how sex dolls are made Relevant Information
(52 People Likes) If you are an atheist, would you dare give a lock of your hair to an expert in black magic and voodoo?
y into the premise. Nothing a WooWoo dancer could do with incantations and newt eyes would have any effect. Because I KNOW that it is all nonsense. IF there was anything tangible in Voodoo, those with criminal tendencies would have been utilising it f
(76 People Likes) Love dolls look like real women, so what is the solution to the philosophical issue named by TV Tropes as "what measure is a human”?
e of the legs were sticky and it made their clothes hard to but on so they changed the material but doing ball joints in toys like that makes the toys more expensive and it’s likely they wanted to keep the pr Sex Doll ce roughly the same after the cha
(26 People Likes) If I could get a real voodoo doll, could I do anything for my recently deceased husband? I have lock of his hair and a full toenail.
o dolls are BAD JUJU. What you do to the doll in malice will come back to you ten fold. Two: He's dead. Voodoo dolls only work on the living. All you'll do is piss his spirit off. Voodoo dolls are not hard to acquire, a little research and you can class="nturl" style="color: red">mini sex doll make how sex dolls are made your own, just don't. Voodoo, and dolls in particular, are best left to practitioners who know what they're do
(88 People Likes) Is it a good idea to give your husband a sex doll when your sex drive is significantly lower than it was?
u wish to alienate yourself from the intimacy of that part of his life. You could, alternatively, consult an endocr how sex dolls are made nologist to find out if there is anything you can do to address your sagging excitement. I suspect that anyone who would pose this question has already found emotional distance and loss of intimacy in the relationship to be an acceptable aspect of the marri
(95 People Likes) What is the saddest thing you've ever seen?
nd a roll of film on the counter in front of me. Inside the plastic bag was a small black camera. The camera was smashed up pretty bad. “There is a roll of film in this camera that we need to get out and develop if possible. Is this something you can help with?” I was about 19 years old at the time, working in a photography store at a mall in rural Southwest Virginia, right on the edge of the Appalachian mountains. “We have a film lab at the police station but our equipment is broken at the moment. We need to get this film developed as soon as possible. And, we don’t know how to get this out of the camera without ruining the film.” Since the camera was broken, the film was stuck in the camera in the middle of the roll. If the camera was working, the film could be wound back into the roll and protected from the light when the back cover of the camera was opened. If they opened the camera to take out the film as it was, any pictures that were taken would immediately be ruined once the undeveloped film was exposed to the light. We did have a small black box to use for this exact type of situation. The box was sealed so no light would get inside. I could put the broken camera inside the sealed box, reach my hands through an opening on each side of the box, slip my hands into black gloves that were attached inside, and open the camera to remove the film without any light damaging it before it was developed. I told him I could help. No problem at all. “Did you hear about the plane crash this afternoon? We recovered the camera from the crash site. We don’t know what is on the roll of film. Are you okay with developing those pictures for us?” I am sure there are people who would say ‘no’ to that question. I was not one of those people. Of course I would help. And I was curious to see what was on the roll of film. “Can you develop this other roll of film as well? These are the pictures we took at the crash site. They are quite gruesome though. The pictures of the crash, before the bodies were taken to the morgue. And there are a few pictures from the morgue as well. It really is okay if you would prefer not to develop these, but we figure it doesn't hurt to ask.” I had been working all day so I hadn’t seen the news. A small private plane crashed just a few miles from the store where I was working. It wasn’t that uncommon for plane crashes like this to happen. The Appalachian mountains were not easy for small planes to fly in and out of. Since the photo equipment at the police station wasn’t working, if we were not able to help them, they would have to drive over an hour away to the next closest photography store. Or wait however many weeks it would take for them to get their equipment fixed. I told him I would help. No problem at all. The plane crashed in the middle of the woods, barreling through layers of trees before it hit the ground. Plane parts were everywhere. There was hardly anything left of the plane itself. There were pictures of each of the bodies of the four men who were on the plane. Their bodies were large, covered in blood. I could see their limbs disconnected and lying on the ground, far from where the bodies were. The men’s bodies were torn to pieces, just like the plane was. It was surreal. I checked back on the equipment settings a few times while the pictures were being developed, but I couldn’t look at all of them as they came through the machine. The last time I checked to see how close the roll was to being finished, I saw the last picture on the roll come through. It was a picture of one of the bodies lying on a table at the morgue. I packaged up the stack of pictures in an envelope with a huge lump in my throat. All of a sudden I wanted to un-see everything I just saw. But it was too late. As I handed the envelope to the police officer, my coworker handed me the second roll that she was able to remove from the broken camera. As I developed the film from the camera, I saw there were only four pictures taken on that roll of film. The first two were pictures of the four men standing next to their plane. Fishing gear in hand, huge joyful smiles on their faces, arms wrapped around each other for a group photo before taking off for a weekend fishing trip. All four of them looked like they were in their mid- to late-50s. The third was a photo taken on the plane by one of the men sitting in the front seat of the two men who were sitting in the back seat. The last photo was of the plane’s control panel. When the plane started to go down, before it crashed, one of the men took a picture of the control panel. He must have taken the photo knowing there may be a chance that the camera would survive the crash, and there would be a small glimpse of what went wrong. A small piece of evidence to help explain to their loved ones what happened. I thought about those men for months. I wondered how long they knew each other. How many fishing trips had they been on together? What did they say to each other when they knew the plane was going down? Were they at peace with their lives before everything ended so abruptly? This was over 15 years ago and I still see each of those pictures so vividly in my mind as I type this. Those last four photos were by far the saddest thing I have ever seen. I still remember the smiles on their faces. So much joy came through those photos, showing a group of close friends excited to spend the weekend together doing something they love. But they never made it to their destination, and they never made it back home. I found myself constantly thinking about those men and the story that was ingrained in my mind from the pictures I saw. I did not know them. But, I di
