"Totally coup, yo."


The Joy of Transvaginal Sex




An Educational Guest Post By Dana Loesch

You might not know it by looking at me, but I am a very sexual creature. And over the course of a long and passionate sex life, let’s just say that I’ve amassed a trove of knowledge that wouldn’t be appropriate to share with my CNN viewers, Big Journalism readers, or my radio listeners. Serious lovemaking knowledge.

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Free Porn!




Or: What I Learned at the Sex Convention

Dating Advice

Last weekend, I abused my “media credentials” to get into the Everything To Do With Sex Show at Scotiabank Convention Center in Niagara Falls (Canada Side). And though I tried desperately to find a Story, I have to shamefully admit that I got nothin’.  So, in order to justify the $40 or so bucks I shelled out for gas, tolls, parking, and overpriced convention beer, here is a quick rundown of Sex Convention snippets – followed by some free porn.

10) Sadly, “Sex Convention” does not mean “Filthy Den Full of Hookers and Debauchery.” Which was the only fucking reason I went.

9) “Sex Convention” actually means “A Bunch of Booths Selling Vibrators.”

8) There are probably a ton of people out there living with the shame of having slept with Sex Show MC and “Canadian Assman” Uncle D.

7) While I was nervous that I’d consumed alcohol before crossing the border, I learned that if you tell the Border Patrol Agent that you are attending a “Sex Convention” and the only things you are taking with you are “a notebook and, like, some other stuff,” they will let you through without hassling you or searching your vehicle. Smugglers, take heed.

6) The convention attendees weren’t a bunch of degenerate swingers (as I had anticipated). It was mostly middle aged couples trying to “rekindle the flame” and groups of 30-year-old provincial girls in designer jeans who probably think that they “get so crazy” when they go out with their “bitches” but the craziest thing they do is drink slightly too much vodka-cranberry and go home with the sucky, tribal-tattooed dudes who beat them at darts.

5) American Border Patrol Agents are about the same as their Canadian counterparts. Even if you tipsily blast through the stop sign before the booth, all they really do is give you sterner looks and take slightly longer before they stupidly let you through.

4) Given the amount of typos and grammatical errors in the press materials I received beforehand, I don’t think it was entirely out of line for me to assume that this convention would actually be a “Filthy Den Full of Hookers and Debauchery.”

3) I attended an informational seminar about “The Lifestyle” (Swinging). Turns out, modern Wife-Swapping came about amongst American Air Force pilots who forged deep interpersonal bonds in the face of high mortality rates during World War II. So yeah, you learn something new every day.

2) I’d probably name drop some of the vendors if I’d’ve gotten more free stuff. That’s journalism.

1) Up For Grabs: The event organizers were handing out promotional gift cards for various porn websites, and since I love you – The Reader – so much, I’m going to list the download codes below. You’re welcome. Just do me a favor and picture Ian Murphy’s face as you bring yourself to a gross, sweaty climax.







2865 / vj5pc

2866 / kufcy

2867 / nx7z4

2930 / phk1m

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Celebrate Your Body & Mind (By Poisoning Them)




Ask a Dope Fiend: Terrible Advice for Your Average Drug Abuser
By Acula D. Fiend, MD

I recently had my wisdom teeth pulled and the doctor gave me Vicodin. It’s been three days and I feel fine. I want to sell a few off to make some rent money, but I’m not sure how much to charge. I think they are 7.5mg.
Toothless on Tupper

Rx: Well, Toothless, give it a few days. Now that you’re King of the Fucking Post-Wisdom-Teeth Universe, you probably feel pretty invincible, don’t you? You’re fucking high right now, huh? But watch: two days from now, you’re going to throw caution to the wind and be munching on some Doritos and get a corner of a chip jammed up in your socket. The sutures’ll tear away from your gums. There’ll be blood and a bunch of pain. You’re not going to feel so fine then, are you?

