Cosmocking: January '08.

I think I'm going to make snarking Cosmopolitan magazine into a regular feature. It's the most famous women's magazine, it's a tool of the Oppressors (which is to say, women with a limited and low view of womanhood), it once ran a story claiming HIV couldn't be transmitted in the missionary position, and most importantly, it's a really easy target.

So! January '08 issue! Hillary Duff on the cover! Top story "Dirty Sexy Sex"! Let's get cracking!


Page 46:

It's a strange thing, but all guys harbor a desire to be humorous. So when he cracks a joke or makes a comical observation, make it clear that you got it (and enjoyed it). Saying "That's hilarious!" should do it.

The fuck? If it's funny I'll laugh, and if it's not funny I won't. I mean, I try to be polite and all, but supporting his hi-fucking-larious ego is not my damn job.

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Starting page 97, there's an article with this premise:

Cosmo offered top pleasure experts a challenge: create a novel, naughty booty move.

How do you get to be a "top pleasure expert"? (I'm more of a "bottom pleasure expert.") Anyway, all of the moves are as old as the hills and painfully tame, but two of them are entertaingly stupid:

Having a Ball
[Fuck on an exercise ball.] The exercise ball will roll out from under you if he thrusts too hard or too fast, so your workout partner has to restrain his motions--no wild bucking--which will keep his desire on a slow, super-hot boil.

1. Oh good. I hate hard fast fucking and wild bucking.
2. Considering that my partners and I are all somewhat physically awkward, I know exactly how this would end. Thud.

Sweet Treat
Ask your guy to lie on his back comfortably in bed, then take a can of whipped cream and spray him from his navel to his upper thighs... slowly lick all of it off his body.

Good Lord does it take balls to call this "novel." But every guy I've ever been with, the area between navel and upper thighs has had an awful lot of hair. It's also kind of a big area if I'm going for full coverage here. So I'd be eating about three cups of sticky-sweet cream mixed with coarse body hair. Urghh.

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Starting page 101, there's an article you should really read for yourself as the whole thing is too hilariously insane to do justice with quotes. It's called "Get-Inside-His-Head Games" and it's three solid pages of retarded "what if you were on a desert island..." type questions to ask your boyfriend, along with keys to massively over-interpreting his answers. A sample:

Making Music: Ask him to imagine he's wearing a pair of musical gloves. They're covered with electronic sensors that activate when they're rubbed together. Tell him to pretend he's making a beautiful piece of music with the gloves. Then ask him to show you how he'll create the song.
...Get a sense of what he craves in the sack by sizing up his movements. If he rubs his hands together slowly and gently, try being a bit more sensuous in bed. But if he's rubbing his hands together hard and fast, you might want to show more enthusiasm between the sheets.

What. The. Fuck. Not only is this a horrible and ridiculous thing to ask an adult to do, it won't tell you anything. Brandon plays music for me (on a guitar, not on his magic imaginary glove hands) and his style of playing has nothing to do with his style of fucking. Why should it? They're two different freaking things.

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On page 105, lines to get guys to use a condom (because apparently "Please use a condom" just won't do):

"I love how uninhibited I feel in bed when I know we're being safe. Rowr!"

Wow. That was already awkward before you made the noise.

"Whoa! You're big to begin with, but that thing makes you look huge!"

"What the fuck, honey, it's five microns thick."

"How awesome is it that with these, we can go all night?!"

"Oh, you mean because I won't have any orgasms?"

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Page 148, in an article about "Why Love Can Make You Crazy" (the whole thing basically says that women are "naturally" inclined to turn into crazy clingy weirdos after one date):

"My first love treated me so well, I couldn't get enough of him. I'd call him tones of times a day, first to say 'I love you,' then 'I need to talk to you,' and then 'Why aren't you returning my calls?!" I didn't see how extreme it got until my aunt saw my phone bill and pointed out that I had called him 53 times one day and 68 the next!"

Holy shit, woman! Barring purely utilitarian calls ("I can't make it at six, how's seven-thirty?") I don't think I've ever called any guy more than once in a day. I mean... they have jobs and friends and stuff, you know?

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Pages 150-151, "Sex Snafus That Ended Up in the ER," is too boring to be worth retyping, but I just wanted to point out that almost all of the stories have been debunked on Snopes, and some are medically ludicrous.

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Finally, this isn't a sex thing, but on page 174:

Pumpkin Ginger Martini
1-inch cube of ginger
1 t. unrefined sugar
2 oz. maple syrup
2 t. canned pumpkin puree
3/4 oz. lemon juice
2 oz. Agua Luca

Ew.