Painter Justine Lai’s series of erotic oil paintings depicting the artist banging it out with U.S. Presidents massage two nerdy pleasure centers: history and sex. Are you reading this, History Channel? Less Nazis, more Presidential pegging please! The artist’s intent is to break down the mythological idea of the President, expose their inherent humanity and vulnerability, and to comment on the relationship between sex and politics. Since, after all, power is the ultimate aphrodisiac. The work could easily have been an adolescent lark, a snarky art nerd having some frat fun with former Commanders-in-Chief. Instead the paintings transcend this, and end up being rude, gentle, and compelling. Maybe even sexy? Also, you’d never think Abraham Lincoln would close his eyes while getting a knobber. [JustineLai.com via BoingBoing] Keep reading »
I just can’t emotionally or physically connect with a woman unless there is some kind of terrible music playing.
When it comes to love and romance, timing is everything. There is so little choice when it comes to the fickle demands of your heart. And it’s the same with the music that serves as the soundtrack of your life. The songs you fall in love with pick you, not the other way around. There’s a reason the mythical symbol of love is a creepy flying baby who capriciously shoots arrows at random people, coupling them up. He is a stupid, bitter man-baby eternally blighted with an infants diddle. Keep reading »
An objective, partially superficial analysis of women’s magazines like Glamopolitan has led me to form the following conclusions:
If you don’t learn the 456 sex tips, he will cheat on you.
You’re not fat, girl! But here’s a diet to try!
You date nothing but losers — and therefore have an insatiable appetite for articles about men being losers. “How Not To Date A Loser.” “How To Detect A Loser.” “How To Tell If Mr. Right Is Actually A Human Trojan Horse Filled With Thimble-Sized Losers.”
The point is made: You ladies have dated lots of losers. But have you ever considered that maybe, sometimes, totes gasp, you’re the loser yourself? Keep reading »
Finally. I thought I’d answer one of the big questions I’ve been asked over and over again, the question you ladies are dying to know the answer to. Are you ready?
We want anal sex because if we ask you if we can, and you say yes, even begrudgingly, then that is awesome. I don’t even know if the majority of guys even like anal sex, but that you’d say “yes” to such a dirty, unladylike request is what makes it oh-so-worthwhile. Keep reading »
The Hobopocalyse continues unabated: the stock market is at its lowest in twelve years, unemployment is at its highest in decades, and nobody knows how bad it’s going to get. But the good news is, I didn’t have to pitchfork-fight mole people for canned food today. Your 401K might be tanking, but canned food will always be valuable. And so will the shoulders of those you love and who love you back, even if, at this moment, some shoulders have to bear a greater weight than others.
According to a recent article in Newsweek, you can expect unemployed men, recent victims of the Great Recession of this still very new century, to revert to their lowest common gender stereotype. That means boorish frat boys decorating their fortresses of solitude with posters of bikini-clad hotties and crushing beer cans against their thick, Neanderthal skulls. And, for certain, a lot of men are being laid off. Since the economy began to crater in late-2007, four-fifths of the nearly four million people who have lost their jobs have been dudes. Keep reading »
Here’s a question: Why was Chris Noth’s character in “Sex In the City” nicknamed “Mr. Big” when it’s clear it should have been “Mr. Old Man Fatty”?
Also, I want to know which came first: Carrie and the girls giving the men they were dating petty, offensive little nicknames or actual real world women assigning their men these kinds of faux clever monikers.
You ladies nickname us according to our jobs, our sexual proclivities, or some flaw in our character, as if the act of nicknaming is some preemptive, passive-aggressive revenge tactic. It should be noted that a nickname is the polar opposite of a pet name; essentially, one is accentuating the negative, the other the positive. For instance, I had a chick friend who dated a dude whom she nicknamed “Nasty Ass.” (We were BFFs, and she talked to me like I was vagina-enabled; little did she know I was gathering intelligence.) Anyway, she kept dating him, and wouldn’t you know, love unexpectedly spread, like Ebola. Eventually, her pet name for him was a loving “Stinky.” True story. Keep reading »
As I see it, there should be no discussion of a relationship, or exclusivity, within the first three months of dating. Those three months should be a drama and ultimatum-free zone. No jealousy or commitment. Just a period of savoring; the gritty, totally worth it hard work can come later. Save it, potentially, for the rest of your life.
If something works between two people, then there is no rush. That “click” will still be there in three months, and hopefully six, and a year, etc. And once you find that unlucky slob who will Eskimo kiss you when you’re sick, all you have to do in order to preserve your new found mutual attraction is to chill the f**k out, have faith, and not flinch. Let it happen. Keep reading »
I have never met a woman who thought she was bad in bed. I have known plenty of women who can rattle off an impromptu, critical dissertation on the carnal failings of most men. “He didn’t get me off.” “He treated my nipples like Xbox control sticks.” “He came before his pants were off.”
No, not all women are great in bed. Is the onus on dudes to break the bedsprings? I say no. It is both of our responsibilities to be the best lay possible. There are women who kick back Cleopatra-style and dare their men to please them. Women who use men like giant, hairy vibrators, and women who are so eager to please, it can be overwhelming. Keep reading »
1. I think I’m awesome, but seriously, why do you think I’m awesome?
2. I can speak dolphin. Which is how I help them.
3. I don’t have a driver’s license and I don’t know how to drive a car. But I know how to drive the ladies wild and I have a license to freak, freak you sweet and spicy, freak you like a jungle cat made out of lava.
4. I write poetry. Here’s a sample, “She walks in beauty, like the night/Of cloudless climes and starry skies/And all that’s best of dark and bright/Meets in her aspect and her eyes.” I just made that up, right now, on the spot.
5. Yes I can, did, will, etc. Keep reading »
A sensitive guy’s emotional availability is decorative, a means by which to exploit a woman’s weakness for men who are not total beer-powered, boxer shorts wearing Guitar Heroes with mommy issues and 18 gigabytes of porn hidden in a computer file named “Unicorns.” This sort of dude displays his sensitivity with emo mixtapes, passionate rants on fluffy political issues like being pro-bunny rabbit or anti-death from shrapnel, and professions of understanding the subtle intricacies of the female heart. Keep reading »