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Fucking Day: Beautiful Disaster

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Fucking Day: Finding Peak Hunk with the Fabulous Ones 🌭

From the Greeks to the Romans to probably others but mostly those two, a culture is measured by their hunks. Here in the US, we live in a declining empire and I can prove it. We reached maximum hunk saturation in 1983, and every day since then we’ve only watched the slow unraveling of society. It’s too late for us, but in the interest of saving future civilizations, we need to pinpoint the apex of American hunkiness. I propose it is a 1983 promo video featuring Stan Lane and Steve Keirn, The Fabulous Ones. Apparently they were a wrestling tag team, that couldn’t be less important. We’ll never talk about it. This is about history, hunks, and the hubris of mankind. The Triple H.

I’m told that’s also a wrestler. Please focus.

I’m not here to prove the 1983 Fabulous Ones promo was the high-water mark of the western world, when hunkiness broke and the cheeks rolled back. That’s self-evident. But the video is 135 seconds long, and only one of those seconds can save the world. We’re going to find it. Music should be swelling in your heart. Somebody should be saluting you. If you’re alone, look outside – you’ll find a squirrel with one paw over its heart in quiet tribute. This is the work of heroes, somber and dignified.

Send in the subjects, please.

Toot toot, all aboard the hunk train. It’s all caboose.

With the obligations done, let’s talk science. The promo is so effective because of two things: the rapid fire montage of alternate hunk looks, and the buns. Let’s discuss the looks first, and the buns second, third, fourth, and actually first. This video features more man mounds than Arlington National Cemetery. It is a black diamond run of sexy moguls. In France it’s punishable by six years in prison to smuggle buns like this. If these cheeks were ever to clap in unison, it would shatter all the windows in town.

Now, on to the analysis of hunk archetypes. Let’s begin with the Dandy Cowpoke, as first presented by Stan Lane.

The denim tells you he’s blue collar, the blue collar tells you it’s not all work. Shirtless, leather, cowboy boots, these are the pornhub tags of every repressed pastor. Blink and you’ll miss the saucy straw-bite, don’t blink and you’ll be lost in his hazel eyes forever. It’s a strong introduction, but not peak hunk.

Not to be outdone, Steve Keirn both combines and subverts two diametrically opposed hunk archetypes to create the Fancy Bathtime Hunk.

Countless hunks have died of shampoo poisoning trying to drink wine and bathe at the same time. Notice how he stops just shy of sipping, frozen in time. Steve’s not going out like that. That’s called experience. This isn’t Keirn’s first rodeo, Stan would laugh and show you his SK brand if you said that.

But this isn’t a competition. Stan and Steve are a team, and woe to any panties that fall under their combined gaze.

Tell your panties I’m sorry I wished them woe. I didn’t know they were about to explode.

The Barn Hunk demands a subtle but important distinction from the Dandy Cowpoke Hunk. The Barn Hunk works for a living, he earned his buns squatting haybales. The Dandy Cowpoke Hunk has buns built for gripping onto prancing horses. They’re not just different classes, they use entirely different muscle fibers and that results in wildly disparate cheek ripples.

This is not to say one hunk archetype is inferior to another. Remember, that’s not the purpose of this study. It’s about the cumulative effect. Watch this – I’m going to warn you not to get lost in Steve’s smile, but it’s not going to help.

The Barn Hunk could never pull off that pose. The jaunty lean, the casual splay, the devil’s own smirk. A Barn Hunk is a direct hunk. He’s a tool hunk, a trade hunk. A Monday Hunk. A Dandy Cowpoke Hunk is for Saturday night regrets at the mechanical bull bar. And yet even now you can see Stan and Steve playing these expectations against one another. Lured into this sort of hunk class war, we’re thrown right back out and into the tawdry opulence of the Fancy Bathtime Hunk.

The effect doesn’t fully land. Stan simply does not have Steve’s experience, he is unwilling or perhaps unable to mime a sip from his elegant bathtime wine. It might be for insurance reasons, hunk drowning coverage is wildly expensive since the Hunk Boat disaster. But still, we sense something missing from the scene. It feels like a step backward after Steve’s daredevil pose. Stan tries to make up for it with a bathtime derby and a double foamy thumbs up, but this gives less an impression of a rapacious hunk demanding your eyeline and a more of a gentleman trying to save face after falling naked through a ceiling.

That’s all down to Steve’s vast experience and classical hunk education. But youth does have advantages over years. Watch this – I’m going to warn you not to get overstimulated by the buns, but it’s not going to help.

Devastating. I should have tried to save your panties but I already failed them once earlier. I know it’s too late to walk back my mistakes.

Tear your eyes away – down here. DOWN HERE. It’s actually the transition that’s important in this scene. There they are, shirtlessly lounging in the hay to ease you into a false sense of security. This feels, if anything, postcoital. The action has already happened, just relax into the damp straw and bask in the afterglow.

Only then do they smash, for the very first time, into a full booty presentation. I know I promised we weren’t talking about wrestling, but this is like dropping to one knee to propose and then, when she’s off guard, executing a perfect suplex.

Steve is no slouch here, but look at Stan. The outline of his buns are sharper, his jeans tighter, his elbow flared more dramatically, his smirk a little more defiant. The more experienced Steve set up a textbook-perfect descending bun flash, but in breaking with classic form it’s Stan’s buns that draw us in, precisely for the rules they break.

Speaking of breaks, let’s take an Existential Hunk Break and ponder, for just one second, the bottomless hunger of time.

That’s enough, hunks cannot gaze into the void for too long. It falls in love.

Back to the study.

