The Weekend Review

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Weekend Review
Image of the Week

Referencing the venerable tradition of American political leaders groping young American women, Lehigh University is displaying a photo by artist Larry Fink, which depicts a President Bush lookalike fondling a woman’s breast. College Republicans are outraged, but the artist doth protest! Fink explained the subtle metaphor in play: “The woman is a symbol for the world, and his groping is a symbol for what the administration seems to be doing, which is groping not necessarily for pleasure but for dominance.” Listen, we’re not Patriot Act-type folks over here, but it’s clumsy symbolism like that which makes us think freedom of expression might be overrated.

The photographer’s opponents point out that Lehigh never displayed compromising pictures of President Clinton when he was in office. And that’s a shame, because President Clinton’s sexapades could be fodder for a terrific installation piece. TWR would also definitely pay to see a newspaper collage of Laura Bush reading The Ultimate Anal Sex Guide for Women to a group of schoolchildren. Somebody get on that pronto! — Sarah G. Harrison

Official university exhibit website (with more pictures):

Quote of the Week

“Jessica is sexy in a T-shirt or sexy in a bikini; you really can’t stop her from being sexy, because that’s who she is.”

— Joe Simpson, father and manager of Jessica Simpson, in Blender.

Too Bad They Can’t Have Speechwriters Work on Their Pickup Lines

At first, TWR was worried we’d only be able to offer the bare-bones Drudge Report rumors about the John Kerry sex scandal, but thankfully the salacious details are pouring in, and we’ll be able to meet everyone’s prurient needs! Don’t crowd, there’s enough to go around! It appears that Teresa Heinz Kerry’s womanly charms haven’t always been enough to maintain the affections of the statuesque Democratic candidate, and he’s been known to chase after the lithe, young and nubile. We are just literally reeling in shock. Reeling. Reeling. Still reeling . . . oh, wait, no, that’s the nail-polish fumes.

Allegedly, during the 1980s Kerry had a thang with a 25-year-old British journalist who later left him for a member of Pink Floyd. (Thus illustrating that homewrecker tendencies go hand-in-hand with deplorable musical tastes. Really, who leaves anyone for anyone in post-Wall Floyd?) As far as Kerry’s other forays into skeeveland go, Boston radio talk-guy Howie Carr reported that, several years ago, a shitfaced Kerry was taken to task by a nightclub owner’s girlfriend regarding his nondescript voting record. She told him he needed to make a commitment. Allegedly, Kerry got all Rico Suave, telling her, “Baby, I am ready to make a commitment. To you.”

Oh, we swoon. Boy, a Boston nightclub party where both a Senator and a radio talk-show host were present. Like the Bowery in ’78. We’re sorry we missed that one. On the upside, our nails are now a lovely pale pink.

Here’s another something: Kerry’s nickname is apparently “Liveshot.” We report, you decide. — Carrie Hill Wilner


Human embryos cloned. Brain-eating zombies decline to comment.

Barbie ditches Ken for a surfer named Blaine. Blaine reportedly “stoked.”

Britney may sue British tabloid over report that she was watching porn in hotel suite. Specifically Sex Truck and Double-D Housewife.

A Reuters report of a man who found a video of his wife having sex with her lover runs with the headline “Bummer…” We think we could be friends with someone over at Reuters.

Full thirty-seven-minute Paris Hilton sex tape released. We could watch it, or we could “just stay home and you could suck our cock.”

I Love My Dead French Boyfriend!

Smart Porn

What would you call an Ivy League sex magazine? We might go with So Five Years Ago or perhaps Big Fucking Deal, but no one asked us. Recently, two Harvard students announced plans to publish The H Bomb, a magazine that would feature naked-student pictorials and smart articles on sexuality. “What we are proposing is an outlet for literary and artistic expression that is both desired and needed, not a pornographic magazine,” said the magazine’s founders.

Wonder where they got that idea? Anyway, a media ripple followed the announcement. Would one of America’s most hollow — uh, hallowed — institutions allow such insanity? There were articles and TV-news stories and everything. Here at TWR, we couldn’t help but wonder: doesn’t anyone remember the fuss over Yale’s (ultimately fraudulent) Porn ‘n’ Chicken club? Or Apparently, “transgressing” by getting nekkid on film has become an annual collegiate rite of passage akin to getting felt up in the stacks, but do the rest of us have pretend it’s news?

On Monday, The H Bomb was given the go-ahead by university authorities. The editors may use Harvard’s name and advertise on campus; however, they will not be allowed to conduct nude photo shoots inside university buildings. And they are not required to understand that the art-vs.-porn debate is sooooo tiresome, which some quarters — not the democratic arena of TWR, of course! — might consider the real lesson here. — Tobin Levy

Sort of Good Intentions (Sometimes)

We no longer particularly want our MTV. We don’t have to; it’s all up in our shit 24-7. MTV Networks owns MTV proper to capture the suburban-teenager market, VH1 to reach those who love the ’70s and/or ’80s, and Nickelodeon to enthrall small children, their parents, the unemployed — and various combinations of the above.

What’s left, you might ask? Well, we’re happy to report that MTV soon will be able to sell Volkswagens to gays. The company will soon launch Outlet, a queer-themed 24-hour cable network. Creepy title aside, we’re worried by the ominous promise of “lifestyle” programming, a strategy which previously inspired Stripperella (part of Spike TV’s appeal to the lifestyle of the, um, gross) and dozens of serial dramas about estranged sisters.

Since Showtime has already acknowledged that there are gays, even those who occasionally fuck (but not THAT much, because that’s . . . you know), where’s Outlet going to go with this? Our fondest hope: frank and witty sexual discussion addressing a wide range of sexual preferences. The occasional strap-on. The Thom Filicia tell-all. (“They attached seizure-inducing clamps to my nipples. They could shock me at any moment! What else could I DO? I’m SO SORRY!” [breaks down]) Our worst fear: another cadre of swishy wallpaper experts. Not to devalue wallpaper experts, natch, but don’t they have their own channel already? — Carrie Hill Wilner

From the As If We Really Needed to Tell You This Department

Ladies, beware of that birth-control patch you might have purchased from a website based in New Delhi. The FDA is warning the public that the now-defunct website was selling contraceptive patches that provide about as much protection from pregnancy as douching with Coke.

The site promoted the counterfeit contraceptives as Ortho-Evra transdermal patches, which are FDA-approved and made by Johnson & Johnson. But the fake patches lacked the active ingredient necessary to make them effective. Essentially, customers received a Band-Aid in a Ziploc bag.

The FDA has been kind enough to provide visual aids on
their website for people who may have trouble distinguishing the fake patches from the real deal — as if the lack of packaging, labels, instructions or expiration dates weren’t enough of a heads-up. — Tobin Levy

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