Elin gives Tiger an ass reaming...and not in a good way.

Hell hath no fury...

Elin Nordegren might not be the world's best cocksucker if the small amount of time Tiger spent with her is any indication, but she sure as hell knows how to suck the cash out of a soon to be ex-husband.   750 million samollians.  That's how much Tiger will be paying for his freedom and the sound of silence.

And that means no books, no interviews, no nothing.  Even if Tiger dies first.  If she talks, the money's gone.  The reason the settlement is so high is that Tiger had more dough than Elin originally thought.  I mean the dude can shell out $750 million and still have enough to maintain a swinging lifestyle.  (You know he ain't giving that up.)  Fucking golf...I had no idea.

Elin gets custody of the chilluns, of course.  (Like Tiger needs those little balls and chains putting a crimp in his pussy hound shenanigans.)  The funniest part of the settlement is that none of Tiger's ladies can be anywhere around the kids.  I can just hear Elin in the settlement conference.  "No skank whores, porn stars or quote unquote cocktail waitressess around my kids.  This is non-negotiable.  I'm not going to be picking crabs, cooties or other DNA out of their hair after a weekend with dad.  Plus, I don't need little Charlie getting any ideas that the waitress at the pancake house is there to do anything more than bring him his eggy-wegs."

Tryouts are beginning around the country for girls 

hoping to hop on the Woodster's wood.

Some of the talents that will be evaluated include width of leg-spread, 

sucking a golf ball through a garden hose, and relaxed gag reflex.

Update: Reports are that the settlement is $100 million.  Not exactly 3/4 of a billion dollars, but a nice chunk of change nonetheless. 

Died on this date:

Bob Crane

Actor/World Class Bone Daddy

July 13, 1928-June 29, 1978

(Age 49)

Bob Crane and Sigrid Valdis.

Bob was nailing Sigrid on the set while married to his first wife.

She became the second Mrs. Bob Crane.

I can't believe I almost missed this one.

Bob Crane was the star of the sixties TV sitcom Hogan's Heroes (1965-1971).  A surprise hit since not many people thought that a mere 20 years after WWII anybody would attempt to find anything remotely funny about the Nazis.  And set in a prison camp, no less.  But the finger poppin', wise crackin' Col. Robert Hogan along with the doofus Sgt. Schultz and the clueless Col. Klink proved everybody wrong.

The most interesting thing about Bob Crane though, was that he was cocksman first and an actor second.  The latter being used mainly to facilitate the former.  Crane and his buddy John Carpenter utilized Carpenter's access to video equipment (Carpenter was a rep for Sony Electronics) to tape their swinging activities.  Believe me, if YouPorn would have been around in the seventies, Crane and Carpenter would have been the Hope and Crosby of sex flicks.  (Bob Crane was also a drummer like yours truly...hmmmmm??)

As the story goes, Crane was about to unload his equally horny wingman, Carpenter.  The next day Bob Crane was found bludgeoned to death in his Scottsdale, Arizona apartment.  The murder weapon was never found but was suspected to be a camera tripod.  (Cue ominous music.)  Carpenter was long thought to be the murderer, having the motive of losing his pussy magnet.  Since Carpenter was kind of a creepy dude that mainly got the fucky overflow from the has-been actor, his anger at being kicked out of the poon party would have been great.

The original police work was pretty slipshod for such a high profile case and Carpenter was never charged.  The case was reopened in 1990 and John Carpenter was indicted for the slaying, but was acquitted due to lack of convincing evidence.  The murder remains officially unsolved, and Carpenter maintained his innocence up until his death in 1998.

Paul Schrader's 2002 film Auto Focus, about the career, prodigiously kinky sex life and death of Bob Crane is one of my favorite movies.

A real shock, I know.

And Now...A Very Special Public Service Announcement...From The Funeral Guy.

Gregg Allman, singer and keyboardist of the revered Allman Brothers Band has received a new liver in a reportedly successful transplant operation at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida.  Gregg needed the new liver due to complications from Hepatitis C.

Hepatitis C can be contracted by getting your ink done by the world's skeeviest tattoo artist...

Or by all the heroin, coke and booze that might be required to make you forget that not only did you marry Cher, but you also made the worst album in rock history with her.  

We at The Funeral Guy sincerely wish Gregg Allman a speedy recovery and a long and fruitful life.  We are confident that he will realize what a wonderful gift he's been given and not drink and drug his second liver to death like Papa John Phillips.

We would also like to encourage all the Young Turk speed demons and the indestructible youthful daredevil motorcyclists out there to make sure that your organ donor cards are all signed and up to date.  (Please notarize to save any last minute hassles with your parents or significant others.)

And remember, all you YouTube and Jackass generation wannabees.   Helmets and seat belts are strictly for pussies.  Life is to be lived to the fullest.  Go for the gusto and the wind in your hair.

Remember.  The life you save...may be mine.  Or some other aging rocker.  Thank you.

We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

Who da' thunk it? Christians like to do the wangdangdoodle just like normal people. (And other quick hits for giggles and shits.)

My apologies for being away so long.  I was kidnapped just outside of Palm Springs and forced to smoke crack and party with my abductors.  And I don't even like crack.  Except for the crack on a lady, if you know what I mean...and...oh, never mind.

I found a bunch of goofy little items around the interwebs (between hits off the pipe), but nothing so earth shattering that would inspire me to those long, thought provoking posts that I am justifiably famous for.

What's my position on Christian sex?  Uh...missionary, I guess. 

This is one of those stories (thanks to tbird, as always) that makes the folks at the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times all scratch their heads.  Christians?  Fucking?  With sex toys?  Why, what manner of Christians are these?  I've never heard the like and I certainly don't know any Bible thumpers myself.  At this point they will assign a reporter to do one of those stories where they observe the behavior of Christians or conservatives like they just found one of those lost-in-time Cargo Cults in Papua, New Guinea.

