sex

Breaking Sex News

I really have to thank Alice for the generation of this post, the 20th in this santorum festival known as NaBloWriMo.

If you are a regular reader, you know I cobbled together a post on unfinished posts that languish in my WordPress draft folder because the ideas…yup, the ideas are dead. I didn’t think there was more to Breaking Sex News than the weird Breaking Sex News banner on The Huffington Post on Swedes yanking it in public.  I even tried to find more, but could only find this:

sexpong

That is fucking incredible, but where is the breaking sex news!?! Then Alice reminded me of the go-to source for all breaking sex news–Cosmopolitan magazine.

For instance, did you know, gentle reader, that there is such a thing as “celebrity side butt”?

How marvelous! And newsy.

So what is Celebrity Side Butt? the masses desperately want to know.

It is incredibly scientific. “Side Butt” occurs when a celebrity is sans underwear and wears a dress that proves that theory. For example,  a² – b² = partial ass.

Cosmo includes a photoessay of our most famous examples of that theorem in action.

sidebuttBut what if I’m not a Celebrity Side Butt, but am looking for ways to sexify my relationship? is likely what you’re thinking right now.

Well, I have the hot scoop–there are 75 crazy-hot sex moves that can sexify pretty much anything from the secret Santa office party to your Aunt Bertha’s wake.

You may be under the assumption that sex is where that thing goes into that slot and then retreats and then goes back and then there’s a charley horse and then there’s the looking at the clock because Grey’s Anatomy is going to be on any second and then there’s the quick prayer to god about somebody finishing and then someone groans and now you can finally have some peace and watch TV.

Well there’s more, gentle reader, 75 more things to be exact.

For instance, you can “straddle your guy, then lean forward and rest your upper body on his torso. Bring one leg out to the side, and bend it so that the inside of your leg is against the bed. Then straighten the other leg and slide it between his legs” and if you can explain to me how this exactly works because of my spatial difficulties and inability to understand poor writing, I will be grateful…and hot.

You could also: “try side-saddle position for a more unique and snug fit. Make a bridge with your arms behind you on one side of him and your legs in front of you on the other.” I’m thinking the author of this just began consulting her “Odyssey of the Mind” handout from 6th grade. Herman Melville’s Moby Dick is a literary masterpiece. Create Ishmael’s boat only using the parts from a vacuum cleaner. Now make it sexy.

Or you could: “build momentum by keying in to an ocean legend that the seventh in a series of sea waves is the strongest” because clearly the author has started to lose her erection at the 25th crazy-hot sex move and has no clue what the fuck to write. Why not add something like “Goldilocks the moment by making his dick too hot, then too cold and then just right. First pour molten steel on his member, followed by Coleman’s Chiller and then warm it up with a hair dryer.”

Or if you’re tired just “trade butt-cheek massages” and extra bonus if it is a celebrity side butt.

News.

Breaking sex news for that matter.

For fuck’s sake, are there seriously 10 days left? Fuck. Anyway, Speaker7 is writing every day this month as a member of the Nano Poblano Team. 

This is, like, stupid almost

Truer words have never been spoken.

Bland looks really red. He is getting ready or red-dy to meet his concubines’ families. Zing! I’m here all week.

AshLee, of the interestingly capitalized name, has been living for this moment or some such nonsense. Yes… “Hey mom and dad! Come meet this man who is also meeting three other sets of moms and dads and revel in the reality! The reality of it all!”

AsHleE thinks Bland is the man “to protect my heart.” I think I should be drunk. Why am I not drunk?

aShlEe’S been thinking about this day “since I was 3 years old.” What the fuck did she just say?

They eat a normal dinner with aShleE’s PaRenTs at a kitchen table stuck awkwardly on the back lawn.

“Bland is, like, making out with other girls and then he, like, makes out with me. And, like, mom, like, do you remember, when I was, like, 4, and you, like, read Peter Rabbit, and I was, like, do you think I’ll ever meet my Mr. MacGregor? And, like, I’m, like, here he is. Like?” ASHLee rambles on at the greatest luncheon she envisioned when she was 5.

AsHleE’s dad looks like a porcupined-version of Cliff Clavin.

We’re now in Seattle with Catherine and her “journey.” Bland catches a fish in the Seattle Fish Market and promptly makes out with it. It’s so spontaneous or incredibly staged.

