Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Desperate Househussy

"Dear Manola 180,

Greetings from Tallahussy, Florida! I am a chubby married woman with two children and I don't even bother shaving my twat. Why is it that both my husband and lover tell me that they get more turned on thinking of me instead of looking at porn? Is this a compliment?"

Yours truly,

Mrs. LS Cool Babe"

Dear Mrs. LS Cool Babe,

Manola 180 is aghast. Girlfriend, if you were living in HoBe, law enforcement would fine you for not having a Brazilian Wax. Twat inspectors regularly stop pedestrians in mini-skirts to make sure that outer genitals look like plucked poultry. Just think about it: one dollar per stubble, two dollars for razor bumps and three dollars for each ingrown hair.

As well, if you lived in HoBe, your husband would've left you for your lover because you're some goddess, a rarity around here -- a chubby, hairy woman with celullite, amazing self-confidence and stratospheric self-esteem who doesn't give a shit if the rest of her species is walking around like plastic cunts on heels: botox lips, silicon tits and batteries included!

Not only is Manola 180 aghast, she resents the fact that you are married and are privy to the sexual attention of the only two unperverted men on the planet. How'd you manage this fait accompli?

Well, here at Manola 180 we only strive to provide the finest, most skewed, biased and unprofessional advice. As always, before proceeding to take counsel from a certified quack such as Manola, make sure you don't consult your physician.

For most married men, browsing porn is a solitary activity that usually takes place on the crapper. I'm not surprised that your husband and lover are excited about the prospect of touching a voluptuous hoochie mama such as Mrs. LS Cool Babe.

man reading on toilet

Our medical correspondent, Doctor Suck Mygupta, is somewhat concerned, however, about the fact that you are cheating on your husband. Does he know about your extra-marital curriculum? Marriage is a sacred contract between two individuals. Review the terms of your contract. Does it mention infidelity? Are you really that desperate or simply settling into a dysfunctional routine?

Good luck!

Manola 180

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Why I am Single, Part 2


Calling All Woman! - 27
Hello Ladies If your tired of posting ads on craigslist and would like a totally free way to meet men then I have the perfect website for you. I promise never to charge woman to utilize my website and it would be much more interesting then craigslist ads.

Manola says: MORE interesting than craigslist? NO WAY! Dude, learn your plurals!

bi/ confused man looking for LTR - 33
Would love to find an intelligent, attractive woman with a great sense of humor for company over dinner. No expectations except good meals and great conversation. Must be witty, intelligent and more than capable of carrying her end in a conversation. Please include a picture. Looking forward to having dinner soon! Your picture gets mine.

Manola says: I don't know about you, but as a heterosexual unattached woman, I can think of nothing more appealing than having dinner with a man who is bisexual and confused.

how do you get rid of a recurring dream? - 34
I keep having this recurring dream of meeting "the one"..she used to listen to Sade with her walkman sitting in the bus and she would sing with sade in her mind "if you were mine, if you were mine, I wouldn't want to go to heaven"..she lived in different countries and speakes different languages..she's beautiful inside and out..she keeps asking me for sex and I'm worried that I can't keep up!..she's cool, calm and did I say beautiful? she's talented and she's always interested in something interesting..she reads amazing stories and then tells me..we kiss a lot..she's waiting for me to ask her to marry her.

ofcourse she doesn't exist!

so how do I get rid of this hopeful thinking?


Manola says: of course she doesn't exist, fool! Neither do you! Buck up. Buy some porno magazines. Nothing better than a recurring WET dream.

Arrogant prick looking for soulmate - 43
Sarcastic bastard. Tall, successfull and very passionate. I don't drink smoke or do drugs, but I am a bit on the wild and side. I want to take walks on the beach at night, make out under the moon, ride top down to the keys for lunch on a Sunday or spend a rainy day inside making love and making you laugh. I like woman who need alot of physical attention, are not run by materialism but appreciate nice things i.e. have a little taste for Petes sake. If you are a very sexy, sensual REAL, as in real honest, loyal and loving woman let me know, I will be happy to send a pic.

