Nut hugging is not socially acceptable by anyone, and the sooner people realize this the less traffic accidents we have in the summer. If you’re walking down the sidewalk or side of the road with two giant plums bursting at the seam of your speedo, you can pretty much guarantee that every driver coming passed you is going to have their eyes glued on your crotch, miss a stop sign, and fatally kill dozens of people in the process.

Now, don’t be fooled into believing that this should be taken as some form of compliment. It’s not. Nut Huggers are absolutely grotesque, and so are you for wearing them. It’s not the same as when a woman with giant tits or an incredibly nice ass walks down the street and causes a traffic accident. That happens because she’s hot, and horny guys driving to work in the morning can’t keep their eyes on the road, or the semi from protruding from their pants long after they arrive at the office. In these cases, the woman isn’t at fault, and not a single police officer would dare suggest to the public that women should stop dressing this way in order to prevent car crashes.

But when you let your boys bounce around in public and drivers look at you, it’s not because they’re viewing something that they enjoy. It’s a bit like seeing a dead body on the side of the road as it gets put into an ambulance after you’ve just driven by an accident; you don’t want to see it, but you can’t help but stare at it as you drive past. It’s like our eyes are little masochists that love the pain and anguish they get from staring at such horrific scenes. That, my friends, is nut huggers in a nutshell. Please help spread the word so more lives can be saved.

1. When our math teacher decided to wear nut huggers to school, my friend and I took bets on who could hit his right testicle with a spit ball first. We may have been expelled, but I won 50 bucks before he had even finished taking attendance.

2. There is a simple rule of thumb men should follow to make sure they don’t wear nut huggers. If they had to be tucked, the shorts should be chucked.

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Arabian Goggles                   

Balls

There are women out there who can have NSA sex. These are usually career-oriented and career-driven women who don’t necessarily have the time or the energy for a full time relationship or a commitment, but obviously need and want regular sex in their lives. These types of women are used to compartmentalizing and are able to see the sex as a way to gain pleasure in their lives, to have human comfort and contact, and to have excitement without carrying around the baggage that so often comes with relationships.

If you can have NSA sex successfully your life will basically be perfect. If you can find someone, a friend perhaps or an ex that you REALLY don’t want to get back together with (so you can hopefully guarantee that no unwanted nostalgic feelings of love or longing will resurface), and start meeting up semi-regularly, say once a week or once every couple of weeks, then you get to have your stress release, your companionship, your sexual gratification, and your hot body validated and you don’t have to worry about maintaining any of the emotional or physical demands of a relationship. In fact, life feels kind of easy and simple from this vantage point. The only reason why not everyone is living life like this is because people start forming attachments. We need to get more Buddhist about our sex lives. We need to separate sex from neediness. We’ve got to get back to the primal part of us that desires sex for pleasure and not as some kind of sign of love. Not that we should fuck people we don’t like, and not that we should necessarily fuck people we don’t love. Love doesn’t have to be the thing that fucks it up. It’s dependence on that person. It’s relying on them to complete us. It’s demanding that they commit to us and we commit to them that it the suffocating part.

So go and get busy, NSA style!

1. This whole no strings attached thing is awesome. I’m fucking six chicks. Only two of them are really good at blowing me. What if I was only fucking one of the chicks that sucked (and not the good way) at blowjobs? I will never string myself with another human again.

2. I love NSA sex. I can fuck a guy and then eat an entire pizza in front of him and not care if he thinks it’s weird.

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Fuck Buddy

One Night Stand

Our culture is super obsessed with nipples and we should be. They are mad hot. The great thing about nipples is that they give us something to really grab when we are fucking our lovers. Sure you can grab and squeeze the tits and you should, but while you’re doing that you can always give the nipples a good tweak. Plus there are all kinds of fun ways you can ramp up the play with them by using nipple clamps or biting them or spanking them.

