Come on Lena... Your knees are never closed shut...

Lena Dunham and the horrors of a husband living in a single TV household

Some of the most important life lessons that I have learned have come through my marriage, now more than halfway to our Tin celebration. My wife has done a magnificent job of domesticating your once savage Lord and Master; I'm not sure if that's a testament to the power of her feminine wiles or an indictment against my conquered manhood. Among these important life lessons, I have been taught the value of sharing by my beloved, particularly as the lesson applies to the use of our singular household television. Over here at 'Casa de Perversions', sharing a set basically means the wife watches whatever the fuck she wants! So naturally in the fine, long tradition of defeated, downtrodden husbands, I have been forced to assimilate the ways of my emotional/sexual colonizer. How have I been able to do that you ask? Well, you just have to look for the testosterone lining to the estrogen cloud. 75% percent of the time, this is achieved because of a hot chick. For example, the wife loves AMERICA'S NEXT TOP MODEL. The downside there is that I have to sit through an hour of nutty broads that are completely delusional in thinking that posing for a snapshot is important social work as well as it is a physically and emotionally draining profession. The upside is that Tyra Banks is a hot piece of ass and you get to see her here and there in different outfits throughout the show, so you just teach yourself to look forward to those segments and that helps you get by. See where I'm going with this? I've learned to do the same with PROJECT RUNWAY (with Heidi Klum, and her incomparable legs) and TOP CHEF (with Padma Laksmi who is extremely underrated as a hot chick.)

 (When she tunes in to any of the Real Housewives, well, that's when I rely on earphones and the internet cause there's just nothing there to fluff your pillow to!)

For the most part, I've been pretty tolerant of my domestic oppressor. Even when she started watching season 1 of the HBO series GIRLS, created, written by and starring new found media pseudo-darling Lena Dunham. This show was a tough sell for me even after my systematic domestication because after an episode or two I quickly came to the conclusion that the hot chick count was nil on this thing. Well, Allison Williams is a good looking broad, but more on her later. I was going to have to learn to like the content... or else! Some of it was OK I guess. The plot had some hook to it, mainly due to extremely awkward and somewhat disturbing sexual situations and commentary. But still, the irritating characters and the seemingly intentional portrayal of hipsters being hipsters in a hipster world dealing with hipster problems in a hipster's perspective remained the underlying subtext for me and so the season one finale was followed by a sigh of relief from my afflicted psyche.

I kind of didn't figure there would be a season two. And here we are, halfway through the sophomore effort, and in the name of my testicles, I'm putting my fucking foot down! I mean... What The Fuck already?! This show is lowering my sperm count by the millions with every single viewing and I've had enough. 

There is no visible effort in this show's writing to even give the likeness of a plot. It's basically just become Lena Dunham's vehicle for her to self indulge her fantasies of being this hipster avatar that'll fill the gap that wasn't left by that broad from Sex and the City. You know the one. The one who is often on the receiving end of equine oriented insults. Sadly, I hate to admit that the difference is Sex and The City was a lot less vapid, though the premise is not-that-loosely similar (a female writer, sleeping around a New York burrow, etc.) Lena basically just writes herself into a different sex scene every week with just some random dude, under believable circumstances or not. In last week's episode, she randomly meets some handsome, mid 40's Doctor who is recently separated from his wife, and bangs him. And wait, here's the insult to injured intellect, he asks her to stay the morning after, and bangs her again... like, while completely sober!  Really? I mean, a halfway decent looking MD can find a suitable and aesthetically pleasing immediate replacement to lick his wounds with. Am I supposed to believe that this scenario is even plausible, with her less-than-appetizing self portrayal on that show. I mean, she isn't even trying to be cute. And all of you femi-Nazis can take out your ovary cramps on that last statement all you want, but the beauty of women is beauty in and of itself, and so if you think you're an uber-feminist by "Uglying it Down" than you're clearly out of your mind. And believe you me, I'm no fucking Adonis, but then again I'm not on TV either. But if I was on TV, I'm certainly not going to get naked on TV because I'm gross, and people don't need to see that. Since Lena Dunham looks just like I do when she gets naked, then people shouldn't have to see that either. And honestly, that isn't even an issue. Come on everybody, three cheers for Lena Dunham's self-confidence and free spirit! If she is comfortable in her sub-par nude figure, I say "salud"; but last time I checked GIRLS isn't a fantasy themed show, so don't rub salt in my lacerated intelligence by convincing me that a broad like her can bang handsome middle-aged doctors off of the street.    

