is his pistol better than mine?

Robert Vaughn’s first film appearance was as an uncredited extra in The Ten Commandments (1956), playing a golden calf idolater and also visible in a scene in a chariot behind that of Yul Brynner. In 2009 he wrote a book about his experiences in Hollywood, though I don’t think writing is really his forte.

Young Robert Vaughn found here

“In 1960 I was signed up for The Magnificent Seven, playing alongside Steve McQueen and Yul Brynner. Steve was intensely competitive. It wasn’t enough just to be successful – he had to be more successful than anyone else.

image of Steve McQueen found here

The rivalry between McQueen and Brynner was clear from the start. Steve started knocking on my door around 6.30am, an hour before we were due on set. Our conversations were always along the same lines.

‘Man,’ he would say in that husky whisper, ‘did you see Brynner’s gun on the set yesterday?’

image found here

‘I can’t say I noticed it, Steve.’ ‘You didn’t notice it? It has a fucking pearl handle, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t have a gun like that. It’s too fucking fancy. Nobody’s gonna look at anything else with that goddam gun in the picture.’

Of course, what Steve meant was that nobody would be looking at Steve McQueen.

Two days later, there was another early-morning knock on the door. ‘Did you see the size of Brynner’s horse? It’s goddam gigantic.’

Brynner, Connery and horse found here

This time I had noticed. ‘Actually, Steve, I’ve got the biggest horse of the Seven.’

McQueen shook his head. ‘I don’t give a fuck about your horse,’ he replied. ‘It’s Brynner’s horse I’m worried about.’


On Good Friday, work on The Magnificent Seven shut down and Brad Dexter suggested Steve and I visit what he called ‘one of the finest brothels in North America’.

Having spent nearly a decade wandering LA’s Sunset Strip, I’d met many ladies of the evening. I considered many of them friends, and had made it a rule not to do business with them. But I decided to tag along anyway.

image found here

We were driven to a lavish high-walled hacienda in a quiet district of Mexico City, where the blonde madam welcomed us like visiting dignitaries at an embassy cocktail party.

There were seven girls in the room. In stumbling Spanish, Steve told the madam that all seven should stay ‘because we are the Magnificent Seven’.

It seemed to me that we were just two very drunk Americans, and I wasn’t feeling very magnificent, but I did not object to Steve’s gluttonous suggestion.

image found here

I was flush with both pesos and dollars, having been too sick with an upset stomach in Cuernavaca to spend my daily allowance. So Steve and I adjourned to a room with many large pillows and the seven women.

If you’ve never experienced sex for seven, you’re undoubtedly interested in the salacious details. I can only say that, due to the tequila, we did more laughing than anything else.

Near midnight, I recalled that filming was scheduled for the next day. I said to Steve: ‘Let’s pay our bill and get out of here.’

I was yet to hear about Steve’s famous habit of not carrying money. He replied: ‘Hey, man, could you loan me some dinero?’

image by William Claxton found here

The bill came to something like $700 – pretty big money in the Sixties. I had about $400 on me, along with several hundred pesos, and I offered the whole wad to the madam.

‘I’m paying for three and a half senoritas, including tip,’ I said, hoping for a laugh.

The madam didn’t smile. Instead, she snapped her fingers and a huge hombre entered the room. Fixing a hostile glare on me and Steve, he reached out, grabbed my money, and asked: ‘How you plan to pay the rest?’

I smiled at Steve. He smiled at the hombre. The hombre … he no smile back.

image found here

Suddenly a light seemed to dawn in Steve’s alcoholic haze. Pulling out his wallet, he produced a Diners Club booklet containing coupons for use at restaurants. ‘How about these?’ he asked, pathetically. The hombre moved towards us. Several more mean-looking Mexicans materialised.

On cue, Steve and I spun around and pushed through some swing doors. Steve dashed towards the right, while I ran left down a long hall ending in French doors, and vaulted over a balcony.

image found here

I landed on moist grass, sprang up and ran to the high wall surrounding the villa grounds, where I scrambled up a trellis and flung myself on to the edge of the wall.

