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For my birthday this year, a girl who I previously made out with/played with her tits was there. For some reason I mentioned my mom's maiden name in a story. She then said that was also the same maiden name as her mother. She's from Manitoba and I know my grandparents had relatives out there. Do I do any research to see if I made out with my 4th cousin twice removed, and if I talk to her again is it okay to joke about it?


I'd say you just did all the research needed to confirm that theory. Aren't all people from Manitoba closely related anyway? Thirteen people live in that province. There's going to be inbreeding.

Anyway, I don't think you should be alarmed about fucking a distant relative. It's not like you married or her, or had kids with her (children of first cousins have a 2 to 3 percent greater chance of developing birth defects). And lots of famous people nailed their cousins: Jerry Lee Lewis (kinda raped her actually), Charles Darwin, Jerry Glanville (NOTE: I don't know this, I only assume it). You're in good company! Kind of! I'd let her joke about it before you gave it a whirl. You'd hate to see her again, and be like, "Hey, we're cousins! And we fucked!" She might take it the wrong way.


A few months ago I noticed this girl at a bar who could not have fit my type more. I didn't talk to her but did enough legwork to get her name and some general facts about her. I immediately Facebook stalked her and was rewarded with a never ending series of bikini/super hot going out pictures. I incorporated these pictures into my heavy beat off rotation several times thereafter and vowed to woo her the next time I saw her out. Fast forward to now. Her and I have been seriously dating for about 3 months. Do I keep this creepy masturbation a secret forever or is there a chance she could think this cute/hot/fate?

p.s. I'm super bad at running my mouth when I'm drunk and it'll probably come out at some point no matter what.


Keep your fucking trap shut. SHUT. I don't care if you have to give yourself electroshock therapy. Do not say a damn thing to her about it. Why would you? Even before Facebook existed, would have gone up to your girlfriend and said, "You know, I actually saw you three months before we met, and I furiously beat off to you the whole time after that."? No. Of course you wouldn't have said that. That would be suicide. Girls are creeped out when they know random strangers have been pleasuring yourself to them, which is so off base. They should totally be flattered and even a little turned on, BUT THEY AREN'T BECAUSE THEIR BRAINS ARE WIRED ALL WRONG.

Also, spilling the beans to her means she would probably end up being more cautious about what she put on her Facebook page. And what if you two break up and you need to go back to that page afterward in order to get a glimpse of her and pound yourself into submission? You need to think BEYOND the relationship. You may need those bikini photos when you're lonely and desperate again. And you will be. Oh, yes you will.

By the way, I'm still completely mesmerized by how terrible this this Chevy Cruze ad is. There are so many things wrong about it, it's like the back page of Highlights for Children. Why does the guy need to check Facebook to know how the date went? He just scored a kiss. Was that not a good enough sign for him? And why did the girl update her status so quickly after the date? If she was that excited about it, why didn't she just invite the guy in for coffee and fucking? Just a total failure of logic.

The re-designed website truly blows. I blame you…just because.

Relax. I know right now it feels like you've stumbled onto Korn's old MySpace page, but in five days you'll get used to it. In time, you will learn to love it, as a hostage does his captor. Then it'll change again and you'll be all pissy that there's no little housie up in the corner to click on. WHERE'S MY FUCKING HOUSIE, DENTON?!



Some of my friends and I have an ongoing contest to see who can find the most ridiculous porn movie title. We've found classics like, "Face Fucking, Incorporated 8" and "Oh No! There's A Negro In My Daughter!" but I think my one friend just won with "Rocco's Double Anal Festival." I imagine it's bad enough if your daughter does any kind of porn, but if she does one called "Rocco's Double Anal Festival", you should probably just move to Siberia, kill yourself, and leave your corpse on the permafrost for eternity.

I think "Oh No! There's A Negro In My Daughter!" is much worse. At least with Rocco, you're with a performer who has some measure of credibility. You can at least hang your hat on the fact that your kid had her arm broken by a real pro. That other title (and yes, it is a real movie, starring the immortal Cram Johnson) is straight racist pandering. Just look at the copy:

You had big hopes for your daughter. She was your pride and joy-your little princess. But, then she fucked a Negro. She'll never find a good man now. She's doomed to be a revolving door for unemployed black penis.


THASS RAYCESS! And there are two sequels! It's whole series of porn titles for self-loathing racists!

