You know what I like to think about sometimes, you guys?

I like to think about how stupid people have sex.

I should probably clarify that I don’t so much “like” to think about stupid people having sex,  it’s more of one of those awful thoughts that pop into my head sometimes and I can’t seem to get rid of it.

I should probably also clarify that I’m not talking about mentally retarded people or anyone with an actual, diagnosable mental handicap.   I AM talking about all those ignorant fucks out there that we encounter every single day.  Like the assmonkey who parks askew and so close to your car you can’t possibly get your door open more than two inches, or the crapbag who shows up at the grocery store in stained pajama bottoms and filthy bedroom slippers, or the woman who has no teeth but has perfectly sculpted claw-like nails complete with the fanciest “nail art” you ever did see.

Let’s face it: I’m talking about 90% of all Wal*Mart shoppers.

What are their sex lives like?  What do they do?  (This is how I like to horrify myself when I can’t sleep at night and then I wonder why I have to pop a Xanax at 2 am just to quiet down the crazy.)  Right?  I mean, look at their behavior outside the bedroom!  I shudder to think what happens when nobody is looking!  I highly doubt someone who hasn’t cleaned under their nails in like EVER has a drawer full of gorgeous lingerie and toys from Lelo or whatever.  So what’s their kink about?

Do I even want to know??

I recently read a story on CNN about a 23-year-old guy from Oklahoma who accidentally shot and killed his 50-year-old wife during a sex game a couple of days before Christmas.  The game involved him grabbing a gun that was on a bedside shelf, cocking it, and holding it to her head.  He claims he didn’t know it was loaded until he blew his wife’s brains out.  In his defense, he pulled out instead of finishing up his business and called 911, but it was too late.  Wifey was all done.

What a dumbass.

Here’s an important safety tip for you Toy with Mes:  When playing a sex game with a gun, make real fucking sure IT ISN’T FUCKING LOADED.

When I first read that story, I had my doubts about whether or not it was really an “accident,” but then when I think about how stupid most people are, I totally believe it.  We could say it’s a tragedy, but you know, did we really want those two reproducing anyway?  Survival of the fittest and all, that’s what I say.  I realize the wife is past child-bearing age, but still. It’s best not to risk it: the guy is dumb enough to literally play with a loaded gun, and point it at his wife’s head, AND PULL THE TRIGGER.

Check out this next moron who won himself a mention in the New York Times!

A bajillion years ago, in 1988, a 34-year-old man injected a cocaine solution INTO HIS URETHRA (!) in an attempt to heighten sexual satisfaction.  Sadly for him, after doing the deed with his girlfriend, he suffered a painful three-day-long erection that he finally decided was bad enough to go have checked out.  He eventually developed blood clots in his cock n’ balls, arms, legs, back and chest.  Less than two weeks after the genius maneuver, he had such gangrene that they had to amputate both of his legs, nine fingers and his penis..

Was it worth it, dude?  Was your dick nice and hard and tingly for a while?

Now you have no dick.

As we said around the schoolyard a couple-three decades ago, “Smooth move, Ex-Lax.”

This next one isn’t so much about stupidity.  Rather, it should serve as a warning to the Toy with Mes to make sure all windows are closed when using their favorite toys… and to keep a good hold on them!

A woman in Australia was masturbating to some of her favorite porn when she orgasmed so hard that she shot her vibrator our of her vagina which then bounced off the floor and ricocheted out the window into oncoming traffic.  She got up and leaned out the window to find it and then she fell out of the window and into the road, fanny up with a freshly fucked glow on her face.  The really funny part of this is that she did find her vibrator and it still worked.

See you guys?  When you spend the money on a high quality toy, it can withstand being shot out of your vagina and into traffic and still work just fine.

And of course I’ve got my own personal stupid sex incident to share with you.  Luckily I’ve smartened up (just a little) since then.

Once upon a time, when I was a young Crissy and I was in college and not really looking for “marriage material,” I went out with a super cute guy named Marc.  Marc was built and buff and young and infinitely fuckable, but the poor bastard was dumber than a bag of rocks.

We were having sex at his parent’s house while they were on vacation one day when just as we were finishing up, Marc looked at me with this horrified look on his face. HE LOST THE CONDOM!

What.

The.

Fuck.

Somehow while having sex, the condom came off and went…

????

**cue mysterious music**

I ran to the bathroom and gave myself a full cavity search. I did not appear have a stow away condom in my vagina.  We searched everywhere and ripped the sofa apart. We just could not find that damnable condom!  We were both terrified of his mother, too.  She was a very stern strict Catholic type who believed in church and virginity and whatnot.  She probably wouldn’t have been too happy if she sat down to watch a little Jesus TV with her bowl of  Communion chips to find a used condom stuck to the back of the TV remote.

In fact, I think she would have murdered her own son.  I’m sure of it.

So we sweated it out and prayed that somehow the condom had just vanished and that nobody would ever find it.  A few days later I developed my first ever raging yeast infection.  I was in agony and so I went to the doctor and endured the humiliation of an internal exam.  He gave me some cream for the yeasties and I went home.   The infection raged on for several more days until I sneezed and felt something spooge out of me–something kinda big.

I ducked into the bathroom… and yup!

You guessed it.

FOUND IT!

I don’t know who is dumber: stupid Marc for not knowing the condom was slipping off, me for not reaching up quite far enough into my cave of a thousand delights to find it, or my doctor who went spelunking and still didn’t see it.

Maybe we’re all fucking stupid!

I don’t tell that story very often, so consider yourselves privileged.  You’re welcome.

And now it’s your turn.  Share your stupid people having sex stories with me.  If you want to change the names around and make believe it wasn’t you, go right ahead. And please, if anyone else has had a condom stuck inside them for a week without knowing, do share so I don’t feel like quite that big of a douchenozzle.

Post from: Toy With Me

When Stupid People Try To Have Sex

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I think we’ll make my Gift Guide for Perverts an annual Toy With Me tradition seeing as I did one last year.  I like my routines and traditions and lately my Xanax.  They make me feel safe, like it would almost be okay to stop hiding under my couch.  ALMOST.  So here is mine for this year because if you’re anything like me, you have no idea what to get for people.  And it stresses you out.

