There are those who get off on seeing other people dress up like anthropomorphized nightmares and there are those who get off on watching other people exercise; but I would venture that the segment of the population who enjoys both is rather small. This is what I tell myself when watching a video of what appears to be a blue possum on an elliptical machine. I tell myself this as she glances back at the camera in what I assume is an attempt to look coy and as the camera focuses on the ponderous, metronome-like pendulum swing of her tail. I tell myself this but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
This anti-pornography film from the 1960s left me with one very obvious, and troubling, conclusion: I am deeply envious of the wordsmithery of morally conservative propagandists. From his terse, esoteric pronunciation of bestiality, to his description of a “flood-tide of filth” — a description that calls to mind great, towering waves of briny genitalia — in terms of oratorical outrage, George Putnam is equal parts Shakespeare and Don King. Listening to his ode to a young, female sex toy, he paints a picture of sleazy, corrupted innocence that far exceeds any photograph. His insights are pointed, “[…]very few blind people join the nudist colonies,” he notes; his logic flawless. It was only when he described the irreversible effects of pornography that I realized why man-on-top missionary style sex did not excite me and why I insisted that my girlfriend participate in elaborate, 80s themed cos-play. Suddenly forcing her to dress like Jem or one of the My Little Ponies made perfect, if horrible, sense.
Yet, Putnam remains humble throughout. “In this ad, the titles of the magazines and their table of contents speak more eloquently than I about the tremendous problem here presented,” he says, before uttering the words “Sexual sadism. Strange flagellation cults” with a gravitas that would drive Morgan Freeman mad with jealousy. Oh George, you sell yourself short. Who else could speak of homosexuals as an evil “species” without coming off as a completely ignorant, hateful bigot? Who else could retain their composure while narrating over scores of photographs of female breasts covered by bars so large that one would think these women were in possession of the most freakishly huge areolas to be found on this planet, Earth? Not I!
Towards the end of the clip he quotes Pitirim A. Sorokin — the famed sociologist and author of, among other works, the hysterical and reactionary The American Sex Revolution — as saying that the newsstands of the time
[…] depict the world as a sort of human zoo, inhabited by raped, mutilated, and murdered females and by he-males, outmatching in bestiality, cavemen and out-lusting the lustiest of animals. Male and female alike are hardened in cynical contempt for human life and values.
Part of me wishes these two gentleman had been able to see some of the more interesting corners of the internet, if only to have been able to see their brains leak out their ears. In fact, Putnam is still alive and has, at the very least, changed his opinion on homosexuals. Someone should sit him down in front of 4chan before it’s too late.
Mrs. Habersham was not what one would consider a prude, surely her extensive collection of scandalous knee length frocks — which exposed not only her ankles, but the salacious curve of her calves — could attest to this fact; and yet she could not help but feel that Mr. Habersham’s carpentry fantasies were, perhaps, a bit outside of her comfort zone.
Our deepest apologies, dear readers, for having fallen down on the job as of late in regards to one of our most sacred traditions. Needless to say, we are filled with a great sense of shame and assure you it will not happen again. If, in the future, one of us is unable to fulfill their obligations our newly acquired team of Korean animators will leap into action, producing original cartoons for your enjoyment, although in all honesty I personally cannot guarantee this. You see, by “team of Korean animators” I actually mean a Korean family that Eliza met — and subsequently forced into her windowless van — while running errands at Home Depot. They have tried to reason with her, explaining that they are involved in other professions, the father is a salesman for a lighting manufacturer and his wife works as a bank teller. The children are, well, children.
Eliza would hear none of it however, either assuming that they were lying or under the impression that all people of Korean descent have an innate ability to animate. The rest of the staff has done their best to ignore the situation, knowing full well that once Miss Gauger has set her mind on something, one has little chance of ever changing her opinion. It is for this reason that we do nothing when she insists that her aforementioned van has the ability to travel through time or that Qais is, in her words, “a spy sent by space Turks to steal her chocolate secrets.” Regardless it has been uncomfortable, the tired and nervous familial unit has taken up residence in our break room where they were horrified to find only four items : coffee, tea, pipe tobacco, and squid chips. It would be worse when they found out that these items were our sole sources of sustenance. The children, unsurprisingly, did not take well to the tobacco. Perhaps we should send out for food.
Ah well, I’m sure they’ll be fine, besides it’s cartoon time! Click through, loyal Ectomites, and witness their triumphant return!
