Category: FUCKING DAY

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FUCKING DAY

Inseminoid

Alien changed the horror movie game so much that it was the only movie anybody made for years. Alien… but it’s a robot. Alien but underwater. Alien but multiple aliens (that one was pretty good). Alien but Canadian. The problem is that Alien was intelligently made, and that’s a high bar for the kind of lazy idiot that wants to rip off Alien. The rape and pregnancy themes of Alien exploited a sort of psychological terror loophole in our brains. The British rip-off saw all those disturbing metaphors and thought “okay… but why metaphors?”

They called it:

Hahaha, holy shit! They’re totally serious about that title, but that’s probably the hardest laugh you’ll get today. I’ll do my best to beat it, but I know Inseminoid and friend: I’m no Inseminoid.

The rest of the credits blast at you from a shot of stars made to look like cum, or a shot of cum made to look like stars. And through that grossly Milky Way drifts…

Sir Run Run Shaw, the infamous British Rap Baron? The callous aristocrat who single-handedly monopolized the rap game of Victorian England, and worked thousands to death on his cruel colonial rap farms? How could he possibly still be — oh, oh it’s the Chinese philanthropist. Okay. That makes more sense. Little disappointing, but that’s on me for assuming.

Hey, here’s the cast of our movie, coming straight from a 1985 Bon Jovi concert, bloody comatose friend and all. 

Inseminoid saw that Alien was kind of about the working class of the future, and they just left out the future part. We got a solid bunch of blokes and dames here, featuring such thrilling characters as Ricky, Dean, Sharon, Kate, Mitch, Sandy, and yes, even Gary. We’ve got a Space Gary, folks. It finally happened.

Inseminoid rips off Alien very quickly and expediently, with neither competence nor shame. That 3PM pub crowd up there is just hanging out on an alien planet when they stumble across an ancient civilization and unearth an egg which, unbeknownst to them, impregnates a male crew member who finds his way back to the ship. All they know at this point is that there was some kind of minor explosion on one of their excursions, and they have absolutely no faith in their own ability to handle even the smallest problem.

Again, there’s no alien yet. Somebody got hurt in a normal workplace accident, and he’s currently seeing the doctor, and now they all want to go home. That lady is not the naysayer of the crew — the lone Bill Paxton here to discuss the state of the game. Here’s the chief of their… expedition? Lab? Secluded rehab facility for incompetent space pussies? I don’t know what they’re doing here. I only know that they know they shouldn’t be doing it.

“This team can’t do shit, we all know it! Why did we come to space — the hardest place to do stuff!”

Here’s our main character, Mark — a sort of Aldi-brand Steve McQueen — receiving a work order and then asking the dispatcher to do him a solid and send Sandy down as well.

Sandy is not backup. Well, she gonn do some backin’ up YOU KNOW.

So at least Mark has some balls: Asking the work dispatcher to set up a booty call for him on his way to, remember, the work they called to dispatch him on.

The Inseminoid twist is that their alien first possesses its host, so prepare to be space-threatened by a guy named Ricky, who’s too low confidence to even attempt an ambush.

Look at that little pouty run. That’s the “you bullies can HAVE this bike, I’m going home to make a fort and cry in it!” run. It’s a solid move: everyone knows tears don’t count against you in Fort Big Boy.

Are you ready for the first big emergency of the movie? Gail, whose job must be taste-testing mysterious paint samples, gets her foot trapped outside the airlock. Like four feet outside the airlock. Everyone can just see her. It’s not a dire situation. But oh no! Her heat regulator is busted:

Ah, that’s nothing to worry about! Gary jumps on comms to explain how to fix it quickly and easily:

There are two exposed wires she has to touch together. It’s the simplest possible job. Nobody is even all that worried when they mention it to Gail. Here’s Gail’s first reaction:

She pokes uselessly at her wrist-thing and then sighs and slouches over, calling for help like a 1989 grandpa stuck on the depth gauge of his new Casio. Gary, still being quite reasonable:

The airlock is stuck. She knows nobody can get out to help her, so Gail musters up the will to tackle this, again, very simple task that one would normally assign a chimp in a study on which chimps like better: Doing very simple tasks or getting their dicks electrocuted.

Nope, she won’t even try. This scene is ten solid minutes of Gail gesturing at her wrist and the impossible two things she might have to touch there, and then crying. Until finally and for no reason, she gives up, opens her helmet, sticks her oxygen tube in her mouth…

And tries to cut her foot off. 

Pay attention to her wrist. Those are the two wires. They’re not even small! If that was a busted cage control panel in a chimp lab you would have to put mittens on the chimps to keep them from freeing themselves and turning their righteous fury on mankind for all the chimp-dick electrocution. But Gail has decided the best thing to do is gnaw her foot off like a trapped coyote — but only after sticking her face into space for no fathomable reason aside from suicidal uselessness.

It is amazing that she had to lose a foot to something this stupid, the rest of the crew will make fun of her for-

And that’s how Gail died. I don’t know why the movie showed us this. The alien was not really involved — it pushed her a little and she got her foot stuck between two things, then Gail basically ate her own shit until she died from it. If you put Inseminoid on trial for this, the judge would rule that you have to pay the alien’s legal fees plus reimburse it for any missed inseminating hours because it was such a frivolous claim.

Inseminoid Ricky doesn’t care. It runs off to somehow impregnate Sandy, maybe through a dream? And while at first she’s freaked out by this sexy abduction scene…

She does start feeling it a little when the penis monster shows up:

Listen, I am not trying to body shame. Sandy is looking positively bangin’ for a 54 year-old heavy smoker, but we don’t need the implied alien sex scene here.

…

…

…

Oh, sorry, did I say implied?

Yep, that’s the full alien fucktube egg-creampie — happy Fucking Day everybody! And as you can see, Sandy is super into it. That little eyebrow waggle at the end tells you this ain’t her first rodeo at the Inseminoid Corral. Sandy doesn’t even moisten unless you’re an Alf or greater.

