Caliente! VVM Sex Story of the Week

As is well established, New Times gobbled up Village Voice Media with the intention of spreading the seed of Great Journalism far and wide. And what constitutes Great Journalism? Well, duh -- it's boners! Yes, as followers of VVM's brand of Great Journalism are painfully aware, the chain is obsessed hookers, orgies, swingers, nudity, sexual malfeasance, etc. etc. Is a bowling club too retarded a subject for these steely eyed observers of the American Condition? Not if it's a naked bowling club. And so, as the aforementioned seed spreads like semen 'cross a porn star's mug, we present: Caliente! VVM Sex Story of the Week.

Runner Up No. 3: Nashville Scene, "The Bitch-Ho Problem: Vandy scholar explores the sexual politics of hip-hop."

Runner Up No. 2: Cleveland Scene, "Gutter Balls: Adventures in naked bowling."

And now... the VVM Sex Story of the Week goes to... SF Weekly, "Sex and Sensuality: Touchy-feely "researchers" want to build community through the the practice of orgasmic meditation -- one stroke at a time."

Line that swayed the judges: "A timer is set, and for the next 15 minutes, the stroking is on. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. After putting on latex gloves, Sam began massaging Jessica's inner thighs and lower stomach. He went in for the lube stroke. 'If you follow the inner lips, her clit will pop out,' Sam said."

Congratulations, journalists!

Bury Those Leads

New Times Village Voice Media is known for its punchy lead writing. A VVM lead doesn't just set the scene -- it grabs your tits by their balls and hurls you into it. Here's a smattering of this week's best.

On the night of January 27, 2003, Danny Holmes and Shawn Hamre stood outside a prostitute's door at an apartment building at 16 West 37th Street. (*)

You have to be Michael to understand. (*)

The first time Alana McCoy was labeled a dyke, the sophomore was walking back to her car in a Regis University parking lot. (*)

"Why say no when it's so much easier to say yes?" (*)

A certified wingnut runs around screaming on the corner of Telegraph and Durant avenues in South Berkeley, his underwear outside his clothes, a toy medieval shield in one hand, a toy axe in the other. (*)

The VIP card is a delicate and dangerous thing. (*)

People in the Bay Area are so busy mapping a fungus genome or rolling out the next digital porn platform that they rarely notice they still live amid two of the Great Society's most notable accomplishments: concentrated urban poverty and bureaucratic ineptitude. (*)

Felix Ellis is alone now. His wife, Genevieve, isn't around to make his favorite bread pudding. (*)

Steve Bison of Alabama's Cherokee River Indian Community says the war over 4-year-old Raven Laws may be traced back to the legendary Battle of Horseshoe Bend. (*)

Nima Daivari looked very gay on the night of March 17. (*)

Of all Southern hip-hop's flavors, none captures the lazy pace of an oppressively hot and humid day in the big dirty as well as screw music. (*)

With a deafening drone the airboat sped north. (*)

On Tuesday, February 27, Constable Mike Dupree abruptly left for vacation just hours after Dallas County commissioners ordered an outside investigation of his office after three employees said that the openly gay elected official was a little too openly gay, claiming that he came on to the younger Hispanics on his staff and touched them inappropriately. (*)

Ever wonder what Kansas should smell like? (*)

Ward Regan lived in 61A. In 1999, Greg Abbey moved into 66A. Abbey was depressed. Regan didn't notice. Abbey wanted to be alone. Regan didn't care. Abbey tried to avoid Regan. Regan, a big fan of Seinfeld, adopted Kramer-esque tendencies and showed up uninvited to Abbey's apartment in boxer shorts to watch his cable TV. After getting over finding Regan in his bathtub—more spacious than his own—Abbey finally warmed up to his oddly instrusive neighbor and discovered they had a common interest: cartoons. (*)

The two private Learjets landed at Key West International Airport. (*)

You have to be Michael to understand. (*)

Do you wanna kiss me?

We apologize for our silence these past few weeks, but, really, it's not like anything interesting has happened in alt-weeklyland. Chalk it up to fatigue.