Stan and Steve are marvels of mankind individually, but it was always the way they set up and played off each other that escalated mere pretty boys into beautiful men. Watch this – I’m going to warn you not to get distracted by Stan’s crotch, but it’s not going to help.

You see how they did that? Stan’s face is barely in frame, yet he’s executing an Open Dangled Hay Splay. That’s so risky it’s banned in eight countries. It’s a centerpiece move. As we begin the zoom we think we know, of course, where the point of focus is going to be. We’re here to catch ourselves a greased hog. But no, a flirty last minute camera shift to Steve waylays our lust. ā€œOh?ā€ He seems to say, ā€œdid you mean to look at something else?ā€ He then gives us just a hint of Straw Suckle, not even a full-mouthed pull. He’s telling us in no uncertain terms that the Fabulous Ones know what you want, and it will be given to you only on their time.

I think it’s in here. The one perfect second to save a future’s hunks. I think this Open Dangled Hay Splay Hog Zoom Fakeout to Partial Straw Suckle is the peak of the form. This is two hunks at the top of their game, at the height of the art, working in perfect sync to both define and shatter the conventional rules of hunking. If there is but a single moment to point to as the ultimate-

Oh. Oh my god.

Once again, when it comes to hunks, I’ve been premature.

Somewhere in this clip is our one perfect second of apex hunk. But where?

Is it Steve reading a hotel pamphlet in a slutty kimono? Maybe. That’s such a perfect example of the dignity and grace a hunk can bring to a scene that, were it given to a woman, might come across trashy and obscene. Picture a small Asian babe up there in her micro-robe. It’s sexy, but it’s vulgar. It’s exploitative. When Steve strolls across the room in a child’s kimono, there’s an intentionality to it. It’s controlled, it’s subversive, there’s only the hint of a package that is never delivered.

Or is it Stan, just giving us the pure and simple American buns we deserve? That moment could be seen as pandering, but watch Stan set it up. The split-second look he gives us before the reveal. Looking straight at the camera through his own reflection, telling us we’re not leering at him. He’s leering at us. Then the sudden snap zoom to full bun presentation as he casually does his hair – the opposite of buns both in location and symbolism. ā€œOh these?ā€ He seems to say. ā€œThese old buns? I just threw these on. The hair, on the other hand, now that takes effort.ā€

It’s neither of these moments, and it is both. Black-pantied buns and slutty kimonos do not make the hunk. A hunk plays in the spaces between ham presentations. Great music happens between notes, powerful books live in the subtext, master chefs will tell you – it’s all about the food you don’t eat.

I believe I’ve found the Peak Hunk Instant. Now, at first it seems tame, stuffy, maybe even prude – but I think the summit of western hunking happens exactly here. I’ve slowed it down for you to study:

Nothing is an accident. Steve begins his maneuver in partial profile, dropping his knees apart as he settles into a low chair in his slutty kimono. Whether we’re aware of it or not, we understand this is the moment before the moment. The expectation before climax. The silent triangle twisting gently in a musician’s grip, just before the ding. The finger hovering over a doorbell, just before the dong.

If he sinks one more inch into that chair, that’s the end of the circus. We’ll meet the elephant. And in that exact fraction of a second we throw to a closeup of Stan doing his hair. Before our frustration can even register, a bakery van flips. It’s an unexpected bun delivery.

That’s it. That’s where the western hunk stood astride the summit and realized there were no more mountains to climb. Future civilizations, I don’t know if you’re reading this. I don’t know if our dialect survived long enough to speak to you. I don’t know if these words are capable of conveying my sorrow for what we lost, my hope for what you’ve gained, and my gratitude at being part of it all. Luckily I do speak one universal language.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: OrneryWeevil, who died of a urethral straw infection attempting the Open Dangled Hay Splay. We hope you’re heaving meat in heaven now.

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FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Black Tokyo 🌭

In the world of sexual tabletop roleplaying, games exist on a continuum with The Book of Erotic Fantasy on one end and FATAL on the other. Essentially, do you want to frolic with elves and pixies or do complex math to calculate whether or not your character can fit something inside of them? Black Tokyo, a roleplaying game supplement for the D20 system created in 2008 by Chris Field, sits much closer to the ā€œroll for anal circumferenceā€ end of the spectrum, with one important distinction: this one is in the Japanese style.

Black Tokyo opens like this:

Fuck you, “Call me Ishmael!” Go to hell, “This is the saddest story I have ever heard!” “Pussy. Cock. Cum.” is officially the greatest opening of any work in the English language. These are the essential ingredients, are they not? To reduce the complex sociocultural matters of human sexuality to three nouns is no easy task, but Chris Field has studied the blade — specifically, the prehensile dick blade — for years. In this volume, he will share the fruits of his labors with us with the generosity of a patient and giving lover. But just what does a hentai roleplaying campaign entail?

That’s right: we’re here to fuck in a non-discrete fashion. I really can’t blame him for that typo, though, because literally everyone on Craigslist Casual Encounters seemed to have trouble with it too. If you find yourself making the same error, ā€œdiscreetā€ means you won’t tell anyone about Black Tokyo. ā€œDiscreteā€ refers to the kind of structure Chris Field should be imprisoned in.

Now, are there going to be any actual sexual mechanics or instructions on how to roleplay physical intimacy? Advice for how to incorporate sex into a narrative? Notes on how to set a horrific mood at the table? It’s cute that you’d think so. The entirety of Chris’s advice on actual roleplaying is ā€œwatch Wicked City. It’s that anime where a lady turns into a spider after she fucks some guy, remember that?ā€

Black Tokyo is what some roleplayers might derisively call a ā€œtoybook,ā€ a tome that presents lists of new powers and equipment with little interest in developing a setting or characterization. Specifically, it’s mostly about shitting yourself to gain magic armor or turning your vag into a bladed deathtrap. But we’ll get to that.

