LHB here about to make a big statement, sure to incite a frankenstorm of “opinions” from all you boys and ghouls. (And I’m not even talking about that tired seasonal pun that I just made but I love that shit, too, so shut up.)
Okay, here it is, straight from me to you: Halloween is the greatest holiday in all the land. Admittedly, All Hallow’s Eve has got some stiff competition; Christmas with its one day of presents, Chanukah with its 8 days of socks, and let’s not forget Ramadan; who doesn’t love fasting for weeks at a time?! I know I do! But for realz y’all, Halloween is not just my favorite holiday, it is objectively the greatest holiday in the Universe and by the transitive property of the time and such of the science things as this, October 31 is the greatest day of the year. It involves candy, scary stories, fabulous costumes, candy, glitter, more candy, PUMPKINS, Butterfingers, Reese’s peanut butter cups, and candy.
But cozy on up to the fire and let me tell you the true meaning of Halloween. (I love it when I sound like the wise person at the end of a Christmas movie.) Halloween is really about imagination. I mean, isn’t it? It’s about believing that the itchy poly-blend poodle skirt that came in that creepy plastic bag that looks like it has been opened before will really make you feel like you’re in Grease. It’s about letting your 12 year-old daughter go to her elementary school’s Halloween carnival dressed as a vampire (even though it’s going to be kind of awkward since the other girls have already figured out the dressing-like-a-slutty-fill-in-the-blank thing) because when a kid wants to be a vampire, you let her be a vampire. (I was way ahead of my time.) It’s about really believing that you’re a princess for just one night while all of your neighbors try to make you fat.
And this whole believing you’re somebody else for a night thing is actually really important. Because there’s a point somewhere along the line where kids stop using their imagination on a daily basis. It’s not cool anymore, you know? But somehow, as if by magic, one day every year, on Halloween, playing pretend is cool again. For everyone! And this annual act of widespread collective imagining is, like, really fucking special.
Joshua Abraham Norton, known to his peers as “Imperial Majesty Emperor Norton I” never stopped being really good at using his imagination. For today’s Feature (sure, let’s call it a feature) we’re going to talk about a dude who embraced the spirit, the true meaning of Halloween, throughout his every day life. I’m sorry, no: he didn’t do much that was sexually scandalous. That’s why it’s a feature, mmK? But he is perhaps history’s greatest pretender and so today seems like the perfect day to holler at our boy.
I know this intro has been excruciatingly long as it is, but I should add one more thing: this “scandal” was “suggested” by our resident web-expert (wexpert) DMK, who saw a link to the emperor’s wiki page on Reddit a few days ago. (Reddit is a website that is apparently a big deal amongst people who understand the “Internet.”) But anyway, we kind of fell in love with Norton and we hope you will, too.
Norton was born in England in 1815ish (no one really knows…mysterious, huh?) and shortly after his birth, moved with his Jewish mother and gentile padre to South Africa where people were real tolerant of diverse marriages. HAHHAA. When his dad died in like 1850ish, he inherited $40,000 which was like, a BOATload of cash back then, and moved to San Francisco. He played the real estate market for a little bit and wound up with about $250,000 to his name. (He was still going by plain old Josh Norton at this point, for those keeping track.)
Then, something bad happened in the Orient. China had a severe famine and placed a ban on rice exports. That shit was cray for California because they were all, “Shit, where our rice at?” But Mr. Norton, business man, that he was, got wind that a ship with a bunch of Peruvian rice was on its way to California. He bought up all the rice and was like, “DAMN, IMMA MAKE A FORTUNE” because obviously the price of rice in SF had skyrocketed.
But then, as shipments go, several other boatloads (literally) of rice showed up in SF harbor like the day that he signed his contract with the Peruvian rice ship captain.
So, Norton was SOL as they say. He had the rice people tied up in litigation for a long-ass time, but eventually higher courts ruled against him so he filed for bankruptcy and left California for several years, licking his wounds.
No one really knows what he was up to during that San Francisco hiatus of 1858-1859.
