The Truth about Anal Sex

Anal sex is super trendy right now. Among heterosexual couples it used to be a novelty, edgy and unique, the indie rock of sexual activities. But just like indie rock, it’s gone mainstream. Your friends are doing it, politicians are doing it. Statistically, there’s a 74% chance that your parents are having anal sex at this very moment. Don’t kill the messenger.

So what’s the appeal? I mean, look, if you’re a gay male, I totally get it. You have one-third fewer orifices to choose from, so you might as well use them all. That’s just common sense. But I think we can agree that Mother Nature has done an excellent job with the vagina. If you have access to one, there just isn’t a compelling reason to stray. I’ve never thought to myself mid-coitus, wow, I’m really enjoying this bout of vigorous vaginal intercourse…except…well, I really wish I had a filthier, stinkier hole in which to insert my clean penis.

Why are we all abandoning the trusty vulva? To be fair, the fact that you ladies hemorrhage from your crotch every month is off-putting, I’ll be honest. Actually, it’s like, slasher-film level creepy. But otherwise…woot!

To each his/her own. No judgment. If you have a hankering for anus, knock yourself out. But as for me: vaginas ftw.

The Truth about Icy Hot


Icy Hot doesn’t cure pain, it just spreads the discomfort over a larger area, making the source of the pain more difficult to distinguish. It’s a redistributor of pain, the socialism of medications. Using Icy Hot is like punching yourself in the face to distract from a stomach ache.

Tangent: Balls


This person has ’em.

The proprietor of the pictured establishment didn’t care to invest in a fancy building or amenities. He couldn’t be bothered with luxuries like payroll or products. All he needed was a hose and a dream.

Here’s to you, lazy entrepreneur. Charging me to wash my own dog takes monster balls.

Incidentally, someone should totally copy this business model. Feel free to start charging people whenever they use the following services:




The Truth about Men’s Cologne

 Old Spice

Old Spice is an earthy blend of lilac, peppermint, false teeth, incontinence, abandoned dreams, and squandered youth. It smells like grandparent. Unless you’re targeting women who have a geriatric fetish, avoid this cologne.





Women claim to hate the smell of Axe, but what they really hate is its marketing campaign. Every woman thinks she can identify a douchey Axe wearer and would never date one…so when you’re sporting Axe body spray and a girl inevitably compliments your “cologne,” tell her it’s Drakkar.




English Leather

This stuff smells like every Turkish guy you’ve ever known. Seriously, they bathe in this crap. (Not to imply that smelling like a Turkish guy is a bad thing. Turkish guys actually pull lots of ass, according to Turkish guys.)





This is a perfect scent for the refined gentleman who listens to soft jazz, wears briefs instead of boxers, and can’t tolerate spicy foods. If you think a pastel shirt makes you look distinguished on the golf course, by all means, buy a lifetime supply.


The Truth about Sex and Cars

Hate to break it to you, guys, but a car isn’t going to get you laid.

Conventional wisdom suggests that women get all juicy over a shiny sportscar, but think about it: how often does a girl even see your car—let alone ride in it—before she decides whether or not she’s going to surrender the booty?

In this day and age, women aren’t down with the I’ll-pick-you-up-at-8 routine unless they’ve actually spent time with you in person. It doesn’t matter whether you met her at a bar or online or through friends; by the time a girl is actually in your car, she clearly trusts you enough to ride with you in a locked vehicle, and has probably made up her mind as to whether there will be penetration.

At that point, the only way the car matters is if it’s a total beater. If you’re rolling a dented, slovenly bucket, she might reconsider. But otherwise, just make sure it’s clean and doesn’t smell like there’s a dead hooker in the trunk. Oh, and incidentally, don’t have a dead hooker in your trunk.

Nine times out of ten, the type of car you’re driving has little-to-no coital influence. Trust me, there are guys who could get action in a Kia minivan. The equation goes like this:

A smart/good-looking/well-dressed guy will get laid in a rust heap, but a stupid/ugly/poorly-dressed guy couldn’t pull ass in a Lambo.

