Category: FUCKING DAY

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Dick Fight Island 2, Part 2 🌭

Hail and greetings, genital warriors. If you need to warm up before the day’s Great Hog Tournament commences, please check your Comprehensive Manual of Dick-to-Dick Combat. See Chapter 1 for basic grips and strokes. See Chapter 2 for twists, licks, and ball-tickling. Finally revisit Chapter 3 for proper suction and head motion. There, you’re back up to Dick Fighting form. Now, get your dicks out (I am subtracting points, your dicks should have already been out) and let’s begin. 

Let’s get right to the meat: The answer to the question we’ve all been breathlessly awaiting since the most pivotal moment of Dick Fight Island, Part 1…

How can love blossom after you’ve executed a savage dicksplitter on your partner?

It’s not easy. Trust, like ornamental dick armor, is easy to break and difficult to mend. 

Pisao of the fishing clan was up against his own training partner and future lover, Yudha. He opened the fight by kicking Yudha in the face, then dropping to one knee so his bladed cock could split the man’s dick armor right down the middle, leaving his dong to flop out like a sick bird, vulnerable and exposed. It’s the most you can physically and psychologically dominate another human being, and that’s shaky bedrock to build a relationship on.

Pisao and Yudha live together after the tournament. They plan to marry. They’re still very much in love, but as Yudha works designing their future home, he can’t help but reflect on being dicksplit. It haunts him. Dicksplitting is his own personal Vietnam. He models something on his computer, flashes back to being dicksplit, pushes it aside. Overcomes it. 

Then Pisao wanders up like “YO! Hey remember your dick armor? That you worked so hard on? That you thought would protect you? Your most vulnerable bits? Haha, remember when I split that in half like it was nothing and then I dragged you into my ass and made you shamegasm in front of the whole island? All right man, love you!’

Once you dicksplit your partner, that is your relationship dynamic. You are the dicksplitter and they are the dicksplitted. Every argument ends with “this is a pretty big fight but it’s nothing compared to that time I dicksplit you right in twain.”

They’re still going ahead with the marriage, but it’s not smooth sailing. It’s been Yudha’s job to build them a house, and he’s been slacking. I’m going to say it’s shellshock from watching his metaphorical manhood burst like a microwaved hot dog, but he mostly blames it on Harto for sending them an enormous case of butthole lube as a wedding gift. 

Haha, we’ve all been there, right? Like, why put “one full case of butthole lube” on the registry if you’re gonna yell at me for picking it? Right, folks? Am I right? And why am I getting YOU a gift? If anything the married couple should buy their guests gifts, like “sorry for making you dryhump my aunt to Earth, Wind & Fire, here’s a toaster oven ALL RIGHT you’ve been great that’s my time!”

Anyway, aside from Split Dick Psychosis, this is just a cute little vignette about a newlywed couple getting a bit too lost into each other’s buttholes for their own good. They get their happily ever after moment, and I probably don’t have to say this, but of course they attend the ceremony in their formal dick armor.

I love it! 

I love it, Pisao. 

What utter domination, to begin a life together wearing a bladed codpiece. You could not make that relationship dynamic any clearer if you walked down the aisle to Nazareth’s “Hair of the Dog.” You don’t need a prenup if you get married in a dickblade, you’re telling everyone exactly how that marriage gets severed.

I’m breezing through this one because it’s just a little teaser. A short to break up the flow like Roro’s section last week. It’s not the real story. The real story is about our two remaining Dick Fighters: Naga and Vampir.

Vampir was the gentle mystical waif of the Healer Clan, while Naga was the eyepatched hardass warrior of the Dragon Clan. But you’ll remember that Vampir’s special move was to blast himself in the face with powerful hallucinogens from his armored codpiece in order to summon a dickfighting demon ancestor named Delar. You will remember that. If you forget that, I don’t know what possible information you’re going to slot into those brain cells. Those neural connections are shaped like a psychogenic dickfighting demon ghost and there’s just no way a recipe for fish or directions to a carwash are mapping over that shit. That’s eternal information. As we die and our brains shift into overdrive to process an entire life before we pass, hallucinogenic dickfighting demons will invade each and every one of our Forever Dreams like those red dudes from Elden Ring. 

And I, for one, cannot wait for it.

Anyway, apparently Vampir sparkles in a way that is both more and somehow less gay than Twilight. That’s neither here nor there, just a bit of dickbuilding lore. 

Vampir is asking the chief about their romantic problems: Though they did hook up after their match, Naga is avoiding Vampir for some reason. He spends all his time sulking with his adorable dragon which, remember, were once beasts so fearsome that men battled to death while riding them – that’s actually how they settled disputes before the more civil age of Gentleman’s Dickfighting. Over centuries of breeding they turned their battle dragons into adorable little lizards kind of like how we genetically suplexed wolves into pugs. I think it’s included here because it speaks to how far the Dragon Clan has fallen in general, but maybe also mirrors how Naga is feeling about himself after their bout.

See, like Yudha, Naga is also psychically scarred after his lover – let me reiterate – dick dominated him with hallucinogenic codpiece dust that gave his body over to a demonic fuckmaster. 

That takes a toll. That is going to take a toll on any relationship. Maybe it’s not as damaging as cheating, but it’s way worse than leaving the groceries in the car so the ice cream melts. Orgasm bullying your lover with the spirit of a long dead genital torturer is firmly worse than forgetting the Breyer’s. Every couples counselor knows that. But Naga still wants to be with Vampir, and goes instantly into denial about the sex demon that lives within him. He actually does it in a weirdly upbeat way…

Right, you’re setting us up for something, Dick Fight Island. You’re clearly putting us in position for – wait, oh holy shit. Are you setting us up for wacky hijinks where Naga is desperately in love with Vampir, but not at all with the furious dong monster that shares his body? Are there going to be flirty misunderstandings and hilarious switcheroos with the hallucinogenic ghost of an evil, long-dead cock wrangler? This is some nightmare world Three’s Company shit and I have never been more for anything in my life.

