Thursday, November 7, 2013

Elementary Dear Domina, Elementary (NUDITY!)

Tonight I watched the episode of Elementary which featured a dominatrix, and I have to say, it was not all that bad.  I was expecting the worst, really, I mean it is network television.  

Although I am a die-hard Sherlockian I just keep missing it because frankly, I forget to watch it, but also because I find Lucy Liu to be a subpar Watson.  Not because she's a woman (clearly), but because they failed to make her interesting. Also, her acting is not exactly Shakespearean, let's face it.  Watson is a doctor, but he is also a gambling fiend, something of a womanizer, and probably has PTSD or whatever its Victorian equivalent is from being a surgeon in the war (read: occupation) of India.  He/She is actually quite a well-formed character, and to see them being played so one-dimensionally...  I digress.

Anyway-- I actually didn't mind the depiction of the dominatrix. I thought it was a good lead-in, and the fact that the police treated her nonchalantly even while she was wearing leather and latex was a nice touch. She was not treated with any level of suspicion, and in fact knew Holmes through a mutual academic interest (not through the seedy underworld), which was refreshing. This of course, is done to throw off the audience, because of course they would be ready to believe that a dominatrix was involved in a crime (I would assume).

I also thought it clever that neither the actual suspects or even the victim were involved in BDSM at all.

Also-- did anyone else notice they made a visit to Purple Passion? The scene where the clerk starts talking about how marginalized kinky people are while telling them they need a subpoena is priceless.

The other drama based on The Canon (hee hee),  the BBC's Sherlock, also features a dominatrix in one of their episodes early on as Irene Adler.   The series is much more satisfying than Elementary in a way because they draw directly from the original stories and weave them together to create a more complex contemporary tapestry.  At first, the thought of a dominatrix as Irene Adler (referred to as The Woman by Holmes-- one of two people to ever have outsmarted him) seems quite logical.  She is depicted as an adventuress in the original stories, is a well-known opera singer, (apparently not a respectable profession in Victorian times- think somewhere along the lines of Degas' ballet dancers) making her somewhat of a charlatan.   Hmmm...  sort of like being a dominatrix today, no?  I'll answer that for you-- Yes.  However-- and I do mean to spoil it for you if you haven't watched it-- they fail to imbue the dominatrix character with any of the original Irene's capacity for deceit.  On TOP of that, we are expected to believe that she is perhaps attracted to him (um, NO) and even weakened by his affections.  For instance, a code she expects to flummox Holmes with turns out to be a reference to her "longing" for him (gag me with a forklift) and also, he of course comes to her rescue near the end (It IS the 21st century right?  Just checking).  If you are familiar with the original stories, this would never, ever have happened.   Irene Adler was a consummate professional and would only ever be interested in making sure that Holmes could never catch up with her.  The entire point is that she was the "one who got away", and the reader is left to wonder whether it is because she escaped before Holmes could catch her or whether it is because she would never bang him.  Excuse me, take a turn around the room with him.   All in all, it is probably a combination of both, but Holmes' characteristic Victorian repression would never let him admit that to himself or anyone else.  Which is why we love him. 

Well, since you've clearly read or at least skimmed to the end of this, I leave you with a treat.  It seems the BBC isn't all that bad, as they show Ms. Adler in her skivvies.  You can thank me later:  

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

I can dress scary any day of the week...

But it's never as fun as doing it on Halloween!   

Halloween is my favorite day. And my SUPER DUPER FAVORITE thing to do is go to a haunted house. Going upstate to look at the foliage is pretty terrific as well.

There is a new haunted house "experience" that I suppose is really difficult to get tickets for.  I totally turn into the asshole who chases after the newest, trendiest "happening" when it comes to haunted houses.

Here is the ad (more like a movie trailer):


If you don't want to go for the jump, this is the list of things you have to agree to:

You must be at least 18 years of age.
Stay on the marked path at all times.
You will be prompted to do certain actions. Please do exactly as you’re told. This is for your safety.
There is absolutely no speaking allowed inside. You can, however, scream as loud as you’d like.
Do not ever touch the actors.
Do not ever touch the walls.
You must wear a protective mask and carry a flashlight at all times. (We will provide both of these items for you. Please do not bring your own.)