Of course, in these times of supreme political correctness one is not to make such "mean" comments about those who put themselves in the spotlight and purposely want to become lightning rods of discussion. Even the poster child of free speech Howard Stern had to retract his statements like Sal Gobernale's foreskin. The King of All Media made some very funny observations based on some of the episodes in season one which he had seen, which were later snow-balled out of context against his favor by Perez Hilton (a "man" who is no stranger to a good snow-balling. yucky!) into a media firestorm that ended in not only the aforementioned retraction/non-apology on air by Stern to Lena Dunham, but also by him uncharacteristically putting a gag order on the topic of Lena Dunham even being mentioned on either of his two satellite radio channels. I was shocked when I called in to the Abe Kanaan radio show show one week ago to comment on how sexually nauseating Lena Dunham is, and the shows producer hung up on me promptly after telling me that Howard himself didn't want anybody on the channels stirring that pot. The arch-nemesis of censorship himself, resorting to censorship? Say it ain't so! I can't, so I won't.

Am I rambling? I just have to touch a couple of points but really don't want to dedicate a big word count to the topic of Lena Dunham, since she obviously doesn't want to dedicate an effort to entertain me or the rest of her viewers. I'm not fixating strictly on Lena, all of the other characters are abhorrent. I mean, the British bird is decent looking but she's a real pig on the show, and as soon as you pull a free-spirit nomad type character out of your ass I head for the hills. Having known to many of these free-spirits throughout my life, I have personal experience and can attest to how fucking annoying chicks like that really are. Then there's the broad with the long face and the weird name who talks too much. Gentlemen, are we all on the same page about women who talk way too much? Which brings me to Allison Williams. The only oasis of feminine charm comes via her loathsome, bitchy character whom two seasons deep into the game has yet to have shown a half of a tit. Lena Dunham is flashing those flap jacks around and that dumpy ass of hers like gang-buster and this kind-of-hot chick is wearing more clothes during her sex scenes than that broad on Amish Mafia. To this, the Femi-Nazi SS would make the argument that women are not for the purpose of entertaining men yadda yadda yadda to which I agree. But when you write a TV show, which is strictly for the purposes of entertainment, then you should do just that... Entertain! You must provide a premise, a plot to entertain the women, and eye candy for the men. Otherwise, if you write a show on HBO just for women's interests because then that's being sexist in a way. You also can't have it both ways in that you can't do a show and not provide neither substance nor prime meats and not expect to catch shit for it.  

And before I am accused of being a woman hater, let me just say that I would like to impale every single male actor that has earned a single SAG credit from this snore-fest.  Is that what "men" are like in Williamsburg, Brooklyn? Pussy-Assed to the max? Not one identifiable male character, let alone a character that can be identified as male. 

Look, what do I know? I'm no Hollywood Big-Shot with a 'brain for big deals'. Wait, a retraction if I may. As a person who was raised in front of a TV set, I know more than the Hollywood Big-Shot, I know entertainment, and GIRLS just can't deliver that. The content is not there, and you won't get away with another "show about nothing" on the backs of this cast of characters, or lack thereof. I wonder how long her 15 seconds will last. Hopefully not much longer, because so help me if the little Mrs. makes me sit through a third season, let's just say that I may become a danger to myself. As it is, every Monday morning as I shave before work, I catch a flashback of the previous night's episode and sort of just pause around my jugular vein with the razor and just stare into the mirror... contemplating.

