Hello, readers. I’ll be in Italy for the next two weeks drinking fine wine and lookin’ at old stuff, but I swear I’ll be dreaming up blog posts in between cannoli.
SEE YA.
clothing that I don’t understand
I’m not a fashionista. I wear very basic clothing and I almost never try anything new. There’s such a fine line between “that looks great!” and “you look like a total asshole” that I decide to run away from the line entirely and burrow under the cardigan and jeans rock that has become my safe haven. This is why I feel like I can criticize everyone else for their wardrobe choices. And I can throw as many stones as I want because my house is NOT made of glass. It’s made of solid colored t-shirts.
So, here are five of the worst things you wore in the last 15 years. And I didn’t wear because I’m afraid of them.
Those godawful crinkly shirts
www.popcornshirt.com
I’m sure everyone had the same thought when this little number hit the market: “Finally, a shirt I can share with my infant child!”
Really, though. What makes this seizure of tissue paper and elastic appealing to anyone? Do you have your own tiny closet specifically for these shirts with tiny hangers and tiny lint rollers and the tiny bit of self respect you have to have to pay money for something like this?
I shouldn’t be too quick to judge. After all, this was probably the pinnacle of clothing science back in 1998. Desperate, stir-crazy mothers all over the U.S. pulled out this shirt to save failing book club conversations.
“Look at this. It’s little, and now it’s big! Can you believe it?”
And this poor woman. She probably dreamed of being on the front cover of a home decorating magazine or beating Anne Hathaway for an Oscar that no one deserved. But here she is stuck modeling what can be best described as a condom for your torso.
“I’m dead inside.”
Platform Flip-flops
Have you ever dreamed of being taller? Do you hate your ankles? Then you probably wore platform flip-flops as a twelve year old. And you probably have permanent ligament damage from all the times you tried to wear them in the rain, or on the stairs, or on the grass, or inside your house.
www.shoewawa.com
Teens of the early 2000′s didn’t need texting while driving or vodka-soaked tampons up their butts to live dangerously. Step off a curb the wrong way in one of these babies and you’re looking at six weeks on crutches and an ankle that crackles like bacon every morning for the rest of your life.
“I drank too many Lokos one night and had to get my stomach pumped.”
“I wore platform flip-flops on my bike once and now I can swivel my left foot 720 degrees.”
I have distinct memories of my classmates breaking out their most formal pair of platform flip-flops to wear to our sixth grade band concerts. Here they were, carrying thousands of dollars of wood and metal, teetering across the gymnasium in concert black death clogs. It was usually the clarinet players. Fucking clarinet players.
Gauchos
www.gauchopants.org
Truly, truly terrible. I could just stop here, but I won’t.
What the fuck is this? The best I can figure is that someone wanted to combine sweatpants, a skirt, and a fucking hot air balloon to create the most shapeless, purposeless piece of clothing they possibly could.
Are they for lounging? Working out? Formal occasions? Who knows! Scientists of today are plagued with questions about the lost Roanoke Colony and how many insect species we have yet to discover. 3000 years from now they’ll be trying to figure out if these worthless pants were worn at Zumba classes or cocktail parties.
You should be full of shame if you ever owned a pair of these. Brimming with shame. Suffocating in your own shame.
Pants that say things
www.geeksugar.com
The first variations of these pants I ever saw said things like “sexy” or “juicy.” As dumb as it is to plaster an adjective across your ass, at least it makes a little sense. But then companies just started writing whatever they thought people wanted.
“My ass is geeky as hell. My ass loves to fix computers and read comic books.”
“My ass loves the Dallas Cowboys and being single.”
My ass doesn’t have that much personality. My ass just likes a supportive chair to rest on. Make me a pair of pants that says “<3 supportive chairs” on it and maybe I’ll consider wearing them.
Or write something useful for the people behind me, like common Spanish phrases or directions to the nearest post office. If you’re going to use the real estate on my butt to advertise something, at least make it true or useful.
“There are 16 tablespoons in a cup.”
“McDonald’s serves breakfast until 10:30.”
Uggs
I’m not even going to post a picture of them because you all know what they look like and half of you own a pair.
“But they’re so comfortable and warm!”
Yeah, I bet it is pretty warm in a sheep’s rectum. I bet it’s real warm, weirdos. And most of you sick bastards wear them without socks. I bet If we collected the sweat from every nasty Ugg across the United States, we’d have enough fluid to power the Hoover Dam.
Honorable Mentions:
-tribal headbands
-long denim skirts
-several variations of capris
-rompers
This post is about penises
Hello, friends. I’m back after a long thesis writing break (thecal hiatus?). I should be updating much more frequently now. Hooray!
I’m just gonna let the cat out of the bag now. Or the rabbit out of the hutch. Or the snake out of the… snake cage.
I’m letting the penis out of the pants: this entire post is about penises. So, if you don’t want to hear about them, or hear me talk about them (I’m lookin’ at you, people who knew me when I was 8), then I suggest you turn back now. Blah blah blah parental guidance NSFW warning warning nudity blah blah.
Anyway,
Our friends at Cosmo have compiled a list of 50 Sexy Ways to Touch Him There, just in case we ran out of ideas. This makes complete sense since penises are such complicated organs.