While most pairs of nipples are just about the sexiest things on earth, there are some sets of nipples that are just ghastly. I’m thinking of the nipples that are giant and round and super droopy, that practically pull the tits down to the woman’s waist. Perky nipples are hot, droopy soggy massive nipples with tiny breast are creepy and kind of disgusting. Like, it’s not your fault if that’s what you’ve got and you should still totally flaunt that shit, but you might want to look into surgery. Sidebar: your nipples should never be the same size as your tits. As soon as you move into the territory of tiny tit and huge nipple, your sex life is a little bit doomed. You might want to get it on in the dark or make sure he’s fucking you from behind so he never really gets a good look at them. Sure he’ll be able to feel their weird pointy-ness, but you won’t have to worry about his horrified expression when he sees that your tits are saggy triangles. I’ve seen those kind of saggy nipples on dogs before and they aren’t pretty. They’re like cow udders.

1. My wife’s nipples are so perky I’ve tried hanging my coat on them and it’s totally stayed up!

2. My nipples have been sore ever since I started breastfeeding. And between my baby and my husband they’re probably never going to get any relief. I need a break from the nipple clamps.

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Eraser Nipples

Nipple Torture

Ninja Sex refers to that extremely stealthy sex that usually occurs in parent’s basements, slumber parties, dorm rooms, and airplane washrooms. It’s that sex that is absolutely noiseless, and undetectable to the other people in the room who happen to be sleeping or sitting nearby out of view. This sex is extremely rare, and very difficult to pull off, but true sex ninjas have that incredible ability to fuck each other without making a single squeak of the mattress or squeal of the mouth. In fact, even their orgasms are completely silent; just a sudden dampness, an inaudible relaxation of tense muscles, and then nothing.

Ninja Sex is most common in college dorm rooms, where horny teenagers and early 20-somethings are forced to live and sleep in the same room as someone else, even though that room is only twice the size of the average washroom. Quite often, one roommate will wait for the other roommate to fall asleep, and then they will text their girlfriend or boyfriend to come over. They’ll not only sneak through security without being detected, but they’ll also manage to open the door, climb under the covers, and fuck like horny rabbits until they bust a nut, all without the slightest stir from the roommate in slumber. If you’re ever lucky enough to catch some of that on a hidden camera, it’s quite an incredible sight. It’s almost like watching two hummingbirds doing it; they’re bodies are moving so fast and frantically, yet they are completely silent and you have to strain your eyes just to make sure you’re actually seeing them.

Another common location for ninja sex is in parents’ basements, on those old dirty couches that they’ve had since the 70’s. Usually, the parents finally get tired enough to head off to bed and leave the two teenagers unsupervised, and then it’s time to get it on. They unload their sexually starved bodies all over that couch without even the slightest whimper, which is especially impressive considering they’re usually in high school and every orgasm is like a shot of pure heroin.

A similar type of ninja sex occurs on summer camping trips, especially ones with family. On these trips, after everyone has fallen asleep, two ninja fuckers will end up having silent, hummingbird sex in one of the tents. The only benefit to ninja sex on camping trips is that if you do slip up and make a sound, you can easily get drowned out by the wind in the trees and the various animals making noises in the night.

1. Ninja sex is a little boring if you ask me. I can’t really come unless a girl starts screaming and swearing at me like I’m a piece of dirt.

2. One time my friend tried to have ninja sex with his girlfriend while I was a sleep on the floor next to the bed. He didn’t know, but I was actually awake. I just wanted to see his hot ass girlfriend naked.

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Acousticophile

Anonymous Sex

In a Blind date, you’ve never seen the person before, either in person or in photographic form. All you’ve got to go on is that one of your friends claims the unknown individual is “really nice” and a “perfect match” and that you two would have a “lot in common.” First of all, those are code words for ugly, pathetic, and desperate, but we all know that, which is why people haven’t gone on blind dates since the 1950’s.

Nearsighted Dates, however, are all the rage now. In this case, you’ve at least seen a few photographs of the person, because either your friend has shown them to you or you’ve been chatting with the person yourself online and they’ve sent you several photographs, which they claim are “very recent” (another code word for: different person, or before the weight gain).  Perhaps you’re even friends on facebook now and you’ve checked out every single one of her profile photos and in every one of them she looked really hot. Well, I’ve got news for you. Those photos are handpicked, cropped, digitally enhanced, or completely fabricated.

