These misguided musical identical twins — decked out in duds that are half Walmart, half Game of Thrones – are surreal. WTF, ladies. Are you wayward Mormon twins? Why you got to get so grind core on your harps in the desert with your sunglasses like that?

Do it again? Pretty please.

“Sweet Child ‘o Mine”

“Zombie”

“It’s My Life”

“Don’t Stop Believing”

It’s your Saturday morning Playboy birthday roundup! So take a little NASCAR hype pause, whydontcha, and scope out these fine young ladies. They’ll be sure make your day. And maybe you’re not reading this post for the pictures, but yo — we got pictures.

MAY 18: Happy birthday to 2009′s Cyber Girl of the Year, Sharae Spears!

Find her online here.

MAY 20: Happy birthday to Miss May 2011 Sasha Bonliva, Playboy’s most ample Playmate ever!

Find her online here.

1. The 20 hottest photos of Carly Pope (Heavy)

2. A look back at the sexiest photos of “Me and my place” (Coed Magazine)

3. Who’s the hot girl in the Nike free run commercial ? (Guy Speed)

4. 5 ladies of the IFBB NY pro bikini contest (Busted Coverage)

5. Doutzen Kroes, Lindsey Ellington and Lais Ribeiro are sexy (Guyism)

6. Erin McNaught lingerie pictures in Maxim Australia are quite McNaughty (Egotastic)

7. A random selection of tasty college cheerleaders (Uncoached)

8. We’ll watch GoPro videos of Alana Blanchard and Monyca Byrne everyday (Brobible)

9. Say hello to the uber cute Tanya Mithyushina (Brosome)

10. Boobs on the side (Maxim)

CARBON 49 USB MIDI CONTROLLER
From seasoned musicians to young creators, this iPad compatible, lightweight and compact controller makes music performance and production accessible to everyone.

WHY YOU WANT TO WIN IT: So you can FUNKIFY YOUR LIFE and make some cool jams.

WHAT YOU GET:

• Designed with the iPad in mind, equipped with an integrated iPad stand and compatible with the top MIDI apps via Apple’s Camera Connection Kit
• Dedicated Transpose and Octave buttons, classic Pitch Bend and Modulation wheels enhance overall musical expression
• Velocity-sensitive keys accurately capture the full dynamics of a performance
• Easy-editing Shift key adjusts up to 14 performance-related control parameters
• Features traditional MIDI out, sustain-pedal input and USB connections

To win, your fave TSJ music article. Tweet your comments to @ThisIsTSJ, or write your answer in the comments section below. One bona fide, lucky champ will win a CARBON 49 USB MIDI CONTROLLER. Contest closes Friday, May 25, 2012.

Be sure to provide a legit email address when you comment so we can contact you. Seriously, sometimes you guys win but you don’t know because never check your email.

Sorry, U.S. contestants only.

Tuesday

MAN CRUSH OF THE WEEK: CHRIS BOSH

The NBA’s Eastern Conference has basically given the Heat the easiest possible route possible to the finals and the impending doom of living in a world where LeBron James won a title.

And then Chris Bosh hurt his tummy.

I generally hate cheering for people getting injured. But given the amount of injuries the rest of the NBA has suffered, it only seems fair the Heat have to struggle too. Plus, Chris Bosh is almost certainly not a person.

Without Bosh, the Heat lost Game 2 to the Indiana Pacers, the most Man Crushable team ever if they can beat Miami without a single player on the roster you can probably name. I’m not one to believe in karma, unless it goes against the hopes and dreams of LeBron James. And this certainly has that feeling.

Worse yet, LeBron got all sad about having to play power forward, saying it took a lot out of him. You know who never complained about playing power forward? Michael Jordan, probably. Or anyone who has won a ring.

Chris Bosh’s injury give me more hope, not something easy to do. The chances of an epic LeBron crumble just went way, way up. And that’s really good for everyone.

DOUCHEBAG OF THE WEEK: BRETT LAWRIE

Bro. Man talk. Don’t throw you helmet at umpires. Bro, I know you didn’t mean to, but ya kinda did. I know striking out is like the super lamest thing in the worst, especially if you don’t swing because the ball is like super not close to the strike zone, but that’s life bro. Sometimes you get calls, sometimes you don’t, but always keep your helmet on.

Real talk. When I was at Troy High School, I was tagged out by some huge farmer bro playing third base for some wack high school in Michigan. He tagged me so hard I fell over. I was all like, “Bro, what was that?” And he was all like, “I’m way bigger than you and you were out by a lot and stuff.” So I was all like, “I hate everything!” and I threw my helmet and it rolled all the way across the field over to home plate. The umpire threw me out of the game. And I got suspended against our big rivals, Athens. It was brobably the worst thing to ever happen to me. I let me bros down.

I like you, Brett. You got spunk. You got mad power. You play for the Blue Jays, and even though that’s in Canada, they got pretty killer jerseys. You need to chillax and stop acting like that umpire drank your last Natty Light.

Not. Cool. Bro.

Follow Scott Bolohan on Twitter: @scottbolohan

Related on The Smoking Jacket:
Man Crush vs. Douchebag: Sterling Moore vs. Everybody Else
Six Completely Nonsensical Military Homosexuality Laws

EACH FRIDAY,

Thanks to TSJ, those of you who aren’t on Twitter will no longer miss out on the action. Just keep refreshing this page throughout the day and you’ll see it’s the post that never stops giving.