First, for those unfamiliar with the concept of hentai, Chris helpfully lays it out:

It’s fascinating to see someone try to explain the concept of pornography like this. Like ok, so you know how in most movies they don’t show the dick going in? What I’m saying is, what if there was a kind of movie where they did that? And in this case, it’s also a cartoon. I know what you’re thinking: cartoons are kids’ stuff! Not these ones, friend. Not these ones.

Speaking of the visual arts, I regret to inform you that there are a number of illustrations throughout Black Tokyo. You’re probably picturing the kind of thing you’d see in a ā€œHow to Draw Japanese Animangaā€ book in a Borders in 2003. But they’re worse. They look like the kind of thing a bullied middle schooler who saw Tenchi Muyo one time might draw to impress his friends in an era before omnipresent high speed internet access rendered such abilities meaningless. ā€œDraw us a lady holding a sword and her pussy out and kind of the edges of her boobs visible,ā€ they would cry. ā€œYou can do this,ā€ he thinks. He can’t.

Thank you for the assist, David Cronenberg. Another curious thing about Black Tokyo is Chris Field’s constant use of epigraphs. It’s a technique you see a lot in writers who aren’t terribly confident of their own abilities, inserting quotes from famous or quirky sources to make themselves appear widely-read. Here’s the first one:

Chris Field has read or is at least aware of a quotation by William Blake! And he used it to open a section where he talks more about how when you’re drawing something, you can draw whatever you want — it doesn’t have to be something that exists in real life.

Chris’s examples of the infinite possibilities of the human imagination are: 1. What if there was a sexy devil, 2. What if someone melted but like, erotically, and 3. What if you didn’t roll over and fall asleep right after you nutted. This is a dire omen for what is to come.

You might be wondering, though, what if someone drew something that shouldn’t exist in reality? Don’t worry — Chris is way ahead of you.

Wisely, Chris chooses to avoid the premise of sexual toddlers in his grotesque flesh carnival of the mind. But the issue of sexual violence is unavoidable in the source material, and Black Tokyo is supposed to be a supernatural horror setting, so it’s going to come up. How do you deal with that in a roleplaying environment with actual humans at the table? Modern RPGs have developed all kinds of ways to handle sensitive or potentially upsetting topics, but Chris has his own methods.

First, and this is important, you have to tell the players that by sitting down at the kitchen table with you, they are entering your magical realm of depravity. Springing a world of sexual terrors on your player group is not recommended. If they sat down for some third edition D&D and you don’t tell them that it actually stands for Defilers and Dickholes, there’s going to be trouble. Also, I know what he means, but I really wish he’d said ā€œplayer charactersā€ instead of ā€œplayersā€ at the end there.

But how’s a game master supposed to keep track of which of their players is and is not comfortable with having their characters sexually violated? Fear not: there is a simple solution.

Yes, simply have your players draw a big letter R on their character sheets! You know, for— well, you know.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, what kinds of roles might the players be taking on? Before we get to the unique races and abilities Chris Field has cooked up for Black Tokyo, he first suggests that the reader might purchase some of his other works and offers ideas on how the characters he details in those supplements might be used in this setting. Say what you will about him, the man has hustle. (And another epigraph, this time from since-outed sex pest Warren Ellis.) Unfortunately, we’re already getting into some wildly terrible ideas here:

ā€œI know I said I wasn’t including children in my catalog of sexual horrors,ā€ Chris says, ā€œbut if you wanted to include them anywayā€¦ā€

Sorry, but in the event that I am kidnapped and forced to run a game of Black Tokyo at gunpoint, I will allow neither the child who crafts ā€œsubmissive magical playthingsā€ nor the Israeli blademaster as player characters in my campaign. I’ll take the bullet, thanks.

But Chris Field, it must be said, is a rarified kind of roleplaying pervert. He isn’t content to just lay out the stat bonuses you get for fucking your grandmother without intellectualizing a little. You get the sense that he’s kind of defensive about… all this.

Putting aside the serious, real-world issues of rates of reporting, arrests, and convictions that obscure the day-to-day reality of violent assault, Chris describes Japan with all of the confidence of an anime-obsessed foreigner who visited once and feels that as a result, he truly understands the mysterious character of the nation. Basically, Black Tokyo is The Chrysanthemum and the Sword, except the sword is a penis.

But let’s get into the real meat and potatoes of Black Tokyo: the crunch. The section on ā€œHentai Featsā€ opens with a quote from Saul Williams, so we’re off to a great start. First up, we’ve got Barbaric Rage:

What’s hentai about this, you might ask? Well, the first thing to note is that not all of the abilities in Black Tokyo have anything to do with sex. But in this case, there’s more:

Chris Field wrote, ā€œWhile in your sexual rage state,ā€ then had to continue that sentence, noting the bonuses a character receives while seething with incel fury. The more I think about it, actually, the more this is a little too real. Can we get a picture of the world’s least erotic blowjob to lighten the mood? We can.

Thank you again, Mr. Cronenberg, master of the grotesque. Next up, we’ve got ā€œBlack Fatherhood.ā€ It’s not what you’re imagining, don’t worry. Race is one of the few ways Black Tokyo doesn’t get weird. It’s actually about using your unborn demon babies to manipulate their mothers. Chris puts a Camille Paglia quote in here, and I have to think that even she would feel a little weird about that.

