Editor: David Herrle
I just realized how similar the words “arguing” and “arousing” are to each other.
Children are the leading cause of parenthood.
Lita Ford on sex with Dee Dee Ramone: “Fucking Dee Dee Ramone had given me crabs. The shyest Ramone in the bunch. My one and only STD.”
Only the invisible can see the invisible.
Impatient with the sickening continuum, I leap forward and grapple with my future corpse, punch its stupid face and brains into jelly, screaming:“The body outlives the body! The body is outlived by the body!”
“To be” is the answer, not the question. I am, therefore I am.
They say that the orgasm is the little death, but, on the contrary, the orgasm is the little anti-death, a grenade hurled against the voyeur Reaper.
Did you know that all the Zen poets and Katy Perry are cut from the same cloth, that Kim Kardashian’s butt is Rubens reincarnated, that Nefertiti and Bussa, the Spartacus of Barbados, sing in Rihanna’s toes?
Mark Twain once related a story about a beloved French astronomer who said to a gorgeous woman, “If I had your beautiful shoulders and neck and complexion I would be perfectly satisfied. I would aspire to nothing higher.” Appreciating that, it’s no wonder that I thrill at the thought of one of Helen Gurley Brown’s unrealized (but delicious) ideas: a woman’s pubic hair preserved in Lucite given to a man for Valentine’s Day.