The Jack Ketchum Books and Booze Episode.

We had been doing Books and Booze for only a couple of months when we reached out to Dallas Mayr (Jack Ketchum) and asked if he would be a guest on our low production value, low follower podcast. Anyone who knew Dallas knows how this goes - he was happy to help us out. He treated our interview like any pro interview. He was fun, engaging, and played a little prank (maybe?) on us that all of us were too nervous to ask about (listen carefully and you can hear the carnival music playing in the background as the interview goes on).

When Jessica and I learned of his passing last week, it hit both of us really hard. He was so kind to us, and helped us get a huge boost by promoting his episode. Whenever I drink Scotch, I hear Dallas say "Scotch whisky!" and I will always wonder about that carnival music.

Hope you enjoy.

Does This Sex Column Make My Ass Look Fat #4

It’s been awhile since I’ve taken on the terrible sex advice given in glossy women’s magazines, but Max Booth III called in sick this week and I wasn’t about to let our readers go without their bi-weekly dose of insanity. Also, I’ve been keeping a binder full of bad sex advice and people are going to stop believing it’s “for my column” if I don’t start writing these again. See, the thing about these mags is – they lure you in by promising you guaranteed orgasms, “sex olympics”, and insights into what “your man” really wants, but they have to get you to look at all the advertisements that keep you feeling like shit and them in business – so they hide the cover stories somewhere in the middle. The result is, anyone interested in their absolutely insane advice has to wade through pages upon pages of the most banal shit they can come up with. I mean, it’s weird that so many of these magazines and similar websites are obsessed with celebrity couples that dress alike, right? I mean, it’s weird that so many celebrity couples dress alike, period, but from one page spread to another the mags can’t decide if it is cute, creepy, or embarrassing (HINT: creepy and embarrassing are not mutually exclusive). What’s been even more fun, and more than a little eye-opening, is scouring Maxim and Men’s Health for the male offenders in the bad-sex-advice game. Fun fact: Maxim has a “Bad Girl Of  The Month Club” and it’s literal bad girls. Like felons. Dudes, free advice here – don’t let yourself cultivate a felon fetish. I’m all for second chances, but if all the women you date are felons, you’re playing a dangerous numbers game. Okay, let’s get to the real reason we’re all here – full throttle unabashed insanity. Ladies – do you sometimes have a hard time getting off? Let Cosmo help… 


You read that right. If you have a hard time “finding the right touch”, Cosmo suggests going back to the ol’ purity ring standby of rubbing your genitals against each other without actually allowing penetration, because nothing gets a woman to ecstasy faster than re-enacting her first hormone driven sexual disappointment. For some reason, the author of the article believes that dry-humping is less awkward than having the woman stimulate herself during real sex, and instead of just feeling sweaty and awkward, your body will “go on autopilot and find a motion that will get you off.”

Dry humping is hugely underrated, probably because it’s called dry humping.

My solution? Look, I’m going to be frank – dry humping is hugely underrated because it sucks. It has an unappealing name because it’s fucking unappealing. Dry humping is what teenagers do when they are too afraid to have sex and are too scared to touch each other’s bathing-suit areas, then gradually becomes what teenagers do before having unsatisfying sex because they don’t understand what foreplay is. Please don’t dry hump. When have the words “dry” and “orgasm” ever been complimentary? Hint: Never.

Mmmmm.... so dry. So sexy.

Mmmmm.... so dry. So sexy.

Make sex a chore!

No, really. Everyone loves chores. I know when I wake up in the morning, I can barely keep my pants on thinking about dusting, paying bills, and unloading the dishwasher. Don’t even get me started on steam-mopping! Isn’t that how everyone feels about chores? No? Running errands and doing chores wears you out? Makes it hard to get into the mood? Well, the obvious solution is to associate sex with chores. It’ll either make doing the chores a lot more fun or make sex feel scheduled, awkward, and dispassionate. It’s probably worth the risk for the slim chance it will result in you REALLY loving to fold laundry, right?

Our life feels like one errand after another, so we’ve started assigning sex acts to errands. His going down on me equals grocery store, so now I love our trips to Whole Foods. -Jen C.

