(Most current post is on top, old shit on bottom)


I just posted this on Lakerboard.

For reasons not entirely clear to me.


#19167 of 19167: Spudnuts (rs) on Jun 30 '03 at (04:46:53 AM)

Okay, and the last thing I wanna talk about is the so-called sodomy law.

First of all, "sodomy" is just legal speak for "let's arrest them queer guys."

The strict definition, of course, involves your garden variety getting-fucked-up-the-ass. Now... anal sex is becoming more and more like what the blowjob was to your grandma. She would never even consider it because only whores and faggots sucked dick. Now, of course, 14 year-olds give each other blowjobs like we used to put baseball cards in the spokes of our huffy. It's a how-do-you-do and trading sort of thing.

It's mainstream.

Is ass-fucking mainstream? Not yet, but more so each day. I think it's pretty safe to say that even married Baptists have trod the Hershey Highway on occasion, but would they welcome or expect deportation to Gitmo just for seasoning their love-tandoori with a little backdoor all-spice? Hell, no.

And here's another thing... what if two guys are living together but they don't fuck each other in the ass? What if they just give each other blowjobs? Can they be arrested then? And do you have to catch the guys fucking each other? What if you burst in and they're only massaging each other's feet and watching HGTV? Is that sodomy?

I mean we all know where the HGTV foot massage is going... right up the bootie, but you can't arrest someone because they are GOING to commit a crime unless the Minority Report psi-troika is now using their powers to detect sodomy BEFORE IT TAKES PLACE (now THAT would be a funny skit to put on SNL, assuming comedy is something they even strive for anymore).

Also, sodomy laws clearly do not address lesbianism. For obvious reasons. Unless a strap-on is considered sodomy. And then what if the strap-on is not being used for the dookie chute? What if the lesbian is using it for the Church-sanctioned missionary position? Is that sodomy? If so, then what about a man who uses a penis extender/pleasure wand/multi-beaded/vibro dong on his wife? Is that sodomy? Or does it only count if she gets it up the... the... um... I'm running out of catchy ways to say "ass." Uh... how about... up the... um...


Is that sodomy?

Long story short...

Fuck you, John Ashcroft, you piece of shit, clueless fuckhole. Please, please, please spend some money and some time on Al Qaeda and not on preventing men from fucking other men in the ass or women fucking other women or Baptists fucking other married Baptists in the privacy of their Christ-sanctioned double-wide.

Your friend,

Mrs. Jaws

I don't know why, but this chick (one on left) gave 12 year-old Spudnuts some serious wood.

Yet another manifestation of my overactive amygdala, possibly in conjunction with my soy-shrunken brain.
Stream of Kiel

Basic Assumptions of the Raving Athiest

How many blogs are really worth checking out? I think I'll put this one (from MeFi) into heavy rotation for a coupla weeks. Looks good.
This Time it's Personal...


I've got an ad out.

(Don't tell the wife).
Gitmo Execution Chamber #3

Gitmo Execution Chamber #2

Guardian UK:
"Guantanamo Eyes Possible Execution Chamber"

The cases would be decided by a panel of three to seven military officers who act as both judge and jury. Convictions could be handed down by a majority vote; a decision to sentence a defendant to death would have to be unanimous.

Gitmo Execution Chamber #1

From: “The True Confessions of an Albino Terrorist”
by Breyten Breytenbach

The other instance was even stranger. I was approached quite early on during my stretch in Pretoria, by the then head of the prison, asking if I would help him write a letter, in English; he did not trust his own. The letter had to answer an imperious demand Pretoria had received from the Clerk of the Transkei Supreme Court (the Transkei had acceded to ‘independence’ not very long before) to produce, before a certain date, two accused and convicted persons before the said bench. The hitch, Mr. Investigator, the damn nuisance fly in the ointment, the slight technical fuck-up, was that these two gentlemen were no longer with us in the land of honey and milk and sunshine and mind movements. They had arrived condemned to death in Pretoria a month or so before Christmas. Things go rather rapidly immediately before the season of love to man and peace on earth. The hanging services are closed down over the festive period; the High Courts too. In this way, according to the letter I was asked to transcribe, as these two natives refrained from informing the prison authorities of the names of their legal representatives, and since they were quite illiterate and did not leave the addresses of their next of kin (we all know what complicated and unusual family ties these people entertain), nobody knew whom to inform when their demise became imminent. It is with much regret, the letter was to continue, that we now learn that an appeal is to be heard by Your Honor, the Judge President of the Transkei Supreme Court. But it wasn’t really our fault, Your Honor, (we err in a no man’s land of ant-empires), you must understand that there are language barriers and the warrant officer on duty the day they were booked into the foyer of Heaven perhaps forgot to do the necessary checking, so, inasmuch and herewith notwithstanding with all our respect, sir, we the undersigned, etc., always your willing servant.

