Secondly, Wally, it's inappropriate to talk about your sex life in front of the Star-Spangled Avenger. Unless, of course, this is your way of inviting him into a threesome. The panel above is taken from 1981's Captain America #262, in which Captain America attends the filming of Captain America -- the Motion Picture, and learns that Hollywood is chock full of anarchists and fascists living deviant lifestyles and working together to destroy America through television. Art imitates life, indeed.

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I typically think of myself as a well-spoken individual, but that goes out the window when I am confronted by the stoic answering machine. Actual text from a message I left on a veterinarian answering machine yesterday:

"...I need to make an appointment for my dogs to be spayed. However, one of the dogs may have recently been impregnated by another dog, and I need her to have a, uh, tested for, uh, tested for what do you call it, uh, tested for, uh, pregnancy?..."

Suave.

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The world's first "sex robot" was unveiled this weekend in -- where else? -- Las Vegas. Its name is Roxxxy. Roxxxy is a complex electronic toy embedded in the body a Real Doll, which essentially makes it a very expensive Teddy Ruxpin that you can fuck. Before dismissing this as a lone pervert's dream come true, realize that this brings us one step closer to Daryl Hannah in Blade Runner, which would be considered many normal men's dream come true. So here in 2010 we may be no closer to flying cars then we were in 1960, but at least we've got sex robots.

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I just saw a commercial for Macy's 2009 Cashmere Sale. While I don't care for wearing either goat's hair or sweaters, if Macy's puts their models on sale (even the one playing the "old" lady), I'm buying. Why can't more stores advertise their seasonal specials with unnaturally good-looking women? It seems that there is a shortage of subtle hotness in Christmas advertising these days. Between the uncomfortably overt sexuality of GoDaddy promos and Zales adverts intentionally confusing jewelry with love, it's nice to see that someone remembers that dressing the set with beautiful women is still enough to get consumers to notice the real star: the product. And no, GAP commercials staring prepubescent girls doing their best Punky Brewster impressions don't count.

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In response to recent allegations of an existing sex tape, Carrie Prejean, the former Miss California who lost her shot at being Miss USA when she spoke out against gay marriage, has now come out against "sexting." I really have to say that I'm losing all respect for this girl. Once upon a time, she was a carefree lass who was willing to film naughty moving pictures to please her long-distance boyfriend. Later she sold her own flesh, accepting breast enhancements from beauty contest producers in order to help her win. But in her new book Still Standing, she says that her body is now a "temple of the Lord" and that she should be respected for her heart, "not for showing skin to look sexy."

Look, lady, I find it hard to respect anyone who willingly submits themselves to the degradations of a fixed beauty pageant and then whines on non-stop press junkets once they lose. But don't compound your problems by discouraging young women from sending naked pictures of themselves to their boyfriends. Think of the harm you're doing to all the poor young men with hot girlfriends that really need to show them off. You're damaging the self-esteem of millions of young Americans. Is that really the Christian thing to do? If all those hot young women stop sharing their bodies with young men, those men will turn to the only available alternative: other men. And we know that's not really what you want, Carrie. So, please, do the right thing and release your sex tape to the public. America is counting on you to save heterosexual marriage.

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Back on March 26, I was willing to give Burger King the benefit of the doubt for using the porn slang term "Burger Shots" to market their new mini-hamburgers. But now loyal reader and good friend of the blog Ken Harrison points out something that's obliterates my good faith presumptions by being a bit too obvious to misunderstand:

While I'm sure that the King is very proud to have a Super Seven Incher (as he should be: the average American male's "sandwich" is more aptly named an Average Five-And-A-Half Incher), I'm not so sure that this is the best way to sell a sandwich. Or anything else. Assuming half of the population wants to put something like that in their mouth, it's a pretty safe bet that the other half will go out of their way to avoid it. So right off the bat, Burger King is cutting its potential advertising audience in half unless they are hanging these promotions up in prisons.

On the plus side, as far as names go, that's waaay better than The King's Weiner.

