Plus: comment on this post and my 5 favorite comments will win a Little Goo Suck-o-Saurus. (US and Canada.) This is real, I promise! I will be replying directly to comments, so make sure your email is input correctly.Taylor Swift had two albums to her name. Instagram didn’t exist. We had yet to name our roman empires, show off our fits, or be sus about anything. Sex blogs were in their early days, and corporations hadn’t ruined April Fool’s Day. I was a newly-minted blogger. I had a domain name, and I wasn’t afraid to use it.
If you visited my website on April 1st, 2010, you were smacked in the face by a nauseating bubblegum pink re-design. I’d rendered my blog atrocious in every way, replacing the header image with a collage of toxic toys and publishing an unhinged review of a huge, cherry-scented jelly dildo.
I don’t know what compelled me, really, other than the allure of confusing the everloving shit out you. But it was fun as hell, and I got hooked. My yearly tradition was born.
I loved plotting ways to reel you in to the charade. I loved bursting with anticipation before unveiling my masterpieces — the rush of publishing exactly at midnight, then spending the day fielding perplexed questions.
I relished blurring the line between sincerity and absurdity, believability and implausibility. I wanted you to question, did she really do all that? And the answer was yes. Yes, I fucked myself with fruits and vegetables. Yes, I masturbated with a 100-year-old vibrator. Yes, I stuffed a bunch of mini dildos in my vagina.
I routinely went against my better judgment, against what I’d advise others to do. But that was the point! To go just a little too far, a little off the deep end. I needed to discover which vegetable hits the G-spot best; to orgasm from a vibrator powered by a lightbulb socket; to determine how many tiny dildos my vagina can handle. Not shit I can brag about in polite company, but you appreciate it, and that’s enough.
Other years, I didn’t risk bodily injury. I invented stuff, like glitter-filled, catnip-infused lube, clever sex-themed mad libs, and a car seat cover designed to hold a dildo (perfectly safe!). I shot a ludicrous video review of the worst vibrator imaginable and recorded a dorky masturbation audio journal. I sought candidates to be my Dildo Butler. I re-designed my site several times, but the best was when my cats took over. How can you top a red laser dot cursor?
It’s been a wild 15 years. Come along as I pay tribute to all the off-the-wall shit I’ve done in the name of making you laugh. Be sure to comment — I want all your memories!
Epiphora’s April Fool’s posts, through the years
Click the year to jump to that section. Stars signify my faves, although it really is hard to choose. At the end of this post, I share scrapped ideas.
- 2010 — Cherry-Scented Vibro Dong (original post) (wrap-up) (with site re-design)
- 2011 — ~*~*~*~* Adult intimate product review!! *~*~*~*~ (original post) (wrap-up) (with site re-design)
- 2012 — A few changes around here (original post)
- 2013 — The Joy Ride (original post) (wrap-up) (with site re-design) ⭐️
- 2014 — Say hi to my new sponsors! (original post)
- 2015 — Video review: Princessa (original post) (wrap-up) ⭐️
- 2016 — Tiny dildos (original post) (wrap-up) ⭐️
- 2017 — Cat takeover (original post) (wrap-up) (with site re-design) ⭐️
- 2018 — Piph Lube (original post) (wrap-up)
- 2019 — Vintage vibrators (original post) ⭐️ ⭐️
- 2020 — Are you my next Dildo Butler? (original post)
- 2021 — Piph Libs™ (original post) ⭐️
- 2022 — Sex blogger field notes: audio journal (original post)
- 2023 — Produce fucking: which fruit or veggie makes the best dildo? (original post) ⭐️
2010
Cherry-Scented Vibro Dong
(with site re-design) (wrap-up)
Writing a fake review of one of the most horrifying sex toys on the market was an obvious choice for a first April Fool’s Day joke, but really it was an excuse for me to dig into the code of my site and absolutely ruin it.
On March 31st, 2010, I was on vacation with my parents. I hadn’t yet come out to them about having a sex blog, so deploying the new code had to be a clandestine operation. I pulled the trigger at the stroke of midnight from a Starbucks in Kihei, Maui. I felt powerful, exhilarated.