A PROTECTIVE MASK?  WHAT??  That is the best thing I've ever heard!  The most horrifying thing to me though is that you have to go through the maze alone.  My only saving grace when walking though a haunted house is that I get to hide behind the person I'm with and shove them in the way of the monsters!  I'd totally be screwed. 
Ah well, if anyone goes, let me know how you like it!  Or better yet, score some tickets and take me!

In the meantime, here is Stefon dishing on the hottest Halloween "happenings" in NYC:


Thursday, July 18, 2013


Because I will be there terrorizing you from July 22nd to the 23rd!  Be afraid, be very afraid...

Contact me via email for booking:

I require 24 hours advance notice for any and all appointments.  A deposit is mandatory unless your references are absolutely stellar.


Monday, June 10, 2013

(Continuation of my pretentiously titled): "Untitled #1 or This Will Happen But Not To Any of You, Ha Ha!

You may find the first part of the story by scrolling down or clicking here:

Now his ass is hot and adequately warmed up to my liking.  "Leave the shoes on," I say, and tell him to sashay back to The Room, watching his ass wiggle awkwardly down the hall, all bowlegs and wobbles.  I think I'll put him in the cage tonight when I'm finished.  He is on his hands and knees when I enter The Room. "Stand up,", I say, "Put your back against the wall."  He knows which wall I mean, the one with the shackles, of course.  I slip the black leather cuffs around his wrists and his ankles, securing him in very tightly.  He is splayed out like Vetruvian Man.  DaVinci would be pleased.  I get my face near enough so that he can feel my breath on his lips.  He stays very still, I can feel him looking at me, thinking about how wet and sweet my mouth is when we kiss.  I put my hands on his shoulders.  My fingertips caress up the back of his neck and I touch his ear slightly with my mouth, lightly kissing the lobe and exhaling hot breath lightly, my teeth grazing.  A bit suddenly I make my nails pierce the tops of both of his ears to remind him of the times where I've been his teacher and led him around by them.  His head jerks back, and he hits it on the wall.  It jostles him and I snicker, standing fiercely with my legs apart clutching his ears without budging, he takes a sharp breath through his teeth.  I become distracted and want to touch his chest, so feel down to his nipples once more, pinching lightly at first, feeling how hard they are, then squeezing them. Gradually increasing the pressure, his lips tighten but his eyes stay focused on me.  I tell him to breathe and to keep looking at me, and take pleasure in watching the surrender build in his eyes.  He is trembling.  I look down and he is still erect.  I decide it is jutting out way farther than I want it to be and take a long piece of thin rope, winding it around his sac and tightening it so that his smooth balls give off a faint sheen from the tautness.  I caress them and alternately pull at the fine red hair- and continue to braid the rope up his cock, tying it in a knot just below the head, and then tying it around his waist so that it seems pinned to his abdomen.  I notice moisture on the head of his cock and slick it off with my finger.  He sucks it off and I slap him.  Because I feel like it.

I rub against him, using my knee to tease his cock, my hands on either side of his body, trapping him.  He doesn't know if it will be pleasurable or if I will decide to knee him suddenly, so I lay my knee slowly into his cock and balls.  His quivering turns into quaking and perhaps taking pity on him, perhaps not, take a chunk out of his thigh with my hand and squeeze.  "Good, concentrate on another area, darling," I say.  He leans forward and a purple imprint appears on his thigh in the shape of my nails.  Admiring it for a second,  I turn around and walk to the nipple clamps dangling from the shelf.  I choose the "nice" clamps, and secretly stash the much more painful binder clips in my other hand.  Turning around, I walk over to him and place the normal clamps on him which I know feel like pressure, but not pain-- he can take it, he's thinking.  I let him kick off the shoes and his legs collapse a bit, and he hangs from his wrists as I untie him and decide I want him over my knee again.  He is to choose a paddle from the metal shelf.  If he chooses one that's too light he knows he will get more thwacks, and that will possibly be all he gets.  He instead chooses the lexan paddle.  My eyebrows go up.  He comes to lay back down on my lap, his ass still red with lines from my spanks.  I linger over it and admire my work laid like enamel into the perfection of his ass and think it's my canvas in a way.  I then banish the banality of the thought and become giddy at the prospect of what it will look like later.  The lexan paddle is about a foot and a half long, clear with holes drilled into it.  A client had bought it for me years before as it is much less forgiving than wood.   I spank him again to warm him up a bit more, until I feel a slight firmness of the skin under my hand again.  I feel the hard wetness of his cock against my panties, and wonder if I should just throw him down and fuck him right there...  nah.   The paddle is heavy in my hand as I start to slowly thwack away at him and grab him by the back of his hair, pulling it back, exposing his thick neck and rubbing the paddle across his ass, letting it thud over and over as he winces and tightens then relaxes.   Again and again until he's given his pain to me and accepts he is going to get hurt as I make his ass messy with streaks of purple and red until I am satisfied.

