In Which Social Media Stifles My Creativity

So galleons, the other day I decided to update the ‘About Me’ section of a social media profile. As all of my ‘About Me’ sections are different, I needed to come up with some (probably not at all) clever new thing to write. What started as a vague idea for a tongue-in-cheek, overly dramatic little paragraph highlighting my fears of rabbits and scurvy instead became a meandering, silly little story.

Sadly, said story blew right past their stupid word limit. And so, I scrapped the idea entirely… but I saved a copy of the story. And because I don’t know if I’ll ever bother rewriting and polishing it to make it anything worthwhile, I’ll post it here.

Truly, this would have been the best ‘About Me’ section ever.

***

In another life, I ruled as a pirate cat, the lucky charm of The Marybeth. I didn’t have a peg leg or an eyepatch, but I did break into the galley a number of times to get utterly sozzled on the captain’s pilfered rum. A cabin boy named Jimmy kept a pet rabbit aboard the ship. I despised that rabbit. The damn thing would always sneak up on me while I was deep in my cups, materializing out of the shadows, nose twitching, watery eyes staring into my soul. I swatted him a good one once, leaving a scar on his left cheek. Thought that would teach him a lesson about staying in his box ‘neath Jimmy’s bunk and not bothering the ship’s cat.

Instead, it made him more determined.

I didn’t see the rabbit for many’a moon, during which I continued enjoying the fine life of a ship’s lucky cat. Fine silks for a bed, choice bits of meat tossed in a golden bowl plundered from an Arabian prince attempting to escape his burning palace in a hastily constructed dinghy loaded with gold and women from his harem. Ah, the crew was pleased with that haul. In the night, I sat on the rail near the helm, joining my voice to the cries of men and women filling the night as my crew enjoyed their booty.

On the far deck, a glittering set of dark eyes watched me yowl my approval to the seas. The rabbit sniffed once at the air, staring fiercely at me all the while. Despite my earlier elation, I felt a cold wind brush over my spine. My triumphant cries caught in my throat. I gagged, as if on a hairball, but there was nothing there. Just those eyes, burning into me across the ship. A pale hand reached out and pulled the rabbit into the depths of the crew quarters.

It wasn’t Jimmy’s hand.

Three days later, we sailed into a mighty storm. The winds battered the sails, the men were scrambling for purchase on the slick deck as they tried to keep the ship afloat. No matter where I hid, the rain-flecked wind found me, soaking me to the bone. For two days and two nights the storm raged, bringing exhaustion and fear to the crew. One thing was clear to us all- this was no ordinary storm. Through it all, the crew swore they heard the sound of a woman’s voice raised in a fierce, foreign chant. I heard it as well, but every time I attempted to track the sound to its source, I was led in a wide, empty circle.

When the storm broke, we were without our bearings. Unsure where we were, we drifted through the water, the fear the storm inspired giving way to an uneasy dread. Little by little, we used up the ship’s stores. The crew began to sneak looks at me, their eyes glittering with a hunger I had never seen before. The rabbit appeared only at night, slinking out of the shadows as I tossed fitfully in my silk bed, his eyes boring into me. He said nothing, but I saw he looked as plump and lustrous as ever, while I was skin and bones, with sores opening up on my flesh.

Soon, I didn’t have the strength to leave my bed. The hunger in the eyes of the crew now appeared in the eyes of the captain, who sat for long hours in the evening, staring at me. Scurvy ravaged my body. Ants appeared and crawled about in the sores on my legs. I yowled pitfully at my captain, but he simply sat there, staring at me night after night as I got sicker and weaker.

Until one night, when he approached my bed slowly, his eyes burning furiously with desperation and insanity. His mouth stretched into a wide grin as he scooped up my ravaged body and carried me outside. The men hooted, their faces gaunt, their lips twitching, tongues scrabbling. I was carried to the galley, where a pot of seawater and two shriveled carrots sat on the fire. The mouth of the pot seemed to yawn open at my approach, hungry for meat for the stew.

“Not much use for a cat if she ain’t lucky, is there, boys?”

The ants writhed, burrowing into my skin as the hot steam wafting up from the stew pot hit them. I tried to screech, but there was no sound, just a sharp pain and the heat of the steam on the dry, cracked lining of my throat. I looked out at the crew I had sailed with for these last four years, and I saw nothing of them in the haunted corpses clustering round the pot.

In the corner, the rabbit watched, hale and healthy in the lap of one of the harem girls. She looked as lovely as ever, but her smile was vicious. The men seemed not to notice her. I realized then that it was she who had sent the storm. And the witch remained, watching the men suffer.

But it wasn’t her eyes that gleamed with satisfaction as I was dropped into the pot. It was the rabbit’s- cold, hard, and so very pleased.

This Soul Hath Been Alone on a Wide Wide Sea

‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—
Why look’st thou so?’—With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS.
~from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I made a new friend today, dear galleons. Born in the freezing winds of Copper Harbor, MI to a family of miners, he worked in the copper mines from the day he turned 16 to the day he walked out of the town forever at the tender age of 19 after a particularly vicious spat with his father. He traveled west, eventually landing a job on the Kate, a whaling ship owned by the up-and-coming Dawson and Douglass Whaling Company in Victoria, British Columbia. There, in that cold Canadian port, he got his first glimpse of the unforgiving grey sea.

