Drew-Silla's Open Salon Blog

All You Whores Should Just Put An Aspirin Between Your Knees

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 15:02:31 -0500

The billionaire who wants Rick Santorum to be president (and is ponying up the money to make that happen) says "“You know, back in my days, they used Bayer aspirin for contraception. The gals put it between their knees, and it wasn’t that costly.”

Thank you, Foster Friess, for your sensitivity for the concerns of gibbering, geriatric, overly-entitled white dudes who will hopefully soon all be dead.

What Not To Put In Your Vagina

Sat, 26 Nov 2011 22:11:11 -0500

I had an odd dream last night. In it, I was tied with silk cords across a giant wheel of triple cream brie. There may or may not have been a Princess Leia-type metal bikini involved, but I do remember that George Clooney, Kurt Cobain, Charlize Theron and Henry Kissinger were standing around me discussing whether the cheese would be best on a saltine or a Ritz, while I was screaming "Just eat it with a Carr's you fucking Philistines!"

The discussion went on for quite some time, but the details are irrelevant to this post. Suffice it to say that, as so often is the case in these situations, I woke up wanting to have sex with pudding. Not sex with pudding, exactly, but sex involving pudding. At first I wasn't sure what flavor would be best, though I quickly ruled out butterscotch and pistachio - the idea of being smeared with dookie-colored or bilious-green pudding was anything but a turn-on, so after some thought I settled on tapioca. Throughout my childhood, Mother refused to serve tapioca for dessert - she was unrelenting, always claiming it reminded her of bad caviar, so fornicating with it slathered on my lascivious, writhing body seemed like a good way to get back at the old sow.

I'm not the sort to leap before looking, and it occurred to me that having tapioca on myself and my lover would be one thing, but having it, ahem, in me might be another thing entirely, so before doing anything rash (or catching a rash) I did what anyone would do - I Googled.

That's where things got weird; it turns out there's a sizable body of online advice about what can happen when foodstuffs are mixed with copulation, but most of it is written by subliterate fuckwits who apparently have nothing better to do than ask and answer stupid questions on Yahoo. For instance, I was startled to read this:

Vixen1984 asked: WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU PUT NORMAL FOOD ON THE VAGINA AND IT GETS INSIDE?

I am just wondering because my fiance thinks putting food onto the vagina is okay, and if it gets inside I can always wash myself out right after, and it'll be alright.Now I think you can get maggots and such. Who is the most right, me or him?

Maggots? Sweet Jesus, I had no idea! Fortunately, one of the other commenters let Vixen1984 know that, while food in the cooter can lead to infections, "Washing yourself out will disrupt the harmonious environment that your vagina self-maintains." Ah yes, the self-maintaining vagina; what would we do without it? Anyway, the advice continued on a different thread:

Cabal32 asked: CAN INSERTING THINGS LIKE CANDY OR MILK INTO WOMANS VAGINA HAVE ANY BAD EFFECTS?

My wife (34) and me (32) decided to spice things a bit with candy, milk, whipped cream, but I wonder if this can have any bad effect on my wife's sexual organs.

Proud Flagger replied: yes it could because those are for the mouth, not the other mouth.

[touché, Proud Flagger]

Sabrinae replied: That is bad effect put the foods in the vagina. There is good chance getting a infection.

There was much back and forth in this vein, and the consensus was that food in a woman's private parts, especially dairy products or anything containing sugar, can lead to infections. My tapioca fantasy was beginning to look a little rancid, but, undeterred, I forged on:

mariposa asked: IS IT BAD TO PUT YOGURT INSIDE YOUR VAGINA?

I heard yogurt was good for yeast infection but someone told is bad to put food inside the vagina. Is it safe?

The BEST ANSWER, CHOSEN BY VOTERS, was from Ricky, who replied: Only if you don't follow it up with a popsicle or two. Also, Dale L said: A vagina is a VERY controlled state between acidity and bacteria. If you have too much bacteria you get an infestation, but if you don't have enough bacteria you get a fungal infestation.

Finally, a scientist: the opposite of acidity is bacteria, everyone knows that. After all this research I was certain I didn't want any infestations, let alone of the fungal variety, but then I saw an interesting link on one of the threads that was maybe worth exploring:

Rawrrr asked: IS IT NORMAL TO STORE FOOD UP MY ANUS?

I came into this weird habit about 2 years ago where I store food up my anus. It doesn't hurt, and it keeps my food warm. I will put stuff like spaghetti and lasagna up my butthole, to save for later. It keeps it fresh. Could this become a health problem?

