Here’s the original article, in all its “I don’t know a thing about men but hey look at my nifty ‘SexPert’ title” glory.

1. Your partner is not as social as he used to be.

He is excusing himself from activities, has unexplained absences, and is not able to account for his time. He has little interest in socializing with you or making time for others, including his family.

Other Possibilities: He’s working more. His family gets annoying with overexposure. He just got a new book or videogame. He gets sick of having to always account for his time.

2. Your partner lacks interest in sex or is sexually unresponsive.

You’re noticing a decrease in physical affection and non-sexual touch. If you have sex, it’s because you are the one initiating it. Your partner is having trouble becoming sexually aroused (for example, achieving erection or having an orgasm).

Furthermore, your partner needs more and more stimulation to get turned on and release. He has developed a strong interest in sexual practices that seem a little out of left field. No matter what, both of you are feeling largely dissatisfied post-sex.

Other Possibilities: You overreacted when he suggested you work out together, and he’s less physically attracted to you. He’s stressed by work/being overworked. He’s sleeping with your sister/mother, and she/they are all for anal.

3. Your partner is being uncharacteristically demanding or rough during sex.

You’re feeling pressured to engage in sexual activities that are either physically or emotionally uncomfortable to you. Your partner is using atypical sexual language. He seems to be objectifying you and he has no qualms about it.

Other Possibilities: He wants to spice things up a bit. He isn’t addicted to porn, but he’s turned on by some of the things. You’re a prude.

4. Your partner does not seem “present.”

Your lover has become emotionally distant during sex. You’re starting to feel sexually rejected or neglected. In or out of the bedroom, you and your partner can no longer describe yourselves as emotionally intimate.

Other Possibilities: Anything in life. Literally anything could cause this. Maybe he doesn’t always have a new response for how he feels when hiding the salami.

5. Your partner has started to nit-pick your appearance.

Your partner seems more and more concerned about what you look like, and if you’re sexually attractive “enough.” He might make cutting remarks about your weight or shape. He’s also making insensitive sexual comments, which make you feel like a sex object.

Other Possibilities: There is actually a reason to nitpick your appearance. After all, he is proud to show you off, otherwise he likely wouldn’t have been attracted to you in the first place. He only nitpicks because he cares.

6. You feel like you’re no longer getting straight answers from your lover.

You suspect that much of what is being said these days are white lies. Answers to your questions seem vague and nonsensical. He’s defensive when asked about porn use.

Yet you are finding evidence of hiding, lying, and secretive behavior, including porn materials you didn’t know about. Maybe your partner maintains a private e-mail address, has his own credit card, and/or has an unknown cell phone account.

Other Possibilities: Ok, this isn’t an alternative, but is lying now seriously indicative of porn addiction? What happened to the good ol’ days where we lied just to avoid an argument? If you’re not married, is he not allowed to have his own credit card? God forbid you don’t have universal access to his e-mail on demand.

7. Your partner is practically wed to the Internet.

He spends an excessive amount of time on the computer, often demanding privacy and/or changing his bedtime ritual. As a result, he has eye problems from spending long hours on the computer. He may also complain of back, wrist, neck or shoulder pain.

Other Possibilities: He works on the computer. He’s doing one of the other 1.287 billion things to do on the Internet.

8. You’ve noticed a change in your partner’s demeanor.

Your partner just doesn’t seem like himself. He has trouble calming down and sleeping. His moods and interests are different. It may even be to the point you’re wondering if his mental health is okay. Feeling like a “sex pervert” can lead him to negative emotional outbursts such as picking fights and holding grudges in order to justify his secret porn use.

Other Possibilities: His demeanor changed for any number of reasons, including but not limited to: financial concerns, car problems, the economy, gas prices, the war, food poisoning, Red Sox fans, poor sexual performance, that nosey bitch at work, family problems, alimony from his previous marriages, body rash, adverse reaction to cheap tequila, tax season or a rude stripper.

