With the upcoming arrival of her book "Going Rogue: An American Life", my mind has been constantly returning back to thinking about, and dreaming about, one of the few women in this world who really steals my heart and rocks my world; Sarah Palin

Oh, I can almost hear the groans of disapproval now, "Not HER" you sneer.  Well, yes, HER.  Sarah Palin is one of my few, truly hardcore obsessions of the last few years.  Ever since I saw her wearing those glasses, hair up, and walking onto stages in those black pencil skirts flashing just a sliver of cleavage through those oh so business suits, my heart has been aflutter with thoughts of my sweetheart from the North

Sarah Palin, regardless of what you think about her, or think you may know about her, is strong, resilient, smart (think you're smarter?  Well then, YOU go and ask a major publisher for an advance of $1.25 million for your life story and see how far you get) and SEXY AS HELL.

There, I said it, SEXY.  She is, to be blunt, the ultimate MILF.  Forget the Republican thing, forget the McCain thing, forget the campaign and the horrible (and frankly, ALMOST TOTALLY MISOGYNISTIC) attacks against her character, her husband, her family.  Just think about her coming home from a hard day at the (oval?) office, slowly peeling off her business clothes, lying them on her bed as she walks her model legs into a hot shower to wash the day off her silky skin, wash away the constraints of the male dominated world she immerses herself in everyday and prepares her body for an evening of sensual arousal, pleasure, abandon.  God, I have such THOUGHTS about this woman!

Yes, she should have stayed and completed her term as Governor of Alasaka. Yes, she made some truly embarassing gaffs during the campaign.  Yes, she has some (very) questionable stances on some key issues and yes, she will get totally shredded when she tries to enter any campaign in the near future.  But, right now, who gives a toss.  I don't.

Not me.  I mean, honestly, any woman who can dress a moose has to be red hot in bed.  You know it's true.

Apart from her killer legs and wicked smile, I love how polarizing Sarah Palin is.  The people who like her REALLY like her, and the people who hate her REALLY, REALLY, REEEEEAAAALLLLYYY hate her.   Well, I love her. I like (some) of her politics, but I love her, the whole package.  And I want her, I absolutely do. I want her to kill my dinner, bring it home, cook it on our wood burning stove, have it taste delicious and then have her totally FUCK MY BRAINS OUT all night.  I want to discuss with her Keynesian theory and the importance of the free market in an emerging global economy, then have her slowly unbutton her top, get on her knees and SUCK ME until I cum all over her tits.  God, I have such THOUGHTS about this woman!

God bless you, Sarah Palin.  Keep fighting, keep rocking, keep knocking 'em out.  The world is a more vibrant, more honest, more exciting and more sexy place with you in it. 

And, whenever you want to ride off into the wilderness with me, I'll be there.  Until then, at least we'll have each other in my dreams

XXXXOOOOXXXXOOOO

Hot chicks have it so easy.

If you are hot, you can get into any club, often free of charge.  You can have your drinks paid for you by others.  If you are a hot chick, people will want to take your picture, even if you are not a model.  Hot chicks are in demand.

People remember seeing a hot chick.  Or, even better, they remember getting to talk with one.

Hot chicks get invited to all the cool parties.  They automatically get access to the VIP areas of clubs.  Sometimes, they even get invited to travel around the world, with men paying their way.  They can talk their way out of a traffic ticket.

Most clothes are specifically designed for hot chicks.  They can apply for jobs no one else can, like working in a upscale boutique.  Or as a dancer.

Hot chicks get to be on television and movies, even if they possess little or no talent.  People will always want to watch hot chicks.  Hot chicks can use their looks to begin careers as singers, regardless of their vocal ability.  If you are hot, the world is your oyster.

I often wish I was a hot chick.  

I wonder what it would be like to have people notice me as I walk into a coffee shop, or a bookstore.  Or as I cross the street. 

I imagine what it would be like to be invited to all the cool parties.

Man, hot chicks have it so easy.

Photo courtesy of Flickr

What do you remember about 1981?  Ronald Reagan and Margret Thacher were in office.  Punk was essentially dead and new groups (the New Wave, natch) like Duran Duran and Billy Idol were coming onto the scene.  Some older dudes called Simon and Garfunkle, however, staged a little shindig in some park that attracted a small crowd.  Both Pope John Paul II and Ronald Reagan are shot, both survived.  The Oakland Raiders beat the Philly Eagles in the Super Bowl.  Hill Street Blues, for my money still the best television cop show ever made, debuted on NBC.  And this woman, Particia Farinelli, was Playboy Playmate Of The Month for December 1981.  A hell of a way to end a year, eh?