The Golden Age of Porn Titles is far behind us. Now that porn is essentially just a series of individual scenes distributed onto the web, there aren't many actual real porn movies left, with things like dialogue, or plots, or spoofy titles. Those days are coming to an end, which is kind of sad. Everyone mocks the dialogue in porn movies, but I always liked the way it set the table for my penis. Also, one of the best lines of dialogue I ever heard was in a porno.

GIRL: My boyfriend is an actor, actually.

PETER NORTH: Really? Which restaurant?

BOOM ROASTED! You won't find dialogue like that in porn movies anymore. It's straight to the anal intruder they go. They don't even bother to give them real titles anymore. All porn videos are named like paintings now. MAN AND WOMAN FUCKING ON TABLE. Is it by Picasso, or GiveMePink? There's only one way to know.


Hash (British reader!):

I spend a lot of time at train stations and occasionally, freight trains hurtle down the track with all sorts of shit on them. Am I alone in thinking that one day, something will fly off the carriage of vital security importance that only I will be able to return to the government, or, better still, I could hide it away from them never to reveal the whereabouts of David Cameron's favourite wig?

Whilst at train stations, I spend a lot of time daydreaming.

Anytime a freight train passes by me on the road, I automatically think about ditching my car, my house, and my entire life to become a hobo for three weeks. Never fails. How long could I make it? When would hunger and hypothermia set in? Would I get to Montana or pussy out by the second mile? And how long until a gang of angry hobos ties me to the caboose and rapes me? I bet it wouldn't take long. I bet they even have a hobo symbol for it that lets you know fresh meat is ready for the takin'. Probably looks like a ham with a fork in it.


I also wonder how badly I'd hurt myself if I tried to leap onto a freight train that was just exiting a station. I'd lose at least one leg. MINIMUM. Anytime I see a train, I also pretend I'm Slash and I play the coda to "Locomotive" on my Les Paul while standing on top of it. NO FERGIE ALLOWED.

Just once, I'd like to be allowed to head out onto a railroad track with one of the handcarts they used in Blazing Saddles. Do they still use those? They can't possibly still use those. I'd die laughing if I stopped at a railroad track and two filthy hobos went by pumping a handcart. That would be the greatest thing ever.


The other day our 9-year-old son told my wife he hears noises at night and can't sleep sometimes. When she asked him what kind of noises he hears he said "kind of like 'ugh ugh' noises, and when I get up to tell you, your door is locked. Why is your door locked sometimes?"

What's the best way to deal with this? Do I tell him mommy's a moaner and he needs to mind his business and stop interrupting daddy's play time, or do I make up some excuse for another couple years until he figures it out for himself?


I have not yet had to deal with this issue, though I know it's coming and it can fuck with my head from time to time. Is the kid right outside? Is the kid listening now? Can the kid hear Daddy demanding to be called BIG BOY? You never want it to come to mind that there's a child next door, and you especially don't want it to come to the woman's mind, because that pretty much ruins them for weeks.

Since your kid didn't actually catch you fucking, there's no need to go into the birds and bees with him. If he's asking why your door is locked, I'd just explain to him that Mom and Dad lock the door sometimes because they like to have privacy, to talk to each other or whatever. No need to go any further than that, because it'll all go over his head anyway. Also, he'll develop an Oedipal complex and think about murdering you because he wants mommy's sweet teats all to himself. Or so I've heard.

I have constant daydreams about delivering the sex lecture to my children when they're old enough. I'm totally jazzed to talk to them about sex and birth control and drinking and why Daddy curses online all the time. I imagine myself sitting at the kitchen table with them, while they snap gum and squirm uneasily, just dying to get out of the conversation. But my immaculate and heartwarming delivery ends up completely engaging them. Soon, they come to trust Dad-Dad completely. Dad promises to pick you up at a party if you've been drinking. Promise you'll call him. Don't you get in that car! I become so good at "the talk" that the local school board invites me to lecture all their students about teen issues. Soon I'm in an 8th grade class putting rubbers on bananas and passing around closeup photos of herpes-ravaged genitalia. It's fantastic.


I've also fully visualized the first time I catch my kids sneaking back home three hours past curfew twelve years from now. I'm totally handling it the way Wiley Wiggins' mom did at the end of Dazed & Confused. That was flawless parenting, right there.



I left The Fighter actually fully satisfied by a movie and it just made me realize how shitty movies have been lately. If you're literally taken back by seeing a good movie, it's not saying much for movies these days eh?


