Sex Detective vs Vin DiCarlo, chapter one.

Last issue:  In a fit of boredom I choose to launch an investigation into self-promoted sleazy cunt seduction guru, Vin DiCarlo.  Meanwhile, my differently unenabled PA (Probably Autistic) Ivan researches this twat's products and services.

Bwahahahahaha!

Look at what you get when you google wiki search for the world's greatest seductionist!

http://deletionpedia.dbatley.com/w/index.php?title=Vin_DiCarlo

Yep, wiki entry for Mr DiCarlo was deleted because it was nothing more than a self-promoting ad for whatever magical 'psychology of seduction' he peddles.

 Anyway, fuck that shit, let's have a close-up look at whatever his business empire is called - that's right, DiCarlo Diclassified Inc.  What the fuck does that even mean to real grown ups?  And if that's the registered company name why is his web address http://www.vindicarlo.com/ ?  I smell that particular species of narcissism inherent in online ego branding.  Instead of passe credentials like post grad qualifications, peer reviewed journal articles or spearheading a few clinical trials, DiCarlo's mastery of all things pussy-related come from "years of experience", "being mentored other [sugar-momma-fucking] masters", and "learning from the best".

In a nutshell, Vin promises to teach any hetero guy to become a master seductionist capable of charming any chick, wooing any heiress, and bathroom-fucking a shitload of co-eds.  I'm talking A LOT of promises, bloody reams of promises, padded out with his own tawdry tales and testimonials by possibly real people who claim an impossible change in their love lives after reading/listening to/workshopping Vin's patented techniques.

More on his sexual psych-babble later.  First here's Ivan's products investigation report from Mr DiCarlo's site.

Thanks to Ivan's official diminished capacity I'm not liable for any of this shit!



Okay, not as if that qualified as a report, Ivan, but at least you grabbed some advertising stuff regarding the tosser's popular book: The Attraction Code.

Yikes, I stole a glance at the source page for Ivan's scrapbook approach to document evidence and he wasn't kidding, the ad/promo page for this book goes on forever.  Standard online product backstory format that you'll encounter any time you accidentally follow a 'click-ads' links.  Snippets of content description interspersed with encouraging anecdotes, testimonials and emotive pleas.  Oh, and as usual, you didn't even know you had a problem with women until Vin explained that normal men are meant to fuck at least 10 a week just to qualify as a healthy male.  Otherwise you're clearly a eunuch.  Or telling the truth.

There's a few other books, of course, and some audio book crap samples, plus something called a S-Cubed pack that'll turn you into some sort of pussy threshing machine.  Then there's this:

The back story on this product, as relayed by the ever hip Vinnie-baby, is a pseudo-scientific journey into the fetid brains of Gen Y misogynists who will stop at nothing to conquer women using mind games, trigger phrases, borderline stalky persistence and a whole bag of other promises that will turn even the smartest vag-owner into putty in your sweaty, soiled hands.  No Flakes is a set of dvds designed to guarantee that, once scoring a girl's phone number, you will have her chasing your dong in no time.  How?  Well, Vin and one of his fellow super villians (you'll get to meet them soon) spent thousands of hours and dollars experimenting with texting until they came up with perfect SMS messages that can be copied & pasted off the discs to suit any occasion.  And this is what concerns me.  The likes of DiCarlo profit from the inadequacies of guys by convincing them that romantic/sex-based relationships are a PSY-OPS campaign, a battle of wits and wills.

Anyway, that No Flakes "how to psychically control a woman via SMS" bullshit will set you back US $297.00.  That's assuming of course you don't know how P2P torrents work.  In fact, locating 'shareable' copies of all Vin's bollocks was pleasantly quick when I had a couple minutes to spare.  They appear in the first half dozen relevant Google results for a start.  So, you know, fuck you, Vin.

The DiCarlo Seduction Team
Admittedly, even Vin with all his mojo, knowledge, skills and ego cannot manage the business juggernaut of DiCarlo DiClassified by himself.  He has by his side a crack team of seduction commandoes or some such, each with their own specialised womanising techniques.  Apparently.  I mean, shit, these guys are classified - sorry, DiClassified - as 'Trainers' but the bio page for each doesn't even include their surnames let alone any indication of what they ever did for a real job.

Brian
Brian has a psychology degree.  Brian is a big believer in the 'natural game' - a term you'll come across a lot amongst DiCarlo and his acolytes.  Best I can tell, 'natural game' is an organic approach to getting women into bed, as opposed to all that genetically modified chick-pulling you see around the place.  Most importantly, Brian is a great guy with really altruistic intentions.  I know this because his 'bio' says:
"he can explore pickup as a springboard for personal growth, utilizing positive energy and making real connections with the people around him, instead of hiding behind a false persona or collection of manipulative routines."
Once you read all about Brian and the brief testimonials regarding his awesomeness you can almost believe that desperate jerks aren't paying him $450.00 a pop to learn false personae or a collection of manipulative routines.

Heartwork
Heartwork?  Fucking 'Heartwork'?  That's his name?  But wait, it gets better.  Check this out:
"On top of that, Heartwork is officially the youngest professional pick-up artist and dating coach in the world."
Just how the hell are euphemisms for 'I fuck a lot of chicks' an official world title that can be based on an unstated age?
Once again there's several references to his approach also being 'natural', like sex is a renewable resource instead of, you know, sex.  He's a prodigy, apparently, who can teach you "the right tools and mindsets to attract the woman of your dreams in such a way the remains internalized and truly natural."
I have no idea what I just quoted, but after spending 30 seconds on Heartwork's bio page I feel compelled to beat that stupid-ass hat off that youngest-douche-in-the-world head of his.

Matt
Matt is Australian and is reportedly incredibly famous over here, especially since becoming a 'Master level Pick Up Artist'.  Did chatting up girls suddenly become a martial art?  He's also a 'personal coach' who teaches guys how to become highly successful or some shit.  I don't know you, Matt, and I'm pretty well versed in most famous Australians, what with me living in that country all my life.  Instead, I'm shelving you in the category of 'glorified wanker' simply because your site portrait there looks like it was taken at a boring backyard barbeque.
I'm not even going to waste a quote from your bio, Matt, that's how little I think of you.

Look, the bottom line is that DiCarlo and his band of nooky-ninjas charge money to teach you how to get laid.  That has to be some sort of fucked-up, ass-backwards prostitution scam that's too confusing to be outlawed, but it still reeks of wrongness.  I could literally start an academy that teaches men how to straight-out pay hookers with counterfeit cash and I'd still feel cleaner than delving into this crap.