My site was suddenly drenched in pink, with a dizzying .GIF background, Comic Sans and Comic Sans only, and an overwhelming header image featuring exclusively awful (but very real) sex toys, like anal beads with spikes. Somehow I knew exactly which toy to “review”: an enormous bright red jelly dildo (wait, dong) that off-gassed so strongly the manufacturers tried to cover it up with a fake cherry scent.
In my review, aside from aggressively referring to the dildo with he/him pronouns, I fawned over the most repugnant of features, like smell (“OMG, it reminded me of cherry blossoms on a beautiful walk in the park”), material (“I love how sticky his ‘skin’ [lol] is, it makes me think of eating drippy ice cream on a hot day”), and appearance (“he looks more like beautiful decor than a scandalous toy!! Youre grandma wont even notice”).
The worst and also best sentence in the review? “He always leaves his husky scent on my hands to remind me of our sexy escapades!!!”
Unlike later April Fool’s jokes, I didn’t actually masturbate with this atrocity, nor have I ever seen it in real life. Over a decade later, you’d hope it’d be eradicated from planet earth, but no, it’s READILY AVAILABLE on Amazon. Thing’s like a fucking cockroach. A cherry-scented cockroach.
2011
~*~*~*~* Adult intimate product review!! *~*~*~*~
(with site re-design) (wrap-up)
Somewhat derivative and borderline insensitive, my joke for the next year also involved a total design overhaul. Except WORSE. I went harder. I made things illegible as shit. I hand-crafted a clipart nightmare of a header, peppered the site with obnoxious .GIFs, and wrote a review from the perspective of a mommy blogger. It was an exaggerated, cartoonish depiction, but one based in truth.
To pull everything together, the site auto-played a janky MIDI version of “Truly Madly Deeply,” which still makes me spit my coffee out:
You have to understand what a weird world it was for blogs at this time. I would see mommy blogs like this — eye-searing designs, godawful writing — and then discover that somehow, that blogger was sent a free sex toy in exchange for a review. HOW?! I was personally offended. Back then, I read so many excessively positive, male-gaze-y reviews. I wanted to rebel against the pervasive straightness, the performative sexiness, and the constant centering of one’s “hubby.”
So I inhabited a character, I played a role. I became, for 400 words, excruciatingly heterosexual.
In my review of a pink dolphin-shaped finger vibe, I employed clichés from my 15 rules for writing a sex toy review that doesn’t royally suck, such as praising the toy’s ability to stimulate the nipples, using bizarre euphemisms, and just generally being sickeningly coy. I expressed a psychotic level of excitement, as if this puny, rubbery piece of junk was the world’s foremost orgasmic tool. Maybe even a marriage saver!
So I inhabited a character, I played a role. I became, for 400 words, excruciatingly heterosexual.
My review asked an important question: “what girl doesn’t love dolphins???” And as was common for the era, I related everything back to my husband: “hubby says I looked super hot when he used this toy on me . . . ladies, I know your man might be intimidated at first but just reassure him that his manhood is unreplaceable.”
At the end of the post, I signed off with a 1999 flourish:
And that was the first, last, and only time I’ll have a hubby.
My mocking of mommy bloggers struck a nerve with one reader. They commented angrily, derisively calling me and my followers “dong worshippers.” I want to genuinely thank that person for bestowing upon us such a perfect and enduring moniker. I’ve used it, gleefully, ever since.
2012
A few changes around here
If 2010 and 2011 were my maximalism period, in 2012 I purposefully swung the other way. I was significantly more subtle, more sly. I wanted a chance you’d fall for the joke. So I didn’t re-design my site, I simply published a matter-of-fact post announcing some “upcoming changes” to my blog. And this time, it was written in my voice.
With a careful earnestness and nonchalant tone crafted to obscure the joke, I outlined plans to review products I’d previously written off, such as camo-printed penis weights, misogynistic ebooks, and a sickly yellow jizz towel. (Embroidery upon request — they recommend names and wedding dates.)
My business model was also evolving. Going forward, I explained casually, 50% of my posts would be sponsored content written by others. It was like an announcement I was selling my soul.
