In Which We Rock Out

 

As a proud little baby hippie, back in the late '60s during the waning days of both the Nixon administration and the age of Aquarius, I was a passionate lover of loud rock and roll and I have the tinnitus to prove it.  So when our good friend Drumstick asked if we wanted to go see the new documentary, Becoming Led Zeppelin, my answer was an enthusiastic "OH HELL YEAH".

And that's how you would have found Drumstick, Hotfoot and me downtown, after dark, for a very amusing evening, helped in no small part by the excellent Mexican food we had for dinner beforehand.  The movie was pretty darn entertaining, even if it did lean sort of towards hagiography.  But I suppose if you want the Led Zeppelin seal of approval, you have to kiss a little Led Zeppelin ass.  The timeline of the film is pretty fine-grained; it's more than 2 hours long and it only covers between when they first meet as a band in 1968 and when when they become the number one group in the world in 1970.  There were times when I felt like we were watching those 18 months in real time.

The only speaking roles are the three surviving members of the band (drummer John Bonham died in 1980).  They're photographed seated in sort of throne-like chairs, beaming and nodding, modest and genial as all get out as befits the elder sages of rock and roll.  Nobody actually calls themselves "genius" but it's pretty clearly understood.  Movies about bands like this typically would examine the "sex and drugs and rock 'n roll" triumvirate, but if that's what you're looking for, you can just take your sordid little business elsewhere.  The words "heroin" and "cocaine" are never mentioned, and groupies are thoroughly ignored.  This is all about the Music. 

I suppose that's the way it should be, and certainly the presentation of the music is outstanding.  Instead of just clips of different songs to illustrate the points being made, entire songs are presented from various concerts.  The first two albums they put out, which are what the movie covers, have some great songs in them, like Dazed and Confused and Ramble On, so the producers couldn't really miss.  Like the title says, this is the Becoming part of their story.   Probably the biggest problem I had was there's no sense of struggle; the boys meet each other, they're geniuses, and everything falls in place.  But man, do they ever have great hair.  All four of them consistently looked like they have just escaped from a shampoo commercial.

Maybe I am just not whom this was made for.  I was a fan of the band, but really more of their stuff from the mid-70s like Immigrant Song or Kashmir, and even then, I was always more of a Bowie/Pink Floyd/the Who fan.  Certainly, I was never the kind of Led head as most of the crowd in the theater was.

Drumstick and I had disagreed about what the audience would be like, I predicted it would be an Old Hippie Festival.  Once again, I was right, of course.  I always am.  Drumstick is only in his early 50s so he wasn't even born during the period the movie covers.  But I was a teenager in that era and remember it vividly, as did most of the rest of the audience.  When I looked out over that crowd in the dim lights, the gray hair was gleaming everywhere.  It looked like an outing from every old folks home in town.  The crowd was very enthusiastic, clapping and singing and just a-hootin' and a-hollerin' in general.  Yuck.  Calm down, pappy.  If they have to stop this movie for your coronary, I'm going to be mad. 

Boys who put the sex in sex, drugs, and rock and roll:

Skinny boys in shabby jeans, it's a look.

It's been cold and gray for much too long.

Charles Paquette, professional beauty.

I heard one of the cats puking last night, and now I can't find the relevant puke, which makes me uneasy

Speaking of dazed and confused.

Beefy goodness.

Kirill Dowidoff.  I know you can't see his dick.  Use your imagination.

In Which We Try Something New

Fuck off, snooty bitch.

 

I have an exciting new hobby.  It combines two of my favorite things: pictures of naked men and spending too much time on the internet.  I am referring, of course, to dabbling in AI.  Woohoo, mrpeenee is so terribly au courante. 

So how did I wind up over here somewhere towards the general vicinity of the cutting edge of technology?  I hadn't planned on it.  I'm old enough to remember when tech nerds were assuring everyone that we all needed to learn how to code so that we could use computers.  Hah   I ignored that and now I have a blog; isn't it a funny old world?  And thus I was fully prepared to ignore AI as just another fad that would pass like pork pie hats and democracy.  But then I bumped into some story that discussed the fascinating world of AI generated porn.  "Well," I said to myself, I said, " now we are talking." 

