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Shane Warne: A Human Meat Pie on the Constant Hunt for Lady Sauce

18 Jan

So Liz Hurley and Shane Warne, aka crickets answer to Tiger Woods recently got engaged…Does the woman not know how to use Google?

That’s right Liz, you should be embarrassed

 Has she been living in an underground bunker for the last 20 years, only coming out to do media appearances, screw millionaires’ and tweet about the important part anorexia plays in her diet? Because if not, what the fuck is she doing?

Who in their right mind agrees to marry someone who usually has the words “serial love rat” prefacing his name in print? At best this guy is extremely embarrassing and at worse he’s a toxic nightmare. It’s not even news anymore when he cheats. The media outlets just heave a collective sigh, roll their eyes and say “again?”

Is Liz Hurley deluded enough in her hall of mirrors to think Shane Warne’s love of hooking up behind his significant others back with sloppy tarts is ancient history?

Is she under the impression that great tits can change the time space continuum?

Does she seriously think his days of embarrassing text messages and slamming skank snatch are a thing of the past for him – like his natural face and eating carbs?

Or maybe Millionaire douchebags are her thing? Her boyfriend of several years, millionaire Hugh Grant cheated on her with at least one streetwalker. Steve Bing, her son Damien’s millionaire father did a Billie Jean and publicly declared “the kid is not my son”  until DNA tests proved otherwise. Her ex husband, millionaire Arun Nayar cheated on his ex wife with Liz and she cheated on him with our Shane.

Maybe there’s hope for this union after all? Or maybe it doesn’t matter as long as he’s a millionaire? Perhaps regular, non-millionaire cock has more calories? Does she think if she can tame him there will be some kind of reward? A certificate or trophy to say she is the most beautiful and charming woman in the world that even a seasoned douchebag wouldn’t cheat on?

Oh, honey, there’s no prize, no certificate, no changing him and no trophy. All Liz is going to get out of this relationship is embarrassment, a punch in the ego, herpes and a few other STD’s common amongst millionaires’ and sex workers.

– Tara Steven-Seagal.


14 Feb

It looks like Betty White wasn’t born old after all.

I stumbled across these nude Betty White pictures the other day and it got me pondering the existence of other Golden Girls wank bank memorabilia. It’s not a recent development that struggling actresses often turn to the pornographic arts – and if Betty White is naked out there imagine what Rue McClanahan must have floating around! So I consulted my best friend the internet and the results were not quite what I had in mind but spectacular none the less.

There is no environment on heaven or earth that wouldn’t be imbiggined by this artistic rendering of my favourite Golden Girl.  Apparently John Currin painted this portrait with his tongue super glued to his cheek but I can’t imagine a single room that wouldn’t benefit from it’s tits-out majesty. If I had things my way this picture would be on the national flag!

You may want to hold my hand now dear reader, because the places we’re going are frightening indeed.

That’s what’s so great about the internet: you may think you’re a sick fuck as you type crazy shit into the Google search window but the results tend to show there’s always someone sicker and more full of fuckery than you’ll ever be. Theres a galaxy of kiny-fied Golden Girls fan art going on out there and I have been in the dark for so long!

The mecca of all things erotically inspired by the Golden Girls.

It’s fitting that Miami be the birth place of the Golden Gals Gone Wild art exhibition. It is, after all, where the lusty ladies of the Hallmark channel Dorothy, Sofia, Rose and Blanche ate cheesecake and dated the shit out of the regions cabana cruise-outfitted widowers and retirees. The opening night of Golden Girls Gone Wild looked like it was one hell of a multi media campy paradise complete with gogo dancers wearing enormous Golden Girl heads, midgets and Giovanni Ribisi (who knew).

If I had known the extent of the options available I may not have got such a subtle tattoo.

– Tara Steven-Seagal.


2 Feb

Don’t call him “A troubled actor”. He loves this shit and so do we.

I think it’s time we talked about Charlie Sheen. Sure, the interwebs are abuzz with Sheen speak but everyone is saying the same old shit. Oh that Charlie Sheen, he’s partial to sex and drugs and booze and whores. He gets paid 1.88 million per episode of Two and a Half Men to wander around in bad bowling shirts playing a character which is pretty much himself and he parties like Keith Richards in a blender. Folks are concerned for his wellbeing. He should go to rehab. BORING!

