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White Trash Whiplash-Kentucky Refuses to Free the Slaves (Tie Me Up Baby-Btown Beret wearers Beat and Berate Border Buddies) Bloomington VS Louisville

Update; Names have been altered to provide a way more redickulass addition to mankinds obsession to the MYTH of privacy, in this lightning fast day and age on the Information Stupid Highway.

-Sex Methwell Phallus
3rd o' fucking July

Oh, By the Way...if you see your government today, dont forget to tell them, ANARCHY! ANARCHY! ANARCHY!

-----------------------------


This is an article I wrote for OUI magazine concerning the exploits (and I do mean exploited) of Artists Tchuk and Katrina aka Charo Seltzers and Katrina McClimet (?), my Art Parents. ("give up, youre a fucking artist"-Katrina over coffee and export A's at the Uptown Cafe Pre-Rockets-where the Dancing Cigarettes Paid Penence for Charo's unpaid Long distance Phone bills, by washing coffee cups).

They made me realize Stimulants are not a crime, you CAn get people Nekid in Front of a camera (and behind...wink, wink)...and art gallerys are NEVER having to say You're Sorry.

They are both still friends to the end, dogggg!

NeVER PUBliSHEd! Enjoy it, ya friggin Hoosiers!

-seth,
live via your anus

White-Trash Whiplash; Kentucky Refuses to Free the
Slaves-by Seth Maxwell Malice




It was a nightmare version of the Beverly Hillbillies. Mr. Drysdale
chained to a wall as Granny in lace tans his little honky-hide. Cute, little
over-silicone-endowed Ku Klux Klan Bunnies running around, sporting white
leather, as Opie Taylor shrimps on Mrs Hathaways toes. I wanted to puke. I
wanted out of there...the toothless, beer-bellied Dungeon Master, laughed
and laughed as he rolled the dice for his next victim. I was an inmate of a
White Trash dungeon, and all I got was this lousy article.
Louisville. Where you watch the Kentucky Derby, drink Bourbon and take
your beating like a man. Monuments to Robert E. Lee, billboards exorcising
moral dilemmas; Where are you Speeding to? Heaven or Hell?.
Cant you just speed? Is there really a destination involved?
Regardless...
In the heart of the Bible-belt, Louisville lies on the Ohio river, the
other side being Indiana. The architecture is colonial brick; just like
youÍd imagine left over from the Civil War; old...
The countryside is beautiful with trees and all kinds of that shit lying
around. You got your bushes, your stumps...all of that.
Cheerleaders spare-changing for new pom-poms. Old Timers wearing
suspenders sitting on the front porch guzzling Country Time Lemonade ,
perusing the latest issue of Juggs. Younguns blastin revenuers, as they
tend the family still.
Fucking peaceful.
Underneath lies Mammoth Cave, what I imagined to be the only underground
scene in Kentucky. I was dead wrong.
Horsehide, riding crops, Kentucky Derby leftovers. The Black and
Bluegrass state. I got an invitation to fly out to Louisville and write
about their scene...S&M, Bondage and Discipline, leather, leather, leather.
I was excited. I was going to a Play-Party in the heart of Louisville,
right across the street from the Presbyterian National Headquarters. I
couldn’t wait; Swingers in leather, cute southern drawls (Gawdess Sophia,
will ya’ll spank mah behind?). I’m a sucker to write about anything when
thereÍs a possibility of getting laid involved...think of it, have pen will
travel, or, my pen is cute...get it...pen-is? Penis? You know...DICK!
Hahahaha!
Ahem, well anyway...

