What the Hell is Wrong with Dove Chocolate? (A Brief History.)

By Ann

This is an old grievance. I have been asking this question of myself and others since I first noticed the bizarre messages inside of my Dove Chocolate wrappers.

By no means am I the first person to notice this. And by no means will I be the last. But while many write off Dove’s wrappers as nothing more than slightly misguided branding attempts, I believe that Dove knows exactly what it’s doing.

For decades now, Dove Chocolate has been executing a masterful three-pronged marketing scheme, born of Hell itself. And they’ve been doing it right under our noses.

Allow me to explain…


For those of you who have seen The Witch, I call this the Black Phillip stage: “Hello, consumers. Do you like the taste of… unprotected sexual encounters?”

Actual advice from Dove chocolate wrappers:

-“Wear short skirts.”

-“Flirt with strangers.”

-“Temptation is fun… giving in is even better.”

-“Stir your sense of pleasure.”

-“Indulge your every whim.”

-“Wink at someone driving past today.”

At first, you may be thinking, “Boy, this seems like strangely intimate advice to be receiving from my chocolate. ” But what you may not have realized is, Dove is playing the long-game.

While those other chocolate-selling chumps were trying to cast a wide net, ensnaring as many consumers as possible, Dove thought: “No. We don’t need them all. We need loyalty, dedication, a select following that will heed our every wrapper. There’s a word for that, isn’t there? Ah, yes. A cult! A cult that doesn’t know it’s a cult. That we’ll lure into getting themselves or others pregnant, and who will feed their babies delicious Dove—thereby imbuing them with a bloodthirst for chocolate at an even earlier age. As the generations pass, Dove’s zombified horde will continue to breed, growing ever larger, wearing even shorter skirts and flirting with even more strangers!! Yesssssss. Soon, SOOOOOOOOOOON.”

And so, Dove’s marketing team sat back, twiddling their thumbs, waiting to unveil their newest tidbits of wrapper-advice: “Skip your pill today!” and, “The Withdrawal Method—Works Like a Charm!”

But then they realized: wait. Wait a second.

Our plan is contingent upon our unsuspecting zombie-worshippers having lots of babies. Maybe even a family. But you know what’s distracting? Families. Loved ones.

We can’t have our minions surrounded by love, feeling quietly fulfilled, and leaving Dove Chocolate by the wayside.

This brings us to…


Again, Dove’s marketing team leapt from the shadows and took to their white-boards: “But how can we make our brainwashed candy-serfs love Dove more than their ever-expanding herds of children? How can we compete with the affection of a cherished loved one?”

They knew their cultists loved Dove. But what they realized was, it had to be more than that. They had to fall in love with Dove. They had to develop an all-consuming romantic attachment, sure to baffle themselves and others, to an edible object.

And how to accomplish that?

A voice called out with the answer: “I’ve got it! Quick, hit on them! Hit on the chocolate-chattel!”

And a new wave of chocolate wrappers was born.

More actual Dove wrappers:

-“You know what? You look good in red.”

-“You’re gorgeous.”

-“You have a great laugh.”

-“Chocolate loves unconditionally.”

-“Chocolate won’t let you down.”

-And last, but certainly not least: “Chocolate. Always your Valentine.”

To that last wrapper, they considered adding, “ALWAYS. DO YOU HEAR ME, CHRISTINE? YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE DOVE, CHRISTINE.”

But they thought that might be tipping their hand too much.

So, again they sat back, and watched and waited and lurked. With delight, they saw their cult fall head over heels for Dove, brimming with false confidence—wearing red and laughing—and, all the while: swelling and bloating, stuffing chocolate into their children’s faces and their own.

It was all so easy.

But. That was just the problem. It was too easy.

As it turns out, Americans take almost no convincing to become emotionally dependent on chocolate. If they’d fallen so quickly for Dove, what was to stop them from—*gasp*—falling for another? What if some flashy new chocolate came along to sweep them off their feet?

There was only one way to ensure they’d never leave.

Which brings us to…


“We have to destroy them.” Dove’s marketing team realized, “It’s come to this. It’s not enough for them to be lovelorn zombies. We need ego-shattered, chocolate-dribbling husks. We need them to shipwreck their own lives, and to grasp at Dove as if it were the last plank in the vast, roiling ocean that threatens to consume them. It’s the only way to be sure that they’ll never have the courage to leave.”

It wouldn’t be hard. They’d do it gradually—sneak in questionable advice that would mount with each wrapper. By the time their victims realized they were destroying their own lives, it would be too late to salvage them. A grim task, but it had to be done. It was for the good of Dove Chocolate.

Thus was born their newest wrapper initiative, the ruthless deathblow in their three-pronged reign of chocolatey terror.

Yep, still actual Dove wrappers:

“It’s okay to be fabulous AND flawed!”

-“Sleep late tomorrow.”

-“Wing it.”

-“Quote your dad.”

-“Calories only exist if you count them.”

-“Don’t settle for a spark… light a fire instead.”

-And perhaps most cruelly, once they were confident that their prey had been ensnared in a web of helpless despair:

“I don’t know what else to tell you.”

