While other sex and relationship advice sites claim to offer you the most empathetic, assertive, empowering ways to tackle your love life, I will save you both time and childish optimism by simply bukkaking your mind with the information and skills necessary to hold back the tears when you do fail at personal shit that was probably a longshot anyway, loser. Good luck!
Like most real men whose genetic legacy originates from Northern Europe, my body grows hair. My torso, legs, pelvis, head, face, even my nostrils. Body hair is as natural as testicles when it comes to manhood characteristics. Hell, even plenty of gay men agree, especially now that many of them carry on the manly legacy of the moustache. To my gay, facially furred brothers: I salute you!
But in this age of androgeny and Spartan-style fitness regimes, body hair is under attack, by online ordering companies who dare to defy the natural order that has existed ever since cave-people labelled their public toilets 'hairy' and 'not-so-hairy'.
My Smooth Legs Seriously, just typing that heading earned me divorce papers from my testicles.
I give you the My Smooth Legs product company, or the Death of Manly Hair Incorporated as I like to call them. So, the product name is 'My Smooth Legs', even though it's not what the name suggests! Because that would be transexually gay if it was. No, this wantonly misnamed product removes hair from that other part of your body known as "all the rest".
But how does this miraculous, puberty-reversal thing work? Follicle cancer? Space alchemy? Nano-bots?
Nope, micro-crystal particles, just like the ones you find on a Micro-Crystal Pad, apparently. Just buff your hair off with the pad, and enjoy the bonus of exfoliation in the process. You'll find that exfoliation is not an uncommon side-effect when trying to abrade your hair off with glorified sand-paper.
That's right, 100% more effective and 61% more gay then before. All thanks to some new formula that was "*Tested and Proven USA".
But what the hell does any of that mean? If it's flecks of crystal glued to a pad, how is that an improved formula? It's just more bits of crystal, surely. And why are there twinkles on the buffed buff body of the Old Dominic Uni's Athletics Director pictured there? Do the crystals get embedded in your skin? And what's with his recommendation - a pic of 5 stars in quotation marks. You can't quote pictograms, that's not how quoting works.
Now this is how quoting works:
No offence, Kaymennathan, USA, but your wife sounds like a horrible bitch if she makes you feel ashamed for producing testosterone. If she prefers hairless lovers buy her a donkey with alopecia, or order some mould remover for her dildo. No man should ever have to apologise for body hair, dammit, unless it's clogging a drain.
Hang on, it turns out that My Smooth Legs isn't just about aesthetics, it's designed to make your lifestyle more practical...
... provided your lifestyle involves international diving and not much else. Kirsten and James insist that hairlessness is essential if you spend all your time in sea water due to hygiene issues. That's why you don't see many hairy fish, because they all died from being unclean. That's pretty much all the logic I can garner from their argument here.
I fucking love it when companies produce lines like "Research has shown that 92% of the female respondents surveyed said they prefer male partners to be less hairy..." That's not research, assholes, it's a two question electronic spam survey that asked:
1. "Would you like your male partner to be more hairy?" and
2. "If you answered 'no' to question 1, is it because of hygiene or a fear of lycanthropy?"
And the most common of reasons was 'sighted'? Really? I'm pretty sure you mean 'cited', because reasons are abstract nouns that can't be physically viewed, dickwads.
Lastly, we have all the bullshit reasons why scouring yourself with magic particles is preferable to every other option on the planet.
The first tick assumes that you're already the sort of smooth-loving girlie-man who can't stand the thought of natural hair on your body, in which case you'll give this crap a go anyway as part of your daily, oiled up workout.
The second tick mentions exfoliation again. Before this article I didn't know what that word even meant - peeling off dead skin, apparently. Sounds charming.
Tick number 3 assures us that you can buff yourself anywhere you happen to be: at work, in the car, a prison shower block, where-ever the urge takes you.
Number four says you can do so without any nasty ouchies, because men who want baby smooth skin have the pain threshold of a flayed foetus.
Finally we get the dumbest reassurance of all: the old regrowth myth. Ever been told that shaven hair grows back coarser while waxed hair regrows finer? Ever been told that there is absolutely no evidence to back that up? Waxed/zapped hair does take longer to grow back because the follicle has been destroyed and needs to regrow first, but after that all hair just grows like hair. If the coarse hair shaving myth was true I would have to use a razor-coated belt sander on my chin by now.
Look, anything you can buy online for under $30 that claims to be superior to thousands of dollars of fricking laser treatment is bound to be fucked up on some level. Remember the supposedly painless Epi-Lady hair puller-outerer? Last time my girlfriend tried that she reflexively punched me out while I was applying bandages to her legs.
Fuck My Smooth Legs, and anyone else's for that matter.
I got bored of being in love years ago. Anyone can fall in love and get all dewy eyed watching The Notebook or similar gay shit. Falling in hate, now that's a fucking achievement. I'm not talking about being hateful in general: I'm no hate monger and I've never committed a hate crime. What I'm talking about is devoting a reasonable balance of my time and effort to hating certain things so as to even out all those lovey-dovey feelings. It doesn't mean I'm depressed or stressed or psychotic, I just believe all emotions should be valued equally, even the negative ones.
Luckily there seems to be an endless supply of things to piss me off about the world, allowing me to maintain an optimal level of healthy hatred.
"HATE": it may be a strong word, but it's also the right one.
PMS
No, I don't suffer from it, but I sure as hell seem to suffer for it an awful lot. The number of times in my working or social life where I suddenly have to deal with women's mood swings, cramping symptoms, crazy accusations, chocolate cravings and general douche-baggery is huge. I know you can't prevent that shit without major surgery or the experimental menopause causing drug I'm currently working on ("Dry-Haven: for women who know when to just give up!"), but at least have the courtesy to warn the world when it strikes so I can wear ear-plugs and ignore every emotional outburst about how I think you're fat or something. Please send me a copy of your menstrual calendar so I can arrange to be out to lunch or on a hunting trip when cotton-pony express approaches.