I run my nails up and down the backs of his thighs and grab his ass, rubbing it and spreading his cheeks open so I can see how pink his asshole is and to admire his taint.  I spit on it slowly and tease him there with my fingers, allowing him a bit of pleasure so that he thinks maybe it will all be over now.  I even tell him to get on his knees and rub his ass.  I notice his shoulders slumping as he rubs,  looking down at the ground.  Taking his head in my hand, I look at him and with my other hand rip off his nipple clamps.  He calls out and his head goes to the floor.  I get down on my knees in front of him and rub them in mock sympathy, but actually it made me very excited.  Producing the binder clips in my hand, he looks down and breathes deeply and faster in preparation of their wrath.  His stomach muscles tighten as I place them on slowly, the pressure so great it almost looks like they'll snip right off.  Standing up, I say, "Open," and he lifts his head as I give him a nice thick dollop of saliva in his mouth.  "Thank you, ma'am," then looks down again, swallowing and bravely accepting that I'm nowhere near finished.

"Go fetch a pillow from the couch."  He does so, his posture slight and careful, different from the awkward cowboy from before.  He comes back and puts the pillow under his hips and lays down on the bondage bed on his stomach.  He is careful not to lay down the wrong way so as to disturb the binder clips.  I take a brown hemp rope from the closet, untie it and wrap him with it just above and below his ass, framing it so that it stands out and also securing him down with the metal eye hooks on either side of him.  I tie his ankles in place with leather cuffs and leave his hands free so he can clasp them to his chest in prayer :)  I know exactly which cane I want to use on him... the thick rattan, as I am in the mood to give him more thudding pain, and besides, it sings so sweetly before it strikes.  I take it out of it's sheath and look at the muscles in his back, my eyes following down the length of his spine to his ass.  It's purple, red, magenta, combinations of striations and dots make need to touch it.  It's very hot, the majority of heat coming off the apple part of his ass.  The perfection is ruined, and positioned to be ruined further.

I always breathe very heavily when I am caning.  One has to slow down, take aim.  Sometimes my nose runs too...  not the most ladylike thing, but a physiological response similar to what is happening between my legs with this activity.

I rub the cane back and forth on his ass, one arm behind my back in an official posture.  I stand slightly sideways, and make sure my wrist is  straight.  I tap his ass and it makes a knocking sound as it is quite hard at this point.  His cheeks tighten in preparation.  It is hard to describe the satisfaction of caning although I will say the sounds are a large part of it.  The whistle of the cane through the air, and the almost wet thwack it makes on striking.  One can also feel when the implement has sailed true, and it is similar I would think to when an arrow hits it's target.  Clearly the marks when in alignment and kept solely to the ass and thighs are a demonstration of skill on both Mistress and slave's parts.

I don't play games with him.  I don't make him count the strikes, and do not give him an idea of when I will stop.  I do not wail on him.  I feel calm.  The strikes measured.  I watch each strike form a straight lipstick line across his cheeks.  I rub the cane slowly back and forth on his ass before striking.  Alternating with my hand, I feel the indentations that my work has left, and notice that he has again relaxed into the pain.

To be continued...

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Girls On Film...

Is a terrific Duran Duran song, but also the title of this post because I have recently been doing some filming with Mistress Wynter at her dungeon!  I have a few more to do before creating my own Clips4Sale account, but you may view all of the ones I DO have by visiting her site, Worship Wynter  So far, I've done some caning on a female sub (the stripes on her ass came out so pink), ignoring you and smoking (laying down on Miss Wynter's bondage bed flipping through a magazine), shit-talking about beating the shit out of you (yes, I think my penchant for bullying cannot be denied), a wholelotta foot worship stuff, and more!  Hmm... you'll just have to visit the site to get the full rundown.

Let me know what you'd like to see in the future!