My solution? OH COME THE FUCK ON. The only thing less sexy than sex you are obligated to have is sex you are obligated to have after dealing with the smug motherfuckers who shop at Whole Foods, so just stop it, Jen. No one believes you. Chores are always going to suck – that’s why they’re called “chores” and not “hobbies” or “sex”. Associating sex with chores might make the chores seem worth it for a little while, but after the initial thrill wears off and you know the only reason he’s going down is because he hates folding laundry? You’re going to wish you associated sex with hot tubs or Jenga or something.

Horny yet?

Horny yet?


This one is for all the dudes in the room. Maxim knows you can’t go more than a few hours without some sort of sexual release and they are looking out for you. Not your partner, per se, but definitely you. Kind of. Each issue of Maxim features a series of “how tos” covering everything from chasing tornados to fucking in an airplane bathroom! Send your girlfriend ahead of you, and then wait five minutes or until there is no line (I don’t know what you do if there is a line – how would she know?) let yourself in, sit on the john, fuck really, really fast, and then come out with her feigning sick. It’s so easy, I don’t know why everybody isn’t doing it all the time.

People will be knocking on the door soon enough, so be prepared for a quickie. You can handle that, right?

My solution? Slow your roll, Romeo. There are a few steps Maxim forgot, including the incredibly important preparatory step where you make sure someone hasn’t just gone in and turned the airplane shitter into a gas chamber. Because if you think it’s going to be difficult for your girlfriend to get off in the two and a half minutes you’re giving her, imagine how hard it’s going to be if you both have to deal with the smell of of farts. Changing air pressure does weird things to people’s digestive systems, okay? And here’s a little reminder for those of you who haven’t flown since you were still allowed to smoke on airplanes – air travel is two steps above a fascist police state and that’s only because you have to choose to put yourself in an airport/on an airplane. You can’t bring a bottle of water through security, but you think you’re going to sneak two people into an airplane bathroom (which happens to be right near the galley, where the flight attendants hang out), make a lot of weird noises, and come out sweating — and no one is going to zip tie your hands together and turn you over to Homeland Security upon landing? I hope you enjoy your post-coital cavity search as much as your quickie, because your girlfriend isn’t going to fuck you for a long time after having unsatisfying sex in a shit-smelling lavatory at 34,000 feet and having a terrifying woman strip search her.

Fine! But when we land you're taking me to Whole Foods.

Fine! But when we land you're taking me to Whole Foods.

Does This Sex Column Make My Ass Look Fat? #3

This article was orginally published at Revolt Daily.

These glossy mags are great if only for the absolute insanity that graces every page. I’ve already shown you a series of sex-tips bound to ruin your relationship, but this month was a parade of hypocrisy. The mags are nothing if not consistent, in one issue, they’ll give you a random number of tips “guaranteed” to give you “orgasms” or “the best sex of your life” and in the next, one of their male columnists will lay out all the reasons those tips are not what men want, and that’s fine, because we already knew that. No, what’s more troubling is reading an issue that tells readers how to speed the healing of their genital warts by eating more yogurt, and another where a gynecologists laments that women seem to view STIs as “no big deal” these days.

 Or, now that’s it’s summer, the famous Cosmopolitan “Practice Safe Sun” campaign (get it? It’s like they’re talking about sex, but they aren’t! It’s funny and sexy, like the women who read Cosmo!). The idea is you don’t want icky wrinkles or scary skin cancer, so you slather on the sunscreen—but of course it isn’t that simple. Cosmo couldn’t make money if they put any effort into getting women to accept themselves as they are, so rather than promoting feeling good in the skin color you were born with, they show you models on every page perfectly bronzed in a three-shade spectrum, and spend pages talking about the best bronzers and self-tanners on the market. See, it’s not enough to not tan. You have to tan while you don’t tan, so you can be tan without tanning. Unless you’re black, Middle Eastern, or Hispanic. Then they will whitewash the ever-loving fuck out of your skin, and don’t think it’s to promote healthy sun habits, it’s not. They white wash the darker skinned women right down to that three-shade spectrum so that each and every one of us can sleep at night knowing that it doesn’t matter your skin color, if you’re a woman—you just aren’t good enough. But here we go, back to the same recurring theme—these magazines think we’re morons. Morons who eat yogurt to cure cancer causing STIs and need to be constantly distracted by conflicting advice in order to have good sex. So… here we go again!