Well, kids, yesterday was Nudie Magazine Day and I received my new copy of Playboy still piping hot despite my frigid Midwest climate.  It is, after all, the first issue of the new year and I felt like a kid at Christmas as I went through my new-Playboy routine of tearing the black wrapper off the issue and shaking out all the bullshit inserts for products I don’t want.  I’ve said before, “I love Playboy because the articles blah blah.”  It’s a fact.  Don’t believe it?  Read an issue.  Anyway, the first part I always read is the Playboy Advisor.  For the Playboy illiterate, the Advisor is basically a Q&A column where people (male and female) write in and ask questions about fashion, sex, electronics, manners, etc.  It’s always interesting and informative, the questions highly varied, and the responses witty and articulate.  People ask everything from ‘Should I buy a LCD or plasma TV?” to “How can I talk my girlfriend into taking naked photos?” to “I liked to get kicked in the nuts by elderly women while I masturbate, is this a healthy activity?”  I turned to the Advisor last night and found this gem:

A few months ago I told my boyfriend that I thought we fit together well during sex, especially since I always felt discomfort with my ex, because he was huge.  I know, I know.  I meant it as a compliment (he’s a terrific lover), but he took it badly.  The other night, right before I came, I told him he was in so deep and it felt so good.  He accused me of patronizing him.  He said my comment had been like calling him by another guy’s name and  I should know there are things you should never say to a guy.  Please help. 

Wow.  I know.  Fucking terrible, right?  This could be the single most backhanded compliment I have ever heard.  It boggles my mind that something like that would ever, for an instant, seem like something you should tell your boyfriend.  I can guarantee that for as long as you are letting him put his infant-sized penis in you, he will never forget this comment. You should probably go ahead and break up with him, because this is going to be a huge-dicked elephant in the room for the remainder of your relationship.  Ladies, we know you’ve had sex with other dudes before we met.  It’s something we don’t think about…unless you bring up the fact that your last guy’s hog looked like a baby’s arm holding an apple.  We even understand that penis size isn’t really that important, but when you can’t help but mention how you would black out from ecstasy as you tightroped the line between pleasure and pain while he bored you out with his mule cock, it’s something we don’t soon forget.

So, this might be the worst thing you could say to your boyfriend to undermine his confidence both in and out of the bedroom and I got to thinking about an equivalent for women.  What could be as ‘kick in the nuts’ for girls as what this chick said to her man.  This is what I came up with:

“I feel like we’re a great fit during sex because my ex was really tight.  You fit me like a comfy sweatshirt.”

“I don’t usually have a problem coming from oral.  But my last girlfriend gave, like, fucking amazing head.”

“That’s fine, baby.  We don’t have to do that.  It’s just that my ex was always…down for anything.”

“No, baby, I love handjobs.  It’s just that your hands feel all rough…like my dad’s.”

“Normally I love going down on girls, but it usually doesn’t look like two partially-grilled strips of fajita meat.”

Girls, don’t be idiots.  We are thrilled that you are even letting us have sex with you.  Don’t dash our illusions of being the world’s greatest lover by talking about your ex-boyfriend’s dong.

The other night I was thinking aimlessly, a typical occurrence after I’ve been reading and my imaginary ADD kicks in.

Considering all the sex that takes place on a daily basis across the world, human sexual organs are amazing contraptions. I mean, they hold up pretty well to what amounts to a lot of punishment. It’s almost as if we should think of our naughty pieces like a dependable old car. I like to think that my penis has the heart of a Civic, though his behavior makes him more of an Explorer, a veritable Trailblazer if you will. I, naturally, am his Navigator during each and every Expedition. His only goal in life is a private Fiesta with a young lady and I Aspire to make his dreams come true. However, there’s always that fear if I don’t Focus and keep a good Tempo, she will Dart right out of my bed and Escape. So guys, remember that it’s not always about slipping a Magnum on your Titan just so you can Ram away. If you don’t keep up that romantic Vibe and just take a moment to enjoy the Vue, you too may find yourself holding your Jimmy Like a Rock.