Bland uses the word “always” a lot to describe how awesome his relationship is with Catherine. “We’re always really boring.” “We’re always suck.” “We’re always contributing to the decline of the universe.”

This is the greatest love story since that commercial I saw about Fiber One granola bars.

Catherine’s sisters exhibit brain function: “You seem like you’re trying to convince yourself that you like him.”

Some “tension.”

Next stop: Linddddsseeeyyy’s hometown in somewhere Missouri. Her dad’s a two-star general so this means something for The Bachelor that I find too boring to try to comprehend.

Bland puts on an army turtleneck while Lindddsseeyy vocal fries orders at him. It makes me wish that a meteor would crash into my face.

On Friday, I watched the movie The Sessions. I highly recommend it. It’s been so long since I’ve watched a movie that made me feel something and made me actually care for the people in the story.

This episode of The Bachelor is the opposite of that feeling.

Lindssseyy’s house has a gun/spice rack. Her mom also vocal fries.

America.

Bland asks for Lindsey’s father’s permission to penetrate his property and *yawn*…story about paratrooping and I’ve gone deaf and sure, here’s your blessing and my lack of caring is like that time I went paratrooping.

There’s an hour left.

Fuck.

I would like your blessing to not watch the second hour.

Thanks for nothing.

Now we’re in Desiree’s sweet hick hometown of LA.

They meet each other in spandex because. . . LA.

Time to meet the fam. An ex-boyfriend shows up instead. He declares his love. “I’ve texted you,” he facebooks. And it feels…LA. Not like this guy is trying to break into acting and shows up at an opportune moment to get his ass-face on TV or anything.

I think I’m going to bed.

But then I will miss why I titled this post the way I did.

Oh it’s a joke. And it’s funny?

No.

Her family shows up. Her mother seems high. Desiree’s brother Nate is the one who sayeth: “This is, like, stupid almost.”

Wrong, bro. It’s, like, all stupid.

The Bachelor Non-Event Two Day Event!!

Son of a bitch.

So today marks the first day in a two-day Bachelor event. Spielberg was able to show the story of Oskar Schindler in little over two hours, but The Bachelor needs two whole days to show a piece of cardboard grind against helium-filled Dora the Explorer balloons.

There are 47 or 6,003 women left. The cast inexplicably is moved to Montana. Possible explanation is all the herpes medication in LA has been used up. The western meadowlark is Montana’s state bird. That is the most exciting sentence you will read in this recrap.

Host Chris Harrison shows up. His shirtail is untucked cuz he’s laidback, yo. He talks of the upcoming dates. One is a two-on-one date. Only one will return, Chris Harrison warns. Sounds a bit murdery.

Bland misses “the women” and can’t want to “spend more time with them,” he dead eyes.

His chooses Linnnddssyyeyasay for the one-on-one date. She cries because life is meaningless. She has trouble identifying a helicopter. They helicopter to a picnic, and another polar bear slides off a melting ice floe due to the carbon emissions.

More words lose all meaning. Words like “connection,” “dream come true,” “wife.”

Linnndddssyyeyasay and Bland dance while some recording sensation sings in the town square. And now “magical” has been ruined forever.

Group date. Goat-milking. Connections are made. It is magical. Bland offers one of the goats a rose. It eats it and poops a happy ending.

Some fake controversy because the team who lost the goat milking contest gets to also be bored forever by Bland instead of drink themselves into oblivion and watch 30 Rock reruns in the palatial lodge. Jesus, that sounds really good right now.

Some drunk woman drunk-cries because she stumbled over to talk to Bland, and he and another woman “were sitting on each other’s laps.” This just proves this show is wayyyyyyyy better when one is drunk.

The dreaded two-on-one date. One of the datees is “The Villain.”  The threesome awkwardly drink wine. Bland suggests a hand-job contest spending time alone with each. The producers take Bland aside and tell him to give the rose to “The Villain” because reality television thrives on stupidity. “The Villain” evily hugs him and cackles like a caricature of a villain on a crappy reality dating show.

Rose ceremony. Boring and more boring. Mouths move, saying banalities. “The Villain” says she’s all punchy feeling toward the other “ladies.” One of the ladies has an argument with “The Villain” that makes me feel like I’m as drunk as everyone else on the show. It makes that scene in Gummo where a guy fights with a chair seem completely composed and rational.

Bland hates all the drama, which is why he agreed to appear on a dating reality show where 25,000 narcissists compete for his tongue juice. Is “The Villain” nice or is she like, not nice, Bland thinks in his concrete-ladened head until it causes a synapse to fire out his butt.

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do™ or at least I’m expecting Bland will say this at some point. He gets real with Chris Harrison and says “The ladies aren’t paying enough attention to my penis” or “I don’t know if I see my wife in that group of ladies.” Let me just stress again that there is another fucking episode tomorrow.

Chris Harrison greets the contestants and says “It’s been an interesting night.” I just looked in the dictionary to see if “interesting” means what I think it means.

The drunken argument lady does not get a rose.

How interesting.

The Best Advice in 140 Characters or Less

This was supposed to be a post highlighting the Top 10 Top 10 Lists of 2012.

My intent was pure. I discovered the Top 10 Ways to Squander Your Life. Click here.

I went on Yahoo Shine, the lady blog about lady stuff, and found articles about the Top 10 Ways to To Turn Your Belly Fat into Booby Fat.

I went on Glamour’s website and found this weird picture tied to some new year resolution article:

creepymeeting

But then I went to Cosmo’s website and landed on this gem:

25 Ways to Turn on a Man

and I hit the brakes in my quest.

I am always interested in this topic. I tend to get wrapped up in stupid shit like career goals and personal fulfillment and then it dawns on me–I am not turning any man on right now.

I realize the more I focus on other things beside man on-turnage, the less I remember how to do it.

Do men like a woman who can play spoons coated with mashed potatoes? Maybe.

Are men turned on by razor burn? I hope so

Do men like a muffin top covered in muffin crumbs? Probably not.

But here, Cosmo has provided me with knowledge from the men themselves.

Apparently Cosmo asked men to tweet what turns them on. These man tweeters had only 140 characters to use so I figured their turn-on advice would be succinct and easily digestible kind of like a spam lollipop.

KydDaze digs “That ‘early in the morning’ or ‘tired at night’ phone voice.”

So basically men like phelgm and slurring. Duly noted. Tonight, my husband better watch out after I down a dosage of hydrocodone. I might even show him the phelgm covering my tonsil scabs. Bam chicka bam bam.

It floats Nogood_W4rd’s boat “If you can spin around while you ride it.”

So men like a lady who resembles a whirligig and is really short. She would have to be, right? Or else isn’t he getting kicked in the face? Or what I mean to say is “hot.”

PoloMaskot gets woodage from “Good credit.”

How does that work exactly? You go online to freecreditreport.com, wait six weeks to get your credit rating and then it’s let’s get this party started. Woop woop.

MC_3, aka Christian Grey, likes “When a girl bites her lip while looking into your eyes.”

MC_3, I have the perfect woman for you.

Jrel_24NGM prefers “Women who wear boy shorts all the time.”

Really? Even to funerals? What about when she’s whirlygigging around your peen while biting her credit score report?

Hmmm. That seems…stupid sexy.

Hunky Hugo Unfortunately Answers Your Questions

This was not a well-thought out plan. Curse you, NaNoWriMo.

In case you didn’t know, I began a new feature called Ask Hunky Hugo™ where readers could submit questions to the world’s creepiest half-man puppet. I completely stole this idea from the Byronic Man. So basically all this weirdness is his fault.

Some of you had questions that were of a sexual nature. These made Hugo very excited, which in turn made me feel a discomfort that rivaled the time a giant golden retriever burst in on me in the bathroom.

From Wendy of Writer Wendy ReidMy husband no longer satisfies me sexually. I am horny all of the time and I work in an all male environment. Would it be wrong to have a gang bang in the parking lot one day after work?

Storkhunter wanted to know: Since you portrayed Christian and managed to get Goofy Ana pregnant even with only half a body, perhaps you have some advice on sexual positions for effective procreation.

Nancy of Not Quite Old wondered: Do you think older women are sexier than younger women? What is the sexiest thing about women over 60?

Tara of Always Overthinking It pondered: Do you prefer to go down on women with or without your mustache? Do you find they enjoy it more or less?

Maggie O’C of Someone Fat Happened: I have been waiting for this moment for months now. I won’t read any posts if you aren’t in them. Any, not just Speaker7′s. Two questions:
1. How do you feel about product placement in blogs?
2. Will you get me pregnant even if I’m menopausal and you have no genitals?

Jo Eberhardt queried: Back when you were just an anonymous half-man puppet amongst starting out on the rollercoaster ride of fame and infamy that was Speaker7′s 50 Shades Recraps, I thought you were creepy looking. But now when I look at your smooth head and your expressive eyes, I find myself moved by your extreme hotness. How did you get so sexy? Have you had plastic surgery?

Hugo had the same response to all. He said you would understand what it meant:

Some of you had questions about Hugo’s lack of a down there–sorry I have lost all other terminology to describe it from my Fifty Shades of Grey recrapping. And some of you worried about Hugo’s mental health from his participation in the Fifty Shades recraps as the enigmatic and buttpluggy Christian Grey.

Miranda Gargasz of Scattering Moments worried: What sort of medication do you take for the PTSD you suffer through after participating in all those recraps? Seriously, I need to know. After only making it through chapter 7 of the first book I find the flashbacks unbearable. Any help you can give me, Hugo, would help.

Michelle Gillies of Silk Purse Productions asked: Were you at all uncomfortable gaining fame and fortune from portraying the 50 Shades of Grey recrap moments? What made you the most uncomfortable?

Lyssa of Psychobabble expressed concern about Hugo’s genitals: Where did you leave your legs? And your genitals? Did they shrivel up after all that recrapping with Ana?

iRuniBreathe questioned: Hugo, where are your pants? And legs, for that matter.

Blogless Wonder wondered: Dear Hugo, if you did have legs and all that comes with them, would you have the kind of feet where the big toe is the biggest, or would you have those weird feet where the second toe is actually the longest? Also, how big would your feet be? Just curious!

Hugo had the same response to all. He said you would understand what it meant.

The rest were a smorgasbord of bizarre that really had no common grouping. Hugo decided to answer these individually.

I’m sorry.

Jules from Go Jules GoHunky Hugo, do you like it when girls cry? If so, then what are you feelings on Fergie from Black-Eyed Peas, who claims, rather passionately, that big girls don’t cry

Heather from Becoming Cliche asked: Hugo, I can’t balance a checkbook. Should I see a chiropractor?

El Guapo asked: Hugo: Are you just a pawn in Speaker 7s play for world domination, or are you just biding your time, lulling her into a false sense of security until you can run off with all her reindeer sweaters?

Jen from Sips of Jen & Tonic: Cockfighting: sexy man play or cruel animal sport?
Would rather: Charlie Sheen in his Tiger Blood phase or Nick Nolte during his mugshot phase? I found out I have herpes while browsing WebMD. Is that a deal breaker for you?

She’s a Maineiac posed this: How can we stop Dr. Phil? Who would you rather have sex with, Stalin or Dr. Phil? How much wine is appropriate to drink on Thanksgiving? Is it okay if I get sloshed, then ask my mom why she never loved me while I’m passing her the peas?

Alice of Alice at Wonderland and Ruminations on Love & Lunchmeat both wondered what Hugo was doing with the locks of hair he collects from his admirers.

The final question was by far Hugo’s favorite. After he read it, he made out with his reflection for over an hour. I present Madame Weeble’s tour de force:

Madame Weebles of Fear No Weebles: Do you prefer to garotte your victims using leverage, or brute strength?

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the 4,000th post or at least it feels that way.

Easter, Flag Day Sexier Than Thanksgiving

Well shit.

Here I was. All excited for my four-day Thanksgiving holiday, and come to find out that Thanksgiving is NOT a sexy holiday.

Horn of plenty? More like horn of wah-wah.

It’s true.

It’s true because I read it in Glamour magazine. Not only do I have 60 fun nail polish ideas to try this week (Must remember to stock up on nail polish remover), but I will have to do my sexy at some other holiday because scientifically,  Thanksgiving is a cold turkey.

Why so unsexy, Thanksgiving?

Because someone had a deadline to fill and someone else said “Just write something about Thanksgiving and put sex in it. Can’t you see I’m doing my nails? Fuck, I have 54 other combinations to try out. Get out of my office!”

