I’d Rather Drink Than Fuck

Stop laughing. Yes, I’m for real, and I’m not really a prude either. Or impotent. Much. I’ve been in serious relationships before, sometimes lasting for several years, and I’ve also had casual sex a few times. I checked it all out, thoroughly researched it, purely as a favor to my dear readers, and now I’m here to tell you why it’s extremely overrated. I may even expand my case to the thesis that sex is completely redundant and just plain sucks, period, but perhaps that would be over your silly heads, so maybe I’d better hold back a little.

Okay, time for truth: Sex is overrated because you have to work for it and you get basically nothing in return.

It’s totally not worth it. Yes, it’s that simple. Sex gains you nothing. It is a complete waste of time. It’s only fun while it lasts and that doesn't make it any better than getting shit-faced drunk for no reason whatsoever instead. Yet sex, and the quest for it, is always considered a noble cause among pretty much all social circles and age groups, while everybody looks down on other mindless short-term satisfying activities such as taking drugs. Why is that? I really don’t know, and I’m sure that surprises me as much as it does you, since that clearly doesn’t happen too often, but it’s true; I can’t imagine why. There is no difference. You may argue that drugs are bad for your health, but I’m pretty sure that statistics would show that the risk of catching STDs is way higher than the risk of serious damage due to drug use. Of course, you can take measures to rule out most possibilities of getting pregnant or some (other) disease, but so can responsible drug users (which is just a nicer term for experienced drug users but who’s arguing semantics here?).

I don’t even believe in one-night-stands. Not because of the usual moral drivel we’ve all heard thousands of times bef,ore but because it’s the worst way to have sex at all in my opinion. You get nothing like you get out of long-term relationships (i.e. nasty sex whenever the other one involved feels like it – oh, and maybe love or something) and it’s still way too much trouble if you just want to shoot your load. First, you have to hook up with some idiot chick at some bar or wherever, and then even spend some money, no matter how little, buying her a drink or something. There’s talking, there’s pretending and, ultimately, there’s self-denial - all things I don’t really approve of. Then, most of the time, you end up spending the night together somewhere.

The night.

Let’s say that’s an average eight hours or something like that. For maybe an average of thirty minutes of sex. Do I have to spell it out? That equation sucks. Are you seriously telling me you had more fun in those thirty minutes than you would have had being out all night instead, partying until the crack of dawn? Are you going to remember those thirty minutes and tell your buddies about them for years and years? Fuck no. It’s safe to say it will be forgotten and not mean anything to you five minutes later. Otherwise you clearly are a pathetic piece of shit.

Now that I’ve laid it all out, I figured that here was the right place for some explanation and some concessions, not to be confused with back-pedaling (an entirely alien concept to me):

Of course, I’m not totally oblivious to the force of the natural sex drive; our ever yearning libido. After all, I’m supposed to be at my all-time sexual high at my age right now, I guess. So what? There are easy alternatives. I firmly believe in masturbation and I believe in hookers. If you look down your nose at people having to pay for sex you’re full of shit. Everybody has to pay, it’s just that the sophisticated among us would rather pay with our money than with our souls. Relying on hookers takes away the waste of time and effort to search for partners, and, furthermore, it doesn’t jeopardize your peace of mind. Yes, I believe in prostitution as the perfect means to fight your sex drive, and you can quote me on that.

To a considerably smaller degree, and I’m talking microscopic really, I also believe in relationships. Actually, right now I don’t believe in relationships at all. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be anything more negative and dispensable than fucking relationships, but I guess that could have something to do with me just recently having gotten out of a serious one that lasted way too long and still haunts me all the time. And by “just recently” I really mean a little over a year, a fact which just convinced me that relationships are indeed complete and utter crap and offer nothing remotely good whatsoever in the long run. Forget what I might have said earlier about people being together and all that lovey-dovey crap. It all sucks and it never works.

But let’s get this straight: if you think that I just sounded like I was glad I finally got out of that greatly loathed situation so I could enjoy the awesome benefits of the single life with hookers, you couldn’t be anymore stupid and wrong. The only benefit of being single is that you don’t have to answer to some uptight bitch anymore, and you don’t have to be jealous and constantly worry about what the little whore is up to again behind your back. Most people only bitch about having a tremendously hard time being faithful and living monogamous, though. They miss being sluts or something. My answer to that is: who cares?! It’s all in your own vain little head. One vagina doesn’t feel, look, taste or smell any better or worse than the next one. It doesn’t fucking matter who gets you laid - it's just pussy on parade. At least admit it, you just want to brag and feel good about your achievement, because that’s really all there is to it: a false, shallow sense of achievement. The sweet empty success of a conquest in the bag.

