Scientists, in laboratories all over the globe, are busy thinking of new and hilarious ways to make mice fucking even more pointless. But don’t laugh too hard at blank shooting rodents, because science’ll be coming for your testicles next!
Since the invention of the penis approximately 47 billion years ago man has been desperately trying to devise ways to control them. They are godless fornication machines, guided only by impulse and an unyielding quest for personal gain and satisfaction of their unquenchable desires. Hell bent on destroying all those that possess them, whether it be through their devilish creation of distilled, fermented spirits used to bend the will of their symbiotic hosts, or their ingenious invention of the internet which they use to transmit their images around the globe to all of those who would marvel at their grandeur.
At the moment there are only two proven methods of male contraception: prayer and butt sex. And if you ask any homosexual couple trying to have a child, they’ll tell you it’s nigh impossible to impregnate each other, try as they might, but science still isn’t sure if it’s the power of the prayers of people who hate other people despite their own god telling them not to hate anyone, or just the simple fact that the homosexual uterus is located just below the left lung, too far for the penis to reach through either of the homosexual’s two favorite orifices… try as they might.
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on the proclivity or selfish laziness of whom you ask, heterosexual procreation is much more easily achievable. Almost anyone can do it. But that seems to be the problem. And rather than continue on as we have for the last fifty years, allowing the ladies to take almost complete responsibility for repelling the seminal onslaught on their innards, science says that gentlemen should have more contraceptive options than simply genital mutilation or specially designed poison coated miniature trash bags.
So armies of spooge hating scientists around the world are experimenting with all sorts ways to keep testicle tadpoles from getting from point A to unfertilized egg B. With experimental “solutions” including stopping and restarting sperm production in mice, bombarding scrotums with ultrasound waves, removing proteins that keep sperm cells from being able to penetrate eggs, and blocking vitamin A. You see, apparently as this article seems to suggests and I’m not interested enough to look for confirmation of, “life wigglies” as I so childishly refer to them, are composed solely of vitamin A. So just know, if you ever take any supplement that contains vitamin A, you’re swallowing semen.
In India they’re testing an injectable synthetic substance that “sabotages sperm as they leave the testes and lasts for years”. I don’t even know what that means, or have any idea of what it COULD mean. I didn’t realize that a sperm cell had so many moving parts that you could simply loosen a bolt or two and it’d fly apart, slam into your urethral wall and explode in a tiny, tiny fireball.
As for what’s already on the market, in addition to the customary permanent snip and latex straight jackets there’s also apparently other “hormone gels and implants that can make men temporarily infertile” available in America “for other purposes”. I’m going to chalk up the “for other purposes” in their description of these currently available temporary infertility gels and implants as some sort of error in translation from what ever language is native to this jizm hating propagandist, because aside from preventing unintentional impregnation, I’m not entirely sure what other purposes temporary infertility could serve. I can’t even think of any ridiculous explanations for a statement as seemingly nonsensical as this one. And when I can’t think of a way to properly ridicule the stupid thing that you just said, it makes me angry, and frightened, and then angry again. Because I don’t know if you’re the smartest person in the world or if you’ve just invented a new stupid that will surely kill us all.
Me, I’m a traditionalist. I don’t need any fancy doodads and rigmarole to make sure I don’t end up a with a miniature version of myself that only seems to take pleasure in shitting on me. I personally employ the time tested “paint the naval” technique of birth control, which, in doing actual research on the subject I have found when done properly has almost the same effectiveness as any other form of over the counter birth control. Of course, when done incorrectly the failure rate sextuples, but I just have a hard time understanding how the “thorax frosting” method could be done incorrectly. Maybe I’ve lived a sheltered life, but I’ve never been surprised by the culmination of my own pelvic efforts. At no point in my life have I ever suddenly, and without substantial forewarning experienced an eruption of mount baldy that’s caught me completely unawares… But I guess I just understand how my personal workings and doings present themselves, and apparently that makes me special.
So science: leave my gonads alone! Let the ladies handle the parenthood prevention, because left in the hands of those completely ruled by their more powerful apendage, contraception will be less than pointless. I can’t be trusted to not to forget to put my watch on before leaving for wok, you think I’m going to remember to spray my groin with vitamin A killing lasers every morning?
