Banner Strong Like Hulk!

I just noticed this from my friends over at Chubby Productions:



Wow. My very own banner.

...I... I'm feeling a little overwhelmed right now. Thank you so much.

Never have I loved a Chubby so much in my life. This is almost as good as the time I met a crude oil monster!

Sweet Wookie Nubbin

This week, I thought we'd tackle a hotbed of activity that's fascinated my burrowed frow ever since I thought of it last week while eating some Kraft Dinner.

Midgets.

Now, I know that the topic of Little People (as we prefer to call them in our politically-correct society; and I should let you know that my occupation is formally known as Professional Vertical Propogation Assistant, D.P.) enjoy doing the nasty just as much as Not-Little People. However, most Little People (or Midgets as we prefer to call them when no politically-correct people are around) aren't that great at doing the nasty, due to the size of their body frame, compared to their enormous genitals.

Not only that, but the average Shorteningly Challenged Dude or Tall Impaired Chick has to deal with their own particular kinks and fetishes, which becomes even tougher on their day-to-day nightlives if not satiated.

Enter, George Lucas. Now, it's no secret that the actors of Return of the Jedi once engaged in a pissing match at his command, nor is it a secret that he's had his own fetish for short men covered in fur. Even though he may have provided us with emotionally-scarring and horrific memories, he's created a device made specifically to ventilate one's urges, provided one is under three feet tall.


The Yoda Backpack

Perhaps it's a misnomer about the name of the product that gives people the impression of how it should be used. A quick look at the design of this product shows that when used in improper conditions, one is apt to give it backpack-like qualities. THIS. IS. WRONG.



The product is meant as an aide to assist fetishes for people who otherwise cannot get off! That's what the Yoda Orifice Device Assistant (my own redesignation, thank you) is meant for.

To help us grasp the gravity of this concept, let's use the famous canadian actor and WWI flying ace, Billy Bishop.



When positioned correctly, the YODA (a much better name) is attached onto a Little Person via the convenient "Yoda Claws", as such:



Much better! Attach the stylized lightsaber (in green, blue and purple, for his and her pleasure!) and the YODA is good to go for hours of vibroblade fun! Give Billy five minutes, and it'll be mop and bucket time!

As such, this product gets a whopping 8 out of 10, but only when used for the purposes it was intended for.

What I can't wait for now is a C-3P0 unit that's fluent in the language of love. What I'll probably end up getting is a pocket thesaurus. Again.

Welcome Back, Cooter.

And just to show that I'm back in the homeland, back where I belong, this guy greeted me as I left the airport.



I couldn't help but think what a great battle it would be if we hooked up two of the world's greatest athletes for some hardcore action...

vs

Who would win? I always bet on the geek.
These things amuse me to no end.

Stop On A Dime And Give You Change, With No Skidmarks!

Japan.

Words that come to mind when you think of Japan. Land of the Rising Sun. Hari-kari. Godzilla.

Well, guess where I just came back from a two-week holiday from? That's right. And guess what oddity I saw while I was there?


Vending Machines for Panties.

This is what Japan is all about. Once more, I find myself in awe at what products are available to consumers. There are no such things as dumb executives, and there are no products that cannot be sold to the public; there will always be supply and demand for something.

In this case, the vending machine in question accepts your yen or shoryuken, and in return, spits out a single pair (as opposed to a dual solo) of used ladies' panties.



I'll tell you, fair reader. Back in my day when I was at high school, things were quite different. When I went to a vending machine, it wasn't for a used jock. No no no, indeedsome! Friends, when I went to a vending machine, it was to show the crowds what a nickname meant! I stood for something proud and mighty! Strong, bold, hard!

My vending machine nickname was Mr. Big!

Unfortunately..., the school saw me once by accident press the wrong button, just the once, and the nickname of Almond Joy stuck. Those were dark days, because sometimes... sometimes... you just don't feel like a nut. The track team alleviated that, thankfully.

My old buddy Lime Fresca also had it bad.

This brings me full circle back to how the panty vending machine industry in Japan is thriving. If I'd known that the stench of crotch was so appealing to your typical salaryman, I'd have sold my ubergotchies years ago.

Luckily for all of you, inspiration struck me on holiday and I struck a deal with some salarymen I happened upon next to a place of retail, in an outdoor location, where you push buttons after entering coins to gain some material possession. We chit-chatted about this and that, and after many seconds had passed, I pitched my idea of selling my own Studderoos (tm) (cough) to the interwebites.

I took the blank and vacant stares they gave, as I pointed repeatedly to my crotch and shouted loud Canadianisms slowly to them, as a sign of awe for the product, and after some sake, I underwent successful negotiations. So let's hope those modelling photos taken of me during the 3 A.M kareoke were the selling point.

I quickly absconded back home, and I write this even as we speak.

Jet lag. And now, I go play Pepsiman!

Let Them Eat Bukkake

Well well well. Just as I thought it would be a slow news week here at Pr0n Central, look what came across the ol' e-mailbag pile. Literally.


The Oozinator.



Now, I'm not the first to report on this product. I'm certainly not the second. Odds are, I won't be the last.

I am stunned that such a product has come out. What could have possibly gone through the heads of the R&D department for that toyline to put out something this .. this .. this..

...this amazing!

It's like every birthday party I ever wanted, rolled into one ball of tissue paper! Had I had this device when I was a wee fledgling, I truly believe my life would have taken a different path than where I am now.

As a teenager, I had the usual posters up in my room that all kids have.



And yet, words elude me on how fantastic this item is; I envy the youth of today for having a toy that I should have had, but never got the opportunity to. I simply cannot describe how the mere premise of such a tactile sensation wrapped into a fun and male-oriented lifestyle arouses the innocence of my soul from the depths of my bowels.

There are no comments I could make on this product that would be less than a perfect score of ten, if I owned one. Until then, it looks like I'll just have to wait for Christmas. Or Kwanza.

This is the happiest moment of my life. Well, second happiest. I really thought it'd be a slow news week. Yay!

Consider Me Hooked.

Sorry about the delay in posts, friends. Things have been hectic on my end. It seems that someone did a Zabasearch on me and has been stalking me since. I lost the tail, and I think I'm possibly proud to say that this is the first time I've ever said that.

To other matters:
It's been a slow week in the on the uber-net and within the Webb-partment, and scarce are pickins.


The USB Bra Clasp

There's nothing really potent about this product; I'd hazzard to say that it's almost impotent. If I could give one glossing recommendation about it however, it'd be that the mere concept of a USB-wearing geek chick makes me dribble on the teddy bear that I have to touch when I go to repent my sins.

Insert Tab A Into Slot B. Repeat.

Ha! I knew it!