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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Fuckbots: The Book

So, I thought I would do something like a book review.  I’m no book reviewer.  In fact, probably like most book reviewers, I haven’t actually read the book I’m going to review.  I have only read snippets.  I don’t have time to read entire books.  And books are just too much fucking information.  I mean, if I read any book cover to cover, by the time I wrote the review it would say, “this book was way too long, did not have enough pictures, and really was way too goddamn boring in too many spots.”

So, in order to spare you from that review, you will get a little bit of a review of a book I have not read followed by a whole lot of talk about fucking robots.

Here is the thing: if you write reviews in your blog, word in the blogosphere is that you can get free shit.  I like free shit, even if it is free shit that is way too long, does not have enough pictures, and really is way too goddamn boring in too many spots.  I want free shit.

The book I chose not to read but to review nonetheless is called Love and Sex with Robots: The Evolution of Human-Robot Relationships.  It was written by David Levy, who calls himself an “internationally recognized expert in artificial intelligence” on the book jacket. 

David Levy needs to realize that none of us is going to buy his book about fuckbots because he is an expert in artificial intelligence.  We don’t give a shit.  What has artificial intelligence got to do with fucking the shit out of robots?  Does he mean he makes robot brains and then he fucks those brains out?  If so, he should tell us that and provide lots of details.  Instead, nowhere in this book does David Levy acknowledge that he has ever actually fucked a robot.  At least not in the few parts of it that I skimmed.  If he has not actually fucked at least a few robots, where the hell does he get off telling us about fuckbots anyway?  And I am not even asking for him to have fucked very realistic robosluts or anything.  He could fuck a Roomba or Squawkers McCaw for all I care.  I just want to know he is not making all this shit up.

This book, first of all, made me wonder whether I would fuck a robot.  I thought about that for all of, oh, twenty seconds.  Fuck yes!  I would fuck a robot!  In fact, I would buy porn that featured somebody fucking a robot.  Hell, I would buy porn of robots fucking other robots.  That would be totally awesome!

Anyway, in a lot of this book he writes about how we love our pets and how we love our cars.  So, as far as he is concerned, we will one day love our robots.  Yeah, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I am not going to keep reminding you that I did not read those parts of the book.  Get to the fuckbots.

David Levy, we do not fuck our pets or our cars.  At least, I don’t fuck my cat or my car.  I do not fuck my cat not only because she is not into me that way, but because she would scratch my fucking eyes out.  I am pretty sure that you can spot the dude on the subway who tried to fuck his cat the night before because he has no goddamn eyes and his lips are connected to the rest of his face with scotch tape.  As far as fucking my car, I have thought of a lot of nasty shit but I had never really considered fucking my car before now.  My particular car is a little masculine for my tastes, but are there cars I would fuck?  It would have to be a very sexy, kind of effeminate car for me to want to fuck it.  And it does sound kind of risqué to think of fucking a hybrid.  But, I’m thinking, suppose I go out one night and have a few drinks, right?  Well, I can’t drive my car.  And, after a few drinks, some cars — like maybe a VW Beetle — probably look pretty damn sexy.  So, yes, given the right circumstances, I would probably fuck a car. 

I hope the car manufacturers out there are reading this fuckbot book, too, and thinking, “You know, cars are not really as easily fuckable as they could be.  Maybe we should stick a few fuckholes on every car in convenient places.”  That would make all the difference to me.  We should start a letter-writing campaign or something.

I should mention that this book also talks a lot about sexual appliances like vibrators and such.  Vibrators, it turns out, have a long and boring history.  I did not read that part either.  But I note that David Levy does not really talk about the cool vibrators, like this Hello Kitty vibrator for the girl who must have everything Hello Kitty.  Notice the cute little teddy bear Hello Kitty has in her crotch.  I think that’s a sweet touch. 

Yes, I would fuck Hello Kitty, too.

Anyway, after all of this bullshit David Levy gets down to his central idea.  The point of all the crap before was to build up a case that, just like we love our dogs and our motorcycles, we will one day just love the hell out of our robots.  That’s fine.  But what he’s getting at is that we will be happy to tell everybody that we are in love with our robots.  And, in fact, we will want to marry our robots.

I don’t see how the rest of the book leads to this conclusion.  Yes, we love our pets and our cars.  Yes, we give them human-like qualities.  Maybe we even fuck our cars.  And, yeah, there are people who fuck animals but we throw them in jail because they embarrass the rest of us.  We don’t marry either our pets or our cars. 

