You’d think the one on the right would be bigger . . .
In what is threatening to become a marathon of posts regarding things Germanic, the Evil today brings you this piece from equally Teuton-obsessed Time concerning spray-on condoms. Uh-huh. Spray-on condoms. These things have been around since 2006, at least in prototype form, but the Evil is always moved to respond when the dreaded, loathed, and much-derided MSM works up the nerve to comment on the cutting edge of sex, art, or monster-hunting. In other words, until the Gray Lady is publishing articles about the search for Bigfoot, Evil don’t care.
Anyway, back to the condoms:
The prototype, which began testing last year, consists of a hard plastic tube with nozzles that spray liquid latex from all directions, much like the water jets in the tunnel of a car wash.
Whoa. Hold up. While one’s member does emerge shiny and moist from the car wash bay of the female anatomy, Evil isn’t quite sure this is the way to open the discussion. But let’s give the inventor a chance to speak. He admits that
some men were “worried that the mechanism, which hisses as it sprays, might ruin the mood.”
That’s ridiculous! Why, the Evil hisses when he sprays, so he really doesn’t see why that would be a problem. You just have to find the right lady—beautiful, adventurous, and ever so patiently accepting of one’s quirks.
The money shot here, though, is encapsulated in a discussion of varying condom sizes, noting that Trojan’s Magnum condom sells quite well—suspiciously well, hints the writer–while a smaller condom—surprise!—had to be discontinued. Back to Herr Inventor:
Krause says men are reluctant to go to a drugstore cashier with a box of small-size condoms—for obvious reasons.
. . . Is it because you’re embarrassed to be seen buying Trojan’s micro-condoms?
Evil has no idea what Trojan named this failed line of micro-condoms, but he wonders why the condom business hasn’t hit on the same formula used by manufacturers of womens clothes—only in reverse. Regardless of size, give the entire line names along the lines of “Magnum”. The Hercules, the Stallion, the Python—whatever. Then issue every young male a special key card explaining what size belongs to each name . . . with the understanding that he is under no circumstances to share this information with members of the gentler sex. Imagine how impressed she’ll be that you’re sporting the Sasquatch, kids!
By the way: the New York Times confirms that the beast in question is not Bigfoot. Just the remains of a lonely, hairy man. Evil knows you’ve been wondering.