I feel like a horde of dudes with torches and pitchforks is going to show up on my porch tomorrow morning to tell me that I’m ruining everything.
This is the best (worst) weirdest) why-would-you-do-thatiest))) of the 50.
Let’s get right to it.
“Lightly tap up and down his shaft with your fingers, like you’re playing a piano with one hand. This helps him get and stay hard by keeping blood flowing into the spongy tissue of his penis.”
In the 18th century, Johann Sebastian Bach composed beautiful melodies for the harpsichord. In the 19th century, Franz Liszt wowed his audience with dramatic piano ballads.
Today, you, (insert your name here) are a renowned wang virtuoso.
Those dead dudes ain’t got nothin’ on you. Johann’s harpsichord plucked a bunch of dumb strings. Big fucking whoop. You play with the added challenge of an instrument that could explode at any moment.
I might have to write a book called “Johann’s Flaccid Harpsichord”
“Take his penis between your open palms and, using your hands like ping-pong paddles, very lightly bat it back and forth. The quick touches feel invigorating and increase circulation to the surface of the skin.”
This makes it sound like you’re a cat batting a ball of yarn back and forth, and I’m almost positive your boyfriend doesn’t want a cat touching his penis. If he does, you should dump his penis this instant.
Haha, see what I did there? “Dump his penis” instead of “Dump his ass.”
But really, let’s not play table sports with his junk. Next thing you know they’ll be asking you to chalk up the end and sink an 8-ball into the bedside trash, or dress it up in a little soccer uniform to play a round of foosdick.
“Grasp the lower shaft of his penis with one fisted hand and the upper part of his penis with your other fisted hand (both hands should be lubed up). Then lightly twist your hands in opposite directions, as though you’re wringing a towel dry.”
Stop trying to pass this off as a handjob, Cosmo. This is called an indian burn and it’s a well-known form of playground torture. It’s not pleasure; it’s what happens to you if you cherry bomb someone in four square or spit in a girl’s hair.
“Make a ring with your thumb and index finger around the base of his shaft, and gently squeeze. This turns your fingers into a human penis ring — retaining blood in his penis and boosting his pleasure. Use the other hand, in a fisted grip, to pull up and twist at the head. Then bring your hand back down to meet the ring.”
Coincidentally, this is the same method frugal moms suggest for getting the last of the toothpaste out of the tube. Or strangling your boyfriend’s penis until it falls off.
The way I’m imagining it looks more like someone trying to open a childproof pill bottle than handle a penis. Maybe that’s why I can never get pill bottles open.
“Place your lubed palms on either side of his shaft, and rub them back and forth, as if you’re trying to start a fire.”
I suggest going out to the backyard and gathering some tinder. Get a real bonfire going. Then you could set up a tent in your bed and have weird, fake camping sex… If there’s anything left of his penis.
“Give your guy a hand in the shower: Approach him from behind and rub your breasts against his sudsy back, then reach around to stimulate his penis. Grab his erect shaft using a fistlike grip with your thumb near the tip, and use an up-and-down jerking motion to mimic the way he handles himself. (Hint: Conditioner will make things more slippery.)”
“It’s like I’m touching myself, but I’m not! It’s like I don’t have control of my own limbs!”
Also, Cosmo seems to really like it when ladies rub their boobs on everything. I’ve browsed many an article on here and without fail one of the tips is always “rub your boobs on it!” Get in an argument with your man? Rub your boobs on him! Chicken dinner got too many calories? Rub your boobs on it!
And Jesus, don’t fuck around with conditioner. Do you know what that shit can do? If you blast it with that heavy duty, deep conditioning stuff he could be impotent for life. You don’t even want to know what the curl enhancing treatment is capable of.
“Press his penis against surprising parts of your body. Ideas: Hold it against your inner thigh to tease him like crazy; touch the tip of his penis against your breast, and rub his frenulum against your nipple; or bring the side of his shaft against the outside of one of your cheeks, then put it up to your lips and cover it with wet kisses”
Fun fact: if you put it up to your ear, you’ll hear whales having sex in the ocean. If you stick it in your armpit and leave it there long enough, you can blast all the hair off. Never shave again!
And again with the boobs. At this point I’m convinced that if you just flop your boobs down on that area and wiggle around for awhile he’ll be totally set.
“For every 10 licks, take your mouth all the way up and off his package. Pause for a few agonizing beats to tease him with a smile before going back down.”
You’d better be counting. If you fuck this one up and lick it 8 times before stopping, his penis will burst into smithereens. Smitherpeens.
“Play with very light pinching on his scrotal skin in the area where the base of the shaft meets the testicles. Warning: just the skin — not the jewels!”
*Pinch pinch pinch pinch POP*
These are dangerous tips, Cosmo.
“Rub a warm washcloth over his entire package, then swaddle his testicles in it.
Aww how… cute? It’s like they’re little babies. Little wrinkly twin babies.
I don’t have a penis, but this one seems especially bizarre. I’d be weirded out if a dude draped a warm cloth over my lady parcel. Is it not warm enough in there for you? Are you trying to incubate my eggs?
“No, no. I insist that you go fetch the warming towel before we engage in sexual activities.”
But I mean, if you’re trying to give him a testicle facial, I completely understand.
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