Tickle My Tush: Bootylicious or Banal?

Let us turn our attention now away from Barbara Dunn, god bless her, and toward her gainful employer, one Dr. Sadie Allison, America’s Pleasure Coach.™

Dr. Allison, seen here in a bathtub of dildos, has made a nice career for herself opining about sex. She’s been on TV a bunch of times. Her company, Tickle Kitty, Inc., produces Slippery Kitty™ Lube and has sold over two million pocketsize sex guides authored by Dr. Allison. Her masterwork, “Tickle His Pickle: Your Hands-On Guide to Penis Pleasing,” is a must-read, and was recently added to the modern American literary canon, by me. Barbara Dunn was kind enough to send me Dr. Allison’s latest book, “Tickle My Tush: Mild-to-Wild Analplay Adventures for Everybooty,” for review on The Not Funnies.

Dr. Allison is a sexy babe who clearly knows a lot about boning, so I was ready for a depraved, scat-soaked page-turner that would leave me lusting for more. More butt sex, that is.

Instead, I was appalled to find a touchy-feely self-help book that advocates “lovemaking” and “passionate kissing” (gross!).

No ass to mouth. No back alley fisting. No doodie explosions. The terms “killer rimjobbers” and “anal blasters” never appear once. And it states right on the copy page, “The illustrations in this book depict couples who are in faithful, monogamous relationships.” You know what that means. No truck drivers. No dope fiends.

This is your grandma’s guide to butt sex.

“Tickle My Tush” has done the unthinkable and made an image of a chick blowing a guy while she fingers his asshole look downright romantic.

Squandering opportunities for perversion at every turn, Dr. Allison opts to normalize her material, right down to the term analplay. Her tone is upbeat and informative, and the illustrations by Steve Lee are actually pretty damn good. The key to butt sex, I learned over the course of 130-some-odd pages, is to start slowly and use lots of lube. It’s like she just wants everyone to be comfortable with their bodies and explore their sexuality in safe, healthy ways. Which, of course, is ridiculous. These are buttholes we’re talking about here. They’re shameful.

But if all this sensitive New Age rubbish strikes your fancy, you may have come to the right place. Grab your sweetheart and try a sensual booty massage (chapter 6). Or test out some level 2 fingerplay (chapter 7). Or don a strap-on and make your partner give it head before you screw them in the ass with it (chapter 13). Come to think of it, there’s some pretty sick shit in this book. Touché, Dr. Allison. Touché.

(Two Out of Four Ben Wa Balls)

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Hello Again: Exposition and Analplay

So like three years ago I was unemployed and I started this blog The Not Funnies where I made fun of comic strips. And it was going pretty well for a few weeks and I was enjoying myself. But then the whole thing blew up way too fast and I made a ton of money overnight. I got hooked on the fast life (and blow) and spent all my dough just as fast as I made it (do not buy a monster truck at first it seems really cool but it is a WASTE of money plus I don’t even think it was the real Grave Digger). Humbled and alone, I moved out of the Hotel de Crillon and got a job at Dollar General, vowing never again to blog about the funny pages that so ruined my promising young life.

Then last month I got this email:

Hello again



Barbara's Boss, Dr. Sadie Allison

I sent you an email last week (she did not) and hadn't heard back so I just wanted to try again to see if you'd like to receive a copy of Dr. Sadie's newest book, "Tickle My Tush," to review on The Not Funnies. I’ve put together everything about the book into this microsite:



http://ticklemytushbook.com



Please let me know if you'd like a review copy. When you do review the book, please pop me the link as I'd love to share it with Sadie.

Please let me know if you have any questions.



Thanks so much,


Barbara Dunn

Tickle Kitty

SO. MANY. QUESTIONS.

For starters, why would any competent publicist pitch a book review for “Tickle My Tush: Mild-to-Wild Analplay Adventures for Everybooty” to a long-dormant comic strip blog that was never popular to begin with?

Possibilities: 1) Barbara Dunn is a sophisticated spambot (entirely plausible); 2) Barbara’s software scans the web for blogs that use certain words and phrases, like “cornholing” or “Blondie’s boobs”(likely, even); 3) Barbara is a longtime fan of The Not Funnies who wants to see the blog return while expanding its purview to include butt sex, both mild and wild (No).