And that’s – fuck yes! That’s exactly what we get!

Once again we see the warriors fooling around for joy outside of battle, talking about how strange and how right it feels. They even start practicing Harto’s secret assblasting technique – the most fearsome special move in their island’s history. And they’re doing it for fun! Harto really fucked up an entire culture here. He introduced an invasive species to a fragile ecosystem and that invasive species was anal play. 

Okay, so the book hinted at this a few times, and I genuinely think this is where the story is eventually going: I think by introducing assblasting to the dick fighters, Harto has begun the slow fall of their society. These men had no idea that gayness even existed before Harto was their First Man In An Ass. Well, some did, but it was apparently something reserved for the ruling elite. That’s why an average gay roommate in our world is better than their greatest dickfighter – a homosexual practices dickfighting all the time, and not even for the rulership of a nation! You can’t beat that pure passion.

But now the seal is broken, and every single fighter that took part in Harto’s competition is falling in love with one other. They’re all practicing dick fighting outside of the ring, almost like it’s not fighting at all. I think this is how Pulau’s society as they know it falls. I mentioned before it’s like an invasive species, but that’s not right. It’s more like the printing press or the cotton gin. Harto is sparking a revolution for the people based off access to a new technology…

Gayness. 

I’m going back to college to make this my thesis so I can dress up in a bladed codpiece and defend it, but that’s for another day. Let’s get back to Naga and Vampir. They’re fooling around, doing very tender, cautious experimentation with this frightening new position…

When Vampir gets too into it. 

You didn’t know he could channel the demon without his dick armor drugs! But he absolutely can, and the dong-dominating spirit he holds at bay starts to come out now – while he’s fingering Naga’s butthole with one hand and jacking him off with the other! 

This is the second worst time for an ancestral dickfighting demon to possess your boyfriend, next to the three-legged race at a church picnic with his close-minded family. There’s nothing Naga can do: The demon makes him cum like a toothpaste tube in the Mariana trench, and now Naga is scared to see Vampir again. 

That’s when the king tells it to Vampir straight: 

That’s right. 

He’s a sex berserker. 

I’m not being funny! 

Straight up, the king pulls him aside, puts a tender hand on his shoulder, and in a voice heavy with paternal concern he says “you’re a dick berserker. You go hog wild for hog. You are the scourge of dongs everywhere, and the limitless fury you slip into while jacking off a man is something we weaponized and turned on our enemies.”

And now, if he ever wants a relationship outside the ring, he’s going to have to learn to fuck like he’s not trying to kill an elephant with his dick. It’s the old “they made me a weapon, now I don’t know how to be anything else” scene from every Rambo movie, only it’s about dickfighting!

Wonderful. I never would have asked for a Rambo/Dick Fight Island crossover, but that’s not because I don’t want it. It’s because to want it would have been to open myself up to disappointment with a world that wouldn’t allow something so beautiful. Thank you, Dick Fight Island. You dream the impossible.

With the revelation that not all lovers give control of their limbs to a genital-punishing ghost, Vampir goes to beg his ancestors for help. The uh, the same ancestors that put the sex berserker inside him in the first place.

It’s the old carpenter and the nail problem. When the only tool you have is a furious dick demon cohabitating your body, every problem starts to look like an enemy cock.

Naga is an elementary school math teacher, which – imagine that, imagine you found that out. Imagine the mental schism you’d have when those worlds collided. When you first realized your teacher has a life outside of school, and this is it. Like instead of going to the movies and finding Mr. Bellevue taking tickets, you went to a dickfighting contest and saw him in the ring with his big glasses and tight sweater vest and a huge math-themed codpiece. That’s what these kids are dealing with-

…as their teacher just has a mental breakdown over being cockwalloped. They start negging him about his 0-1 dickfighting career, and somehow that helps Naga come to the realization that his warrior spirit will never let him date a man he hasn’t dicked into the dirt.

For the sake of their love, they must duel one more time! With penises! 

You know that ‘two rogue samurai rip off their cloaks to reveal their swords’ scene? Here it is with dongs.

This isn’t a sparring session. Pride demands that they go all out. Vampir understands this, and he once again gives his body over entirely to Delar the Undead Dick Demon. Naga comes at him with a halfmast roundhouse and immediately eats beach.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. A fancy kick can tell if you’re not into it. If there’s any hesitation at all to something as impractical as a spinning facekick, don’t even try it. This is a move to be used when you are fully erect or not at all. 

But Naga isn’t beaten. Battle is hardening his nerves and blood is hardening his cock. He shoulderflips Vampir into the surf and transitions seamlessly into full anal penetration. Now it’s a battle to see who cums first – the fucker or the fuckee!

But Delar’s whole life is dickfighting. What time he does not spend blasting cocks in this dimension is spent in hell, thinking about blasting cocks. Of course he has knowledge of another forbidden technique! Lost to time! Impossible and blasphemous but beyond all else… powerful.

It’s the Power Bottom!

Naga’s mind and soon to be load are blown. 

It was absolute genius to make Dick Fight Island so sheltered and centered on actual dick-to-dick combat that even the basic tenets of gayness are like Goku going Super Saiyan for the first time. 

“I-I don’t understand! I’m fucking him, but… but he’s fucking me! His buttfucking level! It’s over 9000!” 

The match ends as it must for this relationship to survive: in a draw between mighty warriors. Which in this case means simultaneous orgasm. 

