How We Shtup
The most beautiful description I ever read about sex appeared in Father Joe: The Man Who Saved My Soul, the 2004 memoir of British satirist Tony Hendra (you'll remember him as the band manager in This Is Spinal Tap). The book details his teenage encounter with a Benedictine monk—not in a pedophile fashion, thankfully, but in a mentor capacity that grounded Hendra's wild-child trajectory (he was caught flagrante delicto with a married woman at 14) for good—or at least until adulthood.
This monk, though swearing to a life of celibacy, nevertheless understood what sex was: a sacrament. "Sex is a wonderful gift, a physical way to express the most powerful force in all existence—love," Father Joe told the young Hendra. "Sex is a brilliant idea of God's, I think."
It is a brilliant idea, no? Too bad its execution too often leaves much to be desired. One-night stands, ill-advised experiments, blind dates gone bad, walks of shame—we can share our sex horror stories for nights on end until all parties involved swear off sex for a lifetime of menage a moi. But rather than just talk about them, we Weeklings decided to get some of our cartoonist pals to illustrate some of our more humiliating tales, to collectively laugh at our past. We also commissioned an online survey asking you, our wonderfully skeezy readers, about your sex habits—more than 10,000 of you replied to questions regarding how often the county masturbates (more than 80 percent of us do it at least once a week) to popular porno genres—anal and lesbian? Yes. Interracial? Not so much.
Man, even in sex, we're racist! Enjoy!
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