Archive for the ‘Oh man I forgot to categorize this post how embarrassing’ Category
Like the title says!
Go to squelched.com to download the latest issue of the Heuristic Squelch. Do it! No pressure though!
Hey sorry I haven’t posted literally anything onto the blog in literally a month but I’m really very tired. Also we had an issue a while ago which I haven’t put online yet because see prior statement (tired I am tired). This will more than make up for it, I promise:
Howdy, faithful Porn-on-Tuesdays readers! Sorry I didn’t post last week, but Michael Jackson died, and God damn if I wasn’t going to make fun of a dead man! This week, we’ll be getting back to the bread and butter of Porn on Tuesdays, which is introducing you to weird fetishes that you, the reader, have likely never heard of. This was essentially the purpose of this feature when I started it, because I’d venture to say that I know a bit more about people getting boners over gigantic rabbits farting than the typical human, and I wanted to share this information with you for some reason. However, I’m starting to run out of fetishes that I have an intimate knowledge of that other people do not. So it is in this post that I, for the first time, will be doing a significant amount of research for the topic.
The topic in question? Bondage Gear. Bondage itself is an interesting sociological artifact; it’s much to large and broad to truly be called a singular fetish, it has a rich and deep history and seems to permeate all societies in one manner or another, which suggests a transcultural and primal human desire, worthy of objective scholastic consideration. Right, then, let’s look at what these weirdos like to put on their wieners!
Ladies and gentlemen of Los Angeles who clearly had nothing better to do, we come here today to mourn the death of a true American legend, Michael Jackson. Or rather, we come to mourn a highly selective version of him, cherrypicked from his childhood of forced labor and glory days of musical success during a time when even Hall and Oates could reach double platinum. Today, we will remember fondly the ways in which Michael inspired us while willfully omitting all the horrible things about the last 20 years of his existence. Using the rosiest-tinted glasses conceivably possible, we are going to celebrate 60% of our dear friend Michael’s life.
Some of you may be wondering why I was asked to speak at this funeral. I didn’t know Michael Jackson personally, nor did any of my relatives. I wasn’t even a specific fan of his music, having been born several years after the peak of his popularity. In fact, the only music video I even really remember of his is the stirring “Black or White”, which features Macaulay Culkin blasting Cheers‘ George Wendt through the ceiling of a house with a strum of his guitar. Still, that song remains with me to this day, and likely still plays in the hearts of all of us who, one day, wish to see George Wendt blasted through the ceiling of a house with a guitar.
If we’ve learned anything from the past month or so of Porn on Tuesdayses, it’s that people will masturbate towards basically anything, regardless of whether or not that anything is sexualized in any way or even contains any semblance to the human form. This kind of obscure fetishization flourishes in spite of, and very probably because of, Our Repressive Culture, which squirrels away traditionally pornographic material to the recesses of the gross rooms in the back of local video stores and the Internet, a horrible and ghastly realm that you may have heard of in the whispers of dying children. You could make yourself quite a good argument that this banishment of nudity and depicted sex has led to the terrifying, misogynistic, and angry state of modern pornography, and that if porn were treated more casually it would be much more subdued. But then again, Japan.
In any case, despite the best efforts of the prudes, heavily-fetishized but not necessarily overtly pornographic media have spread across websites that normally bar masturbatory materials like boner wildfires. This week, I’m going to do things a little differently, and just show you the cavalcade of things that people could theoretically abuse themselves to without getting above a PG rating. Yes, this week, I’ll show you a collection of Safe For Work Fetishes, a phenomena first examined by one of my favorite websites, PoETV.
If anyone follows the indy-game scene, you might be familiar with Aquaria, a maritime adventure game made by Bit Blot Studios as their debut release in 2007. In the last few years or so, it received some highly favorable press, particularly in the form of bagging the top prize at the Indepedent Games Festival Awards, and, most recently, being released on Steam, the game distribution/server-providing program created by Valve, which is the best fucking mainstream gaming studio ever. The gameplay as well as the excellent little side touches (such as the food preparation minigames) are fantastic, but the main draw is the breathtaking art.
What makes this relevant is the fact that former Squelch artist Derek Yu did all of the previously mentioned amazing art for it. Yu, in fact, used to be the Squelch’s quintessential artist, and is the man responsible for our de facto mascot, Flamenco Giraffe, as shown on this hat that apparently you can still buy(?) as well as some more iconic though considerably less work-safe designs, such as Cactus Cock.
Followers of Yu might also be aware of his work on I’m OK, the video game response to Jack Thompson’s call for a game about slaughtering video game designers and executives in exchange for a large charitable donation that he eventually bilked on. “GAMING CULTURE” politics aside, it’s a pretty nice hunk of satire and has the pleasant bonus of having peeing-on-severed-brainstem functionality. I’m OK is available for download in its entirety, while the free demo (as well as the full version) of Aquaria are available both on the Bit Blot website and Steam, which owns.
So, in the grand Squelch fashion, we’d like to bitterly congratulate Derek on his success and hope he continues to live the dream, even as we wallow in drunken failure, lashing out at all who so much as look at us, frantically clawing at our own skin with bleeding stumps for fingers, trying in vain to scratch off our inadequacy. Here’s looking at you, Yu! I bet you’ve never heard that same fucking joke ever before!