awesometalk

Autoblow 2 – Frequently Asked Questions

A lot of people ask me, “Hey John, what do you do for a living again?” And I say, I’m a technical writer. I write software documentation, error messages… and at this point I see their eyes fluttering and rolling back into their heads. I administer the smelling salts and they regain consciousness. “Oh yeah yeah, hey wow that sounds really fascinating,” they yawn as they check their imaginary beeper and mumble something about “having to take this.”

ab2Granted, writing sentences like, “Step 5: Click the Install button to install” is not very fulfilling. So that’s why I offer my tech writing expertise to products I feel strongly about, completely unsolicited and without warning. Such as the recently crowdfunded robotic blow job device, the Autoblow 2. Oh you know, it’s just the revolutionary stroker that’s powered by a standard wall plug, works with 3 interchangeable sleeves, and features a motor that’s rated to last over 500 hours! It’s only the hottest jerk bot around, having raised over $280,000 on indiegogo from sticky-fingered philanthropists.

Clearly the makers of the Autoblow 2 are proud of their product. “THE BLOWJOB ROBOT EVERYONE IS TALKING ABOUT” screams their website. Lots of videos and testimonials, nice font choices, etc. But their frequently asked questions page? It’s a goddamn disgrace. Ooh how long will it take to ship to my unmarked storm drain? Durr how often do I need to change the  ejaculate filter on this thing? Pitiful. Here are some frequently asked questions worthy of this miracle device:

Q: I’m thoroughly enjoying my Autoblow 2. But I have to ask, what happened to the Autoblow 1?

A: Customers found the Autoblow 1, codename BONE DRONE, to be too lifelike. Much like the uncanny valley, we created virtual blowjob technology that was too perfect for this world. So perfect that the human mind couldn’t comprehend the sensations delivered by BONE DRONE. Therefore, it had to be destroyed for the good of mankind.

Q: I don’t know how to say this, but… I think I’m… I think I’m falling in love with my Autoblow 2. Is this normal? It’s normal right? There’s nothing wrong with me. This thing feels good, and I’ve earned this. I work hard every day, and I’m a well-adjusted, capital N Normal fella. Right? Please tell me I’m right. I’m leaving my wife.

A: We’re so happy that you’re enjoying your Autoblow 2 experience! Never contact us again.

Q: I’m sure you get this a lot, but can this thing jerk me to death? Or near death? Basically I want to look God straight in the eye as I climax, is there a setting for that?

A: Although “Death Jerk” is not a supported feature of the Autoblow 2, the device can be jailbroken to accommodate custom settings. Please note that installing custom firmware on your device voids the manufacturer’s warranty, and we cannot be held responsible for any ejaculation-based death, near death, or afterlife experiences.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday at justin.tv/aweseometalktv or constantly on our YouTube channel.

Let’s Slip into Something More Virtual

Hold onto your hats, virtual reality is going to be a thing. Actually, you’ll have to take your hat off because it interferes with the helmet and could potentially scramble your brains. Let’s start over. Virtual reality is going to be a thing, especially if you’re not wearing a hat. Perfect. Between the Oculus Rift and Sony’s Project Morpheus, soon your dream of donning a pair of jorts and running through the jungle like Crash Bandicoot can become a reality – A VIRTUAL REALITY IF YOU WILL.

How does virtual reality work, you may be asking? Well, it’s very simple. You put the thing on your head and there’s like screens and mirrors or some shit in there, and when you look down at your hands in the virtual world, they could be anything. They could be crab claws. They could be stupid normal human hands, but maybe they’re adorned with bejeweled armored gloves. They could be bejeweled crab claws. Look, what I’m trying to say is that the possibilities are endless, ok? And that, in a nutshell, is how virtual reality works.

The reality may be virtual, but the mom jeans are as real as the day is long.

The reality may be virtual, but the mom jeans are as real as the day is long.

Both Oculus and Sony are trying to shift the focus away from gaming and instead are promising all new virtual experiences. Imagine the thrill of traveling alongside Neil deGrasse Tyson as you explore the galaxy together, and having him punch you in the face for asking rudimentary questions. “Dr. Tyson, what’s air?” WHAM just PUNCHING PUNCHING buffering… buffering… PUNCHING PUNCHING.

And that’s just one experience. What if we could fuse this virtual reality technology with the fast paced world of online dating? Now instead of an old fashion message from a creep with the subject line I WANT TO TOUCH YOUR CLAVICLE, you can meet this person in a virtual coffee shop and have your avatar’s collarbone leered at from the comfort of your own home. “Mmm yeah, I could really hang my dry cleaning on that shit, so bony and pronounced.” And afterwards, no more awkward walks to your car in the darkened Starbucks parking lot, you can just disconnect from BONE_DESTROYER_420 and live another day with your skeleton safely in tact.

