Flicking off

Idly flicking through flickr, I came across this startling chap:


Imagine my surprise and delight when, a little later in that photographer's stream, he turned out to be one of the people in this sequence:


I don't think you need me to point out which one he is:


So by now you will have worked out that he is rather heftily provided for in the bollock department:


While also being rather perkily endowed in the embonpoint area:


You see: who said you're wasting your life away when you're surfing the web?

Funny bone

I finally got around to watching Judd Apatow's latest (although he may have produced a few others by now, so behind am I)... Judd Apatow's latest, Funny People.


The reason for my obvious reluctance (despite my adoration of Apatow's brilliance) is the presence of the kiss of death that is Adam Sandler, a man who could suck the comedy out of anything.


Fortunately in this film that's exactly what his character is supposed to do, so it all works out rather well (Seth Rogan, though, has lost weight. I mean, FFS, the whole point of Seth is that he's a big fat bloke who makes up for his weight by being funny. The film even jokes about it: normal sized men are just not funny. But, as they say, many a true word said in jest).


But this is an altogether odd movie: thoughtful and subversive -- mean-minded, even -- rather than being all cock jokes and gentle bromance.

My friend D. liked it much more than me (in fact, he loved it). Although in truth the biggest criticism I can make of it is that, unlike every other Apatow film, there was no appearance by the Sex God that is Paul Rudd.


Come to think of it, that's a major flaw, not even made up for by the endearing presence of the lovely Jason Schwartzman.

D-minus.

PS: I was irresistably reminded while watching this of Paul Thomas Anderson's post-Magnolia movie, Punch-Drunk Love, the only other Adam Sandler appearance that I'm prepared to concede was any good. And, in fairness to him, he was, in fact, masterful in that. See -- I always give credit where it's due!

Random cack

No time today, so you have to make do with a random selection of (glorious) images from a site pointed out by a kind reader.


See, that's not really porn -- it's art, innit?


And with that image I've lost all thought of categorisation, so totally am I dumbfounded with lust for that body... Time to recover with a small winkie:


I've never been much interested in fetish objects, especially smelly socks, so this does less for me than it might for you:


And I find this frankly laughable (nice winkie, though):


No, I think I fetishise the entire naked body, so this is my idea of Paradise:


And a bit of body hair drives me wild with desire:


Throw in an unusual angle, and, well...


Although this chap is perfectly magnificent with a straightforward angle:


So, bringing up the rear...


Yeah, that wasn't even witty, was it? Still, nice photo.

Readers' wives

A kind reader pointed me in the direction of a stash of photos of British Rail Class 76 locomotives -- here a pair rest in the snow.


That was just to lull you into a false sense of security: the rest of this post is resolutely black and white.


Which is probably appropriate for a locomotive that was designed by the London & North-Eastern Railway in the 1940s, although electrification of the trans-Pennine route for which it was designed was interrupted by the Second World War and the class only finally commenced their heavyweight haulage duties in the late 1950s under British Railways.


Their job was Hellish: hauling immensely heavy mineral trains up and down the steep gradients of the Pennines, and working through the Woodhead tunnel (which until electrification was near permanently clogged with choking smoke from the steam locomotives).


Simple and functional machines, the 76s (originally called Class EM1) turned out to be very effective. Hauling express passenger traffic as easily as coal trains, they were genuine workhorses on this difficult route.


Their working lifespan was relatively short: the decline in the use of coal, and coal production in the fields they served, meant the raison d'etre of the 76s disappeared.


In the 1960s British Railways was engaged in a desperate struggle to close as many railway lines as possible, and "duplicate" lines were the first to go. There were three over the Pennines, and the Woodhead route, despite being the only one electrified and modernised, was selected for closure.


The 76s ended their days in scrap yards, prematurely killed off, though a couple survive in museums (including the National Railway Museum at York).


Here they can be seen resting in their luscious "blackberry black" British Railways livery, the first they carried.


It was some sight with the maroon and cream carriages then in use, although a few years later BR changed to plain maroon for the carriages, and Brunswick green for the locomotives -- a look they carried rather well:


I know, I know, that was a Class 77, the bigger (heavy express passenger) brother of the 76 but, as you can tell, it followed the same design principles. Very tasty.

