Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Sex Magick for the Solitary Practitioner 🌭

Once long ago, I thought I learned about the saddest book of all time. It was called Microwave Cooking For One, and I couldn’t think of a sadder thing than that until I discovered:  

I don’t know what a normal hobby is, so sometimes I like to purchase and read magic spell books on Kindle. If you have Kindle Unlimited, you’ve probably got access to hundreds of magical spells for ten dollars a month. Kindle, your number one spot for occult magick! This is an ad. They paid for this and specifically said, please really hit the occult part. We here at Kindle want to be associated with that.

The people writing these Amazon-approved spells are genius con artists. They’re super short documents, sometimes as little as ten pages, and go for anywhere from three to ten dollars outside of Kindle Unlimited. So even if you only sell two copies, that’s nine to twenty dollars an hour. And that’s not bad– those are Target part-time seasonal employee numbers.

To become a Kindle spell writer, all you have to do is add Mystic, Mage, or Magical to your name and write a bio that says you’ve been a “professional practicing witch for decades,” because who’s going to verify that shit? Dumbledore? He can’t because he’s dead. Oh no, spoilers for Harry Potter guys.

These spells are often rated super high. Candle Magic for Beginners has a five-star rating with 700 reviews. This will never cease to blow my mind. Seven hundred people bought this book about magic candles and somehow got exactly what they were expecting? That seems impossible! I can’t even get candles to perform the magic of making my house smell less like a dog, and that’s all I want from them!

Sex Magick for the Solitary Practitioner has a solid 18 reviews that are mostly positive, with my favorite being:

It came in! Just by showing up, the book has done its job in this customer’s opinion. That’s how insatiable people’s thirst for magic spells is, even if the spells are kind of wrapped around the idea you’re going to die alone. If you can’t convince someone to have sex with you even when the sex will literally create magick, that certainly doesn’t speak very well for your romantic potential overall, right?

You might think Charles Mage, the writer of Sex Magick For The Solitary Practitioner, would be at least mildly embarrassed to be the author of a book about no one wanting your magic dick, but he’s not! He printed his name in the intro four times, lest you forget his involvement. He also includes a legal disclaimer in case you hurt your genitals by doing too much solo sex magic to them, which is something I’m sure ER doctors have some stories about.

After making sure you’ve read his name four times and know you can’t sue him for anything that might happen to your genitals on this harrowing masturbatory journey you’re about to embark on, Charles Mage then reveals to you this isn’t his only book. He is the Stephen King of sex dorks, having written forty seven other books, including Dowsing The Casino: Make Money Dowsing, Life Lessons From A Butterfly, and Fun Things To Do With Your Energy Ball, for when you have successfully created an otherworldly ball of energy, and now you’re like, well fuck… this is boring.

The book opens with Charles telling us that, for years, people have been searching for a handy (hee hee I see what you’re doing there, Charles) manual that offers clear instructions on solitary sex magic. He says, “Although done in solitary, it should be noted that the techniques in this book can pace away to a great and immeasurable divine power that you can harness for whatever purpose you need.”

Seeking a great and immeasurable divine power is the coolest slang for jerkin’ it I’ve ever heard. If there’s one thing I appreciate about this book, it’s that it makes masturbating sound like a Jules Verne adventure story. Journey To The Center Of My Balls, if you will. Around the World in 80 Anal Beads, maybe.

Charles starts by explaining that it’s actually really cool to do sex magic by yourself, like all of the cool kids are doing it, and it’s way cooler than sex magic with a partner.

So actually, if you have sex with another person, you’re kind of doing it wrong. The downside of sex magic with a partner is it merges your “soul and energy” with that person, which means you risk merging with someone who has a corrupt and immoral soul. Charles Mage, grifter author and masturbation sorcerer, strongly advises avoiding people with “dirty souls.”

Right off the bat, this is starting to sound a lot like the mystical version of a central Illinois sex education class. It’s definitely the most anti-sex occult sex magic novel I’ve ever read.

Now that we’ve established that having sex with other people is bad, let’s see what else this book thinks is bad! Ah yes, ejaculation.

No, Billy, ejaculation is for LOSERS. You are only allowed to have ghost orgasms. Oh, please allow Charles Mage to explain:

The scheduled Journey To The Center Of Your Balls has been canceled. It’s ok, though; because you can have multiple orgasms without ejaculating. How, you ask? It has something to do with energy? The book is firm on that. Like most books on magic, this book is very big on energy. Now what that means is… it’s something. Let’s let Charles try to explain.

Get it? All is energy, if you look at, inside of the, because we all, and then that’s what how we go to the energy. Right? Then when you orgasm, just do that thing with the energy? Cool.

