How to do the wrong thing right

People, there’s no turning back from here: It’s an insanely impressive testament to just how very far the internet has infiltrated the mundane when sex toys can now be purchased at ordinary brick-and-mortar discount retailers, and wedding gift registries commonly list their preferred online BDSM purveyors. The point of no return has been stabbed up the anus of an inflatable gimp doll. So, whaddya say, boys? Shall we go ahead and just cut to the chase and get piston-pumping, butt-machine-dialed-up-to-psychotic-level-10 right to it!

Dear Howard: I need a super high octane, savage wedding gift idea — something different than just another set of ben-wa anal balls everybody else is gonna bore-the-whore bring, you know? What’s an appropriately edgy wedding gift for a pair of middle-aged, BDSM bears? (I guess at 34 the younger one is technically still a cub.) Both of them have careers in “the theater” and neither needs anything that matters in the ways of making their public personas more pleasant — they already have plenty of farcical super glue “lace” doilies and Minnie Mouse fucking Pluto teacups. Their wedding invitation reads, “Uniquely Bedroom Specific Gifts Only, Please.” So, I guess my question runs something along the lines of: What the hell is “unique” anymore to a couple whose only spare bedroom is painted black-leopard psychedelic, its décor a psych ward flourish of interlocking rubber floor mats, neoprene curtains, blackout drapes and a double-sling “bunkbed” hung from ceiling hooks on chains the size of squirming, clanking cobras? I won’t even mention what sorts of three-dimensional “ornaments” adorn their jagged glass-front custom built-ins, except to say it’s probably not for the faint of heart. “Heart-free” is the more appropriate description. Any perfect wedding gift suggestions, Howard? — Prince, the Fencer

Dear Principessa: How far outside fencing just the plain old ordinary, 24’x12-in. dildo cake (replete with flesh-colored frosting and vertical veins) for this occasion do you want to go? If I’ve learned anything over my years of writing this column, it’s that keeping a cub slung up and moaning in ecstatic agony year upon happier year requires an ever-progressively more expensive imagination. My predominant takeaway, regarding the underworld of BDSM fetish-play, is that it’s always better to go ultra-sleaze-generous when you don’t have to, than it is to be just plain piggy/petty when it doesn’t matter. Thus, based upon the info you’ve provided me — The Hostel anthology meets The Abominable Dr. Phibes — I say, go for heart-stopping here: A brief perusal through the Dr. Sado catalog might be just the perfect grooms’ table invitational to Lucifer’s wedding pyre you’re seeking.

Upon voluminous research, I’ve narrowed down some options appropriately “unique” for your blissfully theatrical couple of grizzlies. You didn’t mention a price point, but I’m assuming you’re well familiar with the highway-robbery inflationary costs of “adult novelties” — after all, little more raw materials go into producing, say, a total sensory deprivation “hospital” hood than go into manufacturing just any old given household toilet plunger. So, on the pretense of this being a perfect (under)world here, where everything’s cheap at any price, let’s start with this pervy jewel of a wedding gift from the Dr. Sado line of MEO Germany Sex Toys, they being the most creatively imaginative, by far, of anything else out there, kids (trust me, Howard always does his homework for you):

As for those of you men who are already fans of his well know, Dr. Sado’s post-midnight T-shirt mantra reads, “Sex Without Pain Is Like Food Without Taste.” (FYI, dear readers, any attempt to interpret Dr. Sado sanely is a fool’s errand, so it’s best not to overthink the good doctor’s logic too literally.) When in doubt regarding just that perfect wedding gift, one simply cannot go wrong with either Dr. Sado’s Gates of Hell Penis Plug or, better still, Dr. Sado’s Super Evil Balls, described in his catalogue of horrors thus: “Unlike ordinary CBT [cock and ball torture] that stimulates the testicles simultaneously, Dr. Sado’s latest development comes with his Hellish Pain Guarantee” — the visual of which, kids, is just too romantic: Imagine two separate egg-shaped, hollow stainless steel forms, with numerous “thorns” lining the interior of each egg’s individual chambers, each of which houses one testicle, allowing each testicle’s desired degree of pain be handled separately (both with their own padlock sharing but one Allen key): To quote the good doctor, “Love can hurt so beautifully! Be sure to hide the key!” Oh, Dr. Sado, wherever do we find a man of our own so romantic as you?

