Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Canned heat and other delights

Of the many things I have encountered in my travels, some are more disturbing than others. I will try to duly describe all of them on these hallowed pages in due time. But it was my nefarious web surfing that prompted me to pen this post.

The husband and I were walking along our blissful suburban street, when I noticed a piece of debris on the black asphalt. Further inspection revealed it was a discarded piece of packaging that was primarily hot pink and black and featured a loud, yellow font. It struck me as dubious. I did not want to touch it, so I squatted down to get a closer look.

In order to keep these pages within a more-or-less PG-13 rating, I offer the following description: the package had been relieved of its contents, which apparently was a device used primarily as an aid for masculine self-gratification. I scratched my head and used my toe to flip over the plastic and cardboard bit of detritus.

Information on the back further verified my assumption. I will not fully elaborate, but simply say that colorful modifiers such as "hot," "tight," and "slick" were abundant.

Regarding the condition of the package, the colors were bright and corners were sharp and I surmised it had not been at the roadside for long.

"What is it?" asked my husband.

"The sort of thing that's perfect for a guy who's looking for a sure thing at the end of the evening," I said. "If you know what I mean."

He nodded and we went on our way, chuckling and joking about the find. Did the gentleman get his money's worth? Was his need so urgent that he had to road test his purchase immediately? Was he alone? What if he wasn't? What might the device look like? How would one cleanse said device after use? What if said user chose not to cleanse said device? Our musings were endless.

I neither saw nor thought about the mysterious self-gratification device packaging again.

Days later, seated before a computer screen where it seems the last delicate shreds of the world's innocence is quickly being lost, I came upon the following post. Ever since I first swept over this at Boing Boing (see links on the right), and was moved by curiosity over the picture to further investigate, I've suffered a dull nausea. I have no idea if the self-gratification device with which I brushed on my suburban street looks anything like the convenient Japanese style one described herein. However, I warn you, although not necessarily pornographic, this is an image that will be with you for a long, long time (and might not be safe for work).

Canned Delight!

Now that I've served up that delicious appetizer, allow me to continue with the meal and offer you a heaping dish of Artificial Pornography, an entree compliments of one of my all-time favorite writers, Grant Bailie.


Ace said...

I find it quite amusing, the odd debris you come across on the road on your walks!

Where do you live? People's Level of Horniness must be tending to infinity over there.


Karen Rani said...

Dear God. I'm just glad you weren't locked outta the apartment, the night this littering neighbour of yours was out and about, looking for some pleasure. And that the couch is gone....yikes!

You guys need to start bring your camera everywhere! :)

Erin O'Brien said...

Ace, I'm glad you asked.

For the nature of my neighborhood and surrounding environs is the epitome of middle America. It is populated with split level homes built in the late sixties that smack of the Brady Bunch years. Husbands kiss their wives before piling into their mid-sized Chevrolets and going to their jobs as operators, technicians and supervisors.

The wives make meatloaves. The kids play soccer. The teens drive irresponsibly.

The weekend in my neighborhood is an homage to the eternal combustion engine. Lawnmowers, snow blowers and weed wackers orchestrate the soundtrack of Saturday and Sunday around here.

All of this, of course, is exactly why my discoveries are so delicious. What's REALLY going on behind the red door? After the meatloaf has been consumed and the little darlings are tucked in?

(and to mama k, I no longer live in the Brownstone, which was in a neighborhood that should have been strewn with discarded self-gratification device packages but never was)

PDD said...

I was simply going to say, what neigborhood do you live in, man?? But you have already explained that. I got here too late.

At this point I wont be suprised if for the next time you write about a guy down by the curb performing auto-erotic asphyxiation; having difficulty in succeeding, cries for your help as you stroll by...

PDD said...

Canned Heat is a good band.

PDD said...

What happened to the Pink??

FLAMINGO1 said...

If you read Erin's post and looked at the link to Canned Delight, I pray that you also read the description of Canned Delight. It was fantastic! The description provided a mood that was very real.

Dongley Shlongford said...

This is exactly what is meant by those "Emergency Pull-of" signs that you see on the highway. Sometimes, it is an emergency, and you just need to pull off. It is nice of various dept's. of transportation to provide these areas.

It is too bad that these areas are not provided on the beaches of Molokai, as I am often in need of them.

garrett said...

In this regard, I am fond of the phrase "Deep Six Sailor's Relief." A product thusly named was marketed to me among thousands during college.

That still makes me laugh.