrific work!

Tuesday, October 14, 2008


Another great Biker Spacebabe pic. I love the idea of an extra tether, or what have you, attached to the end of the zipper pull. Some wetsuits have this feature, which is quite alluring.

Think about it: why is the zipper long enough to go at least part way up her backside? It can only be for convenience's sake in the bathroom, right? Oh, such an arrangement could be used for sexual purposes of course, but spacesuit designers, one should expect, would be above such unprofessional preoccupations.

I can only conclude, therefor, that this must be one hell of a difficult suit to get out of for the designer to have felt the need of some kind of "convenience opening."

I think the poor girl needs a shave. And no, I don't mean her face. And it looks like she isn't the sharpest pencil in the box, is she?

Monday, October 13, 2008


This is a wee shemale story I wrote for Alison Tyler's blog recently. It was part of her Auto Erotica contest, which had 17 entries, each of 250 words or less. Some very fine little tales there, so check it out. Anyway, here's mine:


The chauffeuse pulls up alone to the mansion in a pre-WWI Silver Ghost. She gets out: a huge, buxom, Valkyrie of a woman, warrior-browed, clad in tight, black leather, black boots, and an interesting kind of buttoned sailor flap over the groin.

That flap has a tremendous bulge to it.

"You’re the new maid," she says. Wearing my stupid little French maid uniform I want to say something sarcastic but I just nod. "Your duties have been explained to you?" I nod. "Get in. I need you now. We’ll go somewhere private." I nod. "You’d better be good because the last one was absolutely hopeless." I nod.

She gets behind the wheel. I jump in beside her. She moves to put the vehicle in gear and I’m sorry, but I just can’t wait.

I reach with ecstatic, frantic fingers. Pop pop-pop pop. A giant sausage flops out. She gasps. Then it’s in my mouth and I’m in her lap sucking with more ferocity than that fucking vacuum cleaner I used all morning.

"Help!" she squeals, writhing in helpless panic. "Rape!" She writhes and swells inside my mouth, expanding exponentially. The butler and several maids come running.

"Oh my," says the genteel old butler, clearly at a loss. My arms are around the bitch’s big leather hips like a vice.

"Bentley!" she cries, breath coming in great heaves, "help! Save me!"

Then she blows up in my mouth and all the little maids clap and cheer.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008


Check it out. A number of very short stories (max. 250 words) all having to do with cars and sex. Not necessarily sex WITH a car, just a car connection. Vote for your fave!

All at Alison Tyler's blog:

Tuesday, October 7, 2008


Here is a quotation from Freire's Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970):

"Nor yet can dialogue exist without hope. Hope is rooted in
men's incompletion, from which they move out in constant
search -- a search which can be carried out only in communion
with others. Hopelessness is a form of silence, of denying the
world and fleeing from it. The dehumanization resulting
from an unjust order is not a cause for despair but for hope,
leading to the incessant pursuit of the humanity denied by
injustice. Hope, however, does not consist in crossing one's
arms and waiting. As long as I fight, I am moved by hope;
and if I fight with hope, then I can wait."

Sunday, October 5, 2008


One of my favourite erotic artists is Biker. An example of his work can be seen to the right, as part of his "Spacebabe Academy" series. Biker's work is very much about the comical and erotic embarrassment of females.

What do I like about this pic? Well, the pose for one thing. She looks like she could be making love to that fortunate flying shark. She's very nicely snuggled in there. I also love the look on her face: a kind of post-coital, dizzy self-complacency, that of a woman who feels assured that while she's in her skin-tight sexy spacesuit, and on top of her powerful jet bike, absolutely nothing can go wrong. And of course, when that's what you're thinking, that's when you're really asking for some embarrassing comeuppance, isn't it?

Any passenger she might take on would have a lovely view. BTW: where is the zipper located on that suit? Perhaps more on that with a later pic. You can check out more of Biker's work right here.

Thanks to Biker for permission to post his work!

Saturday, October 4, 2008


I don't know about the rest of you who are writers, but while I love getting published, sometimes I just feel each story in print is a drop in the bucket -- that I will never get anywhere until I not only write QUALITY stories (which I have no problem doing) but stories in great QUANTITY.

I should post at this blog more often. I should update my website (which I haven't worked on since May). But dammit, there are only so many hours in the day!

But what do I mean by "I will never get anywhere"? I don't know. I'm a little depressed at the moment. I went to a lovely local bookstore lately but came away with the usual resentful knowledge that while some of us must write a lot, send out to a lot of publishers, and put up with a lot of neglect from people too important to answer their email, others get all the goodies of the writing world dumped right in their laps for nothing. Take for example, what's her face who did the Sarah Palin impersonations for SNL, who has been offered a multi-million dollar contract for books she hasn't even written yet!

And yet, even as I was writing this, some woman on CBC radio just said something about focusing on what she had, rather than on what she didn't have. I missed what the context was, and I know the sentiment is corny, but I think she is right. Dammit, I can write damned good stuff. That is what I have -- that ability.

I shall carry on. "Zontar prevails"! That shall be my slogan. Some day, when I get out my erotic sci-fi anthology of lesbian and phallogyne tales, I will have that slogan in the book.

And it could be worse. I could be the unfortunate woman shown above in a suit of armour with a magnetic boot stuck on her ass. In public, too! I mean, if that happened to me, I think I'd go totally hysterical with humiliation! That poor creature!