Fucking Day: Make Your Own Sex Toys 🌭 (Patreon)

There’s no gentle way to break this to you. It’s time to:

Make Your Own Sex Toys was written and illustrated by a middle-aged British man in 2007. But before we get into that, let’s slow down here and try something. Knowing only what you know, I want you to really search your soul for your Make Your Own Sex Toys expectations. This book has 50 “quick and easy do-it-yourself projects” inside. What could they be?

Take as long as you need before you scroll down.

Did you guess “daycare administrator offering you the gaping asshole of his pumpkin”? Because that’s real. That’s how the book starts. The vibe of Make Your Own Sex Toys is dark and gross, and it has no idea. It thinks it’s being adorable. It is greeting card jokes stapled onto the sex life of someone squatting in a junkyard. It is a book about dangerous masturbation traps where women seem to only be an afterthought– nuisances made up of confounding parts and motives who have no place in the world of sex. Make Your Own Sex Toys is the work of a pumpkin fucker trying to walk among us and failing.

Every pen stroke of those illustrations burned a tiny bit of innocence from our universe. “The creatures shall blind themselves in the yarn of filth and fuck the unfucked,” this author’s art supplies hissed. And while the title could not have been more clear about what this is, the author still feels it necessary to go over some things before we start.

Surprisingly enough, the things he wanted to go over were not liability and safety. I was expecting at least three pages explaining how no homemade anal beads stuck inside you are the author, or the author’s publisher’s fault. There are homemade anal beads in this book, by the way, and they seem perilous. The first reader to take Make Your Own Sex Toys seriously is going to die asshole-first, filled with poorly fastened ceramic balls. But instead of these concerns, the author is more excited to tell you about the history of sex toys. From prehistoric fertility statues to cock rings made of ancient Chinese goats, they present us with the least interesting facts a 2007 Wikipedia search had to offer. There are also a lot of tips for measuring your dick.

It’s a simple eight step process where you take down measurements over the course of three days of maintaining a full capacity erection. But there are no crafting projects in the book that would require this type of precision. If you’re knitting a dong cozy tailored to the millimeter, you’ve made a tourniquet, you maniac. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Anyone who needs seven tiny suits perfectly tailored for each stage of their boner already knows to get them made professionally. The important thing to note here is how the author chose to illustrate this with rotten bananas. Every artistic choice says something and I think it’s meaningful that the author chose to represent his penis with a mushy piece of forgotten trash. Let’s get started with crafts! First up, obviously, are the For Him projects. And we lead off with…

It’s a dick hole in a bar of soap. I’d argue none of us knew what to expect going in, but sincere, detailed blueprints on how to fuck a bar of soap was not it. This is nothing. This is a failed techbro trying to reinvent the Handful of Bubbles. But assuming you and your soapy urethra simply preferred this authentic recreation of the human pelvic floor, this is a sex toy exclusively for people who are and will always be alone. Guests and roommates cannot catch you with this. Everyone who uses your bathroom will see this and know exactly what you’ve done. If you make a Soapy Suds, you need to take a three hour shower and fuck your Irish Spring to completion to hide the evidence.

Or, “Fancy That,” the author says, after you’ve worn out the vagina on your soap, you can still use its shameful remains as soap. Oh, really? Is soap still soap after you fuck it, you fucking soap fucker? This is only the first project and I feel like he’s mentally and creatively exhausted. He is explaining what soap is to someone in a literal sexual relationship with it. It’s so goddamn sad. It is a shower masturbation hack that leaves you with a prop that would make even the kindest person say, “Monster, you are no longer welcome at this YMCA.” Oh, good. The next project is “Fuck a Pumpkin.”

I wasn’t kidding! The author tells you how to fuck a pumpkin! It’s simple, and sorry if this sentence is too alluring, but refer to the mushy banana statistics you took earlier to scoop out the right amount of pumpkin slime for your girth and then pound off into your food. When you’re done, sit quietly and listen as the wet hole whispers of the love you’ll never know.

This is horrible. This is how you get a garbage man to write a note he doesn’t know how to start. And look at all the cuteness sprinkled through this surgical explanation of how to inseminate the flesh of melon. This is written like a horror movie. The author sounds like a wise-cracking melon fucker who turns out to be the murderer. What’s next, jerk off into a sock?

Oh my god, the third sex toy is putting on a condom and jerking off into a sock. I get that self-pleasure is not a shared experience and none of us have any idea what the rest of us get up to when we’re alone, but I don’t think any reader is hearing about jerking off into a sock for the first time here. We are lubricating things from around the house and fucking them like a boy whose parents think he’s old enough to not need a babysitter. And like he did with soap, the author added several hundred dogshit stupid words about socks, as understood by an ordinary foot owner. “Use your lubricant and semen filled sock to mop up your mess,” is not a tip! That’s something you tell a prisoner if they ask for a napkin.