And she’s been his mistress ever since.

Galleons, meet Ernest P. Fitzroy, first mate of The Drowned Maid:

He is the best thing I have ever found in a thrift store, hands down.

As we get to know each other (namely, as I ply him with the finest of spirits), I’m sure I’ll have many tales of Ernest’s past adventures to share with you all.

Squilli Degli Innamorati

Have you ever been going about your day, dear galleons, and found yourself thinking of someone dear to you, your thoughts drawn so thoroughly to them that you feel the need to reach out to them, to give some indication to them that they are in your thoughts at that moment? But perhaps you don’t really have anything to say, no specific message, just that need to reach out to them somehow. So you send an awkward text message or leave an odd (and pointless) message and the moment you’re done you feel stupid for having done so, feel like the whole thing has fallen flat, when all you wanted was to reach out for one bright and blinding moment and let that person know you were there and thinking about them.

Well, perhaps you haven’t. Maybe you’re better at friendships and relationships and dealing with people than I am (which is almost assuredly true). Maybe sending those messages doesn’t feel so very awkward to you. But I have always wished there was some easy way to make that brief, glorious connection with a person, without expectations and explanations and excuses.

Turns out, the Italians might have the answer. The squillo.

Besides being the most adorably hilarious name for a method of communication, a squillo is a strange and wonderful way to send a message to another person. See, a squillo is an intentional missed call.

Wait, what?

That’s right. A squillo is a one-ring missed call that is apparently quite common in Italy. You call someone, let it ring once, then hang up. And they are not expected to return the call. That one little ring is the entire message, the entire communication.

But what’s really neat (and confusing) about the squillo is that its meaning is entirely dependent upon context. For example, you might be a little late to meet up with someone, so you send them a squillo to say you’re on your way. Or if someone sends you a message, you can leave them a squillo to let them know you’ve received it. The receiver of the squillo must interpret its meaning based on their relationship to the sender and what they are doing/what their plans are.

And that’s what’s so interesting. See, at no time do these relatives or friends or coworkers or lovers sit down and say, “Here’s what a squillo will mean for us in such-and-such a situation”. Instead, it requires this wonderful, organic method of deciphering its meaning that relies on a knowledge of the person sending it.

Baffling… and beautiful.

To bring this full circle, a squillo out-of-the-blue between lovers can be a cute (in my book), flirtatious way of saying you’re thinking about someone. A blip or buzz from their phone, with your name in the missed call list, and they know you can’t get them off your mind that day.

If only we Americans regularly used this strange little method of communicating. With a simple squillo, I could say “I’m thinking about you” or “I miss you” without the heavy weight of the words. Just a brilliant little spark to light up someone’s day.

Insomnia Blues

I can’t sleep, galleons, so I wrote you a song:

Bah nah nuh nah nuh
Bah nah nuh nah nuh
Five o’clock in the mornin’
Bah nah nuh nah nuh
And I can’t get to sleep
Bah nah nuh nah nuh
Got to be up in two hours
Bah nah nuh nah nuh
Feel like I’m gonna weep
Bah nah nuh nah nuh

I toss and I turn
And I stare at the walls
But the hours tick by
And I get no sleep at all

I got the insomnia blues
Yeah, I got ‘em bad

Bah nah nuh nah nuh
My head starts to pound
Bah nah nuh nah nuh
And my stomach feels sick
Bah nah nuh nah nuh
And my joints ache and moan
Bah nah nuh nah nuh
If there’s a God, he’s a dick
Bah nah nuh nah nuh

Oh, I toss and I turn
And I stare at the walls
But the hours tick by
And I get no sleep at all

Cuz I got the insomnia blues
Oh, I got ‘em
Got them insomnia blues

Yeah, I get no sleep at all, baby

I Know You Have Bugs…

Okay galleons, I’m… well, I’m not a fan of bugs. Which is really a gross understatement, but I wanted to avoid saying “I have a bad habit of flipping out and flailing my extremities and screaming like a girl (in registers I didn’t know I was capable of even reaching) whenever insects come near me/are within my line of sight/touch me/look at me wrong with their creepy bug eyes, no matter what type of insect we’re talking about (with the weird exception of fireflies, which I can tolerate being on me, but only by a strong application of my will), yes, even butterflies, because I’ve never thought butterflies were that pretty and I don’t care how fucking harmless any of these creepy fucking things are, I don’t want them near me and I will let you and the world know, vocally, that I detest their presence and that I had to do an insect project in my high school biology class that resulted in me having a sobbing breakdown on my kitchen floor while holding a pair of pliers over the three pieces of a butterfly that used to be one piece that I had been attempting to pin to my board”… but since I just love telling on myself, I guess I said that anyway, so now you know my shame.

Actually, compared to how bad I was as a child, I really have gotten better. I mean, I’m still a pathetic girly wuss, but I’m less of a sniveling pathetic girly wuss.