It’s so fucking boss that Charles Mage started to write this book, and then after basically the intro, peaces the fuck out of it. He explains what sex magic is and that you shouldn’t ejaculate from it and then leaves “the universe” to teach you the rest, which is the most mystical way to do nothing. Imagine if a magician took the stage, put a lady in a box, pulled out a saw, and then left. “The universe will complete the trick for me everyone goodnight POOF. No refunds POOF.”

That’s not the actual end of the book. It’s only where Charles stopped pretending to give a fuck. He goes on to give some tips and advice, but they are things like…

He knows what he’s doing here– totally referring to a three-man orgy where one has had a terrible accident. Which is a weird wink to give in a book about how sex is bad, and if you’re going to do it, please don’t ejaculate, ew.

Then, in case, for whatever reason, you decide to use your newly discovered masturbatory powers for evil, he caps off the spellbook with a warning.

This magic spell sucks. It should at least pretend to give you some words to chant or something, right? The most you get out of this book is a recipe for making an energy ball in the section after they explain what energy is, and even those instructions only amount to “wave your hands around, pretend to have an energy ball, and great! Now you do!” How am I supposed to have fun with that!? Some weird, boring energy ball?

Ugh, fine, I see the long con Charles Mage is playing here. I’ll buy your Fun Things to Do with Your Energy Ball book, Charles! Who would have thought I’d be bested by the horniest, least ejaculated sex wizard on Earth.

You can follow Lydia on twitter for more advice on where to find horny sex wizards. 

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: How to Seduce Your Lover Forever 🌭

Today is a special, seductive treat for passionate lovers. We will learn how to playfully titillate the sensitive parts of one another’s bodies. We’ll discover the most pleasurable ways to suck toes, to put feet in our mouth, and to lick a wet foot. Let’s watch 1994’s How to Seduce Your Lover Forever from the Sinclair VIDEO LIBRARY, makers of local favorite, The Better Sex Guide to Anal Pleasure.

It’s not impossible I’m the world’s leading expert in sex instructional videos, and I think the most important element of them is the intended audience. You need to have a very clear vision of who you’re making your video for because everyone outside of it is going to see it as hilariously gross pornography. This video did not have a clear vision.

From what I can tell, this is for husbands in long term marriages who managed to burn themselves out on lovemaking without ever finding an erogenous zone. They’ve never tried mouth stuff, are squeamish about sex in general, but they’ve agreed to sit down with their wife to learn how to fuck using the same VCR that plays VeggieTales Silly Sing-Along 2 fifteen times a day. If that’s you, great. You’re about to experience the delicious, tantalizing arousal of intimate touching and sensual lotions. To everyone else, it’s about to get disgusting.

How to Seduce Your Lover Forever is hosted by a therapist named Diana Wiley, who speaks about sex like you raised your hand in church to ask which banana-flavored lubricant is most recommended for shallow pelvised elderly women. It’s both extremely friendly and medical, but just foot-suckingly lewd as fuck.

After insisting everyone involved in sex should be clean, Diana describes the carnival of sexual delights along a woman’s body. “From the eyelids to the earlobes. From the inner thigh… to the nape of the neck… you are invited on an adventure across an erotic landscape. A journey designed to help lovers discover each other’s pleasure zones.” These sex educators are exhausting themselves artistically to put the wonderland of the female body into words, and then they move on to the man’s. Their description of it is much shorter. With perfect comic delivery, Diana says, “From the fingers. To the genitals,” and nothing else. The copy writer for How to Seduce Your Lover Forever either never expected anyone to visit a third location during their erotic voyage down the male body or they are a secret comedy genius.

Diana says, “In planning a special erotic event, why not transform your bedroom? Creating a sensuous, sumptuous, seductive setting?” They demonstrate this by panning along a mostly nude woman on a bed surrounded by dozens, maybe hundreds of candles. It’s an absurd production. Any adventurous couple would recognize they are burning candles worth more than the cost of hiring three TaskRabbits to watch them fuck. If your lover surprised you with this sumptuous, seductive setting you’d say, “Jesus Christ, look at all this. You know I have hobbies other than exploring the erotic landscape of your body, right?”

Multiple cameras pan and zoom along Zach and Tracy’s bodies as they romantically play. Zach peels one of her boobs out of her bra (a technique known as shelling) and draws aimless circles on her leg. These two were obviously told by the producers to improvise some foreplay and they were helplessly out of ideas immediately. It’s pretty awkward, yet also not nearly awkward enough. This is definitely not the first time Zach and Tracy have done something like this in a room full of strangers, but it might be the first time they’ve engaged in this much foreplay. They’re vibrating like caged greyhounds waiting for an instructional video director to say, “And… action on the penetration!”