Manola says: You know, in some perverse way, I appreciate this man's honesty.

A virgen man - 32

My name is ... , I am a 32 year old guy, no criminial records, very close to my family, close to friends, an uncle and so on....

women seem to look at me in the street ,some of my closest frienda are woman, c, T and so, I bound greatly with girls....

the thing is that, I happen to be Gay, but...but I am looking for a girlfriend out there, who is tired of being treated like a sexual object and just wants company and a good looking, honest, masculine man around here.....

I am moving to the Miami area next week so we could become roomates.....




Manola says: nothing ... she is speechless.

Free Facials for women - 40
Calling all professional slut women. You know you want it, I have the big load to plaster your bad little bitch face.

Manola says: Professional slut women? Where can I get such a degree from an accredited institution?

I want to get married have lottsa kids and live on a farm, and you? - 37

Hi, I'm 5'10, athletic build, dark hair, dark eyes, of Irish descent, semi professional. If you are also wanting the same, we can exchange photos and see what develops.

Manola says: Wow! Self-confessed semi-professional who wants to live on a farm! Now we're talking progress!

If you have emotional baggage dont read this - 21

If you have major baggage, are sexualy repressed, and/or have issues with men please dont contact me.

I am a 21 year old male 5'11 white hispanic,Im athletic, currently goin to college full time and works part time. I am looking for a decent girl that is single who takes care of herself is emotionally secure, happy, and has a great personality. Looks do matter, I take care of myself so i expect those who email me do the same. If you think you fit into all this email me telling me a little bit about yourself along with a picture attached, if you are what I am looking for ill write back to you and we'll take it from there.

Manola says: You're fucking 21 years old. Learn how to wipe your ass first, sweet cheeks!

I am looking for smart and beauty womam
I live in Miami beach and I did not find any woman that I can realy speak with .
Please email me if you look good and we can get a real talk .

Manola says: You want it all, don't you?

Crimes Against Stupidity

figthing crimes against stupidity

Weapon of Mass Embarrasment

DUI, or dialing under the influence, has made of the telephone a weapon of mass embarrassment. Not to be confused with phone sex -- it is the safest, most practical way to make a complete ass out of yourself while spilling your guts, without the added concern of spilling any bodily fluids.

When two mutually consenting adults practice DUI, it's a beautiful thing. Long harangues shared between blithering idiots -- lengthy conversations that will soon be forgotten -- are perhaps the very marvel of advanced communication Alexander Graham Bell dreamed about when he invented the telephone.

To be sure, even Darwin must have pondered how a human being can possibly remember phone numbers and carry on a conversation in a state of inebriation. Though it defies all scientific reasoning, this uniquely human capacity is perhaps the missing evolutionary link between homo sapiens and a chimpanzee. In a spell of thousands of years, we evolved from lice-picking, breast-thumping "oooo oooo aaaa aaaa" to "uh, like I'm so fucked up, dude, let me call my ex, man." Oh, come on, admit it. We're still a bunch a monkeys.

For instance, one night I was expecting my ex-boyfriend, Mr. Think-He's-Huge, to pay a visit and as usual he was late. I remember drunk dialing him, promising nothing short of Manola Gone Wild.

But ex-boyfriend's real name starts with R, and so does an old friend's. And wouldn't you know it, they're side by side on the contacts menu -- both potential victims lying dormant. A far worse fate, however, awaited Old Friend, who wasn't even going to get laid. The drunk dialing bomb exploded and little bits of unwanted verbal shrapnel ended up on his answering machine.

Next day, Old Friend called and said, "uh Manola, I think you meant someone else? It was nice to hear, though. Wish my wife talked like that!"

Curiously enough, long after my phone pas, same Old Friend drunk dialed me. Hammered as a nail, he asked me if I was willing to work for a couple who wanted a female to videotape them during sex. "I don't mean any disrespect," he said "but I thought you might be interested." And then, he proceeded to confess feelings that have been surfacing every now and then during our friendship of many, many years, feelings which, I am certain -- and with all due respect -- were influenced by several rum and cokes.