But when he returned, he was a changed man. First thing he did after he unpacked his newly aprehended sword and scepter was to issue documents to all of the Bay Area’s major publications and civil offices declaring himself “Emperor of these United States.” The whole press-release (if you will, will you?) went like this:
At the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of the citizens of these United States, I, Joshua Norton, formerly of Algoa Bay, Cape of Good Hope, and now for the last 9 years and 10 months past of S. F., Cal., declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these U. S.; and in virtue of the authority thereby in me vested, do hereby order and direct the representatives of the different States of the Union to assemble in Musical Hall, of this city, on the 1st day of Feb. next, then and there to make such alterations in the existing laws of the Union as may ameliorate the evils under which the country is laboring, and thereby cause confidence to exist, both at home and abroad, in our stability and integrity.
NORTON I, Emperor of the United States
Later on in his imperial career he added “Protector of Mexico” to his title. Which, I gotta say, I think is nice. Cuz, you know, he cares.
He seems to me like a sort of real-life Don Quixote. So much so that I wonder if Cervantes had time traveling capabilities and just straight up stole this shit. Like, no one really knows if he was insane or just had the most powerful imagination in history. (I’m a subscriber of the second opinion in both this case and with DQ.)
As good ol’ Wiki points out, even though his tenure has emperor was marked by his debatable insanity, Norton was also kind of a visionary. His declarations involved demanding the formation of a League of Nations, the construction of a bridge connecting San Francisco and the East Bay (hello, we have that now), an under-water tunnel connecting the bays (we have that, too), and he forbade religious conflict. And he once stopped an anti-Chinese riot by positioning himself between the rioters and the the railroad-builders (the Chinese people) and recited the Lord’s prayer until the meanies GTFO’d. I mean, don’t you kind of love him now?
He printed and distributed his own currency, which local businesses honored as real money. Those local businesses included some of the fanciest, schmanciest restaurants of the day. Because he was dressed to the nines all day e’ry day, so it’s not too surprising that he was dining with San Francisco’s best. Norton’s daily garb included a royal blue uniform complete with gold epaulets and a beaver hat. The uniform was given to the Emperor by the US Army. On purpose.
That’s my favorite thing about this guy; people fucking loved him. And maybe it is the sort of thing where, like, every town has its kook. (Sidenote: My hometown had a homeless cross-dresser who pretty much became a tourist attraction. Seriously, I think he was in guide books.) But I think there was something a little more special about the emperor. Once, a police man had Norton apprehended and sent to a mental hospital without his consent and San Franciscans went ape shit and got him out of there real fuckin’ fast.
When Norton died in 1880, the SF Chronical reported:
“Norton I, by the grace of God, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico, departed this life.”
San Franciscans were so enamored with him that he sold imperial bonds at 7% interest and people bought them! And then when he died, the newspapers talked about his reign as emperor. I mean, people, I think we’re talking about the largest act of communal imagination, of collective pretending, in all of history here!!
So tonight, if you don’t have any better ideas, dress up as the impoverished, fiercely beloved fake emperor of San Francisco, and do some really good pretending. That is, after all, the true meaning of Halloween.
Just please don’t dress like a prostitute.
If you’re an American, you celebrated Thanksgiving yesterday. And if you’re a red-blooded American woman like LHB, JAF, and myself, when your family made everyone around the table share what they’re thankful for, you had one thing in mind. And I don’t mean “family” or “friends” or “health” or any of that pansy-ass horseshit. No. Things got a little weird at the table after it was our turn to broadcast our thanks. Because we at For Shame were, are, and always will be thankful for hot dudes. Specifically, hot dudes who routinely star in historical films.
So instead, we bring you gratuitous photos and idolatry of attractive men in period clothing. You know you don’t hate it.
Lee Pace. I’m sorry I need to go change my pants after just typing the name. Oh god, I just changed, but it’s happening again because I went back and reread my first sentence. Here I come, pair of panties #3! (Making a conscious effort not to read any of the above material.) Ok. From the majestic, furry, caterpillar brows that he may or may not have sold his soul to acquire from face of Peter Gallagher, to his Tyra-good ability to smize, this man has stolen my heart on more than one occasion. I can think of two: Lee Pace (panties #4) in Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, and Lee Pace (panties #5) in The Fall. Before you get your (damp) panties in a twist because neither of these films are historical or literary costume dramas, why don’t you step back for a second and be THANKFUL that I’m showing you pictures of this hotty patotty in the first place and not get so caught up with details, mmkay? Miss Pettrigrew, not historical per se, but is historical fiction, and involves 1940s cabarets, air raid sirens, Frances McDormand looking sloppy then fierce, Lee Pace (panties #6) playing piano (panties #7) with dapper hair with the dejected yet hopeful look of a man without a penny who has everything in the world because he’s in love, and Amy Adams wearing fabulous vintage. Who I now hate because of how many times her lips got to make contact with Lee Pace’s face. She probably touched his eyebrows a couple of times. THAT WHORE.
