Christmas Toys for Twats

I know that some people like this holiday season. And I love bullshit as much as anyone. But seriously, I had a gift to get and stopped in Saks in midtown yesterday. And, shit. The place was packed full of shoppers with vacant eyes like chickens on the conveyor belt at Perdue. Everyone looked like they had entered the store starving and maybe Saks had hidden a sandwich in a gaudy purse or a fragrance gift pack.

Also, it was way too crowded to enjoy shoplifting. Really. It felt like work.

So, as much as I adore bullshit, I am not a big fan of these holidays.

Still, I can write about the holidays. In fact, I hardly know where to start. Should I tell you about the parts of It’s A Wonderful Life that give me a raging hard-on? Or how hanging mistletoe from my belt buckle is finally starting to get old? Or how putting a wreath around your dick sounds like a very festive thing to do until those little pine needles start to sting?

Well, I guess I should tell you that I do not have a traditional Christmas tree at all. I did, however, design this Christmas buttplug that I think is very cheerful and that I hope to stuff up some lucky woman’s ass early Christmas morning while carolers sing far below the stoogepen.

But really, Christmas is not about me. Christmas is all about the kids. It’s the children that make Christmas what it is. Really, Santa Claus doesn’t have a goddamn thing to do with Jesus. Neither does Rudolph the Alcoholic Reindeer or Frosty the Cokeman. All of those things are for kids. Children love dysfunctional claymation creations and they love presents. Mostly, they love presents. That’s what Christmas is really all about: bling. Toys. Shit.

For the last few years, I have donated toys to a charity for kids. It’s called Toys for Twats™. See, more and more, kids toys are realistic. They celebrate the real world, a world of sex and terrorists and death. Not just videogames, but all toys. Toys for Twats™ gives toys to boys and girls and, for years, I have made my own toys and also purchased toys for this worthwhile charity.

So, here are just a few of my favorite Toys for Twats™ toys from over the years.

Horror Barbie

Recently, I saw this Barbie doll.

This is Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’ Barbie® Doll. This Barbie is in the process of getting pecked to death by birds. That’s right. Barbie takes on a horror role and is being attacked by clawing, eye-pecking, flesh ripping birds. This may be the most awesome Barbie yet!

I hope this is a theme. I hope Barbie does all the great horror films. In case Mattel is looking for any ideas, I suggest Cannibal Holocaust for their next horror film tie-in. I think kids would find that a lot more exciting than The Birds. I mean, The Birds is pretty fucking old and is in black and white, you know? Cannibal Holocaust is pretty old but not quite as old, and at least it is in color.

Of course, you’ll have to supply your own blood.

Stuffed Things

Kids like stuffed shit. I have never understood this. What the fuck is so good about a stuffed thing? Even if it looks like a bear or whatever, it is just a fucking pillow. If you give a kid a pillow, he would look at you like you were out of your fucking mind. But give him a pillow that looks remotely like a dinosaur, and he will carry it with him to his first fucking job interview. Dude, that’s a fucking pillow!

Anyways, I couldn’t see the fascination with pillows, but here is one that caught my attention.

This is the Snugglers for Girls Cinderella. Notice the giant condom-covered cocks in the background with the purple reservoir tips? See, now this is a pillow I think teaches kids something. Safe sex is important.

Anyways, I have made some stuffed pillow-like shit to give to kids, too. And I think my stuffed shit also teaches all sorts of valuable lessons.

And, yes, in case you were wondering, the clit squeaks when you squeeze it.

Dick in the Box

Boys love to play with their own dicks. And this is one of those things that a boy never outgrows.

So, I guess this toy doesn’t really make all that much sense. I guess if I’m ever too old to play with my own dick, I would want a toy dick. And girls don’t have dicks, so this toy might make sense for them. And gay boys might enjoy this toy as well. Oh, who am I kidding. Dicks are just fun. Period. That’s why we tell so many dick jokes. Dicks are just a barrel of laughs. Who needs babies? Dicks are bundles of joy.

But, you know, if you already have a baby or something, here is a dick toy it can play with.

Merry Whatever-the-Fuck-You-Celebrate

Maybe I’ll post something else before Christmas, but the chances are slim. So Merry Fucking Christmas just in case. I know that all of you do not celebrate White Christmas, so Happy Jewish Christmas or Black Christmas or Arab Christmas or whatever the fuck bullshit Christmas you celebrate. And Happy New Year, even though I know some of you have your own goddamn New Year, too.

Oh, this is also the last Christmas that George Bush will be president and Dick Cheney will be Vice President. So, a very special very White Merry Christmas to them. For all they have done for us, I made a very special Christmas tree for them.