Eyeing the 12ft drop to the street below, I saw two bulky Mexicans standing there as if on guard. I dropped to the ground, expecting to be apprehended if not beaten to a pulp.

I stood up and smiled wanly at the two men. They merely smiled, said ‘Buenos noches,’ and strolled away.

The next morning, Steve arrived on the set 45 minutes late and badly hungover.

He’d talked his way out of the brothel by promising to pay the balance in full and to tip generously. His years on the street had served him well.

I’d like to have read Steve McQueen’s version of these two tales, or maybe Robert Vaughn needed a ghost writer to sharpen things up. What do you think, am I being too hard on RV’s storytelling abilities?

presidential gossip

Before she married Ronald Reagan, Nancy Davis was rumoured to “give the best head in Hollywood”.

This is according to Peter Lawford’s widow’s tell-all book

“Hoisting a glass of wine midway through the boozy fete, the Widow Lawford announced plans to write a memoir about her late husband. “It’s going to be a schmucky book,” she vowed, shortly before taking a catnap–right at the table. And after reading the tome (which, among other things, chronicled her valiant struggle to wean Peter from the Acujack, an electronic ejaculation aid), few readers would disagree.

But Nancy wasn’t the only Reagan wife said to indulge her sexual desires with someone other than Ronnie. When Jane Wyman dated Greg Bautzer she supposedly made a sex tape with him. And this tape along with others was stolen from the house Sharon Tate was murdered in, according to Hal Lipset

jane wyman & greg bautzer

Greg, what did Jane do to your neck?????

“Hal Lipset, the renowned private investigator, informed me a few years ago that the Los Angeles Police Department seized pornographic films and videotapes found in Polanski’s loft and, additionally, certain LAPD officers were selling the tapes.


Lipset gave me a litany of those private porn flicks. There was Greg Bautzer, an attorney for Howard Hughes, with Jane Wyman. There was Sharon Tate with Dean Martin. There was Sharon with Steve McQueen. There was Cass Elliot in an orgy with Yul Brynner, Peter Sellers, and Warren Beatty. This trio, along with John Phillips, had offered a $25,000 reward for the capture of the killers.

yul brynner by george platt lynes

image of Yul Brynner by George Platt Lynes found here

Published in: on July 22, 2009 at 12:14 pm  Comments (43)  

improve your sperm count the manly way

In 2005 reported on a study about the effects of pornography on sperm***

Paul_Avril_-_Les_Sonnetts_Luxurieux by Avril

“Looking at pornographic images of men and women together can increase the quality of a man’s sperm, a new study suggests. The effect is based on an evolutionary process observed in animals known as sperm competition.


Males ejaculate more sperm, or sperm of better quality, when the risk of sperm competition [the probability that a female will mate with more than one male] is high.


Research now shows that just looking at an image of another man in action is enough to register as a case of sperm competition, causing a compensatory adjustment in the viewer’s semen


I don’t know about my male readers but looking at this early photograph of Yul Brynner certainly increases my desire to check out the quality of freshly produced sperm. You know the drill…. bring your specimen in its original container to nursemyra’s Thursday morning clinic for a free  personal evaluation……

lab technician

lab technician on stand by

*** I first read about this research in How Sex Works by Dr Sharon Moalem

Published in: on June 20, 2009 at 8:20 am  Comments (45)  

love nest with an altar

Aimee Semple McPherson was, in the words of one reporter,  the “evangelist with pulchritude.”

image found here

At 17, she married a fiery Pentecostal preacher, Robert Semple, and went on the revival circuit bringing people across Canada and the U.S. to Jesus. In 1910, the couple went to China as missionaries; while serving there her husband died of malaria just one month before the birth of their daughter, Roberta.

