Wednesday, August 27, 2025
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Olympics about honour, not buck

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By Zack WilsonStaff Contributor

This past holiday season, sports fans the world round were privy to one of the greatest hockey tournaments in the history of the game. That said, the 2010 Olympic form of hockey will be hard pressed to outdo what transpired at the 2010 IIHF World Junior Hockey tournament.
At the 2010 Winter Olympics, the world’s eyes will be fixated on Vancouver, B.C. Eight years ago, the city was chosen. Since then it has undergone a massive transformation in an effort to ready the city for the world’s greatest sports event. Vancouver is no different than any other metropolis in Canada, in that it is a hockey crazy city. For the first time since Calgary, Canadians will be able to watch our athletes strive for victory on home soil.
As is usually the case, our men’s hockey team will be under the microscope, although, unlike in Calgary, this team will be made up of professional players from the NHL. Whereas in the past Olympic hockey was played purely by amateur athletes, for the first time Canada will witness the game’s best players in our own backyard.
For millions of Canadians, the two most important weeks on the sporting calendar (in non-Olympic years) run from Boxing Day through to the early days of the new year. Within this time frame, young men from 10 nations travel thousands of miles, don their country’s colours and go to war in an effort to be crowned kings of the junior hockey world. Unfortunately for the 5.6 million Canadians that tuned in to watch the final game of the 2010 IIHF World Junior Hockey Championships between Canada and the U.S., our boys came up just short. They lost 6-5 to the Yanks in overtime in what will undoubtedly go down as one of the greatest games in tournament history.
Some may find it hard to believe that a tournament made up of amateur teenage competitors could draw an audience of that magnitude, but it really isn’t all that inconceivable. To begin with, Canadians love to see their country win. Unlike any other major hockey tournament, the Canadians have dominated this competition in a way that no other nation can possibly dream of.
We are watching the future of hockey. A great number of these young men will grow up to be some of the greatest players in the game. Canadians love their amateur athletes. Despite the fact that our government does relatively little to support them, we always rally around our under-endorsed crop.
Something that needs to be taken into consideration is that when these juniors shed their club jerseys in favour of their national colours, they do so without a professional contract. National Hockey League players on the other hand have the luxury of signing multi-million dollar deals and then simply playing them out, these teenagers don’t have such liberties. Hypothetically speaking, all an NHLer with a multitude of talent would need to do is put in a few good years until it came time to sign an inflated contract. The player could then relax while watching his retirement fund grow. This is not to say that men who sign these deals (which are now exceeding the $100 million mark) did not work to get where they are. But once they have reached this point and have their names on these financial papers, where is the incentive to perform?
Unlike the men of the professional ranks, the teenagers that defend their country’s honour in the hockey world are playing for their livelihood. Aside from a select few, none of these kids are guaranteed jobs in the NHL and not a single one of them is assured of a long and fruitful career in the game of hockey. For a considerable portion of them, the NHL is anything but a given.  Due to this fact, these boys are willing to play more recklessly and lay more on the line than any paid NHLer (whose base salary is $475,000 per year). This all translates into a much more exciting brand of hockey.
One can’t help but salivate at the prospect of the world’s best hockey players (junior and professional) taking to the world’s biggest stage and vying for Olympic supremacy. Despite the fact that the Olympic rosters will be bloated with professional hockey players, the tournament itself is an unpaid event. Much like the World Junior tournament, the men partaking in this competitive event are doing so strictly out of national pride. Once the two weeks in which the Olympics take place have come to an end, most of these guys will strut back to the financial security of their NHL clubs, but for the Olympic fortnight these pros will become unpaid soldiers, fighting a labour of love for their countries. It is almost as if these endorsed stars will have been transported back in time to the days when they played the game of hockey for nothing more than pride and pleasure rather than the pursuit of capital gain.
Many of the Olympic hockey participants are not strangers to the intern ational game. For example, of the players selected to the Canadian roster, 18 played for their country at the World Junior tournament. The number of those with international experience is even greater considering those who have represented their nation at events such as the World Under-18 Challenge, the World Championships and the Spengler Cup.
There is no doubt that the NHL is an exciting league. With a fan base that far exceeds 100 million, and TV broadcasting deals in more than 80 countries worldwide, it is impossible to deny the league’s status.
As a direct result of such widespread popularity, massive revenues incur and the league’s players are paid accordingly. Each and every one of these competitors played some form of junior hockey in which they were unpaid. All of them looked forward to and hoped for a successful playing career. As a result, these young men were willing to lay it all on the line in hopes of being given a shot at the big leagues. This determination and drive has produced – and continues to produce – some of the greatest hockey ever played.
Quite a large number of men, who were themselves once amateur juniors, will take to the ice this month in Vancouver dressed national colours. For some, it will be the first time in a while they have not been contractually obligated to play hockey. Whether this will ultimately result in a form of hockey that cannot be paralleled by the NHL is yet to be determined. Will the 2010 version of Olympic hockey produce an on-ice product comparable to this past year’s World Junior tournament? We’ll have to wait and see.