“As a result of these changes,” I explained, “the space for actual posts on my blog will need to become smaller — probably around 200 pixels wide to make room for the sidebar ads and links. Don’t worry, the posts will still be legible when copy/pasted into Word.”
2013
The Joy Ride
(with site re-design) (wrap-up)
“A product so revolutionary, it’ll make you long for the next traffic jam.”
Born in a hotel room at a conference with my friend Lorax, the Joy Ride was inspired by crowdfunding campaigns for bizarre sex devices that never needed to exist. We spent hours brainstorming the perfect product that seemed plausible yet wholly unnecessary, and the result was the Joy Ride: a car seat cover with an O-ring sewn into the seat… for mounting a dildo.
The dildo options, which we called “Cogs,” were direct rip-offs of existing toys and made of “hand-dipped Japanese silicone.” (That’s not a thing.) The fabric swatches offered a variety of gaudy customization options (“you’ll be riding in style and be the envy of your friends”), while the cuffs offered the distinct possibility of death (“the thrill of danger has never been so close!”).
The part that really makes me fall off my chair is the Privacy Blanket, a pathetic-looking grey cloth you drape over your lap for discretion.
On April 1st, 2013, my whole blog became an advertisement for this disaster, with a realistic Indiegogo-esque sidebar where it appeared $548 had already been donated to the campaign. I sent out a newsletter, Lorax wrote a post, I tweeted excitedly about our new invention… we committed to the bit.
To seal the deal — since most crowdfunding campaigns had videos to accompany them — I composed a cinematic masterpiece with stock footage alone. I used blooming flowers and fireworks to signify orgasm, highly original metaphors, and had a friend do the voiceover. Then I asked my partner to compose a piece of music that sounded like the combination of a tampon, yogurt, and mini van commercial, complete with orgasmic crescendo.
When we listed the available Perks, no detail was spared. Each had its own outrageous reward. If you donated $1, we would thank you by “traveling to the beach, writing your name in the sand, and watching as the waves wash it away.” For $1,000, I would “grace your household with [my] presence long enough to pet your cats and then depart, leaving your felines in a state of bliss for at least the next 72 hours.”
Big spenders could contribute $2,500 for something even more special: “we will personally place five Joy Rides in a time capsule for your future grandchildren and bury them in a secret location. We will carefully monitor the whereabouts of your grandchildren, and when they are of appropriate age, we’ll send them discreet directions to dig up this supreme treasure.”
Some people did fall for this joke. A handful gently questioned the safety of using handcuffs and a dildo while driving a car, trying not to offend me by insinuating my precious creation was a bad idea. Another person reblogged it on Tumblr: “why the fuck is this a thing that exists.”
This joke was a delight, executed to perfection, and just dumb enough to still make me laugh a decade later. Especially this part: “For the dudes out there, we’ve got something really special in mind. It’s called the Cruize Control, and it’s a steering-column mount for your favorite plastic-cased masturbation sleeve. That’s right — now you don’t have to compensate.”
2014
Say hi to my new sponsors!
In 2014 I asked the question, “if I were really famous, which companies would I get to sponsor my life?” It was conceivable that I could hook up with a few brands outside the sex toy industry. I pretended that Taco Bell DMed me first (thanking me for my vocal support) and that Converse let me design my own Epiphora-themed pair of shoes. I pretended it was a normal thing to be sponsored by a paper towel company and evoked the hilarious image of my garage filled to the brim with a “lifetime supply.”
I claimed to have reached out to additional brands, like Camelbak and uni-ball, only to be denied. “The Jetstream is my all-time favorite pen,” I wrote, “but considering I’m writing this with a computer, [uni-ball was] not interested. ‘Contact us in the future if you decide to handwrite your blog on papyrus.'”
My favorite thing about this post is just how much of it is a time capsule of that period in my life. Not only do I have a different favorite pen now, I barely drink booze anymore and I’ve been abandoning Converse in favor of shoes with actual arch support. (A switch I eerily prophesied in my April Fool’s post, as I joked Converse’s sponsorship should “cover the medical bill for my future flat foot problems.”)
My love for Taco Bell, though? Timeless.