That’s all I have to say about Christmas unless I decide to post more toys or something. Who knows, right? In the meantime, if you’re looking to stuff a holiday buttplug up your ass, drop me a line.

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Alabama Needs Dildos

I have discussed the ban on the sale of sex toys in Alabama before.  I want Alabama to repeal this law.  In September of 2007, a bill that would have repealed the ban on sex toys was killed in Alabama’s House of Representatives.  The good news is that, at the same session, the Alabama House of Representatives also killed a bill, called the Alabama Academic Freedom Act, that would have made it okay for teachers in Alabama schools to teach children that Jesus served dinosaur steaks at the last supper.

In fairness, I should mention that, until very recently, Texas and Mississippi had also banned sales of sex toys.  In February of this year, the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals struck down the Texas law.  Since Mississippi is also in the 5th Circuit, that decision renders the ban in Mississippi essentially unenforceable (though it is still on the books).

That leaves Alabama.  Alabama, in the 11th Federal Circuit, is unaffected by decisions in the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals.

Alabama is, of course, otherwise a thoroughly modern state.  It even repealed its law against interracial marriages in 2000.  At the dawn of the twenty-first century, only 42% of Alabama citizens voted against allowing white people to marry black people.  How fucking progressive.

A little more than a year ago, the 11th Circuit, Alabama’s Federal Circuit Court of Appeals, found that a ban against sex toys was perfectly fine as far as the United States Constitution is concerned because “there was no ... right to sexual privacy” and “concerns over public morality” are a legitimate basis for any law.  In the spirit of romance, they filed this opinion on Valentine’s Day, 2007.

Also about a year ago, the same 11th Circuit Court of Appeals found that mental retardation is not a disability.  They wrote, “It is unclear whether thinking, communicating and social interaction are ‘major life activities….’”  This explains a lot.

Anyway, I am not here to rag on Alabama.  I want to celebrate Alabama.  For your benefit, Alabama, I am here to show you that, with your silly ban on sex toys, you are missing out.  There are sex toys out there that would especially appeal to the people of your fine state.  This is really just a random sample of a few of my favorites, but it will convince you to repeal your ban on sex toys.

You have seen blow-up dolls, Alabama.  You obviously don’t really think blow-up dolls are all that special or you would be screaming about this whole sex-toy ban.  I can’t imagine why you don’t find blow-up dolls as attractive as the rest of the country.

But Alabama is also the third fattest state in the nation, narrowly (or not so narrowly) behind Mississippi’s and West Virginia’s fat asses.  So, Alabama, have you seen this?

Come on.  You know you want one.

Also, Alabama has the second highest rate of uninsured motorists in the nation.  A whopping twenty-five percent — yes, 25% — of drivers on the road in Alabama are uninsured.  (Again, Alabama was beat narrowly only by Mississippi.)  And most of those uninsured motorists are fat.

Uninsured motorists are responsible for a disproportionate number of accidents that result in serious, life-changing injury.  As a result, there are probably more than a few people in Alabama (and Mississippi) who look like this sex toy.

Sexy, huh?  It’s like it was made with your state in mind.

Finally, as the 11th Circuit stated, Alabama passed this silly sex-toy ban because it is concerned with public morality.  I suggest that, if that is truly Alabama’s concern, it could pass a law instead that says people shouldn’t play with their sex toys in public.

I suspect that there is also a religious motivation.  Alabama is squarely in the bible belt with the bible belt’s higher-than-the-national-average rates of divorce, crime, alcoholism, and domestic violence.  In addition, Alabama is the home of ex-Judge Roy Moore.  Roy Moore was the Chief Justice of the Alabama Supreme Court who refused to remove the ten commandments from the state courthouse in 2003.  As a result, he had to be forcibly removed from his post as Chief Justice: he was violating the law by ignoring federal courts.  While Alabama is concerned with public morality when it comes to sex toys, it stands steadfastly behind a Chief Justice of its Supreme Court who publicly defies the law.

Sex toys can offer Alabama the best of both worlds without any hypocrisy.  Alabama can enjoy sex toys and religion in private.  And sex toys can enhance the religious experience.

First, we have Baby Jesus buttplugs, which I have discussed in the past.  The same company that makes the Baby Jesus buttplugs, Divine Interventions, also makes Moses dildos.  If you buy both you can use them in the privacy of your own home or even under the cloak of your judicial robes, enjoying the old and the new testaments in ways you never before dreamed.  You can bring Moses with you to the courthouse every day parting your sphincter just as he parted the Red Sea.  How is that for sticking it to the Constitution and its Separation of Church and State?