Of course, you never realize this until you finally agree to meet in person. You walk into the restaurant or bar, and start scoping out the place trying to find your dream girl from the photograph. You see a slim blonde with big tits sitting at the bar alone, but once you get there she brushes you off. Not her. So you move on to a table near the back, sure its her this time because she’s smiling and waving you over. Turns out, its not her either and she just thought by your terrible fashion sense that you were one of the waiters and she wanted to order a drink. You even stand near the washroom for a while, scouring the line up of women waiting to use it to see if you find your beauty queen.

Finally, you give up and figure that you beat her here and she’s running late. You sit down at a table facing the door, order yourself a drink, and wait. Before long, you’re leaping out of your chair, spilling your drink all of yourself, and bolting towards the back fire exit as a 350 lb Ginger girl with a girl’s floor hockey t shirt on chases after you trying to flag you down and screaming, “Jason! Jason!  It’s me! Barbie! Sorry I’m late!”

So, how do you avoid ending up like poor Jason did? If you’re going to go on a near-sighted date, splurge for a $25.00 webcam from Walmart and ask the girl to download skype. If she’s got nothing to hide, she’ll already have thought of that herself. After all, you could be an Orcha Ginger too.

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Anonymous Sex                

Plain Jane

No Homo is an instinctively defensive comment that young men make when they accidentally bump into another male, perhaps grazing their leg with their hand or barely touching the leg of their jeans against the other guy’s butt. In reality, there’s nothing remotely gay about what happened, but because these types of men are extremely homophobic and insecure about their sexuality, they constantly feel the need to throw out “no homo” whenever there is contact with another male. In fact, UFC president Dana White says that he spends an average of ten thousand dollars a month paying video editors to bleep out the sounds of all the fighters muttering “no homo! No Homo!” every single time they end up grappling on the mat during a fight.

Unfortunately, there are even more insecure men out there who tend to overuse the phrase “no homo.” These particular men, usually teenage boys or college students, tend to throw that out there as a shield every time they want to do or say something that their peers might find “non-masculine.” Complimenting another guy on his shoes or new jacket, admitting that you cried after your girlfriend broke up with you, or telling your friend that you actually like Starbucks coffee, are all scenarios that would warrant a “no homo” heterosexual blocker thrown out there beforehand.

Now, it’s important to remember one thing. If you overuse the term, saying it any time you show any sort of emotion whatsoever, or indicate a friendship with another man openly, then it can have the opposite effect and make you completely suspect. Also, if you preface something that is clearly inappropriate with “no homo,” it doesn’t necessarily make it “no homo.” In fact, more often than not, it makes it absolutely “homo.” For example, if you say to your best friend at a sleepover, “Man, No Homo or anything, but if fall asleep I won’t wake up for ANYTHING. I mean it. I’m a really sound sleeper. Anything could happen, and I wouldn’t wake up or remember it,” then that in fact, is incredibly homo. Or, if you are having a drink with one of your Bros and he’s telling you the steamy details of some hot chick he banged, you probably shouldn’t reply with, “Dude, no Homo, but I’ll bet you can fuck like a rock star.” That, my friend, is anything but “No Homo.”

1. Every time my wrestling coach asks for a volunteer to demonstrate a new technique, he always starts off by saying “No Homo” before grappling with the guy. It’s starting to make me wonder why he always showers with us.

2. One time I went to a Gay bar with my girlfriend and accidentally used the term “No Homo” when I complimented a guy on his jacket. Needless to say, he didn’t believe me, and I’m not sure I did either.

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Actually, I just received a carrier-pigeon message from my research assistant, and she tells me that women have gonads too! Apparently the gonads in a woman are her ovaries, and the gonads in a man are his testicles. So there you go.