The Fall is a little more difficult to justify because most of the film is expressed through the imagination of a little girl being told a story by Lee Pace (panties #8), while they are both in a hospital in southern California in the 1920s. (Steinbeck would have loved this shit.) The imaginary part is kind of timeless, but the hospital parts, totally historical, and let me tell you, Lee Pace rolling around in a 1920s wheel chair. Hot. Seriously. Hot. I don’t know about you guys, but I am thankful…that I brought more than just a couple pairs of underwear home for thanksgiving because after reading the rest of this post, I’m definitely going to use every last one (LHB).
Henry Motherfucking Cavill. My name is MRG, and I am addicted to period films. And it all started with Cavill. You might know who he is because he’s going to be in the new Superman movie or whatever. But I’ve been
fantasizing inappropriately about following Cavill for a long time. I guess you could say that I first became aware of his preposterously attractive face and body when I saw the shit-tastic Count of Monte Cristo starring Jesus and that guy from Memento. Sweet, young Henry, barely twenty years old, stole the show as Albert (pronounced al-BEAR, it’s fucking French) Mondego, illegitimate son of the eponymous count. The movie fucking sucked, but in a huge pile of shit, he was a gleaming, criminally hot diamond of hope. And he made twelve-year-old MRG feel a little tingly. THEN the next year he was in the film adaptation of I Capture the Castle which was and continues to be one of my favorite books. It’s about a really poor, really well-read family living in an English castle between the wars, there’s love, there’s coming-of-age, it’s fucking magical, you get it. And what was also magical was Henry Cavill’s face and also his portrayal of the kind and earnest and ultimately jilted family farmhand, Stephen. Stephen makes out with the main character, Cassandra, in a beautiful forest clearing filled with bluebells. And just when you think they’re about to bone, he’s like “No, don’t let me do this, I love and respect you too much blah blah blah.” More like a field of blueBALLS, am I right?!??! I think you can imagine what kind of a
role this film, specifically the picturesque heavy petting session and the fact that Henry obviously shares literary interests with me (obviously), played in my journey to ladyhood.
Then Cavill laid low for a little while, and so did my ladyboner. He showed up in the cinematic shit stain that was/is Tristan + Isolde as the petulant/unloved younger son, but imma let JAF discuss that gem in more detail below. And just when you think Cavill’s TOO PERFECT and TOO HOT, he fucking shows up on The Tudors as Henry VIII’s main compadre, Charles Brandon. Who is naked as the day he was born in like the first episode. And with that, the ladyboner was back. And the Cavill only got better – by Season 4 he was werking a very scruffy, very sexy beard. Now he’s in some shitty looking pseudo-300 kind of thing called Immortals, wherein he is shirtless for the entire movie. It’s about the Greek gods or some shit, I think he plays Theseus, I don’t know. But I do know that I’m going to rent it and watch it privately. As JAF would say, his body looks to be chiseled out of sex. Ladyboner (MRG).
Get ready for much poorly thought-out food-based wordplay, ’cause it’s JONHAMMTIME. Let me make one thing clear, right off the bat. I do NOT watch Mad Men just because it is a brilliantly crafted character study and examination of a time so markedly foreign but disturbingly parallel to our own, with a fetishistic attention to period detail that rapes my willing eyes every Sunday night. I watch it for that aforementioned genetically-blessed slab of delicious, mouthwatering, no-water-added, man meat.
