Sex Detective vs Oprahland, Level Three (Mob Attack!)

After fucking Dr Laura into submission, then using a mirror-finish shield to deal with Jenny McCarthy like the gorgon she is, I reloaded my Hate-gun and ventured deeper into the Pit of Oprah, trying in vain to block out the wailing choir of souls that had already been harvested by the Dark Queen. 

Hate-gun, not to be confused with my much larger Love-gun.

Time was against me now, so I made haste, pausing only to lob a satchel of Irony Grenades into her Dungeon of Fad Diets and set fire to the Library of Bullshit Survival Stories.  Unfortunately her fiend-hounds caught my scent and just as I clambered up the Moral High Ground of Patronising Rhetoric I realised I was surrounded.  The demon beasts charged in from all directions, baying inspirational gibberish and motivational chants.  Like all demons they sought to plague me with doubt and deceit, eager to feast upon my soul.

Dr Oz Mehmet, resident heart surgeon, ready to tell you how to be healthy and live forever, even though he's a surgeon, and not a diagnotician or even a dietician.  Also promotes dodgy alternative crap.  But his biggest douchey magic power is to wear surgical scrubs on national television for no practical or relevant reason whatsoever.  You know how race car drivers don't wear their helmets and fire suits when interviewed?  The opposite of that.  It's like Oz is afraid people might forget what his day job is if he doesn't provide a constant visual cue.  He might be good with the heart stuff, but he's gonna need the world's greatest proctologist once the toe of my boot is finished with him.

 Deepak fucking Chopra, the resident... I dunno... sciencey sorcerer?  Keeps trying to transmute Eastern mysticism into Western science, as if quantum mechanics and meta-physics some how mean the same thing.  Has the psychic power to cause migraines within actual scientists whenever he bastardises their terminology for the sake of selling another book about spiritual molecules or whatever.  Believes that the mind creates and controls the brain, and tried to subdue me with an Incantation of Inner Peace.  I beat him to the draw, though, casting my own spell: a Summoning of Fist into his balls.  Transcend that, you guru fuck.

Dr Brian Weiss, uses Past Life Regression to make people overcome fears by taking them back to a former life.  Waving his hands around and convincing idiots that they used to be someone else never gets old.  Using the kind of imaginary time travel usually reserved for five year olds after a sugar binge, Brian can take you back to a purer, calmer version of yourself from olden times.  Of course he tried that shit on me, but unfortunately it turns out that in my past life I was a serial prison rapist with a vicious taste for ageing quacks.

This guy?  Seriously?  How many ex-pats do you know who moved to the US to enhance their celebrity status and who didn't turn into a giant douche?  Second tier Aussie personalities like Curtis Stone here always end up being used like novelty condoms by US networks.

Equally worthy of your attention is one of Curtis's apparently famous sandwiches that was entered into Oprah's first sandwich showdown.  If you're wondering how long a midday entertainment talk show has to run before 'vaguely bread-related sandwich competition' becomes your drawcard, the answer is 'twenty-four and a half years'.
Curtis came charging at me waving this monstrosity like a burning torch.  But this wasn't the first time someone had tried attacking me with what I can only presume to be a Mouldy Camel Semen Yiros.  Poor cunt was bleeding hommus by the time my punching arm got tired.

Every malefactorial monarch has a twisted, insane yet cringe-worthy court jester, and Oprah is no exception.  Tommy boy is pretty much her gimp, occasionally released from his cell to remind a horrified audience of the sanity rift between common folk and and famous brats.  Sure, he's a 7th Level Scientologist/13th Level Cleric or something in the space-ghost cult he belongs to, but in Oprahland he's prince of the freakshow.  Tom's greatest fear is psychiatry.  He seriously hates that stuff, which is a shame because mental health professionals love the bottomless material he provides them every time he opens his mouth.  Blowing a handful of crushed-up Prozac into his goofy, childish face was enough to send him screaming like the little Xenu-sucking bitch he is.

By this time I was knackered, covered in the blood, tears and seminal fluid of my enemies.  But the main event was still ahead of me.  From my vantage point I could see the entrance to the Queen's Cavern, a cave mouth the looked and smelled suspiciously like a giant, rocky menopausal vagina prepped for a geological pap smear.  I'm not very subtle when it comes to subtext, I'm afraid.  No matter, it was time to face the final challenge...

Sex Detective vs Oprahland, Level Two

I'm not going to kid around here, the she-beast I'm about to swing at is terrifying.  Somewhere, somehow, top military scientists working in a secret lab managed to weaponise self-righteous stupidity and injected into a little blond girl they had cloned for that express purpose.  Years later the host subject, having reached maturity, developed just enough self-awareness to realise that celebrity status trumps 'sexy bio-weapon'.  She promptly broke from her restraints, murdered the lab personnel with hate beams from her eyes, and escaped to Hollywood.

Eyes: the window to the soul, or a gateway to Hell.

The autism debacle
When I entered 'jenny mccarthy' into the searchie on Oprah's site I thought my monitor had started bleeding, but it turned to just be my eyeballs as they scanned down the extensive list of article links.  'Autism blah blah this,' 'Warrior Mother blah blah that'.  Look, it's sad that her son may have had a condition that falls within the Autism Spectrum Disorder.  And it's terrible that his diagnostic assessments were sparked by a serious grand mal seizure at two and a half.  But for her to then embark on a crusade against medical science, a crusade based on clearly and highly evidenced bullshit, doesn't really help her son much.  Yes, it's good to raise awarenes about ASD.  It's not so good to try convince folks that you know things about the condition that the entire medical community, support services and other families dealing with it don't.  And anyway, just like 20% of cases, her son's condition seems to be self-correcting. 

Jenny McCarthy, you are not a doctor, you are not a neuro-scientist, and you are not a geneticist.  Your self-proclaimed 'mommy instinct' super power, which enabled you to sense something was wrong with your poor son because he was clearly having a chronic fucking seizure right in front of you, is not a real thing.  It is merely an attempt by your grieving mind to reassert a sense of power over an uncontrollable circumstance.  His suffering and subsequent recovery is not even uncommon - like I said, one in five. 

