I have a running joke with a few of my close friends (of which there are three).
To Wit: Do vibrators die due to planned obsolescence ala Detroit car makers and Microsoft, or due to simple (yet stimulating) over-use?
My favorite vibe died a few weeks ago and I’ve been bitching about it and making amusing jokes ever since.
As you do.
So early last night I’m on the phone with ~S in Long Beach. Told him about the errands I’d run during the afternoon. One of which was a trip to Chocolate Walrus to buy a new vibrator.
Jesusmaryandjoseph. When did the price of toys go up and through the roof? The one item I really wanted was $60.00
Hell. I could go out to a bar or club, find a good looking guy and have real sex for free. With all that cash left over in the morning to send his ass home in a cab.
Being a misanthropic romantic this just ain’t gonna happen though.
But I digress.
I returned home dejected and sans new toy. While I’m talking to ~S about this debacle on the phone he gets another call from his friend Scott here in Reno. Well. Sparks actually.
Says he’ll call me right back.
~S calls back cackling and tells me that there will be a delivery to my door within the next hour. He won’t tell me what or why. I have a bad feeling about this.
We finish our conversation and I settle back into my book and tunes.
About 30 minutes later he calls back and tells me to go to the door. There is a box propped up against the door jamb, as well as a white SUV driving away. ~S tells me to wave at the SUV. I oblige.
I take the box inside and open it. It’s not just a vibrator.
This thing is called the Power Bullet. I begin laughing hysterically into the phone.
You have got to see this thing. It is practically obscene, which is saying a lot coming from me.
Now, ladies (and gentleman) I own a regular ‘bullet’. Sometimes called an ‘egg’.
You know the ones; small, silver, about the size of a thumb, connects to the battery pack with a cord.
Well this thing is as wide as my wrist and at least 6″ long. It’s wireless as well. According to the packaging it is ‘waterproof and requires 4 AAA batteries’.
It’s not a bullet it’s a fucking shotgun shell. For hunting dinosaur.
~S tells me the back story:
Sparks Scott received a package yesterday. Right address but wrong name. He opens it without checking the shipping label. He opens it to find the Super Bullet. At that point he actually checks the address on the box. He happens to vaguely know the name. It’s a 60-something year old woman who lives a street over.
He is opening the box while talking to ~S, who is coincidentally telling him about my adventures in Toyland that afternoon.
You know the rest.
I’m still laughing. A friend in Southern California gets his friend in Sparks to drive to the far side of Reno through ice and snow –with a vibrator- to get a laugh out of me.
It’s Mister Fathead
By: David Newman
Release date: 24 February, 1998