It is at this point you come to the dreadful realization that we’ve already met our main villain, and it’s somebody’s “I’m too young to be a grandma” in yoga pants and a deep-V.

The penis monster is gone. Maybe it never existed. This is the antagonist for the rest of this movie. No, she does not mutate into something cool. She only grows increasingly pregnant throughout the film, but not like… to a monster degree. She doesn’t even change out of her lazy sunday outfit. She looks like a normal woman who is slightly too old to be pregnant, and if you’ve spotted the reason why that’s not a great design for a movie monster, you’re two steps ahead of Inseminoid:

The movie boldly decides that her one weakness is kicks to the belly — Sandy screams and collapses and clutches her stomach every single time like she’s worried about losing her little sunset miracle.

AND OUR HEROES JUST KEEP DOING IT.

It doesn’t matter how much you try to ratchet up the tension when the payoff of your big fight scene is one of our heroes straight blasting a miraculously pregnant nana right out of her Spanx.

Inseminoid actually seems to realize how this looks partway through, and the surviving crew members pause to just talk to each other about why it’s all right that they’re beating the shit out of a proud Kohl’s Klub Rewards Member on the regular…

“I know it looks like I’m uppercutting your kooky Aunt Joyce, but I swear there’s an alien inside her belly, and the only way to stop it is forced miscarriage!”

And they are losing! By god, how they are losing. Inseminoid makes it very clear that these people suck on every axis, and some are sucking through time just because there were no new physical directions left to suck. Here’s Holly: 

She’s the no-nonsense head officer of this entire expedition, and that’s the face she makes when you ask her to do a thing. In this scene, her one job is to hold the space-torch on the super-grandma while the doctor sedates her. Here’s how that basic task — hold this item in the general direction of a woman who looks like she’s the scourge of Starbucks — goes for Holly:

After first blinding the doctor, she then trips on nothing and accidentally welds his spine to his belt buckle. 

Again, the Inseminoid can’t even be held responsible for this. Any jury would call this gross space-negligence, but tell that to Gramma-blaster Gary and his Prenatal Pumas.

Somehow Sandy makes it through all of this, killing much of the surviving crew out of a combination of luck and the ability to stand out of the way of a hurtling dipshit suicide, and her pregnancy comes to fruition. You can hear her screams echo throughout the whole station, and it’s implied that the alien babies more or less claw their way out of her.

…

…

…

I’m sorry I keep lying to you about the implicative nature of things.

She gives birth to alien babies, but they’re not threatening or anything. They just lay there, wet and useless like human babies. Mark strolls right in and hefts ‘em up like he forgot some groceries. 

He gives them to Sharon for disposal and Sharon immediately tosses them out the-

Hold on, hey Sharon?

Are you fucking snuggling the monster babies? Look, maybe you don’t want to kill them for science or ethics or some kind of space circus, but even as fetuses these things piloted a feisty grandma like a fleshmech to murder all your inept friends. At the very least, cuddle-wuddles are off the table.

Anyway, after stealing her babies with no resistance, our hero, a savage and filthy Mark, returns to choke the eyeballs out of our villain, Sandy, who looks like 2000s-era Martha Stewart and is visibly exhausted from giving birth moments ago.

I do not feel good about this resolution. Even if that was the point — that the audience not feel good about this resolution — it’s still a gross scene that could have been avoided with like four dollars of evil alien makeup. Or by simply casting a meaner looking lady, or even just giving her a less jaunty sweater — anything so I don’t feel like I watched a snuff film of an Eat Pray Love enthusiast getting strangled out in a sewer.

Hey real quick, let’s check in on Sharon:

I guess you’re supposed to feel horror at this gruesome tableau? The only thing I’m taking away from this scene is that Sharon was so useless she couldn’t take an actual baby.

That’s the last scene of the main story. We cut to an approaching ship a month later, piloted by a smooth-talking space cowboy:

And his crew of surly Russian backup dancers. 

WHAT! 

Why weren’t these our characters, Inseminoid?! Why did you save these hilarious dudes for the wrap-up, but told us every detail about the life of Abortionfoot Gary, the belly-stomping space accountant?

The only cool characters in this whole movie land to find all the carnage of the aftermath, but the space station empty. No babies, no Mark. They pack up and head home, only for the camera to pan back and reveal a space steamer-trunk(?) in their ship is actually hiding the lil’ Inseminoids.

And that’s how we learn that Mark also lost a fistfight to a baby.

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FUCKING DAY

101 Ways to Get and Keep His Attention 🌭

“Men! WHO CAN FIGURE THEM OUT?” are the first words 101 Ways to Get and Keep His Attention says to the reader, and I challenge any author to more quickly demonstrate how inadequate their book is going to be. In six words, Michelle McKinney Hammond has told her audience, “I not only have nothing original to say about the topic, I can’t even conceive of someone who does.” And she’s right! Let’s read her shitty book!

There are a few important things to mention right away. One, Michelle is very Christian, and this book is not for people who perform, discuss, or condone sex. Two, when this was published in 2003, she had already written 17 other books exactly like this and did not have 101 more romantic tips left inside her. And three, Michelle is looking pretty good. She’s a handsome and sturdy woman who could show up to church in her worst hat and still get a few offers to breed a family of strong sons. And you should always question romantic advice given by clearly fuckable people.

Book Backstory: This book’s previous owner bought it on sale from a place called CHRISTIAN OUTLET and made only two notes– she underlined one Bible quote about love and kept a list of “verses to look up” before she presumably died untouched and alone. I probably now own her copy of 101 Ways to Get and Keep His Attention because it went unsold at her estate sale! The less grim option is she is still alive and has simply given up on love! Can you imagine surrounding yourself with thousands of these books when your brain immediately and ceaselessly extrapolates dark histories like this?! I can! I can.

