You’d Think It’s Not Unusual, But It Is.

OK, so Lady Boners are a silly thing, right?

No. In fact, they are quite serious. LBs are induced at the sight of something glorious, the thought of something wanton or beautiful, the smell of hommus, or even the feeling of the cold, soft pillowcase cradling your overly warm cheek after a particularly shitty day in class. That is not silly or trite or fucking stupid.

Maybe I’m just being a bit hyperbolic, as I am usually inclined to be… BUT my love for Tom Jones (yes, that Tom Jones. That old, hairy Welsh singer) is really fucking serious in spite of being  insane. There’s just something about his voice that makes me not only want to dance and sing along, but also makes me want to shit rainbows and vomit glitter. His music just makes me that happy.

The problem here is that I’m 22, not 62. I wasn’t around when he was actually a sex symbol. It’s unusual for women my age to even know more than one Tom Jones song, let alone all of the words to the ones that they can name. Go ahead and ask your friends to name a Jones song that isn’t “It’s Not Unusual” or the fucking Carlton Banks song (needless to say, Carlton was always my favorite Fresh Prince character because of his love of the Jones (and the guardian angel episode is just a slice of epicness)). If they can name one, ask them to sing it.

It will be fruitless. If we were in, say, 1968 or even in the 1980s, you’d be swamped with answers. This handsome fella had a hit show in Vegas and even was bffs with Elvis. This man was, and still is a legend, but you only look like this once:

I'd tell him what's new, pussycat

Or this:

Tom Jones circa a long fucking time ago

Those eyes, that fro, oh how I could wax poetic about how utterly beautiful… handsome this man was in his prime. He’s got that look that men my age just don’t have – well, the fact that he looks like a man and not an awkward manboy amalgamation might have something to do with that – and he had a voice to back up that pretty face.

Fortunately, time has been good to his singing voice and his career. It’s actually rather astounding how his career has subsisted almost unerringly since the 1960s – he’s had three four major albums come out since the turn of the century, including his latest “Praise and Blame”. He’s actually touring currently, and I’m actually pretty damned angry that I live in CT at the moment and don’t have a chance to see him perform any time soon.

Though time has been good to his vocal chords and music, it has not been good to his aesthetics. The man is old, and granted I’m not really hot for men who are old enough to be my grandfather, but not entirely unattractive. He’s just not the sort of ‘star’ that people in my age group tend to find sexy.

 

Like Schwarzenegger, Jones should not wear speedos.

Time’s been good to his chest hair, too, it seems. But honestly, no men should be wearing speedos, even more so when your sexual prime was half a century ago. You won’t be seeing this blogger’s fat ass in a bikini out of respect for your corneas.

It’s not unusual to be in love with older men, but it is unusual to be in love with the man they used to be. I think. At any rate, Tom Jones inspires raging lady boners in my pants whenever I catch a glance at his older pictures or hear the score for Thunderball, and especially when I hear “Delilah” “I, Who Have Nothing” or “Sex Bomb.” Any time I hear his voice I get a little light headed, but that’s quite fine with me.

To Go Boldly…

Well, after the long hiatus (Graduate School tends to do that to people’s blogs, I guess (and by ‘that’ I mean hold them up and leave them stabbed and destitute in an alley way to die)) it is pertinent that I post about something pretty damn epic. And someone that is pretty damn lady bonerific.


Who else but Captain Kirk can hold the title of both an Epic human being and extraordinary wooer? He can make a woman (humanoid, biped, triped, alien or otherwise) swoon with the greatest LB ever recorded. Well, that’s not entirely true. He has the unfortunate reputation for being the universe’s biggest man-slut even though his tryst count was in the single digits per season. People just saw him hitting on green women and the shit hit the fan. Just because Kirk has a lot of charm and natural charisma does not mean that he’s loose or easy. Whenever Shatner-Kirk was presented with a choice between some sweet lovin’ or The Enterprise, he ALWAYS chose the Enterprise. The most loyal SOB to ever be a space cowboy.

Also? Shut up, Picard fans. Shut. Up. Patrick Stewart might be awesome, but he has nothing on Kirk. I’m going to outright say that I absolutely adore, love, fangirl, pop lady boners for Captain Kirk – both the William Shatner  and Chris Pine version. Better known as the Shat and C Fine. Both have their individual characteristics which beg for me to explore them as independent entities.