So while Zach and Tracy wait for the prop master to get the fluid shields up, Diana starts to explain the importance of smell. “Sex has always been linked with smell,” she says. Fine, sure, but it seems strange make “smell nice” two of your first four sex tips. Diana keeps rewording the importance of smell and they cut away from Tracy’s titillated leg to show stock footage of many hands spraying perfume. Spraying nothing, spraying each other… it’s fucking weird. Suspiciously weird.

If there’s one thing I learned from Optimus Prime, Tomax, and Xamot, it’s how to spot a commercial in disguise. Sure enough, a visit to the Sinclair Institute website proved they’re more of an edible lotion and sex perfume retailer than a research center. These dick cream salesmen produced the world’s most extravagant amateur porn video just to try to break into the bored married couple marketplace. Speaking of, meet Carol and Robert.

Carol and Robert try to demonstrate how to sensually eat a bowl of bed fruit as part of your sexual foreplay, but not well. They are jamming apricots into each other’s mouths like two very ordinary people starting to realize they’re about to have sex in front of a film crew. Robert, mouth full of eight different bites of fruit, tries to open Carol’s robe to look at her boobs, misses, completely fucks it up a second and third time, and then gives up. It’s how I picture Jane Goodall getting a breast exam. Zach and Tracy, if you are watching, this is the appropriate amount of awkward I was expecting from the performers.

Next we move on to The Art of Touch, and I’m not exaggerating when I say there is nothing more to this section than the title. Touch your romantic partner. In different spots. Diana explains, “Use your hands as erotic appendages,” but I mean, how would one not? If someone knows to unclench their fists during sex, they are as qualified to describe erotic touching as this tape’s copy writer who suggested, and I quote, “using your fingers as though they were spider legs.” And while on the spider-legged subject of pure sex appeal, let’s meet Richard.

Diana says, “Do like Richard and Tiffany. Stand in front of a mirror. And by self-examination, make an inventory of where you enjoy being touched.” The obvious joke here is that a man would say “my dick” and be done with his list. But that’s exactly what happens! Tiffany goes straight for his junk, he acknowledges yes, the dick part is where he likes to be touched, and that’s the end of their touch inventory! They acted out the joke and Tiffany now knows her lover enjoys being touched on, hold on let me go back and check their notes, “the dick.”

Instead of ending, this section keeps explaining the very concept of touching again from the top until the writer loses their goddamn mind. Diana reads, “The touch possibilities are endless. You want what you had in the beginning of life. The warmth. The contact.” I don’t like how this screenwriter was asked to stretch “touching” into five pages of script, and he found himself going from “try spider legs” to “the touch possibilities are endless” to “all lovemakers want to feel like a newborn baby.” That’s gross, stupid, and criminally gross.

The section called Being Creative With Your Body contains exactly one body creativity tip: film yourselves having sex. It starts with Rich “I Like When You Touch My Penis” Ard filming Tiffany’s naked body while Diana tries to talk you into doing the same thing at home. He zooms in on her asshole while a keyboard plays the kind of bouncy music you only hear in instructional videos. He gets a moist closeup of her labia majora to a soundtrack that would feel right at home in a video about canning your own jam or getting the most out of your John Deere tractor mower. For a porno, this is awful, but for a mango lube commercial, it’s worse.

Richard and Tiffany start to have graphic, tightly framed intercourse. The video gives decent advice about sweet talk, confidence, and eye contact while Richard screws up every word of it. He lays motionless, staring at the ceiling as if there’s a goldfish somewhere bubbling, “Tiffany! That’s not me! Our minds! There’s been some kind of… some kind of total fish-up!”

While in various states of disinterest sometimes drifting near confused or sad, Richard gets lifelessly porked by Tiffany. Diana narrates, “As Tiffany sits on Richard, she is a woman happily thrusting.” I don’t know what we expected from this tape, but this is the least skilled sexual encounter anyone could imagine combined with a bad writer bluntly describing it for the blind. The only one this is helpful for is the terrified goldfish brain trapped inside Richard.

Tiffany gets some flattering shots of her terrible, expressionless lover as he probes her wet canal for answers and finds none. That’s it! I can’t stress enough how this section was nothing more than “try making a sex tape, even if your toadlike lover’s body is possessed by a fish.”

I’m starting to think at least someone involved in this was trying to make a comedy. Because the section Learn to Tease immediately opens on Carol deep-throating Robert. She’s not kissing around the edges of it, tickling him with a furry glove, or misting his perineum with Sinclair-brand anal gland spray. She is bashing the back of her own head out trying to finish him off. If she considers this “teasing,” her idea of full-blown intercourse is going to take most of Robert’s skin off. Diana cheerfully narrates this the same way a Mormon homemaker might double check a chore list. “She sucks on his penis. Until he is close to cumming.”

