Bat-a-wang

Is it just me, or does the intake thingy on the front of the 1989 Batmobile look a lot like a sex toy?

I’m just sayin’

“I’ll retract the rape complaint from the wombat, because he’s pulled out”

Quick!
Somebody call CSI! Or Crocodile Dundee! Or Kylie Minogue!

A New Zealand man who claimed he was raped by a wombat and that the experience left him speaking with an Australian accent has been found guilty of wasting police time.

You can, if you so desire, read the whole thing here.

No room for Mr. Slave

I came across this most hilarious of things on Geekologie today:

And I immediately thought of:

I wonder if it’s as much fun to drive?

What about tops? Or versatile men?

Revirginization my ass

Isn’t being “a born-again virgin” like being “a little bit pregnant”?
And once you’ve lost your virginity, usually in a horribly awkward and short-lived bump-n-grind of engorged body parts, isn’t it gone for good – never to return?

Of course it is.

So why, then, are people insisting that simply through dedicated and thoughtful introspection they can become “revirginized” for their future husbands/wives? You can’t pray your way to being a virgin again any more than I can pray my way into being a Baptist, or a tomato.

And it’s not just about simply deluding yourself into thinking you are revirginized. People are going to plastic surgeons and having their hymens (eew!) reattached. I can see why people returning to oppressive ethnic situations overseas might need to do this as a matter of survival (arranged marriages, honour killings, etc.), but if it’s so goddamned important then why don’t they just not have sex in the first place?

Far be it from me to ever endorse the idea of chastity, but seriously, if your version of the Flying Spaghetti Monster makes such a big deal about virginity and marriage, perhaps you should actually take that seriously instead of giving in to your carnal animal desires (YAY!).

You can’t have your pie and have somebody eat it out, too.

For the full and logic-defying story, check out MSNBC.

PS: I was touched by a noodly appendage, once. Turns out that’s where I lost my virginity. Which reminds me of another point: You don’t “lose” your virginity; you usually know exactly where you left it.

Wham, Bam, Thank you … uhm … dude

The Condom Applicatior. As seen on BlogBlog.

Private dancer

As I may have mentioned before, in my after-school special on “playing safe,” there are people other than us who read our blog. Why? I have no clue. Perhaps they are also birds. Perhaps they are underemployed. Perhaps they’re a little bit crazy. Either way, there is definitely a significant non-bird viewship. To point:

Look at that spike on the 8th! Who the heck were all those people? The wild and mysterious citizens of the interwebs. What did they come to the Bag of Birds looking for? Well, I think this speaks for itself:

That’s right: Labia. Possibly freaky labia. Just the kind of people we want lurking around, peering through our (beef) curtains.

So welcome, non-bird friends. Hopefully you will find the labia you seek, or simply a random way to while away your (possibly) crazy days.

Now there’s a group hug I can get into

So I guess it’s a lot like that “post a secret” website/coffee table book.
For the record, I always found that site incredibly sad. I never liked to read it, and I wasn’t liking the Group Hug until I came across this:

Sometimes one of my frat brothers likes to have “sleepovers” in my bed. I always try to push him out, but secretly, I want him to stay.

Yeah, that’s hot.

A hole ‘nother thing

CIJS?

Before I get into the whole pole vs. hole argument, can we please establish (for the benefit of everyone) that pole vs. hole is not a PREFERENCE. Good lord that makes me madder than a bag of birds. It’s not a preference, not a lifestyle choice, and not a choice of any kind. Unless perhaps you’re bisexual, in which case pole vs. hole is like paper vs. plastic, but being bi is not. GAH. So complicated. Where was I? Ah, yes …

Of course Larry B. is into the pole. Think about it: the pole is way more versatile and useful!

I mean, could ignorant rednecks call you a “hole smoker”? Could you do a sexy “hole dance” for your partner (or all up on your friends, at a local M.Saug club)? Do people compete in the Olympic “hole vault”? Do penguins live at the “south hole”?

The answer to these questions is, of course, NO.
(Or, perhaps maybe, but with a degree of distaste and difficulty that I don’t want to readily contemplate.)

The answer to L.Birk being a pole-lovin’ mo’? Naturally, YES.

Sexsomnia

So today the Globe & Mail is reporting that a man accused of sexual assault in 2003 has been acquitted on the defense of “sexsomnia.”

Apparently, dude was all drunk an exhausted at a polo party in the Beaches (Who the hell has polo parties? Where is there room to play polo in the Beaches?), when he crashed on a couch and woke up half-naked and humping some chick who had also fallen asleep on a couch at the party. She was, understandably, unimpressed.

So apart from the legal WTF? about this whole thing, it makes me wonder what impact sexsomnia (and related disorders) may have on the world :

1. Kill two birds with one stone. “I’m not in the mood tonight” can mean “We’ll take care of this when we’re both unconscious.”
2. No performance anxiety. But let’s be honest, if it’s so boring that you remain asleep during the act, it can’t be that good.
3. Worksomnia. Come to the office, fall asleep, work the day away, go home, wake up. No pressure, no bitch coworkers, so soul-sucking rage and frustration.
4. Transitsomnia. Sleep away the ride on the streetcar so you don’t have to see, smell and hear the other riders. On the upside, any random sleep-related noises and/or bodily functions you let fly will totally blend in with the background ambiance of the Queen streetcar.

Of course, the Crown is appealing the acquittal, so that “I was asleep” doesn’t become the de-facto defense for everything, leading to new diagnoses of “murdersomnia,” “grand theft autosomnia,” and “break and entersomnia.”