Author Archives: Sheldon McCraystein

George Michael Announces U.S. Tour

George Michael glimpsing a rest stop restroom outside of Columbia, SC while travelling south on I-95

June 16, 2010
By SEBASTIAN DUPREE

London, England–

George Michael, born Georgios Kyriacos Panayiotou, best known as one half of the 80’s pop duo Wham!, and a top-selling solo artist in his own right, has announced this week that he will immediately begin a U.S. tour named Cruising Public Toilets.

“I’ve decided to kick off the tour during Pride Month,” explains Michael. “While it has traditionally been a flaccid month for tours and such, I believe I can pump a load of excitement into the public at large—or, at least, one at a time.”

When asked by The Stink what material he would be performing, Mr. Michael quickly clarified: “Oh no, It won’t be a traditional stage show. I’ll be cruising public toilets in parks, downtown areas of major cities and I already have a date set to perform in the public restrooms in Orlando’s Universal Studio’s City Walk on June 28th. His name is Keith.”

Michael said he first got the idea for the public tour back in April 1998, shortly after he was arrested for “engaging in a lewd act” in a public toilet in a park in Beverly Hills, California. “Things have changed a lot since then,” said Michael. “Nowadays, it seems a Gent can’t walk near a Republican congressman without getting his willy woolied.”

When The Stink pointed out that fans were anxious to hear some new music from the pop legend, Mr. Michael was quick to answer, “I really only sing in a few Catholic boys choir groups now. About 3-4 per day. That’s enough for me.”

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Ernest Hemingway’s Anal Beads Found in Kansas City Apartment

November 20, 2009
By SHELDON MCCRAYSTEIN

Kansas City, MO–

In an announcement Friday, noted Hemingway biographer and researcher, Matthew Buccoli, confirmed that several “personal items” found in a Kansas City apartment building once belonged to the Nobel Prize winning author. Buccoli said the items were found in an Armour Boulevard apartment that a young Ernest Hemingway rented while working as a cub reporter for the Kansas City Star newspaper.

“The collection of—ahem—exotic, erotic paraphernalia was found by a tenant who now lives in the apartment,” said Mr. Buccoli. “While installing a new heating duct, the tenant found a small box hidden in the base of a wall. Intrigued, he opened the box and found several beautifully handcrafted sexual ornaments; ornaments I would describe as Oriental in nature,” he said.

Buccoli hypothesized that Hemingway came across the items while visiting local opium dens, known to dot the city’s more perverse areas during Hemingway’s time in Kansas City. “As a reporter covering the local police beat, Hemingway would have been no stranger to such places, having done stories on the seedy underbelly of Kansas City,” said Buccoli.

Hemingway's are said to be solid Jade, strung on waxed linen, and much, much larger.

DNA tests on semen found on a deck of nude playing cards confirm that Hemingway had ejaculated on at least seven of the cards. According to sources, tests on the anal beads were inconclusive.

“We found some fossilized fecal matter on a set of carved jade beads—to be exact, we found matter on 4 of the 12 beads—but don’t yet know, and may never know, if Mr. Hemingway or another individual actually inserted the beads into his anal cavity,” said Dr. Patel Gounish, Director of Laboratory Investigations at the University of Missouri Kansas City.

Dr. Gounish theorized that whoever used the beads must be a “big guy” because the usual number of beads on a standard anal bead set usually number between 4 and 8. “Whoever used these bad boys had an insatiable capacity for life,” said Gounish. “Which, if you look at the myth, the legend of Mr. Hemingway, his whole life was taking in as much as he could: exotic locales, food, drink, women…anal beads.”

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On Pissing Outside

The good ol' days, when men were men.

In this age of constant, bustling communications, commutes, insipid work-day routines and after-work duties we have lost a bit of our humanity, nay, we run the danger of completely losing our identities. When do men find themselves outdoors, away from the world, and in need of a piss? Very rarely, I venture to say. Why? I will not delve into the why. The Why is too vague in its immensity.  That debate is for another time.

It means something when a man has to piss and his first instinct is to let it out. Then the crushing Thought arrives: “I can’t just whip it out and piss here. Someone might see me! It may cause them to frown upon me and think bad things!”

Well, who really gives a shit? Do you give a shit that that old, wrinkly lady, the one who hasn’t been fucked in years and years, rears her head back in disapproval and gives a little shriek? If you do then…you may be forgiven. She could wave down a nearby mall cop and have you busted before you even shake the last few drops free. Indeed it’s hard—and quite possibly unhealthy– to stop a steady stream once begun; and one also runs the risk of pissing oneself while leading a desperate foot chase, giving the appearance of a soiled pervert with authorities in hot pursuit. Fair game for some Upright Citizen to blindside a chap as a civic duty. But my god man, piss somewhere. Fulfill the primordial tinkle in your soul and get a bit back in touch with the male Self. I promise: it will lead somewhere. You will gain back a degree of independence.  You will loosen the shackles that bind you to the drudgery of only letting loose behind the door of that little room in your dwelling devoted to these activities, hovering over and aiming for the oval ring of porcelain .  I say, piss outside the lines.

This brings to mind the etiquette involved in such pursuits as freely pissing where one wants, when one wants. Like smoking pot in Amsterdam where one only smokes in the coffee shops, the parks out of view or indoors privately—never as an exhibition around families and the public at large (It must be noted that Amsterdam also has those lovely green Pissoirs stationed on street corners where one can dart in, his mid-calf down visible to all, and piss right on the street).

One has to strike a balance between social responsibility on one hand and the pursuit of individual rights on the other. One must have a bit of class and discretion. Walk into your front yard at night, perhaps as you let the dog out, and find a corner shaded from streetlights and neighbor’s windows. Make sure there’s no headlights oncoming and enjoy a good evening piss. Mark your territory. Your dog will be overjoyed seeing this and will probably come and take a piss somewhere in the vicinity of yours. How close to or on top of yours can dictate if he or she holds you as Alpha or not. If your dog pisses right on your spot, you obviously have some problems and should at the very least start pissing outside with more abandon and frequency. One’s hound must always be subservient. If all else fails, I suggest taking the beast down on its back with lightning fast ferocity and applying a good bite to the throat area. You may have to repeat once or more, depending on the level of insolence. But that is a Dog Behavior column, and will come later.

The important thing is that the American Man regains the feeling in his ball-sack. That he has a pair. When he has no doubt they’re dangling there, all these terrible problems that seemingly beset us on all sides can be stared at straight on with confidence. And pissed on.

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A Big Hello to You All

It’s about time…we’ve waited far too long to get this blog up and running. We’ve talked about The Stink with a few of our friends in the word-banging business for years now. A place where they could post what they wouldn’t dare to shop to the paying publications. So we’ve agreed to pay them nothing, provided they write uncensored on pretty much any topic they choose. So sit back and enjoy the ride. It should be wild judging by the furtive emails we’ve received back to our solicitous queries from these black-hearted Beasts. God be with us all once they get started, ’cause we won’t stop ’em! You’ll notice a few names, and others will be new to you; but they’ve all had their licks, paid their dues and, a lucky few, got money to burn. So here we go…

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