"In my opinion, neither the plague nor war has had more disasterous effects for mankind than the miserable habit of masturbation."
Dr. Reveille-Parise (1823)
I've got a crazy hunch that the good doctor was doing something incorrectly.
I'm not very mechanically-inclined, but pounding my pud was one endeavor that even I was able to quickly master after one quick read of the instruction manual.
Once I grasped that "beat" didn't mean "beat" as in: "a pummelling with my fists," I took to masturbating like a hotdog to a bun. People today can write openly and freely in their blogs about the pleasures of self-pleasuring, but it always wasn't so.
During the Victorian era, many respected experts that that masturbation was evil. This is chiefly owing to the fact that most scientists and medical professionals were primarily of half-wits and simps.
They thought that donning the slick mittens would lead to insanity.
They spent a lot of time and money devising all sorts of contraptions that would inflict pain whenever one took matters into one's own hands.
Imagine my surprise when I read that graham crackers were invented by Sylvester Graham (1794 - 1851) for the purpose of ridding teens of the desire to become better acquainted with their own pleasure factories.
The gentleman who started Kelloggs cereal, John Harvey Kellogg (1852 -1943 ), was this country's most famous nutter on the topic of sex and masturbation.
Though he and his wife were married for over 40 years, they never fucked. Not once. (Probably not even a blowjob! How sick is that?)
They didn't even get down to business on their honeymoon. That's because Kellogg spent that time writing: Plain Facts For Old and Young, a book that extolled the joys of healthy living.
He had his issues with sex, but he was an especially zealous campaigner against the evils of masturbation.
Why?
Basically, it's because the man who invented corn flakes was out of his bleeding gourd.
Kellogg felt that doodling with ones privates was a recipe for destroying a person's physical, mental moral health. (He tried to make himself sound more knowledgable by going into specifics, claiming that masturbatuion cause: cancer of the womb, urinary diseases, nocturnal emissions (?), impotence, epilepsy, dimness of vision, and insanity.
He would often startle complete strangers by sternly admonishing them with this little conversation starter: "A masturbator literally dies by his own hand."
My guess is that Mr. and Mrs. Kellogg didn't get invited to many parties.
Kellogg worked relentlessly on the rehabilitation of all masturbators, but he was even more fervent in his desire to nip it in the bud early on.
How?
Easy!
Through the miracle of mutilation! (To the genitals of America's boys and girls.)
often employing extreme measures, even mutilation, on both sexes. He was an advocate of circumcising young boys to curb masturbation. In his
“A remedy which is almost always successful in small boys is circumcision," he wistfully recalled in his opus, Plain Facts for Old and Young, "especially when there is any degree of phimosis. The operation should be performed by a surgeon without administering an anesthetic, as the brief pain attending the operation will have a salutary effect upon the mind, especially if it be connected with the idea of punishment, as it may well be in some cases. The soreness which continues for several weeks interrupts the practice, and if it had not previously become too firmly fixed, it may be forgotten and not resumed. ”
But, what about the girls? Don't you worry about a thing. Kellogg's got them covered, too.
"In females, the author has found the application of pure carbolic acid [phenol] to the clitoris an excellent means of allaying the abnormal excitement.”
Kellogg boasted that he had personally performed a clitorectomy on a 10 year old girl who was afflicted with the urge.
Like a kindly and wise old uncle, he'd dole out advice to parents who were worried about their kids engaging in the "solitary vice."
To these folks, Kellogg would, in his neighborly way, recommend that they "bandage or tie the kids' hands, or have ma get out the needle and thread, and then just sew the foreskin shut. Better yet," Kellogg said, "simply cover their genitals with patented cages."
Stopping adults from playing with themselves was a harder sell. With the men, Kellogg felt he could appeal to their intellects and common sense.
But what about the women?
So obsessed was he with stopping them from masturbating, Kellogg launched several big ad campaigns devoted to the subject. The method he recommended to America's self-pleasuring-crazed adult females, might seem to be a bit self-serving to our jaded 21st century eyes, but that's just because our senses have been dulled through excessive wanking.