The ubiquitous blatancy and showing-off concerning sexual bravado makes me sick. It doesn’t make you a better person whether you fuck a million times in your lifetime, or whether you or never get laid once. There’s nothing to brag about. I simply don’t understand it. Anybody can get laid as much as he or she wants to, and I mean anybody. There’s an abundance of ugly people on this planet and an abundance of insecure ones too. If you really want to find a partner, you will. Aim low, what do you care? It’s all for your imaginary tally stick anyway, isn’t it? The only things that could hold you back are honesty, self-esteem, timidity or a sense of shame. Ask enough bimbos if they’re going to fuck you and grab enough asses and you’ll have a good quota in the end. See if it makes you happier.

If it does, then let me congratulate you on being a complete jackass. Too many people measure their success or failures in life by the frequency of their sex affairs. It doesn’t matter if otherwise you’re a total loser with the IQ of an ape and no talents whatsoever. Their whole bliss is based on sex. And they even think it’s totally legitimate and cool to boot.

Another thing that strikes me as funny sometimes is the phenomenon as described in the last paragraph, just relating to “skills” this time. There doesn’t seem to be anything quite as important as being “good in bed”, whatever that means, considering that it’s such a thoroughly objective issue. That’s also why there are so many books you can learn from that actually enable you to make anybody have multiple orgasms in the wink of an eye and all possible partners out there all rate you exactly the same, right? End of sarcasm. And if you actually have any remarkable special skills, whatever that’s supposed to be, why would you brag about it? Are you seriously proud of something like that? It’s not that big of a deal. Learning how to satisfy a certain woman is not any harder than mastering some video game after playing around with it for a few days, a few weeks or whatever length of time. Besides, it’s not like anybody ever believes you anyway and there are plenty of other, better ways to just come off as a giant dork - for example by educating yourself and work with computers or something. But come to think of it, people who openly brag about being the best lay in the history of mankind must have some serious self-esteem issues. And just because I really hate such people, let’s take it a little further and assume they all got raped in their childhood.

God, how I hate people like that. “Dude, I fucked those two hawt-ass chicks last night.” – “Uh-huh, should I pretend I didn’t think you’re full of shit?” – “It’s true, man, smell my fingers!” – “Uh, no thanks, I believe you, really.” – “Anyway, they both called me seven times today already to tell me nobody has ever made them come like that before. You should have heard‘em scream!” – “Yeah, stud, you rule. You know what I’m good at? Bashing in the faces of people who insult my intelligence with such mind-numbingly pretentious bullshit.” - “For real?” – “Yeah. Here, smell my fist.”

I’d go into greater detail but there aren’t any signs on my keyboard that are suited to imitate the sounds of the phenomenal ass-whooping I’d give that little show-off.

But to get somewhat back on track, all I know is that even though alcohol is supposed to cause blackouts and permanent memory loss and stuff, I still have an abundance of great memories and immortal stories from binge drinking, while I couldn’t remember anything special about fucking if I tried. If you think about it, it’s completely dull and predictable, even compared to the most dreary shit-faced night-out on the town. Drinking is adventure, while screwing is merely surrender to an animalistic, reproductive instinct. If you think the latter was preferable under any circumstances you’re not worthy of reading anything on my page. You stand against everything I cherish. You make me sick. Just leave. Or stay, for all I care, just expect to be insulted on a regular basis.

Sure, my constant sexist talk about celebrities in the other column might appear to be contradictory to this right here but it’s really not. Nothing wrong with fantasizing about beautiful women. It’s just as natural and not half as chimerical as actual sex, which is just nature fooling us into believing we actually consciously wanted it and it was a nonchalant, positive thing when in reality it’s only the dull, irresistible drive to assure that humanity can continue to live and fuck and breed and never stop. Falling in love with hot celebrities and drooling over their numerous nude pictures and home-made sex tapes, on the other hand, is pretty much a conscious thing as you realize it’s completely unrealistic. Nobody believes that your favorite piece of perfection-come-flesh pictured on a movie screen is going to drop by one day to live with you happily ever after. It’s just a tool to escape the grim reality of relationships or anything else. Much like alcohol, to come full circle again, which unfortunately still is a highly underrated alternative to love, sex and everything in between.

I don’t know if citing an authority like Gang Green will help giving this article a much needed deeper impression of credibility, but I’ll do it anyway, because I can, and because it’s from a cool song and I stole my title from that one anyway:

Were gonna die when the sun comes up
we’ll drink until we drop
my blood is 100 proof
were gonna stumble twist and crawl
99 bottles of beer on the wall
I’d rather drink than fuck

No doubt about it, I cant live with out it - alcohol
it is my destiny

You’ve got the beer we’ve got the time
You’ve got the coke gimme a line



Get all sappy on my Guest Page.