I’m going to go out and say that this could be considered quite a literal ‘No Fuck Friday’, because I don’t care how realistic your love doll of choice looks, if you ever find yourself having sex with an animatronic robot, you may as well be trying to have sex with the ‘It’s A Small World‘ ride at Disneyland.
Meet Roxxxy (and creator. What a dynamic looking young man). No, she isn’t suffering from a profound disability. Unless you count the absence of a brain, soul and true autonomy. Rather, she’s the latest advance in the field of ‘female simulation’. And what a noble field it is, filled with gentlemen, entrepeneurs and the finest innovators the world has to offer. For years the high-end love doll of choice has been the decidedly oxymoronic Real Doll (do I really need to point out that almost every link in this post could be considered at least slightly NSFW), a hand-crafted miracle of silicone and pliability that can be yours for the princely sum of $US5 999. Plus, presumably, postage and handling… Although, there better not be too much ‘handling’! Am I right? ‘Ey, ‘ey, ‘ey, ‘ey… ‘ey?… I’ll let myself out.
I gotta admit, the entire endeavour is a pretty alien concept to me. I mean, I’m not exactly fighting off rabid hordes of busty women with naught but a pointed stick (FYI, that’s a cliché, not a phallic pun), but at the same time I’ve also never had the thought “yes, that’s it, I’m obviously never going to be have sex again. Now is the time to dive headlong into the endless abyss of sadness and solipsism that is copulation with an inanimate object”. Hard to know if anyone has ever had that specific thought, but I like to think it’s a definite tipping point. Fortunately, other people have been paid to explore the field, and this is a reasonably entertaining account of one man’s scientific “expedition” into the “world” of the Real Doll.*
But now we have the $US7-9000 Roxxxy, the brainchild of self-described “happily married man”, Douglas Hines. The word brainchild being particularly apt given the amount of se… sentiment he has obviously poured into it. Her. It… I dunno. If you’re game, here’s Douglas showing Roxxxy off to the world for the first time at the recent Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas.
As someone has pointed out, Douglas has quite obviously managed to get Roxxxy’s underwear on sideways. Excellent work, Douglas.
Basically, Roxxxy is unique in that she vocally responds to both your conversation and your sexy touching. She also has a number of settings ranging from Frigid Farrah to Mature Martha to, my favourite, Wild Wendy. Exactly how wild Wendy can be given that she cannot move of her own volition is open to debate, but the thought is there. Anyway, the inherent creepiness of the entire affair probably doesn’t require vast amounts of elaboration (although Slate explores the concept a little more here), suffice to say I now have the distinct fear that next time I’m “in the midst”** with a woman, I’m going to look down and be able to see naught but the glossy, soulless eyes of Roxxxy staring back at me. And then realise that I’m at the tail end of a four-day paint and amyl bender that has somehow culminated in me stealing the original Roxxxy prototype from Douglas Hines’ house and “having my wicked way with it”*** in the man’s living room. While he and his wife stare at me aghast from the kitchen. And I’ll look up and see them and then scream “SHE MADE ME DO IT!” before bursting into tears and jumping through a window.
… My fears are oddly specific.
/Luke
* He had sex with it
** Having sex
*** This is probably a little self-explanatory by now
- We talked about the handcuffing of high-school girl Alexa Gonzales who DOODLED ON HER DESK. Because that’s a real issue for the New York Police Department.
- I discussed how a Romanian kid killed his adoptive mother for cutting off his connection to the internet, and by proxy, his Counter Strike. Did I manage to make this a light-hearted romp through gaming whimsy? Um.
- New research (i.e., old research made new) indicates that dinosaurs actually looked like birds. How do YOU feel about this? Indifferent? Horny? Hungry?
- And finally, I talked briefly about an X-shaped hunk of space debris, which is apparently hurtling through… space, actually.
Later on today, there’ll be a guest blog from yours truly over at the Tom and Alex website, so keep your eyes peeled for a link! Also, here’s some friendly advice. Never stare at Tom’s face too long. Damned thing is like a Magic Eye puzzle.
I never really got to experience Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood – as a child, I was more inclined to NOT watch creepy dudes emerge from behind train sets. In fact, I really didn’t know all that much about the show until I watched this clip which, let’s be honest, is awesomecrazy terribad. The show itself ran from 1968 to 2001, and can best be summed up like so:
Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood was characterized by its quiet simplicity and gentleness. Episodes did not have a plot, and consisted of Rogers speaking directly to the viewer about various issues, taking the viewer on tours of factories, demonstrating experiments, crafts, and music, and interacting with his friends. The half-hour episodes were punctuated by a puppet segment chronicling occurrences in the Neighborhood of Make-Believe.
I dig that the premise of this show was a cool old dude in a sweater just hanging out with you. But that’s also the premise of the Saw films. At least, I think it is, having never bothered watching beyond the first one. They’re all about make believe and old guys in sweaters, right?
Right? Right. Time to do some actual research. Brb.
Ah, Tom Selleck. I first met you when you were going out with Monica in Friends (shut up, those were formative years for me). Later, I delved deeper into your musky waters with Magnum PI. Later still, I think I may have seen you in The West Wing. Or was it Boston Legal? Probably Boston Legal. You got your bone on with Candice Bergen, right? Yeah, Candice is pretty great.
