Sunday, December 12, 2010

Keeping it up in a downturn economy

By Dorie Hook

During the Great Recession, many of us cannot afford to shell out $45 bucks for a Fleshlight at Nancy’s Nook—or $10 for a private massager at CVS.  (Heck, when I went to Walgreen’s to get my $25 flu shot, I couldn’t even get the nurse to throw in a blowjob.) So for those of us who don’t fall into the upper echelons of the Bush-era tax cuts, here are some everyday household items that can help stimulate more than just the economy. [Editor’s warning:  We removed an entry from this article that suggested the reader stick his or her genitalia in the toaster.  Thus, we cannot be assured that all of these suggestions are in fact not hazardous to your health.  Apologies to our intern Matt.]

Let’s begin our titillating tour in “el bano”.  Oddly, the room that is most often used as a masturbatory haven is often overlooked for its autoerotic instrument possibilities. For instance, your spouse’s fragrant bath candles aren’t necessarily the innocent aromatherapy tapirs they appear to be.  They can also be used as sinister, scintillating stimulants.  A few drops of hot wax placed beginning at your navel and progressively headed toward your upper pubes will incite your stroke rate madly, thus proving that, indeed, one’s right and left hand should never know what they other is up to.  (However, avoid the potpourri basket at all costs!  The last thing you want is for your junk to come off smelling like Pacific Northwest conifer.  And there is nothing worse than trying to pick acorn caps out of your glans--especially if you’re uncircumcised.) Have you ever taken a second look at little Billy’s electric Spiderman toothbrush?  Well, don’t!  Before you spin your own sticky Spidey vibratory web, swab the brush and run a germ culture for about a week.  Talk about the Green Goblin!  Unless you want to spend the rest of your days rubbing little Elvis with a bleach-soaked Brillo pad, I advise you turn your sex-aid attention to elsewhere on the sink.

Think twice before throwing away your roommate’s hair bands which she leaves on the mildewed sink counter every morning.  Hair bands make cost-effective cockrings, and, moreover, generally come with a few of your roommate’s hairs already wrapped inside them to incite your fantasy further.  Even better, next time you see her wearing her orange bands at the tip of her French braid, you can think to yourself, “Yeah, I’ve been there.” As to use, secure the hair band at the bottom of your organic bottle rocket.  Tease upwards, like sands through the hourglass, “as these are the veins in our thighs.”  It is at the discretion of the user whether or not to wrap the crown jewels, too.  Feel free to experiment with different tensions, as if your bollocks were on their third tour in Afghanistan and contemplating a stint in Iraq with Blackwater.  Try placing one band on just the gonads, or execute a figure eight, trapping your sack like a bulldog caught in a car door. Okay, on to bigger and better.  Look up, Dick.  Up, up, up.  Like an enigmatic philosopher, I beg you “consider the shower ring.”  A close look may reveal one or two rings missing due to those who underestimated their own girth, thus cracking the oval like a dolphin’s nose in a six-pack.  Carefully strap one of these bull nose rings on, but don’t panic if, when you don this magic plastic ring on your one-eyed yogurt chucker, you suddenly turn invisible and start wandering the crawl space of your home muttering, “My Precious.” Now that your Frankenfuter is trapped in a Chinese plastic penis puzzle, look around and find a bar of Dove soap and grandma’s ivory hairbrush.  Yes, the one with the soft bristles.  [Editor’s note:  Do not use grandpa’s wire brush!  Again, our intern, Matt.]  We shouldn’t have to explain too much here, other than to say soap is a natural lubricant and the backside of an ivory hairbrush just might be the prostate-tickling temptation you’ve been missing ever since your parents withdrew you from the Boy Scouts without your knowing why.

Finally, we’ve all read the occasional headline about the “that guy” who ended up in the emergency room with a Hoover attachment stuck to his purple pork sword.  Here’s a twist on that old onanistic standby that will help you avoid the emergency room:  Take a paper towel roll—not empty, brand new.  (I use Brawny, because the packaging is a wee on the homoerotic side.  However, I would NOT recommend using Charmin, because the baby on the package leaves you feeling self-conscious; moreover, it’s toilet paper, so the roll is shorter.  Both of these factors generally lead to E.D.)  Any-whoo, simply stick your Twinkie in one end and then stick the vacuum attachment to the other end.  Voila!  A cocksure suction session which won’t cost you a dime of health care co-pay! Oh, I almost forgot.  For the female reader seeking cheap sex aid advice that you won’t find in Good Housekeeping, I recommend you fill up the tub, grab the aforementioned Spiderman toothbrush, get your motor running like Danika Patrick at a vibrator party, then crawl forward toward the spigot and form your legs into a peace sign “V” positioned directly under the dripping tap and allow your clit to succumb to Chinese water torture until you ‘Abu-Ghraib’ the side of the tub and your toes curl in on themselves and fall like Building Number Seven.  While you scream in orgasmic ecstasy, add a couple of decibels while realizing that all of this pleasure came with a zero price tag.  It was all just two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen. Next issue, I’ll discuss “that guy” who squeezed half a pet store into a Coke bottle and stuck it up his mangina--plus the fine difference between Pepsi, Coke and Virgin Cola products.  I’ll also review which pet stores don’t check the sex offender website upon your purchase of small rodents and reptiles. And, as always, boys and girls, just remember...the expression busting a nut didn’t just come from patrons at Cromer’s Party Store.

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