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.

The post The Woman Who Masturbated with an Appetizer appeared first on The Faster Times.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JegKCAO6N7I&feature=player_embedded

and doesn’t have any black friends because he’s scared that he might offend them,

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13WIJ6mXvI8&feature=player_embedded#!

also has been rumored to own and play a katzenklavier.

A katzenklavier is a musical instrument theoretically invented by psychologist Johann Christian Reil to capture the focus of patients who were unable to focus. It was an organ without any strings but rather a line of cats that are hit with hammers when notes are played. The cats are to be placed in order so that their screams sound like the notes they are supposed to represent. It’s an awful invention that supposedly never came to fruition, but new evidence has come to light revealing that the darling child of the fairest and balencest news station has created one to focus himself better.

As with all of my forays into urban legends, I will look for motivation. I understand that G.Beck is in need of more focus lately as he attempts to be the impossible mix of Ronald Reagan, Martin Luther King Jr, Thomas Jefferson, and Ayn Rand. I say impossible not because it seems like a lot of work, but rather because the philosophies of these people are so diametrically opposed that combining them would result in gibberish on PCP. He sees this as possible, so I understand his necessity to focus. He is rallying his teabaggers, he is comparing himself to MLK Jr., he is hosting a radio and TV show. This man does a lot. A LOT. I get it. He needs to focus.

Now I will look to see if he would have a problem with harming kittens for his own pleasure. Though there is no evidence that he hates felines, he does enjoying making light of kittens in harm.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YS7nkNChnNI

You may say that in this clip he was simply poking fun at the balloon boy fiasco, but if he was, why wasn’t he funny? Why didn’t he satirize it in a way that was at least vaguely interesting? I don’t buy it. If I were to cheaply make fun of something that everybody had already made fun of, I would make it worthwhile to listen to, but he did not. I think he just hates cats.

So, does Glenn Beck torture kittens in a musical instrument in order to focus himself better? As with most urban legends, there is no definite answer, but I hesitate to say “no.” Instead I propose that we ask Glenn Beck to defend himself. I can be contacted at this blog, and if Beckaroosie has any defense against these claims, I’d like to hear them. If what I’m saying is not true, please correct me, but as of now, I am saying that this urban legend stays open for debate.

We must continue to question our media leaders, and if I’m such a criminal for asking questions, then I want to be in jail with all the other people willing to demand answers from society.

Also, how’s this for evidence:

Glenn Beck played off by Keyboard Cat

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yp6U_5qEE0Y

The post Does Glenn Beck Really Murder Kittens? appeared first on The Faster Times.

There is a legend that all Koalas are simply high all the time because the Eucalyptus they eat as their only form of nutrients is a hallucinogen. Though koalas rarely live in urban areas, we will consider this an urban legend.

There are two ways to investigate: either eat and act like a koala and see if I feel high, or get high and see if I feel like a koala. One of these methods is a way to accurately test the urban legend’s validity and the other is just an excuse to get high and question my humanity. Though the second sounds more fun, this is for science, so I decided to eat Eucalyptus.

As with any scientific study, though I needed a control, a baseline of how high I seem/look/feel without going on the Koala diet. I did seven years of research by looking at my photo IDs from when I was 15, 16, 18, 21 and 22 to see how stoned I looked. I learned the following:

1. I went from looking like I was 6 years younger than I was to overcompensating when I discovered my ability to grow facial hair in a way that consistently destroyed my face.

2. I am more willing to show my teeth over time.

3. I should try a new haircut. Going from bowl cut to grownup bowl cut isn’t actually a change in style.

4. I look like I’m high all the time.

This constant need to self analyze and paranoia that I’m looking too high also seems to imply something about my state of being.

My first attempt at research resulted in watching four hours of videos of koalas on youtube, but then I started to compare the actions of these koalas with the symptoms of stoners.

1. Loss of short term memory.

2. Munchies.

3. Warped understanding of time.

4. A Lack energy, being tired.

5. What was I talking about?

None of this was tangible evidence so I bought some eucalyptus to eat before watching Step Up 3D. I figured if I did get high, I wanted to enjoy it with splashing puddles and break-dancers that pop and lock the fine line of reality. I drank four cups of eucalyptus tea and chewed on the leaves. Nothing happened. That’s a lie. I had to pee a lot, but that is not a sign of getting high.

Look, I don’t know if Koalas are high all the time, and after doing this research I tend to think that I might just be high all the time. Maybe being high is just a social construct. Maybe being high is relative. Maybe being high has to be compared to your normal state of being and it’s impossible to be high all the time because you have to compare it to being sober. Maybe I sound like I’m high right now.

I think we can all agree on one thing. Twelve year olds should not be allowed to put videos on the internet.

The post Are Koalas the Animal Kingdom’s Biggest Stoners? appeared first on The Faster Times.

