Archive for the 'sex education' Category


Vaginal cream chocolate bar. Yum.

For readers with small children in the area, this post contains words and pictures which acknowledge the existence of sexual organs, so you might want to make the print really, really small.

The red-haired girl has a job for a few months now.  Up to three times a week you can find her at a local pharmacy picking up prescriptions for delivery to customers in the broader neighbourhood.   She gets eight bucks an hour plus tips, which sometimes can be substantial.  I call her our drug-runner.

Yesterday she came home with a package I’m still puzzling over.  Take a look at this:

Vaginetten Myko Kombi chocolate bar Vaginalzäpfchen suppositories

What do you first think of when you see a chocoate bar named Vaginetten?  I know what I think.  Ewwwwww……

Especially when the translation of that fine print at lower left sinks in:

White Chocolate, tenderly melting like Vagisan’s Cremolum Myko Kombi.

Vagisan Myko Kombi white chocolate yumUh, now I get it.  The creamy-white anti-yeast-infection cream suppositories Vagisan vaginal suppositoriesthey’re pushing melt in your hoo-ha just as smoothly as this creamy white chocolate melts in your mouth.

Only people who graduated in the bottom half of their marketing class could have come up with this.    Seriously, what were they thinking?

“I know!  We’ll package up white chocolate bars to give away at pharmacies.  People will pick them up and wonder who could be dumb enough to market vaginal cream with white chocolate, they’ll take it home, take a photo and throw it up on social media.  Voilà!  Free advertising!”

They’re not so stupid after all.


This site may harm your computer

Waiting for a flight at Hamburg airport early last week I sat down at an internet terminal and was about to drop a coin in before the nice man sitting next to me said, “take mine, I have to go and there are about 25 minutes left on it.”

I thanked him warmly and sat down in his place, immediately typing lettershometoyou into Google to see if I could find Adsense ads on my blog. You’ve probably heard that they’re out there, lurking on every blog. It’s the price you pay for free hosting, and no amount of whining is going to get wordpress to take them off short of your paying them to do so.

Problem is, if you’re logged in to you never get to see them.

So every once in a while I slip into the skin of Joe Regular Blog Lurker to try to find out how Google is making an even greater mess of my blog. Do they stick ads for jock itch powder next to posts about my mother-in-law? Blurbs for psychiatrists next to write-ups about psychos? Tart up my skiing posts with pitches for helmets and handbaskets and other crap I have no use for?

The list of hits Google chucked up had me scrambling for my camera. Not for what they said, but for the public terminal’s net-nanny warning label:

At first I thought they were referring to my blog. After all, even if there are no trojans waiting to ambush the unsuspecting visitor, there is a ton of stuff here people might find harmful. Fake news, accounts of deception and outright lies, denunciations of crap, transcripts of discussions with an underage female child concerning condoms, naked girls in newspapers, death and more death. I don’t know why I haven’t already been hauled before a judge as a menace to society.

Then I realised the warning was all about How could it not be? The link is to wordpress, not lettershometoyou, which only appears in the description.

Maybe it was just a forewarning, because a few days later I and millions of other unsuspecting bloggers logged on to find our blogging universe turned inside out without so much as a ‘”hey guys, guess what? Big changes coming up tomorrow at 4pm Pacific Daylight Saving Time.”

Did someone at WP central hit publish instead of save by mistake before turning out the lights for the weekend?

I’m sure after a few months this will all die down and we’ll wonder what all the fuss was about, but in the meantime probably is harmful to your computer. Judging by the number of pissed-off entries on the forums, I’m surprised there hasn’t been a youtube video posted of someone throwing a laptop out the window frisbee-style in frustration. I don’t care what it looks like, merely uploading an image, for example, has become a mind-numbing chore, a multi-stepped process where once a couple of clicks sufficed.

This in an upgrade? Sure the savvy bloggers using had a go at it for a while, but given the huge drop in skill level between those bloggers and duffers like me using, didn’t they think to test it on a few hundred of us users who’d never seen it before? They could have run a little sneak-preview contest, choosing a hundred or so bloggers to run it through it paces for a month just to iron the kinks out.

Hell, maybe they did test it out on no-brain bloggers like me, I don’t know, but the way it was released reminds me of the time I bought a new desktop from Dell a few years back. The monitor was a new flat-screen model from the Korean firm LG, back when flat screen meant the surface was flat. The rest looked like an old-style monitor.

Anyway, the first one they sent didn’t work, so I sent it back.

The second one arrived three days later. It didn’t work properly either, so I sent it back, too.

The third one arrived a few days after that, and it didn’t work either.

So I phoned up Dell to complain – not for the first time – and asked them why they couldn’t ship me a monitor that worked. Their response? We can’t test the monitors as they come in, we just ship them along.

Fair enough, I said, but can’t they at least have someone switch it on at the factory? Twist a knob? Tweak a button?

Nööö, too expensive. It’s cheaper to ship them halfway around the world and have the consumer do the testing.

Happy blogging.

© 2008 lettershometoyou


In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king

There was an absolutely fascinating article in Der Spiegel a couple of weeks ago about people who fall in love and want to have sex with objects. Computers, steam locomotives, the Berlin Wall, the World Trade Centre, you name it, there are people who want to sleep with it.

