Is this a great country, or what?

Oh, sure, the U.S. Constitution defends this, but this is deeper than man’s law. The right to advertise beer with penis imagery was dictated by god himself. I believe you can find it in St Paul’s letter to the Dalmatians, 4:20.

Curiously, the Dalmatians never wrote back.

I guess they knew how to pick their spots.


There have always been places where men and boys have to sit and wait, like the dentist’s office, or the old-fashioned barber shop. Only one thing made these waits tolerable. Buried under piles of magazines like US, Highlights for Children, and 51 dog-eared S.I. issues about regattas and tennis, there was a copy of a true American treasure: the Swimsuit Edition. It was marketed with some flim-flam about fitness or buying swimware for our wives, but we knew that the editors delivered that pretext with a wink and a nudge. Its true purpose was to give us an opportunity to ogle fantasy women in a respectable publication that you would not be embarrassed to read in public, even while sitting next to your minister. In this innocent context could you gaze at beautiful, unspoiled, unattainable young women, their supermodel bodies clad only in the scantiest of outfits. Sometimes they wore no outfits at all, but simply strutted around naked, their exposure disguised by a coat of paint so thin that its only purpose was to prevent our dentist’s receptionist from tossing the issue away in disgust.

Like many other great ogling traditions, its time has passed. The women no longer have to be young, or natural, or in possession of supermodel perfection. Your granny could make the edition now, maybe even the cover. Ditto the cousin that your mom always called “big-boned,” and praised for her personality. Ditto that kinda-cute Starbucks barista you dated once or twice, until you realized she had foul coffee breath, bad implants, and tattoos of weapons.

The models are no longer unattainable fantasy women of the sort that can only be bedded by men with Brad Pitt looks and/or Jeff Bezos bankrolls. In coarse terms, the S.I. Swimsuit Edition is filled with women that even internet schmucks like us, if we put in the time and resources, could actually fuck.

And that, in many ways, represents the collapse of the last, best pillar of the mighty temple of Western Civilization that was so painstakingly constructed by lustful architects from Homer to Hefner.

The ultimate work of art.

You Belgians may have the Manneken Pis, but we have the Maninblack Pis.

That’s a great line. I wish I had thought of it, but I swiped it from the comments section. Also from the comments section, here’s another classic from the same genre: Johnny Cash, Not Wearing Black, in a Bush eating Cake.

This is probably the least popular in the Cash-Cake-Book series. I guess my favorite is Johnny Cash in a cake, eating bush.

Didn’t Satanic Appreciation used to open for Black Sabbath?

The Satanic Temple has asked to fly its flag over Boston City Hall after the U.S. Supreme Court this week ruled that the city violated a Christian group’s constitutional free speech rights by refusing to raise a flag bearing the image of a cross.

The Salem, Massachusetts-based Satanic Temple following the ruling posted a request filed on Tuesday with the city’s property department asking to have its flag raised for “Satanic Appreciation Week” from July 23 to 29.

Who could that quote be from?

Well, whoever has done the most for religion, step forward.

Not so fast, Jesus of Nazareth, Saul of Tarsus, Abraham, Mohammad, Joseph Smith, Gautama Siddhartha, the Dalai Lama, America’s founding fathers, Cool Pope Frank, and all of you other pretenders.

There’s a new holy man in town!

Nearly 60 per cent of US voters would back independent candidate over Biden or Trump

Ross Perot made the mistake of being born too early and having to run against two fairly popular candidates. If he were alive now, he could probably beat these two! Come to think of it, I don’t think there is anything in the Constitution that requires the candidate to be alive.

Speaking of not being alive … I don’t remember how to do actuarial calculations, but I wonder about the odds that both Biden and Trump will be alive in November, 2024. They are both elderly. Biden looks more feeble every day, and Trump is obese. That would be an interesting prop bet for those online gambling sites.

That, including the part in parens, is actually their tag line.

Man, if he doesn’t like it, it might really be their last. Well, I guess there’s no way to know whether he’ll like it, but I suppose he’ll take a stab at it. I just hope this doesn’t turn him into a cereal killer.

I’ll bet it’s made with blood oranges.

Skipping past any additional bad OJ jokes, here’s a quote from the website, “Honey almond clusters that are made to be spooned and sipped.” The box comes with a straw.

“Visitors to the Statehouse on Thursday were met with an unusual welcoming committee: environmental advocates dressed as giant penises.”

Kind of a dick move.

Is it possible that Giant White Vermont Penis Day could somehow bring the excitement of Giant Pink Japanese Penis Day to our very shores? Well, not “shores” exactly, as Vermont is land-locked, but you get the idea. It could be the shores of Lake Champlain.

In a related story: South American ‘Penis Snakes’ Have Been Found in Florida. Back in the late 60s, I saw the famous S.A. Penis Snakes concert when Jim Morrison filled in for their lead singer.