Like, what does my grandfather want for Christmas?  He’s 93.  He’s into jam sandwiches and his reclining chair.  That’s pretty much his day.  So what do you buy for people like that?  I have no idea.  Oooo.  Maybe he’d like a snuggie or one of those little pockets you put on the side of your armchair so you don’t lose your tissues and your remote control?

My husband is another one who is hard to buy for.  I don’t understand his stuff. He wants like, camera stuff, or car stuff, or computer stuff, and I don’t know anything about those sorts of things.  So, the poor bastard gets clothes for Christmas every year.  He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his clothes (holy shit I just got a brilliant idea for his gift this year and it’s not clothes but I can’t tell you what it is because then Santa’s Secret Surprise will be ruined!  He reads this blog, you know.)  He’d probably be happiest with something as simple as a blow job, but I don’t know.  Not a whole lot of thought and expense is involved in that kind of gift and everyone knows Christmas is about thought and expense.  And wrapping paper.  You cannot wrap a blow job in wrapping paper as far as I know but I bet Martha Stewart would be able to figure  out a way…

And speaking of thoughtful gifts, would your man love a Hummer for Christmas?  No, silly–not the kind of Hummer you see in the ridiculous Christmas time advertisements with the snowy romantic scene in front of the Christmas tree and the fireplace when some lucky son of a bitch is presented with a set of keys to a luxury car (with a big red bow on it) that nobody can afford.  I’m talking about blow jobs. If you’re anything like me, you’re not a big fan of giving out that particular kind of Hummer (even on Christmas) because, well, ew.  Semen tastes like, well, semen and not even the joy of the Christmas season can make it not taste like semen anymore.  But I think I have found a gift that will make everyone happy this Christmas because there’s a pill out there that claims to make semen taste like apple pie!!! I shit you not, Toy with Mes!  It’s by Blue Mountain Nutraceuticals and all you have to do is feed your Mister the little apple dietary supplement type pill and you’ll turn those not-s0-tasty cream pies into delectable apple pie good enough to serve to Grandma at the family table this holiday!  It’s finger lickin’ good y’all.

Or… something.

Not only that, but a pill IS something you can wrap and put under the tree or in a stocking!

And just like every guy would love a nice Hummer for Christmas, every woman would love a pearl necklace! I’m picturing that same romantic scene by the fire when the man presents the lady with OH! GASP!  A JEWELRY BOX!  And when she opens it up, one of these babies is inside:

It’ s not exactly what I would have had in mind when I asked for a pearl necklace, but before we snap to judgment and be all Negative Nancyish about this, I think this gift actually has merit.  Just think of the fun you can have with people when you wear it around town, or to a job interview, or to Christmas Services at church.  Folks are bound to notice and either try really, really hard not to stare at it because it looks like something familiar but they can’t quite figure out what it is , OR they’ll comment on what a unique piece it is, and you’ll just smile and say “thank you.  My boyfriend made it for me.  It’s an abstract piece” and people will think you’re wicked cool and art-y and not some crazy lunatic wearing a cum shot pendant and calling it jewelry.  I sort of want one, just because of the inherent entertainment value, and at a mere $420 each, I think I’d like to have both styles, because after all, I think jizz stains are kind of like snowflakes.  Each one is special in its own little way.

And speaking of special, the library where I work has an annual Christmas party and every year we do a Yankee Swap thingy where everyone picks a number for the chance to go up to the table  and pick a gift.  Then they fight over the gifts, trading this for that, and OH!  It’s a rollicking good time!  This year, my contribution was a box of Ho-Hos and a bottle of rum, but how I wish I had seen this next thing first before I bought that stuff because they would have made for a Christmas party to remember for sure!

They’re called Pornaments and what they are are filthy, dirty ornaments that would have Aunt Mabel in a swoon if she saw them on your tree.  What I wouldn’t give to go back and get a chance to slip this bad boy into an innocent looking, politely wrapped gift that just screams PICK ME!

Bwahahahahahahahaha!  That would have caused a bigger stir than the time somebody shit in the book drop (true story).

No wait, THIS ONE is even better!

I dare say that most of my lovely, if a tad stodgy, co-workers wouldn’t have even known what that was.  It would have been bad ass.  Ah, well.  I guess there’s always next year.

For the hell of it, and I highly recommend you do this too, I went to Etsy and typed in “penis” in the search box.  I also typed in “vagina,” but we’ll get to that in a second.

In the penis category, I found this. It is  a “hand silkscreened giant condom pillow with giant fabric condom.”

This is the perfect decoration for a bachelor pad and I’m totally getting it for my brother, seeing as he has such issues with ladies who have, ahem, well, fishcunts.  Maybe he can just get his entire body into this bad boy and be done with it.

And then I typed in “vagina.”  It was kind of a toss up between this very refined “CUNT” necklace:

And these penis and vagina slippers:

But then I saw this other thing and are you sitting down because my friends, this is probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.

That’s right.  It’s a Vagina Trucker Hat and I think I’m totally getting one for myself because the price is right at a mere $15.  How could I go wrong!?!  The description says “Life-like extra wooly vagina complete with clit on a light blue trucker hat.”  I’m not that into “extra wooly” vaginas, but I bet I could ask them to give it a nice clip and trip before they toss it in the mail slot.

Get it?

Vagina?

Mail slot?

Hahahahahahahaha.  You love me.

Anywhoodle, here is my challenge to you Toy with Mes.  Go forth and find me the most horrifying and bizarre sexually related gift you can.  OR tell me about one you have already received and please, oh please don’t tell me somebody got you the trucker hat because I want to be the only one!  I fancy myself as a bit of a trendsetter and THIS, my friends, is the next huge fad.   It will be bigger even than fanny packs.  Mark my words.

Photo source

Post from: Toy With Me

The Christmas Gift Guide For Perverts

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Well Toy with Mes, it’s that time of year again.

Soon the holiday season will be upon us, which means that those of us who are not hermits hiding in their basement on the computer will all be going out into…da-da-duuunnnnn… THE PUBLIC.  And eventually, while we’re out IN PUBLIC, we’re going to have to go tinkles or (god, hopefully not, grunties) in a PUBLIC BATHROOM.