They stopped just short of, “Quit your job!” and, “Medicine is a trick!” Also, “Stop seeing your therapist,” and “Dove hears great things about day-drinking.”

Because, again, subtlety is important to Dove.

But there you have it.

The plan was complete. Dove had founded their following, bred and brainwashed droves of Dove-crazed addicts, and then… crushed them all in its velvety palm.

The rest of us look right past Dove’s scheme, hiding in plain sight.

We open a Dove wrapper and raise an eyebrow. Maybe we think, “Oh, Dove, you sure are a little strange sometimes!” But then we eat the chocolate, and we don’t give it a second thought—just as Dove intended.

After all, Dove’s nefarious trap would never work on us. We’d never be stupid enough to follow advice printed inside a piece of chocolate.

But then, that one I read the other day was actually a little inspiring.

And, I don’t know, I do look good in red…

Spring Fashion Trend Report!

By Ann

Hey there, fashionistas! I’ve got the latest inside scoop for you, as relayed straight from my recommended Facebook ads.

That’s right, folks! The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and society’s got some weird ideas about what you need to put on your body. It’s time for a spring fashion report!

Brace yourself, because this hot, new trend is going to take your breath away. Literally.

Intrigued? Tired of breathing anyway? I sure hope so, because the latest 2017 trend is…

A woman in a bikini. That same woman wearing a corset.


But wait, you may ask yourself, didn’t we already do that one? And wasn’t it terrible?

Yes to both! But nothing says fashion like a retro trend everyone forgot for a reason. Time to bring Victorian back, bitchlets!

Victorian in a corset, looking sassy. It reads, "YASSSSS! GET IT GURL"

Don’t take it from me. Take it from Waistshaperz.com!

The waist training practice came to prominence in Victorian times. Wearing a waist cinching corset, exercising and eating a healthy diet can radically reduce your waist size; instantly giving you a beautiful sexy silhouette while permanently getting rid of unwanted inches around your waist.

WaistShaperz high quality reshaping waist shaper is a unique latex material which attacks unwanted fat and impurities within your body. The thermogenisis created within your body will allow your body to rid itself of harsh toxins and impurities, through perspiration. The tight compression will help to reduce food volume intake which will help achieve the healthier practice of smaller meals…

I’m not sure I understand the exact mechanics of how latex is supposed to attack unwanted fat, but Waistshaperz said this corset would cleanse me of “impurities” not once but twice—and threw in a misspelled version of the word “thermogenesis” to boot, so that sounds like science to me!

Now, just to be clear, if you really want to try to lose weight while sweating, it might be more efficient to, you know, exercise. And, heck, if you’re specifically intent on holding your body in an uncomfortable position for so long that it starts to quake and attack your sweat glands, I hear good things about yoga.

HOWEVER. If you want to slim down your waist, but you don’t want to risk being seen as one of those unseemly sporting women, gallivanting about in their new-fangled trousers—why then, corsets have got you covered! You don’t have to go jogging, lift weights, or come within a fifty-foot radius of those trouser-wearing trollops! (Because some of us bitches are tryna stay marriageable up in here, you know?) All you’ve gotta do is shove some crap out of your waist’s way—and there’s no easier way to do that than to squeeze your silly, stubborn body into an ever-tightening vice!

That’s just science.

Before and after of a womans organs, having been crushed by a corset. Reads, "YASSSSS! GET IT SCIENCE"

Besides, if you insist on keeping ALL of your organs in their original places, let’s face it—you’re being inflexible. Your insides need to keep up with the times. What could go wrong?

Except that you might completely debilitate your body to the point that you can’t even sit upright. But when has that ever happened?

Victorian with such a tiny corseted waist that she cant sit up on her own.


Well, okay, that might happen. But you’ll be so hot, you won’t even need to sit up. Men are going to take care of that fine ass all the way up until you’re, say, 35 and your looks start to go. Don’t worry, though, if you snag a good one, he won’t abandon you. He’ll just convince everyone you’re hysterical and lock you in an attic to live out the rest of your days. Free room and board, though, so close enough—amirite?!

Man tightening dismayed Victorian womans corset for her. Reads, "YASSSSS! Get it patriarchy"

Happy Women’s History month, fashionistas!

Oh, and if you really want to be a trendsetter, look ahead to the next retro craze, sure to pop up in fall 2017: footcrusherz.com.

What do you need walking for anyway? If you’ve been training your waist properly, you already won’t be able to stand!

You’re Right, Fox News: Alpha Women Are Unable to Love

By Ann

The other day I was scrolling through my newsfeed, and I came across the headline: “Society Is Creating a New Crop of Alpha Women Who Are Unable to Love.” Immediately, I knew two things: one, it was going to be a Fox News piece; two, it was going to be by my most favorite author in the whole world, Suzanne Venker.

Readers may recall that Venker and I have tangoed before, back when I read her equally thoughtful article, “The War on Men.”