But not all virtual reality experiences are good. I think we should all take a minute and think about what happened in the movie Lawnmower Man. From what I remember from the commercials, a dimwitted fellow, the aforementioned Lawnmower Man, uses virtual reality for some reason and becomes an evil genius. I’m pretty sure this was supposed to be a bad thing. I don’t want to spoil anything, but I’m going to assume he could only be stopped with virtual lasers. Is this what Oculus and Sony want? Average joes fighting groundskeepers with lasers in a virtual world? I don’t have time for this.

Sony and Oculus laugh at your obsolete analog reality, with its gears and steam whistles and religion and newsies on street corners proclaiming “Extree extree! Read all about it! Humans still don’t have crab claws, why do they bother existing?” I don’t know, fictional newsie, but I do know this: Analog reality is hot garbage.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday at justin.tv/aweseometalktv or constantly on our YouTube channel.

IT BELONGS IN A LANDFILL

Last night on Awesome  Talk I read these words. Please hum the theme from E.T. as you read it, but switch to the theme from Jurassic Park when I start talking about dinosaurs. Then switch back to the theme from E.T. They’re all in the key of John Williams, it’ll be a nice mashup.

IT BELONGS IN A LANDFILL

Sometimes the best solution is to bury all of your problems in a New Mexico landfill. The creators of the Atari 2600 E.T. video game knew this, as the game was so shitty and sold so poorly that the only way to fix the problem was to dig a very large hole in the desert, chuck the unsold games into the hole, then figure out a way to light the hole on fire.

Documentary filmmakers excavated the cartridges last week to confirm that yes, this thing that happened? This thing that Atari workers in the 80’s said they did? They sure did it, it happened, and here’s the garbage covered proof.

For some reason, I owned E.T. as a child. And it was barely a game – you would move him from one shitty green screen to the next shitty green screen, and he would fall into holes looking for parts to his… thing that he needed parts for. Repeat until he has all the parts, wait for some indecipherable rune to appear at the top of the screen, press the button on the joystick, and win, I guess. My older sister, the owner of the Atari, was determined to beat this piece of shit game. And one night, on the 13 inch black and white tv in my bedroom, she did it. She woke me up in the middle of the night so I could see E.T.’s spaceship buzz and fart around the screen and watch a pixelated Elliot run in circles, I’m guessing out of joy. The game was sold at a garage sale a few years later, and I’m sure it’s also rotting away in a landfill somewhere as we speak.

FuncoLand OF THE FUTURE

FuncoLand OF THE FUTURE

Apparently there were more E.T. cartridges in existence than there were Ataris to play them on. And throwing them in a hole was the easiest, most cost effective way to get rid of them. Now, throwing shitty shit into a landfill, doesn’t this sound familiar? It should, because history often repeats itself. Millions of years ago, dinosaurs roamed the earth. They had a pretty good run, but god threw them in a landfill because he couldn’t figure out a way to market them to his next creation – humans. Humans would be like, we already have cars, these things are slow as hell, and there’s not enough leather on earth to make comfortable dino saddles. So into the landfills they went with all of god’s other failed creations. Interesting postscript to that parable – eventually the dinosaurs turned into oil and god saved the day and became employee of the month.

I think everyone deserves a chance to landfill something. Everyone has their own E.T.-like debacle that they need to disappear… have yourself one of those peyote-fueled vision quests in the New Mexico desert and figure it out. Bills piling up? Landfill. Car won’t start? Landfill. Economy’s in the toilet? Throw the economy and the toilet in a landfill. Eventually we’ll have so many problems buried in so many landfills that we’ll have to bury the landfills in bigger landfills. Waterways choked with huge barges schlepping away our pianos that we never learned how to play, our decks that we never finished building, our 3-D printed monstrosities. Away with you, 3-D printed prosthetic arm with tiny swords for fingers! What the hell was I thinking?

It doesn’t matter. It’s buried in the ground and it never happened. Until documentary filmmakers dig it up 30 years later. Will the prosthetic arm with tiny swords for fingers light up like E.T.’s heart? Probably not. But I can guarantee you’ll say “ouuuuuch” when you touch it.

Some say the existence of urban legends are, in fact, an urban legend.

Another week, another special Awesome Talk final word. I tested this one out on about seven different focus groups and they all agreed: “Those sure are words.” Were they right? READ ON.

Some say the existence of urban legends are, in fact, an urban legend.

The other day, due to circumstances I’d rather not disclose, I found myself with a large collection of teeth that I needed to dispose of. A few thousand frantic public library Google searches later, with phrases such as “teeth melt” “teeth melt no evidence” “teeth melt no evidence as few steps as possible”, I came across the old urban legend that said a tooth could dissolve in a can of soda. And that’s one of those things where you think, “Huh that’s kind of interesting” or you’re like me and you think, “Huh that’s kind of interesting, but what about like, an obscene amount of teeth. Like, more than an average person should have in a foot locker.” The library was closing, and there was no time for further research. It was, as Redman once said, time 4 sumaksion.