The book opens with lists of body parts, delicately avoiding the self-lubricating or nippled ones. Tip #1 is “Eyes” and tip #2 is “Lips,” a couple things you’ve heard of and are already heavily marketed to women as important. It’s a nuclear amount of obvious. No matter where you are, if you just hatched from an alien pod more than six feet from this book, you will literally not be able to avoid learning all this before you’ve crawled your way to it.

Michelle speaks poetically about all things as if they represent the majesty of His creation, but her main point is you should make your eyes and lips look nice. And here’s a fun tip: if you’re trying to clinically prove you’re unnecessary as an author and person, start your book about attracting men with, “Ladies, men can see your whole face! But would you believe they make decorative paints… for your eyes and lips?”

For tip #3, “A Welcoming Smile,” Michelle suggests your “grim lips are hiding the beautiful inner you.” That’s not anything. That’s a slide you’d expect to see at the launch of Google MindSmile, a new solution that generates weird sentences about smiles. And I’d argue by the time Michelle gets to tip #4, “Beautiful Teeth,” that’s close enough to “A Welcoming Smile” she’s already started repeating entries. So to be clear, in a book about 101 things, she has said two things you couldn’t possibly not know, gone insane, started repeating herself, and we have 97 things to go.

No one has ever so purposefully run an idea into the ground as quickly as this. I was promised 101 cute tips on luring Presbyterian dick and this woman is describing hands and arms to me. Tip #10 is fucking “Neck!” And it’s not about perfumes to rub on it or exercises you can do for it– it’s about how a neck can express, and I quote, “How dare you! Don’t you ever do that again! Stop right there. Don’t even think about getting any closer!” Oh, are those not enough things? She also suggests a neck can say, “Get back!” This woman sat down to write a guide on attracting men and she’s explaining what necks are and how they might be useful in defending against ape attacks. If 1994 Damon Wayans told you, “I have this new character I’m working on called Dicksuck Jackson,” listening to his pitch would have the exact same content as Michelle McKinney Hammond’s “Neck” entry.

“Yeah, girl, feet.”

– Michelle McKinney Hammond

Once she’s listed all the parts she’s comfortable talking about, Michelle suggests maybe having a hot body might work to attract men. She supports this with a Bible verse about how tits are like gazelles which was not one of the verses the book’s previous owner marked for further reflection.

I don’t know why I brought this one up because I have no notes on it. I honestly think this would work.

Michelle does concede 84 entries later that just having a regular body should work too. Look, do your best not to die, have all your holes with you, and that’ll probably do it. With those gazelle titties God gave you and that church full of foot perverts, you’re going to be fine, girl.

The gun pressed against Michelle’s head. “Say something obvious about brushing your teeth,” the unseen voice commanded.

“I already did! Several times! This book has so many mouth and teeth ones!” She tried to sound strong, but her voice betrayed her fear.

“Do another one,” the gunman growled. “We are trying to do more than get his attention. We need to KEEP it.”

Michelle took a deep breath. “Tooths are the moon and stars of the mou– no, wait. F-fresh breath is a… is a must! Uh, uh, especially if you want to be kissed! I did what you asked; let me go!”

“Not until you’re done. You said something obvious. Now say something weird.”

Michelle screamed her response, “Your breath carries life in it! It speaks of the woman within!”

The gunman must have been satisfied because he vanished into the shadows. “This is actually really good,” conceded Michelle as she saved her progress to the floppy drive.

Praying together isn’t just a fun activity for horny singles. When you synchronize your prayer you can determine which one of you God hates more. Yeah, science, girl.

The author slumped at her desk holding her head in her hands. “Come on, Michelle, just 24 entries to go. Think, think, think… what gets a man’s attention? What gets… wait, no. Could it really be that simple?” The word shone on her monitor like a glistening desert oasis. Woman.

“Thank you, Jesus, for this inspiration in my time of need,” the author whispered.

“ALSO FEET!” boomed a voice from all directions at once.

You might think there’s nothing stranger than listing body parts in a Christian guide for picking up men, but Michelle includes a chapter in this book called “Smell– The Scent of a Woman.” And it is all about smells. Like “Myrrh,” the embalming fluid inexplicably given to Jesus’ mom at her baby shower. What does this have to do with romance? Shit, I don’t know. The best she could come up with was, “A woman must carry herself with an air that expresses attributes of being able and willing to sacrifice at the appropriate times for love?” Which raises the question, are you happy with that, Michelle? Are you sure you’ve successfully adapted that child’s book report on the Gospel of Matthew into dating advice? Because it seems like you might have lost your entire goddamn fucking mind.

Even with me constantly reminding you and myself, it’s easy to lose sight of what the hell is going on here. This is a book by an accomplished romantic author intended to condense her vast knowledge of desirability down into 101 pieces of advice. And she has reserved one of those for raisins. Ladies, if I am listing your positive qualities and “she leaves raisins out” makes the top 101, you are a piece of trash. If anyone, ever, has complimented your raisins it’s because you had too many open sores to risk mentioning your face or body. If a man says, “You have the best raisins,” he’s really saying, “You are so ugly that if anyone catches us having sex I’m going to tear your wig off and pretend it was a fist fight.”

Pungent fruits? Say no more, girl. I am good to go.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme, Pauli Poisuo: the pungent fruit in the room of our hearts.

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FUCKING DAY

Denise Richards’ Hottest Scene

The last movie sex scene I brought you was that time the kid from A Christmas Story jacked off a sentient dirtbike. But that was more a condemnation of The Dirt Bike Kid’s flagrant violation of child protection and robotics laws. It has been said that I’m just not a very erotic writer, and I cannot let that stand. So today I bring you a very normal and good sex scene that every single one of you should have no problem masturbating to. Have you already guessed it? It’s…

Eroticism is mostly foreplay, so let’s set the scene. We open on a plain bedroom, which grows slightly less plain when Denise Richards enters it. Denise Richards was 1994s Sexiest Girl Still Alive according to a poll of fifty-two-year-old men who still worked at the mall. She comes in wearing a fringe jacket like a saucy little warlock, and coos to a nearby camera: “You want the usual?”