I’m going to take this lesson into my own love life. A simultaneous orgasm is no longer good timing. It’s a fuckwar without a winner. 

Now that Naga has proved to himself – and more importantly to the berserker cock demon that lives inside his boyfriend – that he’s a true warrior, they can look each other in the eye as equals once again. A perfect ending to a perfect story. 

There’s a final wrap-up, framed by the domestic lives of Matthew and Harto as they catch up on everything happening with the other warriors. Pisao and Yudha had to swim back home after the wedding, a ritual which apparently killed Yudha, going by this panel-

Everyone admires Naga’s bravery, to go steady with the Pazuzu of butt stuff.

Everyone also admires Bulan’s bravery, to go steady with Roro – the man with an eternally-growing lobster dick. 

And we even catch up with Taring the resident twink who, in the first match, got buttfingered so hard it whipped up a sandstorm. He had a sweet cock whip that shook vibrations into his enemy’s codpiece – a technique taught to him by the island’s masters of vibration (lesbians) – and I thought it was a pretty neat gimmick. But he never received an ounce of respect and was promptly dropped from the story. Until now! What’s he up to? What’s his whole deal?

He’s getting molested by his uncle. 

Not all of these are fun. 

Matthew and Harto are done catching up and start to fool around… when something terrible occurs to Matthew: is this not over? They’re a couple now, but the next time the tournament comes around, is Harto just going to run off to battlehump eight other men into the ground? It’s a valid fear…

To which Harto, ever the purebred fuck dope answers-

“HELL! YES!”

…

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Ted H, who for tax purposes only is a legal citizen of Dick Fight Island. TAX PURPOSES ONLY.

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Dick Fight Island 2, Part 1 🌭

Last year I covered Dick Fight Island, a gay manga about an all-male sex kumite whose prize is the rulership of a secret island nation. The rules are simple: Whoever cums first, loses. I don’t think I’m overstating anything when I say Dick Fight Island changed the way the whole world looks at all dicks, most fights, and some islands. I went in to mock it, and it completely won me over. I’m not joking when I say I am a proud member of the Dick Fight Island mailing list. I get the Dick Fight news first, because I am a journalist, and I am on the frontlines of what matters.

So I’m very happy to tell you it’s here, the day is finally here:

This cover illustration is titled “Wave of Buttocks” and yes, of course it’s a wraparound. 

Welcome to Dick Fight Island, readers. It is located in the middle of a sea of disassociated man-parts floating in a homeopathic semen solution. It is only accessible by Dickboat, a traditional canoe used by the natives that one steers with their- well, you can probably guess.

Please leave your preconceptions at the door: Dick Fight Island, Part 2 is not the book you expect, need, or even want. There is no dick fighting in Dick Fight Island, Part 2. I know, I threw it at the wall and wailed until the neighbors had to check on me, too. I was so upset I didn’t even want to give the book a chance, but I’m glad I did. Because we need to know all of this to prepare for Dick Fight Island, Part 3: Fight, Dick Island! 

While Dick Fight Island, Part 2 may tease us with the dick fighting, it does give it to us balls-deep with the Dick Fight Island Lore. The book catches up with all of last year’s combatants through slice-of-life stories that don’t advance any central plot, but do advance the art of ass-blasting. Harto was our main character in Dick Fight Island, a beautiful naive boy who left the island to explore the outside world and came back with a secret technique: Anal sex! Dick Fight Island, despite being a culture based entirely around man-on-man sexwar, had simply never invented butt stuff. Harto got far with it, but did not win the contest. He did wildly disrupt the entire culture of his country though, where anal fingering was something akin to the industrial revolution. 

For his storyline in Part 2, we flashback to the time he met his outworld boyfriend, Matthew, who taught him the forbidden dim mak of prostate massage. 

Harto is a fighter to the core, and so he processes all sex as a battle. His post-coital care is assuring Matthew that he fucks like a terrifying warrior who would dominate his native land, and to be fair, that’s all a man wants to hear after sex. 

Don’t look for big changes in Part 2: There is not a Dick Fight Revolution, for instance, where steadfast ball-ticklers refute the legitimacy of an assblasting contest and seek to nullify the results and overthrow the government. That’s my fanfiction, and you can’t have it. Dick Fight Island, Part 2 is all about character and a lot of dickbuilding, which if you’re new here, is worldbuilding, but for dicks. Maybe you could have guessed that.

Anyway, not only did Harto model in the outside world, but Dick Fight Island has an official clothing brand:

As near as I can tell, that is not a real brand. I mean, it can’t be – it would be insane if The Gap sponsored Dick Fight Island and was like “make sure our logo is prominent in at least eight panels and one two-page splash – and try to work in something about how our sweaters are specially woven to absorb the most semen. Thrust into The Gap!” That means Grenat serves one purpose: To flesh out the rich world of Dick Fight Island. I told you: Prime dickbuilding.

Harto is your classic fish out of water at first, and there are so many delightful misunderstandings. Like when he quickdraws his asshole open during a nice dinner:

It would have won him two points in Documental, but here it just nets him an admonishment from Matthew, who does want to pound that ass, he does want that, but perhaps not over a taco platter. Matthew is so thrown by Harto’s alienness that he can’t act on his attraction. It’s like a beautiful mute redhead, so simple she doesn’t know what forks are, wandering out of the sea and into your arms. You can’t fuck that. That’s a crime.

But when Harto accidentally sees Matthew flexing shaft in his Grenats – “Grenat, the only boxer with shaft highlighting technology!” – something ignites inside him. 