Next Issue: Private Coaching and Client Reviews!

Sex Detective vs Vin DiCarlo, prologue.

I have a black-belt in sleazy seduction, it's a job requirement so I can square off against other sleazes.  But don't worry, I only use my mad skills for good, or if I'm really lucky, fucking excellent.  The SD will never try to sell you books or dvds or iPhone apps designed to make you an elite pick-up artist or consumate lover.  Why?  Because fuck you, work it out yourself, losers, that's why.

I had my uniquely challenged work experience kid, Ivan, idly checking the spam in my email accounts recently, because the Sunnyvale Day Release for Special Volunteers Program wants me to technologically empower the little shit or something in exchange for the disabled sticker I get to use on my car.  His job is to, I dunno, think that he's doing research or something for me, which is why he rushed into my office yesterday afternoon, waving his arms and running in circles.  Usually this means that he broke the toilet again, but once I calmed him down with a light tazing I learned that he had apparently made a hugely significantly discovery.

"Vin DiCarlo!  Vin DiCarlo!  The world's greatest dater, Mr Vengeance!  He wants to teach you how to charm ladies!"

"What the fuck are you squealing about?"

"On your electro-mail!  Quick, see for yourself what I sent you!  Research!"

I shrugged and opened my business email, silently promising myself that if Ivan was actually sending me another Unicornville invite I'd dial my tazer up to '11'.  But no, my side-kick/idiot savant had actually sent me a few annotated screen caps of interest.  Suddenly I was very interested in Mr Vin DiCarlo, but not because he promised to teach me how to talk to a female Earth-human without my dick exploding.

Welcome to the special ed edition of the EIP (Electronic Investigative Process), Ivan style.

Admittedly these caps told me way more about a certain disabled assistant's personal life than it did about someone who sounds like a gourmet coffee brand, but my sexy-sense was tingling.  Any self-promoting, online entity whose composite job title includes 'Master', 'Coach', 'Advisor' and 'Artist' by way of credentials typically has much to say but little to offer.

"Hmmm," I mused, lighting a smoke and inserting it into my mask's mouth hole, "We may have a case, Ivan, my boy."

Ivan started jumping on the spot and clapping his hands.

"Radical, Mr V, do you reckon he can teach me the woman thing?"

I paused and looked across at the tiny, hunch-backed, wall-eyed 49 year old with a mind of a 12 year old, and the dress sense of a 49 years old 12 year old (today he wore a faded Greatest American Hero t-shirt above corduroys and a pair of Desert Boots).

"Well, let's not rule it out, er, lad, but what I meant was I think this creep is worth investigating."

More jumping and clapping, followed by: "Ohhh, so he will be your nemesis!  Like Lex Luthor, or The Joker, or maybe like the nurse at my place who makes me put powder on my hands before I go to bed?"

"I - huh?  No!  That's retar... not quite how the social status dynamics of internet trouble-shooting works, um, kid.  This guy is probably just another pretend internet expert, so it's up to a pretend internet detective like myself to suss him out.  You know, for consumer protection purposes and... oh, crap, I just realised what your powder situation is all about.  Eew, by the way."

"Nurse David says it's for hygiene, but I know it's just to stop me from thinking about Nurse Tiffany - "

"Uh-huh," I cringed.

"And Nurse Elizabeth.  And Counsellor Miranda..."

"Yes, I fully -"

"...and Mildred the Cook, and also the poster of Sailor Moon in the rec room..."

"Shaddup, you little pervert!" I interrupted him, clicking my tazer ominously for emphasis.  Ivan pressed his straggly-bearded lips together and looked downcast at the office floor.

"Look, all it means that we have something to keep us occupied for the next few hours - reading up on this creep's sites, products and services, then compiling a highly critical yet in-no-way-slanderous-article-due-to-this-being-a-satirical-blog.  You know, just like we did last week about Japanese sexbots receiving child support payments."

Ivan nodded sullenly towards the linoleum.  It's hard being a kid in 2011, especially when you're old enough to be your own child molestor but the powers that be keep powdering your callused hands.  "So?" he muttered.

"So, that means more research, my intellectually youthful friend!  Hit this sleaze's site and get me the skinny on his goods and services, Ivy-baby."

"Sure thing, Detective Kidd!" he cried, all smiles now that we were inexplicably somehow friends again, I guess.  He spun around facing the door and skipped out towards his cubicle with all the confidence and determination of a foetal-alcohol, compulsively masturbating man-child who doesn't have to worry about hand powder for another 8 hours.

I lit up another coffin nail, leaned back on my chair, and peered at the devilishly charming image staring back at me on screen.  Vin DiCarlo, professional pick-up artist, self-published e-author, mentor, guru, and a whole lot of other names that mean exactly zero merit in a real man's world.  Sure, I knew the guy could be totally harmless, just another entrepreneur vying for his slice of the sucker pie online.  But his not-quite-Johnny-Depp-looks and general air of smug-cuntedness was all the justification I needed to pick his bullshit apart.

Vin DiCarlo, the world's greatest pick-up artist, just ask him!

Ladies describe him as 'irresistable', but let's see how well he

can flirt while trying to pick up his own teeth with broken fingers.

Next post: SD profiles the anthropomorphisation of narcissism and his team of Gen Y sex ninjas.

Idiot-proof consumer protection

Occasionally in my fictitious private detective office I come across some exceptionally bad advertising for exceptionally mediocre products or services.  The mere fact that these ads exist tell me there's a market for things that either aren't special or are especially egregious.  So, either advertising companies don't give a shit about their clients and will peddle their crap, or the clients don't give a shit about ad-coms and will blatantly ask them to conspire in absolute bollocks.

Found this one at 1000words.com.  There are two possible and worrisome implications in this ad. 
1. If you fuck up getting the perfect engagement ring your fiancee will justifiably murder you in your sleep, and is legally sanctioned to do so by a jewellry company. 
2. Once you propose to a woman you automatically and legally forfeit any rights to make future decisions.
Nice message, assholes.

Jesus, it's like the client slept with the ad company's wife or something.  "See, client, instead of the letter 'u' we've drawn a cum dribbling penis mouse with a cable coming out of the wrong end.  Hey, wouldn't it be ironic if the 'u' actually meant 'you'?  As in your cock spoonting love gravy all over my wife's whorish face?  Hahaha, but it's totally not that."

