The photography division of Raging Titter has suffered a meltdown; therefore, the descriptions and overall tone of this post will border on the morally reprehensible. We must keep our readers entertained.
Speaking of non-visual entertainment, quickly click to Sci-fi Channel's forgotten but still incredibly excellent Seeing Ear Theatre. Go Now! Before they take down all the content and replace it with an endless loop of commercials for their "Original Movies". After one listen to Neil Gaiman's Snow Glass Apples you'll be completely soaked from the waist down. Well, you have to love radio drama. Love it the way most people love unexpected oral sex in a broom closet at the office Christmas party. Sorry, I meant "Holiday" party. Jews love mouth sex too.
Since we're already there, let's talk about sex podcasts. In short, I've listened to a few. Most are self-indulgent, amateurish, trite, boring, horrible, little nuggets of dried snatch lube. One is not. The Post Modern Geek's Guide to Sex is none of these things. Is it new to the podcasting scene? Yes. Does the host seem, at times, struggling for content? Yes. Will this podcast hit full tilt boogie after the kinks get worked in. Hells YEAH! Unlike PMGGS's counterparts, this show offers solid information and scintillating entertainment in very edible 20 odd minute portions. Marie B gives a damn how her podcast sounds and that's the first sign of an up and coming great fucking podcast. I sounded that like it meant.
For a while now, I've been meaning to highlight another blog. One that I discovered through a random link from Blogger's "Next Blog" bar. Wildfiring pops funny and insightful, competent reviews at you like a tommy gun. Make sure you read through all the Sashaisms. And don't think now you can run off all higgeldy-piggeldy and start using the "Next Blog" all by your lonesome. A fair number of the blogs here, like The Big Tit, suck Japanese businessman ball sweat. Don't you cry about the music. Don't you dare. And Yeah, I did lift that line directly from Pitch Black. If you haven't seen it, click me.
In an effort to lessen the readership of Raging Titter even further I decided to add a "Man on the Street" section. Every single member of the staff still had their New Year's drink on and couldn't go. So the old workhorse, yours truly, walked the 12 blocks to the local video store. It was raining. Oshkosh, Wisconsin on January 4th at 4:30 p.m. it was raining. Regoddamndiculous. As I passed a bar, I realized that the tavern is a holdover from a "walking culture". Now that we drive fucking everywhere we don't need places along the path to warm our chilled bones and tired spirits. In the nasty December rain the small hollow of a barroom's doorstep called out to me. Stepping out of the rain into somewhere warm, comfortable, and inviting became like a forgotten fantasy suddenly reawakened by opportunity. My onetrackmindedness kept me on the path, however, but I will walk again. And I will further explore that most neglected pedestrian landscape. For now, I'm spent.
***Out of Touch Television***
1984's Punky Brewster
Anybody else surprised that the annoying little kid grew up to be oh so totally hot?
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