I’ve really matured over the years.

But, despite my dislike of the insect world, we’re gonna talk about an insect today. Because it’s actually pretty interesting.

And also, it may be extinct. Which means it will never come near me. And that makes it the best kind of insect.

Lucihormetica luckae is a species of bioluminescent roach found in Tungurahua, a volcano in Ecuador. Now, when I say found, I mean found in the past tense. This glowing roach was just getting recognition in the scientific community when Tungurahua went and fucking erupted in 2010.

What the fuck, volcano?

Since then, nobody’s been able to find any of these strange roaches. It looks like they may be extinct. Which is kind of a sad day for science.

See, Lucihormetica luckae was kind of an interesting specimen. It was the first example of asymmetrical bioluminescence scientists had ever documented (and the only example- all study of the species came from one subject gathered 70 years ago). See, the little (well, not that little) guy has two spots up…

You know, it would be a lot easier if I just showed you what the fucking thing looked like, wouldn’t it? Okay galleons, meet Lucihormetica luckae:

You’ll notice that it has two large glowing spots on its upper back, as well as one small one on the right side (thus its asymmetry… though with only one example of the species, it’s kind of difficult to tell if that tiny spot is an aberration or the norm, now isn’t it?).

But not only is the bioluminescence of Lucihormetica luckae asymmetrical, it’s also a rare example of mimicry through bioluminescence.

…No, Lucihormetica luckae is not mimicking a jawa (though if it was, it’s doing a really good job):

Nor is it pretending it’s one of those creepy ghosts that attack Romani Ranch in Majora’s Mask:

No, Lucihormetica luckae‘s glow patterns (provided by symbiotic bacteria that dwell in divots on the insect’s body) actually resemble the glow patterns of another insect in the area, the click beetle:

Because click beetles are poisonous, mimicking their glow patterns may have made the predators of Lucihormetica luckae less likely to try to gobble them up. Which is a smart strategy, but thanks to a pesky volcano, it looks like Lucihormetica luckae might not have been as lucky as its name sounds.

Poor little fella… Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I may love science, but I’d high five the shit out of that volcano if I could.

Oh Etsy, You’re So Sexy

ATTENTION: Standard disclaimer blah blah NSFW blah blah don’t click the links in the presence of children blah blah MAY CONTAIN COCK. Or, at least, cock surrogates. And ponies.

Galleons, Etsy is… well, Etsy is really a mixed bag. There are some truly interesting, unique little shops present on the site, and I’ve found a handful of great items (including my favorite, ever-present-’round-my-neck locket) on their site. But for every one thing I find that I’d like to own, I find 127 other items that range in quality from utter crap to abso-fucking-lutely ridiculous. And occasionally horrifying.

But I think that’s part of what keeps driving me back into the arms of Etsy (along with many of the shady back-alley areas of the web)- morbid curiosity. And it was during one of those random Etsy wanderings that I had an idea.

Etsy is wonderful. And fucking horrible. And everything is on it. So, I knew, I just KNEW, there would be sex toys. Oh yes, my galleons. It’s a sex toy post. I have plumbed the depths of Etsy for you, dear galleons, to find the best (worst) the site has to offer in this arena.

And boy, did Etsy not disappoint.

Carved Bangsticks

Far and away the most popular option in, uh, unique labial lovin’ is the oh-so-finely handcrafted dildo. And not just any ol’ dildo. No, these are special. Sculptures in silicone.

AND YOU HAVE SO MANY CHOICES!

Aliens (both of the traditional and chestbursting varieties), gargoyles, pussy cats, the rotting phalanges (the phrasing of which is reminiscent of this) of zombies, snakes, gnomes… even our old friend, the squildo!

Now, those are all fairly standard sculpted-to-please fare. Hell, we’ve featured similar in some of our sex toy posts in the past. But it just wouldn’t be Etsy if things didn’t get… stranger.

First up, for the geek crowd (what up, my peeps… goddammit Sam, phrasing), the Dark Invader dildo, which is obviously not infringing upon any copyrighted material because the name is totally different:

“Ohhhh, your helmet is SO big!”

While looking more like Rick Moranis’ Dark Helmet than the infamous Darth Vader, this little guy is obviously for the sci fi fans.

But hey, I’m just saying that it bears a passing resemblance to the famous Star Wars character. I mean, he’s not called Darth Vader. The creator isn’t calling him Darth Vader. And any parts of the description that sound like movies quotes? That’s a coincidence. Don’t jump to any conclusions, Etsy staff.

In the same vein, Batz here is obviously not a Batman ripoff. Obviously.

Our next Super Awesome Etsy Find is the Island Explorer:

Butt (hah, COMEDY) this little guy isn’t going to be exploring islands so much as… caverns. Crafted to look like a Polynesian moai, and while I don’t see the appeal of shoving a replica of my (or someone else’s) ancestors in any hole on my body, I guess that’s someone’s idea of a good time. And if so, hey, Etsy’s there for you.

Because Etsy cares about your bum’s ancestor fetish.

