I always wondered if women really cared about, you know, size, and it turns out that they totally do! I’m not exactly the biggest guy around, so what do I do now? Paul, but Fierce
Whether it’s a big penis or big set of “projecting lateral tubercles,” the ladies are all about size, Paul. It’s what put the “selective” in “selective breeding,” like picking out the least warty cucumber that can also feed a family of four.
But that doesn’t mean your smaller penis pulls you out of the running.
According to a count performed by Google and Harvard in 2010, there were 1,022,000 words in the English language with an estimated 8,500 words added each year. The average speaker, however, only knows anywhere from 12,000 to 21,000 words. And though that still seems like a lot, we manage to mangle, twist and abuse certain words until they not only lose their original meaning, but appear to have lost all meaning whatsoever.
If these words were leaves, they would have directly bypassed being dried out and brittle, lying on the ground for any old user to pick up and twirl around. Instead, they were deposited into the gutter and, through overuse, become a moldy, muddy, indecipherable goop that prevents the language from moving forward.
They are the words people resort to when they actually have nothing to say, usually when “you’re having just too much fun” or when it’s time to define insanity for everyone all over again. (This phrase, that “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results” is both the definition and cause of my own insanity.)
For the past several years, writers from Fox News to the rest of the media have said that (straight) American men are dying out … or less hysterically, we’re falling behind as a gender. We’re less likely to graduate from college, hold a white-collar job or follow the convoluted familial relations in Once Upon a Time. And now, with advances in reproductive technology and unwanted third world children, we’re not even needed for our seed.
Fortunately, there’s one segment of the population that still needs men: sh**ty entrepreneurs whose ideas were terrible to begin with or forgot to market to the hairier half of the U.S. population.
This is the story of the resulting products. Get shopping, men, or I shall surely meet you in District XY, where will be kept until we evolve the means to reproduce, Jurassic Park-style.
Why, hello there, patient readers. Like everyone else in the DC area, I’ve been pretending to be snowed in by rain and two very wet inches of snow.
You know how they started naming winter storms this year? We called ours the Snowquester. Get it? Because people who live within 100 miles of the nation’s capitol only exist from one political event to another.
So, while I try to remember that, essentially, man is good (even when they name everything with puns based on terms from Civics class), I figured I’d answer a few letters. As always, thanks for emailing instead of licking envelopes during the cold and flu season. Continue reading Ask Dr. Snee: Snowed in with your letters
Something is amiss in the United Kingdom. University College London researchers tried to reconcile alcohol sales with the amounts people claimed to drink in surveys, but the numbers just don’t match up. Nearly half of all booze sold in the U.K. is unaccounted for.
So, where did it go? A lesser writer might just chalk this up to people under-reporting what they drink, what business is it of yours, jack? And it makes some sense — anyone who’s ever been asked by a professor how much they’ve had to drink is more likely to low-ball that figure.
If you’re reading this site, then chances are that you’re trying to ignore that tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Perhaps you call it Single Awareness Day. Or that you’re up a creek because you forgot to buy anything and all that’s left in stores now are the Hallmark Mahogany line and Easter candy.
Relax. I’m not saying that you’re overacting or that this is somehow all your fault for not being lovable. It isn’t. Valentine’s should be a simple day of expressing care, not necessarily balls-out romantic love in the form of extravagant gifts that require feeding and walks.
As a Washington Redskins fan, my season ended several weeks ago. But, like a premature ejaculator at an orgy, I wasn’t about to start relating my play-by-play performance until everyone else in the room is done. Fortunately, I get to enjoy watching better athletes at their peak and first dibs at the orgy buffet table. Unfortunately, those athletes were the 49ers and the Ravens, and this metaphor is officially done.
Now that the 2012 NFL season is officially over, fellow Washington fans have a long off-season to fret over RGIII’s knee, especially since the Capitols are spectacularly terrible right now.
But, what if we used this off-season more productively … say to rename one of only two NFL teams that you have to scan the room before you say their name out loud. (The other is the Cardinals, because you never know who the Church has forced to keep quiet about sexual abuse.) Continue reading Take it from Snee: Time to retire ‘Redskins’
There are many ways to define yourself. You could do it by the decade into which you were born. Or which party you usually vote for. Or whether you prefer Coke or Pepsi. Or, as this past election proved, how you feel about abortion or women in general.
Before 1973, you might have been anti- or pro-abortion or, conversely, anti- or pro-forcing all pregnant women to deliver to term. Since Roe v. Wade, however, you’re generally either pro-life or pro-choice.
If you’ve interacted with an American over the past two weeks, you may have noticed that things are a little tense. Some people who want more gun control. Others want all the guns they can stick down their pants. And still others believe the government shot children to further the cause of the Illuminati (because shadowy groups that control everything need excuses to grab power).
The point is that, when it comes to the Bill of Rights, the Second Amendment is on fire right now. Just for clarification, I mean figuratively “on fire,” because the First Amendment doesn’t guarantee my right to say anything is literally on fire.