The Blazing Saddles Guide to Love

Let’s start with the science. The bone in boner happens when the spongy tissue in Mr. Happy fills with blood. Under the hood, nitric oxide is relaxing the walls of the arteries that engorge your old feller, allowing more blood to flow in. But John Thomas goes limp in the presence of an evil enzyme or Ann Coulter, either of which seize up your arteries by destroying the heroic nitric oxide.

Viagra works by blocking the evil enzyme and letting the blood flow. And it now appears that hydrogren sulphide offers an alternative approach, since it also dilates blood vessels. Tests with the luckiest lab rats on Earth show that hydrogren sulphide produces erections.

In case the chemistry eludes you, not to worry: You’re probably more familiar with hydrogren sulphide by another name.

Fart molecule could be next Viagra [New Scientist]

Chemical engineering, indeed.

Also: all this time, I really thought there was an actual bone in there. You know, since it’s almost always hard.

And: I’m not 20 lbs. overweight. I’m just big-boned.

This just isn’t getting the after dark motors running. Farts, rotten eggs, every kids favorite chemistry kit experiment, this can cause hardons?

I’m getting too close to 50 for my ability to deal with, and hard-ons are still as they always were, constant, unbidden, sometimes troublesome and embarrasing.

High school, the sneak attack hard-on that hits you sitting at the desk, and then what happens, the teacher tells you to go to the blackboard and write out an equation. Agonies of embarrasment, everyone must be able to see it, you walk stooped over, trying to hide it.

Oh, the dick, it is not your friend, sometimes, you want to hit it with a stick to make it calm down, sometimes.

Does the womens ever have this trouble? Unwanted, inappropriate physical symptoms of arousal?

Here is a question, back in high school, college, when I would see a girl sitting in class, occasionally, with her leg tucked up under her, the ball of her foot pressed right up under the crotch, and she was gently rocking, was that what I thought it was? Do women sometimes quietly and discreetly masturbate, in public?

If this turns out to have practical applications my ass is a moneypot.

Now I must retire to my laboratory and devise an efficient method for trapping the gasses abundantly produced by my over-achieving manufactory. Betty, get Bob Dole’s agent on the line!

“O propheta, certe penis tuus cælum versus erectus est”

The funniest line in all of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall….

I am asking a serious question, do the chicks ever have to deal with obvious and embarrasing symptoms of arousal in inappropriate circumstances?

And those chicks rocking in their chair with their foot up against their yooyoo, were they doing what I thought they were?

@Pedonator: The “dutch oven,” self-inflicted, is that the answer?

@Promnight: Yes, it’s now officially OK to fart in bed. For the Cause.

Telling someone to go suck a rotten egg will have a positive meaning?

Speaking of male obsession with the penis…

Here is a story about stupid penis challenged moran males.

I just got back from Fri Night pub night. On the way back, I was zooming along at 120km/hr `72mph (my typical highway speed, note speed limit is 100km/hr ` 60mph) and in the fast lane when I approached a slower moving car around 110km/hr in the lane. I flashed my lights to ask him to get out of the way (there was no one in the other lanes at the time), but the pinhead (ah, here comes the name calling) didn’t move. Seeing nothing, I hit the gas, changed lanes and began to pass him. I took a quick look to my left to see if I was far past the pinhead to change back to the left most lane. He was 1/2 a car length from my door.

What I really loathe are folks who won’t move out of your way and then get offended when you try to pass them. I slammed the gas and put the car up to 140km/hr `85mph. He was still to my left. I poured it on to about 155km/hr. His eyes were about as big as saucers when I finally passed him and changed lanes. I cut it a bit close, but I was pissed and did not care and there was someone in front of me going slower so it was either I let him “win” or I hit the guy in front (I wasn’t going to do either.)

If the asshole let me pass then there would be no problems. If the asshole didn’t suddenly get concerned about the tiny size of his penis and let me pass also there would be no problems. I guess I should be concerned about the size of my penis because I felt so offended that I had to be more ape than he was (note: I can drive much faster and am comfortable at high speeds, but I don’t because I like not having speeding tickets.)

Who says we don’t play the ape dominance games anymore? You can take the human out of the jungle but you can’t take the jungle out of the human…

@Promnight: Not in my experience, and no. At least not consciously.
If it will help your After Dark experience in any way, I will confess that last week I, who never, ever have erotic dreams, had one about Rachel Maddow. We were dating. It was hot.

@NOJO: Odd, I don’t recall farts contributing to tumescence. I do recall some specific instances where they worked in a decidedly conterproductive manner vis-a-vis my potential partner’s willingness to engage in and/or enjoy some whoopie-making.
This might be a classic case of science overlooking everyday practicality in its rush to publish findings.

@Promnight: I smelled it, therefore I dealt it, so I have a hard-on? Wait until I tell my girlfriend!

