Yes, the infamous "crotch shot," aka "dick pic," aka "fallopian photo," aka "tableau down below," aka I just made up two of these terms 30 seconds ago. Back in the pre-cellphone salad days, the most fun you could have with a landline was dialing 1-800-CALL-ATT, barking momentarily like the Micro Machines Man, and treating whoever was on the other end to a computerized voice droning, "You have received a collect call from HOLYFUCKPICKMEUP. Will you accept these charges?"
Now the game has changed. Previous generations were so sexually pent up that they transformed their telephones into naked pixies that resembled the handmaidens of Alexander Graham Bell if he moonlighted as Oberon, the King of the Fairies.
We're not making this up.
These days, any person with a smartphone, no shame, and the resolve to shove said phone down his chinos can fire his nethers halfway across the planet on a sine wave of physics and hobgoblins. Think about it -- the commoner now has the power of Zeus; namely, his power to emerge from the clouds and waggle golden Olympian junk before confused yogurt farmers. In a historical context, even those of you with the most bare-bones data plan qualify as demigods.
"Here's a dollop of sugar for those cold winter nights. XOXO, Anubis, the Jackal Lord of Death."