Cormac McCarthy Writes Copy for the Fleshlight Website

This article is part of the The Great Authors Series series.

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Two holed, taintless, it will receive your violence with gnarled innards. More rests within the clapboard dresser. Drawn up from perdition, a maw with no face that speaks to a man's worst intention. A trio of wounds carved in shame. The potential of a million sons soured in the terrain of lifelike silicon. Gripping tightly or not at all. Incapable of knowing love or hate. It will look upon the proud javelin of Apollo's Kyparissos or the foulest specimen of expelled filth and intestine parasites with the same empty yearning as the clam's siphon for grit.

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She came from Nacogdoches, a memorably plump furl of hindmeat that calls to mind the oiled saddle of the finest charro to ride the Coleadero. Subtracted from bone and sinew, scooped from the meridian of her departing manner, it captures the precise contour if not the mien of a human anus. It will grip you like a stabbed man's hands on the throat of his murderer.

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Departed from soil and stone, from the world of blood and pitiless sky, the spirit has no weight. It is smoke imbued with all the meaning we could ever hope to muster. Watch a dying man's last breath rattle up through fleshy pipe and take form in the cold night above his head. What if we could take back all that we did? All the lives we broke and wronged? Could we put it into a shape like a woman and pour out our sorrow by the light of an old lantern swung from a yardarm? What then?

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A beast lives within us all. A shadow thing that knows our darkest secrets and desires. It pulls at its chain and wrests the tiller from our hand. A man has a choice. He can fire his last shot into the night and descend that dark river with the beast. Or a man can learn to aim his gun. He can fire it true and drive back that night that always presses in. We are being crushed by what it means to be a man. We need help, but can trust no woman born of hide and harrow. Find help here, in this horrible thing born from ten centuries of ingenuity.

– Zack "Geist Editor" Parsons (@sexyfacts4u)