By the way, I detect a distinct lack of autism/vaccination references in the topic search on Oprah's site now.  Mention is still made of her previous attacks against vaccination, but they are kept within emotional context for the time they occurred.  Funny, isn't it, how so many people were anti-vax for a while thanks to certain uninformed, arrogant fucks.  Then the H1N1 swine flu pandemic hit.  Oh, so now you're prepared to listen about innoculations are you?

Why I hate her for it
I'm a skeptic and social libertarian. This means I believe adults must account for their behaviour, even if it's only to their own conscience. It also means that extraordinary claims and judgements need proportionately extraordinary evidence to support them, not some raving lunatic screaming gibberish war cries at the very people trained to solve the problems you're blaming them for.

Now, if you're just a run-of-the-mill escaped psych patient standing on a street corner yelling to cars that the government is killing babies' brains with vaccinations, then chances are you won't cause any international panic. But when you're a celebrity, even a B-grade one in this case, your words have power, and that power requires at least a little responsibility. Scaring the world into thinking that vaccinations cause Autism not only sends an unfounded message, it promotes doubt and negligence. Earlier this year a baby in NSW died (in horrifying agony) from infant whooping cough because the local herd immunity failed in a community where other people were actively protesting the use of vaccinations. If you choose not to get your kids vaccinated that's your decision, but if they later suffer for it, or cause suffering to be spread to others who are too young to be vaccinated, then that's also your fault, you ignorant, selfish fuck. Millions of kids die each year due to not being vaccinated (as a result of shortages in medical support, knowledge or resources) against shit that can't usually touch rich countries like ours. Vaccination is a privilege, not a peril.

And I'm not saying this because I've been brainwashed by pharmaceutical companies or the AMA. There are three decisive facts that convinced me that Jenny's fundamental claim is bogus:

1. Hundreds of thousands of patients across the globe have participated in clinical testing that have subsequently shown no indication of vaccines being a causation for autism.

2. Thousands of diagnoses of autism have been made in which the sufferer had never received any vaccinations prior to assessment. Explain that, moron.

3. We don't really know exactly what genetic, neurological and environmental factors do cause this disorder yet. Not me, not the medical profession as a whole, and sure as hell not you, Jenny McCarthy. All we know is what doesn't cause it.

What I love (and by 'love' I mean 'loathe and despise') is how plastic this mediocre celebrity has made herself since joining Camp Oprah. First she declares war on vaccination, then as her son got better and the entire medical community started looking at Oprah with raised eyebrows, Jenny has actually back-peddled a fair bit on the issue. Instead she and the Queen of television have shifted popular focus to things like relationship advice since Jim Carrey decided to get the fuck out of McCarthy Town. This shift allows her to still mix in baffling idiocy like her 'Warrior Mother' stance and continuing stuff about her curing her boy.

Although a restricted diet and vitamin supplements worked well for Evan, Oprah says treatments like these may not be effective for other autistic children. "[It] may work for some, may not work for others," she says. "But that's what the warrior spirit is all about—trying, trying, trying."

Trying, trying, trying, eh? As opposed to fervently leaping to the first conclusion you could imagine, right, Jenny?  Even your hive queen knows you're crazy. But, my how much you've grown since your initial berserker rage against modern medicine. Or maybe your publicist gently persuaded you that maintaining your rants against the medical sector would inevitably fuck up your Oprah-based career path, what with commercialised medical authority playing an increasing role in the show now.

Hey, your new 'do looks like Farrah Fawcett's hair -

oh shit, it IS Farrah Fawcett's hair!

Relationship advice?
Oh dear god, woman!  At least most Oprah's other cohorts pretend to be qualified when dishing out 'how-to' dross about people intent on fingering each other.  Jenny is an actor, comedian, playboy centrefold and autism activist thingy.  She talks tough about being from the South-side of Chicago, but the reality is that her recent adult years have been spent in the artificial confines of show business.  Five years spent soul-mating Jim Carrey doesn't make you a dating expert, it only makes you an expert in dating Jim Carrey.

Reluctant to read anything this souless harridan had wrtitten herself, lest its embedded incantations flay my soul, I had to get get a taste of her dating expertise via video.  Here's the link, but be warned, it could turn out like that VHS experience in The Ring.

http://www.oprah.com/oprahshow/Jenny-McCarthys-Girlfriends-Guide-to-Dating-Video

Now, allow me to transcribe the initial, key part of that and respond accordingly.

Interviewer: What was your best date ever?

Jenny McCarthy: My best date?

Interviewer: Yeah...

Jenny McCarthy: Ever? [pause then sigh]  Have I ever had a date?

Sex Detective: Well I fucking hope so, lady, because you've just published an entire book on the subject.  The title of this very interview contains the words 'Guide' and 'Dating', prefaced by your name.  And now you're asking people around the room if you've actually had one?  If you're trying to be the comedian you claim, then your sense of humour has syphilis.  And if you honestly can't recall even having one real-life experience in the very topic in which you profess expertise, then you have repressed the memory due to your last date's spectacularly graphic suicide at the end of the night.

It didn't take me the entire 3 minutes and 39 seconds to reaffirm that Jenny is probably a cyborg still assimilating to human concepts such as spontaniety and fluid conversation.  Each question requires her processors to work overtime to formulate a coherent response.  At one point I think she says something about breaking a hippie's arm.  It's not until towards the end of the clip, when asked her ideal soundtrack for a romantic night, that McCarthy is comfortable enough in her chassis to reply by listing off whatever tracks happen to be on her iPhone at the time.

The thing is, people, there's a reason Oprah and Oprah-esque spin-offs get away with recycling crazy-assed former celebrities on their shows.  It's called program classification by category.  Just like WWE, if you get your production classed as 'entertainment' then you can pretend to be a sport or, in this case, an education to the audience all you want and not suffer direct liability.  And that's all Jenny's appearances are: entertainment, in the absolute broadest sense of the word.

Is it your relationship? No? Then fuck off.