Are you depressed? Do you feel hopeless?

When depression strikes, it can render you useless, in a state where you may feel that suicide is the only way out.

We here at the TALES OF PERVERSION suicide hotline want you to know that there is someone out there ready to hear you out and talk you through this rough moment.

Just call:

1-(800)-DIRTNAP

We’ve all been there before, with the gun at your temple, or the razor at your wrist, but fear has kept you from going off into the unknown. Here at the TALES suicide hotline, we can give you that added push you need to make abstract art on your bedroom walls with your brains.

Running out of ideas on how to snuff it? No resources? Not to worry! Our trained phone counselors can provide over 120 different ways to off yourself using common household items.

Call us up now! Come on, baby, Don’t fear the Reaper! You’re not getting any younger, and surely this life doesn’t get any better, so just take your final bow, and call us now…

1-(800)-DIRTNAP

Coming Soon!!!!

TALES OF PERVERSION FILMS

In association with

21^st CENTURY WOLF

Presents a film destined to become a standout in American Cinema…

A film tour de force that’ll leave you breathless...

By day, they are the wives of Christ, hidden behind their veils of deceit… But at the tolling of Hell’s midnight bell they become Sluts in Satan’s service, delving far into the depths of depravity, where any host will do in their unholiest of communions…

If you were horrified by 2 GIRLS 1 CUP, you will never be the same again after you see:

You will never be able to look at a crucifix in the same way again. Without a doubt, this is the vilest depravity ever fathomed by human thought!

Opening this December

From

TALES OF PERVERSION FILMS

Any body seen this show on MTV? I saw the film, but haven't been following the show. I had my own true tale of being "Cat-fished" that I would like to share...

Back in 2004 I worked for a major Cruise-Ship Line as a phone agent. My job was to answer calls from representatives of Large Travel Agencies whom would book up a block of cabin space aboard one of our ships at a discounted rate and they in turn would create their "special summer packages" and book the cabins at a mark up.... There was one agency based out of California who's rep was notorious within the phone center for being outrageous when she would call in. She was known for her hot voice, and for making sexual innuendos constantly while conducting her business over the phone. One day she called in, and it just so happened that her call was directed to my extension for service. Sure enough, all of the rumors were true. This chick was wild, and made all kinds of comments loaded with double entendre. She started to flirt with me over the phone, telling me how hot she thought I sounded, etc. From that point on, anytime she would call, she requested to speak specifically with me, claiming that I've been handling some special requests regarding her block of space and would rather that I stay on the job to avoid confusion with another agent.

Next thing you know after that, she starts e-mailing me at my corporate address (which she had access to for business purposes.) Her first e-mail included "her" picture, which depicted a totally hot Mexican-type chick (she said she was Mexican) that kind of looked like Kendra Jade and it read "Here's my number, call me, we can talk without worrying about calls being monitored for quality assurance."

So I called the broad. Wouldn't you. So now, I'm on the phone with this bitch, and she's painting a story to me about this crazy, glamorous, single California chick who is about to get a gig doing voice overs for the main character in a new cartoon that got picked up by ADULT SWIM! I didn't really care about any of that shit, but I would take her calls and answer her texts because I thought she was this hot chick. After a couple of weeks, our late night phone conversations took a turn towards the horny and we started having all types of phone sex and dirty text messaging way before it was coined as sexting.

One day, I get a call from her on my personal cell phone and she tells me that she's coming to Miami for a business trip with her boss and will be staying at South Beach for 5 days, and during that time, we can bring our sexual fantasies to fruition at last. My dick became so engorged at the thought that this hot chick, who was open to all inputs by the way, was practically being delivered to me via Business Class for a 5 day Fuck Fest! I was so consumed by the idea that this hot chick was coming to town and I was going to rip that ass up for a week straight that I even started performing masturbatory calisthenics for a whole month leading up to the trip. I would jerk off to build endurance by holding out on blowing my load. I would do Kegel exercises all day by clenching and releasing my asshole to strengthen my prostate... the works...

