Sex Is Bad

Plus it will make you pregnant and really super fat.

Sex is not love. Sex is sex.

It means really yucky fluids. It means big, stinky men. It means stolen moments in an office storage closet with Larry from payroll. It means waking up in a strange apartment where no one's done the dishes since 1973.

You should carry Lysol at all times.

Men lie. They'll tell you that you're pretty. They'll tell you that they love you. They'll tell you that you don't look fat and they'd be happy to go shopping with you for shoes.

Don't believe them.

Look in the mirror.

You are fat.

If you got any fatter, they'd trade you on the commodities markets.

If you do have sex, remember: Always use protection. It should be clinically approved.

If you don't have protection, try wearing a scuba diving suit. Do not use anything made of lumber or asphalt.

Sex can make you pregnant. Pregnancy means a child will grow inside you. Think of your body as an apartment building. You've leased your stomach to a new tenant. It might be a boy or girl. But neither will pay the rent.

You should sue them.

The Yellow Pages can recommend a qualified attorney.

Eventually you will have a baby. Babies are a 24-hour job. There are no paid vacations. No 401(k). Babies are bad employers. You should call OSHA.

Breast-feeding a teething baby is like having a chicken gnaw on your boob. Think about this before you have sex. Do you really want to be attacked by chickens?

Your baby will probably be ugly.

The children are our future. The future will need braces. And piano lessons. And a charge account at Planned Parenthood.

But don't expect a man to support you. Don't expect him to buy you flowers and super-cute outfits. Don't expect him to take you on vacations to Florida and Massillon.

He will take you to Quaker Steak & Lube. Before you have sex, think about all the saturated fats.

Once you get pregnant, he'll mistake you for a footstool. He'll place beer cans and sandwiches on your head. Remember to take them off before you go to school conferences. Teachers shouldn't expect free beer and sandwiches all the time.

You're a woman.

Not a servant.

Before you have sex, ask your man: Do you have a job? Do you have a hot car? Are you willing to rob Home Depot if you answered no to the first two questions? If not, you have no business being with him.

He probably doesn't even own a gun.

If your man leaves, don't blame him. Blame yourself. You should never have had sex with him in the first place. He isn't even cute. I can't believe he still wears a Members Only jacket.

Whatever you do, don't shoot your man. You might go to jail. Jail is bad. It's like living in West Park. They won't let you bring your throw pillows.

Instead, take the time to explore who you are. What are your aspirations? What are your goals? Do you really think the KFC management-training program is right for you? Wouldn't you rather be really successful, like me?

(That was a trick question. Don't think for a minute you could ever be like me! You're a whore. I'm not! LOL!)

Consider taking up a hobby. Learn to macramé. Write haiku. Make crafts that I can buy inexpensively at those quaint community art shows.

But whatever you do, make sure they're green. I need something that would go well in my kitchen.

Take time to enjoy life. Jump rope. Fly a kite. Run in a field of marigolds. Join a reenactment group and pretend you're in the battle of Gettysburg.

Just don't let a pretend doctor amputate your leg. If he does, call the AMA.

It's your body.

It's your choice if you want to keep that leg.

Don't let a man tell you otherwise.

After all, sex is not love. Love is poetry. Sunsets. Soft summer rain. It means sharing your most intimate thoughts. Even the ones about Tony Danza.

You won't find love on a bar stool. In the back seat of a 1986 Buick. In the men's room of a Winking Lizard.

You can only find it in your heart. And if you can't find it there, call in a search party. It might have gotten lost in your spleen.

Before you can love someone else, you must first love yourself. You must believe you can fly. Believe you can touch the sky. You must think about it every night and day. You must spread your wings and fly away.

And for the record, I'm against racism.

And children who slaughter their classmates with automatic weapons.

And people who are mean to cats.

I know I'll get a lot of angry mail. But I feel strongly about this.

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