Sex should above all be a fun experience. If you're not having fun, you may be having sex with Kanye West or a bit of wood. Or an old cigar shop wooden Indian, carved into the likeness of Kanye West in a curiously bi-racially racist tableau of insensitivity and artisanal excellence. So keeping it light and breezy is important, and that means a little laughter and a little silliness is A-OK. A good way to keep sexy times fun is with the addition of props. You dress up like the Hamburglar, call yourself the Clamburglar, and "robble robble" your special lady's nether vortex. Fun for all!
Somewhere along the line, the idea of making sex fun went off the rails in a way similar to how haunted house attractions were designed to be fun until they made the ones where you have to sign a waiver, and when you go in, strangers put a sack over your head, tie you up, and make you watch hyper-realistic acts of sadism before waterboarding you just a little bit. Instead of normal fun, we have the Joker's idea of fun. Instead of "kind of sexy," we have a cartoon from the mind of Walt Disney's parasitic twin who never grew arms long enough with which to masturbate. Instead of regular sex toys, we have the deranged leftovers from a Wile E. Coyote catalog.
Here's a riddle for you: How does a busy penetration-enthusiast-about-town get their daily chores done while out and about in a bustling metropolis, while at the same time stuffing their holes like an insatiable hump-turkey? Were you going to say, "By jamming a whisk in their pants"? Ha ha ha! You should write comedy!
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The answer to the age-old dilemma about porking yourself while at the same time spending a massive sum of money on a method of decorative locomotion has finally been answered by the Joy Ride Fucking Machine. It's a device straight out of a Pepe LePew cartoon, meant to transport early '20s French socialites away from horny skunks as they engage in interspecies romance with a lead-paint-infused cat.
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Or possibly inspired by Mr. Garrison's It Bike.
There are two separate yet equally important aspects of the Joy Ride which you need to know to fully appreciate how ludicrous it is, and neither of them are dildos. I never thought I'd say that. But enough wistful lamentation. Take a good look at the design of the Joy Ride, and you'll notice something right off the bat: This scooter does not move. It's stationary. It's a stationary pork scooter. Generally speaking, the definitive characteristic of a scooter, that thing which cuts to the essence of a scooter, is its ability to scoot. This doesn't. It just fucks you. It's not a scooter. It's a fucker.
Some sharp-eyed readers might note that you could lift the front of the scooter up and move that way, but if you're capable of
doing that while being double penetrated at 350 rpm, then you're already rich enough to have people do that for you.
The second thing worth noting about the scoot humper is not visible. It's the less tangible bit of awesomeness that's attached to it, which is the price. This thing costs about $3000. That's pretty much the price of an actual scooter. One that takes you places apart from Pleasuretown.
On the next tier of things to consider about the Joy Ride is its very physical reality. If you own a sex toy right now -- be it a vibrator, a Fleshlight, or a set of ever-widening butt plugs -- you probably keep them tucked away in a drawer or a closet. Where do you park a hump scooter? This thing is furniture. Your best bet for discretion is parking it in the garage with some upturned coffee cups over the dongs.
6
The Portable Glory Hole
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Straight out of a Road Runner cartoon comes this egress to depravity that straddles the line between hilarious and depressingly creative. Remember when Wile E. Coyote would paint a tunnel entrance on the side of a cliff, and then the Road Runner would just run right through it as though it were real? Imagine that, only now the Road Runner is only putting his dick in the hole. And on the other side is you. Or maybe a whole party full of people eager to jiggle around some anonymous pecker. You make up your own rules.
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"And the final rule: If this is your first night at Glory Hole Club ..."
This toy / piece of home decor exists for people who want to be smutty, but just can't commit to the level of home redesign necessary to own an actual glory hole. Sure, you enjoy random penises coming at you from other rooms, but what if it's Thanksgiving and you have the family over? How do you account for the penis-sized hole at penis level in the door? Is it for passing toothbrushes into the bathroom? Of course not; it's for dicks. Even grandma is going to figure that one out. You need a temp hole, and here it is. Ingenious.
Remember in the movie Step Brothers, the scene at the (fuckin') Catalina Wine Mixer in which Dale's dad explains to both the boys that he wanted to be a T. Rex when he was a kid, and his father ruined the dream for him? And for a brief moment he acts like a dinosaur? Imagine him, imagine the actor Richard Jenkins, stomping around a yard, and on his feet, to complete the dinosaur fantasy, is the Heeldo. Because that's all I can picture when I see this thing.
Alternatively, you can pretend it's a spur and be a real cock of the walk.
The Heeldo is a heel-mounted dildo, for those of you who need to make love to someone crawling away from behind you. Or for when you're in prayer and someone still wants to bang your foot. Or, and I can't stress this enough, for when you want to play dinosaur, but don't want to use sharp claws that can hurt people.
