At First Sight

Alright smut-lovers, I'm going to do it. I'm going to ask the big question. That one that's been naggin at you since the first time you watched Cinderella.



Can there be love at first sight?

Bet you already know what I'm gonna say. I'd lose my membership to the jaded bitches of North America in an instant if I didn't. NO, THERE IS NO LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT (go cry it out now you sentimental rainbow lovers).

At least, not for most of us. Now before you start rallying the soldiers of storybook love I'll set the record straight. Most people will never experience love at first sight because love, is in fact, something that grows. Hell, you can have lust at first sight, I get it all the time. You can even have "man, I'd really like to make that person a delicious sandwich and maybe even do their laundry for them eventually" at first sight but that all encompassing lust/sandwhich making/laundry doing/shaving each others hairy hard to reach places and generally not even understanding why you like them so much feeling can't just happen. You don't know how much you adore that mole on their left buttock until you actually see them naked, pickin' up what I'm puttin' down kiddies?



I may be a jaded dream crusher but I'm also realistic, and realistically there is less chance that you will instantly confusingly adore someone then the there is of you confusingly adoring them three months down the road, or even a week, who knows how long these fucking things take.

I'm not ruling out that it can happen, but chances are it can only happen to people that are so desperately searching that if a vase had the right functioning genitals and the ability to compliment they'd probably love it instantly too. People who question ideals are smarter, deal with it.



So go back to your everyday life and try to fall in love like normal people, through the drudgery that is systematic courtship. That or say fuck the whole thing and focus on that much funner, much more intriguing lust at first sight. Cause, hell, we better take advantage of these bodies of ours while they still function without medication.

'DILF of the Week'

Ralph Fiennes. Dude's a babe, even as a Nazi and even as Voldermort. My nightmares have never been so hot. Also he's usually in pretty good films, so I might actually try to have a conversation with him after all the sweaty love making.

One Helluva Bruise

So, here's a question for you:

Can we be ruined?



Can we come upon something or someone that is so mind-fucking fantastic that anything/one after is just an utter disappointment?

I'm inclined to say probably. But maybe it's not so much these fan-freaking-tastic people or things that ruin us, maybe, like most things, it's our own fucking fault. After all, nobody builds expectations but us. Nobody gives us hopes and dreams, goals and aspirations. You can't blame you're daddy issues or you're Oedipus complex for that personal menagerie of self delusion, created only by that small, teary eyed kid inside all of us. That whinny, self indulged lack of contentment that festers and screams until finally we get the idea to shoot for the stars, reach for the moon and usually end up descending back to earth in a crumbled paper doll mess with increased bitterness stamped hard on your soul like an plagerism on your permanent record.



and if we do succeeded, which brings us back to the original point, we eventually find that success is fleeting and live the rest of our lives out like a dried fruit; all the juices sucked out of us.

We ruin ourselves by looking for things like the perfect job, a meaningful education and a talent or passion we can be proud of - not to mention the constant search for THE BIG O.

and there's the question as to how we can be ruined. Physically, obviously - Which often inspires the most horrendous attempts to gain what one once had (see: vaginal rejuvenation surgery). Then there's those pesky emotions, which are as easily ripped to shreds as a pro-life pamphlet. I don't even want to begin to think about the numerous ways one can ruin their personality (don't all shitty things contribute to this?).

What they neglect to tell you, is that when you do get a hold of this things with ruining potential, it is very unlikely you will manage to keep that hold (or worse, want to), and even less likely that you will find them again. Even worse then that is the fact that there is no whole package: trust me kiddies, you can have great sex with no emotional fulfillment and vice versa. It's a cruel, cruel world.



So we're left, victim to that grade school obsession with gold star achievement, to wander incessantly and try to eventually be happy with what we have. Now, don't get me wrong, what we have is pretty fucking good. After all this is North America, land of tax free savings and accessible marijuana. But who's ever really happy with what they've got.

So get to it champs, chase those falling stars and then decide whether or not you want to try and seek contentment in what you've got. That, or stick your head in an oven.

'DILF' of the Week

Thomas Jane, from HBO's 'Hung'. Dude makes a semi-butt chin look good and he's a major player in the hairy chest revolution. Plus, he apparently played The Punisher in that adaptation that no one saw, bad ass, and my personal favorite, he's supposed to play Cal MacDonald from Criminal Macabre in the film adaptation.Good shit, check it out.

A Lesson in Awesome

Fun Fact: Tattoos make you look cool.



Just like smoking, but less likely to kill you, this long-time sailor tradition gives a seemingly everyday joe a hint of James Dean-esque cool. Like being able to wear sunglasses at night and not look lame, or sit in dimly lit bar rooms and seem to belong.

I realize that tattoos aren't exactly a rarity anymore, once again a long-standing taboo has become something that pop stars seem odd without. But nevertheless, tattoos are still bad ass.

Why you ask? Well, aside from (hopefully) looking cool, usually there's an interesting story behind them. I've taken the liberty of dividing the large group of individuals who have used their body as a canvas into three easily distinguishable groups.



Group 1: The Literal Bad Asses

These people are cooler then you because they keep tattooing to it's roots. Easily recognized by large sleeve pieces, dedicated rockabilly fashions, ownership of motorcycles, seafaring capabilities and being a tattoo artist or having dated one. Most of us have absolutely no hope of ever being this cool, we're just not dedicated or interesting enough.

Group 2: The Mainstreamers

The largest group, made up of everybody that has a tattoo or two that they like but don't elevate it to a near way of life. The types and quality of tattoos range from glorious pin-ups to adored tweety birds, but whatever it is most people had a good enough reason to get it. Generally these people are more excited when they get naked and have a story to tell, but if this was the 50s none of them would have any tattoos at all.

Group 3: The Drunken Mistake Makers

Everybody knows one, that guy with a Canadian flag on his shoulder or that chick with a flower hovering over her ass crack. These people are my favorite because their stories are hilarious. Why wouldn't you want to hear about a permanent mistake someone made for less then great reasons. Examples of such reasons include: "It seemed like a good idea at the time", "I thought it would get me laid" and "I was a stupid 18 year old".

Trust me people, one of the best things in the entire world is discovering some hideous ink blot on that naked person in front of you. It's like being thirteen again and reading your first trashy, bad synonym ridden romance novel. Pure gold.



As for the age old reminder, "think of what it'll look like when you're sixty" - I can only hope it eventually looks like a contorted birth mark that upon stretching has the capability of scaring the shit out of all the neighbourhood children. I will have fun with my body now, and I will have fun with my body later: tattoos give me the chance to do both these things.

'DILF of the Week'

I honor of todays topic, I give you: Ami James, the "boss" of that shop on Miami Ink. So he's bald, muscular, covered in tattoos and orignally from Israel - I'd tap that.