There's a few things that'll fuck up a sex-based relationship - bad sex, no money and the most insidious of all, a third party.  It could be an individual, it could be a group of peers, it could be an entire family.  People can't fucking help themselves, they just love to butt in and meddle like hell.  Whether they're telling you how to parent your kids, or bad mouthing your partner, or just making insanely baseless judgement calls on the nature and condition of your relationship in general, the result is inevitably the same: it places that relationship under duress.  This is where rules and norms need to be established if you want to save yourself and the partner you love from some soapie style dramas.  Sure, we all have opinions on other people's lives, and we're chock full of personal prejudices as a result of our own stupid mistakes, but there have to be protocols, folks, and a little common damn courtesy.  So here's a few pointers for those who assume the right to criticize the relationships of others.

1. Only give your opinion if you are expressly asked for it
The odds of you knowing the full story and nature of someone else's relationship are highly unlikely.  You don't live with these people 24 hours a day, you're not privy to their darkest secrets or most intimate feelings.  You don't know their entire biography, their deepest fears and covert dreams.  If a friend or relation expresses hassles in their love life, they're looking to vent and use you as sounding board, which is only fair given all the times you whinged to them about shit.  If they ask your advice, give it, but know that it is only advice.  And that it is only yours.  Speak your piece then shut the fuck up.  In this capacity you are a consultant, not a bodyguard.  Your pissy friend or relation is an adult, which means it's up to them to find the balls to help themselves.  The best you can do for them is lead by example, not talk endless trash the scutter back to the shadows like a cockroach.  So, only help those who ask for help, leave the rest alone.

2.  Your opinions are a projection of yourself
I don't know if anyone else has noticed this, but happy people seem less likely to rag on others.  That's because they're too busy being happy, making money, having amazing sex and not letting others meddle in their shit.  Unhappy people, especially those who have failed miserably in the relationship department by getting stuck in a shit-boring sham of a marriage, or constantly dating losers, are far more likely to start flinging crap at others.  They live to spread their cynicism, doubts and conspiracies because, well, they don't know how to make their own lives work properly.  Just because you don't have the guts to find and fight for love, don't try pulling others down into your masturbatory self-loathing.  Projecting self-pity just tells me that you deserve to be alone, preferably in a basement full of rape-beetles.  And if that sounds cruel, it's nothing compared to the cruelty of trying to molest or sabotage another adult's romantic life.

3. Allow people to make their own mistakes in love
People fuck up all the time, but as functional adult human beings we reserve the right to do so.  See, many folks hate this rule, especially parents (regardless of how old their offspring is).  They're hard-wired to want their kids to be happy, but here's the conditional clause: only if it fits in with their version of happiness.  Your parents are always going to try to tell you how to live your life - and, sure, they often have worthy knowledge to impart - but they don't actually get a vote when it comes down to who you fuck or marry.  Not in a free, democratic, Western society anyway.  If they did you might as well bring back arranged marriages, feudal serfdom and child slavery.  No, the only people who get to decide on a serious relationship are the couple who have to directly live with that choice.

Vicarious co-dependence is a bad habit that some families can't seem to shake.  Sometimes an intervention is required.  Sometimes couples have to elope instead.  I know that not having your family on your side when you hook up with the partner of your dreams can be a hassle, but choosing to be a slave to their controlling whims means that you're simply not mature enough yet - regardless of age - to have a successful relationship anyway.  Remember that these are the same parents who chose your horrible clothing and gave you bowl haircuts when you were 3.  You love them dearly, but do you really want them ruling your love life too?  Because, trust me, their taste hasn't improved much.

4. Stop insulting those you care about
When you start pissing in someone's ear about their ridiculous choice in partner, or belittling their relationship, the only thing you're really saying to them is "you are too retarded to make worthy decisions".  You are directly insulting your friend or relation, their beloved and their ability to function.  It is discourteous, and worse, disrespectful.  If you don't like your mate's missus, then tell that to his missus.  With him present.  Sure, you're probably going to lose a friendship and a few teeth, but it is the only circumstance in which you can justify expressing your heart-felt protest without being a coward.  Otherwise, swallow your bile and get back to being his mate.

Oh, and if your thinly veiled motivation to 'watch out for your friend' is actually based on your own wankful, sordid desires then you're either a Lurker or a Murker, in which case you need to be put down anyway.

My duties to those I love when it comes to their relationship choices are very clear: a) to be there for them if things go to hell, and b) to kick the everliving shit out of actively dissuade anyone who does decide to meddle in their affairs.  And I take my duties very seriously.

The flip side
This sentiment goes both ways, of course.  If you're in a relationship and you ask my advice as a true friend, only accept it on the grounds that it is only my advice.  Also, I don't particularly give a shit who your partner is.  Not deep down.  Chances are the only reason they came into my life was because you've been fucking them on a regular, exclusive basis.  Stay with them and work it out, or have a divorce/break up, it won't really matter to me either way.  If you're talking to me it's because I'm your friend, not theirs.  I'm only ever on their side if you're on their side too.  That's how loyalty works - fighting for those you respect even when they fuck up.  Especially when they fuck up.

And if you ask me straight out what I think of your partner then I will tell you that they seem okay, regardless of any opinion I may personally harbour.  Yes, that's right, I will lie to you if it means supporting your choice, because I don't like to think that you're weak enough to need my permission to do anything in your life.  Hell, it's not like I actually know what's-her/his-face anyway.

Sex Detective vs Oprahland, Level One

One of my more popular posts a while back was a two-parter dealing with the plastic insanity that is Dr Phil McGraw, but as formidable as he was, Phil-baby was only one man.  Oprah Winfrey is a fucking empire in human form, a walking corporation, a were-company if you will.  Visiting her cybernetic home base is like attacking a main boss lair - there's so many minions to get through first, each with uniquely evil and bizarre powers.  I'm a Sex Detective, so my speciality is a form of sex-kung-fu that targets sex advice and relationship bullshit.  All that other shite about solar-powered self-esteem generators and orphan makeovers I'll leave to the Hippie/Cosmetic Detectives, thank you very much.  As it is, in my field of war, there's more than enough to battle.

Versus the Dr Laura Sexbot

Meet Dr Laura Berman.  She's a radio talkshow host and Oprah regular who loves to talk all dirty and sexy about how to improve your bedroom performance.  You know, optimal angles of penetration, how to write your name on that special someone's face with semen, that sort of thing.  Or so I hoped.  Turns out that the sauciest tips she can provide are three thousand ways to be nice to whoever it is you happen to be shagging.  Yawn.  We already know how to be nice, Berman, it's being Naaasty that we want to perfect.