But forserious, anyone who has read 3 consecutive sentences on this blog knows that MRG and I (and hopefully in the future, sweet and wayward young LHB) would give our spare ribs to be on that show (TAKE NOTE MATTHEW WEINER TAKE FUCKING NOTE). So there’s no need to dwell on Hamm’s better known feast-for-the-eyes. Instead, let’s take a journey down ‘Independent Cinema Lane.’ It’s just past the ‘Anonymity Outlet,’ behind the ‘SAG Award Store,’ and adjacent to ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’
Howl. Nobody saw it. It was fucking innovative. Let’s not talk about it (but we’re talking about it). Let’s talk about the fact it starred one Jonnifer D. Hamm, AS WELL AS another for shame! fav, James “Plant ‘o da’ Apes” Franco. That’s right biddies, this is a twofer. A tagteam. A gangbang of historically dressed hotness.
See, Franco’s a repeat offender. It’s hard to remember he does good things in between absolute piles of horseshit like Eat, Pray, Love, or, Annapolis, or, 127 Hours. Besides Howl, in which, if I do say so myself, he pulls off an excellent and very bangable (-confusing-) Allen Ginsberg, you can also check Jimboy’s uncannily drug-addled face and phD-gaining tight little patootie in such historical gems as James Dean, Flyboys, Milk, Tristan+Isolde (because we weren’t mindfucked enough by Baz Lurhman already), and of course, Nights in Rodanthe.
But back to Jon. As if to make things come full circle. To connect the beginning of the section to the end, through the same subject material. Like a word sandwich. OR A HAMM SANDWICH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 I’m absolutely sure no one had any idea where I was going with that one, it was so good. So good like A HAMM SANDWICH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
But really, he hasn’t been in too much. Just take Mad Men and Howl. They’re satisfying enough (JAF).
MRG here with another piece of man meat, this time more British and less punny. Matthew Macfadyen. Oh, Matthew Macfadyen. I’m going to quote JAF again, because she so rightly pointed out that Macfadyen “feeds his children with period drama.” He’s got AN historical face, and he knows how to use it.
Unlike Cavill, Macfadyen doesn’t necessarily exude the sex. But like the Cavill, the Mac first entered my consciousness/provoked a ladyboner when he appeared in the film adaptation of a beloved novel about British girls wookin’ pa’ nub. He walked a mile in the kid leather riding boots of a one Mr. Colin “MRG’s #1 Older Man Crush Forever of All Time” Firth (who really sort of began the Costume Drama Hotties Renaissance, actually) and played Mr. Darcy in the 2005 Joe Wright Pride & Prejudice. Lots of Janeites trashed it, but say what you will, it was a beautifully made movie with a damn good soundtrack and, of course, a dashing, haughty, NAUGHTY, totally Brit-hot leading man in The Mac. Darcy’s a hard role to play because it calls for an actor to be a smoldering hot, socially awkward, unforgivably rude, ultimately endearing asshat. Those are a lot of conflicting qualities, but the Mac mustered up all the subtlety he could and nailed it. Nailed it like I wish he would nail me.
The man’s IMDB page reads like an un-chronological history textbook. From P&P he moved on to some Brit miniseries about the Schmazis and Schmueremberg, and then he had an ASTOUNDING turn in Frost/Nixon as Frost’s bff John Birt. I knew the Mac was a man I could get behind (or in front of, or under, or on top of, amiright?!) (that was gross, sorry) when I saw this film for two reasons: 1) the man’s got acting chops and some serious breadth – not many thesps could play 18th/19th century literature’s #1 heartthrob AND a middle-aged dude in the 70s, and 2) they tried to hard to make him unattractive, SO HARD (seriously, look), and I still had a massive ladyboner throughout the whole movie.
And speaking of ladyboners, how fucking good was Any Human Heart? I’ll answer for you, since you probably didn’t see it (not a lot of people did). IT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD. SO FUCKING GOOD. It’s on the Netflix. I haven’t not rewatched it twice in the past year. Basically it’s a miniseries based on a book with a beautiful title about a man who lives through all of the most important events of the twentieth century. Plus he meets Virginia Woolf, Evelyn Waugh (whose novels produced some damn good historically-costumed man candy in their own right), and our old inebriated friend Ernie Hemingway along the way. If you want to laugh and cry and cry some more and observe how good Macfadyen really is at his job, watch Any Human Heart. Seriously. He was also in Pillars of the Earth with Eddie Redmayne (another fine historical ack-tour, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, anybody? No? Okay.) In Pillars he plays a monk. A sexy, sexy monk. Did I, as an arbitrary Catholic, feel weird about finding a monk so attractive? Sure. Did I give a shit? Absolutely not. Macfadyen: breadth and bangability (MRG).
