The Nipple On Our Souls

If North American society is sexually schizoid, the US is a whiskey-throated blonde cheerleader dolled up in slutty make-up, who faints at the slighest prospect of intimacy. Witness the current debacle facebook has created by banning pix that breastfeeding advocates have posted on their pages. Facebook recently deleted the account of a Canadian woman who posted pix that apparently violated their standards. Feministas and boob supporters alike are understandably pissed. Although, groups like La Leche League are still up and have pix on their pages showing acceptable depictions of breastfeeding. Of course, "acceptable" in this case means NO NIPPLE.

What the hell is wrong with this society, when barely pubescent girls can writhe in fucking g-strings and oil while firing submachine guns on TV, yet the sudden flash of a single goddamn nipple at a violent sports match can summon on the four horses of the apocalypse? Moreover, what is wrong when natural women feed their children naturally with the natural NIPPLES that they were naturally born with and repressed nutbars can punish and chastise them for being inappropriate and dirty? That is the true sexual perversion in our society and tears us even further away from our HUMAN roots.

Now don't get me wrong. I know that when you open a facebook account, you sign on to certain terms, including not posting pix containing nudity. There is a very good reason for this, as anyone who knows anything about the naivete of children and the slyness of pedophiles will understand. But holy fucking jesus christ North America: Get over your insane NIPPLE fear!!!

If you don't the terrorists will have won.

Oh, Rock Slut!

As promised to my friend LC yesterday, and in honour of F-Day, I am lightening up on the heady discourse and shifting to a more air-heady theme. Here, now, is my ode to the more glitsy, gutsy and gobbley of the female persuasion- the rock tramp.

Oh, Rock Slut A Poem, by K-Dough

Oh rock slut, when you held my spiral-permed locks to keep my head out of the toilet, I knew that there was love inside of you- or would be imminently.

But I made the mistake of licking your face, in the heat of a steamy hotel bathroom, and ended up with a foundation-caked tongue.

I will never forget the sweet words you sputtered as we met in the small town arcade:
"Heyyyy, Yer in that band playin' over at the hotel, eh? You from Turanna?" Or as you looked up at me in that room full of onlookers, pulled the gristlehunk out of your face, and queried: "Can we kiss first?": The memory is like a balloon angioplasty to my weiner.

You giggled, drunkenly as I scrawled "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, shit out your spleen" on the filthy dressing room drywall.

You snorted, and Dr. Pepper squirted out of your perfect little model nose, when I pulled out my dick and stuck it in our stupid light tech's ear as he slept - unawares.

You suffered my childish tantrums about how my art would suffer if the bar owner wouldn't give us a free case of Blue.

You helped me spray and tease my do, and let me borrow your zebra-stripe shirts and spandex and rubber bangles.

You bought me cheeseburgers and made me bottle-tokes and let me stay at your passed-out Step-Mom's house when I was in town.

You introduced me to all your local girlfriends, who also dropped to their knees at the flick of a fly, thanks to your expert tutellage.

But most of all, my little rock slut, you masturbated with a giant carrot and then let me put it in your ass after I fucked your sister with it. It brings a tear to my pants even now.

One thing I gotta say sweet little rock slut: You're special - and I mean that.

Reflections on Eastern Thought

Years living in, and studying Japan at the grad level taught me a lot about life - and death. The experience brought me closer to gleaning some insight into universal truths about human nature, the constitution of the universe and the nature of the energy that flows within, from and into other living things, and ultimately, into death and back again. Being exposed to Buddha's teachings and realizing through Chan (Zen) that we all exist in a ceaseless empty circle of being, superficially coloured by both delight and torment, changed my life and the way I look at those I share this journey with.

That's how now, after all this time, I have come to realize one pure truth:
You have to like stupid people. If you don't, there really are not many people left to like on the face of this globe.

So this weekend, I'm suggesting you go out there and have dinner with, rollerblade with, talk about American Idol with, or just plain sport fuck a stupid person. It's only right.

Have a great day, you big stupid bunch of sexified stupid-heads.