You’re welcome!

And a special request: She’s also a gamer, and would like to play Call of Duty with YOU. Find her on XBox Live as username SSgtSalazar84.

A nickname I have had: “Miss Ooh La Laa!” One time early in our relationship when I was shooting with my fiance he said to me “Baby you make make me say ooh la laa when you’re in front of my camera”. I was working on a new project of mine that night and couldn’t get his words outta my head. The essence of “ooh la laa” was just what I was looking for and well that was the night my digital mag missoohlalaa.com was born, a site for me to showcase the little bit of the world through my triple threat eyes.

The worst movie I have ever seen: The Divide, a little too Last House on the Left for my taste. Great intro really brings you in, story line seems awesome like it could potentially be bad ass and really go some where then it goes south. Could have had better boobs if you’re going to spend so much time raping girls on camera and make a movie about it. Can I please have those 112 minutes of my life back.

I’m a nerd about: Marketing. I really like N-U-M-B-E-R-S. Big numbers even get me excited .

Please worship my: Blog. It’s me naked to the world in more ways then one.

Try not to stare at my: Boobs! Lips! Booty! Wait did I say that out loud? I meant my eyes and my smile.

I would rather have a root canal than: Eat a raw tomato. The slimy texture is so gross! Odd, but I highly enjoy pasta sauce, ketchup, and salsa!

Sex is: A GATEWAY DRUG, THE BEST THING ON EARTH!

My greatest weakness: My down to earth nature; sometimes I need to be more abrasive but I’m working on.

If I was a Bond girl, my name would be: Boo Boo Kitty F**k! Aka Boo Boo Kitty for short, but the F! for when I F! up my enemies.

Food that turns me on: Finger foods, and ice cream are always fun!

I don’t understand why people think I’m: Honestly I stopped caring much about what others think of me, I get judged everyday one way or another. Overtime I’ve just realized to do me, and do what makes me happy.

Something cool about having boobs: Slip-n-slides are extra fun.

I cried unnecessarily the day: The day my daughter was born; she was so amazing I was so happy I cried for hours.

When I throw a party I make sure to have: The best DJ, MC and theme possible — they are the heart and rhythm of your party.

The funniest comedian is: Jeff Dunham.

People tell me I look like: Celebrities Sandra Bullock, Eva Longoria, and or Mendes; or Playboy model Claudia Gestro

I’m too sexy for my: My new nerdy glasses! I love them.

I wish people would stop Tweeting about their: Businesses 24/7 and actually just talk to people on twitter. People don’t want to associate with brands, they want to associate with people.

When I was 8 years old I thought I would be: A lawyer, because I really liked watching Judge Judy.

Stay out of my way when: You accept an MMA match with me, I have rolled with the big boys.

I’ll let you know I’m feeling frisky by: Being a tease, there’s thousands of ways.

My super power: My fans! Love ‘em.

I am completely freaked out by: BEES, I am deathly allergic, and uni-brows!

The most unpleasant word or phrase in the English language is: “That was the last one.”

A type of ladies’ underwear I don’t enjoy wearing is: Super lacy panties, because they get stuck on my new piercing.

I will never understand why men: Hide their porn from their girlfriends, I mean come on! One life to live! If you’re not living it to the fullest you’re just not living.

My most recent wardrobe malfunction was: Wearing my pants backwards at a press conference. Don’t judge me, it happens, there was no tag!

My relationship with spectator sports is: I love sports, I am more into MMA, baseball, football and soccer. Fighters come and ago but I am a big die hard fan of Miesha Tate, and the Chicago Cubs. Always been into sports and played many in high school.

The most interesting compliment I ever got from a stranger is: Engagement proposals within the first thirty seconds of meeting them, like, hello kinda creepy!

The last most-exciting thing I did: Well I just did my photo shoot as COED Magazine’s Miss Coed of the Year. It was a lot of fun, the editor flew in from New York and they put me in a wonderful suite for the shoot. We shot like 2,000 photos, I can’t wait to see them all, COED is going to send me tons of posters to give to my fans who voted and helped me win. The best part is really yet to come, COED has helped make so many of my dreams come true this past year.

My secret weapon: My heart, it’s unstoppable.

If I were to go that way, my lesbian lover would be: Katy Perry, because she kisses girls, and wants to be infected with my love. She makes such a hot solider.

Song I am most likely to play turned up to 11: “Ozone” by Kingston O’Nasty Ft. Jesse Farrar because it’s a hot track my friends just made and I love dancing to it right now.

My backup career if this whole “being pretty” thing doesn’t work out: Go back to school and become a geneticist, which I want to actually do anyway one day but I enjoy being an artist right now.

Last time I ate way too much, and what it was: Qdoba tacos, my friends tell me I have a serious addiction.

On the worst bender of my life: I kinda did the whole club drinking thing then drove and ended up being on the highway chased by the police. I managed to ditch them by exiting fast, turn quick cut the lights and park behind some building just before they turned the corner. I realized after that it’s just not worth ever getting a DUI and how lucky that no one was hurt from my stupidity. Don’t drink and drive!

The best thing I learned from an ex-boyfriend was: How to love, forgive and forget.

The first time I can remember feeling sexy was: My first crush in 3rd grade, he ignored me all year then one year in the middle of winter under my big snow suit I unveiled a black mini-skirt. That day every boy in school talked to me including my crush.