Instead of buying a flashy car, invest in a gym membership, make sure you have a passable wardrobe, and (I’m being 100% serious) consult a hair stylist. A good haircut is way cheaper than a car, and far more important. First impressions count.

The Truth about Terrorism

Terrorism doesn’t scare me. Crazy people scare me, regardless of religion, race, or creed.

I always keep a vigilant eye on postal workers, clowns, and anyone associated with the military. Truth is, I’m way more scared of my fellow Americans than radical Islamists. And landlocked Americans are the worst. Anyone who voluntarily chooses to live between the coasts is suspect. Trust me, I’ve seen these people. They have bad haircuts and guns and they wear American flag t-shirts. Blind patriotism makes me twitchy.

And yet, ironically, crazy red-staters are the Americans most prone to terrorist-related panic. Every time you tune in to Fox News, another drawling Midwestern preacher is declaring Hillbilly Jihad on taxi drivers and convenience store owners.

Listen, Iowans, the Arabs aren’t going to bomb your corn fields. You can stop glaring at brown people now. Idiots.

It’s a simple equation: the more remote and sparsely populated your hometown, the less Anthrax you’ll attract. I don’t care how crazy these radical Muslims might be, no self-respecting Jihadist is going to waste perfectly good WMDs on Nebraska.

Settle down, hicks. You’re more likely to choke to death on chewing tobacco than find yourself the victim of an Improvised Explosive Device. Spend more time reading and less time stressing. Stay off the meth. And try not to breed.

The Truth about Female Tattoos


I’m down with ink, but let’s be honest: if a girl wants to get all tatted up without looking like a crack whore, her options are limited. Every available tattoo location on the female body comes with some type of preconception attached.

Hey, I don’t make the rules. If you’re female and you’re determined to sport tats, prepare to be judged. Evidence:

1. Lower Back:

Personally, I’m a fan of the female lower-back/upper-ass tattoo. I think it’s cute. The only downside is that some wisecracking amateur poet realized that “tramp” rhymes with “stamp,” and bam! What could have been a tasteful piece of body art is now considered slut-branding. So it goes.



2. Arm:

Arm tats practically scream this chick will shank you and steal your drugs. On the plus side, if you earn an arm-tatted girl’s respect (aka “slap her around”) she’ll pawn her motorcycle to bail you out of jail.



3. Neck:

The back of the neck is the ultimate hippie/lesbian tat location. If there’s a female equivalent to a guy getting his right ear pierced, the base-of-the-neck tattoo is it. Common neck tats include Japanese kanji and dolphins in majestic mid-leap. Also popular: any of the Lucky Charms marshmallows. Green clovers, blue diamonds, purple horseshoes, yellow moons…



4. Inside of the Lip:

What’s the point of this tattoo, other than occasional shock value? My favorite lip tat: barcode. Whenever I see people with barcode tattoos I always want to sprint past them with a grocery store scanner, just to see what rings up.



5. Ankle:

The ankle tat is the I’m-not-the-kind-of-girl-who-usually-does-this-type-of-thing tattoo. If you’re considering an ankle tat as your first ink, you probably shouldn’t be associating with tattoo artists to begin with. Do yourself a favor and stick to henna.

Common examples of ankle tats: yin-yang, barbed wire, any species of colorful flying insect (dragonfly, butterfly et al.). Dolphin is once again popular.


Incidentally, any girl who gets a dolphin tattoo is essentially admitting creative defeat. Dolphin tattoos are the natural evolution of the unicorn posters these girls used to plaster all over their rooms; icky vestiges of juvenile sappiness.



6. Labia:

Now that’s slut-branding. A girl with a vaginal tattoo is clearly willing to let some strange dude get all up in her biznatch with ink and needles and whatnot. Just…yick.