In 1967, a very cranky Canadian fitness consultant with a master’s in philosophy wrote a book about calisthenics you can do to improve your dick stroke. He called it, fucking what else, SEXERCISES.
Don’t let the bland, featureless cover fool you. This book is no fun. But it is weird, and that weirdness is already on full display before Edward O’Relly, M.A., M.S.P.E. is even done with the dedication:
The first thing Edward O’Relly, M.A., M.S.P.E., tells readers is, “I dedicate this book to my four children and my wise, satisfying decision to show them how to fuck.”
If this man told me, “I call my sons-in-law every night to confirm my daughters’ pelvic bowls brought them to climax,” I would say, “Yeah, that was in the subtext of your book’s dedication, Ed.”
You’re going to think I’m making this up, but the first 40 pages of SEXERCISES are a mean-spirited essay on why sex is useful and how mechanization is killing it. It’s a joyless hate letter to you soft failures and your unporked wives. The book jacket sells this like it’s Jumping Jacks for Lovers, but before he gets to that, he needs you to understand sex as a concept. As a biological imperative. Look at this fucker go on and on:
I’m not kidding when I say this is the majority of the book. This overschooled PE teacher sat down to write an erotic fitness program and couldn’t resist the urge to start with the very birth of the meaning. SEXERCISES is more than anal contractions; it’s the story of the first fish who crawled from the sea to invent premature ejaculation. He’s also got a quirk you see in hack writers where he rewords the same idea over and over like his dumb reader just isn’t getting it. Like the first fish who crawled from the sea to just fuck up something that isn’t that complicated.
Every page of CHAPTER 1 is a less readable version of Edward’s same two points– sex exists and you’re just hearing about it now. So let’s move on to CHAPTER 2: WE HAVE BECOME A RACE OF SEX CRIPPLES.
Ha ha I wasn’t kidding about the title. Edward is what you might call a Mediocre Supremacist, but he might be overestimating how much better he is than everyone for sometimes taking the stairs. Anyone who types, “escalators are making legs almost useless,” has deluded themselves into thinking they live in a world where their mere adequacy makes them a god. It’s worth reminding ourselves this book was supposed to be about fuck exercises, and an old man is complaining, incoherently, about all these traindebobs and autowhatsits that do all the hiking for you. I mean, what’s next? Wheeled shoes? Delivering mail over the radio?
Let’s move on to the next part of the book, which isn’t about ways to tone your body for intercourse, but about whose fault it is that the intercourse sucks.
I was excited to read this book. I got all dressed up for it. I am wearing gym shorts, a sweatband, and a condom. But this isn’t anything. This is a bad workout and worse couples counseling. Edward O’Relly has written a book for grumpy Luddites who want to think three minutes of side bends every morning make them elite specimens and champion lovemakers. But, sigh, since we’re here, let’s read more about how marriages work.
I don’t want to brag, but I knew this guy was going to hate women when I saw it was a 1967 book about sex. Though I didn’t know the “well-known fact that many men who are actually impotent with their wives are not impotent with other women.” I assumed when your dick didn’t work, you didn’t take it with you on clandestine dick missions. Sorry, this blows my mind. Canadian men were stepping out on their wives in the ’60s with medically floppy penises and someone was collecting boner data on it!? Science is amazing.
Looks like this man who thinks it takes women “weeks or months to reach orgasm” is still assigning blame for the sex being bad, so let’s skip ahead to the next section called… ha ha ha, no way. FLABBY BODIES DETRACT FROM SEX ENJOYMENT.
This book is incredible. He diagnoses the sudden trend(?) in admiring hot people to be our fat collective’s “subconscious reaching for something we know we are losing.” This confused and horny nerd writes like he got his master’s in P.E. without anyone ever reading one of his papers. He just said (eleven different ways) that sex was fun and we were wired for it, and now our interest in fuckable people is a psychic cry for help from our once visible abs? And did this pretentious son of a bitch say the Romans “substituted slaves for muscles, and were destroyed from within by the slow corrosion of luxury“!? Jesus. He sounds like Jordan Peterson explaining to a waitress how critical race theory and the unmopped floor of the International House of Pancakes means he is owed a free dessert, nay a duo of such.
You should always be suspicious of below average white people who hold themselves this high above society, but did he really say the main problem with slavery was how it sapped the can-do vigor from once great men? Aren’t we supposed to be learning fuck situps, and oh my god, he’s complaining about mechanization again.
I think this is what happens when white supremacists think about things too long. They figure out they are even more superior if you’re allowed to count animals. Ed doesn’t care what scientists say, he is so much better than stupid handless, footless dolphins and has twice, nay triple of such superiority when comparing himself to a pathetic everythingless snake. And I guess he makes a good point here that, before he gets to the sexercising, fuck snakes, right? Hey, snakes, grow some goddamn brain-directed feet or get the hell out of this competition. Escalator-users, same deal.
We might as well get warmed up. Edward talks the reader through something he calls RUNNING IN PLACE. Edward has some kind of post graduate degree in gym class, but the aerobics in his book are what you’d expect a mermaid to come up with on her first day with legs. Basic isn’t a strong enough word. This is more like the chosen Basic destined to meet the minimum requirements for the most general of knowledge, sent here from the Planet Duh on the Starship No Fucking Shit. Suck my relaxed, unpumped dick, Edward.
Let’s move on to some jumping ja– wait, no, to something Edward invented called ASTRIDE JUMPING WITH ARMS RAISING. After all, this is a sexy book, so things should have sexy names. And if you’re feeling adventurous, here’s an Expert-Level Edward O’Relly Workout Tip: exercise is harder when it’s harder.