So we’ve made love to soap, pumpkins, and socks. It’s time to move on to actual trash. Fill some bubble wrap with toothpaste. You can also fuck a shirt or a towel, the author says. So, again, you are grabbing the nearest garbage, the nearest lubricant, and porking it. And again, there is no advice worse than this. This isn’t how you explore any kind of healthy sexuality. This is how to masturbate when you’re on the run from the cops. This is how to die less horny in a trash compactor. And he has some follow up advice to “fuck a wet tube of something, anything”:

Rinse it off and do it again! Build a real relationship with that wad of packing material. Or relax by crushing your new lover’s blisters with your fingers. It’s all super helpful, thanks.

So we’ve had sex with most of our debris and food, now what? Maybe… m-maybe dick sweater?

The author acknowledges knitting a tiny sweater for a human penis is a big step up in production from stroking yourself with a moist t-shirt, so he suggests visiting your local library. Which sounds crazy at first, but I bet “help free things I can fuck help” is the top Internet search at every local library. I genuinely don’t know what this is for or who it could be for. It’s a condom designed by a madman to keep his couch cushions from getting pregnant. Is it for someone who wants to add a little naughty fun into their job scrubbing out the vulvas of livestock? If you came into the bedroom with this on your dick your lover would think you had been cursed by some kind of yarn imp. Even the author of this stupid book is like, I don’t know, maybe it’s for warmth?

Wrap your crotch in this jeweled “posing pouch,” made of felt scraps by the pumpkin patch’s loneliest masturbator. The intended reader of this book is absolutely a mole man. These are the plans for homemade underwear. There’s a caption that says See My Thong and it’s about how hard it is to not expose yourself to your realm’s intruders. He called it a “beautifully crafted posing pouch.” Do you know who has sex with people who build their own underwear and call it a posing pouch? Loose socks, abandoned pumpkins and nothing else.

This is something Batman would have to escape after being Caught in the Clutches of… the Crafter! These are homemade handcuffs. And stunningly unerotic ones. It’s worth looking back on what we’ve seen so far to try to paint a picture of the author. He has collected trash to have sex with and construct panties out of, and now he’s built at least one pair of restraints. And he describes these restraints by saying, “Ronald Reagan was wrong! Let me tie you up, let me penetrate you like a warm watermelon, behold my pouch, my pouch, I can hide it no longer.” This is a mole man book!

The author suggests building your own cock ring out of elastic. “You’re a real man now,” the author tells you under the word “Bingo!” I think we all knew this book adaptation of a failed clickbait article wasn’t going to be good, but could anyone have expected this madness? The author is claiming the treatment for Moleman insecurity is wrapping an old underwear band around your dick, and I’m barely kidding. If you’re not a feral teen living in a garbage truck, every bit of this advice is crazy.

It is the 9th entry, and he’s officially out of ideas. This is just a Chewbacca version of the author’s underwear band cock ring idea. And am I crazy, or is this a lot of length to give up? Like, don’t worry about me, ladies, but when you have three inches of carpet around your junk, is there enough shaft left to reach your pumpkin’s g-spot? Or are you supposed to thrust the whole thing into your partner, cock belt and all, and hope physics isn’t paying attention? I don’t know, I feel like when they heard this pitch the publisher should have asked, “You have had sex with human holes before, right?”

I can’t fucking believe he made a Star Wars version of the dick sweater too.

Okay, hear me out, sex-havers. What if there was an anime girl titty mousepad YOU COULD EAT? This shit is off the rails. The author is making Jell-O boobs and suggesting you feed them to your wife’s parents? We have to assume it’s a joke, but it’s definitely a “ha ha I’m kidding… unless you think your mother and father might WANT to fuck this Jell-O with us” joke. This copy is a nightmare. Read this out loud and every word will feel like a spider in your mouth. “Nevertheless, the fleshy sensation is similar, as the jelly wobbles into glorious submission.” This was probably his second draft after his publisher had some notes on “Butt of a Frozen Dead Body.”

Sure, add some pornographic needlepoint to your pillowcase. That should improve your sex life. Everything in this book is an off putting, deal-breaking warning sign to a potential lover. If you walked into a man’s home who has carved dick holes into every object and has cleaned them all with used jizz socks, nothing would be more important to you than fighting your way back out. But let’s say you stayed, waded through the wet garbage to the bedroom, and saw this: a “stunning erotic” pillowcase embroidered in “2 hours” by an amateur junkyard masturbator. You’d finally know you fucked up, right? Well, this virgin necromancer and sex book author thinks your makeshift porn pillows will be a hit! “It’s sure to impress any bedfellows,” he says, probably wrongly.

Oh, good. This again. I guess in the world of homemade sex toys, adding earbuds or jingle bells to the dirty sleeve already turning your balls purple counts as a whole new project.