And finally, my favorite (and by my favorite I mean the one most like to ruin sex for me for the rest of my life), Tricky Willy:

Tricky Willy might seem innocuous enough, but he disturbs the shit out of me. Perhaps because I imagine the creator of this toy once had a major acid trip that was supposed to end in a blowjob and instead ended in him having a prolonged chat with the cock gnome bouncing in front of his face. Which was probably a hilarious scene, but I worry that, after seeing Tricky Willy, I will never be able to look at a dick again without imagining a unique little face under the corona.

Your Run-of-the-Mill Fuckwands

We may have discussed the dildos carved to look like… well, a variety of strange creatures, but there are plenty of more normal cooch pleasers available on Etsy.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t make fun of them. After all, I’ve got mad mockery skillz, yo.

First, we have the hand crafted wooden models. Smooth, nicely curved, and bearing more than a passing resemblance to a table leg:

Listen galleons, I understand that people get rather creative in the use of common household items as pleasure devices. I do. We’ve all been there. But I can honestly say that I haven’t been sitting around one day, so horny my labia feel like they are ready to Hulk-out of my panties and attack the nearest cock, and thought to myself, “Hey, I could turn all my frustration and Hulk-tendencies onto that there table leg and give myself some sweet, sweet relief from my crotchal woes.” Destroying furniture to get off?

…Okay, well, to be fair, I have done that, but it was accidental. And I got a black eye from it. And… MOVING ON.

Actually, most of the Etsy dildo selection is of the glass variety. I’m never going to be able to overcome my pretty glass objects = pipes mindset, so I always think of smoking pot when I see glass dildos. And then I get the munchies. So it goes.

But this one doesn’t make me think of pot:

THIS one makes me think of sex. Particularly, of sperm. Of procreation. Of “oh sweet jaysus, why is there a giant red sperm in that butt plug?!” It’s like minotaur sperm. Or Satan’s sperm. And it’s called the Wandering Red Shroom. Where the fuck is it wandering, Etsy? I’ve seen this goddamn horror film. Some naïve young girl gets this at a curiosity shop run by some mysterious dark haired woman, and the girl uses it, and suddenly her name is Rosemary and she’s pregnant and, PLOT TWIST, it’s Satan’s. Not me. No thank you, Etsy. That girl always ends up horribly dead or insane/brainwashed to love her little Antichrist.

Fuck that shit.

So, let’s move over to the far less terrifying silicone beasties, shall we? Oh, wait, no. Things are still terrifying over here. Because we have stuff like this little pink number:

Which might look innocuous enough by your standards, but to me, it looks like a goddamn hand plane from a woodshop:

And I’m just not that into putting woodworking tools near my intimate bits, thank you very much. Also off-putting about this product? It comes with this weird user’s diagram, which looks more at home in a textbook than in the bedroom.

I am also a fan of this particular piece, simply for its name. Two times a lady? Yeah, that puppy’s real ladylike.

And if neither of these tickle your fancy, how about you design your own? Oh yeah, don’t be put off by the fact that they kind of look like those water tube toys. It’s part of their, ah, charm.

Paddles and Crops and Whips… OH MY!

Now, when I say Etsy has ‘any paddle or crop you could possibly want’, I don’t mean ‘a wide variety of paddles and crops’, I mean ‘ANY PADDLE OR CROP YOU COULD POSSIBLY WANT’. And if you can’t find exactly what you need, I’ll bet all you’d have to do is contact one of the kindly shop owners and they’d make one to your exact specifications.

Don’t believe me? Then prepare yourselves for a parade of paddles, a cavalcade of crops, a festival of flails, a… oh, you get the idea.

There is a wide array of punishment tools on Etsy, made of anything from yarn to feathers to aluminum to boot soles. From the simple to the ornate, the silly to the elegant. And for all tastes, from the leather lovers to the steampunk crowd to the… well, to the folks looking for something a little more unique.

There are hand painted paddles for all fandoms. Hello Kitty (which makes way too many appearances in the sex toy market, let’s be fair). Portal. The Discworld series. Transformers. Mass Effect. Internet cat memes. Final Fantasy. Legos. A Nightmare on Elm Street. Pacman (those holes… god damn, that’s gotta sting). Super Mario Bros. Nightmare Before Christmas. Weird, swaddled bears. Who Framed Roger Rabbit? Game of Thrones. Invader Zim.

And some fandoms are very popular, drawing in multiple shops and a variety of products. For example, the Doctor Who fans. They have TARDIS everything. TARDIS paddle. TARDIS flogger. TARDIS crop. Hell, there’s even a sonic screwdriver crop. But my absolute favorite bit of Doctor Who sex gear is this Dalek paddle:

YOU WILL SUBMIT TO DALEK RULE. WE ARE SUPERIOR. YOU WILL BEND OVER AND SUBMIT. YOU WILL OBEY OR YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED.

But Doctor Who sex toys? Eh, they’re really not so weird. My Little Pony, on the other hand? What the fuck, people?

