There's Typewriter Erotica, and It's Giving Me the Vapors
Believe it or not, the Typewriter Museum--which I imagine consists of a guy, a computer, and a lot of spare time--has dedicated a page on its Web site to typewriter erotica. Yeah, that's right: typewriter erotica.
Go ahead: wipe your glasses, rub your eyes, shake the cob webs free from your Monday-morning stupor, pinch yourself. Do whatever you have to do to re-focus your vision and attention, and read that first paragraph again. It hasn't changed, has it? You know why? There's a Typewriter Museum, and it has a page dedicated to typewriter erotica. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can move on to the good stuff.
By good stuff, I mean photo after photo of coy glances, bare and stockinged ankles and calves, women in various states of undress, and fingers on Underwoods and Royals, poised to tap out the primal beat of that famous love sonnet to the heart and loins "The Quick Brown Fox Jumps Over the Lazy Dog." Oh baby!
And if that weren't enough to make anyone tumescent, to bitch-slap the average voyeur into estrus--just mad for a typewriter--there is actual porn available. Clothed Victorians not doing itfor you? Still unable to work up a key-driven lust? Well, that's because you haven't seen Mildred standing beside her Royal 10. (Ooh, I think she's made a typo.) You're feeling tingly in your naughty places now, aren't you?
I know I am. In fact, I'm one or two sexy postcards away from typing my "O" key repeatedly in fits and starts, making a funny face, holding the key down, and, then, rolling over and falling asleep.
If that's wrong, I don't want to be right.
Go ahead: wipe your glasses, rub your eyes, shake the cob webs free from your Monday-morning stupor, pinch yourself. Do whatever you have to do to re-focus your vision and attention, and read that first paragraph again. It hasn't changed, has it? You know why? There's a Typewriter Museum, and it has a page dedicated to typewriter erotica. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can move on to the good stuff.
By good stuff, I mean photo after photo of coy glances, bare and stockinged ankles and calves, women in various states of undress, and fingers on Underwoods and Royals, poised to tap out the primal beat of that famous love sonnet to the heart and loins "The Quick Brown Fox Jumps Over the Lazy Dog." Oh baby!
And if that weren't enough to make anyone tumescent, to bitch-slap the average voyeur into estrus--just mad for a typewriter--there is actual porn available. Clothed Victorians not doing itfor you? Still unable to work up a key-driven lust? Well, that's because you haven't seen Mildred standing beside her Royal 10. (Ooh, I think she's made a typo.) You're feeling tingly in your naughty places now, aren't you?
I know I am. In fact, I'm one or two sexy postcards away from typing my "O" key repeatedly in fits and starts, making a funny face, holding the key down, and, then, rolling over and falling asleep.
If that's wrong, I don't want to be right.
posted by Biff Loman at 7:12 PM
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