A voice on an intercom answers in the affirmative, which sets the stage for this to be a kind of psychosexual voyeur thing. But James Spader is not yet in this scene, so that can’t be the case. There’s a twist coming: Denise Richards pours a generous drink, and then we pan down as she empties it over an exposed human brain. 

The voice on the intercom sighs. It’s the brain, and the brain enjoys this treatment. Man, James Spader really should have been in this. This is a violation of his entire contract with the year 1994. Denise Richards asks the camera if it wants a little more action, then leaves and returns having actually put on more clothes. 

It’s a little hard to see, but that is a special, extra-sexy robe made out of white feathers, presumably just for this occasion. She sheds it immediately, because that is the sexiest thing you can do while wearing an ostrich. Underneath, she is dressed in sensible white clothing — the height of ‘90s sexuality. She begins a clumsy strip tease while the brain aggressively yells things like “show it to me baby!” and “take it off!” — both of which she is already doing. We all had dial-up back then. I guess there were lag issues. Denise Richards does what I think is the Macarena with a little sit-down break in the middle:

And despite her only taking off six dead swans and one stocking, the brain cries out in pleasure, then explodes with a shower of sparks:

The brain sighs, sexually spent. 

And that’s the story of that time Denise Richards made a brain cum. That brain, as you may have guessed, was Paul Walker. 

May he donut forever in that great big Safeway parking lot in the sky.

I’m being unfair, of course. No, not about Paul Walker — he would genuinely love that.

I mean there’s a context for this scene in which it makes perfect sense. A set of details which, according to screenplay law, means that this scene simply had to happen for the story to be complete. In the film Tammy and the T-Rex, which I’m not making up no matter how sure I am that I’m actually lying about that…

Denise and Paul’s characters are crazy about one another, but as is so often the case with young love, Paul is killed and has his brain put in the body of a robot T-Rex. The T-Rex is ultimately destroyed but the brain is saved, so Denise’s character keeps it in her room and gets it off on occasion until she can steal a corpse to implant it in, because Denise Richards can definitely handle that operation. The scene where Denise Richards jerks off an animatronic T-Rex to completion was sadly left on the cutting room floor. 

The director, Stewart Raffill, explains his vision:

“A guy came to me who owned theatres in South America and he said, ‘I have a T-Rex.’ It was animatronic and was going to a park in Texas. The eyes worked. The arms moved. The head moved. He had it for two weeks before it was going to be shipped to Texas and he came to me and said, ‘We can make a movie with it!’ I said, ‘What’s the story?’ and he said, ‘I don’t have a story, but we have to start filming within the month!’ and so I wrote the story in a week.”

So anyway, take note aspiring screenwriters: If you’ve just graduated from a prestigious two-year MFA program and lucked into a fellowship that will allow you to start your long crawl from intern to writer’s room, you can go fuck yourself until you die from it. This is how movies get made.

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FUCKING DAY

The Better Sex Guide to Anal Pleasure

Oh, hi! Do you like butt stuff, only you wish it was more of a clinical exploration of the erogenous clusters inside your anus? Then you’ll love the 2003 VHS cassette tape, THE BETTER SEX GUIDE TO ANAL PLEASURE!

Warning: This article is explicit as fuck and technically safe for work, but holy shit is it going to catch the eye of anyone reading over your shoulder.

“Pleasure” is a word invented by gross people to be used only when having uncomfortably frank discussions about sex. “Pleasure” is what a couple explains they share when they eat out of each other’s diapers. “Pleasure” is the word you purr when you list your top five concert fucks to your grandchildren. Anyway, the word “pleasure” appears on the box of THE BETTER SEX GUIDE TO ANAL PLEASURE nine (9!) times.

The box also praises the host, Jack Morin, PhD., as “the world’s leading expert on anal eroticism.”

Almost every tape like this is produced by grifters and crazy people, so the first question a potential customer should ask is, “Is there a single way to prove these wild claims right or wrong?” If it’s a tape on witchcraft or picking the best dog, no. But in this case, yes, of course. You simply walk up to every other anal expert and say, “We each explore five butts; may the most erotic man win. WHO AMONG THE NEARBY WANTS TO GET PLOWED IN THE SPIRIT OF COMPETITION!?”

I’m having fun, but it turns out Jack fell into this role of, let’s call it U.N. Assmaster General, as a therapist in San Francisco where clients had a disproportionate number of anal eroticism questions. It may be entirely academic, but given his dedicated research, data collection, and clinical specialization, he might really be the world’s leading expert on anal eroticism, an absurd claim but awesome first date conversation starter.

In the spirit of this defying of expectations, the structure of my article will be this: I’ll give my initial reactions to each section of the video as an absurd piece of tone deaf pornography marketed as an instructional tape. This thing truly is weird as fuck. Then, after watching the entire 60 minutes plus the generous, lengthy behind-the-scenes featurette, I’ll add my Anal Hindsight, a section where we can compare my newfound butt wisdom with my first impressions. I’m making it sound more complicated than it is, but I am desperate for everyone to know this anal sex guide produced a segment just to show us everything that went into building a fake living room and pointing cameras at the fucking people.

Let’s get started!

The SINCLAIR Intimacy Institute’s logo swirls in while amateur saxophone music honks. It’s, anally speaking, the closest you can be to fart sounds and still count as music. It seems impossible so much care went into designing and animating this and no one ever said, “Maybe let’s try an anal sex production logo without the butt sounds.”

The SINCLAIR Intimacy Institute is basically a group of adult toy salesmen who market themselves as medical experts. They seem to specialize in very common sense advice, but worded a little more gently than the Important Safety Instructions on your butt plug.

