New Video Rant: Amateur Porn, some ground rules please?

Monk's Video Rant 02/04/10: Homemade Porn Blunders from Twisted Monk on Vimeo.

This will probably net me some hate mail, but after years of enjoying amateur porn I think it is high time we establish a few "ground rules"

Pardon me while I get my nerd on.

So you know those t-shirts/mugs/calendars/bathmats/bumperstickers that say “everything I needed to know about life I learned from kindergarten (or my cat/dog/podiatrist” and they have some list of pithy, life affirming BS anecdotes that anyone with a basic understanding of how to be a decent human already knows? I’ve always wanted to make one that read.

“Everything I needed to know about life I learned from reading Dune”

It would have things like:

“It is not good to just defeat an enemy, one must utterly destroy them”
“Never unsheath your knife unless you intend to bathe it in blood”
“Walk without rhythm and you won’t attract the worm”
“Do not cry for what you have lost, tears are a waste of water”

So yesterday I was forced to pack it in early, a very rare migraine put my ass down for the day. Not regularly prone to such things, when it happened I was casually mentioning to Tambo, "wow, my vision is going all wonky and it smells funny..." that was before the phalanx of dawrven miners took up residence in my sinuses and begun pounding away. Not fun, thankfully these things are pretty rare for me, but count me out for the day none the less.

Thankfully I happen to have some pretty effective, ahem, tools for dealing with such things. So there I was, stoned outta my ever loving mind, flat on my back, and bored to fucking tears. Being in pain is one thing, being numb and bored? I think that may suck worse. Anyways, too mentally incapacitated to operate anything more complex than my zipper and not tracking data too well I fell back into the warm, inviting arms of an old foe. The Maury Povitch show. Oh sweet Maury, your how your deeply creased face seems so inviting, yet somehow reminiscent of Emperor Palaptine in a powder blue sweater....

I once, a long time ago, suffered a powerful Maury addiction. Like a junkie twitching in a doorway, I needed my daily fix. Rest assured, over the course of my life I have ingested some pretty outrageous things, but this was far worse than any pharmacological or chemical compound, that man had me in his clutches. Why you ask? How could someone like me suffer such an affliction to a daytime TV show? I think this best explains it, a video clip taken one night early in the days of the Abbey. I'm ranting about why I loved to what the show so much.

I think you will agree, those were some dark and desperate days for your humble narrator. Fortunately with the help of my loving partners, an all consuming job and us not owning a TV for 3 years, I was finally able to rid that particular monkey from my back.

Today the pain in my melon seems to have vacated and the painkillers, having done their job, are no longer dulling my faculties and slowing my speech. No, this morning as I type this and sip my coffee, NPR is playing in the background talking about smart people things and in between edits I'll pop over to the BBC news to get their take on the world. Confident that my brain, now returned to me, no longer craves the sugar fix that is Maury.... for now.

But like any addiction, you are never truly healed.

Porch Pastor sent this one along to me... and it made me shoot coffee out my nose.

Brain stuck in Neutral... Apply coffee and wait.

Perhaps the rain is causing my brain to rust, or it was the string of long days finally catching up with me, but wow... witty sentences are not my forte this morning. While try soaking my brain in caffeine lets play the "Leave a funny comment, win a prize" game again.



Oh please make sure you leave your email address when you leave your comment so I can contact you if you win. "K2" we voted the winner of the last one, but with no contact data I really can't give ya your prize now can I?

8-Ball In The Corner Pocket

So lets talk about that giant ass hook I have been seen brandishing as of late. You know this one, the one with the amazing 2 inch wide ball on the end? The one that most folks look at and sorta wince? Well it would seem that a fine young lady of my acquaintance, upon experiencing said hook up close and in the flesh (as it were) expressed her disappointment with said ball. In fact she went as far as to say to me, “Ya know, I sorta thought it would be bigger”

Let me tell you, no man likes to hear those words, ever.

So while I made a mental note to request a 4 inch version, I had to do something to save face. Hence the threat, a quick laughing off the cuff sort of thing really, of stuffing multiple pool balls into her ass next time I got the chance. This, this dear reader was the wrong thing to say. See, the sexy woman in question is rather proud of her backside and it’s, how shall I delicately put it, capacity.

Her response was to laugh and tell me that if I can figure out how to do it with out the scene ending in an emergency room, I was more than welcome to have at it.

Can pause and I just say how much I love my life?

Anyways, I had not put much thought into that exchange until last week when a box arrived for me at the Abbey. Inside, a brand new set of regulation pool balls with a little note that read, “The ball(s) in your court”. Yes, dear readers, the gauntlet had been thrown and my ego (and libido) were now firmly committed to the idea of taking her up on her most generous offer, of course the responsible top that I am still had yet to first answer some very important safety questions. I needed to consult an expert, namely a gay friend of mine who “flagged red”, if anyone knew the ins and outs of extreme anal play it would be him.

