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Fucking Day: Cookbooks for Fuckin’
Category: FUCKING DAY
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Greetings, my acolyte. Welcome, young novice. [A gesture done with a penis to indicate “hello”], pork-padawan. This article is dirty! I wrote it for 1900HOTDOG, which is a mystical order shrouded by secrecy. According to the back cover of this book…
…membership in any mystical order shrouded by secrecy, such as our mystical doggz-order, gives you access to all the secrets of…
…The Sexual Key To The Tarot. A mysterious, eldritch tome available as a mass market paperback. These secrets could be unlocked for $1.25 USD, in the early 1970s. Or you can pay a fraction of that (with inflation) for a used copy, in 2023, festooned with stains. A lot of stains on this book. You see them. So you realize how much I care for you. I braved unsettling vintage discolorations – stains on a book about you-know-what – for you. I also spelunked for you. I found this in the basement of the world’s largest used bookstore. The Strand is literally the biggest, most overstuffed used bookstore on Earth, with inventory beyond any mortal’s reckoning. Yet this book is so weird, even by their standards, my cashier saw this and said “What? Ewww” out loud.
Dear Hotdogger: she was right. This book is gross! Also it’s kind of adorable. I’m almost not even self-conscious about how sexual it is, because its simple corny/horny combo is a breath of fresh air. I approached this book in a weird headspace. I’m coming off of a diet of books that force J6 on kids. So cracking open The Sexual Key To The Tarot was a welcome change-of-pace. Partly because it turns out the stains are exterior-only. Mainly because this author is an earnest clod, bubbling with B.D.E. (Boyish Doofus Energy). He is a horny idiot. He did also look up some fancy words in the library dictionary. But that’s all he is! His heart is pure – in the sense that some nudie mags use the word “pure” as a modifier for “babes” or “butts” or whatever.
Unfortunately, having read this, I’m confident this guy is probably not fun to do sex with. But that’s okay, now. Why? Theodor Laurence wrote this old-man-ish book in 1971. So I presume he is dead. If he was a weirdo to potential partners, he stopped. He got pulled outta the bars and off the streets by the ultimate cop (Time). I can’t find any biographical information about Theodor Laurence. But this book seems to be his magnum (non-condom meaning) opus. It also seems to be a book he wrote several times over:
He basically does magic sex books, for money. If you leave the word “books” out of that sentence, he is a sex worker with a B+ gimmick. Also, yikes, I think he did this gimmick semi-successfully. He’s got more than half a dozen published something-or-others. Also, some poor soul translated this sex-tarot book into Spanish. So at least one English copy sold first. Also, what a waste of bilingual man-hours. How about we tackle the rest of Cervantes’s diary before we rush El Tarot Sexual into tiendas.
Let’s go back to my English copy of this book. This gloriously dumb book. The book’s premise is that in every moment, every adult on Earth is on the verge of sex-ing. You know: like in pornography. This book is so porny, it reminds me of (I’m so sorry Kurt) Kurt Vonnegut’s maxim about porn’s essence. Everyone in this book is an upbeat, uninhibited, certified freak. They could all pass a Philharmonic Orchestra audition for first chair skin-flautist. However: this universal horniness presents a challenge. Wait, what? No it doesn’t. A world of people heaving with horned-up-itude is not challenging to live in. You just horn to completion. Still, here is what this book presents as a challenge: what if you live in a plentiful sex playland *and* wish to achieve clairvoyance? What if you wish to *foresee* the imminent nutting, before it pre-nuts? What if you don’t want any surprises in your life as a constant Mister Pre-Nut? Well if that describes you, you’re gonna love this book. By purchasing this book, you now wield the awesome power of…a deck of cards. Specifically, tarot cards. Which are cards bearing 1400s Italian concepts, drawn and published in their modern form in 1909. Tarot are historically interesting cards that also informed the development of regular playing cards. I earnestly think tarot cards are cool, both as a storytelling medium and as a form of fine art. However: they are so much more, according to this paperback. This book claims the tarot abound with hidden magicks. These magicks are the unlockable sex wizardry that this author holds the sexual key to, or something. How can that key be inserted (sex word!) into its lock (more of a home security word)? Here’s how: the key is to select one tarot card, and look for all the parts of the card where there are straight lines (penis) or flowers (vagina) or water (body fluids, i.e. sex water). Then, by interpreting those penises and vaginas and sex waters, one may something something something something sex.