Now, I know I just said Black Tokyo leaves racial dynamics out of the proceedings, but there’s one exception. The feat called ā€œBodywalk,ā€ which Chris describes as ā€œone of the most fearsome hentai no judo abilitiesā€ lets you teleport between people’s bodies. There’s a catch, though:

Is hentai no judo a racist form of invented sexual martial arts? Scholars have debated this question for centuries, but alas, we must move on. We must now speak on the ancient and erotic power of shitting yourself. We’re definitely going to need you for this, David Cronenberg.

Maybe I’ve just never sought this kind of thing out, but making poop armor doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that happens in hentai. Critically, soiling yourself is a full round action, which you might think means you can’t do anything else while you’re doing it. However, a quick look at the D20 system rules indicates that while taking a full round action, you can also take a five-foot step in any direction as well as perform free actions, which include dropping prone and speaking. So you could, in theory, announce your intentions, take a single step, fall over, and piss and shit all over yourself to activate your pee pee doo doo armor.

A bunch of the feats have to do with incest, which seems to be a preoccupation for Chris. There’s one where you can do a Freaky Friday with a family member (if you have sex with them first), there’s another that gives you and a family member a stat boost (if you have sex with them first), and finally, a feat that lets you ā€œforge a mystic bondā€ with your immediate family (if you watch them crank off first). Hm. I’m going to need some art of one of Santa’s elves fondling a diseased Smurf to continue.

Thanks, Chris. And to Mr. Cronenberg for giving us a full, unobstructed view.

Let’s get back to hentai no judo. I promised you prehensile dick blades, and prehensile dick blades I intend to deliver.

Certainly the power of the Phallic Spear Technique is formidable. But practitioners must be cautious. Maybe you can see where this is going.

Yes, your weaponized cock remains vulnerable to amputation. In the D20 system, Wisdom (WIS) determines your ā€œcommon sense, perception, and intuition,ā€ which is a weird stat to tie to how hard your hog gets. Arguably, those high in common sense would see the immediate issue with swinging their unit around in battle. It is written: those who live by the dick blade shall die by the dick blade.

Phallic Spear Technique not enough for you? Take the ā€œMisogynist Bladeā€ feat!

So now it’s not enough that guys need to have big dicks. They have to have a ā€œbrutal combat phallus.ā€ Much like Chris Field’s flexible battle shaft, male sexual standards are getting out of hand.

Things have been pretty phallocentric so far — what does the world of Black Tokyo have to offer female characters? I’m glad you asked!

Vaginal tesseracts! Now we’re talking. No more awkward conversations after you do the deed — just become a sexual Kirby and hoover up your discarded lovers into a non-dimensional hell. And that’s not the only yonic magic Black Tokyo has in store.

You gotta hand it to Chris Field sometimes. ā€œYou have made your sexuality a weapon of mass destructionā€ is an extremely powerful phrase.

Other feats include giving birth to demons, petrifying your lovers with sexual fluids, and reverting the fools imprisoned in your internal pocket dimension into fetuses. But it’s not all pussy stuff. There’s one called ā€œWomanly Suffocationā€ where your tits melt and choke the life out of a rival hentai no judo practitioner.

And then there’s ā€œPainted With Seed,ā€ an ability that lets you gain stat bonuses from being nutted on. Sure, fine, right? That’s probably the least bizarre thing we’ve seen so far. That’s what you might think, until you realize that Chris thought up specific bonuses for each body part someone’s man milk lands on. Again, maybe you’re thinking I just mean face, tits, or ass. No, I mean 11 discrete body parts.

Look, I know you want to do it inside, but could you finish on my hands? I’ve got to do open heart surgery later.

Moving on to character classes, Black Tokyo gives you seven to choose from.

All the greats are here: demon hunting cannibal, necrophiliac ghost hunter, unstoppable psychic monster. I fully expect that all of these have already been modded into Baldur’s Gate 3.

The ā€œDeath Womb Seductressā€ can crawl around like a spider and turn her vulva into blades, which Chris explains can be used as a natural weapon in combat.

Look — you can attack with your vagina dentata while standing up. But that doesn’t mean you should.

Here Chris also commits the error common to so many men making jerkoff material: not knowing what a uterus actually is. Is it the hole? Can a dick go in there? Hentai scientists aren’t yet certain, nor is Chris.

As for the other classes, the Freudian Oni wields a violent sex offender tulpa, the Flow Witch does magic by squirting, the Harem Mage creates sentient slave women, the Devil Heart Hunter is just kind of boring, the Sacred Pleasurer does mystic yoni spells, and the Ghostkiss Investigator is Dan Aykroyd in that one part of Ghostbusters. Also, Chris uses a Jenny Holzer quote to introduce it.

What’s left? Equipment, miscellaneous non-horny spells, things of that nature. There’s a piece of gear that’s just The Guyver but what if it was one of those sex eggs you have to bust into to activate it.

Lastly, we’ve got a bunch of monsters and worldbuilding notes, such as they are. Some of these are based on actual Japanese myths, but don’t let the names fool you into thinking these are authentic reproductions — Chris has added some of his own secret sauce.

Take the ā€œAkaname,ā€ a yokai that supposedly licks the grime and scum from bathroom floors if they aren’t regularly cleaned. In Black Tokyo, he is essentially a kind of poop vampire.

There’s also a slime monster, like in a conventional fantasy roleplaying game, but it’s made of cum.

ā€œVicious male semen.ā€ There’s another one of those magical phrases never before uttered until Chris Field sat down to bang out Black Tokyo.

