I bought a pussy pump.
There’s no dignified way to pose with a pussy pump. I tried, and it just looked like I was posing for my senior portrait with a football that I was really proud of. I was tempted to take a picture of my actual hot dog bun, simply because it looked like my vagina sprouted this supremely cool and sexy tumor, but I’m not getting paid enough (read: at all) for that, so my other lips will have to do.
I knew that engorged cunts were a thing, but since I didn’t care for the look, I never thought of trying it. Then, I read that female pumping could lead to more intense orgasms, and since I would drown the Cadbury Bunny if it meant my vagina would benefit, I started shopping. Initially, I felt weird about buying one, because I knew this meant that I was just a few clicks away from from buying a leather bridle set and diving into pony play. But so far I have no desire to to put blinders on (except for you know, the metaphorical ones I have when it comes to my life) while sucking a dick so I think I’m safe.
My pump came with an instructional DVD and I got through about 20 seconds until I saw Ron Jeremy talking about my “plump wet pussy,” at which point I had to turn it off before entertaining the idea of using my pussy pump to gouge out my eyes so I could somehow unsee the chicken salad sandwich living in Ron Jeremy’s mustache. So, since that was rendered useless, I gathered the basics and went to it.
I knew I had to approach pussy pumping with caution. Mostly because I wasn’t sure if I would even like it, but also because I didn’t want my boyfriend to look at my bouncy house vagina and run away in horror. Oh, plus, I could’ve permanently turned my coffee bean into the stomach of an overweight Labrador. Luckily, when I tried it on myself in private, I responded positively. As expected, my boyfriend approached the whole thing like he was the Will It Blend? guy, but with a boner. At first, he started pumping like he was filling up a flat bike tire but once I told him it was causing my uterus to slide out, he slowed down to a less deadly pace.
The discomfort I predicted occurred early on but was quickly replaced by arousal. Despite my skepticism, my entire panty hamster filled the cup and after 15 minutes (the maximum amount of pumping time recommended), I experienced an extreme jump in sensitivity. My orgasm took about half the time to achieve and there was even a reported gain in tightness.
Get one — but if you do, don’t put it on your face because it could get stuck and you could panic and then have to wrestle with it for awhile until you get it off and then deal with the reality of a face hickey that will stay with you for the rest of the day.
I saw this shirt at my local Whole Foods and despite the fact that I’m unemployed and despite the fact that it’s made of organic cotton and therefore $128*, I had to have it. Narwhals are fucking cool because they’re like whales that have been bred with knights and I’m pretty sure they are also Wiccan.
*I’m exaggerating, but seriously organic cotton seems to command a price that implies that, in addition to being a shirt, it can also make me the perfect three egg omelet while blowing me.
I cut my hair short two years ago after a particularly bad breakup and while initially I was all Mary Tyler Moore about it, thinking I was going to make it after all, I soon realized that I looked completely stupid so I picked my knit hat off the ground and immediately put it back on. Since then I’ve been trying to grow it out and have accepted that there will be a tedious slog towards having hair that doesn’t look like a cheap Halloween wig. It’s been months since my last haircut and although it was a bit more damaged than I would’ve liked, I was pleased with the fact that it had grown well past my shoulders. Today, I made the mistake of getting it trimmed because now, not only do I look like Bobby Brady, but I have to start all over again.
Continue reading…
Being caught stating the obvious is a bit of a fear of mine, and so I am always careful not to do it. The last time it happened to me, I was 11 and said, “Weird Al is really…weird, isn’t he?” and after I was inaugurated as Captain Obvious, I quietly put the offender on my mental list of people I would visit after building my very own rocket launcher while thinking, never again.
So I realize that talking about the crotch numbing effect that AskMen has on those who don’t like to keep Corn Nuts in their belly button because it’s just convenient that way, means that I’ve kind of fallen off the wagon. This time though, I’m stronger and therefore able to beat up most 6th graders with ease.
I picked Signs She’ll Still Look Good in 20 Years because, while nearly all AskMen articles make me wish that Jesus had never killed the dinosaurs so we wouldn’t even end up in this mess in the first place, this one is particularly apocalyptic. I also picked it because it starts with this really great hook about how “child-rearing leave[s] some women looking more frazzled than Phil Spector on his first day in prison.” See, it’s funny because Phil Spector is not attractive. It goes on to set up the central conflict, which is: “Your girlfriend is everything you want in a partner: brains, a sense of humor and a naked body that would make any grown man blush…The only issue: You want assurance that she will still look this fantastic in the decades to come.” You’re not fooling me, Chris Illuminati, I can read between the lines. I realize what you meant to say was, “Your girlfriend is cool because she has nice teeth, which means that she doesn’t cut up your dick when she blows you…unlike your ex.” I know this because these “brains” you claim don’t really exist if your girl is too busy retaining her “crown” among her “gaggle of hot clones” to realize how much of a douche you are.
The rest of the article mentions the basics (plastic surgery: good, fast food: bad unless you’re feeding it to your man), and shockingly, doesn’t even attempt any sort of base aphorisms like “If her mom is hot, you’ve got a shot; if her mom is fat, you can’t hit that.” However, considering that none of this is worth remembering anyway, it’s probably for the best. The real talent is invested in the humor, which makes me yearn for the days when I used to go to amateur comedy nights since I at least had the option of getting drunk. Sadly, no amount of cheap booze can dull the pain of a set up that involves having the “hottest wife in the nursing home” and how that warrants…extra rice pudding. If that doesn’t sound funny to you, then congratulations because you’re already funnier than Chris Illuminati.
I get it, Chris–you’re a freelancer–so sneaking sips from abandoned cups at Starbucks just so you can taste what it will be like when you write your award winning piece titled, “Hot Girls Are Hot Because They Are Hot” may not be beneath you. But goddammit, that $4 latte will taste so much sweeter once you emancipate yourself from this notion that girls who play video games are hot as long as they’re not overweight, because it means you will have stopped rimming the asshole of poor taste.