Facebook
I'm only going to say this once: Facebook is not real. Any digital communication medium is just a tool, not a lifestyle. You can lie and deceive and exploit FB just as much as you can express heart-felt truths and opinions. Either way you're asking for trouble if you take any of that crap seriously. Just look at that guy who murdered his wife somewhere after she changed her relationship status. Or like the time I changed mine to "...in a relationship with Miffy the Goat," then had to upgrade the status to "It's complicated" after she died but before she got too cold.
Canned Sitcoms
Yes, all canned sit-coms suck. Anything with canned laugh tracks or a canned studio audience sucks. It's like being sent to a 'how to laugh' school for comedy with special needs. Anyway, the funniest shit you'll ever see are the organic variety, stuff like Arrested Development and The Office - they require hard work and real acting to pay off. I once got to sit in a studio audience for some kids' show. Yes, I was a kid at the time, perverts! It was called The Channel Niners (after the station that spawned it) or something equally creative. The show ran after school and starred a couple of who-gives-a-fuck grown ups, and a pink, fluffy duck puppet.
His name was Winky Dink
It was while sitting in this drafty studio with 200 other 7 year olds that I first discovered that studio audiences were given great big, glowing cues tewlling them when to laugh or applaud. Even at the time I thought "Fuck you, I'll only laugh or clap if I feel this shit is actually entertaining."
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: the death of comedy.
Blowjobs with teeth
Which is why I ask my lovers to remove theirs first.
Being rude to service staff
I don't care how hot you look, if I'm on a date with you and you're rude to a waitress I will go out of my way to fuck that waitress right in front of you because you're being a bitch.
The same goes double for my caddy!
Don't try to apply some sort of superiority/dominanting power dynamic with the people serving you. They're already servants, it says so in their job spec. Plus there's the added risk they'll associate me with your crappy attitude and I'll end up with a pubic garnish on my meal.
Conspiracy theorists
I agree that 9-11 was a conspiracy: a conspiracy orchestrated by fucking terrorists. Not the Government or Big Business or the Illuminati. You losers just dream that shady men in secret bunkers plot to oppress the world because it's easier than taking responsibility for your own shit-boring, fucked up lives.
And, as you can clearly see in the encircled areads of this grainy image, the
CIA have used microwaves to - fuck it, just sleep with me already!?!
And, yes, we did land on the Moon a few times. I'm sick of people who insist that 'The Moon Landing' was a hoax, mainly because they're too dumb to use the plural term - we had people land up there 6 times, idiots. That's 6 moon landings, not one, so which 'The Moon Landing' are you referring to? And as to why do we no longer visit the Moon? Because there's nothing fucking there!
Serious, they drove all over the place and still didn't find any stage props
or even the studio door.
Irrational radiation cancer scares
Every few years some dickwad communications engineering company will stir up the 'cell phones cause cancer' scare so they can sell their shitty shielding products to guillible consumers. Yes, cell phones produce radiation - radio waves are how they fucking work. But before you assume that your phone will tumourise your brain, take the 2 minutes necessary to check the difference between ionic and non-ionic radiation. Same goes for micro-wave ovens, you ignoramuses (especially you ignoramuses who thought the plural of 'ignoramus' was 'ignorami' - in Latin it's a verb, not a masculine noun, bitches!). Just because you don't understand the fundamental science behind something doesn't make it evil. Or maybe you'd like to go back to burning witches, huh?
Number of evidenced cancer cases from
cell phones + microwaves = 0
In fact, have a good, hard look at what you think is 'dangerous science stuff', you guillible fucks - power lines, nuclear reactors, stem cell research, petrol-driven cars. Less than 10% of you know how any of that shit actually works, let alone what, if anything, makes it dangerous. No, you just trust in whatever whack-job or con-man comes along and convinces you that it's bad for you somehow by playing on your ignorant fears. Kinda like how Conquistadors scammed then fucked the Aztecs. Yes, that guillible.
Grrr! Aargh! Just try to fucking think before you believe what you hear already!
There's a dating site called Mate1, a truly horrible free dating service that you should never use, not if you don't want your online details exploited for pretty much every purpose instead of getting a root. Coupled to this is their dating advice site, DateDaily. DateDaily is shit-awful. DateDaily's idea of a celebrity guest spot is to team-up with drug-induced brain injury, Pauly Shore.
But that's not the only reason to avoid this hellish amalgamation of online dating bullshit. Like all dating sites, this one offers advice to those lonely romantics and failed lovers who think that matters of the heart are best answered by fuck-knows-who internet experts. The very term 'internet expert' is the sort of credential that carries less weight than that cardboard police badge your 5 year old nephew made in special school.
But I wouldn't be much of a Sex Detective if I didn't present some evidence. Here's a heart-felt plea from some moron who's old enough to have an email account but still doesn't understand what a vagina's for.
So, Curious, you date guys with a specific set of interests but not a 'type' of guy? Your definitions are contrary. Now you want to date someone who is your opposite? You must mean someone who doesn't ask asinine questions to pretend experts about whiny crap. Also, if you ask for dating advice from a site owned by a dating service, don't expect the ultimate reply to be particularly unbiased or self-serving.
But I can't criticise people like 'Curious' too much. After all they're not pretending to be an expert, just an idiot. This question was worthy enough to receive answers fron both of DailyDate's experts - Aaron and Amy. Don't ask me who the fuck these experts actually are. Any attempt to find a bio on either yielded no result. For all I know they're a couple of pet dogs, or Taiwanese child slaves. Anyway, Aaron was the first to reply to this plea for help.
"Meeting people is gigantically easy"!?! That's not an asserted opinion, it's a suicide note from the English Language. I admire your edgy, biting style, Aaron. Oh wait, no I don't because it clumsily sucks ass. He's too busy criticising both folks who pre-date and those who use the internet, as well as Walmart and moon people, to even give a coherent reply. Hahahaha! It's funny because he's ridiculing shit that everyone ridicules. That's the opposite of edgy, Aaron.
Also, "Bars exist and contain people who want relationships all over the place"? Does he mean that bars are all over the place, or that people are, or that relationships are geographically diverse? Aaron's last online job was as a poorly coded spambot, but that vocation proved to be too gargantuanally challenging.
