Is Sex Even Cool at All?

Since the mid 2000s when I would anxiously wait 15–20 minutes for the photoshopped torso of a fake nude celebrity to fully load on my PSP screen, I’ve been convincing myself that sex is, without a doubt, the coolest and best thing in the world by a substantial margin. Since I was doing speed runs to 30-second Girls Gone Wild promo clips and three-a-day wrist workouts under my MLB-themed comforter and baseball bat ceiling fan, I’ve been revering sex as the absolute pinnacle of the human experience.

Since Petra Nemcová, Veronika Vareková, and Daniela Peštová were providing me with makeshift canvases and youthful aspirations to visit the Czech Republic, I’ve been 100% sold on the idea that sex is the dopest thing that a person could possibly do.

Since I was picking up extra shifts at the butcher sh—you get the point—for the majority of my life I just assumed that sex was really fucking cool and good.

But now, over a decade later, as a fresh-faced 26-year-old boy who’s quickly approaching an appropriate age to start experimenting with intercourse, I’m conflicted and confused. Should I even be excited anymore?

Let me rewind. 

It all started a little over a year ago, when I first became aware of a certain recurring Twitter trend which has been making me progressively more pessimistic about the coolness of fucking. And recently, it’s gotten so bad that I lost all motivation to even pull the plug on my (fictional) virginity (for the sake of this blog).

When I first saw this tweet, which resonated with a mid-size metro area worth of sex-havers, both of my heads simultaneously winced in confusion. Was it really possible that having sex is less cool than an ordinary, platonic discussion with someone who is, say, fluent in sarcasm? Was I really supposed to believe that having sex is less appealing than having a conversation like this:

One time, I said “21” in response to a girl’s question about the age requirements of a local bar, and apparently that’s some kind of vine reference, because she responded by loudly screaming horrific shit like “Look at all those chickens!” and “Merry Chrysler!” Not only was that not a “cool” experience for me, but I would compare what I felt in that moment to whatever the polar opposite of an orgasm is.

Tweets following that format dominated the platform for a couple months, and by the beginning of 2018, I was halfway down the path from involuntary celibacy to voluntary celibacy. I felt cheated and victimized. Were these selfless Twitter users finally revealing the harsh truth about sex? Were my porn star idols not having nearly as much fun as I thought they were?

Were they just putting on a front to disguise the fact that they were actually Yawnny Sins and Jordi Ehhhh Nino Pollo? Were nuns, monks, and priests actually the lucky ones for not fucking?

Eventually, the trend died down and Twitter started ranting and raving about sex again. It was back to being the all-powerful holy grail, and the sheer desire to do it was causing adult men to tweet shit like this:

The third world was craving sex more than ever, and admittedly, I was back on board the fornication train.

Let’s fast forward…

Last week, as I was doing my minutely ritual of opening the Twitter app, I noticed something particularly unsettling. It was back. The tweets were fucking back and more viral than ever.

With an alias like “Clout Boi Shorty” and tweets that are powerful enough to tarnish relationships, one would safely assume that he’s had more than an adequate amount of trial runs at sexual intercourse (with girls) to make an accurate hypothesis about its coolness. So with that said, I’d be inclined to believe that having sex is less cool than…having a conversation that’s so boring and dry that you completely run out of topics to even talk about?

Is having sex really less cool than being able to purchase a mediocre beverage because one of your Twitter followers sent you $2.50 on Venmo?

Is having sex really less cool than doing too much coke with your boys and enthusiastically making plans to open up your own sports bar in Florida until your serotonin levels gradually diminish to nothing and you’re still awake at 7am?

Is having sex less cool than…having a mom?

Is having sex less cool than fucking a sweaty virgin who’s rolling on molly in a sticky tent at a music festival taking someone to their first rave?

Is having sex really less cool than pulling over at the Sheetz parking lot in Kent, Ohio so my girlfriend of two-and-a-half years can break up with me after I finally asked her “why were you being so weird tonight?” during the car ride home?

Okay. I did this at the Panera Bread on 29th and 7th literally yesterday, and if it’s cooler than having sex, than I’d rather just save money and hit up the Asian spot on 31st instead.

With a name like Mr. Jiu-Jitsu, I’m assuming that he’s fucked more than enough hoes and choked out more than enough bros to make a valid comparison of the two.


What the fuck?

Alright, I’m done here. It’s settled. I will voluntarily not even be attempting to have sex anymore. Don’t even fucking try to make me do it.