Before climax, Carol stops so Robert can put his face on her chest and blink on her tits. She responds by rubbing his fully deflated penis and balls with a feather. If you lost two babies in a cave and they grew up in the dark knowing nothing of our ways, the moment they entered puberty they would have better sex ideas than these. I have led a full and diverse erotic life, but I have never been with a woman so terrible in bed she would consider blocking off ten minutes to rub a feather on balls. Carol is the dick-shriveling champion of the world.

Okay, so now you know how to be creative with your body (film their butthole) and you’ve learned how to tease (suck that shit until it’s soft). You’re definitely ready for…

At the start of The Main Event, Diana talks about how couples need to work as a team, and in another perfect How to Seduce Your Lover Forever comedy gag, they demonstrate this with a shot of Zach laying back while Tracy devours his cock. It has all the intimacy of an international traveler getting his shoes shined at the airport. Then Zach moves behind her, shoves her face into the bed, and gets after it. It’s not not loving, but it’s how you would shoot a love scene in a movie where the husband is the villain. It’s also more than adequate to demonstrate to an instructional video audience how to penetrate your wife from behind. They keep going, and going. Diana has no more to say about teamwork. Zach jackhammers Tracy and jackhammers Tracy. We are far beyond the reasonable limits of what anyone would consider “instructional.” We’re creeps in a married couple’s bedroom.

You might be curious what Diana said while she watched these two fuck. Here you go: “As Zach penetrates her vaginally from behind, their intercourse heats up. Because of their upbringing, many women, but not Tracy, believe that tender lovemaking is the only acceptable kind of sex.” It’s remarkable that the producers thought there was a single couple willing to watch a sex instructional video together who would also say, “Oh, honey, look! We should maybe try doing it fast one time.”

It keeps going until Zach stops to catch his breath, but he soon gets back to it. I insist I haven’t left anything out– he had sex to completion into his wife to sell massage oil while a sex therapist described “from behind” like an unspeakable pleasure we’d never heard of.

After Play involves things like snuggling and chatting. Paul and Colleen demonstrate how to do it.

The couple sits in the wet spot having a cup of coffee and a snack while Diana explains how to cuddle. Romantic advice is usually irrelevant or obvious or both, but “don’t flee the home after sex” seems beyond satire. These fucking people hired naked untrained actors to teach viewers about snuggling.

Tracy and Zach go a different direction. They have a nude pillow fight which lasts about 10 seconds before they start to fuck again. They’re not much for foreplay, but they are true overachievers in every other aspect of lovemaking. And with that, we’re done! We now know the basics of maki– wait. There’s forty minutes of tape left?

Okay, sure, Touch and Taste. You’ve heard of them, but Diana wants you to really do them. She leads you on a meditative journey where you take a strawberry to bed and REALLY FUCKING EAT that thing. Here, I’ll let Paul and Colleen demonstrate:

First you suck on the berry. Lick it like you might a foot. Then put her foot in your mouth like you might a strawberry. If you do this right, one of you will be gone by the time you’re done.

There was already a section called Art of Touch, but this is Touch and the Female Body. How are they different? They’re not, but they had a few extra minutes of foot sucking and nowhere else to put the advice, “Women prefer different kinds of breast stimulation at different times of the month. So be sure to ask.” I was making fun of this video earlier for being mostly obvious advice but I would have never thought to ask a woman where she was on her cycle before I squashed her tits.

Besides the generous attention to their feet, Paul and Colleen spend some time licking each other’s eyes and noses. There is no care given to erogenous zones. Paul and Colleen make love like an old dog happy you’ve returned from war. Zach and Tracy would have had two fingers in each other’s assholes by now. Diana also gives this hot tip while Paul rubs Colleen’s butt: “Kissing and… tenderly pulling on her pubic hair. He kisses his way back up to her vulva. Plays with the vaginal lips.” He does that for a while. She is practically begging for mercy. And pleading for penetration.

The next pointlessly named section for a random selection of sex advice is:

Touch and the Male Body opens with Robert and Carol making out on the bed while she fusses with his limp dong. He is neither a grower nor a shower. Diana says, “Carol is now encouraging Robert to masturbate in front of her, while she licks his scrotum.

Robert does.

Next up are some quizzes! Exactly two quizzes!

“Boss, I’ve never done a sex VHS quiz before. Should I add some blanks so they can write their answers on the TV?”

“What do you think, you fucking idiot!? I need to find three more couples willing to make filthy love in front of this crew for 200 bucks by Tuesday!”