Remember: These Dick Fighters do not necessarily think of themselves as gay. Sucking off another man is a noble and sacred ritual battle. They’re so not gay they didn’t even invent butt stuff, and now their whole society reels from its introduction! But Harto can’t shake this lust. He feels something for Matthew. It’s like… it’s like he wants to dick fight him even though the rulership of a country is not on the line. What could it possibly mean?!

Harto touches himself, instantly ejaculates, and immediately hates himself for being so weak. This is crazy, but it turns out that when you teach kids that cumming is losing and then replace democracy with jack-off battles, that does create some mental health issues. 

This sexual tension builds until one day Harto slips and winds up bare-assed in Matthew’s lap – you know, classic everyday roommate blunders.

That’s when he realizes Matthew wants to dick fight, too! Finally, Harto has it figured out. There’s only one thing this can mean: Matthew wants to be his Dick Fight Trainer! Matthew just doesn’t know what dick fighting is, the idiot, so he can’t explain his needs properly. Harto will help him!

Of course, Matthew doesn’t like to admit he wants to nail an unfrozen caveman goggling at traffic and terrified of electric light, so Harto wages an absolute war of sexual attrition on Matthew’s willpower. 

Finally, Matthew is ready for the truth: The man he’s attracted to is actually part of an elite warrior squad that has trained his whole life for a competitive masturbation competition. 

This is an impossible ethical sex dilemma on dozens of levels. It is the exact spell woven into the cooling Earth that will one day unravel Dr. Ruth. Nobody tell her, it is not yet her time!

Matthew is ready to relent, and help train Harto. He’s a little dismayed that Harto is a professional dickmaster and has never been defeated by an orgasm – he can feel the lockjaw building up already – but Matthew’s so hard up he’s willing to put in those throat hours.

And then…

After one touch…

Harto cums.

There is no more embarrassing sex problem than this. You just sat your lover down and carefully explained that you were from a special island that never prematurely ejaculates, and on that island, you are the king of not prematurely ejaculating. They have to be thinking “this is an insane thing to say before fucking; they must have a problem with premature ejaculation.” And then you prematurely ejaculate. 

But no, Matthew believes the excuse perfectly – the longest and most elaborate “this never happens to me!” in recorded history, and he buys it outright, no prompting. He carefully explains to Harto why he lost, and we actually get to see it! The moment! THE moment!

That fateful moment the very first Dick Fighter realized the power of Butt Stuff! Of course Harto processes it as a vulnerability within the ass, because he’s a warrior. He just found the flashing weak point of every boss he’ll ever fight, and it’s conveniently located up the butthole.

Now it’s time for Matthew to show him a whole new world… of anal sex.

I love it so much. This is the panel that won me over: Harto has Goku syndrome so bad. Hit Goku with a car and he’ll thank you for the training. Harto is the same way about sex. He’s a purebred fuck dope. He can’t help but experience all of life as a series of things related to dickfighting. You show him a dildo and he sees a training dummy, you show him lube and he sees a weapon, you show him hardcore gay pornography and he sees two noble warriors unwilling to admit defeat. 

Again, Matthew, if you show somebody pornography for the first time and they ask if those two people are wrestling – you are not allowed to fuck that. I don’t care what they look like, they mentally categorize sex as a fight and the odds they’re from a secret island nation that chooses its ruler based on dong battles and not just processing a bad upbringing the best way they know how are criminally low. 

Matthew and Harto frolic, they fuck, they fall in love – well, they do, but Harto doesn’t know that yet. He can only understand love as the inability to defeat a man in dong combat. 

Don’t worry – Matthew gets his comeuppance. He falls fully in love with Harto, so he makes a tender confession and a gentle request…

…and then the postscript tells us Harto thinks that’s great, but it’s no Dickfighting. Haha, he makes them wait two years just to call it a relationship! All so it won’t interfere with the competition where he fucks several other men into the dirt!

This is what you get for taking advantage of purebred fuck dopes, Matthew.

Next is a vignette catching up with Roro, king of the Earth Clan, cursed with a freakish dick that never stops growing. It’s like Rapunzel, but instead of hair, it’s a huge throbbing hog, and instead of you using it to rescue him, you are in a lot of trouble when he tosses it out. Roro nearly won the last Dick Fight, but was defeated in the last round because he was secretly in love with his opponent’s spouse and getting reverse-cucked in public was the hidden fetish he never knew he had, and discovered at the worst possible moment. Like finding out you’re a foot guy while fitting Stalin’s daughter for funeral shoes. 

Roro is visiting the Moon Clan, but he doesn’t seem very into the idea of meeting Bulan, their chosen warrior he faced in the competition. Bulan lost to Roro, but he was immediately infatuated with The Dick That Should Not Be. Obsessed, even. It was not reciprocated. The Moon Clan chieftain notices Roro’s reluctance… and decides he and Bulan should stay the night together. No reasoning. The king is bored and there clearly ain’t no TV on Dick Fight Island, or they would’ve learned all about assblasting from reruns of Caroline in the City.

Here’s some more vital Dick Lore, you will need this for setup: The Moon Clan kept it so tight they had to move to the ass end of the earth to protect their ass ends. 

Please note this in your Dick Fight Atlases, it’s important.

Roro heads up to Bulan’s place just as a blizzard rolls in, stranding him with his stalker. If you recognize this as the setup to a horror movie, prepare to be very uncomfortable with the way the rest of this tale unfolds. 

Bulan’s parents actually died in a blizzard on a night just like this – and here’s the point where you run, Roro! You should not still be around to hear that Bulan was saved by a mystical stag only he could see. That’s the other part where you run, Roro! Shit! If you get any sketchy vibes whatsoever and somebody says “it was a night just like this” – you get the fuck out of the house. You should be a Roro-shaped hole in the wall by the time they say there are certain beasts only they can see. That ghost animal bit? That’s not even a hint to flee anymore. That’s a courtesy call, that’s how a dickmurderer lets you know you should void your bowels on your own terms before death does it for you. 

