Because I have friends who regard my floundering attempts to get from one end of the day to the other as a resource to be strip-mined for their amusement, I received through the post, this morning, something called a 'Sex Bomb'.
It was a coarse red and pink globe – two slightly off-centre hemispheres that had been forced together, like a planetoid designed by a five year old. Garnishing one of the poles was a Lovecraftian configuration of waxy, whitish-pink petals that were possibly meant to resemble a flower, or perhaps a small vagina. Frankly, it's been so long since I've laid eyes on the latter that I no longer feel qualified to talk about such things.
A printed label on the packaging revealed the identity of the being who had compounded this abomination: An entity who we shall know only as 'Scott.' I have no idea whether this is relevant but it's nice that someone, somewhere is taking responsibility.
This evening I dropped the Sex Bomb into warm water and stood well back while it fizzed effervescently like a psychedelic soluble aspirin.
Its main purpose seemed to be to turn bath water the same transparent shade of pale-pink as the mouthwash in dental surgeries. The flower/vagina, having been liberated from it grainy prison, immediately dismantled itself. The individual petals floated around in a partially-dissolved state that distressingly resembled clots of semen.
In the interests of science I immersed myself in the mouthwash/semem consommé and remained there for a duration of 30 minutes. To pass the time I read part of an Iain M Banks novel; submergence in strange alien liquids is exactly the kind of odd thing that happens to characters in his books. As I did not have my magnifying glass to hand I can neither confirm nor deny the presence of DNA-altering nanobots.
Upon exiting the bath my skin felt noticeably softer, rather like that of a new-born seal cub. Furthermore I noted that I felt none of the post-coital shame and self-loathing that I have come to associate with the sex act. This gives me cause to wonder whether the product is misnamed.
Describing an object as a 'bomb' implies a destructive force capable of inflicting multiple casualties and causing widespread destruction to property and infrastructure: Something that a cop, with one day left on the force before he retires, might fail to defuse, causing his partner to turn in his badge and embark on a revenge-fuelled killing spree. I do not believe that this so-called 'Sex Bomb' embodies, or makes any attempt to fully-embrace, the reality of such a device.
It should really be called Rosé Ferment, or Brain of Katy Perry.