Feeling shy? Orchestrate an incredibly complex sexual situation where you don’t have to show your body, expect him to think it’s spontaneous.

Cosmo postulates that there are days when you are “not so skinny jeans ready”, and being naked in front of “your man” is unthinkable. They also postulate that on a day that wearing pants makes you feel uncomfortable, you’ll be wearing a mini-dress. The fact that this sort of self-consciousness may single a faltering sense of logic is beside the point. The point is that Cosmo can help! All you have to do is trick your man into believing you are having “urgent”, “charged” sex by keeping your dress on, sliding your panties aside, and refusing to let him disrobe, either.

Never mind that he’ll see the thighs you were apparently so upset by earlier in this entry, that is unimportant. Now he’ll be so distracted by the fact that you’re refusing to let him go to second base and making him keep his pants pulled up that he won’t even notice your thighs!

There’s another issue, too (male readers, feel free to collectively cup your junk now), chafing. Chafing of the penis is, I hear, pretty unsexy. Unless you’ve put on your softest, most worn out granny panties, it’s going to be a problem. If you put on some lacey, sexy stuff to help you bust out of your funk (and please, oh Lord, let this be a figurative funk and not a literal one) your man is going to need some salve or something once you’re done.

My solution: Mostly clothed sex is hot because it’s happens when your mutual desire overrides the variables that lead to naked, sex-on-the-bed sex. It’s spontaneous and lusty. It’s not supposed to be a weirdly planned out ritual you go through when you had too much diet soda and feel bloaty. If you are too self-conscious to get it on, then don’t. Wait until you feel better, or, get naked in front of your man and take comfort in how much he loves to see boobs, even when you aren’t so “skinny jeans ready.”


Eat some cheap, messy pasta sauce.

Tony is the guy responsible for this one. No, I don’t know who Tony is, or why you should listen to him*, but he’s IN A MAGAZINE for WOMEN, so if you’re a woman, take note. Tony wants to tell you exactly what to eat to get your man all worked up, and why they work.

Peaches… okay. Peaches are nice. Some guys call women’s genitalia “peaches” so I guess it makes sense. Kinda. Lobster, because eating with your hands is sexy. That’s… unusual, but lobster tastes pretty nice. Steak, okay. Ragu…


Fucking Ragu. Not just “pasta with red sauce”. No, specifically, Ragu. Look, I get it. I understand that before there was a brand-named, watery pasta sauce named Ragu, ragu was the name of a type of sauce, but let’s get real—if he meant a red meat sauce, he could have said “pasta with red sauce” or “bolognaise”, or fucking anything other than RAGU. His reasoning was red sauce with meat in it is “sexy”.

Listen up ladies: It’s sexy because it’s sexy.

Slurping loose noodles into your mouth and getting little splatter shots of pasta sauce is hot. Bonus points if you drop a big chunk of ground beef onto your dress and have to sit through the rest of your date with a red splotch on your chest. Mmm… ground beef and stains. Red stains. The color of passion! The color of love! The color and consistency of… gore. Who doesn’t love blobs of flesh dripping in red hanging off their lover’s chin?

My solution: Don’t eat pasta in an attempt to be sexy. You will blow it. Any woman focusing that hard on looking sexy while eating pasta will blow it. It’s not you, it’s the pasta. If you’re trying to woo him, don’t serve him sauce out of a jar, because that’s probably not what Tony meant. Plus Ragu isn’t very good.


Don’t get into it at all. Just lie there. 

 What is a bigger turn off than your mate wanting to have sex with you? I mean, ewww, right? Why would you go through the trouble of showing any desire or attraction to your mate when you could just roll over, pull your panties down and “put him inside you”? He’ll know what to do after that.