Speaking of, you might be aware that different kinds of dragons have different kinds of breath weapons in D&D. Red dragons spew conventional fire, white dragons breathe icy winds, and Black Tokyo’s ā€œstorm dragonā€ exhales — come on, you know by now.

Cum. It’s cum.

Somehow, we’ve made it this far without mentioning catgirls. Chris has been so intent on weaponizing incest and feces that he’s lost sight of the classics, the erotic tropes that have endured for decades. What if a woman was also kind of a cat, widely considered to be the sexiest of all domestic animals?

Gaze upon the beauty of the Nekomusume and thank whatever god you pray to that existence can contain such wonders. Cronenberg, you’re on hole blocking duty one last time.

Ok, I cheated. That’s actually the mystical kitsune trickster. Still, pretty erotic, right?

We’ve seen a lot of strange stuff in Black Tokyo. We’ve witnessed a man fascinated by Japanese animated pornography attempt to create detailed rules for devouring someone whole with your cunt. We watched as he awkwardly tried to explain that actually, all of this is good for society, if you think about it. And we’ve seen him quote William Blake, Veruca Salt, Mark Millar, NOFX, and more. But surely he wouldn’t go so far as to quote himself in his own book like some kind of early 2000s message board user, would he?

Of fucking course he would.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: KNM, who is a titty vampire. Just a good old fashioned titty vampire, like we used to have before all you kids got weird with this stuff.

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FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Making Her Cum? Shouldn’t Be That Hard.

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FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Dating Guidelines from the Bible 🌭

If you were a Christian teen in 1979 looking for a 168-page way to say “abstinence,” you had a lot of options. And here’s one now:

DATING / Guidelines from the Bible by Scott Kirby is as close to exactly what you’d expect as anything will ever be. It’s a generic Guide to the Christian Ordinary by Default Whiteman, III. But like all Christian Ordinary, it’s going to unravel into madness the moment we start examining it. Speaking of, I might be the first person to ever read this book.

My copy comes from the Christ the Redeemer Lutheran Church library in Tulsa, where after three decades it was checked out by a total of zero people. It’s so pristine. It’s as untouched as your changing Christian bodies, teens, Amen.

DATING / Guidelines from the Bible by Scott Kirby opens like all good persuasive texts, by moving instantly into checkmate:

I think this is the best-case-scenario for the scientific method. The author hypothesized you could learn how to date from the Bible, and found out the Bible said nothing about dating. This is as perfect and conclusive as a conclusion can get. They’d never put it like this, but for scientists, these results are like looking into the face of God. So we still have 167 pages to go, and Scott Kirby has destroyed his own thesis. At least scientifically. But maybe he can also destroy it morally?

Scott makes a good point about how dating in the Bible is a lot like what you and I would call “human trafficking” today. How is Scott still typing? This guy looked to God for dating guidelines and the only advice He had was to buy 13-year-old girls. It’s over! Write a different book!

Regardless…

So, okay, the only dating in the Bible is child brides. Fine. However, it does have things to say about the “misuse of sex,” which I worry does not include the child brides, but His sex rules should help us get a vague idea of what God wants and let us extrapolate principles from there. It’s like when you find a little packet in your beef jerky that says BUY A CHILD BRIDE and you decide it’s God’s way of telling you to eat it.

Anyway, since God doesn’t have anything to say about dating, let’s hear from other moral leaders. Someone like Hugh Hefner.

Hugh Hefner said this stupid bullshit about never finding true love up until his death. A media-illiterate baby could see this was a cute part of a pornographer’s personal brand, and Scott Kirby used it as evidence that Christ wants thou to take naught but one child bride. I went into this book with a smug certainty it was going to be dumb, but what the fuck are you doing here, Scott? You said yourself we’re trying to draw dating principles here. Do you have any sources other than Hugh Hefner? Maybe one of Hitler’s scienti– no, Scott! I was kidding!

This is a fucking hell of a source, Scott. And you have some details wrong. Rene Spitz wasn’t German and he didn’t do this during World War II, but he did sort of scientifically prove babies needed love. Only it’s weirder than it sounds. He had one group of babies get raised by their mothers in prison while another set of babies were abandoned. And it went really badly for the second group of babies. I’ll… you know, I’ll let Scott explain:

Again, Scott got every detail wrong, but that’s basically what happened. We don’t need to get into it. The point I’m making is that Scott’s sources for dating advice are an ancient book with no dating advice in it, Hugh fucking Hefner, and a man Scott thinks was a Nazi whose contribution to love science was killing a group of unloved babies. With that in mind, let’s learn how to date.

Scott was a late bloomer; it is not good for a man to be alone. He was well into his teens before he even knew you were supposed to be attracted to girls; it is not good for a man to be alone. So it’s very lucky, even suspicious, that the one true religion is the same one with a church in his hometown where being a lonely virgin makes you the greatest and most special boy; it is not good for a man to be alone.

You’ve probably heard this, but God sculpted the first woman out of a rib He tore out of the first man to be his “helper,” a word meaning “child bride” after you adjust it for inflation. I’m bad at explaining it. I’m sure Scott has a sexier way to describe women and their holes.

Fucking hot. Speaking of, where does God stand on intercou– hold on, let me look up the Biblical way to say it… leave your father and mother to cleave your wife and become one flesh!? That can’t be right. Wait, no, that’s word-for-word how they fuck in the Bible. Hot.