Highlander.

For all of those who were not aware of its existence, the website GroupHug.com allows anonymous submission of a user’s confessions. The terms and conditions are unclear, though, upon clicking “submit” whether your particular God forgives you for your sins. Nonetheless, the site provides an RSS feed for the more notable submissions, which I have added to the Humor folder of my Google Reader.

It’s my particular brand of twisted humor that compels me to read these “featured” confessions, as it not only gives me a good laugh but puts into perspective my rather minute problems in comparison to some of these perceived unbearable sins. As a friend of mine pointed out in high school: When you think your life is shitty and couldn’t get any worse, look at the smelly anti-social kid in the corner and think, “At least I’m not that guy.” Disrespectful? Yes. Effective? Definitely. Besides, many people don’t think they deserve anyone’s respect, and who am I to try to change their minds?

One particular GroupHug entry I read yesterday, however, produced rage rather than laughter, and I felt that this was the best medium to address it and the bigger problems it represents.

I pretend to take my birth control every day in front of my boyfriend. I hide it under my tongue and take it out when hes not looking. Im so blessed to be pregnant – he doesn’t know yet.

Seriously, what the bastard-spawning padded cell fuck? I don’t even need to go into details as to why the excuse of “well he should have wrapped it up anyway” isn’t plausible, as anyone who resides in reality and has been a part of a relationship in which birth control was intricate knows full well that isn’t exactly a realistic expectation. It’s not even as if the male, trying to be somewhat sexually responsible, reminded her on a daily basis to take it and she conveniently “forgot” each day. This is a deliberate and repeated act of deception by a (assumedly) young girl with obvious inadequacy issues. Whoever the first person of either gender was who had the drug-induced revelation that having a baby fixes everything should be stabbed repeatedly with a mechanical pencil. This is the relationship equivalent to kicking a man in the junk to make his headache go away, only the ball pain lasts for over 18 years.

Now, I’m a huge opponent of always projecting one’s relationship problems inward, as blaming yourself for everything is senseless, unpractical and never leads to results. Never has that meant that the alternative is to take focus off your troubles by secretly opening a new can of worms. Do you think there are communication and trust issues in this girl’s relationship? One can surmise that without knowing anything more than the three sentences quoted above. Without having ever met this person — fortunately for my criminal record as well as her – I can guess some of the nutty shit that probably went through her mind before her grand scheme of treachery began. Ladies, you may want to stop reading and call your therapist if any of this begins to look familiar, though I’ve expanded the vocabulary beyond what was feasible for this soon-to-be simpleton mother.

• He doesn’t look at/love me like he used to. If I get pregnant, I’ll be beautiful and he’ll love me again.
• I feel like our relationship is getting boring and stale. A baby will freshen things up perfectly!
• He said he doesn’t want to have kids right now. He says we’re too young. I know I can change his mind.
• He said he doesn’t want to have kids right now. He says we’re too young, but I know he doesn’t really feel that way.
• I don’t know what I would ever do if he left me. I can’t live without his love. We have to have a baby so he will stay with me.
• Even if he realizes I deceived him into believing I was taking my birth control, he’ll forgive me because I love him and he loves me.
• I know we can’t afford a baby right now, but we love each other so I just know it will work out.

What crazy things have you told yourself in past relationships that now, looking back, you just shake your head in wonderment?

This title is ironic because Kim Kardashian has a huge ass. I’ve never heard of this woman. I don’t have cable nor can I read. To make these posts I have my incredibly attractive, semi-literate secretary take dictation. Let me tell you, this chick takes the dictation like a champ. I digress.  Using only knowledge acquired from the two-page lead in her pictorial spread, she is the daughter of someone famous, marginally attractive, and has famous friends. Also, she dated the younger brother of Singer/Actress/Murderer Brandy. To answer your question; Yes, they did make a sex tape. Google it.  These qualities, coupled with her morally casual attitude towards showing her box to millions of people make her a pretty solid candidate for posing in Playboy.