Robert Semple found here

Aimee returned to the United States where she married Harold McPherson, a grocery clerk. Shortly after the birth of their son, Aimee, with her new husband in tow, resumed her career on the revival circuit. In 1918 she became a media superstar. She wore Paris gowns, dyed her hair blond, wore jewelry, makeup, and put on performances that can only be described as spectacles. For one, billed as Sister Aimee preaching on the consequences of breaking God’s law, she entered the church on a motorcycle in a police man’s uniform, driving down the center aisle to the pulpit.

image found here

Her services became known for divine healing, where repentants would walk without crutches, regain lost eyesight, heal broken bones, and leave their wheelchairs to walk. Although her first manifestation of divine healing occurred in Corona, New York in 1917, it was not until she had the attention of major city newspapers, such as the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times, that many people nationally learned of such phenomena occurring in her services. The critics had a field day but thousands flocked to her services.

image found here

Sister Aimee’s main weakness was men. Since her own church’s rules prohibited divorce, Aimee found herself in a quandary. What to do with her husband and what to do for romance?

On May 18, 1926, Sister Aimee was reported missing while swimming in the ocean off Venice beach in Los Angeles. Members of her congregation went into the waters where she disappeared, with one person drowning and another dying of exposure. Not a trace of her body could be found. Police investigated hundreds of leads, including a ransom note, signed by “The Avengers” and demanding $500,000 for Sister Aimee’s safe return.

the most beautiful Avenger found here

Five weeks later she turned up in Mexico, telling a fantastic story of having been kidnapped and held captive. The shack where she claimed that she was held could not be found. There was also no satisfactory explanation for the fact that she disappeared in broad daylight in a swimming suit, but showed up fully clothed, right down to her corset. Her story stretched credulity and an investigation found that instead of being kidnapped Aimee had spent an idyllic month with Kenneth Ormiston, a married, agnostic radio engineer for her church station. 

Mexican shack found here

The scandal was national news. Yet, amazingly, Sister Aimee survived, in part by positioning herself as a repentant sinner. In fact, as repentant Sister Aimee she achieved even greater success. In 1931, 40-year-old Aimee eloped with 30-year-old David Hutton, Jr., a singer who met her while playing the role of Pharoah in one of Aimee’s biblical spectacles. However, the happy couple was married only a few days when Hutton was named as defendant in a breach of promise suit. The court eventually ordered him to pay $5,000. On hearing the decision, a shocked Aimee fainted and fell, fracturing her skull.

most beautiful pharaoh found here

She bobbed her hair and started drinking, dancing, and wearing short skirts. In her early years she had preached against such things. Her choir director, Gladwyn Nichols, and the entire 300-member choir resigned because of her lifestyle. Sister Aimee indulged in a series of somewhat more discrete affairs in an out-of-the-way apartment. Among her lovers was a ghostwriter she hired to do her autobiography and a young comic named Milton Berle. He later described her apartment as a love nest with a homemade altar in front of which she engaged in sex with him.

Milton Berle and RuPaul found here

Aimee was still in the bedroom. “You’re not a very religious man, are you, Milton?”

I didn’t know how to answer her. “Well, not the way you are.”

“I know what you mean,” she said, “I work in the area of religion, but I think of myself more as a scientist and a crusader.”

“Why did you ask about me?”

“I was just thinking,” she said, and the light went out in the bedroom, “that unless you were really interested, perhaps a visit to my Temple could wait for a cooler day.”

The door opened, and there was Sister Aimee in a pale blue negligee, her braid undone and her blond hair hanging down around her shoulders. There was a soft flickering light, candles perhaps, somewhere behind her in the bedroom, enough to show me that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Come in” she said.

It was candles all right. Two of them on the night table by the bed, which she had already turned down. They were burning in front of a silver crucifix that stood before a triptych panel of the scene on Calvary. That started my nerves going again, but I solved the problem. I decided not to face that way when we got into bed.

We never got to the Four Square Gospel Temple.

And we didn’t get there two days later, when she called again. This time, she just sent the chauffeur to bring me straight to the apartment. We didn’t even bother with lunch.

When I was dressing to leave, she stuck out her hand. “Good luck with your show, Milton.”

What the hell. I couldn’t resist it. “Good luck with yours, Aimee.”

image found here