“Definitely lines. I think mine would be penis four times and then one foot.”

Relaxed and Peaceful? Anxious and Tense? This isn’t going to sound like an insult but I mean it like one: these people sort of know how to fuck, but they can’t make quizzes for shit.

Oh my god, another one about touch. This one features Robert blinking on nipples again, and Carol rubbing his flaccid penis with a feather again. Oh wait, this is new:

Robert uses a makeup brush to apply blush to his wife’s ribs. See, they haven’t run out of erotic ideas! Add some nail polish to her clitoris! Hang tinsel from her ponda baba! The one sex tip the Sinclair Institute keeps coming back to is to strip your lover naked and smear nearby things on them like an idle toddler. This concludes what I hope will be the final section on “touch.”

God damn it. Wait, hold on. This one looks good.

Richard is alone in his gym, benching forty pounds. As a man in his 20’s, he needs to work hard to maintain the look of a ponytailed tube of breakfast sausage with clinical depression. He is glorious. As his mighty arms heave the bar up a second time, Tiffany sneaks in, gets naked, and starts licking his feet. If he likes this, you wouldn’t know from his face, penis, or continued bench-pressing.

Of all the times this video tells us to suck feet, this is the worst and most irresponsible. Instructional videos always give overcautious warnings about checking with a physician before doing a jumping jack, but if you’re sneaking up on people and licking the bottom of their feet while they’re at the gym, you could die. Tiffany’s corpse is probably in a secure virology lab as we speak.

In an earlier section we learned The Set-Up. Now it’s time for SETTING THE STAGE. Picture this: Richard and Tiffany in a bath surrounded by 17 million candles. She washes his hairy toe knuckles for the 9th time this video. She rubs a sponge against his tiny, limp penis several times to let the second camera get closeups. The two of them explore one another’s feet in four inches of swampy butt water. I don’t know why I’m asking you to picture it; I took a screenshot:

As things move from feet to crotches, Diana starts describing it like a livestock masturbator explaining her job to school children. “Richard is gently putting his finger up into Tiffany’s vagina. And she is contracting her P.C. vaginal muscles.” Then, suddenly, this happens:

What was once a beginner’s guide to fucking feet is now some kind of metaphysical energy channeling exercise. Richard and Tiffany nudely do the splits together while they “tighten their genital muscles” at each other. For what seems like hours. Diana explains, “The sexual energy goes up into the brain as they inhale. Their sexual energies blend and dance.” It’s a living nightmare. If you walked in on this, no one would blame you for attacking these two aliens with a shovel.

And since there is no fucking point to any of these bullet points, Diana now starts a commercial for edible oils, gels, and lotions (safe for genitals). Why? I’m glad you asked. She says, while these two creatures are flexing their sex holes, “If a man experimenting with cunilingus isn’t sure he likes his partner’s clean, natural vaginal juices… knowing that the vagina like the eye is self-cleaning… he can mask… those with flavors he prefers. Kahlua, Strawberry, cinnamon, whatever. Some of these edible potions even get warm when you blow on them.” If history’s grossest toenail collectors were assembled to rub their warts on a Lunchables pizza, those men would say, “Aargh! Even we cannot defeat Diana Wiley’s vagina potion sales pitch as the least appealing mouth thing ever.”

Oh good, there’s a whole section for Diana’s disgusting potions. And it of course opens on foot stuff. Tracy is rubbing Zach’s feet while he lays on the kitchen counter before putting his “corona, or head of the penis” in her mouth. She sucks for a while, then rubs honey all over it. It responds by laying on its side, showing no signs of arousal. Zach is a pound-you-from-behind-until-he’s-done man, not a penis-honey-in-the-kitchen man. Diana ignores this and calls his disinterested member “increasingly erect.” Tracy takes an “orange-flavored ice cube” and slops it and Zach’s dong around in her mouth. It does not help his boner, but it does help clean the honey off. Anyway, they’re a sloppy mess and at least four hours from completion. Welcome to POTIONS AND LOTIONS, I guess.

It cuts to Paul covering Colleen in ash with a feather duster. Wait, let Diana explain: “For a change of pace, edible, digestible, naturally made honey dust, is a pleasurable delight.” It looks nothing like eroticism. It looks like they’re getting ready to sneak up on enemy commandos in a volcanic battleground.

Earlier there was some mention of oral sex enhancements, but Diana remembered some more. Try “Natural flavors” with no further explanation except “the saltiness of sweat or pre-ejaculate.” This is all accompanied by a long pitch citing multiple studies on why it’s okay to do oral sex. Who is this goddamn video for? Diana, here’s the ordinary sequence of sexual events in a person’s life: hand stuff, mouth stuff, sex stuff, a huge expanse of sexual experience, watching middle-aged sex instructional videos with our nude yoga partner. There is no conceivable viewer of this full penetration ad for flavored lotions uncomfortable with the idea of genitals in their mouth. If anything, we need a section on crazy shit we can do with the genitals already in there.