We discussed the various options for just how to secure said balls so that they could be safely retrieved and not run afoul of any of the delicate tissues and, most importantly, not send the girl into the hospital with a perforated colon. So after much conversation and weighing of the all the safety factors to be considered, he paused and asked one very probing question that I had yet factor into my planning.
“It would seem to me,” He said thoughtfully stroking his goatee,”that you have yet to answer one very important question.”
“Well… I thought I had the major ones down, but what am I missing?” I ask with concern.
“Stripes or solids?” He chuckles, “I mean are you playing 8-ball? Cut throat? What happens when you sink the cue ball?”

This gives the whole “Ball in hand” rule a whole new twist now don’t it?

Another one from the “gee my life is odd some days” file. Recently I was approached by a reader asking if she base a character on me. She is a writer of fan fiction, CSI to be exact. As she rattled off her idea and the characters involved I had to confess that I’d only seen the show maybe once. Aside from catching the occasional Project Runway with Tambo, the TV and I are not much of a couple. However I’m always game to help out someone in a creative endeavor and after outlining my personal limits as to what my “Character” would do (gotta always play safe, sane and consensual even when in a fantasy context) I gave her the go ahead.

Well it was just published.

Upon reading it I found myself laughing my ass off. See what I failed to realize when she pitched the idea to me was that the story was involving two MALE cast members of said show. So while my “character” is not an active participant, I am now a supporting character in gay porn. Yup, mom said that if I kept up this life of deviance that I’d end up doing gay porn eventually.

So now I guess I can add, “Supporting Character in Gay Fan Fiction” to my list of jobs.

My life is very strange, but pretty freaking amazing.

Euro Humor

Every morning, when I want to check on the events of the world, I first go to CNN to see what the locals are saying about the state of things. Then I surf over to the BBC News site to see what the outlook on the other side of the pond is like, lastly I scan the english version of Al-Jazeera to hear what the other side might have to say. Having a degree in Rhetoric and Propaganda, I'm pretty hip to the idea that all news is bias in some form or another. I figure that between these three divergent viewpoints, the real story should lie somewhere in the middle.

I must admit that I have a soft spot for the BBC. Maybe it was the influence of all the British comedies, re-broadcast on public television here in the US when I was a kid, but I enjoy their (albeit slightly northern euro centric) view of current events. Anyways, recently I found a piece about how the churches in Belgium were all atwitter about a recent TV add for a new station that featured a party hearty Jesus hitting a local disco.




Me? I think it is pretty damned funny. Then again I sort of have a thing for irreverent humor. Happy Friday folks, remember laughter is healthy.

It’s time for another episode of everyone’s favorite blog post…
Leave a funny comment, win a prize!


Enjoy! Me? I've got like 3 dye jobs to get done today and damn if a meatloaf sandwich from my favorite lunch joint does not sound good on a drab day like today.

In the interests of fairness to yesterday's frivilous post (and that it is Sunday and I really don't feel like being all that insightful today) Here is another "motivational" poster. This one was made by Nerdy at last year's Folsom.

What about Folsom you ask? We shall talk about that tomorrow.

Sent to be by a (supposedly) vanilla vendor...

Driving into work this morning I remembered why I want to punch Patrick Swazye in the crotch.

It was just before I pulled into the local cupcake boutique, one must keep the minion properly bribed ya know, when it came back to me. The need to smack that guy right in the junk. See, anyone who has ever had the misfortune of being a passenger in my car will tell you I have 3 stations that I listen to on my radio, the alt rock station, the agro-metal station and the “Oh sweet Jesus I am so flamingly gay disco station”. Heaven help you if you dare switch my radio to NPR, I once killed a man for less.

This morning’s road soundtrack was 80’s dance music. Old wave, as it were. Having worked in a record store back in the late 80’s I have a very soft spot for the likes of New Order, Susie Sioux, Yaz and the rest of that crowd. Being a record store we were of course supposed to play the new records. The store was divided into two main musical camps. Those who thought we must cater to the mall friendly sounds of Debbie Gibson, Tiffany and that musical scourge… the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack (and it’s red headed step child, “More Dirty Dancing”) and the rest of us who would rather try and slit our wrists with a broken shards of “Tainted Love” (the extended mix of course).

We tried to sneak in New Order’s Blue Monday in between the near constant rotation of leg warmer re-enforced sugar coated pop drivel. To this day I still can still quote the lyrics to Tiffany’s break out single, “I think we’re alone now”, seeing as how the damn thing was seared into my brain after being forced to listen to it countless times. I can barely remember the date of my anniversary but I can still recite the track listing for that damned movie soundtrack… oh how I hate that man.

