Love

British "Man" Gives Birth: Lose Your Fucking Mind and Hate Him!

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We live in an amazing, Technicolor, sci-fi world. A world where you can almost literally be anything you want. I mean, you can’t actually be, say, a cat or a polar bear. But you can dress up like them and fuck other people dressed up like zebras and mice, which is basically all you would want out of that kind of life anyway. So, no, you can’t actually be anything you want, modern science hasn’t quite gotten us THAT far, but say you’re a woman and you don’t like that, you can be a man. Then say, you’re a man now, but you want to be a mommy. “Tough shit” you say? “You made your penis and now you have to lie on it!” Well that’s where you’re wrong gender Nazi! Now you can have your masculinity and your mother’s day too!

Wait, follow me here: A man in England, who was a woman in England is now a mom… dad… in England.

Why is this news I hear you asking? People push smaller people out of the appropriate organs every day, what makes this special? Well I’ll tell you. It’s a freak! Look and point at the freak thing doing a freak thing that makes us uncomfortable! Any time anyone different does something normal, people shit their pants.

What grabs the attention initially is “Man has baby” which is not true. A man did not have a baby. Let’s get that straight. A woman, now identifying them self as a man after surgeries and hormone treatments, who looks very much like a human man as long as he’s wearing pants but who still possesses working lady innards, had a baby. Now I’m not saying that he isn’t a man now or maybe wasn’t all his life and now just externally matches the person he was all along internally. What I’m saying is that this is not a person born a man, with male baby making mechanics, giving birth to a child. This is a biological woman with all of the inner workings as such, doing what those things do. So cut it out with “Man Has Baby! Holy Fuck!”… You’re not helping.

Cut it our y'all, I'm all powerful. Fer serious!
Cut it our y'all, I'm all powerful. Fer serious!

But even then, that’s STILL not the real reason anyone is taking notice of this. It grabs the attention sure, but once someone reads “man with left over lady parts” they understand that a miracle has not occurred. And maybe that’s part of the problem. Maybe it would be better if it WERE miraculous. ‘Cause there’s no other reason that the news that somebody with the appropriate parts (the very same that God done gived ’em to make it possible) having a baby should be a big thing to anyone, except of course, you know; God.

It seems, for an all knowing, all powerful, omnipotent creator of everything everywhere ever, this “God” fellah sure seems to get his mighty will gone against an awful lot. Fortunately there are plenty of defenders of this flimsy excuse for a deity ready to call these disgusting perverts who have had babies the way they were designed to, monsters who have destroyed any chance of happiness for the people they just made.

“We have to sit up and consider these things,” Busy body, Josephine Quintavalle, of ‘Comment on Reproductive Ethics’ said when no one asked. “I don’t think it is in the interests of the child to distort nature this way. We are prepared to do anything possible to fulfill the rights of the adult. But I think it is at the expense and rights and welfare of the child.”

She went on to say that “there needs to be a proper inquiry in to the issues surrounding these births.”

To which I can’t help but wonder: why?

A person with ovaries walks into a doctor’s office and asks for help in creating another human being who may or may not also own a set of ovaries, depending on the whimsical fancy of an invisible sky grandpa. The doctor gives the womb owner magic lady juices to make their parts more baby ready. Some time later, usually a couple score months and then some, VIOLA! Baby!

What makes one baby maker less ethically acceptable than another? A beard? Because a good amount of lady ladies have facial hair problems, this one just seems to be more comfortable with it. What makes the soft, smooth mother with fertility assistance more fit to mother than the gruff, less traditional mother? If this man woman had perhaps had a dozen children and a reality show, would the ethics then be less of a sticky wicket?

Trevor Stammers, director of medical ethics at St Mary’s University College, London, said: “You are hardly going to end up with a baby that’s going to have a happy, productive and optimal childhood.”

Now you’re just being a dick Trevor Stammers, director of medical ethics at St. Mary’s University College, London. And I fucking assume it’s a college if it has “University” in the name you redundant cunt.

Is that a beer gut or do you just have a secret womb destroying God and family?
Is that a beer gut or do you just have a secret womb destroying God and family?

