Archive for the ‘Sex me up!’ Category

Plover Rocks the House!

July 7, 2006

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Plover yet again rocks the blog with the story of how UC and AG came to be entangled:

Once upon a time, in the Land of Nürd, there lived a Canadian. Oh, a stalwart slayer of mice and tireless pursuer of donuts was he! Or was it the other way around? I mean, one day all the mice escaped and it took hours to er… ahem… In time, there came to the Land of Nürd, at that fief known as the Pinkdom of Pork, a Girlfriend, mistress of the cobag hunt and scourge of hospital and hotel staffs across the land. And it came to pass one afternoon that the Pinko of Pork took the Girlfriend out for a walk to show her his Pinkdom (not one word, Chuckles). They strolled along the bluffs and stopped to gaze out across the Sea of Pork.

As it happened, the Canadian had chosen that day to visit the Sea of Pork for the purpose of going a-snorkeling. However, during his snorkulations, he was set upon by a gang of PhD candidates. But the Canadian was familiar with the dangers of the Land of Nürd, and always kept his slide-rule close at hand. Soon, he had routed the PhD candidates and sent them fleeing up the beach, looking as if their brains had been given a turn in the centrifuge.

Observing the triumph of the Canadian from atop the bluff, the Girlfriend felt a stirring of tenderness for the gallant, slide-rule–wielding Pork snorkeler. “Gracious, he is quite the Nürd!” said she, and in access of sentiment, proceeded to swoon.

The Pinko, having been charmed by the retreating posterior of one of the PhD candidates, did not notice, and she toppled to the grass. She stood up, glared at the Pinko, moved squarely into his line of sight, and swooned anew. Again, she found herself stretched upon the sward, though this time the Pinko stared down at her with puzzled countenance as he mulled whether Ann Bartow would approve if he helped his companion to rise. Regaining her feet, the Girlfriend decided the best course of action would be to first, thrash the Pinko with a squeaky carrot, and following, to climb down the bluff.

As the Canadian stood on the shore, carefully cleaning his slide-rule after his encounter, he heard the distant squeaking of a carrot. Scanning the bluffs above, he was amazed to see a Girlfriend appear at the ridge-line, and then commence to clamber down the sheer cliff. He watched her descent quite carefully, trying to discern the trick which kept her fast to the face of the bluff. As she reached the drift of sand piled against the base of the cliff, he greeted her, “Why that was… er, wow… your descent… my lady, you are quite uncanny!”

“Uncanny?” she replied. “Why yes, yes I am! And you are?”

“Ah—”

At this point, the Canadian’s eye was caught by a hedgehog scurrying across the dune, and his features assumed a peculiar, melty expression as he continued, “Aww… adorable…”

And thus did meet Uncanny Girlfriend and Adorable Canadian.

As they walked together up the strand, the Canadian turned briefly to wave at the Sea of Pork.

{sauce me up, baby!}

May 25, 2006

Did anyone see Iron Chef America this week?  With Iron Chef Mario Batali taking on challenger Ludovic Lefebvre?

First, I must confess to having said some fairly unkind things about Chef Batali in the past.  Something about being a “sweaty sack of dough” or some such unpleasantness.  But no matter!  I am here today to tell you that Chef Batali has become not only my favorite of the American Iron Chefs (that’s easy when you’re in a group that includes that horrible little cave-gnome Bobby Flay and world-renowned sushi-whore Masaharu Morimoto), but more generally one of my favorite food authorities.

Batali’s reasonably restrained and understated approach  is easily overlooked in a contemporary food scene marked by extreme (if not ridiculous) innovation and technical sophistication more at home in the laboratory than in the kitchen.  That’s unfortunate, because if you overlook Batali, you’d miss out on one critical fact:  Mario Batali knows food.  He knows food in a deep and contextual way that very few people do.  He knows food like lovers know each other’s bodies.  You can see this kind of detailed, attentive, passionate understanding of food on display in an article entitled “Mario’s Excellent Adventure: Five Days in Bologna, 62 Courses” in the April issue of Gourmet magazine.*  Really, though, you can see it in his cooking on Iron Chef.  Eschew the flash of the challenger.  Mario will lead you on the true path.

He stuck to that path in this week’s Battle: Tuna, and the contrast between his deep mastry and the flashier constructions in vogue among many chefs today could not have been more clear.

The challenger was smolderingly naughty-looking frenchman Ludovic Levebvre, lately of L’Orangerie and now at Bastide:


This is a man who, to be perfectly frank, is welcome to sex me up in whatever way he sees fit, wherever he so desires and at a time or times of his choosing.  The two chefs who assisted him on Iron Chef are more than welcome to join in the extremely hot man-on-man-on-man-on-man-on-Res-Publica action.

