Irony can be quite ironic at times.
I was minding my own business at the seaside market today. I’d gone along to have coffee with my brother and pick up a series of nice retro Agatha Christie book club editions. Sitting myself down in a leather chair by the fire of my favourite pub, I pressed on with light reading. Bliss.
An hour later the coffees had gone right through me. Time for a piss.
English readers will be well aware of the ubiquitous condom machines in every pub toilets. In the past decade they’ve expanded the product range to include breathmints, cock rings, lube and god knows what else. After a traumatic experience as a teenager of such a machine swallowing five of my pound coins one night when I had a girl waiting for me in the bar, I decided to never bestow my patronage upon them again.
But I did chuckle when I saw the latest machine here.
Photo with my own camera, today
Let’s just tick off the unintentional ironic humour……
- A magic pill to increase your sexual prowess. Check.
- A herbal remedy for the New Age man whose mind is so open his brain has fallen out. Check.
- Male power is unintentionally pathologised as a “complex” by Feminine Imperative. Check.
- Machine is fitted to the wall next to a condom machine, so it’s a useless product right next to one that actually does facillitate sex. Check.
I dare say they’ve correctly labelled it as the Ultimate Blue Pill. I’m being facetious of course, reading far too much into it than it deserves. Anyway, it made me chuckle.
