Monday, October 16, 2006


When I walked home from work the other day, I nearly stepped on an empty box of condoms lying in the middle of the sidewalk. I grinned, wondering how it got there... did someone finish it off in the hedges somewhere? I mean, I always wondered how that happens, how people manage to lose a shoe without noticing... and for that matter, why an empty pack of condoms ended up not at home in the bin, but square in the street.
And then the name.
Have you ever thought how bizarre and funny that brand name actually is?
I mean, Trojan! Think of the associations.

Trojan. A BIG WOODEN horse built to create trust and then slyly ENTER – penetrate, if you will – a “fortress”, a city, just to ejaculate little mean creatures. The invaded will be hopelessly and mercilessly BANGED to pulp.
What a metaphor for rape, if you’ve ever seen one, the feminist fatale screams. This is so blatantly named by a man. Quite possibly a man with a small penis and a big need for compensation.
And what a metaphor of truth, any ever so slightly streetwise (i.e. blokewise) girl would say. Isn’t it the classic fuckwit strategy to get into any girl’s knickers?

I can’t actually think about it without giggling, which basically means that every time I wanna get jiggy, I have to choose a different brand condom to not ruin the mood.

No comments: