The Woman Who Masturbated with an Appetizer
Urban legends are not passed only through mouth to mouth repeatitation nowadays. The rise of the internet communication has allowed urban legends to be passed through the series of tubes that Al Gore brought to our world less than 20 years ago. Thusly, here is a gchat conversation I had with a friend the other day:
Then I moved on to a new conversation. I responded “gross” because that is the most succinct way to describe how I felt after hearing this. This is “gross.” Because women shouldn’t masturbate! Hahahahahaha! This is a very funny joke because female sexuality is a joke!
Seriously though, jerking off with a live animal is no longer jerking off. It is rape of an animal. That woman would have raped a mud shrimp and it serves her right that the preggers shrimp impregnated her back.
The possibility of this being true feels minimal, but in science feelings aren’t minimal, they are an enemy of rationality – so let’s use rationality to attempt to analyze if women can masturbate with sea creatures and then give birth to food in public restrooms. (Man if I were to have sex with her, I would call it making a shrimp cocktail. Nah. I feel like there is a better pun to be made with the words “shrimp cocktail.” How about: She tried to pretend a shrimp was a cock but she ended with quite the tale. Doesn’t quite work. I’m still not happy with my pun abilities. I should be pun-ished for wasting your time.)
I was talking about this urban legend, wasn’t I? I looked up this urban legend and found the original email that started this urban legend. It’s …. um… gross. It is also not quite the legend that was gchatted to me by a friend attempting to help me think of ideas for my article. In this version a Mainiac (the hilarious name that we Mainers call ourselves) watched some lesbian porn while torturing a lobster with a lighter causing to flap wildly in her vagina. While this animal who feels no pain was being tortured it let out a nasty shit of mudshrimp eggs – which were still alive after flowing through the lobster’s colon – and then the eggs hatched in their new home of a human vagina (oh so similar to the sea water that they are used to).
The holes in this story are numerous and humorous. The most disgusting hole is between little miss masturbates with dinner’s legs. This didn’t happen is my conclusion. I feel no need to research this any more. That’s not true. I feel no desire to do any more research because every time I find some new article, I feel like vomiting and vowing to never eat seafood or pussy again.
That would be depressing because then I would have too much of a guilt complex to ever receive oral sex – y’know if I weren’t willing to give oral sex. Not that I really love getting head, but cutting off possibilities of pleasure seems like a waste at this point in my life. In all honesty, I’m just as depressed about the fact that I can’t go down on a girl ever again without imagining a crustacean creating a menage a trois of North Atlantic proportions.
I just grabbed a fly that was buzzing around my head. I grabbed him in mid air. He buzzed. I had him in my hand. I freaked out, screamed like a cartoon girl, and fell off my chair. The fly buzzed off. He had been flapping his little bug wings against my skin. I began imagining how much worse if those wings were hard shells and my hand was actually my vagina.
The point is that I will never get this image out of my head, and I hate whoever came up with this idea because in this age of internet we not only are easily distracted but also easily distracted. That’s not a typo – it’s profound. Others can, from the safety of their lonely typing machine in their cold, dark room of their cold, dark life, send out images that ruin other’s lives without having to face the consequences of seeing their work’s affect on others. I miss the days of talking. I miss the days when if you were going to try to convince people that masturbation with mud shrimp resulted in a toilet full of flapping creatures and a dead woman with green slime and sea creatures in her vaj, you wold also have to see your audience turn from your friend to a person that never asked you for advice on how to deal with their girlfriend’s sexual fantasy that they weren’t quite comfortable with. We have no personal responsibility anymore, instead we send out emails with stories meant to hack into people’s imagination and hijack it with disgusting images.
I’m gonna need a distraction – I think I’ll look things up on the internet.
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