2015
Video review: Princessa
(wrap-up)
Watch on YouTube here (includes captions).
It was a big deal for me to show my face on the internet. Still kinda is. I waited until the time was right. In year six of my jokes, I embarked upon a project I’d been contemplating for years: a video review of something awful.
I was careful in selecting a toy. The Princessa, a vibrator from a line called “The Girls,” was perfect. It was from a reputable company, but everything else about it was… off. I mean, look at it. Why? Why is it like that?
I was so happy when it gave me the worst orgasm of my life. I could not have chosen a shittier toy. To this day, it’s one of the least pleasurable things I’ve ever put against my clit. “I forced myself to get off with it,” I explained in the video, “because I’m dedicated to my craft.”
I was so happy when it gave me the worst orgasm of my life. I could not have chosen a shittier toy.
I had a nefarious plan: to lull you into a false sense of comfort at the beginning of the video. Nothing is amiss, at first, until it increasingly is. The editing gets sloppier. My voice randomly warps. Cringy sound effects pop up, like a fucking neighing horse (?!). I say perplexing things, like “a lot of women wouldn’t even buy a vibrator if they didn’t feel like it could be their bestie” (?!).
The background music starts audibly falling apart right when I say the toy could be good for nipple stimulation. (Echoes of my 2011 joke.)
And then it gets worse…
My goal was a video that devolved into chaos and confusion. And honestly, I think I nailed it. It’s a 12-minute journey of visual delights and absurd quips. I have a fond memory of sitting on my couch in front of my camera, getting purposefully tipsy and allowing myself to just start railing against the toy. It was so much fun.
To bookend my masterpiece, my partner wrote an ICONIC jingle for me (cleverly rhyming “forewarn ya” with “discerning vagina”), and we ended the video with a karaoke version of the song, which he slur-sang. I mean, come on, that’s amazing.
If you can get stoned while watching this, PLEASE do. You won’t regret it.
2016
Tiny dildos
(wrap-up)
Sometimes lightning strikes, and the perfect April Fool’s Day joke just hits you. In 2016, it happened in a hot tub with my mom. We were snowed in at her place, and my growing collection of mini dildos came up in conversation. It’d been 6 years since I snuck away from my family to launch my first joke, and a lot had changed. I’d come out to them about my blog in 2012. My mom was now fully aware, invested, and excited like a puppy to help me brainstorm ideas.
It was comic gold, and we knew it: I’d masturbate with these teeny weeny, matchstick-length dildos, then write about it as if that was a normal thing to do.
Most people know it as the year I played vaginal chubby bunny.
It was an experience, one so unique the descriptions really wrote themselves. It felt “like jamming silly putty up my vagina,” “like fucking myself with a birthday candle,” and, when I bundled a handful together, “like being fucked by a wee pile of firewood.”
Most people know it as the year I played vaginal chubby bunny, loading up my vag with tiny dildo after tiny dildo. I won’t ruin the surprise and tell you how many I fit in there, but I will say I pushed myself to my limit. I gave it my all.
When pleasure proved impossible, I tried to find alternative uses for the little dildos, and I went full-on ridiculous.
“They’re not heavy enough to be paperweights and not large enough to be doorstops,” I wrote. “But they fit pretty well in nostrils, if you can find a good reason to do that. Maybe murder?” My best idea: cake toppers for a dessert commemorating your first gangbang.
I missed one glaring use, though: cat toys. Several of my rascals have enjoyed stealing them off my desk and tousling with them. My current kitty even tosses them in the air with his paws, biting at them on the way down. His happiness definitely surpasses mine. All I got was an over-stuffed, under-pleasured vagina.
View on a computer to enjoy the red laser dot cursor!
I wasn’t sure if it was too weird to focus on cats for a sex blog April Fool’s Day joke. There was little relevance to the subject matter, and occasionally I get a hate comment about mixing animals and sex toys, but I said fuck it. And I’m so glad I did. My 2017 cat takeover is an amazing homage to my beloved babies, one that I really treasure. It’s also fucking hysterical.
