Cats and Muscle Porn; It's a Gay Life

When Secret Agent Fred dumped his fatuous boyfriend a few years ago, he asked if he could stash his terribly sweet, ancient cat, Asizzi, with me since Fred was renting his apartment out on Air BnB and somehow the listing of "affectionate cat" under the amenities was not working.  It was fine with me, I like Asizzi (I should mention, veterinarian offices are universally unable to handle his name and kept calling Fred up to the counter as "A Sissy."  Oddly accurate, but sort of confusing, so the cat's name has morphed into Steve.)

So Steve has been a resident here for all this time and Saki still has not warmed to it.  To keep them separate, Steve stays in R Man's old room, which sounds cramped, but since it's about the size of Fred's studio apartment, he doesn't seem to mind it, but occasionally will make a break for it.  Fred has been holed up in his own apartment slinging his excellent calligraphy for the tons of wedding invitations that are his bread and butter this time of year.  Exasperated at Steve getting out yet again (he is fast for an old codger) I decided to see how the two cats would get along.

Turns out much better than before.  They're sort of tense, stiff legged around each other, but a real minimum of hissing and no actual fights.  The amazing part is that Steve, America's Sweetheart, tends  to be the instigator of any rumpus.  He will occasionally let loose this prolonged low growl and tentatively poke his paw towards Saki who hunkers down looking baffled like "What is with you old man?"  Of course, Steve is so senile it's possible he thinks he's imitating a can opener.  There's no telling.

Also, having Fred out of the house means not just cat acclimation, but Porn Festival!  Not that having the old dear around really cramps my style much since we have separate bedrooms, but still, having the house all to myself is so poignantly reminiscent of being 14 and trying to rub one out before mom gets home from the store.  Whee!

Scrutiny of several new sites as well as some old faves has resulted in a conundrum.  A performer dear to my heart and my right hand has popped up on two sites and I can't decide which version I prefer.  So let's vote, shall we?

First, Gianluigi from Men at Play

 So very distinguished and distinctive, don't you think?


And then a sleeker version from MuscleHunks

Typically I would always go for the fur bearing beast thang, but I have to say, the MuscleHunk scene wherein dear little Gian his spanking his personal monkey and his giant shaved and waxed man tits are rocking gently back and forth is pretty darn mesmerizing.

And those lips.

I think I have to go do some more research.

In Which mrpeenee is Forced into a Decision

I'm still struggling with picking out fixtures for the house in New Orleans.  Selecting bathtubs and whatnot was a chore I knocked out in an afternoon when I redid the bathrooms here at Chez peenee, so why it's taking me more than three months to grind these out truly baffles me.  My talents at procrastination just seem to have developed, I suppose.

I did manage to scrape together a frantic few, so I could get the specs off to Sister Mary Legs in the Air, who's been very patiently putting up with my doddering all this time. I motivated myself by prohibiting porn until I had made some decisions.  That's right: I have moved from nagging myself to punishing myself.  Oy.

Items I snagged included sconces.  I like this one very much, plus I was thrilled by its description:

"Ostentatiously crisp white shades rise from a sparkling chrome bar in an effortless statement of both class and gentility"

cause I am all about ostentatious gentility.  I sort of love the passion whoever wrote this brings to modifiers for modifying's sake, although understanding what those big words actually meant would probably have helped.

So now I get to hoist back up on the porn train.  What am I watching these days, you ask?  Oh, just a little something called momronboyz.com.  Rosy cheeked, smooth skinned lads in white shirts and ties  and very odd underwear being molested.  What could be better?

Potty Mouth

In buying my house in New Orleans, I merrily believed the most taxing decisions would involve decorating conundrums like paint colors and such.   I overlooked the fact that in ripping out everything from the kitchens to the electric sockets, someone (that would be me) would have to pick out new ones to replace all that.

I've spent the whole evening looking at bathtubs and then, just for laughs, toilets.  I'm sure I don't have to explain to anyone living in this consumers' paradise, choice really isn't a problem.  It's narrowing things down that's the bitch.  All I want is a potty that transports the poo out of the house.  A built-in nightlight is not something I had me heart set on.  Even when I cleared the list of lights and surround sound and "cleansing devices" (oh dear.  Oh very dear.) I wound up with a considerable table of comparisons most of which seem identical.

The search engine on the Lowe's store page asks "What are you looking for?'  I understand they're trying to be helpful, but I was so frustrated by that time, I took it as a more philosophical question and decided if their page wanted to know why I was bothering to look, maybe it was time to go to bed.

What's in a Name?

You know, of course, all the finest porn sites have search functions to allow one to peruse the vast universe of filth more effectively.  Occasionally, I amuse myself (while abusing myself, as Ms Midler would have it) by typing in the most ridiculous titles that come to mind to see, not if, but rather how many of them are actual films.  Those of you familiar with the genre will not be surprised at the incredibly high return of hits I get, no matter how blatantly stupid the name might be.  And let me just add that when I say "Those of you familiar with the genre..." I know I am speaking to all of you guys, so don't try to hide.

It's a game you can play once you're bored with watching how far some brute can stick his forearm up someplace it was never meant to be, so let's go shall we?

Surprisingly, one of my faves, In the Drivers Seat, still is waiting for someone (you maybe) to make it.  On the other hand, I was amazed to find another one, Under the Big Top, was not only produced, but done so quite well by the genius director Kristen Bjorn

and stars the creamy dreamboat, Max Veniziano.

Production notes inform us that this epic is based on the opera Pagliacci, which I, for one, did not expect, but, you know, whatever.

 Also another title I'm quite fond of, Grease Pit, is still unrealized, although a search for that term turns up some real doozies, including, but not limited to Grease Guns (1 and 2)

and the close-but-no-cigar Grease Pit Daddys.  That may be an improvement, I'm not sure.

Plus Low Hanging Fruit is also inexplicably available and, again, searching for that reveals some candidates that have been cranked out that I am not even going sully my blog with by repeating.

Pretty much any common phrase is a likely candidate.  In fact Common Phrase could be a great choice, the story of a randy English teacher and his naughty pupils, although I suppose it requires one to know that "common" not only means vulgar, but once upon a time was used to refer to one who was sexually knowing.  Ooh, ooh, and Sexually Knowing would be another and a shout out to the Who's Quadraphenia to boot. And what would lend itself to this better than To Boot?  Why do I have to do all the thinking around here?

The great thing about smut titles is that not only do they provide the name of the film, but the plot as well, and, frequently, most of the dialogue.  You come up with Daddy's Home and, boom, you're pretty much done with writing.  Or "writing."  And also, again, searching for that gem leads you down a rabbit hole of ouveres you probably don't want to know about, although Daddy Ike Is Collecting the Rent sounds like it might be amusing.

Sorry, I gotta go, I have tons more research to do.