The most rough-and-tumble outdoor activity I do is: Hunting, I’m a tomgirl and love getting wet and dirty.

A grown man should not: Google “model Ashley Salazar,” well at least not if you’re at work. #NSFW

1. Spongebob movie dub  (Heavy)

2. A guide on how drunk you can get in 11 different social situations (BroBible)

3. 7 things women really want from sex (Huffington Post)

4. Strasburg hot in wrong places, battle of the bods and photo gallery of the day (Sports Illustrated )

5. Jennifer Lopez outright swimsuit MILFtastic for Vogue magazine (Egotastic)

6. The Nicolas Cage everything project: Photoshopping Nic Cage into all movies and television (UpRoxx)

7. Could remixing Schwarzenegger’s cheesy one-liners make awesome music? (Buzzfeed)

8. The 6 times you actually need a cell phone (Holy Taco)

9. Girl fails miserably in attempt to get boy’s attention (Guyism)

10. Krislyn Gonazalez tries on some bikinis (Tempe12)

11. An open letter to women about “goin’ down” (Coed Magazine)

12. The 5 least sexy experiences everyone goes through (Cracked)

13. How to announce your shotgun wedding (Made Man)

14. Reporter caught with her skirt up (Next Round)

15. Bibi Jones and Jesse Jane are Oklahoma City Thunder pornstar superfans (Busted Coverage)

Enter Gentlemen’s Rant. A group of dudes that not only tackle our first world issues with no apologies, but they also serve the public at large by saying all the things we’ve all thought about but never had a chance to scream .. in a gentlemanly fashion of course.

Stereotypes

Facebook

Spring Break

Hipsters

Twitter

You will disappear for a few days if you go on an AWOL adventure, but this acronym doesn’t mean absence without leave. What we’re talking about is “Another Way of Life”, something the creators of the dance/party/destination brand hope to bring to partiers who dig their vibe.

You can go AWOL in the sun, AWOL in the snow, or, if you win TSJ’s lucky pair of weekend tickets, AWOL in Vegas!

WHERE IT’S AT: The Roosevelt Hotel, Hollywood, CA.

WHEN IT’S GOING DOWN: May 25 – May 27.

THE PARTY: Independent day pool parties and night time club events hosting top EDM DJs.

THE TICKETS: Two 2-day party passes (worth 75 dollars each).

TO WIN: Tweet or tell us your fave Girlwatcher post in the comments below.

Find AWOL online here.

Like AWOL on Facebook.

MARRIAGE IS AMAZING. It’s living with your best friend. Someone you laugh with, cry with, talk shit about other couples with, and occasionally fantasize about smothering to death in their sleep. But mostly you grow together. You evolve into deeper, more nuanced versions of your younger selves. And the longer you’re together, the more bonded you become.

The more bonded you become, the less sex you have.

For women, it’s work to stay sexually stimulated by a partner who is returning our phone calls and not mind-fucking us into believing that we’re somehow inadequate. In a healthy marriage there is stability, security, individual packs of Pirate’s Bootie, poodles who wear bow ties, and Game of Thrones, Season 2.

Sex is always an option but never the only one. Like anything, when it’s constantly available and an evil force isn’t standing in your way, you don’t have the same sense of urgency. Don’t get me wrong, my desire for my husband hasn’t weakened — just my own motivation to actually do anything about it. It’s kind of like the treadmill, awesome and rewarding once it’s almost over, but after a bowl of pasta and two Skinny Cow ice cream bars, just sort of hard to jump into.

Until I met Christian Grey.

Let me be clear. I don’t typically read books that appeal to women who saw The Notebook, or to women who still wear things from the Victoria’s Secret PINK collection, or that were recommended by my mother in-law. However, Fifty Shades of Grey, by EL James, sucked me in. Maybe it was the graphic sex. Or the graphic sex? Or the graphic sex. I really can’t be sure… But within two days, I was finished with the first book and I was more sexually charged than I’d been since college. My husband’s cock was a walking bull’s-eye.

The book.

“What has gotten into you?” he asked one Sunday morning as I trapped him in a car outside a child’s bris, begging for a quickie.

“I’ve turned over a new leaf. A sex leaf,” I said earnestly, unbuttoning my shirt.

“Awesome. Let’s do this when we aren’t in someone’s front yard with a rabbi staring at us, yeah? God, this book really did a number on you,” he marveled as he extricated his penis from my voracious grasp.

The funny thing is, I don’t even think the book is that good. There is practically zero storyline. The writing is atrocious. And I think the heroine, Anna, is a fucking loser, and I’d never be friends with her. The love interest, Christian, is the type of guy who’d pretend to be a gentleman, then casually ask to fist me at a dinner party. My response to that kind of request, would, of course be: “Dude, you’re 27 years old. Get the fuck away from me… Wait, you have your own helicopter? Come back!”

The story focuses on the dynamics of a Bondage & Discipline/Sadism & Masochism (BDSM) relationship, something I’d never want in real life. Discipline is on my top three list of most hated things, followed closely by portobello mushrooms and actors.

I’m too much of a control freak! Anyone who tied me up and demanded things of me would instantly trigger my childhood issues and force me to plunge them to death with their own butt plug. But the sheer carnal desire James writes about has universal appeal. The buildup, which as any woman knows is always hotter than the actual act itself, is truly inspired.

Long story short, E.L. James is a hero. She is a god damn humanitarian, people. She is like the Robin Hood for female libidos, and I love her.

