James Brown passed away on Christmas Day. The “Godfather of Soul” got his musical start right here in Cincinnati when he was signed to the King/Federal label. In 1956, he and his band, The Famous Flames, cut “Please Please Please” at the King/Federal studios here in Cincy, just off Woodburn Avenue. This was a start in a long string of hits that would continue for almost 30 years.

Here’s a classic clip of Brown singing “I Feel Good.”

Larry Gross

(photo: male.powersexlife.com) Hello. I would like to introduce myself. My name is Troy. I’m 25-years-old and in great physical shape. Above is a photo of me taken down by The Ohio River this past summer. I’m a hell of a handsome dude, don’t you think? I work out constantly. I have really big muscles. I’m built, ladies.

My life is wonderful. I have a great job at P & G, a beautiful apartment in Hyde Park and women fall all over me when I walk the sidewalks in downtown Cincinnati. But I have a problem.

Because of all my muscle building, my penis is hard to find. It’s almost as if it has disappeared.

Now in the photo, it looks large and firm. That’s because I stick empty toilet paper rolls into my front area – where my penis should be – so you ladies will have something to see, but it’s all a lie.

My penis is the size of a toothpick. I can barely piss out of it. I always have a great, firm erection, but my penis is so very, very tiny.

I have a question for the ladies – downtown, in Hyde Park or even in Price Hill. Do you prefer a man such as me with large muscles or would you prefer a large penis?

I’m beginning to think my penis is going to fall off soon. However, I have a great big wart on my tongue. Ladies, I think it would bring you a lot of pleasure.

Troy

Smoke more cigarettes in Cincinnati bars and blow the smoke up the Health Department’s ass.

Eat cheese coneys until I gain an additional one hundred pounds.

Eat more often at Redfish.

Smoke more crack but enjoy it less.

Save money on toilet paper and start picking up Cin Weekly. It’s free. Seriously.

Continue to pick up hookers in Covington in 2007, but in the New Year, remember to wear protection.

Drink more beer.

Continue to dodge child support. The kid doesn’t even look like me.

Continue to live off unemployment.

Remain an outstanding citizen of The Queen City.

 

Alan, The Drunk & Drug Addict.

(Photos: Google.com)

 

 

(photo: Google.com) Some days back, I wrote a post here called “Conservative Sex.” Many thought I meant having sex only one way – in one position. What I was referring to was getting away from the bed and making love in other places in my apartment and my boyfriends. Again, being born and raised here in Cincinnati and on the West Side has made me conservative in a lot of ways even if I don’t want to me. My new boyfriend opened my eyes.

For about two weeks, we were together constantly and made love all the time. A few times in the bed, but mostly other places and it was all good except for one thing: He really likes anal sex.

A lot of you won’t believe me when I say I’ve never had it before. My boyfriend wanted it, so I gave in.

I didn’t like it. His penis felt tight inside me. It was uncomfortable and I felt dirty afterwards. When I told him this, he looked disappointed and he hasn’t called me since we got together for Christmas. I think he’s moved on.

Doesn’t a woman have a right to set limits? Doesn’t she have a right to say what she feels?

Teri Archer

So, I was happily writing poetry, and it came time to print. Always a good feeling, when work is done, and it’s time to see the product. These poems were going to be printed on pretty paper and given for Xmas. I was way ahead of schedule, and quite pleased with myself. If I were more flexible, I would’ve patted myself on the back.

So I clicked “print.” Nothing. Clicked it again. Nothing. Again and again and again. Still, nothing but a flashing light, no movement. Then an error message. Then a multitude of error messages. So I looked into troubleshooter, called the company, unplugged and replugged everything, reinstalled software, obsessively staring at the blinking, stinking light thinking that’ll make it go away. Like staring at chicken, waiting for it to cook, when you forgot to turn on the oven. All day long, I stared at the light, fiddling with cords and buttons and “it ain’t workin” messages. I turned my phone off so I could “concentrate.” If it wasn’t before, “motherfucker” became my new favorite vocabulary word.

Now, let me digress. For the average bear, a printer problem is simple. You can a) get a new one or b) call someone or c) go to a friend’s house or Staples and let them print it.
Not me. I am of the “use force” mentality. And, if you are a writer, problems with printers or computer programs are more than just problems. You start to think the universe is against you. The universe doesn’t want you to write. The printer is possessed. Years ago, I changed my printer icon name to “printer wrestling.” My fear of malfunctioning computers goes way back. Like one day, I’ll turn the thing on, and see a message reading this: “Attention CA, this is Word talking. Sorry, but we ate your novels-in-progress this morning, and your backup cds won’t work. Have a good one. Oh, and get a job.”

So after an entire day of trying to fix it alone, I finally called a buddy. I said, “Hey, you know anyone that works on computers?” Brilliant.

