July 2nd 2006
Atkins Down The Road and I realised some time ago that our plan to market inflatable rubber women as artificial car passengers has a major flaw, inasmuch as it would look decidedly odd if not downright suspicious if every person in the front passenger seat were a woman.
To get over this problem we tried converting one of our inflatable rubber women (we have three now – for business, not for pleasure, I would stress) into an inflatable rubber man. The head was comparatively easy. We simply removed Bouncy Beyonce’s wig, turning her into an instant skinhead, and added a false moustache and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.
Disguising her tits wasn’t so easy. After much discussion we decided the best thing to do would be to turn her two big tits into one massive tit by filling in her cleavage with foam rubber. This got rid of her tits but what we ended up with was a man with a very large pigeon chest. Atkins suggested that if we dressed it in a Manchester United football shirt and did away with the horn-rimmed glasses people might think it was Eric Cantona. I observed that it would look even more suspicious if every person in the passenger seat was Eric Cantona than if every person were a woman, and anyway Eric Cantona didn’t play for Manchester United anymore. Atkins accused me of splitting hairs and I told him to grow up and we left the problem unresolved.
So this morning, clutching for straws and not in any real hope, I typed the words ‘Inflatable Rubber Man’ into the Google search box. After all, so far as I could see, the only possible market for an inflatable rubber man would be lonely and unloved women, and all they would want them for was their cock, and cocks are already readily available in the shape of dildos (and the dildos are in the shape of cocks). Google didn’t come up with anything, which didn’t really surprise me, however when I hopefully typed in Inflatable Husband it came up with a whole page full of them. I clicked on one of them and it informed me that the price of the Inflatable Husband was £7, all my friends will like him, he won’t upset my parents, he is always willing to please, he doesn’t like football, never breaks wind, is always faithful and he floats, and is 100cm of pure dominating pleasure.
All pretty straightforward then, and the answer, if not exactly to a maiden’s prayers then certainly to Atkins’ and my prayers. Except for the ‘100 cm of pure dominating pleasure’ bit, that is. For what on earth can this mean? Are we talking here of a man only 1 metre tall, or a normal-sized man with a 1 metre long cock? If it’s the latter it must be the bargain of a lifetime for a lonely woman at only £7
I’ve sent off for one. If he doesn’t come up to scratch, and as he floats, I can always take him along to the swimming pool with me when I go for my next lesson.
Â