Was I suppose to really read the article?

Cheezus cripes, okay, okay I’ll read it.

My face feels numb.

So there are 28 reasons, and I read them all. And in between my reading, I changed my nail polish 4 times.

It basically comes down to this:

Your genitals stay covered up because your Aunt Sylvia would be like “Um….why am I seeing your pubic hair” and turkey skin is all goosebumpily.

It’s not like Easter with the eggs and sperm and bunnies copulating like…well bunnies. Or Flag Day with those flags on those poles, waving their patriotism in people’s faces.

So, sorry America. You will have to celebrate your Thanksgiving in a sexless fashion, which I think kinda works since it commemorates the pilgrims and stuff and they were way uptight.

Don’t fret because Dec. 8 is Take It In the Ear Day. And that sounds sexy as shit.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is getting in her way of her Take It In the Ear Day celebration, but she soldiers on because she loves you.

STDs and the Olds

This post was a suggestion by the remarkable Jen from Sips of Jen and Tonic. And Jen never steers me wrong…except when I jumped on that post-a-day bandwagon because now I’m writing about the elderly and genital warts. And I never wanted that to happen.

And yet here we are.

So STD rates are thrusting and thrusting hard in an upward direction among the elderly.

And scientists are like “Ew…old genitals.”

They asked some questions in their labs with the beakers and bunsen burners flaring:

Can one get chlamydia from bingo? 

Does watching Matlock lead to herpes?

Do early bird specials at Denny’s lead to syphillis?

So they studied and studied and rented Cocoon and hit upon a reason:

The elderly still have sex! Because they’re still human beings! And human beings like to grind against one another especially when the specter of death looms!

But the elderly think they’re past all that protection crap because of menopause and shit, and so there you have it.

The scientists proposed a solution:

Abstinence-only education and less Matlock.

I kid. That’s about as effectual as dentures made of paper.

So instead when Grandpa picks up his viagra prescription, Grandpa will also get a little chat about safe-sex.

It will likely go a little something like this:

Pharmacist: Here’s your viagra. It might be a good idea to also buy some condoms.

Grandpa: What?

Pharmacist: Condoms. You need them

Grandpa: Car plugs? What did you say? Speak up!

Pharmacist: CONDOMS!

Grandpa: Groundhogs?!? Are you crazy?

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the sixteenth post. She will never look at senior centers the same way again. 

Doin’ It

Alright so I’m lightening things up a little with today’s post.

The last few days have been a little political, and sure, I lost some followers, but whatevs. I’m not even counting or noticing that it was three. Fare thee well former readers, I have nothing but contempt good feelings for you.

For those who stuck it out, you are in for a treat! I went over to the lady section on Yahoo! to learn about lady issues like tampon-string irritation, and I returned with ways to rev up my down-there engine.

C’mon ladies, let’s face it. After a long day of choosing Jif® over Skippy®, the last thing your woman brain can handle is thinking about sexy times. I mean, who’s going to unload the dishwasher?

But follow these surefire tips from Yahoo! Shine! and you will sure fire up that grill that has been lying dormant and charcoal-free in your pants.

1. Eat Sexy-Enhancing Foods

Scarf down some bananas and peanut butter because your hoo-hah apparently has the same appetite as Elvis Presley. Do not be surprised if your ladybits began to crave white polyester jumpsuits.

2. You Go Grrrllkjl;ajk

Ignore everything woman-centric websites/magazines tell you that you should hate about your appearance and just accept yourself, grrlllrllll! You are so beautiful or you could be if you followed our Green Juice/Coconut Water Ab-Blaster Diet®. You deserve to bump your non-size-0 love muffin against the mighty peen even though you could follow our 10 steps to a Thinner Vagina Shake Program® and shed those unwanted vaginal pounds. Better yet, cut back on those peanutbutter-banana sandwiches. What are you, Elvis Presley?

3. Shake Weights® 

Exercise gets the endorphins flowing, and for some reason men like to see women doing this:

4. Brain Stimulation

Did you know that your brain is more powerful than your elbow? It is! That’s why it makes less sense to rub a peanutbutter banana sandwich against your elbow than it does to read a sexy book with your brain-connected eyes. Ohhh! What sexy book am I going to mention?!? I don’t know…could it be…wait for it…

Fifty Shades of Grey?