It’s such a popular urban legend that Brick from Anchorman has heard it: Menstrual blood attracts bears. Obviously this isn’t true. I was planning on writing naively about how this might be true and then spending the article talking about my adventures where I asked women to lend me their period blood so that I could use the scientific method appropriately, but then I started doing research into the formation of this myth. People have studied the shit out of this subject. I would be far from the first to walk around with bloody tampons calling “Beary, beary, beary come out to play!”

A more interesting question to study is why this urban legend exists. Menstrual blood has been the source of anger in our patriarchal society since the bible. Whether we’re stoning women for their necessity to bleed, or claiming that their blood is attracting bears, we’re always trying to come up with reasons that we can be scared of menstrual blood. A quick facebook poll revealed that all my friends are cool with the mix of blood and sex, but I remember early in college most of my male friends and a good portion of my female friends were anti blood-to-penis contact. And those people were probably down with anal. And poop is so much grosser than blood.

The obvious answer as to why we’ve decided a monthly cycle is so gross is that we live in a society that is run by men and when the people in power don’t understand something they choose to be fearful of it. This sounds good as an explanation, but I decided to do some research as to why men are so scared of the little pre-fetuses that scamper their way out of a woman once a month. Men are frightened of that shit. I don’t get it. I am much more scared of buying condoms than tampons because condoms give the illusion that I am succeeding in life and I don’t like to lie. Buying tampons just means that the dude behind the register might think I have a creepy fetish… or a vagina – I’m cooler with either of those options.

Bears.

Right. So this is an article about the urban legend that bears are always on the prowl for periods. I think it’s because bears like to be at the ends of sentences. Like: “He was eaten by bears.” or “I don’t want to go on a picnic with bears.” or “I’m going to dangle this used tampon in front of these bears.” Long involved puns aside, why bears?

Many believe the myth started in 1967 when two women were separately attacked by a grizzly and both were menstruating, but that isn’t enough evidence to start a whole cultural phenomenon of getting laughs and pretending you are enlightened by fake-claiming to believe the absurdity of sexist propaganda. Let’s look at what bears are. They are manly creatures. They are hairy, they yell, they eat raw meat that they grab with their hands, they live in the woods. They are the manliest creature in the world. That is the first assumption that you have to grant me.

The second is this: all men are frightened to admit that they are turned on by menstrual blood. Really we are excited by this mysterious process, but we hide that excitement by feigning disgust. We still need an outlet to voice our desire to hunt via the smell of bloody vaginae, so we outsource our desires to the creature of the woods we would most like to identify with.

I really need to write something that doesn’t have to do with genitalia.

The post Do Bears Love Your Menstrual Blood? appeared first on The Faster Times.

Supposedly there was a group of friends in Arkansas who were invited to that party. The four teenagers were comprised of two couples and shared one car. The car was home to both their adventures on the road and their adventures in the proverbial bedroom. Just as the four people were really two couples who shared one car, they thought it wise to share one condom. Somewhere in some underfunded sex education class striving to straddle the line between teaching abstinence only and actually teaching, they had heard vague whispers about how they shouldn’t reuse condoms. But rules were like condoms and they were meant to be broken. They figured that if you turned the condom inside out between sessions then you were safe from diseases. This makes sense because… I don’t have any idea how that makes sense.

The story continues on to court where Female B is suing Male A in a paternity suit because her child has his genetic material despite being the result of Male B’s humping. Confused? They were.

I wanted to test this out first hand, but I had no car, friends, or people willing to have sex with me. Plus I didn’t really want to ruin my life for this article. So I turned to Google.  “Strange Paternity Cases” provided insight only into our obsession with the abandoned children of Keanu Reeves. “Paternity Prophylactic Lawsuit” led me to some interesting condom soup recipes. It wasn’t until I dumbed down my search to “Inside Out Condom Case” that I found that this Urban Legend is no legend at all. The great condom exchange took place in Kansas not Arkansas, but after this discovery can’t we all claim Kansas as OurKansas? Halfassed puns aside, this article elucidates some interesting points about the court’s views about sperm. Sperm is consistently thought of as property of the male dispensing it and he must be careful where or how he spreads his seed – in other words: Clean Up.

My childhood obsession with Mr. Rogers forces me to attempt to pull a moral out of this story. I’ve decided that it is that I should be grateful for my inability to have teenage sex because telling stories about the sex that others are having is better than having to fight over a child with my best friend, only now realizing that I can’t share everything with him – specifically condoms.

The post The Legend of the Misused Condom appeared first on The Faster Times.

I’ve heard that there are those who are worse off, though my victimization complex makes it hard to believe these rumors. In particular, I’ve heard that there are girls named Vagina, Chlamydia — and the like. I’ve never met these girls and since I’m always searching for someone worse off than me in my attempts to make myself feel better about my repeated decision to live, I set out to find them. The names I was looking for were not the names that accidentally say something funny, gross, or weird. I wanted to find the victims of the purposeful decision to name people after reproductive organs or diseases – the urban legend states that there are mothers who consciously scribe the word “Vagina” or “Chlamydia” on a birth certificate. So, while hilarious, “Dong Wang,” the name of a college friend, couldn’t count. Her parents didn’t know the ramifications of their actions, as they were simply picking two common names that happened to mean something else in the slang of a different language.