After zipping through Fifty Shades: Darker, the second book in the trilogy, I was doing things I hadn’t done in years, like shaving all the blonde hairs off the back of my thighs, wearing things to bed that didn’t have period stains on them, and seducing my husband with more than just a simple, “Should we be having sex?”

The hero, author E.L. James.

One afternoon, while reveling in the new nympho me, I decided to swing by the sex store. What is a sexual predator without toys? I thought, pulling into the parking lot.

My heart started racing the moment I got out of my car. No matter what age you are, a sex shop has this uncanny ability to make you feel like you are about to get busted for every depraved thing you’ve ever thought or done. Holding my sunglasses tightly between my teeth, I walked through the front door.

Before this visit, I’d thought of sex shops as places to buy edible undies and packs of penis straws for bachelorette parties — Like Hot Topic, only with silicone pussies in the window. This visit however, was of a completely different nature. I ignored all the kitsch and marched directly back to where they kept the hardcore shit. I was browsing through the bondage aisle, filling my arms with weapons of mass seduction, when I came upon something called a ‘spreader bar‘. The price made me gasp. Three hundred bucks! I have a whole dungeon to decorate!

“Excuse me…” a voice chimed in behind me. Guiltily, I turned around. Oh my god, it’s so obvious from the pony crop and masking tape that I just read Fifty Shades, how mortifying! I thought.

“Would you like a basket?” the lady said, as if we were at fucking Whole Foods. “Sure,” I replied, avoiding direct eye contact and aching to tell her I’d also read Ulysses, Tropic of Cancer and Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico – Philosophicus.

By the end of my supermarket sweep, I’d chosen a pair of nipple clamps that looked forgiving, a few beginner butt plugs, some reasonably-priced cock rings and a blindfold. Just as I sprinting to the register, I noticed a pair of gold-colored metal balls sitting in a case near the glass dildos. In Fifty Shades, James writes about similar balls in a steamy scene where Christian forces Anna to insert them into her vagina and wear them to a black-tie event.

Fun! I thought, grabbing a pair and tossing them into my basket of vices.

The heavily pierced girl behind the register tested the batteries in my new Rabbit Pearl and gave me cleaning instructions for my latex gimp suit before ringing me up. Once I was in my car I was already plotting my husband’s seduction. I felt like Wile E. Coyote mapping out how I was going to capture the Roadrunner and then fuck him to death.

When I got home, I did what I always do when I’ve gone shopping. I ripped the tags off and put everything on! I danced around the room in pain trying to acclimate to the nipple clamps. Then I tore into the strange gold balls and shoved them inside my vag. I put a pair of boxers and a loose T-shirt over my bondaged bod so as not to alarm my housekeeper, and I went downstairs to grab a glass of water.

Just then, I heard the garage door opening. My husband was home! Yay! I thought diabolically.

I ran towards the front door to meet him when all of a sudden, my body decided it was time to purge the balls! Just as my pussy turned into a fucking gumball machine, the front door swung open and I was face to face with my husband and his good friend, Judd. Ping. Ping. The metal balls slammed against the hardwood floor and rolled into the kitchen to find my housekeeper.

“What the fuck?!” Judd screamed, terrified.

My husband’s jaw hung open in horror. I said nothing and charged after the balls.

“Feels like maybe this is a bad time…” I heard Judd whisper under his breath, as I scampered off.

When I got to the kitchen my housekeeper, Lita, was already holding one of the balls.

“Oh, you can just throw those in the sink,” I said, trying to play it cool.

I slipped shamefully back upstairs and waited for my husband to come up and ask me what the fuck was going on. Three hours later he walked in, holding the balls. “Lita was under the impression that these could go in the dishwasher…” he started, smiling at me the way people smile at dogs and old people.

“Are you mad?”

“Mm. No,” he said.

“Can I whip you?”

“No!”

Then he got in bed next to me and pulled me close. “You know what’s hotter than you dressed as a scary dominatrix doing vagina parlor tricks for my friends?”

“What?”

“Everything,” he sighed, and then kissed me.

So, I guess the point I’m trying to make here is: I’ve got a ‘gently used’ Sybian available for a great price, if anyone is interested.

Jenny Mollen Biggs is an actress and writer living in Los Angeles with two poodle angel muffins and an asshole miniature pinscher. She also has a husband. Keep up with her at IMDB or on Twitter @jennyandteets.

Related on The Smoking Jacket:
What She Said: Going Girl
What She Said: Blood on the Couch: A Tale of Making a Good First Impression
What She Said: Jenny and Her Husband Get a Whore

8. Start Off on the Wrong Foot

The Guilty Players: Daredevil, The Punisher, Mortal Kombat, BloodRayne.

Why it Always Fails: Because as bad as the films were, they were just the start of a franchise. This means we’re forced to suffer through at least one more movie before someone condemns them to direct-to-DVD hell.

However, sometimes studios see the writing on the wall in advance.

Who Should Be Careful: The Incredible Hulk. Don’t get us wrong; Mark Ruffalo is a freaking genius and should be allowed to play the character until the day he dies after what we saw in The Avengers. However, the Hulkfranchise has a checkered past, and Ruffalo is coming pretty damn close to being the third person to play him in as many movies. We are on our knees praying that third time is a charm.

It’s been nine years and we still have no idea what the hell this film is about.