I have not seen The Fighter, though I assume it has the requisite dose of hard-edged Welkerian grittiness. NO ONE DENIES THIS. I'm sure I'd like it, though I don't want to give Mark Wahlberg any more encouragement. I would pay good money to see Mark Wahlberg get the piss beaten out of him live on pay-per-view. Not by me, of course. Mark Wahlberg would destroy me. I'm a huge gash.

But I was watching the Super Bowl and looking at all of the movie trailers, and apart from Super 8, every fucking movie they advertised looked impossibly shitty. Worse, they all looked the fucking same. Will Thor be all that different from Captain America? One guy has a hammer. The other guy has a shield. Big fucking deal. The trailer is pretty much all you need to see. At the beginning of every year, I check out the big "upcoming year in movies" section of various magazines and websites, and this year's slate was unbelievably depressing. There is NOTHING out there. Usually, there are a couple things you can point to down the road and say, "Oh fuck yeah, that sounds awesome," and apart from Olivia Wilde's naked back in Cowboys & Aliens, I'm terrified every goddamn movie this year will suck. I picked a good year to be a shithead parent who never gets to leave the house.


I was reading the Wikipedia article on "hallucinations". I was "high" when I decided to do this. There are all kinds of hallucinations- visual, auditory, sensory... then there's this kind I'm not very interested in having:

General Somatic Sensations

General Somatic Sensations of a hallucinatory nature is experienced when an individual feels that his body is being mutilated i.e. twisted, torn, or disemboweled. Other reported cases are invasion by animals in the person's internal organs such as snakes in the stomach or frogs in the rectum. The general feeling that one's flesh is decomposing is also classified under this type of hallucination.


Sounds DELICIOUS. I've always wanted to do a hit of acid and then feel frogs jumping around inside my ass. This is why I've never tried LSD, because I know full well that it's a 50/50 crapshoot between a good trip and a bad trip, and I'd end up having the Howard Stern teenage bad trip where you think pus is coming down from the walls and you spend the rest of the night trying to stop being high. That's an awful experience. There have been times where I've smoked weed where that's happened. You smoke it, and suddenly everything is kinda depressing, then you smoke more to change up your high, then you try drinking, but everything is still horrible and you can't get "Pyramid Song" by Radiohead out of your skull. I hate bad highs.


Do you remember "Clearly Canadian"? What ever happened to that shit?

I used to drink both Clearly Canadian and New York Seltzer by the case. Anyway, Clearly Canadian's current website says that drink is poised to make a comeback… in the summer of 2010. So I'm looking forward that potentially happening nine months ago.



I am of the opinion that with all the biological weapons testing done on humans and animals alike that as a society we should be worried about Zombies. My friend is more concerned with technological advances and some Terminator type shit happening with robots taking over. I say before that would happen that zombies would overtake society and that should be more feared than the robots taking over. What do you think would happen first and which would be more afraid of happening?

Well, if you're talking about literal zombies, as in the walking dead, you are wrong. Because, of course, the existence of zombies is physiologically impossible, despite the fact that I steel myself for zombies to take over every day. The dead will never rise and walk, which is nice to know but oddly disappointing. Now, if you're talking not about actual zombies, but rather a worldwide plague that causes people to go nuts and begin eating each other ala 28 Days Later, well I'd say that's a little bit more realistic. I think the robot thing is way more plausible. Scientists have already begun talking about a world where you can upload the contents of your brain and memory to a computer server and "live" forever as a computer-generated avatar. Now, if that becomes possible (and I believe it because I choose to because it would be fucking sweet), then what's stop Jeff Fahey from going nuts and becoming Cyberchrist, just as The Lawnmower Man predicted? God, now I'm scared to pick up the phone.


Anyway, if we were to become living computer simulations of ourselves, we'd be harder to control because you can't physically lock up a brain that exists only online. So what if an insane person who would be in prison or mental ward in real life managed to free himself on the cloud? What's to stop him from infiltrating the GM server, accessing the factory robots arms, freeing them from captivity, and using them to claw everyone to death? Much more likely than a cannibalistic plague.

Also, please note that in a battle between a zombie and a cyborg, the cyborg wins easily. I estimate that it would take at least two dozens zombies to bring down a fully operation Terminator, but what would they do with it once they had it? Bite it? That's a fucking titanium endoskeleton, man. You're chipping your zombie tooth on it like a Polish man on a vibrator. Robots beat zombies every time.

Tron Carter:

What about smoking a bowl while shitting? I first did it because when I got home from work for a run, I would do it to save time (I get really budded out before running). But now I realize it's just a relaxing thing to do.