When I was growing up, there was a mighty debate raging among many of my friends:  Penthouse or Playboy?  See, all the "cool" kids opted for Penthouse.  Penthouse was far more graphic.  Well, I don't remember if they had any really hardcore pics, they might have.  I do remember they showed more pussy.  A lot more than Playboy.  And, for most pubescent boys, that was what mattered.  Pussy. End of story.

I was different.  It's not that I didn't care about pussy, of course I did.  It's just that, well, I cared more about ART.  I know, I know, it sounds pretentious and goofy and a bit creepy, but it's true.  Playboy just had the better pictures, and that is what I latched onto.  I'm a total sucker for a wonderfully composed and thought out photograph.  And photographs like the December 1981 set of Patricia Farinelli, for my money, blew away anything that Penthouse was doing. 

Look at that chair.  Look at the detailed, intricate carvings that are so wonderfully captured.  Notice the book just underneath the chair, like she has been reading right before you came into the room.  That didn't NEED to be there, but it is.  The outfit, the makeup, her hair, her expression, there is nothing that isn't wonderful about this photo.  And from here, from photoshoots like this, erotic photography developed into sort of an obsession for me, which it is to this day, which is why I spend so much time on sites like MBS and here.

So, gentle readers, I present to you some of the humble origins of my obsessions. 

Well, her and Wonder Woman.  But that's a story for another blog......

I have recently moved to Las Vegas after living in the UK for many years.  I won't be going into the reasons for my move now, suffice it to say that, after being born and raised in the US, coming back after being gone for so long is quite the culture shock.

Vegas is a trip.  I grew up in Los Angeles, so Las Vegas was where we went on vacation several times a year, so I grew up going to this City of Sin.  And, as such, I have seen many, many changes.

None of the above info, however, has anything to do with this blog post.  One of the main sources of information there is about this city is the Las Vegas Weekly.  Of their many blogs, is one from a "supposed" dancer in one of Vegas' hundred or so strip clubs.  Yes, it could be a scam but, like Fox Mulder, I want to believe.  And, frankly, I've known enough strippers in my time to think the writer, if not a dancer herself, has done her homework.

Anyway, being a horny old man myself, her latest column made me smile so much, that I thought I would share it with you:

Bring me your aged, infirm and ardently horny

By Justice

"I love old men. Not just twice my age, but maybe three times my age. Men with straggles of white hair covering shiny, liver-spotted scalps. Men who smell like mothballs and Bengay. Send them my way. I love them.

When a little old man walks in to a strip club in the wee hours of the morning because he just got out of bed and had ladies on his mind, it puts a smile on my face. I approach him immediately. "This one is mine," I think as I chase after him. Between his senior citizen hobble and my high-heel-impaired walk, I need to move as fast as I can to claim him like a mother would claim her wandering toddler in a department store. I must capture him and protect him from the other predatory strippers. We all want his money, but I will get so much more out of the experience of entertaining him than they would.

Old men are dirty as hell and it is hilarious. They do not filter their thoughts or language when they get the opportunity to cut loose. "Do you ever finger bang these sluts?" a senior citizen customer asks me in his raspy old voice while scanning the room and checking out the "sluts." I want to laugh hard enough to blow a snot rocket. With his bad posture and khaki pants, he looks like someone you'd help to cross the street and it is strange to hear the wordcome out of his wrinkled old mouth. I tell him, I sure do finger bang these sluts.

I can't remember his name, but they often have great old guy names like Elmer or Lenny.

Lenny asks me more about my lesbian experiences. How old I was my first time I was with a girl. He wonders if I stuck a finger in her butt. "Did she come?" he asks with a look of great concentration. His eyebrows are long, white and wiry and make him look like he is related to an owl.

Old men, I suspect, have a much better understanding of the precious nature of time. They don't waste valuable time with small talk or shame. I also suspect that they don't get too many opportunities to share their sexual thoughts with many people, especially young naked women. I imagine them sitting around playing dominos or attending bingo night while being burdened with these erotic thoughts. Lenny's wife, Eleanor or Agnes or whatever, would be shocked.

I look forward to another visit from Lenny or Charlie or Elmer. They keep me laughing and I'm positive I provide them with a valuable service. Speaking of service, another thing about old men that no one wants to know is that they don't need Viagra."