Testicles for your truck? There’s no dearth of places to buy them. ThatsNutz.com (Dayglo? No problem! Blue balls? …really?)
BumperNuts.com, BullsBalls.com… too bad that Florida legislators keep trying to ban them.
Looks like these guys just can’t compensate hard enough.
If you’re mourning the loss of your bumper crop of junk, you can always add antlers to the roof. We’re not surprised to see fangs for the front bumper and even this incredible mod. But a nutsack? C’mon.
This caught my attention. An article in the Vancouver Sun about a week ago, “Research appears to undo what we thought we knew about sex and stuff”. (Actual headline.)
Apparently hetero women just aren’t hard-wired, cerebrally, to be aroused by the sight of naked men, while we all know that the sight of a nekkid lady makes most men’s eyes sproing out on springs and their hearts pound visibly in their chests. Or maybe I’ve just seen to many Merrie Melodies cartoons.
Anyway, Meredith Chivers, a research fellow at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health at the University of Toronto, found that straight women were no more excited by videos of hunky, naked men doing yoga than by the control footage: slow camera pans of snow-capped Himalayan mountains.
But when the same female group viewed naked women exercising, their blood flow increased sharply. And it was monitored well since Chivers had hooked her subjects up to a photoplethysmograph in a place that makes them extremely tolerant, broadminded, easy-going volunteers.
This adds to a growing body of evidence that female sexuality is more multi-dimensional, and a lot more interesting, than men’s.
Women’s apparent gender tolerance presents an unexpected challenge for straight men, who, predictably, are only turned on by women.
The competition for a woman’s love has doubled. It’s one thing to fight an army of male suitors, quite another to stand against all of humanity. What straight men have long considered an erotic fantasy has become a threat to their manhood. Women think other women are hot; men, not so much. It’s tough to be a guy.
Or to put it another way — guys, remember that when you get out of the shower and strut around, to her you’re just a snow-capped Himalaya.
Dooce is on vacation, and her guest blogger wrote a great comparison of men’s public washrooms to women’s.
…when I was sixteen, the manager of the diner where I bussed tables handed me a mop and told me to clean the women’s restroom. After knocking several times I opened the door to a softly-lit Rococo antechamber filled with fresh flowers and upholstered armchairs and a countertop display of lavender-scented hand lotions and glass spraybottles of eau de toilette. The stalls weren’t littered with excrement or crude drawings of hairy genitals or phone numbers. True, it did smell sort of like someone had farted into a bowl of potpourri, and those metal boxes full of used “sanitary napkins” made me gag, but compared to the men’s room I thought I’d stumbled into a recently-evacuated harem of Kublai Khan’s pleasure dome. […] It’s one of the hardest parts about being a father to a little girl: you have no choice but to drag your precious, uncorrupted little daisy into some of the foulest palaces of filth and putrefaction known to man, while women bring their daughters with them into perfumed Xanadus.
It’s universally true. Even Corner Gas had an episode about switching the signs MEN and WOMEN on the gas station’s washrooms, with the result that the women complained about the suddenly disgusting, filthy, noxious restroom with paper towels strewn on the floor and suspicious puddles near the toilet, while the men complimented Brent on their sweet-smelling, sparkling loo.
Where I work, the main floor has one bathroom with a single toilet and utilitarian sink for both genders. It can get pretty foul, especially when the cleaners don’t do a thorough job on the commode. And some of the men seem to be aim-challenged.
Upstairs, there are separate washrooms. I can’t speak for the men’s, but the women’s loo has two stalls, a sink in a nice wide arborite counter and recessed lighting. No puddles, no garbage on the floor, no stench that the ceiling fan fights in vain, no unspeakable stains on porcelain. It’s enough to make the stair-climb worthwhile several times a day.
Smashing Magazine once again has a roundup of the most gorgeous new products, the most creative design. A Swatch bracelet, a Nokia phone that you can wear on your wrist or clip on your jacket, a rocking chair with built-in light… their list goes on and on.
THIS. Municipal tap water. Twice the cost of gasoline. Yet Americans, for example, buy 70 MILLION bottles of the stuff every single day. Sometimes, marketers are guilty of underestimating the intelligence of their consumers. Sometimes, they’re not.