Yes, apparently you can read this book and not despair about the downfall of humanity and instead want to clamp your genitals onto an actual genital clamp. The article also mentioned the movie Magic Mike, which I haven’t seen because I don’t like looking at greasy skin.

Anyway, I guess the point is look at or read something that turns you on. For some reason, this is doing it for me:

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the fourth post. Speaker7 is always looking for suggestions for future posts. They should be sexy, however, because she is in a really sexy mood from reading sexy lady tips from Yahoo!.

Let’s Finish this Twat so I can be Fifty Shades Freed (pgs. 501-548)

This is it, gentle reader.

The end.

It took some time getting to this point. My brain has shrunken to the size of a vaginal ball. I no longer recognize how sentences are properly constructed. And I’ve begun to call the wart on my left thumb “my inner goddess.” I sometimes dress it in cheerleading outfits.

Since we’re at the end, I would like to let you in on a little secret:

I fucking hate this book more than I fucking hated the other two.

The other two sucked an electrified butt plug, but this book is the king of the shitheap hill. There was no reason for it–no reason for any of them–but really no reason for this other than for E.L. James to make a bazillion more dollars.

Let’s get this over with. We left off with Ana saving the day with her lima-bean-sized brain and gun-firing skills, her in-and-out-of consciousness in the hospital and Speaker7 praying for an early demise.

Christian remembers that his foster mother called him “baby bird,” and suddenly Jack Hyde’s ransom note makes sense.

I’m glad it does for you, Christian, since I have never seen or heard anything about it. This from the author who included Christian’s BDSM contract verbatim. TWICE!

Baby bird is from the book Are You My Mother? Christian explains. Jack knew he loved it.

Will you tell the police? Ana wonders.

Okay, stop. Let’s stop. What the fuck is going on? Why is this relevant? Anybody have a theory?

Thanks Hugo. Fair point well made ol’ chap.

Ana wants to bang, but Christian wants to talk about Mrs. Robinson raping him.

Awesome.

As a teen, Christian did yard work for her so he had money to maintain his drinking habit. Good thing that’s cleared up since he drinks daily.

He made some smart-ass remark and Mrs. Robinson slapped him. Then she kissed him and slapped him again like some cardboard heroine from a 1950′s movie.

“‘Well naturally I was confused and angry and horny as hell. I mean, a hot older woman comes on to you like that–’ He shakes his head as if he still can’t believe it.

Hot? I feel queasy.”

Way to keep perspective, Ana. Yes this is the exact moment to get jealous.

Mrs. Robinson made the world make sense until Ana turned everything upside down with her super vagina and commendable lip biting abilities.

More blather about loving her so much and her being the greatest thing since the hot dog dicer. He then explains his dickish actions when she told him she was pregnant. He left to see Dr. Flynn, but Dr. Flynn was running the bake sale or some such made-up shit at the local school so he went to the salon to talk to Mrs. Robinson.

They split a bottle of wine since Mrs. Robinson was the one who got Christian to stop drinking. She made a pass at him and he was like ewww.

Ana wonders if they kissed.

Christian said he thought about junior Grey having relations with an adult, and realized maybe it wasn’t all hunky dory.

Christian tells Ana he wants to be the center of her universe, but knows that’s over once the bun is cooked in her oven. Ana platitudes bullshit about children loving their parents unconditionally. Um…other way around, tootsie roll, say all parents of teenagers.

A day passes. Ana’s horny. She decides to dress sexily and brush her hair sexily. She wants scrambled eggs for breakfast and this greeted as surprising news by all, except for me because I’m scraping a fork against my eyeball.

Argue-time over whether she can go to work. Then she sees he’s wearing pajama bottoms. I don’t know if they’re hanging off his hips in that way. Are they? Are they??!?!??!?

He’s staying home too to keep Ana under guard so she won’t get into trouble like put a fork in an electrical outlet or get into the cleaning supplies under the sink.

Christian starts to feel up her leg with Mrs. Jones in the room. Banter about wanting to screw, and Mrs. Jones is trying to hide her smile, according to Ana. I really don’t think Mrs. Jones gives a fuck, but okay Ana, it’s from your addled-brain’s point of view.