Yes, there are sex toy websites that are aimed at the Christian market.  Book22.com was started by the aptly named Joy Wilson.  It stands for the 22nd book of the Bible, Song of Solomon (or Song of Songs, depending on which version you go by).  Joy says that she and her husband carefully evaluate the products before adding them to the catalog.  Which means they pray about it, for all you heathens out there.  It all looks like any other sex toy website, except a quick search for "butt plug" came up empty, so to speak.  Too gay, perhaps?  The other website mentioned, Mybelovedsgarden.net, does offer an interesting device that goes up the male butt for prostate stimulation.  And when I say it looks interesting, I mean I think I want to get one.  The only difference that I could see from a Christian and a secular sex product website is there are no bobble tit chicks modeling the lingerie and no porn DVD's on the Christian sites.  That and when they say marital aids...they mean MARITAL!!

So I guess Christian sex is here to stay since it's the only surefire way to make more Christians.  That ought to bug the shit out of the New York Times.

Marital Aid Nostalgia. 

No wonder you have "daily tensions, aches and pains", my dear. 

You're completely unaware of where your 

goodie button is and the ad is certainly no help. 

Randy candy gets father fuming.  

Another h/t from the intrepid tbird.  (I don't know what I'm going to do when his unemployment checks run out and he'll have to stop trolling the interwebs and find work.)  Original story in Daily Mail UK is here.

Simon Simpkins (I'm not making that name up) met a pieman going to the fair.  Oops, sorry, I got distracted.  Anyway, Simon was shopping for sweets with his two lil' chilluns when he was taken aback by the pornographic wrappers on the German brand fruit candy, MAOAM.  (Little known fact:  Maoam is kraut for, "Blow Me".)  "The lemon and lime are locked in what appears to be a carnal encounter.  The lime, whom I assume to be the gentleman in this coupling, has a particularly lurid expression on his face," huffed Mr. Simpkins.  Simple Simon then got into a "heated exchange" with whom I'll assume to be the most bewildered shop manager in all of Britain, when his wife became "quite distressed and had to sit down in the car park."

I think Simple Simpkins is a bit confused.

These are obviously lesbian fruits that are "scissoring".

This Limey likes 'em underage.  

Licking cherries is his bag, baby. 

Here's my take.  Simon Simpkins is shit nuts and hasn't been laid in a couple of years.  He probably looks down at a plate of fried clams and sees a Roman orgy.  His wife had to go sit in the car park after Simon embarrassed her for the umpteenth time by acting like a flaming arsehole.  His wife hasn't fucked him in two years because he is always acting like a flaming arsehole in public places.   If you follow the comments at the end of the story even his fellow Brits think Simon is a half baked PC crackpot.

Simon Simpkins is only slightly less crazy than the dipshit muslims that got Burger King to pull their ice cream because they were insulted by the swirly logo.  They said it looked like the word "Allah" in Arabic.  Where are the South Park guys when you need them?  You really can't make this shit up.  Aren't there enough legitimate opportunities to be pissed off in life?  Why would you want to make yourself miserable by going out of your way to look for them.

The University of Obvious will conclude next that water is wet.

Men can figure out if a chick is hot in a millisecond.  Women take a little longer to ascertain if a certain male is mate material.  Yep.  That's it.  Three researchers and god only knows how much tax money went into this one.

Actually, for the men I think a millisecond is a bit leisurely.  Nanosecond is more like it.  Nice face, nice tits, nice ass...Me Want!  All squeezed into a blink of an eye.  Then the move is on to look for the next one.  Does anybody wonder how a titty bar with the same lone stripper night after night would do?  Maybe these geniuses at the University of Amsterdam could tackle that topic next.  (Or just look out the window and see the smorgasbord of whore houses in your home city.)  Men like variety and lots of it.  Duh.

Miss Right.  

Lather, rinse and repeat every couple of months. 

Of course women take a little longer.  You have to at least get to his place.  Determine he's not a complete tool or serial killer.  Check out his car.  Get a rough estimate of his net worth.  Then see if there's piss stains on the toilet and pubes on the soap.   All that takes a while.

 Mr. Right. 

For a man that rains money he could be a lot uglier. 

Move your big ass over, Kim Kardashian, celebrity sex tapes go global.

A couple of celebrities are caught up in a sex tape scandal.  Ho hum, say you.  What is it Tuesday?  This one, however, is a slightly bigger deal since it takes place in Indonesia.  Indonesia is majority muslim and extremely repressive.  They gots laws against this kind of thing, hombre.  The clips purportedly show pop star Nazril "Ariel" Ilham (that's a dude, BTW) doing the shag nasty with his TV star girlfriend, Luna Maya.  Another tape has him hiding the salami with with actress, Cut Tari.  (Getting deep in the "Cut", as it were.)  So there you have it.  A couple of sex tapes.  Only two?  Shit, Motley Crue singer Vince Neil could whip up two sex tapes before breakfast without raising a sweat.

Nazril Ilham and fuckmate Maya Luna 

went from porn video to hostage video. 

She's pretty hot.  On porn sites their

 sex tape would be categorized under "Exotic". 

Unlike Vince, bandmate Tommy Lee, Kim Kardashian, Kendra Wilkinson and all the rest of the celebrity skanks that use "leaked" or "stolen" homemade porn tapes as a career move, Nazril could wind up in the jug for 12 years.  Tifatul Sembiring, who is the Indonesian Information Minister, has expressed disgust at the clips.  Which in the course of his duties he has had to watch approximately 122 times.  "Why would anyone tape such a private thing?" he also added.  A question that could only be asked by a repressed muslim who probably has to flog his genitals with a cat o' nine tails if the wind blows the hajib off a woman's head in his presence.  (A bit of advice.  If you find yourself in a country that feels the need for an Information Minister get the fuck out of there.)

All these shenanigans, of course, have brought about talk that the muslim dominated government will now start cracking the whip over internet content.

Good luck with that.

Instead of worrying about the internet, maybe they should keep a closer eye on the cow fuckers.

The Funeral Guy has always kept you up to date on the latest in the world of bestiality.  Archives here and here.  ( That reminds me.  Note to self:  Work on that post about Al Gore and the "happy ending" massage.)