I’ve voiced before my fondness for Playboy, and that I deem it much, much more than a magazine of naked women. The pictorials are always tastefully done and could be classified more as art than porn. I can hear your girlfriend snickering from here, but seriously, there are never any photos of any type of sexual act or a full-on vagina shot. I like to think of it as Glamour Shots without clothes…if the women who had Glamour Shots done were smoking hot instead of looking like your Aunt Trudy from Iowa City…and they were naked…and I masturbated to them. Well, Aunt Trudy still got that last honor. Point being, it’s not Creamsicle or Hustler, and it’s socially acceptable to have one hanging out on your coffee table.

Like I said, I’m not expecting women munching box or getting pounded by some shiny, ‘roided-up guy, but I expect something provocative, creative, and sexy. I’m rarely disappointed with Playboy’s photo direction, but Kim’s is about as creative as a Nickelback song. I understand that without including midgets, farm animals, or 25 gallons of butterscotch pudding, there are only so many attractive positions a naked woman can be photographed in, but that’s what a director gets paid to do.  Her shoot is disappointing on two fronts.

She doesn’t really show anything good. No two nipples are exposed in any one photograph; which is atrocious because she has huge boobs. I don’t know much about bra sizes, but what’s the one after D? Is it an asterisk? The Batman symbol? I’m not sure, but that’s what she wears. God forbid she forgets her pill after letting the Chargers O-line finish inside her. Kim’s pregnancy-swollen breasts may one day destroy us all. A few of the photos expose a single nipple, but Christ, if you’re going to get naked for a national magazine, you might as well go all out and show off the girls. You can glimpse the beginnings of a vagina in one shot, but your eye is drawn more towards her huge ass. Furthermore, Kim and the photographer both know that the money is in those hams she smuggles in her pants daily. I’d like to submit the July 2006 Vida Guerra issue as exhibit A.  Vida, much like Kim, is a beautiful woman, but unlike many of the Playboy models, she has a clever gimmick in the form of her huge, fantastic ass.  The photo shoot highlights that specifically, as well it should. Kim’s shoot fails by not providing her donk with sufficient face…well…ass time.  Seriously, how ridiculous is her ass in this photo?  It looks like she’s wearing a diaper.

The positions are unimaginative. Standing, draped in pearls. Lying on her stomach. Putting on deodorant. Maybe not that last one, but that would be more exciting. There’s no cool background scene or even her doing anything interesting. I’m not sure if you can blame Kim for this. The fault lies with whomever directed the shoot. Could he not talk her into anything cool? Shit, man, she’s already naked. The hard part should be over. Just dangle some shiny trinket in front of her until she’s bent over a mechanical bull, deep-throating a Lawn Dart. You’ve coerced hotter girls into more interesting poses.

The blame cannot be laid fully on Kim. The Playboy staff must shoulder a portion. Now hear this, Playboy: You pull this crap thirteen or fourteen more times; consider my subscription canceled.

I would hope that everyone here is familiar with Ivan Pavlov and his conditioning experiments involving bells, dogs, and salivation.  If not, click the link for a mini-psychology lesson.  Back yet?  Did you Wikipedia scat porn instead?  You filthy bastard.  If you were too lazy too follow the link, I can give you the short and dirty: Pavlov called his dogs to dinner using a bell.  After a few repetitions, Pavlov noticed the dogs would salivate at the sound of the bell, regardless of whether or not the food was present.  Voila, the conditioned response.  Where is this going?  Good question.