Play-parties are different from your normal sessions, where its usually
all between slave and dominatrix. Play parties are private, restricted to
members only, where slaves and doms get together, like in a big old fashion
Ho-down, swappinÍ slaves, kinda like wife-swappin, in leather...with
whips...and rope...and candle-wax...in a dungeon.
Preparing was easy; amphetamines, fake Hustler Magazine Press laminate,
and rent money for the airfare.
On the plane, I could only imagine what the scene would be like when I got
there...
[Super White Trash-vixen with huge tits in leather...]
So, what’s a guy like you doing writing for a magazine like Hustler?
tongue in my ear...
Oh, you know... Money. Hand creeping down towards penile erection...
So, what’s it like working for a dirty magazine? pursed lips; pouted
while saying the word dirty, finger on my lips, in the hush position...
You see one pair of silicone titties, and you’ve seen ‘em all...
Really?!? Do you think I (nipple in eye) could get in Hustler?!!!?
Possibly...with the right connections... pat on the butt...
[Insert Porn-Fantasy Here]
Keep my dick out of it.
Anyway...
After being terrorized by a pack of Jackals, crashing my hosts computer,
and crashing on the floor of a renovated 7th Day Adventist Church (like a
youth hostel for Satanists), we were off. It was time for me to meet the
hosts of my 2-day trip; LATEX, the Louisville Area Trust Exchange.
My host the artist Augustus X. Augustus, (a founding member of Hell's Artists)
already cleared the way for me to come in and
write about their scene, getting permission/consensus from the core members
of LATEX. Its not every day Hustler sends out one of their writers out in
the field...
LATEX is an educational organization, dedicated to teaching and
discussing the finer arts of Corporal Punishment, besides enjoying the aspects
of pain mixed with pleasure. They were the reason I came out in the first
place. A fresh B&D scene, 70% hetero, hopefully white-trashesque; good ol’
boys in leather and lederhosen...beautiful submissive.

Why are you going out there to write about a Play-party? Its right here
in your own backyard!. I got all the shit before I left. A sex industry
friend who wrote for Hot-Wired, was blowing me shit. She was in the
process/line of work of giving hand-jobs to Trekkies for a living,. Typing
behind their backs. Trekkies beware; your Deana Troy fantasies have gone
Online...
A play-party, huh?! You know you have to be naked! They have rules! You
wont last 12 minutes before they throw you out!. I was completely banking
on eight. If she didn’t have that super-sweet southern drawl, and carpel
tunnel syndrome in her right wrist, I would of indian-wrestled her right
there to prove her wrong. I think she was just envious.
All I wanted, was to be this guy screaming at the top of his lungs;
Git Im!!! Kick that mother-fuckers ass! That one needs whuppin! Beat
him, hurt him, KILL HIM!!!!!.
Regardless.

The schedule was tight. Breakfast at the Old County Buffet. My first taste
of excess, which was essentially what this trip was all about. Every sin in
the book; Gluttony: $5 dollar buffet where you could snag 30 sausages and
have cheesecake for desert. The view from the table looked out over the
mall, directly at the Piercing Pagoda .
So, Augustus. What would they do if I flopped my pecker out on the
counter and demanded a Prince Albert?
Charge you nine bucks.
Our first stop was Goddess SophiasÍ. She jumped me at the door, bizarre,
pink, sheer, see-through lace.
Hiii! Too-night, Im going to be the Rosy Cheek Fairy! Im going to
make sure everybodyÍs butts are all nice and rosy! the way she said it,
made me feel as though I was in Kindergarten. The teacher trying to speak
slowly and clearly to all us toddlers, so we could understand every word as
we drooled and pissed ourselves. Now I knew why Goddess Sophia was one of
the better Doms around.
She plopped down next to me on the couch.
So how come youÍre not dead? We’ve known each other for 15 years. I was
beginning to wonder if
they were waiting for me to be dead, before evolving into the ass-whuppin
machines they turned into. Was this supposed to be something I wasnÍt
supposed to see? I started to wonder too..
The Players; Governess Luna, Judson, a painter, the beautiful Slave
Delihla, and Sir Ed (but nobody calls me that). Someone else said,
Actually Slave Ed.
Slave Ed was playing Mazzy Starr and giving me the third degree on writing
for Hustler.
Goddess started talking about her video production company MinervasÍ
Under-Palace. She described it as Laverne and Shirley meet S&M I could
only imagine.
So far, we reenacted Deliverance...-bend over and squeal like a pig,
boy! I was imagining what Sir Ed looked like, bent over in the Ned Beatty
position...Sooooouuuuuuuueeeeeee!!!! Hahahahahahaha! Sooooouuuee!!!!
Hahahaha!
Goddess Sophia likes to dress up her slaves (later, in the evening;
ArenÍt my slaves the prettiest?!?). She was describing how she has her
slaves wear costumes, like you see in elementary school plays. Where
children wear bunny suits, or dress as large flowers with their heads poking
through the centers.
You all have a real happy bondage scene going on...
Strict, yet friendly!.