This is a book for no one and nothing demonstrates that better than “many people think that God has put a hex on sex! But God is not down on sex.” This is an argument against nobody with no hope of convincing anybody of anything. I can’t prove it, but this is sex wisdom from a horny nerd who married the first woman to touch him. Actually, I might be able to prove it. Because this book contains several fantastic passages from what can only be called…

Let’s start with the story of Sue Ellen…

Like all stories told by preachers, specifically this one, everything here is probably a lie. But assuming it’s true, Scott (who wasn’t a Christian yet) wanted to get with Sue Ellen so badly he followed her to church. She had a boyfriend, but he knew if he became Christian enough she’d eventually leave him and become his. Unfortunately, instead of Scott, her next boyfriend was a secular lawyer. This detail is important because Scott wants to imply he used his lawyer arguing powers to talk her out of being Christian. Which sucks, because that’s what Scott was now. Severely. In fact, he was now so Christian, Sue Ellen told him to shut up about being Christian and kicked him the fuck out of her home. He could have told any story, and he told this!

It’s honestly a perfect origin story for this book. A boy dedicated his life to God for a girl, she rejected him for it, and now he’s declared war on all Christian love. Let’s do another one.

This is from a section on the dangers of dating a non-Christian, and I can’t stress enough how that’s the entire story. Scott was friends with a girl, and she was so hot you guys, but she ignored all his moves. And then she met some guy over summer break (who wasn’t even Christian!) and they fell in love. And you guessed it– nothing else! We don’t know if the relationship ended badly or if anyone went to Hell for it. There’s no moral judgment or point. Scott is just upset someone else got to fuck her and thinks that’s a story!

Scott seems to blame girls for his own teenage sexual frustrations, but maybe I’m imagining things.

Anyway, we’ll be here all day if we keep talking about all the Christian babes Scott Kirby almost asked out in high school. Let’s move on to why it’s important to only date Christians.

Non-Christians are spiritually dead. See the “X” on the two-headed arrow between the words “Spirit” and “Spirit”? I don’t know how Scott can make it any clearer. One third of them is dead, like a Nazi baby experiment proving love is real.

Scott has more important Christian dating data to discuss:

Some of this is 1979’s fault, but Scott is worse at fact checking than should be possible. He heard a preacher say “only one in 400 Christian marriages ends in divorce” and listed that alongside “recent statistics.” It’s been a long time since I had to do 6th grade math, but for both these facts to be true, wouldn’t about 147% of marriages have to be non-Christian? As sociology, it’s dogshit stupid. And as salesmanship, it’s like Fred Flintstone saying, “Barney! An evil wizard told me one in two boxes of Rice Krispies cereal contain a human foot! But Fruity Pebbles is the part of this complete breakfast that rarely contains even a single toenail!”

If there are other good reasons to avoid dating non-Christians, Scott doesn’t know them, so let’s assume you’re both Christian and jump ahead to Chapter 6: “What Makes a Great Dating Relationship?”

God damn it, we get it, Scott. Let’s assume everyone reading your Bible Guide to Entry Level Groping is fucking Christian. What do we do now? How are we supposed to resist Satan’s temptations?

What I’m discovering is this is not a good book, or a helpful book.

Scott has thrown himself between teenage hormones and cleavable flesh, and he has not thought it through at all. His only idea to resist temptation is to warn you Satan won’t send an ugly girl, and to take comfort in how God will make sure she’s not that hot. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a chapter on meditative boner suppression techniques, but I think Scott could have done more to protect the reader’s virginity than “It says here in Corinthians you oughta be fine.” Part of the problem may be that Scott seems to find it unthinkable that kids in high school fuck.

When I first read this I thought, “Jesus, they’re going to bang on the family couch while her parents are in the other room?” And then I saw Scott’s concept of “great lovers” was “two children with habit-forming petting.” It’s worth mentioning again how this book is not for anyone. There’s no teen boy in the world with his hand hovering over a bralette thinking, “I’d better not. It may lead to more titties, Amen.”

While we’re on the subject of petting problems, let’s hear a very real story from Scott Kirby’s ministries:

By his own description, Scott was a church camp counselor checking out the high school girls. There was only one real hot one, but she had, like, these crab claws, Amen.

I really don’t know what to say about this. The story is probably fake, but why tell it? To spread the message of accepting your body by dressing more modestly? By any standards, it’s desperate and incoherent. Who would find it inspirational? To whom would this make sense? Something about this weird story made me wonder what is motivating this creep. Well, I have a theory and it obviously goes back to Sue Ellen. Let’s take a look at one of his many half-baked arguments against dating non-Christians:

Scott argues you still have to spend time with heathens because it’s your “sober responsibility” to recruit them to your church. After all, that’s what Sue Ellen did to him and she will always be perfect. So sex, like all other things, is either a recruitment tool for Jesus, or a filthy sin. I looked him up, and it explains the man’s entire life. After the Iron Curtain fell, Scott Kirby started a group that spread his ministry across uninoculated Eastern Bloc countries like an evangelical virus. Tax Exempt World says he has recruited his way into 3.6 billion tax free dollars. Once I noticed it, I saw it everywhere. It’s the real foundation of all his arguments. For instance, here’s Scott telling you why it’s so important to be gentle when you reject “carnal Christians”:

Ladies, don’t tell him his carnal desires disgust you and your Rightful God, or he’ll never join your church.

And if you ever get asked out by a non-Christian, one way to avoid breaking his heart is to turn him into a Christian, bit-by-bit, and then go out with him. Notice I said “go out with him” and not some secular lawyer who convinces you God isn’t cool right after the first guy gets super into Him. Maybe a probably fake anecdote will help make Scott’s point.

