American Sex: A Better Way
If you haven’t had a pregnancy scare, you’re just not doing it right.
Sex has existed for over 6,000 years, since Eve fucked that snake. But good sex has only been around for 240 years, since George took Martha over his desk at the Second Continental Congress to celebrate the birth of our nation. It is fact that America perfected sex. Before the USA reinvented the marital act, folks hadn’t even come up with role-playing yet, and people were actually attempting to emotionally connect with their partner during sex. This is just one of the many sad ways that nerds, losers, and Europeans were boning before 1776.
From what I understand — and I beg you to not laugh — some couples are still doing it wrong. While I do not know any of these broken souls personally, my heart goes out to them, and I have written this list of sex tips with the hope that my fans can share this information with their autistic family members who deserve good, American sex.
Before I begin, allow me to share my sexual resume:
I have been an American since my birth almost 58 years ago. I have been having sex for almost 49 years, and I am still considered one of the great lovers living today. This makes me the leading expert on how to make love like an American, from the moment you first begin to hide your erection at dinner to the moment of completion, when you accidentally say “I love you” to the woman who will one day become your third ex-wife, Tamara. It suffices to say that I know my way around a pubis.
Sex Tip #1: It does not do to dilly-dally.
What are you waiting for, son? If you’re a real American — and I pray that you are — you know your stiffy has a lifespan of about 10 seconds if not promptly bagged and put to use, so get busy!
Drip some candle wax on your anus. Do some blow. Flip through a stack of Car and Driver. Whatever you’ve got to do to really get frosty. But avoid conversation at all costs. Women, small talk will make men drowsy and unable to perform. Men, chit-chat will make women think about their sister, and then you’re locked in for thirty-five to fifty minutes of tears and rhetorical questions. When the mood strikes, there’s naught to be done but plow on.
(Jewish friends, I recommend pre-cutting the hole in your sheets. Major time saver. You’ll be able to screw and get back to listening to the Dodger game on radio in no time.)
It is central to The American Way to really plug in and fire up. All of our greats have done it — Wilt “The Big Dipper” Chamberlain, Richard “Tricky Dick” Nixon, and Dale “The Intimidator” Earnhardt, among others. Each of these heroes attacked life, liberty, and the pursuit of doin’ it with gusto, not to mention they had nicknames that women found to be sexually arousing.
This brings me to my next tip.
Sex Tip #2: During sex, never be yourself.
Now let me be clear: I do not condone sexual identity theft. I have been the victim of this crime in the past and it is highly damaging. Because of my reputation as a mind blower in the sack (I have turned many women homosexual because I refused to marry them and they did not want to go on having heterosexual sex if it was not under the weight of my thick thighs and waist), several haters have impersonated me to bed loose women, subjecting them to sexual experiences that were both unsatisfying and contrary to my romantic character. Once, I was accused of being an ass man. It is only through my work ethic, immense appetite, and extraordinary sexual prowess that I have overcome the wrongdoing of these haters.
But to be frank, I have never once portrayed an honest version of myself during sex (except that I love large breasts, both in the bedroom and at the community pool). Instead, I get inspiration from re-imagining some of our nation’s greatest moments in a sensual context. Then, I get to crushing flesh.
For instance, one time when I was with my first wife Barb, I told myself that I was American pilot Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger and her uterine lining was the Hudson River. Boy, did we mess up that California King. I mean, look, she was speakin’ in tongues and that’s just true. I didn’t ask, but I’m pretty sure she climaxed fourteen times.
During the second hour, she just pulled out a cookbook and started looking for recipes, and listen, I don’t know if that was like an ironic metaphor for something that I just wasn’t catching, but I think she was thinking, like, “This heroic man is working up an appetite and I will reward him when we are through here.” That night, I inseminated her, and eight and a half months later she bore me my strongest son, O’Brantley Phillips Crimshaw.
Only Sully could have pulled that one off.
Tip #3: Keep mirrors near the site of the marital act.
Americans invented sex from behind. Colloquially, this method of intercourse is known as “doggystyle,” because it is favored by man’s best friend. What is not known is that dogs used to mate like Mormons, face to face on a bed of gravel, until being exposed to The American Way and making it their own.
Sex from behind has many advantages, particularly if you have positioned a full-length mirror near the bed, futon, or on-the-floor mattress in your new, post-divorce one-bedroom apartment. From this position, you can really see all the good bits get a-movin’. There will be considerable dangling, swaying, and jiggling reflected back at you, helping you keep the sturdy mound or the damp crevasse necessary for an all-night rut session. This vantage point also gives the male man a clear view of his technique and the opportunity to see if he should continue paying Bernard for private fitness training, or if he should go back to ripping the elliptical at the Y three days a week.
Trust me. If you watch yourself make love, you’re gonna bust one. And you might not get out in time, meaning you’ve got a pregnancy scare on its way. Wow. That’s how you know you’re doing the Lord’s work.
An American pregnancy scare has two benefits.
First, it stimulates the economy. When a couples faces the impending doom of an unexpected child, they start working their fannies off, and that’s just true. I tell you what. My last book, Immigration Is For Cowards: Stay in Mexico and Tough It Out, was written after a three-day weekend in Vegas. I didn’t know who was going to slap me with a paternity suit, but it was a virtual guarantee that in nine months I’d be making a seventh child support payment. It was an honest-to-goodness cash grab, and I’m not proud of it, though I think there are definitely some cogent passages, especially when I touch on how bad Indian food is. Look, when I wrote that book, I created jobs. Somebody had to type it, somebody had to print it, somebody had to sell it. None of that would have happened if I hadn’t stared myself in my reflection’s face for 8 or 9 rounds of hot, American sex in America’s most American city.
Second, a pregnancy scare keeps our enemies at bay. Today, 4 billion Chinese will be born. Tomorrow, those 4 billion Chinese will mate in an unholy union with 4 billion Iranians. America must keep pace if it wishes to protect The American Way. The more unwanted children this nation produces, the more maladjusted adolescents will populate our armed forces. And that’s just what this country needs.
American lovers: the future of the world depends on you. We can all do it better.