Vicodin is a trademarked name for hydrocodone – a synthetic opiate similar to codeine. It’s also handed out as Alexsia, Liquicet, or Lortab, to name a few. In lamenting the recent surge in popularity of illicit opiates, cops and parents and teachers and various other pig bastards are quick to cite the adage, “Weed is a Gateway Drug.” But when people say that “Weed is a Gateway Drug,” they forget that there’s a shitload of painkillers on the black market, and Poppy makes its own introductions. Your typical Weedhead-turned-Junky first fucked around with opiates when they got their wisdom teeth pulled in high school while they were (incidentally) fucking around with pot. Their one sketchy friend taught them how to crush it up and blow. They were retarded to do this, because all the acetaminophen and filler makes the euphoria intermittent between migraines and pukiness. But once a middle class user blows Vic, then they get to college and it’s 4 in the morning and they have a paper due at 9 and suddenly a rail of Adderall doesn’t seem so bad. Or they were stressing over Finals and they wrapped their head around a ground-up, peeled-down Xanie bar. And then they got into coke in their early 20s ‘cause they hadn’t seen their old dorm mate since graduation and it was 2 in the morning on Sunday night and they hadn’t listened to Sean Paul in 3 years and they had an interview coming up on Monday at 8. And then who knows what after that. They’re King of the Fucking Post-Wisdom-Teeth Universe, right?

But right now you’ll feel fine up until you idiotically rip apart your sutures. Set a couple aside for emergencies like this, hand a few to the friends who’d do the same for you, then take the extraneous pills and try to sell them at $5 apiece. Good Ol’ 7.5mg Vicodin 500mg? Cut quantity deals at $4 per pill. And if you have a refill, try to unload it wholesale at 3 for $10. It’ll be worth it to save yourself the hassle of having to present a script to a cop as you go apartment to apartment, giving out smiles.

What is better? Tylenol or the generic?
Legit Inquisitor

Rx: Really? Tylenol? Obviously, the generic is better, because either way it’s a money hole to nowhere. It’s time for you to slug a bottle of Nyquil and lose your job tomorrow, Inquisitor. Then slam your face with a heavy door and hope your Primary Care Physician is a push-over with an Rx pad. Get yourself some codeine and eat it ‘til you get sick. Push your push-over physician around for more until he refers you to a Pain Management Specialist, and then push that motherfucker around, too. I don’t want you to ever feel like Tylenol does anything for you ever again. Really? Tylenol? Have you ever heard of “Drugs”?

My dealer is always late and unapologetic. I’ve been made to wait for a half an hour in a snowstorm because he repeatedly said he was “around the corner.” Do drug dealers with a “Customer’s Always Right” business model exist?
Dilly-dallying with Dope-peddlers

Rx: Junk Superstars William Burroughs and Lou Reed both put up a semi-acquiescent fuss about “The Wait” a half a century ago. For the not-too-uncommon dealer without a “Friend in Need” mentality about their living room, a sketchy parking lot transaction can seem like a loss leader for business: too much risk with everything going on. The trick is to have someone sketchily sitting in their car (or waiting on-foot) with a wad of cash and, who knows, whatever else they got. Then you just roll in and make the switch and bail. If someone sees it go down, the other person is the last one to leave, the last one in a traffic queue, and the first one to bend for a flashing light or a police baton.

The dealer-customer relationship is a strange and tenuous one to be sure. Casually mention the cold you had to endure, but most of all, keep an Open Ear in mind. Maybe his Girl was just giving him grief for having to ditch to make the deal, you know? Or something like that. Over time, the dealer’ll learn that you’re always there, and that your money’s always good. And you both have mutual needs. Deal with “The Wait” until you’re on top. Figure the courtesy bump or blunt into the capital cost of materials. Basically, become the dealer’s best friend and you’ll even be the first in line for expedited triage and price breaks. Imagine!

For advice on how to best celebrate your body and mind (by poisoning them), send questions to draculadopefiend@gmail.com


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Dating Advice: Facebook Love & Slammin’ It at G-Dub




By Sic McLovelorn, BEAST Relationship Expert

Dating Advice

I was recently “friended” by a stranger on Facebook. She is listed as single, lives in the same city as me, and looks cute, but our only mutual friend is a local DJ. I kind of want to get to know her better and maybe ask her out, but I don’t know if the norms of Facebook allow that. Should I send her a message? – Entirely Too Lonely in Buffalo

Oh, I don’t know, Entirely. Goddamn Facebook. It’s nice that everybody’s Grandma gets to see pictures of them getting sloshed at the club in between rows of tan cleavage, but on the downside you have to deal with postmodern dilemmas like this one. But you know what? I’ve heard of strangers linking up on the site before. It’s definitely not normal, don’t get me wrong, but if she’s Cold-Friending you like that, she’s probably at least half as crazy as you are.