My first attempt to discover the victims of torture through nomenclature at the hands of those who birthed them had me pantsless on the Internet. (Pantsless is simply my usual state of being when on the Internet). What a useless resource. I’ve always been a big supporter of the changing of medium, but outside of The Faster Times the Internet is just a landfill of lies. I needed personal evidence to support the theory that there are girls named after genitalia and diseases that occur on genitalia, and I couldn’t rely on the imagination of bored Wikipedia editors.

The Internet did give me an account of a Swedish couple, who had the opportunity to elfisize their child’s name like my parents did, but instead chose to name their kid Brfxxccxxmnpcccclllmmnprxvclmnckssqlbb11116. This may be torturous when the kid fills out paperwork, but not so much when he reveals his name during sex education class. Another person was named Dick Assman, but his real name is probably Richard, and counting that as the findings of my search is like counting Boca burgers as veal. Recently there were two parents in New Zealand who named their child 4real Superman, but that’s not embarrassing, that’s awesome. There are second and third hand accounts of Vaginas and Chlamydias all over the Internet, but in order to catch this urban legend with its pants down. I had to catch it first hand, just like Chlamydia. I had to search for the roots of this urban legend.

The roots are Atlantic Center.

Atlantic Center is the biggest shopping mall within walking distance of my apartment. So, Atlantic Center is where I sat with a sign that said “I Will Show You My Legs if You Have a Weirder Name Than Me.” The word “Legs” was soon changed to the word “Breasts” and that soon turned into “Rash” and that soon turned into “Parent’s Wedding Video Uncensored” and that soon turned into “Juggling Skills” when I realized I could not produce my parent’s wedding video out of thin air, and in fact the closest thing I had to a magic trick was juggling my keys, wallet, and cell phone.

The first spot I perched my body and sign only resulted in me learning one thing: mall security takes “no solicitation” seriously. Though I did not solicit money, opting instead to solicit first names, I was moved from three spots before I found a safe, quiet corner that was in the subway station as much as it was in the mall. This is where I would demand that people pay attention to me. Kiminkia at Verizon gave me a piece of scotch tape and I thought this must be a good omen for the coming barrage of interesting names I was about to hear.

Omens are stupid.

These “weird” names were to be judged by three categories: spelling, pronunciation, and meaning. Meaning was weighted double. Nobody beat me, let alone was named after reproductive organs. Though a few people did come to me with name-challenges, the information I found most prevalent had to do with how uncomfortable people get when they’ve spent too much energy reading a sentence long sign and now realize that the bearded kid in shorts next to the sign is attempting to make eye-contact. Most of the people who felt comfortable talking to me had some story of a friend’s uncle’s ex-teacher whose student had a friend who was named Vagina, but this just proves the urban legendiness of the whole thing.

The name highlights included a guy whose parents named him Jaydee with the knowledge that his last name started with a “D,” therefore making the pronunciation of both his initials and his name “JD.” Sure this is interesting, but Chlamydia is more interesting. I met a girl named Laura Laura. That doesn’t prove cruel and unusual naming, just a lack of originality or possibly a penchant for redundancy.

Athevan (pronounced At The Van) came with a group of teenage boys who were all nervous. It’s amazing how scared a group of high school boys becomes when you are passively threatening them with your parent’s wedding video. He didn’t know what his name meant, therefore did not get to see my rash which I had left as an option once I realized my parents wedding video was not on hand, but I’m pretty sure his parents named him after the place he was conceived. I hope his kids are named “Rockin” and “Knockin.”

The only person who came close to defeating me in name strangeness was a man with the name “Five.” He was carrying a large bag with all of his belongings when he snuck up on me and whispered that his name was Five. He was uncomfortably close to me, and hesitated far too much when asked if this was his given name, so I am under the assumption that this man was homeless. I juggled for him anyway because even crazy people deserve entertainment. I also gave him a high five because that seemed appropriate.

During my last hour I changed my sign to “I will give you $10 if your name is Vagina or Chlamydia” because I realized we don’t live in a barter society and if you want something you are going to have to pay. My wallet stayed as fat as it began.

In 8th grade I went to soccer camp and roomed with someone who confessed that he wanted to name his child “Streptococcus” because he thought that the sounds that your mouth was forced to make to say that word were beautiful. He lives in a teepee now so I think he’s far from having children, but I hope he does soon so that there can be kids named after bacteria if not diseases. As of now, though, this urban legend is simply that – I could not find a single first hand account of anyone named after something you have sex with or the something that occurs because of sex.

The post Are There Really Girls Named Vagina? appeared first on The Faster Times.