Also, if you are a pain slut and you have references, email


Monday, May 27, 2013

My Masocast interview is up!  So if you want to hear me giggle for basically an hour straight, here you go!:


Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Masocast Interview Tonight!

Pose your questions in the Comment section here, or email Axe:

Never heard or seen Masocast??  For shame, my lovelies!! 

Find it here:

New to my blog??  Find my last interview from January with THE VIOLENT FEMS here:  Masocast Intrepidly Enters The Lair of The Violent Fems!

Also, my first interview from 2011 is here:  Mistress Veronica on Masocast Take One!

I look forward to hearing from all of you!


Monday, March 25, 2013

This Is How It Is...

This is a photo document of a session from a few weeks ago.  As you know, I prefer to make my "public image" as transparent as possible.  I feel like these photos convey what it is like to be in session with me quite well.  Enjoy!  I will let them speak for themselves...

Sunday, March 17, 2013


What's Irish and gets left out all year round?

Paddy O'Furniture!

Ha ha!  That one gets me every time.


Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Screw "Mistress"!!

I want all of you to call me KHALEESI from now on!!  "Mother of Dragons" will also suffice.

If you don't know what that is, you're just not cool enough.  But then you probably know how to Google something, so hop to it!!


Monday, February 25, 2013

Untitled #1 (This will happen, but not to any of you, ha ha!)

I came home from a long day to find him in the kitchen with nothing on but high heels and a flower patterned apron.  At the sink with his back to me, wide shoulders and tapering waist call down to his high, smooth ass.  He does not look feminine at all.  He looks like a man, in fact, he's an exquisite specimen.  When I told him to put it on over the phone I was expecting him to look quite silly, and he does.  His forearms covered in tattoos from when he was wild and younger, his biceps are thick from pull-ups and years of physical work.  I stare at this vision for a moment before touching his ass lightly and feeling his breast with my other hand.  I search for the nipple through his apron and give it a light squeeze.  He weakens and turns around startled, the music was too loud so he couldn't hear me come in.  I kiss him hard, deeply.

I walk over to the couch and he knows that he must follow- head down- and takes my shoes off.  Kneeling, he unlaces my ankle high boots as quickly as he can, and places them carefully to the side.  He knows to start massaging my feet, keeping his eyes on the floor, "Is the pressure good for you, mum?" he says in a husky brogue.  I say yes, and straighten my leg out high so he has to reach up, and he knows that I want the rest of my leg massaged from the foot up.  He has to stand to do it and I see his ass again.  I grab it, and he focuses more intently on my foot, trying not to think about what I might be thinking about.

"Go check on dinner", I say, and he turns again, not looking at me, wobbling uneasily back into the kitchen.  I hear the oven open, and some stirring, then the pouring of a glass.  He knows exactly how I like my tea- a splash of coconut milk and one teaspoon of raw honey.  He kneels down to give it to me, and I kiss him on the forehead, loosening my tie and taking a sip.  I'm wearing my black suit and sit with my legs wide apart.

He kneels between my legs, and I stroke his hair and face, then grab the back of his hair and pull his head back so he has to look up.  He takes a second to realize he can look at me, and I can see in his eyes a silent plea to fuck him. "Get on my lap," I say, patting it and suppressing a smile.  He settles with his head to my left, his legs set straight to the right.  I can feel him getting hard through my trousers, and my nipples graze against my bra in response.  I grab his ass, caress it, and bite it gently.  His body jerks and re-positions.  Rubbing my hand back and forth across his cheeks, I can feel him anticipating how cruel I want to be.  I give him ten medium-hard slaps, alternating each cheek.  His body stiffens.  I grab his hair with my left hand-- shhhh, it's okay darling.  I let him kiss my hand.  Not letting him finish, I find his nipple and caress it lightly, increasing the pressure gradually.  My right hand is raring to go and I writhe underneath his hardening cock.  My hand cupped and firm, I slap it staccato, many times in succession to warm him up and watch it turn the lightest pink.  It jiggles with each spank, covered with anticipatory goosebumps.  Appreciating my view, I run my claws on the backs of his legs from the backs of his knees upward.  I tickle his balls and feel the warm little usually neglected space between them and the bottom of his ass.  I tickle him just a bit, the part on his ass that I found a few nights before and he shudders.  This is enough lingering, I think, and spank again, this time harder.  My hand firm, his cock perhaps firmer.