He gave me his buddy’s number. So his buddy came over, drank Diet Dews with me, fiddled with the same shit I did and said, “Yep, it’s broke, haha. Dumpsterville.” Then he called another buddy, who had a printer, but he needed his. But that buddy said he knew of another buddy and printer. So he called the fourth buddy, who had a brand new printer he didn’t want. So two of the buddies (I lost track of which buddies) came over, hooked the thing up, and…well…I ended up with a brand new printer that works, a nicer printer than what I started with. For free.

All I had to do was ask for help. Lord, am I stubborn. I had this weird feeling that God or Buddha or Fred (I had a friend in VA who called God “Fred”) whatever you call it, was up there shaking heads, going, “I was just trying to send you a new printer, because your old one sucked. Maybe next time, just go with the flow, eh?”

C.A. MacConnell

I like the natural look. I believe women should look the way nature intended.

I’m talking hair here.

Men don’t shave under their arms or shave their legs. Why do women? Why is that necessary?

I want my woman hairy. I want to see hair on her legs and hair under her arms – and don’t even think about shaving between your legs. That’s an awful look I can’t bear. Just throw away that razor and I’ll be a happy man.

My wife doesn’t understand this. She says she has to be “presentable” in the business world when she wears a dress to work. I say, wear slacks. If she’s concerned about her hairy armpits, put on a long-sleeve shirt.

She rolls her eyes and laughs.

She has beautiful black hair on her head. I want to see it other places too, the way God wanted it.

Paul

. . .a Merry little Christmas, or whatever this day does for you. Marilyn, C.A., Teri, Karen, Brian, The LOL Girl, yours truly and the rest who contribute here appreciate your visits. We’ll be back with a new post tomorrow.

Larry Gross

(P.S. – wanted to put up this traditional Christmas picture. You know how that Jean is)

Today and tomorrow, we’ll be posting light, you know – this being the holidays and all. I know I personally plan on drinking lots of Christmas cheer……..and I’m not talking coffee.

If you haven’t seen “A Christmas Story,” you’ll missing out on a classic movie. Here’s a five minute clip from it.

Now where the hell did I put that bottle?

Larry Gross

All I want for Christmas is my two
A. Big breasts.
B. Eggs over easy.
C. Cents worth.
D. Front teeth.

Grandma got run over by a
A. Snowplow.
B. A Cin Weekly delivery driver behind on his route.
C. Reindeer.
D. A Queen City Metro bus.

I saw mommy kissing
A. Bob the mailman.
B. My daddy’s ass.
C. Santa Claus.
D. A lesbian named Sally.
E. A Cin Weekly delivery driver.

I’ll have a blue Christmas
A. If you put that bag over my head.
B. If you make me eat that cheese coney.
C. Sitting on this block of ice.
D. Without you.

Rudolf the red nose reindeer, had a very shiny
A. Rear end.
B. Nose.
C. Attitude.
D. All of the above.

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping
A. In your rear-end.
B. At your nips.
C. At your nose.
D. A and B.

Frosty the snowman was a jolly happy
A. Drunk.
B. Cin Weekly delivery driver.
C. Soul.
D. Gay snowman.

Santa Claus is coming
A. Soon to a theater near you.
B. On your face.
C. To have sex with the LOL Girl.
D. To town.

Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle
A. It up your ass.
B. All the way.
C. The change in my pocket, but stay away from my private area.
D. Your money away.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even
A. Bill O’Reilly.
B. That fucking parrot that never shuts the hell up.
C. That Cin Weekly delivery driver sleeping with my mother.
D. A mouse.

I’m dreaming
A. That this shit will soon be over.
B. Of a white Christmas.
C. While sitting at my desk at work.
D. A sexual fantasy.

Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we’ve no place to go
A. Let’s have intercourse.
B. Let’s kill ourselves and let the Cincinnati Police find us in a year or so.
C. Let’s invite that Amway sales representative over so he can tell us how we can quit our day jobs and start working for ourselves.
D. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Larry Gross

I love drugs. I don’t mean the caffeine, nicotine, alcohol and Prozac that makes reality bearable for most people. I love all those, of course, but they’re just for base-line, day-to-day living. For recreation, I like marijuana, magic mushrooms and acid when I can find it. I don’t do needles or crack. You gotta have standards, right?

There are very few times when I’ve found a good buzz incompatible with what I had to do. I’ve gotten high before work, before church, before my kids’ school pageants and concerts.

If you want a truly deep experience at a funeral, try going on magic mushrooms. It transforms the whole experience.

In my job I work all day with the public, sometimes including policemen. Nobody has ever suspected I was tripping while serving them.

I know drugs aren’t for everybody and they’re really bad for some people but for me they’re a source of constant amusement. I’m not hurting anybody and I’m having a hell of a good time.

Someday they’ll repeal the stupid drug laws and spend their time trying to catch dangerous criminals instead. Meanwhile I’ll just keep doing a good job, being a good father and getting stoned when I can.

Mike Hunt