And then Bulan drops the clincher:

Mads Mikkelsen got an Emmy for delivering that line. That is a man who wants to eat your testicles and I am not exaggerating anymore: Bulan wants to kill and eat his savior stag, just like he wants to “devour” Roro’s testicles to steal his vitality.

Roro is so deeply not into this. He protests that he doesn’t even dick fight anymore – there’s no need for this training! Poor, simple Roro. A king in his way, a child in others. He doesn’t know he’s in a horror film. This is a beat-by-beat reboot of Misery, except for instead of breaking his ankles, Kathy Bates deepthroats James Caan to completion. 

Roro flees into the blizzard, deciding he’d rather face death than this… this unwelcome… training! It feels like there should be another word for that, but Dick Fight Island never invented it! And Roro’s such a gentle soul he mostly worries that if this goes on, his monster hog would split this Twink into at least thirds. At least! 

While I disagree with the implicit morality of this entire story, I do have to admit the ending is airtight. Roro falls in the blizzard and needs rescuing, which Bulan does. Bulan’s own tribe has a policy against saving those who fall in blizzards, because it’s too risky to the rescuers. That’s why nobody came for his parents that night. That’s why that stag saved him, but now… he gets to save the stag. It’s solid structure, it’s a good emotional arc for Bulan, and I would be much more comfortable with the whole thing if we weren’t just a few pages removed from him screaming-

EAT THE TESTICLES!

TAKE IN THEIR VIGOR!

AND LET ME SEE YOU COME!

…
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Jacob Thornburg, who for legal purposes does not endorse Dick Fight Island, but may endorse other, much worse Organ Fight Islands.

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Old Fashioned

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Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: 1,001 Sexcapades To Do If You Dare 🌭

Daring fuckventurers! Bold spelunkers of holes! Today our minds make love with knowledge! We are reading 2008’s 1001 SEXCAPADES TO DO IF YOU DARE. IF YOU DARE! By Bobbi Dempsey.

Like any sex book that starts with a number, 1001 Sexcapades to do if You Dare is not an instructional manual so much as it’s a psychological experiment to see how long it takes the author to suggest you go fuck in a bowling alley. It’s the vaguely horny remains of thought after all knowledge and wisdom has been juiced from a human brain.

Bobbi Dempsey is not like the other one-note sex authors featured here on our illustrious 🌭 website. She is a true Renaissance woman, writing books for dummies and idiots on a variety subjects like acupuncture, saving money in college, reading the minds of your enemies, Philadelphia, making your own ice cream, and of course, fucking. And here’s something weird, she gets her professional headshots done by the same guy who did your 6th grade class photos:

Every entry in 1001 Sexcapades to do if You Dare is rated by Bobbi herself from one burning heart (“Sexy, but low-risk”) to five burning hearts (“It doesn’t get any wilder”). These scores are never referenced and mean nothing. Penetrating a stranger to completion might be worth one burning heart and buying garlic bread might be worth five. Is it some kind of code? Did her Wordstar floppy disk come to life and this is how machines beg to die? Or does she… my God, does Bobbi not know how to fuck? No, impossible, this is the author of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Homemade Ice Cream‘s second comprehensive guide book to all sex. She simply must know how to fuck.

It’s hard to truly look at ourselves and admit our flaws. But when you set out to write 1001 ways to fuck and after only 21, with 980 still to go, you are already suggesting “Go rent a video on how to fuck, and also try not to fuck,” this task is beyond you and you have to know that. Just get out, Bobbi! It’s not too late! This is entry #22! It’s not even close to too late!

So here we are 16 entries later and Bobbi’s tip for the sexually adventurous is to READ ANOTHER, ANY OTHER, INSTRUCTION MANUAL ON FUCKING.

So here we are 23 entries later and Bobbi’s tip for the sexually adventurous is to READ ANOTHER, ANY OTHER, INSTRUCTION MANUAL ON FUCKING.

Now that you’ve bought several other books and learned what sex is, maybe consider not having it? You know, “on purpose.”

By the way, if you’re wondering if it’s unusual for a sex tip book to tell you three different times to go learn about sex somewhere else and then tell you to stop having it, yes. It’s very unusual. Especially since, holy shit, we’re still in the fifties?

Sex expert Bobbi Dempsey has told you 97 different pathways to wild sex. She suddenly remembers something. “Oh my god, have you ever tried jerking off? It’s sort of like sex, I think, but alone. Let’s see… what else, what else? Oh! You could look up ‘intercourse’ at the library!”

In the first sex book written for virgins, Bobbi suggests buying a “fake vagina” and fucking it. Think of it like “an artificial vulva.” A type of “imaginary mons pubis,” if you will. In many ways, it’s similar to a “cubed section of corpse pelvis.” At three burning hearts it’s less adventurous than masturbating without one (four burning hearts), but it’s sometimes nice to slow things down and ejaculate into a gaping rubber hole.

“Didja hear this one? Didja hear about this? They have fake holes now that come in, get this, butt. That’s right, and this is real, there’s a new opening hitting the market and they’re calling it ‘anal.’ Hey, you know maybe if Bill Clinton had one of these, Monica Lewinsky could have taken a break from sharing cigars and gotten back to her cardio. Ya seen her? Ya seen Monica lately? I don’t want to get in trouble for animal cruelty, but the next blue dress they collect for evidence is gonna have to get filed as a circus tent. Must be her high sodium liquid diet. The filthy fat cocksucking monster.”