The Extenze ad campaigns have been going on for years in the US.  For you local readers, Extenze is a herbal supplement product that probably won't kill you, but also will never do what it less-than-subtly hints it can: make your penis bigger.  Because that's not how penis size works, okay?  Some organs can become enlarged due to chemicals - think alcohol and livers - but the only way this crap is going to change the size of your cock is by crushing it up, injecting it into your member, and hoping for an allergic reaction.

Watch medical science take a huge step backwards as HeadOn tries to convince you how stupid you are.  "My head hurts, so rubbing a combination of wax and menthol will cure the pain." There's a reason why actual, skin absorbed nerve agents aren't sold over the counter or online.  Something about terrorists, I think.  Instead you get 'chapstick for your head.'

How fucking baffling yet awesome is this ad from Tennessee, US?  As anyone who harbours an ounce of skepticism knows, any product name that ends in 'something-thousand' is either a new model of Terminator or a fake-science quack machine.  In this case it's a horrifyingly named 'spinal decompression' device designed for chiropractors to print money treat back pain 86% better than other uncited stuff.

Obviously the ad company contracted by the Tenessee Spine & Nerve Institute ('institute' being the default name for any bogus science facility) had even less idea than you or me as to what exactly the 'Doctor-Ex 9000' looked like so they went with the next best thing.

Squirrels.  With.  Light-sabres.

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!
*breath*
Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!
*breath*
Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Bear attack?  No problem, we got a kit for that.  Includes space blankets, a whistle, things for starting fires and hopefully things to stop bleeding.  Oh, and see that little pistol in the middle?  That's actually a Smith & Wesson .500 magnum revolver, which fires 12.7mm wide bullets.  It will easily kill a bear, or yourself if you can't take the mauling-related pain inherent in pissing off a giant carnivore in its natural habitat.

The best bit is the 'Bear Attacks of the Century' survival guide, which I guess starts off with helpful tips like '#1: Don't get attacked by a bear!' or '#4: Do a 3 mile sweep of the campsite and kill all bears!', then devotes the rest of the pamphlet to a selection of graphically sickening coroner reports.

I haven't been up against a grizzly bear before - as is apparent by the fact I'm typing this with intact fingers - but I'm pretty sure they don't fuck around when it comes to attacking people.  This is bad news if you keep your Bear Kit beside the First Aid box in the boot of your car.  Also, given that said box contains a fully loaded version of the most powerful handgun in the world, you would kinda hope it has some sort of child-resistant lock on it.

Full disclosure: I'm a smoker and a handgun owner, so making a health ad using cigarettes to form a pistol and then citing arbitrary figures about crime is a great way to piss me off twice, you ignorant fucks.  Everyone knows I learnt my lesson last August and hardly ever get cigarettes and compact firearms confused nowadays.

Okay, let's end on something especially tasteless and useless.  Bad enough that you think a half-naked, 3rd trimester model is the way to go for this campaign, creepy ad-people, but why the fuck do you think there's a market for non-alcoholic beer?  What's next?  Semenesque chupa chups?  Vaginal mucus membrane cordial?  Tequila that makes me feel less confident around chicks?

Ersatz beer is a terrible idea.  You'd have better luck selling trashy, golden bikini tops to pregnant wome- oh.

LP or not LP? That is the question...

Okay, one last foray into LP Cover lover world.  This time I promise not to persecute any more horrific Christian albums.  Though, to their credit, at least Christian record producers deal with a product that lends itself well to a purely audio medium.  Christians talk and sing a lot about their God, a god who, when you get down to it, can't be seen or recorded.  So when you put a religious record on you can be assured that you're not seeing Him not appear and hence their is no visual regret.

Occultist and magic people face a constant problem in that regard.  It's not easy to translate the spectacle of summoning demons and performing magic into pure sound.  You must either need highly explicit commentary or very suggestive noises for the audience to be convinced that something magical has actually happened.

Which is why this makes no sense:

Stage magic only works in one medium, that's why its practioners are sometimes called illusionists and never called auralists.
"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have just sawn my assistant in half, but now she is rejoined, completely unharmed!"
All I can picture is a sad old man in the twilight of his career, sitting by a microphone while sawing a piece of wood then speaking in a bad falsetto as his own assistant.

At least with this next example the magic is in the actual LP itself - a plastic record that plays a different story each time.

Unfortunately, it was just 256 variations of the same theme - some hideously deformed, red-headed kid constantly trying to elude his caped molestor.


Cold War propoganda utilised every medium it could to convince those dirty commies that the US held the technological edge.

NORAD was so fucking powerful and precise it could even track and record imaginary Western symbols of capitalism.  Hah!  No presents for you, Russia!

I can't even begin to describe the logistical nightmare involved in recording a fantasy tea party underwater.  Once again, an insurmountable visual translation, unless you consider 48 minutes of bubbly noises performance art.

"Hello, son, welcome to the studio.  It's Richard, right?"
"Yessir, but you can call me Dick."
"Dick?  Dick Wead?"
"That's right, sir."
"Dick Wead the... pianist?"
"Correct."
"And this is not a comedy album?"

This is the recording of a woman being attacked by a rape ghost.  Fortunately her apparition alarm has alerted her to the imminent threat.

The French never do anything by halves.  Whether it be making love, fine wine, or surrendering to Nazis, they throw their hearts and souls into each project.  Here they tackle the sensitive subject of alcoholic depression, as depicted by a miserable hobo using a trash lid as a plate and a bin as a toilet.

"Italian style" is old slang for "violent sexual ambush".  Seriously, how could anyone sleep while that freak is staring at them with those rapey eyes?

This is actually a scientific report recorded at the 1967 Aryan Clone Army Labs.  Blue overalls denote urban pacification specialists, green is for counter-intelligence, while the brown-dressed kids will keep the incinerators stoked.

Fuck you, France, you just don't give a shit about anything, do you?

Sex Detective vs Developmental morality

I have a bit of a rep for taking cheap shots, over-simplifying issues, expressing obvious biases and being a cunt, but I have my bad points too.  Like most breathing humans, I'm largely the result of a lifetime of successes and failures, both of which have imparted knowledge vital to my development as a person.  A lot of that stuff occurs in childhood, things like don't put a fork in a power point, don't put bees in your mouth, and don't tease carnivores that are bigger than you.  The only argument I have against evolution is that I somehow survived these things before the age of three.  My parents are beautiful and wickedly cool people, but they weren't big on supervision, opting to let nature teach their son how the world really works.