It was time to meet LATEX. They were having some kind of
encounter/support group that day, where they gab and bullshit, before the
big play-party.
The LATEX dungeon is located off the waterfront. To get to the dungeon, you
have to walk through a restaurant and go through the kitchen to get to the
basement.
The first thing you see is a coat of arms with a sign underneath
proclaiming Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here. It was more like abandon
all substances, all ye who enter here, pertaining to their strict no
alcohol or drugs policy.
Except for tobacco, this is, after all, Kentucky! -Xandor, my tour guide
from Hell. Sounded like Yosemite Sam. I swear to god, now that I think
about it; It was Yosemite Sam.
Xandor is sort of like LATEXs public relations guy. Beer-bellied,
rabbit-toothed (he was missing his teeth on either side of his front teeth)
sort of Hollywood-ized Redneck-style-he fit the part well. I was
introduced to him at the Saturday luncheon and rap session.
I was ready for him. I had my Hustler press-pass I made the night before,
clamped onto my camera strap (originally I was going to clamp it onto my
nipple). At the same time, he was ready for me.
Since they knew I was coming, I knew I could ask every and any question in
the world and get an honest answer. This was the advantage of the Press
Creds.
Are you a pussy? You know...a Wus?
What? Uh, donÍt you want to know more about the Club?
Shut up! Only speak when youÍre spoken too! Answer the question!
Yes, sir. I am a wiggly-worm sir.
Good. Now that we have that established, is LATEX the first of the
bondage scene in Louisville?
SufferinÍ Sucatash, no... Previously, there existed a club of assholes
called Valley of the Moon-get it? Apparently they abused the B&D
community, mentally and physically, scaring off a bunch of members from the
scene, along with leaving a scorched and scarred reputation in its wake.
Essentially, LATEX was created, proclaiming good riddance to bad rubbish.
VOM; probably a bunch of leather Nazis. Klan tats on their testicles.
Swastikas branded on their butts. Most likely high-tailed it off to South
America.

I got a pre-tour of the dungeon. What used to be a distillery. Like the
Gimps dungeon in Pulp Fiction, this one was made of ancient red-brick. The
building, itself, dates back to the Civil War. Old Louisville; distilleries
and stockades (as in live-stock) pre-dominated the areas past.
Yosemite Xandor was explaining to me how all the equipment was made by
LATEX members (it was actually amusing to think that they would hire
carpenters to make stockades and wooden crosses...well maybe not the wooden
crosses...).
Strung out from one support beam to the other is The Web (not to be
confused with the World Wide Web), made out of rope. One of the main
highlights of the dungeon. Strong as fuck. Weaved like a spider-web; I
half-expected to see Spiderman clinging to it. And why not? Spidey wears a
mask, ties people up...Maybe it should of been Stan Lee tied to the Web.
In the back were these 2 beautiful alcoves, human body width from floor to
ceiling, built into the walls. A pair of manacles hung from each. It looked
as though the wall was created just for that purpose. Perfect for chaining
your slaves to.
Maybe Robert E. Lee-in-heels chained General Grant up there. Before
signing that Treaty of 1812, after the 7 day war, when Hitler was sailing
the Merrimack, the worlds largest Ocean Liner, before it blew up. Oh the
horror, the humanity...!
The middle of the room features a wooden rack, the kind for stretching
people...like in the comic B.C. I was tempted to climb on the mother-fucker
myself (or at least attach my dick to it....). It had a wooden/plywood,
flywheel/cog, spray-painted chrome.
Seth, can you just go ahead and not mention the plywood, and say its a
real metal cog?-Mistress Sophia.
Another part has this carpeted area with two tall looking balance beams on
either side; customized equipment for Slave Mat.
Is that Mat with one t or two?
As in Door-Mat. I understood the customization...
Other furniture included a couple of stocks, as in the type our
fore-fathers made (as in the Scarlet Letter). Pilgrims; no sense of
humor. So God-damned serious. A wooden cross against a wall, separate
dressing quarters for Slaves and dressing quarters for Doms.
Escaping Yosemite Xan, I went shoe shopping with Goddess Sophia. Her
slave was paying for the nights fuck-me-style pumps. More like the
abuse-me-pumps.
Sure enough, there was a Piercing Pagoda in this Mall.
So, Sophia, what dÍ ya think theyÍd do if I asked ï em to pierce my
tongue?
Charge you 50 bucks

