Gruss vom Krampus! Bonoboville’s first Krampusnacht is a raucous, racy, revelatory, spanking-hot, bonoboësque festival of KRAMPUS, the horned (and horny) devil of medieval Alpine folklore and Hollywood movies. Krampus is the dark side of Santa Claus, the “Bad Santa” who looks like a sinister version of that ancient Greek, half-human/half-goat "God of the Wild," Pan (patron saint of the bonobos whose Latin name is pan paniscus). While old Saint Nick brings joy and gifts to “nice” boys and girls, Krampus frightens, punishes, whips and spanks “naughty” children of all ages during the Xmas season, but especially on Krampusnacht, the night of December 5th, which just so happens to be when this show was broadcast live.

This show is dedicated to two amazing and very different individuals who are now no longer among the living. First, my dear Uncle Pip who just died at the age of 100. Born in 1913, Herman Block, aka Uncle Pip, experienced a full century of life. And a full life it was—athletic (a trophy-winning tennis champ and a great dancer), romantic, funny, loving and full of pep—that’s why we called him Pip. I love you, Uncle Pip, wherever you are! I wish I had visited you more, especially towards the end. Mazel Tov on making it to The Winner’s Circle of 100. My condolences to all who miss you now, your children, my cousins Elliot, Jeffrey and Diane, your many grandchildren and great grandchildren. Special gratitude goes to my saintly cousin Diane, who took care of him daily, virtually giving up her own life so that Uncle Pip could live 100 years, and never in a rest home. Good job Diane! Now, finally, you can take time for yourself—maybe you’ll even go to Burning Man!

It’s my birthday! Many years ago (I won’t say how many—I don’t want to shock you), I emerged…I wish I could say it was from my Mom’s vagina, but I was a Cesarean. Maybe that’s why I’m bisexual: trying to crawl into a vagina so I can emerge from it, born again…

I confess: I’m a lingerie freak. As if you couldn’t tell. Lingerie is sartorial foreplay, visual arousal for my partner(s) and fuel for my erotic engines. Undercover fashion passions feel cool and look hot, tease as they please, reveal as they conceal. But they’re more than that, at least for me. Slinky slips, lacy teddies, pretty panties, silky stockings, vintage garter belts, dominatrixy corsets, fetish wear and high heels are all parts of my uniforms and the Weapons of Mass Seduction I wield on the frontlines of my “war” against sexual oppression.

Dark Phoenix: Is he honoring or mocking the Birthday Babe when he wears one of my hats in the group shot. Who cares? He’s a consummate entertainer and takes lighting birthday candles to a higher level when he practically sets my butt on fire with a smoking hot fire spanking. Then, of course, everybody wants a fire spanking. What can I say? It’s hot!

Here in Bonoboville, the merry Masturbation Month of May is sort of like Christmas time for Christians, Ramadan for Muslims, Pesach for Jews, Pancha Ganapati for Hindus or Visakah Puja for Buddhists. Leaving out the religious abuse, repressive dogma and intensive shaming practices of organized religion, but with an equivalent sense of meaningful togetherness, plus a dash of joyous irreverence, communal ecstasy and multiple orgasms, we honor something mysterious and eternal, yet deeply personal, and therefore (I would say), “spiritual”: the wondrous gift of self-love.

I confess: I’m a lingerie freak. As if you couldn’t tell. Lingerie is sartorial foreplay, visual arousal for my partner(s) and fuel for my erotic engines. Undercover fashion passions feel cool and look hot, tease as they please, reveal as they conceal. But they’re more than that, at least for me. Slinky slips, lacy teddies, pretty panties, silky stockings, vintage garter belts, dominatrixy corsets, fetish wear and high heels are all parts of my uniforms and the Weapons of Mass Seduction I wield on the frontlines of my “war” against sexual oppression.

This show is dedicated to two amazing and very different individuals who are now no longer among the living. First, my dear Uncle Pip who just died at the age of 100. Born in 1913, Herman Block, aka Uncle Pip, experienced a full century of life. And a full life it was—athletic (a trophy-winning tennis champ and a great dancer), romantic, funny, loving and full of pep—that’s why we called him Pip. I love you, Uncle Pip, wherever you are! I wish I had visited you more, especially towards the end. Mazel Tov on making it to The Winner’s Circle of 100. My condolences to all who miss you now, your children, my cousins Elliot, Jeffrey and Diane, your many grandchildren and great grandchildren. Special gratitude goes to my saintly cousin Diane, who took care of him daily, virtually giving up her own life so that Uncle Pip could live 100 years, and never in a rest home. Good job Diane! Now, finally, you can take time for yourself—maybe you’ll even go to Burning Man!

I confess: I’m a lingerie freak. As if you couldn’t tell. Lingerie is sartorial foreplay, visual arousal for my partner(s) and fuel for my erotic engines. Undercover fashion passions feel cool and look hot, tease as they please, reveal as they conceal. But they’re more than that, at least for me. Slinky slips, lacy teddies, pretty panties, silky stockings, vintage garter belts, dominatrixy corsets, fetish wear and high heels are all parts of my uniforms and the Weapons of Mass Seduction I wield on the frontlines of my “war” against sexual oppression.

It’s my birthday! Many years ago (I won’t say how many—I don’t want to shock you), I emerged…I wish I could say it was from my Mom’s vagina, but I was a Cesarean. Maybe that’s why I’m bisexual: trying to crawl into a vagina so I can emerge from it, born again…

Here in Bonoboville, the merry Masturbation Month of May is sort of like Christmas time for Christians, Ramadan for Muslims, Pesach for Jews, Pancha Ganapati for Hindus or Visakah Puja for Buddhists. Leaving out the religious abuse, repressive dogma and intensive shaming practices of organized religion, but with an equivalent sense of meaningful togetherness, plus a dash of joyous irreverence, communal ecstasy and multiple orgasms, we honor something mysterious and eternal, yet deeply personal, and therefore (I would say), “spiritual”: the wondrous gift of self-love.