In a previous installment of this column, I discussed the A10 Cyclone SA, a goofy-ass home appliance lookalike that seemingly specializes in slowly sanding dicks into oblivion. Even today, I think it remains the most unnecessarily spooky item on that list, which is saying something, considering that the article also included a giant artificial vagina for your face.

So of course it turns out this vacuum cleaner / sander vortex was just one part of a bigger product family. Namely, the sane part. Here's its grumpy old uncle, the R-1, which takes its design aesthetic from that sexiest of all appliances: the blender.

Yep, seriously. Here's a guy demonstrating it on a rubber wang:

YouTube
Which you just know was a good three inches longer before they turned that thing on.

As any of my co-workers who bought my DIY firenado kit at the last company picnic can attest, I'm not the best person to preach about product safety. However, even I feel that a thing specifically designed for dong contact (dongtact) should have at least two requirements: 1) the product shouldn't look and act like its only available settings are "sander circumcision" and "full transition surgery", and 2) failing that, it should at least be somewhat intuitive to use. Guess how the R-1A10 Cyclone performs on the latter front?

Via ikOala
Is that an emergency beacon? Pretty certain it would come in handy.

Holy shit! That's not an easy-to-use sex toy, that's something Bear Grylls takes in the wilderness to nunchuk wolverines.

Still, in a way, I'm actually quite impressed with the R-1. In a world where people start slapping each other with lawsuits whenever someone stubs a toe, there is a company that makes a product clearly designed after a thing that can puree meat, and joyfully expects you to stick a dick in it. That requires balls, even if said balls are in for a hell of a ride, should an errant hair get caught in this thing's machinery.

"Hey, Tom. I got tasked with designing this new sex toy, but this is actually my first day at the office. Can you give me any pointers?"

"Oh, it's easy. Just make something that buzzes and tears through a ton of batteries, and remember to put a bunch of silicone between the whirring parts and on whatever section people will try to stuff up their butt."

"See, that's the thing. I have no idea how to build those things. I used to make engines for race cars."

"Look, just build whatever you like and stick a tongue or whatever on top. We'll say it's new technology, everyone will lap it up."

That's probably not the actual origin of the RockBox 2. But hey, you look at the thing and see if the above hypothetical doesn't seem like the most obvious explanation:

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"Tbtbfhhhhhtttt!"

The main and pretty much only selling point of the RockBox 2 appears to be its insane power. It's advertised as a "sex power tool," and boasts a frankly ridiculous 5,000 RPM's worth of said sex power. Fun comparison: Your average electric sander rarely exceeds 4,000 RPM. Why make anything sex-oriented this ridiculously strong? Because sometimes "fuck your genitals" doesn't mean what you thought, that's why.

A show of hands, if you will: How many times have you been so irrevocably horny that you've seriously considered bringing power tools to your nether regions? Five? Fair enough. However, the RockBox 2 provides your experimental mind with a different, more worrying question: How many times have you been horny enough to consider having someone else go nuts all over your fun bits with a 5,000 RPM hell-machine? If your answer is anything other than, "Holy shit, what? Never!" please check your immediate environment for stupid adjectives and horribly misinformed BDSM, because there's a chance you may be a character in an E.L. James novel.

It takes either true dedication or vast supplies of undiluted madness to ruin something as obviously functional as the Rabbit. We may never know which of these roads was responsible for the creation of the My Little Secret talking vibrator, so I'm just going to assume that some sex toy designer stumbled upon a crusty, suspiciously organic-looking mural in an old asylum, stared at it for a while, and then, his motor functions hijacked by the uncaring abyss beyond our world, wandered off with an adamant belief that sex toys should robotically monologue your crotch.

It's impossible to convey the true magnificence of this gyrating personal space invader in writing. For the love of all deities of boning, if you watch just one video today, let it be this one. And turn the sound on.

"Yes. Yes. Good. Eating this cereal as I'm unenthusiastically reading my lines, baby."

If for some reason you cannot watch that, it's a vibrator running on a table, lazily whispering sweet nothings to you with all the passion you remember from the voice acting of 1990s video games, while accompanied by a slapping motor sound not unlike that of a washing machine. The overall audio sensation is like you're being aggressively hit on by a 1950s sex bot / laundromat, which I suppose can be sexy, but seems kind of specific for mass production. Of course, you can download other voice tracks (which I suspect don't work any better), or have a loved one record a message there, in case you enjoy someone you know attempting to robotically sexy-talk your crotch. Spoiler: You won't.