We set up our rendezvous for the evening of her arrival here in Miami. We were supposed to meet at a bar in South Beach called the Blue Marlin on Collins Avenue. So I got there a little bit early (big mistake) and ordered a drink. After a couple of minutes, two big, sweaty, meaty paws which may or may not have been human, let alone feminine, cover my eyes from behind as a tongue runs up my ear. I swing around in my bar stool to find this fat, short, long nappy haired hobbit of a woman standing before me with a look on her face saying "hey, it is what it is sailor." It was her, looking like an overweight Elaine Benes' head was glued to Danny DeVito's body...

 I was livid, not so much with her as much as at myself for not screening this bitch a little better. I went based on the one picture she e-mailed me and that was it. She explained how that was her sister's photo and that she knew that she was wrong for not coming clean way before this trip happened. She confessed that she isn't doing any voice over work for some cartoon that doesn't even exist, and how she's the divorced mother of three kids. I went off on her! I told her how it was disturbing that she had to lie like that about how she looks, and about her life, and how she hides her children. She took her tongue-lashing quietly and when I finally stopped screaming at her long enough for her to get a word in edgewise, she said "Look, I understand if you walk out right now and never speak to me again, believe me. Let me at least pay your drink. Go ahead, just walk out and I'll settle up!" 

I said "OK, but I also want a blow job in my car!"

She obliged, blew me from the passenger seat of my Nissan Sentra that was parked in some piss infested South Beach parking garage. She swallowed my load, smiled politely and left... and I never spoke or heard from her again. 

The End.

Well, What?! I drove all the way out to the beach and got a drink out of it, might as well get one sucked out to!!!

OK kids, here we go, you’re Lord and Fucking Master is back with another one of my infallible top 10 lists.

TOP 10 RECORDS TO FUCK TO

10. Sade “Love Deluxe” Why number 10? Because it’s too obvious a choice to list any of her albums, on the count that the she's pretty much a staple of splack-jams! The beautiful, boner inspiring, Anglo-Nigerian Sade’s music has long been responsible for a whole lot of exchanges of body fluids, so again, her records are kind of the go-to choice for a foreplay-list, or a Get-On-All-Fours list. But regardless, no list of this kind would be complete without her, and Love Deluxe is a classy, sexy album that’ll have most of you and your squeeze’s body cavities filled with objects in a cinch. More suitable for lovemaking than for dirty, sweaty pig-fucking, but not exclusively… 

9.  Guns and Roses “Appetite for Destruction” Forget about ‘Sweet Child of Mine’, this sleaze-fest is perfect for an all-out blood-lust orgy in the champagne room. Cuts like ‘It’s So Easy’, ‘My Michelle’ and ‘Rocket Queen’ have always proven themselves perfectly gritty scores to set the mood for you and the 3^rd string girls from the BOOBY TRAP’s day shift to have a little private party and combine Herpes strains. C-Section scars and bullet wounds galore!

8. The Sun Ra Arkestra meets Salah Ragab in Egypt

When harpooning broads of a higher caliber, and playing a Sade joint is too obvious a strategy, this little doozy is guaranteed mood lubricant. The extraterrestrial, Avant-Garde genius Sun Ra descended from the most remote regions of outer space to team up with the leader of the Cairo Jazz Ensemble to bring you this intergalactic mother-ship ride towards Planet Pleasure where panties, thongs, and G-strings inevitably go into zero gravity. Sorry for the space pun, it was a little hacky.

