Well friends, it looks like the fecal matter is about to impact the rotary blades.:
“A letter appointing an investigating officer to look into the admitted prostitution and gay porn past of a Marine in the Individual Ready Reserve is sitting on the desk of Mobilization Command’s deputy commander awaiting his signature, the command’s spokesman said Tuesday.
Col. Stephen Brown’s signature would launch a formal command investigation into admissions that Cpl. Matt Sanchez worked as a male prostitute and appeared in numerous gay porn films under the names “Rod Majors” and “Pierre LaBranche” before joining the Corps in 2003, said command spokesman Shane Darbonne”
Neat photo. Can’t you just hear the beard say “Oh Pierre, you shouldn’t have come!”
Here are more, uh “colorful” pics of Unlucky Pierre (I especially love the third and fourth ones.)
“Asked if she believed homosexuality was immoral, Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton Democrat of New York, initially said Wednesday that it was for “others to conclude,” but later issued a statement saying she did not think being gay was immoral.
Her remarks came a day after Gen. Peter Pace, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said he should not have publicly expressed his personal view that homosexual acts were immoral and akin to adultery, a position that he said was a factor in his opposition to gay men and lesbians serving openly in the military. His views had appeared in The Chicago Tribune on Monday.
A rival of Mrs. Clinton for the 2008 Democratic presidential nomination, Senator Barack Obama of Illinois was asked the same question three times on Wednesday and sidestepped the issue, according to an article in Newsday.
But a spokesman for Mr. Obama said last night that the senator disagreed with General Pace’s remarks and believed that homosexuality was not immoral.”
Isn’t it astonishing that the two leading candidates for the Presidency from the Democratic party have such difficulty in getting a few simple words out of their own mouths, rather that via “spokesman” in “clarifying statements”?
Mrs. Clinton supports allowing gay men and lesbians to serve in the military, which differs from the military’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, adopted under President Bill Clinton in 1993.
Asked on ABC News on Wednesday if she agreed with General Pace’s view that homosexuality was immoral, Mrs. Clinton said, “Well, I’m going to leave that to others to conclude.”
How gutsy of you, dear.
She added, “I’m very proud of the gays and lesbians I know who perform work that is essential to our country, who want to serve their country, and I want make sure they can.”
She’s proudest of all of the doormats at HRC and NLGTF willing to hand over buckets of cash to her.
Then on Wednesday night, a spokesman released a statement from Mrs. Clinton responding to the question: “I disagree with what he said and do not share his view, plain and simple,” she said. “It is inappropriate to inject such personal views into this public policy matter, especially at a time in which there are young men and women in such grave circumstances in Iraq, in Afghanistan, and in other dangerous places around the world.”
Joe Solmonese, the president of the Human Rights Campaign, a gay-rights group, said he was concerned about the initial responses of both Democratic senators and said his group would seek clarification from their campaigns on Thursday. He compared their comments unfavorably with the rebuke of General Pace by Senator John W. Warner Republican of Virginia, who said he “respectfully but strongly” disagreed that homosexuality was immoral.
After Mrs. Clinton released her statement, Mr. Solmonese said, “I still feel like the reaction from Senator Clinton and Senator Obama merits clarification on their views on the morality of our community.”
How much more “clarification” do you need, Joe. They think we’re immoral but that our money is wonderful.
You won’t catch Hill or Barack flapping their gums like Garrison Keillor , but so what? They’re still useless
And speaking of useless here’s an NYT editorial:
“There’s a good reason that military officers avoid commenting on politics, society and public policy. The results are usually bad.
Consider the offensive comments that Gen. Peter Pace, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, made this week about gay people. They carried a special measure of hurt coming from the nation’s highest military officer when thousands of gay men and lesbians are serving their country in Iraq.
By refusing to apologize, General Pace compounded the injury and reminded the entire country of what happened the last time the top brass took on this subject. It was Gen. Colin Powell’s public rebuke of a new president, Bill Clinton, for even entertaining the idea of allowing homosexuals to serve openly that led to the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy.
It is a bad system, which has ruined people’s lives and hurt the military, but it still is the policy, established by General Pace’s civilian bosses, and it allows gay people to serve as long as they don’t say anything about their orientation.
