Just a Google Search: A Tale of Innocence Lost

There are things happening in the world right now that even the most grounded and realistic of horror fiction couldn't compete with. Throw away your Vampires and Werewolves; real terror is wearing a very human face. Possibly one that it just ripped off of another human's face. And then filmed it and put it on YouTube. This is the world we live in now. The horror is not only real and not too far away, but it can also be captured and documented for future generations to see. Or maybe just to fill up your spam inbox.

People are perishing in seemingly random attacks, perpetrated by irrational beings. Victims are fleeing for sanctuary, only to be turned away at the borders because guess what; they're not the only ones who are afraid. Yes my friends, we're all afraid. And as a result we are giving up our humanity. And that's just what the horror does. It chips away at what makes you human, until one day you wake up, and you ARE the horror.

However I have not the patience, nor the emotional maturity to cover such topics, so here's an article about sex aids.

Because this is what you came here for. Admit it.

It started like any other obsession; with a simple Google search. We've all been there. A stray thought at the coffee shop, a peculiar lyric in your favourite song, or even a throwaway line of dialogue in a film. It'll spark a sudden thought which sends you cascading into the deepest parts of the abyss.

Here there be Dragons.

In this case it was a conversation with a friend. I made a throwaway joke as I often do and, as you probably guessed, the joke involved fleshlights. The poor girl then decided to ask me what a fleshlight was. In response I unleashed a hell I have not since been able to contain.

It was too late for her to run.

I had never really thought much about Fleshlights in the past. In my mind they were just another novel self pleasure device; it's existence pretty much inevitable with our biological inability to keep our own instincts in permanent check. Women have vibrators, men have fleshlights. The world continues to spin regardless. Having said that, there's always been an interesting double standard when it comes to these instruments. When one sees a group of women at an "Anne Summers" party passing around sexual implements and oooh-ing over them like they're crystal wine glasses or something (I've never been to an AS party, could you tell?), you see it as a sort of casual act of sexual freedom. Women's sexuality has been stomped on since the dawn on time and now, here in the 21st Century, women can be as overt as they like with their needs and such.

However when a man owns a fleshlight it always seems a bit.... pathetic. It's an object that carries a certain degree of shame with it. Don't get me wrong; if I was to walk into a male friend's house and see a fleshlight sitting on the kitchen table, I'd probably just shrug my shoulders and suggest politely that we eat in the living room. Still though; with all the implications of loneliness and ineptness in regards to the opposite sex, I could imagine a fleshlight as being one of the saddest objects one could own, next to an urn full of kitten ashes, or a glass cabinet with a copy of the first and only season of "Firefly".

Never Forget.

But hey, I'm a liberal guy (Or at least I was until I saw these things. I now suddenly have the urge to spray the streets with Dettol and start reading the Daily Mail), and as such am not at all averse to exploring the strange sexual behavior of others. Like I said, it's the 21st century. It's time we started putting away stuffy old social norms and started discovering the beauty of the world of self-applicated eroticism. I mean we're all human. How weird could this possibly get?

(Editor - Look Glenn, I know slasher movie principles don't normally apply to blog articles but you really have to stop saying things like that. You only tempt fate)

Case Study #1 - A Trifecta of Horror

As an equal rights advocate, and someone who desperately needs to get laid, I am of the belief that a woman is more than the sum of her parts. Those curves are nothing without the personality behind them. Case in point; tits are great, but if I were to send you a pair of severed tits in the mail (as in, not attached to a woman) would you be aroused? If so then you'll love this little package deal.

AKA: Exhibits A, B and C in a high profile serial murder trial.

Now I have to admit, it's not really the standard vulva or even the pinhole anus that I have a massive problem with. More that... thing in between them. It's like a cross between a spare part from "Westworld" and some kind of Lynchian nightmare. I'd be terrified of buying the damn thing simply for the fear that one night I will wake up to hear it softly whispering to me in the dark, and I wont be on drugs.

Apart from anything else I wonder exactly what kind of choice this is supposed to provide for the user of these things? Let's see, do I feel like the Barbie vagina, the pinhole bum, or the unsettling maw of a destroyed replicant? What does it matter? Either way I'm going to die alone.

Case Study #2 - To the Bat Cave!

I have to say; I'm not the most experienced of guys. But the last time I saw a vulva up close I don't remember it looking anything like the Bat Signal. If I had a girlfriend who looked like this I probably wouldn't be able to go down on her due to an overwhelming urge to dress up like a flying rodent and punch a clown.

