Oh yeah, I’m about to have sex. What time is it? Big hand is on “LAID,” little hand is on “ME.” This is going to be awesome. Breath: minty! Pits: spicy! Boxers: fresh! Give her the Han Solo smirk. Squint, seductively. Remember that the eyes are like the mouths of the pants. Tell her what she needs to know just by looking at her: I’m about to let the dawgs of freaky push it, pu-push it real good. Buckle up, lucky lady, you’ve got a first class ticket on the rocket of love. Keep reading »
There is a popular stereotype that men think about sex every seven seconds, which is absurd. Men take a break from thinking about sex every second seconds. That second is usually spent in quiet contemplation. Once that second if over, however, it’s right back to what all men always think about: hot sex. Hammering stuff with our pocket Mjolnir. Making the beast with two chests, because we’re feeling kinky. Keep reading »
I don’t think I have a small penis. I mean, I’ve stared at it all of my life. I can wrap my fingers around it, so I know it’s not of Sasquatch proportions. There are inches there, multiple inches, of love. I’d say it would make a nice cigar. I have been given the standard statement I think most women tell men who are small to average size, that I’m “just right.” Like the bowl of porridge Goldilocks most preferred. I imagine men who are prodigiously gifted are told the same thing, just to keep their ego in check. Maybe during sex, these women also say “Slower! Stop stabbing me in the guts!” I wouldn’t know. I just know that once upon a time, for a hot minute, I thought I had a huge dong. Keep reading »
When I was a little kid, my teenage sister explained to me that she had become a woman. This meant that for one week out of the month, I had better do exactly what she tells me. I would never know exactly when that week would be, so for my sake, she lovingly suggested I play it safe and stay out of her way. Because during that week, she would be going through a natural change that happens to all grown adult women and she wouldn’t be able to control her rage.
So, largely, I did what my older sister told me, because it was obvious that she was a werewolf. Keep reading »
Everything I ever needed to know about dating, I learned selling comedy tickets on the streets of New York City. Convincing a grouchy New Yorker to give you cash money for magic beans is a brutal way to make a living, much less a buck. But it was while pounding the proverbial pavement like a shabby salesman on the verge of death that I learned that one cannot fail forever. The big story of success, in sales or in love, is actually many smaller stories of failures. Keep reading »
I’d like to sincerely apologize to the cute nerd girl intently reading the emo-vampire epic Twilight on the New York City subway: I’m sorry for judging you. This happened about six months ago and I sniffed at you for eagerly devouring a young adult novel about a very special girl and her boyfriend, a really nice monster. Keep reading »