Next conversation, I told Old Friend: "What were you thinking? You KNOW me. Even if they paid me a million bucks, how the hell would I keep a straight face?"

Even people I haven't met personally have performed the dialing game on my unsuspecting phone. A new friend of mine -- a young lusty fella whom I'll call Wild Man, who lives in another state and whom I met in the hazy maze of blogger -- claims that he is the most boring man on the phone without a little ammunition. Perhaps he is referring to the universal social lubricant, vodka, which this old caboose doesn't really need to enjoy a good talk. Maybe he's a little shy? Well, that's another story.

This weekend, Wild Man left me a most saucy message. He'd been thinking a lot about me lately. I was regaled with compliments about my unbelievable gorgeous legs and how he desired nothing more than to lick them from ankle to thigh. The pleading voice kept begging: "Oh my god, you are so hot! SO hot! You are SO fucking hot!"

Click went the receiver. And "WHAT THE FUCK?" went me. After several playbacks and a thorough voice analysis as keen as any FBI agent's, I just knew this wasn't my Wild Man, because he has a quite a sexy baritone voice and this fella was nearly squeaky.

The mystery was later resolved. I called Wild Man, and although he was shit-faced, he confirmed that he had indeed handed his mobile phone to a friend. And unknown alleged hot chick, poor thing -- the one with the legs that launched a thousand slips of the tongue -- missed her would-be lover's most delicate, poetic message.

Apparently, this phenomenon is universal and not limited to dialing. Technology now allows us the moronic pleasure of drunk text messaging. Worse yet, some mobile phone owners actually have a chronic, socially disturbing drunk dialing problem -- they will dial every number on their phone, including the mother-in-law's or the boss's -- until someone answers. Now even a chimpanzee would know better that to call your boss when you're peloothered. The few tamer souls I know do have a method to their madness. We only call the unfortunate love dregs of our past or the romantic interests of the present, but NEVER a relative or a the person who signs our paychecks.

If you have a chronic drunk dialing problem, take preventive measures. I mean you don't ever forget your cab fare, condoms and cigarettes, do you? Instead of calling the boss, feel free to dial Slacker Town and give the world a good laugh!


Manola B

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Golden Phallus

Kate Moss brought a golden dildo. That's SO gaudy, SO Vegas and SO tasteless Trump. The sex-savvy know that brushed stainless steel is the elegant dildo du jour.

Nevertheless, could she possibly have been inspired by this golden phallus?

Golden Phallus on Miami Beach

Gawk all you want, it will only fit in the mouth of a sperm whale. And call Manola crazy, but no orifice on Kate Moss or similarly anorexic models could possibly accommodate such an organ.

But what if it were a Trojan Horse piƱata? Let's break it open and scramble for condoms!

see it for yourself at World Erotic Art Museum

photo courtesy of Metroblogging Miami

gossip courtesy of I Don't Like You That Way

Culminating Activity

Manola rarely goes to the mainland, but here's news from the peninsula worthy of being broadcast on Sex and the Beach:

So I was talking to my niece yesterday.

She works with learning-disabled students at Westlab Elementary, a highly-coveted elementary school in hoity-toity Coral Gables. Well, apparently, you can't have a little Valentine's day "party" for your wee tots. No, the word "party" is offensive to some cultures that apparently don't ever "party." (Call me crazy, but culturally speaking, is there not one culture that doesn't celebrate SOMETHING?)

So instead of having a Valentine's Day party, these children had a Valentine's Day Culminating Activity.

Can you imagine that?


So from now on my friends, so as to not offend anyone, you can say something like "You are invited to my Birthday Culminating Activity."

I don't know about you, but the words CULMINATING ACTIVITY are suggestive of things children should not know about.

I kid you not.

