I published something at Ebony yesterday about the peculiar infatuation many white-collar young black guys seem to have with Rick Ross. Titled “Strange Love: Black Men and Rick Ross,” I tried to come up with a few reasons to explain this phenomenon, but I didn’t really buy any of them. There were no “Voila!” moments, just a couple theories that didn’t hold as much water as I would have liked them to.

Anyway, after I saw that the article was live, I posted a link to it on Twitter. It got a few replies/retweets, but none more interesting than the responses I got from Demetria Lucas. 

@VerySmartBros@EBONYMag there’s a quality essay to be written abt why bourgie women like Ross too. Totally diff reasons than you mentioned.

@VerySmartBros LOL. I might be one of his biggest fans.

@VerySmartBros@EBONYMag i enjoy the themes of hustle/ambition. and also the shameless arrogance. similar reasons to why I like Kanye.

 

As I said in a reply to her, I remember how floored I was a few years ago the first time I heard a female friend of mine express that she was infatuated with Rick Ross. As variable and unpredictable and arbitrary and contradictory and occasionally dependent on time, weather, location, vocation, and how many of her girlfriends want to sleep (or have already slept) with him as “what the hell women are attracted to” tends to be, I thought I had a pretty good idea of the type of guy that would get multiple women all Brazilian Rainforesty down there. Basically, it’s easy to see how and why women would be very attracted to guys like Idris Elba and Dwyane Wade and Common, and you assume that most women would go gaga over those guys.

But, that same instant recognition didn’t immediately apply to Ross, and I had trouble “getting” how a life-threateningly obese guy who looks like he smells like a Black & Mild factory managed to, to quote my homegirl, get her “all tingly inside” when he speaks.

Yet, as more and more and more and more women I knew would sing his praises, it began to dawn on me. His appeal isn’t necessarily about his music or his voice or his larger-than-life stature or even his (presumed) riches as much as it’s about the fact that he is an unfalteringly, unflinchingly, unflappably, and, to be quite honest, irrationally confident motherf*cker. His steadfast belief in his own “I’m the sh*t”-ness — even when the shaky merits of his status are publicly questioned and exposed — is infectious, causing others to believe “Well, if he’s so certain, he must be the sh*t” by osmosis.

Obviously, this doesn’t affect everyone. There are many women who are, for lack of a better term, disgusted by him, and even more disgusted that everyone isn’t disgusted.

Ross is just one example, though, of the fact that there is no other quality a man can possess that will “raise his sexual stock” better than a belief in himself so strong it almost borders on insanity. Irrational self-confidence — not height, not status, not intelligence, not handsomeness, not a Bentley coupe — is the ultimate panty-dropper. 

This doesn’t mean that this level of confidence won’t immediately repel many women too. It most certainly will. In fact, it will immediately repel far more women than it immediately attracts. But, the fact that it does repel actually adds to the aura, as knowing that this irrationally confident motherf*cker doesn’t give a damn if his irrational confidence offends anyone, hurts any feelings, or even makes any logical sense has a way of turning women all the way on.

Also, it’s important to note that I keep repeating terms like “panty-dropping” and “turned on” and “tingly” and “Brazilian Rainforesty.” That’s intentional. By and large, women usually do not want to seriously date and/or marry irrationally confident men. No one aside from the WorldStarHipHop “model” of the week actually wants to marry Rick Ross.

But, white-collar brothers, be warned. Why? Well, let’s just say that if your girl is sitting beside you smirking to herself while you’re blasting “MC Hammer” in the whip on the way to brunch, she’s probably not thinking about bottomless mimosas.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Zerlina Maxwell is a friend of mine, and I understand where “Stop Telling Women How to Not Get Raped” — her latest piece at Ebony.com — is coming from.

I definitely agree that “Telling women that they can behave in a certain way to avoid rape creates a false sense of security and it isn’t the most effective way to lower the horrible statistics which show that 1 in 5 women will become victims of a completed or attempted rape in their lifetime.”

I also agree that “We need anti-rape campaigns that target young men and boys.  Campaigns that teach them from a young age how to respect women, and ultimately themselves, and to never ever be rapists. In addition, we should implore our men and boys to call out their friends, relatives, and classmates for inappropriate behavior and create systems of accountability amongst them.”

I even agree that “Our community, much like society-at-large, needs a paradigm shift as it relates to our sexual assault prevention efforts.  For so long all of our energy has been directed at women, teaching them to be more “ladylike” and to not be “promiscuous” to not drink too much or to not wear a skirt. Newsflash: men don’t decide to become rapists because they spot a woman dressed like a video vixen or because a girl has been sexually assertive.”

But — and I’m trying to say this as delicately as possible — as the article continues, and lines such as “Consent can be withdrawn by the words “no “or “stop” and in many states, a woman doesn’t have to say no at all. Consumption of alcohol can prevent a woman from being able to legally offer consent” begin to seep in, the tone seems to shift from “men need to take full responsibility for their actions” to “men need to take full responsibility for their actions…and women have carte blance to act as recklessly and stupidly around men as possible without any trace of accountability.” and I just can’t agree anymore.