Charlie Sheen is not a successful actor who stars in Josef Fritzl’s favourite show (for real) but happens to have a wild side. Charlie Sheen is successful because his crazy drugged up watch stealing whore-accusing wife threatening bullshit keeps his name in the press and his ratings as high as he usually is.

He does it and we reward him for it because we love it. We’re jealous of it.  We wish we were Charlie Sheen. It’s rich people bullshit. We can’t afford to do it. Our work wont put everything on hold and wait for us to return from a coke fuelled porn convention romp in Vegas. No we’d get sacked and replaced with a 22 year old community college accounting graduate who still lives with their parents. Then we’d be fucked cause the $3.17 in our saving account wouldn’t be enough to pay the rent or buy food.  But Charlie Sheen can do it. Hell, he can write a 30 grand check to some blonde with a fake mouth that’s as big as her fake tits and he won’t even notice its gone.

Charlie Sheen marries blondes and slams skanks and slams blondes and marries skanks and threatens to kill pretty much all of them at some point or another in a state of boozed up coke paranoia in expensive abodes all across America. And when he does, the blonde he’s married to at the time acts all surprised. I mean c’mon – you’re the one that married Charlie Sheen! What did you think was going to happen?

Perhaps I’m being too harsh. Perhaps they have a point. Perhaps they were lulled into a false sense of lack of skankiness by Charlie’s soft and caring side. Sheen’s wiki page says he’s a big supporter of breast Cancer charities – Charlie would hate for tits to get cancer. I bet he hasn’t given shit to brain cancer research.  Apparently he’s also active in AIDS charities – in his case it’s called investing in his future – because, like he’s actually lucid enough to put an appropriate level of hazmat strength contraception on lil Charlie before venturing in to STD riddled holes time and time again. His life is like a golf course of hired vagina’s. Sheen also launched a clothing line for young girls called Sheen Kidz in 2006. He has a clothing line for little girls…surely he’s just trying to fuck with us?

Sheen Kidz Clothing: To bring out the budding sex worker in every young girl!

The degree to which he and the many who make money off him need the hardcore party image to sell his shit makes me wonder if its even real.  I keep entertaining the possibility that he’s getting too old for this shit but still needs the rep to get the big bucks so he pays porn stars and hookers to go to the press pretending to have been roughed up and Sheenified while his PA methodically trashes his hotel room.

– Tara Steven Seagal


18 Jan

This is how I want to remember Michael Jackson

Say what you will about him. Talk him up like he was some kind of benevolent musical God or trash him for the alleged kiddy fiddling and the 97 different kinds of crazy but at least once (that we know of) a still black Michael Jackson drank vodka straight outta the bottle, in a park, flanked by lady midgets. That’s enough to make my day.

– Tara Steven Seagal


30 Nov

I’ve been wanting to write a piece on Juggalos for some time now but stopped myself in fear of coming down with internet herpes version 12.0.  It’s a really scary virus that makes the Simplex II strain look like kindergarten eczema.  Horny dudes often pick it up from jacking off in front of X rated  Icelandic midget porn or playing World of Warcraft in dingy internet cafes with pubic lice crawling about underneath the keyboards. But I’m feeling strong this week, like my skin is made from condom latex, so here goes. 

Maybe this is the kind of question to ask a clinical psychologist, but I’m just gonna throw it out there in internet land.  At what point in life do you decide that the path of least resistance is painting your face and potentially fucking your sister to albums by the Insane Clown Posse?  Geographically (and I don’t like to generalize)  it looks as though at the last US Census count, 15,685 households in Michigan alone considered themselves “Juggalo Zones”.  That means if you belong to this enclave you consistently engage in all of the following behaviours:  

a) drinking supermarket goon in waist high grass outside your mobile home  then:

 b)  having sex with a family member and possibly a pet. (Detroit is one of America’s  highest murder rate cities and of the 14,642 deaths reported in 2010, 11,000 of these were turtles that had died from innapropriate use by men using facepaint as lubricant).