I subscribe to Playboy.  Naked women are fantastic, naturally, but I don’t need to pay $15.00 a year to see naked girls.  I mean, shit, they aren’t even getting fisted or pooped on.  The articles are truly fantastic, blah, blah, anyway, I’ve found that over the last few months I can only take a dump while looking at the Playboys.  I have a stack of Men’s Health, Playboy, and Rolling Stone in my bathroom that could probably be a legitimate fire hazard and I like to enjoy an article or pictorial at each sitting.  I used to be an in-and-out kind of guy, but I’ve matured to the point where I really like to ease into the deuce.  Well, I’ve noticed that sometimes I get really into the articles and forget my purpose.  Women have shat out children faster than some of my sessions. 

I’ll just say it: I have trouble birthing one out unless I’m looking at the pictorial section in the Playboys.  Maybe the articles steal my attention from the task at hand and don’t allow me to fully align my chi for emptying my guts.  The airbrushed boobs and flawless complexions really put me at ease, I suppose.  What’s the problem?  Well, my concern is that this could turn into a debilitating condition where I would eventually have to keep porn on my phone to view if I’m caught in a public restroom.  Or worse, shitting becomes somehow entangled in my sexual thoughts, or vice versa.  I mean, nobody plans on being turned on by women’s feet or being spanked with cold bologna, but I think a quick Google search would prove that these freaks exist en mass.  It’s harmless now, but down the road, I could be that guy asking his girlfriend to pee on him. 

So what’s the solution?  I stop using the pictures as a catalyst and risk the dreaded bowel backup?  I let this snowball to the point where I’m sweating one out crouched over a Thai hooker in a bus station bathroom, struggling to keep my belt both tight around my neck and wrapped around the exposed pipe overhead?  Neither seems like a great option.  Well, the first one doesn’t seem like a great option.  I am interested in hearing your thoughts.  As it stands, I can only climax when a girl puts on high heels and the head of the Philly Phanatic, sings ‘Raspberry Beret’ by Prince and stomps my nuts, I really don’t need this.

To some people, Christmas, with the blanketing snow, family gatherings and Nat King Cole music, is the most magical holiday each year. Other people prefer the Thanksgiving feast and football, while self-serving co-dependent types cherish Valentine’s Day. You even have the couple potentially institution candidates out there who actually celebrate Flag Day or Arbor Day. For me, though, Halloween takes the proverbial cake and is head and shoulders above other holidays on my care-o-meter. In the United States, at least, All Hallows Eve has that dark tone to it while still planting nightmares of diabetic comas in the heads of parents nationwide.

There is one major aspect of Halloween that gives it a significant edge over St. Patty’s Day as the most fun holiday: Promiscuous women in tiny costumes (Sexy Sexy!). At 25 I am still relatively young, and dedicated alcohol abuse has effectively clouded most of my childhood memories, so I can’t be sure how prevalent the scantily clad costume movement was earlier than, say, 10 years ago. However, I fully embrace the trend and wish that Halloween was at least 200 days a year, if not year round.

Just from a sociological point of view, the week of Halloween gives everyone license to throw caution to the wind and dress to whatever extreme their personal limits will allow, without any great repercussions. For women (of unfortunately all shapes and sizes), this limit often includes no more than wearing as little clothing as publicly allowed in the theme of some normally respectable profession. In warmer climates like here in North Florida, the couple weeks leading up to Halloween are reminiscent of those preceding Spring Break, as scores of women hit the Stairmaster to ensure they’ll fit into a generic, mass-produced Size 2 “Sexy Cop” costume. The main thing it represents is an unbridled embracing of their sexuality, amplifying the human desire to garner the most attention possible at various bars, costume parties and gangbangs.

This phenomenon is wasted by only being acceptable one time each year, when I am positive that implementing it a minimum of once a week would not result in it getting old. If there’s anything that the Feminist Movement has taught me, it’s that the fairer sex is deserving of the same open level of sexual expression as men. I believe that is the underlying message, and nobody will convince me otherwise. Of course, this is coming from someone who is a vocal proponent for allowing women to be equally topless as men in warm. I know, I know. I’m a pioneer. You’re welcome.