My three cats, jealous of my fame, took over my blog. Boris, my hairless child, called the shots. “Today is very special day on blog,” he wrote in the introduction. “For I have hacked into human’s computer machine. I have done necessary updating of website. Is good? Of course is. It is all cat, as should be. Remember, we own you.”
This one put all my other re-designs to shame. It was like an immersive art experience, with a soft fleece background image, red laser dot cursor, three purr tracks to listen to, and of course, the blog post itself. That day I was also tweeting in my cats’ voices, vacillating between Chowder’s silliness, Boris’ stoicism, and Tessa’s disdain.
The blog sidebar featured ads I designed, feline-themed sex toys, links to internet cats, and a long section of gibberish. (The cats had walked all over the keyboard.)
It made sense, barely, to have the cats “review” sex toys. Chowder, the doofus, submitted an exclamation-point-laden homage to packaging. “I cannot believe, the human throws them away every time it comes in mail!! she peel it off and discard! OMG! why!!! they are the best part!!! They feel so good on my tongue!!” (His nickname wasn’t “the plastic pervert” for nothing.)
Boris focused mostly on sex blankets, warming vibrators, and twisty ties. “All should aspire to be me,” he bragged. “I am pure unadulterated cat. The essence of cat. I do not need fur. Fur only weighs down.”
Tessa, too snooty and modest for it all, essentially refused to review anything. An icon. A queen. “Objects of such filth hold no appeal to me,” she wrote. “As I have no control over the situation, I re-frame the items in my mind. I consider them summoning devices which lure the human into bed.”
I leave you with the wonderful sounds of my kitties in their happiest states.
Boris — low and robust
Chowdy — heavy breathing and snorting
Tessa — a perfect purr from a perfect girl
View on a computer to enjoy the red laser dot cursor!
2018
Piph Lube
(wrap-up)
I always wanted to do a fake product on a real retailer’s site, so in 2018 I teamed up with SheVibe to create my own branded lube, and it KICKED ASS. With the enigmatic tagline radically stimulating, Piph Lube was a water-based lubricant with five unique ingredients chosen for their psychoactive properties. Also, it was full of glitter, but that was okay, because it was totally body-safe! Trust me!
Piph Lube was formulated with certified Portland rain water, diverted off the roof of the PDX airport and filtered for impurities. “I’m not saying you’re going to grow a beard after using this lube,” I wrote, “but I also can’t say you won’t — we didn’t have enough time to study the long-term physical effects.”
I spoke at length about the difficulty of landing on the perfect formula. “Too much cannabis and folks reported being more excited about ordering Domino’s than having orgasms,” I explained. “Too much caffeine and testers found themselves up until 3 am reading about unsolved murder cases. We had to tweak the portion of queer magic a few times, after some testers said they felt ‘stuck in a loop of all communication and no sex.'”
We also had to filter out stray cat hairs.
SheVibe designed the fabulous Piph Lube label, which was 100% necessary because I could never create such a convincing graphic. Photos, though, I could do. I bought hair gel to use as lube, then added glitter to it.
I also roped my friend Kate into the joke, paying her to write a review of Piph Lube on her blog, published April 1st.
To fully sell the lie, SheVibe was able to make the lube available to purchase on their site — or so it seemed. When you tried to add the product to your cart, the truth was revealed. And more than a few of you felt deflated.
Despite having been involved in my jokes for years, this one truly fooled my mom. She started frantically texting me about making an order. It broke my heart a little to tell her the truth, but I also felt devilishly victorious. Several folks wrote to me asking for samples. One particular triumph of this joke: Nina Hartley herself was fooled.
It really is too bad Piph Lube isn’t possible. Maybe someday we’ll figure out how to add glitter to lube safely, but that day is not today.
2019
Vintage vibrators
For my 10th year, I went ALL the fuck OUT — and ended up with one of the best posts I’ve ever written for this blog. It wasn’t even a joke, it was an in-depth research project about the history of vibrators that included me masturbating with three vintage vibes. The oldest, from 1925, was powered by screwing the end into a lightbulb socket. “I love this vibrator with every fiber of my being,” I wrote. “Just thinking about how extremely not alive I was at that time is exciting to me.”