10 Point Kwestion

Diamonds are for pussies with no creativity, who have to pay for sex.
Leather is forever.

Discuss. (5 boner points for thinking outside of the box)

Blow the Man Down

I'm in a shitty mood today. So, all I can say to anyone who expected a post on Conservative attack ads, the finer points of whether Stephane Dion is low-key or not, the Truscott decision, Quebec by-elections or whatever: You can blow me.

That's right, I said "blow me". And I don't mean in a cute Japanese porn, delicate pursed-lotus mouth, showering-the-shaft-with-butterfly-kisses kinda way. Neither do I mean that I want you to blow me in a "I'm gonna do this for about 45 seconds just to make it look like I appreciate your member before I have intercourse with you as fast as I can to get it over with" kinda way. And I definitely don't want you to blow me like a shy tearful amateur, akwardly inflicting toothy damage and looking up at me with questioning fawn eyes.

What I mean is, I want you to blow me in a nasty, sloppy, drunk out of your mind, slobbering kind of way. You know, like you've been famished for days and just got your shakey hands on a street dog smothered in mayonnaise, as you gurgle the word "fuck" as loud as you can kinda way. I want you to really get your hands dirty and work it, in full-fisted tandem, like you are adjusting a greased-up telescope. I mean, I want you to blow me like you are an insatiable sword-swallower on Ecstasy in an Amsterdam sex circus with complete abandon and dedication to your meaty craft. Ok, look, just think 'jungle cat ravenously eating a stiff turkey neck' if that helps.

Hmm...did I say earlier I was in a shitty mood? Suddenly, it feels like the sun has shone on my soul. I feel much better now. Thanks for listening - you're a good friend.

Get in Line Ladies

The latest StatsCan census data indicates that the odds of Canadian women finding a man are decreasing. The data says that women out-number men in Canada by a ratio of 100:96.

My thoughts: Finally, a wonky, demographic paid for by taxpayers that actually means something to me! Be patient in the queue though ladies: There is enough hot blooded K-nadian coiled and waiting right here for all of you!!!

Top 10 Reasons You Love Me

1. I am the walrus- koo koo ka choo.
2. Inches baby, inches.
3. I am the divine reincarnation of Siddhartha.
4. Pity: Pure and simple.
5. Tattoos, legs of steel and an ass that just won't quit. And because I pay you.
6. Because I can drink your multiple amputee mother-in-law under the table. Wait- she usually is under the table to begin with. Nevermind.
7. Iconoclastic, Bombastic, Scholastic and Sexually Spastic.
8. Because you have a clinical mental illness that distorts your ability to make rational judgements.
9. They call me the Iguana...
   
10. 40 million K-Dough Fans Can't Be Wrong!

Psst- Happy F Day sex kittens: I'm giddy cuz it's adding-to-the-tattoo-collection day today! Pain for pain. Mmmm. Wish me luck.

Top 10 Reasons I Had To Give Up Stripping

1. My hydraulic X-Wing penis mount got too close to my dancing partner's home-made gas powered light sabre dildo and the explosion set our animatronic Well-Hung Wookie ablaze.
   
2. The fetish-for-4-feet-tall-bald-squat-Eurasian-she-males-dressed-as-sumo-clowns market completely dried up after the whole Gomery thing happened.
3. My addiction to suppositories and resulting weak sphincter musculature was really starting to have a disastrous effect on my lap dance revenues.
4. Three words: Family Court Order.
5. Club owner ordered me to remove my hemmorhoidal piercing and I refused. Power to the ass grapes people!
6. I developed a growth on my left ass cheek that resembled Oprah, and none of my clientelle could ever stomach my patented Reverse Trapeze Sack Swing ever again.
7. I lost faith in the intregity of my vocation upon finding out that Demi Moore - my mentor - was dating That Idiot from That 70s Show.
8. I developed a severe case of stage fright, forcing me to wear a hockey helmet, oven mitts, goalie pads and steel-toed work boots (but nothing in the middle!) every time I performed for fear of incurring further head injuries from fainting.
9. I became a born again God-fearing Republican. Wait- no that was why I started. Never mind.
10. My Pink Ninja Turtle of the Night routine went to hell, when the head filed a union grievance and refused to continue popping out of the shell-like cod piece.