7. Lush “Spooky”  Dave Rojo is probably saying "Lush? You're sooo Alternative!" I discovered this record as a freshman in High School, as the band was fresh off of the first ever Lollapalooza, about a year before I had first tasted the delights of a woman’s sexual cookie jar. (Yea, I wasn't a sophomore until I was able to convince some poor girl into being naked with me... Go ahead, laugh.) This joint (an early torchbearer for what we unfortunately now know as ‘shoegaze’ in some remote way) has this ethereal quality throughout which reminds me of the unearthly feel of getting laid. Miki Berenyi and Emma Anderson’s forest nymph-like vocals over the jangly but textured guitars (and proper ambience) make for an adequate and effective soundtrack

6. Samhain “Unholy Passion” I already got into this back in TALES Zine Vol.2, so I won’t get into it too much, but let me just remind you of the opening words to that album: “Unholy passion, I feel for you, this thing that hangs down my leg I feel for you”. Enough said! By the way, get a load of that Brillo-like clump of hair pie on that Succubus! And by the way, I would just like to mention in passing that I don't think little Glen Danzig has anything that "hangs" down his leg! Typically, guys built like him can barely clear their zipper. His pubes might be longer than his cock! Anyways, if you're like me, you think evil is sexy, and if that's the case then this stroll down the dark alleys of morbid Punk is a delight. 

5. Tricky “Maxinquaye” In my experimentation with trip-hop, I came across this wonderfully odd record by the South African e-Music Svengali, Tricky. Here’s a lyrical excerpt: “Where there’s trust there’ll be treats, and when we fuck we’ll hear beats”. The beats on this thing are clearly conceived when Tricky’s sleepy consciousness expands. And if all “Ass-getting” attempts fail, then let me tell you from personal experience, this is the perfect record for when you get that animal urge, mid hallucinogenic experience, to masturbate. I did. And when I finally reached orgasm, I saw such pretty colors in such peculiar shapes and patterns.  

4. Led Zeppelin (any of the first three albums) I mean, Come On! These guys made a virtual career of banging groupies, allegedly, or at the very least they were wizards at casting that image. Some may argue that except for Bonzo, these chaps were actually quite mild-mannered and polite, like British people from Kubrick flicks. Zeppelin’s groove sound was really sexual to begin with, and Robert Plant’s way-with-words descriptions of “how she shakes that thing” are as good a testament as any to the power of merging the 3 pillars of our infernal faith, SEX, DRUGS AND ROCK AND ROLL! Bang your girlfriend to “Since I’ve Been Loving You Babe”, and then thank me later. That is probably one of the greatest Rock and Roll jams ever written. I wonder what he meant by “Gonna make you burn, gonna make you sting” in "Whole Lotta Love"? To me, that sounds like the song’s muse may have needed a penicillin shot, or two, especially after being part of these guys’ daisy chain of Vag... allegedly...

3. Christian Death “Only Theatre of Pain” Back in the Samhain review, I told you that I have a hankering for some Evil blended in to my fuck-time frolics. Well this bad boy is as good an album as any for the theme music. Rozz William’s voice all throughout this evil-as-fuck slab of macabre proto-pre-post-punk sounds as if he’s getting his prostate massaged by Mephistopheles himself. And say what you will about his dubious sexual pursuits, Rozz got himself plenty of pussy, probably twice as much as the amount of dick that he got too… allegedly! If you’re nailing a Goth broad and slip this thing in, be prepared for the explosion of vampire lust that you will unleash. Just make sure that by banging with this thing playing in the background that you don’t accidentally open a portal when Rozz starts those weird backward-spoken verses! You know what Aleister used to always say about fucking, sex juices and their relation to ritual magick! A creepy LP, so don’t be alarmed if you go limp the first time you get your fuck on to this…

