12:33 am on a Saturday morning, and I just finished up my homework for the night. This wouldn’t be so bad, except for the fact that I have to get up tomorrow and spend the entire day doing more homework. Technically, I could put it off for a few more days, but I get absolutely no sympathy from my princess when I procrastinate until the last minute, so I try to stay ahead of schedule in order to procure my bitching rights.
I thought I was being all kinds of smooth taking most of my classes online this semester. It seemed like a great idea when I was registering: I hate being around people, I like sitting around at my computer with no pants on—online classes are the perfect setup, right?
The thing about online classes is that in order to do well with them, you have to have the self-discipline to make yourself log on several times a week and keep up with your homework. I’m not exactly the picture of self-discipline, but I figured that I would be able to handle the online class thing.
What I didn’t realize was that along with self-discipline, you also have to have a good-sized attention span. Me, I have the attention span about the size of a fly’s dick.
Do flies even have dicks?
Yes. Yes, they do. I know this because I just spent thirty minutes reading all about fly reproduction. The most fascinating part is that they screw doggy-style.
Speaking of doggy-style, why is it that dogs get the honor of having that particular position named after them? I mean, I realize that that’s how they hump, but so what? Almost every animal on the planet does it the same way. And frankly, I think we could have picked a better name than doggy-style. “Hey, honey, I’m feeling a little adventurous tonight. We should have sex doggy-style.”
“Yeah, no, that’s gross. And it sounds kind of dull.”
Let’s try that again, shall we?
“Honey, I’m feeling adventurous tonight. Let’s fuck like the mighty rhinoceros!”
“Take me now, you magnificent creature!”
You don’t even have to get dramatic about it:
“Let’s do it nasty monkey-style.”
“Let’s do it turtle-style.”
“Let’s do it squirrel-style.”
All of those sound better than doggy-style. Plus, I think it might force us to use our imaginations a little more. Seeing dogs screw is kind of disheartening. In fact, out of all the creatures I’ve seen screw, the only kinds that were more disheartening than dogs were cats.
And maybe this one girl in high school who was only doing me because she was tired of watching the basketball game. But we don’t need to talk about that. Because there’s no reason to talk about it. I mean, it didn’t even happen—I was just kidding. And even if it did happen, for sure there was no premature ejaculation involved.
So dogs humping, right? The female just kind of chills there, bored. The male hops all over, super-excited, a huge goofy grin on his face. And then they get stuck. This is the worst part, really, because if you ever see dogs who got stuck together screwing, that’s when you see them with the most human expressions ever. Kind of embarrassed, pretty bored, and not at all comfortable with each other.
Imagine a one-night stand, you get way drunk, you go for a tumble in the sheets, and then…then you just have to hang out there for a while. The guy’s just draped over the chick, they’re both all sweaty with that funky booze-sweat. Their elbows are all shaky, so they finally just have to lay down.
This would be the worst part for me, because my fat ass would have to worry about crushing her to death. “911? Yeah, it’s me again. Yeah, it happened again. Can you tell them to hurry—I’m still stuck inside her, and she’s cooling down pretty quick now. Plus, I think she just…evacuated…on my leg.”
Even without the potential of death by fatass, it’d still suck. Because what do you do afterwards, you know? Conversation? Screw that. Maybe you’d have to keep board games in the nightstand, right by the prophylactics. “So what’s your name again? Brandy? That’s a nice name. You got Scrabble or what?”
Dogs don’t get bored games. They just have to sit there looking ashamed and bored until someone comes along with a garden hose. This is why we shouldn’t name sexual positions after them.
If it was called something like rhino-style, you think we’re gonna sit around ashamed? No, sir. I’ve never seen rhinos screw, but I bet it’s breathtaking. I bet they get right in there and take care of business. With confidence, baby. You do it rhinoceros-style, you’re all over the place, kicking over the kitchen table, smashing out windows, chasing innocent passers-by. ROAR!
Mid-post Update: While writing this article, I managed to come across a video of rhino sex. Honestly, aside from the gigantic wang, it was pretty boring. I can only assume they were doing it doggy-style, which is why it was so dull. But we can’t take the chance of renaming our sex position after something just as drab, so instead of only rhino-style, it will have to be coked-up rhino-style. Because you know that a coked-up rhino fucks like there’s no tomorrow. End of Mid-post Update
And while we’re changing things, I don’t want to call it missionary-style anymore, either.
That makes it seem like it should be a humble, shameful thing. I don’t like that. I’m humble and full of shame enough without having to worry about it in the bedroom. Also, I have enough reasons to be humble and ashamed in the bedroom, I don’t need one more.
We could call it the reverse otter position. Or why even name it after animals (can you tell I’m sick and damn tired of watching YouTube videos of animals fuck?)
We could name it after something else that’s cool. Maybe something like Discovered-Spy position.
What? Discovered Spy? What the hell are you talking about?
Look, it doesn’t really have to make sense—we just want it to sound cool. But you’re lying there, face to face, eye to eye, there’s no more hiding—discovered spy, right? Or perhaps, because you’re eye to eye, wondering who’s going to go off first, we could call it Gunslinger-style.
Or perhaps we could do a complete 180 from what we’ve got going on right now—make something very boring seem very exciting:
“I don’t really feel like doing it tonight, Bill. I mean, we can, but I’ll probably just lie there in a daze.”
“Earthquake victim-style, eh? I’m down with that. Let’s get ready to rumble!”
And why should all the cool names go to the people who actually have partners? I could have used some dynamic renaming back when I was sexually budding.
“What’d you do last night, Ray?”
“Had some sex.”
“No way! I figured you’d just sit around beating off to your Wonder Woman comic books.”
“Nope. All kinds of mad sex. Zoo monkey-style, you ever heard of that?”
“Don’t zoo monkeys just sit around and beat off?”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re too young and inexperienced to understand, that’s all.”
“You’re my hero, Ray.”
“I know that.”
Speaking of disturbing sex—out of all the twisted internet videos I watched tonight, this one creeped me out the most. In case you’re too timid to click it, I’ll tell you what goes on: there are these two weird hillbilly chicks, and one of them is pretending to have sex with a tree.
Believe it or not, I had no intention of writing this much about sex. Actually, I was going to talk about how difficult it is to take online classes with such a short attention span.
And then I got sidetracked by fly genitalia. Story of my life, really.