So, maybe Amy the Equally Unqualified can give Curious more sagacious guidance here:
Ooor not. Line 3: "...they attract because it is great to attract and be attractive." All you have to do is replace the word 'attract' with pretty much any verb and you'll see that Amy has managed to achieve triple redundancy, like she's completing a bet she made with Aaron in between lines of coke.
And what better way to stretch out a vague, directionless answer than to insert some bullshit Tim Robbins quote, then indirectly admitting that you don't have a damn clue.
Despite employing what I assume to be some sort of nonsensical 'bad cop/good cop' routine, Aaron and Amy both manage to achieve one, unified goal in their responses - they fail to answer the fucking question. So, for the sake of Curious, and as an example to the DailyDate experts, I will do so now.
Dear Curious,
Opposites in human relationships do not attract. That's an analogy pertaining to magnetic polarity. A quick look in the mirror should confirm that you are not composed of iron, nickel or cobalt, so stop comparing yourself to magnets already. The magnet shit is irrelevant, is what I'm trying to say here. Deep, intimate connections are achieved through compatibility in values, humour, sexual reciprocity and bio-chemical attraction. Chances are the reason you are having trouble connecting on these levels is because you think way too much about shit and try to get too serious too quickly. You may also be quite ugly, worthy only of the occasional pity-fuck in low light conditions - and that's repulsion of a non-magnetic nature.
I'm through giving love a chance, or making love instead of war, and I sure as hell know that love is not all you need. Love is great sometimes, and can apply to almost any sense of infatuation, bonding or admiration. But what about hate? This emotion gets dissed all the time, like it isn't even an option in modern society. Anger also gets swept aside, despite being one of the most useful and effective emotional responses you'll ever garner.
Well, I'm Kidd fucking Vengeance, the goddamned Sex Detective, and when I'm not ranting about sex stuff or solving fictional crimes against reality I'm not afraid to get my hate on.
Rude Attempts at Shutting Down Conversation
Like using the word "Whatever!" used solo as a response. Learn some fucking manners, asshole. Also "Care factor: zero," and "N(ot) M(y) P(roblem)". If you really don't care what someone has to say then simply explain to them that you're not interetsed in pursuing the conversation instead of coming up with such a hilariously snappy retort. Otherwise I may feel inclined to make you care, and if that occurs then you can bet your fucking ass that it will become your problem.
I had a Dream!
One sure fire way to check if I secretly want to fuck you is to see if I seem actively interested in listening about your dreams. If I featured in your dream it's still no excuse because we both know that wasn't actually me. As for sex dreams, definitely don't share. You might as well tell me about your shitty homemade collection of porn. Reality TV Shows
Particularly cooking and food-themed shit. Gordon Ramsey bullying idiots or Jamie Oliver pretending not to have an intellectual disability, or a bunch of kids playing chef. It's food, people, it's been around for a long time, but getting all hung up on how it looks is only one step away from man-scaping or bursting into tears because you used the wrong shampoo. Another shit-fest are shows about losing weight, like people should be rewarded for not killing themselves through compulsive eating and ass-sitting. And as for Big Brother, thank God that dinosaur finally died out. It's vicarious narcissism at best and mundane schadenfreude at worst. Instead of watching other people do things, trying getting out there and doing something yourself.
Assumed Bullshit
One of the goals in life is (or at least should be) to discover the truth behind common misconceptions. This is vital for we, as a species, to make a healthier planet. If you think solar panels are the answer to pollution then you don't understand that they cause toxic waste. If you think magnets or crystals give you energy then you don't understand how physics and biology work. And 'Magick' is just another word for 'ignorance'. If you assume that people are either 'left brained' or 'right brained' then here's a little experiment for you: I crack your skull open, scoop out one hemisphere, and you then attempt an IQ test.
Kirk Cameron
I fucking hate this little cunt. I hated him in Growing Pains or whatever shit-com spawned his career, and I super-hate him now. When not making truly awful and culturally offensive Christian movies about the Rapture, Kirk's idea of prolonging his fame is to appear on tv talk shows and repeatedly impress the world with his divine ignorance of basic evolutionary biology.
Comparing Charles Darwin to Hitler?
Fuck you, Kirk.
The Karma Sutra
It should be renamed '101 Ways To Break Your Dick & Dislocate Your Lover'.
Shared Lunches at Work
"Hey, let's have a shared lunch on Friday - everyone bring a plate of your favourite cooking!"
No. Just no, okay? I mean, how do I know that home-made mayonnaise doesn't contain more than my allowable daily intake of goat semen? Or that your hubby didn't spend half of last night marinating his balls in that soup? And what the Christing fuck is on that lasagne? Seaweed? Seriously?
For generations Dolly Magazine continued to be a source of baffling horror to boys of all ages. I can clearly remember as kid having female friends trying to make me blush or vomit by reading excerpts from that publication. As a result my confused adloescent self came away with the following facts about pubescent girls:
1. Girls tend to have a lot of vaginal discharges. These discharges come in a horrifying variety of colours and smells.
2. Girls strongly believe that the best way to prevent pregnancy after sex is to douche themselves with a bottle of Coca-cola.
3. You can never pash a girl with braces because they insist on kissing with their teeth.
The damn thing still exists, both in print and online. It's still written for highschool girls, even though the writers obviously didn't get that far themselves. Case in point:
As you can see, this isn't a news article, it's a 'before' example for primary school literacy programs. ""It seems there will be one less lonely store in the world..." begins the lead paragraph (which manages to mention the word 'store' twice in the same sentence, by the fucking way). The above words make absolutely no sense. Yes, thanks to some briefly painful research, I realise it refers to some song he released, but it still makes absolutely no sense. Stores don't get lonely. Then there are two references to 'Beliebers', like that is a real thing.