I scoured eBay for months beforehand, waiting for the perfect vibrators to turn up, and the wait was worth it when I came upon the ancient Polar Cub Electric Vibrator and its still-functional lightbulb socket situation. That, along with the ’50s era Vanguard Vibro-Massager and ’60s era Oster Massagett, rounded out my line-up.
“I love this vibrator with every fiber of my being,” I wrote. “Just thinking about how extremely not alive I was at that time is exciting to me.”
The original idea was to jack off with some wacky olden days vibrators and relay my hijinks, but I couldn’t stop there. It was too tempting to dig deeper, to find out more about the people who invented these things, which strange maladies they claimed to cure, etc. And the stories were WILD. I went down so many internet rabbit holes.
And yes, my masturbatory experiences with the antique vibrators provided plenty of fodder for laughs. Especially the 100-year-old Polar Cub, the black vibe with a handle, which emitted a loud whirring noise and produced a warm mechanical smell. Nonetheless, it was actually a good vibrator. Powerful and pinpoint, I could get off with it in under 5 minutes. I had several orgasms with it while watching porn from the ’20s. (I’m all about historical accuracy.)
The Polar Cub was far superior to the other two vintage vibes, lightyears better than the Princessa, and more satisfying than a good number of 21st century vibrators… until the wiring came loose and it died.
Miraculously, years later, a reader emailed me and offered to replace the plug with a modern day version. And now the Polar Cub works!
In fact, an hour ago, I had another orgasm with it — in celebration, in tribute, and because I fucking can. The distinctive mechanical smell has become a symbol: so much history, all funneled against my clit. The origins of what would catalyze my career. Carol Queen once said to me, “you may be the last remaining person on earth who got orgasms from a Polar Cub!”
Music to my ears.
2020
Are you my next Dildo Butler?
Masturbation being my job has been the butt of the joke (vagina of the joke?) since the beginning of time. There are very real workplace hazards, such as space-invading cats, dying vibrators, and lubey fingers on keyboards. Then there’s the aftermath: so so so many dirty sex toys. For years, I joked about wanting a dildo butler to clean up after me.
So in 2020, I solicited applications.
I called for candidates who could stand by (in another room, respectfully) during my sessions to wait on my every need. To bring me masturbation-appropriate snacks, like baby carrots and shelled pistachios; to replenish goods in the event of a lube or sex toy shortage; and to wash everything afterward, charge it, and return it to its rightful place.
I studied actual job listings to pick up quasi-professional lingo, twisting it for my purposes. I described the role of Dildo Butler as “a multi-faceted personal assistant type position that blends elements of hospitality with administrative and creative work . . . you will be responsible for working all non-recreational masturbation sessions.”
Qualifications included a typing speed of at least 75 words per minute and “comfort interacting with human liquids, including ejaculation and menstrual blood.” In large font I yelled “MASTURBATING WHILE ON THE CLOCK IS EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN.”
In large font I yelled “MASTURBATING WHILE ON THE CLOCK IS EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN.”
Capturing photos for the Dildo Butler post was harder than it may appear. First, I had to source tuxedo gloves and a gold platter. Then, I chose toys that looked good together and stood upright. My partner donned the outfit and I composed the main shot — him balancing the platter on his fingers, spread wide, with a towel and charging cord draped over his arm.
I stood precariously on the bed, clutching my DSLR and trying to quickly frame the photo. I needed to shift the dildos. Smooth out the towel. Rearrange the charging cord. Not fall off the bed. My partner’s arm got tired, so he had to keep taking breaks. It was a tiresome process, but you can’t deny the flawlessness of the result.
Extra special thanks to the person who actually submitted an application. It was so detailed, too. For one of their skills, they claimed to have an acute sense of when a cat is about to “turn from angel to gremlin.” The phrase has stuck in my brain ever since. I’d hire them.
2021
Piph Libs™
Piph Libs™ is my only joke that truly gives back to you, my people, and I love it for that.
I’ve been into mad libs since I was a kid, and I’m also a board game fiend. (Ask me about my favorite games and I will give you a novel. Choosing just three for those links was painful.) In 2021, as a kind of personal challenge, I put on my nerdiest glasses and invented my own version of mad libs.