See now, the English don’t actually experience arousal (yes I know but Sean Connery is a Scot. The Scots are hard 24 hours a day). We drink pink gin and grumble about the Yanks. That’s about as exciting as it gets. We reproduce by getting in very dark rooms under a lot of blankets and coaxing the sperm into a tea cup which we then introduce to our lady friend’s ovum. And if everyone’s accent checks out and no one has to get to a gymkhana, mating can take place. But this ‘boner’ thing, one wonders what it is you mean by that. Also this rapture of Prommie’s: is that like stamp collecting?

@Promnight: No and no.

I sit on my foot all the time. It causes my foot to fall asleep and aggravates my numerous knee injuries. But I did it as a kid because I was so hyperactively jittery that it was the only way for me to hide my energy. Force of habit at this point. ADHD is more socially acceptable in boys than in girls. And more acceptable in men than women. (I diagnosed myself this week as having adult ADHD but I got distracted halfway through and never completed my Internet medical research)

@Ewalda: “O propheta, certe penis tuus cælum versus erectus est”

The funniest line in all of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall….

My thoughts exactly.

@ManchuCandidate: It’s drivers like you who tempt fools to carry loaded weapons in their cars.
By the way, this isn’t Europe. My knowledge of state traffic laws isn’t exhaustive, but I know a few, and in all of them I’m aware of it is illegal to flash your lights at a car in front of you as a signal that they should pull over to let you by.
I always try to keep a handful of coins within easy reach, for the purpose of throwing at the windshield of cars who flash their lights at me and then pass at an excessive speed.
As a caveat: This applies to non-freeway/interstate travel only. My thinking is that you can do whatever the hell you want on a freeway and take the consequences if caught, but on non-freeway highways and city streets, you’re dealing with the potential of killing peds and pets. I’ve lost too many pets to speeding jackasses to have any tolerance for them, and too many family members to stupid fucks who think the traffic laws are an annoyance rather than a means by which we can keep from killing each other on the road.

It’s definitely freeway only. I’m much more cautious on regular roads because of the many hazards.

At least in my part of Canada City, flashing lights to signal for passing is considered a courtesy but not in the rules (as far as I know.)

Of course, if someone is faster than myself then I change lanes to let them pass.

@ManchuCandidate: Thanks for the clarification. Freeways are an entirely different environment from roads/streets.

@Benedick: I’m devastated to learn that no crumpets are involved in English mating rituals.

@SanFranLefty: I got diagnosed with adult adhd about 9 months ago, and started on the classic meds for it.

The meds worked, dramatically at first. My problem was serious, amazing, absolute inability to even start any project that involved long, serious concentration on boring details, pathological procrastination and stress at the very thought of beginning aa task that would require me to really buckle down and concentrate on the boring details, for hours. Thats like torture to me.

The meds worked dramatically at first, but the effect became less dramatic, I am still marginally better, I need to have the dosage increased, but I resist doing so until absolutely necessary, its fucking methamphetamine I am taking, after all, I want the dose as low as posssible as long as possible. I am still at less than half the common dossage for an adult.

Here is a strange thing. When it was working more obviously, it was because, well, basically, I was high. I was like slightly speeding, a mild cocaine buzz, and yes, with that going on, I was actually able to slow down, calm down, concentrate and even find enjoyment in the boring details. Just exactly as can happen, oh, with a slight little resort to cannabis.

It reminded me strongly of something a friend of mine who has an unhealthy fondness for the cannabis once said. “My mind works so quickly, I am always so fascinated with everything, wanting to learn more, I smoke so I can slow down.”

My brain, my attention, my interest and fascination with everything, it needs a governor, something to slow it down, to make me able to just do the constant repititious mundane things that are 90% of life.

Its counter-intuitive, but surprisingly true, methamphetamine (they prefer to call it ritalin so as not to scare people) is actually very calming, in the low, time-released doses used to treat Adult adhd. And you suddenly find yourself having fun creating a spreadsheet.

@Pedonator: It has been explained to me that once the bit of crumpet has been identified, the process reverts to a more regular form of pursuit and capture. I will, of course, defer to Benedick’s expertise in all matters British.

@Benedick: You know I do. Always.

As we used to say in Oklahoma, “It’s not kinky without crumpets!”

And there, in high school, I had a crush on a boy (nick)named Thumper. Oh how I wanted him to thump my crumpet!

From Wikipedia, re: the “thinking man’s crumpet”: The phrase has subsequently been used to refer to other women who are intelligent and good looking, particularly if they have a high profile in the broadcast media.

Is this true? And does that make Rachel Maddow a thinking woman’s crumpet?

I’ll just say this. Fart jokes are funny. Fanny farts (Queefs), even more amusing.

@Promnight: I suddenly found myself having fun creating a Microsoft Project the other day. I never ever could have imagined that, especially without drugs.