What “Mr.” Stammers is saying, is that this horrible, selfish person, who bore this child solely to mock creation and “Mr.” Stammers’ basic belief system, has damned this child to an unhappy, unproductive, unoptimal childhood. Because this person decided that they more associated with manliness than ladyliness, but still wanted to have a child with the equipment that they were given, they are somehow unfit to raise a child in anything but a hellish state of Godless confusion.

OR, Mr. Stammers is a fucking hateful douche who’s own carefully shaped world view, molded by a pretty mommy with boobies and makeup, is a living example that how frilly your mom is don’t really dictate your potential future seething unhappiness.

Love is love people. And doesn’t it stand to reason that someone who loves them self more due to choices they’ve made to re-shape their lives, will likely be able to bestow upon their child a pretty solid level of unreserved love. It seems a family with this sort of base will likely be hindered less by judgement and shame, except of course for all of the judgement and shame heaped upon them by the outside world who’s been taught by good, wholesome families to judge and shame.

Read your own books folks. This flawless lord of yours told you to love. That message seems to be pushed aside by your searching out reasons where you think your book tells you to hate and justifications for why you do. But I’ll take a thousand dickless dads over a single nuclear family that says man mom is wrong to bring a child into the world because his life choice makes them feel icky.

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Guys Hate Valentine's Day (Whitney Houston Style)

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The official day of love, as told to us by a major greeting card corporation, comes once a year and here we are standing three people deep in an aisle of pink picked over rectangles. We stand there with glazed over eyes, a smidge of drool forming in the corner of our mouths, hoping that there is more than a “Love You Mom” left over. Why must we be reduced to this Hallmark? Is this some sort of sick ass joke?

Well, we’re not gonna take it anymore! Men! Unite! Say NO! to Valentine’s Day!!

Welcome To (Alleged) Fatherhood Justin

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MAZELTOV!

AND Sandy with Keanu?! Well now I've heard everything!
AND Sandy with Keanu?! Well now I've heard everything!

Oh Justin, we’re so very, very (allegedly) happy for you! I’m sorry this is a couple months late, but to be fair, you’re just finding out about it yourself now aren’t you? Wow, who’d a thunk it? Our little Justin Bieber already a daddy. Seems like just yesterday you were also still a child one day younger than you are today… Circles and something about Spring and… sun rise, or something, I think…

Anyway, lazy metaphorical imagery aside, I can’t believe our little Biebs has already grown up. Well, when you think about it, I guess it’s not too surprising to hear that you’re already (allegedly) littering your southern neighbor, these fantasmical United States of the Americas, with Bieber Brood in every town you pass through. I mean, honestly, every night thousands of recently egg producing fans scream at the top of their lungs for your not yet legal loins; does the world honestly expect you not to have a field day with that endless salad and bread sticks of vadge? You are an international pop star, it is fully understood by everyone who purchases a ticket and every parent who sends their lady child to a mega star’s concert venue that by doing so they forfeit their right to not be penetrated by said super star. Why do you think I keep an extra pair of undies tucked into my sock every time I go anywhere that live music could potentially be over heard? Well that’s one of the reasons!

I guess really the only surprise is that we haven’t heard of all of the rest of them yet. But give it ten years or so when American public schools (if such things exists in a decade) are flooded with foreheadless cherubic adolescent song birds, being scooped up in the night by stealth Disney Channel extraction teams. There won’t be enough back streets or numbers of degrees with which to catalog the limitless Boy Banditry!

I do have some sympathy for how your wonderful, life changing, special news has been delivered though Justin. I mean, no body wants the beloved (alleged) mother of their child to tell the entire damned world in a court filing, under the penalty of perjury, that the conception of your child with your fellow procreationist, which also just so happened to be your (alleged) virginal deflorination, had all the romance of a halftime leak and the longevity of the Final Jeopardy theme music. No man wants seven billion human souls to know that the (alleged) half minute grunt and squirt that culminated in your be-fathering was very likely punctuated by the flushing of a nearby urinal by a confused, groggy concert goer.