Still, Dr Laura acknowledges that maybe there's more to sex that being a cum-dumpster, and she educates us like any other sexy, domineering school mistress - by using... homework?

Yep, for each of 83 weeks she sets you sex homework.  That a bit over a year and a half of relatively lame assigments with which to bore your partner into domestic submission.  Let's look at a typical assignment, shall we?

Week 54: Stop Being Critical

Are you guilty of judging others? Be honest. Can you admit to being judgmental? It can be difficult to make it from one day to the next without passing judgment on anyone else—your partner, your friends, your co-workers, your neighbors—even people you don't know. But try.



Embrace the fact that you don't know as much as you think you do about someone else's life. Stop judging—even for just one day this week. No judgment!

So, your advice on how to stop nagging is to... try to nag less?  Seems a little pedestrian to me.  Maybe it's code!  Try substituting any word in the above advice containing the word 'judge' with an actual sex problem.  Like so...

Are you guilty of compulsively masturbating others? Be honest. Can you admit to compulsive masturbation? It can be difficult to make it from one day to the next without compulsvively masturbating on anyone else—your partner, your friends, your co-workers, your neighbors—even people you don't know. But try.


Embrace the fact that you don't know as much as you think you do about someone else's life. Stop compulsively masturbating—even for just one day this week. No wanking!

See, that makes much more sense.

So far so boring, right?  Wrong, because I had a look at some other parts of Laura's webpages and came across a brand new level of sex advice insanity: the Assess Your Sex Life section.

Dr Laura shows off various lubes and vibrators to her Queen, but Oprah, lacking Earthling genitalia, seems confused
and bored by this tribute.

According to Dr Berman there's 5 steps to increasing your root-ranking in the bedroom.  I'm not going to address all five (I mean, Jesus, step 4 is 'See A Doctor' for fuck's sake), but I have to mention Step Two: Ask For What You Want Foreplay Map. And it's not even an anology, it's an actual map!

So go ahead, people, download the PDF diagrams and start labelling in numerical order which parts of your body you want your partner to put their tongue/finger/dick in.  This is worse than the time I tried marketing a Rape by Numbers boardgame.  Congratulations, Laura, you've managed to turn an act of spontaneous lust into a dot-to-dot puzzle book.  I've felt more aroused by opening an Ikea flatpack manual.
Oh, and fellas?  Make sure she's in the mood before handing her the form, otherwise it just becomes a prioritisation list for stab wounds.



Lastly, I jumped across from Dr Laura's kindergarten sex instruction chapter to the staple diet of all self-proclaimed experts (including myself): Q & A shit.  Here Dr Laura reassures her customers with all manner of platitudes.  I've summarised a prime example just below, taking the liberty to translate it into our native tongue.

Q: Is my vulva meant to look like theatre curtains made out of pressed beef?

A: Of course, most female genitalia is supposed to resemble an unmasked Predator.  Don't believe me?  Watch this 3 hour tape of me deboning a leg of ham for Christmas.
It's important to normalise the vast spectrum of sex-related hassles out there.  Otherwise women won't learn how to stop their labia majora from chafing their knees while jogging, and men will make rushed mistakes when numbering the 'Back' part of their sex maps.  But when your Q & A page lists questions like "My wife just past away, is it too soon to get physical?" then I'm honour-bound by the Laws of Baseline Internet Humour to respond with a necrophilia reference.  To wit: "You should probably get a doctor to declare it first, but don't wait until she's too cold."

And the issue isn't even about normalising this shit, it's about how we do that. 

Arbitrary directives concerning the sex education of offspring that state: "Make it totally normal for them to touch themselves..." send very weird messages.  Do you withold allowances until your kid masturbates properly?  Should you have a chart in your kitchen with a packet of gold stars?  I think kids are meant to feel embarrassed and confused about puberty, otherwise they might think that 'normal' means 'material for show n' tell tomorrow at school'.  If I, as a teen, came home from school one day and mum said, "Your father and I wish to talk to you about masturbation as a family," the only two key words I'd hear were 'masturbation' and 'family', leaving me no choice but to fake their suicides before chopping my own dick off so that my new foster family would avoid that very subject.

NEXT TIME IN OPRAHLAND: From sex to romance, SD battles Oprah's stable of love demons...

Sex Detective's Guide to Breaking Up, part one

Nothing lasts forever, including how you feel about the love of your life.  If you're lucky the pair of you survived the lusty attraction phase to bond on a more organic level and resigned yourselves to the fact that no one else is going to put up with you.  However, for each happily settled, long-term relationship there are many, many failures.  The reasons for these are as unique as the relationship itself in every case, but the baseline result is that you no longer feel the same way you used to about your partner.

There's nothing particularly rational about emotionally co-dependent, sex-based relationships.  No one (who isn't a sociopath) decides one day to suddenly feel 'that spark' when they connect romantically with another person.  There's a whole lot of subconscious, biological shit going on to do with oxytocin, dopamine receptors, pyscho-visual cross-referencing and invisibly stinky pheromones when you start crushing.  All that stuff culminates, hopefully, in you falling in love then boning each other senseless for a few months.  But those chemical highs are a short-term buzz, there to encourage you to spend an obscene amount of time together so that when it wears off you're already addicted to each other.  And it's just as well that euphoria slackens off, otherwise, as a species, we would be too busy making babies to look after babies.

But like I said, long-term love isn't always the outcome, and one day you may just wake up feeling decidedly rational about something as irrational as a romantic relationship, and start thinking that your partner isn't someone you want in your life forever.  If that's the case then your creepy, neighbourhod Sex Detective has a few factors for you to keep in mind as you psych yourself up to end things with them once and for all.

 Not a big fan of the C-word?  That's okay, I forgive you.

1. Thou shalt be a cunt
Surprisingly, very few people feel all that good about breaking someone else's heart.  Not regarding the decision itself - they're fine with that bit - but the process involved.  I get bizarre questions from otherwise smart adults like, "I want to dump her but how do I do that without looking like an asshole?" 