Send me the spaceship. I want to leave planet ridiculous.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Stay, Funny Valentine

VD. We've got two choices for this abbreviation: Valentine's Day or Venereal Disease. Think about it. If I had my druthers, I'd rename this day Valenfuckintines Day. The day you're most likely to fuck and, therefore, the day you're most likely to acquire a VD.*

(Actually, because it's based on an established-relationship paradigm -- yawn, boring! -- it is perhaps the day you are least likely to fuck.)

That being said, bear with Manola's love-logic here, will ya?

For the first time in Manola's adult life, she actually didn't experience garden-variety angst. Violins meowing in the background, wrist against clammy forehead: "Oh pity me, I'm lonely on February 14th!" In fact, she was relieved that she didn't think once, let alone twice, about the engagements, marriages, divorces and children that never happened.

She didn't think about last year's VD, and how her ex, Mr. Thinks He's Huge, proclaimed from the ivory tower of bachelor insecurity: "It's such a false pretense," he said. "Everyday should be Valentine's Day."

But as it turns out, every day is NOT Valentine's Day. In fact, if you're going to speak about false pretenses, let's not forget to mention, that those MEN WE ARE NOT MEANT TO BE WITH always find an excuse for not being tactful, generous, thoughtful, passionate and loving on that rare day singled out by most of humanity to stop making excuses for ignoring the one you supposedly love.

And let's not forget, that if the expression of love and appreciation for all of those who are dear to us requires some special, souped-up commercial day -- well then, that's a sad state of affairs, but it is what it is, and it's better than nothing.

I recently spoke to a friend of mine who has been with her husband nearly two decades. He had never brought her flowers. Yes, it only took two decades, two children, one marriage on the rocks, and one well-earned affair for a most-frustrated wife of a cuckolded husband to finally figure out that his wife might like a dozen roses FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER.

After I lent a devoted ear to my friend, I asked myself, "how could I complain that Mr. Thinks He's Huge had never brought me a single rose petal in the spell of two years?"

So I wonder: if everyday should be Valentine's Day and if it actually were, he'd return my phone calls after proclaiming some egomaniacal Napoleonesque possession of my body and soul. What's more, he'd respect my sexual limits, he'd go to the ER with me after he gave me a UTI, he'd actually marry me after asking in a drunken stupor, he'd honor me in spite of his his past obligations, he'd rarely humiliate me (cut him some slack here, after all, he's human) ... he'd love me (ah!) ... and at the very least, he'd find me worthy of forking over a few cents for a single rose. Mr. Thinks He's Huge NEVER brought me a single stamen, pistel or withered pathetic leaf from the flower vendor's day-old special. Heck, I never even had to sneeze after sniffing a good puff of pollen. Sad, but true.

No, not everyday is Valentine's Day, to be sure. And neither is any other day, for that matter. Certainly not the day you meet, not the day you fall in love, not the day you get married, not the day you have a child, not the day you say farewell, or -- God forbid -- the day you bury the one you loved.

Of course not.

Wake up and smell the roses. He'd forget to bring flowers to your funeral, surely.

My friend, the one who had the affair and whose mortgage-bound, child-committed grass is supposed to be greener on the other side of marital status, asked me if she should stay with the one she needs or the one she loves. "I wouldn't know. I don't have an answer," I replied. "But I do know this. He finally gave you flowers. Sign of love, baby."

My crudely-honed acumen in the game of love tells me that everyday with the man WE ARE NOT MEANT TO BE WITH involves learning how to distinguish between false pretenses and days that never matter from true intentions and daily commitments that do.

There are men who buy you flowers thinking they are going to seduce you for a night with such a simple gesture. There are men who pretend to want to spend the rest of their lives with you who never buy you flowers. And then there are men who buy you flowers because they love you and never want to spend a night without you. The MAN YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE WITH will know the difference. And so will you.

Happy Valentine's Day ... next year ... I hope.


*Of course, the politically correct term for VD is STD. Venereal Disease became Sexually Transmitted Disease when, at some point during human evolution, English-speaking people lost the ability to remember, understand and incorporate complex latinate words into their daily speech.