Now, if I may, I would like to speak directly to the (alleged) mother of your child, Mariah Yeater, for just a moment Justin, if I may. Mariah, Justin is a very special boy to us. We’ve been chronicling Justin Bieber’s crazy year since there’s been a Van Full of Candy. Please, don’t make us have to get our heaviest hair brush and learn you some shit! Don’t you DARE break our Justy Just’s heart! What you got after that show in Los Angeles isn’t just a souvenir! It’s (allegedly) Justin’s first born! The first in line to the Bieber throne! Naturally you will have all of the protection of the “Secret Beliebers” at your back. You will never know we are there, but we will keep you and the child god safe until it is time for its ascension.

Remember, no shaking. Just keep repeating it to yourself, it helps.
Remember, no shaking. Just keep repeating it to yourself, it helps.

Oh the joys you have ahead of you Justin. Parenthood, as I understand it, is a wonderful thing, filled with years of not resenting the unwanted child for its role in robbing you of your youth and your dreams, constant open communication filled with loving respectful conversations about love and respect with never a single moment of feeling taken for granted. There’s also never any nagging thoughts of disappointment in your off spring for the horrible choices they’ve made or fear that your poor parenting might have destroyed the inherent potential of this new life, hamstringing it from birth with your own poorly sculpted psyche, (molded by your own parents’ clumsy, inept guidance) closing doors for it before they ever knew they were ever open at all…

Just remember Justin, every child’s a miracle. And just because this one was (allegedly) conceived in a 30 second tryst in a Staples Center bathroom after a show, doesn’t make it any less so.

Which Angry, Hurtful, Bitter Lover Type Are You?

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We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, 10 1/2 months is an eternity for most relationships. We like to think we’ve been a very attentive partner, but we know there’s been times when we’ve taken you for granted. It’s nothing conscious, it’s not because you’ve gained weight, we think that’s sexy, it means you’re comfortable with us. What we’re saying is, we’re taking this relationship seriously and are trying to take a look at ourselves, and see if this is going to work out.

I found a survey this morning on CNN.com from health.com. Now, if this were some bullshit from health.org or health.net or bonerstrengthsuperplus.edu I wouldn’t be taking it anywhere this seriously. But these guys clearly had to be around since the dawn of the internet to get that kind of prime URL real estate, so they can obviously be trusted to be experts on all subjects related to the health of any living thing. It’s pretty all encompassing, and when you think about the magnitude of their promise to the internet, you almost have to kind of feel sorry for them. But I’m digressing, and while I know you think that’s one of our more indearing qualities, I need to focus, this is for us. So shushy now, baby. Shushy shush.

Their article explains:

Experts say there are six different ways you can be in love, and your love style may change over the course of your relationship.

The purest, most beautiful example of true love ever recorded on film.
The purest, most beautiful example of true love ever recorded on film.

Oh, to be a love expert. It seems that all of life’s little problems would certainly be solved were one to be an expert in love. I wonder what type of schooling a love expert must complete to earn the title of “Dr. Love”. I’ll tell you what type, the school of life, brother. Because that’s where love happens. Love doesn’t happen in a book, or a web site, or an alley behind the coffee shop where you and your new friend just sat through your court appointed AA meeting. Love happens in your face, and occasionally on your face, and you’ve got to be ready to see it, know it and tell it “Hey, I know you, you’re love, I’m all up in everything you are.” And love will see you and blush and smile, and Jack, you’re all up in love’s under panties from there until the universe fucking explodes as long as you don’t stick your love in any of love’s friends.

I like to think of myself as a semi-professional expert on all things love and romance. In the school of love I major in romance with a double minor in “Uhh” and “You like that?” And being a pursuer of this elusive thing called love, I am always learning, always striving to answer the questions that love presents me. So when no less than health.com asks me, “Which is your love style?” well you better believe that I’m going to answer the hell out of that mostly rhetorical question. And hard.

The romantic

You love being in love. You may be swept away by your new lover’s looks or other appealing physical attributes — and disappointed when they change over time.

I do, indeed, LOVE being in love. If someone were to ask me the thing that I loved most in life, without blinking I would say “love”. If they were to ask what I loved second, I would blink and tell them “loving love”. And while physical attributes are certainly one of the things that I love loving, it’s not the only thing to be loved. Certainly breasts, the “Hey there” and “Look at me” of the female anatomy catch the eye like two suckable mounds of flesh aching to be ogled, and the shapely bottom, so curvy and spankable scream at the top of their butt lungs, “I am personality, I am things that we have in common!” but… what were we saying again? Ah yes, butt lungs.