I know that rapists are going to rape regardless of how women decide to dress, what (and how much) women decide to drink, where women decide to frequent, and what women decide to do. For rapists, all a woman needs to do to “ask for it” is be born.

But, why can’t both genders be educated on how to act responsibility around each other? What’s stopping us from steadfastly instilling “No always means no!” in the minds of all men and boys and educating women how not to put themselves in certain situations? Of course men shouldn’t attempt to have sex with a woman who’s too drunk to say no, but what’s wrong with reminding women that if you’re 5’1 and 110 pounds, it’s probably not the best idea to take eight shots of Patron while on the first, second, or thirteenth date? Yes, sober women definitely get raped too, but being sober and aware does decrease the likelihood that harm may come your way, and that’s true for each gender.

It seems as if the considerable push back again victim-blaming has pushed all the way past prudence and levelheadedness, making anyone who suggests that “women can actually be taught how to behave too” insensitive or a “rape enabler.” And, while the sentiment in Maxwell’s article suggests that victim-blaming is dangerous, I think it’s even more dangerous to neglect to remind young women that, while it’s never their fault if they happen to get sexually assaulted, they shouldn’t thumb their noses to common sense either.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

***11:07 edit***

(I left this as a comment below, but I wanted to attach it to the end of the entry as well.)

So, although I realized while writing this that it may be a touchy subject, I admittedly underestimated exactly how potentially explosive it was going to be. I read some of these responses late last night and early this morning, and I’m genuinely shocked at the level of anger and hurt this entry has caused. I really did not expect this to happen. And while I don’t apologize for expressing my viewpoint, but I do apologize about being so flippant and not being more careful to articulate exactly what I meant to convey. Considering the subject matter, leaving lighthearted footnotes and links to my appearance in Essence at the end of the entry was a very bad idea.

Anyway, as far as the actual article and responses, my intent wasn’t to imply that any victim of rape should be held “accountable” for what happened to them. I also realize that the majority of rapes are done by people who know their victims — boyfriends, co-workers, friends, dates, etc — making it almost impossible to defend against, and in no way did I want to spread the message that staying sober and out of shady situations is all a woman has to do to avoid being raped.

All I was trying to do was respond to a theme — men always have to be hyper-vigilant, hyper-careful, and possess the ability to read women’s minds. women, on the other hand, can do whatever the hell they want — I got from Zerlina’s article, the comments attached to it, and the Twitter convo it sparked. And, I still believe that this is a dangerous way to approach things.

I’m aware that all the education and conversation in the world about learning how to protect yourself and stay out of harms way and properly vetting men isn’t going to prevent men from raping women. A woman can do all of that and still get sexually assaulted. I’m also aware that the onus of responsibility falls directly on the shoulders of the rapist, and no where else.

But, my whole point is that young men AND young women need to be taught how to behave around the opposite sex, and I don’t see how saying that suggests that I think women should be held responsible for their own rapes. Perhaps I’m being too obtuse, tone deaf, or insensitive, but I just don’t see the connection between “everyone should be educated and learn how to take responsibility for their actions” and “rape is the woman’s fault”

You know, before logging on and leaving this comment, I called up a friend to ask her to read the post and let me know if people were being way too sensitive or if I was crazy in thinking “what the hell is everyone so upset about?”

Her (paraphrased) reply:

“Yeah, I think you should have left this topic alone. Any time a man writes about rape and even puts women and accountability in the same sentence, you’re going to anger people and come off as either completely tone deaf or dangerously insensitive, even if you don’t actually say or feel that women need to be held accountable for what happens to them. Maybe you could have worded your feelings better, but there’s really nothing you could have said besides “rape is wrong. the end” that would have made much of a difference.”

I think she’s right.

Yeah, man. They bought it hook, line, and sinker. It cracks me up too.

Aside from the obvious, the 2008 public ascension of the Obama family had numerous peripheral effects on our culture, including (but not limited to)….

1. We all joked about this at the time, but you can make the argument now that Barack Obama did actually bring light-skinned men “back in style.” Perhaps it’s just coincidence, but at this moment the most popular young rapper, most popular young black entertainer, and most popular young black athlete all easily pass the paper bag test. Hmm.

2. We assumed that seeing the Obama family in the White House would have a panoramic effect on dating and relationships in the black community. It did, but just not in the way we expected it to, as “Wait a second, if Michelle found Barack, how come the rest of you educated black chicks can’t find any men?” became the dominant conversation of the past three years.

While he didn’t exactly sign any bills or pass any laws to make sure that light-skinned black men would no longer be oppressed, Obama’s status as a symbol, a cultural icon is so powerful that he’s able to affect change by just existing.