Look, I'm Gen X, the generation that weaponsied cynicism and sarcasm. Like most of my contemporaries I hold a black-belt in irony. We are still the coolest generation, if for no other reason than the 'X' bit. I'm far too removed from Gen Z to see things like Justin Beiber as anything more than a singing cartoon. But thanks to the ethical need to investigate how phrases pertaining to 'lonely stores' originate I ended up watching this:
Anyone who knows anything about the '80s knows that we who lived our adolescence through it's music videos saw a lot of gay shit. I mean A LOT. But I never saw a teenage boy with Lego hair wearing shade-of-labia lipgloss while busking in a laundrette. And what is the musical plot here? Some sort of reverse stalking teasure-hunt where a kid holds the chick's scarf hostage until she tracks him down? The last thing we see is him wrapping it round her neck. Creepy.
I'd like to thank my friend, Hannah, for sending me a link to this little gem persuant to my battle with Oprah. I think it tidily sums up the hypocrisy inherent in self-made saints. I do honestly believe that the big O is genuinely altruistic, and fails to grasp even the fundaments of irony. Allow me to demonstrate.
When Oprah becomes your 'mentor' what they really mean is 'god and saviour', one so powerful that she can change the very meaning of words like 'reality'. To her the Duchess of York is a sinner that requires the salvation of Oprahland. Not through something cheap and tacky like your standard reality tv show, but through Oprah reality tv, which is much more elegantly abusive, like being raped by a High Court Judge. Publically aired therapy sessions? The Dark Queen actually believes this is the responsible thing to do, that it will be a cathartic process of redemption for a stupid, spoilt, over-privileged and highly irresponsible royal parasite. More importantly, for Oprah's newly released televison network (OWN tv), she needs high profile servitors with their own shows, regardless of whether their press is good or bad.
And now, pursuant to part one of this process, we look at what to do if you're a male dumpee.
Not only is this sad and poetic, it also makes very little sense when
you think about it.
Man vs Woman
Men - and by which I mean masculine men, not those guys who wax body parts, get picky about shoes or call aftershave 'cologne' - men tend to get a little confused and uncomfortable about emotional sex-based relationships with women. We fall for easy traps, especially those laced with guilt because many of us pretend to think that we follow a code of honour that dates back to the days of chivalry. Action movies and comic books tell us that we always want to be the good guy, and anyone following such a shallow delusion is incredibly easy to manipulate. Combine that with our awful habit of making blanket statements about what are otherwise complicated emotional issues, and you end up with a well-meaning gorilla trying to perform origami when it comes to relationship conflict.
In times of emotive duress women tend to think on multiple levels at once, while we're lucky if we can manage one. We're also useless at processing and acknowledging the warning signs. Women tend to drop increasingly significant hints when they are dissatisfied with a relationship. Us guys do pick up on this but then a set of insane defence parameters kick in:
Firstly we opt for Contingency One: evade & deny the issue in the hope that it's just hormonal or venting or something else of a temporary and self-correcting nature.
When that fails we engage Contingency Two: arguing back about whatever we interpret the issue to be when in fact we're challenging the symptoms, not the cause of the problem.
Next comes Contingency Three: apologise for not understanding while still not really understanding anyway, as is extremely evident by the "if you don't know what's wrong then I'm not going to tell you" responses coming our way.
Finally there is Contingency Four: realisation that the reason she had a problem with us was because we did something repeatedly dickish, then tried to deny or evade it, then argued that it was somehow her fault, then apologised about the wrong thing entirely. This epiphany typically strikes days or weeks after she's already left and is now dating someone with cologne and nice shoes.
Man vs Break Up
Is there anything more depressing and annoying than a dumped guy? Seriously? Grief is never pleasant, and a weepy, morose, self-pitying dude is particularly unpleasant. Luckily we tend to have a few rituals in store for any of our brethren who get shafted by their former love.
1. Bust that dam!
If your mate has been dumped and he's all upset and confused and depressed about it then the first thing to do is get him in an emotionally vulnerable state. Sure, you could spring for a psychologist or something, but alcohol is cheaper and faster acting. Booze naturally makes us philosophical and lowers our inhibitions. It makes us irrational, emotive and recklessly expressive, setting us up for the next step...
2. Howl at the Moon!
Once a man is suitably liquored up it's time to vent. Not bitchy, moany girlie venting - that shit's for moany, bitchy girlies. Real venting is primal, incorporating rage, loss and sorrow. It's in the raucous songs of vikings, the roar of lions, the chest-thumping of gorillas, the war cries of barbarian hordes. It's cursing the skies, blaspheming against ancient, uncaring gods, bellowing to the world that you are MAN, the hunter and warrior who has earned the right to declare your grief to the cosmos. It's also around this time that you'll start purging in a less metaphorical fashion, but don't let your puking diminish the symbolism.
Remember, you're a lone wolf, a mighty beast expelling your anguish in a...a rush...
of - hang on, is that a duck casually floating by in the bottom left corner? And
why is the wolf on a tiny island? Also, wouldn't bad things happen to tides and
stuff is the Moon was so close to the Earth?
3. Recovery!
Now, if you've followed this incredibly simple ritual so far (seriously, dude, there's like only 3 steps) then you should awaken the next day as a wreck. Your head should throb with pain, your stomach should be churning, and your voice should be hoarse from all that howling. You now lie in the ruins (and possibly filth) of your old life. There is nothing left to do but rebuild it and rise from the ashes. And for fuck's sake, put some pants on.
Or you can embrace your misery, wear defeat like a cloak, develop a crippling drug addiction, lose everything you ever owned then die a horribly worthless and obscure death.
But let's assume for a moment that you don't die. Then it's time to get back into the fight that is your life. Keep busy, work hard, and get a hobby - no, not scrap-booking, you dainty idiot, a real hobby that men do, like fishing or building stuff or karate. You know, shit that gives you a sense of progress and achievement so that at the end of the day you can proudly claim: "I built a boat, sailed into deep waters, and karated the fuck out of some fish! Booyah!"
Hey, the idea was sound until I remembered just how much Ralph Macchio
emasculated martial arts.