An 18 year old man in Indonesia was caught boning his neighbor's cow.  Good lord.  Is no barnyard safe?  The farmer said Gusti Ngurah Alit was "standing naked while holding the back of the cow."  Yeah, kind of hard to explain that one away.  But leave it to Gusti to give it a shot.  He told the Times newspaper in Johannesburg, South Africa that he didn't see a cow, but a beautiful young woman.  "She called my name, so I had sex with her," said Gusti.  Goddam rapists!  Always trying to blame the victim.  "You should have seen that cow," Gusti fumed, "strutting around that field in a miniskirt and her high heels.  All painted up in make-up like a barnyard brothel bimbo.  No man could resist."

After living long enough in a shitty third world dirt puddle

your mind starts playing tricks on you. 

The village chief apparently agreed.  Mr. Alit was assessed a $562 fine and told to ritually wash off his stupid dick.  The cow was drowned in the sea to get rid of bad luck.

No.  I'm not kidding.

I think I'd rather have sex with the box that it came in.

Some savvy entrepreneur somehow sees mega dollars signs when he thinks about the vast multitudes of men that will lay down some hard earned schmundo to fuck a Lady Gaga doll.  I shit you not.

The blow up doll is named Lady Gag Gag.  I'm assuming that this is so he won't get his ass sued off.  The same company also has a Beyonce version.  ("She Loves ALL THREE HOLES filled.")

I'd like to take a moment of personal privilege to remind you that I came up with the name Lady Gag Gag in a post honoring the young lady's beat looking broad's birthday.

The Lady Gag Gag Love Doll.

I assume the name is also to flatter your penis.

She comes complete with that stupid Alice in Wonderland 
hair and her own tucked penis. 

No man I know is hankering to give a poke to the real Lady Gaga.  She's the definition of a butterface.   If a vote was taken tomorrow I would wager she would win the Most Annoying Celebrity Award of 2010.  Beating the Kardashian Krew by a wide ass mile.  Her music...is that music?  God almighty, I would love to get in a time machine and kill the guy that invented Auto-Tune.  Just think of the "singers" that would never have been foisted on us.  Lady Gaga, Avril Lavigne, Ke$ha (double yuck) and every other teenybopper popstress whom I can't name because of the cookie cutter crapola sameness of their "music".  

Lastly, a Lady Gag Gag fuck doll is pointless.  A dude that loves women doesn't want to fuck Lady Gaga.  Men who love Lady Gaga don't want to fuck women.  QED.

"I've had it with these motherfuckin' heads on this motherfuckin' plane."

A sharp eyed (or sharp nosed) Southwest Airlines employee called the police after finding a box of heads on a plane that was headed for the Dallas-Ft. Worth area.  The cranium cargo was headed (tee hee) to the Ft. Worth office of Medtronic which does medical research.  The exact number of brain holders is in some dispute.  Apparently nobody is volunteering for the gruesome job of doing an actual "head" count.  (tee hee.)

The no longer alive heads were not packaged or labeled correctly so the Little Rock gendarmes got on the case and handed the nomadic noggins over to Pulaski County coroner Garland Camper.  "We've come to the conclusion that there is a black market out there for human body parts for research or for whatever reason.  We just want to make sure these specimens here aren't part of that black market and underground trade."  So said coroner Camper, whom I don't think will be confused with Quincy, M.E. anytime soon.

Hey, coroner Garland Camper (love that name).  Why don't you look to see if they each have a single bullet hole in the back.  If the answer is yes, call commie China and see if any of their dissidents are missing.  Haha!   What about Al-queda?  They must have to do something with all those bearded heads after making their jihadi videos.

The supplier of the bodyless heads is an outfit named JLS consulting.  The Wynne, Arkansas, business has it's license in revocation and has blamed problems in the past on a private courier.  The founder of JLS is not answering calls.  Hmmmm??  Arkansas?  Body parts?  Hard to see how anything could go wrong there.

The Black Market for human body parts is both vast and varied.

Two things you might not know.  One, you may at anytime be flying the happy skies with this kind of cargo.  We ship bodies all the time.  You will never see a place with more lazy ass lard butt union employees than an airline cargo hanger.  (Outside of a government office, that is.)  The two words that get you to the front of the line?  Human remains.

Second.  According to federal law you cannot sell human body parts.  I think this is nanny state, anti-freedom bullshit.  Your eyes, organs, head and everything else should be yours to sell.  When you die you or your  next of kin have to give permission to have any part of you taken for donation.  So aren't they acknowledging that you belong to you?  I can sell my car.  Why not my liver?  (Not that mine would be of much use to anybody.  My liver, I mean, not my car.)

For those of you who are thinking about donating your body or a loved one's body to science, you might want to read Stiff: The Curious Life of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach.  Before you romanticize to yourself, "Mom, would have been so proud that after her death she helped in the fight against cancer." be aware that some research facility might also put her in a car and run her off a cliff just to see what happens.  Or she might take a few .50 caliber rounds to the torso so the defense department can test the effectiveness of a new weapon.  Unless it's going to a specific organ or tissue bank, once you sign over disposition of an intact body, it's out of your hands.

And those heads?  They were probably going to be used to teach already filthy rich cosmetic surgeons how to perform the latest eye lift procedure on aging socialites and movie stars.

Cameron Diaz is "Always traveling for cock." Clay Aiken says, "Is that all it takes to get noticed these days?"

I haven't given much thought to Cameron Diaz since she debuted in The Mask in 1994.  Jim Carrey's career was skyrocketing and Ms. Diaz didn't have to do much but look hot  and dance around with her smoking ass in a tight dress.  Her subsequent films were basically chick flicks.  Ho-hum.

Cameron Diaz 

A fantasy to box your goofy to.

Cameron Diaz.

After a long flight during cock hunting season.

Sixteen years later, Cameron, 37, has a new movie coming out.  (Knight and Day with an equally past his prime, Tom Cruise.  Not exactly a can't miss combination for coaxing the ten-spot out of the wallet of a recession weary public.)

But this is Hollywood where the creation of buzz is a lot more creative than acutal moviemaking, so Cameron took a roofie and a shot of sodium pentathol and went for a sit down with Playboy Magazine.  (Question:  Is the summer movie going demographic reading an old school stoke mag like Playboy?  Oh, wait.  Nobody reads Playboy, or even wanks to it much anymore.)

