Effluvia

Disinfo.com - they really are out to get you.

From Salon's Sex section:

• Pimps!
• Inside the Realdoll factory.

And heck, as long as we're talkin' sex Nerve Magazine is good and smart and kinda hot.

Bygone Days
Uncensored!

125 YEARS AGO
June 4, 1875

The City Council of Memphis has accepted a proposition from a number of citizens to erect a fountain in Court Square.

I had no idea the fountain was that old. And what a pretty fountain it is, too.

Boss Kenny

So I went to the bathroom at work the other day, and I heard some funny things.

I walk in to one stall to pee, okay? Two stalls over I hear someone having a prodigous and quite audible bowel movement.

"Rrrrrrrr...mmmmmm...sploosh sploosh....poooooooooooot..."

Like that.

In the stall between us is someone spraying what sounds like deodorant. I've seen people change clothes in the bathroom at work before, so that's not a big deal. But when you use spray-on deodorant you just go "spray" under one arm and "spray" under the other arm and you're done, right?

Not this guy. He was going "sprrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy" and then "sprrrrrraaaaaaaayyyyyyy" and then "sprrrrrrraaaaaaayyyyyy" again. In fact, he seemed to be coordinating his lengthy bursts with the louder sounds of excretion coming from the far stall.

I have no explanation for any of this.

Last night was a big night, because it was Sonya's Ten-Year High School Reunion. At the High Point!

The plan was thus: we'd go to the High Point, mingle for a bit, and then go on to the Young Avenue Deli to see Crash Into June play. All this was assuming Sonya had a not-good time and wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

This seemed extremely likely, as The Wife was having a minor anxiety attack by the time we walked out the door. Our attendance was iffy up until the moment we parked the car and walked in - I figured at any second Sonya could tell me to drive along to the next place on our itenerary.

But we walked in, people made a fuss about Sonya's vinyl pants and gave her lots of hugs and the mood immediately lightened. It helped that The Wife ran through three and a half martinis in less than two hours. She was a mingler, I tell you, an absolute conversational butterfly. As the evening progressed, though, Sonya started to feel a bit woozy. But she kept on, chatting and dancing and finding out her reunion wasn't so horrible after all.

For my part, I people-watched. I'd expected the girls to be more Laura Ashley-fied, but most of them were dressed in a fairly fashionable manner. The guys looked old, though. I didn't - and I don't - but they certainly did. Lots of Tommy Hilfiger and receding hairlines.

And the music! It's been high school, at least, since I heard both "Shout" and "YMCA" played unironically and actually meant for dancing. So, it that way, it was quite authentic.

About twelve-thirty they started putting the chairs on the tables and I took Sonya to the car.

"Take me home," she mumbled, "you go out without me..."

So I took her home, undressed her (which isn't as easy as it sounds, with knee-high vinyl boots and matching pants) and put her in some pajamas. I sat her up to put on a t-shirt and the color drained out of her face, except for a slight greenish tinge.

"Oooooh, bathroom," Sonya sighed. I walked her to the toilet, put a scrunchy in her hair and got a washcloth.

"Dribble, dribble, dribble," went Sonya, "spit, spit, spit...PUKE! PUKE! PUKE!" She concluded.

"That wasn't too bad," she said, her voice all sandpapery.

"Expensive vodka," I told her, "makes all the difference."

I wiped her face, then turned the night-light on and put her to bed. Instantaneous coma.

I called my friend Glen and told him about the evening.

"I applaud Sonya for holding out 'til she got home to puke and pass out!" he declared, "standing ovation!"

By this time it was after one-thirty. Was the band still playing? I don't know, but I didn't feel like going to find out. I watched a little bad TV then went and joined The Wife.