That bit is important, and not just as a substitute for your snivelly cry time. Manly hobbies and recreation will serve you well in your next relationship. For a start an outside interest reduces the likelihood of you otherwise sitting around the house annoying your new girlfriend. Plus girls really appreciate a guy who's passionate about something other than being a mewling pussy. Any pursuit that gives you an ongoing, physically tangible, sense of incremental success naturally boosts your confidence, and that makes you more likeable anyway.
Or you can just forget about manliness and become a 12th level Wizard-
Elf-Cleric-Angel and trade your balls for a +3 Rubbersword.
Just don't go overboard and get all hoardy and cultish about it. It's meant to be complementary to working and loving hard, not an all-consuming obsession that robs time and energy from the rest of your life. You can be passionate without being preoccupied, you know.
Over in North America (including Canada) there's this awful traditional concept of something called Summer Camp. When I was at school in the late '80s we had compulsory camping activities that taught us how to death march, drown in a canoe, pitch a tent on deadly snakes and tumble down ravines. Even the local, domesticated livestock tried to kill us. That's what 'camping' means in Australia, and why my peers and I laugh heartily out loud at American shows like 'Man vs Wild'. I can create shelter, make a fire, cook up food (including damper if I'm feeling particularly unhappy with the world), take a dump in a hole and read a map and compass. And I fucking loathe camping. I associate it with hard punishment, the same way I associate people who love camping with idiots and Brokeback Mountain.
Over here the idea is virtually non-existent unless it's being funded by Correctional Services or similar 'boot camp' organisations. It's hard for kids to commit crimes when they're running for their lives in the middle of nowhere.
But in America millions of kids each year get shipped off for a few weeks to summer camps, usually under the guise of learning self-reliance, cultural lessons and/or religious instruction. Of course, the real reason why Americans love summer camp so much is that it provides respite for parents, parents who are prepared to pay decent cash to get their lives back for a few weeks. Fuck culture and religion, mum and dad just want to be able to walk around the house naked and have sex whenever they want, just like things were before the kids came along. "You little fuckers, go hundreds of miles away to canoe, fish, hike, tie knots, form human pyramids or whatever else it takes to keep you busy while I catch up on a year's worth of deep-dicking, okay?"
They even have specialised camps for learning stage-magic, musical instruments, drama and losing weight. Losing weight? Fat camps are real? Shit, that's insane. If you're so bad at parenting that you have to ship your little porkers off to fat camp then why do you let the local ice-cream man do your grocery shopping in the first place? I've never met an obese kid who didn't have obese parents, so from now on you send the folks to Lake Starvation and let the kids live off their own body fat for 3 weeks.
But the best camps by far are the religious ones. Here's a show from 1970's Canada that sparked an entire franchise of Christian summer camps.
Oh look, it's Egbert the Fucking Horrible Puppet! Don't ask me how it's possible for a puppet to have more chromosomes than a human, but here we are. The last time I saw eyes like that, it was in the mirror I was using to cut up an ounce of meth.
Anyway, the moral message of the day there (crap about learning that you can do literally anything if Jesus sticks his thumb up your ass first) became the format for a bunch of summer camps across Ontario where kids of faith could meet, defy the laws of natural selection and learn religious lessons. Kids would engage in all manner of activities designed to appreciate God's Creation, even the parts that sting, bite or secretly touch your private place. All you had to do was follow the scriptures, sing along to song number 73 in your hymn book, and ignore the urge to masturbate for a few weeks. But when half the activities at camp involve swimwear and water you might as well rename the place Lake Boner. All the boys must have been pitching tents on an hourly basis, while the girls demanded extra-bumpy pony rides all day.
Nowadays the Circle Square Ranch franchise has a modernised image using contemporary music and extreme sports to lure in God's children.
Holy fuck: horses, BMXing, archery, canoes, tug-of-war, flying foxes, stage shows, and other amazing shit no doubt. Not pictured is the constant praying, despite the CSR people boldly claiming that children of any faith or race may attend. Not just prayers before every meal, but before every activity. If you have to pray to some mythological being every time you have fun in order to have fun then you've pretty much signed a pre-nuptial agreement with your wanking hand. And what's with the age range at these camps? 10 to 30? Ah, the older ones are camp counsellors - adults who try to relate to kids while not being related to the kids. I used to do something a little like that for a living as a youth worker on the streets, though not by singing songs, praying, group hugs and other behaviour that would have seen me stabbed repeatedly and left in an alley to bleed out. And rightly so.
When kids get together to have fun and/or pray and sing about imaginary shit it's still considered harmless fun by most adults. But even religious adults I've known get a bit funny when another, unrelated adult starts doing that stuff with their kids. They won't admit it, but you can see the nagging doubts in their eyes, that baseline, primal instinct in the pre-biblical parts of their brains that's telling them it's all a bit creepy. As a youth worker I had a strict code of conduct and precautions to follow when working with youth - regular police checks, always work in teams, never be alone with a client ever, never discuss or share your personal life, never ever project your personal or spiritual values during interactions, hell the kids didn't even know my last name. I sure as fuck never played grope wars in a lake or challenged them to a naked horse race.
So be grateful we don't have summer camps over here, people, because chances are we wouldn't send our kids to them anyway, no matter how much free time it gives to parents. Instead we have a strong tradition of sending children to relatives - it makes it easier to file molestation charges and there's no insurance paperwork to sign. Most of all there's no shit-awful singing about gods and nature and generally being a pussy.
Do you have any idea how far we've come in the medium of animation? The Japanese dominated for a while there - Anime having become a nerd goldmine of insanity since the late '80s - but then Pixar, Dreamworks and Disney gave kids of all ages a reason to go to cinemas again with their 3D productions. Such is the evolution of turning cartoons into classic yet hi-tech masterpieces.
Of course, the religiously inclined inhabit an alternate, creationist universe where things don't evolve, they just stay the same in different ways over time. That's why religious programming is so bad, so cheaply made with poor production values, volunteer casts of non-actors, editing done by unskilled youth groups, and - by far worst of all - Kirk Cameron. I fucking hate Kirk Cameron. But that's a tale of horror for a different post.