Who Needed Playboy?

If I had've known about THIS as a pubescent boy, I would have grown my own and never left the house. In fact, my life probably would have turned out completely differently...

Top Ten Sexiest Canadian Women

Instead of posting today on the self-destructive attack ads the federal conservatives are currently airing and how the party has become its own undoing, I am going to a much better, warmer place in my mind - and it ain't Carolina baby.

Here now is my list of the Top Ten Sexiest Canadian Women , just off the top of my pants:

1. Avril Lavigne
2. Chantal Kreviazuk
3. Mitsou Gelinas
4. Kathryn Humphreys (City TV Toronto sports reporter)
5. Shannon Tweed (She's a Newfie!)
6. Sarah McLachlan
7. Lisa Rani Ray (star of Bollywood Hollywood)
8. Wendy Mesley
9. Josee Chouinard
10. Shania Twain

Shameless Name Dropping and Sex Talk

So, I'm having drinks and dinner last night on College Street with my TV personality-feminist-social activist-lawyer-friend and we are getting a sweet buzz and talking really loudly about the sexualization of teen women, trash culture, mass media, blow jobs and such and I look to the table next to us and who is sitting there talking about orgasms (I think) a lot quieter than we are? Ex-Much VJ and star of sexually-explicit, critics fave film Shortbus, Sook Yin-Lee. How a propos.

Have I mentioned that I love my city?

Quebeckers Love Doze Raceests

Amidst the current hooplah about whether or not Quebec contains a racist province within a province, I thought I'd ask my buddy Pierre Tremblay to comment on the controversy. Here is a transcript of a phone conversation I had with him last night, although sections are inaudible because he was yelling into his cell phone from the DJ booth at Club SuperPussy in Kirkland Lake.

Tremblay: Allo? Allo? Oo ees it? (blaring music breaking up in background faintly discernible as Helix's Rock You)
K-D: Hey dude. Sorry to bother you at work, but did ya hear about that insane Dumont guy today and the Leger poll?
Tremblay: Pole? Huh? You dat guy ooze gonna come replace dat pole dat biker dented hier soir?
K-D: Dude, (yelling) it's K-Dough!
Tremblay: Ahhhhh, mon ami! Ows eet 'anging you batard?
K-D: I'm good. I just want to know if you think most Quebeckers are racists. It's for a piece I'm doing for the blog.
Tremblay: Huh? You gonna call me frog you batard?
K-D: No, I said blog. Look, never mind. Do you think most Quebeckers are racists?
Tremblay: Ah oui, merde. Mais of course hus Quebekers har raceest. Tabernacle mod zeet. Look at 'ow much we loves Jacques!
K-D: What are you talking about? Parizeau? I don't think that's a very good...
Tremblay: Parizeau? Non, non, non. Your henglish eez not very good I thinks. Jacques Villeneuve you batard stupide!
K-D: Dude! Did you just say you think Jacques Villeneuve is a racist?
Tremblay: Huh? Don't you watch da sports? You know, Patrick Carpentier, Bertrand Godin, Mario Gosselin. You know, we loves doze Quebecois raceests, you hunderstand?
K-D: Ahhhh, gotcha. Ok then, I'll let you..
Tremblay: Huh? (garbled yelling away from the receiver) ... I tell you, you gots dead hair on your mix tape. Huh?! Get up dere, I put some Whitesnakes on. K-Dough, you dere? Mod zeet tabernacle...
K-D: Thanks for your, uh, help dude. I'll talk to you later.
Tremblay: Huh? (Yelling, away from receiver into microphone) Helene Bouchard to da booth toute de suite! Ladies hand gentlemans, put your 'ands together for da very super sexy....
(Dial tone...)

