Wednesday, February 15, 2012

On Anal Sex

Either a 12 year old girl or a 10 year old boy called up the book store I work at and asked me if I had the book "Anal Sex."

What I said, as (s)he giggled, was, "Cute," and promptly hung up, because what I wanted to say was not appropriate for a public work environment.

What I wanted to say was:

1. First off, you suck at this. You're supposed to try to get me to say "anal sex," not just ask me and say it yourself. Were you just looking for a reasonable excuse to say  dirty word? Because you blew it, my friend. You are worthless at prank calling. I went to high school with two kids who would tag-team local establishments during Free Period as an incestuous hillbilly household, complete with phony voices. One of them is a motivation speaker and life coach. That is how to be a success. You are just garbage. All you've done is look like an idiot and waste about seven seconds of my day. Congratulations. I'm glad you found a way to entertain yourselves at 3:43 on a Monday afternoon between getting dropped off at your bus stop and your parents coming home with Chipotle.

2. There is no such book as "Anal Sex." I know this for a fact. A) Because I work in a book store and I've seen every sex book we carry, carted off sometimes two-at-a-time to the back of the Children's department by groups of teenagers looking to chortle and pop a chubby to the Kama Sutra line drawings accompanying Dr. Ruth's explanations of how to properly digitally stimulate your woman's clitoris, and B) because I'm a huge perv and I've been on the internet for longer than a minute and a half. Listen, I could find you "Anal Sex for Dummies," or "The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex" for men or women. Anal Health, Prostate Health, Healthy Marriage, Sex Coupons, "Why Do Men Marry Bitches?" "The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Girl Sex," I've seen all of them. The ones about butt sex? Yeah, we don't typically carry those in the store. Give me 2-4 days and I can get one to you, either here or shipped, discretely, straight to your house. Or gay to your house, I don't care. I changed out of work clothes in the handicapped stall of the men's room after work last week, and I found an open copy of Playgirl wedged in the baby changing station. Second time that's happened. I really don't give a care about how you get your swerve on.

Just don't be an asshat, kids.

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