__________________________________________________________

Fuck it. I've already arranged a date with Cody for tomorrow night; before he comes over I'm going to pick up a quart of gin and a shower curtain and five gallons of tapioca from Costco. With any luck you won't be hearing about the resultant infestations on Yahoo Answers...

My Shrieking Dead Pet Is Your Open Salon Cover

Mon, 22 Aug 2011 23:08:00 -0400

To sum up the OS cover I just now experienced:

Oh, someone please help me, my gerbil died and people at Wal-Mart look at me funny!

OK.

I guess that's alright.

But... people want to read shit like this why?

I've been away for a while, and during my absence my beloved Open Salon has descended deeper into sub-tabloid-grade idiaciousness than I ever thought possible. Seriously, if People Magazine or Us tried to pass this sort of crap off as front page material they'd never sell a single issue, so why do the geniuses in charge of OS think it's a formula for success on the World Wide fucking Web?

Just thinking out loud here. Thoughts, anybody?

Vomit Powder and Love

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 22:06:47 -0400

I love my mother very much, but when I was a child she would sometimes drink gin and call me a piglet while making these awful, swinish squealing noises. Daddy ( or Justin as I called him because he was just the latest in a long string of Momma's boyfriends who lived with us for the food stamps) said she didn't mean it, that it was only a joke. He was lying though; Cheyenne, my friend from across the trailer court, used to come around wearing her turquoise capri pants, and I saw the way Justin looked at her. I pretended not to notice, but on some level I knew that I carried his genes within me, genes that told me "I am dysfunctional and no matter what I do nothing is my fault."

In sixth grade I began cutting myself. At first it was manageable; while helping Mrs. Schwarzkopf grade papers I would sometimes run my fingers along the edges of the assignments for the revolting pleasure of a paper cut. That sounds innocent enough, but things soon became more complicated, though at the time I welcomed those complications as evidence I was coming of age. My sanctuary in those days was an alcove in the school boiler room next to a barrel of that purple, sawdusty powder the janitor used to soak up vomit, amd often as I was weeping there and making myself bleed for what I'd done the puke-absorber smell was so strong that not yarking wasn't an option. At first I was ashamed of my boiler room nausea, but I eventually realized that vomiting was what Justin would want me to do. He had been murdered by the Gypsy Jokers at a flea market in Bakersfield, but I never forgot those turquoise capri pants.

That vomit powder, coupled with Cheyenne's whorish clothes, created a void within me I could only fill by hurting the people around me. Though I felt that, ultimately, my disgrace was mine and mine alone and that Momma had no other choice but to humiliate me, it seemed fitting that others should suffer too.

Soon I was setting up situations where I'd be able to injure someone without it seeming intentional. One time Kathy Keiser had been hit in the head during "dodgeball" so I ran over and, while it looked as if I was trying to keep her from swallowing her tongue, I was actually shoving her skull repeatedly into the floor, hard, and muttering under my breath "This will make Momma love me." Hurting others was wrong, I knew it was, but it was the only way to drown out my mother's mockery.

Once set on a path of sadism I never looked back. My ex-husband, Keith, looked exactly like Axl Rose, though like Axl his thuggishness exceeded his fighting ability. On our honeymoon he claimed there was a palmetto bug on my head and hit me with a flyswatter, so I cut off his left earlobe with a citrus zester. He never raised a hand to me again, but that was OK, we had other ways of validating each other. Keith had some odd fetishes, so most weekends we would smoke crack and then I'd put Post-It notes on his nipples and run fish hooks through his septum and perineum. If the crack was particularly good I'd finish off by cutting his thighs with an X-Acto knife while screaming "I'm not a piglet, you're a piglet, and now you're going to die!"

We completed each other, Keith and I, but we split up after I knifed his pit bull. Danzig was a good dog, but very duplicitous, and one afternoon he gave me this look, so I had to gut him with a filet knife. The last I heard of him (Keith, not Danzig), he was in the state pen for passing bad checks; if he gets shanked in there I will imagine, with undying love, that I was the one who finished him off.

What I'm saying here, I guess, is that while hurting yourself can be fun, the only way to make Momma stop squealing is to hurt other people. Thank you, OS, for letting me get this off my chest.

Get Out Of Your Dust Up Mode For A Second? (comments open)

Mon, 13 Jun 2011 22:06:20 -0400

I'm a little confused. Trying to parse the orders handed down, the best I can come up with is that, apparently, the feed must be kept clear for... what? Dust-ups are not allowed if there is something else deemed more important by the self-appointed arbiters of Open Salon correctness? Please let me know if I'm misunderstanding this directive; unlike the post that inspired this, comments here are OPEN.