*Hat tip to ChuckerCanuck for graciously allowing me to rap in the East Coast style.

Stripper Shakedown Stymied

Strippers in Windsor, Ontario have won a battle against a discriminatory tax (about $400 per year) they had to pay the city in order to be able to peel there. Thank god the insanity stopped there. I mean what were they planning next? Taxes on cheap bear skin rugs, knock-off perfumes, pole disinfectant and Motley Crue CDs?

Victories like these don't just fall in your lap (ba dum dum). Kudos and pasties to the clubs that fought the bylaw ending the hypocritical practice of shaking down women that many in society revile, just so those same people can enjoy lower property tax rates.

Next, it's time to legalize and regulate prostitution and all sex sector workers to protect women and the public from sleazy pimpish leeches- including a municipal government in this case- who live off the incomes of others.

Housekeeping Note: I'd appreciate feedback from regular commenters on the comments format. Do you guys prefer the pop up or the full page version? Lemme know and I will adjust accordingly. K

PRIDE Queerics

In honour of PRIDE week, I've put together a few of my fave classic queerics. Can you name the song and band? (No googling cheaters! And pls., only one answer per comment.):

1. "This is not a locker room. And that's a surfboard not a yacht."
2. "Eat meat on friday that's alright. Even like steak on a Saturday night. I can bitch the best at your social dos. I get high in the evening sniffing pots of glue."
3. "Pushed around and kicked around. Always a lonely boy. You were the one that they'd talk about around town. As they put you down."
4. "Beauty's where you find it, not just where you bump and grind it".
5."Dear Mummy, Dear Daddy: Now I'm nineteen as you see. I'm handsome, tall, and strong. So what the hell gives you the right to look at me, as if to say "Hell, what went wrong?"
6. If you like adventure, don't you wait to enter, the recruiting office fast. Don't you hesitate. There is no need to wait. They're signing up new seamen fast!"
7. "What's the principal doing with her? Who's the guy? Is he screwing with her? What's her perfume? Tigress by Faberge. It make me cream my jeans when she come my way."
8. "If I, I get to know your name, well I, could trace your private number, baby."
9. "We want lovin', we want laughter again. We want heartbeat, we want madness to end. We want dancin', we wanna run in the streets. We want freedom, to live in this peace."
10. "Sometimes the clothes, do not make the man."

Bone-us question: "Bound to deliver as you give and I collect. Squealing impassioned as the rod of steel injects. Lunge to the maximum, spread-eagled to the wall. You're well equipped to take it all !!!"

Happy PRIDE kiddies, K

Recipe: Greasy K-Dough Sandwich

Ok, Ok. Jesus -- stop the whining. I'll throw y'all a bona (giggle). If you ever needed a reason to watch Question Period here are two. And when I say "two" I don't just mean Helena. This picture conjures a deep-seated disturbing sexual conflict I've experienced for years concerning Sunday School teachers, problems with / attraction to authority and Jack Daniels-inspired daisy chains.

Let the good times roll this coming weekend childerns of the corn-dogs!

More Sex Says Pope

The Pope recently criticized Canada for being too secular, which according to the infinite wisdom of the Catholic cult, errrr, church, is the reason we have a low birth rate. Duh, maybe it has something to do with the fact that the socio-economic reasons behind having numerous children went out with burning witches and the bubonic plague?

Seriously though. What relevance does the Catholic church hold these days in developed nations? Faith is a wonderful thing. Everyone needs it. If you don't have it you should really spend some time divining it. But who, in their right minds, listens to a bunch of frocked antiquarians sermon about morals and global population growth? Is that what we need right now? More humans on this earth? Especially in a country consumed by consumption, that leaves an environmental footprint the comparative size of Sasquatch feet?

Look I've got nothing much against you good Pope, but keep your pagan old world superstitions to yourself. Wake the fuck up dude.

Bella Rona!

