Bad news for all the ladies out there (“out there” extends beyond our audience consisting of a cat walking across a keyboard and randomly hitting this site). In a recent Journal of Sexual Medicine (no, not Playboy) study, researchers claim that the widely popular “G-spot” on women does not exist. Of course, they released this study several days after the New Year to avoid the ever embarrassing “Worst Lovers in the field of Science” award (the best, once again, going to Stephen Hawking for his Theorem on Booty Shakin’ in a Zero G Environment).
This whole study sounds like a bunch of crap to me. Who am I supposed to believe, years of women’s magazines telling me “73 different ways to get your boy to be a MAN in the sack!” or a bunch of scientists from England, quite possibly the most frigid locale outside of Antarctica? Let it never be said that I’ll hold back on our faithful readers. I’ve taken it upon myself to do some investigative work (unfortunately this was not a physical “hands on” experiment but merely a theoretical one).
Here now, my queried subjects and the results from my own personal study:
Online porn – Getting a woman to achieve an orgasm apparently requires little to no effort on the part of the man, as every inch of a woman is her G-spot. To keep it in PG-13 terms, a man need only be anywhere in a four block radius, have a body weight and thickness of hair slightly less than Chewbacca (see Ron Jeremy) and occasionally ask if she “likes that” (which, without exception, she does). Oh, he also possesses a phallus rivaling the monsters from “Tremors”.
Google Maps – “Turn East towards the Atlantic, 100 miles.” This may be a Darwinian protocol embedded within the app.
Television – I need to tease and gel my hair 5 inches straight up, gain enough muscle mass to carve the Grand Canyon with my bare hands, and wear enough fake tan lotion to put me next in line for the Syracuse Orange mascot. I don’t care if that is the answer, nothing’s worth it.
Video Games – “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBS!”
Medical Doctor – “Son, I’m a proctologist. Wrong end.”
Cosmo – As far as I’ve extrapolated, It’s always in the next issue, but doesn’t matter since he’s a dirtbag and doesn’t deserve you. Also, I’m a fat fat fatty fat and need to tone my buns if I want to get the ring from Mr. Right.
Genius at the Apple Store – “We’ve still yet to understand the two button mouse on a computer. You really think pushing the right buttons on a girl is our forte?”
Recently Divorced Neighbor – “According to my hag of an ex-wife, I couldn’t find it if my life depended upon it. But as she has no soul, that heartless bitch is merely a succubus put on this earth to steal my very life essence, so she probably doesn’t count.”
Mom – Mostly tears and incoherent bawling of “her baby growing up too fast”.
Dad – No response, just a smack to the back of the head and mild threat of a boot up the ass. I don’t think that’s where it is.
My Own Personal Sexual History – After contacting several ex’s (they exist), uncontrollable laughter didn’t seem like positive data to include.