OH THE HORROR!!!

But seriously, I’ve often wondered if those bathrooms are really all that gross after all.  I mean, they have those handy little charts for us to look at to see when the last employee has come to clean the place, and they’re often checked off, but what exactly does that mean?  Did they really clean it or did they just wipe a little dookie off the wall near the sink, flush down the log in the last stall, and call it a day?

How clean are these places after all?

If you’re like most people, you about convulse whenever you think of your precious little ass touching the toilet seat where a total and complete stranger’s assical area has also touched.  Personally, I can feel it burning my skin the moment I sit down and I about run to the doctor for a full check up to rule out whether that itch in my down belows is due to razor burn (I go for the Brazilian) OR is the itch a case of the crabs I got from using the potty over at The Super Wal*Mart’s.

But that’s me.  Maybe am I nuts?

Don’t answer that.

To see if my bathroom paranoia is warranted, I did a little research over at WebMD, which is a very reputable site and where I always turn when I want to scare the bejeezus out of myself by turning a swollen lymph node into Cancer.  You know, the place you go to when you want to find the absolute worst, most critical thing that could cause any combination of probably unrelated symptoms–no matter how rare and unlikely that diagnosis may be.

According to WebMD, there are lots of little nasties lying around in the public bathroom.  Like, there’s ” streptococcus, staphylococcus, E. coli and shigella bacteria, hepatitis A virus, the common cold virus, and various sexually transmitted organisms.”

EW! EW! EW! EWWWWWW!

Just when it seems most hopeless, I’m here to tell you to take heart Toy with Mes!  If you have a healthy immune system and you WASH YOUR FUCKING HANDS, you’ll be awright.   Wash the hands, damnit.  Use SOAP.  Scrub for at least thirty seconds.

But what if the nasties are on the toilet seat?  Do we need to wash our asses at the sink?

No! Oh happy day, we do not need to wash our asses at the public sink!  Contrary to urban legend, that toilet seat is not necessarily the nastiest thing in the world.  It’s not Disney on Ice for STD’s. So not to worry if our squat and hover is not quite up to par because the disease-causing organisms can only survive for a short time on a surface like a toilet seat.  If they were to transmit to you from the seat, the germs would have to get in through your urethra or genital tract or through a cut or sore on your bum or thighs.   The skin does a pretty damned respectable job of keeping them out.  Basically, you’d have to fuck the seat and I’m not sure that’s a level of kink any of us here have ever explored (but if you have, please do share with the rest of the group… I’m curious!).

So there.  Go ahead and sit yourself down on that seat, just don’t have sex with it and you’ll be fine–at least as long as you don’t have open sores on your buttocks.  In which case, GET THAT SHIT CHECKED OUT.

Additionally, common cold germs and viruses die quickly and are also less of a threat to you than you think.  You have to come into contact with a whole lot of them to make you sick.  One or two isn’t going to cut it.

One thing you do have to do though, is after you flush, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE STALL!  The flush creates an aerosol dispersal of the little poop particles inside the toilet.  It’s a veritable shit shower.  A SHIT SHOWER, people.

The real thing you have to watch out for are the sink faucet handles and towel dispensers.  People emerge from their aerosol clouds of shit in the stall and go with dirty hands to turn on the faucet. Plus all that nice water provides a breeding ground for the nasties, so do use caution at the sink, but for the love of the sweet baby jesus, WASH YOUR HANDS ANYWAY. 

Other stuff you can do is flush the toilet with your shoe, use a paper towel to shut the water off at the sink and also to open the door handle.  If you can, use the hand dryer but don’t touch the vents.

But you guys already knew that, didn’t you?  So now that we’ve gotten the public bathroom safety lesson portion of our article out of the way, I will now share with you my most embarrassing potty moment because that’s one thing we’ve all caught from using the public potty–The Embarassment.

I actually have several stories for you, but I’ll pick just a few.

Ahem.

Once I walked into a bathroom and there was a guy fucking a hooker on the counter.

I guess that wasn’t so much embarrassing for me, but I still sort of shrieked and ran away.  The guy actually yelled after me, “Hey sweetheart!  What’s the rush?!”

GAH!!!!

Another time I was at a bar with some friends, and it was one of these deals where there were only two one-person bathrooms, for men and women.  Well, the woman in the women’s room was taking forfuckingever, and my bladder was screaming after all the martinis, and there was nobody in the men’s room, so I decided to go in there.  A guy friend of mine who was nearby offered to watch the door, but I said I’d be fine since there was a lock on it and everything.

Well.

Turns out I should have taken him up on the offer, since the lock, despite LOOKING effective, ended up being totally useless.  As I was inside the stall peeing, a guy walked in to use the urinal.  And he was talking to himself and peeing and farting and pissing and oh my god I was mortified.  I mean, what do you do in that situation?  Pull your feet up and pray to all that is holy that he doesn’t decide he needs to pop around the corner to make a shadoobie?  Play it cool and pretend you hang out in men’s rooms all the time?  Pretend to be a Transsexual?

WHAT DO YOU DO, TOY WITH MES?

So I did the logical thing and I stood up from my squat, pulled my panties up, and ran out of there with my purse over my head shouting apologies about the door being locked, etc.   The guy yelled in shock and surprise and fell over against the wall, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to stop and offer him a shoulder.  Once out, I nonchalantly went back to where my friends were at the bar and put my coat on just in case the guy caught a glimpse of what I was wearing. You know, so he wouldn’t know it was me doing commando raids in the men’s room.

This story gets better because years later I found myself at the “guy-friend-who-should-have-watched-the-door’s” wedding, sitting next to the owner of that very bar, when I told him the story.  Turns out, his office wall is opposite the men’s room wall and he remembered hearing the whole thing go down.  I love it when shit comes back to haunt me, don’t you?  (Of course you do.  It makes for better stories.)

Oh yeah, and my Grandpa tells a story about how he was hit with a sudden and intense need to potty, if you know what I’m saying, and in his rush, he found himself in the ladies room.  The poor man.  He’s so proper, he must have died a hundred times once he realized what happened to him.  I wonder if it hit him while he was already locked in a stall, blowing it up.