Ah yes, the moustache. Even though I can grow one in four days and Luke can’t physically make one appear on his face (true fact!), the moustache is loved by us both. It’s gone through many different permutations over the centuries – early moustaches were pulled from the face and used to batter masatodon to death – but it’s always remained quintessentially the same*.
Nowhere, however, does the mo flourish like the fashion world of the seventies. Observe, if you will, a terrifying example of the moustache being used to beam charisma gamma-rays directly into the penises and vaginas of willing seventies youth.
I didn’t even understand half of the words being said there (did he say Crenoline? What in the name of Malcom McDowell’s fetid sack is Crenoline? If it’s on the periodic table I’ll shut up, but I sincerely doubt it is). It didn’t matter though! And do you know why? Because two slivers of groomed hair were jutting at me like sex-daggers the entire time. AND I LIKED IT.
Here, though, is the absolute peak of moustache sexiness being exploited to hock goods. You ready? Of course you’re not.
I guess the lesson here is…
I… seem to have forgotten what the lesson is. I think my frontal lobe just fused.
/Paul
*Read: creepy strip of hair above a sneering upper lip.
Reggaeton [noun]: a form of primarily electronic music, popular amongst Latin American communities, that fuses elements of dancehall, reggae and hip-hop with more traditionally Latin American sounds. Reggaeton is characterised by its distinctive beat, known as ‘Dembow’, which is an amalgamation of reggae percussion with a suite of other West Indian influences. While reggaeton enjoys support throughout South America, the Carribean, and Hispanic communities in the US, Puerto Rico remains its putative home. Reggaeton is also noted for its endearingly colossal levels of misogyny.
Which is perhaps more background information than you actually need to appreciate the below music video.
This is just a quick post to let you know, in case you missed it, I’m now hosting the Weekend Breakfast show on Triple J. If you’re from overseas, Triple J is a national radio station that plays some pretty awesome shit, and I was lucky enough to clamber into this gig through a combination of luck, help from loved ones, massive amounts of sugar and a little bit of skill. It’s on from 6am to 10am Saturdays and Sundays, and I’d be eternally grateful if you could give it a listen once in a while; it’s not entirely devoid of the humor you see on The Somewhat Ambitious. Also, when Luke gets his sweet invalid butt back to Melbourne, you’ll be able to hear him making the odd cameo.
And if you’re still not sold, every once in a while on the show, I do a nation-wise, interractive Choose Your Own Adventure, with you deciding the fate of the protaganist. Who is this leading man? Michael Douglas.
Ototo has designed a bitchin’* little submarine that you fill with tea, and send off on an adventure into a cup of boiling water!
To make things more relatable, here’s a little reenactment of how things might go down. James Upworth, formerly an orphan, has had a hard life. James managed to climb his way up the social ladder; not too high, mind, but high enough to gain entry into the esteemed British navy. One night, at a military soiree, he caught the eye of a gorgeous lass (one Moira McTaggart), and the two consumated their love under the stars.
On the eve of their honeymoon, an urgent telegram arrived with a clatter at their ramshackle door. The unthinkable had occured: war had struck! James gave his new wife a hard kiss on her sweet British mouth, patted her belly (within which lay his impending progeny), and rushed down to the nearby dock to embark.
Unbeknownst to all fifty six souls aboard, the ocean below the waiting sub had been headed to boiling point, and once the H.M.S. Pippy (for that was our vessels name) was submerged, the entire crew were liquefied, their fresh skin sloughing from their bones as if they were but hunks of overcooked chicken.
And James, as he died screaming, clutched a locket, within which was a locket of hair from his sweet beloved.
*Yes, I’m aware that using this term makes me sound like an extra from Point Break. No, I don’t care. Well, I do obviously, given that I’ve written up a rambling, pseudo-apologetic footnote but… fuck you! You don’t own me! Aaaaand so forth.
A Milli’ by Lil’ Wayne a.k.a. Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr. a.k.a. Snuggles
Lil’ Wayne has here produced a dense and multi-layered text with an excess of subtle references and well-placed metaphors. I attempt to unpack certain of A Milli’s lyrical complexities after the break.
[Vol. 1, an analysis of Prince's self-descriptive 'My Name is Prince' can be found here]
Paul Verhoeven (right) is on Triple J, as host of the Weekend Breakfast Show. He is a writer and film critic for Yen Magazine, and insists he is a regular columnist for Horse and Hound magazine (unverified). He recently finished a weekly series for The Vine called Curiageous where he answered people's burning questions and drank his own urine. He enjoys ducks.
Luke Ryan (left) is a stand-up comic, writer, and general man-about-town. He is a news blogger and feature writer for The Vine and also writes for the music blog Electrorash and the street mag ThreeThousand. In 2009 he performed at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival in his oh so descriptively titled show 'Luke's Got Cancer'. It was funnier than it sounds.
Both of them spend more of their time then they should perusing the Internet and gaming. The Somewhat Ambitious is essentially the product of this excess.