Just like her previous article, this one took me on a magical voyage of discovery. See, even though she’d explained it to me before, I’d forgotten that equality is for idiots. It is literally impossible to sustain a relationship in which a man and a woman bear equal weight, share honest opinions, and find compromises together.

Don’t believe it? I didn’t either! Therein lies the journey of discovery.

Ready? Ms. Venker begins with an anecdote about her mom and dad’s troubled marriage. Let’s jump in together, shall we?

Despite my mother’s allegiance to my father, she never quite mastered wifedom—for one reason: she was wholly unyielding. With my mother, everything was a fight. Everything was “No” unless she determined it was appropriate to say yes. 

Ruh roh! Now, all we know so far is that Ms. Venker’s parents didn’t have the best marriage, and we’ll just have to wait and see where this is going. But, right off the bat, I have a bad feeling: it sounds like Ms. Venker’s mother was familiar with that pesky concept of “consent” all the kids keep yammering about… I’m betting that leads to some trouble!

If my mother wasn’t the one who made the decision, the decision couldn’t possibly be good. Every so often she would appear to cede to my father’s wishes, but only if she happened to agree with him.

Yep, there’s that problematic word “agree.” I knew consent was going to get them into trouble! But it sounds like it might have been more than that. Ms. Venker, are you saying that your mother had to make every decision and was unopen to compromise? That does sound like genuinely damaging behavior. Just to double check: that’s only okay if the genders are reversed, right?

Indeed, my mother was the quintessential alpha wife. An alpha wife micromanages, delegates and makes most or even all of the decisions. She is, quite simply, the Boss.

Whoa there. Whoa. A woman as… the Boss?! If the very idea weren’t spooky enough, you’re really freaking me out with that capitalization.

Alpha women aren’t exactly new, but they were once a rarer breed. Today they abound. There are several reasons why, but it’s in large part due to women having been groomed to be leaders rather than to be wives. Simply put, women have become too much like men. They’re too competitive. Too masculine. Too alpha. That may get them ahead at work. But when it comes to love, it will land them in a ditch.

I don’t know about you, fellow reader, but I shudder to imagine ditches full of alpha women. I can see them now: climbing on top of each others’ heads in their manly hiking boots to catcall any unsuspecting fella who wanders too close. “Mmm, jangle them tiny balls, man-baby! Yeaaaah, that’s what Alpha Mama likes! Get over here so I can express my opinions and say ‘no’ to things I don’t want to do!”

Every relationship requires a masculine and a feminine energy to thrive. If women want to find peace with men, they must find their feminine—that is where their real power lies. Being feminine isn’t about being beautiful or svelte, or even about wearing high heels (although those things are nice). Being feminine is a state of mind. It’s an attitude.

Well, hold the ding-dongin’ phone. It is?! You mean I can wipe off this lipstick and kick off my six-inch heels, and it’s still possible to be female? Darn, I wish I’d known that before breaking my ankle trying to look “svelte.”

In essence, being feminine means being nice. It means being soft instead of hard. And by “nice,” I don’t mean you should become a mouse.

Oh! Not a mouse. Maybe like… a squirrel? Is that too big? … Sexy chipmunk?

Men love women who are fun and feisty and who know their own mind! But they don’t want a woman who tells them what to do. 

Gotcha. Know your own fun and feisty mind, but try to keep it a secret. Real women know how to have a good time… on the inside.

Jackie Kennedy once said there are two kinds of women: those who want power in the world, and those who want power in bed. American women have become laser-focused on the former and have rejected the latter. In doing so, they’ve undermined their ability to find lasting love.

Now, this here is a fresh perspective. Instead of trying to obtain any power “in the world,” women should focus on… increasing their sex appeal. HOW COME I HAVE NEVER HEARD THIS IDEA BEFORE??? Someone tell the past ten thousand years of human history, ‘cause this is gonna blow their minds.

I’m wondering, though, what exactly does that mean, “power in bed?” Does that mean that, in between BJs, you might use your feminine wiles to secretly leak some of those fun and feisty thoughts into your man’s brain? And then, if he feels like it, he might do one of the things you secretly implanted, thereby granting you some sort of power in the world? I dunno, it seems like we might be sticking a middle man in there. And by “there,” I mean our vaginas. But I’ll have to defer to Ms. Venker here: maybe it’s more feminine to take an indirect route.

All a good man wants is for his wife to be happy, and he will go to great lengths to make it happen. He’ll even support his wife’s ideas, plans or opinions if he doesn’t agree with them. That’s because a husband’s number one goal is to please his wife. If he determines his wife cannot be pleased, that’s when the marriage is in trouble.

Wow. Now this is blowing my mind a little. See, ‘cause when I read that paragraph, my first impulse was to do crazy things like replace “man” with “person” and “wife” with “person” and “husband” with “person.” And then it would’ve sounded like pretty decent marital advice to me. But you’re right, Ms. Venker, it’s much better if it’s gendered and only applies one way.

Men are just so much simpler than women. Not simple as in dumb, as is often portrayed in the media. Simple in that they have far fewer needs than women do. What men want most of all is respect, companionship and sex.