So, I will. We’ll start with the first Captain James Tiberius Kirk.

Look at how awesome I am!

Hey, how are you doing? Mhmm, that's good. I listen to people's problems because I ~care~.

William Shatner in his day was a very handsome man (hell, I’d still do him, but that’s beside the point here) with a very Brando-esque look about him. When he was cast as Captain Kirk, he no idea that he would be a science fiction icon for the indeterminable future. Sure, he thought that he would be the most successful actor on the show, and the fan favorite because his ego was is enormous. That’s not entirely true and he admitted in one of his autobiographies (yes, he has more than one) that he was more than embittered by Leonard Nimoy’s Spock being the most popular character back in the day. At least the man admits his own faults, sometimes.

But what made/makes Shatner’s Captain Kirk so damn fun and awesome was his hands on approach to his Captaincy. He was a fighter, a brawler of sorts, and he wasn’t afraid to do what he had to to get the job done. And did he ever get jobs done. (Did Picard ever hold his own in a physical fight? NO.) Not only is he physically adept, he’s mentally well equipped too. Kirk’s been touted as the only person to ever defeat the Kobiyashi Maru test – by means of thinking out of the box, AKA cheating, but it showed his clout and his cunning as no one else had dared to reprogram the test to defeat it. (More to come on the Maru during C Fine discussion).

So, Shatnerian Kirk was both physically and mentally awesome, as well as a damn good friend. Ask Spock, the man was and always will be his friend, and it takes a lot to befriend a Vulcan. And Doctor McCoy. Simultaneously – whoa, sorry, my fantasies must have taken over for a minute there.

Trio of Awesome

Look at these BAMFs - who wouldn't want to be their friend?

ANYWAY.

Kirk has been described as “a hard-driving leader who pushes himself and his crew beyond human limits” in Robert Jewett and John Shelton Lawrence’s The Myth of the American Superhero. (Yes, I wiki’d this shit, so what?) Kirk’s tendency to ignore regulations and go beyond the call of duty to do the right thing, even to the point of demotion, is just phenomenal. And awesome.

Speaking of awesome… Chris Pine’s reboot Kirk is also pretty damn spectacular.


Behold, Captain Fine Kirk, the alternate time line Kirk who has similar qualities to the original, but a bit less… dare I say cheese to him? Nah, he’s plenty cheesy “Hello, ladies” tends to earn him cheese points. BUT. He’s just as intelligent and cunning as his original counter part, and is even shown to be quite the smart little thing – Iowa’s only repeat offender with a genius level IQ. The movie is a more intimate over view of Kirk, as we not only see him being born, but as a reckless child, a bar room brawler, a reckless Cadet, and eventually Captain. We get his beginning in Star Trek XI (the first odd numbered Trek movie that didn’t suck and wasn’t Nemesis), and are left waiting for and wanting more. Because of that, the audience is more emotionally invested in Kirk, I think. At least, I was.

The most fascinating thing about Pine’s version of Kirk was that he did not imitate Shatner at all – thank darling baby Jesus, there’s a time and a place for Shatnerian mockery, and this wasn’t it – and he was still able to hold onto the most important aspect of Kirk as a character. He decimated the Kobiyashi Maru with his superior level of cunning which we got to see. Though, only those who watched the special features on the blu-ray disc got to actually see that the thwarted sex scene with the Orion girl Gaila was a part of Kirk’s plan to use Gaila to insert his subroutine into the program accidentally (which is why she looks so pissed off in the academic trial scene). He uses his charm and his intelligence to get his way, to prove that there really is no such thing as a no-win scenario.

Kirk is still the charming, cunning individual that he was forty-something years prior without being hokey (I’m looking at you, Gorn). Pine had his moments of wtf-ery with the bloated hands and swollen tongue gag, but he kept Kirk centered and definitely someone not at peace with himself. There was a definite vulnerability to Pine’s Kirk that was more exacerbated than Shatner’s. (Watch the movie again and look at Kirk during the scenes where he’s not speaking or the focus – especially when Spock and the High Council are beamed back aboard the Enterprise and Amanda is missing).