Strangely enough, it appears that the Talking Head isn't available anymore. This is actually a shame, because as useless as it may be as a sex toy, it carries endless value as a novelty gift. Just set the volume at ten, slap in a track of, say, Gilbert Gottfried reading 50 Shades of Grey, and see if you can't traumatize a friend forever.

Mike Coppola/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty Images
Or introduce them to a brand-new kink.

As a jaded and weary Internet denizen, you have no doubt on occasion bumped into tales of the fuck chair. In theory, it's certainly a noble concept: "Hey, you! Do you like dongs? Just sit here and boom! Infinite sex." In practice, however, these lounge chairs with dildos poking out of them like the worlds' most misguided attempt at making a game of Whack-a-Mole sexy are just about the goofiest objects in existence. But that's OK. Stupidity and sex don't rule each other out, a scientific fact that we know, given that anti-vaxxers tend to have children.

It's just that when someone takes a good look at something stupid and says, "Hey, I should totally make a Ferrari version of that!" I start wondering about humanity. Here, have a $11,600 whatever-the-shit-this-is:

Luxury Sex Machines
"For that kind of money, that thing had better fuck me ... oh. Never mind."

In many ways, Eros luxury sex machines manage to reach places ordinary sex toys can only dream of. Unfortunately, most of those places are mountains of madness and valleys of absurdity. You'll notice that it is designed for not one but two users. (If you're wondering about the logistics: One lies down and the other one straddles the high part. And no, they aren't really able to touch each other at all.) However, none of these awesome technological feats even attempt to answer the real question, which is: Why?

Absurd and amusing as they may be, I can kind of see the point of a single-person motorized sex chair. If you have money to burn and feel like getting one, more power to you. But why would you want a chair meant for two, assuming you don't produce highly specific niche porn on your off time? Sure, sometimes two people might want to have it at once, but even then, why on earth would your first (or any) course of action be to fire up a massive piece of dick furniture, the very design of which prevents any intimacy between the two partakers? If you're that detached about sex, why bother with the other person in the first place?

Even if you somehow manage to reach a situation where the two-person fuckchair is the only logical course of action, how exactly do you introduce it in the proceedings? There's an art to introducing sex toys into the agenda, and it's one thing to exchange a few words and reach for the bedroom drawer, and quite another to pause, walk up to the giant thing in the corner of the room, and do this:

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You know you're onto a winner when the model demonstrating your product gives the audience a "look, it's a paycheck" shrug.

There's no way a healthy bonin' session can go on after that without someone getting maced.

Look, we started this journey with fuckin' tools with power, and by God, we will end it with power tools for fuckin'. You knew what you signed for, and it's too late to back away now.

As most longtime Cracked readers know, the history of the world can be divided in two parts: The time before my fellow columnist Felix Clay irrevocably stained the world with his knowledge of drilldos and fucksaws, and the chaos that has presided ever since. But while most people reacted to the news that people are actually cutting their genitalia wide open with misapplied power tools with the exact, cringing terror one would expect, a few of us were all: "Nice! A business idea!" Then they hit Etsy.

And that, friend, is why power tool sex toy attachments are now a thing.

My Love Machine
Pros: You remove the saw blade before you start attaching fake boners into this. Cons: Everything else.

Yep, some fuckers are actually making boning adapters for electric drills and Sawzalls, under punny names like My Love Machine and Shagsall. At this point, I'd normally try to make the most of an awful thing and launch into a barrage of DIY-themed masturbation jokes. However, even that is not really an option. You will notice that most of these tools are specifically designed so that they are extremely difficult to operate if you're pointing the ouchy end towards yourself, which means that, once again, you're pretty much required to hand the reins of the action to someone else. How many people do you trust enough to take a Black & Decker to your pelvic region? Your significant other? Chad? Your mom? Nope. Also, eww. Not a single person in the world is trustworthy enough to do that, not even the people who enthusiastically suggest it to you. Especially not the people who would suggest it to you.

William Howell/iStock/Getty Images
Someone looked at this and thought, "That needs to be in me, sexually."

I'm not saying that everyone needs to bone the same way. That would be horrifying. Each and every one of us needs to find our own thing, and run with it as best we can, as long as it's not hurting anyone without an appointed safe word.

But if you need a goddamned reciprocating saw to do it, you're probably doing sex wrong.

Pauli is a Cracked columnist who knows all this because he lives under your bed. He has a Facebook and Twitter.

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For more from Pauli, check out 4 Terrifying Crimes (That We'll Never Solve) and 5 Accomplished Authors Who Turned Out To Be Hoaxes.