Thank God for Censorship
x-posted from zombie chow.
I've been reading some shiz about livejournal doing automatic cuts on "adult blogs". Tee hee. There are "adult blogs" on lj? Why haven't I been reading these?
I'll tell you...
Last night the wife and I decided to watch a little TV in bed--we have DirecTv and that might explain some of the lunacy that follows. I flipped on the guide to find A SHOT AT LOVE WITH TILA TEQUILA or a rerun of HELL DATE on BET, when what should I see? Why only THE ADULT TOY SHOPPING NETWORK, that's all. Like deer in the headlights my wife and I sat mesmerized shielding the dog's eyes from the 10 inch dongs (this is apparently a technical term), 8 inch dildos, rabbits (which were kind of cute, but what were the pearl's for and how'd they get them inside?), masturbation sleeves, penis pumps and a bizarre contraption that looked like a big diamond ring (but could have been a new-fangled Pear of Anguish), and seemed to fulfill a similar purpose (union, albeit a vibrating one). What had us rapt in silent laughter was the Men's Prostate Stimulator with Perineal Vibrating Arm. The show hostesses seemed to enjoy describing in detail how it worked, and that they wouldn't mind sharing it with their boyfriends (at that we both went quiet, cuz--ew--dookie germs).
Don't ask me how...but after the TV was finally turned off, we ended up talking about donut shaped soap on a rope and old men whittling prostate stimulators on the front porch, "I'll be Goddamned if I get another splinter up my tuckus, bring me the fine grade sandpaper, boy!" We were laughing so hard the dog's probably thought we were seizing.
So, it goes to show that I (my wife, either, really) cannot be exposed to "adult" material without devolving into a giggly 13-year old.
Hmm.
If that post doesn't get tagged adult, nothing will. Fuck.
I've been reading some shiz about livejournal doing automatic cuts on "adult blogs". Tee hee. There are "adult blogs" on lj? Why haven't I been reading these?
I'll tell you...
Last night the wife and I decided to watch a little TV in bed--we have DirecTv and that might explain some of the lunacy that follows. I flipped on the guide to find A SHOT AT LOVE WITH TILA TEQUILA or a rerun of HELL DATE on BET, when what should I see? Why only THE ADULT TOY SHOPPING NETWORK, that's all. Like deer in the headlights my wife and I sat mesmerized shielding the dog's eyes from the 10 inch dongs (this is apparently a technical term), 8 inch dildos, rabbits (which were kind of cute, but what were the pearl's for and how'd they get them inside?), masturbation sleeves, penis pumps and a bizarre contraption that looked like a big diamond ring (but could have been a new-fangled Pear of Anguish), and seemed to fulfill a similar purpose (union, albeit a vibrating one). What had us rapt in silent laughter was the Men's Prostate Stimulator with Perineal Vibrating Arm. The show hostesses seemed to enjoy describing in detail how it worked, and that they wouldn't mind sharing it with their boyfriends (at that we both went quiet, cuz--ew--dookie germs).
Don't ask me how...but after the TV was finally turned off, we ended up talking about donut shaped soap on a rope and old men whittling prostate stimulators on the front porch, "I'll be Goddamned if I get another splinter up my tuckus, bring me the fine grade sandpaper, boy!" We were laughing so hard the dog's probably thought we were seizing.
So, it goes to show that I (my wife, either, really) cannot be exposed to "adult" material without devolving into a giggly 13-year old.
Hmm.
If that post doesn't get tagged adult, nothing will. Fuck.
Comments