Seriously, Burger King, you're starting to freak me out. When I think of sex, I don't want to think of flame-broiled meat. I don't think that coitus should have the lingering musty smell of old Whopper. And I don't think I want to put your meat anywhere near my mouth. Keep this up, and I just might have to become a vegetarian so that your stiff french fires and sultry milk shakes won't be molesting me in my dreams. (If only cucumbers didn't look so much like large penises. <shudder>)

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While searching the internet for a serial killer referenced in Jack Webb's The Badge, my searches kept coming up with sites with online dating tips.

Turns out that Stephen Nash, a man convicted for the murder of a man and child (just two of the 11 he claimed to have killed; he withheld details of the other 9 victims in demand for payment which the state of California refused) in and around Los Angeles in 1956, shares his name with Stephen Nash, self-promoting dating coach and author.

My searches were waylaid by the fact that the advice of the modern Mr. Stephen Nash is apparently not nearly as hard to come by as the mythical girlfriend that he is promoting. A quick search indicates that his help can be provided through such sites as datingsecretsformen.com, eseduce.com, how-to-get-a-girlfriend.com, natural-pickup.com, seductiontuition.com, and thecompletetoolbox.com (which should really just drop the word "box" from it's name, as it compares its dating gurus to comic book super heroes, clearly indicating it's target audience: Me).

On thecompletetoolbox.com, Mr. Nash is compared to the X-Men member Iceman (who most X-Men fans will recognize as something of an immature, brat). However, if these people have to be compared to comic book characters, they should be compared not to heroes but to villains. You know, those that seek to dominate the world, but don't really have a very good plan for what they'd do with it once they've gotten it. They're like a super sexed-up Galactus, slathering themselves in industrial-strength hair product and Axe body-wash, "devouring" the Earth, and then dumping it via a text message while cruising galactic nightclubs looking for other planets to seduce.

These sites apparently represent the tip of the iceberg of the secretive alliance of PUAs. PUA stands for "Pick Up Artist," by the way. For some reason the "seduction community," or section of society that actively hunts female flesh in the same way that a Big Game Hunter (BGH) chases rhino horns, adores acronyms. Not that there's anything wrong with that, IMO.

And In case you were wondering, Google finally found that serial killer I was looking for here, in the Aug. 21, 1959, edition of the Eugene Register-Guard, among others in its newspaper archives. Thank you, Google.

P.S.: To be fair, one of those PUAs over on tehcompletetoolbox.com is compared to a villain: the Joker. Ah, to aspire to being a sociopathic mass-murderer. That should wow the ladies. I won't be surprised if that guy's name is found only after thorough holographic searches of archaic html documents in the year 2059.

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Attended the Georgia Renaissance Fair today, where I saw many men in kilts, overweight women wearing fairy wings and elf ears, and shocking anachronisms. My favorite part of the entire experience was the hour plus spent making fun of my friend who had a hot dog for lunch. The joke was supplied by the Renaissance Fair itself, which marketed the foot-long hotdog as "The King's Wiener" and expected people to pay for the experience of putting it into their mouth.

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More in the same vein as Sunday's post. While the "I" in the following story is not me, the story was related to me by an impeccable source as a true story.

Driving down the road the other day, I was shocked to encounter the van of a commercial exterminator which had printed on the side the biblical passage Revelations 22:7, "Behold! I come quickly." All I could think at the time was how completely inappropriate that was!

Suffice it to say that I'm sure they could have used a less appropriate biblical passage, such as, say, Deuteronomy 5:17, "Thou shall not kill," or Leviticus 12:3, "And in the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin will be circumcised." But then, I'm certainly no biblical scholar.

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My latest submission to Reader's Digest's "Life in These United States" column:

Yesterday, a friend and I were walking through a local supermarket when he stopped short at a sign proclaiming, "Pick Up Line Forms Here For Senior Prom." Confused about my friend's sudden stupor, I asked him to explain. He simply shook his head and said softly, "I spend too much time on the internet."

(Don't worry if you don't get it. That just means that you probably actually read Reader's Digest.)

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