6 Creepy Old School Novelty Toys (for Weird Perverts)

#3. The Love Rug for People Who Don't Get How Sex Works


This ad for a synthetic fur rug explicitly crafted for lovemaking was the point when the sexual liberation of the 1960s jumped the shark of good times and landed in a pool of day-old semen. You can actually trace its trajectory: first women got access to birth control, then white men started wearing Afros, disco was in the mix there somewhere, then this herpes boil of an ad showed up, which was probably published in the back of a magazine so suspect that you couldn't tell if the cover girl was to be lusted after or pitied.

Juggs Magazine

If you can't read the text under the Deep Throat font of the ad, the copy says "The Love Rug strokes your bodies as you make love." Let's take a little rest stop right there. If the ad is to be believed, the faux fur under your hot, writhing bodies is in on the sex action. Surely they don't mean it's like making love with an animal, that would be gross. "As you stroke, it strokes. It's almost like having another lover there with the two of you." Another lover with the two of you ... oh, and he's a beast. It's 1974, so we just assumed you were cool with making love on a fake animal carcass that is acting as your third lover.

Eyecandy Images/Eyecandy Images/Getty Images
"Hey, numb nuts, who said there were only two of us?"

For one brief moment in the decade that good taste forgot, someone had the brilliant idea to make a whole rug dedicated to capturing the body fluids usually reserved for your raggiest towels and oldest socks. And that's not all this carpet was going to capture. Along with the synthetic lynx, mink, or jaguar fur, you can bet the juice magnet would capture plenty of human fur as well. This was the '70s, after all. The trend was to have so much pubic hair going on downstairs that lovers would ask if you wore extensions. (A lady never tells.) The point is, things were hairy.

Image Source/Image Source/Getty Images
"This looks like a good place to stop."

So let's imagine how this love rug would hold up after ... oh, one night of vigorous lovemaking. Not only would the faux fur be caked with body leakings, but you could expect at least a fistful of pubes thrown into the mix. Next encounter, double it. By the time Mr. Brady up there had his third session, he and his lover would be having sex on a crusty, matted piece of polyester covered in the cooch hairs of who knows who. The smell alone would force you to suppress your gag reflex for completely unexpected reasons.

Eventually, by sexy time #10 or so, the rug would fuse itself to the floor, which was how shag carpets were invented, by the way.

#2. The Erotic Phone That Was Anything But

I.C.G. Inc.

Ring, ring.

"Hello? What's that? Let me adjust the splayed legs on my phone so you can hear me better."

Looking at the Erotica phone above, you have to conclude that there was this split second in history when ordinary men not only thought that the whole Hugh Hefner vibe was a good instinct, but that anyone could achieve it. Not necessarily by surrounding himself with busty women or owning a publishing empire; that would be hard. Take note, Corey Feldman: There was a time when putting an aggressively sexual spin on regular household objects was all it took to let people know you were a player. Which is only the fifth biggest reason why Corey Feldman put all his childhood earnings into time machine research.

Corey Feldman
"Orange you glad I didn't make a Michael Jackson joke here?"

If cradling a tiny naked woman to your ear while trying to have a conversation with a whole other person is your idea of sexy, then you might have been a fan of the Erotica phone 30 years ago. But be warned, this orgasmic woman sitting atop a pile of leaves and a gold brick (or tiny coffin?) looks a little heavy. Not in the sense that her body is anything less than fine, other than the fact that her nipples are missing (maybe they're in the tiny coffin?). What I mean is that the Erotica phone probably weighs somewhere between a dumbbell and a baby.

Something tells me the guy who engineered the sex phone was relying on the strength of his own hand grip to carry the weight of the thing during normal conversations. And something else tells me that he was right -- that anyone who would go through the trouble of mail ordering a phone that forced you to nestle your ear meat between two tiny nippleless boobs probably had a dominant hand that was plenty strong enough to carry its weight. Not only that, but by placing this eye assault in his home, he freed all his nights to work on his hand strength. The phone would only make him stronger. In the end, the Erotica phone contributes to his infinite loop of lonely.

franckreporter/Vetta/Getty Images
If only he'd gone with the novelty hamburger phone instead.

#1. The Perfect Gift for the Person Who Has Nothing

Leasure Time Products

Now do you believe me? Yes, someday our generation will have to explain why the Kardashians had a show and how ironic facial hair worked and airplane food, re: the deal, but at least we won't have to justify why we turned phones and watches and light plate covers into sex reminders. THIS was why the '80s were all about condoms -- because the '70s took nice things and ruined them. Just like they ruined Elvis and heroin abuse.

To be fair, heroin ruined heroin abuse. But it sure did take care of a cough.

According to the ad, every 30 seconds the dial face flashed "TIME TO FUCK." Every. Thirty. Seconds. Which meant that for the wearer of this watch, 58 seconds of every minute are for relaxing, eating, feathering your hair, whatever. But for two seconds a minute, it was that time. Time to DO IT. Can you imagine how depressed its wearer must have been? There are layers of tragedy to this watch. Look at the woman in the ad. Her face is so condescending that she's already judging you just for reading the advertisement. It's almost like she was captured mid-disapproving head shake. The guy who bought this watch must be so self-loathing that he reminds himself that he's not having sex 120 times an hour, 2,880 times a day. What greater punishment could this person have than the one he was already inflicting on himself?

For more from Kristi, you can read her old-ass articles or follow her on Twitter.

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