But enough of that emotional bull shit. Kirk is a space cowboy, even in the newest movie and he’s definitely guilty of inciting many a lady boner. I mean, come on. Chris Pine is definitely good looking, no one can deny that.

Wait a minute, you're not a Vulcan...

Me and my friends attempted to play a Star Trek drinking game one cold Utican night – it didn’t work very well because the rules were just all over the place. But one rule I remember is to take a drink whenever Kirk got punched in the face or he had to climb up out of/on to something. (Also any time someone said the word ‘Vulcan’.) Suffice to say, Trek XI also had a lot of Kirk’s physical side and we gave up after forty minutes or so and just drank for the sake of forgetting our failures. Kirk got hit and choked a lot in this movie, the poor guy. But he was still a badass none the less.

I’m running out of clever things to say here, and instead of objectifying Chris Pine (and sparing you the list of dirty, dirty things I would like to do to and with him) I will leave you with another random picture. Also? I lied to you all, they’re the same damned character, just acted differently. Captain Out.

Airbrushing is NOT OK. But this is still a cute picture.

Yes, this is a cop out.

You know what really gets my lady boner popping?

The end of the semester. OFFICIALLY DONE. Bam. Real post to follow soon, really. Keep your eyes peeled for a post about someone who’s gone somewhere where no one has gone before.

Obligatory college student eating ramen picture. Yes, I am pretty, thank you.

Joke’s on you.

This is going to be an obscenely long post – and it should have been my first real one. My biggest lady boner always comes from the comic book character The Joker. I absolutely love this character, have loved him for many years, and don’t see anything that can tarnish his reputation in my mind. And though many girls freaked the hell out over Heath Ledger’s Joker saying that they’d love to be his Harley or that they’d love to bone him, I’d rather be him (not Heath Ledger). I’d rather be the Joker than do him.

Not saying that there’s anything wrong with lusting after fictional characters here, just that all those silly fangirls have nothing on me. That’s right, bitches, I loved Joker before The Dark Knight ever came out. (Yes, I am one of those fans, suck it.)

First off, Joker is hilarious. In the sort of “I’mma take a crowbar to your face and then strap a bomb to your mother while you watch” way. And yes, that is how Jason Todd aka the second Robin aka the one with more Daddy issues than, say, Lindsay Lohan, died. Joker figured that if Batman was so into having sidekicks around that he’d replace them once they grew out of the green manties/weren’t young and nubile enough for him (OK, I love Batman, but the jokes are necessary for me to get to the point) that offing one would be the best way to get to the Bat. And it worked. Joker killed Robin, Batman flipped the fuck out. It was glorious.


(Joker beating the ever loving shit out of Robin. Glorious.)

I find his hilariousness stems from the obviously ridiculous antics that he pulls. There are some Joker writers that tend to have him err on the subliminal side as well as balancing an overtly garish and lewd sense of humor, which in turn makes him all the better. I like those writers. Like Grant Morrison. Or Grant Morrison circa 1988. When he wrote Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth he was at his prime. This comic was the inspiration for the platform game Arkham Asylum wherein Joker locks Batman in Arkham with him and the other inmates. The major difference here is that Joker gets much further into Batman’s mind in the comic whereas the other characters, such as Scarecrow, are the ones messing with Battyman in the game.

Joker ends up grabbing Batman’s ass because he knows physical contact is something that completely riles him up… OK, not in that manner. But the unwanted touch gets him to show his more barbaric and dastardly side at times. Joker is filth, scum, a part of the degenerate elite whose only goal is utter chaos and destruction and his disgusting hand grabbing at the Batman’s ass… Well. That surely will elicit quite the amazing response. This is the only thing Grant Morrison has done well, in my opinion. He’s gotten into the mind of not only Batman here, but put on Joker’s skin and figured out what would make the Dark Knight squirm like a pile of maggots on a corpse.

(Joker’s text is notoriously hard to decipher in this book, though. The important line in the middle right panel reads: Loosen up, tight ass! UNF. So. Good.)