Creative, dorky, and rip-roaring funny, I billed Piph Libs™ as “the latest party game to play with your perverted friends, with stories all about masturbation, sex shops, porn, sex parties, squirting, and other X-rated hijinks! Eight titillating stories available in both online and printable form, so you can play however you desire. Fun for (not at all) the whole family!”
I could’ve created four. I could’ve done six. But I made eight, a whole game night’s worth of stories, such as “Straight Man in a Sex Shop on Valentine’s Day” and “So You Wanna Be a Dildo Collector.”
There was more to it, of course, than simply writing the mad lib stories. There was designing the print-out version. There was setting up the online version. Did I have to do both? Of course not! But I’m me. I can’t be stopped. You should know this by now.
- Piph Libs™ #1 — online / print-out ⭐️
- Piph Libs™ #2 — online / print-out ⭐️
- Piph Libs™ #3 — online / print-out
- Piph Libs™ #4 — online / print-out ⭐️
- Piph Libs™ #5 — online / print-out
- Piph Libs™ #6 — online / print-out
- Piph Libs™ #7 — online / print-out
- Piph Libs™ #8 — online / print-out
The online version was a complicated and technical endeavor, but I was bound and determined to create the best experience possible. I achieved it using Autocrat, setting up a Google Form for each Piph Lib™ which, when submitted, would generate a beautifully-formatted document with the words filled in, emailed directly to the creator.
For shits and giggles, here are some memorable moments from Piph Libs™ I’ve personally filled out.
- I’ll admit, I’m particular about my porn. I can’t get off to just anything on SNOPES.COM.
- If a TSA agent asks you about your sex toys, don’t MURDER — just UPSETTINGLY explain what they are. The agent is likely to DISEMBOWEL the conversation once they realize the item in question has been inside your BRAIN.
- The man has already POURED his credit card onto the counter, along with a BEIGE, FLOPPY DISK-operated vibrator. It’s certainly not the most GENUINE choice for a Valentine’s Day gift. He only picked it because it seemed HUGE. “This toy is made of MOLECULES,” the associate explains while running his card, “so be sure to use a KETCHUP-based lube…”
- Don’t forget to recharge your vibrators on a DEFIANT basis — otherwise you run the risk of one AVENGING on you mid-orgasm.
I’ll let you in on a little secret about the online Piph Libs™: they’re generated by my account, so I can see all the completed ones. I don’t snoop, usually, not beyond noticing a couple of your chosen words (always fucking hilarious), but man does it make my heart flutter to see that Piph Libs™ are still being enjoyed. I envision people filling them out and cackling — and that image is worth all the work.
2022
Sex blogger field notes: audio journal
I thought it’d be funny to present my life as if I were ~out in the field~. As if I were tracking rare birds, engaging in groundbreaking research, or conducting important investigations. As if all along, my entire career, I’d been audio recording my masturbation notes onto cassette tapes, labeling them with the date, and cataloging them like a serial killer. (It’s not fully unlike me.)
“Today I’m releasing exclusive tapes from last month’s masturbatory adventures,” I wrote on April 1st, 2022. “These are my intimate audio notes from out in the field — 31 days of squirting, porn-ogling, blogging, and all manner of indecent sex acts. Think of it as an aural captain’s log, or a very unusual podcast. It’s like This American Life, but with orgasms.”
I acted as if all along, my entire career, I’d been audio recording my masturbation notes onto cassette tapes, labeling them with the date, and cataloging them like a serial killer.
This was a complex joke to pull off. First, it hinged on me finding a cassette player of a certain style. The gods truly smiled upon me the day I went hunting for one. I walked in the thrift store, tromped directly to the electronics section, and there it was, like a glowing object in a video game. It was only $12. If I hadn’t found a tape player that day, this joke probably never would’ve existed. I was that fixated on it.
Choosing sex toys was like casting a movie. I lined up diverse and unusual things to masturbate with in the months leading up to April Fool’s, such as an ejaculating dildo, a mouth-shaped penis stroker (my plan: wear a strap-on and fuck the mouth), and vulva stimulators made of 98% water (?!). I also stayed on the outdoorsy theme with the Rose, Snail Vibe, and WaterSlyde.
