Ripe TV

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It took the Yearbook Club three days to decide which headline to place on Scotty and Annabelle’s (and little pre-born Trace!) picture.

It came down to these three:

1) Most Likely to Trade Firstborn for carton of Kools
2) Most Stylish Couple ( from Mr. Govkowski, the Yearbook Supervisor – lame!)
3) Cutest Brother & Sister

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Millions of men of the kept and hoping-to-soon-be-kept variety let out a collective cry of panic yesterday as the latest endangered species list was released. Sitting at number four on the list to be functionally extinct by 2020… the North American cougar. *

A cougar, as defined by Wikipedia, is “an older woman, usually in her 30s-40s who sexually pursues younger men in their 20's or early 30's.” They’re kind of like the female equivalent of the dirty old men, the lecherous rich guy, etc.

Without this species, many an attractive and fit man will not be able to exercise their Oedipal demons, afford the designer clothing that fits their taut forms so snugly or take advantage of high-priced cocktails that might feature muddled whatever and perhaps even elderflower liquor. Except during happy hour. And that, to these now-panicked men, is unacceptable.

Brody (last name withheld by request), a 23 year-old part-time model who resides in a small one-bedroom in Brentwood, CA, expressed the feelings that are spiraling through his whole caste “It’s, like, messed up. I don’t know what the EPA or the CIA or TLC can do anything about this. It’s just… I can’t always swing rent on my own. And if a fine filly who reminds me of my mom wants to make-out and help me out, what’s wrong with that?”&sbsp;

Oh, wait. It’s just these kind? Damn. Until they buy our pretty ass a drink, we’re not lifting a finger.

* See story here...

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These suggestively sensual pastries are from some bakery in Phoenix at some place called Ranch Market. NOM! The original blog entry says there are some with frosting on them; no thanks. We prefer our “pastries” unfrosted.

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It turns out that, when it comes to straight numbers, shorter sex is better. Get in, get out, and have plenty of time to watch Family Guy reruns!

According to a new study in the Journal of Sexual Medicine, the best sex should last between seven and 13 minutes. The report, which surveyed a random sample of Americans and Canadians, also found that most people considered sex lasting three to seven minutes "adequate," and most thought sex for over 13 minutes was "too long."

This is excellent to know. We suggest you print a screenshot of this blog and/or a citation from the original article in case your paramour thinks she’s above science.

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One of the fading old ladies on Sex and the City is in a lesbian relationship. We can safely count this as the single positive facet on the black and crimson diamond of evil which is this gyno-cratic franchise.

However, take this saucy fantasy with a grain of salt. A grain of salt that looks exactly like an effing hobbit. One wonders what it’s like between the sheets with those two. Are there magical incantations? Perhaps powerful rings and wing’d beasts? What of foreplay?

Boromir: One does not simply walk into [vagina]. It's black gates are guarded by more than just [a dental dam]. There is evil there that does not sleep. The great eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.

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In Birmingham, a man is on trial for poking UK resident Sophie Sladden too much. But not with his wiener.

Michael Hurst, 33, of Edgbaston, has pleaded not guilty to harassing ex-girlfriend Sophie Sladden. Appearing before magistrates, he was granted conditional bail to stand trial later in March, The Birmingham Mail reports.
He is accused of a breach of the Harassment Act 1997 when he used Facebook to contact Sladden on 21 January.

Does this mean we can prosecute for getting “Which Sex and the City character are you” applications sent to us? Or should we just resort to the old standard of sending tubgirl links in reply? We’re no lawyers…please advise.

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Medicine in Western Pennsylvania just got a whole lot sexier due to a slip-up in the 2007 White Pages.

That's because the listing for the toll-free number in the directory is outdated and now sends callers to a Philadelphia-based sex chat service.

That’s kinda fun. It’s like if Patch Adams married Larry Flynt and they had a kooky, horny baby together. Be healed!

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Appropriately, you pronounce it kinda like this: mykok. There’s a study of macaque (tehe) monkeys (always funny) paying for sex (awesome!) with grooming services in Kalimantan Tengah, Indonesia.

According to the paper, "Payment for Sex in a Macaque Mating Market," published in the December issue of Animal Behavior, males in a group of about 50 long-tailed macaques in Kalimantan Tengah, Indonesia, traded grooming services for sex with females; researchers, who studied the monkeys for some 20 months, found that males offered their payment up-front, as a kind of pre-sex ritual. It worked.

They explain this behavior with the prettied-up term “biological market theory” which is another way of saying “sexual supply and demand” which is illustrated very well by this website. Makes our hearts flutter.

“I’m not the kinda guy that gets pushed around. So, I went into my cave and I plotted my revenge.” - J. Kimmel

Dude! Was that Joan Jett!? And Perry Ferrel!? And Cameron Diaz!? And Brad Pitt and Macy Gray and Good Charlotte, and HUEY LEWIS!

Silverman: 1
Kimmel: 1 million

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Radar Magazine is reporting that Lindsey Lohan’s latest nude pictorial may have been only slightly more planned than her previous nude pictorials.

The plan to publish nudes—a monumental move in her career—was never made clear, Lohan's rep says. Photographer Bert Stern…suggested a much less revealing homage for the mag. A rumor from the very closed set suggests Stern dangled the possibility that the nudes would be displayed only in a museum or as part of his book and that the tamer shots would go to New York.

Don’t think we haven’t been there before. Your girlfriend says to you, “Don’t worry [various Ripe employees]. These are just for me. Don’t you love me? Don’t you trust me?”

Well not anymore! That particular constellation of freckles is not considered “cute” by most no matter how much you think it looks like your grandfather.

Via Gizmodo

Suart Meloy is the owner of a ridiculous name and an amazing product. It’s called The Orgasmatron, and it’s a device that hooks up to your spine to give you orgasms at the push of a button. Creepy? Very.

…[it’s] a box about the size of an Altoids tin (although he's working on shrinking it to the size of a couple sticks of gum) that has two thin wires that attach to the nerves in your spine responsible for sexual pleasure. You then hit a button on the remote and hocus pocus, you get yourself one 100% real orgasm.

The article continues to state that, indeed, men can reap the same benefits. This is somewhat encouraging. Soon we’ll never have to venture from our couch. Perhaps we can mod the orgasm button into a Playstation controller? How expensive are colostomy bags?

You need a milliliter of liquid glass, a microwaveable container, and a “her pleasure” condom. The only question remains is to which pole your targets will gravitate: sheer terror or reckless lust. At the least it’ll be an interesting line to walk.

Condom Hack! Make A Supersized Condom!!

Read on to realize how ironic the title of this blog is. The short-statured semi-star has been toddling along in wedded bliss with 22-year old Shannon Price for about a year now. But, oops, the marriage hasn't been carnally consummated. See the irony? Hard. Tehe.

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Raekwon of the Wu-Tang Clan is nothing if not a romantic at heart. When asked what he was going to get up to for this Valentine’s Day, he told the AP the following:

"It's a special day. It's a day to understand the person who means the most to you." So how to celebrate?
"I'm the type of dude who may be in a helicopter over the city having sex."

Ladies, take a number! Airhead acquires a new and interesting meaning now, huh?

On her talk show, she demanded that the front row of her audience take off their jeans, then assured them that they wouldn’t be alone. She, too, was going to disrobe.

Tyra stripped off her pants, an ominous glint in her hungry eyes. At that point, we blacked out. When we woke up we had bruises on our arms and our shirts were on inside out. Yes. We were raped by Tyra Banks. And you’re about to be…