Why I am Single, Part 1


Manola is utterly confused. Men who want sex but won't give you money. Men who want sex and will give you money. And now men who want you to give them money in exchange for sex!

Party Girl(s) Wanted - 47

Good looking guy wants young party girl (at least 25), for fun, sex, and much more. I'm living in luxury, new South Beach condo on the waterfront in hirise with great views, etc. (no prostitutes please).

Manola says: No prostitutes? Cheap bastard!

Any Older Lady out here looking for a$$istance? - 36

I am new to this board but I am told that you can find really cute ladies here. I am looking for something casual/sexual with someone from 40 - 50. I am willing to pamper you and or help with bills. If you are reading this and a bit hesitant - email me now. You are the one I am looking for. Please include a picture and age, location etc..

Manola says: So, what's wrong with paying a ho?


Manola says: Another cheap bastard! Does this mean you'll never treat me to dinner?

Helping Hand with Bill$ for the Girl Next Door - 40

Need some assistance making financial ends meet? Have you considered being a “discreet friend” to an overworked professional gentleman?

Are you a young, genuine, “girl next door” type that would like to benefit from a mutually satisfying, occasional evening arrangement with a single, white, handsome, well read, well traveled, well mannered mature man who will truly appreciate your time, passion, and conversation?

For the right girl I am willing to be very generous.

Manola says: Listen fella, having to PAY for a gilfriend is not the best self-endorsement!

Wealthy Old CUNTwanted byRUDE good for nothing - 52
Greetings! Dont I sound like a catch? in addition to being a filthy mouthed Rat fink, and an AWFUL Lover, I am also a drunken Faggot,m so You NEVER have to worry about Me sticking ANY part of My Body into You. o.k. You USED to look good fourty Pluss Years ago, but FACE it DAHLINK, You are now a fuckin old Hag! why not get to Know Me? We could be happily MIZERABLE Together!

Manola says: Yes, spending the rest of my life being miserable with you is nothing short of a romantic fantasy.

Who wants to marry a graduate student,? - 25

I'm 25, about to finsih school and looking to get married ... I'm originally from Canada, so I might seem a little bit slow, eh? I'm looking for a girl between 20-30, preferably white or hispanic, with some education, who is interested in some of the benefits of marriage. . . .

Manola says: Who wants to marry a graduate student? Honey, NO ONE! And what the fuck are the benefits of marriage?

Would you like to make a few bucks + drink as much as you can ? - 29
I'm a professional in South Beach on business. I'm looking to have a good time tonight. I'm looking for a normal, cute, and fit lady to hang out with me as I go bar hopping. I'll pay for all your drinks and more.....get backto me soon since I'm about to sign off frommy computer to get some munchies.

Manola says: YOU are professional?

Friday, February 10, 2006

Big Pink

"Dear Manola 180: My boyfriend complains about my extra-large, over-lubricated vagina. What should I do?


Ms. Too Big To Be Bothered"

Manola 180 has heard it all. Yes, ALL. To hell with this pusillanimous excuse of man who's complaining about the generous largesse of your hole.

Girlfriend, after you leave him, find yourself a man with a big dick. You're not the one with the SHORTCOMINGS ... your boyfriend is the one with the SHORT END OF THE STICK.

Find yourself a man to fulfill every inch of your juicy, wet and abundant jungle of womanhood. Get that tape measure. Size does matter, doesn't it? As in girth and width?

Sex needs to be tasty and nutritious. Instead of sleeping with this "meat oaf," go try the meatloaf at Big Pink in HoBe, after you've had a few cocktails at Ted's Hideaway around the corner.

As far as revenge, think dead horse, Godfather style. Send his next "aperture" challenged girlfriend a 20" PVC pipe stuffed with sweetbread.

Good luck.

Manola 180

Monday, February 06, 2006

She Still Got Game

Manola wonders what Jane Austen would have written if this were the subject of a novel. Does passion discriminate between age? Reader, you be the judge.

