“Men cannot like rabbits,” lamented writer Dave Good in his Salon essay about how the pet bunny he adopted was not the chick magnet he dreamed it would be. In fact, the “quiet little guy who lived on salad, used a litter box, and slept under the bed” ruined his sex life. “Somewhere in mid-stream,” he writes of the one time he was able to lure a woman back to his place for sex, “the bunny snuck under the bed and began madly pounding the floor with its feet — rabbitspeak for danger — which scared my date. She left, and I never saw her again.”
That does sound unsettling — to hear a bunny pounding away under the bed while you’re getting pounded. But we’re not entirely sure the problem is the rabbit. Rather, that Dave lets it live under the bed. That doesn’t seem normal. And … we can’t help but wonder if he cleans the litter box often enough. Women don’t dislike bunnies, but we do hate the smell of rabbit scat. Some things that will make it absolutely impossible to do the deed. We’re willing to look past that moldy dish towel for one night, but it’s hard to ignore a bunny under the bed. Below are some more vagina killers that have sent us running. Keep reading »
I recently went out on a very, very disappointing date. The sad thing was that I thought I really liked this guy going into it. We had met a week earlier at a mutual friend’s party and hit it off. We had a great conversation and had lots in common. He asked me thoughtful questions, seemed interested in getting to know me, and made sure to get my number when we parted ways. He asked me out to dinner a couple days later, sent nice emails in the interim saying how excited he was to see me again, even called me on the phone for a chat. Everything seemed in order for us to have an amazing time on our date. Oh, how wrong I was. After the jump, the five things that this guy did to lose me in five minutes. He totally would have had it in the bag. What a doofus. Keep reading »
You know how experts claim that most couples fight over sex or money? Not in my tiny apartment, which I share with a 6’5” dude and two cats. What we fight over is décor.
If he were in charge of our home, everything would be bright, white, and utilitarian. There’d be no blood-red living room, featuring Ganesh and Jesus duking it out for wall space. No piles of books and no throw pillows (he especially hates the latter).
But because real estate in New York is insane and my apartment is cheap, my man moved into mine, which (I believe) negates his right to complain because he knew what he was getting into. He would disagree, but I already told you this was our biggest bone of contention. Keep reading »