A Lot Of Rubber

Sex, 11 October 2007

Memo to the universe: I AM TIRED.

It's been a long week. The Malkin thing still has me pissed off, especially after the revelation that three years ago, she wrote about how awful the health care system was because all the plans she and her husband were looking at were too expensive. And being pissed off for days straight has a draining effect. What I really need is something simple. Uncomplicated. Hilarious on the face of it. If something like that could just drop into my lap, it would make things so much easier.

"An Alabama minister who died in June of "accidental mechanical asphyxia" was found hogtied and wearing two complete wet suits, including a face mask, diving gloves and slippers, rubberized underwear, and a head mask, according to an autopsy report." - The Smoking Gun

It's almost enough to make an atheist find religion. Alabama. Minister. Diving gloves. Rubberized underwear. But wait. Let's not be hasty. Maybe he was one of the nice ministers, from one of Alabama's many tolerant and open congregations. Then I might feel a bit bad.

"Gary Aldridge graduated from Liberty University and later worked for the late Jerry Falwell." - WSFA 12 News.

I think we all know what the odds are on that one. Still, what this story needs is one tiny detail to push it over the top and really sell the schadenfreude.

"There is a dildo in the anus covered with a condom." - Autopsy report, via Smoking Gun.

BINGO! Now, of course, it's both sad and a tragedy when someone is forced by their religion and their ideology to repress their desires to such an extent that the ant, can't, get off without an entire forest's worth of rubber tree plants. Or are forced to live their lives in such a way that there's no one to help them when their Lube Goldberg device goes horribly wrong.

But laughing at death by sexual misadventure is, at the end of the day, what separates us from the animals. Dogs don't laugh at other dogs when they get stuck together. Monkeys don't mock other monkeys' choice of beat-off branches. And bonobos are too busy fucking to laugh at anything.

But you still may be feeling a bit uncomfortable*, so to help you gauge how guilty you should feel about how much you laughed at this story, I've provided this handy chart:

So, for example, if your rig involves a friend, a video camera, a secluded farm, and a horse, your complexity score more than makes up for the fact that you're just some guy skulking around the barnyard. And if you're a middle-aged minister for whom one full-body wet suit isn't sufficient, then I'm sorry, but you died in one of the funniest possible ways a person can pass into the next world.

*Not two wetsuits, flippers, face mask, and an (illegal in Alabama) dildo up your ass uncomfortable, ofcourse.