The ladies pictured at Damsel in Distress are not in real danger, unless you consider the dire straits that would lead a woman to accept $25-60 for being buried up to her head (if not completely submerged) in mud and having the subsequent photo available in perpetuity for the lascivious pleasures of "a very specific fetish community." While this might seem like a shallow niche, the Damsel in Distress producers concoct manifold scenarios that lead to hapless women wallowing in dark ooze. Never has so much creativity been exhausted for such dubious ends. Not all the "actresses" possess the dramatic range to communicate mortal terror at the prospect of sinking in quicksand, and that little-girl-playing-in-puddle giddiness, in conjunction with the elaborate plots, makes Damsel in Distress seem like a relatively respectable workplace. The dirt-asphyxiation of women couldn't be staged in a classier way. That said, no man could display these images without looking like a fucking freak.
Did Louis C.K. jerk off in front of two female comics? And why are these ladies squandering an opportunity to learn from a comedy legend?
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
Awful Links of the Day spotlights the worst and weirdest websites on the internet. And we're not talking "weird" in a good way either.