I recorded audio notes with my phone for weeks. I dramatically announced the start and end times of my masturbation sessions, plus orgasm count, as if gathering significant data. I even masturbated with my vintage vibrator from 1925, an ingenious homage to my past joke.
I ended up with an overwhelming 2.25 hours of raw audio.
Editing, of course, took a very long time. I applied an effect to the audio that made it sound like a winding old cassette tape, then added a few easter eggy background clips, such as cat purrs and the Joy Ride commercial. For no reason except to make myself laugh, I used a legendary Big Brother speech during the part where I swallowed weird sex pills.
Then I shot corresponding photos and video, whole projects of their own.
The audio journal allowed me to riff on the absurdity of my job while giving you an honest glimpse into what it’s like. It was one of my most intensive jokes, but it also showcases my skills and talents in a pretty cool way — serving as a testament to the lengths I’m willing to go.
2023
Produce fucking: which fruit or veggie makes the best dildo?
The idea to jack off with fruits and veggies had been percolating in my mind for years. I’d never experimented with using household objects as dildos before. I was tickled by the thought of picking out my desired shape of yam. I knew the produce held secrets, just like the tiny dildos did: unusual sensations only ascertainable through experience. War stories.
I wanted to do this joke in 2020, but then COVID happened and I decided on the Dildo Butler instead. 3 years later, when it was clear we no longer needed to feverishly wipe down our groceries, I set out on my ill-advised quest to determine the most pleasurable fruits and vegetables.
I detailed the whole journey, starting from picking out my new dildos at the store. “Will a green banana feel different from a ripe one? I wondered as I circled the heaping mountain of fruit. Which one will hit my G-spot best?“
A single banana really would’ve sufficed.
But no, I just had to compare it to a yam (“there wasn’t enough lube in the world to get that yam inside me”), carrot (“felt like I was doing a transvaginal ultrasound on myself”), piece of corn (“guys, oh god, why did I do this”), and, mercifully, cucumber (“reminiscent of a dildo, and that alone was a relief”).
I guess you could consider this my quote-unquote “most dangerous joke,” as a couple people got on my case about “encouraging” physically unsafe practices. I don’t think it’s that dramatic, considering I used condoms and mentioned precautions. Of course you should use a dildo if possible — they’re abundant now, and that’s wonderful — but a banana costs 42 cents.
And not to give away the ending too much, but that 42-cent banana made me squirt. It also gave me a glorious new brag: “I’ve ripened a banana with nothing more than the heat of my vagina. Have you?”
Scrapped ideas
My half-baked April Fool’s ideas deserve to see the light of day just a little, so… enjoy…
- Reaction video. Watch weird sex toy videos on YouTube and videotape myself reacting to them. It would’ve been a riot, no doubt, but with a massive video editing learning curve. I had to nix this idea after how long it took me to plan, shoot, and edit my Princessa video.
- Meal of edible sex things. A fancy dinner plate with some edible panties. A wine glass with strawberry-flavored lube. A gummy cock ring on a little cocktail plate. Ew ew ew.
- Horrible giveaway. Offer up shitty prizes, like Anal Ease.
- Review a penis. Weigh the pros and cons.
- Review a dog toy completely seriously. I deemed this idea too controversial. Jacking off with fruits and vegetables was edgy enough, and besides, cats are superior.
- Masturbation session comment cards. Could’ve been pretty funny, but I ended up exploring a similar sentiment in my audio journal. I also made physical print-outs with Piph Libs.
- Guide to my collection, but it’s my other collection: walruses.
- Sex toy experiments. Hypothesis and result. For example, sprinkle instant mashed potatoes on a dildo and see if it turns to mashed potatoes in my vagina.
- Hay Epiphora. Site is now farm-themed.
- Vibrators ruined my life: a cautionary tale.
- Come out as straight. Can you imagine?
Of all the jokes I’ve told before…
Which April Fool’s joke did you most enjoy? Did any of them trick you? I would LOVE to hear your stories and reminisce with you. Who here was around for my earliest jokes? Come to the comments section and let me give you a hug!