“Good morning John!” My neighbor waved at me from the next yard over as he watered his lawn. “What’s uh… going on over there?” I think he was talking about the bottles of soda I was pouring into a kiddie pool next to a foot locker labeled DEFINITELY NOT TEETH. “Hey good morning Bill. Oh you know, house stuff.” I stared at him, dead eyed, as I poured the last bottle into the pool. “Well, I’ll uh, let you get to it then,” Bill said as he dropped his hose and slowly walked backwards into his house. I grunted in his direction and stirred my concoction with a badminton racket. Long story short, I learned that teeth do not dissolve in soda. Not even cute little baby teeth. I also learned that it’s not easy to drag a kiddie pool full of soda and teeth onto your neighbor’s lawn when it’s swarming with bees. They don’t tell you these things on Snopes. Sometimes you need to visit thisissomerealshit.com/fucking_deal_with_it.html.

This happened once probably maybe who gives a shit

This happened once probably maybe not who gives a shit shut up

Heartbroken, it was time for more urband legend research. Maybe my favorite one is that Disney World visitors are not allowed to die on the premises. Say you were having a massive heart attack after a raucous twirl on the teacups, park workers would supposedly drag you into the parking lot to die, far away from the magic and whimsy. God that’s the best. What if you were decapitated on Space Mountain?  Would they keep your head frozen in a jar like Walt Disney and throw it on a bus headed for Universal Studios? What if you saw a dude dressed up like Donald Duck and he was teaching little kids how to smoke meth and your soul died? Disney World representatives did not have answers to these questions, but I think “Sir you need to stop calling here, this is Dorney Park” is actually code for “We’re illuminati lizard men, and we can do whatever we want.”

So all I’m saying is, don’t trust the internet to debunk urban legends. You have to get out there in the field, get your hands dirty – flash your highbeams at passing cars in the night if their lights are off! I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen? How are you gonna know whether or not it’s a gang initiation thing unless you witness them pull a u-turn, run your car off the road and then stab you to death?  “I was right. I was so right,” you’ll gurgle as the newly initiated gang member is presented with his monogrammed jacket and plaque. The gang will all cheer and lift him up on their shoulders, but really, it’s you they should be celebrating. You, the stabbed to death, urban legend… what’s the opposite of debunking? Bunking, I guess. The stabbed to death, urban legend bunking hero.  Godspeed.

My Video Will (transcript)

Last night on Awesome Talk I skyped in the following bit of business, heavily inspired by my love of The Heart, She Holler. I even got dressed up, like a real song and dance man. I did not dance, but I’m told there will be a song added in post. Below, please find…

My Video Will (transcript)

Family, friends, I’d like to welcome you to my video will. If you’re watching (reading) this, I am dead. OK so for the time being ignore that part. If you’re watching (reading) this any time other than right now, I am dead, and I can only assume that I died doing what I loved – rescuing blind children from a burning orphanage. How is it possible that I’m always the first on the scene when the blind kid orphanage goes up in flames? Look, some questions are better left unanswered. Clearly you’re having a hard time dealing with my death, and you’re thinking all kinds of crazy mixed up thoughts. That’s the first stage of grieving – accusing the deceased of arson.

Now that I’m dead, you’re probably wondering what you should do with my corpse. It’s very simple: I am to be cremated, and my ashes are to be placed inside the salt and pepper shakers of a dining car headed towards St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin, the snow globe capital of the world. Once they arrive, my ashes are to be placed inside three snow globes. One depicting my ash’s train ride to St. Croix Falls, one depicting my loved ones placing my ashes into three separate snow globes, and one wildcard. The wildcard can be any snowglobe of your choosing, as long as it has some kind of sentimental attachment to me. Maybe depicting that scene in Scream where Rose McGowan is killed by a garage door. Although there wasn’t any snow in that scene… ok scratch that. The wildcard snow globe now has to depict the Battle of Hoth. Also, this probably goes without saying, but never shake the snowglobes.

awesometalksuitNow for the earthly possessions segment of my video will. I was a man of simple tastes. I loved nothing more than spending time with my family and friends, having a few drinks and heh heh, having a few laughs. That being said – All of my hard drives are to be destroyed. Drill a thousand holes into them, take them to a firing range and blast them to bits, then submerge the bits in some kind of super acid. As for my online presence, my password for every account is the same, and it is tattooed underneath my left eyelid. Granted, you’re going to have to get a little Aeon Flux on my face to retrieve my master password, but that’s what I would have wanted.

To my wife, I leave my collection of plaid shirts. Remember how we always talked about lining the walls of the house in plaid? How a dead man’s shirts would really spruce up the rumpus room? Well now you can do that honey. I love you so much.

To my friends in Awesome Talk, I leave you all of my unfinished special final words. There’s some real gems in there, like I have this one sentence about a Terminator going to a job fair and scanning the room for complimentary pens. It’s really great, and now it’s yours.

To everyone else in my life, I dunno, baseball cards or something, who cares. So, summing up: I am dead, 3 separate snowglobes, master password under my eyelid. Thank you.