The list-maker

“You have criteria that are important, and you won’t change them,” Schwartz says. Even if you’re in a committed relationship, you may put too much pressure on your partner to live up to your standards.

The “Schwartz” referenced above is apparently “Dr. Pepper Schwartz, Ph.D., a sociology professor at the University of Washington in Seattle”. I can only assume that she would be one of the experts in question, since she is being presented as such. But it seems to me that this is more a complaint about past experiences rather than an honest classification of lover. I am deeply sorry that “Pepper” has been hurt in the past for not trying to reach even the most simple and basic requirements of love, but I hardly think that here, now, in this arena of love expertism, is the proper place to air her grievances against an ex who has supposedly wronged her. She does not so much seem to classify this as a “type of love person” as calling this “type” of lover “a fucking prick who I could never fucking satisfy no matter how hard I never tried!”

 The obsessive

You want to spend all your time with your partner. And you constantly worry about your relationship, even when you’ve been together for years. Schwartz says this kind of partner can be overbearing or have highs and lows that drive her significant other crazy.

Oookay. I am starting to see a pattern here. This is clearly not a list of the types of lover you may or not be, but the types of people who have hurt Dr. Pepper Schwartz, Ph.D., sociology professor at the University of Washington in Seattle. I came into this article expecting to explore the many varied ways in which we as human animals legitimately love one another, emotionally, spiritually, in the butt, and instead have simply found the tear soaked rantings of a “love expert” repeatedly hurt by the very thing she professers her unquestioned knowledge of. Your expertise is in question Pep, by no greater authority than I, Loveiticus 9, defender of love in all of its dirty, sticky forms.

The giver

You may give more than you get. “At some point, you find that it’s all going one way,” Schwartz says. You’re constantly working selflessly to meet your partner’s needs, but you’re not looking after you.

How much more can Pepper do for you? You ungrateful slovenly fuck! She has no life outside of professing sociology inside the claustrophobic walls of the University of Washington in Seattle, and coming home to find you in your under pants playing Call of Duty and talking dirty to some fourteen year old boy over the headset! No she won’t play too, she doesn’t like video games, she likes sociology and love and being an expert. Did you even look for a job today? How many pizza boxes are you going to stack before Dr. Pepper Schwartz, Ph.D., sociology professor at the University of Washington in Seattle is killed by their inevitable toppling?

The player

You love courtship. “For these lovers, the chase is a lot of it,” Schwartz says. You’re easily bored in long-term relationships, though, and your eye may roam.

You son of a bitch! Fine, you know what? Fine. Just fine! Go ahead then, run off with her, she’s nineteen, her tits are firm and perky, she doesn’t smell like sociology books and vending machine sandwiches. After everything Pepper has done for you, she just wasn’t enough? She let you put your finger in her butt just to make you stop begging and this is how you treat her!? Well we hope this “barista” skank has syphilitic herpes crabs and your balls fall off!

The pal

Love seems to creep up on you. One day you think, “Wow, I’ve really been spending a lot of time with Jack,” then realize you’re in love. In the long term, your relationship may be quiet, but it’s strong.

Oh Jack, it’s always been you hasn’t it? I can’t believe Pepper never noticed it until now. The way you open the door for her or nod hello when she passes you in the halls of the University of Washington in Seattle. But you’re from two different worlds. You’re a maintenance man, rough hands bending materials to your will, solving complicated mechanical problems with your hard earned knowledge and lateral thinking. And she’s a Ph. D. in sociological professoring. It could never work, could it? Oh, I guess she’s just a dreamer. THE DREAMER! Type 7! Oh Pepper, you’ve got a WHOLE ‘nother paper on your hands!

Ain’t love horrible and inequitable?

We'll all die alone, a lifetime of regrets the last thought in our mind... SMOOCHES!
We'll all die alone, a lifetime of regrets the last thought in our mind... SMOOCHES!

 

Hey Sugar Twat, Can Van Full of Candy Buy You a Drink?

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Well, look at this, heaven must be missing it’s sexiest, most charming, best hung angel… ’cause here I am.