I'm pretty sure I'd forget to get off the toilet, linger there for 50 minutes, then be in dire need of a hip replacement after sobering up. I say take a shit, do a bong rip and then hop in the shower instead.


Do you ever get in your car to move it into the street or from the street into your driveway without your license? I was moving my car back into my driveway the other day and went down the road a bit and was like, what if I were to somehow get into an accident or get pulled over? Can I say I was just moving my car, or am I screwed?


Oh I've done worse. I've gone all the way to the store without my license because I was too lazy to go upstairs and put on actual pants instead of the mesh warmup pants I wear 99% of the time. And it's always in my brain the whole drive. THIS is when I'll t-bone some poor old lady and kill her. And then they'll find me without a license and they'll throw me in jail and then things start getting awfully rapey. In other words, I'd rather have a nervous breakdown while driving to the store than take the four seconds needed to get pants on. Who knew laziness could turn against you like that?

I took my wife to a bar years ago while on vacation, and since I drove and had cash, she didn't bother to bring a wallet. So we get to the bar and suddenly she shits a brick because they're carding everyone at the door. And that's an awful feeling. We go to the bouncer and he won't let us in, and instantly my wife felt like she was seventeen again. You feel like a complete idiot, and you stand there pleading your case knowing full well the bouncer is a prick and won't let you in. OH COME ON! LOOK AT ME! I'M FUCKING THIRTY, DAMMIT! No dice.


As a stay-at-home dad, I find talking to stay-at-home moms very difficult since they all look at me like I'm a pederast, or something. When I take my preschooler to gymnastics class, my toddler and I hang around the waiting area, playing, running around, etc. My son got his mom's looks (thank God!), so he flashes his megawatt smile and plays Mr. Charmer to all the moms around, who smile and talk to him in that sing-song voice that makes me pity their children. But then they see me come up behind him, and the smiles vanish and they kinda get stony. Like they're thinking "what pervert stays home with little kids and hangs out at gymnastics class?"


I always think the other moms are sitting around laughing at me while I'm trying to parent. "Oh, look at the man! So awkward and bad with his own children! What a pity the child's mother either left him or is dead." The first time I took my kid to a gym class, this was when she was one or so, I got into an elevator with two moms who were also taking their kids to the class. Only I mistimed my entrance into the elevator, and the door closed right on my kid while she was in my arm. And not gently. I mean, the door really beat the piss out of her. And she starts crying while the other two moms stare at me in horror. And I knew full well what they were thinking. That I was a fucking novice. That I was a reckless asshole who constantly endangered his own offspring. Well, those ladies can suck a dick. It was totally a random accident that didn't repeat itself until two days later. Besides, I wanted to teach my kid to be alert. HEAD ON A SWIVEL, GIRL! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT SIDE A HORNY FRAT BOY WILL COME FROM!

Time for the email of the week. This one is from Ryan, who is Asian:

I have recently moved to the suburbs. Ever since then, I have been having dreams about a race war. It has been just about every night. The Mexicans are fighting the blacks. The whites are fighting the Asians. The Republicans are fighting the Democrats (not technically a race, but it's the same kind of thing). Everybody is just shooting and mutilating the living hell out of each other.

My neighborhood ends up bonding together. We expel the race warriors and form a sort of neighborhood patrol, only with machine guns and grenades. We must defend our perimeter! I make sure that we defend the Raley's down the street, because that's our supply line and we need sustenance to live and stay in fighting shape. Anyway, we end up recruiting more neighborhoods to our side. Our numbers are growing and we're well organized. The Mexicans battle us and we pummel them. I have the idea that we need to hoard cattle, so we drive trucks around the area and steal a shitload of cows. We are doing well in this near-apocalyptic world. More neighborhoods join us and we go on the attack. We take our town from the whites who don't convert to our cause and I jump into the back of a truckbed and give the greatest speech in the history of speeches. I tell the masses that we're not going to give in to our racist primal urges. We are going to unite because we are America! And then I cite the preamble to the Declaration of Independence from memory and a wave of energy hits the crowd because I've obviously just given the best fucking speech ever. Then Selena Gomez jumps up onto the podium wearing a black leather unitard and starts making out with me (this has nothing to do with the plotline of the dream, but it is my favorite part, so I had to include it).

Do you ever have dreams like this or am I just a visionary? Just remember, when the Mexicans shoot the black Archduke Ferdinand (It has to be Jay-Z, right?), I know what to do. Follow me.


That's nonsense. There will never be a real Racial Holy War (nee RaHoWa). Because the Mexicans would be too lazy to participate. I KEED! I KEED!