Today, the 16th of June, is Bloomsday. Bloomsday is the annual celebration of James Joyce’s life and work inspired by his massive infuriating brilliant overrated underrated rambling scrambled inspiring behemoth of a novel that swirls around the thoughts and the person of Leopold Bloom in Dublin on the 16th of June 1904: Ulysses.
It’s probably a wee bit too late to start reading Ulysses if you want to be done by the end of today, but you can easily get through (and get off on, should you be so inclined) Joyce’s unfathomably dirty, somewhat terrifying and occasionally, unwittingly hilarious sex letters to his Mrs, the magnificently monikered Nora Barnacle.
Whatever else- or whoever else- you do on Bloomsday I hope you enjoy reading this vintage smut, my sweet naughty little fuckbirds. Hint / warning: the title of this post is not a typo.