This is how this remarkable feat was accomplished. Nan Wise, a researcher, masturbated while in an MRI so that pictures of her brain could be taken. These were then spliced together to make the video. Now the truly remarkable thing about this entire exercise must be Ms Wise’s ability to bring herself to orgasm in an MRI. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in one but it’s akin to a metal sausage casing with Doctor Who show noises beamed in at intermittent times. This woman must have extraordinary focus.

So here’s the video. Think about it next time you’re coming to climax. That’ll put a dampner on it. Image

Well, according to website Christwire that science teacher was nothing more than a filthy whore with a dirty mouth (personally I thought she was a vindictive old bag but I digress). They’ve come up with a whole lot of alternatives to use instead of vagina. Lucky it’s a pisstake. Some of these are plain disturbing. Imaginative yet disturbing.

This is my weekly column from the

Can you touch type? Kudos. Big merit to you. Well it would be a big merit if you were completing the 100 Point Behaviour Test for Teenagers formulated in 1953 by Dr George Crane.

I’ve always thought touch-typing to be a necessary skill. Not sure that it contributes to the worth of a 2011 teenager though. Actually I wish I had the skill of fast texting that all teenagers inherit at birth. The skill that lays dormant and festering through childhood and then manifests itself in a frenzy of thumb tapping to sent out at lightning speed searching messages like “wazzup” on their thirteenth birthday. Me, I use the keyboard on my phone to send the equally searching but beautifully punctuated “How are you?” Fortunately (for my street cred) I have abandoned the emicon. That was a very lame period of my life.

Anyway back to the meritorious behaviour of the 1953 teen. Regular church attendance will score you ten merits, but showing racist behaviour—well that gets you a big demerit of five points. But being a racist is nowhere as bad as “illicit sexual relations” which earns the horny teen a whopping twenty demerit points. Let this be a lesson in moderation to you young people.

OK, I know you’re just dying to know other ways that the 1953 teen could redeem themselves. So here’s an incomplete list: play a musical instrument, sing in a choir (I’m sensing a theme), has operated a newspaper route , teach a Sunday school class, asks to be excused when leaving the table early, depends on the alarm clock to get up instead of mamma, knows how to swim and wipes toothpaste specks from the mirror. That’s a diverse list of requirements.

The list of demerits is equally varied. The errant teen: flirts while on a date or is a “two timer”, cheats at school, fails to clean the comb after using it, is grumpy or caustic in the morning and accepts foolish dares to please others (planking on railings anyone?).

Anyway in the interests of recapturing my lost youth, and the absence of any willing teenagers prepared to tell me the truth, I conducted the test on myself. I’ll tell you now I fell down on all the church and prayer stuff and the profanity bit and that whole thing about drinking alcoholic beverages and gambling. I also failed on all the musical merits. I did try singing in a choir, once, and I was so bad that they asked me to do the big smile and mouth the words. This suggestion has been repeated when I sing karaoke.

I did excel at the household chores though. I regularly take the garbage out without nagging, I can prepare an entire meal on my own and I know how to swim. I never stick gum under the table and have stayed away from home for a week. Whew—at least I got some in the positive column.

Anyway I’ve totted up my score and let’s just say I failed. Apparently I have the emotional intelligence of a kindergartner. The children of 1953 must have been very virtuous, or maybe this test is a crock.

Does Guitar Hero count as playing a musical instrument? Image

So for one of those questions that you never asked but wonder why you didn’t: Who were the models for the Joy of Sex pictures?

Well here’s how it went. The BBC says that Penguin, the book’s publisher, wanted to avoid being charged with obscenity, and thus they knew that in order to accurately depict sex in an instructive way, they had to find a way to illustrate it.

Originally, the people behind the book planned to hire people from London’s sex industry to perform the actions described in the book. Their photograph would be taken, and illustrators would work from those photos. However, the sex workers would often stop in the middle and ask for more money, so that plan had to be scrapped.

One of the book’s illustrators ended up volunteering to model for the photographs that would later become the famous black and white illustrations. Over two days in 1972, Charles Raymond and his wife twisted and tangled their bodies into all sorts of positions and were photographed dozens of times.

Oh for a simpler time. Nowadays you’d just google doggy style, 651 236 765 pages would appear and the illustrators would be spoiled for choice. Image

Anyway enough raving on about what I think. I will acknowledge that there are those out there who rather fancy the idea of the mile high club, and just to show how open minded I am I’m providing this link to the mile high kit.

This is what it contains (and I’ve lifted it directly from the site)

Mile High Seduce: Mobile Intimacy Kit
The Pack Light, Pet Heavy. Travel-ready, the Seduce is carry-on safe and packed with erotic essentials. Passion in two servings:
Appetizer: Scented cloths, cinnamon breath mints, pocket mirror, blindfold, and “do not disturb” door hanger.
Main course: Bottles of lubricant and massage oil, feather tickler, whisper-quiet massager, pleasure ring, and three condoms.

So much variety. So many things to do.  And you can carry it in your check-in.  Bonus.

It comes in a choice of colours and is only USD55 which is a steal in Aussie money. Image

This week’s column for the

It’s official. Australia lacks any real celebrities. At least that’s the way it would appear from the motley crew that paraded as stars in Sunday night’s new season of Dancing with the Stars. More like Dancing with the Bogans.