With the night finally fallen, we made our way to the dungeon, the actual
play-party. It was about fucking time.
Augustus (in this context known as Lord Sir ) was with Ramona. Sporting black.
Tucked in black shirt, blackpants, grey hair pulled back in a pony-tail. Ramona;
black bustier. Later I found out Augustus was sporting his hair whip; a whip he
made out of his hair...like being scalped...
Oh, no. He brought his hair-whip!-Goddess Sophia. I guess there was
some symbolic reverence towards the whip...whatever...(as journalist, I play
the impartial role...).
Sophia was a nightmare in lace...pink lace. Well, not really a nightmare,
only if she was spanking you, I suppose. She looked like a china doll.
There was someone posted at the restaurant door as we went in. It was
inside the door where you pay your fee ($20, for non-members/$10 for
members), and fill out your liability/release form. I felt as though I was
in a well-lit dining room. I was.
On a counter were about 6 pizzas; in the kitchen, there was plenty of
soft drinks. I started thinking back to the days when I played Dungeons and
Dragons . The scene was remotely familiar...Junk food, chain mail, leather,
weapons...except here, there were a bunch of girls.
The rules were simple: Doors open @ 9:00. Locked at 12:00, nobody else
admitted. The play-party ends @ 4:00am. When your slave says Mercy!,
thats code for stop or let up. Whether its stop beating on me, or take
your foot out of my mouth. Mercy. A reality check.
Chapter EIGHT
Loading the camera, securing my Hustler Laminate on my camera strap, we
headed through the kitchen to the dungeon downstairs. With us were
Governess Luna, and her fiance, Judson, a painter who did the hellish
murals in the basement. His hair pulled back in pigtails, sporting a tan
herring-bone suit, and patent leather knee boots. Judson was by far, one of
the best dressed. He looked as though he was your host through the dungeon,
as though the boots were made to resist all the blood you had to tread
through, as he took you to the next atrocity.
Later Augustus ,er , Lord Sir , whupped out his hair-whip.
Did I ever show you this? Its my hair whip. I made it out of my own
hair. It was a long, braided black hair whip. It made me wish I had
something to show him of mine. Something made out of my body parts...
Did I ever get to show you this? Its my pussy-whip. Its made out of
the fore-skin of my penis.
In the background, they were playing Ministry (Psalm 69, 69, 69...) the
dungeon dimly lit, not like the McDonalds lighting upstairs. Sophia and her
slave, Deee-liiiiigh-laaa, immediately B-lined for the manacles in the
alcove. The dungeon was pretty busy. So far, there were around 40-50
people hanging out...literally. Hanging from manacles, the stocks, the
Web...I went towards the manacles.
Delilah was facing the wall, her wrists in manacles, as the Rosy Cheek
fairy did her thing, bare-handed. (Spanking is God). Delilah was in
ecstacy, saying Oww and Mercy in a southern drawl. Her other slave,
Lulu was wearing black briefs, as he sat watching on a bench, with his
arms full-nelsoned on a two by four.
As I walked back towards the web, there was a scene I had missed...my
cigarette dropped from my mouth. Facing the web was a duck...or a chicken.
Arms bound behind its back in a single black-leather elbow length, laced up
glove. Over its head was a white sheet with eye-holes cut into it, and a
weird acid-casualty yellow felt beak/bill sewn onto it. It was wearing red
ruffled shorts. Harsh. Later Slave Ed asked me if I was enjoying myself.
It was then when I noticed he was wearing red-ruffled shorts...
As I reloaded film, there was this middle aged man witnessing the whole
scene, striking up a conversation with some skater-looking dude.
ThereÍs too much good! YouÍre not playing tonight?!? I bet he wanted
him to play. The guy looked as though he was straight from the Presbyterian
Headquarters, or NAMBLA.
I later asked Joey Arena, the head of LATEX, if theyÍve ever had any
problems in the past. Besides and occasional scat (-ological) and water
sports (they have to clean up after themselves), ThereÍs only been a
couple of true freaks who happened upon their scene. Hence, the no
bottomless rule.
Which brings me to Merlin Switch. Merlin was wearing no clothes, except
for a loin-cloth, and a fucked-up cardboard sign around his neck, with
Merlin Switch written in glitter. Switch corresponds to being a Dom and a
Sub.
Seeing Merlin, you get the impression that the Dom part was just wishful
thinking...balding, 70 glasses, sandals, mustache, white...very, very
white...he kept on eyeing me with that I wonder if he knows any better
look... It was too late. I already did know better.
Apparently Merlin was a terror with a woody. Stalking the ladies,
smuggling a baby dill under his loincloth. He seemed what I would call a
natural submissive. The kind when youÍd hear him say mercy, youÍd just
sort of ignore and stick a gag-ball in his mouth.