To harness this definitely real power, the book walks us through every card in the tarot deck. As we journey through the author’s descriptions of people, we learn he thinks everybody wants to have sex right this second. They’re all lookin’ to Rider somebody’s Waite, if you know what I’m spreadin’. It’s hard to find any entry where his predictional prognosis is not “you are about to smash.” He almost gets there with the card called The Hierophant, but only because that card is a plain drawing of two Catholic monks and a Pope. Not sexy. Yet this author free-associates his way to a Sex Pope.
In real life, not everyone is having sex at every moment. You would think that would mean at least one of these cards indicates Not Sex. But no! This guy is so horny, he sees the card for Death and thinks “vagina flag, plus solar dick mesas.”
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Things get far more wild whenever a tarot card is plausibly sexual. Faced with the prospect of you saying “no duh” to the card’s sexiness, Theodor digs up every hidden meaning he can. However, he only knows how to find three hidden meanings (penis, vagina, torrential onslaught of ejaculate). So some of the entries are a sweaty cycle of Theodor repeating the same three tricks, over and over again, like some kind of dog/author/gimp who you never asked to own/hire/own. Easily the messiest entry is The High Priestess. That’s a card rendered by Rider-Waite as a lady sitting between two pillars marked “B.J.”. Even the most amateur look-at-picture person could find something sexual there. Theodor goes above and beyond, and insane. He turns up two vaginas, five penises, further genitalia in numerological vibration form (?), and then tries to class up the joint by closing with a reference to “concupiscence.” I had to google that word. It did not enrich my experience of this author going on a dong-based snipe hunt.
When you see sexuality in a yawning vagina, that’s fair. But when you look at gray globes and think, “FLESH, fleshy pursuits, FULLNESS OF FLESHY APPETITES,” most people would call that too horny.
Speaking of dongs, you may be familiar with some of the suits of tarot. Such as the wands, and the swords. I know what you’re thinking: wand is penis, sword is penis. Theodor Laurence knows you are thinking that too. After all, he is a Master of The Tarot. He knows everything there is to know about The Tarot. Also, no he does not. Turns out he hasn’t Mastered which suit is which. He can’t get one sentence into his book’s introduction section without mixing up which tarot suits led to which playing card suits…
…but hey, he’s trying his best. Why don’t *you* try typing out an entire book! With one hand! Because your other hand’s gripping your wand! Anyway: phalluses. They abound in The Tarot. In order to prove you’re in the (half-occupied) hands of an expert, Theodor does not just point out these cards’ various symbol-stiffies. He goes overboard, over-reading every phallic shape in the deck. For example, you may think the card The Tower has a phallic shape. Because it is a tower. Wow: shut up. Would you shut the heck up and let a Master show you its secrets?
Another example: you may think the card The Emperor is holding a scepter. Wow: you rube. Let Theodor show you what you’re missing:
See? He’s not holding a penis! He’s holding a penis, during a specific video timecode. Duh! But also: not duh. Because these secrets have been restricted to only the mightiest of knowers, for millennia:
Heck yeah: that’s solid hokum *and* a clear claim you can’t get the goods here anyplace else. And boy howdy: what goods! The Sexual Key To The Tarot is tumescent with understandments, mystical-wise. For example: did you know the “Ouroboros” snake is sucking itself off? Or that “the sphinx identifies with conquest”? Or that the classic symbol of a “Wheel Of Fortune” is primarily a symbol of the human penis becoming hard and then soft and then hard again? Wow: you had no idea. All three of those cards were prophecies of penises ejaculating, and you were too busy wondering about every other element of your life to notice.
There’s also rich theology here for any Christian reader. Also, if you’re a Christian reader, thanks for rolling with the earlier bit where this guy’s least favorite concept in the whole world is the Pope. Your reward: the secrets of the card Temperance:
If I’m reading that right, he’s done a “Sexual Key To The Bible” version of the Covenant between God and Man after the Flood. According to this guy, Noah’s Ark both contained *and floated on* seamen. And speaking of young men: Theodor knows exactly how they talk and think. Check out his breakdown of the card The Fool. Is this some hep young people talk right here or what?
The one Major Arcana card this book does not cover in detail is The Lovers. Probably because it’s almost straight-up a “Sex” card. Theodor does achieve one layer beyond that reading, with a claim that only heterosexuality is normal.