The first thing you must accept if you choose to dump someone is that you will look like an asshole when you deliver the news.  No exceptions.  Ever.  It doesn't matter how well reasoned you think your justification is, the other party will feel that you just wronged them.  If you consciously try to look less like an asshole in the process you will just end up coming across as a weasly, patronising asshole.  Which is even worse.  You must accept the fact that as far as the dumpee, their friends and their family are concerned, you suck balls.

And don't for a second think you've escaped this bitterness "because they seemed cool with it when I ran it past them" bullshit.  The only reason they played it cool was to try to save face, idiot, not to spontaneously agree that they aren't good enough for you. 

Embrace being the cunt, though, instead of fighting it.  It will actualy be your best tool later on.

2. Thou shalt be cruel
Another even more baffling question I've heard is, "How do I break up without hurting her feelings?"

The same way you break an egg without cracking the shell, moron.  Impossible. 

Most Earth-humans with even a shred of self-esteem feel hurt when they get rejected.  When you dump someone you take that one step further by rejecting someone you already previously accepted.  So it's kinda like rejection squared to the power of dump.  Compare punching someone in the face with punching them in the balls.  One is worse than the other, right?  Well, dumping someone who's actually in love with you is more like grabbing the back of their head and using that to punch their own balls.

Listen, if you are too afraid of hurting your partner's feelings then you probably don't have much reason for being in a serious relationship in the first place.  Feelings get bruised all the time between people who share a close, intimate relationship, often unintentionally.  And even if you were somehow able to miraculously dump someone without hurting their feels then either they're a sex robot or you haven't really broken up with them at all.

"Sex Robot, we need to talk..." 

3. Thou shaly be a cruel cunt 
One fantastically sinister thing about us humans is that most of our emotion-based decisions occur subconsciously a few moments before we consciously think of them.  All our conscious mind does in these scenarios is seek mental justifications for that decision after the fact.  Intellectually and technically we're the masters of the biological hierarchy, but emotionally we're still reactive mammals.  IQ just let's us come up with fancier excuses for our moody actions.

The point I'm reaching for is that your decision to end a relationship has probably been brewing for a while, and that only a lazy habit cycle and the other person's expectations have barred you from giving it serious and full consideration before.  But now your mind is made up.  No negotiation, no counselling, just you serving a subpoena to Dump Court.  Well, if that's how you feel then that's okay.  And as I've said, there's no nice way this shit is going to go down.  So if you can't do it nicely, make fucking sure you do it effectively.  Now is not the time for doubt or ambiguity.  If it was you'd be looking for the means of resolution, not dissolution.

Firstly, you have to be prepared to feel extremely uncomfortable.  Your soon-to-be-ex is going to run either hot - screaming tears and shitfits - or cold - numb surrender, possibly masked by babbling always fake agreeance.  You know it's not real agreeance because if it was they would have dumped your ass first, dickhead.

4. Thou shalt be a cruel, crystal clear and concise cunt
If you just hung up the phone or arrived back home thinking "Shit, that went well," then you've obviously just failed at breaking up.  People who are in love with you have their own 'irrational justification machine' in their head.  It's called false hope, and unless you stated your case very clearly to them they will just think you're not being serious.   Also, if you use pussy terms like "I need my own space" instead of real imperatives like "I want you the fuck out of my life, you soul draining mouth-breather", they will just think that all this is a hiatus until you 'find yourself' or similar hippie bullshit.

45 reasons?  More like '1 reason' repeated 44 times.

That being said, breaking up is the one time you must rely on emotional arguments instead of logical ones.  The moment you start listing technical faults with the relationship ("I don't like the way you talk about my cat," "Your eating habits turn my stomach," or "Your constant fisting of my sister really grates me.") you open up apologetic debate, with your target now promising to clean up their act and stop wearing their Sister Fister T-shirt.  Those sorts of discussions can go on for hours while the dumpee deconstructs the relational history to scavenge verbal ammo and launch counter-attacks.  In other words, they will try to coerce this confrontation into 'just another fight' that all couples have.

But the truth is that the moment you walked through that door or made that call you were no longer a couple.

Do you know what the one thing is that your redundant partner can't argue with?  How you feel.  There's a strange, intrinsic vs extrinsic emotional dichotomy in us that goes something like this: only I can make myself happy, no one else; however, other people can quite readily make me feel unhappy.  As an example, see that look on your ex's face just as you dumped her?  That's you making her feel unhappy.  And that sense of overwhelming relief coursing through your brain now that you've ended things?  That's you making yourself happy, even if you had to be cruel to get there.

So, just keep it simple and full of statements.  "I am breaking up with you," is always a good start, as is "This relationship between you and me?  Over."  In response to the next inevitable question ("Why, dear god, why?") reply with "Becuase I no longer love/care about/trust/even remotely tolerate you."  "Because the mere sight of you makes me vomit," is also effective, but be prepared to back it up with actual puking.  Nobody can argue with optical-reactive vomiting.

Then there's the nuclear armageddon reason, the one that maximises both harm and effctiveness: "I've fallen in love with somebody else."  Hell, I've deployed that statement before even though it was untrue, simply because I know it works.  I've even had the bruises to prove it.

Don't be afraid to repeat and reinforce your intent either.  Some dumpees will strive to wear you down into a state where retracting your decision seems easier than executing it.  Don't bitch out.  It won't change how you feel, and unless you think pity is a solid foundation for a loving relationship, things are still doomed.

Visual aids also help to get the message across.  Expedite the

process by slapping this sticker on his/her car window or front

door. 

The Aftermath

Dennis Leary said it best when asked how he made his marriage work for so long with his wife: "We stay the fuck away from each other."  The only exceptions to this rule involved eating and sleeping together.  When you break up with someobe you simply subtract those two activities as well.  But there will always be circumstances where you and the dumpee have made that particular advice difficult.  In fact, there are 4 levels of relational intensity that make going your separate ways increasingly difficult:

1. Boyfriend/Girlfriend
The nature of your relationship was pretty much the same as one in highschool: you sleep together and do things together but you don't live together.  Breaking up with someone under these circumstances is by far the easiest because you have geography on your side.  Oh, and as a tip, if they have anything of yours at the time of break-up, things that you really want to get back, then you're a moron.  Either let them keep (read: destroy) whatever it is or reclaim it surreptiously before you drop the bomb.