Yeah, something like that.

Wait, I take it back. This whole section is dedicated to Richard and Tiffany sitting on each other’s heads in different ways. This isn’t Oral Creativity. This is how Richard gets his own foot fungus on his dick. Diana gives one last desperate pitch for you to try the taboo ritual of oral sex. “Sperm is low in calories!

There’s only one last lesson, and it’s very advanced. Multiple Orgasms. It starts with Carol desperately trying to get Robert’s flaccid penis back in the game. Nothing is working. She is humming on it. They take turns pulling on it and rubbing it with a popsicle. She fills her mouth with mouthwash?

Maybe you were picturing the woman having multiple orgasms, but no, this is about starting a whole new lovemaking session with an uncooperative penis. The two of them finally get it stiff enough they figure they can mash it in and Carol jumps on it with microseconds to spare! And that, viewers, is how you multiple orgasm. But hold on, don’t throw that dick popsicle away! Lay back and relax. You’ve earned it.

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: 1,001 Las Vegas Nights

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Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Blondes Prefer Gentlemen 🌭

Nobody needs a date like 18-year-olds thousands of miles away at sea for months, and nobody knows less about dating than [return to start of sentence]. In 1965 the U.S. Navy realized etiquette might not come naturally to guys who had spent their formative years following orders barked at them by an all-male enclave. That’s why it produced Blondes Prefer Gentlemen, a Goofus-and-Gallant adventure for sailors learning how to obtain sex without paying for it at an age when society says you’re an adult but puberty is writing its sophomore album.

Set sail for seduction with Charlie and Jack, two midshipmen taking the same gal out to the same house for dinner. I’ll spoil it for you right now: The Blonde is the only part of Charlie’s life that he doesn’t fuck into despair. And Jack, for his part, has perfected all the polite mannerisms that will fall out of fashion before his enlistment ends.

Let’s compare their actions and see who’d really get to hoist her flag up his mainmast, maybe play with her buoys a little bit, grip the tiller tightly, swab the poop deck, dodge the boom, and—wait, how did we end up at this leather club? If anyone asks, we were watching Blondes Prefer Gentlemen, see? I’d better recap it so you get your story straight.

The Blonde ambles along the dock in search of a name and personality, until Charlie and Jack descend to vie for her favors. They would like to know her better, the film informs us, before leaning in like an unwelcome coworker with peanut butter breath, and emphasizing, ”…much better.” She gives the boys her number, perhaps to save herself the dive into the sea necessary to elude them.

Soon after, Charlie is invited to dine at Lt. George Rand’s house by Mrs. George Rand, who also has no name, because she’s just the person putting this entire evening together. Officers’ wives don’t get enough credit, and they also serve who stay at home and…uh, serve. I would describe her personality as “A scarlet-haired woman who prefers officers and gentlemen.”

According to the date on this invitation it’s 1958, though I refuse to believe this film took seven years to produce. Perhaps in the bent reality from which this film originates, March 8, 1965 is a Saturday. It’s also the date the Marines landed at Da Nang, making it the second least-advisable journey our armed forces undertook that day. Now here’s Charlie’s disastrous date.

So Charlie calls up the blonde and informs her that she is entered in a game of the heart. First prize is premature ejaculation. Second prize is bus fare home. During this call, Charlie’s feet are up on the desk just to let you know what a clod he is. Character choices like these won this film the 1966 Naval Academy Award for Best Fucking (Teen). But as far as costing himself a promotion, Charlie’s first faux-pas here is forgetting to RSVP.

MEANWHILE: Seated properly at his desk, Jack accepts the Rands’ invitation for the Saturday following. He rings The Blonde, and ends the call promptly so she has time to tell her mother she has a date with a boy who’s “perfectly pleasant,” followed by a thoughtful silence. 

Jack, whose own mother is not ashamed, responds to the invitation, and thinks to himself how nice it is that a butterfly flapping its wings in his world means Oswald’s bullet narrowly missed in Dallas. Yes, everything is swell in America!

Charlie enters the Rands’ parlor like a walrus doing cartwheels. He centers himself, talks too much, loosens his tie, and eats like a pig…basically everything I would do to ruin your dinner party, but without the roguish charm and ableist jokes.

