Monday, November 10, 2008

Talking to me just when I needed you most

This is an entry for the blogathong, which I heard about from Scary Scary Quite Contrary. I don't know many details about it other than people are expected to write a blog a day, Monday to Friday, for the next 8 days. I like that idea. I've been too lazy lately.

Send all complaint letters to sexmahoney@gmail.com.



The strangest thing about life is that it goes on.

I know that there is a large contingent of folks who would have us believe that life begins at conception, or at birth, but the reality is that life is a continuous process that started sometime a few billions years ago.

While we may have imposed lots of arbitrary distinctions on time units, we can’t stop clocks from ticking except by removing their batteries or unplugging them from their electrical supply. When clocks are built into the wall, then you’ll have to go the extra step of smashing open the protective glass cover with a brick and then removing the hands. This will eliminate all time pieces and settle your personal vendetta against big chronometer, but time, and life, will continue… in a relative fashion.

Every once in a while, big events interrupt our ordinary, butt-scratching lives, creating goals, deadlines, or ultimatums that make it feel as though our lives are building toward a particular moment. We go through a whole range of emotions leading up to that moment, the moment comes, we succeed/fail/sleep through it, and then we’re left with a big empty feeling where there used to be the closest thing to an universal purpose that anyone can ever feel.

Life has its own orgasms and you never know when the universe is going to blast a load on your face.

Part of the fun in being male is getting to pee while standing up, but that’s not the only perk. We also get to expunge our reproductive cells at speeds of up to 45 kmph in high, arcing shots. As awesome as it is to write your name in the snow, it’s even more boss to ejaculate on someone’s face.

Women don’t get to have that kind of fun.

Sure, if you’re in a bathroom, then it doesn’t matter if you’re sitting or standing for your micturition; the stand up pee is only fun if you’re out in the woods, or standing on top of your neighbors flowerbeds and I suppose that a truly dedicated girl could probably pee with some precision on whatever target deserved a good soaking, so we’re just about even there; plus, women have breasts and vaginas, which are good for countless hours of entertainment. There are a million and a half ways to play with breasts, and, if you’ve got a vagina, you can cram Play-doh as far up your canal as you can reach and see how long it takes to slide out of you like neon colored spaghetti from the Hasbro Play-doh Fun Factory.

Pretty much the only thing we fellas can do that’s better is eject our seed in gooey projectiles.

Not to mention that when men eject sperm it is almost always the result of a pleasurable stimulus. On the few occasions when friendly neighbors administer electric shocks to our prostate, yes, that’s a purely physical reaction that may or may not have anything to do with positive, pleasurable phallic stimulation; however, the large majority of the time, that result is achieved through a good sport working our shafts, and, if they like us, our balls.

I’m all for equalizing things between the sexes, which is why I say that it’s time for women to focus on their ejaculation.

I’m not talking about squirting.

While squirting does indeed expunge liquid from the female genitals at reasonable release rates, it doesn’t waste pseudo-procreative material in the same, pleasurable way; therefore, to provide women the same biological firepower, I recommend creating a cap like device, similar to a diaphragm, that would collect blood, vaginal fluid, and endometrial offal in a menstruating woman.

Ladies could insert the device at any time before their planned sexual encounter, but generally an hour, or more, ahead of time to ensure a healthy dose of ejaculate.

Now, the problem with previous incarnations of this idea was that there was no way to propel the viscera from the vagina in the same way that men ejaculate; ordinarily, it just dribbles out like creamed corn from the stroke damaged side of your great-grandfather’s mouth. In the current build of this product, the cap is lined with small explosive charges that detect vaginal heat and contractions. When the sensors pick up orgasmic activity, the whole mess bursts from the vaginal opening at speeds upwards of 50 kmph.

In the test phases, there have been some difficulties; the first few male recipients were decapitated and we had more than one case of vaginal electrocution. The last few tests have been reasonably successful to the point that we’re ready to demonstrate our product to a test audience.

If you would like to test this product, please send your name and address to our labs, and you’ll receive the instrument in a non-descript, brown package in about four to six weeks.

The device does render penetrative sex impossible, so have your boy/girlfriend, spouse, or Scotch terrier orally stimulate your clitoris to orgasm.

Just make sure to shout encourage phrases or promises not to get any in your partner’s hair moments before you cum.

Keep fresh towels nearby.

Sex Mahoney for President


Currently listening to:

Smartie Mine
by Dan Bern

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