So I come from that old school where life lessons started early and painfully.  Nowadays parents don't have to take such a natural slection approach to the development of their offspring.  Child psychology is big business, and it is everywhere.  Oh, and full disclosure: I've never had kids and know fuck all about them: what they watch on TV, what they wear, how good they are at field-stripping a gun, or even which brand of beer they prefer.  But I do know all about bullshit (plus some Developmental Psych at Uni), which is why I loved watching these brief clips from Dr Randall Hyde, PhD.


Despite being a natural master of the awkward pause, Randy here has a lot to say in a small amount of time.  Whether your kid decides to be an explorer or a shotgun weilding hermit (both of which sound pretty cool to me), he's adamant that confidence comes from within, and he's absolutely right.  Do you have any idea how much confidence it takes to call up a restaurant and convince them to give your 4 year old daughter food poisoning?  A fucking lot, I reckon.  Thankfully the kid noticed the uncooked meat, and hence passed that particular survival test.  That was the lesson, wasn't it?


For fuck's sake, Randy, look at the bloody camera while you're talking!

Anyway, morality, very important for children.  Apparently.  Values, honesty, principles and loyalty, that's the ticket.  Teaching kids right from wrong is essential, and you can supposedly do it by giving them more and more committments.  I had heaps of committments as a young child, but the biggest one of all, the one which I constantly tried to prioritise, was not geting caught.  I once got whipped with a riding crop (even though we didn't have any horses - what the fuck, parents?) for very nearly killing my brother with a rock.  That day I learned a valuable lesson - I would never be a successful serial killer, so I might as well focus on other forms of skullduggery.  All kids know about honesty, but most of us weren't big fans of it because it directly interfered with being a kid.  Think back to your most memorable and exciting days in childhood - the real adventures that stick in your mind and make you laugh: were you being diligently honest at the time?  Or were you fucking around and up to no good?  Thought so.  Kids don't become honest by being told about it, they choose to be honest when it suits them, just like with lying.  And even then the little shits probably have an agenda.

Lying
I'm a big believer in lying - not as a practice per se, but as an essential human behaviour.  We learn to do it by age 3, and we simply get better at it as we grow.  And there are three very important reasons why we must know how to lie.

1. Gain
Whether it's cheating on your taxes, stealing wifi access, defaming an enemy or just hiding a surprise party, lying is a great (if morally inconvenient) way to get shit done.  It's like a super-power that allows you to bend reality to your will.  And fortunately most adult humans have a built-in justification machine that helps mitigate any guilt involved.  We even lie to ourselves when necessary just to make sense of the world.

2. Fear
Would you lie to protect someone you love?  I'm guessing yes, especially if it was a child.  Would you lie to keep someone happy?  Sure, people who have affairs do this all the time, so do people hiding terminal illness or crippling addictions.  And, of course, we all lie/embellish/omit to avoid punishment if we're confident we can get away with it.

3. Detection
This is more of a side-effect from lying, but it is incredibly useful.  See, most people aren't very good at picking lies in others because, on average, we're all pretty much equal at doing it.  Even psychologists, police, lawyers and judges can only pick lies 50% of the time (ie: no better than chance).  However, there is a minority of personality types that excel at deception detection - secret agents, professional conmen, and junkies.  These people lie for a living, all the time, it's how they survive and it is their primary motivation in life.  Such people (despite, or because of, their clearly amoral attitudes) can naturally detect deceit more than 80% of the time because their lifestyle depends on it.  Deceit, and hence deceit-spotting, becomes a hardwired skill, a specialised instinct.  And like all knowledge and survival skills, that ability never goes away.

Coolest.  Liars.  Ever.

Honesty
Honesty as a principle or value has its place, but I don't agree that it defines a person's 'good' or 'bad' character.  I don't think the important issue is that kids should be generally honest, it's all about who they are honest to.  Obviously it helps the whole family if kids are honest to their parents and invested relatives, but it can be disastrous if a kid is alone at home and tells the stranger on the other end of the phone that mum and dad are out for the next few hours.  It is okay to lie to bad people, to deter or counter a threat, because doing so serves a greater, protective good.  See, it's about purity of purpose, not purity of the act itself.

The truth shall set you free.  Unless it's a signed confession.

Then not so much.

And here's a paradox for you.  Ever lied to keep an oath, a promise?  Sure.  An oath is completely different to being honest.  An oath dictates behavioural parameters and specific actions, some of which may actually require deceit to accomplish ("Promise not to tell anyone about my rash!").  Unless it's an oath to always be honest.  Then you're screwed.

So, as unqualified as I am to argue this, I don't believe the ultimate goal is to teach kids honesty - largely because they already know that there's a difference between real and fake.  No, the real skill you need to impart to them is the importance of discretion.  The world is full of earnestly honest people, many of whom live shitty, guillible lives as a result.  One figure you may have heard about in Christian mythology is Jesus Christ.  Very honest guy, by all accounts.  You remember him, he's the guy who told the truth like all the time and got his ass nailed to a piece of wood as a result.  That was the lesson, wasn't it?

Don't worry, though, he's learned from his mistakes.

Oh no, not more bullshit relationship advice?

Yep, you're darn fucking right there is.  This is where I steal genuine relationship/sex questions published on other sites, readdress them to me, then answer them with the full disclosure that I'm an uneducated freak in a hockey mask with a bicycle light around his neck, yet my answers are guaranteed to solve these problems.  One way or another.

The great thing about relationship and dating advice is that it's all ridiculously subjective. So called experts - psychologists, counsellors, sex detectives and mainly Dr Phil - are full of shit. It's such a personal topic that too much personal bias leaks out from the adviser, usually based on their own last failure to meaningfuly connect with another shaven ape. With that in mind, let's explore why it's so hard to get this shit right.
1. Dear Detective,

I just got my ass dumped by the girl of my dreams. How do I deal?

There's only two words that can address heart-break, good sir: beer and boobies. And be smart about this, I mean getting drunk at a titty bar, preferably with single mates who are just as piss weak at holding down a girlfriend (figuratively). Sure, you might feel bad about yourself the next day for wasting cash on boobs you can't actually touch, but you already hate yourself so what do you have to lose? Also, get really jealous and obssessive about the girl that booted your sorry butt to the curb, and incessantly whine about her to your friends for the next 6 months. After the cops have enforced her restraining order, her new boyfriend has kicked your ass, and your buddies have stopped returning your mewling voice mails, you'll realise that back when you initially got dumped things weren't so bad.

