Thursday, September 02, 2004


I used to spend a lot of time in Louisiana in the course of business. As someone who has lived in Texas for many years, I can tell you that many Texans look upon Louisiana much as New Yorkers view New Jersey... or, for that matter, like Coloradans view Texas. "Ewwwww, I stepped in Louisiana!"

And Louisiana is different. What other state still has drive-in daiquiri stands, fer Chrissake?

One of the places I used to visit in “LousyAna” was Monroe, in the north-central part of the state. Years ago, I’d go there because it had the closest airport to Crossett, Arkansas, where I would call on one of my customers. And then, in the late 1990’s, I began calling on another customer in West Monroe. It’s not an especially exciting town, but it’s of historical interest because it is the ancestral home of Delta Airlines.

And, according to this little news item (thanks, Pesky!), there apparently is not enough to do in Monroe on a Saturday night... at least, for some people.

I’m not about to condemn anything that takes place between consenting adults. Barnyard animals, though? Remember; "oink" means "No!"

But things could be worse.

One of the Mistress of Sarcasm’s friends used to work in one of Savannah’s fine shtupperware emporiums. On one of our recent visits, said friend joined us for dinner. Afterwards, we offered to drop her off at work. Of course, we had to go inside and check out the wares.

She Who Must Be Obeyed was not particularly comfortable being in a sex toy shop. It wasn’t so much the merchandise, which was... interesting enough. It was the fact that she was there with me... and both our daughters. There is something perverse about watching your kids check out the Sex Swing, or trying on the shoes with Extra-Hi Ho Heels.

Meanwhile, I was fascinated. So many devices! So little time! Rubber porn star genitalia! Butt plugs! Oy!

And then I saw the Blow-Up Doll section. This is where things started getting a little bizarre.

Inflatable vinyl women, OK, fine. You could even buy a repair kit in case your excessive enthusiasm causes “Miss Lovey” to spring a leak. The repair kit package was a hoot - it showed a guy sitting in bed, watching in horror as his inflatable sweetie goes flying around the room like a popped balloon. Oh, the humanity!

But they also had life-size inflatable vinyl sheep, pigs, and cows. And lest you be under any misapprehension as to the intended uses for these little toys, they came with their own little packets of lubricant...

That’s when it struck me. What is the target market? Who buys this shit? Just how desperate do you have to be to want one? I mean, this is a blow-up doll for the guys who are so pathetic, they can’t score a date with a real sheep or pig!

So don’t judge Mr. Gullette too harshly. Things could be worse.

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