Panthers plough Tigers’ playoff hopes

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By Dylan MatthiasStaff Contributor

The Dalhousie Tigers missed a tremendous opportunity last Friday – several in fact – losing 5-3 to the visiting UPEI Panthers. With only four games remaining in their season, including two against the unbeaten and number-one-ranked UNB, the Tigers needed to pick up points to hold off Moncton in the battle for the last AUS playoff position.
“We just can’t make the other team pay. When we take a penalty, they make us pay. Our powerplay’s just not clicking right now,” said Tigers coach Pete Belliveau after the game.
The Tigers missed seven powerplay opportunities in the game, including four in the third period when they trailed the Panthers. Late in the period the Tigers had a five-on-three advantage but couldn’t convert.
“We got our chances, we just couldn’t score on the powerplay … that’s why we lost,” said the Tigers’ centre Daniel Bartek, who had one of the Tigers three goals. Bartek, who represented the Czech Republic at the 2008 IIHF World Juniors, has seven goals in 25 this season.
Panthers’ net-minder Wayne Savage was a big part of the UPEI penalty kill, backing the Panthers up when the Tigers were able to break down their strict positional play. The Tigers never quite sorted out the UPEI attack, though, and gave up several bad goals. Cory Vitarelli beat Tigers’ goalie Josh Disher with a wrist shot 42 seconds into the game. Vitarelli also scored the Panthers’ second goal of the first period by skating into the slot from the boards before winding up a massive slapshot that beat Disher. None of the Tigers bothered to stop his advance.
Dalhousie solved UPEI’s Wayne Savage in the second period, getting three goals past him in less than four minutes, but not without conceding another to Vitarelli on a lethal powerplay move. A bad change gave Dalhousie their first, with Benjamin Breault breaking in two-on-one before passing to Patrick Sweeney for a tap in. Breault, a 2006 Buffalo Sabres draft-pick, has led Dalhousie offence with seven goals in 11 games since coming to Dal in January from the ECHL’s Florida EverBlades.
The Tigers’ second and third goals were both spearheaded by Jeff Larsh. He powered his way through a clogged neutral zone to clear space for line-mate Jordan Gagne. Gagne scored on his first chance, firing a shot past Savage, but missing his second chance. Bartek collected it behind the net and faked Savage before tucking it in on a wrap-around. Vitarelli’s hat trick came just before Gagné’s first, off a lethal back-door play from Thomas Stryncl and Jared Gomes on a powerplay. At the end of the flurry, both teams were tied at three.
Despite out-shooting the Panthers all game (and ending up with a final shot advantage of 42-30) the Tigers could not keep them off the board. A horrible pinch by Josh Manning left Matt Carter alone in front of Disher at the end of the second period, and Carter easily recorded his 30th point of the year with a goal. The final blow came as the Tigers tried to rally in the third. PEI’s top powerplay line worked their backdoor play again, with Stryncl passing to Gomes at the far post before Gomes found Vitarelli cross-crease, leaving him an open net.

Farine nets 32 as Tigers fell Axemen

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By Natasha WhiteStaff Contributor