Yes, there is a complete line of MLP paddles by an Etsy shop. Each lovingly crafted to look like one of the mane (MOAR COMEDY) characters on the beloved children’s show. Because bronies are fucked up.

BUT WAIT. Apparently, there are a lot of people who are fans of both Doctor Who and MLP. There is this whole fandom for Doctor Whooves, some kind of pony version of the good Doctor. I don’t… I can’t… WHAT THE FUCK?!

And so, for those Doctor Whooves fans, here’s your very own paddle of the pony Doctor’s flank. You’re welcome.

Comic book fans have a lot of options (probably thanks to all the comic films hitting theaters over the last ten years), including (but not limited to) Iron Man, Storm, Mystique, Rogue, Harley, and Superman.

For you Star Wars fans, how about a little Imperial justice? And for the rare double dom relationship, a set of floggers that allow you to battle for galactic (and bedroom) dominance every night. You’re a Sith, they’re a Jedi. WHO WILL WIN?

And Trekkies, Etsy didn’t forget about you. Don’t you want this sexy Borg-inspired number? Resistance is futile, baby.

Potter fans, you can reenact all your Snape and Hermione spank fantasies with these gems. The Hogwarts crest paddle. Or, if you’re feeling wicked, a Death Eater paddle. Or how about a crop modeled after Narcissa Malfoy’s wand?

Or you can have a real console war: Sega vs Nintendo. FIGHT!

This is listed as a ‘beautiful aluminum paddle’:

But I’ve seen it before. That is an exact replica of a Dead Island machete:

I don’t really think Dead Island is a sexy-type game, but I guess it does involve a lot of bodily fluids and half-naked people running around on a tropical island, so eh. Go for it, you crazy kids.

And here’s a whole subset of sex tools for people with no sex life: THE WOW NERDS! Pick your side and get a paddle! And because we all know the Horde is the best (for the Horde, motherfuckers), some additional Horde goodness. And finally, a little Dalaran-inspired flogging action. Oh yeah.

Then there’s this, for when you’re feeling like a modern Prometheus.

And this, for when you really need to teach someone a lesson.

And finally, for those who like their sex served up with a side of fear:

…Listen, anyone who’s read Stephen King’s It has a very real, very healthy, very logical fear/aversion to clowns. Don’t judge me.

Wearable Goodness

The sexy section of Etsy is so much more than just sex toys, galleons. It’s got sexy apparel, too! Oh yeah.

Sexy underwear with a pocket to hold the cash after the gentleman pays you? Etsy’s got you covered.

Crocheted strap-on harnesses? Etsy’s got you covered.

Fancy steampunk bondage cuffs? Etsy’s got you covered.

Rainbow dick pendants, to show your love of queers and cocks? Etsy’s got you covered.

And how about shoes with dildo heels for the foot fetishists out there? Etsy’s got you covered here, too- a whole shop of dilettos!

Furniture for Fuckin’

When outfitting a sex dungeon, it’s important to find only the best pieces. You have to look everywhere. Comb the net, search the best shops… and sometimes, go to Etsy.

That’s right. Etsy’s home to your sex dungeon needs. They should really advertise that better.

I mean, look at this fine piece of dungeon furniture, the bondage horse. Ebony stained birch, burgundy faux leather padding, heavy duty hardware, and it folds right up, so you can tuck it out of sight when the in-laws come over.

And how about a sex machine for that sexy lair you’re crafting? A dark walnut stain, 19 inch bar. “Adjustable speeds from slow to OMG!” How can you resist?

But this next piece has to be my favorite. At first glance, it’s your average St. Andrew’s Cross. But this bad boy is a motherfucking transformer!

Sexy dungeon furniture by night, totally vanilla plant pedestal by day. That is some quality sex gear, there- functional and fucktional.

Dirty Decor

It’s not just about sexy furniture, though. Everyone knows that it’s the little touches that really make a house a home. Or a house a sex pad.

Touches like a lovingly embroidered rabbit vibe sampler. Just like grandma used to make.

And what about these artful magnets? Cover your fridge in the genitalia of a young British girl, because even vaginas are classy if they have a British accent.

For the kids’ room, what about these colorful dinosaur wall pieces? What? Even the king of the lizards gets lonely sometimes.

This majestic sculpture shows off your love of both cocks and the black power movement. Or fisting. Black power or fisting.

And for a touch of undersea whimsy (guess I wasn’t the only one who made the connection), this happy little mirror.

But I think my favorite thing is this sculpture, Silver Seduction:

Like a 3D representation of the finest in bathroom stall graffiti, this piece will really bring a ‘filthy truck stop restroom’ vibe to your love shack.

Various and Sundry Other Goodies

In my Etsy wanderings, I came across many things that are, well, sex toys in the very real sense of the word. And so, I’m giving them their own category in this list, because I think some of them are hilarious and I can’t not share them.

You’re welcome.

First up, we have a game called Spin the Wank:

Spin the Wank is a variation on Spin the Bottle, only instead of spinning some bit of glassware, you twirl a little ceramic cock. How fantastic! You can only imagine how the rules of the game change when you switch out bottle for dick. Let’s just say, that’s going to be one hell of a party…

And here’s a little sperm plushie. That is, apparently, signed by the creator? Like, the creator of sperm? I really want this to just have GOD scrawled across the back.