That brings me to point deux – he’s a degenerate. He does what he wants in the name of selfish, dirty greed. There are no pretenses. He’s not a broken hearted monster out for revenge. His wife is dead, but hell if he can remember that. The moment he went insane from his chemical bath he had but one goal – to show the world how fucked up it really is and to have fun doing it. And sure, it’s mightily messed up and most sane people already know it. But Joker’s point is to make other people see how deluded they are and that it’s crazy to not be crazy. He wants people to turn mad, to lose their minds, to end up killing their neighbor because they simply fucking felt like it. And he wants to be recognized, but his mental disorders are far too big in number to list or even try to enumerate fully. He’s a narcissist who wants everyone to see the world the way he sees it, and gain some money and accolades along the way.

Reason number three that I have such a HUGE lady boner for the Joker is that he’s simply creative. Yes, every villain has their niche – Penguin has his birds, Poison Ivy has her plants, Joker has his gags, and Riddler has his, well, riddles. Joker’s gags, though, border not only on the obscenely deranged, but are varied quite far across the spectrum. From poisoning Gotham’s water supply to gaining a copyright on fish with his trademark smile and colorings and then make a huge profit off of selling said fish. JOKER FISH. The guy isn’t logical and he certainly doesn’t follow reason when he plans things. Sure, he’ll go out and rob a bank like any criminal would, but he’d do it in such convoluted way that it just wouldn’t naturally occur to a normal person to go about a plan in that manner.

Comic book author Steve Englehart (who wrote the notorious “The Laughing Fish” which inspired the animated series episode about it,) says very poignantly, “I mean, the whole idea of copyrighting fish based on dumping chemicals into the ocean and trying to get the government to go along with it, anybody else would look at this and go, ‘That’s clearly not sane.’ But from the Joker’s standpoint, the more insane, the better.

“For me, if the Joker says, ‘I’m gonna go rob a bank,’ his mind just sort of opens up in all directions and he thinks, ‘I could rob a bank but go it one better by stealing a car and driving it underwater.’ At the end of the day, he still wants to rob the bank. He conceives of this incredibly bizarre plan, but he’s going to figure out how to make that work. He’s not interested in something that involves stealing a car and not robbing the bank. So he’s going to make what he comes up with work, but he gets there in such an explosive, non-linear, off-the-wall way that he’s basically unpredictable.” And that unpredictable nature opens him up for the most bizarre, potently crazy, and never ending amount of adventures. He is limitless. If it can be conceived, if even remotely, then the Joker will surely do it. He’s a comic book character – if the idea is there, a way will be found to make it ‘reality’, or canon.

(Joker at the patent office trying to get a legitimate backing from the US Government for his fish. A man has to make money, after all…)

Another reason why I love the Joker is that he shot Batgirl without knowing she was Batgirl. He shot Commissioner Gordon’s daughter, who just so happened to be a vigilante. He killed two birds with one stone that way, not only aggravating/depressing her father but her mentor as well. Awesome. SO AWESOME. I never liked Barbara Gordon anyway. Good for you, Joker~

(I frequently feel this way. From: The Killing Joke – READ IT IF YOU HAVE NOT ALREADY. Best exploration of Joker’s origin, ever. Hands down.)

But the ultimate reason why I love the Joker so much is that he is the perfect foil for Batman. While it’s nice to root for the greater good of humanity seen in Batman, and all that Batman does, it’s just much more fun to root for the side of Joker. No matter how hard Batman tries to clean up crime and how many times he puts the Joker in Arkham (the place where he feels most at home, which is foolish), the Joker will always ruin everything that the Batman strives to achieve. All he needs is his bare hands to destroy a life when the vigilante needs all of his resources to help put one back together. Every time Batman saves someone, Joker kills another person. All it takes is one bomb to destroy a neighborhood, one poisonous gas filled teddy bear to kill a child. Batman has to work so much harder to help than Joker does to hurt. It’s bleak. It’s dark. It’s real.

Plus he’s fucking gorgeous. There, I said it.

Squidward’s Folly

This is where the blog reaches toward the abstract and maybe even the perverse for a few minutes. I must admit that I do have an intense liking for animation and illustration in general, and that I also still watch cartoons/anime/what have you. There are adult cartoons like Family Guy, American Dad!, Drawn Together, and of course the ever expansive world of hentai (anime porn for those readers who still have their innocence/haven’t spent enough time on the internet to ever come across the term before.)

But of course there are still children’s cartoons – educational and otherwise. I get a rather inappropriate lady boner for Squidward from Spongebob Squarepants.

