Welcome to the Dollhouse

Jack Ryan led a colorful life. No, not Tom Clancy’s hero. And not 7 of 9’s ex, although he was 6 of 9 for Zsa Zsa Gabor.

It’s in that role — this was the 1970s — that he was said to take apart her Rolls and refuse to put it together again. And he probably could have if he wanted to, given that early in his career he was a Raytheon engineer on the Sparrow and Hawk missile projects

Jack tallied five wives himself, although we don’t where Zsa Zsa stands in the line-up. Between wives — we’ll be nice and presume as much — he was “a full-blown Seventies-style swinger” with “a manic need for sexual gratification,” according to a researcher. Recalls one woman he worked with, “Jack once said he loved me being so tall so he could stick his nose in my boobs when he hugged me.”

Have we mentioned reports of “wild orgies at his mansion in the exclusive Los Angeles suburb of Bel Air”? Or the hookers he ordered from his office? Or getting the clap? Well, it was the Seventies. Everyone was doing it.

All of which wouldn’t be worth bringing up, except for one thing.

Barbie creator was a ‘sex addict’ [Independent UK]

Occasionally I’ve had the fantasy of being a Little Person, just so I could stick my nose, accidentally on purpose, in men’s crotches.


I miss RagingMonk. Is his avatar on a cyber-milk carton somewhere?

@Original Andrew: I miss him too, it was always good to know, no matter what, there was someone more lascivious and lecherous than me around.

And anyway, who doesn’t have a “manic need for sexual gratification”? This makes him special?

@Pedonator: Thats a great question, Pedo. Who doesn’t? There is obviously a great difference between individuals with regard to gratifying that manic need. But is the need in fact equal, is the desire equal, and its just that some suppress, others control, and others lack opportunity?

I think the only comparable carnal desire is food. Drugs and alcohol, its a whole different mechanism at work, I think. Sex and Food, those are similar appetites. Everyone enjoys eating, everyone enjoys sex, but some seem to enjoy eating more than others, and some seem to enjoy sex more than others.

I think a great many are inhibited in enjoying the carnal pleasures. With sex, many are inhibited by christian morality, its dirty and bad, with food, many more are inibited by a more modern “fitness = virtue” secular morality.

Some people are not, it seems, that connected with the physical, don’t much seem interested in any of the fleshly joys. Some people go all gaga for sex, and this is what we seem to have here, some go all gaga for food, and some, they enjoy all the physical pleasures with an appreciation and love both.

But I know this, someone who is in touch with all the physical pleasures, sport, eating, sex, rest, activity, hardship, and regard all the phsyical sensations as something to be savored, thats what I think is someone who is on it.

Provided they also have an equally varied intellectual life balancing that whole physical thing out.

Oh, you Stinquers, that previous thread about Paul and his (infamous) turn signal dick has thrown my mind back through the sands of time to a much earlier, innocent, magical age called the 1990s. Indulge me, if you will.

Paul and I were 18 when we met. We were in the same freshman class and spent that year in the same group of friends. He was the most beautiful young man I’d ever seen: 6 ft 2 in, cerulean eyes, a mischievous, sardonic wit, gorgeous shoulder-length hair, and a physique that would be perfectly at home among the statuary of the world’s finest museums. Truthfully, he was way out of my league, but I was just completely struck by him.

Even though I was awkwardly inexperienced and just sort of realizing that I was gay, he could’ve had me six ways from Sunday—and later on he did. Repeatedly.

The summer after freshman year, after a long weekend of debauchery, we ended up quite buzzed and sharing a bed. One thing led to another and then dot dot dot as they say in Mamma Mia.

So at this point, let’s just say that Paul’s ex-girlfriend was extremely unamused that he started having it off with me after they split up. She spread slanderous lies about me and said things that would curl your hair and have you instantly calling for an old priest and a young priest. Already, things were getting fairly high octane. He never told his parents about us, even though we’d had sex at their house several times while they were home(!). For all they knew, we were just college buddies. He was a risk taker, so for him it was all part of the thrill.

This went off and on, hot and cold, for about two years before he finally dumped me and hooked up with a girl—and after he’d plowed through several of our friends and acquaintances. He was a hub on the spoke on what we jokingly called our college fuck wheel.