In fact, it’s your gonads that determine your gender while you’re in the womb. You’re floating there, a nebulous orb of goo, and your gonads say, “Hey – this kid is going to be…” Then they spin a bottle. If the bottle lands on “girl”, they start to add a vagina and sandwich-making skills to the DNA. If the bottle lands on “boy”, they start to add a penis and an intrinsic admiration for Indiana Jones.

Been that way for eons.

If you’re a man, you would use a gonad girdle (condom) to keep your gonad gravy (semen) out of your lady lovers. Otherwise, your gonad gravy could reach her gonad grabbers (ovaries) and you’ll end up with a baby. It’s a story as old as time.

Since we’re talking about the gonads, here’s a good self defense tip: if you’re being attacked, aim for the attacker’s nads, male or female. Since ladies have gonads too, I guess you can kick a woman in the nads, if your aim is true, and your feet are long enough. I know that when I get hit in my nads, even if it’s a glancing blow, I feel like shit for the next half hour or so.

I’ve only had a couple direct hits in my life, and I did not enjoy them. One time it was an accident. I was play-wrestling with my much younger girlfriend on the bed. I was tickling her fantastic nineteen year-old thighs when she suddenly and involuntarily kneed me in the gonads. Bull’s-eye. I went down like a sack of potatoes. She didn’t understand what had happened, so she pounced on top of me, and started tickling me in retaliation.

I couldn’t speak, so I couldn’t tell her to get the fuck off me while I recover from her accidental assault. Eventually she got the message when I curled up into the fetal position and didn’t move for the next half hour. She apologized profusely, so I forgave her, fucked her like crazy for the next three days, and then dumped her clumsy ass.

I don’t need that. My nads are my family jewels. Speaking of family jewels, whenever I see Sophie Simmons, my nads throb with respect.

1. Fred likes it when his wife massages his nads during fellatio.

2. Barney likes it when Fred’s wife massages his nads during fellatio too.

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You don’t have to be with someone else to go Number Three. Why, just last night I couldn’t fall asleep. I tossed and turned for around an hour when finally I got fed up. It was time for my tried-and-true sleeping pill: masturbation. I booted up some sweet Daisy Marie porn clips, and Number Threed all over myself. Five minutes and a couple of wet-naps later, I was sound asleep.

When I got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, I still had some energy left, so I booted up some awesome Dani Woodward clips and had a second Number Three. I think that my neighbors might have heard the clips because I was too busy with my hands to turn down the volume of her moaning as she was getting rammed. Hopefully they think I was with an actual woman, rather than watching porn.

Actually, what the hell do I care what they think? If they aren’t considerate enough to put their garbage out on garbage day, then fuck them. With respect.

Where was I? Oh yeah – number three.

Number three is my favorite number of all the numbers. Number one is great, don’t get me wrong. After ten beers or a long car ride, when you finally get to go number one, it’s glorious. And number two ain’t no slouch either. I’ve had some near-orgasmic number twos in my life. Number twos that have stretched out my “limitations” as a man, and left me understanding what it means to love. Yeah, that good.

But number three beats them all. My favorite number threes are the ones that are unexpectedly long and powerful. I usually cum at least once a day, either with a girlfriend, slut, or masturbation session, so when my orgasm is suddenly super strong, it catches me by surprise. All of a sudden I’m Peter North, shooting squirt after squirt of high-velocity man-milk again and again, long after I’d normally have already fallen asleep. It’s great.

I can’t say that the women or my computer screen (depending if I’m with someone else, or flying solo) appreciates it when I go Peter North on them. If it’s a woman, she usually gets it in the eye or up the nose, which is never welcome. And I’ve gone through more computer screens because of a short circuit problem due to a number three than I care to admit. Well, actually, I’m proud to admit it – there have been three of them.

Three is a magic number!

1. Jason’s Number Three tastes like pineapple.

2. Gus sprayed his Number Three deep inside his wife’s asshole.

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I used to feel bad for night walkers when I’d drive by. But one evening I was having a late-night burger at the local Harvey’s. They really do make a hamburger a beautiful thing. Anyway, I was sitting there eating my hamburger, and a prostitute comes in. She gets herself a coffee and sits down at the table beside me. She was a solid 7 out of 10, and I could see her nipples down her very revealing top. So, I said hello.