Mr. Investigator, I often lay there thinking that these two men who had jerked their heels could still have been alive. I dared not show the depth of my revulsion to the head of the prison and the warders. I don’t remember that they themselves were particularly affected. When you process humans by paper, a wee slip ‘twixt last breath and noose is, alas, always possible. To err is human. And I think that the multiple hangings would have blunted them already. I could not then make any notes of the event, but for a long time I remembered the two names. Then one slipped away and now I have only one left; Sizwe Bethani he was called. I repeated to myself; this you mustn’t forget - Sizwe. Just think of Athol Fugard’s play. And Bethani - wasn’t Jesus also reputed to have been to a certain Bethany? Ah, Mr. Investigator, with all due respect we regret that writing can be used as a topsoil for burying mistakes. Notwithstanding, I’m sorry if I sometimes forget that it is at the same time the maggots which lay bare the structure...

Quién es más sexy?

Eva Braun or Ann Coulter?
God wants me to forgive THEM?!

Yes. God wants you to forgive the genocidal Soviet cucumber submarine commander, you fuck ass little asparagus bitch.
Excitable Amygdala


So THAT'S my problem.

Neil Slade details how to self-stimulate your amygdala in Amygdala: The Amazing Brain Music Adventure. Newsflash to Mr. Slade... Spudnuts knows how to self-stimulate his amygdala. It's called wasabi peanuts, espresso, and eight straight hours of Jet Grind Radio, beetch.

Sometimes arrows come off my amygdala JUST LIKE IN THIS SCIENTIFIC DIAGRAM. Coincidence? Um.


I have never been good in front of groups. I think in order to succeed as a public speaker in any capacity, one must be able to see the individuals as a great formless mass and then just focus on your text. Unfortunately, when I have spoken in front of a group, I get distracted. I start to think about each face and then I postulate little narratives about them on the fly. Pretty soon I forget what I was saying, because my amygdala is telling the rest of my brain a story about the guy in the third row with the embarrassingly fecund nose hairs, and I am standing there thinking "how did I get up here?"

And the story my amygdala tells is always more interesting than what I wrote on the index cards.

There should be some sort of amygdala suppressant that one can take prior to speaking in public. You know... sorta like that Sta-Hard stuff which numbs the business end of your petseleh (not that I've ever had to use that stuff. Mein shtup-hamr can cut glass when it becomes engorged with the gamma-irradiated wasabi-fed sexual urgency of... fuck. There really is no face-saving way out of this unwieldy digression, is there?)

My dick is hard.

That's all you really need to know.

And my amygdala is excitable.

Salon: Excitable amygdala contributes to shyness?
Marjoe Gortner #7

I'm noticing that a fair amount of my site referrals are coming from people searching Yahoo and Google for "Marjoe + Gortner" to which I can only reply...

What the FUCK is wrong with you people?!

I mean apart from me, Marjoe Gortner, and Mrs. Marjoe Gortner who could possibly have a reason to enter those two terms into a search engine? It's madness.

Now I know I just lost 45% of my already limited audience with that outburst, but I felt compelled to get that off my chest. I know I should be happy to receive the Gortner demographic and should welcome them under my Big Tent. The same Big Tent that also shelters fans of Josh Mostel and (now) Val De Vargas.


Welcome to my Big Tent.

You were right to come here. There's still a lot of Gortner to be discussed and when it does get discussed, this will be the place to participate in that discussion.
Val De Vargas #2

LOOK at this guy's TV appearances though:

Kung Fu, Police Story, Barnaby Jones, Streets of San Francisco, Mission: Impossible, Mannix, the F.B.I., Wild, Wild West, The Fugitive, Daniel Boone, Gunsmoke, Bonanza, Rawhide, and Ben Casey.


The only TV this guy didn't do during the seventies was stunt double for Gene Rayburn on Match Game and sidekick the Tonight Show.
Val De Vargas

So I'm watching "To Live and Die in L.A." on TBS (the Superstation!) and I see William L. Petersen arguing with Judge Filo Cedillo and I'm thinking: "I know that fucking guy. Where have I seen that fucking guy." And I know it's not Anthony Quinn although he certainly looks like the way the Anthony Quinn from the "Ox-Bow Incident" SHOULD have looked when he got old.

Maybe it's Bizarro Anthony Quinn.

And then I'm thinking... "where the fuck have I seen that guy?"