OH! Yes, now I see why that marital advice had to be gendered. It’s because men are very different from women. Women hate respect, companionship, and sex. But we do like chocolate, flowers, and spinning elaborate webs in which to ensnare our prey. (Keep that last one under wraps, though, okay? It doesn’t sound very “nice.”)

If you supply these basics, your husband will do anything for you—slay the dragons, kill the beast, work three jobs, etc.

Hear that, ladies? It’s time to power-hump your man to knighthood! Or to premature death from trying to work three jobs simultaneously. It may sound harsh, but remember, it’s your wifely duty.

Now I know what you’re thinking: that I’m putting everything on you. I am, and I’m not. Your husband is 100% responsible for his own actions. If he makes stupid choices, such as getting repeatedly drunk, it’s his job to own up to that behavior and stop it. Same goes for his emotional outbursts, if he has them, or his not coming home when he said he would. Or even his having an affair.

I’m relieved it isn’t 100% on me, because, to be honest, Ms. Venker, this was starting to sound like a lot of work. So, just to clarify, it’s fair to be upset with a man for being an alcoholic, screaming at you, vanishing into the night, or running into the arms of a possibly more feminine woman. (As we all know, these are fundamental temptations for the species, man.) But not if he bosses you around, or fails to provide you with basic companionship, respect, and affection? These standards seem fair.

What I am saying is that men tend to follow women’s lead. Your husband’s actions are more often than not reactions. He’s reacting to something you said or did, or to something you didn’t say or didn’t do. He’s reacting to your moods, your gestures, your inflections and your tone. That’s how men are. 

Right. Because he’s so simple. But not, as you clarified earlier, a moron. No one’s insulting a man’s intellectual capacities by suggesting that he can’t come up with his own actions, moods, gestures, inflections, or tone. These are complicated inventions of the wily lady-brain that men just mirror back at you. That’s how men are.

Don’t just take this from Ms. Venker. I’ve long related to the men in my life as though they were full-on idiot cave men. For instance, I’ve noticed that when my husband gets home from a long day, if I say, “Hello, honey, I made you a nice roast and am naked under this apron,” he’ll say, “Yes, good. Man pleased with woman-wife. Man, too, will be naked.” But one time, just to see what would happen, I said, “Hello, honey. I had a long day at work and was too exhausted to make us dinner. Would you mind fixing us something?” And then he said, “Man hate cooking! Man no understand food! HOW MAN USE KITCHEN? WHAT MAKE FOOD GOOD?? SIMPLE REQUEST MAKE MAN BRAIN EXPLODE!!” Then he stormed off to his study and drank himself into a coma. That was a bad night. And I see now that I could have avoided it.

Another way to think about the male-female dance is to consider the game of chess. In chess, the king is the most important piece but also one of the weakest. He can only move one square in any direction—up, down, to the sides, and diagonally.

The poor inept darling. I’m guessing this is one of those things we women should keep under wraps. If I explained to my husband that he was an inept plaything, I’m pretty sure he’d say something like, “MAN SHOW YOU INEPT! SMASH!!!” Who knows what would come next? Maybe he’d seek out an affair with something more “feminine,” like a pair of boobs stapled to a doormat.

The queen, however, is the most powerful piece. She can move in any one direction—forward, backward, sideways, or diagonally. And how she moves affects how he moves.

He’s also strongly influenced by horses, castles, and bishops. You must be careful never to let him near horses, or your man will also start whinnying, and you’ll never heard the end of it.

As a woman, you can respond to this dynamic in one of two ways: you can resent it, or you can embrace it. I used to resent it. I’d think to myself, How can I possibly make sure my husband isn’t negatively affected by my every mood swing? I’m a Pisces, for God’s sake! My moods shift with the wind! Plus, why am I responsible for my husband’s reactions? The whole thing seemed like a whole lot of pressure, not to mention unfair.


As a result, I embraced my alpha personality as though it were a baby in need of protection. If my husband chose me, obviously he likes that about me. Why should I have to change? Who would I be if I changed? And how could I be someone different, even if I wanted to?


But my alpha ways were bumping up against his alpha nature. We were like two bulls hanging out in the same pen together, and there was too much friction. 

Oh! Goodness, Ms. Venker, I see how that thought chain backfired on you! Wow, to think it almost tricked me, too! I would expect as much from a novice like myself, but how could you, paragon of gender relations, have wandered so far astray? You know you can’t be a bull, Ms. Venker. God made you to be a sweet submissive cow!

And because I had zero interest in my husband adopting a more feminine role, I set about to become the feminine creature our culture insists women not be.

Right, so, submissive cow? Or are we coming full circle back to the not-a-mouse-but-maybe-a-squirrel thing? Are you positive that’s what society’s telling me not to be?

And here’s what I learned: It’s liberating to be a beta!

Oh boy, permanent deference! Sounds great!

I’m an alpha all day long, and it gets tiresome. I concede that I thrive on it; but at the end of the day, I’m spent. Self-reliance is exhausting. Making all the decisions is exhausting. Driving the car, literally or figuratively, is exhausting.