2. Housemate couple
You live togther, sharing the rent on a place.  Inconvenient when it comes to Operation: Dump, but still not very arduous in terms of process. Obviously one of you needs to move out.  Pronto.  If you're the dumper then you've already made preliminary plans to either buy out their half of the bond or to sacrifice your half if needs be.  Also be sure to protect your stuff.  Even the most reasonable, logical person can become a seething glob of hate-filled pus and bile when rejected by someone who previously claimed to love them.  There is no such thing as maturity of emotion when dumped, only maturity of behaviour, and that can fluctuate like hell.

3. De-facto/Married couple
So, you've married the boy/girl of your dreams, but they turned out to be a nightmare because the marriage occurred in your 20's when you still clung to ideals and delusions of eternal happiness instead of focusing on what you really wanted.  Your only option now is divorce, a wonderfully messy business that keeps so many lawyers in business. Also, in this country if you co-habit a place as a romantically involved couple for 3 or more years then guess what?  You (or they) can claim de-facto status, which means they can get up to half your collective shit.  That means that dumping them is going to get legal, in which case you have to consider just how much you're prepared to pay or lose to get out of their life.

4. With kids
Worst case scenario for dumping, at least in terms of aftermath.  If you share kids with someone you need to accept that the someone is going to be an ongoing part of your life, no matter how indirectly.  You'll be able to tell this by the way you constantly complain about them as you compete for your kids' affections.  Seriously, you really bitch and moan because your ex will always be around in spirit if not in person.  Also, your kids probably look a bit like them too, so have fun with that constant reminder.

But wait, I ain't done with this shit yet, check out part two...

Sex Detective vs Scientific Creationism

Meet Ken Ham, he's an ex-pat Aussie school teacher who probably got in trouble for setting biology tests with every answer being 'God did it'.  He moved to the USA, pioneered a biblical science site called Answers In Genesis, then opened the Kentucky Creation Museum.

Welcome, and prepare to step back in time...scientifically speaking.

I'v never visited the KCM, and their own site doesn't give much away picture wise, but plenty of amised tourists have kindly opted to share their experience visually by posting photos all over the web.  The sum result is an educational adventure where we learn how evolutionists got it all wrong, and how a grade school teacher explains that the Bible is actually a science book, unlike, you know, those big, confusing science books written by scientists.

The Seven C's
To fully understand the rationale behind Ken's version of, well, everything, you must first accept the premise that our planet - and the rest of the universe - is approximately 6 000 years old.  During this time several important things happened.  Seven in fact:

The seven alliterative epochs of history.

Creation = Zap! Instant world, Corruption = Disobedient woman eats fruit, Catastrophe = Flooding everywhere, Confusion = Jews doing lots of old timey things, Christ = Birth of the messiah, Cross = How Jesus felt when they nailed him to some wood, Consummation = Er, people consuming things, I guess.

See, nice and easy.

Sure, SD, but if the Earth is only 6 000 years old, how do they explain dinosaurs?

Hah!  Stupid evolutionist!  The KCM is all about explaining dinosaurs, heathen-fucker.  It even explains why multi-ton lizards weren't specifically mentioned in the Bible.

See, dinosaurs were around, just not important enough to name, got it?

Adam only had a few hours to name things, so he wasn't going to waste time on non-domesticated critters like dinosaurs and whatever the hell 'creeping things' are - probably bugs and rats and stuff.  Anyway, just know that dinosaurs not only existed at the same time as early humans but actually did so with them.

Look, it's Eve playing with Velociraptors, possibly 'hide and seek' or tag.

Okay, but Jurassic Park tells us that some dinosaurs aren't very friendly.

Idiots of damnation!  The Bible makes it perfectly clear that dinosaurs, like every other animal back then, were vegetarians because God didn't want anyone to die.  He's a real gentleman that way.

BAM! In your face, paleontology!



Green herbs were the universal diet for everything.  It might not be very exciting, but it certainly was "very good".

I see, but a lot of paleontologists have very different opinions to this, don't they?

Maybe, but I think this plaque should set you straight, retarded infidel.

Dinosaur stuff isn't as hard as science makes out - all you need is a few clues.

Well, then , if dinosaurs were around only a few thousand years ago how did they die out?

Isn't it fucking obvious?  The Great Flood!  Drowned the lot of them.  Even the ones... that, you know... lived... under water somehow.  Noah gathered together two of every animal (except dinosaurs because they were probably too big) and stowed them in his zoo boat, remember?

A cutaway model of the ark, which was really bigger

than an oil tanker and probably smellier.



That's why all we had left were their very fast forming fossils to remember them by.  And all the oil they now bless us with.  Yes, I know that there's mention of oil prior to the dinosaurs all dying, but that was a different sort of oil made by angels.  Anyway, thanks to Noah's blind obedience and fucking impressive shipwright skills all the animals we see today are the result of this contingency.

All of them?  But even with a hundred ships that size you wouldn't be able to carry every type-

-of animal we have now, yes, I know, but that's where the KCM story blows evolution out of the water, you cock-sucking heretic!  God had all the saved animals genetically coded with fast-acting variation genes, allowing them to both multiply and diversify very quickly, like in only a few generations as they somehow repopulated the entire world in a few decades.  All he needed was a baseline, template pair of each type.  Natural variation did the rest.

Voila!  Wolves become dogs and foxes and more dogs!

And if you're still having trouble understanding how this works, the KCM has an even simpler horsey picture to clear it up.

Ark Equid is now my new favourite type of horse.

Uh-huh, tiny ark pony becomes modern horse, but what about humans?  Did they have these special genes?

Nah, we didn't need them.  That's why apes are totally different to us.  Shit, why do you think we drive cars and they don't?

Apes varied their shit all over the place, but Man always

came straight from God.

And there you have it, pagan filth.  This version is waaay simpler than all that complicated evolutionary crap.  I doubt you'll find a more logical explanation for biology anywhere outside of Heaven.