Jay-Z, the most famous new father on Earth, obviously doesn’t have the same cultural cache as the president, but he’s extremely influential nonetheless. So influential, in fact, that there’s been a burgeoning conversation that Jay’s apparent love for Beyonce and his new daughter might possibly have some peripheral effect on black males everywhere, who’d hopefully stop (collectively) dicking around and finally realize how cool it is to be a loving husband and doting father.

This conversation crescendoed yesterday with the release of “Glory” — a song devoted to his infant daughter and featuring his infant daughter. Saccharin? Sure, but if Google and the blogosphere are any indications, it definitely helped to cement Jay-Z’s new status as a certified positive relationship and marriage role model…a sentiment that’s about as far from the f*cking truth as you can get.

Again, Jay-Z does appear to be in a very happy and healthy relationship, and that’s commendable and enviable. But calling the Jigga Man a relationship role model is like lauding the Nazis for turning Germany’s economy around; you can’t completely eschew the means just so you can lavish praise on the end. In Jay-Z’s case, his super duper awesome marriage is a direct result of the decades of dirt he did to get where he is now.

But, forget about that for a sec. Let’s say that Jay-Z is actually a relationship and marriage role model. Since he’s a role model, a young man would be wise to attempt to follow in his footsteps. In order to do this, the young man would have to do each of the following things:

Spend his late teens and early 20′s amassing a small fortune while being a malignant cancer to his community.

Use the money accumulated by being a cancer to fund a new business venture.

Amass an even larger fortune by unapologetically outlining, in detail, everything he did while he was being a malignant cancer to his community. Do this for 15 years.

Sleep with perhaps hundreds of different women, and amass more of a fortune by unapologetically outlining, in detail, every possible way to diss, demean, degrade, and just generally sh*t on the women he was able to sleep with. Do this for 15 years, too.

Use status and fortune obtained by A) being a cancer, B) outlining exactly how he was a cancer, C) sh*tting on women, and D) outlining exactly how he sh*t on women to bag one of the most sought after women on the planet. Marry said woman.

Ironically, most of the statements I’ve heard about Jay-Z being a relationship role model have come from women.

Why is this ironic? Well, they’re right. Jay-Z already is a role model…for all the men who want to be able to do as much dirt as they can in their 20′s and 30′s and still be able to pull a young hot chick when they’re a decade away from AARP and finally ready to settle down.

These women fail to realize that they’re indirectly praising and promoting the type of behavior they abhor. While it’s true that Jay-Z probably does genuinely love and adore his wife, men like that can only consider “loving” after they’ve made monsters out of dozens of women. Basically, his life is the blueprint for how to be a successful diva dude.

I imagine the tone of this post makes it seem like I’m anti-Jay-Z, and that’s totally not true. I think he’s many positive things. The greatest rapper of all-time. A savvy businessman. An instinctual opportunist. A cultural icon. A real life Horatio Alger tale. A (seemingly) great husband and father.

But, as Panama’s piece last week about Common reminds us, we have to be careful with assigning certain titles to people who don’t deserve or even want them. And, regarding Jay-Z’s new status as the marriage and relationship role model for young black men, be careful what you wish for because it just might happen.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

The NBA: Where putting a million-dollar ring on it to postpone something that's going to happen in seven years anyway, happens.

“30 years ago, everyone at this table would have either been married with kids or thought to be thoroughly f*cked up or gay if they weren’t married with kids yet.”

A friend of mine made this point after observing the demographics — 12 people, all between 27 and 34, all with decent incomes, and none of us had children or had been married — of the get-together we happened to be at. While her assertion may have been a tad off (I’d say those things were true 50 years ago instead of 30), her point — that more and more of us are waiting longer to start families (if deciding to start them at all) — is definitely true. A quick glance at Google, the evening news, or the VSB archives confirms it, as study after study has shown that this phenomenon is actually affecting everyone (yes. even white people) 

But while this trend is generally thought to be a bad thing, I don’t share that sentiment. Sure, perhaps the more successful of us could reproduce a bit more to balance out the collective spawns of Jethro and Hen-Rockeisha stealing Duracells and beef jerky from rest stop gas stations, but there are already 7 billion gotdamn people on the planet. I doubt the world is going to come to an end if one or one thousand master degreed motherf*ckers decide to opt out of having children.

Also — and this is a point we always seem to forget — out of the people you know who are currently engaged/married, how many of those relationships would you actually categorize as “good?” Seriously, I bet if each of us were to think of 10 couples currently in serious relationships (and “serious” is defined as “been together for at least a year”) and were asked to make bets on how long each relationship was going to last, we’d give at least 6 of them “a year, tops“….and we’d be right. That’s not even counting the horrifically mismatched motherf*ckers who’ve stayed a couple because they’re scared to break up with each other.

You can make the argument that we’re reading the stats the wrong way. Too many people are in relationships/married that clearly have no business being together, and more and more of us are starting to realize this to be true. Perhaps we’re actually trending upward.

