Life
by J. Camm on August 14, 2012

Q. My girlfriend NEVER gets horny anymore. I mean NEVER. What should I do?

A: You have two options and neither involves euthanasia, although I'm never one to rule that out.

Option A: Break up with her and find someone new. Plenty more where that came from, my boy.

Option B: Rededicate yourself to the relationship. Ask yourself if you're part of the problem. Implausible to even infer, I know, but have you been doing anything that would be a turnoff lately? That also includes NOT DOING ANYTHING AT ALL, which is oftentimes way worse to chicks. Meaning, they'd rather us rip top-shelf gas from time-to-time and still show them affection than have us take our fart sessions private and treat them like wall decor.

Things grow stale when everyone gets comfortable, I get that. You become more like friends (or enemies) than a couple. However, it’s on you (the two of you) to keep the heat blistering and the sex stimulating. Somewhere along the way you guys lost that. Can you comeback from it? F*ck if I know, but if you can’t, you should figure that out fast — before you waste any more time.

Q: Who do you think would win in a wrestling match (not a fight) between a guy with no arms and a guy with no legs of equal strength and athleticism and no prosthetics involved?

A: No legs would take it, and he'd do it handily, too. Arms don't even come close to rivaling legs in regards to strength but being able to grab something is paramount in wrestling. You switch this scenario to an actual fight and the guy with no legs will probably have his head punted into the rafters, but when held to only wrestling I've got to take no legs for the win. After all, this dude only had one leg and look what he was able to attain.

Q: It's pretty well accepted that girls don't like sucking hairy dicks. My question is, how short should I keep it? I don't want to lose blow jobs because it's too long, but I also don't want to look like a 10-year-old boy.

A:  I can't say whether or not it's “well accepted” that chicks will refuse fellatio if you're packing heat in the genital-hair department but I personally agree that keeping clean crotch will take you far, and keep you from having a deplorable nickname within female circles.

As for length, I'd say a half-inch or less is acceptable. Long enough to keep you from looking like an infant but not long enough for food to get caught in it. Although once in my life I'd like to grow it and then style it like a Rollie Fingers' mustache. Just for laughs. 

If we're talking length in terms of buzzer settings or attachments, then I'd say lowest setting without being blades-only to third-lowest setting works. You never want to go no attachment. It might look great for you but the sharp stubble will put even the toughest vagina in the ICU.

Q: I'm about to leave for my freshman year in college. I'm not a terrible-looking bro, but I'm still wondering what lady-slaying pick-up moves work best for you?

A: Since it's our back-to-school week, I'll answer this. Older Bros feel free to skip to the next question. Here goes…

Moves are unnecessary.

Picking up chicks, despite what some people think, isn't a complicated science. Maybe it is if God stacked the odds against you physically or you're playing out of your league or you're trying to get with a chick that loves muscle-smothered, Ed Hardy douchefarts, but if you're realistic, good-looking, and have serviceable hygiene then you've already got one foot in the puss.

After that, you just need the courage to approach her (absolute hardest part), the ability to carry a conversation (troubling for many), the personality to be interesting, funny, and just the right amount of confident (also tumultuous for some), the restraint to not come on too strong, the good sense to not have creepy friends with you giving off that oh-so-desirable rapey vibe, and then all that's left is the ability to move her from the party or bar to your place for the close.  F*CKING CHILD'S PLAY, right? 

You won't close every time. So don't expect to and don't act like a child if she takes a pass. Consider a failed night as headway for next time you see her; some nuts take a few swipes to crack (or bust, if you want to look at this from a perverse vantage point). Your best “move” to close, however, is to never let her leave without at least asking her to keep the party going at your place, or Denny's, or behind the dumpster, or wherever. Some girls won’t bullsh*t (these are the girls that will molest your face in public within minutes of meeting you) and you’ll know that you can simply ask them “hey want to go to my place?” while others might require another event to leave with you — they may not want to leave their besties or let you assume they’re a whore – that’s when you propose keeping the party going.

So this is where my advice stops. After you get her home, that’s on you and your raw talent to get the job done.

I don't know if what I mentioned above is considered “moves” or just not acting like a total f*cking retard — I've done that before, wasn't effective — but this approach seemed to work for me.

Q: Zombies have taken over the world! A horde of hot, perfect 10, naked, female zombies break into your pad. It's just you, a fellow bro and the zombies. Would you: A- Crack open your fellow bro's skull, so the zombies can feast on him and escape to safety. B- Team up with your bro and jerk off in unison, in an attempt to blind the zombies with your combined batter. C- Dive into a ferocious 69 with your bro; thereby proving you're both homosexual, since we all know that zombies do not eat gay men?

A: Hmm…

/looks at his WWSD (What Would Stallone Do) bracelet for guidance, strength.

A hero's choice is option B. Not going to stab my friend in the back nor am I going to suck his cock. (Although Stallone may have tried that in the 70s to jumpstart his career.) Only way out of this mess is by creating an even bigger mess with my dick. Sadly, I know my personal limitations so I'll probably die because I can't jerk off to anything less than penetration porn and my loads don't spring like that genetic freak Peter North. But hey, at least I'll have died with my dignity intact and a staggering fear boner. And that's the best any man can hope for.