I want you to meet The Wartleys, an animated series about a family and friends who teach us holy lessons through contemporary and painfully hip examples, each minisode capped off with a Bible quote. Let's set some character establishment right off the bat as we see Mrs Wartley have a pivotal discussion on contraception with her daughter, Abby:
When your mum ambushes you in the bathroom, waving around a condom voucher and speaking in circles, it's imperative that you shut her down immediately with some fantastic lie about your boyfriend not having a penis, even if you are dressed like a slut. Then soak up her gullible praise and change topic to road transport. "Thanks, mum, I love telling you exactly what you want to hear. Now, can I borrow your car to not fuck Adam?"
Of course, to appeal to modern kids you have to present modern dilemmas, but not before drumming up a little suspense:
See what I mean, kids? Adam is clearly in the shit with Abstinence Abby. And despite being set in a cartoon highschool, Adam is clearly in his 30's. Anyway, Kelly is an infidel which means she's intent on fucking Adam and feeling his soul-patch between her thighs. But no dice, Kelly, Adam is so distraught over his unmentionable crimes that he'd rather throw himself on the mercy of his Lord than get gobbies while watching Comedy Kings. Whatever disgusting sins he committed - attempted cripple rape is the obvious guess, though I'm not ruling out child porn - he needs to repent before the FBI find him.
Luckily I found the sequel to this cautionary tale, so let's see what kind of fucked up shit made him so damn remorseful:
Sneaking into the movies? Sorry, I mean, he suggested sneaking into the movies.? He didn't even do it? And now he seeks penance and forgiveness so he can continue to see a girl who won't fuck him before marriage? Shit, it would be lame enough to get wracked with spiritual guilt because you snuck in to watch some flick, but to get all bent out of shape for not actually doing the wrong thing? I can see now why Abby's chastity is safe.
But the Power of the Lord isn't just about imaginary guilt, it's also about imaginary protection spells, as is made eviodent when St Abby and Kelly the Pagan face a terrifying challenge:
Graveyards at night are scary, unless you believe in Jesus and "love the things that frighten you". Kelly isn't really afraid of the cemetary, not once her friend tells her God gives her anti-fear superpowers then starts praying for an army of angels to guard them both. What I don't get, though, is that if Kelly is truly scared of graveyards, why stop in the fucking middle of one to hold a theological discussion? Also, on top of the sound of owls hooting, I'm pretty sure I heard a wolf howling 20 seconds into the clip. Listen up, children, if you live in the suburbs, take a short-cut through a deserted and poorly lit graveyard, and then hear a wolf nearby, you have every right to be wary because there's a large carnivore prowling around who has lost its fear of humans. And given the social hardwiring of wolves, chances are it's not alone. In that case it is strongly advised that you reassure your Goddy friend of her magic powers then run like fuck. Remember, you don't need to outrun the pack, you only need to outrun Abby. Nature takes care of the rest.
And speaking of nature, Adam is trying every alternative when it comes to fighting his:
"Sorry, Abby, but I can't make it tonight. After talking to your cock-teasing friend I've decided to lie to you instead and catch up on some hard wanking because you're a frigid, cuntless bitch. But before I can do that I just need to bone up on what sex actually is by typing it into google and reading the wiki entry pertaining to that particular sin. I know God is watching me, but somehow that turns me on even more."
But this issue is not left unresolved. Help is at hand in the form of Pastor Swartz and his sage advice:
Hahahahahahahahaha! When the topic under discussion is a 30 year old retard compulsively masturbating to what he thinks is porn, the answer is obvious: just say no! Sure, there's a few innuendos thrown in - Adam talking about 'beating himself (up) all the time', Pastor Swartz telling him to 'dust himself off' and even a reference to a 'magic wand' - like they're speaking in pervert code. What I think's really sweet, though, is that the Pastor agrees to set Adam up with a suitable wank-buddy to talk explicitly about temptations and maybe swap links.
The Wartleys provide hours of entertainment for the religious and non-believer alike, because genuine Christain morality tales are almost indistinguishable from parodies thereof. Unfamiliar with satire and immune to irony, good-hearted, God-fearing media people are the unintentional yet flawless Comedy Kings of the internet. Bless them all.
Any guy who lived through the 1990's will tell you of the impotent horror that afflicted mankind. Manly-kind, I should say. Still trying to recover from the '80s androgeny of male mascara and unironic leather-wear, we were assaulted by the philosophical dilemma of 'political correctness' and a decade of enforced niciety. Do you have any idea how ball-destroying it is to pretend to be nice for 10 years running? You couldn't turn a corner without stepping on someone's rights. Owning a penis became a source of shame. Owning a white penis that wasn't attracted to other penises branded you part of a guilty majority.
Then again, our idea of male role-models in that decade was the cast of 90210, Jerry Seinfeld and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I'm surprised I still have a penis, to be quite honest.
PETA should be fed to the wolves
Rights abounded, even to animals, plants and politicians. I fucking hate PETA. Nealy as much as I respect and support the truly helpful RSPCA. I hate those wankers because they assume the moral high ground that is so far up in the clouds that their policies don't actually make sense. Meat is murder? Pet ownership is slavery? Insulin should be banned because it relies on animal testing to work properly? All animals should be freed? All animals should be freed!?! If you think humans can be cruel to fluffy critters, just wait until you see what they do to each other in an uncontrolled environment, you crazy fucks. You can't have animal utopia AND a food chain. That's the same as those ignorant jerks who fuck up their pets' health by forcing dogs to be vegetarian. You can't have freedom by enforcing counter-instinctual lifestyle changes, it kinda defeats the whole point. Most creatures are not designed to be nice, they're designed to fight for survival. And we will never treat pets as equals, not until I can lick my own balls and Rex can do my day job.
Thankfully PETA is so stupid that their idea of irony during an anti-dog show
campaign was to comparebreeders to the KKK, which inflamed an entire nation
and lost them black support world-wide. Also, the KKK has nothing to do with
eugenics, dickheads, you're thinking of Nazis.