This man with no broadcast skills comes on and hisses the words “IT’S HARD TO TALK ABOUT SEXsss.” With panic in his eyes, he scans each line of a dry cue card about the nature of eroticism. He’s the least erotic man I’ve ever seen and I’ve watched Gene Simmons eat a corndog. They probably cut the part where he said, “I was once Important Safety Instructions on a butt plug when the kiss of a lonely Top Amazon Reviewer brought me to life.” It would explain why he never says who the fuck he is or lists any qualifications. If Jack Morin is the “World’s Leading Expert on Anal Eroticism,” maybe this man, whoever he is, is “Cleveland’s Usedest Diarrhea Guy” to offer a counter perspective?

It turns out the man I guessed was Cleveland’s Usedest Diarrhea Guy, who “won’t be beat on yesterday’s and the day before’s loose poop!” is an executive with the SINCLAIR Intimacy Institute, and this was the best of 14 takes. They actually make fun of this in the behind-the-scenes featurette. His employees found him terrible at this unnecessary, unhelpful thing he hated doing and had no reason to hire himself for! He got humiliated in the high-production video he put up the money for! I understand the stakes are very low in the world of introducing anal sex videos, but it’s safe to say he failed much harder than should have been possible.

Let’s meet some of the other participants.

A couple things are made clear very quickly here. This video is going to include real couples sharing anal pleasure, and Ben and Karen aren’t comfortable with any of that. They kiss like two counselors putting on a heterosexual demonstration at Mike Pence’s Teen Camp for Demonic Possession and Gay.

This few seconds of an awkward kiss is basically all the Ben and Karen time we get. The SINCLAIR Intimacy Institute cut them almost entirely from the video. I think we’ve all discovered mid-anal that we may not have a ton of chemistry with a partner, but at least none of us have ever been declared “useless even for the purposes of education” like Ben and Karen.

Wendy and Mike, as is customary, exchange cute little gifts before they let strangers film their all anal action.

Wendy has only had two lovers in her life, which means she went from full virgin to cowgirl-riding a man with her asshole in front of a documentary crew in one step. Erotically speaking, this is like trying your first joint on Thursday night and carving “TU ERES EL SIGUIENTE” on a DEA agent’s body on Monday morning.

These two seem comfortable as hell. I get the feeling Judy and Chris have fucked in front of people before.

Of all the times they performed analingus on each other later, they never did anything to suggest I was wrong.

Here we meet Billy and Julie who seem to be going through a 1955 yearbook to see if Julie remembers Mort Krabheimer who Billy just received word had passed. Ahh, look at these pictures, they were chairman and treasurer of the Wichita High Wagon Burners Segregation Team, respectively. “I remember Mort,” contributes Julie.

I’m making these two sound sexier than they were. Billy has a dick game any medical examiner would describe as “multiple lacerations and stab wounds.” He fucks like he’s specifically trying to remove the lubricant from Julie’s colon in the least pleasant way possible. He fucks himself like that too. Every time the video mentions masturbation, you’re guaranteed to see a shot of Billy cranking off with the determination of the legendary frontier explorers he grew up with. He is a cranky, joyless elderly man and whoever said, “Let’s film him jerk off with crazy eyes and increasingly large things in his ass for hours,” should be arrested.

Eric brushes Wendy’s hair; they seem nervous yet excited. “I hope you brought that hairbrush from home, Eric!” I shout at the TV. He probably did and it’s a dumb joke, but I love this rush I feel from being smarter than the man untangling his wife’s hair with a brush he found at an anal photo shoot, even if he’s completely hypothetical.

They never do show the hairbrush go inside anybody’s butt, but you’re a fool if you think that proves it didn’t happen.

Leila and Charles seem to be going through some informative anal literature together. This is like a weekend project for them now that the garage is done. “Oh, it’ll never be DONE,” says Charles. Leila says nothing. She’s heard this joke too many times and has decided to stop encouraging it.

Charles is super square and very much in love, and he says things like, “We become more comfortable exploring each other’s bodies.” I get the sense Leila is way more than he can handle and this public butt stuff is a desperate way to seem adventurous. He was definitely hoping she wouldn’t see the flyers for this at their couples nude pottery workshop.

Chris and Lisa smooch over a game of mostly naked backgammon, which as a comedy writer would be on my short list of choices for most hilariously unsexy foreplay activity. Chris has the hairless build and bodyfat percentage of a toddler after his first haircut. He’s a slow, soft tube of quiet perversion and Lisa seems like she might be in danger.

Lisa explores Chris’ anus like they’re poorly supervised children playing scientist. And it seems like they play backgammon with Loser Gets Hit in the Head With a Shovel Rules. Chris takes butt fingers with all the enthusiasm and rigidity of a pillowcase full of warm shrimp. I’ll never be able to describe the theme of this video more artistically than Chris when he explains how he came to tolerate Lisa’s anal explorations. This is an exact quote:

We finally get to the main title card and a woman walks onto a living room set, does not introduce herself, and declares, “WELCOME. IN THIS PROGRAM WE WILL LOOK AT ANAL EROTICISM.” She delivers it like an actress playing a newscaster in a movie about undead snakes. And after rephrasing “In this program we will look at anal eroticism” many different ways, they show us her name is Jane Monreal (no medical or sexual qualifications listed). Here’s the thing: there are no shortage of out-of-work sex experts. I hire them off LinkedIn all the time to Skype in and tell me which objects in my office could replace a human vagina. It only costs like $1800. Plus, there’s also no Council For Truth in Erotic Claims. So if they didn’t want to hire a host with a real sex therapy background, they could have simply declared Jane Monreal “City Comptroller of The Butt.”

I made fun of how Jane Monreal sounded like a fake TV anchor before I found out she went on to be a Fox news reporter in Florida. Which means I stumbled backwards into a truly elegant joke. In the behind-the-scenes, the voiceover says she was chosen “because of her comfort level with the material and her professionalism” which implies the existence of at least some applicants who giggled the whole time Lisa fisted Chris.

