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Manly Men! Magazine
Willpower Butch and the Son of God
By the Reverend Willpower Butch
We found ourselves in a dour, tangled wood, having strode excellently to the north of the ruins of London. We were safeguarding ourselves from the Homosexual by burning his nail polish and thrusting our pelvises as we walked – I, by virtue of my untrammeled virility, and Timpani Gayparade because I was repeatedly kicking his ass – for this display of breedful lumber-hauling intimidates even the most unhyperbolic Gay into hours of aesthetic crying. My un-non-sodomized companion, Paragon Shag, halted us before a gully, grimacing as he did at its detestable and wet resemblance.
“Quite Anti-Rimbauded Stoics,” spake he into the gap in the David’s pants, “were you capable of womanly regard for your environment, I should caution you now to take protective grip of your erections. For I scent among the pungent mosses a grievous concoction of defensive sarcasm, elderflower, and fear of guns.”
“No!” shouted Top-a-mée Christopherhitchens tremulously at Shag’s injunction. “That odor could only declare one thing: an Anglop
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David L. Chapman has been writing books about bodybuilding and the photography of muscular males for a long second. For example he wrote Sandow the Magnificent: Eugen Sandow and the Beginnings of Body Building, American Hunks: The Muscular Male Body in Popular Tradition, 1860-1970, and Comin’ at Ya!: The Homoerotic 3-D Photographs of Denny Denfield. After all that it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that in his search for historical depictions of bodybuilders and strongmen, he discovered images of strongwomen, too.
And yet, here I am — surprised!
I wasn’t sure which part of his newest book, Venus With Biceps, surprised me the most. Was it the fact that he found so many photographs? The reality that, compared to pictures of strongmen, relatively few images of strongwomen exist? Or was it the fact that nobody had idea to collect these images in one place before?
Because this is the first time anyone has compiled a collection of these images — 356 pages worth — and the result is something truly spectacular. Women with elaborate up-dos and absurdly corseted waistlines stuff the pages; it’s enough to create you marvel at the sheer athl
So long, schlong
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He was good looking, black hair, hazel eyes, nicely toned body, and he was charming. Sure, he got paid to look pretty and perform nice, but if he faked it, he did a damn good position of it. He came off as genuinely attractive and attracted. It confirmed what I had been thinking for several days, that I needed a break from the party-fuck-party loop I was stuck in. To me he was perfect, and yet I felt no yearn for to go home with him tonight, if that had been an option. My shorts didn’t display any more bulge now than when I entered the club.
The bartender psychiatrist had quickly moved from fast and fake to more frank topics. It was Wednesday, so it wasn’t as packed, and there were two of them, but I was happily surprised with the time he devoted to actually talk to me. I guess he was experienced enough to feeling when someone needed a non-alcoholic pick-me-up.
- So, given all that I’m not really looking for anyone tonight. I wasn’t sure, but, you know, I think I am now. - That bad huh? Perhaps if you couldn’t it would be different? - What do you mean? - Everyone is always looking at what they can’t have. I sho
The Devil You Know
This is from my anthology “$#!T’s About to Get Weird.” Inspect it out!
Father says frosty is just a express of mind. The ignite is only skin grave. Father says the starvation is everything. Father says I won’t get away.
It’s the long weekend and I am very nervous. This is the weekend that we get to drive up to Lake Nipigon as a family. We’ll stay in the cabin and roast marshmallows on the fire and go fishing even before the sun comes up. I used to passion it more than anything.
Brother is grumpy a whole week before we go. He is too old; he says. He consideration we were done with the cabin; he says. He wants to pay time with his friends; he says. The cabin is for little girls like me; he says. Mother tells him to hush.
The cabin was built in 1922, says Father. It was once house to trappers who stayed there in the deepest, coldest winters when they needed shelter on their trip down from Hudson Bay and the Inuit places further North. It was the only identify for hundreds of miles around at the time. Even now, it takes one whole hour to drive to the nearest town. Brother says he hates that it’
Stepping Into A Father’s Shoes
For Alex Humphries, there were only two things that helped him persevere through the monotony and brain-numbing basicness of high school: weekend parties and his best friend Blake. While Alex’s classmates were more worried about savoring the “best days of their lives”, the buff senior was eager to run away from his shitty tiny town and be an adult. With these savage parties he attended, Alex enjoyed the concept of acting older than he really was, guzzling down multiple drinks and giving himself a brutal hangover the next morning. Sure, it was depressing, but it was honestly the only time he truly felt alive.
Besides his reliance towards alcohol, Alex’s leading friend Blake Andrews was another quintessential part of keeping him sane. Despite being two kids who were in entirely distinct circles (Alex in the jock social group while Blake was part of the nerdy and overeager theater troupe), their friendship was able to defy the intention of cliques. While Blake was surely not the buffest guy around, he still loved to go on runs with his best ally and play basketball in his driveway. Alex wasn’t the smartest guy either, but he still loved to engage