Seriously, is any one of those contestants someone you’d be able to pick from a New Idea cover lineup? Maybe Manu from My Kitchen Rules, but that’s only because he is so over-exposed at the moment that his French accent is in danger of slipping from sexy to seedy.

So let’s look who we’ve got. I’ll start with the blondes, mostly because I don’t like any of them. Exhibit one, Lara Bingle—sports star stalker and shower starlet. She is pumping for the sympathy vote. All that wailing about the place, saying people misjudge her, she smiles to cover up. Boo hoo. She’s famous for nothing except man-handling. And there was a bit of that going on with her dance partner, Carmelo. Keep an eye on them. I forsee a scandal.

There’ll be a scandal with Brynne Edelston for sure. I predict her rich, sugar-daddy husband will take out a hit on the judges this week. He was not impressed when the new try-hard judge, Josh Horner called Brynne a bedazzled sack of potatoes. That’s actually funny. I might reserve judgment on Mr Horner.

Then we’ve got the married Brackens. Hayley is famous for popping out her puppies at the Alan Border Medal, while draped in a dress inspired by the colours of a tropical island that covered hardly anything. And her husband Nathan is one of the most useless bowlers ever to disgrace an Australian cricket team. Can’t place him on the field? He was the fool in the headband. Always injured. Cried a lot.

And a bit of advice for dancing boy blonde Occy—if you want to be Fabio invest in a good conditioner. It will do wonder for your split ends.

Let’s not forget dear Samantha Armytage, all trussed up like a sausage in her sparkly dress. You’ve got courage sweetheart. You looked miserable, but your bravery must be applauded. You are the only blonde I’m cheering for should I lower my standards and continue to watch this guff.

Then there are the rest of them, the golfer, the model, the obligatory Home and Away star and Damien Leith who won Australian Idol in 2006. My money’s on him. He’s got the form on the board, knows how to attract votes and has a sneaky little past with Irish Figure Dancing.  Image

Just can’t seem to let this royal wedding go. Well actually I can but I just can’t leave the actions of Kate Middleton’s (sorry, KateCam’s–I’m determined to make this one stick) siblings go uncommented upon.

But for all those years before, she would have been behaving like any of us. Thinking that dancing in our underwear was a wise thing. Wearing too much fake tan a fashion necessity. Going topless on a boat–well, required. The usual stuff.

As for James, well he put his hands down his boxer shorts and flashed his bum around a lot. Then he did some pseudo gay poses. And no one has ever done that before, have they?

Both James and Pippa have been offered parts on porn movies for their seemingly attractive body part antics. Strangely, I don’t see either of them taking advantage of this outstanding opportunity.

So as I see it the only thing that Pippa and James have done wrong is proven that they had shit taste in choosing their friends when they were younger. Let this be a lesson to all you children out there. You may think that posing fake gay scenarios with your friends is funny when you’re twenty, but should your sister end up marrying royalty then they will surely bite your on your overexposed bums. Image

You know that awkward time when, as a teenager, you realise that your parents still have sex? Well imagine how former British PM’s Tony Blair’s children must feel.

You could dismiss that a cruel, unfounded teasing, but it’s not. Tony Blair publicly made that claim. God, politician are such liars.

He wrote in his book, which was nominated for a prize for a Bad Sex Literary Award, the following about his relationship with his wife before the Labour leadership bid in 1994:

I needed that love Cherie gave me, selfishly. I devoured it to give me strength. I was an animal following my instinct, knowing I would need every ounce of emotional power to cope with what lay ahead.

Ewwww. Didn’t he realise that not only was the world reading it, judging him and pronouncing him a wanker, that his parents, in-laws and own children would be doing the same. How did they ever look each other in the eye over Christmas dinner?

Anyway Cherie’s into oversharing if this week’s statement is any indication.

Tony and I have been married 31 years and known each other more like 35 and even after 35 years he still excites me in all possible ways.

Still think you parents are embarrassing? Image

Let’s catalogue a list of Brendan’s more recent achievements. He got sacked by his club and flicked up to Brisbane for carrying on like an idiot on TV. There was the Lara Bingle shower photo scandal. He came out of that one much better than he deserved. Lara didn’t, but it’s hard to feel sorry for her. After all she wrecked Michael Clarke and the Australian cricket team.

Let’s add the one million bucks he punted and lost on the geegees. I’m glad he didn’t Twitter those tips—they must have been real shockers. One weekend he made 87 bets by text message, losing 50 thousand in the process. Betting by text? Let’s hope Shane Warne never hears of this.

Fev followed that mighty effort with two arrests for drunken behaviour and more visits to rehab than Lindsay Lohan. He failed on the footy field, admitted to a gambling addiction, then lost his house and his marriage.

And if that wasn’t enough, his daughter fell off the bed while he was supposed to be watching her. She just fell off the bed mind you, but Brendan, in an ADHD medicated state, fuelled by a remorseful six bottles of red wine and a propensity to over-reaction decided to kill himself by slashing his wrists. He didn’t succeed but he did get paid 100 grand to tell the story.

He sorted out his feeling of inadequacy by going to the Crown Casino for a crack at the poker tables. Some busybody do-gooder sent him home and that was that, except the media found out. It’s OK though because Fev has taken himself off to Los Angeles for a bit of R’n’R.

I’ve always thought LA the best place to go if you’re staging a public battle with gambling and alcohol addiction. Quiet, no temptation, no possible way to get into trouble is there? Yep Brendan Fevola, football player, addict, overpaid and ill-advised. Image