The perfect host, Yosemite Xan kept on approaching me, telling me to go
check certain things out. He was about to get re-scarred, on his left arm.
Governess Luna with a razor-blade. Already on his arm, he was getting the
LATEX logo recut, to scar deeper. Photo-op.
O.K. Xandor, give me a nice big smile! he did, Winston dangling from his
lips, dagger eyes from Luna.
(Door) Mat was happily slurping toes, chained on his back, on the rug. He
spotted me spying, stopped in mid-slurp.
Are we having fun?!?!
You are back to the toes.
I stooped to take a picture of this beautiful girl chained to a post.
Horse-bit in her mouth. She smiled.
Taking a break, I plopped on the couch with the Goddess.
Gosh, I had to take a break. All that spanking. She explained to me
what she calls flamers.
That’s where you smack someone’s butt real good, and your hand sticks.
Did you see the way I have my slaves blow on my hand? That’s usually after a
flamer. Slave Debbie walked up, after an extensive flogging session.
Is the Rosy Cheek Fairy making sure everybody’s butts are all nice and
rosy? Smack!
Oww!
Yes!
A big black dominatrix approached Goddess Sophia, asking if he
could have permission to flog one of her slaves. Courteous. It was like
Jethro Bodean asking Mrs. Hathaway if he could ravish Ellie Mae.
By now the dungeon was heating up. Literally. The place was fucking hot.
The doors were shut, and it appeared that there was now about 75 people
roaming around. Flogged, whipped, and spanked in a general atmosphere of
happiness and gaiety.
Tied to the web was a topless woman having hot wax administered to her
breasts. I was about to take a photo, when the Dom stopped me asking who I
was shooting for. When I told him Hustler, he gave me the NO. K-photos of
his stints were only approved for private use. Rejection. I felt
rejected...

