Q: If a random girl blows me, do I have to return the favor and go down on her if I hate doing it?
A: That all depends. Is she holding a gun(*) to your head? And by “gun” I mean, if she leaves unsatisfied or disappointed by your blatant oral neglect, what are odds that she tells everyone that you’re selfish and/or shitty in bed?
Let's face it, when you're younger or in college THAT MATTERS, because the word will spread and a few, not all, legs will begin to close. However, once you start railin' townies and emotionally destroyed randos in the real world, I argue who gives a shit what she thinks? If you live in a metropolis, you're likely to never see her again. Hell, you’ll have nights where you couldn't pick the chick you just fucked out of a lineup the next day if you tried.
If you absolutely hate eating box and your finger game is airtight, or you simply don't care about the ramifications of not doing it, save your mouth the trouble.
(*If she's actually holding a gun to your head, probably best to munch that muff like it was covered in goddamn truffle oil. Even swallow the chunk of toilet paper that was accidentally left behind from her last wipe.)
Q: My co-worker thinks he deserves a trophy for always staying late at work and the worst part is he feels the need to mention how he is still in the office when he sends emails out to clients after hours. “Still grinding in the office, just wanted to email you…” Should I tell him how stupid he is when he does this?
A: “If this were 1995, I’d be impressed” is probably the exact thought going through every recipient’s mind who reads his emails. And “still grinding?” What is he a goddamn barista? You’re the fuckin’ man, Bro, you know how to answer an email after work. So do the rest of us. I don’t know one person that isn’t working or connected to work damn near round the clock. It doesn’t mean you need to tell people you’re at the office working. In fact, with technology being the way it is, only an idiot would stay at work when he could accomplish the same tasks at home.
Do your career a favor and don’t say anything to him about this. He's amazing absolutely no one with his “still at the office” bullshit and that can only pay off for you in the long run.
Q: So I was talking to a girl and it was going well, but I was in a big hurry and didn't have time to ask for her number and all that shit. Is it the creepiest thing since Sandusky for me to just make sure I walk to school at the same time as last time just so I run into her? We're not in the same circle at all so waiting for a genuine run-in could take months. Also, is the shocker good for anything besides bragging rights?
A: Creepy is waking up in the middle of the night at your fraternity formal and jagging off while watching your date sleep because she refused to hook up with you. (I know a guy.) What you just described, however, isn’t creepy. It’s strategy. And a much better one than messaging her on Facebook.
And yes, the shocker is good for a few other things, like shredding the webbing in between your fingers and serving as dead givaway as to which person in the photo you're looking at is a fucking douchebag.
Q: Would you rather take a shot of diarrhea every morning for the rest of your life, or let Gregg Popovich jerk off onto your face every Christmas and Fourth of July—essentially ruining those holidays, to say the least—for the rest of your life?
A: Maybe I’m missing vital information here, but isn’t eating shit everyday for eternity far worse than some cum hitting your face twice a year? For one, that everyday frequency is aggressive as hell and secondly, shits are like fingerprints, no two are alike, so every morning would be a new miserable experience (quality Gin Blossoms album, by the way) depending on what the shitter ate the night before. But like I said, maybe I’m missing the 800lb gorilla in the room? Like is something profoundly gross or perilous about Gregg Popovich's sperm that I'm currently unaware of? And why Gregg Popovich? Why not someone more polarizing like Skip Bayless or potentially deadly like Magic Johnson? What the fuck do you have against Gregg?
Q: What is proper hot-tub etiquette? If I am at a hotel or my condo and there is another guy in the hot tub, do I get in? What if there is a group? What about a solo girl or two or a group? Small hot tub? Large hot tub? If there is even one guy and it is a large hot-tub I feel a little weird. I can handle a country club sauna with just a towel around or showering naked at the gym, but there is something about a hot-tub that doesn't sit well. What about conversation? The silence is awkward. I don't care about being nice, but I’m in a hot tub and want to enjoy it.
A: First, let me say that this is possibly the best question I've received in the last six months. No BUUUSHIT.
The scenario you've just described rivals the awkwardness of being the last guy to get in a PACKED elevator. You feel like the new kid in town, as if everyone else has already bonded and now they're shit-talking behind your back about your audacity, whispering to each other “Can you believe this asshole got in?” and “Look at this bozo’s fucking neck hair.” Meanwhile, you're there, staring at the door, wishing you trimmed the crop that's growing on your neck, and praying no one just heard the ill-timed LMFAO song that started blaring out of your headphones.
This past summer, while on vacation, I was on both sides of this dreadful hot tub scenario. Outwardly, I was unaffected by it, but inwardly I was screaming WHAT ARE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS STARING AT? I’LL CUT YOUR SHIT!!!
So yeah, entering a hot tub is a very taxing event for a person of my temperament.
My approach is simple: if there is sufficient room—less than half of tub's max cap—you either go in or you leave. You cannot wait it out or hover around because that's a dickbag move and people are diehard pricks.
Case in point: When it was just my girlfriend and I, in a huge 12-person hot tub by ourselves, two girls and a guy came and loitered outside of it, waiting for us to leave. They literally sat there on a bench and lingered. Well, that was all I had to see. Are you people kidding me, the wait-and-stare game? Nothing festers in my asshole more, so I did what I do anytime someone thinks it's a brilliant idea to stand next to my treadmill at the gym waiting for me to get off: I force them to unwittingly enter into a battle of attrition; a game of who is going to leave first. And let me tell you, it was hot as fuck in that tub. But I was willing to die in that boiling hell bath.
After those other idiots finally abandoned their mission, this other couple hopped right in (like normal people should) and started talking to us. But, by that point, I had to get the fuck out of there. I was dying of heat and I don’t even know what I said to them on the way out but all I could think was, “Rain check. Need water. Might die. Dick pruned.”
On the flip side of the coin, one night we were heading to the hot tub to do a little booze swilling while we longingly gazed into each other’s soul. You know, super romantic nighttime shit. We get down to the pool and see one hot tub is overflowing with patrons while the other has five people in it—UNDER MY LIMIT! My girlfriend whispered, “It's kind of crowded, should we wait or go in the pool?” “No, fuck them,” I replied. “That pool is cold as shit.” And we hop in.
The next 30 minutes could not have been more uncomfortable. These people weren't even all together but they apparently became butt buddies prior to our arrival and made a pact to be SCATHING VAGINAL CYSTS to anyone else that dared to enter. We knew they felt like we were intruding and that they wanted us to leave, but it’s not that easy, I can't just admit defeat like that; we had to suffer it out for a respectable amount of time so we didn’t look soft. And for the second time in one day, I found myself engaged in a survival-of-the-fittest, hot tub battle royale. After 30 minutes they left, but I can't chalk the day up as a total win because that story of hot tub wars is also the story of how I got a bladder infection on vacation and pissed SUNNY DELIGHT for the next week.
And yes, that is my actual stream of urine. We're all friends here, right?