Deep Breath. Ok, this is big. This is big for me. I’ve loved James McAvoy since I was 14 and went to see Wimbledon with my biffle. I went for Paul Bettany, the greatest historical dilf I will even encounter, despite the terrible, terrible films he’s been in lately (of which I have seen all), I will always love him for being Geoffrey Chaucer, That Hot Surgeon That Gets Shot On That Ship In That Really Long Movie From That One Time, Russell Crow’s Imaginary Friend, Mrs. John Krasinski’s Creepyass Advisor, Sexually Repressed Medieval Sherlock Holmes, and Charles Darwin, even though he had mad male pattern baldness. I mean, God bless that man. He can wear the shit out of some britches and it must be in his contract that he has to be half naked in every film. God bless Paul Bettany. But, I digress. I went for Paul, I came out enthralled with James. His baby blues, his lopsided smirk, his tousled brown locks. This type of obsession only led to McAvoy Marathons and a desperate attempt on my part to six-degrees myself closer to him (I’ve been told I look like Meryl Streep. Meryl Streep has a son. In this picture, Meryl Streep’s son sort of looks like James McAvoy. BOOMILOOKLIKEJAMESMCAVOYYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS).
The versatility! The panache! The shear bloody talent of James McAvoy on display, in all films, but when dressed up in some hawt 1930’s gardener garb… irresistible. If you haven’t see The Last King of Scotland, where he’s the hottest morally-bankrupt dirtbag you’ll ever set eyes on, put it on a double Netflix bill with his sexually saintly turn in Atonement, then come and tell me you don’t wish you were Anne Hathaway (that slorebag!) in Becoming Jane. There were two reasons I went to see X-Men: First Class, and neither of them are because I care a whit for superheros. One was James McAvoy, doing his three-piece-suit-goddamnest to make me drop all sense of propriety I ever learned from a conservative upbringing, right there in the dark of the theater, and run screaming towards the screen, ripping clothes off as I went. The other was a a certain man named Michael Fassbender. My colleagues can also illuminate their feelings regarding this new, unbearably alluring, for shame! favorite (JAF).
That part in Inglorious Basterds when he shoots the Nazi in the balls was the most delicious thing since someone started putting thinmints in the freezer. Oh, and I hate that slut from Jane Eyre who gets to kiss him all of the time but she’s so so cute and I love her so it’s so hard to hate her. But I do. So much (LHB).
The first time I saw Michael F. Assbender (thank you, TSI), it was in a shitty Sherlock Holmes BBC thing and he played a pyscopathic butler, and his twin, who was obsessed with feet and high fashion. He was great and weirdly sexy and I was a
little lot frightened that I thought I might let him lick my toes then dump my body in the Thames. Whatever, we all go through phases (JAF).
I first encountered the Fassbender in the new Jane Eyre (the one LHB mentioned), which is a beautifully executed send-up of ol’ Charlie Bronte because it draws heavily-but-subtly on the Gothic undertones of the novel and doesn’t shy away from the grittiness of life in nineteenth-century northern England. Another reason that it is an excellent movie is Fassbender. No one ever has or ever could make fits of rage, wife-hiding, and blindness so very, very sexy. His portrayal of Rochester makes me want to slap on a corset, become a dowdy governess, and undo a hundred years’ worth of women’s rights. Sure, it’s culturally problematic. But you can’t fight an insane lady-crush like that. Also, here’s a video for you to watch all of the time for the rest of your lives, fellow Fassbenderophiles (MRG).
And remember dear readers, for every one hottie we mentioned, there are dozens more that go unrecognized. So please, contribute generously to the For Shame! Ladyboner Fund, and we will sponsor a beautiful, strapping, period-piece actor, so that he can continue appearing in all your silver-screen costumed fantasies.* And from all of us, Happy Day After Thanksgiving, and to all, pleasant wet-dreams.
MRG, LHB, and JAF.
*This charity does not exist, but you can send us money anyway. Please make all checks to cash.
It’s that time again! For those of you who are all like, “Where the frack was Part UN?” allow me to enlighten you: WordPress has this cool feature called “search term referrals” that shows us what terms people search that lead them to our blog. Like last time, it frightens us that a large percentage of people who find our blog may or may not have been looking for pediatric pornography. Enjoy.