And then I IMDB his ass and that bitch is made. It's Val De Vargas. From "Touch of Evil." And also from T. J. Hooker episode 2.11 "Terror at the Academy" as Lt. Lopez.

And also in one of my all-time favorite movies "The Magnificent Seven" as one of Calvera's generic henchmen. And then I'm thinking: "why haven't I seen this fucker in any other movie? He's got world class eyebrows. Those eyebrows light up the screen. Where is Val De Vargas?"

I don't know.

I don't know where Val De Vargas is.

Great fucking eyebrows though.
Someone is Reading My Blog

Turns out someone is reading my blog. Two people even. Fine. I'll put something up here later.
Al Franken Bends Over Bill O'Reilly

"Raiders of the Lost Ark" Shot-for-Shot Teen Remake

Goddamn, I so wish I could see this.
Marjoe Gortner #?

Alright, I am SO over Marjoe Gortner now.

Let's talk Josh Mostel.

Marjoe Gortner #6



This is the photo the French government does not want you to see.

This photo was taken on location in Paris, France during the filming of "An American in Paris" starring the inimicable (I just made that word up) Gene Kelly. In the photo, a robust and earthy Marjoe Gortner, hero of our narrative and patriarch of this very blog, engages a giant albino rat on the rooftops of (very) gay Par-ee. Gortner was hired by Gene Kelly as his personal assistant and bodyguard after the viracious (I made that up too) Leslie Caron twice had her right leg gnawed off by mutant rodents (product of unlawful French underground hydrogen bomb testing, grown mule-sized on gamma-irradiated brie and fois gras -- just like Orson Welles! But, I digress. Because Orson Welles NEVER attacked Leslie Caron while Marjoe Gortner was around. That's common knowledge). Consequently, Marjoe Gortner did all of Caron's dance sequences, while the actress was filmed only for close-ups.

I know what you're thinking.

Marjoe Gortner was born in 1944 and "An American in Paris" was made in 1951.


You just keep telling yourself that.
Marjoe Gortner #5

Marjoe: The Motion Picture (1972).
Marjoe Gortner #4

Listen, I don't know what the fuck this movie is about, but it's got Evel Knievel and Marjoe Gortner in it.

And Gene Kelly.

Here's some photos of Gene Kelly in "Viva Knievel."
Marjoe Gortner #3

Marjoe on child evangelism.
Marjoe Gortner #2

So, then you're asking yourself (or maybe me): "Spudnuts... why are you putting a picture of Marjoe Gortner on your blog?" And the answer is two-fold. Well, actually the answer is one-fold, but when I say two-fold it builds the suspense and suspense is what keeps the rubes in the motherfucking seats. Right?

Am I right, rubes?

As I was saying, I put Marjoe Gortner on this blog because at the end of the day this is a nation of rules and who do we need to enforce these rules but men like Marjoe Gortner. Marjoe Gortner is on the blog because you need Marjoe Gortner on this blog. You need men like Marjoe Gortner to take out the trash and keep your kiddies safe at night. Safe from men like... Mexican Lime Tree, who will bash the head of Coach Popovich the motherfucking MINUTE you turn your back on him.

So now you're saying: "Spudnuts, I see. Spudnuts, it all makes sense. Spudnuts, give us more Gortner."

You want more Gortner? You think you need some more Marjoe Gortner?

Fuckhole, you can't freaking handle Marjoe Gortner. Marjoe Gortner is TWO handfuls, a mouthful, and a little left over for late night munchies. Marjoe will fill you the fuck up and you know I ain't lying.


Where would you put all the Marjoe Gortner I'll shovel onto your petite, little, tiny girl-plate? In your hollow leg? Well?! You got one? I didn't think so. You going to put all that extra Marjoe into a shoebox? Under your bed? Do you have enough free storage space for all of the Gortner I'm about to drop on you? You better think about that. You better plan. You'd better clear some space. Toss some choch-keys. Clear some brick-a-brack because it's about to get all Marjoe the fuck up in here real goddamned soon.

This blog is fixing to go all Marjoe. All Gortner. 24/7. 365. And then two days more than that. And then another week. And then I'll pause for a bathroom break and then back on that Marjoe.

When I'm done with this fucking jag, the calendar year will have fourteen months and every last damn motherfucking one of them will be called Marjoetember. I am that serious about this.


You don't know fuck and you don't think fuck. You're all about surrender. You're about turning over your thoughts and reason to men who are not Marjoe Gortner. And I fucking hate you for that. Marjoe Gortner loves you, because he's a better man than I am, but me... I fucking hate that you begin and end your day without first consulting some semblance of Gortner.


Here we go...