2. Dead Meadow “Shivering King and Others” Alright, you want to talk about a sexy-ass record? This is some of the best stoner rock I’ve come across in my acute, recently acquired interest in that scene. We are talking about some big, BIG riffs here with fuzzier muff than a Ron Jeremy versus Vanessa Del Rio flick. (Talk about 'the fur will fly'.) Yet at the same time it incorporates some beautiful melody throughout the joint with this quiet, watery kind of production that just takes you to a time and place before AIDS when boys can be boys, girls can be girls, and getting it on with the black-lite on and the lava lamp oozing was common fare. On a rainy day like this… give me a minute… (2 minutes and 35 minutes later): Yep, I know what I’m telling you. Just banged out my wife to “Golden Cloud”, and it was epic. But here’s a better litmus test for you: Listen to “Good Moanin”, and imagine that you’re on an episode of That 70’s Show, and you’re playing the bad boy rebel, locked in the back of his custom built, Hash-smoke filled '76 Chevy van with an air-brushed scene on the outside panel of some Viking carrying some Valkyrie with big tits up a snowy mountain with his pet Wolf trailing behind, while a cosmically aware (and pleasantly damp) Mila Kunis is locked in there with you… Enjoy!

And now, for the number one Fuck Album, drum roll, no, better yet... let me get a motherfucking blast beat please…

The number 1 record to make sweet, sweet love to is:

Beherit “The Oath of Black Blood”- For when you really want to give a real serious diabolic Black Metal booty pounding…

No, No, I’m just kidding! Can you imagine, though? That’d be fucking brutal!

Alright, I’ll stop fucking around…

Alright, do it again, Blast beat please…

The number 1 album to get some wang dang sweet poon tang to is:

1. The Stooges “Funhouse” I have to be honest about something. The first time I heard The Stooges, they fucked me all up. Why? Because when I was 16, my punk-zine mentor 'Punk Seba' handed me some crazy VHS tape that contained bestiality porn, and the opening scene was of some 70's chick (with quintessentially dense pubic bush) getting head from Man’s Best Friend while “I Wanna Be Your Dog” played in the background. Yuck! She even blew his lipstick! Fucking Nauseating! Needless to say, this was a traumatic experience.

But many years and still even more LSD doses later, after reaching a level of moral bankruptcy and acquiring new heights in sexual aberration where I can find that kind of thing humorous if nothing else, I can revisit the Stooges again without bias.

If you hear Tony Bourdain tell it, when his possible favorite record of all time came out, you were an outcast for digging it. Don’t know why that would be, but this thing is as gritty and primal as rock and roll could have gotten back then. And the wild, nihilistic presence of the band’s legendary front-man Iggy Pop exuded sexuality, in his weird, gender bending, and Heroin-chic kind of way. But just listen to the record when in good company; cook up a couple of spoons of your best China White, spike up, and ride your silky cloud to pleasure land.

There’s just such an authentic, unbridled savagery to the Stooges! They have that good old-American, “banging slutty bartenders” vibe to them. “TV Eye” I think possesses this quality the most on this one. Listen to “Dirt”, and sink into that post-sex Heroin nod. And in case you have the sexual prowess to last till the last song on the record “LA Blues”, than you should enjoy one hell of a money-shot, to one hell of a sexy jam. A big payoff for everyone involved!

Congratulations Iggy, you and the boys took the coveted number one slot!

By the way, as for the bestiality VHS, you don't know what Bukkake really is till you've seen two broads take a horse's load. Yikes!....

    Congratulations

TALES OF PERVERSION  Volume 2!!!

I sent a copy of Tales of Perversion Fanzine Volume 2 to Decibel Magazine early last year to be reviewed by Kevin Stewart Panko in his column ZINE POLICE, and I’m pleased to say that the rag received a rave review. So, finally, we can add another z-list celebrity endorsement to the list. That makes it, um, let me see, oh yea, two. The first of course is that of our favorite Reality TV sperm storage tank, Robear of tattoo reality mind-fuck NY Ink.

So, here it is, another rave review, and this one is from a far more credible nobody. So without any further delay, here is what DECIBEL Magazine had to say about your favorite Zine, Tales of Perversion, Satan’s used toilet paper... 

“engaging, and F’in hilarious” Kevin Stewart Panko (May 2012 issue)