A recent experiment was conducted by Hofstra medical students that proved without a doubt that 4Loko is the cure for cancer. This groundbreaking discovery is sure to raise new questions regarding recent New York State legislative decisions by that cunt Schumer, or at the very least make people pumped about the end of cancer or whatever.

“Yo, like, I’m totally psyched this happened,” said Hofstra senior Brett Bretterson who led the study, “My initial intention was to just try to get cancer patients in NUMC really shitfaced, you know like, for science.” After cancer patients drank a few tallboys and blacked out doctors were shocked to discover that all traces of the patient’s cancer had been completely eradicated. “It just doesn’t make any fucking sense to me,” said a NUMC doctor who wished to remain anonymous, “first all these kids were coming in bleeding from the ears from this poison, and now this? I quit medicine.”

Hofstra medical school is still continuing further research into the matter, stocking up on the miracle beverage as much as possible. “It’s pretty much a win-win for me,” says Bretterson, “If 4Loko really is the cure for cancer I’ll be mad rich and shit and, like, get mad pussy at nachos, and even if it isn’t I still got 4Loko for days in my fridge son. Oh, and fuck Chuck Schumer.”

So anyways, we got a kid. I worry about her. Her parents are away, working hard, all day (and once or twice at night). We tried to find a nanny for her, but she ended up just becoming a porn star too. One of us always has to be home, meaning we’ll probably never get to star in another movie together. At least we’ll always have Mr. and Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and Fucking in Cars With Boys. We make time for Rosaline when we can. When we have the time, we can still be good parents, Whoreson and I. Just last Sunday, we took her to the local zoo, and then to a baseball game (which brought back memories of my performance in Field of Creams). But we don’t always have time for her. I know that at this young age, I need to be there for my daughter, but with Fill Jill 2 coming out soon, and Two Kings & I in the works, I just don’t have the time. Being a porn star can really drain it all out of you.

She doesn’t know what her mommy and daddy do for a living. I hope all of this lust, and sex, and love, and sex, and naked hide and go seek don’t do any damage to poor Rosaline. I simply hope that when our little girl grows up, she can appreciate what her parents do for a living. Maybe someday we’ll see her light up the screen in the Curious Case of Benjamin Buttsex, or Four Orgies and a Funeral. Maybe someday she’ll fuck a ton of anonymous people for money, just like her parents.

Or maybe she’ll just end up being a dentist.

Needless to say I had no idea what it was or what quarrel it held with me, so I googled it. Safe search wasn’t on so the first 4 million results I got were of people putting their boners in dogs. This seemed like a really icky idea to me but I wanted my chubby to go away because it was giving me the ouchies and it made me feel dizzy. I decided I would put my boner in the next best thing, my little sisters stuffed animals.

I grabbed the fluffiest bunny she had, ripped a hole in it, and did like all the muscly guys do on the internet. Next thing I knew my sister walked on in me while I was balls deep in Mr. Cuddlyface. She screamed  once when she saw all the stuffing on the ground, then she screamed even louder when I dropped her bunny and she saw what looked like a hot dog wearing a novelty Santa Claus beard.

My dad was sooooooo mad.

After receiving a vicious lashing from my father and my face rubbed in Mr. Cuddlyface’s sticky stuffing, I was sent to bed early with no supper. When I woke up the next morning my boner was back staring me in the face. At first I was scared thinking my pet python got loose in the night and wanted to give me a kiss, but when I realized what it was my fright was replaced by anger. How many stuffed rabbits did I have to violate to make this damn thing go away!

I decided I would end this once and for all, sorry woody but I’m afraid you’re going to miss the Toy Story sequels. I walked to my door and slammed it closed as hard as I could on my boner. The pain was so blinding I immediately vomited all over my dad as he walked out of the bathroom, my boner threw up too and hit my dad square in the face. My last memory before blacking out was my dad screaming something about a salty taste in his mouth, I hope my mom didn’t buy the wrong toothpaste again.

It is believed that only the most excellent sexual encounters are accompanied by moustachioed birds.

After almost seven years of dating, I will finally be tying the knot. Needless to say, my man and I have been intimate: “danced the wild monkey dance,” “knocked boots,” “gone fishing,” “had dinner at Applebee’s,” and so on. But, once we exchange our vows and say, “I do,” doing “it” will be totally different. I have heard from other married ladies that married sex is great! Once you’re married, your man is all about you. There is always a soothing, mustachioed Spanish man sitting in the corner of your room with a guitar to serenade you while wild, mustachioed white horses gallop across your bedroom. Beautiful birds, also with mustaches, sweetly tweet Pavarotti from your window. Roses begin to spring out of the walls while chocolates and other sweet delights fall from your ceiling. After each climax that your man provides for you, fireworks light up the night sky and rainbows burst forth from your nipples. When you are both finally finished, the London Philharmonic breaks into your room and beings to play John Phillip Sousa while all of your friends and family applaud and cheer. Then you and your man cuddle the rest of the night away. And, you’ll never have to give head ever, ever again.

