I used to
be a door-to-door salesman, I sold sneaker insurance but no one was buying, I also
sold vacuum cleaners that both sucked and blew but that wasn't paying the
bills, so I had to get with the digital times and try something new.
I decided
to become a blog-to-blog salesman, visiting blogs from around the web and
trying to unload my goods and/or services with the hopes of turning a profit,
and not getting any virtual doors slammed in my face in the process.
So now I
have a mission, but I still need to figure out something to sell.
What do
people need to that I could offer them, what could I bring to the masses that
everyone could use and at the same time would enjoy using?
I got it…I
would sell sex toys!
I would
sell used toys for the people out there who were cheap and nasty, you know the
individuals who are always looking to save a buck and who are not too concerned
about getting an STD in the process.
I would
even sell some higher end merchandise like sybians, you know for those who like
a little extra horsepower with their masturbation.
I would
offer a wide assortment of butt plugs, plugs with colorful hair attached so
that people could fulfill their fantasies of being a real My Little Pony, plugs
that were also whistles so that if the plugie had to pass gas while wearing it
the sound would be a little more pleasant.
I would
sell dildos in all shapes, sizes and colors, some so large that they could substitute
as a baseball bat for Paul Bunyan, and some so tiny they could be used by Charolette
while she’s getting down and dirty on her web.
I would
also sell blowup dolls that came with their own “in case of emergency” kits,
which included a can of Fix-a-flat and a roll of duct tape; we can’t let the
good times stop just because someone sprung a leak.
So it goes
without saying that I would try to have a little something for everybody, gay
or straight, man or woman, none of that matters as long as your credit card isn’t
declined, it’s all good.
Now here
are some of my success, and horror, stories for your reading pleasure.
Here is Starr’s (from The Insomniac's Dream) recollection of that fateful day:
When MJM came knocking on the
virtual door of my blog, I was beside myself.
“MJM has finally come to pick me up,
whisk me off to a Comic-Con and then spend all night playing Marvel Legendary
with me!” I foolishly thought.
No, the bastard only came by to try
and sell me something. I hate salesmen,
and I especially hate anyone who knocks on my door and interrupts my day.
“I don’t want any,” I started to
push the door closed, but MJM stopped it from shutting with his laughably large
clown foot.
“Starr,” he said, very seriously
with intense and creepy eye contact, “You’re going to want to see what I
have.” He even wiggled his
eyebrows. What a fucking creeper.
With a sigh of resignation I stepped
aside and motioned MJM into my foyer.
Moments later we were seated on the love seat, steaming mugs of coffee
in hand (because I’m a fantastic hostess), and a large briefcase between
us. He assured me that, if I liked what
I saw, there was more down in the car.
MJM opened the briefcase with a
flourish and much fanfare, and the lights of Heaven shone out of that attaché,
a crescendo of music fit for angels played, and my eyes opened wide in wonderment. I shuddered as the chills crept over me.
“Just what I need,” I gasped. “How did you know?”
MJM
just winked at me, and pointed to the brochure sticking out of the case,
crammed in amidst all of the wonderful sex toys. All sizes and shapes, in every color of the
rainbow, those plastic and rubber phallic symbols beckoned me to play.
I had to be patient. I needed to see what else he had for sale, I
needed to leaf through the brochure.
After I had ordered one of
everything, I couldn’t wait to get started playing with my new toys. I was so excited, I could barely contain
myself. I was actually rubbing my hands
together in anticipation, drooling with excitement of things to come. (pun intended)
As I walked with MJM to the front
door to retrieve my brand new Sybian from his car, I realized my folly. What was I doing spending all of this money
on inanimate objects for my afternoon of delight when I had a perfectly – well,
mostly just okay – viral (somewhat) man in my presence? MJ was the nerd I’d always lusted after, and
here he was, in my house, and I was about to send him away for some alone time
with buzzing replicas of the real thing.
“Wait,” I said.
MJM turned to look at me, and I
smiled.
“You wanna see my Harley Quinn
costume?” I asked. “I have a Joker
costume you can wear,” I enticed.
MJM jumped on me, knocking me to the
floor, and had his lips fused to mine faster than a fat kid attacks a
cake.
Eventually, we did make it back
upstairs to play Joker and Harley, many, many wonderful and memorial (mostly
just okay) hours (full disclosure, it was really just a few minutes)
later. In case you’re wondering, dear
reader, we made use of those toys, too.
Here is Terrye’s (from Asshat Rants) recollection of that fateful day:
It was another hotter than hell day
in the city that was built on the face of the sun, also known as Phoenix. The
kid and the dog were both down with the screaming shits and I thought my day
couldn’t get any worse. But as usual, it did. My cell phone began to ring and
without checking the number I answered it. I should have known better; it was
my mother-in-law. This is never, ever a good thing.
“Hello?” I answered, distracted by
the fully loaded pull up I was holding at arm’s length as I carried it to the
trash can.
“Hi, Terrye, it’s Kathy. I wanted to
remind you guys that Meagan’s birthday is next week and she’s turning 30. We
want to make it a big deal.”
My mother-in-law makes no effort to
hide her favoritism. She never sends birthday presents or Christmas presents to
me, my husband or our son. Yet, she insists that we shell out money for
presents for people that never acknowledge our existence. Or recognize the
gifts we send. If you can’t buy friends, you certainly can’t buy relatives.
