Archive for the ‘Friday Night Female Flesh’ Category
Katherine Heigl was born in 1988 (not in 1998 like some people think–mainly me) in Washington DC to parents of German and Irish origin. Meaning, she eventually will be a drunkard. I’m not judging her, I believe all hot women should be drunks, I also believe they should like the feel of handcuffs and ball-gags, but I’m old school and quite the romantic.
I’m embarrassed to say that I am not familiar with any work Heigl has ever done (I’m not embarrassed, I’m just saying that). She has been in a host of shows and movies, including, Roswell, Grey’s Anatomy, Knocked Up and 24 Dresses (it’s actually 27 Dresses as a constituent who really knows his girl movies pointed out to The Mayor in the comment section). Strike that, I think I may have seen Knocked Up, I even think it may have been kind of funny.
I was reading up on Heigl, trying to find something interesting to post on, and believe me when I say that this is the most boring woman God has ever put on the planet. That’s not the worst thing, of course, it’s better than having a typical Hollyweird douch-nozzle of a girlfriend.
There was one funny thing I did find on Wiki though. Heigl claims she’s a feminist (yeah), and that movie she was in called Knocked Up was supposedly pretty sexist. Here’s what Heigl said about the movie:
“My motive was to encourage other women like myself to not take that element of the movie too seriously and to remember that it’s a broad comedy“
Not only that, it’s a movie with a hot broad in it. Rimshot.
So there you have it, it’s Katherine Heigl–actress, model, feminist, moron.
I wanted to find a picture that would make the women of Mitchieville swoon, and since I couldn’t find a single one of me in a Speedo, I had to go to the beefcake back-up plan. Yes ladies, it sure is getting hot in here. Oh my.
Just a little advice for the girls: I wouldn’t go around showing this picture to your husband if he’s the jealous kind. He may end up killing these fellas.
Michelle Hunziker is a model, an actress, and a singer. You may not have seen her on tv before because she mostly works on German and Italian tele. She is a native of Switzerland and was born in 1977, making her, well, old. What else can I tell you about her? Hmmmmm, she has a stupid tatoo and should be ashamed of herself for it. Oh, and being a native of Switzerland means she has seen her fair share of snow, meaning that she would probably be a good helper if you ever need to someone to shovel your driveway. Having said that, she’s a model and quite skinny, so she would be relatively useless if you needed someone to help on your farm.
For instance, if you needed someone to bail hay or carry buckets of slop to feed the swine, Michelle Hunziker wouldn’t be the person to call upon. However, if you needed some chick to be the fantasy farm broad when telling a dirty joke, sign this slut up, she’s who you’re looking for.
I’m not even sure she is a slut, but no one has said anything to the contrary, so I’m going down that road, the road of slut.
Now I understand that Friday Night Female Flesh usually involves more scantily clothed women, and what I have brought to you the last few weeks doesn’t involve that, but we here at Mitchieville Central are slowly gravitating towards that, just give us some time. So buck up, little tiger, things are going to be just fine.
So there you have it, Michelle Hunziker in all her glory. Lap her up, breathe in her stench, for she is your Friday Night Female Flesh.
I don’t know a whole heck of a lot about Liz Hurley, other than she was the girlfriend to that numskull Hugh Grant, she was in the movie Austin Powers, she’s British, and she was a model for Estee Lauder. I also know that she’s 43 years old, and she looks absolutely lovely for 43. Usually I’d say something a bit cruder than *she’s lovely*, but her Britishness has grabbed hold of me and won’t let me go.
Anyway, this is your Friday Night Female Flesh, and you could have done alot worse than Liz Hurley, that’s for damn sure.
This last week on the campaign trail has been brutal. There have been a lot of harsh words spoken back and forth between each camp, and frankly, that’s not the type of campaign I want run here at Mitchieville Central.
I’d like to start anew, to throw away the old, childish ways of doing things, and to issue in a new age of campaigning–one that is based on hope and change.
Yesterday, Fenris posted the FNFF. Dmorris and DINO, who are the biggest supporters of these kinds of posts, really seemed to enjoy it. They even asked me, through a series of emails, if I could pen a better FNFF post than Fenris. I agreed, and what you’ll see before you in a second are the fruits of my intensive labour.
The Mayor’s FF post is different than Fenris’, because quite frankly, I’m catering this post to Dmorris and DINO, an underserved, *at risk* segment of our society. I wanted to make them happy and bring them a few of the beauties they grew up with.
