Have you ever felt like saying: "Fuck social media dependency?" No? Well, have you ever felt like literally f**king your social media dependency? Still no? What are you, some sort of puritan? Anyway, someone clearly feels like doing that exact thing, because here's the goddamned Launchpad:

YouTube

That's exactly what you think it is, provided that you think it's "a f**k toy holster for tablets." No longer are you stuck idly fapping to internet porn -- you can now strap a fleshlight to your iPad and interact with your screen in a way you never thought (or wanted) to be possible. What's that? You want to know how will the tablet deal with a sizeable sex toy attached to it and a naked dude attached to that? I'm, uh, sure everything will go fine. I mean, I once accidentally fingerblasted a tablet to death by tapping links in what with hindsight could have been deemed excessive force. But I have no doubt in my mind that your average iPad can fully take the physical strain of a full-sized human male going to town on it, and barely break in two at all. After all, why else would they have bothered to make this introduction video?

One that, it should be pointed out, was foretold and parodied by GTA V years before the Launchpad was even a thing?

That GTA V teaser about a similar product aimed for literally dick-docking yourself to your social media wall actually raises some interesting points about the Launchpad's usage. Sure, I bet it's technically supposed to be for watching porn, although the logistics certainly leave a little to be desired. You know this as well as I do -- you did the little mental "but I'd have to crane my neck in a weird angle and the screen would be super hard to focus on" calculation, don't pretend that you didn't. But you know how porn goes. You click a link, then one thing leads to another, and suddenly, you're ten tabs into a Nicaraguan llama party. With a device that enables you to literally screw your, uh, device, you can f**k the entire internet. How long before you venture outside the xxx-rated sites and find yourself casually laying pipe to your Facebook wall? Maybe you'll experiment a little with Twitter. You might even discover that a certain sultry listicle-based comedy site can rub you in a way that feels so wrong, yet so right. Before long, your already existing internet dependency mixes with serial f**kery, until one tequila-infused Tuesday night you find yourself hate-f**king Breitbart.com.

Am . . . I taking this too far? I'm probably taking this too far. Maybe I should return my Launchpad. What do you mean, no refunds?

Oh, I suppose the manufacturer could be going for some sort of discreetness factor with this. "Look, it's just a beer can -- everyone and their dad has those lying around." In this day and age of over-hopped microbrews with increasingly insane naming policies, even its product names like Lady Lager, Sukit Draft and, for some reason, O'Doyle's Stout aren't much of a giveaway of the products' actual nature. Then again, beer's not a particularly good choice for an incons**cuous product. The only believable locations to "casually" store beer cans are coolers and fridges, a.k.a. the last places you'll want your sex toy to be when you find yourself suddenly in need. Take one of these things to literally anywhere else, and you'll run a risk of someone grabbing this particular can by accident or "accident" and attempting to drink it, only to find himself face to face with a container of limp fake flesh that you may or may not have remembered to clean after last use.

Amazon

Or you could be like this guy, who took a Sex in a Can to his office in a cloud of "They'll never guess it's a sex toy, teehee!" hubris. He soon found that companies tend to frown on taking f**king beer cans to work, too.

So, no, I don't buy for a second that this is just a "ha-ha, no one will ever know" product. These things have precisely two target groups: People who want to f**k a beer can and don't care who knows it, and rednecks who buy them for their design values and don't realize the inherent irony in sticking their boner in tallboys.

I actually kind of like that one. Not only does it go by the amazing name "Silencing Slider," there's something fittingly symbolic about a cheeseburger-shaped silencer device on a woman in the political environment of late-2016 America. However, the same can't be said about the Vibrating Sausage Body Massager, which ... well, just look at it:

The Dear Lady

That shoddy, seven-dollar piece of s**t might technically classify as a gag gift ("Includes list of 50 reasons why it's better than a Man!"), but that doesn't get it off the hook; it's still a functional vibrator, and I will go to my grave believing that all those cheap-ass sex toys given around as "gag" gifts actually see way, way more use during cold, lonely nights than the giver intended. Yes, even that blow-up sheep you gave to Chad last Christmas. Especially the blow-up sheep.

Still, even eschewing all toys and being a responsible, vanilla adult doesn't necessarily let you off the stupid food-themed sex products hook. There's always a chance that, when you ask your partner if they have protection, they'll answer with a manic-sounding little giggle. Then, they launch into an uncomfortable torrent of jokes about their "hog" and how it's time to "pork," right up until they whip out the bacon condom:

J&D's

What I'm saying, people, is that in some cases it's perfectly acceptable to bite.

It's called Whiskey Dick, and it's a lube. A lube that supposedly tastes like whiskey. It's actually kind of impressive how many things the chaos deity that makes Whisky Dick manages to screw up here. There's the product name, which you'll recognize as the exact opposite of happy boner times that might require the presence of lube. There's the fact that someone wants you to mentally associate a strong liquor with the mucous membrane of your crotch area. There's the point that said someone actually thought whiskey would be an excellent taste for a lube, or that lube actually needs an artificial taste at all. Who uses lube for b*****bs? Mummies? Is this a butt-to-mouth situation, and if so, how the everlasting f**k does the artificial whiskey taste improve the situation?

Amazon

No, guys and gals, no. There's one reason for the existence of Whiskey Dick, and one alone: To provide sub-par whiskey dicksickles for hardcore winos who can't choose between their bottle and their hookup. That's a cynical freaking product. I'm impressed.

As pertinent a presence as weed is in most every type of product ever, it's surprising how little it figures in the field of sexuality. Sure, you can probably buy a pot-leaf patterned vibrator or condoms with "420" on the wrapper from every single paraphernalia store on earth, but most serious f**kers tend to be s**t out of luck for "look guys, I like to smoke the marijuana" themed genital terror. That is, unless they invest in the Cockpipe.

Cockpipe

OK. I get how that product works, I can see the schematic. It's a dong sleeve with a tiny pipe attached, so you can smoke a bone while you're smoking a bone. (Dang, I promised myself I wouldn't type that.) I even kind of get the logistics of the smoke-powered b*****b thanks to the product website's (ridiculously NSFW) demo video, even though I personally suspect that 90 percent of the people actually using this thing will wind up dick-stabbing themselves in the eye.

However, I really have a few questions about the implications of this thing, because if I ever saw a product that screamed "sure, you can have some of my stash, on one condition..." it's this one. Hell, even if you were using it in full, mutual understanding, the chances of it actually improving oral sex life are around jack s**t, unless there's some cannabis strain I'm not aware of that enables you to keep up your pace and general bag of tricks as you become more and more stoned.

Also, as you may be aware, the way this type of pipe works is that you heat the bowl with a lighter before you inhale. This means that the Cockpipe encourages you to bring an open flame to the immediate vicinity of your partner's nether regions, while also trying to pay attention to pleasuring said regions. While you get more and more stoned. Somewhere, Smokey Bear is screaming something incoherent about forest fires and holding its crotch.

Pauli Poisuo is a Cracked weekly columnist and freelance editor. Here he is on Facebook and Twitter.

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