In the “Sex Moves For Every Mood” article, there is an entry for “groggy” that lets you know it is totally okay to roll on your side and “remain lazily on the bed” while he brushes the sleep out of his eyes and realizes you just grabbed his junk. This is especially good if you are hung over (they say so right there in the article!). You don’t have to worry about coffee, ibuprofen, or your craving for greasy diner food (so it will totally make up for those empty calories from all those appletinis!), just roll over and reach for his dick. It’s super easy, minimal effort, and I am sure he will be so hot for you when he catches you snoring. Complete disinterest in sex is the new hot sex.

My solution: If you are that exhausted (or hung over) how horny can you possibly be? I’m asking a question, I’ll read the comments for your answer. Maybe just sleep in, drink some water and have a cup of coffee and see how you feel after that. Brush your teeth first, though, okay?

BONUS! The sexiest thing she (you) can say in bed, from a male Cosmo reader:

“Where the f*ck did you come from?”

My solution: This guy says it was their first time “hooking up”, so I’m actually a bit concerned he took it as a compliment and kept on trucking. I mean, what if it was a genuine question? She totally could have confused you with the other Abercrombie wearing douchebro at the pool. It’s summer, these things happen. Next time, answer her, just in case.

*Correction: after this was originally published I realized "Tony" is "Anthony Bourdain." Whoops.

Does This Sex Column Make My Ass Look Fat? #2

This article was originally published at Revolt Daily.

Preparing for this column, I’ve read more Cosmo than any woman should ever read. I now know how to buy jeans for any shape, which drug store moisturizer is “almost as good” as its three hundred-dollar counterpart, and what it means when my “vagina acts weird”. I’ve also become quite the expert on what makes one a “Fun, Fearless Female” and realized, that sadly, I am not one. Cosmo held a contest for “Fun, Fearless, Females” and gave ten grand to the winner. They wrote a feature on what she did with the money and how it changed her life. She traveled somewhere tropical and got a BOYFRIEND. On the other hand, Iron Man 3 is about to premiere in the States and that means it is time for Robert Downey Jr. to go around various men’s magazines looking good in suits (and boy, does he). I bought the May edition of GQ for this very thing (because seriously, have you seen that man in a suit?). After months of Cosmo saturation, I nearly had a heart attack when I turned the page in GQ and found an article about actual women, who were actually like me. They did an entire feature on women in the military in favor of women in combat. Cosmo told me I could change my life by finding an exotic long distance lover. Which one was the women’s magazine again? Oh yeah, Cosmo. But don’t worry, folks. Cosmo doesn’t want women to be submissive little twits, and they were sure to come to the rescue with “52 SEX TIPS” for all “BEDROOM BADASSES” (capitalization theirs, not mine), inspired by Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s definitely bondage tips for badasses. You’re going to have to be a badass when you’re spending the night in county jail for assault.

Beat him with your beauty products, and make sure it hurts.  

I want to make something clear from the jump—I am not, in any way, against BDSM. The thing about BDSM, though, is that it requires a relationship built on trust, understanding, and specificity. You can’t, for instance, read Cosmo one morning while he’s in the shower, and then run in and beat the shit out of him with your hairbrush. That’s exactly what Cosmo wants you to do, though.

“Use the back of a brush to swat his thighs when he steps out of the shower—wet skin is more sensitive.”

We generally shower in the mornings here, often before either of us have had our morning coffee. I read this tip and tried to imagine what the result of this action would be. I stopped, because none of the possible outcomes involved the greatest sex of my life. No, more of my imagined outcomes involved a lot of yelling, slipping on bathroom tile, police knocking at the door, blood, and having to cut my hair short again after an ultimatum involving the phrase “no more hairbrushes or I won’t let you move back in.”