Without further ado, Dmorris and DINO, this post is for you!
Wow, I betcha this picture will send a few hearts a flutter. If you ever get the chance to go to dmorris or DINO’s house, you will see that this is but one of the hundreds of full-length Phyllis Diller pictures that adorn their walls. Phyllis Diller was and probably is to dmorris and DINO as Meghan Fox is to many 16 year old boys. And I’m sure if either dmorris or DINO had any gas in their tanks (which they don’t), this picture would certainly rev up their grossly inadequate, but mighty engines.
Even in a wheelchair and older than original sin, Elizabeth Taylor has always been the woman that DINO loses sleep (and bodily fluids) over. As beautiful at 18 as she is at 97, Elizabeth still has a control over the men that always dug her. And dmorris and DINO? They still dig this old philly. Sure all three of them are pretty much out to pasture at this point, but grass doesn’t cost squat, we have a lot of land, and every so often when their synapses spark and they relive one of the only few remaining memories they have left, man, are they ever wildly entertaining people.
I remember the conversation dmorris and I had a few years back–he was telling me a story of when he and Mary Pickford were both 18 and drinking Vanilla Coke smoothies in a malt shop. Sure, the story went on and on and had no point, but I remember the look in dmorris’ eyes when the name Mary Pickford came up. To be honest, I thought maybe dmorris was talking about my old grade 3 friend Bobby Pickford, but truth be told, that would lead to a rather uncomfortable conversation that I would rather avoid at this time.
DINO also had a huge crush on Mary Pickford when he was a teenager. DINO was 17 at the time and Mary was 19. A bright eyed, bushy tailed little rapscallion, DINO use to send Mary scented love letters and boxes of Belgium chocolates. Often, he use to show up at Mary’s house unannounced, with a cleaver in one hand and a rag douced with ether in the other. Although a restraining order and 6 months in jail took most of the wind out of DINO’s sails (ie-shower scenes with guys named Bubba tend to do that to a guy), it never lessened his love for Mary. Even as we speak, I can guarantee DINO is writing up a comment on Mitchieville–with one hand–while the other hand is doing what DINO does best.
I am a big fan of Friday Female Flesh. When I was asked to pen a post for Friday Flesh, I was giddy with joy. When I found out that I was to pen a post on Male Flesh, I wasn’t as giddy. Actually, all the giddiness pretty well left my body and went to wherever the hell giddiness dies. Probably New York. Or the soul of a liberal.
Having said that, I welcome this opportunity to show you that not only do I have excellent taste in women, but I’m sure the women of Mitchieville will be pleasantly surprised at the male flesh that I have chosen just for them.
Woody Allen–oh ya, he’s as yummy as a lollipop. He’s as good looking now as he was when he was a teenager in the 1920’s. A devilishly handsome man, chiseled like a rock, and sources say he’s hung like a squirrel–therefore, you will not have to worry about him hurting your most private parts. Woody Allen–slurpalicious!
Next up is Michael Moore. You will never have to worry about missing a meal with this bear on your arm. Some women like hairy and smelly–you know this guy will satisfy that need in spades. He is always in fashion with those sporty baseball caps. And those chubby, porky fingers–the only thing could be hotter is if he had the shakes. Just imagine, oh ya, go with that visual.
If you demand that your love interest has crazy orange hair and outrageously huge tits to wrap your mouth around, then Carrot Top is for you. He’s got the rugged good looks of a young Jeff Goldblum and the sex appeal of Lyle Lovett. He’s got the fresh face of a middle age Elton John and the beastly appeal of Nick Nolte with a dash of Marilyn Manson and a smidgen of Bill Gates thrown in for good measure. Enjoy the hell out of Carrot Top, ladies!
Wow, I was really in the zone tonight. You can thank me later.
I believe in balance. I am moderate in many ways, indulging in one thing, only to counterbalance it with another. Every ecosystem must maintain a delicate sense of equilibrium or risk falling into chaos. Thus was I asked to start writing Man Flesh after a dearth of Lisa’s great posts. When Lisa and I both started posting recently and unexpectedly, another weekly Female Flesh also cropped up to accompany Reg’s fine female posts. Balance. Equilibrium.