2. Attention: SD,

My boyfriend and I have been together for 10 years and I keep waiting for him to pop the question. He keeps avoiding the subject of marriage, or saying that he wants us to be more financially stable before talking about it. How long do I wait?

Jeez, lady, I'd say about negative 7 or 8 years. The "let's wait until we're rich and successful" excuse is mucho lamo because it's contrary to the way things really work. Marriage and family-making is one of the most powerful incentives to get your shit together. Commitment to another person naturally promotes commitment to building a better life in general. Until then he's using the prospective outcome as the reason not to start the process in the first place.  If your life goal really is marriage then you have two choices: change your life goal, or; set a date and hope he rocks up with a ring.

3. Sex Det,

My boyfriend and I broke up a little while ago (6 months), but I really miss him and want to get back together. Rather than beg after him, though, I've striven to improve my life, health and happiness. Once he sees how far I've come will he regret leaving and want me back?

Fuck, no! By becoming a supposedly better person then flaunting it in his face, the most you're gonna do is assuage his guilt (if any) for dropping you like the needy little girl that you are. He'll be thinking, "Phew, she's obviously doing much better without me, I made the right decision all along, good for me." Have a good look at his life now. If he's hooked up with another girl, then you're history unless she turns out to be worse than you were. If he's happily single, and hasn't even bothered to drunk dial you for a booty call since you guys split, then you must have really fucked him up anyway.

4. Please help,

My boyfriend's penis smells really bad. I've tried hinting that he should clean it more often and even wash it for him when we shower together, but no luck. How do I get it to stop smelling?? It's a turn off.   - Gag.

Holy fuck, I don't know what's worse: the fact that published this on a public domain, or that your log-in name is... wait for it... 'Gag'.  Clearly the human penis is not normally meant to smell like an exotic and expensive French cheese - unless you're French, of course, because nothing would surprise me with you fuckers.  Secondly, your log-in name tells me that despite being coated in a patina of fermented smegma, you still put that disgusting thing in your mouth!  The irony is that while you're complaining to the world about your fella's zombie-dick, he's whinging to his mates about your horrible, cheesy breath.  See, how this is becoming a vicious cycle?

Look, there's a mutually convenient solution to all this.  Get yourself some heavy-duty, alcohol based mouth wash then take and hold a mouthful next time he wants some sucky-sucky.  Within a few minutes, after he's shoved his inflamed member into a bucket of cold water, and is talking to you again, he will get the message, while you will still have minty fresh breath.  Win-win.

Now in bleach flavour!

5. Please, Mr Sex Detective,

I recently broke up with my ex-bf for cheating on me but he continues to text/call me even though he is with a new girl. When i post a status on FB about guys I like, he texts me and cusses me out. Why is he doing this?

This boy is still hounding you despite having his ass dumped and grabbing another missus because, well, he's a bit of a dick.  Sure, he's got a new girl, but she's what we technically call a 'place-holder', you know, someone to kill time and sex with while chasing what he really wants - your booty again.  Boys that are like this (and make no mistake, this is spoilt boy behaviour, regardless of age) want to have their pie and eat it too.  See, there's this delusion that a boy goes through where he believes he was the best thing to ever happen to you sexually and hence he can't handle the fact that you're moving on to other guys.  Luckily most of us grow out of this ridiculous mind-set by the age of 25.

Those FB updates cut him deep, only he knows he can't comment there because he's officially with a new girlfriend.  Therefore he sends you moany little bitch texts instead.  You rightfully dumped his ass for cheating and his precious little boy ego can't handle it.  To him you're like a favourite pet that suddenly learned how to drive a car and make its own food, cutting him out of the equation of dependence.

Now, a more responsible and morally forthright consultant would advise you delete him off FB, change your number etc.  But I'm the goddamn Sex Detective and a real cunt.  If he gets nastier about this situation (and he will, little boys can't fucking help themselves) then you need to remember that you have a whole archive of time-stamped texts with which to shame him.  He's the one paying you jealous electronic attention while he's in a relationship.  A court might not consider that cheating, but his current girlfriend sure as hell will.

Well, that's it for this round of bullshit advice.  Take care out there in lover-land and always remember: you can play nice, or you can win, the choice is yours.

Sex Detective vs V-Day tokens of love

Yep, less that a week to go until that stupid, commercially created day where couples unironically celebrate their love, and single people dream stalky dreams about someone who probably doesn't give a fuck about them.

I know there are plenty of hopeless romantics out there, but most of you are only hopeless in the sense that you don't stand a fucking chance of scoring that dream date. Seriously, dude, you need to lower the bar and take what you can get.

I'm not much of a romantic myself, too many years bringing justice and heart-break to the imaginary mean streets of the internet, I guess.  Too jaded, too tainted and too damn ugly to care.  Still, even I know the difference between acceptable tryst tokens and crap that is more likely to provoke a restraining order than reciprocated love.
 
That being said, here's what a 5 minute random search turned up as Valentine's Day cards and gifts from people who might as well give up now.
 
Cards
 

There's weak, piss weak, and then this.  Seriously, how would you react to something this nothing?  If it was from your lover you'd ask him for photo ID because he obviously lied about his age.  If it was from a secret admirer you would go out of your way not to discover his identity.  And what the hell is romantic about nuclear warheads?  It's more like something light-hearted terrorists would send each other.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Some folks like to combine sentimentality with nostalgia and send an old timey card from their grandparents' era.  Which is fine if you find something corny and fruit-related like this.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

But not so fucking cool if you opt for this instead.  Boy, those Chinese sure did like to say "EE" on the end of their verbs a alot, apparently.  But the first phrase ("not big valentine") implies that this actually some sort of half-arsed sentiment, as if it really says "I'm not big on cards, but here's one anyway, hope you're as rascist as I am."
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Don't even know what this is meant to be - some sort of pinky blob monster with a couple of empty shoes in front.  Did it just eat the shoe owner?  Is it depressed because it can't wear shoes?  Maybe it's a disembodied brain creature covered in heart shaped tumours?  No matter how you look at this thing it's as sad as fuck.
 
 
 
 
 

Yes, the bottom line in brackets does read "me luv u long time" (cringe) because apparently now the Vietnam War movie era of the '80s is far enough removed to make the poverty-driven prostitution industry of 1970's Vietnam cause for hilarity.  As opposed to, you know, highly offensive racial slurs.  Well done.
 