So here’s what I’d recommend: Get drunk. Good and Drunk. Then, just to make sure all your bases are covered, put forty-five minutes into a rambling and semi-incoherent message to your most recent ex. Tell her all the reasons you’ve suddenly realized it didn’t work out between the two of you, but that you’re working on yourself, and that it would be “cool” to get together again sometime. Throw in some subtle innuendo towards the end that’s not really as “subtle” as you drunkenly think it is.

Next, start up a message to your Cold Call Companion. Tell her that you’re not sure if you’ve met but that she seems “cool” and that it would be “cool” to go check out this one DJ who’s not exactly like (but IS exactly like) the DJ you both Like. And don’t stop there. Specifically reference her most provocative tagged photo in a “subtle” way, and be sure to add a “semi-colon-end parenthesis” to really drive the point home. Pause for a moment as the imminent dread begins to set in but hit “Send” before your conscience can chime in. Then delete your outbox for posterity and go to bed; you’re drunk!

I’m in DC from out of town right now, slamming this girl at GW, but I have nothing to do while she’s in class. – Extracurricular in the Capital

First of all, good work, Extra – not so much on the collegiate hook-up, but on your use of the term “slamming” in this context. I’m about to steal that and get a lot cooler. But, like, what do you have in mind? Are you looking for “something” or “someone” to do? You need to be more specific here, folks.

I’m going to assume you’re referring to the latter and recommend that your first priority be making sure you know this girl’s schedule a couple days – or at least hours – out. Then hop onto your Contacts list or Facebook page and see if you know any other girls in town with whom you’ve had unresolved frottage in the past. Be all like, “Sup yo im in dc right now wat u up to the next few days/hours.” Then hop onto OkCupid and see if you can work something out there, too. You’re in a 500K+ population city after all, and although the site is borderline useless for short-notice encounters in my own 250K-zone, you might have some last-minute luck in the nation’s capital. Maybe even head over to Ashley Madison, why not – it costs a little money to get started, and requires a lot more legwork before it pans out, but I’d be so proud of you if you ended up “slamming” some senator’s wife while your Co-Ed was in ENG101.

Either way, devote the first few class-breaks to making some headway, and be sure to delete the browser cache anytime your Student Friend texts you on her way back towards the dorms. Hopefully you’ll have a rendezvous lined up for the next time she heads over to the Student Union.

So there you go. If I misread this and you really were just looking for “something” to do, then get Good and Drunk and follow all the steps above. When your Academic Fuck Buddy gets home and you’re all sloshed and you’ve actually just settled for Youporn in the waning afternoon, just be all like, “Baby… no, I’m not drunk… no, fuuuuck you.” Then break something and leave.

For terrible dating advice, send questions to sicmclovelorn@gmail.com


A follow-up for Scott Walker




HEY, ALL YOU SERIOUS JOURNALIST TYPES! Want to be useful? Here’s a question Scott Walker really needs to answer about Murphy’s astonishing “Koch’d up” conversation with him:


Surprisingly, Walker has already been asked repeatedly about his admission that “we thought about that” when Murphy suggest planting agents provocateurs among the Wisconsin protesters. Even more surprisingly, Walker has essentially fessed up to considering the idea, and dropping it because it was strategically a loser. While he has made weak statements that it would have been wrong, he made no such protestation to “Koch.” But there’s another aspect here that needs pursuing: In his responses Walker has implicated legislators (presumably Wisconsin Republican legislators) and his own staff in suggesting the wildly illegal tactic. Who are they?

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John Stossel and the moustache of doom
(an open letter to skeptics)

Dear Respected Skeptics,
Please, stop talking to John Stossel. He will conflate your legitimate skepticism of deities, ghosts and Power Balance bracelets with free market sycophancy and climate change denial. This is his repugnant MO.

His latest victims are Michael Shermer and James Randi. For forty-three minutes of a forty-four minute episode of “Stossel,” they talk commonsense disbelief in God, psychics, horoscopes and ridiculous athletic-enhancing holograms.

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Relationship advice from the founder of Bridges TV

Dear Muzzamil,

I’ve been married for nearly a decade, and frankly, things have become a little lackluster in the bedroom. I’ve put on sexy lingerie, lit candles and played Al Green albums but nothing seems to work. My husband isn’t getting the hints; he’s only interest in watching TV! What can I do, Muzzamil?

-Losing my head in Buffalo

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