So, come on Alabama.  Get with the program.  Sex toys are okay and you know it.  Stop giving people reasons to write blogs about you.

You know, re-reading this entry, I think maybe I should write something about Mississippi some time.

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Vote With Your Ass!

Some people have asked me why I write this blog.  I want to explain. 

I write this blog for the same reason that I have done amateur stand-up for much of my adult life.  I write this blog for the same reason that I have gotten up early every morning to write my thoughts and ideas for years.  I write this blog for the same reason I have quietly studied illustrating for the past several years.  I write this blog for the same reason that I have dabbled in Flash and Maya 3D software to explore their usefulness in making good comics.  In short, I write this blog for the very same reason I breathe.  Because I am insane.

This brings us to an important point.  In addition to my other whorish behaviors that are far too numerous to list, I am an attention whore.

I think that all people who write blogs are attention whores.  All writers are attention whores.  All artists and actors and newscasters and weathermen and talk-show hosts and poets: attention whores.  Okay, maybe not the poets.  They are something else.

Some bloggers also have delusional ideas that they will make a shitload of money off their website.  Now, I know that a few people who write very popular blogs make money with their blogs.  According to some sources, Dooce generates $40,000 a month.  $40,000!  A month!  And dooce.com fucking sucks ass!  That is one expensive goddamn rim job.  You’re pissed because Elliot Spitzer got laid for $5,000 when Dooce’s Heather Armstrong is getting forty grand a month serving up her kid to baby junkies?

But I digress.  This blog, and just about every other blog out there, will never turn a real profit.  Even if they do generate a profit, they will never get anywhere near that Dooce level of cash.  Why?  Well, maybe because we suck even more than Dooce.  Or maybe because we lack the skills required to profitably whore ourselves and our children for more than mere attention.  Whatever.

Anyway, I want to whore myself to all of you and do whatever it takes to bring people to this blog, but I’m also lazy and disinterested.  Mostly lazy. 

But did I mention that I also want your money?  Well, yes, I want your money.  All of it.  I am willing to kill you to get your money, but wouldn’t it be more pleasant for everyone concerned if you just sent it to me?  Of course it would.

So, I have been looking into what it takes to get your money without killing you. 

Step one, no matter what, is to attract more readers.  I need to attract readers so that I can have you give me all your money, or so that I can kill you and steal all your money.  Just so you understand how this works, I am also working on a plan that might have you all commit suicide, and then I somehow get your money.  I haven’t worked out all the kinks in that plan yet, though.

Anyway, I have read a lot of shit on the internet about attracting more readers, but it all takes too much work.  For instance, one piece of advice is that I should write things that you want to read.  What kind of advice is that?  If you people don’t want to read about the things that I like to write about, then fuck you!  I want to write about feet with pussies in the soles, and dickmail, and fucking cars.  If that’s not what you feel like reading about, what the fuck is wrong with you?  Who are you people?

If you don’t think this is awesome, there is nothing I can do for you.

Now, a friend told me that I should make up a banner ad for MySpace and other social networking sites.  So, with a little help, I did.

Making that banner ad took a few days but it was a ton of fucking fun.  If you want to put my banner ad on your website to help get this whole thing going, email me and I will send you the secret code.  In exchange, I don’t mind helping you to make a similar banner ad for your website, but you will need to supply me with a naked chick.

That’s it for marketing the site.  I’m done.  I don’t have time for this bullshit.

As far as making money from all of you, people have a lot of ideas about that.  First there are ads.  You will notice that I have two underutilized highly profitable sidebars to the right.  Make me an offer.

Some people instead ask readers to donate money to the website.  What the fuck is that all about?  What am I, the March of Fucking Dimes?  I ain’t no stinking charity. 

Another idea is that, instead of asking you to donate cash, I should ask you to buy me something, like a beer or a cup of coffee.  Here is one of these coffee appeals that I stole from another website.

That’s really just asking a different way for you to donate, except that I would ask you to donate two bucks.  But you know what?  I can buy my own fucking coffee.  I mean, if I could get a million people to come to this site and buy me a cup a coffee, I would get $2 million, and that’s sweet enough.  But what are the fucking chances?

Instead of the stupid coffee thing, I have considered this:

Let me know whether you would donate to buy me a whore.  That would work for me.  If so, I will put up a permanent ad.  A very nasty whore is going to cost a fucking bundle, but I would give you all the disgusting details.

The problem is that people don’t want to buy someone else anything.  People don’t mind buying themselves something, but why the fuck would you buy anything for me?  So I need to sell something that you want.