 
 
 
 
Gifts for her 
Man, if I had a dollar for every time a mate has asked "What should I get her for Valentine's Day?" I'd be slightly better off than I am now, that's for sure.  It's really simple guys - flowers, dinner and/or professional massage, then home for cunnilingus.  V-day is about creating a romantic experience, not material objects per se. You may want to chew a lot of gum over the next few days, though, to build up some jaw endurance if you get my drift.  If you insist on a gift instead, here's some to avoid. 

What a fucking miserable piece of shit.  People who give stuffed animal toys to adults as Valentine's gifts really worry me.  Adults who enjoy receiving them worry me even more.  If your boyfriend surprises you on V-day with something like this then it's actually an ill-conceived ransom payment to get his testicles back from your purse.  I wouldn't give that depressing pile of pink plush to a comatose kid in the cancer ward, let alone someone I hoped to one day have sex with.
 
 
 
 
 

Fucking-A!  Disco boobies!  Realistically, though, any woman who isn't secretly a man is probably going to react a little poorly if this is your idea of lingerie.  Look, it's never a good idea to dress your love up as Lady Ga-Ga, okay, because subconsciously you'll start checking her for a penis.  Admittedly I'm saying that because I don't like her (I'm a Pink man through and through), but I'm just saying.
 
 
 
 
 
 

How happy does that chick look now that she's received a portable stripper pole from her beloved?  And she's already hot!  Just think how flattered your statistically plain significant other will be when you use 3 tubes of aluminium and an instructional dvd to tell her, "Honey, after all these years I still think you're sexy enough to be a stripper!  Start shaking that booty and I'll shove $5 bills down your pants like in that place I usually get drunk at every Thursday night in order to get horny enough to shag you."
The best thing about stripper poles is that they're a great way to lose weight and dignity at the same time.  Personally, though, I'd ditch the poles and just wank off to the dvd.

Are you fucking insane?  A man never buys a woman exercise equipment, even if they beg him to, and certainly never something as lame as a Thigh Master.  Apart from the danger inherent in any spring-loaded device, this piece of crap should be renamed the Divorce Master, because you'll always remember the day she opened this present and started crying.





Gifts for him
Personally I don't agree that guys should receive anything for V-day, other than a well-deserved gobby.  V-day is a girlie day, but if your woman insists on getting all 'equality consumerism' in your face at least explain that some gift ideas are worse than others.

Sorry, ladies, but anything in a basket is pretty lame for a guy, unless it's a basket of handjob vouchers and beer.  A basket of toiletries is even worse, because we actomatically assume you're telling us to smell like a girl.  And anyway, anything more than a roll of deordorant or a splash of aftershave will mess with our musky pheromones, and you definitely don't want that.

Hmmm, gadgets aren't really V-day material, they're more of a birthday/Christmas thing.  You want something that represents passion, like a gun or an engraved knife or some classic porn with his voice dubbed over the male roles.

I appreciate that some girls really dig their artsy-crafty side, and assume that it's a fantastic labour of love to create a visual homage to the love of their life.  I've received a couple of these in my time, and it creeped me the fuck out.  I don't mind the occasional token craft gift, but an entire bio-pictorial of my relationship reminded me too much of family albums, only with a lot more tongue.

SD vs 6 questions men fear.

As I've mentioned before, brethren, women always out-think us man folk by being able to process and compile thoughts on multiple levels at once.  In the time it takes us to formulate and express a desire like "I want a sandwich" they have already mentally computed the following:

1. Physical properties (the estimated caloric intake of the sandwich)
2. Philosophical discourse (what is a sandwich really and is it metaphorical of other desires?)
3. Social implications (will this sandwich make me appear greedy or simply display my healthy appetite?)
4. Emotional importance (does this food meet the comfort I seek in a food relationship?)
5. Self-image issues (will eating the sandwich be a tidy affair or will I risk looking silly?)

And that's only part of it, I'm sure.  Today I'm going to share some of my experience with the smarter sex thanks to my colourful and checkered history with various women.  This will take the form of actual questions I have been asked during relationships.  You will recognise some of these questions and know that upon hearing them a very primal, instinctive part of your brain - the part that manages self-preservation - automatically starts screaming "It's a trap!  Run!"

In each scenario I will furnish you with examples of the incorrect answer, the compliant answer, and the Sex Detective answer which will guarantee you never get asked that same question again.

Question 1:

Do you want to come with me to see my parents on the weekend?

Incorrect answer: "No way, I'd rather have you hate me for not doing important things with you."
Compliant Answer: "Yes, of course, dear!"
Sex Detective Answer: "Hell yeah, I've gotta few things I want to say to those meddling, back-stabbing fucks.  Great idea, honey, I'll get the car!"


Question 2

Do you think that my friend/cousin/sister is good looking?

Incorrect answer: "Sure, she is very attractive."
Compliant answer: "Dunno, doesn't really do anything for me."
SD answer: "Why, do you want to fuck her?  Do you want me to fuck her?"

Question 3

Does this [whatever she's wearing, like it matters] make my ass look big?

Incorrect answer: "(pause)... no?"
Compliant answer: "No!"
SD answer: "No!  Not nearly enough!  Change immediately into something worthy of that magnificent and majestic booty!"

Question 4

If we wanted a threesome with one of my friends who would you choose?

I'm not kidding, I've been asked that twice in two different relationships.

Incorrect answer: "Hmm, maybe Denise, she's got a rocking ass, or, no, Melissa because of those perky tits..."
Compliant answer: "I do not want a threesome with anyone, honey, too many things could go wrong emotionally."
SD Answer: "Look, babe, this is a very serious question that requires due consideration.  Tell you what, give me a list of relevant friends and I'll fuck-test them then get back to you with the results.  I mean, if you want a threesome with any of them then you clearly don't mind me fucking all of them anyway, right?"

Question 5

What are you thinking?

This one shits me to tears every time.  Because women think all the time they simply assume that guys do too, but the truth is we can go minutes on end without conscious thought, like switching a computer to standby mode.  That wistful, distant look in our eyes?  Means we're literally thinking nothing, ladies, because thinking tires us out.

Incorrect answer: "Nothing."  Don't ever say this, you'll just provoke a deluge of follow up questions that will confuse and frustrate you.
Compliant answer: "I was thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my life, and how much I appreciate you and the interest you take in me."  It might be difficult to hold back the bile, and the reply sounds corny as hell, but trust me she will either fall for it or laugh it off.
SD: answer: "Really?  You really want to know what sort of crazy shit passes through my head?  Okay, just before you asked the most boring question in the world I was wondering what baby orangutan tastes like.  Then, when those words passed your lips my immediate thought was 'none of your fucking business, my thoughts are the one part of me that are sacrasanct, and if they bore any importance to you I would turn them into words for you to hear.'

