I know what you’re thinking. Sex is something special and important that should be shared through love and mutual understanding. Bullshit.
If my experience proves anything, sex is a disgusting game of ‘who gets there first’ between awkward strangers that have nothing more in common than an affinity for drink specials. And due to the nature of this forced and often short-lived encounter, I have some advice. Don’t ever have sober sex. I mean that. First of all, I’m not even sure how normal sex happens. I couldn’t get a sober girl back to my apartment without a lasso and a bucket of Tylenol PM, and that’s not how I roll. So I can only assume that those who do have sex without alcohol do it because they are in mandatory church groups or they live in that town from Footloose. And if your parents told you not to drink and be promiscuous, then they were only trying to keep you from the bareback, movie theater sex they had in the 70’s. But why should they have all the fun? Even if you have a moral compass, sex is disgusting. Noises, moistures, saltiness… and that’s just foreplay. Think about the fact that when people shoot pornography they have an entire cleanup crew.
But when I get the chance to fumblingly impale a girl, it’s usually on the same unwashed sheets I’ve had since college. I mean come on, if you’re not grossed out by the natural juices of a person being spilled onto you, you’re probably a serial killer. But if you move past the physical horrors you get to something even worse… the emotional connection. Let’s face it, unless you’re the guy that can get away with eight minutes of doggy style and a high-five goodbye, you’re looking at some eye contact. You know what’s creepy? Eye contact with strangers. And that’s who you’re having sex with, youth of America, STRANGERS! Unless you’re a virgin or a Mormon, I doubt you even got a last name before you tried to sweat on that poor girl. And now you are staring into her eyes, becoming one person and sharing the ultimate connection. God, even writing that sentence made me throw up in my mouth and feel guilty about my penis. But let’s even forget about the mockery of a joint human experience for one second. The biggest reason you should never be expected to smash a bone without at least an evening of pregaming is simple… sex is better when you’re drunk.
Really think about it. If you finish too soon it’s an embarrassment, if your body makes a weird sound it’s a mood-killer, and if you happen to try something special (think: facial) well you just might never get that sweet girl’s horrified pearled face out of your head. I can tell you outright that I’ll never be mistaken for Sting in the bedroom, and for the most part, marathon sex is simply out of the question. But if you get a dozen PBR’s in my system, my penis is like a Kenyan runner. And while women don’t have my exact problem, a little sauce lowers the inhibitions and makes it a night worth remembering, even if you forget how you got there. After all… what’s the point of even having sex if you’re not doing something that makes you feel like a disgusting, dirty sociopath? So please, listen to me. Don’t have sex unless you are good and drunk. Because it may seem like a decision that needs to be made with some weight behind it, but that’s only because of Julia Roberts and The Notebook. I live in the real world. A world filled with sex that I can’t remember well enough to regret.
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