A recreation of Adam's trusty steed, Miffles.

For more information about how all this shit went down just pick up your nearest Bible or pray to your nearest God.  And always remember: it's not ignorance if you believe in it!



Kidd and the Fairy Witch

Once upon a time I was sitting at my work desk when a pregnant colleague of mine informed me that people could buy spells on eBay.  Naturally my initial reaction was to dismiss this as the hormonal ravings I associate with every pregnant chick, but she insisited that magick was now an online transaction, just like psychic readings and other legitimate forms of retard exploitation.  Okay, crazy breeder, I relented, I'll look into it.  After all the Sex Detective has a moral responsibility to investigate all fictional crimes against reality.

I went to eBay, typed the word 'spells' into the searchie and here's what I found:

Not a spell book, mind you, or even a magic scroll, but an actual spell that gets cast (once payment is confirmed) by some coven's high priestess half way across the world.  That's why there's no postage or handling fees.  I'm not overly sure what constitutes a powerful lottery money spell, but the lottery in question uses number-stamped Mentos instead of ping-pong balls for some reason.

But what if I'm not looking to cheat at lotto?  Maybe I want something less greedy and more personally satisfying without working hard to get it?  The Fairy Witch Coven can help.  Sure, they're named after two imaginary things, but that just makes them twice as powerful as your conventional witch or fairy things.  Established in "the early 16th Century", these ladies survived all sorts of challenges and persecution to bring you nothing but the best in online magicking.  But don't just take my word for it, look above: see, someone's already bought one of these lotto-strike spells.  Lucky there's 'more than 10' available, although when your product is mainly just a few spoken words of gibberish you effectively have an inexhaustable number left.  These women may not have cottoned onto the concept of supply and demand yet.  Anyway, let's see how else a Witch Fairy spell can improve your life.  The choices are easily identifiable by their associated photo.

Or maybe not.  When I saw this while thinking of witchcraft I assumed 'witch stealing baby-trade', but turns out to be a Fertility spell.  According to the blurb: "Pure white fertility and protection - this powerful cast is ideal for pcos, ivf, low sperm and a lot more." 

I have a lot of trouble with the term "Pure white fertility", but there may be well-founded reasons for why Fairy Witches and Smurf Warlocks are so racially exclusive.

This for the Real Love spell: "Life is too short to live alone - this powerful cast will attract the most caring, genuine lover that you have always wanted and deserve."

Life is too short to live alone?  Sounds almost sinister and a little depressing to me.  Wouldn't a longer life just mean more loneliness if you didn't fork out 9 bucks for this spell?  I dunno, I'm no expert of love spells - too busy getting laid, I guess.

And now for the Forbidden Love spell: "Bring your love out of the shadows - make those long weekends and holidays alone a thing of the past - ideal for same sex, love triangles and a lot more."

Jeez, you people are really relying on my being lonely at Christmas time aren't you?  Though I am glad you're cool with the whole gay thing despite your strict racial policies.  And I'm going to read your 'love triangles' phrase as 'the threesome I've always begged my girlfriends for'.

Ah, the good ol' Return Love spell: "Back in your arms where they belong - make those long weekends and holidays alone a thing of the past - ideal for returning the love of your life and more."

Using occult forces to force your ex back into whatever fucked up relationship she left always works out well, especially for widows and widowers.  Fairy Witches, putting the 'romance' back into necromancer, you sick, twisted fucks.  And stop reminding me about all those socially isolatist public holidays!

Beauty spell: "Restore radiance and beauty - this powerful cast is ideal for skin blemishes, acne, light scars, stretch marks and a lot more."

Note that this supernatural skin treatment only works on 'light scars', so don't go thinking you can get your circumcision reversed, okay?

When I saw the image for this one I cried "Yes, at last!  A boobie spell!  Now, do I need to order one for each boob, or do..." then I read further and discovered it to be a boring old Weight Loss spell.

"Tried every diet but just cannot shift those extra pounds - this powerful cast is ideal for under active thyroid, post natal bumps and a lot more."

So, the idea is to get a fertility spell, then this one for whatever the hell 'post-natal bumps' are (spoiler, it's your enlarged, thrashed out uterus, so get an anti-stretch mark spell too just to be safe).

"Beautiful handmade jewelry - powerful protection spell cast amulet bracelet."

Whoa, hang on, this is a real, tangible thing, which would explain why, unlike a nine dollar casting, it costs... fifty fucking euro!  That's like seventy Aussie dollars!  It's hand-made jewelry, so you can bet your ass it's devoid of any actual jewels, and god knows why it has pictures of really depressed looking women painted on it.  That's the kind of gift you give a school girl to celebrate teen suicide.

Also, you've made it clear that a 'powerful protection spell' has been somehow magically installed on this emo trinket, but haven't clarified the type.  WHAT DOES IT PROTECT US FROM?  Acne?  Carpel tunnel?  The rest of your pretendy spells?  Those commercially competitive Goblin Wizards? For fifty fucking euro it better at least reduce my hayfever, Fairy Witches, or there's gonna be a few pitch forks and torches heading your way, that's for damn sure.



Sex Detective vs Santa and the Icecream Bunny

Just to be quite clear here, this is from an actual feature film called 'Santa and the Icecream Bunny'.  It had producers, writers, directors and everything, and was released in 1972.  FoundFootageFest.com spliced these parts together but they're not even the weirdest parts.  In a nutshell, Santa gets stranded at a Florida beach and so needs the help of a dozen kids and a giant rabbit to rescue Christmas.  Yes, just like that dream you had after you mixed Absinthe with mineral turps.  About halfway through the film, when all seems lost, he cheers the kids up with the story (or at least a story) of Thumbellina - the film dissolves into this retelling, by which time I fell asleep.  Check this shit out:



This film has done more to prompt child protection reform than the entire coal mining industry and the Vatican combined.  You'll notice the creative use of freeze frames here, but I tend to think that the following shots were cut short due to ensuing accidents.  There's no mention of official stunt work on the film, so let's assume the worst, shall we?

