Fotonovela Pimienta! Para hombres y mujeres! 1976.

Achtung baby! Pole dancing instruction turns catty.

Is this German küken kampf Bullshit or Not? Click the above title to find out.

Shoot first and ask questions altar, er, later. Oops.

Here's to the three NYPD detectives who were acquitted today of any wrongdoing in the death of Sean Bell. Just hours away from getting married in 2006, Bell left his own bachelor party at strip club in Queens and was met with a barrage of 50 bullets from off-duty detectives Michael Oliver, Gescard Isnora and Marc Cooper who thought he was armed. He wasn't. Unbelievably, Detective Oliver alone shot at Bell 31 freaking times.

The following handwritten letter was recently discovered on the sunny marble steps of McKinley Hall:

Dear Lisa,

Apparently my fat ass is too buoyant for underwater chair aerobics and that aqua yoga class is all wet too—I keep getting water up my nose doing Chakra asanas and my inadvertent fartilicious wind-relieving Pavana-mukta-asana poses are producing ripple waves big enough to capsize elderly aerobicizers. Cast iron ankle weights helped until I slipped into the deep end and sunk like a frozen Leonardo DeTitanico, plus when I did that, I blew out a huge snot bubble floater that evacuated the pool. Well anyway, if that internship for highly gifted engineering geniuses doesn’t pan out, at least I can fall back on my amazing basketball skills, er, I mean my limited middle school cafeteria dishwashing experience. I keep mixing those two up.

FYI--sticky flypaper isn’t the way to go to remove unwanted back hair,

Kristin

Song of the Day:

Erykah Badu, “The Cell”

Video Flashback: Van Nuys Blvd., 1979

Are you jivin' me? Hey, nobody calls Chooch a creep, man!

WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PACO CAMINO?

He's The Mexican Blutarsky. Achieving legendary status as a celebrity strong man dungeon pimp, this good-natured gringo from Guadalajara is putting seven years of college from a south of the border massage therapy school to good use. Sporting tree trunk arms and a thick handlebar mustache than can do pushups on it’s own, this he-man wears a bold headband (taming his burly black hair), a custom back-supporting utility belt and garment dyed man-skirt. Adorning his foxy concubines in irresistible decorative beads, the Paco Camino Man laughs in a deep voice, “You like what you see, amigo? If not you scrawny homo, I can sell you kettle bell weights out of my garage.”

Forgotten T&A Matinee #97: Superchick, 1973

She’s all woman. All every woman wants to be. Forceful. Feminine. Free. Super brave. Super body. Supercharged. Superchick! A swinging motion picture experience about a super kind of woman.

In public she’s a mild mannered stewardess. In private she’s something else.

Superchick. She’s more than just one woman, and too much for just one man!

Superchick. The super kind of woman. Always in the middle of where the action is. Always ready for a new adventure. You can’t afford to miss Superchick. She’s much more than you’ve ever had before.

Vintage Ad #115: Turtle Wax, 1976

The Don Ho Show! Suck 'em Up!

The Chairman of the Surfboard, no visit to Hawaii in the 70s was complete without seeing Don Ho and the Swinging Aliis perform at the Polynesian Palace in Waikiki.

WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PACO CAMINO?

So what if the plane went down in the ocean an hour ago? Smart enough to lock a handy machete in his carry-on luggage and lucky enough to escape without getting a spec of dirt on the same casual white slacks he wore sitting in first class, the Paco Camino Man is always collected after a commercial aircraft disaster. Cool as the rum coconut cocktail he just had comped at the exclusive beachfront hotel bar located a mere 50 yards away, he’s stoked that two hot chicks are totally digging him, because damn, they're probably extra horny for cheating death in a plane crash. With an embarrassed and apologetic airline paying for everything indefinitely, the Paco Camino Man has but one lost initiative—to get the bikinis off of Dharma and the other.

The Origin of Breakdancing?

Back in the day. Nothing quite like the weird sight of old white b-boys and b-girls
popping & locking. Ozone (Shabba-Doo) ain't got nothing on Fatty Arbuckle.

Vintage Porn Poster: The Joys of Jezebel

On roule à 160 by mareva - scopitone

Scopitone du titre "On roule à 160", extrait de l'album Ukuyéyé by Mareva.

Vintage Ad #127: Lee Olympiad Clothing, 1975

The following handwritten letter was recently found on the unseasonably cold marble steps of McKinley Hall:

Dear Lisa,

I’m thinking of becoming an intravenous drug user except I don’t like to swallow pills. Hey what smells like shit in the backyard? Wait, it’s not that pig breeding farm you started, is it? You know I’m a vegetarian! Well, I’m going green by chopping down a young tree for my new custom wood iPod to conserve on metal and plastic. Plus I’m dumping vats of tainted gasoline, unwanted toxic fluorocarbons and used polystyrene dinnerware into the East River so’s not to clog up sewers. Lord knows I want to do my part. I can’t decide if I should sign up for meditational yoga or extreme metal shop welding. It’s a complete toss up, but my migraine neurologist and special needs hand/eye coordination coach have expressed their reservations of me handling a blowtorch around gas-soaked retarded children and highly flammable senior citizens.

I’m curbing deforestation of my lady garden until the soil samples come back 'negative,'

Kristin

Song of the Day:

The Raconteurs, “Salute Your Solution”

Cindy und Bert: Der Hund Von Baskerville, 1970

What the hell? Barely moving their mouths, here's a creepy mod duo from Germany performing a bastardized version of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid." Und now we dance!

Decadent Smut: A Kiss For Christina, 1981

Ever restless, ever passionate, beautiful heiress Christina van Bell faces another crisis in her tempestuous life. More sensual than even she has ever imagined, her life becomes unexpectedly rife with carnal lusts and jealous intrigues as wild as any orgy she has ever attended.

Christina’s erotic yearnings find a new and unexpected outlet. With her usual abandon, she plunges into a web of dangerous daring and sensuous intrigue that only her unique combination of integrity and sexual generosity enables her to survive.

Passion is a flower. Passion is a fruit. But more important, passion is the kicking, driving, catalytic force that fuels and fires me, Christina van Bell.