Anyway, I’m sure you’ve all heard that everyone’s favorite least favorite athlete is breaking up with his wife. Apparently, she just became fed up with the fact that he couldn’t keep in his pants. ***Insert joke about Mexican women, black mambas, and underbites.***

Now, an uber-popular professional athlete repeatedly cheating on his wife is about as dog bites man-ey as a news story gets. But, the part of this situation that seems to have the most people taking is the fact that Kobe did not have a pre-nuptial agreement in place. His wife will receive half of his net worth — which is reported to be roughly 150 million dollars — and may be able to receive spousal support for the next 450 or so years.

Whether the former Mrs. Bryant actually deserves that money has been argued and debated ad nauseum, but the general sentiment about Kobe not asking her to sign a pre-nupt can be summed up in nine words: “He’s a gotdamn f*cking idiot…and an anal rapist” 

I disagree. Not with the anal raping part, of course. (Just to be clear, I do disagree with anal rape in general. Down with anal rape and sh*t.) I don’t think that not signing a pre-nupt makes him an idiot.¹ 

We all have the benefit of hindsight, allowing us to determine today that him not making his (then) 18 year old wife sign a pre-nuptial agreement in 2001 was clearly an idiotic move. At the same time, though, if you love someone enough to legally and spiritually commit the rest of your life to them, doesn’t a pre-nupt cheapen that entire process? Aren’t you basically saying “I love the sh*t out of you, and I want to spend the rest of eternity with you. I’ll carry you to Heaven, and, if need be, I’ll even follow you to Hell. Buuuuut, I’m a need you to sign this paper real quick just in case that whole loving the sh*t out of you thing doesn’t work. Deal?”

I know many of you (and by “you” I mean “the men reading this“) are probably thinking “That’s easy for you to say, Champ. I don’t know what your bank account looks like, but I’m pretty certain you aint worth 150 mil.” Thing is — and Chris Rock already made this point in one of his comedy specials — my relatively minuscule bank account actually makes a pre-nupt more sensible for me. I think Kobe will be ok with his 75 mil. But, if me or any of the rest of the 40 to 100 thousand dollar a year n*ggas reading this were forced to give half away, we’d have good motive to kill someone.

With that being said, I’d still never ask a woman to sign a pre-nupt. While some consider that piece of paper to be protection, I think it just exposes doubt. Perhaps I’m just hopelessly romantic (possible) or just dangerously naive (very possible), but I believe that if there’s any doubt then your ass just don’t need to be together at all.

As I stated before, there are already too many not really ready to be married motherf*ckers walking down the alter and taking up precious Jet magazine space. Why even make that step if you’re not willing to put all of your chips in?

¹Having unprotected anal sex with a woman you just met 20 minutes ago does, though

—The Champ

***If you get a minute, check out “The Conversation: Let’s Talk About Race” — a (duh) on-going conversation about race I’m having at The Good Men Project with author Andrew Cotto.***

See how cute they look? They're precious and sh*t.

Something dawned on me while reading the comments to yesterday’s post. Wearing some sort of protection while having sex has always been sold as the right and the smart and the healthy thing to do, and this pitch is usually accompanied with all the horrible things that can possibly happen to you — STDs, pregnancy, pulled pork vaginas, etc — to scare people into doing it. And, while fear is definitely a great motivator (perhaps our greatest motivator), how fun is it do to something just because you’re worried about what would happen if you didn’t? (At this point, feel free to insert whatever analogy you want to about religion.)

No object better embodies this feeling than the condom, which is either thought of as (at best) a necessarily evil or (at worst) just plain motherf*cking evil. With this in mind, I decided to devote today to a few cool reasons for guys to strap up.

1. Less sensitivity = Longer sessions

No one will argue that sex with a condom feels better than condom-less sex, but you could make the argument that wearing a condom can actually produce better sex. I’d estimate that wearing one increases your PPS count (PPS = Pumps Per Session) count by 30%. Basically, if you’re a guy who can typically give 40-60 good pumps before succumbing to the vagina monster, with a condom that number jumps to 52-78 pumps. That little jump right there can be the difference between a woman wanting to cuddle and talk and sh*t to you afterwards and her catching a case of PBBSN (PBBSN = Post-Back Breaking Sudden Narcolepsy) and just falling the hell out.

2. It’s much easier to fake it

Sh*t happens sometimes.

3. No clean up

Easily the worst part of sex, the always messy, always sticky post-coital clean up is — according to the Mormons — God’s way of shaming us for not ejaculating inside of a woman. Now, was that last sentence actually true? Who knows and who cares? I do know, though, that if you don’t have enough game to convince her to perform the neatest option (swallowing), a condom is the next best choice.

4. Worry-less sex

While raw sex is great, you can never allow yourself to fully commit mentally because, from “I hope I pull out in time” to “Wait, did I pull out in time?” you have too much else on your mind. Condoms allow you to go full sexual retard.