I know what you’re thinking, too. I’m only justifying the objectification of women who are confident enough to flaunt it a little. While that may be wholly accurate, I fail to see exactly what’s wrong with that train of thought. It would seem that one must fear recognizing physical beauty in these times for several ridiculous reasons. My personal favorite is the woman who complains that she is not taken seriously because she is physically attractive. It is the minority of men in a professional setting who cannot recognize a valid skill set in any coworker, regardless of their peer’s gender. While your canned chauvinists who can’t see past your cup size are certainly out there, they should be treated with no less indifference than other small-minded people we all encounter on a regular basis.

The more pressing issue, rather, is a competitive nature between female peers and the hatred of the perceived unfair advantage awarded to attractive women that stifles any celebration or even recognition of sexuality. Even in settings where this advantage exists, the “disadvantaged” should only be that much more motivated to excel. The perpetuation of the belief that life is not but should be entirely fair accomplishes nothing but inciting self-pity, the most useless emotion available.

It is a cruel double-edged sword that women are able to use sexuality to help obtain a wide array of things in their lives, but they must mask it with such discretion and innocence that it carries a sort of corrupt stigma with it, which is unfair to both genders; Those women who have a soul have to carry the baggage of guilt with them for using what they work hard at for personal gain, while unsuspecting men fall prey to the wiles of an attractive female faking genuine interest. If we could all thicken up our skin a little and realize that things like physical presentation do make a difference in making impressions and maintaining all types of relationships, the increase in transparency of our intentions would make the pill of life a little bit easier to swallow.

I like to know how things work.  For some ignorance is bliss, but I prefer understand the ‘how and why’ behind things on this planet.  Things like difference between a Diesel and internal combustion engine, why some eggs are brown and some are white, and how Eddie Murphy keeps making the same movie over and over intrigue me.  I use all my resources (read: Wikipedia) and satisfy my quest for knowledge.  One of things that intrigues me most is the female body.  I’m not talking about understanding women, for that is far too lofty a goal.  I’m strictly discussing the inner workings of the reproductive system, sexual organs, etc.  Gross, but I went to the trouble to learn how a four-stroke engine works, and I don’t stick my dick in that. 

I was discussing with my girlfriend exactly how oral birth control works, the different types, blah, blah and I turned to the Internet to find some specific info.  I stumbled upon a site with a birth control FAQ, safe sex tips and other sexual education articles. For shits and grins, I decided to study up on lube.  The article gave directions on how to use a condom and apply lube.  All pretty standard.  Then I reached the list of lubricants deemed unsafe for use with latex condoms.  This is from this site:

• Baby Oil
• Cold Cream
• Edible Oils (olive, peanut, corn, sunflower)
• Hand and Body Lotions
• Massage Oil
• Petroleum Jelly
• Rubbing Alcohol
• Suntan Oil and Lotion
• Vegetable or Mineral Oil
• Vaginal Lubricants containing Mineral Oil
• Vaginal Yeast Infection Medication (cream or suppositories)

Let’s discuss, shall we?  I might let baby oil slide, but only if it’s made from real babies.  I could see, in a pinch, desperate for lube for your girlfriend’s Sahara-like vagina, you grab the bottle of baby oil from the cabinet and grease her up.  It’s clear, it’s slick, and it could happen to any of us.

Now, I had to look up cold cream because I don’t have any grandchildren, but it’s the makeup remover/face cleaner stuff that Gam Gam puts on before falling asleep to reruns of Dragnet.  It’s got the consistency of room temperature butter and smells like a nursing home.  I’m unsure why anyone would mistake this cream for something you should put on your genitals, but I would think that after thrust three or four the tingling sensation would tip you off.

Olive oil would only work if you were Italian and you also sprinkled basil and fresh cracked pepper on your penis.  Then you pulled out one of those handcrank cheese graters and told her to say “When”.