And my mom who can’t see very well frequents men’s rooms all the time, although I think she secretly goes in there on purpose and pretends to be a hapless blind lady.  She’s kind of  a slut (hi mom!).  No, I do NOT take after her.

Tell me Toy with Mes.  Do you squat and hover?  Do you touch NOTHING in the bathroom?  Do you smash the stall door in with a Karate kick?  Do you about put on a bio-hazard suit when you use a public toilet, or do you just walk right in, sit down and have yourself a nice, relaxing pee?  Do you flush with your elbow or shoe?  Do you cover the seat with toilet paper like a giant prophylactic?  Have you had an embarrassing moment in the public potty, say, running out of toilet paper after a soul-crushing bout of vile-smelling diarrhea, that you’re just dying to share with us?

Photo source

Post from: Toy With Me

The Dreaded Public Restroom

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There are very few things as emotionally treacherous as dating. I run a weekly advice column which is laughable enough (what, me give advice?) but what’s even more shocking is the amount of people who ask me for dating advice. Luckily, I have a cadre of people I can irritate into helping me give better advice than I ever could alone.

Because frankly, I’m kind of an idiot when it comes to matters of the heart (okay, really, I’m just kind of an idiot). Especially when it comes to the words that just seem to fall out of my whore mouth when it opens up. Let’s just say that there’s a reason I tried to nickname myself “Smoove B” instead of “Aunt Becky.” Maybe it’s not to late.

Anyway, here’s the things you should never, ever, ever, under any circumstances, even when you’re being kidnapped at knifepoint by a couple of foreign nationals to an exotic House of Cheese, say to your significant other. PROBABLY. As always, proceed with caution. Individual results may vary. Driver does not carry cash. Call your doctor for erections lasting for longer than four hours.

“Wow, your penis/vagina looks so weird. Is that normal?”
Even if it’s true, no one wants to hear that their junk looks like it fell into a blender. Most people are awkward enough about what their sex organs look like (I’m not saying that’s RIGHT, Toy-With-Me-ers. Mine happens to be BEAUTIFUL) and don’t need to hear that you’d rather turn off the lights than see them with their pants down ever again. Besides, as someone who has seen their penis (or vagina) up close and personal, it’s likely you’re seeing it from an entirely different angle than they are, so way to give them a complex that will require years of painful therapy to undo.

“Your mother is such a bitch.”
I have a secret to tell you that’s not REALLY a secret: most women don’t get along with their mother-in-laws. Most men don’t particularly care for their in-laws, either. If you’re wearing an I Heart My Mother-In-Law shirt than you’re probably in the minority and should consider yourself fortunate. Easy as it may be to bust out a “man, I hate your mother,” even if she’s bad-mouthing her, too, avoid it at all costs. Why? Family is still, well, family and most people feel some sense of loyalty to them, even if they’re not overly fond of them. Proceed with the UTMOST caution.

“I can’t live without you!”
I don’t care WHAT Hollywood says, that’s about the creepiest sentiment you can say to another human being. Unless they’re giving you plasma. Or a kidney. Because then it’s kinda true.

“I’m still in love with my ex.”
Okay, okay, so there’s the one that got away. Hopefully, not the same one that got his or her car filled up with mud, but it happens. Sometimes feelings persist after the relationship ends. Assuming you’re unlike me and actually have feelings, that is. But no good can come of telling your current flame that you’re still in love with your ex. Unless it’s part of a break-up speech, and then still, OUCH.

“My ex was better in bed than you.”
Some people are better than others between the sheets. Not all lovers are created equal but nothing will drive a wedge between two people like knowing that someone else your lover slept with is better than you. Except for murder. Probably.

“I want to be with a woman who is just like my mother/guy that’s just like my father.”
Nobody wants to date the Incredible Oedipal Freak unless you’re into that sort of thing, in which case you probably do. Along the same lines, my advice to you is to never, never ever ask a girl to dress up like your sister. Just, you know, sayin.’

“Yeah, you know what? I do go bowling to avoid listening to you babble on and on about your coworkers.”
Everybody thinks that their stories about their annoying coworkers are endlessly fascinating. They’re not. Typically stories about coworkers are longwinded, confusing and boring, and unless they involve espionage, threesomes or murder, it’s probably not going to interest anyone.

“Is she/he more attractive than me?”
Talk about a loaded question. Since there are approximately three kajillion million people in the world (roughly), there are bound to be at least some people that are more attractive than you. It’s okay. Might as well accept that and move on. Your partner is with you.

“Let’s go watch Twilight!”
Okay, so that’s probably something you never want to say to me. Sparkly vampires make me want to barf.

“We need to talk..”
I’m not sure anything good ever came out of that phrase. Maybe I’m wrong, but in my world, that’s a set up for only very bad things. Like, “I love you,” or “I want my mother to move in with us,” or “can we NOT invite your roommate?”

So, Toy With Me-ers, what else should you never, ever say to your partner?

Post from: Toy With Me

Ten Things You Should Never Say

Sex toys are pretty full of the awesome. You take the word “sex” and you add “toy” to it and you’re guaranteed an instant win there…unlike the lottery, which we all know is a joke. Unless you’re winning it, in which case you should probably give me some of your winnings or at least a fancy car because obviously.

While I still haven’t managed to find an appropriate place to store my sex toys, I do boast a stash that, thanks to my editors at Toy With Me, is growing. I meant to tell you that have learned my lesson, thanks to you Toy With Me-ers: higher end sex toys are, well, better. Plus they go on your naughty bits, and we all know you should treat your naughty bits like gold. OR A GOLDEN VIBRATOR.

Anyway.

Every now and again (read: daily), I’m sent bizarre things from around the internet that might possibly go into my sex column. Normally, they’re merely horrifying. Sometimes, they’re full of the awesome. Occasionally, they’re baffling. These are a mix of those.

Toy With Me, I’d like to present you with a gallery of the bizarrely full of the awesome sex toys I’ve found.