The skilled Playboy interviewer was able to coax some nuggets out of the delightful derrierre of the demure Ms. Diaz.  The quote that has the collective boner of the interwebs all a' throbbing is this one.  "Oh, gosh, I can't even count how many times I've gotten on a plane for love.  It's not unusual in this business; my lifestyle demands it.  I'm always traveling for cock.  You've got to go where it is."

Wow!  I would have thought that if you were Cameron Diaz the cock would come to you.  Not to mention come on you.  (She did look pretty good with a load of spoo goo in her hair in There's Something About Mary.)

Other highlights from the interview are that she is not a lesbian but she's open to having sex with women.  That is my kind of lipstick lesbian, and how.  Likes dick and vadge, but mostly dick.  Also, caveman sex gets a thumbs up and her ass will make a featured appearance on film again if given the right role.

When you sex it up with hubby five times a day,

you have to work at least one session into your pool time. 

Fuck me shoes and lube required, of course. 

In other celebrity there's-nothing-private-about-my-life news.  Melanie Brown aka Mel B aka Scary Spice tells George Lopez (a not funny comic who's developed a talent for getting C-list celebutard famewhores to talk about everything from their vaginas to their sex lives) that she keeps her rockin' bod rock hard by...are you ready?  Shagging!!  Yes, Mel and her exhausted husband make the beast with two backs five times a day.  Or just three times on a day when her schedule is otherwise full.  She is a mom, after all.  Beats the shit out of a recumbent bike or a Bowflex, I can tell 'ya.  How does her husband, music producer Stephen Belafonte, feel about his wife putting his sexy bidness out dere in da street?  He has no comment, but like most guys I'm sure he's perfectly OK with the world knowing what a studmuffin he is.

h/t Huffpo which I always thought was a political website, but has become the go-to place for breaking celebrity sex news.

Curb your erection. Is Al Gore banging Larry David's ex??!!

Or, on the other hand, this could be complete and utter horseshit.

When news of the global cooling of the Gore marriage was first revealed, I thought that Al was going to come out as Big Gay Al.  An ideal both revolting and hysterical at the same time.  For some reason Al always came off as somewhat of a closet queen to me.

Throw in Sheryl Crow and you have a menage et twat.

Al Gore and Laurie David, huh?  Well, they do have a lot in common.  They're both private jet flying, huge mansion living enviro-bores and imperious, self-righteous scolds.  Taking a break from telling the rest of us how to live to sneak around for fuck time is....I really don't know what to say.  The image of a red-faced huffing, puffing and humping Albert Gore, Jr. is almost too repugnant for words.  Not only is the world not getting hotter, but I probably won't be sporting a boner again till I can get the picture of these two boning doggy-style out of my head.  Laurie David is kind of MILF-y, (like a lot of Plain Janes with a shitload of money to spend on themselves) but what an insufferable yenta.  

If this match made in heaven is true (Ms. David denies all) there would be no two people more deserving of each other.

I swear to Gaia.

Greta Van Susteren. Asking the questions inquiring minds want to know.

There's been a buzz like a thousand buzzing bees around the interwebs for about a week now.  What is it?  Breast implants.  Did Sarah Palin get 'em?  Or is she au naturel?  I haven't put in that much thought about this since after five kids I'd rather concentrate on Sarah's legs when she has high heels on.  So I guess I'll just  leave it to Greta V. to get to the meat of things in her usual blunt style.

The money shot question is about 40 seconds in.






Well, there you go.  I know that Greta has been a big pusher of Palin since before the election, doing  interviews at the family home in Alaska and having unbelievable access.  Which is why, when asked the inappropriate question about her funbags, Sarah answered in a politically savvy way as possible.  Instead, of saying, "My tits are real Greta, but speaking of plastic surgery, shouldn't you be due for a touch-up on that mug of yours?  This time have them lift a little higher on the left side so your mouth doesn't look like Popeye's when you talk."

Vajazzle your Vajayjay? Discuss.

I found this today during my usual search for sex and death.  Vajazzle porn?  What the hell is that all about?  Which led me to a more detailed explanation of the process of vajazzling.  Vajazzling, for those of you who don't know, is the gluing of little Swarovski (which is Russian for really fucking expensive) crystals on the pubic area of a lady after she waxes down.  You know, right above the hoo-hoo.  From what I've seen on the interwebs, butterflies and fancy heart designs seem to be most popular.  I also saw one that spelled the word JUICY in multi-colored crystals, which would be perfect for the gal who would like to convey her sexuality with a tasteful sense of elegance.

Vajazzle Porn.

With free jewels included!

Fun for the whole family!

I guess a guy could do it too, but it would be so beyond gay that gay men would laugh at you.  You could call it Cockazzle.  Hey, don't anybody steal my idea.

Jennifer Love Hewitt started the trend when she went on Lopez Tonight (yeah, George Lopez has a talk show, and no, I wasn't aware of it either) and talked about how after a break up with her boyfriend she started vajazzling to make her feel better about her "precious lady".  I would have suggested that a new boyfriend playing with her "precious lady" would make her feel even better about things, but that's just me.  Although I do have to say that listening to Jennifer Love Hewitt talking about her privates makes my own privates get a little jazzled if you know what I mean.

Bryce Gruber can't wait for her man 

to try out her glittery new jewel pie. 

As you know, I always like to get to the nitty-gritty possibilities on these kinds of matters.

Let's just say, unbeknownst to you, your darling inamorata has gone and vajazzled her runway of love.  Bedtime arrives and you are pleasantly surprised that your dear treasure is acting frisky without you even having to beg.  Kiss, Kiss....uummmmm...  Down come the panties and whoooahhh!   "Ohhh, that's different...I mean....NICE!"  You say while she sashays a bit with her hands on her hips.  All the while you're thinking, "That's kind of weird, actually.  Did she do that for my benefit?"  Yes, dumbfuck, she did.  So get to it.  And you do.  It's non-routine sex and you're a guy so you put the vajazzle visual aside and bang away make the love.  Things get a bit sweaty and you start to notice that your personal nether regions are becoming vajazzled.  Even worse, as things progress, you're doing that ptooooey, ptooooey thing because you have little glass thingies in your mouth.  Bleeehh, this is worse than the 80's when you were always getting pubes in your teeth.  You then spend the next few days picking Swarvoski crystals out of your ass because they're stuck up in the sheets as well.