Even though it ended badly, I’ve often wondered whatever happened to him. He didn’t stay in touch with any of our college friends, and I’ve never seen his name on a website or a blog, or even the alumni newsletter. He’s disappeared as much as a person can in the Internet age. I could channel my inner Veronica Mars and PI his fine ass, but do I really want to? Could the reality live up to the memories? (I hope he’s fine and doing well, just not more successful than me!)

I’ll never see him again, and as much as he often treated me terribly, I still treasure those memories of how my body would jump—as if I were electrified—when he put his hands on me, or how the chemical explosions in my head would be so intense that I’d wanna pass out when he kissed me. Maybe it was all neurotransmitters or pheromones or plain ol’ black magic, but damn those are the kind of recollections burned into my mind that I’ll hang onto for the rest of my life, turn signal dick and all.

@Promnight: My problem is I have most of those physical cravings/appreciations, like the sex and food (not to mention I have that other mechanism for alcohol and, well, not so much other drugs these days but I sure did indulge in my youth), the occasional epiphany in the outdoors while camping or hiking, but not so much the physical activity (as Benedick would say, sport). I keep saying my resolution for this year is to ride my bicycle a few miles at lunch every day, and I’ll be very proud of myself if I get to that item on the agenda.


Didn’t Oscar Wilde say that the best way to deal with temptation is to yield to it?

@Original Andrew: I vote for the plain ol’ black magic!

Your tale, with its satisfaction of the urge however temporary, reminds me of the days and, um, restless nights I spent pining for the intelligent, worldly, yet oddly straight French exchange student in my freshman journalism symposium…in Oklahoma. He wore a leather jacket and spoke with an accent, and that was enough for me. Unfortunately I dropped out before I could get a feel of (I mean, for) him. Yeah, I dropped out…did I mention it was Oklahoma?

First of all, as a former patent librarian, I cannot allow some old pervert to get the credit for a woman’s accomplishments:
The Barbie doll was invented in 1959 by Ruth Handler (co-founder of Mattel), whose own daughter was called Barbara. Barbie was introduced to the world at the American Toy Fair in New York City. The doll was intended to be a teenage fashion doll. There has been some controversy over Barbie’s figure when it realized that if Barbie was a real person her measurements would be an impossible 36-18-38. The Ken doll was named after Ruth’s son. Barbie first had bendable legs in 1965.
After fighting breast cancer and undergoing a mastectomy in 1970 Ruth Handler, one of the creators of the Barbie Doll, surveyed the market for a suitable prosthetic breast. Disappointed in the options available, she set about designing a replacement breast that was more similar to a natural one. In 1975, Handler received a patent for Nearly Me, a prosthesis made of material close in weight and density to natural breasts.
@Promnight: Mr Cyn always wanted to have a restaurant called FoodSexWine, because they all go together so well.

@Mistress Cynica: OMFG, that was not a bonerkiller at all, at least for some of us gheys. OK, I have to go cry for a few minutes now.

(And also, any pictures of Ruth’s son available?)


Oklahoma! OMG, I’m originally from Arkansas. Were we neighbors?


There are, but the crotchless nudes will give you nightmares.

@Mistress Cynica: If you insist on going there, meet Bild Lilli. Barbie was a knock-off of a German original.

@Original Andrew: Dare I ask you: are you from Hope? But srsly, I love the Ozarks in the winter. Heavenly.

My Okie years were short and sweet, I’m a Californicator born and bred. Which is why I had to hightail it back here after a mere semester at OU, which was actually very fine academically. I just couldn’t stand the football fanaticism, which made it hard to park my car anywhere near the dorm after working my ass off off-campus on a weekend. Also the incessant invitations to ice-cream socials from Baptist temptresses drove me bat-shit crazy.


It’s funny to think about it now. Feels like a different lifetime. A horny, desperate lifetime.


I am from the Ozarks, but I’m from Harrisucks, er Harrison. And I went to UA Fayetteville (aka Fayettenam). You may have heard of the Razorbacks?

Suuuweee, I feel your football pain.

Hills and Bills taught at the UA Law School once upon a time, and it’s where our soon-to-be Secretary of State began her career as a murderess, drug dealer and Arkansas’ most notorious lesbian assassin. Good times.

@Original Andrew: Now that’s Stinque After Dark!

In an interesting twist, I just used teh Facebooks today to have a conversation with the ex-wife of the guy I lost my virginity to in high school. I knew they were divorced, but I didn’t know what had happened. It is amazing how much he cheated on and lied to her, and how much he lied about what happened between us.