Jane takes a seat on the set couch NOT for anal sex and robotically lists the variety of options in anal self-pleasure. The copy was written by someone who had to fill 8 minutes with information on anal pleasure and had no way of hiding they had 7 minutes less than that of butt knowledge. Suddenly, and holy shit, wait, no, what, it pans to a tilted monitor featuring a pornographic drawing and the words “A CRIME AGAINST NATURE.”

Jane does not mention this or even seem to know about it. She is still talking about the joy you can smash into your partner’s filthy hole while the video jumps right into the history of criminalized assplay.

I hope you’re ready to get sexy! Here’s a brief history of our Great Nation’s sodomy laws. It was illegal in some states, the ones you’d expect, and now here we are in 2003 where you can disguise a dildo advertisement as a beginner’s sodomy guide.

The vast majority of the video, about 45 of the 60 minutes, looks like this. Couples do things to their butt or the butt of their partner and an inset of Jack talks about the dos and don’ts of body cavity searches. There was no effort to time these two things together, so Chris might be getting beads pulled out of him while Jack talks about the importance of washing your rectum.

There’s a great moment where Chris takes a deep breath and signals Lisa his anus is ready for another finger, nodding to her like she’s a zipline guide and he’s sure he’s the bravest boy on the tour. Meanwhile, Jack is listing dozens of ways you can tell your partner you don’t want something in your butt. “Let’s wait. Let’s try external stimulation. Let’s do it another time…” You won’t be surprised by this, but a huuuuge amount of anal play education is teaching you ways to gently break it to your partner you’re not into anal play. We’re only ten minutes into this video and all I’ve really learned about butt stuff is that most cultures hate it and I can delicately explain to each of them how they’re right.

Let’s move on to the Anatomy section, or as Jane introduced it, “LET’S EXPLORE THE NATURE OF ANAL PLEASURE.“

This is, by any definition, hardcore full-penetration pornography. Still, it does a good job avoiding what you’d call “sexiness.” For one thing, Jack’s head is constantly floating near the genitals and saying things like, and I quote, “elimination is a key function of the anal area.” And each segment is broken up by a newscaster reading another bland cue card about how “rimming” is sweeping the nation. These are amateur couples terror-plowing one another in a deliberately clinical setting. I guess I don’t know the perfect tone for a video like this, but it’s definitely somewhere between this and “Hey, NASCAR fans, I’m professional driver Backdoor Larry– The Rocky Mountain Ass Man! And I’m here to show you and these lucky wet assholes how I lost my sponsors!”

Anal sex is one of those things that seems pretty intuitive, but once you start writing the instruction manual you realize there are a lot of bases to cover. So this man’s head is constantly floating there, rattling off butthacks as they occur to him. “The anus (shower first) contains many nerve clusters (and parasites), but you won’t be able to get to her vaginal sponge through it, so you’ll want to do some clitoral stimulation with your fingers (file your nails down) or a vibrating sex toy (available on the SINCLAIR Intimacy Institute’s world wide Website), and you will rupture something if you don’t relax (practice with a kegel regimen); remove all penises (or objects) slowly! Remember to smile! Communicate! This is fun, in my expert opinion we’re having fun!!!”

To drive home the pleasure part of all this anal pleasure, a big portion of the Anatomy section is watching Wendy clean the parasites and feces off her butt plugs. Speaking of, let’s move on to TOYS.

I’ve been a capitalist long enough to know a commercial when I see one, so I figure this section is going to hard sell me on some kind of “Anal Beginners Kit.”

“The full kit includes 22 ounces of water-based lubricant along with The Regular, The Coward, and The Coward For Her.”

These people spend a lot of time talking about sex toys, but no one -no one- is comfortable with it. This is the safest space anyone will have to discuss vibrating butt beads and they all act like they’re going to crack up or their parents might barge in. It’s so weird. Aside from everyone butt fucking on the same couch, no one involved had any idea what this thing should be.

Yes! There’s a whole title card just for INSERTION! And while we’re talking about the graphic design, we should really take a moment to appreciate the bold decision of THE BETTER SEX GUIDE TO ANAL PLEASURE to use the color scheme of an unflushed toilet. This is, no lie, the actual line I typed in my Notes app while watching this:

“INSERTION is brown still. Good, great choice. No notes on brown. This part is definitely going to be shots of people sticking things up their ass while the inset explains how gross and life-threatening that can be.”

I was right. This part was unpleasant and went over a lot of ground already covered with some of the cast’s less attractive sphincters. So now that we’re very, very, very educated on the mechanics of purchasing items and safely navigating our colon with them, let’s move on to SHARING PLEASURE.

The video seems like it was edited by someone who did not want to spend a lot of time looking at amateur anal, so these chapter titles are pretty meaningless. None of the footage has lined up with the advice and we’ve already seen every couple go at it several different ways. Which means the announcement that we’re about to SHARE PLEASURE comes as a shock– you mean, those people gazing into each other’s eyes while they fisted weren’t?

To be fair, Jack slightly changes his tone here from “you’re going to hurt yourself trying this” to “teach that butthole to sing.” Unfortunately, it seems like the director gave Billy “The Butcher Cock of Jackhammer Street” the note to add some tender communication to his lovemaking. He growls to his wife, “YOUR FINGERS FEEL SO GOOD, HONEY.” I hate it. I fucking hate it so much.

Charles, the man who seems very much a passenger in his sexual adventure with Leila lays down so she can place a pinky in his ass the same way a Subway employee might put a fallen pepperoncini back in your sandwich. He explains in the inset, “With her touching me there and kissing me there, it slowly is becoming kind of an erogenous zone.” He hates stuff in his ass as much as I hate Billy sweet talking through it.

