 BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS
What do you get if you combine an almost cartoonishly high sex drive with the personality and social skills of a misanthrope? A cruel joke? Most of the modern blogosphere? A problem the Japanese were born to solve?
If you answered "all of the above," you win a prize! Well, you would, but I'm tapped out, so you're fucked. I guess that my undying friendship will have to suffice. One thing, though. I hate you. I know that you'll understand. After all, we're best friends, right?
If the last paragraph says anything about me, I suppose that it's that I make a stellar impression on a first date. Also, a woman's parents are always thrilled to meet me - which has happened exactly once in the last twenty years. Long story short, I'm a loathsome, hateful, bitter little troll of a man.
And that's why I almost always get laid on the first date. Turns out ugliness and misanthropy holds much greater sexual appeal than I had previously expected them to. I think in the last decade, there's been one woman that I didn't sleep with on the first date. It took three dates. And that goes a long way in justifying my hatred of Quebec. I know that sounds like an arrogant statement, but I'm not blowing sunshine up my own ass. I don't understand it, but it just seems to happen that way.
My own theory? The fact that I'm allergic to pants lets a woman know what a beautiful cock I have immediately, and she decides that dinner and drinks won't be necessary after all. Or ugly idiots have been deemed "hot" and I didn't get the memo.
That being the case, I shouldn't hate dating so much. But I do. I find it to be a profoundly uncomfortable experience. Doubly so if the woman in question is aware of this blog. One question I get a lot is if "skippy" is a reflection of the real me. It is. And the look of disappointment on a woman's face when they learn this would be heartbreaking if it wasn't so fucking adorable. Of course, that disapointment is mitigated by the inevitable discovery that my cunnilingual skills are not in any way exaggerated. That seems to be fine. It's the rest of my car accident of a personality that causes problems.
My love life would be a lot less complicated if I was little bit more Ron Jeremy and a little less Hermann Goering. It would also be helpful if I was as good looking as either gentleman. Or had a bigger cock and a more pronounced ability to invade Poland.
 I'm the kind of guy that sex dolls were actually invented for. Or so I thought. In researching this very essay, I learned that sex dolls were actually created by Hitler for the rest and recreation of his murderous Teutonic stormtroopers. Turns out that making Ukraine judenrein gets a growing boy far hornier than I ever would have imagined. Who knew?
The doll was went meant to serve the sexual needs of the German fighting man, who might otherwise go to brothels and contract a sexual transmitted disease – or worse, have sex with non-Aryan women and thus pollute the race.
The story of the sex doll first appeared in a Norwegian newspaper, which said that Hitler himself provided the measurements and design for the doll: "She should be a natural size with a pretty woman's appearance with white skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, 1.76 meters (5 feet, nine inches) high, with large lips and breasts." Now, I've read my share of books about Hitler and not one of them so much as implied that the Fuhrer was so supportive of the needs of his men. The "scorched earth" policy for defending Germany from the final Soviet advance seemed to suggest otherwise.
The best part of the story?
The officer directly responsible for the sex doll project was S.S. commander Heinrich Himmler. You know what else Himmler was "directly responsible" for? The Holocaust. I thought that would have kept him pretty busy. But what do I know? I'm a schmuck and I had no idea what a high priority Operation: Das Fuckdoll had been given.
Like most things sexually deviant, the popularity of sex dolls is highest in Germany's erstwhile Axis ally, Japan. That shouldn't shock anyone, since animie of schoolgirls getting brutally raped is Saturday morning television programming in the Land of the Rising Sun. Perhaps Max Hardcore was born in the wrong country.
 The use of sex dolls in Japan has achieved a level of popularity that could threaten the continuing existence of relationships with women that aren't made of plastic. And, as much as I find it hard to agree with people so almost tangibly wrong as the Japanese, I can't find that many flaws with their argument. Besides, you wouldn't want to argue with such burning examples of sexiness as myself and the guy on the left, now would you? Besides, the girls look pretty happy, so who's getting hurt?
Real love is hard to find for one Japanese man, who has transferred his affection and desires to dozens of plastic sex dolls. When the 45-year-old, who uses a pseudonym of Ta-Bo, returns home, it's not a wife or girlfriend who await him, but a row of dolls lined up neatly on his sofa. Each has a name. Ta-Bo often watches television with his toys before bathing them, powdering them so that their skin feels more human, dressing them in lingerie and then taking them to bed.
"Dozens of plastic sex dolls?" Christ, I don't think that I'm that horny. And anyone with a greater sex drive than mine should be wearing a cape and using their love gunk to subdue evildoers. Let's remember, I'm a guy who hasn't eaten in four days, but has masturbated seven times in the last 10 hours. If you can make me feel inadequate, you deserve your own fucking theme song.
The Reuters article goes into some detail about Ta-Bo's evening with the dolls. What I'd like to focus on is what the dolls aren't doing. They aren't complaining about his choice of television entertainment. They aren't whining about "never going anywhere." They aren't all uppity because you don't get along with their mothers. And, last but not least, the presence of dozens of other dolls competing for Ta-Bo's attention seems to bother them not at all. All of the above are conditions competely foreign to women of the self-lubricating variety.
 So how did Ta-Bo become such an incredible ladies man, anyhow?
"Sometimes it takes too much time before I can have sex with the person I meet. But with these dolls, it's just a matter of a click of the mouse. With one click, they are delivered to you." Waiting too long for sex is a real problem, folks. What constitutes "too much time" varies from gentleman to gentleman, but if you see anything more than, say, six hours as being acceptable, you're probably gay and don't have any of my problems to begin with. I have no idea why you're still reading at this point.
The man, who says he has had sex with five women but prefers the dolls, is one of a gradually increasing, though secretive, group of Japanese men who have given up on women. Not having inserted myself into five and a half feet of latex, I can't say that the experience would be preferable to the real thing. Slipping into a woman's creamy center has a lot to recommend it. Indeed, I couldn't be more of a fan.
My problem lies in a more philosophical realm. You see, women can be very materialistic. There isn't a one of them who doesn't insist that you have certain things. That those things include such trivial things as "a job" and "feelings" is an almost univeral demand among my vaginaed friends. That might sound like a misogynist remark, but I think you broads can be fairly accused of discriminating against unemployed sociopaths everywhere. J'accuse! No Justice, No Peace!And whatnot.
A couple of years ago, I was dating a young lady and we happened to discuss her penchant for collecting sex toys one night. She looked me dead in the eye and said "If the Hitachi Magic Wand could open jars, men would be obsolete overnight." And she wasn't kidding.
Who knows? Maybe Hitler was on to something...
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Just Like a Woman By: Bob Dylan From: Blonde on Blonde
PermalinkLabels: Laughter Joy and Lonliness and sex and sex and sex
|