Besides, what me and my seed do is nobody’s business but mine and who or what ever I decide to shellac with it.
Love. It’ll make you do crazy things. Like, spell out your crush’s name in alphabet soup and text them a picture of it. Maybe hide little love notes in the Sunday classifieds. Or, if you’re really in love, cut off your beloved’s head in front of a school full of people fully not intending to be covered in neck juices today.
I read a lot of headlines when trying to come up with what I’m going to write about in a given day. Here at Van Full of Candy we do an article a day, rain or shine, every week day, without fail. That’s our promise, to you, the viewer. Sometimes the news is boring and it’s difficult to choose what to write about. I personally can only scream about my distrust of space and my legally frowned upon love of Justin Bieber so many times before I start attracting unwanted attention from swarthy, beautiful, Bieber Saucers from beyond the stars. And not again I say.
But scanning the news this afternoon I came upon this story: apparently a man in India beheaded a woman as she was leaving her classroom Wednesday.
Now, before we get into this, let me just say that I am in no way making light of the loss of life here. This is a horrible thing, without question and this lunatic should be dealt with in the most severe way that Indian courts allow. Which I assume is to feed him to a cow, if I understand my Indian culture correctly, which I almost certainly do not. Now with that out of the way, let me get back to the hahas.
The headline calls this man “lovesick”, which I can only assume is the nicest possible way the AP copy editor can phrase “batshit insane”. Apparently his main, discernible motivation, according to the police was that he so loved this woman that he had by now brutally murdered in one of the most violent and deliberate ways which one can murder another individual, but her parents would not allow them to marry. So naturally, he had to Highlander her. I don’t think you can in good conscience call a guy who bisects his love interest’s head from their body “lovesick” unless while in prison he is clinically diagnosed with a love sickness which causes the infected individual to believe that the removal of vital segments of the human body is the ultimate expression of emotional love for another not long living individual. So how about we not cutesy it up, ay Associated Press?
Elsewhere in the brief article the “writer” goes on to say that the swordsman was arrested “on suspicion” of killing the victim and that he “allegedly” attacked her with a ceremonial curved weapon called a khykri. Now, I understand that in America we have to use certain words when describing the actions and perpetrator of said actions because of how our news media and justice system like to fuck with each other. But when you have a gentleman, holding a sword, next to a body with a now detached head that, in all likely hood, did not have that as a standard feature moments before, surrounded by blood soaked students, holding onto this lunatic until police could arrive, and who is now explaining to the police that he had ALSO intended to kill himself, I think it’s fairly safe to drop any sort of lingering suspicion as to whether or not he’s responsible for the untimely weight loss of the student at our feet.
But along with these questions I have of the lax hiring practices at the Associated Press, when I read something like this, I can’t help but have dozens of other, admittedly sort of morbid, but still I think valid questions, come to mind. How, for instance, this guy was just able to waltz onto this campus, what ever size it was, with a ceremonial knife and slicin’ on his mind. I realize this isn’t metal detector high school like we have here in America, but still, a guy with a special blade should draw some kind of attention. Or how this guy running around the halls with a commemorative sword was able to walk right up to this woman and just take her head for a ride BEFORE anyone thought it might be a good idea to make sure she was expecting a meeting between her throat and his simitar. OR, and this is the biggie, as the story simply says “Authorities say the blade sliced her head off and she died instantly” how the fuck the particulars of this case exactly went down. When I think beheading I think of a long drawn out process involving a sawing like motion. I don’t generally think Kill Bill style, slow motion mid air head flipping following one swift, dramatic stroke. Granted, I haven’t seen a lot of beheadings lately, so maybe I’m not the expect on how tenaciously the spine clings to the brain stem, but I expected those bones in our neck were there for more than just show.
You know what, I don’t know what to think about any of this or even why I think it. I just know that clearly, I’ve never truly loved in what I generously call my “life” because not once have I ever entertained the thought of making something six inches shorter because I was told I couldn’t have it… Maybe I just don’t know how to love hard enough.