Well, being the creative, inventive dude that I am, I came upon what I think is the perfect plan.  This is my brilliant invention number two, and it just so happens that it has a lot to do with number two.

It occurred to me that a lot of you buy buttplugs, as demonstrated by the Pigtail and Baby Jesus buttplugs about which I have already written.  The question was, how could I capitalize on the fact that you like to stick things up your ass while also being topical?  My answer: electoral buttplugs!

These buttplugs speak for themselves.  My work here is done.  Now send me your money.

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Bad Ideas Number 1

This is not one of those touchy-feely blogs where I write about me and what I eat and that funny thing my cat does.  But sometimes I can’t help but write about me.  When I do write about myself, you can pretty much expect for it to be a lot like this blog entry.

This morning I took one of those shits that really, really smelled bad.  It smelled like a homeless person had crawled up my ass in the middle of the night, vomited a couple of times, then died and started to rot.  A French homeless person!  And it had the consistency of play-doh.  You know, one of those shits where you feel so like you’re squeezing a tube of toothpaste that you try to bend your neck a lot to get the last bit out of your ass.

I am somewhat comforted by the fact that many men take bad, stinky shits every now and then.  I know because I go to public restrooms on occasion.  And public men’s rooms stink.  This morning, my bad crap was in my own bathroom.  But more than once, I have been forced to take bad shits in public restrooms.  I apologize to you all.

What I don’t understand are the guys who have no problem using public toilets just like they are at home.  They grunt and fart and moan as they take the smelliest crap ever, and then when they have finished and stand at the sink next to you, they say something to themselves like, “But, damn, that was a good burrito.”  I used to work in an office with a guy who brought the newspaper with him every morning.  Then, sometime after lunch, he would grab his newspaper and head for the toilet.  It was shittin’ time!  As he headed down the hall, New York Post under his arm, every man in the office would take note of the time.  We all knew to avoid the bathroom for at least a half-hour, but preferably for an hour.  I don’t know what Mr. Shittin’ Time ate, but he regularly took shits that smelled like the fucking morgue.  The Paris morgue!

I, for one, do not like taking shits in public restrooms.  It’s just not my thing.  But when I do have to shit in public, I try to make it quick and quiet and I prefer that nobody else is in the restroom.  And I do not use one of those paper seat covers.  First of all, they add precious time.  If I am alone, I have to hurry before someone walks in.  Second, do you really think those paper things do anything?  Let’s get this clear: it is next to impossible to get herpes from a dry toilet seat.  And, if you are plopping your ass onto wet toilet seats, do you think a piece of tissue paper will save you?  (I’m sorry, but this dude who talks about how he got herpes from a toilet seat forgot to mention the sound ass-fucking he got right before he used the toilet, and now he needs to spread and perpetuate his fucking lie so that his wife believes his bullshit.  Those are the people who get herpes from toilet seats.)  Must I disabuse you of all your myths?  Even if you’re afraid of herpes because you don’t consider stoogepie’s well-researched medical advice trustworthy, your little flimsy tissue seat cover will not save you.  Here is why: splash-back.

Every now and then, when you take a dump, the turd falls from your sphincter with a delightful confirmatory splash only to send water from the toilet bowl shooting right into your exposed asshole.  And then, toilet seat cover or not, you are left wondering what dreaded species of gonorrhea or flesh-eating virus has just begun to multiply up your ass.  At those moments, herpes doesn’t seem so bad.  Toilets don’t need seat covers.  Toilets need splashguards.  Splash-back scares even me.

If I did use toilet seat covers, I would only use these awesome Dora the Explorer toilet seat covers by Neat Solutions.  Not only do they have a plastic barrier on the bottom, they also have adhesive tabs to keep them in place.  Best of all, you get to sit on Dora’s face while you take a dump!  Explore this, Dora!  ¡Explore esto, Dora!  Splash!

Dora still can’t protect you from splash-back. 

What I really love about Dora, though, is that she encourages kids to use toilet seat covers.  I’m betting that adults have generally clean asses and thighs.  But kids are walking germ factories!  They touch everything and put their mouths on everything, and they do this after they crawl around on the floor, stick their fingers up their assholes, and lick and taste everything.  (By the way, if you are of legal age in your particular jurisdiction and this description fits you even remotely, please email me.)  This is perfectly healthy for kids.  In fact, according to Science Daily, all those germs may be good for kids because children are an entirely separate and superior species.  But it’s great that kids use toilet seat covers because we adults need protection from them.  So, I’m glad that Dora is there for us.  She’s got our asses covered.  ¡Explore esto, Dora!  Splash!