This probably hasn’t occurred to you, but Bobbi says while you’re masturbating into a butt, you can imagine it was the butt of someone famous…

… or not famous! You can think about having sex with any attractive person. Oh, and here’s an advanced Bobbi Dempsey tip– use some discretion before telling your husband you want to fuck the gardener’s face.

Here’s another secret no other sexcapade book will tell you– you can masturbate to the thought of anybody, even the ugly and loathsome! If I can get real here for a second, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an author stop what they were doing to nakedly reveal the strangest part of themselves like this. This is weird as fuck. Jerk off to someone you hate, even though it will be annoying, and don’t tell your wife because she’ll think you’re masturbating to her because you want her!? It’s like a radical treatment your therapist would give you right before they show you their penis and tell you they killed your therapist.

Oh no, Bobbi.

Bobbi, that’s maybe enough.

Bobbi, you absolutely have to stop.

I honestly thought I knew what “sexcapades” meant from context, but I was very wrong. How am I even supposed to joke about this, Bobbi? You sure add the “ault” to sexual ass? There’s no funny way to say, “I beg your pardon, you’ve written a list of ways to rape.” I guess it can’t get any worse.

Oh my god.

Ugh, her idea was “roleplay as an annoying person” and she called it “FIND OUT IF BLOWHARDS GET BLOWJOBS?” I know how this is going to sound, but Bobbi, maybe go back to the rape stuff.

I have a feeling your readers are going to nail this one, Bobbi.

You may have noticed, or assumed, that a lot of these 1001 authors will squeeze extra entries out of basically the same idea. However, most of them at least try to hide it a little bit. Gregory Godek will put a few hundred entries between “buy her a pizza” and “put a note on a pizza that says you’ve got a PIZZA my heart.” Bobbi doesn’t have the guile for that. She types every single variation right in a row. She’ll be like, “#244: Eat Ass! #245: Eat Stuff Out of Their Ass? #246: Eat That Ass When They Don’t Want You To. #247: Eat Nonconsensual Ass in a Bonnet. #248-#267: Different Colors of Unwanted Ass-Eating Bonnets.”

This woman has given herself a puzzle– say 1001 things about sex, and we’re simply witnesses to her “solving” it in the goddamn stupidest way possible.

I like this version of Bobbi’s recurring “go look it up somewhere else” sex tip because she put in a little extra effort. Although if you’re telling readers to go research sex toys, you should really put a spoiler alert before you explain dildos. Actually, hey, why did she tell me to go read about sex toys in a different book and then prove she’s perfectly capable of explaining sex toys? This is like delivering a map to someone’s house with directions on how to get to your house to pick up a dildo. It’s also maybe worth noting that Bobbi thinks browsing an adult catalog for purely academic reasons (3 burning hearts) is 50% wilder than snorting cocaine out of your lover’s ass (2 burning hearts).

It looks like Bobbi found some fun stuff while she was looking up dildos.

Have you guys heard of pornography? Check it out at your local library if you haven’t, but it’s videos of sex and get this: not everyone who makes it uses a union cinematographer. Try watching some!

Sometimes I’m sort of impressed at the meaningless chatter Bobbi manages to add to each entry. I mean, “watch amateur porn” isn’t much of a sex tip. It’s, in fact, nothing. But it is a complete thought. There’s nothing to add to it. There’s no person alive who needs Bobbi to elaborate on any of these, and yet she does. I just want you to appreciate how much mediocrity it takes to consider “amateur porn is porn made by amateurs” to be a fact worth sharing.

So if I’m understanding this correctly, Bobbi (in 2008) thought her readers had never heard of “amateur porn,” but knew exactly what gang bangs were and where to find VHS tapes of them.

While you’re picking up your gang bang tapes, maybe buy all the other porn? Maybe watch all of it in a week and pretend it’s an adult film festival. Maybe invent your own rating system? Maybe hold a pre-masturbation gala with your cats? Maybe draw a face on your rubber asshole and interview it on the red carpet? “Who are you wearing, Anal Opening? Haunting wet fart sound? Fabulous. And now back to me for the complex review of Forced Milk Guzzling 4 Hours of XXX Squirt-Hating Studs. It’s three Milky No’s way up!”

I doubt anyone predicted how much of this sex adventure book would be jerking off alone in the dorkiest possible ways. If you asked Bobbi Dempsey what qualified her to write this book, she might actually say, “Most of my experience is theoretical, but I have almost gotten Jenna Jameson’s top off on my IBM PC compatible personal computer. And I’m founder and host of the My Mom’s Guest Room’s 7-Day Erotic Film Festival.”

Here’s a wild suggestion! Have you tried asking a dildo clerk which dildo is best? If you ask them for “the real shit” they legally have to take you in the back and just destroy all your holes.

Try the yab yum pose? What the fuck does that mean? I get this book is for nerds, Bobbi, but I doubt any of your readers speak fluent Ewok.

First “yab yum” and now “woman on top?” No one knows what these words mean, Bobbi. You’re not making any sense.

What the goddamn fucking milk-squirting fuck!? We are only just now having an orgasm!? Bobbi, did you think we pounded off into our silicone butts for a week and nothing came out!? And wait, whoa, wait– did you give this orgasm one burning heart!?!? I’ve been building to this climax for 441 entries! I might turn the fuck inside out when this thing goes off.

Buy more adult games? What? Bobbi’s readers are the only people who have never heard of adult toys, intercourse, or masturbation, yet also have a collection of erotic board games they’ve played to death, yet also need someone to suggest “buy more of the thing you clearly have a lot of interest in!” Oh, and Bobbi says “you and your partner can pick out a certain number of games each.” That’s great writing because a certain number means certain fun!