It seems intuitive that a product labeled ‘hand lotion’ would be for your hands, not your insides, but I watch Cops and I know how people really are.  Stuff meant for your nuts or vagina will usually say so on the package.  It’s best to err on the side of caution.

Massage oil also gets to slide by b/c I can see how easy it would be after you’ve lit the candles and applied scented oils to her neck and back, letting your hands trace the curves of her body, that you make the attempt to use the excess as an easy segue to anal sex, but let me warn you:  If one of her family members or another nurse walks in, you’d better think fast, my friend.

Nobody’s used petroleum jelly as lube since ‘Nam.

This is the big winner: rubbing alcohol.  Why would anyone ever use this as lube?  It looks like this is a real issue, because they added it to the list.  I am not a chemist, nor do I cook methamphetamines in my garage, but my observations of rubbing alcohol have proved that it possesses a quick evaporation rate.  This…might be the number one thing you do not want in a lubricant.  Also, as anyone who has ever had alcohol used to clean a scraped knee can tell you, it hurts like ten bitches on a bitchboat when you apply it to broken skin.  If you choose to use this as a sexual lubricant, you deserve whatever happens next.

I’ll skip the suntan and mineral oil (Hey, we’ve all been there) and get right to the yeast infection meds.  That includes suppositories, girls.  Don’t try to slide that one by me again.  It seems like every time I’m getting into the dirty talk it ends the same way:  “I want to kiss you all over.  I want to spank you and pull your hair.  Call me Daddy.  I want to squeeze a vaginal suppository until it explodes all over your crotch and use it to lubricate your yeasty, infected snatch.”  Feel free to use that one, fellas.  I don’t want to touch yeast infection cream and I sure as shit don’t want to apply it to your festering crotch.  Beyond gross.

Remember kids, only you can prevent forest fires and only you can use latex-safe lubricants to avoid knocking up that prostitute you bang outside the bus station every weekend when you tell your ol’ lady you’re playing cards with the guys.

I, like any red-blooded American male, am always searching for the answer to the question, “Why are girls so goddamn crazy?”  While hanging out in my neighbor’s apartment, I may have stumbled upon the reason I should have realized many years before: Cosmo.  Obviously, Cosmo is not the only magazine to blame, and I will gladly lump Glamour, Details, and any other magazine that features fully-clothed celebrity women throughout.  These magazines usually offer no shortage of articles targeting and amplifying female insecurities.  With all this fretting over skin cancer, breast size, and 1001 ways to please your man, how do you sleep at night?  I swear to God, if you don’t buy the hot new fall eyeliner and take that quiz titled, ‘Which Hairstyle Are You?’, I’m going to break up with you.  Scratch that.  I will sleep with your sister, put your cat in a pillowcase full of bricks and drop him into your pool, tell you that you never knew all 9,559 ways to please me, then break up with you.

What served as the catalyst to my realization was an article titled “How Can You Tell If Your Boyfriend Is Gay?”.  I was taken aback at first, but ultimately I decided to read on because I had recently been concerned about my boyfriend possibly being gay.  It’s like every time we have filthy, sticky, gay sex, he leaves immediately after and says he’s going to the gym.  Where is he really going?  Could he be gay?  To save you from wanting to stab yourself in the face over the realization that, after reading these three pages of garbage in the magazine, some chick somewhere is thinking, “Oh my God.  Could Jerry be…”, I’ll paraphrase the article.  It starts of by saying that more and more guys in heterosexual relationships are having gay relationships also.  It warns you to not be concerned by trivial matters such as your douche bag boyfriend wearing pink shirts or using moisturizer or waxing his nuts.  Then, it outlines two possible signs your boyfriend is taking anusful after anusful of thick man chowder from dudes in the Gold’s Gym locker room.  I am NOT making these up.

1) He watches man-on-man porn.