Boy, yeah. Thinking stuff and doing stuff make me sleepy, too. So, are you telling me we can just hand the wheel over to man-bull? Wait, can he come up with the gestures he’ll need to drive the car all by himself? Or should we teach him without him realizing that we’re teaching him?

It took me a ridiculously long time to get it. But once I did, once I accepted that the energy I exude and the way I approach my husband directly affects his response and behavior, I changed my tune. 

Right, right, I forgot we were already controlling him with our every action.

And when I did, something happened. The tension disappeared overnight. Just like that. Well, almost like that. It was a lot of stop and go at first. First I’d handle something the “right” way—i.e. by not arguing with him, or by not directing his traffic, or by being more service-oriented—and marvel at the response.

List of “right” ways to “handle” husband: don’t argue, don’t advise, be his servant. But wait, you’re sure this is easier? That servant bit is starting to sound like a lot of work again…

Then life would get busy, and I’d resort to my old ways. Sure enough, I’d get a different response.

Uh oh, one of those “MAN SMASH!” moments, huh?

So I’d make a mental note of how I messed up and make sure to get it right the next time.

Get it together, you unsexed harpy! Bow, BOW before your Testicle King!

Eventually, it became second nature.

Sounds healthy.

It’s like weight loss.

OHHH, finally a metaphor I can relate to!

Once you realize that diet and exercise is the only way to stay fit, and that sugar and carbs create fat, a light bulb goes off in your head. You’ve unlocked the code to keeping your weight in check. Even if you fall off the wagon (and you will), you’ll know what to do to get back on track.

I can’t wait to unlock the code to taming my man-bull, just like I’ve unlocked the code to carbohydrates. Just gotta keep myself on that wagon of sexy, fumbling servitude.

That’s what it’s like to love a man.

Thank you so much for explaining to me how to love a man.

Once you learn how, you’re good to go. You have all the tools you need. But you have to use them.

By tools, I assume you mean a cookbook, secret agenda, and maybe also a vagina, which I’m going to move we rename to something nicer like “man-appeasement hidey-hole.”

Ms. Venker, Fox News, what else can I say? Hats off. You never cease to enlighten me.

I’d ask my Husband-Overlord to thank you on our mutual behalf, but I don’t think I’m allowed to ask him for things anymore. At least, not outright. Not to worry, though, I’ll get right on secretly guiding him into coming up with that idea and thinking it was his own. MAN-CEPTION! Am I right?

Note: This contains the vast majority of Ms. Venker’s stunning article. I did make some cuts for length. If you’d like to witness it with your own eyes, you can find it here.

The War on Men; or, You’re Right, Equality is for Idiots

By Ann

I just read a lovely opinion piece on the Fox News website. Perhaps some of you have already seen it. It’s called, “The War on Men” by Suzanne Venker. I’ll include a link below in case you’d like to take a look yourself.

Before you do, a warning: if you dive into this article unprepared, it may make you want to dropkick the illustrious Ms. Venker right in her lady bits. Yet, that would be to overlook Ms. Venker’s insight: all that rage you’re feeling is just a product of bra-burning feminists overheating your lady-brain with their fancy talk. Let’s slow down, breathe deep, and try to benefit from Ms. Venker’s profound wisdom together.

Ms. Venker begins her groundbreaking masterpiece by calling attention to the decreasing number of men who are looking to marry. In her research, Ms. Venker found that when asked why marriage has become less appealing, a certain “subculture” of men respond: “Women aren’t women anymore.”

A few paragraphs down you get the additional treat of reading, “But what if the dearth of good men, and ongoing battle of the sexes, is – hold on to your seats – women’s fault?”

My first response was: No, bitch, you hold on to your seat, because I’m about to slap you out of it six ways to Sunday.

But then I got to the heart of the piece. I’m not paraphrasing this. Here it is verbatim:

Contrary to what feminists like Hanna Rosin, author of The End of Men, say, the so-called rise of women has not threatened men. It has pissed them off. It has also undermined their ability to become self-sufficient in the hopes of someday supporting a family. Men want to love women, not compete with them. They want to provide for and protect their families – it’s in their DNA. But modern women won’t let them.

It’s all so unfortunate – for women, not men. Feminism serves men very well: they can have sex at hello and even live with their girlfriends with no responsibilities whatsoever.

… Yep. Those words were written in 2012, ladies and gentlemen.

Now, at first glance, Ms. Venker’s argument might seem wildly offensive. And when she goes on to explain how a woman is sinning against nature if she has a college degree and a career, you realize that at second glance, third glance, and dare I say fourth, it’s not just wildly offensive—it’s a mother-flippin’ catastrophe.

But at FIFTH glance, it becomes obvious that Ms. Venker is on to something. She does make several excellent points here.

Right off the bat, Ms. Venker hits it on the nose: Feminism (a.k.a. that pesky little movement supporting equality) has been nothing but a travesty for women. First of all, it is universally acknowledged that no one wants to be equal. Everyone hates equality. Which is why the United States still has a monarchy. And slavery. Every day we’re thankful we didn’t abolish either of those things. Or let those whiny minorities vote. Because, boy howdy, nothing says the Land of the Free like soul-crushing oppression.