Hide-A-Vibe Teddy Bear: When I saw this all I could think was this scenario playing out: Oh Little Johnny, not feeling well today? Want to lay down in Mommy’s bed? Wait, whatever you do…NO, JUST DON’T TOUCH THE FUCKING TEDDY BEAR! No, DON’T OPEN IT, SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! Oh Johnny, I’m sorry. I just scarred you for life. A whimsical teddy bear does not a good vibrator storage facility make. Just…no. (and I’d thought a heart-shaped pillow was bad…this is far, far worse).
(Related… Check out what to do if children find your sex toys.)

Fake Feet: Now you can have your foot…and beat off into it too! For all of those times when a live foot won’t do, you can now shove your junk into a foot molded after many (different) foot fetish porn models. Who knew there were so many different foot fetish models? On the upside, I am pretty sure I know what to get everyone on my Christmas list this year! (no, really, I am going to get a couple of these for ahem a few hard to buy for people on my list.) Trust me, this is actually one of the more delightful things I have ever found on The Internet.

Fake Hymens: For all of those times you’ve drunkenly sung “Like A Virgin” to that special guy…and he believed you, now you can insert something up your vagina so that you can bleed…just like a virgin! Now, I know that in many countries, virginity is very important, and bleeding like a virgin is highly important while having The Sex for the first time, as proof of purity. For the rest of us, though, just…wow.

Eco Friendly Vibrators: Now we ALL want to do our part to save the planet. Creating a “green” sex toy is a full of the awesome idea. The practice, however, is not so awesome. I found two options, both of which were cumbersome and clunky.

1. The Hand Crank Vibe: I grew up in a house with a (no shit) butter churn. We churned our own motherfucking butter. I can assure you, Toy With Me-ers, that the very last thing I want to do (besides churn more fucking butter) when I want to have a party in my pants is to have to crank that shit up first. While I was reading about it, all I could think about was how I could imagine the hand-cranked vibe running out of steam at JUST the wrong moment. And who the hell wants to stop and be all, “excuse me orgasm, I have to crank my vibrator?” (answer: not me)
2. The Solar Powered Vibe: The execution here is flawless and the reasoning is impeccable. Leave the smallest carbon footprint while optimizing pleasure. That sounds like a win to me…except that I can totally picture myself forgetting to charge the damn thing. So two hours (per the website) of blissful vibe pleasure would turn into me smashing things into the wall, deliberately NOT recycling my Diet Coke cans and cursing every hippie I ever knew because I was unable to actually take care of my business. Not very eco-friendly.

The Erectile Quality Monitor: Just. Um. Wow. So, this is something I cannot even wrap my mind around, but I suppose that because I don’t have a penis, I can’t fathom why one would want to measure the quality of one’s boner. To me, a boner is a boner (and every boner should be loved and cherished…no seriously. Boners = full of the win) and while I’m aware that some may have a slightly higher pressure which might mean better slightly better boning sessions, I’m not sure that I’ve ever really met too many men who would be interested in doing this…at least not often enough to buy one. Because frankly, if Mr. Boner turns into Mr. Softie, I think my partner and I will both be acutely aware of it. No LED flashing monitor will help either of us feel anything but humiliated.

(seems the FDA had a hard time getting a boner over this item. I bet it will never stand up in court,  unless they get a hung jury of course.)

Cup Nude: I someday look forward to going to Japan and finding all of the bizarre things that they have to offer me, then paying exorbitant amounts to buy them and ship them back home so that I can perhaps install a separate “these are weird things I bought in Japan” room in my house. THIS would be one of those things. Now, who hasn’t eaten a Cup of Noodles and called it fucking tasty and delicious? (if you have said, “me, Aunt Becky, I haven’t eaten a delicious Cup of Noodles, EVER,” I may not want to know you)(THAT’S A LIE, I love you just the way you are). THIS? Something ENTIRELY different. I’m not EXACTLY positive what it is, but I think it’s a cup…you heat up…and put your dick in. Which? TOTALLY GOING IN MY ROOM OF WEIRD THINGS I BOUGHT IN JAPAN.

Hizamakura’s Lap Pillow: Another wacky (yet slightly awesome) Japanese invention, although perhaps not a sex toy. It is precisely what it says it is: a pillow that looks like a woman’s lap where you, when you are wearily shaking off the road, or, maybe, all out of Cup of Nude, you can simply pull out your Lap Pillow and take a nappy-poo! It’s nappy-licious! This delightful invention is available in a red OR black skirt, depending on which color you like best, and promises to feel both comfortable AND real. Sometimes, I have lots of very useless words. In this case, I have none.

Maybe I just need to try it. Just like all of these. Except the foot one. Because despite what The Twitter believes, I actually have no penis.

————–

So, Toy With Me-ers, tell me all about the weirdly awesome sex toys you’ve seen? Or just tell me something full of the awesome. Because, well, obviously.

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8 Amazing And Bizarre Sex Toys

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Being totally and utterly disappointed with the film offerings from Hollywood as of late, my husband and I have been rather addicted to Sexy TV shows lately. We’ve already watched all the True Bloods there are, and we’re milking what we have left of the last season of The Tudors–allowing ourselves a taste of it’s deliciousness only one time per week because once they’re watched, you can’t un-watch them.

Can I just tell you how much I love, love, love the Tudors? It is the very definition of sexy, in my opinion. Maybe it’s because as a Queen myself, I have a deep appreciation for the trials and tribulations of a monarch, or maybe I like it so much because I’m a big dork and I’ve never really grown out of my I love wicked old books and stuff phase, or maybe it’s the good old fashioned bodice ripping and codpiece swelling that appeals to me, but I lurrrrrrve me some Henry VIII drama.

I find it funny though that they choose Hottie McHotterson Jonathan Rhys Meyers to play Henry VIII because while he’s really very pretty and fun to watch roll around naked on the screen:

Didn’t Henry VIII ACTUALLY look more like Mario Batali?

SEE? It’s totally out of control, right? They even stand the same way!

Swap around some orange Crocs and a fancy hat and you’ve got twins! You know King Henry with all his festering leg issues and stuff would have loved him some orange Crocs. He’d be all, “enough with these whoreish Queens! Bring-eth me my Royal Orange Crocs and a turkey’s leg and a happy king I shall be!”