7. Do Nothing for At Least a Decade

The Guilty Players: Star Wars, Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Superman Returns, Terminator 3, The Godfather: Part III, Rocky Balboa, Son of the Mask, Tron: Legacy.

Why it Always Fails: Sitting on a beloved franchise for a few presidencies does a whole lot more than turn everyone from the original into old, grouchy grandpas. Franchises are like pets: If you leave them alone for a decade, odds are they’ll be dead the next time you find them.

The Eighth Amendment exists because of movies like this.

There appears to be an exception to this rule if you’re willing to shut your brains off and sit down for some spectacularly senseless R-rated action. That’s the route Stallone picked for Rambo, a film so violent that if they removed all the blood and f-words like in Live Free or Die Hard it would have probably consisted of nothing more than Rambo walking back to his house.

Who Should Be Careful: Ghostbusters 3 and the upcoming sequels to Blade Runner and Dumb and Dumber. As for A Good Day to Die Hard, here’s hoping the studios actually come to their senses and let John McClane say the words and spill the blood that made him famous in the first place.

6. Make it Campy

The Guilty Players: Batman & Robin, Spider-Man 3, Superman 2, X-Men 3, Die Another Day Why it Always Fails: Because it turns beloved heroes into John Travolta, action films into unfunny comedies, and director commentaries into apologies.

An unlikely victim to one or two too many dance sequences.

Who Should Be Careful: Batman. For all time.

Thanks to Joel Schumacher, we’ll be on our deathbed begging for these two hours of our lives back.

5. Replace Key Cast Members

The Guilty Players: The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, The Sum of All Fears, Dumb and Dumberer.

Why it Always Fails: Because moviegoers are not idiots: If the stars we fell in love with could not be secured for a sequel, it was probably because they knew a bomb when they saw it.

You know you’re in trouble when you make Keanu Reeves look like the smartest man in the room.

Who Should Be Careful: The Amazing Spider-Man for obvious reasons, and, once again, Hulk.

Seriously, one can’t be too careful after seeing this movie.

4. Let the Studios Take Over

The Guilty Players: Spider-Man 3, Batman Forever, The Godfather: Part III, X-Men 3, Superman 2, Pirates of the Caribbean.

Why it Always Fails: In case you haven’t realized by now, Hollywood is not in the business of making good movies. They are in the business of making as much money as possible with the least possible investment.

Case. In. Point.

Who Should Be Careful: While studio meddling is a fact of life that all filmmakers must face, we gotta go with The Avengers on this one. Walt Disney Pictures, we are saying this to you with nerd-tears in our eyes: please let Joss Whedon make his superhero films in peace!

3. Make a Spin-off Nobody Asked For

The Guilty Players: Catwoman, Electra, U.S. Marshals, The Scorpion King.

Why it Always Fails: Nobody wanted them, expected them or asked you to continue making them for a reason.

Pictured: The reason.

Who Should Be Careful: J. K. Rowling, we are watching you very, very closely on this one.

2. Rewrite the Whole Fucking Mythos

The Guilty Players: Spider-Man 3, Terminator Salvation, Star Wars, Episode I, X-Men Origins: Wolverine.

Why it Always Fails: The reason we’re watching these films is because you already sold us on the world they take place in. Tinkering with their mythos is like trying to fix your car in the middle of a race: Yeah, you may pull of some neat tricks, but you are more likely going to crash into the stands and ruin the day for your audience.

Oh, what we would have given for one of those amnesia-bullets.

Who Should Be Careful: We got a pretty good feeling that Prometheus will be awesome, but as this Blade Runner sequel we keep hearing about… that could be dangerous.

1. Make Another Superman

The Guilty Players: Superman 2, 3, and 4, Superman Returns.

Why it Always Fails: Superman is probably the one franchise in Hollywood history so impossible to manage that it actually pulls down other franchises around it. Such was the case with X-Men 3, which Bryan Singer quit just so he could spend millions of dollars reducing the size of Brandon Routh’s bulge. As a result, both movies kind of sucked.

Pictured: The George Lazenby of the Superman franchise.

 Maybe this is due to Superman being nearly impossible to relate to, or maybe this is due to DC Comics have more interesting villains than heroes… we don’t know. All we know is that Christopher Nolan is giving up making Batman movies so that he can give Superman a reboot. Unless this is part of some Marvel plot to get back at DC for forcing them to reboot the X-men franchise, what else can we say? Batman must die so Superman can continue to suck.

Who Should Be Careful: Christian Bale, who hopefully will go down for the count in The Dark Knight Rises if just to avoid the embarrassment of appearing in a Justice League movie.  

Jacopo della Quercia is now on Twitter.  Follow him! 

Related on The Smoking Jacket:
The 9 Most Ridiculous Inclusions on the ALA Banned-Book List 
9 Clueless Video Game Commercials 

Brush, Meena, brush.