Scott tells the story of Ron, a real person who suddenly called off his engagement with non-Christian Shirley. Her heart was torn in two, her future destroyed. But “the sad part about this story” is how when it got back to Shirley’s parents, it might have cost Ron’s church two potential members! This is how broken this man’s brain is. When he watched the OJ Simpson trial, Scott Kirby thought, “The worst part of all this is what must be happening to the property values around the Buffalo Bills stadium. Right, Sue Ellen? Oh, yeah… she betrayed me 30 years ago.”

By the way, you don’t have to leave your platonic sex partner heartbroken at the airport for there to be consequences. The simple act of petting alone might be enough for God to forsake you.

That’s a really gross way for Paul to put it, but it means exactly what it sounds like– if your lips have touched nipple or above, Jesus doesn’t want His name upon them. Scott Kirby explains several more times:

People are going to find out if you’ve been carnal. You’ll be out there like, “Please join us in our Christian fellowship! We do singing, reading, cake wal–”

“Let me stop you right there,” they’ll say. “Aren’t you the person who fucked?” Good luck getting them to listen to you now. And it gets worse.

Anyone who finds out about your teenage petting is going to take that to mean God isn’t real. Those are the stakes. I don’t think I’m being intellectually dishonest when I say the message of this book is how if you keep doing hand stuff, God as you know Him might die. You know what? Fuck it, YOU might die.

Okay, take it easy, Scott. This crazy shit is what I was trying to explain earlier. The only motivation Scott Kirby understands is spreading the Shaky, Uncertain Word of God. When he tried to come up with other reasons not to have premarital sex, one of them was “it’s habit-forming” and the other was just “DEATH???” with no citation. A real crusader would have made up a story about Sue Ellen’s lawyer boyfriend hanging himself from too much sex, and oh no, how did things get this dark? Let’s do a fun one.

Ha ha ha the only competency Scott presumes about his Christian reader is their ability to get rejected. As an example, he only includes two paragraphs on how to flirt, and both of them assume the reader has never talked to a person in their life:

I can’t be sure, but I don’t think this advice was in the Bible. You know what I can be sure of, though? This exact advice was in HOW TO PICK UP TOPLESS DANCERS by Don Diebel (writing as Derek Evans).

So congratulations, Scott Kirby. You set out to write God’s Teen Dating Commandments and you ended up sourcing Hugh Hefner, a secular baby-killing scientist, and the worst pickup artist to ever live to make The Incel Missionary’s Guide to Coping with a Dry Dick (Teens Edition). All we can do is hope no one used this book’s advice when they finally got near a woman’s man-sized void.

I stand corrected. This is a pretty good idea.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Good Satan and his Hot Witches. Satan: Don’t you want to worship a god who fucks?

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: The Serial 🌭

Hi Folks I will tell you public libaries are a treasure especially when they raise money by selling me their old books for very cheap. It pretty much raises us all up so i encourage the civicly-minded amongst the hot-dog population to go to your town-halls and meet-the-candidates and such and just ask em: ā€œWell what about the library?ā€ because if we dont there is a good chance that we may lose important parts of our hairitage like:

This one was in the collectors corner i think you can see why they woudnt put it out in general population, my hot dog senses was tinglin right away at the site of that spiral bound cover. I invite you to allow your eyes to wander over it with a warm curiosity and note: the stylish slacks and the avacado appliances and tastefully wet tshirts and teasin’ sensualities and hey that looks like maybe thats Magnum! I was already exsited to just read the words inside so ā€˜magine my delight when, ā€˜pon openin ā€˜er up, mine eyes beheld even more tintillatin images. Here, i have used the power of animated to gif to try and replicate my eyes experience for you:

So: Yup, this was the real deal: a weird sex book from the 80s when they was still the 70s which, they say sometimes you seek out your specialities and sometimes your specialities find you and I couldnt tell you what one is what in my sitiation.

So I made my purchase and my way home and a sandwich and settled up in my factory outlet barca lounger to begin my perusals. I started with the first story that caught my eye:

Pretty good, pretty good, here we have two hip folks i guess getting pretty sexy-married or maybe its just their nipples getting conjoined in holy matrimony, lets read the tale!

Huh okay, i guess im still getting acclaimated, my eyes are pickin up some various words and phrases here that are suggestin partial and impartial nudity and special clothes that i dont know what they are but seems exotic and revealin and maybe intercourse encounters but also not quite. I remembered my vast knowledge of quality erotic fiction writers and also Anne Rice and how they like to pepper their intros and setups with a lot of detail of there own personal and weird turn-ons and sometimes you just have to push through that to get to the actual dirty parts so lets keep going.

Ok thats more like it; the sex-story signals are pilin up now like sweatpants on my side of the bed, i believe are ambiguities are absolved lets continue and see just who will be our primary intercoursers in the scene to come:

Okay it looks like Kate and Harvey are startin to feel some things, maybe they will be the ones who we end up learning about their intamacies. I didn’t know what Roots were so i looked it up to see if they are sexy

An i guess i’d have to say yeah maybe if you stick with the kinda harlequin Tim Riggins brother there, they are.

Back to Mount Tim:

Ah OK! Now it is as clear as a ocean with no fog on it: Harvey is a naughty boy and we are about to learn what it is that ā€œsomethingā€ that Kate has in her store for him. I suspect a paddlin or other punition, lets just turn the page and…

Ok well that isnt what i was expecting theres no follow-up here of after the wedding Kate pushin Harvey to sit in a chair and tellin him your a real bad boy harvey and you know what happens to bad boys dont you. Confusin. Let me confirm what we’re reading here by takin a look at some more illastrations

Those are still…mostly sexy. I guess. I will say its a little unsettlin how there’s at least one person in every picture that is just makin direct steady eye contact with me the viewer. I admit it: I usually look away first.

