Tag Archives: sex

Article: Slut-shaming meets metaphysical psychobabble

Each time a man connects with a woman sexually and releases his life form energy within her, he leaves a part of his information (DNA) in her birth canal.

‘Casual sex’ with multiple partners can intertwine the energies and spirits of a lot of people into your own aura if they are not severed and cleansed. You become joined to every person with whom your partner has slept, as well as all the partners those people had. This type of “soul clutter” can be felt by your partner’s subconscious. Even if they are not completely in tune or aware of the extra-curricular sexual activities, they still are able to sense the subtle disturbances of multiple energies and/or familiar spirits that have entered causing restlessness and inner turmoil. The longer and more intimate the contact with another person, the more powerful the reinforcement and the interaction of the bond becomes, and all the more difficult it is for them to untangle and leave.

1. What the actual fuck?

Even as a person who has very complicated feelings around sex, who feels there is a distinction between fucking and making love, and who knows undoubtedly that monogamy is a happier situation for her than any variation on polyamory, I still don’t get why people get so uppity about what other people choose to do with their bodies.

Are you happy? Is it consensual? Are you being smart about mitigating risk (pregnancy, STIs, or otherwise)? Good. Then go about your business! Fuck one person. Fuck no one. Fuck multiple consenting adults. Fuck fast, fuck slow. Fuck because you want to get off. Fuck because you want to share something deeply intimate with someone else. Fuck because you want kids. Fuck because you’ve made a permanent decision to not have kids and that kind of freedom is amazing.

Our bodies do not carry a tiny imprint of the DNA of whoever jizzed inside us a week, a month, or ten years ago. We are not who we have slept with and there is no such thing as emotional vibrations or whatever the fuck this article – and I use that term loosely – is talking about. Sex can absolutely be a deeply emotional experience, and the chemical components of semen can be a molotov that encourages bonding between sexual partners. But that doesn’t mean that our bodies carry the memories of all out past partners, and their partners, and their partners’ partners, and so on. People, your genitals are not being haunted by orgasms past.

As a society we need to put an end to this obsession we have with other peoples’ naughty bits and how they do or do not make use of them. Hetero, homo, with one personal or with a hundred people – what people do in the bedroom… or shower… or kitchen table… or balcony overlooking the city – is not anyone’ concern but your own and the people you are sharing your body with. As long as everyone involved is safe, happy, and consenting, who gives a fuck who or how you fuck?

2. Metaphysical word salad bullshit.

Soul clutter, aura, internal temple, vibration system, conjuring powers

I… I can’t even with this. The comments section may also actually drive me mad. What happened to critical thinking? Why is this non-information churned out by assholes like David Wolfe, Food Babe, and whatever cretin is responsible for this load of absolute bullshit so readily accepted and parroted? Why are people fellating the alternative health & medicine industry so goddamn hard?

Rayne Constantine, who runs the Insufferable Intolerance blog on Facebook, encapsulated the whole alternative industry pretty well in her article “7 Ways Alternative Medicine Tricks You Into Thinking It Works“:

Alternative medicine is multi-billion dollar industry, one that is entirely comprised of severely underqualified people who missed out on medical school, acting the role of a healthcare provider, dispensing either untested or proven ineffective materials that act as medicine. It’s an industry that is unregulated and actively attempts to exempt itself from the same standard of rigorous scientific testing, its counterpart Medicine is mandated to adhere to. As the name cleverly implies, alternative medicine is the alternative to medicine – it’s not medicine, it’s not based in science and lacks evidence to support even the fundamental ideas of many of its practices.

I read an article the other day that actually tried to sell the benefits of sleeping with an onion in your sock at night. I’ve read other articles on the benefits of basically sitting spread eagle and dousing your vagina with UV. People who have earned their PhD via the magic of Google will sell you on the benefits of detoxing with juice cleanses because apparently they never learned about the role of say, the liver, in the body. And if your meal isn’t made with organic, non-GMO, gluten-free ingredients at a heavy mark-up then you must be a shill for Big Pharma. Wake up, sheeple!

Jokes aside, this shit is dangerous.

