Bloody Boobs! Trapped in a World My 14-Year-Old Libido Made!

Bloody boobs.

Gory gazongas.

Plasmatic funbags.

Crimson casabas.

Sanguine suck-sacks.

Mutilated sweater-meat

It’s all coming. To you. Two by two.

Fast. Furious. Bare. Bodacious. And, oh, so bloody.

And, so far, these suckers are HUGE!

For whom do the bloody boobs toll?

They toll for ME!

And also for THEE…

Because we are all Trapped in A World My 14-Year-Old Libido Made!

When asked who his audience was, legendary trash-movie titan and carnival huckster David F. Friedman reflected on his career.

Friedman famously produced “nudie cuties” such as The Adventures of Lucky Pierre, Nature’s Playmates, and Goldie Locks and the Three Bares, along with director Herschell Gordon Lewis’s notorious pioneering gore-shockers Blood Feast, 2000 Maniacs, and Color Me Blood Red. Later on, Friedman specialized in soft-X fare such as The Erotic Adventures of Zorro and The Adult Version of Jekyll & Hyde.

Considering his stocks in trade — tits and ass, blood and guts, sex and violence — Friedman stated succinctly: “I work for lonely men.”

Welcome to a world where such men are lonely no more, for here, at last, is a world of female exhibitionism as social norm (the trickle down Girls Gone Wild effect), female bisexuality as social norm (the pucker up Katy Perry effect), female passion for pornography as social norm (the Internet-from-kindergarten-on effect), female participation in pornography as social norm (the Paris Hilton–meets-$100-camcorders effect) and, really, pornography itself as the dominant social norm, period (and that includes period porn – both time-wise and in literal terms of Aunt Flow).

We all exist today in a world of free smut for everybody. All the time. Everywhere. And in every possible perverse permutation. With more coming (literally) every day. Every hour. Every minute. Right now.

Horror movies abound more than ever, too. Sicker, darker, weirder, gorier. French. And ever more horrific.

Now here’s the real cosmic jolt to the bozack: the chicks of this world dig it. All. Porno. Horror. Gross-out humor. Gross-out interpersonal relations. Bloody boobs. The works.

Why?

Because we are all Trapped in a World My 14-Year-Libido Made!

I hope you like it here. Actually, it doesn’t matter whether or not you do. Because this is all there is. Forever, probably. But definitely now.

And, oh, am I glad at last that I survived those adolescent suicide attempts. Freddie Mercury was right about that (among other life lessons)!

Consider Youngman McBeardo circa 1983. Riding the F train from Avenue N in Brooklyn to Xavier High School with a boner in his wide-wale corduroys torpid enough to cut holes in the subway glass. Pulling straight D-minuses. Working up the nerve to catch slasher movies on 42nd Street after class, but remaining too mired in awestruck terror to venture into the neighboring venues that promised Live! Nude! Girls! (in time, this would change, I assure you).

Then our squat, lumpy, acne-encased hero would ride the D line to the Q, get off at the Avenue M station, delve into the wonder-world of nudie magazines at the adjoining newsstand for as long as he thought Haji behind the counter would tolerate his page-flipping enthusiasm.

Occasionally, pre-beard McBeardo would buy a stroke-book (up until the 1990s, the age of consent in New York was zero), but his enduring dream was to somehow obtain a free copy of each individual magazine, either by cutting a deal with the Head Turban in Charge or, better still, shoplifting them.

Then it was home again, home again, jerkity-jerk. Straight to the basement VCR for Make Them Die Slowly, Bloodsucking Freaks, and anything with Lisa DeLeeuw and/or Sharon Mitchell in the cast. Subsequent, sometimes simultaneous, auditory comfort came via Howard Stern, Rush, Pink Floyd, and heavy metal.

And then … again.

The prospect of Live Nude Girls at a peep show proved daunting enough, the idea that Youngman McBeardo would have any access to a Live Girl, Nude or otherwise, was something he simply accepted as cold, hard impossibility. A non-factor. Zilchness incarnate.

Consider the science: as foul as 14-year-old McBeardo was on the outside – and, oh, what a mess he was - the inner life of this Catholic school wreck was all splayed bodily flesh and spraying bodily fluids, ferocious angst, obscene images, obscene language, coarse deviancy, lowbrow amusement, fear, envy, rage, suppressed aggression, and self-destructive ideation mixed with survival-minded isolation.

How could such a creature ever function in the world as it was?

He couldn’t.

I couldn’t.

That’s why I dreamt up a world where every nubile lifts her shirt and sucks the face and other sensitive spots of other top-doffing nubiles, and every momentary impulse to consume sexually berserk and/or savagely violent entertainment can be instantly satiated and Howard Stern broadcasts 24 hours a day and a series of finger-taps can download libraries of death metal in a flash.

And I’m cool because that’s what I’ve always been all about, and now everything is all about what always made me cool all along.

Everybody else just has to live in it.

So here we are. Trapped in a World My 14-Year-Old Libido Made. And you Live Nude Girls make this world go ’round.

Here’s the world where McBeardo summons bloody boobs to be offered in honor of brutal diversions swathed through the path, and those still waiting to be concocted.

Tattoo chicks, horror chicks, hairy chicks, devil chicks, witch chicks, hippie chicks, metal chicks, punk chicks, death chicks, kink chicks, cult chicks, freak chicks of every stripe – behold the power I lay before you!

This world, your world, our world together, the only world, it is of McBeardo’s doing!

All you see, all you feel, all you do - it emanates straight from my 14-Year-Old Libido (and maybe the sweaty ghost of Joe Spinell), enveloping everyone and everything, powered by the forces that first brought us all together.

And all you need offer in return is your bloody boobs.

Serve up your bloody boobs to honor the powers of creation that initially united us all through drive-ins, chainsaw massacres, Cheryl “Rainbeaux” Smith, Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS, Russ Meyer, Laura Gemser, John Waters, ’70s Times Square, Edwige Fenech, Hammer Films, Forbidden Zone, The Devil in Miss Jones, Christina Lindberg, I Spit on Your Grave, Linda Blair, Caligula, Cruising, Death Race 2000, Pam Grier, Shogun Assassin, peep shows, freak shows, jailbait Traci Lords, Hustler, Fangoria, Screw, adult books, Dario Argento, Asia Argento, midnight movies, porn theaters, Cannibal Holocaust, mondo anything, Brigitte Lahaie, Candice Rialson, Laura Antonelli, George Romero, Tom Savini, X-rated fairy tales, Lucio Fulci, Roger Corman, Countess Bathory … you get the picture.

Now send us your pictures.

Submit your bloody boobs photos for our shared greater glory.

Now is the time. Here is the place. We may be Trapped in a World My 14-Year-Old Libido Made, but the view is spectacular.

It’s up to you, now, just to make (t)it moreso.

The bloody boobs you see here were proffered by Living Goddesses of the Splattered Mammary. And these are but a taste. You will get to know each of these enlightened gland-givers as McBeardo.com evolves. They will be interviewed, explored, revealed.

More importantly, ladies, you will join them.

Send us your bloody boob photos now. And keep coming back. For it’s what’s up front that counts.

Email:

mcbeardo at mcbeardo dot com

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