This is of course due to the somewhat large and ragged looking labial flaps. It all depends on your taste really but on the upside, if you take this thing with you on an ill fated yacht trip, you can at least go to your watery grave safe in the knowledge that your fleshlight was probably able to swim its way to shore.

Case Study #3 - Why Edward didn't turn Bella Immediately

(Editor - I told you)

Now that my "Twilight" joke quota for this article has been met; here's a device especially for people who find the prospect of placing their delicate, blood filled organ into the jaws of a supernatural predator appealing.

Look I get it. Vampires have always had this erotic mystique about them. They maintain a human form, they exude sensual charm and sexual charisma from every pore, and some of us even like to be bitten. I get it. Bottom line is, vampires are sexy (as long as you ignore the obvious parallels to rape and sexually transmitted diseases in their nature).

Trouble is, when you pare all that down to just a mouth with a set of deadly fangs it kind of ruins the effect. I know people of my generation have been embracing this whole "YOLO" thing of late but ultimately sense must win out. There are certain things you just don't do. You don't stick a fork in a plug socket. You don't shove your hand into the tiger enclosure. You don't dance naked with bees. And you DO NOT stick your cock in a vampire's mouth.

And now the thought occurs to me: there's probably a movie out there where a man is turned into a vampire by being bitten on the dick. NO! No! I'm not going to google it. This has given me enough to think about already. What's next anyway?

Case Study #4 - What?!

There's.... Not much I can say on this. I think it stands on its own.

Ladies and gentlemen, I sought to create an entertaining and informative internet piece for you to soak up and enjoy. I sincerely hope I have done that. But what I know I have done is make absolutely, 100% sure that I go to my grave knowing that some time, somewhere, on this very Earth... someone watched the scene in "Predator" where the titular antagonist removed his mask, exposing his lizard green, mandibled maw to cinema history and thought:

"Nice. I'd love to stick my bald headed hermit in that. Oh yeah."

To paraphrase Genesis; this is the world we live in. And these are the sex toys they give us.

Fire cannot kill memories my dear.

Case Study #5 - @#$%^**&?!

No! No! Fuck you! Fuck you and go to hell! It does not end like this! Do you hear me?! It does NOT end like this! All of human innovation and technological advancement did NOT take place so you could fuck a magic pony of indeterminate age! No! I don't care how sexy its legs are! I don't care how cute its voice is or how large and beckoning their cartoon eyelashes are! You are a grown man and you are not fucking a magic pony! It's out of the question!

One day aliens are going to show up. We'll show them around, allow them to take in the better parts of our culture and demonstrate how much we've advanced in recent years. The last thing we need is to open a door and find you, "Ralph", rutting away on top of a cuddly toy pony with wide, child-like eyes! The Chairmen of Elders from the Planet Blargh 5 will not stand for it! They'll sail off into the sky and start powering up their planet destroying weapons. And whilst that happens we'll all be sitting around saying, "Great! We're all going to die because Ralph just HAD TO fuck a pony!" You're a disgrace to human kind Ralph!

R.I.P her eyes.

Conclusion

I would like to return to the subject of the inherent horror of our lives, seeing as the article seems to have naturally circled back towards it.

Horror is everywhere. It's on our TV screens, it's in our homes, in the minds of our seemingly innocent children as they cruelly pick the wings off of flies, knowing not of the pain they cause. Most of all it's in our psyches, our sexual urges, buried there like a pickaxe. And no one is going to remove it any time soon.

You may be horrified by some of things you've seen here. I know I am, and I allow the Joker to stare at me as I sleep.

Just you wait till my girlfriend gets back!

But to someone out there, this stuff is their bread and butter. Perhaps we shouldn't look at differences as horrifying, but rather revel in the natural beauty of such things? I mean come on. Some people like to be submissive, and other like to be dominant, and others like to shove a flesh light up a toy pony.

And in the long run, is there really anything wrong with that?

I'll take your silence for a no.

The exploitation continues.

Needless Complaints: My First Concert

I love music, but concerts have never really appealed to me. I still have trouble not growling at people when they walk past me in the street, and you want me to stand amidst a crowd of the shuffling flesh sacks? I'm so antisocial I've written to the council on numerous occasions complaining about the narrowness of the pavements in my hometown allowing for only around six inches of personal space whenever I pass an inferior individual. Or at least I would have if I wasn't lying for the sake of a joke.