The tab for this little added spice to your sex life?  $175.00 and up.  Enjoy.

Just a quick comment on genital jewelry in...uh...general.  Not a big fan, myself.  It really is impossible to improve on nature.  (My views on fake plastic bobble tits are well known.)  For whatever reason when I see a photo of a girl with a clittie ring it's a turnoff.  It's a couple of things, I guess.  Why would somebody want to run a piercing needle through that most delicate of areas?  I can picture a lot of different outcomes from this activity and most of them are bad, oozy and possibly permanent.  Maybe it's because I've always been so protective of my own giggle stick.  Also, I've always had the impression, rightly or wrongly, that a woman who would do that to herself is probably not only open, but anxious, to do something kinky to you.  The kind of chick that on your second date wants to drip hot candle wax on your balls or make you shit in a diaper.  I know this may surprise you but The Funeral Guy was never much for fetish games or outrageous kink.  (And at my age I have to be mindful of my back.)   I've only had one experience with a pierced goodie button.  It was distracting and in the back of my mind I was afraid one of us was going to tear something.

So ladies.  If you want to vajazzle the "V" or hang a chain off your yum yum, go ahead, I guess.  But don't gild the lily for us.  I would bet if you asked most men they'd tell you that when it comes to that particular part of you, plain 'ol vanilla is just fine.

Cemeteries...They're not just for dead people anymore.

I love cemeteries.  Always have.  Which may seem weird or not.  Its not like I had a lifelong dream to be in the funeral business.  (I always wanted to be a rock star so I could be buried in a cemetery really early.  Ha ha.)  It wasn't even that I liked funerals.  As a matter of fact I avoided them when I was younger always making some excuse not to go to one.  In fact, I was usually on the road, but I now regret missing the funerals of some family members.

Where I grew up in Ohio there were many old cemeteries that were suitably eerie at night.  Cemeteries were good places to go for making out and getting high.  Scared and tipsy girls were girls that wanted to get close to you.  Always a good start.  Mainly though, I just liked how quiet and peaceful cemeteries were.  And I'm speaking as one who is not a camping or outdoorsy type person.  I like looking at the markers and reading the names and dates.  Especially now that a lot of markers have pictures on them. They have a really nice mausoleum in Ivy Lawn Memorial Park where they have a columbarium with windowed cremation niches.  You can see where families have set up little dioramas with photos, medals and other memorabilia along with the urn.  Santa Paula Cemetery has a section where they have folks that died in the mid 1800's.  For California that's an old cemetery.  Fascinating.

For me, the best part of the funeral service is after it's over (and all went well) and I can start to relax while everyone is chatting around the casket before going to the reception.  My associate and I will people watch and take notice of all the family dynamics.  It's also funny to watch women all dressed up walking through the grass as their high heels sink into the ground.  Didn't think of that when you got dressed this morning, did you, honey?  The exception to this tranquil revery is when it's really hot and all I want is for everyone in their summer frocks and short sleeved shirts to clear the hell out so I can get my dark-suited ass back in the air-conditioned hearse.

Memorial Day festivities at Olinger Crown Hill Cemetery.

This story featuring Olinger Crown Hill Cemetery in Wheat Ridge, Colorado highlights a direction I've been seeing for awhile.  Cemeteries are sprucing up and holding events to bring folks in to give them something to relate the grounds to other than the fact that their loved ones are under it.  As Crown Hill general manager Kevin Wolfe wonderfully puts it, "People come to cemeteries, and they are always looking down."  Why do you think most cemeteries all called memorial parks now?  (You'll never hear a professional refer to a graveyard.)   I must admit I miss seeing upright tombstones.  Most places require ground markers.  Easier for the groundskeepers, you see.  Anyway, jazz concerts, fireworks on Memorial Day and summer potlucks are all on tap at Crown Hill.

 Wee Kirk o' the Heather at Forest Lawn Glendale.

At Forest Lawn Glendale there is Wee Kirk o' the Heather chapel that has hosted weddings for decades.  When I was doing pre-need for Forest Lawn I met a couple who were married there and their funerals will both be done there.  Married and buried in the same place.  Sweet.

Johnny Ramone's Memorial at Hollywood Forever.

Hollywood Forever ("Resting place of Hollywood's Immortals") hosts movie nights.  My co-worker went to one a couple of weeks ago and saw North by Northwest.  They set up a huge screen outside right on the grounds.  He said it was fun with kind of a punk crowd atmosphere.

I think this is a good trend.  Most of us will take our eternal rest in a cemetery.  Shouldn't you get to know and maybe even enjoy the place now while you can?

What one guy imagines the funerals I direct turn into.

And that guy is tbird, naturally.  Like Winston Churchill's pudding that lacked "theme", tbird felt the same about the new look of TFG.  To that end he sent me one.

If you love good caricature you have to visit the site of Victor Juhasz.  He is simply an awesome artist.

One of The Funeral Guy's services descends into chaos.  

Street Kill...L.A. Style.

I was looking for pictures for another post and I came across this guy's blog.  He has an interesting hobby.  He takes pictures of the dead critters he encounters on his Los Angeles walkabouts.

The interwebs have something for everyone.  He also takes photos of flowers and other city life.  I know L.A. pretty well, and this guy, whoever he is, captures the flavor of it quite nicely.  He must also really like to walk.  In this city he's one of the few.

Go here if you enjoy dead animal stuff (all in various stages of decomposition).

A native Los Angeles rat.  

Don't know which gang he belonged to but, 

he is most assuredly deceased. 

More new stuff.

I have decided to set-up an email address for The Funeral Guy.  You can click on My Profile and there it is.  Send me weird stories or other items of interest.  Or just say Hi.

Here it is.   thefuninfuneral.death@gmail.com

This is an experiment.  Do not send me pictures of your penis.

No Penis.

The Funeral Guy Motto

Arghhhhh!!

