Fuck me if I’m wrong, but… if you don’t have time to pleasure yourself, you have problems.
While out with my friends the other night, we somehow started to discuss the topic of self pleasure. One of my friends said that there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to do this deed. Bull-fucking-shit. “Don’t fill this gay bar with your LIES!” I said, asking every man around me his thoughts on this so-called chore (and making mental notes that I ended up forgetting several vodkas later).
Personally, I feel that if you A.) sleep, or B.) shower, you have nothing but time to rub one out. Unless, of course, you don’t shower or sleep, in which case you have bigger issues to tackle… I would start out by Googling the word “hygiene.”
“Dude, I’ve jacked it twice since I’ve been here. Are you kidding me?”
-Paul Rudd, as David in The 40 Year Old Virgin
I don’t care whether you bump bones ten times a day, or ten times a year — you still need to play the skin flute, hitchhike to heaven, dive for pearls, or slam the salami. In fact, the more I get laid, the more I am eager to polish my plum, as I have lots of ammunition fresh in my mind (and nothing better to do now that I’m unemployed [that’s right, the government is currently paying me to get off multiple times per day.])
No matter who makes you cum and how often, there’s no better person for the job than you. If necessary, you know exactly what you need to do to get off in five minutes… and we all have places to be. While a mechanic is the best person to take care of your car, and a landscaper should be hired to maintain your yard; when it comes time to take care of business and strum the banjo, or measure for condoms, it’s sometimes easier to accomplish the task yourself instead of outsourcing the job at hand (pun intended).
“Don’t knock masturbation, it’s sex with somebody I love.”
-Woody Allen, as Alvy Singer in Annie Hall
Another reason to butter your corn, or tickle your tulip is plain and simple stress relief. If you are ever having trouble falling asleep — or are anxious before a job interview, date, or other occasion — I recommend taking a moment to show yourself who’s boss. You will feel better instantly; and, thanks to opposable thumbs, you don’t even need a device to dig a trench or play pocket pool. While some men own a flesh light, sometimes all he needs is lotion, his dong, and an advertisement for bras, as Ben Stiller’s character illustrated in There’s Something About Mary.
On the other band, all a woman needs when muffin buffin is mental stimulation and a finger or two. However, there are countless dildos, vibrators, and other sexual devices on the market that range from $5 travel-size bullets, to $125 big daddy vibrators with more bells and whistles than a fire truck. And who can forgot the detachable shower head? Not I, for one.
You may or may not be aware that the vibrator was initially developed in the Victorian Era to treat hysteria in women. You could go to the doctor and he would perform “pelvic massage.” (If this practice was still a common occurrence, I bet more of my male friends would be doctors.) It is rumored that the vibrator was the fifth domestic appliance to be electrified in the U.S. This came after the sewing machine, fan, tea kettle, and toaster. Astonishingly, the vibrator came about a decade before the vacuum cleaner and electric iron, which indicates that women learned to cream before they learned to clean.
While we’re on the subject of domestic appliances, many women were diagnosed with having “housewife syndrome” in the 50s and 60s. Women who were struck by this “illness” — who were really just depressed about being housewives without ambitions outside of their families — were prescribed valium (mother’s little helper). These women were likely ordered to purchase a vibrator and zip it before their husbands gave them something to really cry about. “What do you tell a woman with two black eyes?” “Nothing you haven’t told her twice.”
“[It] isn’t illegal, its frowned upon… like masturbating on an airplane.”
-Zach Galifianakis, as Alan Garner in The Hangover
For some individuals, another great part about flicking the bean, brewin baby batter, rubbin the nubbin, or holding your sausage hostage is the act of doing this somewhere they shouldn’t be and/or somewhere they could be caught. If I had to guess the most inappropriate place I’ve had my way with myself, it would be on the second day of jury duty, during a four-hour recess, in Denver County Court. Not bad, eh?
There are countless places to play clit commander, milk the banana, charm the cobra, or read Braille. In fact, this seems like a fun game for persons from 10 to 100 years of age: Think of the most bold and creative place to beat around the bush or play the organ and do so without being caught (or do get caught and earn extra points… the opportunities are endless).
Before I leave you, here are some other places to consider coming into your own:
- The light rail or bus (yes, it could get even dirtier)
- Your car (and they thought texting should be illegal)
- At work (your door has an office for a reason)
- The gym (work it out)
- The library (shhhhhh!)
- The dance floor (show off your moves)
- Your parents house (payback)
- A strangers house (get some strange)
- On a road trip (the only benefit to having not called shotgun)
- A public park (scare some children, they deserve it)