Theodor also shares a bit more about his own life, accidentally. He appears to be way into fantasies, and appears to be old. Almost like he’s a lonely older guy, making the best of that. However: you are wrong! Is what he would say. Because when he analyzes the card called The Hermit, he makes a point of saying that old guy on the card is alone on the card because he is *so great at sex* he doesn’t need any sex or companionship or friends, thank you very much. He would definitely be having sex right now if he wanted that, though. That’s what’s going on…with the card.
Anyway that’s it! All the tarot cards, rendered in the world’s stupidest interpretation of tarot. It’s so bottomlessly dumb. I meant that thing I said before, about liking tarot. Tarot is interesting. Part of why it’s interesting is that tarot cards have (highly technical description incoming) a whole lot of stuff on them. Real dense drawings. Super intricate little doodles on those suckers. Their visual complexity, combined with symbols from all sorts of religions and mysticism, makes tarot a fun playground for your mind. If you get creative, tarot allows you to ponder every aspect of the present and future. One aspect of that present/future can be sex. But if you exclusively use these cards to think about sex, you are ignoring the entire rest of the human experience. You are zero-ing in on sex stuff, and shrinking your imagination, in the same way people and animals do whilst cranking off. If you do that, that’s fine. If you do that *and* publish that, you are…a lot of things. Chief among them, you are author Theodor Laurence. And his stupid book. With cover text written in borderline unreadable letters. Just the most pendulous, heaving font.
Wow: those letters kind of have boners. Right? Or not? Let’s say they do. As I re-read what I wrote there, I feel like it’s kind of a flimsy claim. The letters aren’t quite phallic. They’re doing more of a fiddlehead fern shape. However: I’m gonna plow ahead and call them penile. Why? Because I read an author recently who rocked my world. He taught me any author can squint, and type fast, and claim to see a million billion boners in an old thing, and then move on with their life while readers are just kind of left hanging, with no thought-through conclusion to the
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This article is brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Milly, who just drew the two feral hogs porking in an abandoned Arby’s card, and so will have success in romance.
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Fucking Day: Katy Keene
In 1991, floppy-dicked idiot, Gregory Godek, released a stupid book called 1001 Ways to Be Romantic. It was a huge hit. Then he moved some words around and released 1001 More Ways to Be Romantic. Then he did it again, at least a dozen different times. After a decade and a half of this, he finally shrugged and put out a coupon book, the same gift you give your mother when you’re seven, adapted for fucking. He called it Love Coupons. Then three years later, he did it again. He called this second book Love Coupons.
This already would have the makings of a classic hot dog coupon off, but I’ve made fun of Godek before. I wanted to do something more. In the past, I’ve argued that his advice for love is useless or worse, but I wanted to somehow prove Godek is indistinguishable from someone deliberately trying to sabotage romance. And thanks to a book called i (don’t) heart valentine’s day! coupons, I think I can.
I have no idea if this is going to make sense, but i (don’t) heart valentine’s day! coupons (2010) by Unnamed Author is 22 coupons for single women with pedestrian senses of humor to give each other in order to mock what you or I might call love. Let me give you an example which may not help:
See, you give this coupon to a friend and they can, at any time, redeem it for a party where you and the girls play pin the tail on the donkey with a picture of someone’s ex. It’s something any good therapist would call “an insane idea, you crazy fucking cow.” And that’s the theme of the coupon book. It’s lonely activities based around bitterness and revenge, or finally, a The Anarchist Cookbook for her. Its stated goal is to destroy romance and the memory of romance, and as you’ll see, it shares most of its ideas with Godek. Let’s see one of Godek’s from Love Coupons, the first one:
We live in a vast and diverse world where everyone is into different things, but I think I speak for everyone when I declare this to be a nightmare. It’s a 24-hour invasion of privacy made “adorable” by a coupon. Or at best, it’s a mostly ordinary day for a couple living together made weird by a coupon. The point is, Godek’s idea of romance is giving a woman a ticket for a free man to watch her pee. Now let’s see one from i (don’t) heart valentine’s day! coupons:
This is the exact same coupon, only better because you get to do whatever you want. I’m not saying it’s good. This is a ticket allowing a presumably close friend to ask you to hang out, which is the closest you can come to giving someone you love nothing. Like Godek’s coupon, it adds an awkward service element to an already existing relationship and nothing else. It asks the question, “Am I only with you because I’m bound by cursed coupon law?” and then not quite saying no. Both of these coupons are like giving your wife a list of women you wouldn’t sleep with even if she died. Which is to say they’re technically fine, what’s weird about them!?