Pre-washed Levi

I've received a complaint that the photos I selected from Levi Johnston's soft porn (so soft it's flabby) shoot missed out the best ones, by which my complainant meant the ones in which Levi shared with us his super-luxuriant underarm hair.


I'm pleased to be able to correct this terrible wrong by giving you his pits not just in black and white, but in full, moist colour:


is it just me, or is Levi's twin fixation with his pit hair and his booty a bit, well, weird for a straight boy?:


Ah, well: never look a gift horse in the, er, wherever.

Out of left field

Ignore the imagery, but this music...



Ah, I think I'm having flashbacks.

Levi Johnston's johnson

This image is burned into my brain as one of the most terrifying of 2008.


Little did I know the pleasure that would be given by this mis-shaped Addams family, particularly now Levi, the baby-daddy of Sarah Palin's eldest daughter, has gone so wildly off-track:


Here he is in the opening shots of his latest project, a "tasteful" shoot for Playgirl.


We all know what that means, of course: months of hysterical rumours that we'll be seeing the Johnston Johnson, which will be anti-climactically crushed when the weak-as-piss images are finally damply unveiled to an expectant world.


I'm delighted to be able to tell you that this story is following the stereotype: Levi has given us nothing more than a bit of saucy, damp buttock -- in fact, starting with the best, this is as steamy as things get:


Incidentally, did you notice just how frantically fiercely Levi was clinging on to his genitalia in that shot? It's as if someone has just broken it to him that the main audience for Playgirl is not, in fact, the laydeez but, rather, is the same demographic that finds Reciprocating Motion so tantalising...


From there it's pretty much all downhill, into a black and white world of tasteful, cock-free fash mag styling:


To save you the tiresome hassles of searching elsewhere, I thought I ought to give you a goodly proportion of the final shots -- honestly, it gets no better than this.




I was going to make some laboured analogy between the anti-climactic nature of this photoshoot and the tiresome dead-ended world of Republican politics but, in all honesty, I really can't be bothered.


Which leaves the most tantalising prospect of all -- not the Johnston johnson, but the johnson of Sarah's eldest Good Ole Boy, Trip or Trap or Trag or whatever the Hell he's called, seen here in the bosom of his family's bosoms (they are all awfully well developed for 12 year olds...):


Let's just ponder that fresh and perky visage for a moment, without the distractions of the grinning hate-monger:


Ah... if only you were brave enough to follow in the footsteps of your, er, well, not brother-in-law but, I suppose, baby-daddy-fratboy-in-law, maybe?

Random fistful

I have no idea who this lovely is, but he is rather lovely:


I've seen his photo knocking around for a while, now, but no others, which makes me think it's likely to be a snatched verite shot. Cute.

These two fine chaps have featured on one of my predecessor blogs, but this is a new shot:


This chap is utterly adorable (though you may want to click to, er, enlarge):


This straight-boy japery is always a huge turn-on. For me, anyway:


And I like to imagine it ends up like this:


We must all be able to dream, I think.

Public squalor

Images of the first production model of the new Class 380, the new standard electric multiple unit for Scotland.


The gangway connection is in the raised position -- in normal service it hinges back to be roughly parallel to the angle of the front face.


It's a perfectly servicable model in the modern way -- nothing aesthetically very subtle, with a few tacked-on quirky angles to give it "interest" (look at the pointlessly complex shape of the light clusters):


Inside, it continues the current design trend towards spartan "prison chic":


Even for the first production model, it looks to me like more attention has been paid to ease of production and maintenance than to creating an attractive, cosseting feel -- look at the clumsiness in the design of the table supports, or the shiny floor surfaces, or in the ugly seat fixings.

I can see how these cruel, cold surfaces make it easier to deal with vandalism and to clean, but I struggle to see how this is an attractive enough interior to get people to abandon the sybaritic luxury of their cars:


As car interiors get ever more luxurious, train interiors are getting more cramped and spartan. How does this make sense?


Unless, of course, it's a ploy to drive people off the railways and into private cars?


I confess, those first three interiors were from the luxury end of the market, but even the lower levels are in a different league from the brand-new train -- here's the latest bog-standard Ford:


Joined-up-ness? Nah, we'd rather make the proles travel in mobile prisons -- it's all they deserve, after all.