Blowholes

Space Rape: In space, no one can hear you get raped

People who really love Star Wars

Bees & Honey

People who still use MS-DOS

Duck-Rubbing

And lastly, those weird fucks who still masturbate to women’s breasts

By the time we made it to my car, a ’92 Geo Prism, I could see your wetness slowly dripping down your leg. I steered with my erection as I forced my tongue past your crimson lips. I don’t remember the drive home.  You mentioned something about picking your ex’s kids up from soccer, but sports would have to wait. We pulled up to your house, a cute little bungalow with a lovely garden of perennials and creeping ivy. I remember thinking that I should ask you who provided your gardening services, but that is neither here nor there. Next thing I knew, your clothes were on the floor of your son’s room. I looked at my throbbing member in the Thomas the Tank Engine mirror, pulsing like a fat worm searching for fresh dirt. I kicked aside a “Snow Dogs” Blu-Ray disc . Your tender, single mother hands slowly stroked me as I aggressively attacked your perfectly Puerto Rican breasts. You yelped, I grew harder.

Eventually, your tongue escaped the prison of your mouth, and slowly flicked my dome. That’s when I ejaculated. Hard. Like, so hard it took months to regenerate enough spunk to masturbate comfortably. It was too late. A full pint of my potential children coated your face like a reverse minstrel show. I swore that I never end that fast, but you were already blind. At first I though it would be temporary, but as your screams turned into resigned weeping, I gathered my things and quietly exited.  On the way out, I grabbed one of your son’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures. I was determined to never forget that day.

I saw you again the other day, but you did not see me. I was glad to see you had not been permanently blinded. You looked happy, and so did your husband. Single mother my ass.

NOTE: The Nonsense Rape Kit might actually cause rape.

A Gun: If you shoot into the air he’ll assume you’ve challenged him to a footrace. If you win, he’ll respect you and walk away ashamed.

Cords of wood and a blanket: Most likely you’re not gonna get cell phone reception in that alley or highrise bathroom, so you might have to resort to signal fires. If it’s good enough for Native Americans, it’s good enough for your rape.

A bulletproof vest: He might be a big fan of S.W.A.T., starring Colin Farrell.

Ear plugs: He’s probably gonna be really noisy, and if you have to get up early in the morning then you might as well multi-task.

A whistle: To play the opening riff of “Hollaback Girl”. It’s a fact that rapists hate Gwen Stefani.

(If he has a beard) A razor: A man cannot rape if he’s being shaven. It’s a rule.

A can of SpeghettiOs: For eating, it won’t really help with the rape or whatever.

A witch’s hat: Witches are spooky.

A high seas love tale for all seamen to enjoy. It’ll get your juices flowing faster than scurvy, and will make you want to walk every buccaneer’s plank.

“What most women writers only half-understand is that women want shrewd, hard-boiled men. Like the gallant lumberjack, the leathery gladiator, the musky ranchhand, and the drivers who drive cars into walls while they’re still in the cars for television commercials. Oh, and pirates. In my novel, The Lusty Buccaneer, I gave my pirate a wooden leg. With barnacles. And a beard that could scrape burned eggs off a pan. And I gave him a parrot that shits on everything. And for the guys, the parrot knows swearwords that he learned from feisty seadogs. Now, that’s for real. And in Kiss the Shit out of Me, I write about the gladiator’s dong being ribbed with the scars of 1,000 battles. And how it drives his lover to instantly female-climax with what most likely feels like a truck driving through a garage door.

Like Gladiator, but less gay. A colusieum-sized adventure of scandals and sandals. The plot will fill your mind like lions filled with asshole Christians.

However, with that realism, I also give you chivalrous and erotic male characters, which gets a vagina drooling. Like, if I want to make my male character more romantic, I’ll make him talk like Shakespeare did, but, like, a Shakespeare that loves Bud Light and the Jets.  Shakespearian language can also put a historical spin on any romance novel, even one about two comely lesbian female astronauts who have one passion: climbing into each other’s space-suit-diapers and making out. Like in, Make Out With my Desire.

A tale of lust and thrust, this space-age yarn is one small step for contemporary men’s lit., one giant cumshot for humankind.

See, some female authors can’t deal with that. There should’ve been more authors like the chick who wrote The Hardy Boys, but in a more romantic way. You could tell she wanted the Hardy boys to fondle her fiery grotto by the passion with which they played with one another. And you know who else would have scripted a raunchy and stimulating romance novel? Ayn Rand. I bet that lady could write a fan-fiction that would strain your mushroom, or loosen your rubberband, for damn sure. But instead there are too many homely bitches like Jane Austen. In closing, Jane Austen was a homely thespian.”

Every frat boy’s dream would be to intercept Cindy Lou on her way to table 9 and whisk her into the bathroom for the special of the day. Now the bathroom can be a bit of a tight squeeze so entering Cindyville through her “back roads” is an easy fix. So there you, are balls deep when “WhoAoOaaO!” Surprise buttsex occurs. Cindy Lou yelps and your fantasy is over.

