Wednesday, October 05, 2016
Coochie snooping
Avid readers of this blog will know I’m not a fan of greedy humans who sue each other because someone insulted them or pinched their butt. However, there are some lawsuits that deserve the full support of any right-thinking primate. I recently read a news report about a woman from Chicago who discovered that her vibrator was collecting data about her intimate habits and passing them to the manufacturer. It must be what technology buffs call a “smart device”. Nuts to that. I bet it’s not as smart as the nosey baboons in my neighbourhood, whose manners have been greatly improved by me giving them a good kicking.
Technology firms insist that collecting such information is part of the “Big Data” revolution that will enable them to cater for the consumer’s every whim. Call me an old-fashioned ape, but I happen to believe that what comes to pass between a lady and her vibrator is as confidential as a confession to a priest. If a woman can’t keep her relationship with her sex toy private, the world will descend into degeneracy and baboonery. For once, the victim’s lawyer was not exaggerating when she said:
”This is one of the more incredible invasions of privacy we've ever dealt with.”
In the circumstances, it is fortunate that the client’s name has been kept secret, although her initials have been identified as “N.P.” Let’s hope that Chicago women with those initials are not now subjected to bawdy remarks or impudent sniggers. I certainly wouldn’t want to be a woman called “Nelly Pinhorn” living within the city limits. It’s probably a good time for such ladies to adopt the American practice of stating the middle initial of their names.
Now Gorilla Bananas is far from being an enemy of new technology, but I’m starting to think that too much emphasis is being placed on the free flow of information. Even tourists on safari are constantly peering into their smart phones when they ought to be looking at hippos snorting and farting, or lions licking their balls. The fact that even vibrator manufacturers are jumping on the bandwagon is a sign that the whole thing is becoming a dangerous obsession.
The good news is that some noble folk in the sex toy industry are focussing on what really matters – making their products more pleasurable for the user. I was fascinated to find an article on the BBC website describing what the dildos of the future will look like. Apparently, the University of Melbourne has introduced a course in industrial design that teaches students how to create sex toys with beautiful geometric curves and contours. One can only imagine the exquisite satisfaction they will deliver to their grateful owners.
Before anyone accuses me of jumping the gun, I’m not advising anyone to buy one of these toys until they’ve been thoroughly tested. I’m sure the manufacturers will send free dildos to bloggers who agree to post honest reviews. Frankly, I can’t wait to read them!
Labels: Big Data, dildos, lawsuit, Sex toys, vibrators
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
The Beckshaft
It’s been a long time since I wrote anything about Mr Becks, the ex-footballer and possible ex-husband of Victoria Spice, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been ignoring him. My females are constantly asking for news about him, which I drip-feed to them like juice from an orang-utan’s armpits. In truth, he isn’t doing very much apart from the usual posing and preening, but that seems to be enough to keep his fans squealing in delight. His twitter page is suggestive of one who prefers to communicate in pictures, but I don’t hold that against him. A picture is worth a hundred hoots, as we say in the jungle.
The good news for collectors of memorabilia is that a sex toy manufacturer has produced a dildo that looks like Mr Becks. His face is imprinted on the business end of the device, but its shape does not match the contours of his body. In short, it is an effigy of Mr Becks in the shape of a phallus. Whether it bears any resemblance to his actual appendage is an open question. Amusing novelty item though it may be, I’d be surprised if many women used it to satisfy their carnal urges. Being an admirer of Mr Becks doesn’t mean you want his head inside your coochie.
Our local witch doctor is worried that enemies of Mr Becks will use the item as a voodoo doll:
“What is to stop jealous rivals sticking pins in the toy to curse him with the stings of The Evil One?” he asked.
“You ignoramus!” I exclaimed. “You cannot stick pins in a dildo. It is made of hard silicone plastic, not softwood from the Umbogo tree.”
“In that case his rivals should be told,” said the witch doctor. “He who breaks pins on a juju charm will have a limp pupuyoo for the rest of his life.”
“I will quote your cautionary words in my blog, so the enemies of Mr Becks will be forewarned,” I assured him.
As for the manager of the safari camp, he snorted in derision when I suggested giving the dildo to his wife as a Valentine’s Day gift:
“It doesn’t even vibrate!” he scoffed. “You can’t fob a woman off with an obsolete toy like that. A plastic dick is still a plastic dick, no matter whose face is on it.”
“I never realised your wife was so choosey,” I remarked. “Perhaps there are other women who will treasure it as a love token of considerable sentimental value.”
Be that as it may, I don’t expect it to sell like hot cakes. Only the most devoted groupies of Mr Becks would consider buying it, and even they might be put off by the embarrassment factor. If very few are sold, I will probably order one myself. It would soon acquire rarity value, and might eventually be worth as much as one of Liberace’s dildos. There’s an opportunity in every flop, as we say in the jungle.
Labels: dildos, juju, Liberace, Mr Becks, voodoo
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Once a week
A psychologist is claiming that human couples are happiest when they have sex once a week.