Now, if a human chooses to be vegetarian or vegan or suicidal breatharian then that's okay. That is an adult freedom of choice I fully support. Everybody wins in that scenario because the tofu crowd get to sleep at night and the rest of us get more meat. Protest the injustice of diet, trees, pets, pollution, race, sex and corporate greed as much as you want. I will always protect and defend your right to do so. While you're at it you can judge my chain-smoking, beer drinking, gun owning ass all you want as well, because until you are an actualjudge in a real court of law it really, truly, absolutely doesn't matter to me.
The Sex Detective nevers judges, he just goes straight to the execution.
And now for some horrible example of what some religious people think a real man is:
The Found Footage Festival posted this on Youtube as a timely reminder of what would have happened if the good guys won - pure insanity.
Joe was just your average teenager, a white guy wandering around back lots in a gang-neutral bandana, pre-holed acidwash jeans and the type of leather jacket that real motorcyclists wouldn't spit on. He fumbled through life, masturbating to the latest issue of CARS BABES magazine (?), watching black and white homemade karate films and stalking a cheerleader. Then someone dropped their vinyl personal organiser on him and changed his life.
Pictured: Divine Intervention, the ring-binder edition.
Unfortunately the message didn't specify which god, so Joe just assumed it was Mopti the Violently Insane Eunuch Lord and altered his lifestyle accordingly. Seriously, have you ever seen such inexplicable anger? Tough-talking his own CD collection while eating it? Ripping posters off his walls? Disembowelling a television? Then he finishes up with an unprovoked assault while mumbling gibberish.
Goddies should be fed to the lions
In the early '90s I visited a Pentecostal church in my local neighbourhood, doing so for the best reason a young man has for doing anything worthwhile - boobies. They were actually really nice people, welcoming, cheery, enthusiastic and batshit crazy. But not dangerous crazy. Sure, they sang a lot about God doing nice things, spoke in tongues half the time, exorcised a few demons apparently, and occasionally tried to drown folks in a water tank, but apart from all that entertainment they seemed okay. Right up until the time they told me not to have sex before marriage, oh, and that I'm going to Hell if I do. Realising that I was now surrounded by untouchable boobies, and that, like vampires, these freaks thought they could just rock up to my house whenever they felt I was 'backsliding', I politely declined further invitations.
Apparently part of their code, similar to several other denominations, is to spread the Word and proselytize infidels. I think that earns them bonus God points or maybe a special badge. I was a Youthworker with street-kids at the time, so these people saw me as a golden PR opportunity to reach out to the most vulnerable of teens. See, apparently I was doing my job all wrong. Instead of providing service support, advocacy, health education, housing assistance, finding missing kids and battling pedophiles every night, I should have been telling my clients all about Jesus and giving them bibles. The price of their help was conversion. The kids were poor sinners who needed spiritual rescuing because they supposedly brought their fate upon themselves by letting demons into their heads. I'm not making this up, people, it was 1992 and I was being lectured about demons. In fact, there was a demon for every occasion: greed, lust, drugs, bad music, bad language, whatever these Goddies deemed untraditional behaviour. I was even accused of being possessed by a demon of Intellectualism. Intellectualism!?! When logic and reason become sins you can see where the whole argument falls apart. Preaching ignorance and mythology instead of the ability to make empowered decisions is pretty much the opposite of who I am. When I turned the preachies down (despite being offered the position of 'assistant youth leader' or 'star goblin-fairy in charge of unicorns' or something equally stupid), they did what the righteous always do when disappointed - they sulked, bitched and moaned. One even tried getting 'righteously angry' (which is kinda like normal angry only much funnier to watch) until he saw the axe-handle I kept next to the door. God's strength is no match for 1.2 metres of hickory, it seems.
But that's okay, I told them I forgave them for being dicks and closed the door. I'm pretty godly that way.
In closing I would like to share a clip from the awesomely underrated Boondocks 2 film that paints a much less confusing picture of manhood:
It's funny how words subtley change meaning over the years. Try using the verb 'seduce' today without laughing or sounding especially creepy. If I were to front up to a woman today and say "Hi, I want to seduce you," I might as well hand her a prescription for Rohypnol and a pre-signed restraining order. But back in the '80s that same word was considered the classiest way of saying "Okay, babe, it's pashy-pokey time!"
The geniuses at Found Footage Festival sum it up best with this montage clip.
Yep, it's your guide to successful seduction, formerly titled 'Sweet! She didn't Lay Charges!' Included among the panel of badly staged street interviwees are:
The woman who sounds coy about doing something impossibly uncomfortable under a table.
This man describing his encounter with the one woman who finally prompted him to disclose his sexuality.
A senior gentleman called Farley who actually volunteers this information to women before asking them "what's happening in the local place." What does that even mean, Farley?
Possibly a couple of disability outreach staff, one of whom is so sick of guys openly discussing her terrible complexion problems. Seriously, what sort of guys are you dating, lady, if their opening line is about freckles? Anyway, it's time for you to get Timmy back on the extra short bus.
A pair of amateur rapists describing the contents of their windowless van when the cops finally tracked them down in Detroit.
Finally we're treated to a re-enactment of successful seduction, while the voice over guy gently suggests a few place to stage date rape seductive techniques: in a car, a public place, in the woods. In the fucking woods? Anyway, after this couple meet up for dinner the guy inexplicably gets the nod from another diner and proceeds to rummage away in his woman in the middle of the restaurant.
But, sir, you haven't even had your entree! Or perhaps you have ;)
It's tough being a bully in this day and age, and thanks to all sorts of baffling education and awareness training it's getting tougher all the time. You can't even demand lunch money or initiate a quick wedgie any more without getting sent to therapy or being prescribed medication. It was so much easier for Gen X bullies, back when all you had to do was to call someone a fag until he started punching himself.
The strategies employed today against schoolyard bullies is the result of years of research and behavioural psychology. Peer education was the key, making anti-bullying a social norm in the school sub-culture. But before that, back in the early '90s, a very different type of peer education was taking place. Behold Bullysmart, a video made by kids for kids to learn what they thought was self-defence:
Yep, through a process of measured responses any little kid could dissuade physical bullying long enough to flee. Provided the bully had particularly slow reactions, operated alone and was conveniently transferred to another school the following day. This video proudly declares that the teenage senseis therein will teach you the 12 tactical techniques you need to prevail. Tricks like:
1. Wear Safe Clothing
Technique:"Be sure never to wear the same clothing as that of the gang."