"Go get me paper and a pen", I say and he gets up quickly if a bit off balance.  I write myself a code of Left, Rights on the sheet of paper, and tell him he's to repeat back to me the pattern that he feels on his ass.  He's a bit confused, but game.  I follow the sequence-- left, left, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, right, right, left, right, left.  Knowing that a random sequence of more than ten is almost impossible to remember, I say, "Now repeat it back to me!"  His response is pathetic and wrong, just as I expected.  That means harder spanking!  I hold him close and lay into him with the force that I feel is right.  Not too hard, not yet.  He stays very still.  I can tell his face is contorting, but I keep going.  Alternating spanks, my hand starts to tingle in that familiar way, and I smile.  He's rock hard at this point, and we're almost dry-humping only in the wrong direction.  He gets on his hands and knees and I take off my shirt and pants, revealing my black lace undergarments, leaving my tie on.  I could tell he snuck a peek.

He hops back up, and I say, "Keep your hands and feet on the floor, do you understand?  No moving."

"Yes, loud and clear, mum."

"Now.  We're going to try this again."

"Yes, please, mum."

I write another pattern on the piece of paper, using his back.  Then, swiftly, making it more difficult:  Right, left, right, left, right, right, right, left, left, right, right, left, left, left, right.  Again, his memory fails, clearly it is time for him to fetch the hairbrush, but not before I give him more swift spanks on the harder side.  I want to watch him walk away with a bright red ass.  Fuck that pink shit.  My hand is also getting dry and very red, but I could care less.  I can feel his cock against my thighs, so hard and wet.  I lay into him, spanking away, stopping briefly I tell him to breathe.  I can feel the heat coming off his bum, and let my fingers linger on his pain.  I rub his ass, (how could I help but do that?) and he relaxes, thinking the worst is over, no doubt.  Ha, ha!  Not a chance.  I run my fingers lightly on his taint again, then watch them disappear into his crack.  He lifts his ass up, thinking now he's going to get a little penetration...  "Go get the hairbrush, sweetie," I say, and pat his leg so he gets up and wobbles back to the bathroom to fetch my personal brush.  He comes back and presents it to me on his knees, head down again.  On my lap again.  Same position.  He is looking quite serious now.  I plant a kiss on his ass, and tap it with the brush lightly.  It makes a hollow sound, and smiling I increase the force gradually.  Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.  Over and over.  Flicking my wrist so they're quick yet sting like the dickens.

"Get up and put your hands on the wall, " I say, "Spread your legs."  He does so.  I get behind him like I'm going to fuck his ass-- he wants it so badly-- but not yet.  God, I'm so turned on by his body, I want a fuller look, so untie the ribbon of his apron, and make him stay in the high heels as they push his ass out, emphasizing his desperate need to be penetrated.  Rubbing his arms, then his back, I scratch down, and he breathes in, covered in a slight layer of delicious sweat.  I feel his ass and press my body against his back, rocking him back and forth as though we're fucking, he responds and I reach around to feel how hard he is.  He is dripping like mad, so I stroke him with his pre-cum a bit to tease him, then run my hand up his stomach to his nipples.  They are so sensitive, and my fingers are still wet.  Increasing the pressure, I dig my nails into them just a bit. His legs buckle.  I know he is loving/hating it, and squeeze harder.  "Aaah!"  I push his head so that it's touching the wall and take a step back, remembering the brush.  "Position, darling!"  I stand slightly to the side of him and give him a good natured thwack.  He breathes in, and his ass muscles tighten, "Thank you, mum."  "Relax," I say, running my hand down his back.  Getting excited, I thwack him again and again and again.  "Maybe this will improve your memory!" I hit him, making him stick his ass out and take it, thwacking away with short flicks of my wrist, interspersed with ones which I wind up for, torquing my body to get my weight behind it.  His back arches, but I have to give him more, "Yes, Miss, please can I take more for you?" I make him count them down from ten.  His ass is partially hard from all of the impact,  I rub it, feeling the fruits of my labor.  He trembles in the high heels, and under my hand.

To be continued...

Monday, February 11, 2013

All Star Dommes is live and kicking! Your ass.

I am so happy to be one of the new moderators at All Star Doms!  

