They Don't Call Them "Finger" Lakes for Nothing...

Thanks to John for reminding us of this naughty young Pawnee princess. In these recession conscious times, you've also given us reason to reconsider butter as a very economical and accessible lubricant.

Stumbled across your site when I Googled "Sears catalogue"! Wow, you've nailed life as a horny kid in the 70's!

I did not see the infamous do-it-yourself porn kit for every enterprising kid with a box of butter in the fridge. The LOL nymph could be carried in your pocket or wallet, and was good for hours of dreaming of being Chief Boob Inspector of your own Indian maiden tribe.

Just cut out the box of butter on one side, remove the maiden's knees on the other, and tape together for this delightful result.

John
Austin, Texas

Lump In The Levis

Huge thanks to Phil G. for sending in not one, but two stories in the span of a week! He writes:

This cautionary tale took place the summer between fifth and sixth grade (again in Bedford, MA). My friends Tom Mulligan, Mike Lehan, Kevin Hartwell and I were upstairs in the bedroom of a fourth friend, Mike McGrath, looking at his older brother's stash of Playboys. I had never seen one before, and was enjoying it immensely. We were all minding our business, gaping silently, when Mike Lehan, totally out of the blue, calls out "Phil has a boner!" He had no way of knowing this, as the magazine in my lap covered everything up. However, I knew two things: 1) I definitely had a boner and 2) there was no way I was going to admit it. So right away I said "I do not!" knowing that when compelled to remove the magazine, if I was lucky, it would be hidden. "Do too!" Lehan screamed. Not wanting to prolong the inevitable, I pulled the Playboy away, revealing an undeniable pup tent to the right of my zipper. They all laughed their asses off and I did my best to forget about until later that evening, when I'm standing at the plate during our little league game. From third base, Mike McGrath yells "LUMP IN THE LEVI'S!" Everyone who'd already heard about the incident cracked up and everyone who hadn't soon heard about it. It was a long summer.

We are All Cancer Free

Horatio writes: No less an authority than the BBC have revealed that what we have always known is true. What does not kill you makes you stronger.

Love Is Blind

At TBG we've seen it all. However, we clearly haven't HEARD it all as "Porn For the Blind," an ingenious new website so poetically reminds us. Featuring spoken word performances of pornographic classics like, "Big Tits Round Asses: Gianna's Big Tittie Tune Up," and "Eighth Street Latinas," this site will surely go down as a seminal piece in the newly created canon of 21st Century Self Pleasuring for the visually impaired.

Thanks to Craig M. of Cole Valley for alerting us to this little gem of a site.

http://pornfortheblind.org/

Hard Times in Bedford, MA

When Phil G first sent us this story we rejected it out of hand. It couldn't be true. Sounded like a bad joke. Phil, however, insisted the tale was not only true, but to this day was still making its way around the Eastern Seaboard. Phil, as you know, the TBG takes these matters very seriously. And if we ever find out that you fabricated all or part of this tale you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Either that or we'll just take away all your lube.

Phil writes: Growing up in Bedford, MA, I was probably 9 when I heard about these two 6-year-old kids that got a hold of a Playboy. The kids had no idea what gold they held and could only stare at it for hours on end, hoping for something to happen. After some time, one of the kids yelled to the other, "Oh my God! It's stiff! Feel it, it's stiff!" Needless to say, everyone in the town loved this story and never let those two kids forget it.

A Little Something For the Weekend Sir? Grace Jones

Horatio writes: Before Grace Jones, we had only imagined someone so tall, so menacing, and deliciously sweaty in our dreams. Her primary audience may well have been the gays, but if you were a fourteen year old boy when Slave to the Rhythm came out in the mid-eighties, Ms. Jones was like an electric shock to the crotch. We had tuned out our parents. Our teachers did not understand us. But Grace Jones was mad, bad, and crazy enough to scare you silly 30 seconds in). And thanks to the genius marketing brains at Citroen, we had a sense of what Grace looked like at point of orgasm forty seconds in).