Once I had signed up for a few of the sites that offer AI gay porn (there aren't many,) I discovered a couple of things, one) it's not all that hard and two) my idea of porn is very different from that of most of these sites.  Their filth leans more towards what a sheltered young girl in junior high would think of as "spicy" or "steamy" or, and this is a word which grates on my nerve like nails on a chalkboard, "sensual." Whereas I was looking for "filthy" or "guaranteed to make a MAGA bitch piss its pants." 

It's my own fault, all these sites offer an ai "boyfriend or girlfriend."  I sort of dismissed that as a euphemism, but in fact, it is mostly what they're selling.  I realize now their customer base is mostly sort of incels who want companionship but don't want to actually speak to icky real people.  So you create your boy/girl/transfriend (with personality traits and jobs and hobbies and, I don't what all, maybe dental care plans) so that when you exchange your insipid little texts with them it'll be like they really know you and care!  All I wanted were pictures of them getting railed by a rugby team, but when I explained that, I was met with pursed electronic lips and rebuked. 

Not all of the sites are that restrictive, but each has its own drawbacks.  One that has some of the most realistic pictures adamantly refuses to create any with any sexual action, another that does generate cheerfully smutty pics frequently does so with weird psychedelic colors and with those freaky AI hallucinatory fucked up anatomy like multiple dicks or men with what I assume are swollen vaginas between their legs.  Another one which is pretty good about getting all the pieces right only has one face and it's not particularly a great one, sort of a leering Ewan McGregor. 

But I persevered, and I have found a lovely site called Prompthero (the commands you give to generate the pictures are called prompts.)  Frustratingly, they're one of the ones who refuse any requests for what they call NSFW.  But my stubborn insistence on vulgarity allowed me to figure workarounds to get to ones that are at least bawdy.  Herewith let me present a photo story I like to call The Rentboy's Progress

Our hero, Peter Pussy, rentboy

Peter is having cash flow problems again. He goes to lean against a wall on the sidewalk.  Sometimes that helps.

An elder of the tribe approaches Peter to offer succor.  Peter answers with the traditional reply of his people "300 bucks for front stuff, 400 for back."  "Deal" says the elder.

They retire to a motel to rest after their negotiations.  Peter clarifies that pulling his hair and calling him names carries an extra surcharge.  "Done," says the elder.

Cupid lets loose his arrow.

But you gotta pay dem bills.

Later they run into each other in a sleazy bar, the best kind.

They dance the night away.

The elder reveals his financial situation, which is large, much like the front of Peter's pants.

Peter suddenly realizes they need to marry immediately.

The End.

Watch for the exciting sequel "Peter Pussy, Former Rentboy, Gets Caught Pulling a Train with the Yacht's Crew on His Honeymoon."  RuhRoh!

Here's some more examples of my genius, AI division:

Brought to us by our dear friends at Pornify.com

Pornify is the one that is cheerfully filthy, but occasionally will stumble over anatomy.  Oops.

Papacito has high quality pictures, but like I mentioned, all their guys look alike.

Porn journey has some hot results, but they don't let you write your own prompts, you have to use their preset ones, which are pretty limited and generic.

Still, it's hard to argue when generic looks like this.  Also, Porn Journey offers the oiption for the AI to write porn following your prompts, I thought that could be interesting, but it turned out to be very Ladies Gothic Romance Bodice Ripper, like "I quivered as his piercing blue eyes locked with mine.  He pressed close to me and I cried out as he entered me.  We shuddered as we climaxed together."  I had asked for a filthy old professor coercing his football player student into a quick round of sodomy, but whatever.

Candy has beautiful, very naturalistic looking work, but they are the ones that adamantly refuse any dick action.  Oh nuh huh.  They are the ones that rebuked me for being too pushy.  Bitches.

But they did come across with very nice pirate work.

createaiporn.com (props for being very clear in your company name) is sort of the best about allowing and following porny prompts, but they are not very realistic.  I forgot to mention a lot of these sites' strongest suits are in creating anime/manga style results.  Partially that's because that's what AI handles best and partially because, I think, that's what their audience wants.  Since a picture of Sailor Moon with massive tits and cum dribbling out of her various orifices is what sells.