"Okay, Melissa, in this scene just make a hoop with your arms for Zeus to jump through." 
"Are you sure, Mister, he looks kinda mean?"  "Look, the cop we bribed to hire him assured us he only attacks women over an unspecified body weight, you'll be fine."

Since 1972 we've seen enough Funniest Home Videos to see what's coming here.  The camera shakes and falls as the ball hits it, followed by a cracked, ground up view of an enraged cameraman bludgeoning the blond kid with his own bat for the next 47 seconds while the catcher starts crying.

Blaxploitation was an industry norm back in the '70's, so finding a little black kids to jump from a clearly crippling height with a weighty beach umbrella only cost the studio the exact same price as three cigarettes, a beer and a KFC two-pack.

Before beach cricket, a favourite Christmas past-time was to make two of your kids fight for presents in the backyard.  The camera crew were happy to film this somewhat one-sided scuffle until it started getting a little rapey, at which point they quietly moved on.

What we don't see here is the high-pitched, screaming tragedy that befell Cindy 3 seconds later when her frisbee struck a nearby wasp nest.  The director, unsure of the difference between 'wasp attack' and 'child on fire', quickly wrapped her, along with the wasps, in a blanket until help arrived.

Look, it's Huckleberry Finn playfully tussling with disease-ridden vermin.  Racoons love fun and games on the water bec- hang on, I'm thinking of beavers.  This poor, terrified little bastard is actually fighting for his life.

This little girl just stole her brother's skateboard, but due to cosmic justice she's now about to meet a pavement full of karma face first.

Don't worry, Santa, help is on the way in the form of an old-timey pick-up truck dangerously overladen by unrestrained children and being driven by a dude in a vision impairing rabbit costume.

Aaand here's the star of the show, an old man so heat prostrated that he's conducting an invisible orchestra on the beach.  It's never really explained why he chose to land on a beach, during the day, when it's not even Christmas Eve, or why his reindeer somehow unhitched themselves and fled.

But that doesn't matter.  Really, none of it matters.

Sex Detective vs Aliens vs God

This site was something a friend of mine stumbled upon while googling for the theme to Chariots of Fire.  She sent the link to me at suddenly this appeared on my screen

This capture doesn't do it justice.  See those thousands of tiny dots in the blackground?  Meant to be a starscape.  Only, instead of going to the trouble of just getting an open source image of an actual starscape, this genius has used some sort of 8 bit pixel tileset and multiplied it everywhere.  Millions of white specks all over the place.  Now, it's not uncommon for some web pages to used white type on black, but when your background already contains a fair and randomly dispersed amount of white you start entering migraine territory.  It's not helped either when the only other two colours in your palette are bright yellow and bright red.  Oh, I get it, BRIGHT YELLOW = HIGHLIGHTS while BRIGHT RED = IMPORTANT!

You eye-raping cunt.

Yeah, but what's it all about, SD?
Well, from what I can gather about the weirdoes behind this site, some dude called Guy Malone (along with his missus, Nicole) has manged to reconcile two profoundly different mythical things into one.  Here's the distilled summation of thousands of words of crazy:

UFO Aliens are actually Fallen Angels from Heaven trying to fuck with Humanity.

That's pretty much it, but the man has gone to all sorts of trouble to back it up with Bible verses.  Seriously, you can't get past any paragraph on any page without some less-than-contextual quote from the Christian Bible.  He's a biblical literalist, using the most misnterpreted, mistranslated, bastardised collection of ancient writings in the world to explain that people who believe that UFOs are extra-terrestrial are crazy, while the Elect (true Christians) should instead accept that aliens come from Heaven.  It's like a Pentecostal church and a Star Trek convention had a one night stand, fell pregnant, then scraped out Guy Malone with a coat hanger before it started to show.

Guy Malone, air quoting the abduction trauma he suffered when alien angels
mistook his head for something else and used it to probe each other.

Here's Guy with the Mayor of Roswell, New Mexico.  Notice how he's wearing shades that make him look like a classic alien?  Or, in his case, an evil angel from heaven come to probe us all?  Or even a well dressed dildo with stupid glasses and a guest pass?  I dunno.

What I do know is that if you're trying to ply credibility by appearing with a local elected official, maybe pick one that isn't wearing antennae while addressing the nutjob tourist audience on which his town financially depends.  Otherwise it's about as credible as a sex offender receiving a commendation from a Rohypnol spokesman at a rape conference.

Malone's slant is that he's debunking the modern fringe idea that ancient accounts of 'chariots of fire' were possibly alien visitors.  Instead he asserts they were biblical visitations by angels who fell from grace.  Many fundamental theologians might agree.  But by then reversing the original theory and saying that modern accounts of UFOs are also fallen angels, you just come across as some jerk trying to double dip into the Christian Fundamentalist and UFO cult markets.  I mean, born-again, young earth creationist literalists have enough on their plate contesting scientifically probable 'heresies': evolution, geology and carbon dating for a start.  And Malone wants to throw something that is completely ethereal like aliens into the mix?

But wait, science proves this shit

Hells yeah, just follow Guy's link to his mate, Joe Jordan.  Joe is the president of CE4.  I neither know nor care what that stands for, but Joe is intent on telling us how to resist angelic alien intrusion by throwing out some fantastic factoids like these:

• An estimated 5 million people have experienced 'alien abductions' of one type or another.
• Of those, the only ones reportedly able to resist or repel the experience were Christians who used Jesus name with authority, reeating it over and over again until the experience stopped.
• The scientific evidence on show for this is... a bunch of testimonials from redneck biblebashers; out of 5 millions supposed victims he found 75 to say that the Lord saved them.
• Joe thinks science works by making up arbitrary numbers then interviewing lonely retards.

Joe Jordan, mankind's last hope?

Well, with that kind of proof on hand, the conclusion is obvious: prayer defeats demon-alien-angels every time.  In other words, when faced with an imaginary threat, respond by pleading to your imaginary friend.  Fuck, I could use similar pretend evidence to say that the best way to repel a unicorn home invasion is to yell out "Harry Potter!", or that masturbation cures vertigo.

So, space invasions are actually just spiritual warfare, folks, just ask Guy Malone's sunglasses, or Joe Jordan, who's idea of a corporate logo is Picasso's wife pashing an alien.