“Nope, I haven’t forgotten. I found
the perfect present for her and it’s going out in the mail tomorrow. No
worries,” I lied my ass off, as usual.
“Oh good. I wish you all could be
here for the big party. We rented a hall and got a local band, and…”
“I wish we could, too,” I cut her
off, “but I have to go. Collin has the smelliest case of the shits I have EVER
come across. It’s running down his legs and I need to get him into the shower
before he gets it all over the place.”
“Ok. Don’t forget to send out
Meagan’s present.” She may have said more, but I hit the “END” button on my
phone and chucked it onto the sofa before turning to my attention to my son’s
predicament. Yep, my day got a whole lot worse.
I finally managed to stem the tide
of the unholy shit storm and decided to celebrate by jumping on the interwebs
and checking my social networks. Quietly demanding my attention was an email
with the subject line “Sex toys for your every need.” As I was about it send it
to a spammy death, a little voice in the back of my brain begged me,
perversely, to click on it. Who am I to say no to that?
This was the answer to my birthday
present dilemma! A used butt plug with a happy “My Little Pony” rainbow tale!
And they even gift wrapped for a small fee. Perfect. I was hoping that it came
with a plethora of STDs as a bonus gift. I merrily placed my order and with a
devious smile, hit the purchase and ship button. As an added special little
touch, the enclosed birthday greeting read, “Our dearest Meagan, I hope the
enclosed gift reminds you of all those sexual adventures you had in your teen
years when your career as a porn star was beginning to take off. Happiest of
birthdays! Love, Us!”
The perfect gift for an uptight,
Mormon woman. MJM saved my day.
Here is Mandi’s (from Cellulite Looks Better Tan) recollection of that fateful day:
Today was anything but typical. I
woke up early, and per my usual, reached over to pat Morty only to realize,
like the last 124 mornings, that he’s not here and that he’s never coming back.
I pressed my nose to his pillow and inhaled, searching for his unique musky
scent. My mind may play tricks on me, but I swear I can still smell him in this
house. I wiped my eyes and reached over to the nightstand, pulled out a
Virginia Slim, pressed it to my lips and watched as the flame hit the end and
the cherry burned orange. The only saving grace of Morty’s passing is that I can
smoke again without his smug looks or pretend coughs. I took a long drag
staring at the empty room, and tried to talk myself into getting out of bed.
After two more cigs, I pushed myself from my bed and threw on my robe.
I walked into my kitchen, poured a double
gin martini, sat down at my bar, and flipped open my laptop. Imagine my
surprise when I typed in my URL imissmymorty.com and saw the orange light on my
blog indicating someone had commented on one of my posts. My first comment!! I
went straight to the comments and gasped when I read the first sentence.
Are you lonely?
I swallowed a big swig of gin and
read on, nodding my head to the question. 124 days of solitude aside from the
niceties of the people at the market and the liquor store. Yes, I’m lonely.
Married for 29 years and then all of a sudden, my Morty gasps in the middle of
our love making and dies on top of me. He suffered from a massive heart attack,
and I only have myself to blame, myself and my raucous untamed libido. I
continued to read.
When was the last time you had good
sex?
I wondered why he was commenting
these things on my blog dedicated to Morty’s memory, but my curiosity got the
best of me, so I continued reading through the comment.
Would you like to have earth
shattering orgasms again? Ask me how…
At first I was flabbergasted at the
audacity of this person shaming me on my blog, asking me too personal
questions. I slammed my lap top shut, chugged the rest of the martini, and
stormed out of the room. I sat down on my sofa and turned on Guiding Light. In
the opening scene, Jemma watched Maximus finish up his piano solo. When the
crowd cleared, she sauntered to him, unbuttoning her blouse as she walked. As
she reached him, he grabbed her tiny waist and pulled her onto the piano. He ripped
her blouse away, revealing her ample breasts barely covered by a lacey bra and
rubbed his chin over her collarbone. I began rubbing my legs together,
squirming uncomfortably on my couch, realizing it had been quite a while since
I had in fact had an orgasm. Grief and loneliness had enveloped me since
Morty’s passing so much so that orgasms seemed selfish and frankly like too
much work.
I ran back to my lap top, logged
onto my blog and replied to the commenter.
Yes, I’m lonely. The last time I had
good sex was 124 days ago. I would very much love to have an earth shattering
orgasm right now, maybe even two. How?
Please, for the love of God tell me how…
I sat for a minute staring at my
screen. Then the orange light lit up again.
All you need is a credit card and a
delivery address. I sell sex toys. Anything you like. Would you like to view my
online catalog?
I thought for approximately
twenty-two seconds.
Nope, I don’t need to see anything.
I’ll take three of the best vibrators you have. And throw in something to
surprise me. Something the other ladies love. Can I get it overnight?
Another couple of seconds later.
You bet.
I smiled at my lap top with visions
of Maximus’ chest pressed against mine in my head.
I’ll Paypal you. Thank you.
I lit another cigarette, poured
myself another martini thinking, tomorrow I will start with day one again. Then I went into my bedroom, stripped my bed,
and washed my sheets.
Now that you've read what these three lovely ladies had to say in regard to their experience with me and my sex toys, make sure you go check out their sites and send them some love, they totally deserve it.