I like how Cosmo doesn’t call it gay porn; insinuating that if you watch two guys having sex, become aroused, and masturbate to climax, you do not necessarily have homosexual tendencies.  What the fuck?  If you are snooping on your boyfriend’s computer and his history reveals more than zero pages featuring penises penetrating something other than a vagina or other human female orifice, you should be concerned.  Actually, if you snoop and discover no pages of porn of any kind, you should still be concerned.  He may be a robot, sent from the future to kill Sarah Conner.  Every guy looks at porn online.  Every.  Single.  One.  Honestly, my keyboard should look like this:  I have never, viewed gay porn in an attempt to satisfy my sexual desires.  I would if I were, perhaps…flaming gay.  So, finding gay porn on your gay boyfriend’s computer is a pretty good indicator that your gay boyfriend may be gay.  Gay.  Thanks, Cosmo.

2) He has many gay friends.

You don’t have to be a sociologist to discern that people befriend and surround themselves with people that are similar to them or that they wish to be like.  I have befriended gay men, as have many straight men, but if your boyfriend is constantly blowing you off to meet his crew of gays at a downtown hotspot to sip Apple-tinis and argue about The Hills, you should probably be concerned.  This naturally begs the question, “How many gays is too many?”  I think this is really the girlfriend’s call.  I would say more than one is suspect.  Not that there is anything wrong with being straight and hanging out with tons of gay dudes, but if your fruitcake boyfriend was constantly hanging out with scores of smoking-hot girls, you would probably be suspicious.  The same logic applies here.

3) You walk into your apartment and your boyfriend is wearing a pink mesh tank top and ass-less chaps, blowing one of your gay friends, while getting a rim job from your gay uncle and having anal sex with Jared Leto.  Brokeback Mountain is playing on the TV, and techno music is blaring from the stereo.  Plus, Jared Leto is wearing a T-shirt that says “I Love Having Gay Sex With Your Gay Boyfriend”.  Your cell phone rings.  You answer it and it’s your boyfriend.  He says, “Are you getting all this?  I could not be more homosexual.”

Okay, that last one may be mine, but Christ, how stupid does Cosmo think you are?  What girl, upon finding gay porn on her guy’s computer, would not freak the fuck out?  Cosmo thinks you are stupid and fat and ugly and wants you to think the same so you’ll continue to buy their 150 pages of advertisements every month.  Don’t let magazines like this play off your insecurities.  They just pour more fuel onto your already-raging fire of insanity.  You’re better than that.  I’d love to talk about this more later, honey, but I’m meeting the guys at The Man Hole for Mohitos and sushi tonight.  You know they show The OC marathon on Saturdays.  Tootles.

I promise that this isn’t going to become a celebrity blog, but this is important.

There’s a lot of talk these days about how female celebrities are too skinny and how as role models they set an unrealistic standard for young women, resulting in eating disorders, not to mention the general whoredom (that one I like). Celebrity website What Would Tyler Durden Do inadvertently gave me fantastic evidence to the contrary, though, with some closely placed entries on Daffy Duck (Jenna Jameson) and the hottest indestructible cheerleader on earth (Heroes’ recently legal Hayden Panettiere). It’s clear to anyone with a functional penis or a confused vagina who the hotter one is here: It’s the (hopefully) disease-free blond with some solid character development in the legs department. Granted, my penis would rot and fall off if it even looked at Jenna Jameson, but as a former symbol of female sexual empowerment, it’s pretty clear she was violently thrown from the Hot Wagon and landed on a soft pile of coke.

Ladies, anorexic is NOT hot. It really never has been. You just have to not be a complete c-u-next-tuesday, have some acceptable shape to the T&A regions and be able to tell me what a spinning class is.

On a related note, I’m willing to trade the same testicle once on the market to shplack Jessica Alba in a deal for consensual relations with Hayden and an anal date to be named later. I’ll claim her off waivers if I have to, the front office is behind me on this one.