…Yes, I read the description. I know it’s signed by that Bethann woman. My version was better.

What about this 1967 sexometer? I enjoy the fact that ‘sex starved’ is both a sexiness rating AND rates above ‘heavenly’. Sense, this product makes it.

Here’s a Christmas ornament/key chain sculpted to look like a blow up doll. I don’t have a snarky comment for this, I just think it’s funny.

For the well dickerated bathroom, how about some Mr. Penis soap? Though if you’re calling him Mr. Penis, you could at least give the guy a top hat. I mean, honestly.

Now see, these guys know how to make a cock look classy. Those are some sharp dressed dongs right there.

This is probably the best toy on the whole site, both for sheer WTF factor and for the horror factor:

As I’m sure you’ve guessed, this little guy shags his lady when wound up. Deliciously crass. But then you see their faces:

HOLY SHIT. What is… what the… *whimper*

The horror.

Moving on… to decorate your notebooks, love letters, sex toy box, etc., why not get a set of dildo stickers? Add a little naughtiness to everything.

And for when you try a position you really should have stretched before and end up a little sore the next day, here’s a lovely little hot/cold pack to ease the pain. Also, it smells like lavender, like a good cock should.

And finally, we have the prick cushion. And while I could try to come up with something clever to say about it, I think its description is just too good to attempt to top:

This Prick Cushion is one Hot Pink Rod. He rides like a roller coaster, purrs like a kitten and moves like a hot knife slicing through butter.

For scorned lovers, and women with penis envy, a present for a secret spinster sister, the perfect bachelorette gift for the crafty girl who has everything or the pin cushion you will never lose (but hide from your mother-in-law).

Need I say more?

***

I hope you’ve had fun on our tour of Etsy’s sexier side, my galleons. I really do. Because now that we’ve had fun, I’m going to scare the shit out of you by taking you to the darkest area of Etsy.

Welcome to hell, galleons:

WHAT THE FUCK?! What is this shit? Who would put this near their genitals? This is the stuff of nightmares. I will sleep poorly for weeks after seeing this. And you want people to fuck these monstrosities? WHAT?!?!?!

…

…

…

And that’s Etsy for you, galleons.

On Cyborgs, Singularities, and the 2045 Initiative

Oh, you vodka-soaked Russian bastards, what madness are you cooking up this time?

Dmitry Itskov, a mad Russian billionaire, has decided its high time humans cast off their mortal shells in favor of a sleeker, digital form. He believes its time we push our technology to the limits to create a method of immortality for the personality, a freeing of consciousness from the fleshy sac it’s currently attached to.

Itskov’s baby is the 2045 Initiative, a grand plan to create machines complex enough to house a human personality, paving the way for the technological singularity (rise of superintelligence through technology).

It’s like he’s never read his O.C. Bible. “Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind.” That ringing any bells, buddy?

The 2045 Initiative is comprised of four phases (avatars):

Avatar A (2020)

Using a brain-machine interface, a human will control a robotic human replica. While it’s not as impressive as killing someone with your brain, I suppose it’s something.

Avatar B (2025)

Okay, here’s where things start to get freaky. The second phase of Itskov’s plan involves planting a human mind into a machine at the end of his/her life, effectively granting him/her immortality. But this immortality will come at a terrible price- at this stage, emotions and personality will be lost in the transfer.

I’ve seen this before. Now, where was it…

OH YEAH. They’ve already done this shit on Doctor Who:

You will be upgraded.

A recurring baddie on the long-running British show are the Cybermen, machines who take humans and “upgrade” them by making them into emotionless robotic beings.

And Itskov wants to start them up here on Earth? WAY TO GO… wait, if it means a certain blue police box is going to appear on a street somewhere, I say fucking go for it. Robotize the masses, Itskov. I’d love to meet The Doctor.

Avatar C (2035)

At this point, Itskov figures we’ll have successfully created a computer model of human consciousness, so we’ll now be able to move a human personality (emotions, memories, and all) into a machine.

Oh yeah, that’s never ended badly:

Oh… it’s you.

Avatar D (2045)

The final stage of Itskov’s master plan is to free humanity completely from physical forms. Humans will be digital creatures, living online in a kind of hive mind, with individual personalities surfacing as holographic avatars to interact with the physical world.

…

…

Why?

I guess that’s my main question here. While I (like many people) have always been fascinated by the idea of downloading a human personality into a machine (along with the ethical quandaries surrounding such a notion), this final stage just seems ridiculous to me. Something you read about in a good (or utterly awful) sci-fi novel, ponder for a bit, then promptly dismiss.

Then again, if all this goes down, I could be a digital Kerrigan. And all you bitches can be my zerglings. Mwa ha ha.

…Mine is an evil laugh.