The night wore on. I couldn’t believe this scene could go on for so long.
The endurance these people must have. Must be all that Pepsi they had
upstairs.
Around 2:30 or 3:00, a ritual was about to commence. It was Lunas 27th
birthday. Tonight was to be her antithesis of pain. The mood changed. The
music changed; from techno to reverent new-age style women’s music (whatever
that is).
Luna seated, as another woman, wearing surgical gloves, unwrapped surgical
needles and proceeded to pierce Lunas skin on her breasts and chest.
One at a time. Very slowly. Over 40 needles were inserted and then touched
and manipulated.
The mood had completely changed. From a happy-go-lucky country fair style
setting, to a Black (and blue) Mass. I could only think of all the scabs
shed have in the next couple of days.
The audience was bumming out. They were all seated, watching the ritual.
You could read it on most of their faces that they wanted more play time.
That they were being denied fun.
Sort of an aww shucks kind of feeling. Like recess was over and they all
had to watch the adults. More like Mickey Mouse de Sade had been possessed by
Satan. Their parade had most definitely been rained on. The turd had hit the
punchbowl.
Meanwhile, I was inching closer and closer to slave Delilah. Was she onto
me yet? I was trying to figure out how to break the ice...
You come here often? I already knew she did. At his point, I knew
nothing would probably work. She was entranced in the blood-letting ritual.
O.K. Ill admit, trying to put the moves on someone while your friend is
bleeding all over the place is not one of the brightest moves in the world.
But it was worth a try. When else would I get an opportunity to be rejected
like this? I didn’t even bother. Its hard enough trying to get a woody,
while watching all that flesh turn beet red.
When the pins were pulled out, her and Dom John walked over to the
stockades. Meanwhile this B&D couple were showing me this whip they made
out of lacing rubber bands together, oblivious to the Mass in progress.
Blah, blah, blah...no respect for the wicked.
Dom John started reciting Crowley, doing a banishing ritual. Chanting
Ommmmm. Making the sign of the pentacle in the air, north, south, east and
west (***note- this was a special cleansing for Luna- the Crowley/Pagan
trappings had never before been part of this scene- and probably wont be
in the future- these players are all too eclectic for some formalized cult
rituals ) .
If he starts levitating, I’m out here-some long-haired redneck,
leather vest; aviator glasses. I couldn’t wait for the levitation. It never
came. The only levitation was Lunas brain, as she endured a paddling,
(Paddle; sign of the air), candle wax (Wax; sign of water), ice cold
water poured on her back (water...), and then the lash...he was a pro. I
had to admire the stamina of both of them. Her for receiving, and him going
on, and on, and on. It was the Energizer Bunny in leather. His batteries
would not give up.
I felt I was at a rock concert. With a bunch of hack musicians in the
audience watching...all thinking I can do that...
As this went on (and on) people were leaving, others were changing
clothes, and packing up. Some other woman was getting pins stuck in her
back.
Earlier we were talking to (Door) Mat when he was taking off.
Yeah, Im kind of bummed out. It was fun. But after a while, people
walked off, leaving me there chained to the floor. I was there for about an
hour. Poor Mat wanted more play-time. I don’t blame him. I felt for the
guy. Id be bummed too, if I was chained to a floor for a couple of hours,
hearing the crack of whips and moaning around me.
Oh well, tough shit. There’s always next month.
Everything over, we finally hit the road (get it? Hit the road?).
There was a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon at the end of the rainbow, screaming
my name.

It was only on the last night, at this redneck bar, where I finally came
up with the pick-up line for Delilah.
O.K. Delilah, I got it all figured out. Were starting a union, see?!
The I.S.W.W; International Slave Workers of the World. You want more play
time, right? Right. When they got you all strapped in, say mercy!. When
they’re raising their hand to spank you one; mercy!. Maybe let them get
one in. After that... mercy!. That’s when you read them your list of
demands.
You know why, baby? It takes two to Tango.
Footnote;
Goddess Sophia, is there anything you wouldnÍt do?
Degrade myself.
-the end; bottoms up!