5. Buying them makes you feel like a grown-ass man

Along with paying your bills, buying produce, and checking Facebook and seeing that your high school prom date has just welcomed her second grandchild, walking in a store and buying condoms is one of those tasks that just makes you feel like a grown-ass man. Also, for those who feel a little awkward about the look the cashier might give you when you’re at the register, just remember that you’re basically announcing “Yup, dry-d*ck motherf*ckers, I’m about to get some. How do you like those apples?” to everybody in line.

Anyway, that’s it for me today. People of VSB, condoms need some better PR, so can you think of any other really cool reasons why we should wear them?

—The Champ

Although he was completely unqualified, completely unprepared, completely (but hilariously) uncouth, and unapologetic about this unqualifiedness, unpreparedness, and uncouthness, I have to say that I’m going miss Herman Cain — the realest motherf*cker alive. Seriously, we’re going to see Jerry Sandusky working at Chuck E Cheese before we see another elderly black pizza man with a bag of hard “candy” in his pocket become — even for 25 milliseconds — the presumptive leader to be the republican nominee in the race for president.

Never mind the fact that he had absolutely no chance to win and you can (rightly) argue that his appeal was mainly due to the fact that his presence allowed many their “See? I hate Obama — his policies, his name, his weed lips, his big bootied wife, and his black gums — but this proves I’m not racist.” moments, he was entertaining, his hats kicked ass, he looks like he smells like Old Spice, Champale, and Viagra powder, and he wasn’t above singing random negro spirituals at press conferences. Do I want him as my president? F*ck no. Would I hook him up with one of my aunts? Probably not. Would I hook him up with a down on her luck middle-aged white co-worker who’s just looking for a casino buddy and someone to hand job? Definitely.

But, while Herman Cain definitely piques my interest, today I’m a bit more interested in his wife. It’s no secret that Herman Cain’s hermancane is the reason why he dropped out of the race. Although none of these allegations have been confirmed, by the looks of things it seems like he’s f*cked more white women than Rick James. Yet, the best way to describe Gloria Cain’s demeanor through all of this is annoyed — not annoyed that her husband thinks he’s Lexington Steele, mind you, but by the women making these claims. It’s almost as if her default public face is “Here we go with these silly bitches again.”

I’m aware that this may very well be her public face. Perhaps he’s been sleeping on the couch for the last 6 months. Perhaps she’s pulling a Hilary — standing by her man in public to eventually reap the benefits of his ascension. But, at the moment she’s making a very conscious and conspicuous choice to let everyone know that she’s standing by her husband’s side, and you can’t help but be curious why.

Now, this situation is far from unique. In just the last week, we’ve seen the bizarre back and forth between Bishop Spermin’ and Permin’ and his wife and we were also made aware that that Laurie Fine — the wife of Bernie Fine (the longtime assistant basketball coach at Syracuse accused of molesting ball boys) — knew that her husband had “issues” at least nine years ago and is still married to him. These are men who allegedly did despicable things, things that you’d think would be dealbreakers for anyone, but their wives obviously didn’t consider ending the relationship to be the immediate choice.

While I used to think otherwise, I have to say that I don’t consider a person in this situation to be automatically wrong anymore. Again though, none of us have any idea of what’s really going on in these women’s heads and driving them to at least consider staying. But unless a woman’s life is in danger, I just can’t call her stupid or weak or hopelessly adickted or any other negative adjective for choosing to stay with a shitty man.

It’s a very cliched way to look at things, but life is, well …life is f*cking long and hard, and if a person staunchly believes that they still have a better chance of tackling this life monster with their faulty mate at their side, who am I to begrudge them? Perhaps Gloria Cain’s “silly bitch” smirk is really just her saying “Look. I put all my chips in on this number 7-ass n*gga 40 years ago. Can’t stop the roulette wheel now, and don’t know if I’d want to even if I could.”

Anyway, people of VSB, I’m curious: Do you think that women like Gloria Cain are stupid for standing by their men? Also, while we all have our automatic dealbreakers (cheating, domestic violence, etc) can you ever envision yourself in a situation where you might be tempted to overlook those things for the greater good?

—The Champ

Sorry for not providing a better pic, but as you might have guessed, googling "black orgasm" doesn't exactly give you a ton of work safe options.

Although I haven’t brought an egg timer or stop watch to bed with me to measure one yet, I feel very confident in saying that my average orgasm lasts somewhere between three and eleven seconds. And, although I haven’t done any extensive research on this topic, I feel equally confident in saying that most men could say the exact same thing. (Perhaps, since every man has one, we should start saying “Opinions are like three to eleven second long orgasms.” Gives the saying a bit more punch than “assholes” does)

You’re probably wondering why I seem to be so concerned with the length of my — and the rest of my brethren’s — orgasms. It’s not the length that concerns me, though. It’s the lengths we go through to do something that lasts about as long as it’ll take for you to read the rest of this sentence.