@Ewalda: I commute an hour and 15 minutes each way every day, going on 7 years now, and its killing me. And my commute is not on freeways, I drive 50 of my 60 miles on two-lane country roads. There is no other way to get from here to there without adding 15 miles.

One slow old person can make me drive at 40 for half the trip, there are few opportunities to pass. A slow driver will stack up 40 cars behind them, passing the whole sad group is impossible.

Half the journey is through the Pine Barrens. No people, no lights, 55 MPH speed limit, OK, but the only industry they have their is gravel pits, and half the traffic is dump trucks, 80,000 pound dump trucks, sometimes a convoy of 5 or ten of them. If one of these trucks is in front of you at a light, it can take half a minute just to clear the intersection.

The worst thing to be caught behind is one of those masonry contractor combos, off to build a foundation, an excavator, on a flatbed trailer, hauled by a small, F-750 dumptruck. They ooze like mollasses down the road.

Here is the high drama of my morning. I am driving west on 72, a mile from the intersection with 539, which begins a stretch of 20 miles of 2-lane with few opportinities to pass. I have an oldster in front of me, tootling along at 45. As we approach the intersection, the light is green, but oldster, in an abundance of caution, slows, and slows more, as he approaches the green light.

I am dying inside, filled with utter despair, because I see, stopped at the intersection, going my way, a train of 5 huge dumptrucks. I can see whats going to happen, and I am helpless to stop it.

Oldster has slowed so much, that the light we would easily, easily have made just by maintaining speed, turns yellow, and the red. And as I pull up to the stop line, the dumptrucks I will soon be following all the way to Trenton rumble slowly by like a parade, and I melt in fury and despair.

But I never hate on the poor old dear who was so timid.

@Pedonator: We have two Television presenters who are known as “The thinking woman’s crumpet” Tony Jones, and Kerry O’Brien.

Both are Current Affairs presenters for the ABC, and Tony Jones gets a mention in Bettina Arndts latest foray into what makes women want to, you know, make the beast with two backs.

So yes, there is a thinking woman’s crumpet Virginia.

Pussyfarts are quite the situation, aren’t they? If you are comfortable with your partner, OK, we all know certain activities vigorously pursued can cause them, but still, what do you do? Laugh? Ignore it completely? Say “Gesundheit?” Should she, or he, say “excuse me?”

Its awkward.

“Thinking Man’s Crumpet.” That one is easy. We are all thinking men here. Any woman that we all agree is quite the crumpet, must, perforce, be the ultimate thinking man’s crumpet. Am I wrong here?

Stinquer men, who is the ultimate crumpet? And answer without regard to this “thinking man” thing, as a thinking man, your choice will reflect that without you forcing it. Who is the Stinque thinking man’ss crumpet?

@Promnight: Whenever I get stuck behind some Dodge Ram on country roads and consider going nukular I console myself with the thought that I am on country roads. I am not on Rt 17 going through NJ.

@Pedonator: Cheap Boy has got it covered but you should remember ‘crumpet’ does not, in the classic sense, refer to some specific body part. It would most properly be used thusly (Cheap Boy might want to put on his leather shorts and back me up here); Cockney One: (seeing an attractive young woman pass by) Phwargggh!
Cockney Two: (emptying his pint of bitter) Wot? Wot?
Cockney One: (indicating attractive young woman) Look at that bit of crumpet!

So ‘crumpet’ signifies the desirable object itself – herself – not any part of said object.

To use this feminizing construct on male newscasters is, obviously, a neologiszm. Can it stand? Perhaps, after sufficient tweaking it can be made to blow the greater part of its semiotic substance on the face of its appreciate public. Upon which, much licking of lips would ensue.

@Promnight: I think I would rather be buttsecksed by Rush Limbaugh than commute more than an hour each way, every day. But I understand you have spawn to provide for.

My lunch commute is enough to drive me regularly to a mild form of road rage. I often must take a left turn at a light that governs access across railroad tracks. If my timing is just wrong I can sit at that left-turn signal for more than ten minutes while those adorable striped white levers lower and block the path, long before any locomotive deigns to appear. If I’m really unlucky I get to wait while, after a southbound train makes its exit and ALL of the lanes from the other directions have emptied their traffic, the lights and chimes start again, before I’ve had my chance, and the way is blocked for the northbound train as dozens of vehicles stack up behind me.

At such moments I curse the commuter train, one of the few extant in SoCal, and then feel guilty because I’m sitting there in my car cursing the train, such a hypocrite because I want more trains and less cars, but I realize ideally everyone else would be in the trains and I’d be in my car with a special button on the dashboard that would halt the trains just so I could cross the railroad tracks without such bothersome delays.