There are definitely going to be some safety precautions in the ass eating section, so I think we’re done with the romance for a while.

Analingus is “popularly called rimming,” which helps demonstrate the gap between academic knowledge of sucking someone’s butt and practical understanding. These filmmakers are taking this raw, filthy thing done almost exclusively by people born after 9/11 and packaging it for elderly anthropologists. My point is, if I already have interest in putting ass in my mouth you don’t need to give me the “street name” for it, Jack.

Anyway, now that I’ve written 3000 words about THE BETTER SEX GUIDE TO ANAL PLEASURE, let’s move on to the final chapter.

ANAL INTERCOU– hold on. We are 42 minutes in, we’ve watched every cast member get plowed multiple times, and we’re only now starting the section on “ANAL INTERCOURSE?” At this point every viewer has a master’s level education in the field of Anal Intercourse. If I was in a taxi and had to perform anal intercourse on the way to the hospital, the headline would be, “COOL PASSENGER WOWS IN ASS FUCKING EMERGENCY.”

For twenty minutes, all we’ve learned comes together to create education magic. Each couple has graphic anal sex while an inset of them describes all the trust, cleaning, work, and communication that went into it. It’s exactly porn, but the performers were probably paid less, and you never stop feeling like an alien observing human mating behavior. I learned a few things, and it’s, without question, the most lavish butt plug commercial that will ever be filmed.

Categories
FUCKING DAY

Fucking Day: Hololive

Fucking is simple. Find the hole or surface of your choice and apply friction until your mother is ashamed of you. Technology made fucking complicated. The internet drove fucking insane. Let’s talk about Hololive, which is a Japanese Vtuber talent agency for Idoru camgirls. 

If you lead a wholesome and balanced life, that last sentence was the least helpful explanation you have ever read. You probably got through “let’s talk about” just fine, and then looked at the computer like a dog looks at a vacuum cleaner for the rest. Here are several explanations that will make you a slightly worse person for knowing them.

Vtubers are YouTube stars that use digitally created avatars to represent themselves online.

Idoru are manufactured media stars whose personalities and actions are assigned or created. 

Camgirls are sexy ladies that pretend to orgasm online so men can carefully consult a list and send them the appropriate blender they believe that orgasm warranted.

Let’s put it all together: Hololive is a collection of real women operating digital cartoon puppets whose identities are controlled by an online talent agency, and whose primary job is to help nerds who have disassociated with reality have an interactive orgasm. 

Aren’t you glad you learned this today? Don’t you feel enriched?

I’m serious about the disassociation. These are not actresses playing a normal role — check the talent section on the agency’s website and you won’t even find a mention of a real person. 

They are never allowed to break wank kayfabe. This is deep anime shit all the way down:

This one’s a cute vampire! She’ll help you masturbate! That’s not your thing? Don’t worry! There are robots you can pretend to bang, dog-girls, witches — whatever you need to maintain maximum psychic distance from the real world while you rub one out.

Here’s a girl whose whole schtick is that she’s technically a child, but she’s also really a dragon who looks like an adult woman with debilitating tits wearing one-third of two different shirts. 

That’s actually a pretty standard anime loophole for creepy nerds trying to confuse their FBI agent. But the tricky thing about Hololive is that it’s not all wank material: They also put on cutesy little skits that scan as just straight-up cartoons. They’re animated instead of mocapped, they’re directed, they have a script, and the only fan interaction is in the comments. For all intents and purposes, it’s just anime, and that gets these clips put in front of a younger audience in a less sexual context. Your mom probably won’t even sigh heavily at you if she walks in to see you watching something like this!

Not heavily!

But that’s the hook. You like those skits? You like these characters? You can interact with them live! They pull the girls right from those sketches — same character design, same voices, same personality traits — and have them do livestreams using mocapping and digital avatars. Complete with all of Japan’s many interesting problems.

They’re not always sexy. Maybe one is just a cute anime girl dancing with teddy bears. You can chime in and tell her you like her moves!


Maybe one is a fake radio call-in show with a demon shadow frog:

You could call in and pretend to have questions only a demon shadow frog can answer. “What are ponds like in hell?” You could ask, and it would respond “ribbit [screaming in your grandmother’s voice] ribbit.” The cute girl would giggle!

Maybe it’s an edgy english lesson:

And you can type along with her live! She’ll teach you how to spell ‘dick’ and you won’t even know the psychosexual damage that’s doing to you until you grow up and can only get off to porn parodies of spelling bees. 

You could just watch one awkwardly chase a star around your grandma’s wallpaper.

And tell her how much she sucks at frisbee. While you’re there, ask her what the fuck those sheepcops were about.

Those are the innocent ones. Others just brush up against sexuality like a salariman on a crowded train. Here’s the lolli were-dragon complaining about those, again, absolutely life-ruining tits of hers:

These are the ones that get so big the algorithm has no choice but to start recommending them. People are constantly stumbling in with no context only to find themselves neck deep in an incomprehensible nerdmire. 

I do not understand, or even have a guess as to why there’s a crude drawing of her with crosshairs centered over her crotch, but at least I went looking for this. Check the chat: BaneGalder up there just stumbled in, webweary and exhausted, only to find a big-tittied toddler dragon eating spicy foods and making sex noises. With all the resignation of a soldier returning from the front, he asks: “This some kind of self torture stream?”

Here’s the debut of a worryingly young-looking were-shark girl. She’s filling out her application so otaku can know her biggest fear as they jerk off later.

Check that chatlog again: Brezima just turned left instead of right and now they’re in an alternate universe they can almost recognize but never comprehend. “What uis this and why was i recomended it” they cry, but in this universe everybody speaks pig, and the only answers they get are squeals.