A decent student turn-out witnessed hardwood action last Wednesday night as the Tigers took on the Acadia Axewomen and Axemen. Victories for both the men’s and ladies teams helped solidify Dalhousie’s standings as the season enters its final few weeks. It’s been a stellar second half of the season for Dal; since the 2010 January start, both basketball teams have gone an impressive seven for nine (as of Feb. 6). The Dal Men’s only losses came at the hands of the St. Francis Xavier and Cape Breton University teams who currently lead the AUS, ranking third and fourth respectively in national standings. But the real heartbreaker stat belongs to the ladies, whose two losses of 2010 were by a mere two points at the hands of the undefeated CBU Capers and third-place Memorial Sea Hawks.
The second-last home game of the season saw Tiger guard Simon Farine deliver a beautiful performance. Just two assists shy of a double-double, Farine put up a season best 32 points. If not for some heavily contested lay-up misses, Farine could have topped 40. 6’8 forward Sandy Veit pulled a Rodman (okay, slight exaggeration), dominating both offensive and defensive boards against the Axemen. It’s great to see Veit’s aggressive rebounding excel each game. The clock’s a ticking, and it’s time for every Tiger to amp up.
Coach Campbell and his staff must have been pleased with Dal’s lights out free throw show, hitting 22 of 25 attempts. Threes also played a big part in the win as Dal went seven for 22. But, it was thanks to a stifling defence of the arch by guards Sullivan and Farine that made the difference. The Axemen, blessed with two pure shooters in Anthony Sears and Casey Fox, were denied any opportunity to shine by the Tiger pair. The Tigers need to bring this defensive intensity to the floor for 40 minutes every game as they battle for the next three weeks before the big show in Sydney, March 12 to March 14.
Andrew Sullivan had an incredible game Sunday, Jan. 31, against UNB. Sullivan took over in the second half with threes, free throws, and sweet inside feeds to big man Joe Schow, who came up with a game high of 20 points. The Tigers went on to defeat last place UNB 69-55.
Where were the ladies, you ask? The Dal ladies edged the Axewomen 72-64 with the help of a much-improved full court press break. Granted, the Axewomen’s press efforts lack the strength of the upper echelon teams. Nonetheless it provided good practice for Coach Stammberger’s crew. Turnovers were reduced as we saw more passing, less dribbling and thinking, taking the ball up the court. However, the press will remain a sore spot for Dal until they start to move to the ball versus waiting for the pass to come. It will be too easy for the top-ranked teams to simply wait for the telegraphed pass to the immobile middle, forcing the turnover.
I’ll end with one final plea – nay, let’s call it a dare. I triple dog dare you to show up for the last home games of the hardcourt season. Dal takes on our bitter rivals (dramatic writer’s license) St. Mary’s University on Saturday, Feb. 13. Tip off is at 5 p.m.

Get the buzz on vibrating cock rings

By Wango ChangoSex Pirate

Recently while working for The Gazette, we were introduced to a young connoisseur of pounding vag named Wango Chango. Hailing from the mean streets of Fountain Hall, this tall glass of manhood sported an un-ironic moustache and baggy American Eagle Jeans that were loose enough to gently grind against his Birkenstocks. With hair slicked back and an upside down visor resting gently on his wannabe varsity athlete dome, he began to wax philosophical about one of the sexier new products on the market place: Durex’s Play Vibration ring.

Wango Chango here, reporting for The Dalhousie Gazette.
This just in! Breaking news! I know how to make girls come three times as hard bro (and dude’s too, but I don’t rock that thang). The secret is a device called the Vibrating Cock Ring from Outer Space (a.k.a Kryptopussy). Actually, the product is under Durex’s line of Play Vibration products, designed for girls rocking it solo or performing as a duo (Sonny and Cher style) with their lovers.
The vibrating ring is a simple design. Press the on button (or as I refer to it: “go time”) and it’s lift off, Apollo 13 style, because shit is going to get fucked! Strapping it on your wang is a bit of an endeavour. The secret is to get it nice and moist beforehand. After sliding it onto your junk, roll on a condom. Insert into vagina and boom! You get a pussy that begins to purr due to all the vibrations – cat metaphor son!
As for how it rocks your body: if you’re a guy, it’s nothing spectacular. One of the highlights is watching your penis subtly wave from side to side due to the vibrations. It’s like a little vibrator, or in my case, a massive 12-inch dildo.
For the guys the only pleasure derives from jamming yourself all up in your ladies grill and watching her cash out a subscription to O Magazine. And by O Magazine, I mean O Facial, because she’s having an orgasm son.
If you’re a little pussy, this 20-minute-long device will last two or three sessions with your lady friend. However, for those of us with raging boner’s and libidos stronger than He Man, the 20 minutes will seem a short amount of time for the $9 price tag.
However, watching that girl get freaky on your robot wang is certainly worth at least $20.

