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Speaking Of Dignity... If dogs are man's best friends, why do we make them beg? Dignity for a dog is a pretty low priority, I guess. But who cares about dignity when you can lick your genitals? I'd trade dignity for that any day. If people could lick their stinky areas with ease, would there be a societal taboo against it? I'm sure there would. Would it be against the law? Even if they jailed you for licking yourself, who cares!? Lock me in a cell with my easily accessible genitals, and I'm a happy camper. I wonder how severely people would judge you for a little self-licking? What level of taboo would I be violating? Would it be like picking your nose? Or as bad as having sex with a corpse? "Speaking of having sex with a corpse..." That's a fun phrase to start a conversation with. Here's a fun game: Try saying it once for every tie being worn at a party you're attending. Bow-ties count, so wedding receptions are an especially fun place to play. If you're the best man, work, "Speaking of having sex with a corpse..." into your toast and earn bonus points.  And while I'm on the subject, I'd like to correct what I previously wrote about wedding etiquette. Apparently, once the couple exchanges rings, sex with the bride is considered adultery. The wedding reception, "Sexual Free-Period" I discussed is not as widely practiced as I thought. I guess some people interpret the phrase "Funky Chicken" differently than I do. Weddings are a funny scene. I often wonder if the same thoughts are going through everyone else's heads as we watch the ceremony: "That couple is definitely having sex tonight." I'm not looking forward to my wedding night consummation. Too much pressure. I have enough performance anxiety even when I drag home a bruised and rug-burned barfly at 2 am. My wedding night is going to be a disaster. After drinking all day, my funk stump will be numb from booze and my angelic bride will look me in the eyes and say, "Um…wanna order a pizza?" I have a feeling that on my wedding day, champagne will be the only corks popping. And since we're talking about "popping" and weddings…. Have you ever heard about how in the olden days, they used to hang the blood stained sheets out the window of the honeymoon suite to prove that the bride's cherry was popped? (I've never been a huge fan of the phrase, "pop her cherry." It sounds far too yummy for something involving blood and torn flesh. ) The blood was supposed to be proof that the bride was a virgin and that her hymen ripped during the couple's first sexual union. Of course, most newlyweds had some animal blood on hand just in case the woman wasn't as chaste as the village imagined her. I want to bring the bloody sheets tradition back. Wouldn't that be cool! Heck, I'm not even going to wait for my wedding. I'm going to start hanging soiled linens out my window every time I get laid. Oh, forget that...that'll be forever before I get to hang anything. I'm gonna start hanging bloody sheets every time I masturbate. Yeah! That'll be COOL! Yeah! I'm gonna start right away! I better stop by the butcher on the way home from work to get some blood. That'll give a chance to play our game some more, "Hi Butcher! Speaking of having sex with a corpse...I need a bag of ox blood to go." "And while I'm waiting…Do you mind if I lick my own genitals?" 
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