The world's first illustration.It is the year 200,000 BC and you're a member of a primitive tribe of early humanity. You don't have a written language, you don't have fire, you only live about twenty years, and you hardly even have pants. Despite these minor inconveniences one fine morning you and your best buddy Ugh are sitting around pointing at the females of the tribe and occasionally picking parasitic insects out of each other's hair. Neither of you is the brightest stick in the fagot, but you get by. Then the wisest member of the tribe, a wild eyed elder who is named Ugh, runs up very excited and makes the excited gesture towards a patch of dirt. The whole tribe quickly gathers around Ugh the wise and his patch of dirt and looks down at the specific area where he is frantically gesturing. There is silence for a few minutes and then a wave of recognition surges through the gathering followed by grunts of amazement and awe. Ugh the wise has somehow carved a near-perfect image of tribal chieftain Ugh into the dirt. He awkwardly explains that he took his inspiration from the clouds and used only a simple tree branch to push upon the dirt and create the remarkable likeness.
Once the novelty of the image wears off you and your friend Ugh head back to the cave and do some more grunting at the ladies. After a few hours you see the sleaziest member of the tribe, a real jerk named Ugh, coming over to you. Without language he somehow manages to convey the concept of bartering him food in exchange for the right to see something. You and Ugh agree and each of you gives Ugh the sleazy a banana. He then leads you over to a patch of dirt where he has created an image similar to that made by Ugh the wise. It's not as well done but both you and your friend Ugh feel compelled to masturbate furiously as you view the world's first pornographic image of tribal chieftain Ugh engaging in baby planting with the most beautiful female in the tribe, also named Ugh. The next day your tribe is wiped out by a meteor impact, but the amazing thing about pornography is that it spontaneously generates itself wherever a medium exists on which it can grow.
The world's second illustration.About five hundred thousand years later very little has changed. Technology is still advancing day by day and pornography is still subverting every single useful piece of technology available and repurposing it to coerce people into masturbating. It's a happy cycle and what once were crude sketches of chief Ugh getting busy are now interactive multi-angle DVDs or streaming live web cams.
Since I'm the resident reviewer of the perverse here at Something Awful it fell naturally to me to offer an exciting peek at the future of pornography. But, giving you the scoop on the latest in debauchery isn't just a part of my job description, it's a true passion of mine. Some average Joe Porno would just go to some consumer electronics show or something and come back with a story about floating dildos or electric hats or something. I'm way beyond that, I went right to the source, which would be the ancient Russian witch-hag Baba Yaga that I keep chained in my attic. It's fucking hard to imprison a magical walking hut, let me tell you, but because I care so much about our readers here I went ahead and did it.
I went to Baba Yaga and I told her to scry the future of the porno industry just for you. I didn't want next years hottest vibrating clit cruncher, I wanted an expansive view of the next 30 or 40 years of porno development. After I answered a bunch of riddles and did something with a goat I won't repeat here Baba Yaga agreed to perform a scrying. The room swirled before me, I saw dancing lights as wild as any seen on a Mr. Toad sponsored ride, and then the shape of things to come was laid bare for me as surely as if time were a red Hulkamania tank top standing in the way of a pair of 24-inch pythons. While Hulkamania was busy running wild on me I was taking careful notes to share with you, and share I shall!
The Japanese briefly achieve total perversion domination in 2008. In 2008…
The Japanese, with their proud tradition of perversion and technology, will at last reach the pinnacle of both. By 2008 they will be so obsessed with underage erotic anime and role-playing games that the only way most men in Japan can achieve orgasm is by watching fetus porn. The fetus porn will become so popular that doctors will join forces with a handful of enterprising fetuses to bring the world its first fetus cosplay. Nimble-fingered surgeons will insert anime-like masks and costumes into the wombs of pregnant women and then the men will pay to have sex with the gussied up biscuits while they're still in the oven. Several days after this first appears on the scene in Tokyo the oceans will rise up and swallow Japan just as a giant burning comet strikes the island. Astronomers think it's just a cosmic coincidence, but I know otherwise.
A resurgence in space exploration in 2010 will lead to a hot new trend for pornography in the United States; astronaut nipple slip photos. Hundreds of fakes will circulate the Supernet (sort of like the Internet, but in the future) but a few real ones will also exist, lending authenticity to the fakes. During a mission in 2011 a nipple slip will occur on live national television when astronaut Jenna McKinny is conducting a spacewalk to repair the Supershuttle's oxygen filtration system. In the brief moments before her explosive decompression thousands of men across America will manage to pull one off inside their stained Supersweatpants.