Pinecones – Sage

By Nick LaugherStaff Contributor

Grade: A

Bearing down on your ears like a freight train of psychedelic tomfoolery, Brent Randall and his Pinecones make stops at 1960s hippiedom, mellotron and songs about tea. Their newest album, Sage, is the first entirely collaborative effort by the band, resulting in the apt retitling of the band as “the Pinecones.” With each member contributing to the songwriting process, the LP is a smörgåsbord of jingly-jangly, dancey, spacey pop tunes that glitter with the broad wave of influences from J.J. Cale to the Beatles.
A hearty 16-track treasure chest of atmospheric, light-hearted pop jams and experimental sonic ambiance, the Pinecones craft a unique, nostalgic soundscape. The material doesn’t sound dated – it sounds familiar. The songs range from brooding ballads like “5 o’clock Shadow (of a Moonbeam)” to upbeat Dylan-esque jams about the Ardmore Tea Room, all weaving in and out of the speakers with delicate, masterful production. Though the band clearly shows their influences, they manage to deliver a sound that’s intelligent and their own. The record steers away from the realm of knockoff or pastiche, and unfolds like a loving tribute to the days of flowers in the hair and LSD on the tongue.
The Pinecones, with their legendary dry humour and sarcastic wit, have littered the album with homages, tiny tales of tea and fun facts about songs that you can’t help but giggle at. The Pinecones are just pure, honest fun. A perfect album to throw on when you’re slumped on the couch, nursing that perpetual hangover, Sage immediately lifts your mood and opens your ears to a wonderful universe of lighthearted, brilliant pop music the likes of which the world has been severely deprived of. The Pinecones fill that empty space with enough happiness and hilarity to induce a titter in even the sourest music snobs.

Charlotte Gainsbourg – IRM

Matthew RitchieAssistant Arts Editor

Grade: A

The daughter of French jazz-bo icon Serge Gainsbourg and sexy singer Jane Birkin returns with her second album, IRM. Named after the acronym given in French hospitals for brain scans, as well as being influenced by Gainsbourg’s near death from a brain haemorrhage following a water skiing accident, the album contains severely dark and spiritual themes in comparison to her previous album. This is a welcome surprise for Gainsbourg fans.
Debut album 5:55 was filled with cooing electronics and love songs, mostly due to the collaboration with the cheese-eating surrender monkeys in Air. This time around she has enlisted the help of everyone’s favourite egomaniacal bard, Beck, and the pairing is a strong choice. Following the release of his debut album Mellow Gold, it is safe to say Beck threw out all of his Johnny Cash and Neil Young albums for Tropicalia compilations and Serge Gainsbourg records. Because of this, IRM sounds somewhat like a Serge Gainsbourg record without entirely mirroring his compositions.
Even though Beck arranged, composed and gave life to the entire catalogue of songs on this album, it is clear to see this is in fact a Charlotte Gainsbourg record. If anything, this is the best Beck album in seven years and his name isn’t even on the cover.
“Heaven Can Wait” marries a bohemian acoustic guitar stomp over tickled keys and a jazzy horn section. This duet between Beck and Gainsbourg may be the most pop heavy on the record, as well as being one of the oddly sexiest tracks. “IRM”, which shares its name with the album, is a nauseating trip through the Paris and London underground on psychedelics. Mechanical sounds whir and fly by the ears as a monotone Charlotte describes a brain scan. “Le Chat Du Café Des Artistes” is a heavily orchestrated track with light drums and sensual whispers from Charlotte over swelling strings.
Sexy, gorgeous and intriguing as Charlotte is, this album is a must have.

