7 Ways to Drive Your Man Wild

Psst, ladies. Over here. This is a special top secret post between me and you:

We've all seen the magazines in the supermarket checkout aisle, promising relationship tips to drive your coital companion insane with ecstasy...

Hot secrets to drive him wild!

Bedroom gymnastics he'll go crazy for!

Sex moves that will turn him into the Unabomber!

Come on down to the lot, these moves are so insane we’re practically giving them away!!!

I, personally, am disgusted by these magazines and I think we all know why.

These tips are terrible! Your man still has the ability to reason!

Don't panic, ladies. I'm here for you. Rock your man like Harlow's monkeys with these seven maddeningly HOT tips I've devised through years of recreational drug use research. Just a few swift blows to his... mental faculties will reduce your sane companion into the foaming, raving, apocalypse predicting wild man of your dreams. Here we go!

1) Raise him with a pack of wolves.

Airdrop your lover into the tundra to live amongst canis lupus. Before long, he’ll lose the ability to socialize with humans, but he’ll be howling your name at the moon.

(Note: While he’s putting the wild in wildlife, it’s up to you to keep up the “life” part by watching out for poachers!)

2) Maroon him on a deserted island.
Whoever coined the phrase "Out of sight, out of mind" was clearly never abandoned on a barren sandbar by a loved one.

Tell your bf you’re going for a snorkel, then beat a hasty nautical retreat. After you’ve motored away in the only vessel for miles, soon your handsomely deranged hermit will be obsessed with only two things: you and REVEEEENGE. (One of those is you!)

This move is great for a sexy surprise on your honeymoon!

3) Take him where the wild things are.
A dash of hallucinogens in his morning coffee and Mr. Hard-to-Impress will think you’re a sex goddess. Or a horrifying talking tree monster. Either way, you can enjoy some “together time” while he’s licking the walls.

4) Hold perfectly still.

If you don’t move, he can’t oh wait that’s a T-Rex.

5) Trap him in a logical paradox.

To quote Aristotle, “Reason is the opposite of pleasin’.”

It's cool to be all ones and zeros in the boardroom, but when it's time to input between the spreadsheets, it takes two.

If the object of your affection is an emotional automaton, tickle the part of him that's hardest to reach—his brain!—by posing a question that’s impossible to answer correctly.

6) Wake him up by gently giving him Charlie Sheen's haircut from the 1989 film classic Major League.
What’s wilder than tiger blood? Rick "Wild Thing" Vaughn’s California Penal Colony haircut from a 23-year-old movie about the Cleveland Indians. If your man isn't convinced you're the one for him, surprise him with Wild Thing’s signature zig-zag mullet. When he sees it, he’ll quiver with delight.

That’s delight, right?

7) Give him a ring of power.

When you see the insatiable yearning in his lamplike eyes, that's when you know, girl: you're his preeeecioussss.

Become the Samwise to his Frodo and capture his heart Middle Earth-style with one ring to rule them all. After a few days with his new birthday present, your love will be as batshit as the floor of Gollum's cave.

If you like it, put the ring on it.

Now stop wasting time and go turn your amorous equal into the drooling pile of powerless gelatin you’ve always wanted!

Because you know what makes a great listener? Gelatin.

If Relationships Were Actual Ships

If relationships were actual ships...

Keeping the flame burning would be extremely hazardous.

Arguments would be more easily decided.

Hooking up would be less popular.

During the 19th century, they would have been steamier.

Sex would be difficult.

They would have ridiculous names.

I'd have a better chance of being in one with Johnny Depp.

You'd know when to abandon them.

This would be porn.

It would be easier to tell if you were in one or not.

Happy Valentine's Day, me hearties.

Ouch.

FollowFollowFollow my TumblrTumblrTumblr.

Every Day I'm Tumblin. Or Like, Sometimes.

Did I mention I started a Tumblr? I started a Tumblr.