Well, even though we didnt have the flame of are erotic camp-fire blaze to life here I think I see some more words and phrases that at least look like maybe some embers or hot coals of horny, lets persist:

Huh sometimes its hard bein a pornography historyist because they use slang words that dont have the same sexual connotation and conditionin as are modern terms.

That’s more like it! Ok ok now i get it, we had to go to the wedding and such to learn more about Kate’s relationship with Harvey so her upcomin’ scene with the chest hair man will be that much more delicious because of its forbiddin nature. And those are some nice little sprinkles of sexual interest in this passage that help us understand how Kate is viewing her world through probably great big 80s gradient sunglass lenses of arousal. Those kind where the arm attaches at the bottom, you know those? If your like me at first they werent sexy because of how thats what your mom wore but now over time are horizons have broadened and matured. Anyway, I’m ready and willin, to turn this page for some actual rated X parts.

Oh yeah here we go

Huh. You can maybe tell from that first line there but theres no sex in this part either. (also I appreciate the timely reference but I think I speak for all of us that we remember Peckinpah best from his small but pivitol and almost sober star turn in that movie with Alien Jesus). Kate and Leonard just get lunch and hes a weirdo and its not sexy at all. Im still confused but also now theres a little bit of frustration coming up here in my chest and neck and throat. Deep Breaths, sissyneck, in and around the frustration, center yourself. Okay, let’s give a benefit of the doubt here, maybe back in these olden times california erotica was like the European variety in nature and they spent a lot more time in build up and different stuff is perverted than our patriotic eyes and minds are used to. Let’s check in with the pictures again to fortify our arousals:

Oh hell yes thats like 4 outta 5 of my love languages right there. ok: I Believe again, this book is just another one of those thats just takin its time til payoff I’m all in here we go. But just in case I will carefully select the next chapter…ok the picture for this one, even though its lackin in sumpchuous food and drink, it does have pretty much the same sideboob as that very formational scene in Romancing the Stone.

Look how squashed it is There’s NO WAY this one doesnt get to the good parts let’s enter together this steamy tale of wanton pleasure what’s this one called again?

Okay thats not real promising but theres presadent for it still pulling through c’mon lets show some sticktoitivity here Sissyneck

What is happenin. What am I doin here, what even am I highlightin right now. ? This whole chapter is just: Kate’s livin in a commune now and its pretty gross. I had to read it again and again, sweatier each time, tryin to figure out where the massage picture came from.

Thats all. I’m all for artisanal license but this is pushin it you guys. So much room and potential for describin how the masseuse, with his professionally-placed wristbands and almond oil lubricated hands slid closer, and closer still to the heat of her flower-pressed woman swells… But nothin. All wasted. I was so daspondent I had to rewatch that one part of romancing the stone and it did make me feel better when i heard that kinda mario kart soundin song that Silvestri did but you can also hear he’s honin his jungle-drums chops in a way that will pay off mightily in his score for Predator in a couple of years?

But anyway.

Like so many times before, after Jack shows Joan his new gator boots and kissin they sail off past 79th street together in the sailboat Angelina, I found myself back in this real world, alone in a twilet living room in my power-recliner (Trayton and LaRene was out at church trivia night; theyre kinda a power duo he does youtube and video games and she handles sports), this time with this stupid unpornographic book sittin there balanced on the stain-resistant Dark Sanded Bomber Brown arm. Sort of sullinly and pouty i flipped the cover and some pages, maybe i guess daring it a one last chance for horny.

Pssh, classic The Serial (sarcasm).

But I kept flippin an My eye landed on a title box:

That sounds like a pretty good camp i guess lets see the picture

Ok thats also pretty good i have to grunt my approval at anything from when if someone said lord of the rings everybody thought of Led Zeppelin lets see what we got here

Well thats interesting i definitely can see some of my past and present selves reflected in the plight of young Che at this summer camp; i remember at scouts when they got all mad at me when i fell asleep in my wilderness survival merit badge improvised outdoor structure even though: I did survive. I kept readin about how Che tries to conscientcious object to doin dumb stuff

As I read I was gripped by a fist of feelings, many of them emotional. Mountain man go AWAY he wants to go HOME i heard myself say.

I let the book fall from my fingers and fell back into the embrace and lumbar support of the lounger. Che. Though separated by years and geography and probably you arent real, you are my brother. Fuck eggplant, I said outloud, for both of us. Anybody that says differnt is pretendin.

Wait so what the hell is this book anyway. Who wrote it again?

Yes that one is real cute honestly but you all aint paying me to just do image searches, lets do some REAL research:

Hm. Satire. Weld. Mull. Rodeo.

I must go deeper into the Archives.

So wait a minute here. your tellin me, that what this book is, is Cyra. a rural western-born gal. Found herself in, but not of, a strange new and modern world. And: observin the goins-on goin on around her, she beheld perhaps the foolishness both inside and out as her and others were tryin make it through a world that made maybe less an less sense as her years passed. An she felt compelled to sit down and write about it, maybe centerin a version of herself in the stories. an also other people she knew and cared about. Doin her best to show how: yeah its pretty silly and funny! but what else can we do were still all doin the best we can out here arent we? And apparently somehow enough people said haha we like what you wrote that they paid her to keep writin it and put it in a lil neeshe publishin outfit for a while. So that’s what your tellin me here!?

In the Name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Special Thanks You to Hot Dog Librarian Sebben for making that Hot Dog Archive Webpage which: makes huntin down old links just a whole bunch easier.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Nick Ralston, the man in lemon pants who stole your girl, your car, and your heart, and your dog.