To be completely honest, I guess the final stage of the 2045 Initiative is so repulsive to me because it seems utterly impossible to create an internet-based “hive mind” scenario that still maintains the individuality of the personalities within it. There’s a reason every goddamn swarm/hive mind of sci-fi is comprised of unemotional, non-individualistic creatures- group/hive consciousnesses are essentially one consciousness. There can be no real individuality because every unit within the hive is just a piece of the same whole, a cog in the same machine. Personalities get in the way of this kind of collective consciousness, impeding the group (by daring to dissent or have new ideas) and never achieving the snap decisions and power of many individuals acting as one singular unit.

There is a power in collective consciousness, but it’s a power that comes at the cost of individuality. We see this scenario play out time and time again in the sci-fi world. Halo’s flood, Starcraft’s Zerg, Star Trek’s Borg, Doctor Who’s Ood… The list goes on.

Now, in fiction, we see a handful of these group conscious that allow for the retention of some individuality. But could such a thing occur in a digital world? When we are all electric signals, bytes of memory, moving around the globe through the same channels, exchanging information and interacting at unbelievable speeds… would there be any real way to preserve individual consciousnesses? Or would we all eventually merge into one collective, global consciousness, humanity becoming one massive superintelligence?

Of course, Itskov faces a great many obstacles on this path. Technology is currently not progressing at the rate he would like, and it’s going to take more than just his billions to fund this venture. Personally, I don’t think he’ll ever raise the necessary monies to push this plan along according to his timeline. But if the money is found and that major hurdle is no longer standing in his way…

I ask you, galleons, to think about this idea. What kind of man would even put forth such an idea? This man would:

Look at him, galleons. I’m pretty sure this guy’s a goddamn robot already. He’s a Cyberman in disguise, trying to make us all a crazy, digital consciousness to suit his alien creators. Look at those dead, soulless eyes.

DON’T LET HIM GET YOUR DELICIOUS HUMAN MEATS, WORLD.

Week of the Triffids

Galleons, the deserts of Arizona are a treacherous place. And not just because of the oppressive heat and lack of water. No. There is a far greater danger to humanity hiding down here.

The motherfucking triffid.

Triffids, for those of you not in The Know are weird plants from the sci fi classic The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham. I say classic because it’s often touted as such, but I don’t know anyone else who has read it, so how classic can it be, huh? HUH?

Anyway, in the story, a strange species of plant called a triffid has begun sprouting all over the world. These plants may or may not have been engineered by the goddamn Ruskies, but the narrator is pretty sure they aren’t aliens (despite the fact that they totally sound like aliens). Triffids are described as having a straight stem protruding upward from a woody bole (shaggy with rootlet hairs). The bole has three large projections from the lower part, like roots (these do, in fact, function as roots when the plant is stationary, but can be used to “walk” when the plant feels like picking up and being a super creepy Ent). At the top of the stem is a kind of funnel, from which protrudes a long, slender whip-like appendage with a sting at the end (which can, oh yeah, kill a man). Like this:

So, the triffids kind of take over after this crazy meteor shower blinds almost everyone and life is shit for the handful of folks who can still see and are trying to get by in this post-apocalyptic land.

On the whole, a solid sci fi book.

Anyway, as we were traveling the greater Arizona region this week, I looked outside and saw this:

MOTHERFUCKING DESERT TRIFFIDS ALL UP IN THIS BITCH.

Granted, upon closer inspection, they aren’t quite the same. But that was my first thought as I stared out over the land. And triffids would have to adapt to differing climates as they spread over the world. Who can say these aren’t a desert version of a triffid?

I’m just saying, the fucking apocalypse is upon us and it’s starting here. In Arizona. You can bet your ass I’ll be keeping my eye on these goddamn triffids.

You hear me, triffids? YOU WILL NOT GET ME.

…As an aside, galleons, I wouldn’t watch any meteor showers in the near future. Just in case.

Vorlesen

I’ve always been someone who dog-ears books. Which, to many bibliophiles, is goddamn blasphemy and should probably be punished by stoning. To me, it’s always been a way a book evolves with me. I love books, but I love how they wear and age as well. How their creases and tears, the fading, the dings, the dents, how all those things show a book that has been well-loved, that has traveled, that has been used and worn and fucking read, as a book should be.

Which is good, as I am not careful with books. I am not a dainty, delicate reader. Books get shoved in my purse, tossed in carry on luggage, boxed and carted around the country. I read in the bath, while eating, on the bus, waiting in line, in the bathroom, at the DMV, outside under a tree on a summer day. Everyone these days seem glued to their smartphones at all times, but in this regard, I’m a bit of an old-fashioned girl. I like books, physical, actual books with spines and pages and the smell of paper and ink and glue that you just can’t get with a Kindle. I love the feel of a book in my hands, the weight of it, the ruffling of its pages.

And so, yes, I dog-ear my pages. I’ve always hated bookmarks. I cart my books everywhere, and I’ve lost more bookmarks than I can count. They are a pain, and seeing as I do not worry about keeping my books pristine, I long ago stopped bothering with them.

