Callidus

While not the update I had planned, there’s something that’s bugging the hell out of me and I need to vent. So…buckle up. I spend a few minutes every day searching for new photo material to then process into spicy manips. Now the cynical among you will call that looking at porn, but its not…okay? Its not the same…remotely.

Anyway, here’s my point: while looking at…potential manip material I came across a set of pics that seemed to have possibilities. So I saved them, dropped them into a folder, let them sit a few days, and since I have a little free time this evening, decided to have a closer look to see what I might make of them.

It was at this point that my eyes began to bleed.

Apparently the skin you were born in isn’t good enough any more; you need professional help. ‘That’s why the almighty lord created Clinique’ I hear you interject…well you’re wrong so stop interrupting me. Evidently, you need help from a professional photoshop warlord to solve that whole ‘your skin has pores’ problem.

I understand the pressure for women to be beautiful, I understand the desire of websites and publications to market a glorified and idealized portrayal of female beauty. I don’t agree with it, but I understand it. What I don’t understand is when the line was crossed where it became desirable to destroy color and pixel information to the degree that a photograph looks like a paint-by-numbers panel executed by a thumbless gorilla during an earthquake.

Maybe I’m overstating it, and its certainly not the poor gorilla’s fault she has no thumbs; they were probably ripped off by beauty nazis who think opposable digits are out of style or something. What really bothers me is the complete lack of skill or originality that goes into shoddy work like this. The ‘Maxim look’ we’ve all been assaulted with over the last few years isn’t my cup of tea but I appreciate the skill and technique involved in getting something that looks “natural.”

This pile of defecates looks like someone who knows nothing about photography paid someone who knows nothing about photoshop to ‘make it look better’. The second stooge in this two-man play of misery then sat down and started working their way through the filters menu in photoshop till they hit the Smart Blur effect then stood with fists pumping in the air over their blunt-skull shouting, “why work when photoshop does the work for me?”

Deep breath. Blue air goes in. Red air goes out.

Beauty obsessed culture?: I can deal with it. Skin polished to plastic perfection? I have stress toys for these type of things. Mistaking Photoshop for the Easy Button? I have two stress toys; one for each hand itching to close around your throat. However, piling all three of these offenses on top of me at once forms a trifecta of pain that will surely drive me to homicide…your homicide. Think about your family, think about your future, think about all those gorillas you need to ‘help’ with your “Eight Digit Makeover” reality-tv show.

Francis Bacon once said that “There is no beauty that hath not some strangeness in its proportion.” And I’d like to think he and I share some common ground on this topic. Every woman I have ever loved has had some quality that she hated about herself but that I found to be absolutely delightful. The things that make us different make us unique.

And unique…unique is truly beautiful.

Fetishes are funny things. And for the record, I don’t mean tickling fetishes (though I hear that’s popular). I mean once you’re kinked, there’s no going “straight”. The world just looks different to mind-control fetishists. An extreme close-up of a woman’s eyes (no matter the context) gets our attention in a way that might be awkward to explain. Those “Submit” buttons strewn across the internet have a whole different connotation for us. And, for me at least, these pictures of…whatever-the-hell-that-thing-is look far more sinister that they probably should.

This distinctive chair, with its built-in sound-system and unique approach to blocking out the stresses of the world, promises to introduce an immediate and deep state of relaxation. And I promise you that no one who is intentionally reading this blog has any doubt what sort of diabolical uses this thing has in the collective imagination of the mc community. The manufacturer, an Italian company called Exar, has a whole line of brainwashing relaxation chairs available. But none quite so borne directly from the id of a mind-control fetishist as this one. As a matter of fact, I’ll never again be able to read Tabico and thrall’s Salvation without picturing this thing in my head.

For those skeptics out there who just see an Apple-designed piece of furniture, allow me to make my case:

• This thing’s sound system is capable of generating low frequency binaural beats, which they refer to as “psychoacoustic stimulation”. Try searching for that phrase on the EMCSA, you’ll get a phone book worth of hits.
• The interior space is “well protected”. Don’t kid yourself, “well protected” is Italian for Houdini-class restraint system. No one can escape the relaxation.
• Notice how the only exposed portion of the body is the feet and lower legs. This is obviously so the relaxation victim can be fitted for a pair of those ridiculous heels that all brain-smoothed ladies end up wearing.
• It has “Brainwashing Pod #8” written on the side in Italian. Trust me on this. No I don’t speak the language, but my wife is Italian so I know these things (via osmosis).

Satisfied? Even the name spells it out. Paradise? Please. That’s what every evil-brainwasher wants you to think “Oh you’ll be so much happier once you’re my willing thrall, it’s like being on vacation every day! Could you hand me those headphones?” Ever wonder how the “Paradise Relaxation Spa” can afford to give away all those free weekend spa treatments (for ladies only of course)? Two words: widespread-mind-control-consipracy. Kay that’s like three or four words, but you get the idea.

Try walking in and telling them you’re a talent agent for the Czech Republic Lingerie Models Consortium. The next question you’ll be asked will go something like “Boy we sure like Czech lingerie models around here! Say, when was the last time you sat in a piece of nice, relaxing post-modern Italian brainwashing furniture?” Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you…and all your Czech-lingerie-model friends. Protect yourself, purchase my in-depth brochure explaining how to avoid sitting in a egg-shaped mind control chair.

Hmm…Y’know, as I look at that thing again, with the lady’s feet sticking out, it just occurred to me that I could be wrong about all this. Maybe its the tickling fetish after all.

Have a great weekend everybody.