P.S. Also, remember that if you visit the YouTube page for a particular video you have the option to watch it in high quality. Especially well suited to the anime.
Ecthomo is our answer to interior design and fashion writing, an attempt to bring Ectomo into the home if you will; brought to you by Octobee’s very own sequin-bedecked dandy. If you can recline luxuriously on it, wear it, lust after its aesthetic, or resent the wealthy that can afford it, then on Ecthomo it belongs.
The ability to pull up stakes and move as the mood strikes is nearly a necessity for those of us keeping pace with the frenetic rhythms of the 22nd century. Yes, we do harbor an appreciation for the finer things in life, but usually only so long as they can be broken down into their component parts and hastily shuffled from briefly occupied dwelling to briefly occupied dwelling with relative ease.
Today we bring you several pieces of furniture that provide just such convenience, starting with the Casulo. Created by German designers Marcel Krings and Sebastian Mühlhäuser as part of their dissertation at the Köln International School of Design, the Casulo is a stroke of modular furniture genius measuring 31″x47″ at it’s most compact. Fully disassembled (a process taking about 10 minutes with two people and requiring no tools) it provides a bed, desk, bookshelf, smallish wardrobe, and a little storage for the bits you’ve picked up in your travels.
For minimalist neo-nomads a single Casulo would surely suffice; add a second to the mix and nearly all your needs are met, leaving a bit left over with which to get inventive. Sure, It’s a bit flimsy looking and not everyone wants to stare at chartreuse furniture everyday, but it’s an amazing conceptual starting point and the refinement of the idea in the process to market will surely result in a fantastic piece.
Hit the jump for more Ecto-approved hyper-functional, modular designs.
I still remember coming downstairs for school in the morning as a boy, hungry for Apple Jacks, and to discover that my parents had slopped a ladleful of Cream of Wheat into my breakfast bowl instead. “Great,” I’d say, choking back my prolapsing gastric tract and fixing my parents with a hateful glare. “Semen.” And that’s when the beatings would start.
Apparently, I’m not the only person who has equated the texture of Cream of Wheat with lumpy, grainy ejaculate over the years. In fact, apparently, there was a fetish for Cream of Wheat going as far back as the early 80’s, as used-up, bouffant-ed porn stars eagerly fellated prancing coke heads dressed in cardboard Cream of Wheat boxes.
This is work safe: it was also my worst nightmare when I was ten. Stay until the end, for the violent jactitations of a man dressed only in a pair of sunglasses and a foam-rubber costume resembling a piece of toast. Cocaine is a hell of a drug.
Few things cool the white hot passions of unfulfilled lust more than the awkward search through a sock drawer for a dusty box of rubbers. For this Ectomo has no solution, but shouldn’t you be spreading the gospel of Octobee rather than engaging in filthy fluid exchange anyway?
However we are not without understanding, realizing that even the followers of Octobee need occasionally distract themselves with the myriad pleasures of original sin. While we may offer no salvation from your awkward fumblings we do offer an alternative. Why not simply scare the ever-living shit out of the object of your amorous intent with a handgun shaped rubber dispensary? They’ll either be absolutely terrified (which is likely to be more amusing than a bit of sweaty grunting in pairs anyway) or they’ll be inflamed with a passion born of the immediate threat of violence, and you’ll have me to thank for your newfound comrade in coital deviancy.
The internet is a wondrous thing. With it we can have the most basic goods and services delivered to our doorstep, communicate with friends long scattered to the wind, entertain ourselves for hours at the expense of our fellow man, and most importantly indulge our most deviant, disgusting fantasies.
You see, I have long thought that I was alone in my desire for a companion upon whom I could lavish a bouqet of adorable ape-centric pet names. As I laid awake at night, dreaming of women with long braids of silken arm-hair from which I might lazily swing, I was filled with a deep shame, compounded by the seemingly singular nature of my peccadilloes. Thankfully, the festering primordial stew that is our collective electronic Id proves its worth once more, serving up a cornucopia of my beastly heart’s desire.
No longer am I filled with shame, disgust yes, fear possibly, but not shame. The sun shines and the birds sing as arm in arm my deviant brethren march into a future bereft of lonely shame, upper lips stiffened at the knowledge that we are not alone.