That said, I will say that most of poor Ludo’s dishes turned out pretty crappy.  Some of them were, like, unpleasantly hard to chew.  That’s the sort of basic party-foul you don’t really expect from a famous chef, especially one with such a rakish grin and those delicious bedroom eyes and…sorry, what was I saying?  Anyway.  He was clearly severely taxed by the 1-hour format, but even putting aside the artificial constraints of the show’s structure, his food seemed long on ideas and short on execution.  It was conceptually intriguing.  Maybe even provocative.  You certainly won’t be getting any tuna served with white chocolate puree and roasted black olives at Chez Res Publica, but who knows?  It might be brilliant.

Unfortunately, some of his other clever ideas were pretty painfully weak in the execution department.  Perhaps, Dear Reader, there is a way to transmogrify the flesh of the happless tuna fish into light, crispy wafers.  I don’t know what that way might be, but I could have told Ludo in advance that pounding toro into thin sheets and deep-frying them isn’t it.  that’s a recipe for tuna leather, and you’re probably not surprised to hear that the judges didn’t ask for seconds.

This post has evolved into a review of sorts, but I originally sat down to clarify two points:

1.  Mario Batali rocks, and I was a cobag to mock his sweaty corpulence, and

2. Ludo Lefebvre can stick it in.  Your tuna chips sucked it, Ludo, but there’s always a place for you in our hearts (and beds!) here at the Republic.
* I have subscribed to Gourmet since the 80’s, and I am sorry to say that it has grown increasingly craptacular under initially-hopeful but increasingly-ridiculous editorial leadership of Ruth Reichl.

Fun With Searches: Wherein Neddie Jingo Makes Res Publica Laugh So Hard He Cries.

May 23, 2006

Today, someone found this blog by doing a yahoo search for the phrase “become a lesbian you have to” (which – surprise! – leads one to a post by our own Adorable Girlfriend).
As a public service announcement, let me just state for the record that although the official policy of the Republic is to affirm and support becoming a lesbian if you want to, you actually don’t have to.  It’s totally up to you.  Anyway, moving right along.

Apropos of confused and pathetic searches for things you probably really shouldn’t depend on the internet for, check out this post by Neddie Jingo at (conveniently enough) By Neddie Jingo!  You’ll laugh so hard it will hurt.  But it will hurt so good, I assure you.

Happy Birthday Teh, Teh!

April 28, 2006

Just a little something for our little teh, teh!  Hope you get your hands on some knob action this weekend.

Songy McVideopants

March 18, 2006

Guess what the World’s Best Boyfriend got the world’s best President of the Republic of Dogs for his birthday!?!

I’ll tell you later. Right now I have to go do this dance for a while:

now I can be a faceless cutout like the rest of you!

Well….okay. In my case, it’s more like this dance:

GOD I'm fucking AWESOME!!

But whatever. I can now carry all my porn in my pocket.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, World’s Best Boyfriend deserves some “quality time”.

Any by “quality time”, I mean “oral sex”.

Sweet dreams!

A new addition to our horrible little family!

March 15, 2006

Please note the addition of a new link to catagory A of the blogroll to your right.  To be honest, I’ve barely looked at this blog, but let’s get real.  Anyone who pays to register the domain name “theangryfag.com” is someone who will fit right in here at the Republic.  Welcome, fellow disgruntled homosexual!

Now with 48% more suck!

March 13, 2006

Wow, this is really awesome! Check it:

Graph depicting the general public loathing for the Republic of Dogs

Oh, and all those views? That’s me, refreshing my browser about a million times a day to see if anyone left a comment. The other 9 Pinko Punko checking to see if I’ve actually posted for once.

Do I really suck this bad? I think I have more Koufax Award nominations than actual daily readers. Maybe I need to go back to making fun of Kos? But that’s too boring to do all the time. He’s no Amber Pawlik. He doesn’t post recipes.
Oh well, at this rate, I can shut down by mid-April and use what I’m currently spending on web-hosting to buy an extra crack rock!

Koufile-o-fax

March 12, 2006

A.  Go to the Koufax awards site (wherever that is) and vote for me.  The Republic was nominated in the “Best New Blog” category, which must make this Opposite Day or something, what whatevs.  You’re already reading this, so why not do something else that’s stupid?

B.  Speaking of stupid, can anyone esplain to my dumb ass how one actually goes about casting a vote in this “Koufax” election?  Thanks in advance for your prompt (and minimally condescending) assistance!