For some reason with this new template some of my links are not highlighting.  They are there, but they don't highlight until the cursor rolls over them.  Error messages keep popping up whenever Cheyenne, my tech gal tries to fix them.  Bear with me.  For now if you want the links to the stories, you have to roll your cursor over obvious places.  I know this is a major pain in the ass.

I am tired and I'm tired of fucking around with this.  Cheyenne has left in a huff.  I'll offer her drugs in the morning after her shift on the pole to see if she'll come back and fix it.

Update:  Looks like I solved it.  Something wrong with that hot red background.  Who needs Cheyenne?  I'd fire her ass, but she's easy on the eyes and works cheap.

TFG has an even newer look.

Taking tbird's pithy critique to heart, I am taking not 5 minutes, but 10 this time to try to give this site a little more pizzazz.  (My mother always said I was easily influenced by bad companions.)

Hope y'all like this 'cause I don't want to overthink or overdo this like I'm an interior decorator who is tweaking on meth.

TFG.

TFG has a new look!

Do you like it?  If you don't...tough shit.  I did it because:

a) I was bored.

b) It didn't cost anything.

and

c) It took me about 5 minutes.

The content will remain the same, i.e. anything that amuses, disgusts or interests me.

Thank you for your patronage.

Look Mommy! Look!!! That lady is playing bouncy lap with that man.

This is such a great performance of drunken public fuckery that I'm shocked that Laura Hall is not involved and it didn't happen in Britain.

I've never been to Batavia, New York, but I can only imagine that they don't see shit like this in their parks every day.  (Unlike MacArthur Park in LA which is like one of Dante's Circles of Hell...illegal alien edition.)

Suzanne Corona, 41, and her fuck buddy, Justin Amend, 29, were caught by police boning on a picnic table in Farrall Park at 5:00 in the afternoon.  Oh, no!!!  What about the chilluns?  When the coppers walked up and asked them what they were doing Suzanne and Justin said, "Just talking."  Which may have been the case but while they were "just talking" they were also just fucking.  Police also report that the couple appeared to be intoxicated.  Hmmm, fancy that.  Sounds like we need to start issuing Asbo's in this country to skeevy rumdum skanks who can't even be bothered to go behind a tree to get their public freak on.

Suzanne and Justin.

AKA The Romeo and Juliet of Batavia, NY. 

What gives this story its "hook", as they say in the newsbiz, is in addition to being charged with public lewdness, Suzanne, who is married and a mom, is also facing an adultery rap.  She could get 90 days in the pokey (tee hee) and a $500 fine.  I say they put Suzanne in the ducking stool and make her wear a Scarlet "A" for a year.

Suzanne, with admirable self-reflection, apologized and admitted that her behavior was inappropriate, but told police "[they would] understand if you knew what my life was like."  So what is her life like?  Well, her husband is "transgender" and they "never have sex."   That sure as hell would be enough to turn anyone into a stew bum fuck tramp that boinks younger guys on picnic tables in the pubic (typo, but I'll keep it) park.  (Question:  Did Suzanne not know that her "husband" was an impotent transgender when she married him?  She doesn't seem like the type who would have any moral compunction about sampling the goods before marriage.)

For all her contrition, Suzanne seems pretty incensed about the adultery rap, and will fight that one all the way.  Her husband is standing by her, you see, so it's really nobody else's concern.  Putting aside the outdoor sex show, of course.

You've got to check out the video.  First of all, the husband looks like a tool and a wimp for standing gamely next to his trollop of a wife, but he sure as hell doesn't look transgendered to me.  I also like how the other half of this sexy time criminal enterprise, Justin Amend, slinks away from the camera like a guy caught masturbating in the church school parking lot.  But the best part is listening to Suzanne trying to spin her way out of her liquored up lewdness.  Like an ace attorney she weaves a tightly honed defense of "Yeah, I was fucking this dude in the park, but it really wasn't like fucking because we both had our clothes on and maybe his cock was just exposed around the zipper area if you really want to get technical about it but nobody could really tell what was going on so what's the big deal anyway?"

Translation?  They were doing cowgirl.

I think Debrahlee's settlement just got a lot smaller than her surgically enhanced bazongas.

Well that didn't take long.

Before she was a poor, sexually harassed victim of the frat boy culture at Citibank, Debrahlee Lorenzana was just a 26 year-old shrinking violet who decided that her first boob job wasn't porny enough, so she decided that she needed to go up to Playboy proportions.  Or, as she so demurely put it in the 2003 Discovery Health Channel series, Plastic Surgery New York Style, "That's what I want to be: tits on a stick."   Her ultimate goal, you see, was not to be a high ranking bank executive but a "cross between Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra."  This particular surgery was on top of her liposuction and tummy tuck.

Oh, did I mention that Debrahlee is a single mom with a son who will probably be slamming heroin by the time he's 15 because his mom is a shallow, self-obsessed, club-crawling gold digger?  My favorite part from the series is where Debrahlee is dancing in da' club with her jouncing jugs about to fly out of her tube top.   And this was before the double-D upgrade.  My second is when she is with her friend in the market and she holds two melons up to her chest and giggles like a simpleton.

The video is here.  Listen as Debrahlee (in that godawful nasally, New York Puerto Rican Minnie Mouse voice) explains how she figures bigger tits will help her "determined manhunt" to find "Mr. Right".   Someone with the looks of George Clooney or Ben Affleck and of course, "educated and successful".   (Kind of like when the whores on Craigslist mention that they prefer "generous" men.) What Debrahlee brings to the table is the promise of happiness "because I'll be looking like a little Playboy Playmate."

Debrahlee Lorenzana.

Just your typical struggling working mom.

Now I wasn't there in the Citibank office during Debrahlee's employ, but that's surely not going to stop me from speculating.

Let's picture Debrahlee.  It's seven years after her nattering, bubble-brained appearance as a young bimbo on the make who's looking to purchase bigger torpedoes to add to her man snaring arsenal.  As far as we know she still hasn't found Mr. Right.  Although I would bet you a dollar to a donut that she's probably fucked a whole bunch of Mr. Hornys during the search.  Debrahlee is probably just figuring out that just as a woman can smell a sex-starved desperate schlemiel from a mile away, a savvy New York yuppie can similarly sniff out a determined single mom looking for a wallet to marry.  The perfect scenario for the male hit-it n' quit-it maneuver.  (Plus that voice...Oh, my god, how many guys have sat through dinner listening to Debrahlee prattling on while thinking..."How much more of this crap do I have to listen to before we can head to my place for some serious fuck time?")