If you're an adult woman and you want to stop pleasuring yourself, here's what you do: take lots of baths in cold water; give yourself a daily enema with cold water, and eat a spare diet that includes Kelloggs cereal in cold milk.
Later in life, Kellogg became an advocate of electrical shocks to the genitals as a "modern way" of jolting some sense into folks who, for whatever reasons, just couldn't quit themselves.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Let's Keep Killing Trees
Do bloggers have feelings?
Let's be honest: most of them don't.
They're pathological parasites, utterly incapable of empathy.
I'm not like those bloggers.
I have feelings.
I care.
Maybe that's why I do feel the occasional twinge remorse or mild spasm of guilt.
What could I be feeling guilty about?
You're looking at it.
While there can be no doubt that blogging revolution I'm leading is great, I do feel sad about the victims I leave in my wake.
Yes, I know that all revolutions, throughout history, have had victims. It's a sad, but inevitable, consequence of being so revolutionary.
If I were a magician I'd create a world where there were fewer victims as a result of my actions.
I would, for the sake of continuity, always win, but I'd make it so that no one would lose.
I win; but everyone else consistently ties for second place. No losers, ever.
Sadly, in today's world, my victories often come at the expense of others.
Right now, my blog is killing newspaters and magazines around the world on a daily basis. (The stench of ink and blood is everywhere.)
Some have claimed that what I'm doing is equivalent to a massacre.
That charge is absurd.
I'd say my actions are more akin to those of a cunning serial killer's. (One who travels wherever he wants, whenever he wants, dresses properly for every occasion, and seems to always have all the latest high-tech gadgets, a massive arsenal of firepower, and ready access to the world's sexiest women.)
The problem here is that I don't want to harm these periodicals.
Yet, it often seems that each time I peck at my keyboard, I might as well be bringing my hammer down upon another nail in the collective coffins of the publishing world.
It's a heavy burden I'm carrying.
I don't want to live in a world deprived of newspapers and magazines.
Luckily for everyone, I woke this morning with a bold new vision as to how we can all pitch in to help out the world's remaining newspapers and magazines.
WARNING: Now, don't get yourselves too excited. What I'm proposing won't be enough to save them. They're still going to die, but we should at least make an attempt at doing whatever we can so that they might be able to exist as comatose vegetables for a few years longer before they expire.
The plan?
I want everyone who reads this blog to think about maybe possibly considering buying a newspaper or magazine once in a while. Think of it as "throwing a dog a bone."
I'm concluding this blog post with a couple of examples of what you'll find inside of each.
The first is from a butter magazine. The second is an article from a newspaper. They may be dated, but, then again, let's not kid ourselves, they were already dated by the time they hit the newsstands.
(FYI: Newspapers and magazines can be purchased at many down-market stores.)
Let's be honest: most of them don't.
They're pathological parasites, utterly incapable of empathy.
I'm not like those bloggers.
I have feelings.
I care.
Maybe that's why I do feel the occasional twinge remorse or mild spasm of guilt.
What could I be feeling guilty about?
You're looking at it.
While there can be no doubt that blogging revolution I'm leading is great, I do feel sad about the victims I leave in my wake.
Yes, I know that all revolutions, throughout history, have had victims. It's a sad, but inevitable, consequence of being so revolutionary.
If I were a magician I'd create a world where there were fewer victims as a result of my actions.
I would, for the sake of continuity, always win, but I'd make it so that no one would lose.
I win; but everyone else consistently ties for second place. No losers, ever.
Sadly, in today's world, my victories often come at the expense of others.
Right now, my blog is killing newspaters and magazines around the world on a daily basis. (The stench of ink and blood is everywhere.)
Some have claimed that what I'm doing is equivalent to a massacre.
That charge is absurd.
