A head for wisdom
ADULT: If we can have a ‘suppository of wisdom’, why not a butt plug of compassion or a vibrator of humility, asks Barry Lowe.
It doesn’t take long! On the way home from the station the other night I heard this ‘Psst!’ from a darkened doorway. It was a young man, but he wasn’t selling his body, drugs or attempting to bludge a cigarette. He looked about suspiciously before opening his closed palm to reveal little white bullet-shaped slugs.
I was intrigued. “What are they?”
He whispered in case we were overheard. “The suppositories of wisdom everyone’s talking about. See.” He pointed to the engraved pointy end of the anal projectile wherein was carved an uncanny likeness to Tony Abbott.
The mere idea of having Tony Abbott up my arse, even as medicinal pile relief, made me shudder. I wondered if the salesman had other examples of skillful suppositorial carving – for example, ass rockets in the shape of Fred Nile, Vladimir Putin, Margaret Thatcher, Robert Mugabe or the head of the International Olympic Committee. Politicians are no strangers to fucking us from cradle to grave – and long after – but this takes it to a whole new level.
If we can have a suppository of wisdom, why not a butt plug of compassion or a vibrator of humility? Is some home drug lab ready to unleash the poppers of erudition?
I’ve long been no stranger to having things inserted in my arse, starting with those now endangered wooden dolly pegs, to dilate my sphincter in order to accommodate the commodious penii of men. In fact, I became so adept and welcoming I had more guest visits than a popular hotel. Over the years I’ve tested the elasticity of that little anal band with the likes of carrots, zucchinis, dildos, vibrators, hands, feet, bananas, crucifix, beads, and even a boiled egg or two (don’t ask). Plus a colonoscopy probe that looked like an alien tentacle and was long enough to sprout like an antenna from the top of my head if pushed far enough. Now that I look back on it, I marvel that I had enough time for the real thing.
Not one of those objects – animal, vegetable or mineral – imparted any sort of wisdom to me. Pain, pleasure, friction, euphoria, and a sense that all happiness resided just a little way south from my testicles, but never once did I recover from anal satisfaction with a skerrick of good judgment. In fact, looking up at some of my sweating satiated partners after they’d dumped their frustration, I marveled at my lack of common sense.
I’m a sucker any time someone offers me something to shove up my capacious rear end and the idea of anally inserted brain fertilizer was an easy sell, although from his pronouncements it was obvious Tony had never had one of these suppositories anywhere within coo-ee of his butt hole.
I handed over my hard-earned cash to the slick salesman and hurried home with my little bundle of promised enlightenment. I slicked my arse and, with trembling hands, began to insert the carved head where the sun don’t shine. I pushed and I shoved without success. I swore in frustration. No suppository of wisdom for me – Tony’s ears were too bloody big to squeeze past my sphincter of frustration.