So Chris, wherever you are, I just say this: I was the one who came onto you? Really? And we just hooked up once? (HA!) Really you lying sack of shit? Is that what your current wife thinks? Have you fucked someone else behind her back too? Oh, and by the way, if you swallow AND beg for it up the butt, you probably aren’t 100% straight like you say you are. Just putting that out there.

Blind-item outing! I smell a classic in the making.

@Original Andrew: Actually, I’ve only heard about the Razorbacks in snippets on the radio, like whenever NPR does one of those boring interludes of sport talk. So what are they, some kind of racquetball team?

@homofascist: I want to have your babies. Lots of them.

I’m 6-4, so this never happens to me unless I’m kneeling in front of her: “Jack once said he loved me being so tall so he could stick his nose in my boobs when he hugged me.”

@Original Andrew: I have a photographic memory of a love affair from exactly the same point in my life, and your story reminded me of it so much. Unresolved, always wondering. So so long ago.


But was it love? At age 20ish, how does one know?

In retrospect, I think I was in love with the idea of him and not the actual person. He was a hawt guy who liked making teh sexx with me, even if it was on the DL, and he was kind of an asshole. Did I mention that he had a slammin’ bod?

When I think about all the daily choices, negotiations and compromises that go along with a mature relationship (joint checking, dividing up the chores, etc), the whole Paul/Andrew thing just seems preposterous. (Full disclosure: I also met Mr. OA in college, way after whatshisnutz.)

@Original Andrew: Yes, how does one know? How does one differentiate between some false memory of a perfect lost love burnished by memory and inevitably, in memory/fantasy, falling short of the day to day reality of life since, and the worth of what is there in your life every day.

What am I saying? I think I am saying I know damn well I did not know what love is (like most of life, it is mostly just persevering) and I sure didn’t know her, I was far too overcome by her body, her beautiful face, the sex, the first real sex of my life, to have ever gotten to know her in the short time.

In my case its not a lingering sadness, or longing, just very mild curiousity, most probably because it never really ended, just fizzled from long distance and my neglect. Who knows.

Oh, and she was supermodel hot.


Love means paying the overdraft charges and not asking any questions.


For serious, in my experience, love means caring about another person more than yourself, and putting their needs before your own.

@Original Andrew: Took me some years to know that. Thats why having kids is for some people a good kickstart towards being a decent human being. It happens so naturally with your child, that putting the other above yourself, and then makes it easier to do the same with all those you love.

Susan? I just wonder if she is still hot.

Um, can someone in the name of all that is good and right in this world please go to this show? Since I am an idiot asshole who did not get her shit (read: finances) in order to fly to DC?

Monday, January 19
9:30 Club in Washington DC
Full sets by Beastie Boys and Sheryl Crow with Citizen Cope and other friends rounding out the bill.
Tickets will be on sale 10 a.m. Saturday, January 10th
http://purchase.tickets.com/buy/TicketPurchase?orgid=3595&pid=6424993 or 800.955.5566.
All tickets will be will call only
Valid photo ID must be presented to claim tickets
There is a 4 ticket limit per customer.
All Ages show
Doors at 8p
Show at 9p
Net proceeds from ticket sales will benefit Rock The Vote

©2008 Capitol Records, 1750 N. Vine St., Hollywood, CA 90028

Heh. I guess there is the odd advantage to being 5’6″.

I’m so proud of you all.

@Original Andrew: Nowadays I think that love means being willing to administer an overdose to put an end to one’s beloved’s life should that prove necessary. But that’s just me: I’ve always been a romantic.

Inaugural TJ/ I think I have a ticket to be close-in for the Unicorn swearing in.
@RomeGirl:Thanks for the tip on the 9:30 Club show.

@RomeGirl: Sorry you won’t be here. :(

I want to go to this show, primarily to see Ted Leo and Andrew Bird (not as familiar with the others), but it’s sold out. I’m friendly with some of the staff, but probably not enough to get snuck in. 9:30 Club could be a good alternative.

@mellbell: Good alternative, except it is sold the fuck out too.

@homofascist: Today is the 10th, isn’t it? And I was, for once, actually awake at 10 am. Bummer.

@mellbell: You, SFL and I can just stand on the street corner and play tennis racket guitars. We will make our own music!

@homofascist: Or we could do this. (A group of us were there for a bridal shower, and my friend is the one requesting “Here Comes the Bride.”)

@mellbell: As long as I can dress like Peaches…

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