I appointed myself guinea pig for this suicidal adventure. I myself shall be the speed-loaded kamikaze outbound at dawn to the American naval base, the lonesome soldier leaving his trench to fight the Germans. I shall be the one taking the plunge toward the hereafter of forbidden tags, the land where you can go but never return, the ultimate boss of the game. What is to follow only belongs to the modern history of pornography, the one that gave birth to the degenerate offspring of porn and web. We considered this tag reserved to the medical services and a few men lost in their solitude. The Marquis de Sade himself didn’t mention it, gramps Rotten would be so proud if he could see it from his grave, and the rose is only its misleading symbol. This tag is prolapse, and you would rather never have seen it.
Prolapse comes from prolapsus — pro- meaning “in front of” in Greek (here, basically, whatever organs should be inside your belly), and -lapsus being the Latin word for “slipping and falling”. So now you know. You deal with that info. Either you follow me, or you leave right away. Le Tag Parfait is à la vie, à la mort, ‘til death do us apart, even if you need to venture down the drain and chase rats with a headlamp.
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the gray.
The more I get of you,
The stranger it feels, yeah.
And now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the gray
Seal – Kiss From a Rose
If I tackle this issue, alone (you should know everybody dropped me in this dreadful affair), it is because I discerned some kind of trend on the horizon. Before Internet, this tag was nothing but a disease and had therefore nothing to do with porn. But then some bored blokes with dirty hands decided to give it some space on the long shelf of our solitary pleasures.
So you think a prolapse is cool? Look into my eye! Are you serious? Cool? No, you moron, a prolapse is not cool. Just think about your girl experiencing that snorter in a few years time, or about your uncle who woke up one Tuesday morning asking nothing and dropped his guts on the floor. What the fuck went through the scorched brain of yours when you chose to name your website prolapse-party.com?!!! Was it like: Woohooo! Party time! Let’s dance around the prolapses like magic dwarves and sing dumbass songs? MF.
Rosebutt, butt rose, I’ve had enough of you. I’m so tired of your bullshit. We already slipped deep into post-porn with your asshole dilatations, gaping and anal fantasies for reckless bum addicts. You really needn’t turn a flaw into a practice. Hear me right: I have nothing against the passion for O-rings, but that’s a long way from inverting the codes in order for the inside to become the outside the way you would uncoil a turtleneck. No. That’s the point when I say: Stop it, Internet! Stop it with your bloody rule #34.
That curve featured by Google Trends is giving me the willies. Although not confirmed by a peak on Google News (since the latter forbids porn), it does show the thing is starting to take shape, and the beast is really growing. If it blows up in our faces, we’re going to end up like those guys raped in jail: rolled into foetal position in the showers, blubbering yo mama; I never, ever signed for that stuff and never will, should I have become a nasty bloke that only gets hard to pee.
I didn’t expect I would have to click on gifs where smiling chicks smooch one another’s intestines (really NSFW link). The usual hardcore business leaves me unmoved. Baseball bats, gerbils stuck up asses, double-fists, all this remained, despite everything, steps in the right direction: a doodad penetrating a thingummy and coming back out more or less in the same condition, NOT the other way around. What? Did someone finally hit the big red button? Is it OK to fuck organs now? Is this our VIth Reich of the fap? Are we at last allowed to have it off with a living stomach? What’s the next step? Shall we all gush out our organs and watch them copulate in peace, with our dick in one hand and a cig in the other?
If this crazy stuff keeps increasing, I’m afraid it might create a solar eclipse and chuck us in an endless winter. Hell knows why, the centre of the epidemic is located in England, the #1 country interested in ROSEBUTT, according to Google Trends.
Let’s admit it, with regard to bad taste the English often go beyond what’s imaginable. And I’m not necessarily talking only about their atrocious food, but also about their pop charts, that are not always as groovy as you would think — the Beatles died a long time ago, you know? No kidding, what on Earth is going on over there? How could they erect prolapse into a sex symbol?
I’m scared, I’m cold, I’m defecating confetti all over the place, please don’t ever make me watch those images again! I want to sleep in a virgin’s arms. A brave fap soldier, I’m returning from that war with a banged-up mug, except it is my heart that copped the red shell marks sticking out of some cute girls’ butts. What God did we offend to deserve such a punishment? Can’t we peacefully type the word “anal” without going blind? Because don’t think it’s over! Until now, I’ve just been scraping the surface, but I must tell you what I saw out there, where limits take a fat slug in the brain.
I love those moments. We are here all together, some quilts spread out on the floor, glances meeting. It’s always the same gestures, first the left fist, always. Then the right fist, and a mouthful of vomit, always.
This is how it works on the other side of the barrier: girls looking far from icky sticking fists up their ass, then pulling their anus out and playing with it; it’s blood-red like you’d never guess, and it looks like… I don’t know, don’t want to know, I’m neither a necrophiliac nor a fan of crazyshit.com. Who could possibly be turned on by this stuff? How? What? Because the delirium doesn’t stop there: Hey! It’s so fun, it’s so pop, why not digging further? Let’s suck out our anuses with a suction pad and lick the freshly spilled out colon! This porn-tragedy turns into a competitive frenzy: they go on measuring the bloody pudding — just thinking about it makes my guts twist into eights.
What is this tag doing in the pipes? Interesting fact, prolapse remains notably in the realm of exhibition. It comes down to who will show off the most beautiful butt rose. I didn’t come across any “prolapse cum shot” or “prolapsus bukkake” yet, but trust me: it’s going to happen shortly. Just find a porn actor shooting up bull hormones to have the nerve and endure such decadence. Oh yes! There was this one guy peeing while titillating his ground-touching innards, a poignant testimony of solitude he immortalized with his webcam. The dude seemed to enjoy himself, nothing wrong with that, except maybe his altruism he could have kept for some other cause.
The WWW is huge, but not necessarily soft. The last time I formulated the hypothesis of a Coca-cola + Mentos enema, one dear reader sent me a video (that ended more or less by a rectal prolapse, evidence indeed that great minds think alike). Confronting rule #34 means fighting against the limits of Internet. The future of porn makes me paranoid.
What does the future hold? Vomit enemas? Tracheal fist fucking? Shit bukkake? Are we going to explore our entrails with a GoPro in hand? What slant is porn going to take, the passion for shit or blood? Prolapse, that error turned into a murky tag, heralded by the gaping trend and popularized by prolapse-party, but also dirtygardengirl.com (that introduced the concept of cervix prolapse…), prolapsequeen.com (displaying prolapse deep throat…), or girls like Isabella Clark, that freak me out – though I’m not a wimp… If pornography is defined as the illustration of a longing, what the heck does prolapse do in this category? Whacking off on the Internet has become dangerous. I’m telling you. It’s like playing Prince of Persia with your dick.