Hey, Date Rapists! There’s A Groupon for You

February 21, 2012 § Leave a comment


Have you ever been out on a date, buying round after round, and been absolutely certain that your date was in that sweet drunken spot of not being able to remember if she said yes or no? Have you gotten her all the way back to your shitty apartment, onto your mattress on the floor, only to realize that she’s nowhere near drunk enough not to stop you from giving her the raw dog and cream pie?

Don’t let her pre-drink carb fest ruin your fun. Now, you can afford-ably carry this Personal Breathylizer so you can know for certain when she’s reach the important intersection of wasted and black out.

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Celebrity Sighting: One of the Jonas Brothers

February 3, 2012 § Leave a comment


The good looking one, not one of the fucking doofuses.  Presumably the one who sings while the other two poodle-haired oafs play tambourine and bass.

I was at the bowling alley.  Place in (REDACTED- don’t stalk the Jonas Brothers where they bowl).  On my way in I noticed a young girl in tight pink shorts perusing the rack of balls. Man, I think to myself—god damn, she is hot.  Except it’s night bowling, the lanes are lit only by weird mood lights and Snoop Dogg Featuring Pharrell Williams videos and 3D animations of bowling pins dressed as rodeo cowboys dodging a ball with horns on it.  So she’s hot, but she might be a well-developed thirteen year old and in that case I oughtn’t give her the full rapestare in a crowded family friendly atmosphere.  She kind of looked about college age but you never know—usually, when you see a girl that’s just SO hot, when you get closer, she turns out to be underage.  What does this tell you. « Read the rest of this entry »

Male Birth Control

February 1, 2012 § Leave a comment


So they got another one now, another experimental method of male birth control.  This one is, they immerse you in salt water and shoot ultrasound rays at your nuts to disable your sperm.  And by “you” I mean, rats, for now.  But it’s looking promising.

This comes to us from India, home of the last new thing in male birth control, the injection of a coated chemical “tube” into your vas deferens. Or something like that.  They put this wall coating onto an existing tube in your nuts and it’s like flypaper or ant bait for your sperm.  This sounds fine except it involves a thick needle injected through your scrotum and then deep into the nut tisssue itse— aaaahh. Gah.  No.

But the new thing, where they dip you in salt water and shoot rays at your nuts: yes.  Yes, give me that.  If it’s reversible.  Sounds like this one just goes away on its own, it just takes a certain amount of time for the mangled sperm to grow back.

But whatever you do, I mean, fucking come on and do SOMETHING.  We need a method of male birth control that isn’t the condom, whose primary purpose in contraception is to make fucking such a pleasureless chore that I’d rather watch TV.  The condom, which has prevented many STD’s as a girl has said to me “we need to get a condom” and I said “nah, fuck it, I’m going home.”  We need to get rid of these fucking things.  I’ll wear a condom if I’m with a hooker, or in a country where more than 3% of the population has ringworm.  Or if it comes down to selling my cock under the freeway.  I’ll wear a condom.  Other than that, no, and it’s fucking ridiculous how condom use, and being nagged about condom use—how this has become so god damn prevalent.  People my age are in a lost generation of sex paranoia.  We have internalized the idea that there’s a massive chance that you will get heterosexual AIDS and that a penis merely being in the same room as a vagina will get you pregnant and 70% of the sexually active population is estimated to have massive grapelike clusters of seeping genital warts and you can catch herpes even if the other person doesn’t have an outbreak and while HPV, the silent killer, doesn’t seem like it’s doing anything now, it lurks in your cervix and gives you cancer and you’re going to spend your last days looking like Powder and shitting into a bedpan thanks that one time that you FUCKED, you harlot, outside of the sanctity of a monogamous marriage between two virgins.  Except for the ninety nine point nine nine nine times out of one hundred that HPV does not do this.  Except for the ninety nine point nine nine nine times out of one hundred that it does nothing, to the extent that you can’t even test for it.  It has no symptoms, it has no effects, there’s no way of knowing who is infected, but we’re pretty sure YOU have it, because you fucked that one time.  « Read the rest of this entry »

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