Wednesday, March 19, 2003

Don’t make me release the dog.

There is an etiquette to this sort of thing, gentlemen. I realize calling it "casual sex" is a bit misleading, but some things just aren't done.

Don't talk about the war. You were invited over for a weapon inspection only in the broadest of euphemistic senses. You are here to engage in a sort of congress, not to talk about Congress. To be perfectly candid, I am fucking you to forget, momentarily, about the state of the world in general.

In fact, don't talk at all. You are pretty but you are also likely to be profoundly stupid and/or Republican. Exclamations of "ooo!", "ahh!", "yeah!" and the like are acceptable, but I couldn't care less for chat about Kylie, your unfulfilling job, or how this is so much better than with your girlfriend. I'm well aware that it is. Just shut up.

Dress appropriately. I'm sorry they got ripped up but you know what? Spending $30 for a single pair of underpants is obscene anyway. I'm not impressed by fancy labels. Either go commando or wear the ones you use on laundry day. They won't be on long anyway.

Get out. This won't be a hurried thing, believe me. I'm pretty selfish in bed, I'll admit, but I'm a guy and that comes with the plumbing. You're just looking out for number one too, or you wouldn't be here. So an appropriate amount of time will be invested in making sure both parties remain in a full, upright and locked position until they reach their final destination. Then, please, towel off and leave. Don't make me release the dog.

I'm glad we got that cleared up.