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  Wulric, The Wolfman Perfume Oil

  A lively tune is being played nearby; it is syncopated, a disjointed song, but perky and upbeat. As you turn to the next stage, you see the broad back and shaggy hair of the next performer. He is seated on a stool in front of a battered upright piano. Wire pokes out from holes in the back of the decrepit beechwood, and broken pinblocks are scattered on the floor. A bowl of glistening viscera has been plopped on a small end table next to the pianist. You can see that the ivory keys of the piano are smeared with blood. He pounds and tinkles the keys merrily, and laughs to himself. The man turns to the audience, and his unkempt russet hair, feral yellow eyes, wild balbo, and chin curtain beard betray his lycanthropic nature. He smiles widely, innocently, and waves his red-stained, black-clawed paw in a genial welcome. He bellows cheerfully, “Hi there! Make yourself comfortable! Don’t you look absolutely necrolishious! HA! HAHA! I just made that word up!” He laughs again, turns, and resumes playing the piano. The rambling tune picks up pace, and he plays with a showman’s flourish. The song slows as he chats with the audience from over his shoulder. “You know, my ex-girlfriend was a real handful, but really… I’ve never known a woman that was as tender as she was. She was all gushy, and well… to be honest, she just fell to pieces for me. Eventually, things ran their course… three courses, really… and, as they say, nothing lasts forever. But I’ll always have a piece of her, here… close to my heart.” He chuckles, and pats the chest of his patchwork overcoat.

  In the distance, possibly from Meskhenet’s stage, you hear one of the phantom musicians give Wulric a gratuitous rim shot.

  Friendly, charming, and cuddly, but possessing one hell of a mean streak: cocoa absolute, French vanilla, birch tar, lavender, bourbon vetiver, wild musk, cardamom husk, clary sage, and cistus.

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  Isaac, The Living Skeleton Perfume Oil

  To your side, you hear a man’s deep whisper, “Slowly I turned… inch by inch… step by step….” A scream interrupts him, and a roar of laughter pulses through the shadowed hall. Following the commotion, you move to the next stage. A bone-thin man moves across the stage, and sits upon an overstuffed, threadbare armchair. A battered violin is propped against the chair’s side. The audience starts to dissipate, and you realize that you must have just missed his performance. Relaxing, he reclines lazily, and as the light falls on his face, you come to realize that he is truly skeletal: a thin membrane of skin covers most of his body, but in many places, bone is completely exposed. He winks at you, and chuckles at your obvious discomfiture. The sweet smoke from his cigar touches your senses, and you hear the soft clink of the ice as he swirls the bourbon in his tumbler.

  “Late for the show, are ya, friend? I’ll tell you a quick one, and then you’d best skedaddle. I have better things to do than sit here and be gawked at all night.” He takes a swig from his tumbler.

  “A man goes to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist says, ‘I think you’re crazy.’ The man says, ‘I want a second opinion.’ The psychiatrist shrugs and says, ‘Alright, you’re ugly, too.’”

  His attention is diverted by a scantily clad woman in the audience beside you, and he leers at her. “Hello, nurse!” he growls, and leans towards her lecherously. “How’s about you come back to my dressing room, and I show you my stamp collection?”

  Bourbon, black tobacco tar, dry bone, bay rum aftershave, and sleazy cologne.

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  JK Men Are Very Good LOL Perfume Oil

  What a piece of worke is a man! how Noble in
  Reason? how infinite in faculty? in forme and mouing
  how expresse and admirable? in Action, how like an Angel?
  in apprehension, how like a God?
  The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
  to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me-
  nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

  Due to the way Facebook’s hate-speech algorithms work, casual observations such as “Men are trash” or “Men are scum” end up being treated with the same gravity as words meant to attack and harass marginalized communities.Vanity Fair has covered exactly how this came to pass, and why they won’t be changing them anytime soon.

  As a small business that has always drawn inspiration from the historical, the erotic, the political, the esoteric, we have frequently run afoul of Facebook’s policies. Iironic, isn’t it, considering the horrifying abuses that still pass muster by the site’s standards – which larger companies, foreign countries, and yes, certain MEN seem to effortlessly circumvent?

  And we’re not alone: our nightlife friends The Nobodies’ event page for their upcoming showcase of drag king talent, playfully entitled “Men Are Trash,” was deleted almost immediately, eliciting a warning from the website.

  Their solution was to create a new event entitled “JK MEN ARE VERY GOOD LOL.” But this too ended up being deleted, and as a consequence of back-to-back “hate speech” violations, the group’s entire Facebook presence was removed.

  So… what is a man, exactly? And what is it possible to say about him? We really, honestly couldn’t tell you. Would Hamlet’s comment “Man delights not me” end up getting deleted? Will our posts promoting this scent?

  At least we’ll all be in great company in Facebook jail.

  Pipe tobacco, leather, mid-century aftershave, a belt of bourbon and a grassy smear of mud from a fairway divot.

  Proceeds from this scent will be donated to NYC’s Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center.

  Follow The Nobodies on YouTube

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  Mulled Cider Oud Perfume Oil

  Take a break from pondering that orb, and mull over this mug! Sweet oud infused with fermented apple, allspice, cinnamon sticks, ginger root, clove, orange slices, and bourbon.

  Out of Stock