My Favorite Adult Magazines







Clit Aficionado

Nasty Paraplegics (and Girls with Debilitating
Spinal Injuries)

O: The Oprah Magazine


PG Lesbo






Pre-Teens In Non-Porous Latex


A Moment With James Earl Jones


He sat down at one of my tables, on a Thursday afternoon, across from some guy wearing a bolt of cologne and he was talking about something serious. Stevie on the jukebox singing about sunshine and suddenly James Earl Jones is looking up at me, asking for a coffee. I asked him how he takes it. He says he takes it black.

James Earl Jones doesn’t have to wait for coffee.

For the next forty-five minutes he and this guy arguing over script changes. And James Earl Jones doesn’t take no for an answer.

He takes a couple bites of the sandwich, and he drinks a lotta coffee, I think I refilled his cup three times.

And then he stands up, throws some cash down, and as he’s leaving he says,


Nightmare (3)


I spent the day picking blackberries with Grandpa but now we're back home but now my home has prisoners on the inside. Villains and criminals there because there’s no room left at the jail. There’s a black man in a cage beside the washer and dryer, and there’s a Southern lunatic in the linen closet. They smile at me with bad smiles and I try not to look at them, I try not to get close to the men behind the bars, and I try not to look at them. Why do I have to go down to the basement? The grownups needed pickles, or a pickle jar (?) and so I had to go. Down to the basement, where the light bulb is burnt, and I hate going down these stairs because I know they’re down there. I can hear them laughing and talking as I make my way down but when they hear my footsteps they get quiet so I won’t know where they are. I started to talk to them so they would know I was there: “How’s everything! How’s everything going down here!” But they're silent now with their arms in the bars and it’s so dark down here I can’t see anything in front of me. There are stacks of old newspapers from I don’t know why and old machines from before I was born and I can hear the prisoners breathing in the dark, telling stories they don’t think I can hear. And I walked past the laundry basket to the shelf on the wall and looked up and down for pickles no pickles and the prisoners started to make noises and spit from their cages and where was the pickles they needed? I tried to stand strong and stay in my place but the prisoners were shouting and laughing real mean and the basement smelled of darkness and old and then I felt a hand come out from the bars and grab my ankle so I couldn’t run but I ran and I kicked and it was so loud that I heard them and they were laughing and trying to capture me but I got to the stairs and ran up as hard as I could and shut the door behind me I’m never going down in the basement again. Never again never never again I’m never going down in the basement again.



Eenie meenie minie moe- what was that part about the tiger again?

But female cops always give me an erection, Officer

This is the part where Easter Pig learns the true meaning of Christmas!

Every Weatherman is either a homosexual or a robot... if you don't believe me take a look at the one you're with

This antique wicker gazebo is where I pork all my lady friends

My Dad's so old he remembers when Alec Baldwin was good-looking

FOX News is the next best thing to having Dick Cheney fuck you in the ass

What are the odds that the hive is full and the bees inside are furious?

Luckily I got one of those prisons where they let you keep your harmonica

The Bishop informs me that a bloody nose is not technically stigmata

My wife has a stuttering vagina and I can't get a cock in edgewise

Somedays I piss my pants just to spite my dry-cleaner

If cats always land on their feet, how do you explain that first dozen?

Fucked Up On Love

CARLOS ran to her house in the red midnight, picking a stone from her garden strong enough to break her window, and with his bare feet planted in her green lawn he pitched it perfect: to shatter the glass onto the floor of her bedroom.

Activity inside Maggie’s house now. Connections made, circuits ignited, light bulbs lit. Carlos heard his heart in his eardrums.

Some dog barking from the lawn next door and just a look from Carlos made it go away, made the mutt see reason from the eyes of a man lacking sanity- a better animal. Broken glass from the pane and the yellow lab retreated in humility.

Now Carlos was shouting, without language, loud enough to wake the neighborhood sleeping. It was mad babble, the true vocabulary, aimed at Maggie’s heart through the open hole in the glass. In the middle of the monologue he stepped out, beside himself, watching it all in reverse: The police releasing him from the squad car, removing the handcuffs and pulling away backwards, the blood dripping back up and inside the old woman’s head, the old woman rising back up to her feet, Carlos’ strong hands welcoming her upright instead of pushing her down, and the film continued to rewind...

The old woman in the bathrobe, free from multiple contusion, standing beside a howling Carlos, inhaling the threats back into her lungs, swallowing her anger, stepping backward across the street and up her driveway and untying the knot in her bathrobe. She walked backwards into her house and got back into bed, waiting for the noise that would wake her up. The dog wandered back onto the sidewalk, the shards of Maggie’s bedroom pane reuniting in harmony, in location, the glass window whole, the stone soaring back across the lawn and into Carlos' hand.

And he held it. And he loved it. And the whole thing made him cum.

And with his bare feet planted in Maggie's green lawn he pitched the stone perfect: to shatter the glass onto the floor of her bedroom.

The neighbors all came out to watch Carlos get carted away. They stood silent, blinking in the cruiser’s pulsing light. Carlos looked out the back of the police car and saw Maggie, saw her on her front lawn in her nightgown, sobbing quietly and hugging her Father. As the cruiser pulled away he closed his eyes and saw her again, through the jagged gash of her bedroom window, smiling down at him in gratitude, for breaking through, for saving her, her hand beneath her nightgown and over her breast.

She blew him a kiss, and he knew what was real.

Critics Speak: Oscar Wrap-Up


“[Which one of them] was supposed to be Hugo?”

“Like being trapped inside a giant clock and forced to watch ‘Hugo’”

“Weekend At Marty’s”

“Featuring a robot for some reason”

“I [plum forgot] before I got to the parking lot”

“A 3D PBS pledge-drive for film preservation”

“Seriously… [which one of those] was Hugo?”

The Artist

“I don’t watch Turner Classic Movies and this is exactly why!”

“                                                                      !!!”

“One adult and two deaf-mutes, please!”

“Silence is golden and so is this shower”

“[Seven stars] says my nephew who is currently in Tampa”

“More fun than hijacking a bulldozer!”

“Silent movies give me time to reflect on my sham marriage”

Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close

“What is my grandmother’s television set?”

“A wonderful fantasy for [those] in denial that 9/11 was an inside job!”

“Papa says: a Redbox”

“A squeaky, freaky sequel to ‘Sleepless In Seattle’”

“Bullock sharpens her nipples in another stab at glory”

“Punishment for having eyeballs”

“If only [the kid] had been in Building 2”


“Two strikes and no balls”

“[I just] love baseball movies with no baseball!”

“Baseball finally makes the giant leap from sport to hypothetical algebraic equation!”

“Goodtime summertime boomerang bath mat!”

“Brad takes a break from learning the kids’ names to bunt foul”

“Much more important than a cinematic expose on the steroid era”

“[This is why] Oakland has all those World Championships”