Which made it all the more offensive to read that General Pace told the editorial board of The Chicago Tribune that he believes homosexuality is an intolerable immoral act equivalent to adultery.
Instead of apologizing, General Pace later said his mistake was focusing his comments on his view of morality instead of on military policy.
General Pace is wrong in every way, and out of step. An increasing number of Americans in and out of the military now recognize that the current policy is indefensible. Those Americans include Gen. John Shalikashvili, who was chairman of the Joint Chiefs when the benighted policy was adopted. In an Op-Ed article in this newspaper in January, General Shalikashvili wrote that conversations with gay soldiers and marines had showed him “that gays and lesbians can be accepted by their peers.”
General Pace should still apologize for his remarks, forthrightly. Then perhaps some good could come out of his bigoted remarks if they added to the growing movement on Capitol Hill to finally allow gay men and lesbians to serve openly in the military”
However, an NYT reader sees things more clearly:
“It is the ultimate irony that a general in the United States Marines and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff should talk of morality. The man’s job and the very nature of the armed services is to oversee and execute the job of killing human beings.
I will spare the reader a rehashing of the lengthy list of other atrocities committed during this particular war and the disproportionate horror of those acts in comparison with the issues of adultery and homosexuality.
Philadelphia, March 14, 2007″
In conclusion, putting both Matt Sanchez and Democratic Party politics in perspective, let us turn to the immortal words of everyone’s favorite poet, W.H. Auden.
“He put down his glass and stretched his bare arms along
The back of my sofa. The afternoon sunlight struck
The blond hairs on the wrist near my head. His chin was strong,
His mouth sucky. I could hardly believe my luck.
It was a spring day, a day, a day for a lay when the air
Smelled like a locker-room, a day to blow or get blown.
Returning from lunch I turned my corner and there
On a near-by stoop I saw him standing alone.
I glanced as I advanced. The clean white T-shirt outlined
A forceful torso, the light-blue denims divulged
Much. I observed the snug curves where they hugged the behind,
I watched the crotch where the cloth intriguingly bulged.
Our eyes met, I felt sick. My knees turned weak.
I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to say.
In a blur I heard words myself like a stranger speak.
“Will you come to my room?” Then a husky voice, “O.K.”
I produced some beer and we talked. Like a little boy
He told me his story. Present address next door.
Half Polish half Irish The youngest. From Illinois.
Profession mechanic. Name Bud. Age twenty-four.
And here he was sitting beside me, legs apart.
I could bear it no longer. I touched the inside of his thigh.
His reply was to move closer. I trembled. My heart
Thumped and jumped as my fingers went to his fly.
I opened a gap in the flap. I went in there.
I sought for a slit in the gripper shorts that had charge
Of the basket I asked for. I came to warm flesh then to hair,
I went on. I found what I hoped. I groped. It was large.
He responded to my fondling in a charming, disarming way:
Without a word he unbuckled his belt while I felt
And lolled back, stretching his legs. His pants fell away.
Carefully drawing it out, I beheld what I held.
The circumcised head was a work of mastercraft,
With perfectly beveled rim of unusual weight
And the friendliest red. Even relaxed, the shaft
Was of noble dimensions with the wrinkles that indicate
Singular powers of extension. For a second or two,
It lay there inert then suddenly stirred in my hand,
Then paused as if frightened or doubtful of what to do,
And then with a violent jerk began to expand.
By soundless bounds it extended and distended, by quick
Great leaps it rose, it flushed, it rushed to its full size.
Nearly nine inches long and three inches thick,
A royal column ineffably solemn and wise.
I tested its length and strength with a manual squeeze,
I bunched my fingers and twirled them about the knob,
I stroked it from top to bottom. I got on my knees.
I lowered my head. I opened my mouth for the job.
But he pushed me gently away. He bent down. He unlaced
His shoes. He removed his socks. Stood up. Shed
His pants altogether. Muscles in arms and waist
Rippled as he whipped his T-shirt over his head.
I scanned his tan, enjoyed the contrast of brown
Trunk against white shorts taut around small
Hips. With a dig and a wriggle he peeled them down.
I tore off my clothes. He faced me smiling. I saw all.