"I get knocked DOWN, but I get up again!"
"I get knocked DOWN, but I get up again!"

But seriously though, I couldn’t help but notice you checking me out from across the bar. I get that a lot. I thought I’d make my way over here before you strained something molesting my delicious visage with your molesty eye hands from twenty yards. You’re welcome. Or, you will be, SEVERAL times… I mean sex. Oh, you got that, sure, of course you did. Oh you WILL get it, SEVERAL times… Again, sex.

Oh, come on, no need to be shy, I look good. I know it, you know it, our pants know it. If I looked any better in this shark skin smoking jacket I’d have to travel with a highly trained squad of sexy kung fu body guards just to keep the other squads of sexy kung fu body guards at bay. Fortunately, I’m fresh outta sexy kung fu body guards tonight, so it’s just you, me and the luscious feel of shark skin. You know, me and sharks have a lot in common. Oh yeah, it’s true. Just like a shark I can smell my prey’s warm, viscous fluids from miles away and like a shark I can never fall asleep because if I do I’ll drown… Doctor’s say it’s because of a gap in my glottal flap, but I like to think it’s because God knew I was just too smooth to waste a minute on my back without someone else on top of me.

Hey, where you going? Oh, I get it, you’re intimidated. You don’t think you’re good enough for me. Well, I’m not gonna lie, most of my regular class of lady are either models, super models, or have been black balled from the super model community for being too god damned sexy. But don’t be discouraged, I’m here to tell you right here, right now, you’re not nearly as fat as you think you are. That’s the truth, and that is a compliment. That’s a high compliment, believe that. I don’t say that to just any lady. I think you’re special. I think it’s your many, MANY flaws that drew me to you in the first place. You’re like a Picasso, you’re exotic because most of your shit isn’t where it’s usually supposed to be and while it makes me want to throw up all over you while screaming in utter horror, it’s also intriguing.

sweat... condensate...
sweat... condensate...

Look, I get your game. It’s cute, but hard to get has always been one of my least favorite forms of foreplay. I did you a favor coming over here, you know? I could have just stayed in my corner booth, sippin’ my Old Milwaukee Gimlet while silently continuing to judge the fellatio contest going on under the table. Oh yeah, that’s what was happening. That is what was happening for absolute realsies. There’s a table cloth on there for two reason. One, because I’m the classiest mother fucker in this whole damned place, and two, because fellatio contests are a serious form of sexual competition that I have great respect for and I know that concentration and privacy are the key. But I saw you seeing me and I thought, “This chick’s got the mouth of a champion.” But maybe I was wrong. I don’t use the “R” word often missy, but I’m usin’ it here. I’m usin’ the shit out of it. I see now that you’re just stuck up, kind of a bitch, probably a lesbian and not even in my league any way. That’s alright, I knew that before I came over. I just thought I’d give you a thrill. Just a little tale you can tell your grand daughters someday about how they could have been much more attractive and charming if only their stuck up bitch dyke gran hadn’t been all uppity and shit that fateful night.

That’s alright, no skin off my naturally chiseled nose. Did I mention I’m a nose model? Yeah, that’s right, you’ve probably seen some of my work. Ever seen billboards? Yeah, well that’s me, all the time. No shit.

Hey, nice taser. You get a bowl of soup with that? Ha-HA! Oh, oh I see, it shoots mace too. Mace that is then electrified by the taser, that’s a new feature. Touche.

Alright, well I’m in excruciating pain now. I’m not sure if I’m actually on fire, or if it just FEELS like I head butted the sun. So let’s just call this a rain check. I come here a lot, I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again some time. Oh, hey, that’s a second volley of electrified non lethal liquid repellant. And that’s my cue to call it a night.

Sorry ladies, we’re going to have to pick the suck games up another time, this nice lady just melted my face off, two times. You’ve disappointed a floor full of super foxy dick suckers toots.

Hey, could somebody bring my car around? It’s the sky blue Taurus with the “CNTPNDR” plates. Give me a holler when we’re ready, I’ll just be over here screaming into this mop bucket full of ice until my throat bleeds. Check you on the flip chicky poo.

Smooches.

Get Your Digital Diddle On: It's Only Natural

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Birds do it, bees do it, even perverts in the trees do it. Let’s do it, let’s fuck online.