Freaks

In Which We Live It Up

Back when I was a good deal younger than I am now, leading the fabulous existence of an '80s queer in New Orleans, I remember thinking occasionally what a quiet, restrained life I had.  Looking back on it, I must have been out of my mind, more so even than usual.  Those were the days when I'd go out to queer bars and bath houses pretty much every single night whooping it up, listening to loud music and chasing dick. Now if I have a haircut and a doctor's appointment both in the same week, I am laid low for days. 

I was considering all that this last weekend.  Diane von Austinburg was in town and we made a day of it.  We met up with our friend Hotfoot to go check out a charming new little museum with a very interesting couple of exhibits.  It wasn't crowded and the space is a dynamite use of an old bank downtown.  We dug it.

After we had had our fill of being cultured, we headed for a bar, because what else do you do late on a Sunday afternoon?  Hotfoot's husband Drumstick joined us there and after a couple of drinks we adjourned for sushi.  Diane and Hotfoot both said it was excellent.  Drumstick and I both agree sushi is nothing but overpriced cat food and we refuse it.   Still, it was a very nice dinner hanging out with old friends. 

But wait, there's more! After dinner we came back to my place and played Yahtzee like the wild dogs we are.  They all polished off a few bottles of wine and even though I was the only one not drinking, I was also the only one to not win a game.  I was so annoyed, I briefly considered cheating, since they were all so wasted by then they wouldn't have known, but even I have my limits.  Everyone had completely conflicting demands about what music I should be playing.

The whole underpinning for the evening was a celebration of Super Agent Fred's birthday.  We toasted to him, and we told stories about him, and we all got a little teary-eyed occasionally.  It was very reminiscent of evenings gone by when we would explore bars all over town, the sushi place was one of Fred's favorite spots, and a Yahtzee tournament was a tradition of ours.  It was a good time and times like that help say goodbye.

Speaking of Super Agent Fred, I have been able to make progress (finally) on the website where I will be offering up his art.  I know I have been really slow getting a handle on all this, but I am able to think I should have something soon.  

You know what else Fred was very fond of?  Naked men:

Fred was very fond of the species known as "daddy".

A cowboy for my niece Amber, who appreciates beef.

 

And buttchops for me.

Speaking of buttchops, someone would seem to have been a naughty little puss.

I've mentioned before how I love big boys with that dumb look on their sweet face.

I can never remember this guy's name.  If anyone knows it, please share with the class.

Surly, but so darn beautiful.

In Which We Review

 

It's been a great year so far hasn't it?  We've been reveling in cool sunny days, definitive California winter weather. And I'm plenty glad of it since I have turned into one of those old ladies who can tell when the weather is going turn nasty because it makes my bones ache. And that brings up the point that I am old because I have not died, so, you know, yay.  I celebrated New Year's with a salute to my white trash heritage by eating the traditional black eyed peas and cabbage.  In this case, I made hummus with the peas instead of chickpeas, which was fine, but sort of dull, and coleslaw, which was dynamite. The resultant fart fest was also dynamite, an absolute hurricane up in here. A single match would have blown us all to Kingdom come. Woohoo. 

Other 2025 news includes the astonishing fact that I have remembered that it is, in fact, 2025.  Also neither cat has puked thus far.  I am as astonished as you are.  The Trump administration and Shit Show hasn't started yet, so we should enjoy these last few un-shit show days. And I continue to be very amused by the British game show Taskmaster and its high-handed host, Greg Davies. Also I got the water filter in my refrigerator replaced finally.  I take the wins where I can.

Of course there could be no highs without some lows, no peaks without troughs, no uncut dicks without cheese.  Gay porn continues its sad, sad decline.  The rise of skinny twinky bitches continues.  Amateurs and their phones have triumphed over studios with professionals who knew lighting and how to move a camera.  I look back on the work of smut auteurs like Kristen Bjorn, 

Or the glossy perfection of Colt Studios, 

Or the iconic Al Parker,

I think of those past triumphs and I weep. I understand this is mostly a result of being a cranky old man, but I also contrast these works with some out-of-work waiter pointing his phone at his dick and calling it a day and I am just glad I was around for the high water mark of nekkid men.

Speaking of naked men,

Sultry, that's what you want in these wintry night.

Brandy Martignago wants to wish you the happiest of New Years.

You know what would go good with black eye peas and cabbage?  Ham.

Wow.

Sometimes tits deserve their own attention.

That's not how you wear panties, but OK.

Nuevo daddy.

Daniel Montoya, costarring his musclepussy.