And, like last time, Bold text is a search term and non-bold text is witty retort courtesy of LHB, MRG, and JAF. We’re still serious about this: MATURE READERS ONLY.
“meta carpenter” – I don’t know why Jesus would be meta, but he’s definitely the first thing I thought of when I read this.
mary boleyn the great prostitute – I’ll be honest, I think she was so-so.
kimbell art museum shit you – Whoa whoa whoa, as a Texan and the world’s biggest Louis Kahn fan, I would just like to say a big “Shit you” right back to the asshole who searched this term.
french person from the 1700 clip art – The only thing this person could do to be more better friends with us, would be to have typed the search term in comic sans.
post coital cigarette – The hottest way to kill yourself.
john ruskin pubic hair – was ______. (You fill in the blank. It’s like a dirty mad lib.)
colin firth wearing a sweater – You know what MRG likes.
geena davis pirate nipples – You know what we all like.
bayeaux tapestry the pregnant bitch – I wonder if JAF knows what this person is referring to because I want to see that shit.
prince puffy sleeves men
regulars for shame true blood – Yes, we at For Shame are regulars on True Blood, thank you for noticing!
gay victorian orgy
getting some good booty
who’s she? i just want to love her. tight jeans – This person is a fucking poet.
are klondike bars bad for you – Nope.
goebbels sexual appetite – Big and bigoted.
when do i get to be emperor + son fucks mom – Soon + you’re a sicko. How’s that for an answer?
evelyn nesbit hot bitch
king henry the viii was a fucking idiot – Listen, tit-head, why don’t you shut the fuck up and read a fucking book because H.8 was anything but an idiot, you fucking idiot. (It hurts, doesn’t it?)
jennifer hudson sassy dreamgirl effie
slampiece is not a girlfriend – Wise. Fucking wise.
crazy horse fuckong lady
european motherfuckers – Couldn’t have said it better myself.
get your colonial shame off my breasts – I think I’ll just let this little gem stand on its own.
i am your beard
tyras fake hair – It’s called a weave, people.
but thats crazy horse – Ba-dum chiiiiiiii!!!!!!1
ann boleyn fellattio – I bet she gave great head.
woman fuck with buffalo horn – That seems like a gynecological nightmare.
eric northman beard
i want read horse with girls sex story in hindi – Yeah? I want read you to reassess your life.
baroness gets her way with well hung black man and fucks him – Is this a movie? Is it on Netflix? When can I see it?
vagina whistler – Is this another movie title? Like The Horse Whisperer or something? I would pay to see that.
how to find girl for fuck in whistler
colonel sanders daughter pictures
her pubic hair did not fit she obtained an annulment – Valid.
eric northman nazi – Sacrilege. You shut your whore mouth.
wife fuck shame sharing be shame
eat suck from sexy ass – Help. Seek it.
fuck that crazy hore
tomboy is make males to crossdress? – Yes, my sweet, inquisitive friend. Yes it is.
she bang she rule – Little-known original chorus of Ricky Martin’s “She Bangs.”
don’t fuck with alaska – OMIGOD SARAH PALIN FOUND OUR BLOG!
i am his slam piece – A compliment of the highest order has been bestowed on you, yung frnd.
am i his slam piece – Hey, you can do anything you put your mind to.
i want read horse with girls sex story in hindi – You’d have come to the right place if we in fact wrote about any of those things.
what moustached, cane-toting silent film star was born on this day in 1889? – Are we fucking AOL Answers? Read an effing book, or watch the Oscar-nominated 1992 biopic staring one Robert Downey Jr. for your goddamn answers.