Chances are, if you’re on the internet (which as of this printing is still the only way that I know you could be reading this, though if you know of any others, please let us know), then you’re probably reading this with one hand in your pants, leisurely pleasuring yourself. That’s just a science fact. Because as you know, every new invention since the dawn of man has come about due to a need to advance the field of physical gratification.

A great advancement in porn science.
A great advancement in porn science.

Fire? Invented so cave perverts could violently flog their pre-historic, barbed procreation utensils to crude vagina wall paintings at night.

The wheel? Walking from one clubbed female’s dwelling to the next had worn out its novelty. The pre-men of yesterage also needed some way to easily signal potential mates of their remaining virility at the ripe old middle age of 14.

Sliced bread? The Manwich.

So it should come as a surprise to exactly no one that the internets too were created solely for the transmittal and reception of pornographic images, thoughts and ideas. As with bread, people have simply adapted sex technologies to be used in other walks of life. Now, a study done by a New Brunswick researcher is attempting to shed some light on the internet’s original purpose for existence: cybersex.

Krystelle Shaughnessy, (clearly a made up name, even by Canadian standards of ridiculous namery) a psychology student at the University of New Brunswick decided to research the role of cybersex in the current internet landscape while, not surprisingly, cybering her sex. Engaged in a long-distance relationship, and being a modern woman of the 21st century Krystelle did what anyone would in her position, try to justify her deviant nature with a college research paper.

Her hypothesis was that, “where her grandmother would have put pen to paper to maintain such an affair, and her mother would have picked up the phone, her natural medium was online.”

"Dearest Eustace, my loins quiver for your absent dong."
“Dearest Eustace, my loins quiver for your absent dong.”

And she’s right. As I’ve explained, pen, paper and the telephone were all invented for sexual purposes. Just try not to imagine after this painstakingly detailed recounting, your beloved Nana’s penmanship gradually deteriorate as she furiously scribbled her dirtiest thoughts into a steamy letter of passion and naughtyness, then handing it to the postman with a blush, knowing just what it was that he was holding in his hands to be delivered to Peepaw so that he might feverishly pleasure himself to the naughty words of his beloved, before wondering what this harlot who could spew such filth might be doing with the rest of her time not filled with scribbling her most deviant thoughts. Basically, what I’m saying is that your grandparents were distrustful sickos who traded sex drenched letters while they were apart, and carry with them, even today, secrets that they will be buried with…

Now where was I?

Oh, that’s right, the office chair hand dance.

“A key piece in the research that I’m conducting right now is, who do you have cybersex with? One thing that is across the board — whether I’m talking to researchers, students, anybody — is this notion that cybersex is two strangers hiding from their offline partners engaging in sex online, and I don’t think that’s reality,” she said.

Here, the fine researcher and I differ in opinion. But I suppose our only difference is what percentage of which is what…

Let me clarify.

Cybersex, as it has existed since the invention of the internet, has been largely two men pretending to be lesbians having sexy chat times, sans pants. That has remained the one constant in the ever evolving intertubes. The definition of “stranger” then becomes a sticking point. Obviously there is some getting to know this person pretending to be someone else. So when do we go from fake lesbian intercourse with a stranger to fake lesbian intercourse with an acquaintance or even fake lesbian intercourse with a friend? Fewer instances of cybersex are initiated between people who have known each other before chatting online than vicey versey is what I’m saying. More people have come together with the intention to come together than because distance necessitates it.

“I think my key thing going into this was to try to normalize a behaviour I think is fairly normal,” she said.

And while noble, and understandable, there is no normal on the internet. In a place where the words “two girls” and “one cup” now mean something that we could never have previously imagined, the wild west of human sexual deviances doesn’t want to be normalized and doesn’t need to be justified. We are a creature who evolved thumbs solely so that we could encircle our tingly bits with them. It’s our teachings over the years that that impulse is bad that makes it necessary to write a paper proving what you’re instinctively drawn to do is okay.

So what I’m saying is: human beings, get over yourselves.

Birds do it, bees do it, all the sickos and the sleaze do it. Let’s do it, let’s turn on our webcams and take off our pants!

