Hand firmly up. I’ve been perusing the Men’s Health website a lot lately, as the title is aptly named after one of my pipe dreams and I no longer have opportunities to look at a diverse range of extremely fit and fuckable adult males in person anymore.
I wouldn’t suggest you do the same. Not because their articles are poorly written or their advice is subpar, but because you — a man who voluntarily clicked on one of my blogs — aren't part of their intended audience. You, like me, are likely a vile and disgusting subhuman with no drive and zero values. Attempting to follow their advice will only make you destruct quicker than you already are. Take this recent listicle from them for example.
If you do happen to be married or in a serious, long-term relationship, then I took it upon myself to provide more realistic alternatives to their ideas and tips for you:
Holy shit. Quite literally do anything other than this. Look at yourself in a full-length mirror. You’re 37. Even if you’re not 37, you’re 37. You have the complexion and build of a snowman made out of expired spray foam insulation, and you’re only getting paler and fatter as this quarantine persists. All the grotesque contours of your body are completely visible from underneath your increasingly tighter-fitting clothing to the point where you actually look a little bit less gross naked than you do fully clothed, for whatever that’s worth (nothing).
I just can’t imagine reaching a state of delusion and denial where someone like you (and me) would think it’s a remotely mediocre idea to spend any amount of time learning a dance sequence to a song called “Savage” with your weathered spouse.
I’m that bitch (yeah)
Been that bitch, still that bitch (ah)
Will forever be that bitch (forever be that bitch)
Besides, you have the rhythm and coordination of, well, the anthropomorphic blob of Cream of Wheat cereal that you are.
I’m the hood Mona Lisa, break a n***a into pieces
Had to X some cheesy n****s out my circle like a pizza (yeah)
You’d be better off slobbering all over your neck beard while you struggle to learn the hand motions to Baby Shark.
DO: Learn a new dessert recipe (may I suggest a strawberry rhubarb pie)
There’s endless variations of pies and cobblers and crisps and crumbles that you probably haven’t tried yet, and they’re all delicious. At least derive some type of extremely temporary pleasure from your inevitable trajectory toward obesity, divorce, and death.
Like fingerprints, every person has a unique taste in pornography. Even identical twins. It’s a hobby that should strictly be reserved for solitude. The category and specific type of porn I want to consume is susceptible to changing several times per day, and I’m me. Statistically, there’s just no chance you and your spouse will fully enjoy the experience together.
Best case scenario is the two of you will share a quick chuckle about how comically large the porn man’s penis is. Ha! That’s way too freaking big, huh?! You’ll find false solace in the fact that dicks that large “aren’t even pleasurable for the girl,” and she’ll find false solace in the fact that no guy “actually prefers a girl who’s had that much plastic surgery and meth.” You’d both be catastrophically wrong.
DO: Watch Requiem for a Dream together.
It can get slightly worse and more depressing for the two of you, albeit in the form of fictional cinema, but slightly worse and more depressing nonetheless.
There’s a none point none percent chance that fucking and/or getting fucked by your spouse will be more enjoyable while you’re simultaneously standing underneath a constant stream of liquid set at mutually-disagreed-upon temperatures.
DO: Take a shower separately, and then wait until you get in bed together to consider having sex before ultimately deciding against it.
I’m pretty sure that would just be “having a meal together,” but I’m imagining a couple trying to “spice up” their failing marriage by uncomfortably sitting criss-cross-applesauce on their living room floor and eating hastily-made cold cut sandwiches and traditional Chex Mix out of the cob-webbed picnic basket they found in their garage. Fun!
DO: Have a stay-at-home nap competition (with whatever you could scrounge up from the pharmacy or medicine cabinet).
See who can go longer. Keep track of times and personal records.
Unless your home is somehow more shitty and uncomfortable than a 30-square foot unfurnished nylon triangle, than I couldn’t imagine an activity less appealing than pitching a tent in your backyard and opting to spend an entire night lying on the bumpy ground in an outdated sleeping bag with your spouse instead of just sleeping on like a bed or couch inside your real home.
DO: Have a multi-room indoor sleep over with each other
Play a fun little game like “rock, paper, scissors” to see who gets the first pick in the room draft.
You’re at a point in your relationship where the two of you completely exhausted every single talking point imaginable, one hundred times over. Your wife will frequently re-tell you the same story, word for word, because she assumes she already told it to her boyfriend and not you. And you’ll do the same, because you’re just fucking stupid. Regardless, this game will be a gigantic waste of time. Grow up.
DO: Play a game of "Swap Phones And Apple Passwords."
While this certainly could be a thrilling surprise for your wife's "gay" pilates instructor, Marcus, to accidentally dig up in your future ex-yard 10-20 years from now, you aren't Marcus, so the prep work will be all for naught.
DO: If you made it this far I don't even know what to tell you anymore.