Please go here, and create your user name so we can start chatting up a storm:  

After six years of posting on Max Fisch, we all felt like the forum had gotten a bit stale.  Not to mention that many of my clients who had tried to create an account there had to wait months for their information to be approved.  Well, since it's all ladies running this new board, things should get done on time and we are all excited to make this place lively and full of dark, sexy fun.

I am moderating the Freedom Through Discipline and Gangland forums, so come say hello!


Thursday, February 7, 2013

Some kind words from my dear sub Frankie...

This was to be posted on Max Fisch, but I thought I would put it here as well.  It is very sweet, and makes me so happy to have subs like him in my life.

A Dream Come True

I've been playing in the scene on and off for around 30 years now. I've sessioned with about a dozen or so pro-doms over the years. Most of my experiences with them  were quite good, though none could compare to my inner fantasies, which I guess is impossible, but Miss Veronica comes very close.

I first met Miss Veronica on "Black Friday" of 2011, you know, the night after Thanksgiving when we were all supposed to go shopping. If I remember correctly, I met her at a downtown coffee shop at 8:30.

When we first met, I was taken aback by her beauty. Not a trashy beauty, but a sophisticated beauty, a real lady. After a brief introduction, we walked a few blocks to her dungeon where we really got to know each other. She was very friendly, and very easy to talk to. She is very bright too. I could see that in her eyes, very beautiful "electric brown" eyes, I might add, they almost glow. If you take a look at her gallery, you can see, she is quite beautiful. The one photo in particular that piqued my interest was the one of her sitting at a desk with her lovely feet up, holding a cane in her hands, but when you see her in person, you'll be blown away, at least I was. Mere photos can not do her justice.

When it came time to play, Miss Veronica exceeded my expectations like no one ever has. Unlike most pros, she is not afraid to hurt you, that is, if that is what you want, and the best part is, she loves it. I can't tell you how turned on I get. She is an expert with various whips, canes, paddles, and other WADs (weapons of ass destruction). I see her once a month now, and each time we play is different and exciting. Each time she turns up the heat a little more. Now, after almost a year, we are doing needles, and some pretty heavy electrics. Things I never thought I could get into, but when she does it, it's wonderful. I think this is because I know she is enjoying her self, and that really turns me on. I will take just about anything for her, and I think you will to.

Don't get me wrong. Miss Veronica is not a mean person, in fact, she is very loving and kind. If you are a novice, or if you can't have marks, or you are not into so much pain, don't worry, she will not go beyond your limits unless you want her to. She may expand your limits a little over time, but that's what it's all about. Isn't it?

I could extoll the wonders of Miss Veronica for pages, but you owe it to yourself to find out first hand. She is simply the best!


Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Masocasting my ass off...

Hey you lucky things, The Violent Fems and I are the newest podcast on Masocast, so shake a tail feather and get to listening.

Find it here:  Funny, funny stuff


Monday, January 14, 2013

Drink Up And Be Somebody: An Ode to the King of Cool... (originally posted Jan 2013)