Before I continue, although the title lets you know that I think orgasms are undoubtedly overrated, don’t take that to mean that I think they’re bad. They are the antithesis of bad. They are outstanding, amazing, superb, practical, remarkable, resourceful, colorful, enlightening, and even occasionally educational. I’ve had orgasms that have made me speak in dead languages (Fluently!), that have made me scream the same dignity-less scream I’d scream if I woke up with a spider on my lip, that have made me get up and fry bacon buck naked, that have even made me whisper ”damn” with the same understated reverence usually reserved for Free’s ass, movies where Denzel sheds tears, and your mom’s turkey gravy. As a self-proclaimed orgasm expert, I staunchly believe that a collective increase of our country’s orgasms would lead to a collective decrease of our country’s crime. Orgasms are, by any stretch of the imagination, the shit.

But, while their status as the shit is unquestioned, this shitness pales in comparison to the effort we take to receive them. Seriously, think about the absurd, idiotic, embarrassing, and scandalous-ass stuff we’ve done just because of the mere possibility of having an orgasm. Think about the time you flew to New York during a coast-wide blackout, or the time you risked your perfectly good relationship to have one, or the time in high school you begged your mom to let her borrow her car and conveniently “forgot” to pick her up from work on time just so you could have more time to have an orgasm with a person that you thought so little of that they weren’t allowed past the basement steps and still think so little of that you just blocked them from your Facebook feed last week. If you’ve had unprotected sex before (which, I’m assuming 99.7% of the sexually active people reading this have) you’ve risked your freakin’ life for an orgasm.

Now, I realize that this need to orgasm isn’t necessarily about the orgasms as much as the context (the person you’re with, the connection you share, and blah, blah, blah, blah) and what can possibly happen when you have one (procreation). In this sense, it’s a means to an evolutionary end. But, although I’m not sure if our minds are advanced enough to perform the cognitive dissonance needed to completely disassociate having an orgasm with what could very likely be the result of that orgasm, I know that I’ve never, ever, ever consciously thought “I need to put a baby in her belly” when seeing an attractive woman at the bar. In fact, I’ll usually be thinking of putting the, um, “results of my orgasm” anywhere on her person (foot, cheek, back, ear, back of the ear, etc) except for the one place it’s supposed to go (vagina).

Would I still maintain that orgasms were overrated if they lasted longer? Perhaps. But, considering the effort undertaken to receive them, orgasms might have to last 120 to 150 minutes at a time to begin to receive an accurate return on our investment, and I don’t know if we’re prepared to handle that.

I do know, though, that 25 to 30 minutes after I finish writing this, there’s a (98.7%) chance that I’m going to check a special folder on my desktop, grab a lubricating agent, a towel, turn the heat up in my place so my hands and feet don’t get cold, and begin the process that’s going to lead to that aforementioned three to eight seconds of unadulterated theshitness.

But, despite this relatively miminal effort, only one thought is going to go through my head while I perform my usual post-masturbatory duties (clean up, shower, self-loath, etc) “Damn, I was right. This IS overrated. Perhaps I’ll hurry up and perform this overrated task again.”

—The Champ

He got it at Jared

I was in NYC last week to participate in a dating and relationship roundtable discussion with several other writers and bloggers. While hanging out during the accompanying photoshoot, we — the three male writers in attendance — were involved in a kind of heated and completely hilarious conversation with a few of the stylists on set. Apparently, the emailboxes of each of these women were full of random wangs — short, tall, long, wrong, etc — and the only thing each of these pics had in common was the fact that none of them were requested.

One woman even told us about a time a year or so ago when she was in the cab back home from a decent first date with a guy. She felt her cell phone buzzing, saw the guy’s number, assumed he was texting to make sure she got home okay, opened the message prepared to see “Hey, just wanted to make sure you made it home ok” or “Had a great time tonight,” but was greeted with a glistening wang with the words “Sneak Preview” attached to it. One’s left to wonder if he carried a bottle of Vaseline in his pocket to always be prepared to send a shiny d*ck pic or if he just had the pic stored on his phone for special occasions.

Although none of us had actually done the unprompted d*ck pic thing ourselves, three possible reasons for this act were brought up.

A) It’s a simple bait for easy chicks. Let’s say you send a d*ck pic to 15 different women. Although most will be disgusted/indifferent (or will at least feign disgust/indifference), there might be a couple who are amused/intrigued/aroused by it, and now you have three new chicks who want to f*ck and all you had to do to cultivate interest was stick an iPhone in your boxers.

B) We occasionally assume that most women are turned on by our bodies in the same way that we’re turned on by theirs. As my homie J-Russ has joked, it doesn’t even take boobs or booty to get us. Sometimes a chick’s shoulder blade or bare ankle is enough to make us all verklempt, and we sometimes forget that women’s arousal can be a bit more, um, complicated than that.

C) Remember lunchtime recess in 3rd grade, when some boys used to flash girls at the swings and then run away laughing when she screamed or blushed? (and by “some” I mean “all”) Well, let’s just say that certain parts of some of us never grow up, and many of us will never not enjoy showing our d*cks to random women.

Anyway, the unprompted d*ck pic is just one of the many things many of us continue to do even though — if the women I’ve met are any indication — very, very, very few women actually seem to enjoy it.