GLOSSARY; Terms of Endearment
Bible Belt; LATEX
Crowley; Villain of the Christian world. Put the k in the word magick
Deliverance; a movie Burt Reynolds and Ned Beatty-canoing trip interrupted,
overkill by Hicks from the Sticks.
Dom; dominatrix.
Door Mat; something you wipe your feet on.
Laverne and Shirley; TV show version of Thelma and Louise.
Mickey Mouse de Sade; Walt Disney in leather.
NAMBLA; North American Man Boy Love Association-scum (Society for Cutting Up
Men).
Prince Albert; bar-bell style piercing through the head of the penis.
Stan Lee; founder of Marvel comics, where Spiderman is from.
Sub; submissive.
Switch; not a team player. Someone who thinks/is a dom and a sub.
Woody; hard-on, an erect penile gland thing. Stiff pecker.
Online? Wanna Groove with LATEX? Strap on their Website, just for Kicks.
Tell em Malice sent ya.
Http://www.thepoint.net/~neo1025

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Comment by Rev.Seth Maxwell Malice on June 17, 2008 at 12:48pm
...until then the rumors are true...you hair-whips ass!
Comment by Rev.Seth Maxwell Malice on June 17, 2008 at 12:47pm
Excellent. The photos I shot from the event are in SF. They all exist, and are hilarious, although, as an objective journaljismist, I should say something more along the lines of "The images captured from the an exclusive evening of cosmopolitan debauchery, mean absolutely nothing to an objective reporter who didn't get to even cop a feel on some fine-ass Kentucky tooshie"...or something like that.

If SF survives the next earthquake, crating a nice loft space for me when I head back, I'll once again have access to all those photos.
Comment by Charles Silver on June 10, 2008 at 1:30pm
Just read this again. Hah ! Funny stuff ! Like I said, Larry Flynt is a dumb ass, this would have won a Pulitzer for Hustler.

I have a pretty good set of photos. You had a camera, where are your photos ?

The "hair whip" is a cat-o-nine tails. Really, it is a pretty nice and well made fetish object. I made it while living at Venice Beach in Los Angeles. I was doing 'scene' photography and research. This led to an invitation to be the only male Dom at a Pro Dungeon owned and run by a very interesting group of women, but that is another story.

The "Black Cat" is made with tight, 16 to 18 inch long braids of my hair which was dyed black before being braided and cut. After cutting off the braids my head was shaved.

The handle is made from a piece of ironwood I found which was scorched by the wild fires of 1993 up in the Santa Monica Mountains. The "oh no" response was because unless it is applied with great skill and the correct amount of energy it can easily rip through flesh. It has dozens of semi-precious gemstone beads (onyx, carnelian, poppy jasper and hematite) of various diameters wired into it.

"Oh no" is a mild response from anyone who knows its sting. It does not mimic the heavy flap or thud of a leather flogger. It stings like the dickens or burns like hellfire when used correctly as a desired stimulant.

My various levels of involvements in the L.A. and L.A.T.E.X. scenes have faded into some obscure corner of my personal history. The "Black Cat" and a large file of photographs and untouched negatives remain.
Comment by Rev.Seth Maxwell Malice on June 9, 2008 at 10:12pm
no problemo.

thanks
Comment by Charles Silver on June 9, 2008 at 9:30pm
Seth, since you blogged it and because it is so long I am going to take it out of the comments on my profile page. I'm waiting for your T-Mobile details email now.
Comment by Bill Zink on June 9, 2008 at 8:46pm
I know a good number of these people.
Comment by mike whybark on June 9, 2008 at 8:20pm
Funny shit, Seth.

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Dan Snellenbarger left a comment for Jeff Case
"Was listening to an old tape of you, me, and John Ross jamming, so figured I'd leave you a note. Hope all is well your way."
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Tim Huelskamp, MeatState Legislator!

Tim Huelskamp has declared Kansas a MeatState!Originally posted to the legislator's official Facebook page on June 15, 2015…
Dec 5, 2016

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