This book finally has an idea I can use. With only a curtain ring, five minutes, and the trash from a child’s birthday party, I can make my genitals look like one of Mr. T’s ears!? I’m glad we found a good one, because now it’s time to move on to the “For Her” section, which is not the author’s area of expertise. First off, we have…

Put a condom on your phone and slide the whole thing inside you. Now, and this is the complicated part: call it using a different phone. There’s a picture to help you girls if you’re confused. This entire plan is incredible. It’s like a Little Rascals scheme adapted for dildo. If you told me this plan, I’d expect the next words out of your mouth to be a crab hunting for a larger human shell. This is advice you only take when you’re a wonderful mother and your life insurance pays triple if you die from a cervical obstruction.

Here’s the author’s second idea for the ladies: fuck something electric. Whether it’s covered in old mouth bacteria or spinning blades, it doesn’t matter. Rub it on your vagina, bye, that’s the whole thing. Time to Create: 1 minute. Skill Level: Beginner. You Will Need: Debris, Carefree crotch.

“I don’t know, sit on a water balloon, you lonely cow.” – Author of Make Your Own Sex Toys, no Seriously

The author’s fourth crafty idea, For Her, is to have sex with fruits and vegetables. You can wrap it in a condom if it’s too rotten to hold together, or carve canals into it to add a fun risk of leaving most of it inside you. And look, I know how to party. I’ve lost a salad or two inside a lady. Still, I can’t believe how cavalier this book is about hole safety. He’s dressing it up a bit, but at no point is the author’s advice anything more complicated than to emerge from the shadows and put your genitals on or around a precious piece of Moleman treasure.

I sort of implied the author hates women a couple times, but I don’t think you’d suggest carving a full size totem to a Gnomish god and tell someone to sit on it if you liked them. Look at the scale of Wooden Woody. This is no dildo. The text even says it “doubles as a personal safety device.” This author, this beast who thinks filling up a water balloon counts as Making Your Own Sex Toy, knows this is closer to a deadly weapon than a marital aid. This is like being fisted by a Shaquille O’Neil golem, the highest of honors in Moleman society, but a tough funeral to plan in ours.

I don’t think there’s a fun way to spin this one. The fucking idiot glued a second layer of padding to a ping pong paddle and really thinks he did something profound. He says, and I quote, “your world may never be the same again.” I never thought I’d have to say this a fourth time in my life, but: you stupid, trash-fucking piece of shit, you have made a ping pong paddle out of a ping pong paddle.

The author knows what you ladies want out of a sex toy. Take your tits out a-and cover them in gold? I guess between this and the ping pong paddle you have the starting gear for a character about to embark on the worst sex adventure anyone has ever seen. And when they are defeated and looted, someone will say, “Whoa, I found six cellphones and thirteen half-eaten carrots on this level 1 pervert.”

Exhausting all his ideas For Her, the author moves on to ideas For Couples. Because couples, like women, are a thing this virgin wearing only a homemade dick sweater understands completely.

You could, with your partner, make a quilt out of beaver closeups and squirting dicks? That’s a reasonable thing a human couple might enjoy. “It’s cold, honey. Can you get the one thousand pictures of genitals? Oh, who’s at the door? We have guests, like all owners of crotch quilts! Saquille O’Neil golem! I’ll moisten my holes with the nearest fluid, hiss.”

Another thing couples love is to back their assholes together around a cudgel. This is absurd, and of no use to anyone. If Johnny Knoxville married Grace Jones and they were playing Truth or Dare on their anniversary, no one would have sex with this. If you wrote “sex toy” on this, archeologists would decide you came from a race of giants that gave silly names to their boat anchors.

I’m not wired for leather humiliation play, so I can’t be sure, but I don’t think that fetish translates to crochet. Again, I’m not 100%, but this makes the whole thing go from “kinky sex slave” to “I found an old muppet in the swamp.” And the author knows. See how he’s trying to shield himself in cute? But look at his idea of a gag– telling you to give the knitted sex mask to your grandparents? It is such try-hard zany perversion that overshoots funny and hits elder sexual abuse. It’s a joke pitch the producers of America Pie 11: The Last of This Fuckable Debris would call “a big yes,” and Eugene Levy, age 98, will somehow make it work.

This is called the Strap-On Salami, but it’s not a clever name. The author’s plan is to take an actual salami and attach it to a shoulder pad with a curtain ring so your Moleman wife can peg you with meat. This is the safest of all the book’s sex toys because if it breaks off, there’s no masking the smell. The next time you sleep, the vermin in your trash nest will crawl in and remove it from you whether you like it or not.

This is a Moleman altar of powerful perversion. It’s a pipe organ of toilet paper tubes filled with fucked waste. If you came upon this, you would frantically radio dispatch to say, “John Doe has the upper hand!” Anyone with this in their home does not care if they live or die. All they know is a sad erection scratching against a smear of the same brown, seeping garbage arranged into different shapes like Taco Bell menu items.

Fellow mole people! Keep your treasures in this box adorned in dicks, titties, and bush! Honor our Shaq protector by entering the code dick, inverted dick, pubic hair, tits, inverted pubic ha– Hark! Is that an unfucked old shampoo bottle I CLAIM IT! I CLAIM IT BY RIGHT OF WOODEN WOODY COMBAT!

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