I'd say my actions are more akin to those of a cunning serial killer's. (One who travels wherever he wants, whenever he wants, dresses properly for every occasion, and seems to always have all the latest high-tech gadgets, a massive arsenal of firepower, and ready access to the world's sexiest women.)
The problem here is that I don't want to harm these periodicals.
Yet, it often seems that each time I peck at my keyboard, I might as well be bringing my hammer down upon another nail in the collective coffins of the publishing world.
It's a heavy burden I'm carrying.
I don't want to live in a world deprived of newspapers and magazines.
Luckily for everyone, I woke this morning with a bold new vision as to how we can all pitch in to help out the world's remaining newspapers and magazines.
WARNING: Now, don't get yourselves too excited. What I'm proposing won't be enough to save them. They're still going to die, but we should at least make an attempt at doing whatever we can so that they might be able to exist as comatose vegetables for a few years longer before they expire.
The plan?
I want everyone who reads this blog to think about maybe possibly considering buying a newspaper or magazine once in a while. Think of it as "throwing a dog a bone."
I'm concluding this blog post with a couple of examples of what you'll find inside of each.
The first is from a butter magazine. The second is an article from a newspaper. They may be dated, but, then again, let's not kid ourselves, they were already dated by the time they hit the newsstands.
(FYI: Newspapers and magazines can be purchased at many down-market stores.)
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Pregnant With Possibility
I was just reading articles on the internet about the 50-game suspension of Manny Ramirez, the superstar outfielder for the Los Angeles Dodgers.
He got nailed for using steroids.
As I read of the multi-millionaire baseball player's drug abuse, I realized this was an unfolding, real-life tragedy.
Now, after thinking things through, I'm left with just a single question:
How could someone who:
(a) is so young,
(b) is so talented,
(c) is so bright,
(d) is so good looking.
(e) has everything going right in his life,
be wasting his time (like I was) reading internet articles about that overpaid, drugged-out cheat, known as Manny Ramirez?
He got nailed for using steroids.
As I read of the multi-millionaire baseball player's drug abuse, I realized this was an unfolding, real-life tragedy.
Now, after thinking things through, I'm left with just a single question:
How could someone who:
(a) is so young,
(b) is so talented,
(c) is so bright,
(d) is so good looking.
(e) has everything going right in his life,
be wasting his time (like I was) reading internet articles about that overpaid, drugged-out cheat, known as Manny Ramirez?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Euphemistically Speaking
According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, this is the definition of a euphemism: the subsitution of an agreeable or inoffensive expression for one that may offend or suggest something unpleasant.
For example:
Here are a couple of euphemisms that men commonly use:
well-hung: means I have an enormous penis.
well-endowed: means I have an enormous penis.
When we use euphemisms, we're saying the same thing, but we're not grabbing others by the back of their heads and shoving it in their faces. Not usually, anyway.
The two examples given above are, what we in the blog industry commonly refer to as being, "manly euphemisms."
But what about women? Do they use euphemisms?
Absolutely.
For example: Let's pretend that there's a young attractive couple of newlyweds, who don't mind us hanging out in their bedroom, as they are getting ready for bed. (As long as we're prepared to be quiet.)
Let's say the young wife is already in bed, reading this blog on her laptop as she waits for her husband to return from the bathroom, where, unbeknownst to her, he, too, is reading this blog from his laptop.
Why would he be doing that?
For two reasons:
(1) He knows that by reading this blog, he's gaining an edge over his competitors in the fast-paced, cut-throat arenas of commerce, quim, and ideas. He's not sharpest of bulbs, so he needs to utilize every nugget that falls from on high. After all, that particular nugget could be just the feather he needs to complete his arsenal.
(2) He knows that reading this blog is like gliding down an icy toboggan course of love when it comes to getting himself "in the mood." (Admittedly, this newlywedded husband may be dealing with SSA issues, but let's not judge. Please. For once.)
When he's "ready," he enters the bedroom sporting, what is for him, an impressive erection. It is poking brazenly out the fly of his designer shorts, like a stoutly built, bearded, tugboat captain surveying the action in a gay disco through the back door exit, while he tries to decide whether the cover charge is worth it. Don't be fooled. He's a salty old bugger. He'll pay. He always does. What else is going to do at this time of night?