One man was described as seeing his Macintosh laptop as male, so he had to regard his relationship with it as a homosexual one.

The Swedish woman who was in love with the wall was devastated when the tide of history turned. The woman whose “lover” was “publicly executed” on September 11, 2001 has had a 1:1000 scale model built for both towers, complete with aluminum exterior so that she can take them with her to cuddle in the bathtub.


The 41-year-old man at left fell head-over-heels for a Hammond organ at the age of 12. He is now in a monogamous relationship with a model steam engine.

The article was in the Science section. It had quotes from the people depicted, from experts on why some people love things instead of other human beings, what they get out of it, and so on.

But that’s not what I want to focus on. What I do want to point out is that this article is being distorted in a blog beyond recognition, used as an example of how nasty the German media is. The blog post bears almost no relation to the thrust of the article. It merely uses it as fodder for the blog’s overall agenda, which is to illustrate the so-called biased and unfair treatment the Excited United States of America receives from German media across the board. It even provides a link to the Spiegel’s online edition for knee-jerk reactive types to email in their outrage.

Ignoring the other cases portrayed and conveniently snipping out the photo of the man with the choo-choo-train, all it says is, “It doesn’t matter that nearly 3000 people died in those buildings. Now it is apparently OK to exploit them for tasteless stories on people with sexual perversions.”

What he fails to mention is that the woman fell in love with the buildings when she was eight years old, long before the terrorist attacks. He also fails to mention that it is a sensitive piece without a shred of sensationalism or voyeurism, ending with the remark that these people are the way they are, they aren’t harming themselves or anyone else with their unusual desires, and who can say that of anyone?

I was going to ignore this post completely, because why draw attention to crap, but then again, if somebody is spewing right-wing bullshit about German media to an audience most of whom probably can’t even read the language of the media being attacked, someone has to set the record straight.

Quite frankly, I couldn’t care less if you’re a loony lefty from la-la-land, a foam-at-the-mouth right-winger with an arsenal of loaded guns in the basement or so undecided you straddle the fence keeping both ears to the ground waiting to see which way the wind blows, if you’ve got an axe to grind don’t lay out examples which have no basis in reality.

Unless of course you’re going for a Masters in Intellectual Dishonesty, in which case you’re headed for top of the class.


Talking about condoms with a nine-year-old

The German education system is not concerned with character-building or instilling moral fibre. Instead the aim is to load you with qualifications which will earn you respect and promotion in the marketplace.

Dear Brothers of the frozen wastes,

That’s taken from the Xenophobe’s Guide to the Germans, my Amazon gift to you of some Birthdays Past and quite possibly the thinnest coffee-table book in the world.

I was reminded of it the other day talking to your little red-haired niece.


(ring-ring-ring, opens door) Hi Sweetie! How was school?

Hi Daddy! Look what we got to keep at school today. (flops wrinkly yellow condom onto kitchen table) Wanna try it on?

Uhh…no. (trying to think quickly and failing miserably) Actually, as you probably learned, once you roll it out like that you can’t put it on any more, because it will never fit right and so it won’t work properly.

I know that! We learned lots about these things today.

Like what? (bracing myself)

Well, they make your fingers smell! (shoves fingers under my nose)

Ewwww. I know, I hate that smell. But what did you learn about them? What good are they for, anyway?

Well, if you have sex with someone, you can catch a bad disease if you don’t use one.

Yeah, that can happen. What else?

The lady can have a baby.

You’re right about that, too. You know, you’re lucky you’re growing up in Germany. When I was a kid, they didn’t talk to us about this stuff in achool at all until we were about 12. And even then, they had the boys and girls go into separate rooms. They showed us guys a film called, “Boy to Man.” The girls got to see “Girl to Woman.”

Sounds boring.

Well, it wasn’t boring really, just kind of weird. Why couldn’t people be open and honest about things like they are here? You could tell the teacher was uncomfortable talking to us about it. So was your Grandpa when he came to tell me what we used to call “the birds and the bees.” He just gave me a couple of books, said I should read them, and if I had any questions, I could always ask. And then he sort of walked away like he didn’t want me to ask, ever. I remember one book was called, “What Teenagers Want to Know.”

(pause for a while, wrinkly condom still lying on the table)

So guess what’s the only think I’ve ever stolen from a store in my whole life.

Daddy!! You STOLE something from a store? How come?

Cuz I was too embarrassed to buy it.

I don’t know.

You’re looking at it.

A condom? Why did you steal a condom?

Well, actually, it was a little package of three. They would have cost me all of about 95 cents, but in the little town I grew up in, everyone knew everybody else. The man behind the counter in the drug store knew me, knew my parents, knew my girlfriend, knew my girlfriend’s parents, everyone. We knew we were going to want to use them, I just didn’t know where to get them and I was too embarrassed to ask a friend or one of your uncles to buy them for me. I was just a 16-year-old kid, you know.

God, that sounds old.

Yeah, we thought we were too.

© 2007 lettershometoyou

The banner photograph shows the town of Britannia Beach, BC, Canada, where I grew up. It's home. But I don't live there anymore.

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