‘striptease’ on train lapped up in china – ‘What?’
indian mothers and teenagers showing intimacy – Is anyone else alarmed by the frequency of search terms in this theme?
sodomy chains – It’s times like this when I really feel like we’re doing society a great service.
clubplatinumy sexy com – You guys………..did Tom Haverford find our blog?
my time my favor walt whitman email – …..my moment, my Dove?
my confessor fucks me – That’s not our problem. We’ve got bystanded syndrome. Blame it on society.
mega throatfuck complication – Yes, I can see how that could get mega-complicated.
imagine yourself as one of the figures in the battle depicted in the bayeux tapestry, in a letter home, describe the experience to your family. write a first person account of this historical event from the perspective of one of the figures in tapestry. – I can only assume this was a homework question, and I can only assume that you’re going to get an A-motherfucking-plus on it. You’re welcome.
gerbil manor – Gerbil lords, gerbil vassals, gerbil serfs. God I hope that’s what this person does for funsies.
swimfins project building for kindergarten – I’m so sorry that you ended up here.
what authors would you recommend on crown prince rudolph – MRG, obviously.
women, shit. willaim faulkner – Yes, damn. Right.
michael jackson dangerous aleister crowley
teresa giudice wikipedia – YES YES YES YES A THOUSAND TIMES YES.
LHB, MRG, and JAF
WordPress has this cool feature called “Site Stats.” It shows us how many hits we get every day and how those hits were referred to our blog. So if we get 5 hits that all came from a link we put on Facebook, Site Stats will tell us that 5 of today’s hits were referred from a link on Facebook and it will give us that link. More interestingly, it also shows us the terms that people have typed into any given search engine that led them to For Shame! We usually email each other what we think are the funniest search terms of the day, and we realized that this was selfish and that we should be publishing them so that everyone can have a laugh along with us.
BOLD text is a direct quotation word for word of one of our search term referrals. Enjoy.
Oh and we’re serious about this: Mature readers only.
fucking austria – That’s what the Serbs said in 1914.
painting vagina turkish commission
oja kodar topless
old hollywood lesbians – Which I say in my mind as “old, hollywood lesbians.”
aragon girl getting fucked
hate makes your ass look big – That’s why mine swells when I watch Kevin Costner films.
vagina pirate – Same person as above? I hope so.
how did pirates get sex
raunchy story – You’re in fucking luck, bitch.
horse fuck buffalo (female)
woman haveing srz with hores – Drunk search?
brazillian big ass
he was castrated and she sent to a convent
“piece of sexy” definition
big booty motswana fucking
throat fucking preteen 16 year – Holy shit.
amateur incest ass fucking – Amateur, you guys. We’re not professionals here.
effie good fucking
john ruskin pubic hair – The sad thing is that this person probably found exactly what he or she was looking for.
how drunk was faulkner – Very? Were you looking for a quantitative answer?
nude girl with big breast and vagina
how can I get a lot of bangs? – We hope that for shame! is answering this question for all of our readers.
renaissance poop bucket – LHB’s personal favorite.
bahamian facebook booty
jane seymour bitch
jane seymour pussy –
national protestand church famouse recently only – I can’t believe this didn’t return more relevant results.
boy fuck his grandmother incest sex story of indian i want to read in hindi language – This person needs lessons on how to use search engines.
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We hope you enjoy these search terms as much as we do. If you did enjoy this little feature, drop us a note so we are aware and we’ll be sure to keep posting the funny/borderline inappropriate ones for your reading pleasure.
We’ve fallen behind on our feature, WELL I’M GLAD YOU ASKED, and for that, we apologize. I encourage you to refresh your memory about the nature of WIGYA. Oh, yeah, did I mention that we’ve decided to use the hilarious sounding “wig-ya” as our abreev for this For Shame! feature. Well, we have.
So, the other day, MRG, JAF and I were chatting about some people who had sex a long time ago (as we so often do) and MRG rather promptly changed the subject and said with a glint of mischief in her eye, “LHB! What is the origin of April Fools Day?”
This was my response:
Long, long ago in the days of Yore, there was a princess named April. Because people named their kids after months then. I suppose way way back in the days before yore, people were naming months after themselves. But anyway, this was roughly in between those times. You understand perfectly, I’m sure. So Princess April of the Kingdom Faloopisia was sort of gullible. Like, bitch would believe ANYTHING you told her. And she really hated being tricked. So she made her father send out a decree to all the kingdom that no one would be allowed to trick her or make her a fool in any way. So the decree went out into the kingdom on rolled and tea-stained parchment, fastened to tree trunks with antique arrows, and everyone in the kingdom was made to read it and swear by it that they would never attempt to trick the young princess April.