And then this week, the balance was not just tipped, but completely thrown off kilter. I didn’t know this ahead of time, and only just discovered it Saturday morning Pacific time. And, quite honestly, it offended even my (gay) sensibilities. I felt a compelling urge to restore symmetry. So I dove into the magical world of girls of summer adorned in bikinis:
You may think, "How would you know what hot female flesh looks like, Logan? You’re gay!" True, I won’t deny my membership in the homosexualist club. However, even I had my years of female flesh appreciation. I used to sneak peaks at my dad’s Playboy and Penthouse. I even had a year-long subscription to Penthouse in college.
Men are either ass-men or breast-men. You’d assume that since gay guys love ass, they’d naturally be ass-men even when appreciating women’s fine assets. However, this is not necessarily true. I was an avid breast-man myself growing up. Even after I turned gay I had a fascination with breasts. All of my current "Top 5 Famous Women I’d Switch For" have nice, large racks.
And what better way to enjoy breasts than the scant bikini? Enough exposed flesh to be a visual feast, and just enough clothing to tease and intrigue. That’s why beaches are so fun in the summertime: Shirtless guys and bikini-clad women.
Balance. The way it should be.
Posted by Reg, who posted this post for Logan, who wrote this post on behalf of Reg.
I’m 99% sure that I poached sultry young Jessica from the pages of Steamboat McGoo’s Blog. Speaking of poached, it’s time for some breakfast.
I’ll do my best to Liveblog various events over the weekend and with the help of Lisa Foggy maybe even get a picture or two posted for everyone. Have a safe weekend!
Logan suggested a Cowboy\Cowgirl theme for this week. I say while the hell not after all, we all love riding bareback don’t we? It’s a hot humid day here in Mitchieville Township and I want to spend it outside, so less talk, more Flesh:
Unlike Logan and his Manflesh post below when I think of Brokeback I like to think two of two friends messing around in the mountains who look like this:
The cowgirls in the pink hats GOT ARRESTED for having imitation guns in a public place. Just further proof that England has gone to shit and that Limey men are gay. Feel free to add your own strip search\body cavity search joke in the comments section, perverts.
I found the young cowgirls below with their pictures titled "sdacowgirls". It’s about time Kate livened things up over at SDA! I had no idea she was a fan of FNFF\FNMF.
Have a safe weekend everyone and tell everyone you see about Mitchieville (even the gay limey ones).
A few weekends ago I hopped a train and headed south to visit my parents. They live in the closest thing California has to a "heartland" — the Central Valley. I grew up on a cattle ranch, and most of my extended family were cowboys and cowgirls. Weekends often consisted of cattle branding’s or dancing the two-step to a live country band at my uncle’s bar or the local community dance hall.
I grew up and moved away from the ten-gallon-hat country western culture. But a little piece of it lived on in me, through my innate attraction to cowboy studs. Not that you’ll find me strutting around San Francisco in a cowboy hat or ass-less chaps. (Puhlease, I do have a sense of decency and style!)
Because of my recent trip to Central Cali (or as I sometimes lovingly call it, Hickville), I felt it was appropriate to honor the American cowboy in this week’s post. He’s the original archetype of Western ruggedness, self-reliance, and individualism. And, in some cases, it would just be a cryin’ shame to prevent you from feasting your eyes on these tall-drinks-of-water.
And now that you’re in the homoerotic cowboy mood, a little quote from the character Jack Twist from everyone’s favorite gay cowboy movie:
"Tell you what, we coulda had a good life together, fuckin’ real good life! Had us a place of our own. But you didn’t want it, Ennis! So what we got now is Brokeback Mountain! Everything’s built on that, that’s all we got boy, fuckin’ all… You have no idea how bad it gets! I’m not you… I can’t make it on a coupla high-altitude fucks once or twice a year! You are too much for me Ennis, you son of a whoreson bitch… I wish I knew how to quit you."
Until next time, remember: Studies show that a weekly dose of Man Flesh actually improves your heterosexual health!
The girl in the tub here is Wafah Dufour, apparently a niece of Bin Laden.
As part of an effort to distance herself from her massive Saudi family, Dufour appears in a sultry GQ photo spread, reclining on satin sheets wrapped in feathers in one picture and posing in a bubble bath wearing nothing but jewellery in a second.
“I was born in the States and I want people to know I’m American, and I want people here to understand that I’m like anyone in New York. For me, it’s home,” said Dufour, who took her mother’s name after the suicide hijacking attacks that destroyed Manhattan’s World Trade Centre.