Be sure to leave footprints in the mud to confuse the hell out of alien paleontologists.
Realistically, we can assume this exists because the dildorati of the world demand dildos that can be mounted on anything that exists, just in case. Hence we have forehead dildos, chin dildos, knee dildos, back dildos, and now the majestic heel dildo. If you mount everything with care, you could conceivably make love to an entire basketball team without ever using your own genitals.
Are any two words in the English language more indicative a good time than "prolapsed anus?" Go ahead, try to think of anything more fulfilling on a deep, soul-enriching level. "Melting testicles?" "Transient tongue-bath?" "Urethra sriracha?" No, nothing really has the same ring to it.
In honor of the never-ending party that is a prolapsed anus -- that condition wherein your insides have been so roughly jostled and jerked about that they become curious about what lays beyond the O-ring, and head on out the back door into the world of light and panicky gasps -- someone made the Rosebud masturbator. They call a prolapsed anus a "rosebud" because if you squint and bleach your brain a little bit, it looks kind of like a rose. A rose that smells vaguely of feces, because it's actually just a length of exposed colon that popped out in a jump scare worthy of the Insidious franchise.
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Medically speaking, and I say this not as a doctor but as someone who has frequently played doctor, a prolapse is literally the most Looney Tunes thing that can happen to the human ass. Beyond sticking fingers in the barrel of guns and having your own face blown off or being lit on fire in such a way that only your blinking eyes remain, nothing is quite as cartoony as the ass flower.
And quite honestly, that's a boundary I very comfortable with not pushing.
As sex toys go, this is definitely one you might want to double bag in the sock drawer, just so no one stumbles onto it by mistake. Because while everyone is entitled to their legal fetish of choice, it doesn't make it easy to explain things when you get off on outside insides.
I wish I could just show a picture and the name of this product and then let you bask in the sensation I felt when I first read/saw it, but human empathy hasn't evolved that far yet. So in lieu of a psychic appreciation we can all share, let me ask you a question: Do you remember Duck Dodgers In The 24 1/2th Century? And, more specifically, Duck Dodger's ray gun? Because I think Daffy may have used this Buttzooka on Marvin the Martian, but I could be wrong.
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Does the Buttzooka's trigger do anything? I don't think so. Does it need to? Not when you have a rubber grapefruit up your ass. The trigger of life has already been pulled, and you got caught in the crosshairs.
I think this toy is meant to appeal to that very small demographic of gaping ass gun enthusiasts. The Gaper NRA, if you will. And you will, because you have no choice when something this big is in your heiny. I mean, really, what are you going to do? Run away? I dare you to try. I dare you to try to do anything but waddle like a tragic, ass-blasted duck.
This is a gag shaped like a dog bone with an inexplicable hollow tongue coming out the center of it. I suppose it's not impossible for a dog to hollow out the center of its bone, then curl its tongue into a Fruit Roll-Up and stick it through the hole, so the design isn't too fantastical in that regard. For reasons I can't explain, it reminds me of the shitty dog from the Duck Hunt games who would mock your terrible marksmanship and then bound off before you were able to find a way to use your gun to give him the Old Yeller treatment.
If that sounds harsh, then please forgive me and instead focus your attention on how the website that sells this gag recommends that you use the hole in the gag for three things. Can you guess what they are? It's not what you think; it's piss, spit, or a cigar. Please never give any of those to your actual dog. Only give them to your fake dog if you're sure he or she is into it. But really, you should probably avoid the cigar, just for health reasons. Maybe you could try vaping. Doggy gag vaping. That could be a thing. I assume Rob Delaney would be into it.
I almost didn't include this thing because I didn't get it at first. It looked like a malformed dildo, and while that's novel, it's hardly noteworthy in a world full of LaBeoufs and Randy Quaids. And then I read the description, and my soul went and got itself a sweater. They call this thing "Stumpy" not because it's kind of like a tree stump, but because it's kind of like an amputee stump. Or exactly like one. It's a stump leg you're supposed to put inside you.
A pleasure previously reserved for the partners of the extremely brave or extremely stupid.
How do you get violated in such an unwholesome way by a stump, anyway? Who's into this sort of thing, and what manner of amputee is willing to stump you? I don't have those answers, but I am reminded of this for some reason:
As a horror movie aficionado, I'm aware that there's a curiously thin line between body horror and sexual fetish, and it seems like the two turn off the lights and dance sometimes. So this toy may be perfectly awesome and normal to a handful of people who have willingly rewatched the Human Centipede films. To the rest of us it's a Hump Stump. And man, that's just weird, isn't it? Like, for real. In a pinch, you could just bone a cucumber or a brush handle. This requires a lot of effort to pull off. A lot of really unnecessary effort.
Felix Clay
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