Gomery is gone, but these days there is a much better excuse to watch Question Period. As you may or may not know, political parties are keenly aware of who ends up in a camera shot when their questions and answers are televised. I can assure you, it is no coincidence that Rona Ambrose is in every single cam shot of Stephen Harper. She brings up his visual value by about 5 billion per cent. Next to Harper - that stiff, stuffed Pauncharello - she is always sleek, sexy and sophisticated.


I am no fan of the CPC, but I'll tell ya one thing: Rona gives me a bona!

Photo: Little Jason Kenney tries to stifle the swelling anxiety in his god-fearing pants, as he akwardly pretends he is not looking at the prettiest, dreamiest girl in class.

Sealed Package

Yesterday, I floated an idea for a brand new male-focussed eco-fashion product on another blog. Today, I am asking you, the loyal readership, for your input. Think of yourselves as an uncontrolled market research group.

With all the recent excitement surrounding the plainly distasteful slaughter of Canada's seals, I thought "how could we make this story a little more fun - a little more chic and bouncy? How could we convert this bad bloody press into a real trendy buzz? Well, I thought long and hard, and came up with a prospect that I think many of you will find extremely attractive, useful and daresay ... sexy.

Seal skin thongs. Yes kids, it's K-Dough's new Flipper Snappers (tm)- for the hunter in you!

Not buying it? Ok, think 'speedo meets the arctic' or 'lingerie goes to the circus'. Those poor whiskered, happy sea-friends of man will not have died in vain, if we can convert their misery into a stylish pair of man undies. You can cram all the man meat you want into these water-resistant, pliable tighties, and there is still room for a lot more fun!

Sooooooooooo, whaddya think?

Sex: The Road to Ruin

Dear Readers:

I am really disappointed in you Blogospherians out there. Yesterday, when I floated the idea about Mitsou running for the Liberal leadership, I thought you intelligent, sensitive people would take the time to truly consider her qualities and strengths. The commentary quickly degenerated into a torrent of school yard sexual innuendo. I will admit that, I, too, was caught up in the waxing on how Mitsou's moist pouty lips and ample bosom might sex up our dehydrated and prudish parliament. But Mitsou doesn't deserve the objectification we forced upon her.

This Mitsou madness must end, I tell you, before it overtakes this blog's content completely.

So, I'll just say this: Mitsou, if you are out there, wearing a tiny, tiny, tiny see-through neligee, sucking gently on a fresh, ripe cherry as you playfully pull it from your mouth, slightly glistening with...no, stop me! For the love of dry pants everywhere, we must bring back Paul Martin. He made everything seem sexless, cold and unfunny, just like an episode of the Air Farce or a Photoshopped Celine Dion porn spread. We have to remove the steering wheel from this sex drive before it plunges us into the mucky ditch of un-Canadianess!!!

Mitsou for Leader!

Public Notice: I hereby nominate Mitsou, French-Canadian sex goddess, cultural guru and musical artist for the leadership of the Liberal Party of Canada. Not only is Mitsou completely bilingual, she is hot as hell. Hotter than over-microwaved poutine. Hotter than Kiss' classic song Hotter Than Hell. Mitsou is so hot, she could set ablaze the petrified wooden panties of that sexually-ambiguous sasquatch, Deborah Grey. Let the bland young Liberals and toothless party faithful debate Brison, Bob and Belinda. But without Mitsou, the party will never again reach across the lap of this country and gently brush it's inner thigh as if it didn't mean to, with a coquettish smile.

Can't you just hear Bye Bye Mon Cowboy blasting through a convention centre in the next election, as Mitsou sashays across the stage with a giant cardboard cut-out of that picture of Harper in a Stetson? This is forward thinking - something sadly missing from the current dialogue.

Mitsou, if you are out there right now reading this, sitting in front of the fuzzy pink computer in your chic boudoir, wearing nothing but a sheer, tight white tank top and tracing the edge of your coffee cup with a slightly-moistened index finger: You must contact me ASAP so we can begin to put your winning campaign in motion. Now that Martin is gone, there are some boobs to fill. We'll re-brand and turn that tired old Liberal Party into the fresh and sexy Ample Party it could be!