And why stop with a hairbrush? If the idea is to beat him at the moment it will hurt the most, why not just whip out a rat-tail comb and stab the motherfucker? Hairstylists often shave theirs down so they are sharper (there is a genuine hair styling reason for this, I’m told), so before you stab him, make sure that thing is a veritable shank. I mean, this is all about bringing the fucking pain, isn’t it? You’ve already got the element of surprise: he’s half asleep, stumbling out of the shower, you’ve just popped off the toilet from your morning pee, and you’re swinging your hairbrush around like a baseball bat—just go for the kill. You’ll have more cred at county if you’re in for attempted murder.

My solution: Just… don’t. Even if you’re only lightly “swatting” him on the thigh with hair styling equipment, if you haven’t talked about BDSM and your desire to be an amateur dominatrix, at best he’s going to be really confused, at worse he’s going to flash back to that time he got mugged by a hairdresser and drop you on the bathroom tile.  

Just start screaming at him, then attempt to discipline him like he’s a toddler.  

Nothing turns the human male on like utter confusion. If you’re feeling really adventurous,  you can bypass this tip and move right on to waking him up by throwing lit firecrackers into a metal trashcan next to his bed. But for those of us who need to start a little slower to really get into our roles as fun, fearless, am-dommes, Cosmo has a solution that’s just so crazy it might work!

“In your meanest schoolteacher voice, tell him to go stand in a corner facing the wall, and not to move. After a few minutes, demand that he get into bed and ravage you.”

I wouldn’t be so hard on this particular list if the intro said anything about talking to your partner first, but it doesn’t. No, he’s on his laptop reading the eHow for “Telling your live in girlfriend she’s nuts” and you’re on the couch discreetly reading Fifty Shades of Grey on your e-reading device of choice, when suddenly– you jump up, arm outstretched, finger-pointing at the nearest corner (Hey, didn’t you used to have a lamp there? Did you seriously move your lamp just for this?) and scream, “GET IN THAT CORNER AND DO NOT FUCKING MOVE, BUSTER!”

For the purposes of this article, we’re going to work on the assumption that he doesn’t look up from his computer and start the intervention right away. Let’s assume he raises an eyebrow, puts the computer aside and stands in the corner. After a few seconds, he turns his head and says, “Why am I standing in this corner?” What do you do then? I suppose you say “Shut up and look at the wall, you naughty thing!”, and leave him standing there for the “few minutes” suggested by the BDSM experts at Cosmo. Now, this is the really important part, wait until he is really good and agitated. Look at his face, are his nostrils flaring? Okay, now it’s time to “demand” he “ravage” you.

He won’t. Okay, let’s be real– he won’t go stand in the corner, either.

My solution: This is going to get repetitive. DO NOT DO THIS. Seriously, any grown man who responds to an order to go stand in the corner without any viable reason with anything other than utter confusion is troubled. Something is wrong with him. There might be something wrong with you, too, you did choose him after all. If you think this kind of role play would get you hot TALK TO YOUR PARTNER FIRST.  

How sharp are your teeth, exactly?  

And do you have good dental insurance? These are some things you’ll need to consider before committing this particular type of assault… I mean, before employing this super sexy bedroom tip.

“Bite his inner thigh right where his balls are resting. Being a little too close for comfort is a rush.”

I have some issues with this tip aside from the fact that it will likely result in an involuntary knee to your face. It just doesn’t make any goddamn sense. How does one bite the thigh if that’s where the balls are resting? Wouldn’t you just be biting his balls? And if you bite his balls, you are not “a little too close for comfort”, you’re biting his fucking balls! Find me a guy that wants a woman to bite his balls with no warning whatsoever. After reading this one a few times I think I know what they were getting at. You’re not supposed to bite his balls. You are supposed to very, very, gently move his balls away from his leg, maybe even caress the hairy little guys, and then you clamp your teeth on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

There is no way this could go horribly, horribly wrong. Men love it when they get unexpected pain to the groin area.

The other issue is, what if some very naive young woman reads this and doesn’t think it through all the way to “oh, I think I should MOVE his balls before biting his thigh!” and just takes a nice big bite of ball sack and inner thigh? Does any man deserve to have his future fertility affected like that? It seems wrong to me.

My solution: For the love of Pete, don’t bite anyone’s genitals. Don’t bite anywhere close to anyone’s genitals. Even kids know you’re not supposed to bite your friends. And, you know. TALK TO YOUR PARTNER.  