Furthermore, as to the point of men getting to have sex with more women these days, again, Ms. Venker, I must applaud you. They really bamboozled us there. After all, it is impossible that women might also enjoy having sex. Thanks to the Victorians, everyone knows that a woman with a sex drive is suffering from an unnatural illness. Fortunately, her freaky-deaky sexy-time disease can be diagnosed and treated in one of the following three ways: (1) her clitoris is oversized and must be removed via the 100% pain-free practice of female circumcision, (2) the devil is inside her and must be removed via the 100% legit practice of exorcism, or (3) the devil is inside her clitoris and both must be removed simultaneously by screaming Latin while stabbing at her hoo-ha with a scapula.

Oh, and that last bit about men getting to live with their girlfriends without having to be the sole provider… Right again! Sweet Jesus, that’s the worst. You mean men and women now have the freedom to choose the balance that makes sense for them, instead of being crushed by society for deviating from gender roles? No wonder men are so “angry” with the situation.

Hell, I’d be pissed too if someone told me I got to have more sex and work less.

But not to worry, friends, the all-knowing Ms. Venker has a solution for us:

“Fortunately, there is good news: women have the power to turn everything around. All they have to do is surrender to their nature – their femininity – and let men surrender to theirs.

“If they do, marriageable men will come out of the woodwork.”

Boy, I gotta tell ya, I’m with her. I don’t know about the rest of you ladies, but I for one am fed up with trying to work in a man’s world all the time when estrogen makes my thinky-thing so stupid and sleepy. Every time I try to do my job, my uterus gets all tingly and sends sad feelings into my woman-heart.  Then, all the while, I’m busy worrying if my hair looks okay. Even now, I’m staring at it so much it’s hard to finish writing this paragraph! Femininity is some distracting shit, you know?

Plus, I can’t wait to get my soft, delicate hands on one of these “marriageable men” Ms. Venker keeps talking about. I thought I was happy with my boyfriend who loves me the way I am. But now I realize that all I need is a guy who thinks I’m no woman unless I give up the power to choose what’s important to me. Mmm, sweet, delicious lack of agency… My uterus will be so relieved.

In case you want to view it in all its glory, the article can be found here:


Great opinion piece, Fox. I suggest you follow it up with, “The War on White People.”

Update from 2014:

Oh, wait:



How To Write Your Own Cosmo Sex Tips

By Ann

Are you looking to turn up the volume in the bedroom and tired of waiting every month for Cosmo to tell you how? Look no further! With this simple how-to guide, you’ll be writing your own Cosmo sex tips in no time. Here’s everything you need to unleash the creativity of your inner goddess upon your unsuspecting partner.

Before you can become a true sex tip master, you’ll have to do your research. Luckily, it won’t take very long. Cosmo sex tips fall into three general categories. They are as follows:

A. The Physically Impossible

This category consists of tips that are best performed by double-jointed gymnasts with a death wish. Cosmo usually has at least a couple of these per issue, but this one is all you need to understand the category:

“If you and your guy are feeling adventurous, here’s a challenge: Have him sit on the couch, his legs stretched out and slightly parted, knees bent, and feet resting on a hard surface, like a coffee table. Stand behind the couch and, leaning over, place your elbows on either side of his hips as you lower your head between his thighs. With the majority of your weight supported by your elbows, place your knees on the back of the couch, so you’re straddling his face.” (February 2012)

And that’s just the main event. For some smoldering foreplay, puzzle over the diagram you’ve drawn of how on God’s earth you’re going to attempt this. Afterwards, get your romantic cuddle on in the ER while waiting to get your spinal injuries treated.

B. The Fail Safe: When in doubt, touch his balls.

It’s true. Cosmo really wants you to touch your guy’s balls. Now, granted, we’re all only working with so much equipment here, but I’m always impressed with just how often Cosmo manages to wedge in a ball sack. So much so that I’ve started to wonder if their sex column isn’t just written by one guy whose relationship went south because his girlfriend refused to fiddle with his nutsack. But they can’t just tell you that. That would be weird for you. So, instead, they invest in feisty lingo to disguise the fact that a good 75% of their advice is to make contact with your gent’s testicles.

And ladies, as long as you’re making contact with balls, Cosmo is pretty sure you can do anything your little heart desires: pet them, flick them, lick them, slap them with a spatula and yell, “Boy howdy!”

According to Cosmo, you can do no wrong with your boyfriend’s balls. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, might have other ideas about that. But who are you gonna trust here? The guy whose balls you’re fondling, or Cosmo? That question was rhetorical, and the answer was Cosmo.

C. The Downright Surreal

This is, by far, my favorite category of Cosmo sex tips. No doubt, it is a struggle to produce a catalog of fresh sex tips month after month. No, really, after witnessing some of this bizarre advice, I have no doubt. You won’t either. This is the category of tip in which Cosmo makes that blatantly transparent. When reading these over, I can never decide what’s more satisfying to visualize: the sex tip writer banging her head against the keyboard, or the horrified face of the man unlucky enough to take a Cosmo reader to bed.