Thankfully, Tiffany is now doing shows at the local Indian casino and Patrick Swazye has been shuffled off to pitch products on late night TV while those gems of keyboard driven dance pop, with their big hair, eye liner and morbid sense of humor still have a home on the radio.

This time I can't blame the pain meds...


I was just saying to someone yesterday how I thought that the bears were under represented in the gay disco market. To those of you who are thinking about going to Foslom in September, best get used to hearing this. It will be blaring out of EVERY cafe, disco, and boom box durring your visit.

Re-telling of tales

A quick look at the sidebar will show that I’ve been keeping this blog for quite some time now, well over 3 years in fact. Sometimes the entries are good and insightful, other times they are pretty lame. Thing is, after all this time I’ve never considered myself to be a “writer”, that is something I will leave to my far more talented lover. Rather, I’ve always seen myself as more of a “storyteller”, one who spins a good tale and is entertaining in the process. If you learn something along the way or gain some new, profound insight you should just consider yourself lucky and not tell anyone for fear they may think you a bit strange in the head.

That said, the highest praise a storyteller can be given (in my humble opinion) is when their stories are re-told by others.

Today one of my employees shared this with me. Seems she loved the story about my first lesbian friend in college and the witty comeback she always had for those ever hopeful straight boys who sought her attentions in vain. She liked it so much in fact that she shared it with all of her gay friends, many of whom seemed to have found themselves in similar situations yet lacked the proper retort.

In her own words:

A friend was riding the bus in Portland one day and chatting along happily with the driver. Her stop was the last stop on the line and she was usually the only person left on the bus so she often found herself in conversations with the drivers. She also happens to be very attractive and very gay. On one such trip, just as the driver was pulling up to her stop when asked her if she had a boyfriend. She responded no, I’m gay. His immediate response? “Yep, you just have not found the right boy yet.” Just as she stepped through the open doors and onto the pavement, she turned back to him and responded, “The same could be said for you, my dear. Keep looking” and walked away in smug triumph

You have no idea how proud hearing this made me. That one of the zillion silly stories rattling about in my brain had not only been good enough to be re-told, but also memorable enough to eventually become part of another person’s tale.

That, that dear readers is so damn cool.

Where the hell is Margaritaville anyway?

I think I may have stumbled upon a universal constant. A binding truth, much like the force (or duct tape) holds the universe together. Take two or more affluent, North Americans and put them someplace warm and near a large body of salt water and something disturbing happens. Jimmy Buffet.

For the record, I can’t stand the music of Jimmy Buffet. The man’s music sets my teeth on edge.

I seem to be a minority here. Seems like every beach town I have been to in the last twenty odd years, if they serve cold beer and have the means to produce pre-recorded music there will be our Mr. Buffet. Like a persistent mold that you just can’t seem to scrape off. Now it would be one thing is his appeal was limited to what I would diplomatically call, “my father’s generation”. You know, that brand of tourist who, while exploring the world, doesn’t want to leave the comforts of home too far away. But alas, this is not the case. Get a group of tourists near a beach, put cheap alcohol in their hands and they all want to sing along! Sure, call it “family safe entertainment” all you want, but I know better. It is a cross-generational threat that needs to be further researched in order to be stopped.

I’m wondering if perhaps I can obtain some kind of UN grant in order to further study this phenomenon. Is this limited to just North American beach locations or has this threat spread to Europe as well?

I may need to see for myself.

Oh my, the bad personal adds!

Wow, I just got this via one of my spam catcher e-mail addresses. Seems this individual is looking for a special someone and thought that posting this on a Yahoo Group that specializes in bondage photography would net him a future mate. This one is just so bad, that I had to re-post it in all its un-edited glory.

“The kinkier the better.Maschoistic a plus. Strict Master seeks slave girl of ANY age between 18 and 55 who's only wish and desire is to serve a Master with all her heart and being. I will reward ur total devotion and obediance with loving kindness when such is warnted, harsh punishment when that, too, is deserved. I offer a sturctured lifestyle where every moment of ur day will be under my complete control. If u seek someone who will demand that u consult him even on something as simple a matter of what clothes u may wear each day, then I am whom u seek. ALL sex will be WITHOUT condoms. NO EXCEPTIONS!! U will eather enjoy, or learn to enjoy, anal sex and forced face fucking. U will show proper respect to ur Master at all times or be severly punished. Pierced a plus, but not required. Tits of any size, condition, shape welcome.

ALL REPLIES DIRECT TO MY E-MAIL ONLY!!!!”

So in other words, “Sadist, lacking a spell checker, seeks a female. Any female really, as long as they have boobs, for unprotected butt sex. Women with no spine, sense of self worth or personal ambition encouraged… as long as they have tits.” I’m not sure what makes me cringe worse here. The fact that some guy actually thinks that this tactic will find him a submissive partner or the poor soul who is thinking that this is what an SM dominant partner is supposed to be like?