Get Your Digital Diddle On: It’s Only Natural

Posted on

Birds do it, bees do it, even perverts in the trees do it. Let’s do it, let’s fuck online.

Chances are, if you’re on the internet (which as of this printing is still the only way that I know you could be reading this, though if you know of any others, please let us know), then you’re probably reading this with one hand in your pants, leisurely pleasuring yourself. That’s just a science fact. Because as you know, every new invention since the dawn of man has come about due to a need to advance the field of physical gratification.

A great advancement in porn science.
A great advancement in porn science.

Fire? Invented so cave perverts could violently flog their pre-historic, barbed procreation utensils to crude vagina wall paintings at night.

The wheel? Walking from one clubbed female’s dwelling to the next had worn out its novelty. The pre-men of yesterage also needed some way to easily signal potential mates of their remaining virility at the ripe old middle age of 14.

Sliced bread? The Manwich.

So it should come as a surprise to exactly no one that the internets too were created solely for the transmittal and reception of pornographic images, thoughts and ideas. As with bread, people have simply adapted sex technologies to be used in other walks of life. Now, a study done by a New Brunswick researcher is attempting to shed some light on the internet’s original purpose for existence: cybersex.

Krystelle Shaughnessy, (clearly a made up name, even by Canadian standards of ridiculous namery) a psychology student at the University of New Brunswick decided to research the role of cybersex in the current internet landscape while, not surprisingly, cybering her sex. Engaged in a long-distance relationship, and being a modern woman of the 21st century Krystelle did what anyone would in her position, try to justify her deviant nature with a college research paper.

Her hypothesis was that, “where her grandmother would have put pen to paper to maintain such an affair, and her mother would have picked up the phone, her natural medium was online.”

"Dearest Eustace, my loins quiver for your absent dong."
"Dearest Eustace, my loins quiver for your absent dong."

And she’s right. As I’ve explained, pen, paper and the telephone were all invented for sexual purposes. Just try not to imagine after this painstakingly detailed recounting, your beloved Nana’s penmanship gradually deteriorate as she furiously scribbled her dirtiest thoughts into a steamy letter of passion and naughtyness, then handing it to the postman with a blush, knowing just what it was that he was holding in his hands to be delivered to Peepaw so that he might feverishly pleasure himself to the naughty words of his beloved, before wondering what this harlot who could spew such filth might be doing with the rest of her time not filled with scribbling her most deviant thoughts. Basically, what I’m saying is that your grandparents were distrustful sickos who traded sex drenched letters while they were apart, and carry with them, even today, secrets that they will be buried with…

Now where was I?

Oh, that’s right, the office chair hand dance.

“A key piece in the research that I’m conducting right now is, who do you have cybersex with? One thing that is across the board — whether I’m talking to researchers, students, anybody — is this notion that cybersex is two strangers hiding from their offline partners engaging in sex online, and I don’t think that’s reality,” she said.

Here, the fine researcher and I differ in opinion. But I suppose our only difference is what percentage of which is what…

Let me clarify.

Cybersex, as it has existed since the invention of the internet, has been largely two men pretending to be lesbians having sexy chat times, sans pants. That has remained the one constant in the ever evolving intertubes. The definition of “stranger” then becomes a sticking point. Obviously there is some getting to know this person pretending to be someone else. So when do we go from fake lesbian intercourse with a stranger to fake lesbian intercourse with an acquaintance or even fake lesbian intercourse with a friend? Fewer instances of cybersex are initiated between people who have known each other before chatting online than vicey versey is what I’m saying. More people have come together with the intention to come together than because distance necessitates it.

“I think my key thing going into this was to try to normalize a behaviour I think is fairly normal,” she said.

And while noble, and understandable, there is no normal on the internet. In a place where the words “two girls” and “one cup” now mean something that we could never have previously imagined, the wild west of human sexual deviances doesn’t want to be normalized and doesn’t need to be justified. We are a creature who evolved thumbs solely so that we could encircle our tingly bits with them. It’s our teachings over the years that that impulse is bad that makes it necessary to write a paper proving what you’re instinctively drawn to do is okay.

So what I’m saying is: human beings, get over yourselves.

Birds do it, bees do it, all the sickos and the sleaze do it. Let’s do it, let’s turn on our webcams and take off our pants!