c)  holding up a 7-11 with a nail gun (and potentially terminating the clerk’s life for not handing over a free packet of Doritos.)

d)  covering all your friends with forehead tatts that read things like “Unemployed”  with an ink gun you bought off eBay for fifteen dollars, and:

e) driving around empty suburban car parks, burning donuts to ICP songs with lyrics like Night of The Axe’s Shakespearean turns of phrase:

“And I broke into the female john (AAAH!)
Motherfuckers think I’m sick
You ever seen a bitch take a shit, fuck dat
A lot of dookie-ass beef
Cuz female shittin’ is news to me”

Umm. Hold on.  Have you ever seen a grown man in face paint take a shit?  Scariest thing next to John Wayne Gacey masturbating with his mother’s meatloaf and a little league mitt in the basement.  Don’t be paying out on the ladies, fellas.  I know for a fact that when Juggalo men try to shit it comes out their nostrils 90% of the time…and they eat it.

Urban Dictionary defines  Juggalos as:

  1. A self applied label used by a large group of people with similar interests…used to describe their individuality, while fanboying over Insane Clown Posse. (Yes. It is about ICP because ICP invented the term and ICP fans are the only ones who fucking use it.) You think Rammstein fans call themselves the “The Kiss Army”?

No. Kiss fans call themselves “The Kiss Army”, duh!  More established is the definition from the Oxford Concise Dictionary which defines the pack as:

1. Extremely loyal followers of the Insane Clown Posse, and psychopathic records artists in general, almost to the point of worship.

I think this is being a little kind. Let’s try MY definition:

1) “Inbred fucktards forged from the sperm of the same Ohio trucker  Cody Cooter Daryl after face raping 350 pancakes at an highway I-Hop and fucking an ex-Coney Island circus,  fry cook with 88 wombs and a taste for damaged cum.”

Alcatraz is a museum now but I have Presidential plans for the concrete island.  It’s called a clown colony. Or a prison. Obama needs to move on this fast and get it through Congress before  the Tea Party comes in and makes me feel like an adulterer for playing with myself down there…Internet Herpes and all.

Daddy Swank


30 Nov

Here’s a story ’bout  a man named Larry…

Anyone with even half a nerd gene knows that the Wachowski brothers were the guys behind the Matrix Trilogy and V for Vendetta, among other things. They were kinda geeky, kinda spiritual and possibly into the music of Lincoln Park. Their tight lipped refusals to talk to the press built up quite the mystique around them. People assumed this was because they wanted their films to speak for themselves but there may have been other reasons.

When the first Matrix hit movie theatres Larry Wachowski was a regular looking guy who had been married to his college sweetheart for 15 years. Move on, nothing to see here. By the time V for Vendetta came out Larry had turned into a dominatrix-loving, BDSM obsessed woman named Lana. To say success changes people is a big fucking understatement.

The director formerly known as Larry.

2001 seems to be the year that some irrevocable shit went down for Larry, though prior to being famous no one cared to noticed so who’s to know? Anyway it’s on record that the director formerly known as Larry first met his future dominatrix/girlfriend at a West Hollywood club called The Dungeon. The Dungeon was what you’d expect – chips, dips, chains, whips, bondage and needles through the penis – you get the picture and it’s NSFW.

It was at the Dungeon Larry met a tri-sexual porn star dominatrix named Mistress Ilsa Strix. You may know her from such classic films as Dance Of The Whip, Toe Slave and The Temple of the Shemale.

At work with Mistress Ilsa Strix.

Apparently it was submissiveness at first sight for Larry who became obsessed with Misstress Strix, lavishing her with gifts in exchange for all night bondage sessions where he would dress up as Marilyn Monroe and act as her slave while she punished him to his hearts content. Not long after they met, Strix started taking her work home with her – much to the chagrin of her husband, porn star Buck Angel. You may recall him from such seminal films as “Buckback Mountain”, “Pigass” and “UFC: Ultimate Fucking Club.”

As with this whole story, things weren’t quite what they seemed with big, buff, maxi-tattooed Buck either. Though not at all obvious to the naked eye, Buck was a walking reverse Crying Game. He was born a woman and transitioned almost entirely to become a man. Almost.

In the biz Buck Angel is known as “the dude with a pussy”.