Then there’s this: “The No Pacha Chastity Device for men is ideal for 24/7 torment — deviously featuring silicon spikes fitted inside the ball encasement area for that extra bit of chastity-motivation. The No Pacha is locked using only a small metal padlock with our PVC seals — perfect for traveling, as they don’t show up on airport metal detectors, and is even equipped with an opening to urinate through — to wear comfortably, but discreetly, for an ever-uncomfortably longer time: In short, a modern chastity device that meets the challenges of strict chastity.”

Now, on the other hand, Prince, if it’s a backdoor gift you’re more inclined towards, then I seriously doubt you’ll have to worry about any of the other wedding’s invitees duplicating one of these alternate suggestions: a Butt Bong Recycler (finally, a simple portable recycler that is easy to use … milled from solid aerospace-grade aluminum. Pissing into your own ass has never been easier!”)… Or, perhaps, the Doc Johnson XXL Colossal Challenge Butt Plug (“You might think your appetite is bigger than you’re a-hole … and at 9-inches wide the CCBP is not for the weak of heart, but the smart design advances of the Colossal Challenge Butt Plug combined with a spongy taper, allows it to gently slide into your pucker — whether you’re training for a fist, or just going for a nice ass gape — are you ready to take the challenge? Proudly made in America”) … Or, if still in doubt, Miss Priss, one may always opt to go “reverse chic” via a simple slave collar. They range in imagination from a mere strap of leather with a buckle, on up to a Heretics Fork Posture Collar (“The double-ended prong, with its attached elegant leather collar wrapped around your slave’s throat, will dig mercilessly into their chest and neck; the Heretics Fork is easily lengthened with a thumb-screw, forcing your pet’s head up high as you want — why settle for the same old posture collar?”).

If you ask my opinion — which technically you did — I’d personally go with … hmmm, oh, just something classically simple. Perhaps a ball crusher (one of those that only involves two square, transparent acrylic plates — y’all know the one I’m talkin’ about). Plus, Dr. Sado’s instructions couldn’t be any easier: “Twist the two screws on the (newlywed’s) bottom plate and watch his eyes grow larger as he starts to feel the pressure. The clear acrylic lets you get a great view of his flattened nuts from every angle. It won’t be long until a fraction of a turn has him begging and panting for mercy.” Oh, Dr. Sado — you metaphorical rascal, you … call me, girlene, let’s do lunch!

Clearly, Princely Fencer, in our brave new underworld there’s no such thing during these rudderless (end) days — especially with Oracle L’Orange at our conflagratory superliner’s bombastically burning helm — as possibly gifting too twistedly over-the-top or under-the-belt.

Dear Howard: I just received a “save the date” invitation from a former work acquaintance, announcing, “Here ye, HUGGLES! We are elated to have you celebrate our love with us this July’s final day, 2019. Formal invitation to follow.” Howard, what does this mean? Am I to brace myself for some atrocious Harry Potter-themed wedding — the last day of July being the wonderful wizard’s birthday, and all? Or, am I just totally off course here? By the way, what the heck are “HUGGLES”? — Renny Ren Ren

Dear Run, Renny, Run: Ordinarily, I’d say you’re reading way too much into this; however, considering that July 31 happens to fall on a Wednesday this year, and since nobody in the history of civilization has ever gotten married on a Wednesday without the presence of an angry father wielding a firearm in the background, I’d inform whatever Snape-esque queen sent you this invitation that she needs to go back to her bedraggled sorting hat if she expects anybody’s gonna actually show up, mid-week, to her quidditch festivities featuring “Heterosexually-Undetectable Gaily Gathered Erudites.”

Dear Howard: I’ve enjoyed reading your column for years but I never thought you were an actual real person — I guess because your column always shows you as a cartoon character. Then somebody told me they showed your photo recently, that you’re blond and you own a pet monkey and you’re married? I guess I must have missed that column. Are you married to a woman? — Paul the Brawler

Dear Brawlin’ Paul: LOL … well, you’re referring to my April 5 column, and it’s sure not the monkey pictured on my back whom I married, pretty though his ass was. Nor do I own one as a pet. Nor am I heterosexual. And, Paul, that’s where information made public of my private-life ends. You’ll just have to make do with inventing the rest … my sole request, please, is that you make it deliciously, frightfully scandalous!

— Howard Lewis Russell

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