Oh! Here's one! I'm so antisocial I issue eviction notices to the bacteria in my stomach. There, just the right amount of absurd and believable.

Anyway, I recently forced myself to purchase some concert tickets to see one of my favourite bands, "Clutch", in Glasgow. Clutch are a stoner rock/blues rock band with, what I can only assume is, a Norse god for a front man. Neil Fallon was, I presume, born around 8000 years ago in a union between Odin and a lightning scarred mountain. His lyrics are a form of celestial poetry, his dance moves are "funkadelic" and he has a voice that would give the sound of Mjolnir violently contacting the Hulk's jaw a run for it's money. So of course I had to go. Who would forfeit the chance to absorb some of that power? I certainly wouldn't. In fact I didn't, which is why I'm writing this now.

It's not actually my first concert. It's actually my second, counting the one I attended with my parents and brother (also in Glasgow) to see the adult contemporary titans that are "Toto". I wasn't the biggest fan of their recent album but, really, I'm pretty certain most people in the audience were just trying to mentally process Steve Lukather's Hawaiian shirt. Well, that and wondering when they were going to play "Africa". It was a good show nonetheless.

But this gig was my first in a standing crowd. And the first with a series of supporting acts. I had known of this practice before hand. Basically bands such as Clutch will generously choose lesser bands to come and gain strength and sustenance from their fan base, what with them not having any yet. It's a bit like a male lion offering a younger lion the chance to rut with one of his females because none of the lionesses think he's experienced enough to provide for them yet and plus he's always been a bit of a twat around women so the older one thought it would straighten the boy out.

As far as I can tell this seems to result in a fairly patchy crowd gawping up at the musical fetuses on stage and trying to process songs that they've never heard before. Once a song is done a few people clap and the lead singer swans around as if he's been bathed with a tidal wave of panties, just like he dreamed when he was a teenager, two years ago. The first band had a kind of ego-stroking "Scott Weiland" air about them; the lead singer staring blankly down the mic as if he were too cool for emotions, and the lead guitarist spending the whole time with his hood up because looking like a serial killing NED is a thing nowadays. They were okay. Only other thing I could say is that they had the word "Tijuana" in their band name, and I spent most of my time after noticing that wondering if they had ever actually been to Tijuana or if they just decided to make it part of their name because it sounds authentically western and bluesy.

Next act up was a Doom Metal/Screamo sort of act who's front man had more personality but did the thing that all front men think is cool to do. Taunt the audience until their cheers of satisfaction are at the precise decibel level he was hoping for.

FRONT MAN: HELLO GLASGOW! ARE YOU READY?!

AUDIENCE: Why, yes we are ready. We bought the tickets, we showed up on time. I think it's quite safe to say that we are indeed ready, yes.

FRONT MAN: I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I SAID... ARE... YOU... READYYYYY!?

AUDIENCE: Well, yes, as I stated before, we are ready. Please continue with your particular brand of "rocking" and I'm sure we will all be suitably satisfie....

FRONT MAN: WHAT ARE YOU, A BUNCHA PUSSIES!? ARE... YOU... READYYYYYY!?

AUDIENCE: I am starting to become irritated by your insistence upon asking the same question over and over again. I am also concerned by your apparent hearing problems. Perhaps you have been standing too close to your amp this whole time my dear boy. It's a common proble....

FRONT MAN: GODDAMN IT I NEED TO KNOW! ARRRREEEE... YOOOUUUU... REEEAAAADYYYYY!?

AUDIENCE: Fuck off.

They got tiring very quickly. Their set list took up a good portion of the night and it largely comprised of vaguely rhythmic noise. I had to check my ears every now and then for blood.

Then Clutch came on and whilst I enjoy every second of their presence I often had to look round to keep an eye out on the mosh pit that seemed to gradually move around the floor like a geriatric great white. Not even sure what the appeal of those are anyway. You walk in, sustain massive bruising, then leave. I see little in the way of positive gain here. Next time I go to one of these things I'm going to take a bucket of mini whiskeys and chuck them to lure the pit away from me.

Oh and by the way; the crowd control workers don't want your shirtless drunkards. Stop passing them over the barriers like a misplaced corpse. Their parents clearly didn't want them, so why would they? You keep them.

Not entirely sure where I was going with any of this. I just wanted to complain needlessly. But then, isn't that what a blog is for?