That was a little ye olde English for you right there.

Ahem.

But I digress. What I’m saying is that once we finish with The Tudors, whatever sexyness will we watch, Toy with Mes?

I have no idea, but what I do know is that despite the craptacular showing from Hollywood lately, there are already some pretty awesome movies out there, each with a special dose of The Sexy and The Hot and The Heavy, just waiting to be enjoyed.

One of my favorites is Secretary with James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhaal. I found it romantic that those two Sickie Sickingtons (the characters, not the actors themselves, although I have my doubts about those two anyway) found each other and made one another happy in their own twisted way. Not everyone agrees as to the romanticness/sexyness of the closing scenes, but I thought it was really sweet and sexy. I do know that others find it disturbing, though. In fact, one of my friends had such an argument with her husband over it that he spent the night on the couch! She should have just spanked him and peed on his chair.

Boogie Nights was obviously pretty sexy, being about the porn industry. One scene that stands out for me though was the one where Dirk Diggler and Amber Waves get it on while filming the only official “porn scene” in the movie. That was actually kind of sweet… she was trying to help him and he was trying to do a good job and… I don’t know. I was touched. Plus it was Marky Mark!

Brokeback Mountain was another one! The scene in the tent. You know the one. Gay, straight, doesn’t matter! ’nuff said.

And what would this list be with out mentioning Dirty Dancing? There’s no question that the ending scene where Johnny tells Baby’s jerkwad dad that “nobody puts Baby in the corner” and then her takes her hand and they dance like never before and Baby finally does that fucking lift and then they run off together is pretty awesome, but my absolute favorite scene is the one where they’re in the studio for Baby’s “dancing lessons” and they’re crawling toward each other on the floor. Very. Hot.

Waitress with Keri Russell was kind of awesome, too. As a pregnant lady watching that movie with the sexy scenes between her and her OBGYN?
Yes. Sir. Sadly for me, my OBGYN is an old fat guy my dad’s age. Totally not the same. *shudder*

We can’t forget 9 1/2 weeks, can we? I’ve never been one for food and sex, but Kim Basinger and Mickey Rourke make it look all kinds of fun. And that dance she does to “You Can Leave Your Hat On?” I mean, it’s nothing compared to the sexy dancing I do for my husband, but it’s kind of nice if you like long leggy blonds doing a striptease in various bits of menswear and stuff. Plus this is back when Mickey looked normal.

And my girl card would be revoked if I didn’t include Unfaithful. Pretty much all of it. Yeah. The whole fucking thing.

Those are all I could think of, so I asked my facebook friends for their suggestions. A few people voted for the scene in the stairwell between Vigo Mortensen and Maria Bello in A History of Violence. I didn’t see that movie, so I can’t say.

Another person suggested the car scene from Titanic. You know the one where the windows are all steamy and a hand comes up and slowly rolls back down? I agree that was a good one.

Another person suggested the scene between Marisa Tomei and Philip Seymore Hoffman in Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead. I’ve never seen that movie either, but I watched the scene. Um…I’d call that a big yes.

And of course my pervy husband suggested Donkey Punch, Scene 2, Alex Sanders and Rachel Luv because he’s such a romantic.

Tell me Toy with Mes, what are some of your favorite romantic/sexy movies/movie scenes? I can’t make The Tudors last forever! Share your panty-wetters and tent-pitchers…

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The Sexiest Movie Scenes Of All Time

As some of you Toy with Mes may or may not know, I call the readers of my personal blog, “Queefs” or “Queefies.” Many people assume that I mean to call my readers “cunt farts” or “varts” or whatever, but that’s not really what I mean by Queef. At least, not at first.

Originally it was a play on Queen of Fucking Everything. If you’ve been paying any kind of attention, you’d know that’s me. So I was going to call my loyal readers/subjects Queen of Fucking Everythings just like I call you guys Toy with Mes but who the hell wants to type that shit in every time? I had to shorten it a little bit into something of an anagram. There’s a Q and an O and an F and an E in the word and qofe kind of sounds like queef when you say it. Hence, “Queef” was born as nickname for my readers, by royal decree. Some people begged me not to call them Queefs, but I’m the fucking queen and I do what I want, so they were told to suck my dick.

The reason why I’m telling you all this is because the other day, a personal friend and loyal Queef sent this little gem to me:

I’m touched that one of my devoted readers is so proud to be a Queef that she actually tattooed it on her buttock. How nice! Way to pay homage!

I posted the picture on my blog and it surprised me how many of my readers didn’t know what a queef was! They actually had to look it up! Can you imagine? Apparently not everyone is as worldly as we are, Toy with Mes. And so just in case some of us here don’t know what a queef is, unimaginable as it may be, I am going to educate you in all things queef.

A queef is an expulsion of air from the vagina during sex. Usually it happens as a result of a particularly good railing where some air gets up there and well, it needs to come out. I find it to be kind of embarrassing because I’m kind of immature like that and whenever it happens to me, I sort of die a little bit inside. But not everyone is a Delicate Lady like myself and some take it as a sign that the job is getting done in the most excellent way–kinda like how some chefs in some cultures consider a large belch or burp to be the ultimate compliment.

But how did this remarkable phenomenon come to be called “Queef?”

In search of some solid research on the word, I immediately went to the bastion of scholarly wisdom and academic standards: the UrbanDictionary. It describes Queef thusly:

Air expulsion from the vaginal area usually after sex. In the eighteenth century, it was common practice for small groups of well-to-do Southern women to each lift up their corsets and “queef” at their leisure on warm, summer afternoons. Typically performed on balconies or porches, these women would insert various large objects in their TOOTS and slowly pull them out to create the desired sound. These “porch parties” would provide hours of fun for the ladies while the men were away, and, from a practical standpoint, at times, enough air circulation as a respite from the brutal summer heat. Small wagers were often placed with the winner going to longest continuous queef, highest pitch, lowest pitch, smelliest, and wettest. There was also the queef sing-a-long; and a special prize was given to any women whose queef could attract wildlife.