When I read the title 1001 Sexcapades to do if You Dare, I sort of figured it would be a list of places where it’s unsafe to bone. But to her credit, Bobbi waited until the 500s before she started doing that. This is obviously a virgin nerd’s idea of a scheme, and she sort of gives it away by rating it one burning heart. She thinks risking suicide-by-cop for an adrenaline-fueled fuck fest in a police station is exactly half as wild as going online to replenish your adult board game supply. I’m not saying Bobbi has never fucked. I’m saying Bobbi has never even smelled someone who has fucked.

Anyway, we’ve got to be coming up soon on “fuck at the bowling alley.”

There it is.

It’s almost cute how she rates the pros and cons of banging at the mini golf course versus a regular golf course as if she would know or expect any living person to take her advice. She literally cannot conceive of what mini golf sex would be like other than one out of five on the wild scale and surrounded by children and the elderly.

By raw numbers, 1001 Sexcapades to do if You Dare suggests more sex crimes than any book ever written, and it does it in the most casual way. This isn’t outrageous– this is someone who has no sense of consequences because their only hobby is playing against themselves in pornographic board games.

“Go fuck near kids, maybe on a slide. I don’t know, I haven’t tried it. One star.” – Bobbi Dempsey

I think that’s enough locations to get us started. Let’s skip past this part of the book.

Sure, liquor. Another great idea, fuck machine.

Have you heard of “Thai food?” It’s a rare cuisine from the mystic Orient. You don’t fuck in it or anything. Eating Thai food is the entire sexcapade, and precisely as erotic as Sex in a Funeral Home.

Use donuts, I don’t know. Put them on your dick, maybe stick them on a titty. You’ll figure it out.

Bobbi is in the mid 700s and she can see the finish line. “Basically ram some vegetables up your vagina” is sex book author for “Oh God I don’t know if I have any more of these in me.”

If your advice is to cheat on my wife with John Oates, I’m way ahead of you, Bobbi.

If your advice is to not call John Oates “Daryl Hall” during sex, I’m way ahead of you, Bobbi. 

Oh hell yeah. I have no notes. Sweet sexcapade, Bobbi, and I’m not even being sarcastic. There probably aren’t a thousand ways to fuck anyway, so we might as well start listing our favorite Poison songs. You took mine, so I’ll say “Nothin’ But a Good Time.”

Seriously, what a legend to finish out her book by just naming random things.

Amazing. Amazing.

Hahaha this incel dingbat is buying a margarita like she’s a fucking anthropologist.

I’ve never seen anything like it. She is putting every remaining thought on the page no matter how vaguely related it is to sex. She just told us to fuck a pie like in the movie!

Bobbi knew the risks, but she was running out of time and knew she had to have sex at least once before she finished her sex book.

Bobbi, I think your readers knew this was how their journey was going to end.

Holy crap. Can we maybe slow it down a little, Bobbi?

Perfect. The same as all her other tips, but a little bit less lonely. I really mean it when I say this, Bobbi: this was breathtaking. Never has anyone written less about a subject they were more unfamiliar with, and I will think of you every time I call my silicone butt by the wrong name.

…
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Michael Lehr, who did something worth five burning hearts and now the cops won’t stop searching for him until he finds a garage.

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FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: 2001 Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show

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FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Red Shoe Diaries “Kidnap”

Red Shoe Diaries was…man, how do I describe this? A 1992 erotic-ish TV drama wherein David Duchovny’s fiancée cheats on him with a construction worker (who was also a shoe salesman?) then kills herself in guilt—because at peak AIDS panic, we eroticized death as the ultimate orgasm. And sorry to soak your shorts before breakfast, but there’s more… 

This film begat a Showtime series about Duchovny’s character running a classified newspaper ad that solicits women’s most erotic tales so he can read them to his dog. Okay. We all grieve in our own way, but it still feels like a betrayal of strangers’ intimate secrets to mope at a bus stop in Van Nuys. No one’s saying don’t cry, Jake, but could you at least masturbate while you do it? That’s what bus stops are for.

Do you want to know the secrets of ’90s seduction, turgid reader? Your answer is irrelevant; we’re already sliding gently into Season 2, Episode 4. Entitled, uh…oh, oh shit: “Kidnap.”

Tom Cody is a smoldering sexpot whose old-fashioned thievery makes no sense in this modern world. His gang robs Los Angeles banks on horseback, then flees to that part of the San Andreas map where you’re a 20-minute jog from everything. 

Also he’s a disarmingly good actor. For a premium cable softcore, Red Shoe Diaries hired a lot of broadcast talent. We could easily pick a random episode and watch bike messenger Matt LeBlanc absolutely rail a secretary in an elevator. But we won’t. 

In this one he’s a cowboy.

The word adonis gets thrown around a lot these days, particularly in my Friends fanfiction – Lovelife D.O.A.: A Raymond Chandler Bing Mystery —but it’s entirely appropriate here. Look: 

It’s Joey, but younger, scruffier, and cowboy. He’s the sexiest LeBlanc on record until 2014’s courtly Sir Matthew the White, in my Fanny Award-winning novella, “When the Thane Starts to Fall: A Friends Timeslip FanFic.” At 1.285 Anistons he’s objectively the hottest Friend but he’s not even today’s smokeshow of choice. The camera follows Sarah’s first sight of Tom like an arrow to his saddle-sore seat: 

Maybe beauty doesn’t excuse Tom’s crimes, your honor—but can you truly kidnap the secretly intrigued?

Fleeing the scene of the crime to the scene of the next crime, Tom espies Sarah McCloud, an investment banker with a competitive streak. The only games she can’t win are ones of the heart, which lack Congressional bailout. Tom is smit!

Sarah keeps saying she has an important meeting in ten minutes, but she’s hanging outside the branch staring at it. I guess for investment bankers, that’s like picking your own lobster at the restaurant: the formality before you steal from everyone else’s plate. 

