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Archives For February 2012

Next Position, Please

Ken —  February 25, 2012 — 3 Comments

Al things considered, not a bad way to spend an afternoon.


Thank god someone had the good sense to start adding detailed definitions of sex acts and positions to Wikipedia and Urban Dictionary. Because now, future generations will understand the subtle differences between a Dirty Sanchez, a Lucky Pierre, and the Squashing of the Deckchair. When I have a chance, I’ll get around to adding some of my personal favorites:

The Who’s on First
Man strategically positions bedroom TV set so that he can catch last few innings of Sox game while going down on Woman. Man blows cover by screaming, “Fucking umpires!” after a particularly close play. Woman beats man with table leg.

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In You're Doing It Wrong
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Tits and Ask: Is She Cheating?

Ken —  February 20, 2012 — 1 Comment

Ah, she's probably just checking the weather...


DEAR KEN & ARIEL: I think my girlfriend may be cheating on me. We’ve been dating for a couple of months. The sex came to a halt for about three weeks. She had excuses: stress, sour stomach, etc. She tells me that she’s tired of hearing about it and when we do have sex she says she doesn’t want me to touch her chest and turns her head when I try to kiss her. The last two weekends there has been time where I didn’t hear from her for a while and her phone was shut off. She had excuses for all of this though (dead battery, no service, etc). On top of that, she has two male friends in her life who buy her things, loan her a car when hers is broke down, give her Easter gifts, flowers (daisies) and stuff like that. What do you think? 


KEN SAYS: You think she may be cheating on you? Dude, that’s like Jackie Kennedy turning to the driver of JFK’s motorcade car and saying, “I think something might be wrong with the President.” Or looking at Shaquille O’Neal and surmising that, yeah, this guy could probably handle the large fries. But I digress. Let me use an example from my own sordid past to illustrate.

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In Tits and Ask
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The Type of Party I Never Seem to Get Invited To

Ken —  February 19, 2012 — Leave a comment

No idea what the ladies in this photo are doing. But, honestly, so long as they’d be willing to let me watch, I could care less.

In My Dumb Life
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Porno for Paranoids

Ariel —  February 18, 2012 — Leave a comment

I remember the first time I saw a porno. I was around 13, my parents were out late, and I was bored, switching channels. I noticed between Ch. 25’s “All In the Family” and Ch. 38’s “The Movie Loft” there was this TV station, that wasn’t quite a station. It was a quick blast of human shapes, followed by wavy lines.

Was it an alien transmission? Intrigued, I stayed on it for a few minutes, to see if I could spot the telltale large, misshapen heads and tiny bodies so I could proudly announce to my class the next day that I was quitting school and working for NASA. Well, my friends, there was a head, attached to something, but it took a few minutes and a few more wavy-lines for me to realize it was an alien indeed – the male penis.

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In We Like to Watch
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The Ultimate Buzzkill

Ken —  February 16, 2012 — Leave a comment

"...but things were looking so good..."

Every guy has their holy shit girl. The one so twisted, so deviant, so possessing of a mind that conjures sexual scenarios rivaling the ones that live in our own fevered minds, we drop to our knees and exclaim, “Dear God, by all that is holy, please let me get a piece of this and I swear I’ll go to church every day and twice on weekends.”

For me it was… well, let’s call her Michele Baccini, because that’s her name. She was about five foot four, all hips, lips and tits, with a rear end that launched from the small of her back with such otherwordly curvature that rumor held she couldn’t slide her jeans on without applying for a city building permit.

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In Ken's Rants, My Dumb Life
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VD: Not Just an STD

Ariel —  February 14, 2012 — Leave a comment

In offices across America, there is a day that is full of hopes and fears, the pinnacle of dreams and cruelest of realities…“the thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat.” No, I’m not talking about the annual softball game against those assholes at Carlton Precision Components. I’m talking about Valentines Day. It is a study of cutthroat, ruthless competition, possible lives (boyfriends, bike messengers) at stake, and once-rosy, brimming-with-lifelong-potential relationships added to the funereal pyre of failure.

It begins at 9AM. Some women try to beat the system and bring in flowers “I just got as I was on my way out the door, didn’t have time to put them in a vase, so ha-ha-ha guess they came to work with me!” This smacks of dirty play and of desperation, possibly purchased at a supermarket or worse, a subway/busy-intersection street vendor. Once these deceitful dames are given the brush-off, the wait begins. Clocks are set and elevator banks get more eye action than Beckham’s bulge in an underwear ad as the first deliverer of relationship redemption makes his way towards reception.

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In Ariel's Rants, Love Blows
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