As luck would have it, I bagged myself a girlfriend who lives not in a lesser borough, above 14th Street or even anywhere in the vicinity of the tri-state area.

If you live in or around a major U.S. city, then surely you've noticed it's all the rage to wear shirts that say shit like 'Die Hipster Scum,'

Sometimes the sun is shining, you have your rent money and you stumble across a particularly good episode of Judge Judy.

Fucking without titles. Oh, the perils of fucking without titles. Over time, I've changed my mind around a thousand times about this issue.

There's a line in the remix of Lil Wayne's grossly underplayed (just kidding) "Lollipop" that never fails to floor me: "Safe sex is great sex / better wear a latex / 'cause you don't want that late text, that 'I think I'm late' text."

"Pain turns to pleasure fast. Relax, while I pound your ass. Cool cat, cool cat, come on I'll give you some.

Ah, the elusive dyke nod. I've searched far and wide for it. I've spent years prowling mean New York City streets, praying for the opportunity to share that moment with another gaywad:

If you're at all like me, you promise the people you date back rubs if only they'll give you one first. They bust out the oil and rub away as you fall fast asleep with no intention of reciprocating. Kind of like how I am in bed. Just kidding.