Good Vibrations

In amongst all the festeringly uninteresting commercials on TV this Christmas, I couldn't help noticing an outbreak of Trojan ads. These started with commercials for Fire & Ice condoms, which are supposedly so good that they make couples rush into the drugstore to buy some more. Let's overlook for the moment that among the things I'd willingly put on my erect penis, neither "Fire" nor "Ice" are in the top 1,000. Plus, while condoms may be a necessary evil, nothing about their use makes sex better, unless you're the kind of two-pump chump for whom lack of sensation is considered a benefit. Still, I'm happy to see something advertised that isn't cut-rate auto insurance, end-of-year auto sales or a mobile phone.

Trojan seems to be branching out, however, with the Trojan Vibrations device. The commercials are suitably vague, but it appears to be what you and I would know as a good old-fashioned vibrator, "woman for the stimulation of" as they say. Of course this is the twenty-first century, so it doesn't look like a big rubber dick. In fact it seems to resemble nothing so much as a lipstick, maybe because women like lipsticks, or maybe to overcome that inner resistance which may come from purchasing something that just screams "shove it up your vag".

The commercial shows a group of seemingly professional suburban women sitting around exchanging birthday gifts, and, guess what, three of them have given the birthday girl a Trojan Vibrations thing. Supposedly it "blows your hair back", and the girls in question turn to show that their hair is, indeed, blown back, signifying that they have brought themselves off with the Trojan product (although hopefully not the one they just wrapped up for birthday girl).

Now on the one hand I'm delighted to see the open advertisement of vibrating sex toys, since it signifies a society which accepts sex as more than religiously approved baby-making. However I can't help wondering what would happen if they advertised the male equivalent. There is a massive double standard when it comes to sexuality, and it's exactly the reverse of what you might imagine. When a group of girls go to watch a male stripper they're "just out to have a good time" whereas a group of men going to a strip club are "typical seedy, dirty guys". The well-groomed women sitting around examining their lipstick-shaped vibrating sex toys would be in stark contrast to a group of men comparing blow-up sex dolls. "Hey, she's got real hair AND a fully functional anus!" Not that any man would be seen dead comparing sex toys with another man - this heinous a violation of the Guy Code would see you banished for at least ten years. Still, I'm willing to take sex toy commercials for women, one-sided as they may be, as part of the general progress to a more enlightened America.

Of course if you live in Alabama you'll be waiting a while yet for this progress. It's one of seven states which appear at the bottom of the commercial where Trojan Vibrations are not for sale. They are, not surprisingly, mainly southern states: Alabama, Georgia, Kansas, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi and Virginia. I'm not going to point out the contrast between the desire for gun ownership and the death penalty in these states and their apparent fear of sex toys, mainly because I like both gun ownership AND the death penalty, and would happily support more of both, even while encouraging the general population to experiment with vibrating sex aids.

It does seem strange though that any state would attempt to prohibit something as harmless as a vibrator while quite openly allowing gay sex. If you're going to get all worked up about something, you'd think a bloke shoving his dick in another bloke's "tradesman's entrance" would be a bit more disgusting than a woman using a vibrator. I mean, what would YOU rather find on the internet? (I rest my case.)

I can only assume that gay sex is tolerated down there because the Federal Government says it has to be, and maybe because it's kind of hard to stop it. I mean, you can close down the vibrator stores but you won't stop the fudge packers from finding a way. It's true that there was an attempt to overturn the vibrator law in Alabama but the state courts sided with the legislature and the US Supreme Court refused to hear the appeal, thus condemning the good people of Alabama to a vibrator-less wilderness where their only options were to carve wooden penises or sit on the corner of the washing machine during the spin cycle. Or both.

In any case it goes to show the huge hang-ups that parts of America still have with sex, especially parts where religion is deeply entrenched. (Guess what, the Taliban doesn't approve of vibrators either.)

So to the good women of the US I say: "Take up your vibrating sex toys, made to look like lipsticks so you won't get squeemish, and use them to their full potential. And maybe post the videos online so we can share the joy..."


Copyright © 2010 Edward Bison

Rescue Pets

The thing about watching Christmas TV in a turkeyed-out haze is that you can easily miss things. For instance, if it weren't for Mrs Bison's careful attention to meaningless ads I would have completely missed the commercial for the Rescue Pets Train & Play Puppy. Let's gloss over for the moment the fact that, in the interest of cuteness, this monstrosity has the kind of massively oversized eyes that make you wonder if it shouldn't have been humanely destroyed, or at least renamed "Rescue Pets Genetic Freak Aberration Puppy". No, the "fun" thing about this particular toy is that you can feed it a plastic biscuit (included) and it will then walk off and deposit said biscuit as "poop", to the apparent delight of the kids in the commercial.

I believe that this toy is supposed to introduce kids to the reality of owning a pet, prior to them heading off to the pound with mum and dad, and picking up the real thing. However I believe I have spotted the minor flaw in this plan. You see, when the Rescue Pets Puppy drops its guts, you just pick up the plastic biscuit; you can stick it right back in the little bastard's mouth, or, if you are so inclined, in your own mouth, with no ill effects whatsoever. (Unless you happen to be one of Darwin's "special" children, and swallow the plastic biscuit.)

In the real world of dogs they don't deposit a small plastic toy right where you expect it. They leave you a massive pile of foul-smelling, sometimes worm-infested ordure, and often where you least expect it. Yeah, let's replay the commercial and see how the three little girls react when the dog leaves a steaming pile of logs on the table. Who's going to be laughing and rushing to pick it up then? Ready for your trip to pick out a REAL rescue puppy girls? Just grab a hold of that festering heap of warm, recycled kanga chunks and feel it ooze through your fingers as you scurry to the toilet / trash can / back door.

Herein lies the beauty of electronic toy pets. For a start they have an OFF switch, so you won't be awakened in the night by scratching and whining. They can be thrown away when they break, with no vet bills, and your running costs are limited to a couple of sets of AA batteries, before the kids get bored with watching the biscuit fall out of its synthetic fur arse. They need no feeding, worming, inoculating, exercising, grooming or attention, and as such are completely useless as a means of preparing for the reality of caring for a dog.

What's more, I've been to the rescue dog place, and let me assure you that it's not full of puppies. It is, however, extremely well-stocked with pit-bulls. And excrement. And more pit-bulls. There's an assortment of sad older dogs which part of you wants to bring home so they can be loved again, but you can't help wondering if the reason they're there in the first place is that they snapped one day and ripped a little boy's arm off. I mean, if you were shopping for an adopted grandpa you probably wouldn't start at the local Salvation Army hostel, would you. Sure, there's some good guys down there, but the odds are high that you'd end up with a meth-addled serial masturbator with klepto tendencies.

Plus, adopting an old dog is like buying an old car - the nice smell is gone, and you're on the hook for the expensive maintenance as it breaks down all the time. And there's always shit coming out the back end.

Maybe, for added realism, there should be a Rescue Pets Savage Pit Bull Puppy. Abused since birth, forced to mate with it's own mother and repeatedly fight in order avoid having its skull crushed by a black NFL player, it is now ready to come home with you and join your family. Only, WATCH OUT, as it randomly attacks a child and bites their finger in a "plastic biscuit poop" synthetic version of real canine violence. That should get the kiddies ready for the joy of being savaged by a seventy pound Chinese Shar Pei rescue dog like that kid in Wolverhampton.

Or just take a big shit on the floor, then have the kids pick it up and take it for a two-mile walk in a bag. Every day for three months. Then they'll be ready for a dog...


Copyright © 2010 Edward Bison