But, as long as kids use Dora, I will keep not using toilet seat covers.  I mean, if I were worried about germs, I might use toilet seat covers in my own bathroom.  I have lived in my apartment for several years and have had many guests, and I don’t think I have ever cleaned the toilet bowl seat.  Or the bathroom.

Anyway, I did not intend to write this much shit about shit.  This post was supposed to be about my bad ideas.  But my bad ideas have to do with shit.

See, I did not explain the background before.  The day before yesterday, I bought a $7 steak for dinner.  In New York City, in Manhattan, I bought an entire steak with steak fries and a shitty salad for $7!  I was proud of myself.  So, anyway, I ate half the steak, then I went to bed.  When I woke up yesterday morning, I took a normally stinky shit.  Not abnormally stinky.  Everything was fine.  But I also realized that I had left the steak sitting on my coffee table overnight.  I had forgotten to put it in the fridge.  So, I did what most people would do.  I carefully closed the container the steak had come in (which I had eaten out of — why waste a dish?) and threw it in the trash.

Then yesterday, while I was at work, instead of my usual daydreaming and work avoidance, I found myself thinking about the steak.  Why had I thrown it out?  I mean, it was only exposed to the living room elements for a few hours.  I probably could have thrown it in the fridge and eaten the rest of it for dinner.  That would have saved me from having to buy dinner that night.  And, slowly, this thinking turned into wondering whether, since I was by then convinced that the steak would have been fine in the morning having been left uncovered, it would be okay to fish the leftovers out of the garbage and eat them without refrigeration.  After all, the leftovers were covered.  And besides, I would microwave the steak before eating it, and microwaving kills germs, right?  And, although it was impressive enough that I could get dinner for one night for $7, how fucking awesome is it that I could eat for two nights for only $7?

After a full day of thinking this while pretending to be a hard worker and a good noodle, I went home and fished the $7 steak out of the garbage, nuked it for a while, then ate it.  What came out of me the next morning was the putrefied shit about which I have already written at length.

So, bad idea number one was pulling the $7 steak out of the garbage and eating it.  A rule, for those of you into such things, is that it is a wonderful thing to find a $7 steak that is palatable and does not make you sick.  It is another thing entirely to fish half of a $7 steak out of the garbage and eat it.

That was lesson number one.

Now, as you can see, I believed that there was a connection between what I had eaten the day before and how my shit smelled.  This connection may seem obvious to you.  If so, good for you.  I had to look it up on the internet because I have an inquisitive mind.  If I eat a t-bone, why wouldn’t my shit smell like steak, maybe with some bacon and a baked potato on the side?  So I googled it to see whether, in fact, there were certain foods you ate that made your shit stink.  The google search contained the words, “shit,” “stink,” and “eat.”

It’s that last word, I now realize, that got me into trouble.

In case you have not already figured it out, I do not have any filters on my computer.  If I did, I would not be able to surf the web for porn.  You don’t have any filters on your computer either, or you probably would never have made it to this website.

I also want to say, for the record, that I am all about fetishes.  Fetishes are just fine with me.  I have tried some fetishes and they are good.  For instance, BDSM?  Good!  Rough sex is better than Hello Kitty sex any day.  In fact, often when I masturbate, just to keep things interesting, I punch myself in the face a few times.

But, people, there is no way that shit tastes good.  There.  I said it.  Shit cannot taste good.  Notice that I did not say, “Shit does not taste good.”  I did not say that because I have never, in fact, tasted shit.  I never intend to eat shit.  Shit-eating is not on my bucket list.  But, come on.  I can state some things without having tried them personally.  For instance, being scalped does not feel good.  Having your testicles bitten off by a weasel does not make you feel happy.  Oprah’s feet stink.  And shit cannot taste good.

Lesson number two: never, ever follow a bunch of links that are about eating and shit.  All shit stinks, so that was a throwaway search term.

Folks, please stop eating shit.  If you are not going to stop eating shit, then have the self-respect not to post pictures of yourself eating shit on the internet.  I mean, fucking is fine and is perfectly normal behavior.  You need not be ashamed of posting pictures of yourself fucking on the internet.  Nor should you be ashamed of any of the fucking spin-offs in which you engage: blowjobs, ass-fucking, DP, girl-girl action, you wearing pig tails in your hair and up your ass, baby Jesus buttplugs, whatever.  Post away!  I am happy to see your pictures.

But you shit-eaters need to stop.  This is not the first time that I have come upon your nasty shit-eating in my innocent searches for porn and other knowledge.  I often have my porn with cake, and you ruin both for me.

That’s all I have to say about that.

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