1. The 20 hottest photos of Emma Stone (Heavy)

2. How to survive her bachelorette party (BroBible)

3. Jackpot: Robert Downey Jr.’s “Avengers” pay to reportedly hit 50 million (Huffington Post)

4. Ouch! Play of the day, photo gallery of the day and more (Sports Illustrated )

5. Kelly Dwyer has more than just a pretty face (Tempe12)

6. 5 albums coming out this week that don’t suck (UpRoxx)

7. How to wake up a kid (Buzzfeed)

8. How to rock n’ roll all night (and party every day) (Holy Taco)

9. 9 health related reasons women should want sex (Guyism)

10. Micaela Schaefer’s boobtastic, asstastic red carpet performance deserves an award (Egotastic)

11. Photobomb… om, nom, nom, nom (Coed Magazine)

12. 6 types of apologies that aren’t apologies (Cracked)

13. 8 guy friendly restaurants (Made Man)

14. Beastie Boys’ Sabotage with kids (Next Round)

15. Man sets record after fist-pumping for 17 hours (Guy Speed)

]]> http://www.thesmokingjacket.com/girls/morning-dump-9-health-related-reasons-women-should-want-sex-and-more/feed 0 http://www.thesmokingjacket.com/girls/lovely-lady-linksthe-21-sexiest-israeli-women-and-more http://www.thesmokingjacket.com/girls/lovely-lady-linksthe-21-sexiest-israeli-women-and-more#comments Wed, 16 May 2012 21:00:22 +0000 Elaine Chaney http://www.thesmokingjacket.com/?p=99791 The loveliest women from the Internet. Here for you.

TSJ ROUNDS UP 10 OF THE HOTTEST LADY LINKS FROM SOME OF OUR FAVORITE SITES AROUND THE WEB. Click the pics to access each gallery.

1. The 20 hottest photos of Olga Kurylenko (Heavy)

2. The 21 sexiest Israeli women (Coed Magazine)

3. Babe of the week: Destiny Monique (Guy Speed)

4. Miami Dolphins cheer leader tryouts and it’s a spectacle (Busted Coverage)

5. Elsa Hosk, why she’s the woman to watch (Guyism)

6. Billie Faiers lingerie hotness deserves attention (Egotastic)

7. She’s uncoachable: Leanne Decker is very valuable (Uncoached)

8. Kate Upton wears a Yankees hat, little else (Brobible)

9. Marlies Pfeifhofer will make you squirm in your chair (Brosome)

10. Girls gardening (Maxim)

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Would You Like Bar Refaeli to Wear Your Underwear?

Does watching Bar Refaeli frolic and writhe atop her bed, recline in a bathtub, and not smoke a cigar make you want to run out and buy underwear? Or does it just make you want to beg your girlfriend for a quickie? You tell us after watching this video in which Refaeli tries to get you to buy underwear.

Megan Fox Tantalizes for Sharper Image

Clad in thigh high stockings, lacy black lingerie and a form fitting white shirt, Megan Fox seductively peers out at us in a convincingly inviting manner that leads one to believe she’d have no problem at all if we crawled across the bed and slid our fingertips up her exposed thigh while leaning in to…oh wait…sorry….this is kind of a PG-13 blog. You’ll have to use your imagination to finish the story. But you’ll have no problem doing that after looking at Fox in this Sharper Image ad.

What Do Sexy Victoria’s Secret Models Think Is Sexy?

If you’ve ever wondered what all those hot Victoria’s Secret models think is hot, we now have the answer. Give this video a look and see what Candice Swanpoel, Doutzen Kroes and Toni Garrn think is sexy. We think you’ll agree with their finding.

Sunny Leone to Sell Cell Phones in India

Sunny Leone in an actress. Sunny Leone is sexy. Sexy actresses get cast in ads where they can flaunt their sexiness. Witness Sunny Leone flaunt her sexiness for Indian phone company Chaze. Well at least a picture of her holding a Chaze phone. The actual ad won’t be out for a few weeks.

Miranda Kerr Lends Curves to Victoria’s Secret Again

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a job where the only requirements were that you were hot and looked great in lingerie. Actually, who would want a job like that anyway what with photographers and horny peepers staring at you in your underwear all day long. Oh wait. Um. Hey… uh… what we meant to say is it’s an admirable profession and there are many of us who truly appreciate the art involved in creating such beautiful work. Yea, that’s it.

Anyway, here’s some work Miranda Kerr did for Victoria’s Secret which you can appreciate.

Rosie Huntington-Whitley Likes to be Naked

We’ve already seen Rosi Huntington-Whitley topless in the Pirelli calendar. And we’ve seen her frolicking around in a trenchcoat for Burberry. Not the wonder of female beauty has signed a deal with fashion brand Marks & Spencer to appear in a campaign touting a new line of underwear. Check out one of the images from the campaign here.

Steve Hall publishes Adrants, a site that writes about marketing, advertising and the use of sex as a selling point.

Related on The Smoking Jacket:
Sunny Leone: India, This Could Be Your Sexual Revolution 
The Five Sexiest Moments in Recent Advertising History

Hugh Hefner talks about the American sexual revolution on a straight-laced talk show, to Roman Polanski about nudity in film, and to Sharon Tate about getting arrested for wearing a bikini on Playboy After Dark.

Plus: Smoking on TV! Those were the days.

On “What’s My Line”

Interview with William Buckley, who refers to Playboy as depicting “the total exposure of the human female”

Sharon Tate, Roman Polanski, and Hugh Hefner, Part 1

Sharon Tate, Roman Polanski, and Hugh Hefner, Part 2

Related on The Smoking Jacket:
4 Classic Moments from “Playboy After Dark” 
The Stash: Playboy TV’s Mancave Is Back in Business! 

CHAPTER 3 OF ANDY SWEAT’S EPIC ADVENTURE OF PLOWING THROUGH CASH AND ASS. GET THE BACK STORY HERE.