“It’s not necessary to have sex as frequently as possible,” explained Amy Muise of Toronto Mississauga University.
Dr Muise didn’t say how often she does it, but her picture indicates she might have to wear a chastity belt to remain celibate for six days out of seven. Maybe her partner is a Zen master with infinite powers of self-restraint.
Now, humans are the only primates who aren’t sure how much sex they should be having. The other apes just fill their boots whenever the females are in season. “Make hay while the sun shines and salad during the rainy season” is a famous gorilla proverb. What makes humans different is that their mating activities are more often recreational than procreational, like a game of tiddlywinks or hide-and-seek. However enjoyable such pastimes are, they inevitably get tiresome and repetitive if you engage in them too frequently.
The ignoble fate suffered by certain rock stars, found dead in their hotel rooms with ball-gags in their mouths, is distastefully relevant to this discussion. Why do these deranged cokeheads wank themselves to death in bizarre strangulation episodes? The only explanation is that excessive debauchery with eager groupies has made conventional copulation too boring for them.
The life of the sex maniac is nasty and brutish. The Marquis de Sade developed a passion for dildos, ordering his wife to bring custom-made appliances to his prison cell. A historian writes:
Incited by his usual mania for numbers, Sade obsessively recorded the number of “introductions” (by which he seems to mean sodomitic masturbations, with or without orgasms) he enjoyed with the help of his devices. It is hard to know how seriously this mathematical exercise should be taken. By December 1st, 1780, only two and a half years after his return to Vincennes, he had recorded 6,536.
It’s difficult to know what to say about such behaviour. Is there any doubt that the silly old pervert would have led a more contented life if he hadn’t been so obsessed about raping his butt? If you let something pleasurable become an addiction, the pleasure turns into something manic and desperate.
I’m not convinced, however, that once a week is ideal for all humans. My old circus buddy Smacker Ramrod used to get antsy if he hadn’t had sex for a week, sometimes biting pieces of wood in frustration. And when he did eventually get laid, the women were often dissatisfied by the speedy service he rendered. He had to force himself to think about Latin irregular verbs to keep himself going for longer.
So Dr Amy Muise has the right idea, but her advice is overly prescriptive. It’s easy to draw erroneous conclusions by taking the average of a large sample. She should make her data public so we can give it a thorough examination. There must be many examples of happy couples having crazy monkey sex every day.
Labels: crazy monkey sex, dildos, infrequent sex, Marquis de Sade, sexual performance
Wednesday, November 04, 2015
Million dollar dick
I got an email from a cheeky fool asking me whether I owned shares in the sex-toy company that offered Justin Bieber a million dollars for the right to replicate his penis.
“You cheeky fool!” I wrote in reply. “I have invested a small portion of my capital in a respectable manufacturer of adult leisure products that would never dream of acquiring the copyright to Bieber’s appendage. Mind your own business.”
The silly idea of making an effigy of Bieber’s willy arose after nude photographs of him were taken when he was on vacation. Bieber claims the pictures were taken without his consent, causing him to feel super violated when they surfaced on the internet. This may be so, but wasn’t he aware that the paparazzi would be lurking in the popular holiday resort where he chose to prance around butt naked?
My ape intuition informs me that this narcissistic young man subconsciously wants people to admire his penis. If so, he is likely to be disappointed. Although I have not scrutinised the pictures myself, and would spare myself the indignity of doing so, I found a number of comments about the organ in question on a popular website. Here is a selection of them:
“I thought his penis was actually a bit uglier than usual, with what appeared to be a hack-job of a circumcision.”
“I thought it was one of those pig ear rawhide chews. Ever see what a lab does to that?”
“My vagina just shrivelled up, fell off and blew away like a tumbleweed.”
Call me a sceptical ape, but I don’t believe Bieber’s phallus has any commercial value. Who really wants a replica of that thing? It’s not the sort of artefact you can put on the mantelpiece for your guests to admire. The demented groupies who might acquire one for personal use would find the experience less than fulfilling. The standard-issue dildo is a computer-modelled product, precisely shaped for maximum comfort and efficiency. Bieber’s bumpy little sausage would not give comparable service and the novelty would soon wear off.
If you ask me, the million dollar offer is a publicity stunt instigated by a small fry in the sex-toy industry to advertise its brand name. Why else would they have made their offer public instead of discreetly asking Bieber to stick his dick in a carton of resin, something he might have done for free to prove what a badass stud he was? They don’t have the dough and wouldn’t part with it if they did.
My observation of human society leads me to believe that when anyone offers a million dollars for anything it’s probably a hoax. The figure is too round for a real business deal and is obviously chosen to impress the impoverished masses. I personally wouldn’t accept a million dollars to do anything more onerous than peel a bunch of bananas. If anyone wants me to climb the Empire State Building, my price is $3.68 million plus expenses.