If you’re wondering how empty Godek’s brain was in 2009, this is the first coupon in Love Coupons, the second one. This is a ticket for three tickets for nothing, which is four steps and three dollars to get to where you were before you started. Or maybe five steps plus a trip to the gas station because she has to pick out the lottery tickets. This is a recurring theme of Godek’s books– letting the woman choose one thing like she’s a child at a zoo gift shop. His idea of a romantic gesture is letting her pick the pizza topping, as if getting everyone’s input isn’t a normal part of the pizza decision process. The local Domino’s knows Godek is in a romantic mood because he orders pepperoni instead of his usual– double horse shit on half, human dick on all. Let me show you what I mean:
So this is a coupon for you, the holder, to go pick out some flowers (you’re allowed to choose yourself(!)), and your lover will order them. And hold on, does this goddamn romance coupon have fine print? She has to give you three full days to get the flowers? Adding this kind of stipulation to a stupid little coupon firmly asks the question, “Or fucking what?” What are you going to do, your coupon majesty? A cop will look right into his own body cam and say, “I was called here to settle a coupon dispute so I’ve decided to shoot the couple, check this out.” If you and I are bad enough at romance that I’ve given you a gift certificate for flowers, there’s no way our relationship is surviving an argument over that gift certificate’s fine print. You might as well give your partner a piece of paper that says, “RESENT ME NOW, CONTEMPTIBLE APE.”
Godek considered this idea to be good enough for both coupon books. And here’s a nearly identical coupon from the book about hating romance . . .
. . . except it’s better because it happens 48 hours faster and allows for some thoughtfulness and surprise. Once again, I have proven Godek is worse at love than someone actively trying to destroy it. I’m done, it’s over, and yet I must continue!
“Here’s a fuck coupon, wife. But keep it short.” – Gregory Godek
“Here’s another fuck coupon, wife, but I make it weird.” – Gregory Godek
“Okay, last fuck coupon, wife. It’s for over 180 minutes of sex between the hours of noon and 4pm, void if I had a big lunch, once used this coupon may not be redeemed again if things end up closer to ten minutes.” – Gregory Godek
This is built into the concept here, but I want to point out how ridiculous it is to imagine a couple square enough to redeem lovemaking coupons who still endurance fuck through multiple wet spots. This is a terrible coupon. I’ve led a life erotic enough to know that after three hours, sex has gone from thrusting passion to a sore woman telling a very drunk man to concentrate. On the other hand, look at this coupon from the anti-valentine book:
It’s a ticket for a free nap! You give this to someone! I don’t know what it has to do with their loneliness or why you have the authority to control when they sleep, but it’s more pleasant than three hours of your holes being determinedly poked as legally required by coupon.
This is a Godek one. You can tell because it’s a coupon for a kiss. But wait, there’s more! It’s a very good kiss. We know this isn’t coded language for fucking because there are already ten coupons redeemable for fucking. This is a coupon for an actual kiss. Most of us don’t even have a point of reference for something this sad. This is like something a middle schooler would give to her adult fiancĂ© on a Mormon holiday we haven’t heard of, and he would trade it for a Squirtle.
Godek, always an innovator, added an exclamation point to the kiss coupon when he punched it up three years later.
The anti-valentine book doesn’t have any sex stuff. Across 22 coupons, not one of them says “Good for one standing 69, seven hours long, no boys allowed, please allow 4 days for delivery.” Instead, we get things like this one where it’s a coupon for a free singing of “Love Stinks” by the J. Geils Band. That’s a fucking incredible value.
“What about the laziest idea for an evening?” thought romance guru, Gregory Godek. “Thank God I’m here to help everyone fall in love,” he mused as his vulva-stabbing fingers typed “RENT WHEN HARRY MET SALLY” on a love coupon. “It’s almost my turn to pick the toppings,” his horrible wife thought, pizzaly.
This completely different idea is from the book protesting romance, but can you even tell at this point?