Here’s four more.

2. The too soon “I miss you” text/phone call/email message

You know what’s funny? The men who do this are usually completely disingenuous. I mean f*ck, the date just ended 13 minutes ago. There’s no way in hell you miss her Aspergers having ass already. But, many of us send that message just to get some extra points, oblivious to the fact that there’s a 97.9% chance that she’ll think you’re a corny f*cking lame after receiving it.

3. The foreplay ear-tongue play

Guys, raise your hand if you’ve ever stuck your tongue in a woman’s ear while making out. Ladies, raise your hand if you’ve ever had that happen to you. Now, keep those hands up if you’ve ever actually enjoyed that.

Exactly.

4. Asking “how many” 

Although “how many” does actually matter (that’s another topic for another day), asking the question is an exercise in futility. Why? Well, she’ll either get pissed at you for asking, lie about the number, or tell the truth and make you want to hide under the table. And yes, if you’re the type of guy who’d ask, you’re probably also the type whose feelings would get hurt if her number is higher than D.Wade’s jersey.

5. The plan-less date

I know, I know, I know. We think we’re doing the right thing. We just want to make her happy, we want her to enjoy her time, and, ever since that time two years ago when we accidentally watched a couple scenes from Erin Brockovich, we’re aware of women’s rights and shit.

But, while many of us think that “It’s whatever. I don’t have any preference. Whatever you want to do.” is the optimum way to approach dating in these increasingly androgynous times, there are few things that dry panties quicker than a date without a plan.

Seriously, it doesn’t even have to be a good plan. It could be a bad plan. An awful plan. An egregiously shitty plan on par with “Let’s let the guy who was caught raping a kid in the showers unrestricted access to our locker room.” Shit, you can even change plans. Just make sure to have something, anything in place to let her know you put more than five seconds worth of thought into your evening. Plus, if you allow her to make her own plans you make her accountable for her own happiness, and we all know they don’t want that to happen either. (another topic for another day)

Anyway, people of VSB: Do you agree with my list?

Also, can you think of any thing else that we (men) continue to do even though we know that most women kind of hate it? 

***Coming tomorrow: “55 Things Women Need To Stop Forever“***

—The Champ

“Three days ago, my husband’s female co-worker called to inform me that she had been sleeping with my husband of two years for the past nine months. As I’m sure you can imagine, this shook my world and led to a lengthy fight. My husband has declared that he did sleep with her but says it was only once nine months ago.”

I came across this quote while going through Dear Prudence’s archives yesterday. The situation itself was unremarkable, and Prudence’s advice was on-point as usual (“Tell him you don’t know who to believe, and you want to contact his supposedly former lover and see if she has evidence that it was no one-night stand. Maybe that will shake out of him a different version of the truth.“), but the topic resonated because it made me think about all the gray associated with cheating.

For instance, I doubt her advice would have been the same if the person asking the question was a girlfriend instead of a wife, and I also strongly doubt that Prudence would have suggested that the wife try to find out the truth if the third party was the wife’s sister instead of the husband’s co-worker.

My point? All cheating isn’t created equal, and it’s about time that someone made a spectrum to accurately gauge which acts of infidelity are worse than others. And, as you probably guessed, that someone is me.

Without further ado, here’s the cheating spectrum.

***Acts of infidelity are listed from “1″ — stop bitching and get over yourself — to “10″ — someone needs to f*cking die***

(The “Annoying, but you need to forget about that shit” zone)

1.0

A lapdance from a stripper

1.7

grinding�on the dance floor

(It may be a surprise to some to see a somewhat innocent dance being considered more infidelity-ish than a man or woman getting their�crotch�bounced on by a naked stripper, but someone dancing on top of you while you’re stuffing dollar bills in her butt crack has a funny way of making things less intimate)

2.0

Public but private lunch (ie: You share a table at Wendy’s with each other) with a very attractive co-worker.

(The “Maybe we need to talk, you f*ckin bastard” �zone)

3.0

Inappropriate�GChat conversations, texts, or emails.

(“Inappropriate“�in this sense is defined as “Anything you’d rather delete than let your significant other see“)

3.7

Talking on the phone after 10pm to any opposite sex friend about anything not business related

4.5

Confiding to a friend of the opposite sex about relationship issues you’re having

(A very underrated act of relationship disrespect that might even be too low on the list)

(The�”You probably should know that I don’t have to break up with you over this, but I could” �zone)

5.0

Drunkenly kissing someone while on vacation

(Upsetting, but far from�unforgivable)�

5.7

Telling a person you’re very attracted to that you’re very attracted to them

(Even if this interest is unactedupon, things like this need to be kept to yourself. Can’t be out there planting seeds like that, because, even if you don’t intend to, it increases the likelihood that you’ll eventually f*ck the plant)

(The�”If you tell your�significant�other about this, you should probably brace yourself because you might get mushed” �zone)

6.0

Drunk vacation sex

(Sh*t happens)