Generally, the surreal Cosmo tip involves strange props, a fundamental misconception of what most people consider a turn-on, and/or destroying you and your partner’s worldly possessions. I’ve seen advice involving frozen grapes and pearl necklaces that would make you wince, but here are some of my personal favorites:

“Press a fork (firmly, but don’t break the skin or anything) into different parts of his body—his butt cheeks, his pecs, his thighs.” (Aug 2012) Better yet, don’t warn him about the fact that you’re planning to bring cutlery into your love life. Just hide a fork under his pillow, whip it out during foreplay, and smile a crazy smile. Make sure to say something sexy like, “HELL YEAH, SUPPER’S ON!”

“Blindfold him, then give him bitchy directions (‘Touch me here. No, not there, here’). When you can’t be seen, the bossy badass can come out.” (Aug 2012) Oh, yeah, bitchy directions. Mmm, that’s the sexiest kind of directions: “Stop being so ugly. I said, stop being so ugly! Jesus, you’re not very good at this, are you? Now, cry for me. I said, CRY for me, failure boy! Good, gooood, right into this soup bowl. Now, watch me drink your overly-salty tears.”

“Tie his silk tie loosely around his penis, then roll it up and down for a silky hand job.” (Aug 2012) Never mind that it cost him $50. Guys love it when you take their prized possessions and destroy them.

“Lie across an ottoman, and tell him, ‘Professor Wankerton, I’ve been bad, and I need a spanking.” (Aug 2012) Yes, you heard it here first, folks. Professor Wankerton for the win. Alternately, try other surreal nicknames that are sure to make his freak flag fly, such as Sergeant Dickasaurus, Commodore Penis-face, and Captain Winkypants.

“Let him write ‘Property of [his name]’ on your underwear before you leave for work. It’s an all-day reminder that he is your ‘master,’ which is awesomely kinky.” (Aug 2012) Oooh, steamy. That’ll take you back to the hottest time of all, when ladies were men’s property. For an extra sexy treat, see if you can organize your most attractive lady-friends into repealing a woman’s right to vote. Let him watch as you march on DC and duke it out with appalled congresswomen. Cat-fight in pantsuits, anyone?

“Climb on top, and play with just the tip for a few minutes. Then get up, grab some water, and leaving him hanging. When you finally take all of him, it’ll feel like sensory overload.” (Dec 2011) That’s true. Nothing says sexy like sheer indifference. To mix things up, next time you try this trick, don’t come back at all. Pair this with mind-blowing dirty talk like: “Boy, I’m thirsty! . . . Goodbye forever, John.”

“Put a bunch of (clean!) loose change in the freezer for an hour. Tell him to slick your vulva with warming lube then cover it with the coins (outside only!). The cold against the warm? Incredible.” (Aug 2012) And covering your snatch with pennies? The height of decadence. Listen, ladies, you’re about to feel like the sexy Queen of England, dripping in the spoils of your country’s treasury. Or, barring that, a parking meter.

Pick up a couple of sushi rolls, lie down on your couch, and invite your man to enjoy a meal off your naked body.” (Cosmopolitan.com) Because I don’t know about you, reader, but whenever I get turned on, my mind immediately goes to raw fish. And being covered in it. Combine this with the coins tip, and once he’s done with his meal, your vulva can give him change.

Congratulations, you’ve done your research! You now know everything you need to write your very own Cosmo sex tips. Remember, go for anything that is (a) physically impossible, (b) testicle-oriented, or (c) so freaking crazy that just reading about it makes you want to scream uncontrollably. For the best possible results, combine all of the above.


Physically Impossible:

Move your kitchen table directly under a ceiling fan. Then, get your guy to stand on top of the table on one leg like a sexy flamingo. Climb up there with him, straddle him around the waist with your legs, grab the ceiling fan blades with your hands for support, and have at it! At the height of your climax, turn on the fan. Don’t let go. If you’ve done it right, what happens next should thoroughly destroy a bookshelf and kill both of you.

Physically Impossible + Surreal:

Buy an old tape recorder off eBay. Record yourself screaming, “Yeeha!” into it. Then, for an extra sexy surprise, shove it up your hoo-ha, angling the playback button downward. At the height of the action, angle your hips upwards so that the tip of his shaft will trigger your recording at just the right moment. There’s nothing like hearing a mysterious voice screaming at him from inside your vagina to send him over the edge.

Physically Impossible + Surreal + Testicle-Oriented:

Grab him by the balls. Lean in and, using your huskiest voice, whisper in his ear, “I’ve been bad, Captain Winkypants. Cover me in your loose change and pocket lint, knot a silk tie around your penis so it looks fancy, and take me like an animal inside your grandma’s washing machine.” Can you say, “Machine Wash HOT?”

And there you have it. Now you’re a pro. Remember, the sky’s the limit! Lord knows Cosmo uses as little judgment as possible in putting these together, and it seems to work for them.