Because the last thing you want to be mistaken for is the member of a group renowned for fighting skills and loyal comraderie. Best instead to don that polo shirt and make sure it's tucked deeply into your pants so you don't piss blood on it when the kidney kicks become too much.
2. The Artful Backstep
Technique:Step back as the bully tries to kick you.
Despite being bigger, stronger, faster and waaay more proficient at kicking ass, most bullies have poor depth perception due to drugs or something. As he clumsily lumbers forward with an ankle-high front kick simply step back a pace. Rinse and reapeat until the bully tires or you run out of alley. Make sure your arms are tightly fastened behind your back because you haven't been taught how to block yet and might hurt yourself.
3. Chicken Wing Block
Technique:Raise your hand to your head like you're smoothing back your hair, elbow extended.
This defence resolves any physical conflict very quickly because even if the bully misses with his punch, the sheer force of his forward momentum will send your hair-teasing palm through your skull.
4. The Stop Sign
Technique:Raise your hand palm out and command the bully to cease all violent activity.
Unless you happen to be dressed like a traffic cop who is also a real traffic cop, like with a baton, mace and gun that uses live ammo, then you may not want this to be your finishing move in a fight.
5. The Hair Pull
Technique:Grab two fistfuls of hair then wrench the bully onto the ground.
Hmmm, I think they mentioned at the start of the video that your average bully will be bigger and stronger than you, and probably less of a pussy. I recommend that you consider this move as you would drunken sex: unless your bully explicitly asks for hair-pulling, the chance of such an action decreasing the likelihood of violence is remote.
6. The Face Slap
Technique:Slap him inna face!
An open-hand slap to the cheek is pretty much the most emasculating gesture your can perform to another male without actually getting semen on his face. The good news is that any bully willing enough to let you jump up and bat at his face with your puny hand already has a secret crush on you.
7. The Groin Slap
Technique:Slap him inna balls!
While a gentle slap may be considered flirtatious in the bully community, trying to lunge for third base on a first date is seen as tres gauche. Don't be surprised if he never calls, texts or speaks to you again.
8. The Foot stomp
Technique:Step on his foot. That's it.
As your tiny, sneakered sole bumps ineffectually against his giant steel-capped boot you will actually confuse the bully. Are you asking him to dance, or testing to see if he's a Freemason? Such questions will haunt and bemuse his thoughts long after your ambulance arrives.
9. Biting
Technique:While head-locked turn your face into his chest and bite him.
Nipple biting? That's your tip? Just start chewing on his boob? Excellent.
10. Lying down (?)
Technique:If pushed to the ground remain on your back or side and fend the bully off with your feet.
This maneuvre works just fine, provided the bully is alone, doesn't find a big stick, grab your out-stretched limb, jump on you, or bores easily. Many fights end up on the ground, but only because both fighters are down there grappling away. If you fall down and then choose to remain prone while some guy twice your size circles you like a beefy vulture, then your only weapon is pity. This move is made all the more depressing hilarious when Sensei Teen Girl adds, "Be sure not to lie on our stomach otherwise he'll bounce your head off the kerb."
11. Throwing...stuff
Technique:Wait until the bully gets within range then throw you candy in his face.
According to the demonstration candy affects bullies like pepper spray, sending them reeling, dazed and disoriented. Of course, unless you happen to have a bag of lead-cored, shuriken candy in hand, all you've really done is offered him a dowry to a fist-wedding.
12. Rolled up magazine
Technique:Poke the bully with a rolled up magazine.
In the right hands, and with enough surprise, a tightly rolled magazine can be a mildly effective weapon. Unfortunately it's in your hands, pussy meat, so all you're doing is teasing his literacy needs. The problem with such a 'weapon' is that it requires both hands to be of any use, tying up any defensive options you had against a guy with greater reach and an entire library of pain to lend you.
Sex Detective Bully Advice
You only get pushed around for as long as you don't push back. A hysterical bitch-fit using the above techniques may buy you a 3 second head start if your bully is easily distracted, but it doesn't address the real problem, which is: the next day. Bullies do what they do because they suffer from an inflated sense of self-esteem and entitlement (and not 'low confidence' issues as some powerless soft-cocks would have you believe). They typically have an entourage of beta males in tow to block your escape or track you down. That's why fleeing is not an ongoing option. There is ultimately no escape. Also, bullies tend to be smarter than you might think. They will maintain a campaign of psychological terror in between the occasional opportunity to rough you up without consequence. Make no mistake, this is a war of wills and wits. Your enemy is bigger and better resourced with personnel and fists. A toe-to-toe show down will end badly, no matter how many teenage karate films you watch.
Instead you have to do what all successful underdogs in warfare have done - get all sneaky guerilla on that sonovabitch. That means using whatever you have on hand to improvise a means of inflicting pain and suffering as a significant deterrent. On an unrelated topic, here is some random information that should never be taken out of context and misused.
Fact: Most school chem labs have a liquid compound used to test acidity called Phenolphthalein. As a weak acid itself, it won't harm human skin, but even a few drops squirted into a drink or an open mouth will have extreme, even dangerous, laxative effects. Just saying.
Fact: A fine, well shaken mix of chili powder and 50%+ ethyl-alcohol solution in any spray device has the same effect as pepper spray because that's all it is. Now picture that exact same mix in a water ballon. Starting to get the picture? The alcohol evaporates quickly so the chili particles cling to whatever they hit, especially mucus linings. You know, for the sake of argument.
Observation: Here's something akin to irony: someone (who may or may not be a bully) asks for your lunch money and you oblige by giving him this in the face...
Remember to spend the money immediately after.
Also, did you know that coin-sized lacerations to the forehead bleed very profusely due to the sheer number of capillaries present? And that blood causes painful blindness if it drips into your eyes due to the salt content? Just something to keep in mind, I guess.