(Maybe?)

Yes, I told Barbara, I would love to review the book, and please do be in touch! And today I hold in my hands a copy of Dr. Sadie Allison’s latest sexual opus, which I will review on this blog in the coming days.

Does all this add up to more rants about the Lockhorns, Jim Davis, and something called Drabble? Maybe? Why not. From here on out, I blog for Barbara.

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The Actually Funnies

Big ups to Brewster Rockit: Space Guy! and Pearls Before Swine for intentionally making me smile today.

Son, You Got a Boot on Your Head

I'm just sayin. It doesn't look like any hat I've ever seen.

I'd also like to say that Curtis is one of the more amusing comics going today. It's usually just about Curtis trying to avoid an ass whuppin' at the hands of his belligerent father. That's good enough for me.

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Blondie Shows Some Skin or: My Ill-Fated Attempt at a Joke

Not a ludicrous observation, or a snarky comment, but a good old fashioned joke like your grampa would've told before he stopped being funny and started crapping himself. Here goes:

Why was it essential that Blondie's nightgown strap fall off her shoulder?

Because otherwise the strip would've sucked balls.

Thank you. I'm here all week.

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I'm All for Romance, But...

There is so much wrong with yesterday's Marmaduke that I don't know where to begin. But let's ignore Dog Gone Funny in the last panel (I think we covered Kitty Korner adequately last week), and focus on the meat of the strip, titled "Dinner Date."

What kind of freaks treat their pets like this? If Marmaduke hadn't slurped his spaghetti (and how dare he!), were his owners gonna stand there and watch as the canines consummated their love? I will join World of Warcraft before I start living vicariously through my dog and his homely girlfriend. Two words for the sad human beings pictured above: sex therapy.

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Deconstructing Herman

I've found that Herman poses an unsettling query. Namely, what if we had noses instead of eyeballs? The answer, it seems, is that nothing would be funny, ever.

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Minority Report

While expanding my comics canon (can't rip on Drabble every day), I've stumbled across a few new strips. Above we have La Cucaracha, which spent the week spoofing Disney's acquisition of Marvel.

And below, a comic called Housebroken. Tyler Perry robots? I can get behind that.

It seems the success of these minority-themed strips lies in their willingness to mock pop culture. Probably because they're not written by 60-year-old white guys whose idea of pop culture is Tony Bennett and M*A*S*H.

To temper the optimism of this post, though, I leave you with a recent edition of Secret Asian Man, which, despite its promising title, sucks:

Themes of friendship and high adventure? *YAWN*

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Kitty Korner = New Hotness

Let's examine Sunday's Heathcliff, and skip to the end to a little weekly feature known as Kitty Korner. (You see, corner is spelled with a "K" because kitty is spelled with a "K." Get it? It's cute!) Wikipedia describes Kitty Korner as a regular Sunday feature "where unusual cats in the real world are described."

Unusual? Talk about the understatement of the century. The latest installment of The Korner, as we insiders call it, details the bizarre exploits of Salt, a cat who belongs to Kirsten Greenslade of Santa Cruz. Salt just loves to drink a certain liquid--and it's not milk. Nor is it juice, soda, whiskey or wine. No, this wily feline is batty over--get this--water! She'll drink water from pools, puddles, or even the sprinkler. She just can't get enough of the stuff.

It's worth remembering that Ms. Greenslade took the time to pen a note to Heathcliff's author saying that her cat loves to drink water. And while it would be futile to try and diagnose this woman's specific neuroses, it's clear that there's something going on here much stranger than a cat drinking agua (even from a sprinkler). That said, Ms. Greenslade dreamt of being in Kitty Korner, and damn if she didn't succeed. I dreamt of being an anesthesiologist, and I work at Adult Video 2 over on Memorial Parkway. They don't offer benefits.

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The Not Jackpot

I'm trying to decide which pisses me off more, Cathy or those Pizza Hut stuffed crust commercials where Jim Breuer shouts "Jackpot!" When I see those commercials, I want to punch Jim Breuer in the face. When I read Cathy, I want to punch myself in the face. When these two monuments of suck are pitted against one another, we all lose, America. We all lose.