His wife sees "the captain saluting," and knows immediately what is on her husband's agenda for the evening.
She frowns. She just wants to go to sleep. She grabs a Kleenex and blows her nose as violently as possible, as if she's sick. Then, slinking down under the blankets, she groans: "Oh, honey... I'm sorry .... I can't. Not tonight. I'm having my period, and I feel like I've got a migraine coming on. Plus tomorrow, I've got a big presentation I have to give before the entire board, first thing in the morning. "
This is a classic example of how a whole series of phrases is actually one fairly easily understandable euphemism.
In this case, what she's actually saying is: "Honey, tonight, I'd prefer to give you a blowjob, and then you can fuck me good and hard up my pooper."
Euphemisms are the unheralded diplomats of communication. It's time they received their due respect.*
* In a way, it tugs a bit at my heartstrings to come to the grim realization that, during the entire history of language, I am the only blogger to ever have paid tribute to our friend: the euphemism.
What can I say? I'm a giver.
( I'm just glad, that by virtue of my being so well-endowed, I can offer so much.)
For example:
Here are a couple of euphemisms that men commonly use:
well-hung: means I have an enormous penis.
well-endowed: means I have an enormous penis.
When we use euphemisms, we're saying the same thing, but we're not grabbing others by the back of their heads and shoving it in their faces. Not usually, anyway.
The two examples given above are, what we in the blog industry commonly refer to as being, "manly euphemisms."
But what about women? Do they use euphemisms?
Absolutely.
For example: Let's pretend that there's a young attractive couple of newlyweds, who don't mind us hanging out in their bedroom, as they are getting ready for bed. (As long as we're prepared to be quiet.)
Let's say the young wife is already in bed, reading this blog on her laptop as she waits for her husband to return from the bathroom, where, unbeknownst to her, he, too, is reading this blog from his laptop.
Why would he be doing that?
For two reasons:
(1) He knows that by reading this blog, he's gaining an edge over his competitors in the fast-paced, cut-throat arenas of commerce, quim, and ideas. He's not sharpest of bulbs, so he needs to utilize every nugget that falls from on high. After all, that particular nugget could be just the feather he needs to complete his arsenal.
(2) He knows that reading this blog is like gliding down an icy toboggan course of love when it comes to getting himself "in the mood." (Admittedly, this newlywedded husband may be dealing with SSA issues, but let's not judge. Please. For once.)
When he's "ready," he enters the bedroom sporting, what is for him, an impressive erection. It is poking brazenly out the fly of his designer shorts, like a stoutly built, bearded, tugboat captain surveying the action in a gay disco through the back door exit, while he tries to decide whether the cover charge is worth it. Don't be fooled. He's a salty old bugger. He'll pay. He always does. What else is going to do at this time of night?
His wife sees "the captain saluting," and knows immediately what is on her husband's agenda for the evening.
She frowns. She just wants to go to sleep. She grabs a Kleenex and blows her nose as violently as possible, as if she's sick. Then, slinking down under the blankets, she groans: "Oh, honey... I'm sorry .... I can't. Not tonight. I'm having my period, and I feel like I've got a migraine coming on. Plus tomorrow, I've got a big presentation I have to give before the entire board, first thing in the morning. "
This is a classic example of how a whole series of phrases is actually one fairly easily understandable euphemism.
In this case, what she's actually saying is: "Honey, tonight, I'd prefer to give you a blowjob, and then you can fuck me good and hard up my pooper."
Euphemisms are the unheralded diplomats of communication. It's time they received their due respect.*
* In a way, it tugs a bit at my heartstrings to come to the grim realization that, during the entire history of language, I am the only blogger to ever have paid tribute to our friend: the euphemism.
What can I say? I'm a giver.
( I'm just glad, that by virtue of my being so well-endowed, I can offer so much.)
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