Then, a few years ago, I started a second system of dog-earing. While I still dog-ear the top of the page to mark my spot when I stop reading, I also make smaller dog-ears along the bottom as I go. Sometimes, they mark something I want to look up when I’m near a computer again, a song or a foreign phrase that I’m unfamiliar with. More often, though, the tiny dog-ears mark phrases/lines/paragraphs that I find to be particularly thought-provoking or beautiful.

Last night, I found myself doing this, and it made me stop and think about why I bother at all. I might think these words are beautiful, but why mark them? I read them- I know how wonderful they are. So… why?

My deep reverence for the written word has been a part of my life, a part of me, for as long as I can remember. And because it is so important to me, I suppose that I always want to share it with someone, to connect with a person or with multiple people over something that means so much to me. It is a very human need, the need to share oneself with others.

It’s funny, you know. Many of the people I’ve known over the years have this idea in their head of exactly what they want out of a relationship, know that they want someone exciting, someone that challenges them, someone spontaneous, someone with money who will take them out and show them grand evenings, someone to sit on a porch and drink lemonade with in their twilight years. Ask somebody about their ideal mate or their ideal relationship and, if they are being honest, they can probably go on forever about it. Which has always made me feel very awkward, because I don’t really have this laundry list of needs another person has to fill. I think the basics of compatibility have to be there- I know I would never be happy with someone who wasn’t at least in the same intellectual ballpark as myself. But when I think about an ideal partner or an ideal relationship, there’s really only one thing I want.

I want someone who I can sit with on a sofa, my head resting on his thigh, while I read to him some of my favorite poems and stories (or, better yet, that he reads to me), and in the flow of words from page through throat, that he could share something of my love for this language. That moment, or the ability to have moments like that with someone, that is all I can really say I’ve ever wanted.

For me, reading aloud is intimate. It is a sharing, between two people or between many, of the beauty of literature, of poetry, of stories. It encloses reader and listener(s) in a bubble, the world of the book, a world that exists only for them in that moment. The boy on the street outside the window is not part of that world. Reading is so often a solitary activity that inviting others into that experience with you is, to me, intensely personal.

I read aloud quite often when I am alone, letting the shapes of the sounds form in my mouth and curl, explode, and flutter out into the air. I let them hang there, I let my own voice fill the room, paragraphs becoming tangible things you feel you can almost touch. When I first read the children’s book Inkheart when I was young, I identified strongly with the central concept that reading aloud is powerful, that it could conjure these characters into being in the real world. It was something I had felt all along, and something I still feel to this day.

A friend of mine recently started recording audiobooks for… well, for some reason, I don’t really know. Probably because he can. And he is very talented (I think he’d punch me if I didn’t plug his stuff here and tell you to click this link to download some of his stuff and check it out), and has a wonderful voice to listen to. I’ve been enjoying what he’s been putting out. But he asked for a request for his next project, and I do not think I can give him one. I want to, I want to offer up an idea, but…

When he first announced this project, I thought it would be so great to have a friend (who I know from experience has the voice and acting chops to pull this off and do it well) reading books at me. I mean, shit, it’s the dream. All those books I love, I could have them read to me, read by someone I know could really do them justice.

…But the more I think about it, the more I don’t want those most treasured, most beloved books, the ones that speak to my heart and my soul in ways nothing else does, to be read by even a good friend like him. Because those are the books that mean everything to me. They are so very personal, and to have them read (even read well) and shared with just anybody who feels like clicking a download link… it would feel like a betrayal, to let that happen.

I do not think books should be locked up and never shared (anyone who knows me knows I’m always sharing books, shoving them into the hands of friends and insisting they read them), but I don’t think I want to give up on the dream of that sofa by letting them get read and shared with anybody. I want these books to be mine to share, with whomever I choose. I’m sure my friend would read them wonderfully, that I would love to hear them- but I want to hear them from the lips of someone who wants to know me, who wants to share in who I am, whether that person reads them well or not.

My little dog-eared snippets are like those books. Sometimes I share them with a person or two, someone I know will be amused by them or interested in them in some way. Sometimes I post a few of them on Twitter or here on this blog. But most of those little dog-ears aren’t shared with anybody. One day, maybe. One day, I’ll know somebody (or a few people) who will appreciate a call or text out of the blue with these lines and phrases, people who will understand and want to share that language with me. Or maybe they will always just be for me, read aloud in the silence of a room, alive and powerful in a way that I have a hard time describing.

And if you ever borrow a book from me, you can search the pages those little dog-ears are marking, looking for the passage that set a part of my soul spinning. Perhaps you too will feel that pull toward the page, that spark of power in the text, that almost magical warmth and awe of a well-turned phrase.

If so, I have many more books I’d be happy to share with you. Just saying.

*knock knock knock*

Galleons, meet Penny:

So named because the former owner left me 6 cents in pennies in her cup holders. Perhaps less regally named than my last car (though nobody used HER fucking name anyway, they just called her “the boat”), but no less loved.

Here’s hoping she doesn’t meet a similar fate, eh?

…There’s no point to this post beyond I’m happy to have found an affordable replacement for The Borgia and am not the sort to post this kind of nonsense on the Facebook. But on my stupid personal blog? Absolutely.