My editor, a fashion-forward cyborg with champagne instead of blood, asked me to write about the sexual activity “pegging,” to which I responded that I’m open-minded and fine with two consenting adults dressing up like pirates behind closed doors.
But that’s not what “pegging” means. Keep reading »
Advice is a past mistake regifted. So I’m enjoying Christmas in March. Everyone I know has offered me advice about getting over a breakup and each piece of advice is a piece of personal pain with a ribbon tied around it. I appreciate it, of course. I listen dutifully and say “I hadn’t thought of that,” which is a well-meaning bit of boilerplate that I am practiced at saying. My dad used to always joke that once a man became a father, he surrendered any right to expect holiday and birthday presents that he actually wanted. Fathers get socks and ties. So every time he got socks or ties, which was often, he’d chuckle and say, “This is exactly what I wanted.” He wasn’t disappointed, because the real gift of receiving a gift is in the wide-eyes of the giver. I am deeply thankful for all of the advice. Keep reading »
I’m single, which is working out great because I hate grooming. My ex is awesome, but between you and me and the internet, she could be a total bitch about “soap and water.” Whatever! Now I’m free to wallow in my own filth and believe me, I stink hard. Sure, I look like a lumberjack raised by monkeys, but that’s not why I go to the movies alone. I go to the movies alone because I might as well get used to it, seeing as that’s how I’m going to die. Alone. When I was younger, bourbon was my primary emotional coping mechanism. But since then, I’ve become an adult. Instead of drowning my feelings in delicious brown magic water, I express them to my bestest friends on Twitter. Why, just last night, I twooted the funniest twitter tweet, which was “WHY? #Why?” But I know why this happened and I think it’s related to that one time she said “I love you” and I responded “Baby Stewie is a hilarious character! A baby that speaks like people!” Keep reading »
This week’s column was inspired by a recent article on MarieClaire.com entitled “Why Men Prefer Innocent Girls To Bad Girls.”
The other day, some guys and I were chillaxing in my pal Josh’s sweet hot tub doing what guys do which is hang out and be real and we were discussing “innocent” girls versus “wang-hungry she-beasts.” Across the board, the guys agreed they prefer an “innocent” woman, like a nun or a coma patient or a 16-year-old girl, over a “bitch.” And then Josh was all “dude you got a boner” and everybody high-fived and a couple hours later we all put our clothes back on. Keep reading »
To those of you too busy reading about the historic uprisings in the Middle East, let me catch you up really quickly on the ongoing turmoil in the faraway country of Charlie Sheen. The millionaire sitcom star has been publicly self-destructing. Years of alleged substance abuse, marital problems and bizarre behaviors have, apparently, climaxed. Over the past week or so, he has seemingly divided like a cell into multiple versions of himself and simultaneously appeared on every live television talk show currently being produced. But like most modern celebrity scandals, the personal immolation we’re witnessing isn’t really about the vaguely human celebrity whose antics and flaws and outrageous moral lapses are beamed from dozens of differently shaped boxes directly to our brains. Keep reading »
The reason you’re not married yet is because I don’t really care why you’re not married and no one else does, either. Seriously, nobody cares. You shouldn’t care. Marriage isn’t a tiara. It’s not a ribbon to cut or one of those big novelty lottery checks. You don’t “deserve” a husband. You’re not Veruca Salt. You should be happy with whatever life gives you, because the only thing you truly “deserve” is a grave, although there just aren’t enough funeral pyres in these modern times. But I don’t want you to freak out. If you’re not married, or single, or unhappy, then life is working out as it should. No one has a right to happiness. As Americans, we only have a right to the pursuit of happiness. This explains why we love cars so much. The road trip is more important than the tourist trap. Enjoy the view. Roll down the window. Keep reading »
In honor of Valentine’s Day, we’re rerunning the very first Mind of Man which originally was published in February 2008. It’s an oldie, but SUCH a goodie.
OK ladies, check it out: We love you. We love watching your sleeping face glow on our 150-thread count pillowcases. We love that mischievous glint in your eyes that says both, “You know what I’m thinking” and “You have absolutely no idea what I’m thinking.” We love that momentary moment of punch-drunkenness when we catch a whiff of a new fragrance that makes you smell like flowers. (And we don’t even like flowers. Doesn’t anyone realize flowers are just the clown genitals of the vegetable kingdom?)
So there you have it — we love you. Can we move on now?
We didn’t think so. Keep reading »
As I write this, the floating concrete mall known as Manhattan is experiencing a “wintery mix,” which is what happens when Old Man Winter has food poisoning. Walking to work this morning I got snow up my nose, elbowed in the fat wings by a grumpy Hobbit wrapped in scarves waiting for the subway, and went ankle deep in an enchanted ice puddle. It had to be enchanted, because I’m sure it laughed at me as I cursed. As a little kid, I was certain that snow was just God shaking a giant powdered donut over my house, but now that I am older, I know that snow is just Death’s dandruff. The winter is only enjoyed by Vikings, Tauntauns and people in relationships. Keep reading »
So long as love rides shotgun in your life, nothing can ever truly be that bad. It is the singular prize that trumps all others, the reward that sweetens every success. Truly, it is the hot fudge on the ice cream scoops of personal achievement. Now, excuse me while I puke a little in my mouth. Actually, I’m going to shotgun a cheap beer and play some Grand Theft Auto 4 to make amends for such an unforgivably cheeseball observation. More on love and rewards and, ZOMG, trust, after the jump…. Plus, a fable!
Douchebags were a conspiracy of the patriarchy, a medieval-looking invention that simultaneously suggested that female sex organs were filthy, stinky and repulsive to men, and promised to cure this imaginary affliction. But it doesn’t cure anything. Douchebags can, in fact, upset the natural bacterial culture of the vagina that protects the organ from infection.
There’s also the small matter that unwashed men and women can rid themselves of odorous funks by showering regularly, or even semi-regularly. Vaginas smell like sex and sex smells good. Nibble your lower lip and roll your eyes into the back of the skull good. It is one of those scents that inspire immediate physical reactions. The smell of warm bread makes you drool. The smell of a roaring fires makes you cuddly. The smell of sex makes your skin glow like the digital warriors in “Tron Legacy.” Keep reading »
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