What He Doesn’t Need To Know…

By Ann

Oh, hi again, Cosmo. It’s me, Ann. You know that I occasionally have a bone or two to pick with you. Well, that’s all water under the bridge now because I was flipping through your March 2012 issue the other day and stumbled upon some relationship advice that has changed my life.

How? I’ll tell you how. You see, there’s an article in this issue entitled, “Shhh. What He Doesn’t Need to Know.”  In this article you advocate three relationship-saving secrets that every woman should keep from her man in order to remain “alluring”:

Tip #1: Don’t tell him what you do on nights apart.

“Maybe you’re just hanging out with the girls, but for all he knows, you’re out having crazy adventures… If you’re in a new relationship, be vague about going out. And if he asks you outright about your plans, you can even be a bit coy. Say, ‘Oh, wouldn’t you like to know, but I look forward to seeing you later,’ and leave it at that.”

Good point, Cosmo. If he knew what you were really doing, he might figure out the kinds of activities you enjoy. No good can come from that kind of tedious oversharing. Here’s how I imagine this tip working in practice:

Guy: Hey, had a good night hanging out with my friend, Tom. We should find some time for you to meet him and the rest of my old high school friends. They said they wanted to get to know you now that we’ve been dating for awhile. What did you get up to tonight?

Girl: Wouldn’t you like to know? 😉

Guy: Yeah, that’s why I asked. Did you wind up going to trivia night like you mentioned?

Girl: Mayyyyyybe. 😉

Guy: So… you didn’t go?

Girl: Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. 😉

Guy: No, but seriously. What did you do tonight?

Girl: Lol, nice try, John. You’ll never know. 😉

Guy: …Are you cheating on me?

Girl: 😀

Tip #2: Hide your cool skills and special abilities so that you can surprise him with them at random moments.

“‘Continually pulling out secret talents or knowledge keeps him at the edge of his seat,’ says Murray [a relationship expert]… Perhaps you’ve been taking an online Spanish class. Keep it quiet, plan a date at a Mexican restaurant, and blow him away when you order in Spanish.”

Another good point, Cosmo. After all, there’s nothing sexier than ducking his attempts to get to know you. It’s even better if he thinks he does and then finds out he’s wrong. For example:

Guy: So, I’m still concerned you might be cheating on me, but I can’t get an answer one way or the other from you so I guess it must be fine.

Girl: It might be. Or it might not. 😉

Guy: Well, que sera sera.

Girl: That phrase is silly. The words are Spanish, but the grammar is wrong.

Guy: What? You don’t speak Spanish. I speak Spanish. I asked you if you did and you said you took Latin in high school.

Girl: I lied. I speak seven languages. (Proceeds to give sample of each)

Guy: What? Wow. Now we really have to take a trip to Europe sometime. With your command of all those languages, it’s a shame you’ve never been out of the country.

Girl: I lied about that, too. I’ve been to almost every country. The ravioli I’m about to serve us for dinner? I learned that recipe in Bologna.

Guy: But you said you couldn’t cook!

Girl: Also a lie.

Guy: But you just let me order a pizza for us. You said you didn’t have any food in the house for dinner.

Girl: I know. Are you impressed with me yet?

Guy: What? No. What’s happening? …Are you an international spy who’s cheating on me?

Girl: 😀

Tip #3: Never reveal your insecurities.

“As soon as you hint to your S.O. that you’re not feeling your best, it diminishes your appearance of being sexy and in charge, and it makes him suddenly see you as a work in progress—neither of which is going to ignite a lusty inferno in your relationship.”

Yes, that makes good sense, too. Of course, he will interpret your honesty as a sign of weakness. Why didn’t I see it all before? Why share the occasional moment of vulnerability that could bring you together when, instead, you could maintain the terrifying façade of a relentless superhuman who has no feelings? Ultimately, I see this as the cherry on top of the mystery sundae:

Guy: Listen, Laura, we really need to talk. I’m starting to feel a little depressed that you might be an international spy who is cheating on me.

Girl: I can’t relate to that.

Guy: What? You’ve never been depressed?

Girl: I have no emotions. I have no weakness. I exude only mystery and allure.

Guy: Seriously? You’ve never felt sad?

Girl: Wouldn’t you like to know? Too bad you never will because my plane for Russia leaves in forty-five minutes. Hmm, time’s getting tight. I’ll have to fly my roof helicopter to the airport. Did you know that I can fly helicopters? Did you know that I had one on the roof? You do now. Or do you? Take nothing for granted. What if it’s all another lie? What’s real, John? Am I real, John? Are you? Can you prove that this relationship ever happened?  Maybe you’re in the Matrix right now.

Guy: Sweet Jesus, are you a cyborg as well as an international spy who is cheating on me?

Girl: Yes. No. Maybe. Probably. Definitely. Never. BOOM. MINDFUCK. IS OUR LOVE A LUSTY INFERNO YET?

Yes, that all sounds about right.

Why have trust when you could trick your unsuspecting partner into thinking you’re a Cyborg Carmen Sandiego who runs around the world boning everyone but him?

And he thought all he wanted was an intimate honest connection? That idiot. You and Cosmo will show him, all right.