Manola will always recall Superbowl 2006 as a milestone in her life. Mind you, her interest in the sport is as intense as her interest in cellulite. As far as she's concerned, NFL was an acronym for her love life: "No Fucking Luck." And she would know. Long before these salad days of perpetual single hood -- these days when she is practically dating herself for lack of worthy partnership -- she spent five years as a football widow to a Buffalo Bills fan.

Even though she shared a home with this man and he was in her bed every night, the dry season would last from first draft to last punt, followed by his post-season depression. The emotional connection between them was as wide as the football field and thanks to monogamy, she could not play that OTHER field.

In spite of this, she loved her man enough to let him sabotage the television while she served him chicken wings, ham and cheese sandwiches, cookies and beer. At the end of the game, she would gently unglue his eyeballs from the screen with aloe. She even agreed to let go of the leash so he could go watch games at the local sports bar -- just in case, God forbid -- the broadcast suffered a blackout.

This year, Manola had no idea that the leathery, laced-up object men covet would fall in her court. In spite of the fact that she long ago refused to play the game, THE GAME CAME TO HER in the form of a cute, cuddly and curious twenty-something Cuban Chef. Yes, barely legal to drink. Old enough to be her son, technically speaking.

All this in spite of several other very important facts: a) a party that was rife with Motril-popping, light beer-drinking Cristina Aguilera types (big head, small body) in size zero jeans who more age-appropriate for Cuban Chef; b) Manola is a bit plump and can't even fit into her jeans; c) Manola has a heat rash on her face; d) he wasn't even old enough to play "the graduate" to her Mrs. Robinson; and e) the most unbelievable fact of all, Manola had an impossible-to-conceal pre-menstrual pimple on her face!

Yes, gasp in disbelief!

Against all odds, the evening of pure testosterone ended with a literary seduction. She gave Cuban Chef, who is also an aspiring writer majoring in history, a private reading of an essay she published in a book. Apparently her prose was enough to warrant many smothering kisses. Although he wanted Manola to play wide receiver to another kind of leathery object, she refused, but she did succumb to playing game above the bleachers.

The next morning, Manola was washing her face and noticed a splotch of red on her neck. She thought it was the heat rash. Upon close inspection, she shrieked: "Oh my God, I've been branded with a mouth print!" Much to her delight, she saw what would have been unmistakable to a vampire, surely: A VERY WELL-DEFINED BITE MARK!

Cuban Chef was kind enough to leave her with a tribute to their passion, something no man has ever left behind: A HICKEY.

A fitting tribute to the Queen of Horny, indeed, for not only has Manola suffered from involuntary abstinence far too long, she has NEVER had a hickey. Sins of the flesh were unaccountable to the Big Man in the Sky. Crimes of passion left no clues. Carnal desires were gone with the wine. Yes, sadly, three decades and three boyfriends later -- not to mention the occasional sexual exploit with a forgettable/possibly regrettable lover -- and NOT ONE MAN had ever left a trace of his passion on her pale white neck.

Cuban Chef was more than generous. Not only did he flatter Manola with a passion purpura, he also forgot to take home his t-shirt. And just like men use panties to prove they scored, Manola can use a 100% cotton sex trophy to prove she made a field goal in a game she NEVER expected to play!

Jane Austen is rolling in her grave. But girl, if you had been alive today, you'd be chiding me with a big smile on your face: "Awesome! You pulled a Samantha!"

posted by Manola Blablablanik @ 2:39 PM

Saturday, February 04, 2006

South Beach Randomary, Part I

1. What is coitus interruptus? A pregnant pause.

2. What do wealthy snowbirds and the homeless have in common? They come here for the weather.

3. What do you call a monogamous relationship between two sluts? HOmmitment.

4. Going to a gay bar? Don't forget to bring your party enema.

5. What do you say after a night of bar hopping? It was fun, until I forgot what happened.

6. What do you blow off when you feel good about yourself? Selfesteam.

7. What does a straight woman post on her personal ad? Single, looking for twosome.

8. What do you call the date who stood you up? Dog gone.

9. Where do you find people who stand up their dates? The dog park.

10. What do you call a free blow job? Gratis ball lick.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Vaginal Anatomy

"Dear Manola 180: Why isn't the clitoris located lower in the vagina?