Now as thrilling as it may sound, buttsex runs a close second under pregnancy as “Things that should never come in surprise forms.” Surely every frat boy’s nightmare would be to awaken in the middle of the night and find his brother ready with a stiff surprise. So basically my point is buttsex, surprise style, is no fun.

On the other hand it can be fun if your name is Big Butch, you’re doing 20 to life and your bitch drops his soap in the shower (oldest buttsex joke in the book), butt I digress. Buttsex could also be fun if you sneak up, pants someone, yell “SURPRISE!”, and go for it. That way you don’t get in trouble because you gave them fair warning.

Buttsex most definitely has its ups and downs, depending on which end of the spectrum you’re on. If you’re on the bitch side, then it would be best to squeeze tight throughout the day and have your back towards a wall whenever possible. I mean, you never really know when buttsex could strike. Shopping, go-cart racing, painting a fence, doing dishes…these are all activities that could put you at high risk. However if you’re a Big Butch have a field day with it, just remember to yell “SURPRISE!”

"If your penis is in a vagina is it gone forever?"

Q: My boyfriend doesn’t seem to get as hard these days as he used to. Could this be my fault?

Me at 8: I think it’s safe to say that there’s no explanation for the timing and differences of hardness in a weiner.  Two or three years of observation have proven that boobs are a surefire way to get one, but if you have boobs, I don’t know what the problem could be.  What’s so great about having a boner anyway? It just gets in the way of stuff and makes you feel kind of dizzy and you can’t stand up without everyone laughing at you.

Me at 13: Maybe he’s gay.  What kind of man can’t get a boner?  It’s the easiest thing in the world.  Has he tried sitting in class anywhere near a girl, or looked at a parabola in math class?  If either of those things don’t work, he’s probably a homo and you should come see my boner.

Q: My girlfriend and I are planning on having sex soon. Neither of us have done it before. What should we expect?

8: I heard a joke the other day. “What do a vagina and a KFC bucket have in common? After you eat everything out, you just have a greasy place to put the bones.” Therefore, I’m pretty sure there’s something, like stuffing probably, that you’re going to have to eat before you can do it.  I’d suggest bringing a spoon so your mouth doesn’t get tired. After that comes the fun part.  You just put your thing in her thing and hang out for a while until you get tired or bored.  Then you just lay next to each other with the sheets covering her boobs and smoke cigarettes.  I know you’re not allowed to smoke, but I think it’s what you have to do.

13: You should probably expect the best thing ever.  You’ll be in class and everyone will leave except you and her and she’ll be like, “Since we’re alone, do you want to do it?”  And you’ll say, “Yeah, of course,” because you’re super confident and not afraid to talk to girls.  So she takes all her clothes off, and this is the part where you usually come, but not this time.  You’ll stick it in there and go for almost 5 minutes!  You lucky bastard.

Q: My husband has been pressuring me to try anal sex lately, but I don’t think I want to. How can I tell him this?

8: Two words: Butt baby.  If sex is how babies are made, which I’m pretty sure it is, then butt sex would lead to butt babies.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, but I’m pretty sure it would be a little baby that smelled like poop and is always angry because he spent 9 months living in your butt.  Nobody wants a kid like that.  Also, he’s going to get a bad case of poopdick, and that’s just stinky.

13: While I personally think it’s a little gross to be rubbing it around in shit, science [class, where I sit behind Jess and can usually see the top part of her thong] has proven that it’s necessary for a man to do whatever it takes to come at least once a day.  Therefore, it’s your responsibility as his girlfriend to help him in whatever way possible.  Do your part, or he might die.

Q: My friends and I have been having an argument and maybe you can settle it for us. Are condoms reusable?

8: Of course they are.  Didn’t you learn anything from that assembly in the gymnatorium?  Recycling, singing, and cheering are the only ways to protect the Earth, and a condom is the easiest thing to recycle.  I don’t think it gets dirty.  It just kind of sits around your weiner until you decide you’re done.  You just need it because if the side of your penis touches the inside of her vagina, she’s going to get pregnant.

13: Condoms aren’t designed to be reusable, but in an emergency, they can be.  Anything can really be used as a condom if the situation is desperate enough.  What are you going to do when all the girls in school have to come in naked that day for reasons you don’t care to question, and they all want to have sex with you?  You’re going to run out of condoms pretty fast if you throw them all out.  Ziplock bags and socks will work just as well, I’m sure.

Q: I caught my son masturbating the other day.  We haven’t spoken about it and things have been kind of awkward since.  How should I handle it?

8: You caught him doing what?  I looked it up in the encyclopedia and it says he was rubbing up and down on his penis a lot.  Why would he do that?  That sounds painful.  You should just tell him to be careful so he doesn’t pull it off.

13: You should probably get him better locks for his door.  You should stay out of his room when the door is closed.  God, what’s wrong with you?  Aw damn it, now you got me thinking about it.  I’m going to need a four minute break.