F is for fiction: Pants full of want and head full of beer

Say My Name, Say My Name
By Anonymous

Karaoke should never lead to sex. No man, anywhere in the world, should ever be seduced by a pedestrian rendition of “Love Me Tender”. It goes against all logic. But if I’ve learned anything in my 23 years on this planet, it’s that four beers and a handful of cigarettes destroy logic. They eviscerate it, like a knife in the gut of a self-righteous samurai. That night, our self-indulgence did a real number on logic – cut it from bow to stern, and wore its duodenum like a scarf. Our sins looked fashionable wrapped in the entrails of our common sense. Still, I can’t say, not if I’m being one-hundred-percent-raise-your-right-hand-and-swear honest, that I regret what happened. To tell the whole truth and nothing but, I had been thinking about it for a while – been “having the thoughts while touching the spots”, if you catch my pervy drift – been wondering if something might happen, where it might happen, when, and with who watching. That night, I got my answers:
“Yes. At your apartment. After a night of poorly chosen karaoke numbers. Your cat.”
My cat is a dirty voyeur.
But, wait. Let me fill in the gap between beer guzzling, and cat perversion.
The bar was empty that night. It was just the two of us (and a handful of people who, as far as I could tell, never left the place). We had the room for all intents and purposes to ourselves. He stood in front of the teleprompter. I stood in front of the stage, watching him, ogling him really, wanting to devour him faster than I had gulped down my fourth beer. He was singing Stevie Nicks’ “Edge of Seventeen”, and joking with the regulars about how Destiny’s Child had perverted a classic.
With him in the pulpit, and me on the altar, I was a little lamb. With a head full of beer, I danced for Him – not quite a Virgin sacrifice, but something wholly ritualistic. A holy ritual. Sweaty palms, finding each other in 4/4 time, hair glued to a hot, wet forehead, the female equivalent of a raging hard-on springing up in my jeans.
When the song ended, he jumped off the stage. We hugged. We smoked, and then the emcee called my name. Suddenly I was nervous. Conscious of the sweat clinging to unshaved armpits, reminded of my grade-F singing voice.
He held my hand at the front of the stage, laughing, saying stupid, perfect things like “Will you marry me?” and “Baby, you’re Wild At Heart.” My head was swimming in a sea of booze and impure thoughts.
We ran out of the bar with our coats half on, riding our bikes as fast as our wobbly legs would allow. By the time we got to my apartment, our minds were on the same, solitary track. We didn’t have time to lock our bikes.
We stumbled into my apartment, gaining speed, and losing clothes. Hands grabbing wildly at lust-seared flesh – our breath a sweltering vapour. He kept calling it “sexy sex.” “This is very sexy sex,” he said. I laughed, saying nothing. It was true, I had never felt sexier, but I’ve never thought of myself as sexy.
We slept together a few more times that summer, but eventually, sexy sex became boring sex, and then, finally, non-existent sex.
There’s a rule written somewhere, in some dusty book, in some dusty man’s library that says “Friends Should Never Fuck, Period.” I think I read that book once, but somehow, in my memory, the “Never” dissolved, replaced with a “Probably” – the period, with an “On the Regular.”
I think I need to revisit that book.

Afternoon Daydream
By Phallus in Wonderland

This is the story of a would-be sexual encounter. It’s about one of those truly great afternoons that manage to leave only dreamy memories and hazy details. This is the good stuff.

On May 12 of last year I had a conversation with him. Actually, I had more than that. He was simple and kind, and he did things that I really liked. I mean, he had a true charm about him. I remember sitting and reading a book, sipping iced tea and smoking a cigarette – something I rarely do. He looked at me as if he didn’t really know what to do, but I saw him smile.  He was working at an indoor rock climbing business around the corner and, as a result of six months of instructing, had this fantastic shape. He said something about my book, I can’t remember what, and then sat next to me on the grass.  He sort of kicked off his shoes and rolled onto his stomach, taking out great pieces of paper from his backpack and then some dark pencils. He started to draw, and I think I was so surprised that he was there, I barely moved.
I’d been wondering about him for months. I first noticed him when I was sitting on that very grass one day, taking a break from the bookstore/coffee shop where I work. He had smiled at me then, too, as he strode across the back lot with a handful of kids, off to their climbing lesson. I liked him instantly. It usually takes me ages to be really interested in somebody.
Several weeks after I first saw him, I was drinking wine with my friend Pascale. She was telling me about the awful sex she’d been having lately and how, suddenly, she had met a beautiful man at a flower shop and he’d pushed every button in just the right way and, well, it was suddenly dawning on her that sex was the most healthy thing you could do for yourself. After she left I sat by my window for a long time. I looked out at the street and watched people come and go. I wondered how many would go home to feel a warm touch on their skin. I wondered how many would scream out in pleasure or laugh with delight. I realized that his face was right in front of mine – that I was picturing him with his lips engaged in a full-on grin. I really liked his smile.
As he was drawing there on the grass that day, I noticed that it was getting quite warm for spring. I, too, kicked off my shoes and lay on my stomach. He kind of looked at me sideways and then asked me what my name was. I told him: Lucy. His name was Sam.   He spread out his lunch on the grass and unwrapped a jug of sweet tea and two small teacups. It crossed my mind that he may have been wondering about me too. We sipped and discussed books and work.
I felt a breeze tickle my legs and thought it might be better to move down to the brook behind the back gravel lot, to get out of the wind. We picked up our shoes and wandered down, the sun flicking our faces and the breeze grabbing our hair. We dipped our feet into the cool water and settled down on the small sandy shore. I suddenly felt the dreaminess of it all, the absolute delight. I looked at him and he looked at me. His lips were closer then, and then they were gently around mine. I took his hand and squeezed it tightly, and he smiled broadly. He slowly removed my feet from the water and lay over me on the sand. His lips felt every inch of my stomach and waist, and his hands felt all there is to feel. I could smell springtime on him, and as I rose up to sit atop him, and my hair fell before my face, I felt true happiness. We moved into the grass and he lifted my legs to taste me.
The rest is merely dreamy memories and hazy details – the good stuff.