Well, April was hott (with two t’s) and probably had a pretty nice bod. But most importantly, she was a princess and came with a dowry the size of….something really big. And a lot of handsome princes wanted to marry her. And they would go meet her in her castle and she would listen to them be totally serious and princely with her and then she’d doze off because they were so boring. She was starting to think she’d be alone forever. But then a young man named Allen who came from a prosperous middle class family was like, “I want to get me some Princess April ass. But I’m going to have to break the LAW to do it.”
So on the first of the month that was the Princess’s namesake, he shows up at the castle and waits patiently in her waiting chamber area and finally gets in to see her. And he’s like, “PRINCESS! You’re not going to believe what happened to me this morning.”
And she yawned and said, “Oh yeah? Hit me.” And he goes, “So, I was walking here, right, from my village a few miles down the river, and a pink dolphin jumped out of the water and started flying next to me! So I jumped on its back and flew here to you.”
Princess April almost peed in her pants, she thought this was the coolest thing she’d ever heard. And she said, “NO WAY!! THAT IS AMAZING!! I WISH I COULD HAVE BEEN THERE!!!!”
And he said, “Princess April, no. That didn’t really happen. But wasn’t it a great story and didn’t you have fun imagining it?! That’s what our life together would be! An amazing story and a wild ride.”
For a moment, the princess was irate and was thinking to herself, “Did this guy miss the memo or some shit?!” But then she looked into his eyes and could see that he had the best of intentions and thought to herself, “Maybe a little joke or a trick isn’t so bad after all. Like, if it only happens once a year.”
They were married that day and she had a new decree sent out which stipulated that one day a year there will be joking and jollity and tricks everywhere in the kingdom and it will henceforth be known as “April Fool’s Day.”
And that’s the April Fool’s Day WIGYA. You’re very welcome for that totally factual and not at all untrue historical information.
Long long ago in the fall of 2010, we bloggers met studying abroad in England. Our program was excellent, specifically in that it involved a lot of study trips to old houses and castles and shit, which stimulated our love of history and also enabled our shameless need to constantly be hilarious (whether other people think so or not). How are old houses funny, you ask? WELL I’M GLAD YOU ASKED.
See, every time we entered an eighteenth-century country house or a medieval castle, we’d ask blogger LHB something ridiculous, stifling giggles. As in, “Hey, LHB, could you please talk about the significance of electrical outlets like this one during the English Renaissance?” to which LHB would reply, “Well I’m glad you asked. Everyone knows that electricity was popularized in the 1560s by Queen Elizabeth’s court electrician…” and hilarity would ensue. LHB is such a wealth of knowledge that everything she told us was absolutely 100% factual. So factual that it was fucking hilarious.
Okay, maybe you don’t see the hilarity yet, but you will. Because we’ve decided that Well I’m Glad You Asked will be For Shame’s first feature!
So in an effort to be seasonally appropriate, the inaugural Well I’m Glad You Asked is transcribed from a Facebook message between JAF and myself:
MRG: i can’t wait. and it might or might not be st. patrick’s day when we go to [there], which means…well, you know.
JAF: wait, what is this “st patrick’s day?” I don’t understand.
MRG: well i’m so glad you asked…
st. patrick was the original name of the st. bernard dog breed, but st. bernard killed st. patrick (who was italian) over a game of bocce. i mean st. patrick was italian, so he was really, really good at bocce. so good that he could win while eating gelato and flirting with unwilling young women simultaneously, because that’s what italians do according to cultural stereotypes.
so st. bernard, being un-italian, had a significant handicap. and he practiced and practiced and practiced, but he still lost.
and so great was his anger that when st. patrick won, st. bernard killed him by pulverizing his head with a bocce ball. and then to rub salt in the wound, he went to the american kennel club (which absolutely existed in this unspecified time) and got the name of the st. patrick breed changed to st. bernard. and because the dogs had been so loyal to st. patrick when he was alive, st. bernard punished his newly-eponymous pups by sending them into the alps, where he ruthlessly forced them to carry heavy barrels full of bourbon or whiskey around their necks through the snow, just to be a huge douche.
so that’s why we have st. patrick’s day. it’s a day of remembrance. for the dogs. and I guess also for st. patrick. and we drink a lot of alcohol on this day to metaphorically lighten the load of the poor st. patrick/st. bernard dogs up in the alps.
So there you have it, the first edition of Well I’m Glad You Asked. And shit’s so seasonal.