Labels: business deals, dildos, Justin Bieber, Sex toys
Monday, June 11, 2012
Police dildo raid
News arrives of another police blunder in England. This one was inspired by a spurious report of a man brandishing a pistol in his living room. A squad of armed heavies was immediately dispatched to the address, where they found a couple playing with a dildo. After confiscating the sex toy at gunpoint, they arrested the man for “possession of an imitation firearm”.
“I think this is what you might call a classic cock-up,” said a neighbour, exaggerating for comic effect.
The police should drop this charge before they make complete assess of themselves in court. The dildo would have to be produced as evidence, resulting in their inevitable ridicule. If I were the defence counsel, I would ask the arresting officer to examine it in the witness stand.
“Does that look like a pistol to you?” I would say, as the judge scratched his wig pensively. “Perhaps you could oblige us by pulling the trigger.”
After sniggering all over their faces, the jury would vote to acquit. It’s an infallible principle of English law that the barrister who gets the most laughs wins. That’s why Rumpole of the Bailey never lost a case.
Another reason to drop the charge is that the arrested man has already been punished enough. The shame of the affair must have nipped him like a ferret in the trousers. There is simply no explanation for possessing a dildo that reflects well on a man. It either means his own equipment isn’t functioning properly or he's a fan of the prostate massage.
There is nothing wrong with women owning dildos, of course. If I saw a woman clutching one, I would advise her to keep it well-oiled and bid her a good day. The full potential of the dildo as a sex aid has been demonstrated by Tiana Lynn (the “squirt queen”), who is a dab hand with the trusty glass phallus. There are video clips of her practically torturing herself with pleasure, but I don’t intend to link them here. Not many women can watch her in action without feeling jealous, and it is not my purpose in life to make women jealous.
I’ve often wondered what happens to ladies who have worked in the adult entertainment industry when their careers come to a natural end. I would hope they use their savings to finance a college education and subsequently apply for jobs at IBM or General Electric. Such giant corporations are full of business school types who’ve had limited exposure to the rich diversity of human experience. Recruiting people with fresh ideas might invigorate their working practices and inspire innovation.
There’s also much to be said for retired porn stars joining the police force. Making suspects assume “the position” before frisking and handcuffing them has much in common with their previous line of work. They also have a wealth of knowledge and experience that could be used to good effect. Their ability to distinguish between dildos and deadly weapons would be a particular boon to law enforcement.
Labels: dildos, police raid, porn actresses, Rumpole of the Bailey, Tiana Lynn
Monday, June 01, 2009
Honest corruption
A Croatian mayoral candidate has won a landslide victory by being honest with the voters.
“I will honestly fleece you like sheep!” he declared in a landmark campaign speech. “By God, I’ll raid the public purse like a highwayman and live off the fat of the land!”
The voters loved him for it. For once, a politician was being truthful about his intentions. As most of the electorate would do the same in his position, they immediately recognised him as a man of the people. Who really wants to be governed by a pious goody-goody who doesn’t know how to pamper himself at someone else’s expense? Those of a generous nature derive pleasure from seeing others enjoy the high life.
This story is particularly apposite in the light of news from England, where members of parliament are being tarred and feathered for making frivolous expense claims. British MPs have shamelessly reimbursed themselves for hairdryers, toothbrushes, dildos and countless other trinkets. There is only one word for such behaviour: cheap. I’m not sure what the price of a dildo is, but I should imagine it’s less than the cost of the paperwork to claim it back. The voters are naturally furious that so many of their elected officials are penny-pinching parvenus who won’t even pay for their own sex aids.
With any luck, the next British parliament will be packed with rich celebrities who can afford their own dildos. Richard Branson has a collection big enough for the entire House of Commons. Esther Rantzen, Delia Smith and Lulu have their own custom-made devices. Tom Jones is essentially a walking dildo. Not having to worry about such trifling expenses, they will devote their energies to the service of their constituents, many of whom would love to be probed by a famous dildo. The only way of restoring faith in the system is for politicians to get closer to the people they represent.
Dr Whipsnade tells me that times are tough in England. Not for the good doctor, of course, who is a multimillionaire. Yet being a man of conscience, he is not blind to the deprivation around him. His many acts of philanthropy include tipping waiters generously and feeding the fallen women of the Kings Cross area. The latter is accomplished by instructing his chauffeur to distribute tins of corned beef to the prostitutes while he waits in the car.
“Hallo Beefy, got some more beef for us!” they cry at the scowling underling as he carries the box of victuals towards them.
But don’t feel sorry for the chauffeur: that impudent rascal deserves all the lip he gets.
Things are no better in the provincial settlements outside London. A village in Cornwall cannot find a single nubile woman to be its carnival queen. The reason is that economic hardship has forced these young ladies to sell their bodies, hence they are too ashamed to parade before a crowd including their clients, who might grin, wink and point indecently. In their desperation, the village has decided to advertise the position to transvestites. Although many of these men are also prostitutes, the boot would be on the other foot, as it is they who would grin, wink and point at their shamefaced punters. I must send one of my evil henchmen to witness the event and take pictures.
Labels: corrupt politicians, dildos, Drag queens, MP's expenses