The gorgeous organ stood stiffly and straightly out
With a slight flare upwards. At each beat of his heart it threw
An odd little nod my way. From the slot of the spout
Exuded a drop of transparent viscous goo.
The lair of hair was fair, the grove of a young man,
A tangle of curls and whorls, luxuriant but couth.
Except for a spur of golden hairs that fan
To the neat navel, the rest of the belly was smooth.
Well hung, slung from the fork of the muscular legs,
The firm vase of his sperm, like a bulging pear,
Cradling its handsome glands, two herculean eggs,
Swung as he came towards me, shameless, bare.
We aligned mouths. We entwined. All act was clutch,
All fact contact, the attack and the interlock
Of tongues, the charms of arms. I shook at the touch
Of his fresh flesh, I rocked at the shock of his cock.
Straddling my legs a little I inserted his divine
Person between and closed on it tight as I could.
The upright warmth of his belly lay all along mine.
Nude, glued together for a minute, we stood.
I stroked the lobes of his ears, the back of his head
And the broad shoulders. I took bold hold of the compact
Globes of his bottom. We tottered. He fell on the bed.
Lips parted, eyes closed, he lay there, ripe for the act.
Mad to be had, to be felt and smelled. My lips
Explored the adorable masculine tits. My eyes
Assessed the chest. I caressed the athletic hips
And the slim limbs. I approved the grooves of the thighs.
I hugged, I snuggled into an armpit.
I sniffed the subtle whiff of its tuft. I lapped up the taste
Of its hot hollow. My fingers began to drift
On a trek of inspection, a leisurely tour of the waist.
Downward in narrowing circles they playfully strayed.
Encroached on his privates like poachers, approached the prick.
But teasingly swerved, retreated from meeting. It betrayed
Its pleading need by a pretty imploring kick.
“Shall I rim you?” I whispered. He shifted his limbs in assent,
Turned on his side and opened his legs, let me pass
To the dark parts behind. I kissed as I went
The great thick cord that ran back from his balls to his arse.
Prying the buttocks aside, I nosed my way in
Down the shaggy slopes. I came to the puckered goal.
It was quick to my licking. He pressed his crotch to my chin.
His thighs squirmed as my tongue wormed in his hole.
His sensations yearned for consummation. He untucked
His legs and lay panting, hot as a teen-age boy.
Naked, enlarged, charged, aching to get sucked,
Clawing the sheet, all his pores open to joy.
I inspected his erection. I surveyed his parts with a stare
From scrotum level. Sighting along the underside
Of his cock, I looked through the forest of pubic hair
To the range of the chest beyond rising lofty and wide.
I admired the texture, the delicate wrinkles and the neat
Sutures of the capacious bag. I adored the grace
Of the male genitalia. I raised the delicious meat
Up to my mouth, brought the face of its hard-on to my face.
Slipping my lips round the Byzantine dome of the head,
With the tip of my tongue I caressed the sensitive groove.
He thrilled to the trill. “That’s lovely!” he hoarsely said.
“Go on! Go on!” Very slowly I started to move.
Gently, intently, I slid to the massive base
Of his tower of power, paused there a moment down
In the warm moist thicket, then began to retrace
Inch by inch the smooth way to the throbbing crown.
Indwelling excitements swelled at delights to come
As I descended and ascended those thick distended walls.
I grasped his root between left forefinger and thumb
And with my right hand tickled his heavy voluminous balls.
I plunged with a rhythmical lunge steady and slow,
And at every stroke made a corkscrew roll with my tongue.
His soul reeled in the feeling. He whimpered, “Oh!”
As I tongued and squeezed and rolled and tickled and swung.
Then I pressed on the spot where the groin is joined to the cock,
Slipped a finger into his arse and massaged him from inside.
The secret sluices of his juices began to unlock.
He melted into what he felt. “O Jesus!” he cried.
Waves of immeasurable pleasures mounted his member in quick
Spasms. I lay still in the notch of his crotch inhaling his sweat
His ring convulsed round my finger. Into me, rich and thick,
His hot spunk spouted in gouts, spurted in jet after jet”
Yes, Wystan had the same motto as Don Lockwood: “Dignity. Always dignity!”