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Dear Fred, I'm sure by now you have realized I'm gone. It's not that I didn't love you. I did. We had some really great times in the early days. But I couldn't wait for you anymore. -Wilma
When I was a kid, the mall was a great place, filled with wonder and the possibility of blowjobs. What exists now is a crippled version of it's old glory.
Masturbation in the shower is always bittersweet because right after the joy of climax comes the burden of getting your semen down the drain.
So you've decided to let the newbie take a hit of the bong, just so he doesn’t feel left out. Now he's in for the worst skull-fuck of his life.
The vegetarian menace is dividing this great country of ours. They aren't necessarily bad people, they just have stupid, stupid beliefs.
Now that my generation is coming of age and starting to produce offspring, I am noticing a disturbing trend: babies with Facebook accounts. Here's why this should not happen.
The time has come to take back our national pastime, baseball. The game that, as a boy in the mid 1890's, kept me up late at night.
Is there a God? Let's assume there is. If there is, He (or She) is pissed. Must be. Here's why. (Reason #1: Because we believe we deserve heaven just because we went to church once.)
Even though my ex was constantly in the mood for sex, I willfully abstained through her first four periods. Then we hit the bloody sheets.
To better understand how Lady Gaga concocts her erotic, unstable genre, we must perform an exercise in contemporary pop music production.
I enter an Asian massage spa parlor near me for sex and my mind is flooded with thoughts: How much does this cost? Do I get a handjob? Is it illegal?
What do you do if you just happen to find yourself in the middle of the Sahara Desert? Commercial airlines don't fly over the Sahara, as far as I know.