Fuckin’ Diablo down there even has an anime avatar:

And he is still utterly befuddled by the many confusing layers of abstraction surrounding this pornography. Because — stay with me – we’ll get to the pornography! The tamer stuff is just to get you attached. Because once you’re in a chatroom with your favorite 7th grade cartoon were-dog and a credit card, they know you’re…

That’s when they drop some of the pretense and get right to the sex stuff. Here’s where those ‘language lesson’ videos invariably wind up:

And thanks to the freedom of this embarrassing cyberpunk fetish, they can do some real weird shit:

Those two actresses switched digital avatars, then had to watch their own bodies do things as another girl piloted them. It’s like the Freaky Friday fetish you never knew you had until right now:

Yeah, check this out: 

The owner of that body is just standing in the corner, looking away, trying to reconcile themselves with this disturbing new world of lost autonomy — that’s part of it. That is part of it. That’s like booping the clown nose in normal porn; it’s just not complete until you hear the honk.

Remember: There’s no nudity allowed on YouTube, so a lot of these wankstreams are kind of tame. I’m not exactly a prude (I don’t mean to brag, but you need to go at least three nested subcategories deep to find my jams on Pornhub) so these PG-13 ‘sexual situations’ do not offend me. I only bring it up to prove that yes, this is absolutely a sex thing. It’s not a fine line these girls are walking:

That schoolgirl who was so concerned that somebody else was piloting her body? Here she is hanging out with the dragon-child:

That is exactly what it looks like. Schoolgirl made a rookie mistake and mentioned how fun it looks to have a tail. Anybody who’s stumbled drunk into the wrong Sea-Tac hotel and then tried to use the bathroom only to find it was the last night of Yiffycon and they’d just crossed the DMZ ropes could have told you that — but they won’t. They won’t ever speak of it.

We don’t cut away or anything — these two mime the entire insertion process, as the schoolgirl struggles and cries out:

This is all on YouTube. I’m sure this particular video is flagged so it doesn’t get recommended to random children looking for cartoons, because I’m a naive optimist. But that’s why they have those wholesome skits for the kids to enjoy! Nothing wrong with the algorithm plugging those. Then the kids can follow those same characters into a livestream for the other kind of plugging.

Please remember that these girls are actually alone in an empty room somewhere, hundreds if not thousands of miles apart, each miming half of a sex act so their digital avatars will look like they’re stuffing things in one other’s asses. 

This is what I mean when I say fucking has gone mad.

Needless to say, this is all way more popular than you think — every video in the hundreds of thousands of views, many in the millions — and more profitable than you could ever guess. What does a normal camgirl call a good night’s work? A few thousand bucks? And that’s for showing her actual body. 

Here’s one of the lesser known sexy anime puppets making $12,000 dollars in about twenty minutes.

To be fair, that doesn’t happen every stream. And not all of what they do is open for donations. I’m sure the agency takes an unhealthy cut. I’m not going to extrapolate out how much they make a year doing this, and say it’s too much. That’s not my business. But I will say: You can hold a full-time job in the US today and barely clear 12k in a year. 

If you’d found me at 23, working graveyard at a gas station, and told me I could make a year’s pay in twenty minutes by doing an anime girl voice while I work a cartoon puppet, I would have invested my first week’s pay in Mime College just so that my dragontail buttplug insertion would be utterly flawless.

It’s not all fun and ass-games for the girls, though. These talent agencies operate on J-POP band rules with a corporate culture somewhere between Wal-Mart and Scientology. Step out of line even a little bit and you’ll get ‘graduated’ — what they call dismissal.

That post above is written so that her departure seems voluntary. The fan wiki doesn’t seem to agree:

And holy shit — their ‘retirement’ page is downright ominous:

I read through all of those, and I didn’t see a single mention of one dying or disappearing from unknown causes. But you know what they say about warning labels, right? Everytime you see ‘don’t eat the silica packet’ it’s because one time, somebody did that. 

This entire world is separated from ours by so many impenetrable walls of sheer nerdery that you can stumble into a mass masturbation session where thousands of real dollars are just flying across the screen and you would have no idea what you’re looking at. “Some video game thing,” you’d assume, and then go back to knitting sweaters on a boat or whatever it is normal people do. And every single inch of it is designed as a slippery slope to get young people to click on a funny cartoon right before their whole life takes a waterslide straight into a dragon’s vagina. 

I want to be clear that I feel for the girls involved in this. I hope one day they get sick of the mysterious disappearances and unsolved murders that apparently plague the anime sex puppet industry, and finally get a chance to unionize. We will stand by them. 

This article is brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme, Dr. Awkward: the 5th dentist when they say “4 out of 5 dentists recommend Crest.”

Categories
FUCKING DAY PODCASTING DAY

Podcasting: Godek’ing with April O’Neil 🌭

In man’s quest to get his dong into things, he has tried an infinite number of options. A romance “expert” named Gregory JP Godek made it his quest to list them all then spent decades boiling it down to one– fuck on pizza. On today’s Dogg Zzone 9000 Podcast, we’re joined by adult film star April O’Neil to discuss the hilarious tragedy of Godek’s career.

Hear how Godek went from best-selling author and love guru in the early ’90s to nothing else despite three desperate, embarrassing attempts!

Witness him take ideas from 1001 Ways to Be Romantic and repackage them in different books for 30 years in increasingly less successful ways!

Listen to Seanbaby explain, in exhausting detail, why it’s okay to hate this pitiful naked man who makes his wife’s birthdays special by letting her pick the toppings on their sex pizza.

Hear Brockway and April compete for Seanbaby’s love in the hottest, most romantic Seanbaby’s Book Game the Dogg Zzone 9000 has ever seen!

After your throbbing settles, no wait -during the throbbing- be sure to subscribe, leave a review, or do whatever else helps our podcast which condensed the life of one of literature’s worst monsters into one hour of pizza fucking jokes. Seanbaby wrote 42 pages of notes for it, which is nearly the amount of work Godek puts into getting the bra off his cheese-filled wife, and over 9000 times the amount of work he puts into writing one of his bullshit advice books.