We're now in Citibank 2010.  Debrahlee is thirty-three and the vision of a closing window is starting to get a little more vivid.  In addition to the sexy outfits and the fuck me shoes, Debrahlee starts putting on the vamp just a little too much and the suits are starting to get uncomfortable.  The Citibank execs are perhaps seeing a little too much sexual tension in the workplace.  It's probably not too much of a stretch to imagine that Debrahlee's mind is more on the successful mens then it is on productive work.  So out she goes.  Debrahlee takes her shot at a possible settlement and some surefire publicity.  As I said in my previous post I could be totally off base on this one, but we'll see.

Debrahlee's attorneys are starting to spin once again that Debrahlee can't be faulted for being a volcanic bobble-titted sex bomb.  They compare her enhancements to a woman who gets her hair done or has a nose job.  Nice try, but when a jury sees that video they may have a different take.

H/t tbird.

If you can squeeze a baby through a vagina you should be able to fit a head shop and a tattoo parlor in your ass... and more straight poop of the day.

It's been a slow news day.

The big story is that Helen Thomas, loony, far-left reporter and jew-hating old crone, will be flying her broomstick out the White House briefing room and retiring a mere four decades past her prime.  Here's hoping she doesn't wind up in a nursing home somewhere in Miami.  Wouldn't want to check out of this life with a pillow over your face, eh' Bubbe?

"It's the Jews...the Jews, I tell 'ya.

Always the goddam Jews!!!!"

MTV, a channel that used to actually play music, held their Annual Movie Awards last night.  I hear that there was edgey profanity and even edgier comedy bits.  Ho hum, wake me when it's over.  That's why there's not much celebrity news today since all the airheads, egomaniacs and glamourous nitwits are sleeping off their hangovers after attending the dazzling gala.  It may take a day or two to find out if anyone is decomposing following an after party overdose.  Ooohh!  Keep your fingers crossed.

Katy Perry.

The only two reasons to watch the MTV Movie Awards.

Speaking of MTV, I've been pondering whether to comment on this little nugget.  OK, since you asked so nice, I will.  Even the creator of The Jersey Shore calls his Downfall of Western Civilization guidoville dreck a "herpes nest" where Valtrex falleth like a gentle rain.  The reason why I hesitated is that it hardly qualifies as news that Snooki, J-Woww, The Situation and whoever the fuck else populates this shitfest is a petri dish of oozing, venereal pestilence.

Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi.
In order to catch herpes somebody had to fuck her.

Who would do such a thing?

On the crime blotter, police in Wenatchee, Washington were quite amazed by the amount of contraband that came into their jail via the poop chute of one of their arrestees.  A cigarette lighter, cigarette papers, a golf ball sized baggy of tobacco, a bottle of tattoo ink, eight tattoo needles, and a small bag of reefer with dope pipe all came out of the outlaw's orifice.  Franky, I'm astonished that they're astonished.  Obviously, they've never seen the sheer gaping artistry of pornstar butt slut Sasha Grey.  Sasha, the Queen of the Extreme Ream, could have placed the above items in a tackle box before insertion without raising a sweat.  The only difficulty would have been keeping it from falling out as she strolled through security.

Sasha Grey.

Don't be fooled by her diminutive size, 

she's got a colon like a clown car. 

I won't provide any links to Sasha's "art".  I'm sure you know where to look.

Is it hot in here? Or is it just...you!

Debrahlee Lorenzana is suing Citibank on the grounds she was wrongfully terminated because she was just too damned sexy for bank work.  Ms. Lorenzana claims that just because her business attire is straining at the seams it's not her fault if her male co-workers can't handle the hotness.  The lawsuit alleges the obligatory sexist comments and blah blah blah.

Citibank says she was let go for not bringing in enough new customers.  (How could this be possible with her ostensibly superlative business acumen and indisputable lusciousness?)

Let's dissect this one a bit.  You know me.  I'm not what you call cynical but...I'm getting a faint whiff of famewhoredom.

Debrahlee Lorenzana on what is clearly 

a very nippy day in the Big Apple. 

Right off the bat I'll give Debrahlee the benefit of the doubt on the pornstar spelling of her name, since this has been a common parental conceit since the 70's.  (Just as an aside, I am so grateful that my folks didn't give me a name that every time I did business over the phone I had to go, "...OK...I'm gonna need to spell that for you...")

And really?  Did the execs at Citibank start rubbing themselves when Debrahlee sashayed down the hall?  In today's corporate culture did men who have probably been through a dozen HR sexual harassment seminars risk throwing their careers out the window by making overtly creepazoid comments to delectable Debrahlee?  I suppose it's possible she's such a siren that a guy just can't help himself, but I'm skeptical.

I will grant that Debrahlee is pretty fetching.  But...this is New York City, which like Los Angeles has hot alluring women in glorious abundance.  I see Debrahlee caliber broads every day.  Even at banks.  (And especially when I get home.  Right, Honey?)  In Omaha she'd be a traffic stopper, but for NYC and LA she's not extraordinarily off the charts.  Debrahlee is also 33 years old and appears to be a gal of borderline zaftig proportions.  What is now voluptuous will in a few years be "weight problem".   Not trying to be mean here, but she was the one who put her babeitude up for discussion.

Next, if you go to the link there is a video and a whole bunch of dreamy, dishy Debrahlee photos.  Here's Debrahlee on the sidewalk with protruding nipples.   Here's Debrahlee in the office wearing fuck-me-pumps.  Here's busty Debrahlee in a tight sweater.  And my personal favorite, Debrahlee spilling out of her slinky dress.  Whoo hoo!  And there is plenty more on other websites.   Anybody else starting to notice that for a serious businesswoman Debrahlee sure has a lot of provocative pictures of herself floating around the interwebs?  Forgive me if I'm not quite ready to give Debrahlee the Norma Rae/I Am Woman Hear Me Roar Proclamation just yet.