Fuck it, just stab him.  

No, seriously. I know I joked about it in the first entry, but Cosmo is going all the way. Just stab the poor fucker. What have you got to lose? He already thinks you’re completely insane and he’s been talking to your mother about the time you got kicked out of preschool because you were “a biter”. It’s over for you anyway.

“Press a fork (firmly, but don’t break the skin or anything) into different parts of his body — his butt cheeks, his pecs, his thighs”.

Is anyone else troubled by the fact that they feel the need to tell readers NOT to draw blood during foreplay? It’s also superfluous because if you jab somebody with a fork in bed they will first snatch the fork out of your hand and second wonder why the fuck you have a fork in bed in the first place. Because seriously, WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE A FORK IN BED IN THE FIRST PLACE?

A cursory search tells me that “Silverware Fetish” is a thing, but it refers to people who collect silverware, not people who use their fork to pork. Prior to this, I would have thought you could find a website for any weird sex thing on the internet, but no, Cosmo has created something that is solely theirs. Something one must be a “Fun, Fearless, Female” to understand.

My solution: Keep your fork in the drawer unless you’re serving him breakfast in bed.  

To sum up my solutions: A five second Google search will lead anyone who is genuinely interested in BDSM to communities full of real people who love to get kinky in this particular way. I can guarantee you that none of the Q&A threads on those websites would suggest you just start beating/biting/stabbing/screaming at your partner without sitting down and talking about your desires, deciding what you want to try, and going into it together. It won’t just lead to a better sex life, it might keep your crazy ass out of jail. 

Does This Sex Column Make My Ass Look Fat #1

 Originally published at Revolt Daily.

A few months ago I walked past a display of glossy women’s magazines with perfectly made up celebrities on the cover and headlines about losing weight, toning your ass, and making your man “go wild” in bed. The one that really blew me away had big yellow letters across the cover screaming, “50 WAYS TO JUST BE YOURSELF!”

I picked it up and held in my hands just to be sure I hadn’t misread it. How does one make a list of ways for people they don’t know to be themselves? Opening another glossy mag to the table of contents I land on a section titled “All About You” with four articles listed underneath. One was how to avoid breaking up with your boyfriend, another article was a male columnist taking questions from female readers and giving them relationship advice from “The Male Perspective”. The third was “What Men Think” about women’s beauty habits, and the fourth was “That Thing All Guys Want In Bed These Days.” A section about “Me” that’s all about men? I thought, Do these magazines think women are fucking stupid?

Yes. Yes, they do.

And just in case any of you ladies out there are tempted to fall for their batshit crazy advice, I’m here to offer you my hand, drop into the sexy rabbit hole, and explain to you exactly why the advice they are giving you will lead to you getting dumped (at best) or committed to an insane asylum (at worst).

“The Fake Chastity Belt” or “How to convince him you’re nuts and/or get a previously undiscovered fungal infection”

There was an entire article on “fake chastity belts”, mostly focusing on Spanx (note: Spanx and other shapewear have been linked to fun medical problems like blood clots, yeast infections, and the newly named “tight pants syndrome” where a nerve in the back of your leg is pinched so tight it results in tingling and numbness!). The premise of the article is simple—what if you really DON’T want to fuck a guy on the first date? Whatever should you do? Well, obviously you put on your Spanx, because no way would you want him to see those! BUT, what if you change your mind? How do you get the hot sex without showing off your flesh toned yeast infection dispenser?

We rely on two assumptions here; the first that you have no personal resolve at all. You’ve decided it’s too early to bang a guy, then decided he’s too hot not to bang, and now you’re wearing Spanx and he might see them. The second assumption is that you don’t have a big enough bag to stash the Spanx in. This second one is important.

The first suggestion is to take your nasty Spanx that you’ve been sweating in, and maybe releasing vaginal discharge into (because they make you do that, you can look it up) and hide it between his folded towels. That’s thoughtful, isn’t it? Because your date definitely won’t think it’s weird that you’re rifling through his linen cabinet if he catches you hiding them or retrieving them the morning after.