Sex with the Gazette

Sexy Science Rap
By Lauren Edwards

She got my cardiovascular system on overdrive, baby
Makin’ me think I got a psychopathology
An anxiety disorder would explain a lot
Like why when she’s around I feel like I been shot
Sympathetic nervous system really takin’ over
Just wanna tell her, that I really love ‘er

Almost wishin’ I was going into cardiac arrest
Hopin’ she’d perform CPR on my chest
Keep me alive girl, keep things from going south
Oh, wait, I think I’m gonna need mouth to mouth
Come on baby, press down on my sternum
Get my heart started, got me sayin’ dayummmn

This girl’s so fine, considered giving her a rock
If it was made of sugar, it’d cause diabetic shock
But my baby’s healthy, she’s a perfect specimen
Just wanna take her home and show her to my love den
Baby, you’re my double helix and you know what that means
I’ll be your DNA helicase and help unzip your jeans

Girl you make my heart beat so fast I wanna vomit
Definitely over the average 72 beats per minute
Hold me baby, palpate my anatomical landmarks
Biggest in town, now that’s a trademark
I’m gonna end this rap, girl, let me explain
It’s hard to think with the lack of blood in my brain

Beauty on, Beautiful
By Boss Whirly

“I’m gonna fuck you”
at backgammon in the bar early.
Our first game
Not our first game.
A comedy show for you I get on the list us two;
a comedy show for me you pay my cover.
Women. Are. Funny.
Fuck how we laughed.
You bought the beer at home I bought the beer at the show and when I looked at you over the drunken laughter you said you were going to destroy me. At backgammon.
Back at the house, a tall dark stout I put on the Slits vinyl and make you do pushups
I do sit-ups and I know they are not good for your back.
I teach you plank breathing heavy I plank on top of you.
Breathe I say
you hold my ankles
while I sit-up
Again
And again
Coach
You count
and talk me through
two more
two more
me and you on a yoga mat on the living room floor
and when you’re finally in me we have warmed up
and we rep
and rep and
rep hot and wet
the fire trucks screamin’ while we breathin’ and we don’t look out the window cause let it.
The funny girl said how in the U.S. everyone’s trying to sell you pills.
If your eyes are dry they try and sell you pills;
she said:
“Cut an onion”
and me and you laughed and drank and she said:
“Can’t produce tears? Maybe you’re just happy.”
And after we wiped our feet
and after we took the garbage out
and after we worked it out and fucked on the floor I cried and I laughed and
I cried.
Because
I love you.
I love you
I love you.

Sweet Infatuation
By Dana Carly Andrews

She’s walking on tiled ground,
solid, she stands lipstick slick
and sealed up.
Her eyes graze the counter
lazily blinking,
hazel lonely.
She stares
and says nothing.
A single finger lifts to feel the glass,
her nail clicking,
a lone typewriter pressing y-e-s
please.
I w-a-n-t it
hot and thick.
Soft pinks moan, curved around
dark chestnuts coming
out from under sweet
mouthfuls of flesh.
Lips release to breathe soft white
mist twisting up
cigarette smoke in a 1930s film.
Anxiously tonguing her lower lip
she waits
while a weathered hand
slices through warm
skin.
Cinnamon, crimson reds spill slowly over the blade,
hungry scarlet juices scream
grasping the cool metal,
bending over and around
over and
over and
over again.
Finally exhaling when lifted in –
Yes, this woman is
infatuated.
Who needs a man, honey,
when a dollar and change can buy love?