David Levy says, though, that fuckbots are going to get so real and so human-like that not only will we fall in love with them but we will want to marry them, and it will be socially acceptable to marry them by 2050.  He says some things are socially acceptable — like homosexuality and masturbation — that were taboo only a little while ago.  David Levy has been smoking crack.

Listen, David, it doesn’t matter how lifelike robots are.  People will not marry them.  I’ll tell you why.  You are right that everybody knows that it is perfectly okay to jerk off.  Everybody does it all the time.  But it’s not okay to talk about it unless you are a stoogepie. 

Similarly, there will never come a time in near human history when even I will go into work and tell anyone who asks that I fucked my car, however sexy and effeminate my car is.

And, yes, masturbation is not abnormal.  People do it all the time.  In fact, my hand loves me and I love my hand.  But no matter how lifelike and human my hand may be, there will not come a time when it is okay for me to marry my fucking hand! 

As it stands, human beings cannot even marry just any human beings they want to marry.  Men cannot marry men, and women cannot marry women, no matter how much they love each other.  Now, fine, maybe there will be some sea change in this country.  Maybe there will come a time when it is not only okay to marry any human you want to, but when you can marry inanimate but human-like objects.  But, damn, that’s a stretch.  If David Levy thinks that all the religious conservatives will be dead by 2050, then why couldn’t I marry my fucking car?  I might love my car and cars will undoubtedly get more human-like in coming years.  My car already gives me driving directions in a human voice and tells me I am a douchebag when it comes to parking.  In ten years, it will talk to me during long drives and hopefully suck my dick at rest areas.  I still will not be able to marry it.

And, seriously, does David Levy live in the same world we do?  I mean, forget about marrying your sex toys, all sex toys are illegal in some places like Alabama.  Obviously, a lot of people think that is just fine.  I don’t quite understand it myself.  I can walk into any goddamn pawnshop in Alabama and walk out with a gun.  That’s fine.  But we need protect people from dildos?

(For you poor, deprived dudes in Alabama who need things to fuck, you might want to check out these plans for a Popcorn Pocket Pussy, if you’re into the whole do-it-yourself thing.)

I just don’t see the whole married-to-a-robot-happily-ever-after thing happening.  Fuck all these long explanations, though.  I can explain why in five words: Hello!  It’s a fucking robot!

But the subject of fuckbots is a fun one as long as we don’t complicate it with marriage.

One of the coolest issues to arise from this topic is whether or not it would be okay to live out illegal fantasies with robots.  Like, for instance, could dudes who are into kids get kidbots, and could dudes who are into goats get goatbots?  I don’t see why not.  You can already buy inflatable animals for fucking, if that’s what you’re into.  I don’t think you can buy inflatable children today, but there are weird tiny sex dolls.  And what would be the harm in kidbots, anyway?  Whatever yanks your crank.  Robopedophilia is not against the law.  And — hello! — it’s a fucking robot!  Similarly, you could get robot chicks with dicks, robots you rape and beat up, robot grannies, robots that piss on you, whatever little fantasies you have, you sick fuck.

Maybe some people are worried that allowing people to live out their sick fantasies with fuckbots makes it more likely that they will want to live them out with humans.  That seems pretty stoopid to me.  There are all sorts of fuckdolls out there already, some of them pretty realistic.  In fact, there are already realistic (but pretty stoopid and ugly) fuckbots out there.  If you kick your realistic doll’s ass every night and strangle it, you are just wasting a lot of money because the realistic ones do not come cheap.  But if that’s what turns you on, have at it.  I have yet to hear of even one case of a rapist or pedophile who practiced on his dolly and then decided that he was ready to try the real thing.

Also, there are some pretty fucked up sex toys out there.  I mean, you can buy fuckable mouths and fuckable asses and all sorts of weird shit.  My favorite is the fuckable foot with a cunt in the sole.  WTF?!?  But you just don’t hear about people who have used these devices and then decide they want to graduate to human beings, so they go out and slice somebody’s face off or slice off just an ass. 

People are able to separate their sick fantasies from their lame-assed realities.  We can even separate awesome things we have experienced from things we should expect to experience in everyday life.  I’ve done some wild shit, but I do not expect that the next time I bring home a bimbo from a bar she will be ready to have her ass lubed up or think fucking over a toilet in the stinky stall of a men’s room is sickly fucking sweet like I do!  Hell, she might not even be ready for handcuffs!  See, we limit our expectations based on the sad, pussy-assed world we live in.  You can’t always get what you want.

But here is what I want.  I want a hot, nasty slutbot.  My own private roboho.  And until I can get one, I might just get a Prius.

Anyway, that’s all I have to say about the book I did not read.  Now send me my free shit.

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