Warning: Saran Wrap is NOT a Condom…

…and two other dumb stories I hope to never hear again!

The thing about guys…is that we’re all fucking animals—in the best and worst ways. And the one common thread that binds all dudes’ stupidity together is that insatiable need to slam and be slammed, even if it means complete and total degradation.

And while I’m fine with wanting to get some action at all costs, we shouldn’t have to sink to the lowest of the lows in the process. So let this be the year I never have to hear nonsense like this again:

Saran Wrap is NOT a Condom!

Imagine, you’re so desperate to get laid that you’re willing to use ANY form of contraception—even one from a kitchen pantry. Trust me, you can’t make this shit up.

My friend’s roommate, God bless him, brought home this chick one night and was so out of his mind (thanks to a delicate mix of vodka and God-only-knows-what) that he forgot the part where he needed some rubbers to close the deal.

So, like a sexed-up version of MacGyver, he came up with the “brilliant” idea of using Saran Wrap and a rubber band. The rest is self-explanatory. And guess what? He didn’t get laid!

This would have almost been a cute story if he was 16. At 26? Not so cute.

Spit is NOT Lube!

What do you do when you’ve run out of K-Y? Well, there’s a million+ options, but saliva isn’t one of them! Guys, take it from a bachelor who cares: Women aren’t the least been turned on by a guy who uses his own natural juices to get them wet, especially when you’re spitting on your fingers–that’s just wrong.

As you may recall, spitting is a sensitive issue for me. Even though I’m all for it, it’s one of those things that needs to be executed just right or you’ll wind looking like a douche bag—a sticky douche bag.

The Barmaid Does NOT Want to Fuck You

Every bar has that one guy who’s leaning over the counter, flashing his pearly whites at the pretty young thing serving him drinks, and laughing it up with her so much that he’s totally impressed with himself for having made a “real” connection.

And they’ve always got that goofy smile on their face too, as if to say: “Look guys! She knows my name, and she knows what I drink without me saying anything. And I think she’s flirting with me!”

But guess what, asshole? She ain’t going home with you, you FUCKING TOOL!

I should know…I used to be that fucking tool. I’ve felt the pain of going out of my way to visit a barmaid week in, week out, hoping to build a rapport that will ultimately lead to something outside of her working hours. But in actuality, all that was being built was an enormous credit card bill at the end of each month.

And there’s nothing sadder than a credit card bill covered in vodka and Tequila charges.