By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
I'm a forty-year-old well-endowed straight male into cockfights.
Considering my size--I'm almost eleven inches long and six and a quarter inches around--it is foolish for men to challenge me, but they do. I was in two fights recently. One guy was nine and a half by five and three-quarters, the other was eight by six. I easily won both fights.
Through the ads, I challenged a 39-year-old guy named Mike to a cockfight. He claimed to be ten by five and a half, but when he found out my size, he declined to go at it with me. Chicken? I also had a cockfight with a well-endowed 38-year-old married guy named Pete (ten and a half by six) who himself was undefeated in three fights. Pete was more of a challenge than most, but after an hour I came out on top, much to the surprise of Pete and his wife. I was wondering if you have ever heard of this kind of contest before?
I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. I've never heard of cockfighting contests, and I hope never to hear of them again.
Anyway, about Las Vegas: My research assistant, Kevin, and I just returned from Nevada, where we spent two glam days and one fab night with Janet Klein, winner of the Savage Love Trivia Contest. We were worried we might be stuck in Vegas with some weirdo--someone like you, Sincere Steve. But Janet and her lover/traveling companion, Greg, were presentable, personable, and loads of fun. I'd never been to Las Vegas before, and I'd like to share some of my impressions with you:
First, Las Vegas is an ugly place (tacky, loud, large) full of ugly people (tacky, loud, large) doing ugly things (gambling, smoking, drinking). Ugly things have their charm--there are things we appreciate for their awfulness--but Las Vegas's ugliness overwhelms. For Kevin and me, the ugliness began before we arrived. On our flight, we shared a row with an impossibly large man who announced he couldn't fit "this big ol' ass in that little seat." He raised the armrest and plopped himself down in his seat and most of Kevin's. Some heavy people have glandular issues, but this guy couldn't blame his genes: When Kevin and I turned down our breakfasts, Mr. Big demanded our meals from the stewardess and ate all three. That's not a gland thing.
When we got to our hotel, Circus Circus, our room wasn't ready, and we had to kill four long hours hanging out in Circus Circus's clown-themed lobby. Are there three words in the English language more disturbing than "clown-themed lobby"? Believe it or not, there are: Clown-themed elevator. Like most adults, I find clowns disturbing. I was ill at ease wherever we went at Circus Circus, as there was always some clown nearby imploring me to drink and gamble.
Your "Confidential to Millennial Anxiety" was factually inaccurate.
The ejaculate of a man who has had a vasectomy contains no DNA. Semen is made of sperm cells, which contain DNA, and seminal fluid, which is made up of protein. Protein contains no DNA, so there's no way to do a DNA test on it. Rapists who have had vasectomies are hell on sex-crime investigators.
Forensic Science Junky
Thanks for letting the sex offenders out there know they should get vasectomies before they rape anybody.
Another thing about Las Vegas: When you're hungry, you have three options: Stand in an hour-long line at a hotel buffet, pay next to nothing, eat huge amounts of crappy food; stand in an hour-long line at a hotel's low-end theme restaurant, pay too much, eat normal amounts of sub-Denny's food; or stand in an hour-long line at a hotel's high-end theme restaurant, pay too much, eat small amounts of decent food. What do all three options have in common? Lines. Now, I don't know about my fellow Americans, but I wouldn't stand in line to eat out of Brad Pitt's butt, let alone out of a Vegas buffet. Consequently, we didn't eat much.
We smoked plenty, though. Whether or not you're a smoker at home, you're a smoker in Vegas. People walk around casinos smoking cigars, women with small children smoke in elevators, restaurants don't have non-smoking sections. If you live in North America in the late Nineties, you may be unused to this. It's awful--like being in France, except everything is ugly (even the "beautiful" new hotels), the food is terrible (not that you can get near it), and you speak the language (compelling you to make small talk with the eighty-year-old woman hooked up to an oxygen tank pumping quarters into the slot machine next to yours).
Also disturbing: the very young (two-year-olds crying in casinos at three in the morning while their parents gamble); the very old (sickly octogenarians wheeled up to slot machines).
I have some information for the man looking for a professional video-production company to film his bedroom romps. MWI Productions, an adult-film company specializing in videotapes couples can watch together, offers the service he is looking for, for less money than you suggested.