Honestly, I’m just as disappointed as you that this is just the half-remembered PE program from Edward’s whites-only elementary school, but at least we’re up and doing stuff, right? The book seems to be done with the dry philosophy on the psychic causes of lady frigi– oh, damn it.
Don’t give up yet, intended audience of SEXERCISES! Edward has finally, officially decided you understand how much better he is than TV watchers, train riders, The Romans, and all animals without hands. He’s ready to discuss how fitness can help your lovemaking. First, he notes how weird it is we don’t train our women how to take a dick, and then, as is his way, notes again how weird it is we don’t train our women how to take a dick.
It is now chapter SIX of the sexual fitness book, and we’ve discussed slavery, impotence, and porpoise intelligence, so we have the foundation necessary to learn our first sexercise, “THE VITALLY IMPORTANT PELVIC THRUST.”
For the men, this chapter of SEXERCISES is all about pumping that dick. Standing erect against wall, standing erect away from wall, wherever. Pound that shit. Blast that shit. And there are pelvic tips for the ladies too!
Like the handless porpoise, Edward doesn’t expect much from women.
The male routines are all the same– get a firm base and do your best to slap yourself in the face with your dong. Fuck and thrust! Just violate the negative space around you like an existential sculpture.
If you’re a lady, we’re going to mainly focus on different ways to rest with a hole aimed upward.
Keep pumping, men! Hit! The! Back! Of! It!
Same for you ladies. Go for it.
Really pound it in there, fellas.
Ladies, you have your role to play too.
Pelvises are not merely a tool for in-and-outing. Try fucking the ceilings and walls of the thing! There are no wrong directions, men!
You can try too, ma’am, but please don’t strain yourself.
Most books wouldn’t take the time to illustrate a STANDING GLUTEAL SQUEEZE. A single, still image of a clenching butt is so magnificently of no help to anyone. It’s like offering a drowning man a photo of a clenching butt.
Women, maybe try lying down and flapping your feet back and forth? Men, let’s let that cervix know it’s in a fight.
Don’t stop now, men! SEXERCISE!!
It’s so magical that some asshole in the ’60s, with an educational background seemingly built for it, decided to design a sex-specific workout and the best he could do was “dick pumping for the fellows” and “advanced laying down for the ladies.” Our poor grandmothers must have thought sex was just some nightmare you had to endure to keep a father in the kids’ lives.
You might be thinking from all those pictures of an active-crotched man and a napping woman that this finally switched from a condemnation of modern living to a workout book. No. Edward still had a lot to say about you lazy, pathetic members of society. You garbage pieces of trash probably won’t even do these routines, no matter how great the benefits. Oh sure, you women jump right into a robust regimen of SITTING, HANDS ON FLOOR, but before long your fanciful sub-porpoise mind is distracted by the modern trappings of books, crossbowing, or the automobile.
Don’t scroll down any further, I want to see if you can guess the ending.
Now, the obvious way to end an article about sex exercises, especially ones where the men do all the work and the bored women hate it, was the premature ejaculation gag I already did. I’m not better than that, but I really wanted you to see how Ed finished his masterpiece. Scroll past the girl getting her ovary pump on to see the final page in its entirety.
Out of respect for Edward O’Relly, M.A., M.S.P.E., I’m going to end this article the same way he ended SEXERCISES: abruptly and with penis kegels. Hrk! Hrrk! Hrrk! Hrrrrrk! Hrr–
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme, Dan Bush: who is a 7th Dan master of Pelvic-Ryu Karate and learned nothing today.
15 replies on “Fucking Day: SEXERCISES 🌭”
I was not prepared for the diatribe to last basically the whole book. Usually an author gets it out of their system and moves on, but this guy, he just was not satisfied…and there is no way for this to not tie in with all the sex jokes…
If only he showed the same sexual endurance as he did philosophical endurance, he wouldn’t need to write such an impressively mediocre book.
I was half asleep when I started reading this article, but I was laughing out loud and I had woken up my wife before I finished my coffee. Thank you for the awesome content once again!
…. “to make things worse, there are no activities that mimic this movement (pelvic thrusting)..”
……………. did… did white people really not hear of “dancing” and “rhythm” until after the 1960’s?
If they had would there be so many long winded field manuals for confusing but boring sex? That’s like half of all hotdoggery right there.
In a perfect world, Poxco Detailing would put Sexercise on all vans. All of them. Because fuck vans. And because Sexercise rules.
You better not be dissin’ the A-Team van, fool.
Technically, by virtue of the A-Team driving it, that’s a tank now, not a mere van.
Great article Sean, but I’m not sure of why you chose Fucking Day to post a Men’s Rights activism manifesto, shouldn’t that be an Upsetting Day thing? Wait, this was supposed to be a sex book? Oh… Oh no… I don’t like this at all…
Due to early life experiences, I cannot read the phrase ‘pelvic thrust’ without remembering the Time Warp.
Also, thank you for the image of Jordan Peterson in an IHOP. The existential dread he would experience from eating a Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity is the subject of his next ninety minute YouTube video.
“After”? Umm. If you’ve danced and/or had sex with me you know this problem persists.
Dude, if your brain’s in a snake, you can make letters. Just form the words “I am Kassim”, somebody awesome will get the reference and build you a machine that can translate Hiss. Problem solved. Where’s that fucking intellect that inspired this book after you peaked with a master’s degree in Applied Peawhistle?
I’m a big fan of the lady model from _SEXERCIZES_ and I was wondering if you had her address? Her exotically white looks and lack of effort really do something for me. Deep down, you know? Like its SUPPOSED to be this way.
Best callback award goes to you good sir.
This is the funniest goddamn thing I’ve ever read