Dane Cook!  Ha, ha.  Not.  I've been a little (okay a lot) obsessed with Dean Martin lately.  Not because I admire his singing, but his in between song banter is hilarious.  It's a sort subtle, metaphorical rapid fire non sequitur Borsch Belt style of delivery, which well, just doesn't exist anymore.  Not only is it cleverly laden with metaphor and nuance, but HE TALKS ABOUT BLOWJOBS ("If you cut a woman in half, with my luck, I'd get the half that eats.  I'll drink to that."), cheating on his wife, homosexuality (to Ken Lane, "We've been together 15 years, have I ever asked you to hold it??  Strike that."), being a drunk (obviously), pedophilia ("Nothing could be finer than to shack up with a minor"), drug use (looking at his cigarette, "There ain't no printing on this one at all!  Anyone wanna go anyplace?"), references to his cock ("Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to my wonderful pianist")  Basically everything that Lenny Bruce was talking about around the same time, only Bruce used a more brackish (some would say bratty), INYOURFACE approach.  So, how did Martin get away with it and Bruce got arrested?  It was clearly all in the delivery.  And the context.  It is well known that at least toward the middle of his career, Dean would pretend to be drunk when he was onstage.  It was a popular character of a politically incorrect time-- The Lovable Drunk-- (also employed by Martin's friend Foster Brooks).  But also, it was sort of genius because it gave him license to say really fucked up shit.  Also, since many of his jokes are plays on words, he had added defense,  "I'm confusing terminologies, you people are taking it all wrong!"  He also frequently blames his pianist for supplying lyrics with inappropriate sayings.  He employs all these devices to cover up how much of a filthy mind he had.  Devices he most likely learned from comedians he worked closely with- Jerry Lewis (wait, maybe not him), Joe E. Lewis, and Jimmy Durante.
 I'm sure no one reading this is surprised that a member of the Rat Pack was bawdy.  I also know that I'm not alone in my romanticization of the early 60's.  I find the whole Mad Men phenomenon to be quite annoying (Guys!  Stop wearing fedora's!  It's only cool on girls, seriously...) but I can understand wanting to sit in a smoke-filled room, drinking scotch out of crystal tumblers, watching showgirls dance behind a greasy-haired crooner who fills the spaces between songs with slurred one-liners while gulping his drinks on the house.  Fat, hairy, nefariously associated "gentlemen" in the best seats, talking loudly and grabbing their clownishly painted female companions.  I actually do think that would be swell.  But only if I could actually travel back in time.  Any attempt at a modern reproduction would be an impotent overly self-conscious study in abject hipsterism, which clearly is abhorrent.
 So what the fuck happened when Bruce came along?  You could say that he was a reflection of the times.  Of the social/political awakening that Baby Boomers love to remind every subsequent generation that they were a part of.  This was a great thing, I'm not saying that it's not.  He was fighting for his First Amendment rights, although I don't think he set out intentionally to do that, or even to piss people off.  Maybe he was.  Probably was.  Anyway if you are unable to listen to his material in the context of his time, which I am not, as I am not old enough to have seen him-- he sounds like any comedian around since the 70's or 80's who have been swearing their asses off to swells of laughter and applause.  His confrontational delivery style was intended to shock, whereas Martin's is friendly and accessible.  Martin was not trying to make a statement, he was just entertaining people.  The one thing I do like about Bruce though is not his "shock jock" persona, but that he-- perhaps for the first time in popular culture-- was exposing his pain on stage and making it funny.  Perhaps it was this that made him so offensive, aside from the fact that he fought to say Fuck, Shit, and Pussy.  This is one of my favorite things of his:  
Take another comedian of the time, Bob Newhart.  In my opinion, his shit is just not funny anymore.  It was revolutionary because he was the first American absurdist stand-up that gained any sort of notoriety.  But he was also employing similar devices that Martin did-- a disbelief at what he just said, linguistic misunderstandings, (I'm sure there are plenty of proper comedy nerd phrases for all the things I'm describing, but whatever) a cultural unawareness that mirrors Martin's drunkenness...  This begs the question of what makes something timelessly funny.   I don't think anyone has been able to pin that down, anyway.  Newhart was using similar devices as Martin and Bruce was utilizing similar topics.  So crystallizing what is timelessly funny on these bases seems impossible, making it even more intangible.  Unless the only things that are timelessly funny are those things that are bawdy in a metaphorical sense.  Are you confused? Me too.
 Why the hell am I even bothering to write about this shit?   Who cares?  It's all subjective.  Is it even worth discussing?  Why am I bothering to post this on my blog which is supposed to be about kinky stuff?  Aren't you pissed that there has been nary a phrase for you to jerk off to yet?  Ha, as if.  I guess because all of the things I listed in the first paragraph linger on or are blatantly taboo.  A subject which relates intimately with kink stuff.
Ha, no, that's bullshit.  I just wanted to write about Dean Martin and comedy.  It surprised me to read that he was rarely part of the Rat Pack's late night antics, but would often leave when Sinatra and the rest of the boys partied far into the early morning.  He also had custody of his children from his first marriage- something unheard of for the time, and a fact he was not terribly open about.   He is, of course, known for being a womanizer and a lover of drink, but some facts make you wonder whether the image he wanted to project got in the way of the real story.  But even if that's true, does it really matter?  I prefer to think of him as a calm, collected devil-may-care raconteur.  I don't need the inside track.  It's probably tragic in it's own way anyway, just like Bruce's.  
On to the good stuff.  This is one of my favorites, Dino Live At The Sands (it's an hour long, but even the first few minutes is hilarious).  I highly recommend listening to the whole thing when you get a chance:

This is also another classic, a portion of Live And Swinging, with the rest of the Rat Pack.  They brought Johnny Carson in at the last minute, as Joey Bishop could not be there:


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