According to the ever super-reliable and most awesome fucking resource around, Wikipedia, Squidward is the title character’s “effete cephalopod neighbor” which really makes no fucking sense at all. Given various definitions of the rather haughty word “effete” – seriously, who uses that sort of word to describe a cartoon squid creature – Squidward is one of the following: sterile, lacking energy, or a degenerate. Uh, sure, wikipedia.

At any rate, I find him to be quite like myself in many ways. Awesome, talented*, intolerant of stupidity, and stuck behind  a cash register for a rather shady fast food restaurant pandering to overly demanding customers. Yeah, I went there. I’m an English major who works in fast food, so what? I’m getting out in two days, unlike my poor cephalopod friend. Put that in your clarinet and smoke it, Squiddy.

While Spongebob Squarepants in general is bright, obnoxious and completely useless to everyday life, it is entertaining. I find mindless entertainment to be a great reprieve from over analyzing the world and taking myself too seriously. There are certainly jokes in the older cartoons that I didn’t understand when they first aired eleven years ago. Holy shit, do I feel old. I was watching an episode today, the name of which escapes me now, wherein Mrs. Puff gives Spongebob his license even though he failed the driving test again just so he wouldn’t come back to driving school. I wish life worked that way. But, as he was leaving the boating school he calls out. “See you next Tuesday!” And I laughed uproariously. Why the hell would that be in a children’s cartoon? Anybody who is as demented as I am knows that “See you next Tuesday” is akin to “If You Seek Amy,” also known as completely inappropriate. I’ll give you a moment to work this out.

It might have been unintentional, or hell if the writers did this on purpose, it’s genius because no kid would understand it. “See you next Tuesday” = C U N T. It’s a rather subversive way to call someone a cunt without being overtly crude. “That Mrs. Puff is surely a see-you-next-tuesday for failing Spongebob all the time.” Children don’t know the word “cunt” which makes this all the funnier to me when watching the show as an adult.

All digressions aside, Squidward has always been my favorite character since day one – he is an artist (*talented with various media, though not so proficient on the clarinet, but hey! neither am I), what’s not to like? Sure, he’s as arrogant as Narcissus was vain, but there is some underlying justification for his rampant ego. Whenever his artwork is shown onscreen, it’s pretty decently done for an illustration of a painting of an animated character. There was even a fish-realtor that commented on how decent Squidward’s art was. Where praise is gained, praise should be given. He hates the annoying duo of Spongebob and Patrick, though, who wouldn’t if they actually knew people that acted in some sort of similar manner.

And I love him because he’s cynical, sarcastic, opportunistic, and driven toward becoming famous. Hell, if I had another set of legs and a schnozz the size of Ray Romano, I’d throw myself in the ocean and walk around pantsless too.

And most of all, the real reason why Squidward gives me a lady boner? He never ceases to make me laugh. The poor fellow is always getting hurt, his dreams are constantly ruined, and his rather vicious sarcasm is always misinterpreted. A plus to the writers, and to Rodger Bumpass for giving him a rather distinctive voice (and for having an awesome name.)

Here’s to you, you cartoon cephalopod, you remind me of myself and that means by the transitive property I give myself a lady boner. Except you’re cooler, Squidward.

Plus, he was hot for all of nine minutes. By-oingggg.

Coins, yo

There’s nothing quite like receiving tips for doing a rather tedious job, especially when you’re given handfuls of coins at random. Sure, I get my share of the useless Canadian coins every now and then, but every so often I get something badass. Like this coin:

(Look at that effortless coiffed hair, and that smirk! All encased in gold. You and I can only hope to be so awesome some day.)

I got a Millard Filmore dollar coin thrown in amongst my Canadian pennies and South Dakota quarters about two weeks ago. (Why do so many state quarters have buffalo bison on them?) I instantly got a raging lady boner. I mean, look at that coin! How can anyone let this precious beauty out of their grasp? I mean, I immediately went home from the Krusty Krab* and took a nap on the couch with the gleaming, wondrous thing in my tightly curled fist, or I just so happened to pass out on the couch after serving people food all day with it in my pocket. Suffice to say, the couch ate my Millard Filmore dollar coin when I was asleep and I am still mourning his loss. One day I will become proactive and actually go seek my coinage where it lays hidden in the plush blue folds of my living room furniture.