Juliet
By Dana Carly Andrews

The river, my Juliet
and I hers.
She, a blanket for my temple,
I, swallowed under decades of diamond sea.
Sand brushes my two feet freely –
I visit often.
When night calls,
I breathe silk and race her.
My skin in, under, over her
and I, catching fingers on ribs of rock and branch,
cover her in warm red blood
spilt easily.
It doesn’t hurt much.
But to be without her?
I would fill my insides thick with poisons,
let strangers in,
bruise and beat my empty skin
with dead men.
They would lick me swollen,
kiss me lipless, sick me rotten,
and I would lay in the place
where my thighs came together
and I would weep for her.
Juliet
Juliet

I. Love. You.
By Erica Newman

I’m smiling, looking into your eyes when it happens.
Uh oh.
My lungs expand to allow sufficient air in order to push it out,
Simultaneously vibrating my larynx in hopes that the sound waves will travel from inside of me into the immense, scary world,
And find their final resting place in the quivering hairs of your cochlea.
Passersby might steal a single sound but the waves belong wholly to you.
Against my will my body’s strongest muscle arcs and lifts,
To form the words my brain has chosen without consulting me.
“I”.
It lingers there, dripping off my rebellious tongue.
“I” could be the beginning of any inane and harmless sentence.
But not today,
Not out of my mouth.
“Love”.
The weather? This room?
If only it could be that simple.
Wide-eyed and frightened I realize that I’m two-thirds there.
Only one-third of the third grade mathematics pizza pie could instantaneously bring tears to my eyes,
And a tear in my heart.
“You”.
I said it. It’s done.
The words hang between us on a string, bobbing slightly and swayed by the wind of the open door.
I feverishly grasp to grab them and stuff them in my mouth,
Forcing them down my esophagus and into my stomach,
Where it’s dark and quiet and acid can break down the foolish notion of love like a simple carbohydrate.
But it’s too late.
I can tell by your face that the waves have made their destination,
And the sound has registered from thought to emotion to rejection.
You leave and the wind from the door blows “I love you” into my face,
Mocking me.
I want to tell you that it wasn’t my fault,
That it was an unconscious bodily function,
That it was no more controllable than the beat of my heart, which is now rapid,
Or the blink of my eye, which is now watery.
But it’s too late.
And left in this room is only my body with “I love you” on a string and my mind somewhere else.

Sheet Music
By St. F

Sex
is in the rhythm of Mother Earth
and Mama knows cause every birth was begun with a headboard beating to the same drum
every time you come
your erection
becomes part of the horn section
blowing your load aloud
when I come I’m
proud to sing in harmony
with all my sisters that come with me
and our
vibrators hum along
but they don’t know the words

‘cause sex is in the rhythm of Mother Earth for what it’s worth
I’ve had men who could
hit G perfectly
but without timing
without integrity
well
it’s just not going to do anything for me

so now
I only fuck musicians
and I know my mom’s wishin’ I’d do otherwise
she’s told me
these guys’ll
pluck your heartstrings until they sting
and still
it sounds so good
and I always understood
she told me time and time again
these men
when they turn old and grey
you’re going to get sick of hearing them say
I am employed

but even my mother married a bass player
so she can’t say shit
‘cause even my mother knew that

sex was in the rhythm of Mother Earth

it’s not about size
not about girth
not even about making love
‘cause if you need sex to make love you’ve got your own shit to deal with
tonight we’re not going to make love
tonight

let’s make music

Let’s get it on: Top six songs to bang to

By Dalhousie Gazette Staff

Have you ever reached across the bed to your stereo to throw on some music for love making with that special someone, only to discover a Puddle of Mudd album? Probably not, because if you listen to that band, chances are you’re a virgin. However, most of us have been in that predicament, grasping out for a sought-after Duke Ellington collection but coming up short.
Here’s The Gazette’s song guide to getting your freak on with. For those quick on the draw, the top two shall suffice.

1. “Love and Happiness” – Al Green
Oh, the smooth sounds of Reverend Al Green. Before he became a man under god, he was a man under fierce booty. In his soulful R&B hit Love and Happiness he analyzes the meaning of love and happiness over top of funky keys and groovy guitars. The stand out line of the song? “Happiness is when you feel real good with somebody,” especially when you are naked with that somebody.

