One of them--the ringleader, who, in build, bowl-cut, and body hair, resembled no one so much as a pubescent Eddie Haskell--stayed behind in order to address my friend Nate. Now Nate himself bears a certain striking resemblance to Hannah Montana, and thus his attractive androgyny makes him an excellent sexual Goldilocks for those attendants of all girls schools who are situationally bisexual. The fetchingly debauched and denuded debutante stood before Nate, coyly attempting to convince him to sleep with her by describing all manner of sexual misadventures which she enjoyed. Handcuffs? Check. Clothespins? At the ready. But according to this woman of Smith, her talent, her gift--her sexual vocation--was anal play. She held up her wrist, around which, gleaming like chaos emeralds in the moonlight, was wrapped a wristband of ben-wa beads.
It was then that she looked up at Nate--who, by the way, is only slightly shorter than a kneeling gnome--batted her lustful lashes, and asked, with all the coy come-hithering she could muster, "have you ever seen a gaping anus?"
Before any of us could respond, she bent over and proceeded to elaborately manipulate herself in a manner that would make the Goatse man swell with pride and nausea. In the dark of that wet wood, I cannot promise that a mosquito or two did not fly inside and become trapped like spelunkers within her sphincter. And in that moment, staring into such a vast and interminable abyss, I knew what Nietzsche was talking about.
And so it is with unique expertise borne of experience that I call bullshit on Mr. Lowry when he alleges that the public park is neither "built nor maintained" for spontaneous sexual activity within sculpted shrubbery. If there is one thing the Internet has taught me, is that neither the intended form nor function of anything anywhere means anything at all, because somewhere, someone is using it for sex. That includes this article. And I'm strangely ok with that.
Article: Prostitutes sew lips together in Bolivia protest (Yahoo! News)
Prostitutes in the Bolivian city of El Alto sewed their lips together on Wednesday as part of a hunger strike to demand that the mayor reopen brothels and bars ordered closed after violent protests by residents last week.
"We are fighting for the right to work and for our families' survival," Lily Cortez, leader of the El Alto Association of Nighttime Workers, told local television.
"Tomorrow we will bury ourselves alive if we are not immediately heard. The mayor will have his conscience to answer to if there are any grave consequences, such as the death of my comrades," she said, surrounded by about 10 prostitutes who had sewn their lips together with thread.
I would like to extend hearty congratulations to the Madame Cortez, for she is a genius. I do not mean to imply that most prostitutes are stupid. Indeed, they often impress with their innate ability to calculate complex geometric angles of entry during instances of multiple penetration. But never before has a whore completely changed the tenor of the labor movement.
Some freedom fighters storm corporate strongholds. Others sit politely in saffron frocks while members of military juntas brain them with bamboo.
Cortez, on the other hand, realizes in this day and age, when a satirist can run for President and still not be the craziest person on the ballot, when magic Mormon underwear may one day flutter beside the stars and stripes and a mayor who could not keep his own city from being attacked expects to keep an entire country unharmed, an absurdist tack is the appropriate one to take with her followers.
Thus, in order to speak out against injustice, they sew their lips shut, and in order to enhance their visibility, they will bury themselves alive. For their next act, they will take a great feminist stand and kill all the women on the planet to elicit contrition from our calloused manly palms.
I do not plan to ever go into politics, but if, by unfortunate accident, it happens, I ask only this of whatever god there may be: that my enemies, in their actions against me, first silence and then dispose of themselves. It would make things so much easier if the pesky opposition did away with themselves.
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
Can't tell a drinking fountain from a urinal? We've got you covered. Brush up on your drinking fountain enthusiast -- or sipper -- vocabulary and learn to talk and swap sips with the best of them.
News You Needn't Know provides coverage and commentary on some of the strangest stories the Internet has to offer. After the advent of cable news, it might appear as if everything that occurs is awarded an audience with Larry King and a book deal to boot. There are, however, stories which still slip into--or fail to arise from--obscurity. So, like a chimp combing crumbs from his mate's hirsute backside, in this feature we scrabble through the dregs of the Internet news machine to find the silliest, strangest, or hairiest articles out there and dissemble them to their comedic core.