Q: Whilst watching the home run derby a few weeks ago, my bros and I took to debate on a decent “would you rather”. It was a refreshing break from the oh-so-typical “nail a fat chick or have a hot girl take a post-chipotle dump on your chest” would you rather that we have become accustomed to. So here goes; assuming you cant do either of these (not a jab, just a disclaimer) would you rather: have the ability to hit monster boner home runs, or dunk the living nuts out of a basketball?

A: On an equal playing field, where you hit a homerun as often as you can dunk, homers win without a doubt. Dunking is a rush, I know because I’ve flushed my fair share on 8 ft. rims, but if you choose between dunking once a game OR hitting one home run per game, there’s no comparison. One homerun every game is an incredible season. One dunk is meaningless.

Q: What pro baseball player of all time would you want to go out drinking with? Consider all of the following: cool to hang out with, known to party hard, likelihood chicks would recognize him and therefore sleep with you for being out with, overall baseball talent, ability to beat the daylights out of other people in a bar fight. I say Frank Thomas.

A: Anyone else out there reading this wondering about the choice of Frank Thomas here? Peculiar.

My top 3 in no particular order:

Josh Hamilton
You know, before he found the man in the sky and sobriety.

Wade Boggs
Candidly, I’m not much of a Boggs fan but this story from one of his teammates makes me want to party with the man.

“I'm not kidding you Steve. Seriously. Wade was the kind of guy who was always the first one at the club house. So he'd get to the clubhouse, and he'd bring a six pack with him. He'd be there drinking a beer when someone showed up, and as we were all packing our stuff up out of our lockers and getting our bags ready for the trip, Wade would sit there and drink that whole six pack.

Now, at the time, we were flying out of New Jersey, so it was somewhat of a drive from Yankee stadium to the airport in New Jersey. Wade would drink another couple of beers on the bus to the airport. At the time, we were flying this older airplane, it couldn't make it across the country without refueling, and it wasn't the fastest airplane in the sky. So we would stop in North Dakota or something. Wade would drink about a half rack between New Jersey and North Dakota, and it would take about a half-hour to an hour to refuel once we got there, so he'd have a few more beers while we were grounded in North Dakota.

Once we got back up in the air, Wade would drink another 10, 11, 12 beers on the way out to the west coast. The whole flight from coast to coast usually took us well over 7 hours. We'd touch down at Sea-Tac, hop on the bus headed to the Kingdome, and Wade would have another beer or two on the bus. Then, all of us would get to the Kingdome and unpack our bags and sit around and BS with each other, and Wade would have a beer in his hand the entire time. He was always one of the last people to leave the club house too. So I'd say that all in all, he drank over 50 beers on the trip, and this wasn't just an isolated incident, he did that almost every time.”

Darryl Strawberry
Strawberry remains my favorite baseball player of all time. However, his timeless swing and ease with which he played the game are not the reason he made this list. Below is an excerpt from “Boozing in the Big Leagues: How the 1986 Mets Drank Their Way Into the World Series” detailing the Mets' flight home from Houston after they won the 1986 NLCS.

“In violation of long-standing policy, many of the players brought their wives and girlfriends along for the trip. Mets management had laded the 707 with three times its usual compliment of alcohol and food. It was to be a celebration. All totaled, the celebration cost United Airlines and the Mets franchise tens of thousands of dollars, including bills for the damage done to the plane.

Some players were already loaded when they boarded. Everyone else (even the straight-laced Gary Carter) got that way quickly. The Scum Bunch was in full frenzy. Players, coaches and various wives and mistresses, careened up and down the aisle toasting, whooping and dancing, while the airline’s crew attempted to serve the special post-win meal of steak and lobster. There was also a large cake with congratulations done in Mets’ blue and orange frosting. It was the first casualty. Moments after its appearance it was put to use as weaponry for what might be the most spectacular food fight in the history of professional sports. People, seats and walls were plastered in gooey frosting, and the party was only ramping up.

Darryl Strawberry, who was about as nasty a drunk as you’re likely to find, decided he wanted to lay down, convinced, in his stupor, that the seats turned into couches. They didn’t, but that didn’t stop Straw from breaking a good half-dozen in his attempt to make them lay flat. Rafael Santana peed down the back of Ed Hearn’s shirt. Wives and girlfriends, those who weren’t otherwise involved in topless shenanigans, yarked in seat pockets. The Scum Bunch started up a game of beer-can baseball. Dented cans sailed through the air, foam spraying like geysers. Guys strapped steaks to their feet and went skiing. There were antics that bordered on public fornication. Several players got into fistfights, then made up and drank to each others health. People did things in the restrooms that defied logic and the laws of physics.

When they landed in New York to the cheers of thousands of fans, the players looked so horrible that spectators could only gape in astonishment, but that didn’t stop Darryl Strawberry from emptying a bottle of Andre Champagne over the head of Mayor Ed Koch.”

Follow me on Twitter @JCamm_ and submit your Ask a Bro questions here.

J. Camm

About J. Camm...

J. Camm is the Managing Editor of BroBible. He is a graduate of the University of Miami thanks mostly in part to a world-class short-term memory. When not writing drivel on the Internet, J.Camm enjoys golf and the inexplicable satisfaction that comes with forgetting a person's name the exact instant he meets them.

Post a Comment

Your email is kept private. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>