SNOW! Snow is here… 20 inches of the damn thing. It was truly beautiful, but a pain in the ass as it broke trees, knocked over electrical posts, and turned driving into an extreme sport. I’m determined to enjoy it this year, or at the very least be impressed by nature’s majesty and all that jazz, so no more complaining from me.
Ha! I wonder how long that will last.
On a side note, do you ever get so horny that while your getting off you’re imagining all the ways you’re going to come, you know, all the ways you’re going to fuck this person for the next several hours, but then you cum and you’re like “Ugh, get away from me” not because there’s something wrong with the person, but rather all you needed was to get off and now that you have sex is the last thing on your mind? Yeah, me neither.
Hooman Samani, a director of the Artificial Intelligence and Robotics Technology Laboratory at National Taipei University, Taiwan, built a machine that can respond emotionally to how humans treat it.
Samani calls his professional line of inquiry “lovotics” and says “it’s about connecting the dots from two different fields. One is robotics, which includes artificial intelligence and mechanical engineering, and the other one is the science behind human love.”
Austin resident Noah Lee started going by the DJ name Muppetfucker in 1995, after he and a friend of his came up with it and thought it was funny. He used the name for six years, and owned several MuppetFucker domain names, including MuppetFucker.net. Lee told io9 the Jim Henson Company likely found out about Muppetfucker after he performed at SXSW in March 2001 and got a review in a local weekly magazine. A few days after the review came out, Lee got a cease-and-desist letter from the Jim Henson Company, which demanded he stop using the name Muppetfucker and hand over all domain rights.
Too bad, for a second there I thought that Disney was going to drastically change it’s brand.
The Literary Review has taken it upon themselves to pore over said terrible sex writing in literary fiction and declare a winner every year since 1993 for the magazine’s annual Bad Sex in Fiction Award. The nominees were announced on Thursday morning, and, yes, they are mostly men:
A Doubter’s Almanac by Ethan Canin
The Tobacconist by Robert Seethaler
Men Like Air by Tom Connolly
The Butcher’s Hook by Janet Ellis
Leave Me by Gayle Forman
The Day Before Happiness by Erri De Luca[…]
A Doubter’s Almanac by Ethan Canin
As she talked Andret would make gentle, two-fingered tugs all the way around the hem of her dress to expose the lacy parts of her undersuit, like a child pulling candles from the rim of a birthday cake. Then he would begin kissing the frills. This she found beguiling. During sex she would quiet, moving suddenly on top of him like a lion over its prey. Her eyes stayed wide, Andret liked to keep his own closed; but whenever he opened them, there she would be, staring down at him, her black pupils gyroscopically inert. Again: leonine. He couldn’t help thinking that her gaze, even as she bent over him and strained her shoulders like a collared beast, was in fact an indictment.
The act itself was fervent. Like a brisk tennis game or a summer track meet, something performed in daylight between competitors. The cheap mattress bounced. She liked to do it more than once, and he was usually able to comply. Bourbon was his gasoline.
Bourbon, right. In my experience booze makes it harder to gear up for repeat performances.
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