Monday, June 12, 2006

Jamie to the Rescue

Some time ago I expressed my sheer and utter delight at having become the internet's leading source on goat sex. Since then, I have made impressive gains in the fields of grandma sex, fuckfests of all kinds (not just the Friday variety), morning erections, and last but certainly not least, the inflatable date category, otherwise known as blow up dolls.

Ah yes.

And as always, I am inundated by questions that people ask (read: Google anonymously) in earnest, but probably find unsatisfactory answers, judging solely by the absolute crap offered up sneakily disguised as truth on Kill the Goat.

Out of guilt, and possible libel suits, here is my attempt to rectify the situation:

1. I'll start today with whomever had the pressing need to know about who "rimmed her mistress."

First, let me highlight the fact that it wasn't me, no matter what you've heard.

And that's assuming you mean rimming as in applying coarse salt to a margarita glass.

If you're talking about old Colonel Angus, I'm afraid I'll have to plead the fifth. I mean, remember when we found out about President Clinton and the black kiss he supposedly shared with Monica? That didn't go over so well for him, now did it? So I'm thinking that pornos aside, the whole anal-oral thing exists mostly behind doors (and hopefully, mostly behind dental dams). So the only advice I can offer you is this: if your mistress is having a series of "this one time, at bandcamp" moments, well, maybe you should pick up your rusty trombone and join her.

Just stop looking at me like that.

2. Another oft-repeated question is "Do women hate hosiery?"

Clearly, these are all google hits from males. I don't think there's a female over 11 who would have to ask that. If you don't believe me, just ask whoever bluntly googled "pantyhose makes your crotch sweaty." Does that sound nice to you?

No, I thought not. The truth about nylons is this: they were invented to counter the feminist movement.

With such fragile, finnicky things as the only barrier between our untouchable skin and the big, bad world, men thought that surely they could keep us daintily in the home, doing nothing more streneous or adventurous than ironing on the highest setting.

But they were wrong. We ditched the nylons; now we're wearing pants and the whole world has gone to hell, and there's not a single woman left who doesn't curse the rare occasions that she tries to contort herself into lycra-induced purgatory.

3. Another young, naive individual happened upon Kill the Goat searching for "what makes men irresistible."

There is only one thing that makes a man irresistible: money. Preferably, lots of it. No matter what your moma tells you, no matter how many issues of Cosmo you've read, no matter how addicted to Dr. Phil you are, everything else is just pluses and minuses.

Cash is foolproof.

4. To the deluded individual who wondered "do straight men wear thongs?":

the answer is an unqualified and resounding no. Just no. That's all you need to know. If you need convincing, you can look here, but note, it's for the strong of stomach only.

In fact, my good friend L. assures me that gay men don't wear them, either. So who is wearing them? Just the trannies? Do we want to know?

No. No, we don't.

5. And finally, let me address a growing concern that has hit the internet like a storm:

Ben Affleck's long toenails. Now, I don't know Ben Affleck, or his feet. I don't even remember having seen a picture of his uncovered foot. But the internet runs on the fumes of rumours, not facts, and who am I to say I'm better than the internet?

Ben Affleck, shame on you. May you be cursed with drinking problems and low box office returns and shotgun weddings for possibly (but maybe not) inflicting your gross toes on the world at large.

Because whether you're Ben Affleck or not, here's the thing: if you leave your house in sandals, you have a duty to humanity to have presentable feet. No one's toenails should ever be anything but extremely short. Even a woman with the french-pedicure thing going on makes me throw up in my mouth a bit. Trim, people, trim!

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