Blow jobs are overrated. There. I said it. I know men who would fight a grizzly bear with a spork for a little mouth love. I also know women who guard their oral sexing technique the way a pharmaceutical company protects its most precious patents. But I’m just not a dude who loves blow jobs. I’m an active guy, when it comes to being intimate with a woman, and laying back and letting her go down on me has always felt passive to me. Disconnected. As if I could lean back and read the Economist or slurp a bowl of soup while being, uhhh, serviced. 

Happy (belated) Thanksgiving, y’all. Normally, this holiday is a gluttonous orgy of excess, where we hit the gravy bong and chug obscene amounts of food directly into our greasy talkholes.  It’s also a time to give thanks for not having to awkwardly hang out with extended family for the rest of the year.

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!

Recently, I rambled about The Big Switcheroo – men and women adopting each other’s worst gender behaviors. The diatribe was equal parts self-indulgence and genuine confusion. Are men really becoming needy, emotional leeches and women emotionally void predators?  I suppose no one said the collective lurch towards equality was going to be pretty. And I’d like to add that it seems no one is really having any fun. It’s never fun being someone who you’re not.

But enough Danny Downer.