They go to look at the boring house renovations and have a boring picnic in the meadow. Uh-oh–phone call from Welch. Mrs. Robinson’s ex Linc was the one who bailed out Jack Hyde!

Holy shit! Wait–who the fuck is he? And why the fuck do I care? And fuck?

Christian will destroy him. Awesome. This is as compelling as if I learned Noah Logan was behind it all. Remember him? Yeah, I don’t either, but at least he made an appearance on one page in this book unlike the super villain Linc.

The bankrupting of Linc gets them all hot and bothered and they screw. It’s the same-old, same-old. Some hair fisting, teeth clashing, inflaming loins. Christian pokes his fingers through her panties, which causes them to disintegrate. (?) Guess what? Ana’s wet. Like always.

Two more days pass, Christian is playing his dopey piano, but not the usual sad melody, something upbeat “Pop Goes the Weasel.” Ana uses this time to compose a stupid email and sneak off into the playroom. End, goddammit! End.

Oh, it’s the epilogue – May 2014.

Everyone’s dead.

Unfortunately no. For some reason we go back to the time in the playroom, and they do it. Why this needed to be a flashback is something that will require me to travel to the year 2014 and flashback upon.

Back to the future again. Ana’s pregnant with second child, a daughter. She tells Christian that the baby is dancing and makes the completely appropriate remark: “I think she likes sex already.”

*cue the montage*

Then Christian says this gem: “I’m looking forward to the taste of breast milk again.” I’m so glad they’re able to find a use for their babies in their sexual escapades. That seems so….fuck.

They play with their boy Teddy, and the end.

Wait a second. . . I’m at page 548, and what is this shit? Shades of Christian? Oh no, no, no, no, no. Nope. You do not get to tack on your writing exercises at the end, E.L., for me to slog through after I just read 4,000 pages of your potato scrapings. No thank you. NO. No I do not need to read the first flippin’ book again from Christian’s perspective. Guess what, y’all. It still sucks. What’s next? From the perspective of the pencil sharpener?

Shades of a Pencil Sharpener

Holy cow, these two are fucking idiots. You’re damn right! Who said that? It’s me, your inner pencil sharpener. What’s up, dawg? You want to go sharpen some pencils so we drown out these morons’ hissing and muttering and arrghhing? Word.

(To go to the beginning of my decline, click here)

 

A Pad of Extinction

So Bachelor Pad 3 ended recently.

The winner was this guy:

He is the love child of the weird creepy guy from Poltergeist II.

And fire marshall Bill:

Other stuff led up to this moment, which host Chris Harrison called “The most memorable finale of the most memorable season of the most memorable bachelors created by the most memorable eggs and sperms of the most memorable humans.”

I wanted to see this whole season through so that’s why I’m writing this now. I’d rather be plotting how I’m going to win a blog duel, but here I am.

Bachelor Pad 3 loser Jamie wore this:

Pad fav Michael Stagsomething defended sticking his tongue in some other person’s mouth and not really meaning it. He has a recording of terrible songs you can download on iTunes.

Host Chris Harrison puts Jaclyn on the “hot seat” next. Was it hard to be betrayed by your fake best friend, Chris Harrison propels out of his anus.

Blakely is hot-seated next. She blathers about something, and then brings forward the guy who likes her vagina. His name is Tony. He proposes on national television because why not?

Now the two couples in the finale get their last moment in the sun. Rachel cries at Michael about the former tongue-sticking with no future tongue-sticking in sight. Her partner Nick looks like he enjoys this exchange thoroughly.

Pad douchebag Chris B. says his dad thought Chris acted like a dick on the show, but Chris was just so hurt from his previous attempts at fake love on The Bachelorette.

They lose.

Rachel and Nick win votes from the other cast members. Now they must decide if they will share or keep the $250,000. If one chooses share and the other keep, the latter keeps it all. That’s what Nick does.

I guess they made a deal to split the money, but Nick changed his mind because he is awful. . . like everyone on this show.

So that’s it. It’s over. My herpes has cleared up and I can continue on. I guess I would care more that Nick screwed over Rachel if I actually had the capacity to care. But I don’t. I’ll let Jaclyn feel shock for me.