own stock in lube?

Of course Paul over at No Milk found this testament to economy and sexual ingenuity; of course I am passing it on. I'm starting to think he and I were seperated at birth. Don't check the site if you're easily squicked, or belong to any organization that promotes the well-being of honeydew melons, socks, or plastic bags of any kind. Do take a look if you just can't think of anything to do with all those leftover balloons, or if you harbor a vendetta against the sofa.

It comes (I'm so sorry) on the heels of an entertaining few minutes perusing Tom Anicar's 70's-era anthology of men's sexual fantasies, apparently assembled in response to Nancy Friday's seminal (I'm sorry again) work on female fantasy, My Secret Garden. I won't mention whose shelf I found it on, only note that I was surprised by the entries. They're so... short... compared to their counterparts in the Friday book, which I of course read avidly as a whippersnapper. I don't know if this is a result of differing interview techniques (Anicar's introduction doesn't suggest that he has a whole lot of journalistic or anthropological experience), or if in fact men's fantasies as they describe them just aren't as elaborate as women's. As heavy on the set dressing.