My lady boner still rages for the coin, though. This man was the last official Whig to take office and he was a member of the Know Nothing Party – way to be outrageously honest and still completely fail at winning re-election. Awesome never looked so polished.

Today I got a John Tyler dollar coin. I just threw him in with my coin cup with Adams, Adams, and Washington, my Kennedy half dollar didn’t look too amused. Tyler just isn’t as boner inducing as Filmore (gee, I wonder why?)

*I in fact, do not work at the real Krusty Krab with Spongebob, though I do a rather awesome Squidward impression most days without even trying.

Ye Olde Lady Boner

Even Jesus gets a boner when he thinks about Shakespeare, in both the biblical and platonic sense.

As an English major, I feel as if I am expected to get a lady boner over Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets and poetry. Yes, I do get rather excited whenever I hear the name Richard, or think about Titus Andronicus and meat pies. That’s a God damned given. But my hardness comes not from his words, but from his life.

From the research I have done on Shakebag, I can honestly say that I think the man was an honest to goodness asshole. That being said, I love him more for it. The man didn’t hide the fact that he had issues with marriage – the only successful and not damned creepy relationship in any of his plays is the adulterous love between Antony and Cleopatra – and was assumed to be having affair after affair out in London when his wife was back in the country side. If you belong to the camp that assumes Shakespeare died of syphilis, or an illness related to it, then you must also assume that he was a raging man-whore who possibly used his burgeoning fame to bed random women.

OK, you don’t have to assume that he had a litany of women enter his bedchambers, but he had to get the syph somehow and it sure as hell wasn’t from Anne. Speaking of Anne, one of my horribly anti-feminist, mysoginistic, and down right all time favorite things about Shakespeare was the fact that he had left her out of his first will and testament. The man returned to Stratford from London when he thought he was going to die. He hadn’t returned to his home in the country, even his new place at New Place, until six months before he died.

His first will was written none too long after his return, making is nearly a fact that he thought he was dying. Or going to die rather quickly. Hell, if I had the syph back in the seventeenth century I’d retreat into a hole rather than get into one of those communal mercury baths. Just like good old Willy. Anyway, he had written his first will with absolutely no mention of Anne Shakespeare, nee Hathaway. Common law back in that era stipulated that a wife would always inherit a certain percentage of her dead husband’s estate, unless otherwise noted. William went out of his way to leave all of his most valuable belongings and wealth to his eldest daughter Susanna.

If that’s not a huge FUCK YOU to Anne, then I don’t know what is. The fact that I find this not only amusing but terribly lady boner inducing  should revoke my chick card for an undetermined amount of time. Shakespeare didn’t like his wife, so he stuck it to her. His brazen honesty is definitely worthy of some wood. Not only did he not include her in the first will, he only allotted her a piddly bed in his revised version of the document.

He didn’t die right away after moving into New Place, which is evident by the fact that I kept referring to his will as his first will. It took him a good six months of suffering to fade into nothingness, which gave him ample time to rethink his will or be pushed into revising his will by an outside party. Perhaps Susanna felt badly for her mother and invoked her father’s love of his daughter to get him to change his mind about slighting mother dearest. Who knows? Not I, said the Kateri. But the fact of the matter is, he did change his mind. In the revised document he left Anne his second best bed. Some scholars get all schmoopy and sappy, lovesick and lovestoned by this as it was common for the second best bed in a household to be the marriage bed – the best bed was reserved for guests.

Hell no – I don’t buy that for a moment. I find the attribution of their second best bed, their marriage bed perhaps, to Anne to be an even bigger slight than being ignored all together. She slept alone in that bed for decades, and he likely died in it. Not very fond memories there. And what more useless thing to gain in a will than a bed when the house is promised to someone else?

That’s right, I enjoy the fact that William Shakespeare likely hated his wife. His resentment toward her and marriage is more than understandable. Then again, don’t most men who get trapped into marriages by pregnancies feel a bit of resentment? Here’s to you most likely being a normal human being with normal human feelings and a supernatural gift of words, William Shakespeare. This boner’s for you.

Plus, his portraits are HOT. Look at the GQMF with his earring. Boing!