Between April and May of 2011, I paid for 15 hookers. Seven blondes. Four brunettes. Three black. One gray. But I only fucked twelve of them because I passed out three times.

Over the course of those two months, I went to Vegas four times. I had three visits to the Kaiser ER for detox. But most of the time I holed away in my penthouse, drinking and buying hookers.

When I wasn’t fucking hookers, I was buying shit. House stuff. Mainly because I was bored, and I snagged a few of my mother’s catalogues when I was home in San Jose, one weekend. At this period of my life, I would describe my design style as a mix between the black and silver of American Psycho and fun of Big. Some of my purchases included:

• A pillow-top sectional and ottoman sofa from the Valentino Collection
• A Sony XBR 65 inch LED-backlit LCD TV
• An AICO Tuscano Bar in biscotti
• A basketball pop-a-shot game
• A Ms. PacMan arcade cabinet
• A 1982 Dr. Dude pinball machine

All this stuff is long gone, and I got only a fraction of the money I’d shelled out for. The only thing I still have from that spree is a fake Bree Olson rubber butt, and some vibrating nipple clamp sex toy. Apparently pawn shops don’t buy nipple clamps.

One day near the end of May 2011, I was perusing the merchandise at a high-end designer furniture and rug store, drinking Macallan 18 from a Tangerine Rain Gatorade bottle. I was in need of a rug. Passing out on 100-year-old tile floors was hurting my back.

And then I saw the 6′ X 9′ beauty: a Couristan Royal Luxury Brentwood Bordeaux Rug. It was a thing of beauty.

Later that night, lying naked and clutching a bottle on the rug, my mind began to daydream about the things I would do on the rug. Like I could watch a Lakers game while getting a blowjob from Aletta Ocean. I could play Scrabble with Bobbi Starr, and we could both have butt plugs in. I could eat Chinese food and watch a bad Kate Hudson movie with Juelz Ventura.

I came on the rug. Then I puked on it. It felt like a low point in my run. I passed out on the Couristan.

Most people, when they hit a low point, usually try to bounce back up and straighten themselves out. I had no such intentions. I was at a low point of excitement. I felt empty. I needed something. Something more longterm than fifteen hookers. Something tangible. Someone consistent. I needed a lover. I needed a pornstar girlfriend.

If you don’t know, it’s really fucking hard to date a pornstar. And not for the reasons you think. I never had a problem with dating a pornstar who took dicks up the ass on a daily basis. I never had a problem with a pornstar’s drug use — I actually preferred the drama.

What I mean by it’s really hard to date a pornstar is: It’s just really hard to get a pornstar. I tried all the tricks in the books. I offered money, expensive vacations. I said I was a writer for Family Guy.

But money and vacations don’t really matter to the biggest names in porn. They already have them (and the men they get with are usually better looking and pack bigger dicks than me).

So after many failed attempts to hook myself a pornstar girlfriend, I decided on a different approach: Finding a fading pornstar.

There’s no job that screams of desperation more than a pornstar on the backside of her career. I wanted someone who masturbators didn’t know if she retired or died. This opened up a lot of doors until I landed on one: Maggie May. (Note: This is not her stage nor real name, but this the name I’d choose for my daughter if she went into the profession).

Maggie was once a promising porn model. She’s about 5’5”, she’s got perky tits, a luscious pear bottom. Teen cheerleader type. You’ve seen her in everything from straight vaginal intercourse to gokkun. And her success — no matter how brief — was due to the line she blurred between acting innocent and being downright filthy.

I was attracted to this. To the girl who could play both good and evil. I could see myself having a relationship with Maggie May.

It’s tragically easy to find out pornstar’s contact information. Ninety percent of pornstars moonlight as escorts, meaning their contact info, email and rates are out there and can be obtained with a few smart, simple Google searches.

I found Maggie May easily, which meant her career was more in the dumps than I’d thought. Which meant, hopefully, that she was desperate, and open to something new, like dating me. We emailed a few times, hopped on the phone, and set a date in early June to ‘hang out’ in my apartment.

There’s no job that screams of desperation more than a pornstar on the backside of her career. 

I paid for her the first time. I’ll call it our first date, and it’s fair to say I was loving Maggie May from the start: She was vibrant, young and had big plans to make money. I could relate to her delusional naivete.

We fooled around a bit, talked and got fucked up. She poured Scotch down my throat. Her drug of choice was heroin. Smoking it. Something I’d never done, or planned on doing.

At this point, I’d known Maggie May for two hours and 35 minutes. I’d probably racked up more time masturbating to her than talking to her. But the clock was ticking and she was leaving after three hours. So I went for it.

I told her to be my girlfriend for a trial period of two weeks. I promised lavish spending.

She took a hit of heroin. And another. ”Sure. Why not,” she said.

The exact response I was looking for. We stayed up and watched a porn she’d starred in. She explained things I couldn’t see like some ditzy blonde sex scholar. I sucked on her tit until I passed out. We slept on the rug.

The first week of our relationship, Maggie and me basically spent it like Sid and Nancy. Two junkies. Spending money. Fucking. Eating. Using. We partied at a few clubs. We ate at the finest places downtown had to offer.

We stayed up and watched a porn she’d starred in. She explained things I couldn’t see like some ditzy blonde sex scholar. 