With practiced obliviousness, she ignores this complete stranger on a horse asking her to marry him. Or it might be LA women blank you if you aren’t in a Lambo, I don’t know how your stupid car culture works, America—a horse, you guys!

Even minus the horse, shotgun-toting cops, and screeching bank alarm, this is a bonkers way to offer a woman your penis-heart. Sarah is politely trying to have a phone conversation, and Tom demands her attention because, you see, he is actively criming.  

It’s like how you’re reading this article right now while ignoring a TV show, even though you’re technically working remotely at the Friends fanfic factory. In both cases, distraction makes failure out of what started off as a guaranteed orgasm.

Women love horses, which represent everything society denies them: power, public bodily functions without judgment, and unbridled freedom—unless the horse is wearing a bridle. 

But see, just like a bandit’s horse secretly wants a bridle for the train heist, even the most accomplished power-suit-wearing bankeress wants a bridal train. The show has led you here with something called symbolism, which you can use to subtly manipulate women into a sexual mindset. For example, riding a horse is pleasurable to the female because it symbolizes dry-humping and no hand stuff with a man who smells like hay and can’t interrupt when she’s talking.

And did you know that guns can be an alluring phallic symbol if you point them at her head? That’ll set a lady’s heart racing!

Taking Sarah hostage, Tom gallops away on his mustang like a manly man and not a stupid asshole who’s going to get someone killed. By the time those lame cops are in their vehicles, the escape animals are cleverly boarded into a horse trailer waiting a full marathon outside of town.

Of all the unrealistic aspects of this fantasy, the story only balks at a truck and trailer making a quick exit from downtown LA. Someone calculated it was more realistic for a horse to outrun the entire LAPD than a vehicle to make a left turn. 

I’m not saying producer Zalman King shouldn’t plan your bank heist. But he definitely shouldn’t plan your sexual congress because he thinks both end in success once you’re crouched under a horse’s rear. There’s a reason he’s known as the Zalman King of erotic thrillers, not the Zalman Ringleader of bank heists.  

More disturbingly, every choice Sarah makes from this point is seductively suspect, because her first erotic thought is sexy self-preservation.

Sarah tries to bribe, bully, and beg out of bondage, but our handsome leads laugh at her fears. “You frighten men away!” lecture these frightening men. Though their ways may seem strange to those of us with emotions, total domination is exactly how you seduce financers. However, these methods would be absolutely terrifying to other humans.

Tom and Jed tell Sarah their real names as bank robbers descended from Wild Buffalo Bill Hickody. It’s like they want to get caught, yet I still can’t compete with twin sexpots who own their own business.

Them Cody Boys take Miss McCloud on a romantic camping trip in the hills. Like most Red Shoe Diaries, this episode was written by a woman, and I am just lost trying to find the sweet spot of audacity and atrocity a man should occupy in these here hills.

Sarah gets to know these cowpokes, and I promise you that nothing they reveal would change a woman’s mind about her kidnappers. They say they don’t want to hurt anyone, but don’t seem to care about traumatizing them. As for stealing? It’s not for the money. More of a tradition in the family of monsters she’s been asked to join. 

I’m rapidly learning I don’t have what it takes to be a bad boy. I can’t seduce on this level, and now I have to fly back to Kansas City to return my leather jacket because my horse is in the shop.

Sarah steals Tom’s gun and pulls the trigger! The men laugh at her. In a deranged plot to conflate the sweaty palms and rapid pulse of terror with desire, the guns were never loaded.

This poor woman. Still, it must be a relief to know the posse of delusional outlaws she thought had her outgunned in the woods merely have her outnumbered.

After reciting her gambling addictions, Sarah plays poker with these straight studs. She proposes freedom as the ante: if she wins, Tom takes her home and goes to jail. If he wins, she marries him. High stakes—but she’s used to those as an abducted woman who would probably do or say anything to survive!

The show takes pains to show the audience Sarah’s agency in proposing a bet and cheating to lose it. But how does Tom know that? Out here in hill country, the politics of desire are the exact same as survival. 

Anyway, they have a folksy wedding.

The newlyweds bang up against the marriage oak. I’ve never been married, so you’ll have to make your own “Deadwood” joke.

Sarah wakes up alone. 

Matt LeBlanc leads some convincingly panicked hostages in “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” to calm them down. We’re meant to fall for these crazy Cody boys, a couple of fun-loving criminals. But look around them! It’s gonna get weird, man. Here’s your Hot Dog Moment: 

These people have no idea they’re in an erotic fantasy for cowboy-loving professional women to jill off to. Every one of these characters is terrified the song is a sick game whose final note is the tom-tom hammers of a Smith & Wesson. One woman cries. A man stares dull-eyed at the floor, confident he has kissed his neighbor’s wife goodbye for the final time. All Matt LeBlanc’s Jed had to do was say, “Relax, this is an erotic bank heist,” but noooo…

Sarah finally makes it to her meeting. Nobody asks about her kidnapping! She confesses to cheating at the card game to get what she wanted. Tom strides in, and says “You break the law, you get caught,” which is untrue 100% of the time in this universe! 

The board’s staid faces tell us this is highly irregular, but Sarah explains Tom is their new security consultant. Then they mash face, and everyone else wanders out of the room with an unspoken shared disgust. 

The entire world turns sepia! What is happening? Sex magick is reshaping reality around us! You did it, you two—the ultimate heist and gamble in one: you stole consequences right out of probability’s grasp! You’ll never die, you’ll never get caught, you’ll never get AIDS. You have beaten the ’90s! 

Seems to me you stand at a crossroads, pardner. You can go like this picture of Brendan’s puppy, or you can go straight to hell.