The second suggestion is just… mind-blowingly disgusting. Remember that we are assuming you do NOT have a large enough purse to stash your Spanx in. They suggest going into the bathroom, sliding the Spanx off, and hiding them under his bathmat. Do I even need to point out the problems inherent in this solution? YOU’VE GOT TO PUT THEM BACK ON! After they’ve been under his bathmat, on his bathroom floor. It’s safe to assume that if you didn’t plan on sleeping with this guy, he didn’t scrub his bathroom floor in preparation for your arrival. Let’s also point out that you have no idea how often he washes his bathmat. Congratulations, you now have a yeast infection from the Spanx and a rare form of black mold from under his ratty old bathmat. Hooray! Progress for women everywhere.

My solution: If you don’t want to fuck someone on the first date, don’t. If you do, trust that he isn’t going to give a shit about your Spanx as long as you take them off (unless he’s a huge asshole, in which case, don’t fuck him).

Give the most awful tasting blowjob of your life!

The premise of this “tip” is even simpler than the one above. Your “man” will no longer be satisfied with a simple blowjob. It’s not enough. You’re not good enough. You’ve been reading Metropolitan, Glamalicious, and Pheromone magazine long enough to know this, so don’t act surprised.

No, you’ve got to make it interesting, and how better to make it interesting, than to do something certain to make you barf on his dick? The advice is deceptively simple. Tell him to lie back and relax, then roll a condom on and go down. After a few minutes, take it off and keep going. Apparently this will make your mouth EVEN BETTER THAN A MOUTH. Take note.

It will also taste like deep fried ass covered in latex.

Before you try this at home, go to a doctor’s office and borrow a glove, suck on it. Does it taste good? No? How does it smell? Yes, that latex-y smell brings me right back to the time we dissected pig fetuses in the tenth grade, too! How sexy!

My solution: Look, a good old-fashioned blowjob never ruined anybody’s relationship. If he’s THAT bored with oral sex, you’re probably doing it too often.

In the event that you are far enough into your relationship to live together, but not comfortable enough to talk about sex…

Well, what’s a girl to do? You moved your stuff in, you share a bed, you may have even seen him shit, but when it comes to getting freaky… you’re at a loss. How could you possibly sit down and talk to your man about what you want in bed? What if he thinks you’re weird?

Glossy Mag to the rescue! Citing Beyonce’s alter ego “Sasha Fierce” they let us know that it is okay to take on an alter ego if that’s the kind of boost you need to get a little kinky. Their simple solution? Don a wig and answer the door telling him that “you” are away for the night and you are your own “evil twin”.

Now, I’m not bashing role-playing in the boudoir. You do you, and get what you want. I know a lot of people think this is fun and incredibly hot. What I am trying to say is, you have to let your live-in lover know if you expect him to be Doctor Zhivago while you play the role of Nurse Betty. If he comes home and you answer the door saying, ‘There is no Dana, only Zuul”, you’d better hope he’s a Ghostbusters fan and you’re just cracking a joke.

I mean, put yourself in his shoes. He’s been away at work, it may have been a long day, he might have gotten his ass chewed by the boss, he may have gotten stuck in traffic and spilled coffee on his lap on the way in. He comes home, and you’re standing there in a cheap wig trying to convince him that you’re not home, but your “evil” twin is there to make his wildest fantasies come true. And, let’s be real, when you say “wildest fantasies” what you mean is “I’m going to use a silk scarf to tie you to the bedposts” and not “Yes, I’ve finally decided we could try anal.”

 My solution: Talk to your sex partner about sex, that way, you’ll know if he’s into the idea of your redheaded evil twin before he comes home and has to spend fifteen minutes trying to decide if you’ve lost your fucking mind before realizing you want to have sex.

Bonus: A reader question for one of the glossy mags.

“I really want to make a sex tape. Is there any way to guarantee that mine will never see the light of day?”


My solution: Stop reading glossy mags for sex advice and use your brain.


"Ramblers, let's get rambling" - FDTD