Um, THERE’S a party game for your next get together! Imagine the fun family bonds that will be formed when all the ladies at your Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa table do a Very Special rendition of Jingle Bells as little snow birds and squirrels gather around the window outside. That and my mother’s Green Bean Casserole will make my holiday pretty kick ass this year. Whether or not that information from Urban Dictionary is correct is of no matter to me because it’s funny and also because I’m a very lazy researcher. It SHOULD be true, in any event, so let’s believe that it is.

If you want to be fancy, you can call it Flatus Vaginalis, a condition usually caused by Biggus Dickus.

For those of you who are not quite that fancy yet still wish to appear exotic and worldly:
schedewind (Dutch)
mosenfurz (German)
ematinpieru (Finnish)
braim-fhaighein (Scottish Gaelic)

Now for the technical stuff!!

IPA: /kwi:f/

VERB:
infinitive: to queef
“I really felt like I needed to queef.”
“I love to queef… don’t you?”

past: queefed
“Last night, I queefed and Louis accused me of farting.”
“I can’t believe you just queefed in my face!”

present participle/gerund: queefing
“He thought a helicopter was passing overhead, but I was really just queefing.” (progressive)
“The queefing pussy must be heard.” (adjective)

past participle: queefed
“She has queefed.” (perfect)
“The queefed air rushed past my nose.” (adjective)

present forms:
“I queef when I get really turned on.”
“You queef if I fuck you doggy style, but I don’t mind.”
“He/she/it queefs more than you ever did, for what it’s worth.”
“We ladies queef a lot.”
“You folks queef sometimes.”
“They queef like nobody’s business.”

It is mostly used as an intranstive verb:
“I was really enjoying myself with George the other night, but then I queefed and it ruined the mood entirely.”
“Dude, she takes it like a champ and queefs with every thrust.”

However, some sentences demonstrate transitive use, ie the queef is used to reproduce a specific sound:
“I’ll bet you five bucks i can queef all five vowel sounds, one at a time.”
“I queefed such a giant volume of air that I blew out the goddamned candles!”

NOUN:
singular: queef
“That queef sounded really fucking terrifying.”

pural: queefs
“I can’t believe how many queefs she ripped last night!”

singuar posessive: queef’s
“The queef’s sound reverberated in the empty room, causing the dog’s ears to perk up.”

Consider yourself educated.

So how do we feel about Queef? Did you know what it was? Does it happen to you and are you embarrassed, or is it a sign of a job well done? And for the boy Toy with Mes, do you consider it a compliment like a master chef considers a nice belch or does it horrify you?

I leave you with this. Your welcome.

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Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Queefs

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Can I ask you Toy with Mes something?

Halloween is fast approaching and as I browse the aisles looking for costume ideas, I’m confused.

Why do they make so many slutty Halloween costumes for women?

Does Halloween somehow magically transform us all into some kind of slutbagish vixen who has the gall to wear something like this little number?

What is up with that?  It’s like, just because it’s Halloween, I am magically no longer self-conscious about my thighs or my belly or the size of my assical and I feel free to just BEE slutty?

(See what I did there? Bee-Slutty? Because that was a bee costume? Hahahahahahaha!)

I don’t think so. Especially not after eating all those delicious Peanut Butter Cups, you guys.

It kinda sucks to be a girl at Halloween. In fact, just the other day I overheard some college-age girls trying on costumes at the Halloween store, and one said to the other “does it make me look fat?” and the other was like

“……no.”

Not even college girls look good in these costumes.

And how totally fucked up is it that they make slutty Sesame Street costumes?

Is nothing sacred, Toy with Mes?

Do the costume manufacturers want us to all look like fat, bulgy, idiots? They must, because the only people who look good in those skimpy little costumes are the models and even they don’t always pull it off. If I tried to wear one of those tiny little slut costumes, I’d spend the entire night trying to cover my ass, not to mention FREEZE MY TITS OFF. Is it not cold in most places on Halloween? Do they not care for our comfort and well being and ass coverage concerns?

No. They do not. They’ve made that quite clear, whoever they are.

I’ve never had a pre-made costume before, unless you count the Barbie costume I had when I was little. It consisted of a mask with razor sharp holes cut out for the eyes and mouth with the elastic that pulled my hair to death stapled to the sides of it that always came out half way through the night. The rest of it was a tie up the back plastic smock that my mom made me wear over my winter jacket.

Now that was a great costume, you guys! Despite the obvious hazard of cutting your tongue on the little mouth hole, or the risk of serious eye wounds, or the tripping/getting hit by a car hazard because you can’t see shit in those masks, it was warm and it was comfortable.

Other than that, I’ve always made my own costumes, so really, I have no excuse or explanation for why I have continually chosen to create something slutty and uncomfortable and cold to wear at Halloween for almost all of my adult years. Clearly, I’m all for having a little slutty fun and I just! can’t! Help it!

Take this lovely “Slutty Maid Marion” thing I had going on way back in the day when I was in college going through my Medieval Lit phase:

That corset really showed off the girls, right?  I still have it somewhere.

And then a few years later, we have “Slutty Ms. Congeniality.”

Do you see what I did there?  Get it? Slutty, congenial? Because being congenial is like, being friendly and so I was really, VERY friendly.

I’m clever.

I was also pregnant even though you can’t really tell in the picture.  I had a condom stuck to my shoe, messy hair and makeup, a vibrator tucked into my sash, and I had my dress stuck in my panties in the back.  I wore that costume to a few parties that year except one of them turned into a bit of a disaster when we walked in and THERE WERE CHILDREN THERE!!!  I had to run to the bathroom and de-slut quickly. The costume kind of sucked after that.

That guy in the “Pickle Pants Spidey” costume is my husband.  We call it “Pickle Pants Spidey” because, well, when he put on his costume we thought it would be funny if it looked like Spiderman had a boner.

And then a few years later I dressed as “Slutty Pamela Anderson.”

Wait.

I guess…that’s just “Pamela Anderson.”

The “slutty” part is redundant. Ooooo SNAP! Pam’s not gonna wanna be my friend after she reads this.

I was going for that vacant look that comes so naturally to Pam, but instead I just look really pissed off in that picture. The tattoo was sexy though, right? I actually considered getting one after that.

