Dale Bozzio: The original Lady Gaga

Vintage Ad: Newport cigarettes, 1970

Barefoot is back.

Decadent Smut: Christina's Ecstasy, 1980

Christina’s golden quest for love without restrictions has never been more compelling and dangerous than when she volunteers her name and body to an astute and persuasive promoter of sexotic vacations. With her fabulous figure and her international reputation as a connoisseur of the good life, the promise of a trip around the world with Christina lures even blasé millionaires to dip into their Swiss bank accounts to join her erotic entourage.

Pure Awesome: Freddie King live 1966

The following handwritten letter was found this weekend crumpled up on the unseasonably warm marble steps of McKinley Hall:

Dear Lisa,

I might be kinda concerned about my health. I can’t smell unscented perfume or taste unflavored ice cream. Obviously I’m losing my hearing. Plus how do you know if you have a flesh-eating virus? My appetite for skin has been totally insatiable lately. I mean, wait, my body is covered with extremely contagious, antibiotic-resistant open wounds likely caused by aggressive bacteria caught from a toilet seat I licked at Grand Central Station after a heroin junkie used it to deliver a nuclear-radiated stillborn fetus. Damn, I knew that was a bad idea. Hey--you know how I like to sleep in the nude, right? Well your Snuggie feels nice against my diseased epidermis—I was totally going to wash it before I gave it back to you, but I couldn’t find any quarters for the machine.

Ever notice math is all just numbers and shit?

Kristin

Song of the Day:

“Get Out My Life, Woman,” The Mad Lads

Vintage Ad: Jaymar slacks, 1976

Decadent Smut: Couples, 1985

Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings on acid?

In 1978, everyone is high, dressing badly, and really in love with awful disco music.

WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PACO CAMINO?

He thinks this new vampire craze is fucking bullshit and that Robert Pattinson is a total fag. With the cranky temperament of basement dweller Arthur Spooner and Festivus founder Frank Costanza, The Paco Camino Man for centuries, has sucked the blood of hot women the old fashioned way. That means sleeping in a coffin all day, donning a cape and tuxedo at night, and turning into a bat to get around. So it’s no big surprise Bela can’t stand today’s pretty boy vampires walking around in broad daylight like a bunch of sparkle fucks, and he could give two shits about asinine crap like Twilight, True Blood and The Vampire Diaries. The only things the Paco Camino Man endorses is Bram Stoker, Count Chocula cereal and The Count from Seasame Street, whom he finds both highly entertaining and always educational.