Ms. Edna Hoochielopolus"

This is a probing, philosophical question. I suspect that when God was working with engineers on the form and function of females, he went out for a few Belgian ales and woke up the next day with a most unfortunate hangover, which made him miss the placement of the clitoris by two inches. It's a damn shame, really. You'd think that God would've given the female orgasm some thought, considering that women have to endure labor.

But think about it: if the clitoris were located anywhere NEAR the vagina, you'd have an orgasm every time you wiped.

(Nota Bene: Pilots, next time you're comin' in for a landing, here's a little tip for you ... the clit is on the OTHER side of the tarmac! Orange flag swingin' in the air ... hello!)

Let's turn to literature for an answer. Irish Nobel-prize winning poet William Butler Yeats came ... ehem ... in his later years, to nothing other than this conclusion: "love has pitched its tent in the house of excrement."

Women's bodies are screwed. Fucking, menstruating, peeing, pooping, farting and having babies should not occur within the same postal code, let alone on the same block! Talk about a bad neighborhood and strange bedfellows! After all, you don't build a slaughterhouse next to the meat market, or do you?

Manola 180 is stumped, but not shtooped, let me tell you! It's a cunundrum, for sure.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Banal vs. Anal

"Dear Manola 180,

My boyfriend tried to stick his schlong up my bung hole and it hurt, so I said no. Then he got pissed and said I was a selfish, prudish bitch and that he'd find another woman to fuck up the ass. So I decided to try it, since I love him and have an open mind.

Turns out, my anal sphincter is not as open. He slathered my ass with so much lube, I felt like an SUV - slimy under vulva. Then, in true mechanical fashion, he checked my oil. All I could think was, 'Just come already! This isn't sex, this is the insertion of an oversized suppository!'

Next thing he knows, he has a tremendous buttgasm.

Next thing I know, I'm taking a tremendous dump on the crapper, which I will admit, was a great relief after having a bout of constipation.

Since then, it seems like our sex life has reduced my body to nothing more than an anus and I honestly haven't acquired the taste. My vagina is drying up and I'm sure the sperm he shoots up my colon must be utterly confused -- there isn't a fallopian tube anywhere in sight.

Plus, our bed smells like shit, no matter how many times I wash the sheets. What's worse, everytime I defecate, I think of him. I'm really disappointed. I thought no meant no. I didn't think love was being intimate with a 200-pound human enema. Please help.

Yours truly,

Analess Crotchety"


Dear Ms. Crotchety,

No does mean no. NO to being in a relationship with that machievellian monster of macho. But let's analyze this, shall we?

Most men are, always have been and always will be obsessed with ass. It's a fact of life. But today, "ass" is more than ever the new "penis" of our generation. We can't call men "dicks" or "pricks" anymore, because of a new evolutionary phenomenon: metrosexuality. Not only have straight men become more in touch with their feminine side, they've also taken a liking to all things backside.

This new breed of ass-men isn't just obsessed with a fullsome Brazilian model wearing butt floss. They also prefer introspective anal-gazing. Without even bothering to scrape off yesterday's dingleberries, they want you to lick their sphincters like it's sprinkles on some tasty ice cream cone, which I suppose is fair reprisal for having to go down on fragrant bush. Without even bothering to cleanse their colons, they're willing to be taken by a strap-on, also known as the rump hump.

(Hopefully none of these men are surgeons in triage.)

Manola remains utterly confounded by the fact that gay men are women's best friends, and that straight men are in hot pursuit of anus, so why not save time and effort and combine the two?