YOS is still home to my writing if I ever get time to do any ever again, but in the mean time I wanted a quick n' dirty place to post my drawings and comics but they wouldn't let me tape them to the Taco Bell drive-thru so I made a Tumblr instead. Thanks for checking it out.

Tonight on Murder, She Blogged

In the Interminable Period of Solitude, I've been known to solve the occasional mystery, although lately I've mostly been working on The Case of Sam Adams.

I'll get to the bottom of this!

It's true, I enjoy a good sloshed sleuthing. You might even call me a regular Nancy Drew, although I would say "wrong number" and hang up on you. Which leads me, by sheer narrative force, to my new hobby: prank calling.

No, I kid. Combining my deductive powers, drinking prowess, and love of themed entertainment, my friend Darby and I have invented a new way to unwind after a long day. I now spend the weekends sitting around the living room JBF-ing!

What. I told you I was lonely.

"JBFing," of course, is the term we coined for our new favorite leisure sport: drinking and watching Murder, She Wrote.

What. I told you I was lonely.

"JBF" stands for Jessica Beatrice Fletcher, but naturally I suspect you knew that, didn't you Sheriff?

Always when I'm pooping.

The great American past time of JBFing was invented on July 4, 2011, out of Darby and my mutual admiration for Angela Lansbury and shared apathy for getting off the couch.

From Bedknobs and Broomsticks to Beauty and the Beast, Angela Lansbury starred in every alliterative-B-titled movie of my formative years. If you're not familiar with her work, here's a biography I made up:


Angela Lansbury was born a bright-eyed, apple-cheeked senior citizen in the rolling, grassy hills of a small village somewhere endearingly white quaint. In her youth, from ages 40-60, she was a cabaret dancer on the stages of Paris, much admired by all for her infamous talent of shooting ping pong balls from her voluptuous jowls. In 1945, she ended the war with her keen ability to root out and put a stop to all shenanigans. From there, Lansbury took America by storm, starring as Jessica B. Fletcher in the hit TV series Murder, She Wrote and probably some other stuff. In 2010, she received an honorary doctorate from Hogwarts and became my backup grandmother.


Like the shores of our nations, the limits of our knowledge and man itself, the rules of JBF-ing are ever-evolving. Mostly because we make them up as we go along, and as we go along, we get increasingly drunk.

The entire series--all 12 seasons--is streaming on Netflix. So if you are up to the challenge, behold: the living cannon that is JBF, the Murder, She Wrote drinking game. We drink for...

Opening Credits



Oh. Wait a minute. I think you want this.

Theme music -- BOM BOM BOM BOM BOM bom bom bom BOM BOM ba da bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bah-bah bom BOMBBB

Cabot Cove


The best part about this game is that apparently we're not the only people that do this. We quickly found and adopted this rule from 2birds1blog: "Drink for every time someone does something colorful because they're crusty New Englanders."

In the interest of inebriation, we've widened this category to include any reference to Cabot Cove, Maine, Lobsters, chowder, crustaceans, boiled scrod, New England, being from a small town, or Dunkin Donuts. That last one hasn't happened yet, but New England logic dictates that it will.

Indistinguishable Accents -- Set in Maine, the accents on this show usually fall somewhere between John F. Kennedy/Mayor Quimby, an indistinguishable southern drawl, Cockney, and a deaf person from Minnesota.

Celebrity Cameos -- As JBF travels the globe sending helpless and unwitting innocents to their deaths with her mere presence, she crosses paths will some well-known faces.

Shut up, Jerry Orbach!

See here, Leslie Nielsen!

Don't roll your eyes at me, Robert Goulet!

Local Law Enforcement / Amos Tupper -- Drink for The Fuzz. The Po. The Man.

The Legend.

Whatever you call him 'round these parts (where there is only one sheriff), he can't keep JBF down. She WILL solve the case, contaminate your crime scene, handle the murder weapon, stroll/break into your office, interrogate witnesses, and solicit confessions from suspects, whether you like it or not. So you better get on board, mister, and have a spot of tea.