2. “Get to Know Ya” – Maxwell
Any song Maxwell touches is sure to delight when it comes to time in the bedroom. Pulsating funk beats, operatic soul inflected vocals; Maxwell is one of the most underrated singers of our time. Although it’s a more romantic song about getting to know a woman, you can be sure Maxwell would prefer to get in her pants.

3. Any track by Prince
Although the Purple Rain soundtrack is an oddity in the music world, it’s hard to deny its groovy nature. Prince’s distinctive voice also influenced the next singer on this list. And come on: when you hear the line “Let’s go crazy, let’s get nuts,” it is hard not to imagine the words “bust some” thrown in there.

4. “Prototype” – Outkast
Are you interested in doing some of that down and dirty, brand new relationship sex? The kind where everything goes slow and soft because you aren’t ready to go at it like monkeys in a caged zoo? It’s hard not to get in the mood when Andre Benjamin sings “I think I’m in love again” next to the sounds of a bass thump similar to Bootsy Collins. Andre Benjamin is the go-to person for people who find Prince a little too freaky.

5. “In a Sentimental Mood” – Duke Ellington and John Coltrane
No lyrics are needed to get the mood set with this 1962 jazz classic. With the repetition of Duke Ellington’s soft and inviting piano playing, your body gets heated up right as John Coltrane’s beautiful sax drifts you into a land of sensual delights. It may as well be called foreplay. Sadly, Boston created a song with that very name years later; nothing is un-sexier than the music of Boston. “In a Sentimental Mood” even has a time shift for all those lovers out there who don’t want to be slow and soft for every second of sex.

6. “Sex Planet” – R. Kelly
Nothing turns a couple on more than R. Kelly. He has the beautiful timbre that could rival Marvin Gaye, but with none of the focus on community or enriching humanity. R. Kelly fully thinks with his boner. He is also a devout Christian, which entirely contradicts this highly sexualized song. “Sex Planet”, off of his 2007 album Double Up, is an intergalactic bang song in which he flies with a young honey throughout the galaxy while having sex. The desired location is the sex planet. In reality, isn’t that what all couples are looking for – our own sex planet? The answer is yes.

No gunk on my junk

Matthew RitchieAssistant Arts Editor

Anybody who has watched the movie Superbad remembers the scene where a young Evan (played by Michael Cera) is mocked by his teen accomplice Seth: “Oh Evan, thank you for bringing that lube for my pussy,” Jonah Hill’s character mocks. “I would have never been able to handle your four inch dick inside my pussy without that gigantic bottle of lube.”
The scene is memorable due to the mocking most teenagers experience. Joking aside, lubricant certainly provides a lot of help for couples old, and in this case, young. The practicalities behind using lubricant are numerous from making sex more comfortable to allowing less chance of condoms breaking. In most cases, it just adds to the fun.
There are a lot of kinds of lubricant on the market; most of them have ridiculous names. Astro Glide may promote out of this world smooth sex, but in reality it gunks up.
Gunking is a problem most lubricants have, but one brand is attempting to fix that. At Halifax’s recent Everything To Do With Sex Show, a certain bottle of lubricant stood out above the rest. Simply called Lube, the lubrication is made by Canada’s own Triesco.
Created by a safe sex educator, this Lube (also known as Personal Lube on the company’s website) is made first and foremost with distilled water. The water is the purest that can be achieved and mimics the human body’s natural lubrication. Because of this the product can be used with latex condoms and won’t allow them to degrade at a higher rate in the same way an oil based lubricant would. Glycerine is also added to the product, making it even more slippery and giving the lube a sweet taste which is also natural for the body to consume; the lubricant is edible, which adds even more fun for couples.
The product states it doesn’t gunk, and it stays true to its claim. However, most of us don’t have marathon three hour bouts of sex. Putting a small amount on my hand and letting it stay for a few hours, upon even putting the smallest drop of water on the applied area the lubricant came back to life.
This is hands down the best lubricant on the market. It is Canadian made, so purchasing it helps the economy. Triesco have also supplied the product to a number of AIDS-prevention agencies in North America and plans to continue support for safer sex around the world. The bottle is massive and has an easy spout for application so you don’t waste any of the lubricant.
If you want a lubricant that doesn’t gunk and has no frills, this product will get the job done.