Question 6

Is there something you want to tell me?

Yep, you're fucked.  Whatever it is you did wrong she either knows about it or, thanks to her inborn telepathy, suspects it.  The safety catch is off, but she's giving you the chance to pull the trigger yourself.

Incorrect answer: "No, nothing springs to mind.  Nothing at all, especially nothing to do with a bottle of tequila and your best friend last Saturday."
Compliant answer: "Yes, there is [insert your highly embellished version of events]."
SD answer:  "You have got to be fucking kidding me, right?  If I wanted to tell you something you would already know about it.  If I didn't then there is no way you would know about it.  See how this works?  You either have all the proof you need and hence this talk is nothing but a trap, or: you need to present me with a specific accusation or concern, and then I argue against it accordingly.  It's called a discussion, and it's what grown ups do instead of vaguely asking for a spontaneous confession regarding unclarified matters."

Now, sure, my answers won't get you out of trouble, but they will transform the whole dynamic of the exchange.  Women tend to think more than we do - just compare the number of female status updates to male ones on Facebook.  Chicks leak their thoughts all the time like a flood-gate.  But thinking more actually means thinking less efficiently: you statistically come up with more assertions, but you also come up with more corresponding doubts.  When you're a complicated thinker then even the simplest of problems suddenly become complicated in your mind, because complications are your speciality.  I'm frequently asked by women to interpret messages from men, messages that are obviously simple to my man brain, but because I'm trained to switch between simplicity and complexity in terms of cognition (Psychology training = complex, Investigative training = simple), I can put it in terms they understand.

And that's why I am the goddamn Sex Detective.I'm surprised this cliche still comes up but it does.  I mean, she's asking for fashion advice from the one man in her life she knows for sure isn't gay, so why would he be considered a reliable judge?Women are highly competitive on many levels, and compare themselves to other women all the time when they feel insecure.  Like all female questions this is a test, not a general survey.This is a classically mistaken enquiry because it is really statement and not a question at all.  What she is saying is: "You do want to come with me to see my parents on the weekend."  You'll find that women often phrase statements of compliance as questions to give the illusion of choice, but that's only to be courteous.

Sex Detective vs Love & Marriage

Love isn't usually my imaginary domain as a pretend detective, I tend to leave that to professors, poets and pussies, but you don't investigate as many relationship issues as I do without picking up a few ideas on the whole romance thingy.  Personally I eschew romance on the basis that it wastes valuable fucking time, but alot of you out there seem to get something out of it, so I'll tell you what this hard-boiled, street savvy sonovabitch knows.

Love - the type that's actually interesting, not all that unconditional shit you have with kids and pets (boring!) - generally progresses through three fundamental phases.

1. Infatuation
Yep, the whole crush n' lust phase.  You meet someone attractive, your eyes lock, you both smile and idiocy ensues.  The woman/man of your dreams is also attracted to you!  Great, you (probably) think, that'll let me spent money on chocolates, flowers and grown-up restaurants instead of duct tape, illegal prescriptions and basement sound-proofing.  You get all goofy and nervous around each other, check your phone every 5 minutes whenever you're apart, and start acting annoyingly chipper around your friends and colleagues.  You also have sex.  A lot of it.  More than you ever will later in the relationship.  Entire weekends are spent boning and ignoring the chafing so you can bone some more.  Well done, you've just turned your life into a Disney/porn hybrid of romance.

A,k.a the fun, clumsy bit.

2. Bonding
So, 3-6 months have passed and you guys are settling into a routine.  You've met each other's families and friends, and you're now universally accepted as a 'couple'.  Those initial buzzes you felt around each other are waning, and instead are replaced by an expectation of reliability and cohesion.  You start to share emotional information not just about your past but also about your mutual future.  You'll spend more time but less sex together because you're learning to accept each other as comprehensive people (including each other's flaws, habits, traits and dreams).  Sooner or later you'll move in together just to kick it to the next level.  Co-operation becomes a priority and co-dependence creeps in.

3. Familiarity
After a few years you'll realise that your identities have merged.  You've learned everything about the other pseron that you ever will for now, so it's a case of living and working together as one.  You can happily leave the toilet door open while conversing with your partner.  You may also have a couple of kids kicking around.  The whole of your relationship is now greater than the sum of its parts.  Congratulations, you are now your parents, the circle is complete.

Exceptions to the rule
It doesn't work like this for everyone, of course, and it doesn't always run the full course.  Some couples start off as platonic friends and hence bypass the whole silly infatuation phase because they've already bonded on a deeper level that would make dating ironically hilarious.  Funnily enough, although in the minority, these often prove to be the most successful relationships of all.  You have already bonded emotionally and socially, you already know all about each other, and you already trust each other because you're friends.  It's also the difference between loving someone because they're beautiful, and them becoming beautiful because you have learned to love them.  I've only come across a couple of instances where this has occurred (big shout out to Shaz and Stu, by the way) but it's fantastic to see and often explains why second marriages work so well. 

Other couples have trouble transitioning from bonding to familiarity because being familiar with a partner means tolerating every little annoyance all the time.  You put any two adults in the same house for a few years and irritability is inevitable.  Some people just can't hack that, and after a drawn out campaign of idiosynchrocratic attrition one or the other decides that splitting up is healthier than fighting homicidal urges.  Living together is not the same as growing together, and learning to do the latter synergistically is what makes all the difference.

Marriage
We are only ever as good as the promises we make, which is why I rarely used the P-word.  In my culture an oath carries mucho weight, and breaking an oath carries harsh consequences in terms of social status.  That's also why I belive that marriage as an institution is a noble decision.  Look, before you get all "What?  The Sex Detective is pro-archaic ritual/religious dogma?" just shut your fucking holes for a second and hear me out.  In the 21st Century of Western society you can take or leave marriage as you wish.  No one's forcing people to get hitched.  Hell, most of you are pro-marriage anyway because you support that right to be afforded to deserving gay couples, right?  All I'm saying is that I think it's a pity that sometimes people decide to get married for stupid reasons like keeping their families and/or gods happy instead of doing it to publically declare their intrinsically motivated long-term committment for each other.

Goddammit, Japan, I was trying to make a serious point here.