Dead Bodies -- Bonus drinks for every episode after the first half-dozen, when Jessica Fletcher still appears to be mildly shocked that a corpse mysteriously turned up on her vacation. I'm guessing by Season 12, she'll be phoning it in. Speaking of which...

Outdated Technology

Phones with cords? Drink!

VHS? Bitch, please.

Drink for pay phones and tape decks! Drink for filing cabinets and film! Drink for every time someone says "Fax me the report." or "Turn on the radio." Drink for maps! Drink for books!

DRINK FOR CROSSBOWS.

Typewriters -- The most outdated technology of all. Any time you see JBF at her typewriter or whenever a typewriter appears on screen, drink like there's no such thing as Ctrl+Z...

I only laugh when I make a typo. And I never laugh.

... or like you take dictation from Don Draper.

Shut up and stop being a woman.

The "AHA!" moment -- Drink after a seemingly meaningless action or innocent homonym inspires a JBF-style epiphany. For example that I am making up at 2 am:

Detective: "I'll put your bags in the trunk of my car, Jessica."

JBF: "The trunk! Oh how silly of me. Captain Crunch trained the elephant to murder Count Chocula by squeezing him to death with his trunk!"

Old Men Hitting on Jessica Fletcher -- Her husband is dead and her friends and acquaintances are run down by driverless cars or bludgeoned with candlesticks, but Jessica Fletcher still gets more play than a bingo card at a senior center.

Can you blame them?

She appears to turn them all down, but just in case, Leslie Nielsen better have some Werther's Original Condoms on deck.

Active Senior Citizens My personal favorite. Take a celebratory sip any time you see an AARP member engaged in activity that could cause them to break a sweat or a hip. Murder, She Wrote's protagonists could damn well could be your grandma, so every time JBF breaks into a trot, rides her bicycle, gardens, goes fishing, or defeats the Nazis on a broom, drink to her health!


Track Suits -- From the very first episode on, JBF runs for exercise...

...presumably to make it plausible for an aging widow to fend off young streetwise thugs like Andy Garcia ("white tough #1").

"You gonna call the police? What, do you got the phone in there?"
- thugs trying to steal JBF's purse during the 1984 pilot episode

JBF jogs in style, so drink to her signature blue track suit and any other ones you see.

Go Go Gadget Fletchercopter! -- see Outdated Technology.

Those are just some of the more consistenly played cards in the JBF deck, but I encourage you to toast her royal Lansburyness whenever the moment moves you. Off to the cupboard with ya now Chip, it's past your bed time.

You can rest safely, knowing I am on the case...

Fuck I'm Sweaty (.blogspot.com)

My skin is glistening
and I'm positioning
my swampy thighs before the air conditioning.

Hey capital city
this weather is shitty
I could slip'n'slide home with the sweat on my titties.


The metros swelter
I'm running for shelter
The sun's thinking 'Yeah, I could totally melt her.'

This thermageddon
has got me sweatin
flippin my shit like Mary Lou Retton.


Please baby please
It's 100 degrees
I'd let you fart on me just to feel a breeze.

There's nowhere to hide
I think I died inside
I got an ultrasound and my eggs were fried.


Burnt up like Freddy
on the serengeti
I'm not even a guy and my balls are schwetty.


Gettin hotter and hotter
in line for Harry Potter
I'd fight Voldemort for a glass of water.


I swear I'm tryin
to keep from fryin
but last time I was this hot, I was petting a lion.



If the temp would go back
the beers i'd throw back
if it gets any warmer I'll swim in the Potomac

I need a cold beer.
When is it cold here?
Is this the same city I moved to last year?


Nature is a dick
making air this thick
walking down the street's like swimming in Bisquick.

Still by far the worst
is my parching thirst
If you promised me a lemonade, I'd do high-five Fred Durst.

Maybe.

Breathe? Don't wanna.
The streets are a sauna
It's hotter in DC right now than it is in Ghana

Please don't be cruel
Let me in your pool
Samuel L., tell the heat index to "Bitch, be cool!"