Confessions from the rim/Adventure Tchotchkes! #10
Some people call me the Ass Cowboy. Some call me the Sphincter of Love. Some people call me Maurice. I punch those fuckers in the nuts.
After all the times I've gone on about butt plugs here (the link is not an exhaustive list, but it's damning enough), one would think that I was some kind of ass-riding, colon-cramming, black-belt Zen puckerfucker with gold keys to the back door. One would be wrong.
Internet as a Whole, because I know you're all reading, I must tell you this: for the many times I wrote about butt plugs, rhapsodized about butt plugs, included butt plugs in my holiday celebrations, in all that time, I had never actually touched a butt plug.
Shame. It burns through me even as I type these incriminating words, the confession that brands me a fraud, a wannabe, a rectal runner-up.
But wait! Put down the pitchforks, douse your torches, save the tar and feathers for bingo night. There is redemption in this story.
A few years ago, I ordered some strictly educational materials from Adam and Eve. Those folks, they want to keep you smart, and they send "mystery gifts" with your order so that you can just keep learning! I received two of these with my highly intellectual and not at all sleazy order. The gifts, as it turned out, were identical: red, shiny butt plugs. Two of them. Why? Did they think one wouldn't be enough for me? Did they think I wanted to have a butt party with a friend? Had they mistaken me for the Woman With Two Assholes?
I threw them in a drawer and put the whole thing out of my mind. But then I'd open the drawer and start to feel sorry for them. Sad, lonely butt plugs, wanting nothing more than to be shoved up my backside, hell, anyone's backside. One day it hit me: these poor Plastisol fellows had personalities. I could offer them so much more than they thought their lives would be, and here I was hiding them away in a nightstand drawer.
Plastic wrap off. Googly eyes on. Buster and Pike have come to restore my street cred.
After all the times I've gone on about butt plugs here (the link is not an exhaustive list, but it's damning enough), one would think that I was some kind of ass-riding, colon-cramming, black-belt Zen puckerfucker with gold keys to the back door. One would be wrong.
Internet as a Whole, because I know you're all reading, I must tell you this: for the many times I wrote about butt plugs, rhapsodized about butt plugs, included butt plugs in my holiday celebrations, in all that time, I had never actually touched a butt plug.
Shame. It burns through me even as I type these incriminating words, the confession that brands me a fraud, a wannabe, a rectal runner-up.
But wait! Put down the pitchforks, douse your torches, save the tar and feathers for bingo night. There is redemption in this story.
A few years ago, I ordered some strictly educational materials from Adam and Eve. Those folks, they want to keep you smart, and they send "mystery gifts" with your order so that you can just keep learning! I received two of these with my highly intellectual and not at all sleazy order. The gifts, as it turned out, were identical: red, shiny butt plugs. Two of them. Why? Did they think one wouldn't be enough for me? Did they think I wanted to have a butt party with a friend? Had they mistaken me for the Woman With Two Assholes?
I threw them in a drawer and put the whole thing out of my mind. But then I'd open the drawer and start to feel sorry for them. Sad, lonely butt plugs, wanting nothing more than to be shoved up my backside, hell, anyone's backside. One day it hit me: these poor Plastisol fellows had personalities. I could offer them so much more than they thought their lives would be, and here I was hiding them away in a nightstand drawer.
Plastic wrap off. Googly eyes on. Buster and Pike have come to restore my street cred.
Labels: "Adventure Tchotchkes!", Buster, butt plugs, comics, Pike, writing
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 9:00 AM
6 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
Butt plugs generally live their lives hidden away someplace. Your dresser drawer probably being not the worst. However, I'm so glad you brought them out to play. The next time you use the bong you should invite Towelly.
Towelie needs to bring his own stash, then, 'cause he's a nice guy and all, but he's kind of a bogart.
The butt plug: America's hidden victim.
Methinks thou protesteth too much.
It's true; I *am* the woman with two assholes.
The one in green reminds me of Freddie Mercury. In a good way.
Ha! I hadn't thought about it, but I totally see it now!
I see a little sillhou-ette-o of a plug...
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