Every day we’d wake, use, and have coffee. As if it was semi-normal, domestic lifestyle just with heroin and Scotch sprinkled in. From the outside, we seemed like a normal enough couple. Fighting. Making up. Arm in arm. I bought her things. We watched bad movies. She let me live in her ass. And we’d walk around the city all strung out. Maggie would come right back to my penthouse after a porn shoot, like it was her own place. I hadn’t felt so normal in a long time.

She let me live in her ass.

Week one was coming to a close and I decided to get courtside seats for a Lakers game. We were getting ready for the game in my apartment. In Maggie’s opinion, the best looking black man in the NBA, Dwight Howard was “going to be at the game” (playing in) and she wanted to make a good impression. So she did her makeup like pornstars do — caking it on. If there’s one thing I learned from dating a pornstar, it’s don’t mess with them when they’re putting on makeup. After she douched (something I really appreciate), we grabbed a limo to the game, only 10 minutes walking distance from my apartment.

But she’d smoked way too much heroin for anyone about to watch a basketball game, for anyone about to sit courtside. As we were waiting in line to get in, Maggie noticed they were checking bags. She started freaking out. I asked her why.

“I have my pipe in my bag,” she said.

“Throw it out.”

“No! It’s my lucky pipe!”

Someone having a lucky pipe should’ve been a clear sign for me to get the hell out of the situation. But there’s something addictive about drama and the dilemma of trying to get into a Lakers game with a pornstar girlfriend who carries a heroin pipe around…. turned me on a bit.

“Look. Throw it out. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“You can’t just throw out a lucky pipe. It’s…lucky.”

“Not even for Dwight?”

“Not even!”

“What do you want to do then?”

“I’m just gonna shove the pipe up my pussy.”

If the lucky pipe wasn’t a sign, this was clearly one. But it turned me on. I told her to not shove a heroin pipe up her pussy, if not for her own health, for mine because “I do like burying my face all up in there,” I said.

Maggie got so pissed at me. Stomped around. We yelled. Argued. I chased her down. She got in a cab and left. I went to the game by myself, had two beers and left at halftime.

“Don’t worry. I’m just gonna shove the pipe up my pussy.”

Maybe one week is all you need. But she’d promised me two. So I called her up the next day. I apologized for the incident and quipped, “We should’ve just shoved the pipe up my ass.” I told her I made reservations for a week at Oprah’s favorite hotel: The Bacara.

I still drove my piece of shit Saturn, so I rented a Porsche for the week and we drove up there. Maggie gave me a handjob on the way, and I came out the open window. To this day, I still consider that my best comeshot.

We arrived at the Bacara and the place is absolutely stunning. With its Spanish-style design, the Bacara has 3 restaurants and 4 bars all on the resort’s 78 acres beachfront. We had a huge suite with a balcony patio that overlooked both the ocean and the pool. We dropped our bags, put on our suits and took our champagne and heroin pipe down to the pool.

For the first three days, everything was nice. We seemed fresh, which is an important thing for two junkies to feel. All hell can break loose when junkies get worn down. We swam in the pool a lot. Had food delivered to us whenever we felt like it. We fucked on the sand and in the ocean and every time she begged me to come on her face — another endearing trait in a pornstar. We were having a relaxing, sex-filled fun time like any other couple on some honeymoon vacation.

All that changed on the fourth night.

Maggie wanted me to smoke heroin. She wanted me to hang out in her world. She even chugged a full glass of Scotch to be in mine. It was that gesture that made me want to try –a woman drinking Scotch is probably the sexiest thing in the world.

So I tried heroin — I  smoked for about an hour. It felt great. And she felt great. Maggie’s lips seemed to be non-human form. Her tits felt like there were seven of them. As I smoked and smoked, I felt like a piece of dingleberry, floating along from one sexy ass to the next with no care. She must’ve blown me three times that night, but I wouldn’t have known. I was off thinking of shapes and clouds and anamorphic figures that could only be thought of by fucking up brain synapses.

The next day, I was a zombie. The ghost of Merv Griffin. Maggie wanted me to smoke more. But Scotch was my only nurse — I’m a boozehound at heart, not a huge fan of pills or other substances.

But the booze wasn’t helping. I was out of it. I would spend hours at a time staring into space only to be snapped out of it by Maggie slapping my face. Middle of the way through the 5th day, she had a huge fit and told me this “trial membership” was over (as if it was a porn site I’d signed up for). I was in no mood or had any energy or will to argue. The trial was over. It was over before it had started. I booked her a flight from Santa Barbara to LA.

Maggie May and I lasted one week and four and half days. It felt like three years. I spent the remaining two days holed up in my suite writing, drinking but mainly staring blankly as Bill Callahan played in the background. On checkout morning, I signed for the six grand bill while the front desk man had a grin from ear to ear.

I wouldn’t say this is the last attempt for me in terms of dating a pornstar. Lord knows I’d give it another shot if the chance arose. But this would be the last time I would ever be in a relationship with a girl I only knew for two hours and 35 minutes. It applies across the entire board, not just to pornstars.

I drove back down to LA. I couldn’t stop thinking about how her pussy tasted like she shoved a heroin pipe up herself on a regular basis.

I have to admit… it turned me on.

Les Baxter — “Quiet Village”

Coming soon…

Chapter 4: Bocas Del Toro Should’ve Killed Me

Related on The Smoking Jacket:
Blowing My Wad Part 1: How I Got Hit By a Dodge Minivan and Pissed 500K on Booze, Whores, and Designer Furniture 
Blowing My Wad Part 2: Chicago Whores