“Here’s the deal, I editorialize for 40 minutes. The last 10 minutes, we pull our chutes and float down to Dick Joke Island together, okay?”
- Bill Hicks
I make a lot of dick jokes. It is something of a biological imperative. You see, dear reader (citation needed), some days I have a dick. Other days I have a cock. And some days I just haven’t got dick.
It is not that I dislike cocks; it is just that I have less impetus to understand them as I do the sex opposite. I look at a cock – any cock – my cock; after all, it is the only one handy. But it does not incite a riot of poesy excitement or manful exhortations. It is simply a cock, a torpid torpedo of multicolored meats, as if stitched together in a back-alley, black market organ donor exchange program – pinks and blues and purples and browns, and splotchy, scorchlike reds as riots are incited and Molotov cocktails of ardor are pitched and negotiated for gross points – “Cry havoc! And let slip the dogs of war!” This revolution may not be televised, but it looks good on video, like refuse from a Jan Švankmajer film – Meat Love, indeed.
The ass end of my inbox is presently overstuffed with all sorts of prostate-milking missives, informing me of the commencement of May Masturbation Month. Invitations, solicitations, inducements, enticements, how-tos, tattle-ups, tips, tidbits, spreadsheets, stimulus packages, and world-weary slow-hands set forth to aid me through my marathon cumshaw over the next sideric month. Which I appreciate to no end; don’t get me wrong. But it is not like I need forward encouragement.
However, it did get me to thinking. You see, male masturbation is a far more multifarious thing than many women may suspect. It comes in a veritable gift-pack of flavors, shapes, sizes, and durations – set of course to the median cycle of the solar and synodic – la lune et en sof, who guide and gird our loins like a hundred million watts of focalized porn.
The three square meals of daily masturbation, after the jump. MORE>>
LET’S GET A MOCHA AND TALK ABOUT THE BUBONIC PLAGUE
We’re not ones to bash anyone’s kink, considering that the Junkbuzzed staff is comprised mainly of people who like to hit, be hit, or both. But there are times when we as almost-rational adults need to put our feet down (we blog in spreader bars) and call out all the ‘Dark Ones’ who spend way too much time indoors, listening to old Bauhaus records and obsessively reading Anne Rice and Poppy Z. Brite books. We will, however, abstain from the obligatory mom’s basement cracks. Because we used to sort of like Orson Scott Card. Besides. Not everybody has basements.
Because, um…there are certain things that one doesn’t say when they’re trying to attract a mate. Take, for example, this hemoglobin-deficient buffet table of profiles from VampireFreaks.com, after the bat-metamorphosing jump. MORE>>
What are you doing?
pimpinit88@world yea 09:30PM April 22 2008
pimpinit88@world thas good 09:30PM April 22 2008
pimpinit88@world uhhhggnhh 09:31PM April 22 2008
pimpinit88@world uhhghghgnghghhh 09:32PM April 22 2008
pimpinit88@world that was boss LOL 09:33PM April 22 2008
From the Telegraph UK:
“A female fish which hasn’t had full sex for at least 70,000 years is baffling scientists…In fact there aren’t any male Molly fish and the female relies on a dalliance with males of other species. This triggers her reproductive cycle but she doesn’t seem to use any of the sperm passed by her partner. And when her young are born they inherit only her genes and nothing from the male.”
This is like the worst-case nightmare of every aquatic male Craigslister. Their official response?
After the jump. MORE>>