In 2017…You commie robo slut, come on down to the Hanoi love Hilton. In 2019…
A new invention that allows humans to telepathically communicate with animals leads to the realization that almost all animals find humans incredibly attractive. This, in turn, leads to a groundswell of now-legal bestiality porn with creepy overdubbing intended to represent the animal's thoughts. This whole trend ends in tragedy when it becomes apparent that the device was incorrectly calibrated and people were actually hearing the opposite of what animals were thinking. It turns out only black bears and a few species of cuttlefish actually want to have sex with people.
Artificial Intelligence is fused with the burgeoning new field of robotronics to create the first erotic lovedroids. The initial series to be created will prove prone to murdering people and attempting to produce more of themselves in an effort to dominate the world. Luckily they only manage to dominate Texas before they are contained within a wall made out of nuclear explosions.
So many fetishes will exist that people will become increasingly specific with their fetishism to the point that they have a ridiculously long list of certain conditions that need to be met before they can become sexually aroused. The best example of this are the "Classic Techno Backing Heap of Mustard Powder on Graph Paper Arranged in a Swastika" fetishists and their various sub-groupings like "Classic Terrorcore Tech Step Backing Heap of French Imported Mustard Powder on Hand Made Parchment Graph Paper Arranged in a Fuhrer Standard Swastika". The specificity of fetishes reaches a evolutionarily fatal apex when a number of people realize they can only become aroused when Halley's Comet passes closest to the earth and there is simultaneously a total solar eclipse. None of these people ever reproduce.
The aliens invade our world. It's really no big deal. They use our bodies to incubate thousands of their larval young that then chew their way out through our skulls, but by 2035 we've defeated them and driven them from earth.
Advances in cloning technology and loosening restrictions on human cloning research lead to the creation of the Clone-In-A-Bag from Dupont. Just add a drop of blood, saliva, or almost any bodily fluid to a bag, shake for thirty seconds and allow the clone to rise overnight. The clones are imperfect and generally only last two weeks or so, but they are widely used as sex toys of porn stars and other celebrities. Bootleg clones from China are also sold but these can easily be identified by the seams and the fact that they are full of packing peanuts and baby spiders. Naturally a fetish develops for the bootleg clones too.
Holography finally comes into its own allowing pornographers to demonstrate exactly what it would be like to be trapped inside a giant uterus. Sega also finally perfects the virtual time-traveling cowboy simulation.
Sex will no longer be necessary for reproduction or erotic pleasure. Gender distinctions will have blurred to the point that it's impossible to tell male from female, which is fine since the genitals are no longer involved in coitus. Sex will be replaced by very heated erotic staring contests. The first person to blink becomes pregnant and nine months later a human fetus crawls out of their eye sockets. Masturbation is achieved by staring in a mirror or at your own reflection in a pond and orgies will generally involve prisms or disco balls.
Forty years of pornographic and sexual history are but a drop in the bucket. I'd love to tell you about what happens in 2109, but you have to reach that reality gradually, if I just dropped the bomb about it on you it would be a disaster. I'll give you a hint though; it involves ghosts and anal sex and also disproves Darwin's Theory of Evolution.
I've Updated My Journal
Mista "Mista T" T has once again poured his heart into a brand new review of a horrible Unreal Tournament 2k3 map in Cranky Steve's Haunted Whorehouse. I don't know what Steve has been feeding that boy, but if nothing else he has stamina and a dash of masochism.
When you play this map (after you have survived the initial loading), you might be wondering what that freaky-looking thing is floating around the ceiling of the map. Well, to tell you the truth, I have no fucking clue what the hell that thing is either, or who the fuck that cretin is on it, other than the fact that he is "The Boss." "The Boss of what," you might ask? Probably the boss of Moronic Chunderheads Anonymous, responsible for giving HerPes_UK the job of creating one of the worst Unreal Tournament maps ever, and who also is responsible for making me contemplate suicide after bouncing around this map too much like two fat people engaged in coitus on a spring-loaded waterbed.
It costs zero tickets to take a ride at Cranky Steve's Haunted Whorehouse! Board the tram to terror and read this latest review.
No one seems to like the new Doom box art. But it's still the same old Doom Guy under that space marine helmet. Right?
happy valentine day if thas cool k?
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