This is the industry that is allowing children to die because their parents believe that vaccines cause autism (a claim stemming from a now-retracted paper published on the Lancet that is unanimously refuted by proponents of evidence-based medicine).

This is the industry that is actively participating in the extinction of animals to facilitate the collection of exotic ingredients for remedies that are unproven to be effective.

This is the industry that is causing people to hemorrhage money to buy products that are ineffective at best and dangerous at worst.

I’d like to leave something here… The Skeptic’s Creed that is recited at the end of every episode of Cognitive Dissonance:

Credulity is not a virtue
its fortune
mommy issue
babylon bullshit
couched in scientician
double bubble toil and
pseudo quasi alternative
accu punctuating pressurized stereogram
pyramidal free energy healing
watered downward spiral brain deadpan sales pitch late night
Leo Pisces cancer-cures detox reflex foot massage
death and towers tarot cards
psychic healing crystals balls
bigfoot yeti aliens
churches mosques and synagogues
giant worms
atlantis dolphins
truthers birthers
witches wizards
shaman healers
conspiracy doublespeak stigmata nonsense
expose your sides
thrust your hands
doubt even this.

I’m Not Your Fucktoy: An Open Letter to the Asshole Ex Who Propositioned Me on V-day

Dear Asshole Ex,

You didn’t beat around the bush (pun intended) when you propositioned me:

“I’m stuck in the UK on a business trip and am having a pretty lonely valentine’s night. Finding myself fantasizing about you … Rekindle an old spark on the side? Our dirty little secret?”

For someone who fancies himself a writer, I am amazed at the lack of creativity in your pick-up technique. You must be taking tips from Paul Janka.

For someone who used to wine and dine with the best of them, I am disappointed you didn’t at least offer to buy me a hot meal first. Where’s the effort?

For someone who is an up-and-coming CEO who is used to getting his way, I’m amused by your inability to lock down a companion on this particular day of the year. It is my greatest pleasure to turn you down, without the faintest hint of guilt or empathy.

The old me would have hesitated to say no. The me that was hungry for attention and afraid of hurting a relationship with anyone who could potentially make me feel wanted, sexy, beautiful. Anyone who could make me feel necessary; because as a woman who was abused as a child, raped as an adult, and subsequently taught by society that I am nothing if I’m not pleasing a man, sex means I am needed. The old me was so warped that she may have replied coyly before suggesting a tryst when you got back in town. The old me would have done it, and her heart would have ached for a long time after, because there is no greater betrayal than that of oneself.

But things have changed for me: in my head, in my heart. I think it started the day that I tossed you aside in the first place. That was when I realized you were toying with my emotions. On reflection, I should have seen it sooner. You dangled the threat of your possible deportation in front of me for weeks – I suspect just to see the panic on my face confirming that I needed you. And when at last you revealed to me that you had been “kidding” and the threat of deportation wasn’t a concern, I was stunned. I went home and thought about it, then dumped your sorry ass for manipulating me (on Christmas Eve, for added punch). I realized that I was worthy of more than head games and that you were simply not worth my time.

I don’t imagine that you will learn your lesson any time soon. It’s clear that you assert yourself enough that people rarely stand up to you or point out your shortcomings. You get off on proving to people that you are much bigger than your stature would suggest and you take people apart just to see how they tick.

The old me might have felt sorry for you. The connection I have found with others is something I imagine you will never know. You will probably never allow yourself to be totally open and at the mercy of someone you love, which is a bittersweet gift that I wouldn’t sell for any amount. You will have a string of half-intentioned relationships lacking any semblance of passion. You will achieve much in business because of your lack of commitment to anything else; but, in the end, your work will consume you and you will be left with no one to share in the glory.

The old me is gone and the new me laughed uproariously at your joke of a proposition. Instead of pitying your botched efforts at romance, I got myself a Valentine’s present: I sipped at a big glass of merlot and watched a movie with someone who means far more to me than you can ever hope to mean to anyone. And at the end of the night, when I had settled in to bed and the wine and last-minute purchase chocolates had gone to my head, I masturbated furiously to the thought of men who are nothing like you.

This day of the year is only what you make it. Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day, friends.