@Promnight: I’m trying to remember whether the two-lane road construction in the Barrens is the same as in the NW of Jersey. Frequently, Northern hick Jersey roads have a cross-section that very much resembles an inverted “U”. The center is very high, and the sides are low, with a ditch for a shoulder. Frost heaving and wear and tear cause the sides of the paving to deteriorate, yielding potholes and gaps. The State road crews patch these holes with an indifferent asphalt mix. The net result is that unless one drives straddling the center line, the ride is very rough, sometimes dangerously so. Also, the pitch from center to side can be up to 60 degrees, so you drive as if you are on the side of a hill.
All this is a Northeast phenonenon. You just don’t find such bad roads in the rest of the country.
I think things are better in South Jersey, because it was less built-up when the roads were originally paved, so they made the right-of-way wider.

@Benedick: Honk if you lick your lips for semiotic substance!

@Ewalda: No, I must admit these roads are mostly in great shape. But no shoulder, nowhere. Road, trees.

And the fucking dump trucks just seem to love to veer across the line into your lane when they are coming at you.

And hey, chicks, those bicycle rides, there was no orgasming going on?

@Promnight:Re: Dump Truck veering: It is a bit distracting to be bouncing Bennies off the windshield and trying to catch them in your mouth while driving and listening to Glenn Beck at the same time. Especially when you’re also on the phone to your lunchtime chippy. Give those truck drivers the benefit of the doubt fer chrissakes, willya?

@Promnight: No. However, I did have a friend in college for whom riding a motorcycle was like using a vibrator. And while there may have been no actual arousal or orgasm, there was definitely an erotic element to horseback riding.

@Mistress Cynica: And with that we have come full circle to “saddles”.
I love you all and beg your forgiveness for my failures.

@Mistress Cynica: I think the reason I’m gay is because I always wanted to be that proverbial girl on a pony.

@Ewalda: Whats kinda amazing is the number of single vehicle dumptruck accidents we get, they just run off the road on an empty road in broad daylight. Very dramatic, at least one a month.

Ewalda, your tossed-off compaction of a whole stratum of US society into your short description of the dump truck driver, do you realize you are a genius? Truly, a genius, at what you notice, and how you describe it. Ewalda, you are a genius. Selling insurance does not change that.

But I have to ask you, is mankind worth loving?

@Pedonator: And because I had an unhealthy obsession with Hello Kitty school supplies when I was in third grade. But that’s just between us Stinquers, ‘mmkay?

@Mistress Cynica: Riding a motorcycle is exactly like that for a guy, too.

Everybody likes to wrap their legs around something pwerful, that they can control.

@Promnight: Did that link do NOTHING for you? I don’t need thanks, but a charitable donation to the Pedonator Academy for Wayward Boys* would not be turned away. Tax deductible, too.

*All wayward boys at the Academy of are at least eighteen years old. Consent forms are on file at Way Wards Productions, 1234 Market St., San Francisco, CA 94110.

I has seen that one. Its only special if you were not meant to see it.

My favorite horses:

Belle & Sebastian…

The best looking boys are taken
The best looking boys are staying inside
So judy, where does that leave you?
Walking the street from morning to night
With a star upon your shoulder lighting up the path that you walk
With a parrot on your shoulder, saying everything when you talk
If you’re ever feeling blue
Then write another song about your dream of horses
Write a song about your dream of horses
Call it judy and the dream of horses
Call it judy and the dream of horses
You dream of horses

And best for last, Patti Smith:

“It reminded me strongly of something a friend of mine who has an unhealthy fondness for the cannabis once said. “My mind works so quickly, I am always so fascinated with everything, wanting to learn more, I smoke so I can slow down.”

like everyone doesn’t know you’re talking about me. “unhealthy?”
listen pal o mine, SOMETHING has to glue me together, it’s the lesser of evils. btw, israeli hashish is fantastic, mild, and lasts all day. YUM.

blazing saddles: i confess, and yes. you know i love riding and horsies, and have had a big O once or twice in my life on a saddle. and it’s always arousing,
so yeah, i’ll say it. and it’s the reason i married ratbastard. he had horses when i met him that we used to ride the trails of penn valley, gladwynne and bryn mawr together.
talk about foreplay.

Noj, that first paragraph reminds me of Patton Oswalt talking about what you can and can’t say on TV, and how the things you’re allowed to say make it sound so much creepier. LOVE IT.

jeez on a cracker… i just looked at my avatar, straddling a camel.
i’m some kind of crazed fiend!!!

@RomeGirl: Thanks, but it’s just a consequence of holding off the headline until the last possible moment. Because if I started with “Fart molecule could be the next Viagra,” I’d have nothing left to write.

@Pedonator: I love it! And it’s totally an homage to the “When Harry Met Sally” deli scene, with the woman in the car telling her husband, “Next time we’re taking our bikes.” Too bad it’s not on Netflix.

@Pedonator: Great Patti Smith video. Did she ever work with Lou Reed?

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