Anyway, Buck was surprised by how taken with Larry Mistress Strix was. They were both big Matrix fans (need I say more?) but s/he sensed something wasn’t right. Shortly after meeting Larry, Strix moved out of the modest pad that porn built and began doing Wachowski full time. Larry even flew Strix to Australia to be with him during the filming of the Matrix sequels. Apparently he picked her up at the airport dressed as Lana but unhappily remained in male mode while filming.

In 2002 Larry and his wife of 15 years, Thea, divorced and he began living with Strix.

‘Larry has been extremely dishonest with me in our personal life’. Thea said in the divorce papers, in what was unanimously voted the understatement of the year for 2003.

The BDSM community in LA, of which Strix was a prominent member were under the impression she was using Larry for his millions and chalked this up to her sharp business mind. But anyone who has ever seen her honkey website would doubt her sharp business mind even exists. After their divorce Buck Angel moved to New Orleans and ended up marrying the woman who pierced Lenny Kravits’ nose and nipples. He continues to star in his own brand of porn – and with a name like Buck he’ll never run out of film title puns. If you can think of any shoot him a line He seems like a pretty open guy. His most recent release was titled “V for Vagina.” So he seems to be moving on.

Lana and Ilsa.

All is silent on the Wachowski front – as usual. There have been rumours that Lana and Ilsa broke up, but there have been equally as many rumours that they stayed together. Some say they spend most of their time in London. It’s possible this level of kink could go unnoticed there.

Now the Wachowski brothers are no more. However the Wachowski’s continue to make films together. They are currently working on a gay war movie set amidst the backdrop of the war in Afganistan. Type “Larry Wachowski” into IMDB and it will route you straight to Lana Wachowski’s page.  Larry is nothing more than a pseudonym Lana used to use.

Tara Steven Seagal


29 Nov

David Caruso is like an alien species that crawled headlong out of the Florida swamps and infiltrated Miami in mirror shades. He’s the sunburned, insecure redhead you see standing in convenience stores having D&M’s with Penthouse, the type who winds himself in cling wrap on weekends then jacks off over charcoal renderings of Elvis. He gives the impression that he’s the Sensitive New Age Guy who only eats ‘orange foods’ and has installed a light-up dance floor in his bedroom just so he can solo tango to Manilo hits in the dark hours. I fucking hate those guys. They knit sweaters and wear your Grandmother’s perfume and learn archaic Tongan dialects just to sound cool in bars.

Anyone who’s ever watched the abortion that is CSI Miami will understand that Caruso is no longer an actor but a drinking game. One tortuous evening I knocked back a shot of absinthe every time he touched his gun holster and found myself up-chucking a Picasso onto the carpet as the credits rolled. Innocent suburbanites have been hospitalised after knocking back a shot of Smirnoff each time Caruso slides off his sunglasses whilst muttering lines like “No more streetwalking for her, the only job she has now is a date with the afterlife.” I made that up, but game over. David Caruso: you are a beverage.

What’s more – Caruso plays a character called Horatio Caine. Sounds like some kind of Satanic inbreed from a Edgar Allen Poe novel. One who haunts a bell tower and eats women’s fingernails and calls his hair “Mamma”. In the CSI Miami back-story, it is claimed that Horatio has a history in explosives and was a former officer of the US bomb squad. How plausible is this? Well, let’s do the math. If Horatio was sent an anthrax parcel he’d probably taste the shit. If he was confronted with six green wires sprouting from a ticking box, he’d put it in a passing pram and hope the mother failed to notice. Every episode he strokes that toy store cap gun and gazes melancholically at the bodies of dead strippers who’ve mainlined glue (when you know all he’s fantasizing about is wearing their stilettos).

Bring back Sipowitz to commercial television. He was mean, he was fat and he sported an awesome moustache and the kind of sausagey hands that could render a grown man unconscious just by accepting a smoke from one them. I miss those days. I long for the era of crime TV when the Caruso’s of this world were weeping into handkerchiefs at poetry readings and the real cops were accepting bribes from Latino street gangs, smashing delinquents heads into windows and confiscating their nose candy for personal use at the weekend. R.I.P.

– Daddy Swank.