After licking his fingers clean like Heaven’s favorite fool, Navy Goofus ignores the Rands to make time with the only person who can do anything for his penis. When he does acknowledge his hosts, it’s to yell at them about how Army will beat them at football. There the film pauses to laugh at Charlie:

Charlie, you pusillanimous poltroon! You have the fighting spirit of a dishrag. Your mother has a GO ARMY BEAT NAVY embroidery above her bed. You—

Except, hold on:

Pause is not pause! Charlie merely freezes up in existential clarity at how badly he has ruined this evening. He’s not usually so self-aware. Perhaps the grip of something more malevolent has brought him to this gnosis.

Smash cut to: a week later, Jack brings the same girl to the same house, and—wait, this is getting suspicious. Everyone here knows each other except for poor, innocent Jack. Is The Blonde some kind of B-Girl, scouting officers willing to swing with the Rands? Is that why she hangs out on the dock? And why the invitations arrived immediately? Hmmm.

Jack is a lesson in grace. He doesn’t even bring up the upcoming big athletic sports game, because he lives in a world where women aren’t half of football fandom. Jack elevates others, being sure to include The Blonde, who the video claims is his “shy” date, even now pretending she doesn’t know the Rands intimately. The strings are drawing tighter around Jack’s neck, and he can’t even see them. 

It’s time to eat, and Charlie fights for his share like a one-armed child in a lumberjack family. We know the film thinks he sucks, because it plays a cool jazz score that lets you know he’s too alive to fit in among upper-class white people. Blondes may have more fun, but it’s demonstrably less than Charlie. He also eats a quarter-pound of butter, so how am I supposed to judge a guy with more self-restraint than me?

Charlie spills something, and then insists on helping Mrs. George Rand clean up his accident like an asshole. “Let her take care of it, Charlie!” shouts our narrator. I’ll judge Boomer entitlement a little less tomorrow, knowing they were trained by our government to wreck other people’s stuff and then sit there watching the victim try to salvage it.

In conclusion, Charlie lights up a cigarette so that everyone knows he’s cool, and then Brexits the table like the Rands make his skin itch. In typically puddle-headed Charlie fashion, he drags The Blonde out the door while boisterously thanking his hosts for their hospitality. What a dundernoggin! The second the door closes, they laugh at him. You have been tested and found wanting, Charles.

Because Jack’s table manners are un-court-martiable, his segment is a deprecated list of rules about how to eat bread and whipped potatoes. For instance, your hostess will set out a washing bowl after the meal, a highly medieval gesture for a society that insists you spoon your soup away from yourself unless it’s clear, in which case, tilt the bowl directly into your mouth? Manners are a construct, I’m thinking.

The film repeatedly goes out of its way to drag Jack, passive-aggressively praising his listening skills while pointing out he’s not a very exciting date. The more this film fleshes out your grandma’s idea of the perfect man, the more you understand why she considers Italian food “too spicy.” Jack is a man for all seasons, but of few seasonings. 

“Who got the girl?” titters the narrator, like we don’t all know Jack will be a gentle, attentive lover who finishes second, and that’s the only gosh-darn thing he’ll have in common with Army.

Walking to her door, Charlie suggests a second date where they can paw each other like the slimy virgins that they are, but The Blonde prefers gentlemen, and will not have him. To his credit, he takes her hint. He leaves, and is never seen again, but we all know he now lives in Fort Lauderdale, sending baskets of gator ribs across the bar to women half his age. 

Frankly, this contest of manners feels rigged. Charlie’s rough around the edges, but he’s no peacock, and he doesn’t make others feel bad. He just goes at life with gusto, unlike Jack’s fathoms of naval stoicism and ability to speak without spraying breadcrumbs like buckshot. Charlie could find a blonde who prefers him, she just won’t be a lady. Somewhere out there is his 1960s sweetheart, shoveling peanuts into her gob while her glazed eyes binge on Keeping Up With the Gabors.

As for Jack? Well, lacking Charlie’s animal instincts, he ignores the fear in his gut as the party adjourns to the living room. Lt. Rand suggests a party game he used to play with one of the rocket scientists in his ONI days. Jack wants to go home, but home seems so very far away. His tongue is sluggish in his mouth. He doesn’t—

Bodies moving, and the Rands are singing “The Killing of the King” in tones as soft as bat wings. Before him, The Blonde rises and falls, softly, a form transversing her unfurling in Jack’s thoughts if not his eyes. He tries to speak, to say no, but it is too late. At last The Blonde becomes named. Abbadon! Abbadon! ABBAD

—Jack’s head buzzes. He’s not sure why he’s at this mailbox. Today, he knows, is Tuesday, March 16, but…wasn’t yesterday Saturday? These fugues began not long after JFK died, and have been especially bad this week, ever since the pier where he met…when he

The Blonde is at his side and It will be alright, it is saying. It will be alright, now that they have made a Moonchild. Jack doesn’t understand that colloquialism, but already he is forgetting that he is forgetting. Why yes, today is a fine day! His best gal, guiding him down the street and into infamy, into America’s wars without end. Vietnam is calling so loudly he almost doesn’t hear a bedroom-voiced older woman (M-Mrs. Rand?) coo, “Blondes prefer gentlemen…and so does everyone else.”