My husband dressed as Borat to my Pamela because in the movie, he was in love with her. I wish he had worn the Borat bathing suit though.

It would have been hardcore.

And then there’s last year’s “Slutty Goth Chick” outfit.

Here’s a picture of me and my nursing boobies at a party.

I had a corset on for that costume, too. The bottom half consisted of a short tutu and  black and white striped tights with Mary Jane shoes.  It was cute and short and cold per the usual plan.

But this year I wore a Zombie Prom Queen outfit because quite frankly, I’m tired of freezing my tits off.

What are you guys dressing up as and how do you feel about this rampant slutty Halloween phenomenon?

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Dressing Like A Slut For Halloween

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When I confessed to my best friend, who, at the time, worked in the lingerie department at an upscale department store, that I never wore a matching bra and underwear set, she was aghast. I wasn’t. I mean, I was a single mother working part-time while I put myself through nursing school. I barely had time to shave my vagina, let alone imagine coordinating my undergarments. Besides, while I kinda wanted to date, I wasn’t actively seeking it out, and I figured that any guy that would be uninterested in me solely because I didn’t wear matching lingerie was probably not the kind of guy I wanted to be with. I mean, I had a toddler who routinely pooped in the bathtub, which is about as unglamorous as you can get. Wearing mismatching underwear was the least of my fucking concerns.

But I did let her talk me into coming to visit her at work so that she could set aside some nicer bras and underwear from the sale rack for me. I was cheap and I was broke, but with her discount, I could afford to buy some of the nicer stuff they carried. It worked out really well for me for quite a long time until, eventually, she quit working there, which left me back to where I started: buying cheaper underwear.

Every couple of months, Victoria’s Secret would run their X for $X underwear sale (I cannot bring myself to say “panties” because it’s a word that simply shouldn’t exist in nature. It offends me, which is weird because almost nothing else does.) and I’d hear about it, go in, blow about a hundred bucks stocking up, and then leave. Underwear shopping isn’t something I relish. Coat shopping, diamond tiara shopping, shoe shopping, clothes shopping, yes. Undergarments…not so much. It doesn’t so much make me feel badly about myself, because my ego knows no bounds, it’s mostly that I get pissed off by spending cash on stuff that only a certain subset of people will see.

Knowing I’m wearing something sassafrassy underneath my clothes has never made me swoon, even though all the beauty magazines tell me I’m supposed to. Mostly, they serve a purpose: to keep me propped up and/or tucked in. They’re great and all, and I’m totally pro-undergarments (GOOO BRAS!), but I’m just never able to get excited about spending forty bucks on a pair of undies. Or eighty on a bra. I guess, as I’ve told everyone, I’m just cheap.

A couple of months before I got pregnant with Alex, it was time to do the pilgrimage to Victoria’s Secret to replace my ratty undies. I should have known better. I really should have walked out and come back another time. But since I hate doing the deed and I wanted it over with, I just dove in with the hoards of people who were frantically digging through the sale bins. I’ve never seen Victoria’s Secret so packed with rabid women elbowing each other out of the way for a pair of boring undies, but there they were and there I was. Just looking for some boring Size Small undies. I wasn’t even being particular about the pattern on them like I normally am because I was so desperate to get out of there.

The estrogen level rose as the women clawed over the ugly undies and soon, I was sweating and ready to punch someone in the taco. Finally, I was done and headed to the cashier with my stash of undies in hand. She warned me that I couldn’t return anything with the tags off and we both laughed, talking about the things people had tried to return, because people are fucking freaks. I took my stash home where it was promptly packed into a box as we prepared to move from our condo to our new house.

That box wouldn’t be touched for many months.

When it was, probably a good four months later, I smiled at my good fortune, because finding a boxful of brand spankin’ new underwear is like finding a twenty-dollar bill in an old pair of pants. It’s a fucking bonus from the Gods that you don’t expect and when you get it you’re all, BEST DAY EVER!

So I ripped the tags off and threw the lot of ‘em in the washing machine. A couple days later, when my ass got around to sorting laundry again, I saw my fresh underoos and did a happy dance all around my bedroom. New undies, FUCK YEAH! I even remembered to close the blinds so that the neighbors didn’t get an eyeful (I was getting used to the whole suburban thing again)! I was on cloud nine! Nothing could ruin my mood!

I stripped down and pulled the new undies on, relishing how the elastic wasn’t all old and tired and the underwear was just all new and shiny looking and I realized that I just kept on….pulling. Right up to my nipples. I looked like Motherfucking ERKEL from this angle.

Oh, FUCK NO, I didn’t! Horrified, I ran to my full length mirror to see if I had been stupid enough to do it, and my reflection didn’t lie. I had.

I’d bought GRANNY PANTIES. Whimsical granny panties with adorable hibiscus flowers splashed here and there! TROPICAL granny panties! They were the nicest granny panties I’d ever seen, but they were still fucking GRANNY PANTIES and there was no way in motherfucking hell that I could wear them. Sure, Granny is a nice person, but you don’t want to FUCK her!

Please, please, please, please, let this have been the one pair I’d bought by accident, I pleaded as I made a mad dash for the clean laundry. I pulled them all out and one by one lined them up. Each and every pair of underwear that I’d just bought, cut the tags off of and then washed, oh yeah. Every fucking one was a pair of granny panties. Oh hell no. I couldn’t wear these. Ever. I may never be the girl who coordinates her lingerie drawer, and I’ve accepted that years ago, but I also cannot be the girl that wears motherfucking GRANNY PANTIES.

Groaning, as I took them off and pulled on a pair of old undies, and prepared to go back to Victoria’s Secret to buy a new stash (this time I would be the one elbowing other bitches out of the way), I did have to note one thing.

Those granny panties were fucking comfortable.

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I BOUGHT “GRANNY PANTIES!”

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Lets Do Arts And Crafts Everyone!

How To Make A Homemade Toy – Watch more Funny Videos

This is an absolutely hysterical video of a guy giving step by step instructions on how to make a homemade sex toy. It is part of a Ranker list of 7 homemade sex toys for men that I just had to share. It takes arts and crafts to a whole other level.

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How To Make A Homemade Sex Toy

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