In all honesty, I do not know much about Brazil and while I would love to take the easy way out and just blame America’s woefully inadequate educational system, the truth is that I am just lazy. Therefore, my impressions of what I am sure is a wonderful country is limited to the lonely excesses of my youth meaning that, as far as I am concerned, Brazil is a sunny land comprised solely of beaches overflowing with gorgeous women who will partake in the most filthy erotic acts with you, if you have a camera. At least, that’s what I knew. Now, however, another facet of Brazil’s vibrant culture has been revealed to me, in the form of a dancing, lilliputian transvestite and her dancing partner. Wearing a bondage mask.
Go on, don’t be shy. They dance for you.
Update: Arthur points out in the comments that this is from Chile which, while in South America, is not Brazil.
The above is a clip from the “film” Faust: Love of the Damned based on the execrable comic book by artist Tim Vigil and writer David Quinn which featured graphic violence and sex. Also, demons. Occasionally, by which I mean often, these were featured in combination, allowing Mr. Vigil to draw severed penises, severed demon penises, and severed demon penises ejaculating onto a nude woman, or nude women depending on if said severed ejaculation took place during one of the numerous orgy scenes, in which he could render bodies in a vast array of different positions seemingly in order to better display his complete lack of knowledge of human anatomy, meaning that most of the attendees had four hundred extra muscles.
In lieu of padding all of his actors with eight extra abdominal muscles, director Brian Yuzna decided to accentuate the more grotesque side of the series’s sexuality. In this scene Mephistopheles, or “M” as he is known, punishes a treacherous harlot by inducing some sort of powerful, gooey super-orgasm which then inflates her breasts and buttocks until she is rendered a sobbing, quivering mass of lactating T and A with a face. Like I said before, just take my word for it and don’t watch it. Certainly not at work, at least.
If you happen to be the type of person who wishes to feel the bristly caress of a moustachioed kiss without the other, bothersome man parts that usually accompany it, then Canada — Toronto, Ontario specifically it seems — may be paradise for you. The frigid climes provide a perfect breeding ground, producing a cornucopia of Molson™-fortified, Canadian nymphs displaying an array of tasteful and feminine moustaches. Truly, one of Nature’s great wonders.
Strange coincidences and eerie alignments this Tuesday morning. Steve Scott is a London based animation director and illustrator who also, apparently, has some sort of telepathic ability that has allowed him to lick the collective brain of Ectomo. This piece, entitled The Society of Victorian Mutants is as close as I believe I’ve seen to summing up the fetishes of Ectoplasmosis’s hive-mind in their entirety.
We don’t think it goes to far to say that Ectomo and Steve -if we may be so bold- should, and shall, be Best Friends Forever and we can hang out and do each other’s make-up and talk about tentacles and Cthulhu. We are sure of this, surer than anything in our entire, short lives. Make haste and hit up his site for an impressive collection of moustaches, Victorian fashion, robots, and pin-ups. Also, could you to pass him this note: “Do you like Ectomo? Circle one: Yes No”
Ever wanted to have a tentacle arm? Do you and the little lady (or little man) have a hankering for some hentai inspired role-playing? Gaia Online (insert 4chan memery) has you covered, then, with this offering of suction-cup bedecked, polyester goodness.
Tentacle Arm [Gaia Online Store] : Kotaku : Thanks to Ninja-bot and Chris Ferstad!
Every day, high up in the Swiss Alps, Hans Stauffacher Loeffelsperger wakes, gets dressed, leaves his house, and walks out to the barn. The herd is skittish, as they usually are when he first opens the barn doors, their wide eyes trying to adjust to the first few rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon, and they huddle closer together on their pillows. They wait breathlessly as Hans walks over to the machine and begins prepping it. After a few moments, satisfied that everything is up to snuff, he turns, walks over to the herd, and begins to methodically remove their bikini tops.
There are a few things to note about this clip. It appears to be some sort of performance art in which six gentleman, painted with a powdery substance lie naked and face down while Handel’s “Messiah” plays over some loud speakers. There is also a strobe type lamp projecting colored light over the men. The whole thing takes place in a sort of parking garage, and there are at least three bystanders. Oh yes, each man also has what appears to be a feather duster inserted into their anus, which, through what I must assume can be rightfully described as “precision sphincter control”, they are wagging.
The title of the clip “??????” seems to roughly, and humorously, translate from traditional Chinese to “Anus door bolt chicken feather” although Babel Fish’s translation from simplified Chinese produces the far more interesting “The anus inserts Mao?”
In sheer defiance of the World Wide Web Consortium's will, Ectomo was designed using a non-web-standard font. Luckily, it is included in the excellent font pack released by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, which can be freely downloaded in Mac and PC formats here. Ectomo should still look fine without it, though.