Rant: Hell, I've known some girls who get more excited and obsessed about the wedding than the actual marriage.  Fuck you, princess, if you're going to burst into tears because the flowers don't match the table cloths on your wedding day then chances are you don't deserve the man patient enough to put up with your spolit brat attitude anyway.

Every serious decision we make in life is a test of our true character.  If you decide to get married then make damn sure that you understand one fundamental truth: marriage serves to celebrate committment, not reinforce it.  Signing that piece of paper won't magically make you a better couple, only you can do that.  Ever since 'no fault' divorce laws came into effect, that piece of paper can be thrown in the bin at any time for any reason that constitutes irreconcilable differences.  So give it some serious fucking thought, people, instead of day-dreaming about white picket fences and and a 'set and forget' lifestyle, because when you finish walking down that aisle the real work is just beginning.

The secret is to kieep it fresh by not wearing anything under your blankets.

Sex Detective vs Shitty Sex Ed

I remember being in primary school and having my class ushered into the library to meet two important visitors.  This couple were sex educators, there to explain how our bodies work when puberty hits and what horrific changes to expect.  The session was pretty detailed, covering intercourse, menstruation, primary and secondary sexual characteristics, masturbation and so on.  We eagerly lapped up this knowledge, even if some of it left us a little confused and revolted.  Personally I was disappointed to find that calling someone a 'homo-sapien' wasn't a phobic insult at all, but that boobs sounded like a capital idea for girls.  Then came question time and one of my female classmates asked:  "How do you do a hedgehog?"

There was an awkward pause before the male educator cleared his throat and replied, "I think you mean 'head job'.  Does anyone know the answer?"  Thankfully he wasn't stupid enough to give us any chance to respond, delving immediately instead into a basic 'penis in mouth' definition.  Then came the whole birth control and diseases bit, at which point most of us decided that no matter how much our 12 yo pants were tingling, sex was a life sentence or death sentence, so fuck that idea to hell.

Nowadays the digital age allows kids of all ages to learn all about sex via simple entries into a searchie.  If you think kids won't do this then you are suffering blunt trauma and forgotten the first thing you did when you got online.  I figured some real research was in order on this topic so I hit Youtube and entered 'sex ed'.



Yep, one of the top results is a creepy guy in a playground seranading about which parts of your body he intends to touch.  Accurate terminology is important for child molesters so as to avoid confusion in the back of the van.  And a mere 20 seconds into this musical glossary of violation we get this strange snippet of a no-less-creepy dude clarifying what girls have down below.

Oh look, a cunt telling me about vaginas, how poetic.

The Problem

Sex ed is one of those things you needs to explain to kids before they're old enough to do it.  Unfortunately it requires a level of explicit detail not usually associated with conditionally prohibited behaviour.  When we teach kids that serial killing is wrong we don't usually throw in a biology lesson about lethal lacerations and gunshot wounds.  We certainly don't let them role-play the responsibility associated with it the by giving them murdered dolls to bury under their house for a week.

But Sex Ed - being so much lamer that Murder Ed - involves a fuckton of information: biological, social, and legal at least.  That's not including any religious crap thrown in too.

Eeew!  Whenever you make a biological function a moral controversy you automatically generate ignorance.  Hooray for this evangelist reciting the very day and minute he first fucked his wife.  It's hip to shock kids with the image of you flopping clumsily atop some poor woman for 30 seconds, I'm sure.  But tell me, Pastor Ainsworth, can your holy powers of eidetic recall tell us where and when you first masturbated?  That's the only question I'd throw at him after his creepy boasting, because I already know that fundamentalists fucking hate that line of inquiry.  They either lie outright with denial, or make some clearly insane statement about wanking without actually thinking about sex.  Do you know how many healthy, 20 year old men have never masturbated?  Of course you do, because 'zero' is always the easiest number to remember.

It's like parents who excuse their kids from sex ed for religious reasons.  "You don't need to know about it until your wedding night."  Denying sex is like denying pretty much everything else in the world: it doesn't make you a better person, just a dumber one.  Sexual morality is like lying in that regard, it's not about the act itself, it's about the circumstances and motivations behind it that mess with your conscience.


The Solution
Oh, and just one simple thing: pedophilia, rape and indecent assault are not sex, they're violent crimes of power abuse - the same way that hugging someone is not the same as strangling them.  Pretty much the opposite of the true act itself.  Do not confuse the two.  I mention this because it should be THE FIRST THING WE TEACH KIDS when talking about the social aspects of sex and sexuality.  Biology does not translate into morality.  Our bodily functions are all tools that we use within context, and it's the context part that should be explained as clearly as possible.

Yes, sex as a concept is scary and exciting for kids.  Even when laboriously explained using charts, diagrams and dolls it's still confusing as hell, especially when you're then told by pastors and over-protective parents that it's taboo.  I guess I was lucky, growing up in a rural area, because you couldn't look out the back door without seeing animals fucking each other, so the baby making process was pretty straight forward.  What I didn't know is that with humans sex is employed for many reasons other than procreation.  Sometimes it's for relief, sometimes for self-esteem, sometimes for loneliness, sometimes for money or other rewards.  Some even do it for love-based bonding.  But the fact is that the vast majority of people between puberty and decrepit age can and will have sex.  Our eyes are used to see, our ears to hear, our hands to hold things, and our junk to do the nasty.  That is how the world works, and has done so for a very long time.

Sex is the legally aged, consensual act of mutual, physical gratification between two humans (or more in some cases).  It is not masturbation (no issue of consent), it is not violence or exploitation (non-consensual) and it is not a source of shame.  Do not worry about sex ed encouraging kids to have sex.  Trust me, adolescents do not need additional encouragement, it's already hardwired into their hormones.  What you do instead is ensure harm minimisation and risk management.  Teach them birth control if you don't want to become a grand parent right now.  Teach them venereal protection if you want them to be healthy.  Teach them about consent: explain what sexual and indecent assault is, describe what constitutes date-rape and the diminished capacity inherent in intoxication.  If you want kids to act responsibly (and despite the media and religious scare-mongering, most kids want to be good people too) then you need to give them all the information, not just the bits that suit your agenda, because they will find out the rest from less reliable sources anyway.

Most of all, parents, teachers and similar role modelling adults need to educate themselves.  Think just because you're a parent that you know it all?  Bullshit, you just know how to have sex, not teach it.  Learn then teach, that's the only way it works, fools.

And now I'll leave you with a classic example of what happens when you let religious morality interfere with biology.  Heed the words of Dan Savage here.