by Dr. Susan Block Valentine’s Day is coming… Ah V-Day, the High Holiday of Love; charged with mixed emotions for many of us (me too!) and (unless you’re Miley and Liam) especially tough to navigate in this politically divisive, sexually suspicious, hyper-commercialized, economically unfair, disturbingly climate-changing and emotionally exhausting moment in human history. Yes indeed, brothers and sisters, lovers and sinners, porn stars and rawkstars, husbands and wives: these are challenging times for love of all kinds. But here at the little Love Church of The Bonobo Way in Bonoboville, we accept the “Valentine Challenge” with a three-part erotic, artistic, therapeutic, cathartic, ecstatic, bonoboesque and tremendously fun Valentine Season 2019: 1) Valentine Splosh featuring Dr. Susan Block’s SPEAKEASY Journal: SPLOSH ‘n’ Art edition; that’s this show 2) World Bonobo Day on 2/14, V-Day itself, 3) Lupercalia (the original pagan V-Day) on 2/16 and the launch of the spanking new SPANK ‘n’ Art edition of Dr. Susan Block’s SPEAKEASY JOURNAL.

by Dr. Susan Block Teetering on the edge of the Trumpocalypse, we gather together in the Womb Room of the little Church of Bonoboville—singers and swingers, porn stars and comics, resistance fighters and even tRUMP supporters (well, one )—to commune, converse, confess, striptease, spank, lick-lick-lick and celebrate Bonobo Gay Pride, the climax of Masturbation Month, Memorial Day Weekend in all its barbequed glory and “Stormy Daniels Day.” Yes indeed, the beautiful City of West Hollywood just gave tRUMP’s one-time Mistress the keys to the city on a day (May 23rd) now and forever attached to her name. Having declared Stormy Daniels a great American hero of our times several months ago, I’m in full agreement with my old stomping grounds of the aptly abbreviated “WeHo.” May a porn star lead us, as we resist the madness, greed, violence and venality overwhelming our nation.

by Dr. Susan Block Times might be tense in Trump’s America, but here in Bonoboville, we release the pressure, and my Womb Room explodes into an orgy on this show. Then we hose down the Trumpus with gallons of fine golden rushin’ champagne, and it’s back to the orgy again. We certainly make like bonobos, not baboons!

by Dr. Susan Block It’s our last live DrSuzy.Tv broadcast of 2017, a year that was awesome and awful, terrific and terrible—or Trumpible, if you will, since much of the terror was caused by the Trumpus. Whether you loved or hated it, this year is in the rear (for my full year-in-review and unadulterated thoughts on the unbonobo presidunce and erotic resistance, see #GoBonobos in 2018, also in Counterpunch). Thus, with a fond farewell to this year’s 45 sensational shows, a Merry New Year and a very Happy Nude Rear to all, we present the 2017 SUZY awards.

by Dr. Susan Block. Still *in recovery* from our scintillating New Year’s Eve bacchanal, we gather together in the Womb Room on our first broadcast of 2017, reflecting upon our 44 great shows of 2016, as we ceremoniously bestow The SUZY Awards for the fifth consecutive year. Honoring excellence in broadcast artistry and exhibitionism, the DrSusanBlock.Tv Awards, a.k.a., “The SUZYS,” recognize erotic performance, sexual intelligence and Weapons of Mass Seduction, celebrating The Bonobo Way of ‘peace through pleasure’ in all kinds of weather and paying tribute, with love, humor and deep respect, to those who work and play in the fields of peace and sexuality.

by Dr. Susan Block Smack in the middle of Kink Month 2016, Bonoboville gets smack-happy with a spanking hot birthday celebration and an intense medical examination that may leave you breathless and protecting your crotch. With Trump at the top of the GOP (“Grab Our Pussies,” with a hat tip to Bill Mahr) ticket, there’s a lot to protect your crotch from these days. Indeed, the wannabe Pussy-Grabber-in-Chief makes an appearance on this show; it’s Halloween season, so the scary monsters are coming out of their towers. But the Trumpster is a changed man. Maybe he spent too long in the tanning booth or accidentally took the antidote to whatever whitening potion Michael Jackson used to take. Whatever happened, Donald Trump is now African-American (at least on this show)! Though his face and hair remain orange as a Jack O’Lantern, his tiny hands are a rich chocolate brown. Thus this Ku Klux Klan darling finally realizes that #BlackLivesMatter.

by Dr. Susan Block It’s a whip-cracking, she-wolf-howling, floggerific Lupercalia to whip all other Lupercalias’ horny, heart-shaped butts into shape. Date-wise, we’re actually a tad late for the Lupercal. That’s because Capt’n Max and I were up at UC Berkeley for Valentine’s Day (the sanitized, Catholicized, Hallmark remake of Lupercalia), sharing our Gospel of the Love Apes on the high holiday of love at the heart (or maybe the spleen) of the love revolution in beautiful liberal Bezerkeley. My talk went great (blog, video and pix coming soon!), and we had a deliciously romantic and orgasmic Valentine weekend, plus there was even a Lupercalia party; it seems like everyone and their pagan grandma is going Lupey for Lupercalia these Februaries. Though this Berkeley Lupercalia was basically just a cake and cocktails, featuring some lovely Lupercalian Berkeleyans, but no flogging or even a light spanking. No offense to the horny and Lupey of Berkeley, but we just had to come back to Bonoboville to whip it good.

It’s Polly Superstar’s virgin voyage into the new Womb Room of Bonoboville, but it feels like a reunion. This is partly because we’ve led somewhat parallel lives over the past decade or so in our respective realms, mixing separate but similar sex-cultural cocktails: one part polyamorous exploration, two parts monogamish love, three parts artistic bonoboësque vision and 12 parts wild and crazy fun.

It’s our first live broadcast after The Bonobo Way book launch from the new Womb Room, but I’m so engrossed in the Great Kindle Giveaway—in which our “Amazon Bestsellers Rank” dropped from 400,000 to 1291 in two breathless days!—that I don’t even find out who this show’s guests are until they sashay into the Speakeasy, all high heels, low tops and glitter. Then they jump into bed with me, and all heaven breaks loose.

Seems like just 22 hours… but it was 22 years ago that I tied the marital knot with the love of my life, and Saturday night we commemorated that auspicious, legally binding (all that bondage language tells you something about marriage, doesn’t it?) human mating ritual with a rolling party at the Green Horse bar, a squirting-screaming orgy in the Bonoboville kitchen and another epic episode in the ongoing “show” that is our conjoined Saturday night lives...