We started talking and she told me all about her life as a prostitute. I asked her how much she’d make on a good night. She said on a really good night she has made a thousand dollars. I told her that was a lot of money for one night, and she said, yeah, but that on a slow night she doesn’t make anything.

I asked her what sort of cut her pimp took. She told me that she didn’t have a pimp, so she got to keep all the money. I told her that must be pretty sweet, and she said it was, but that having a pimp has its advantages too. She told me that she always had to be extra cautious when she was with a new john, because she didn’t have a pimp to ensure her safety. She confided that she kept a knife in her purse in case of emergencies.

I asked her if she provided the “girlfriend experience” and the “pornstar experience”. She said she did, but that most guys just wanted the basic suck and fuck. I asked her if being a prostitute made her home sex life any different. She said that her boyfriend was understanding about her profession, and also understood that some days she just wasn’t into fucking. I told her that it was the same with my wife.

She finished her coffee and said goodnight to me. On her way past the outside of the restaurant, she smiled at me through the glass and pulled down her top, showing her fantastic big tits. She stuck her tongue out and made a funny face at me. I laughed and almost choked on my soda.

Nice woman. Point is, don’t judge night walkers. They’re people just like you and me.

People you can pay to piss on after you’ve fucked their assholes, but people nonetheless.

1. It’s awkward when I drive past a night walker with my kids in the backseat and they ask me why she’s wearing such a skimpy outfit when it’s so cold out.

2. Boris pays extra so the night walker will stomp on his balls.

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He was also the man who designed and helped to build Niffkin’s Bridge in Ireland. Niffkin’s Bridge connects Reardon and Cockney Hill, so a lot of people thought it was funny to say it connected “Rear and Cock”. Hence the connection to the taint on the human body, which connects the rear and cock. Kind of funny, actually.

“Jiffy” Niffkin got his nickname because he could always get to a battle in a jiffy when he was needed. In one particular battle with Napoleon’s forces in the Indian Ocean, his fleet was thought to be completely out of range to assist England’s struggling forces. Just before Napoleon’s fleet crushed the English, Niffkin showed up and turned the tide. To his credit, rather than destroying the French fleet, he accepted their surrender and invited them to dinner on his ship.

He brought a bunch of prostitutes and dancing women on board too, and they all had a fantastic party together. The French officers went back to Napoleon and told him all about Niffkin, who Napoleon referred to as “a true gentleman who knows the value of some bought pussy on a defeated soldier’s morale.” Rumor has it that Napoleon invited Niffkin to his castle during the war to have a threesome with Josephine, but Niffkin refused.

Niffkin was also thought to be named “Jiffy” because he was a premature ejaculator when he’d have sex with the many, many prostitutes he’d hire while he was out at sea. His wife, Lady Niffkin, never questioned her husband’s fidelity because she was back in England fucking every stable boy and gardener she could get her hands on. In fact, it was she that invented the deepthroat, although her decedents vehemently deny it.

Niffkin died as spectacularly as he lived. On his way back from Bermuda, his ship sailed into a terrible hurricane. Niffkin knew there was little hope that they would survive. He worried that the hurricane was God’s punishment for all the Bermudan pussy he had fucked during his time there. So, he climbed into a lifeboat and tried to lure the hurricane away from the rest of his crew. The hurricane ended up blowing itself out, and the crew was saved. Niffkin, unfortunately was never heard from again.

Some say he rowed back to Bermuda to get some more of that sweet tropical poony. The high concentration of premature ejaculators in Bermuda supports this theory.

1. I spread Sarah’s legs and started licking her asshole. I gave her Niffkin’s Bridge a hickey on my way to her pussy. By the time I hit her clit, she had already cum three times.

2. I’d make Scarlett Johansson get my name tattooed on her Niffkin’s Bridge if I was her husband.

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