(The�”Unless one of us is rich, hung like a donkey, or looks like Stacey Dash, this sh*t is officially over” �zone)

7.0

Drunken but very passionate kiss between you and someone your significant other personally knows and sees on a regular basis

7.5

Longtime emotional — but non sexual —�intimacy�with a person not your�significant�other

(I have a feeling that most of the women reading this would place it higher on the list)

8.0

Completely lucid one night stand

(The�”Where’s my bleach?” �zone)

8.7

One night stand with a�mutual friend, significant other’s family member, or, if you’re a man, man

9.0

Long-time affair with a stranger

(The�”Prison time actually�doesn’t�seem all that bad” �zone)

10.0

A long-time affair with a mutual friend, significant other’s family member, or, if you’re a man, man

(Not only do people often die in situations like this, but up until like seven years ago, you could legally murder someone over it)

Anyway, people of VSB.com, what are your thoughts about the spectrum? Did you agree with my placements? Also, are there any other acts you’d like to see included? If so, where would you put them?

—The Champ

Gotcha, b*tch!!! Happy birthday!

One of the more famous and oft-quoted skits in the reading ninja community is track 6 off of Andr� 3000 from Outkast’s The Love Below album. The skit is entitled “Where Are My Panties?” No need to�link it or quote the whole thing because if you don’t know it, I feel sorry for your mother. Or mudda.

I can’t tell you how many women I’ve personally told, “ooooh, I just wanna lay in yo’ haaaaaaaaaiyah.” In fact, I’m sure that skit did more for women with natural hair than TCB, white men, and Angela Davis combined. Now, the most intriguing part of it was when the chick says the famous lines:

“He gon’ think I’m a ho. F*ck that, I liked it. I was drunk and it was my birthday anyway. Maybe I should just lay here and let him touch my booty.”

While I’m sure that nearly every woman has had a “where are my panties?” moment (and trust me ladies, most of us guys wake up wondering where your panties are too…sooner we find them, sooner you go home), I wonder how many have been as a result of some chick really being on some, “f*ck it’s my birthday…” steez.

Basically, how many of you dames out there really invoke the “Anything Goes On My Birthday” mantra to excuse doing something that you probably shouldn’t have not had done? I’m really curious about this because I can’t exactly imagine a non-effeminate straight dude making such a proclomation and getting away with it at all. I’m guessing most guys ain’t trying to rationalize it so much as just hoping nothing bad comes from it. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it one time: the greatest victory is waking up after a drunken one night stand to a ripped open condom wrapper on the floor. That’s when you hit the *Giada de Laurentiis tiny fist hand clap* and the *Tiger Woods fist pump* in succession. My brothas out there know what I’m talking about. Not that I’d know from firsthand experience or anything.

Granted, any and all of this requires you to actually tell somebody else what you did and then following it up with the birthday rationalization and that might make the whole thing moot.

Luckily, here at VSB most of us don’t really know eachother so letting the beans spill ain’t no Biggie. Shyne.

But that makes me wonder what are valid “it was my birthday” rationalizations. Here’s my guess-list.

1. Smanging a dolphin an ex

I imagine that more women get them some comfort wang during birthday week than any other week of the year, assuming she’s single. Also, do any men actually take more than the day to celebrate their birthday? Like a birthday week? A weekend might be okay, but a dude celebrating a week or month? Diva dude with a**north tendencies.

2. Making out with a chick

We’ve covered to various degree random chick hookups and I’m too lazy to go back and find them but I can see a chick being like “hey, it’s my birthday…yay…come here Maria!!! *tongue down*”

3. Totally losing their sh*t behind somebody not going with the plan

Mi hombres? We’ll usually be like “f*ck it, let him roll” but I think women get extra emotional points to use on the America Express during their birthday shenanigans so if somebody doesn’t go along to get along, women can act out. I’m only saying this because I’ve seent it with my own to eyes followed by, “that b*tch knows its my birthday. She better come correct.”

4. Extreme indulgence

Chocolate. Clothing. Shoes. Staples. Pencil lead. Coffee mug. Telephones.

Brick Tamland: I love…carpet. I love…desk.

Ron Burgundy: Brick, are you just looking at things in the office and saying that you love them?

Brick Tamland: I love lamp.

Ron Burgundy: Do you really love the lamp, or are you just saying it because you saw it?

Brick Tamland: I love lamp. I love lamp.

Ahem.

I’ve seen women splurge on things with the passion of Mel Gibson on their birthdays. And there really ain’t nothing you can say to ‘em. Everybody deserves to be spoilted I suppose.

5. Feeling up Panama Jackson in the club�

This almost never happens.

So ladies, do you live by that mantra? And if so, what exactly constitutes something you can get away with because it’s your birthday? To the homeys out there, have you ever tried to invoke such a rule? And how’d that go? Have you ever been apart of some woman’s birthday shenanigans?

Talk to me. Petey.

It’s Friday, people. I came to bring the pain.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka DUSTY VAUGHAN aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3