He is so happy to be a gentleman.

For Brendan’s money, this was still a way better possession film than Hereditary

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Orbit’s Sexy Pizza

Sex sells. That’s advertising 101, and it’s why I want to fuck the Arby’s Mitt so bad it ruins me for human lovers. But there’s a danger in getting too sexy with your advertising, and sometimes the only way to find that line is by hurtling past it at the speed of sound while screaming apologies, the air exploding with your regret long after you’ve disappeared over the horizon. 

We are here today to talk about a gum commercial. Maybe that wasn’t clear. 

To set the mood we must travel back to the bygone year of 2015. We kept our funk uptown, and identifying the color of dresses was tearing us apart as a nation. Ashton Kutcher was still our best Fuckable Dimwit. It’s a character, of course – the real Ashton Kutcher is actually the fake Liam Neeson — but we loved his shtick. America always needs a hot guy just barely smart enough so that fucking him won’t count as a crime in every state but Mississippi. 

There’s no question Ashton Kutcher is a beautiful man, and for some reason we decided the best use for this walking Roman statue was having him pretend to enjoy the taste of paste on our televisions. We just really liked the idea that, before we could fuck him, we had to settle an internal philosophical debate about whether or not he understood his surroundings well enough to give informed consent. 

This is an article about a gum commercial!

We open on an apartment, where our reigning National Fuck Dope is about to get busy with a woman who has settled the moral storm raging inside herself, and now wants to replace that void with reigning National Fuck Dope.

Then a saucy Italian woman chides him from off camera – is he cheating on her? Did he think he could get away with it? Does saucy count as a dad joke if I use it before I show you the Sexy Pizza?

It is so clear nobody at the ad firm thought about this beyond the premise stage. Because something terrible happened here. She’s the only pizza left in the box, and you can see the grease stains that say she didn’t start that way. 

Ashton has either devoured the cheesy tits of all nine of her sisters, Attack on Titan-style, or I guess rolled them up and fucked them until they lost their structural integrity, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure-style.

Because this is a sex thing — it’s not just a weird design. Sexy Pizza cut in when Ashton was about to get busy. She’s jealous that he’s with another woman. 

She demands to be his one and only, but Ashton is having none of it. He-

Oh, hold on. 

You were probably worried. I know. But don’t be. 

Don’t! 

Don’t worry! 

I’ve got you – of course they rendered Sexy Pizza’s titty physics, and of course I giffed the bounce of the cheese breasts for you.

Of course!

Ashton doesn’t want to marry a pizza and have little half-pizza, half-Fuck Dope abominations — that’s how we got Steve Bannon — so he grabs his Orbit brand gum, and Sexy Pizza shows us one flash of pure terror-

Before she is obliterated totally. 

Sorry, sorry! Orbiterated. Jesus, that was close!

There are many troubling questions about this dark world Ashton leapt into, but there is one that rises above all: What poor motherfucker got the call from this ad firm asking him to design pizza with tits?

Some mysteries only the void can answer. 

But not this one: It is a riddle I can solve for you today. The Sexy Pizza guy wrote a design bible taking us through every step of the death of his soul. He did it for 20 thumbs up. 

I’m familiar with Seanbaby’s work. I know where two of those thumbs come from, but the other 18 shock and sadden me.

Now, since the designer put together this portfolio after the job was completed and his spirit had already been mashed between the uncaring teeth of the universe and spat onto the sidewalk, leaving him a soulless gum husk, he had this to say:

If you run that through Google Translate and set it from Husk to Human, that’s how the hollow spot where a person used to be begs you to destroy it — not out of hatred for the monster it is, but out of respect for the man it once was. 

We are still talking about a gum commercial. It is 20 seconds long.

The Gum Husk then takes us through all of the many variations and refinements he made to Sexy Pizza, so others can recognize the emptying process in themselves before it is too late.

Clearly, nobody comes back from this. The Sexy Pizza is a one-way ticket. There’s no return trip. You’re the Fuckable Food guy from here on out. When Wholly Guacamole contacts you later, asking you to sex up their avocados for an ad campaign, you won’t even have to do it. You’ll just pull out a file you had already.

Anyway, that was it. That was a man’s life.



This article was brought to you by a hot tip from Harvey Penguini.
Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Witches of East End

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