This is from Godek’s Love Coupons, the first one. It’s a coupon for a free wish. “I’m going to have trouble explaining this to you,” Godek told his wife. “But here goes: it’s like picking out flowers all by yourself, minus the flowers.” She accepted the coupon with a quiet fart. “It’s choice, untethered by pizza!” he shouted uselessly at her vacant pizza face.
Three years later he modified the wish coupon to include two extra wishes and a legal disclaimer. I don’t know what Godek’s wife wished for in 2006, but it was not enough yet also criminal and impossible.
Here is a similar coupon from i (don’t) heart valentine’s day! coupons. It’s a voucher for a free candy bar, which is probably worse than “anything you want.” So Godek finally won a round against the anonymous author of this anti-romance coupon book even though the coupon holder gets to pick any candy bar they wan–
Wait. Did the anonymous author of this anti-romance coupon book just go out of their way to tell us we get to pick the candy bar? That’s… no. No, this can’t be… No. I need to check something.
Okay, both of Godek’s books were published by Sourcebooks Casablanca. Let’s check the back of i (don’t) heart valentine’s day! coupons . . .
Oh my god. The author of this third coupon book was fucking Godek all along.
After twenty years of smashing his head against the same concept with less and less success, he thought, “I hate this, I’m going to do the complete opposite,” and still managed to make the exact same goddamn thing. I’m not doing a bit. This is real. I went into this article not knowing this.
This is somehow the second time I’ve written about a terrible romance humor book only to find out Godek was secretly the author, and the second time he’s pretended to be a girl.
I am legitimately embarrassed that I wrote 1200 mean-spirited words about this loser and his penis-stabbed wife before I recognized his childlike patterns and thought to check the publishers. And now that we know, what do we do? Keep going? Fine.
This is absolutely Godek wordplay. It’s obvious. “Let’s have a poker night, fellow gals! After all . . . love is a gamble!” This is a meaningless wad of letters cosplaying as clever. These are the last words of an unremarkable mind dying six minutes into a three hour fuck coupon.
For a 2010 book written by a veteran love expert, this is a very 1985 battery suspect’s idea of female interests. Is it even a coupon? This is a suggestion that would get Frasier caught if he was undercover in a woman’s book club. Look at you, you stupid fuck, Godek.
“Mmm… let’s try not on the pizza tonight, lover,” Godek’s wife says with a coupon.
“I did not expect her to redeem this coupon for her choice of sex,” Godek thinks, checking the fine print for loopholes.
People who have given up on love still swim, right? Hold on, I have a more important question. Is it still wordplay when you’re “drowning your sorrows” in the ocean? Isn’t that just “regular drowning?” I’m 85% certain this is less cute than simply telling the coupon holder to kill themsel– holy shit, I am really pissed off about all this. Let’s pull a sincere one and see if I can get this rage under control.
No, to Hell with this, I’m only angrier. But at least this one did not appear again in Godek’s other coupon books because it probably hurt his feelings when his wife redeemed this Shut The Fuck Up For a Day coupon and no others.
There are always several points in a Godek book where he gives up and tells you to figure it out for yourself, which is a bold choice for someone writing “give her balloons” over and over for 20 years. “Here’s an idea, assoles! Blank! Blank!” – Fucking Godek
This is a coupon for teaming up to pork strangers written by a romantic man pretending to be a woman who hates romance. This is stupid from, like, the wrong century. It’s something a young Patrick Dempsey would find in your purse and say, “Was I just a coupon!? Was everything we had just a coupon!?“
“Hi, it’s me. A woman as imagined by Gregory Godek in 2010. I’m calling to let you know I’m cashing in my coupon to get drunk and mail angry letters to our ex husbands. Please get back to me when you also exist, thanks.”
Godek is able to write as a woman because he can put himself into the mind of a woman. A violent, vengeful, murderous woman giggling as she executes photos of her former lover with a handgun. “I pray for celebrity couples to fail, watch me eat this whole box of chocolate,” he shrieks with his penis tucked. His wife watches from her chocolate-eating chair, completely owned.
“Twenty one coupons down. Come on, one to go,” thought Godek. He looks around his office at the chocolate boxes left behind by his wife’s rampaging lunch. “Think, Godek, think. What do sad women do?” he asks himself. “I’ve got it! Non-rose flowers!!!”
…
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Daniel Kennedy, who wins a coupon good for one nude argument with his choice of location (Space Camp or Waffle House only, must be redeemed within three hours).