Now, Ms. Crotchety, consider this: human sexuality is a complex system of plumbing, wiring and fantasy that knows no bounds. Human sexuality is a wonderful source of creativity. One person's repulsion is another's attraction. Some folks swear by anal sex, others prefer it banal. Preference: whatever. If you like it, go crazy! Respect: absolutely. If you don't like it, don't go crazy.

Kinky or vanilla, any interaction between two human beings should involve mutual respect, consideration and compromise. Your boyfriend is a manimal: the most selfish, foul breed of manipulative predator. Sex should NEVER be a negotiation point. If anal sex is a deal breaker, that's not love, that's shove.

Beware, Ms. Crotchety, because even after you leave this bottom feeder, you'll still find men who will miss your fruit of the loom by a few inches, claiming it's uncharted territory, as if they could pull the condom over your eyes!

Have you dumped Mr. Ex-Lax yet? I hope so.

Your next step: find a plastic surgeon to perform anal rejuvination surgery and a man who will love and respect you, meeting you half-way between banal and anal.

Good luck!

Manola 180

Hey fella, do you suffer from priapism?

If your erection last for more than four minutes, consider yourself lucky. But if it lasts a lifetime, as in these ads posted in a local rag -- abridged and edited for modesty, trust me -- seek some help! Your sexual proclivities may be kinky, but your writing skills are fodder for Manola B!


"Hey ladies I am a a** obsessed guy that all I want to do is masturbate while smelling your a**. If you are into this please respond"

Manola says: Who is into this? WHAT is this called? Is this the new safe sex?


"cannibal - wanted ... a man or woman to eat my foreskin off of me . women nows your chance to get evan if you like fresh meat hollar back"

Manola says: Oy vay, Harvey! What? Did the rabbi not perform a bris when you were a child already?


"Young Cuban who Loves to Eat!!!!"

Manola says: Duh ... so redundant!


"Horse hung men look no further ... discreet real man here into girth and thickness. . . . Beefy type here and not into skinny types"

Manola says: Talk about rawhide, lonesome cowboy! Move to Texas, state of big ass steaks!


"WET HOLE 4 Divorced or Horny Man ... Im ** yrs . . . beautiful bubble butt."

Manola asks: What is a bubble butt?


"Black is not just a job It's an ADventure... Is the slogan If I were a wine I would be a Cabernet Savignon, I need to be drank by a fine lady who appreciates and loves a darker body I am a ... tall dark and depending on the beholder moderately to charmingly handsome"

Manola says: Now THAT is a good one!


"Ladies, Are Looking for Love in all the Wrong Places?

Tired of all the BS men say to get you to bed? I have to admit we do say some terrible unromantic things. I am a romantic at heart and a softie. I don't rush and my only goal is to see a woman satisfied. I am a ** year old, mature, patient male who seeks only a woman's satisfaction. . . . I am here to listen to your needs, physical or emotional, with no strings attached.... great sense of humor, soft hands, college grad, and able to converse on many subjects. I will not bore you; in or out of bed. Take a chance. Life's too short."

Manola says: Of course, he's married!

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Just Sex and Fried Chicken! JOIN NOW!

The laws of sexual congress dictate that you know within a minute if you'll sleep with someone you just met or not ... especially if you're drunk ... and then, so help me God, you usually do.

But in the world where the laws of sexual courtesy overrule the decisions of Judge Libido -- a world riddled with executive-level professionals more concerned with impressing rather than undressing -- there has to be a way of solving those age-old problems: a) "what if I don't like you after I sleep with you?" and b) "what if I want to sleep with you but have to run to a meeting?"

Unlike JUST LUNCH, a dating service for the rich and overly-occupied, JUST SEX AND FRIED CHICKEN offers a great alternative. We help clients save time AND money. For pete's sake, if you're too busy to meet, greet and arrange to have a meal together, you'll never get laid. Fortunately, however, everyone's gotta have lunch, right? And after burning all those calories, what could be better than the convenience of a bucket of KFC and a glass of chilled Dom Perignon -- all within an hour!