What is it about the prospect of scooping my penis from my pelvic cavity that makes me quiver and convulse involuntarily? Why does my heart sink to my feet when I imagine bobbing my balls with a rubber band until they blacken, dessicate, and flake away like sexy dandruff? Is there something wrong with me? It's not because I'm a sexually-defined dudebro either. When I see Chris Farley get rogered in his meatbasket with a giant fish, I barely take notice. It's just not a tender subject of mine. I can, and have on numerous occasions, watched gender reassignment procedures without batting an eye. The idea of flaying my penis and shoving it back inside of me to make an ugly little cooter doesn't "irk" me. At least not in any emasculating way. It garnishes a big "whatever" on the "holy fucking shit" scale. So why do eunuchs make me want to die a little bit... oh alright, A WHOLE LOT? I think it's that becoming a eunuch is so final. It's like being trapped in sexual purgatory, where repulsive, body-modified men named "Byron" and "Skab" force you to eat uncooked rice and lactate into their willing mouths. If the mind-numbing duress and finality of replacing your entire biological motivation with keloid-scarred androgyny is something that appeals to your weekend warrior side, then, maybe you need something to dissuade you.
5 comments:
From the man who first brought me the russian soldier comes two brand new things that make me want to hang myself. Bravo.
This is fucking beautiful. This brings tears to secret places.
Hey, I'm the guy from global apathy...(not the gay, slave, cockless one.. The webmaster.) I noticed the link in the logs, and came here... I've seen that nullo stink pill before when doing a google search. What a terrible name for a product. And you know the makers of that had no idea of the connotations of the word nullo, either that or they are totally sick/awesome. Anyway, nice blog.
A little part of my heart just died.
METAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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