On the other hand, I could be totally out to lunch on this one and Debrahlee Lorenzana is a straight up, bona fide victim of the corporate male patriarchy at its most base.  Let me reiterate that Debrahlee is real beauty and it is certainly no crime for a woman to have the nicest body that God, cosmetic surgery and 24 Hour Fitness can give you. (As a matter of fact, I wholeheartedly encourage it.)

So when the time comes and the Playboy, Maxim and other stroke book offers roll in, and the reality show producers start asking if she might consider drunkenly climbing all over Brett Michaels on the Rock of Love bus, let's hear what she has to say.  If she says, "How dare you, sir.  I am a serious person.  A woman of substance.  You can take your sleazy, cheap shot at fame and shove it right up your ass!"

On that day The Funeral Guy will gladly eat his hat.  (If he had one.)

Boys are programmed to do stupid things, but this is just nuts.

When I was a younger man, in the days before health insurance, I had two criteria for going to the doctor. One was any uncontrollable spurting blood, the other was anything remotely out of the ordinary with my penis.  (I can only imagine what I would have done if my penis ever uncontrollably spurted blood.)

There is a new act of adolescent sociopathy going around (spurred on by YouTube, naturally) where an unsuspecting victim will be sucker punched right in the family jewels.  Fun stuff, huh?  This sounds like the kind of tomfoolery the brainless asshat that invented guzzling booze through your eye would come up with.

It's a little more than teenage hijinks for David Gibbons, 14, the unfortunate boy who is now one gonad shy of the requisite two that God intended.  After a punch to the groin that has acquired the innocuous name of "sack tapping" David went home and woke up that night in excruciating pain and was taken to the hospital where his ruptured testicle was surgically removed.  The urologist, Dr. Scott Wheeler, says that he does three to four of these surgeries a year.  Authorities are weighing whether the assailant will be criminally charged.

David Gibbons.

Destined to spend his life dedicated 

to the preservation of his one remaining ball.

For some reason boys, feral little shits that they are, always seem to go for the groin.  When I was a lad there was frequently a gathering in the little boy's room for a ritual known as "shab fights".  This involved cupping your yarbles with one hand while attacking your opponent's crotch with your other hand in an upturned clawing motion.   I hasten to add this was not a gladiatorial spectacle I participated in, although I did provide running color commentary.   Looking back, I should have been a prime bully target, being scrawny and totally disinclined towards manly sports.  The only thing that saved me was that it's hard to hit someone that's making you laugh.  Then at fourteen I was in a popular band and the bullies became roadies in order to score overflow groupies.

There are some things that I never understood about guys even though I are one.  When men are young and the sap of virility is running really thick there is an abundance of really suspect shit that goes on.  Wrestling and roughhousing, sack tapping, shab fights, crossing swords, towel snapping (in the shower!!) and fraternity brother ass paddling star chambers.  I wanted no part of any of it.

Male bonding or thinly veiled homoeroticism?  I'll let you make the call.

Senile Rocker performs at White House because Barack Obama has nothing else to occupy his time.

Anyone who's read this blog for awhile is aware that I grew up a huge Beatles fan.  That said, Paul McCartney was always my least favorite.  Even from the beginning he always had the air of a man that was just way too pleased with himself.

So it shouldn't come as any surprise, I suppose, that he would see a kindred spirit in our own Narcissist in Chief, Barack the Magnificent.  The two leading members of their own fan clubs got together the other night in honor of Sir Paul receiving the Gershwin Prize.  After kissing the rather large ass of the First Lady by dedicating the treacly chestnut "Michelle" to her, Sir Paul, the private jet flying environmentalist, had to throw a dig at George Bush while planting his nose firmly between the butt cheeks of the current president.  Here's what the Mozart who wrote "Silly Love Songs" said, [Referencing the Library of Congress] "After the last eight years, it's great to have a president who knows what a library is."  After this brilliant bon mot all the attending sycophants, suck-ups and Washington leeches hooted and clapped like the good little trained seals they are.  Here's the clip.



You see.  It's funny because EVERYBODY knows that George W. Bush was the stupidest man to ever occupy the Oval Office.  (Except when he was being an Evil Genius of Machiavellian proportions.)  And EVERYBODY knows that Barack Hussein Obama is a whiz kid of uniquely boundless intellect and leadership abilities that are beyond the understanding of us ungrateful wretches that he deigns to give His governance over.  No affirmative action hire He.

Poor George Bush.  When reached for comment regarding Sir Paul's assessment of his lack of intellectual firepower all Dubya could do was shake his head and say, "I might be stupid.  But even I'm not stupid enough to marry a one-legged, gold-digging fucking whore who took me to the cleaners to the tune of 40 million dollars just for the privilege of getting rid of her."

Update:  As tbird points out in his comment it was 38.9 million and I have corrected my typo (and rounded up).  I guess I should be more accurate even when I'm making up quotes.  I wholeheartedly agree with tbird that is still some majorly expensive poon, even if amputee sex is your bag, baby.  

Third in line for the presidency. I'm truly frightened.

I meant to post this a couple of days ago but I got busy with DP.  (No, that's not Double Penetration you filthy minded heathens.  That's Dead People.)

The only way to explain this is either too many meds or too few meds.  That, coupled with the fact that Nancy Pelosi is the dumbest female politician in California history, beating out even Barbara Boxer and Linda and Loretta, the dimwitted Sanchez sisters.

My own guess is that Nancy's dermatologist injected her head with helium instead of her usual quart of botox.  Here it is if you haven't seen it.



There.  Do you know what the fuck she's talking about?  The Word is her favorite word?  Is she trying to talk about Christianity without using the name Christ?  Is the bird the word?  Is Grease the word?  Say the word and you'll be free, Say the word and be like me?

Can you imagine if George Bush said something this moronic?  Oh, wait,  George W. Bush would be excoriated for trying to turn the nation into a theocracy.

If she was trying to testify as to her religious beliefs, all I can say is I've had a more coherent explanation of spirituality at 3:00 in the morning from a bass player who just shot a speedball.