Now that More Magazine has been closed, it falls to enthusiastic amateurs to give teenage ladies their sexy tips.
1/ Cover a part of your body with a serviette. Roughly 75% of the way through your steamy sesh, whip off the serviette and say "there's another bit for ya".
2/ Tug at his balls with your teeth, growling. If he asks you to stop, bark enthusiastically like you think it’s a game.
3/ During your horny romp, hold a cup filled with coloured water - and try not to spill a drop!
4/ Initiate an impromptu ding-dong on the conveyor belt at the supermarket checkout. If you’re feeling super naughty, tattoo the barcode for Kellogg's Honey Nut Crunch onto your buttock. When (if) CRUNCHY NUT FLAKES appears on the display, act like the till has said it out loud, and reply “You can get a cream for that!” then wink at the camera.
5/ Size does matter! If you discover that your fella packs less than fourteen inches, fall into a sullen melancholy, and finish yourself off with a wine bottle.
6/ Pop a clarinet reed into his dickpipe, and play him to completion!
7/ Create a sense of mysterious allure by closing your eyes! Double the compelling mystique by demanding "WHO THE HELL IS THIS?"
8/ Grab a balloon from the family-friendly world cuisine restaurant Giraffe, and allow it deflate into your sodden mum-hoop. Let your lover know you’re ready for sex by allowing the stagnant air to barrel out of your goop in a prolonged, fusty queef!
9/ Introduce a new bit of sexy clothing into the bedroom. Three words: crotchless oilskin sou'westers.
10/ Get retro! Hurl a palmful of centimetre cubes into his face mid-climax, and say "Mister! You're spunking big pixels into my bidoof"
11/ Lie flat on your back, and let him use your body as the location for an exciting Warhammer tabletop skirmish. Don't ruin it by bouncing your tummy up and down and saying it's an Earthquake - it's not funny it’s stupid stop it.
12/ Involve yourself in his fantasies! When he’s having a wank, run in with a bone-chilling battlecry and try to land on his dick!
13/ Learn his intimate secrets by rooting around in his internet history and saying you’ll tell the police if he doesn’t see a psychologist!
14/ Add a little exotic spice into your love life by slapping your hand over your open mouth to make a popping sound, and whispering “Ooga Booga” into his ear when he leans in for a kiss.
15/ Don’t be afraid to laugh in the bedroom - pop a “Family Guy In Your Pocket” key-ring into your vajongloid and generate chuckle convulsions on every thrust of his pee-wee!
16/ Break some taboos! Finger a strip of raw veal into his arsehole.
17/ Indulge in some kinky power-play by sporting a 10 inch strap-on, and drafting legislation that restricts his free speech in a state of national emergency.
18/ Bored of the bedroom? Add a little archaic flavour to your repertoire by cramming half a dozen wangs into your plap in the scullery. Don’t get your Labi Siffre snagged in the mangle!
19/ No condoms? Slide an empty can of beans into your mouth for a imperfect but effective dental dam.
20/ Why not leave the beans in the tin? It’ll be like he’s tooting some breakfasty guts.
21/ Tired? Let plate tectonics do all the hard work! Lie across your favourite fault line, and wait millenia for the earth's shifting crust to contort your naked bodies into every sex position known to geography.
22/ Get closer to nature by placing a beetle in your hair.
23/ Try out one of our Positions of the Fortnight! We call this one "A Wanking Pink Guy"
24/ They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. This couldn’t be more wrong! The way to a man’s heart is out of his winkle and onto a tea towel.
25/ A well-placed skateboard can create the sexy illusion that you are floating, gliding, and accelerating down a hill.
26/ Before foreplay, warm a boob on the radiator.
27/ As Fleetwood Mac said: tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies, tell me lies (tell me tell me lies). They would have been alarmed to hear Charles and Eddie sing Would I lie to you baby?, as the implication from the way the question was put was that it was a rhetorical question, and the pre-ordained answer was an emphatic “no!”
Now imagine Fleetwood Mac's relief when Meatloaf walks in, singing I Would Lie For You! And then the relief gives way to confusion when he adds (And That’s A Fact). And a couple of seconds later, Fleetwood Mac realised that it wasn’t a paradox at all, and the two statements are very easily reconciled. The moral of the story is: Fleetwood Mac and Meatloaf immediately went on to do it (sex).
28/ Kiss him on the shins, and keep going until he suggests you do something else, or asks you to stop.
29/ Add a bit of European flavour to your lovemaking by whacking snails across a work surface with a boiled sausage.
We can't let the vital sex tips industry die. Have you got any sizzling sex attacks that you employ on the genitals of your partner?
Tip 21 courtesy of @misterbrilliant's residential sexmastery course
TELL ME SIR DO YOU LOVE AMERICA
Yes I love America
I MEAN LIKE REALLY LOVE IT. LIKE, CAN YOU FEEL IT IN YOUR TORSO LIKE AN UNCEASING STORM
I feel it in my heart, I love America
LET ME PUT IT ANOTHER WAY SIR. TELL ME HAVE YOU EVER / EVER REALLY REALLY LOVED / A MERICA
I love America
MOVING ON TO THE NATURE OF YOUR LOVE SIR. IS YOUR LOVE PROUD LIKE A FIERCE AMERICAN EAGLE OR DOES YOUR LOVE MOVE LIKE A TREACHEROUS BALLOON LET SLIP FROM AN AMERICAN CHILD'S HAND
It is my home, I love it.
JUST TO CLARIFY: THIS LOVE YOU FEEL - IT'S FOR AMERICA, RIGHT? NOT FOR IRAQ. WE HAVE TO BE CLEAR ON THIS
Yes. It is for America.
IF YOU HAD TO BETRAY ONE STATE WHICH STATE WOULD IT BE?
COME ON GUY THERE ARE LIKE FIFTY STATES YOU COULD BETRAY OR BLOW UP ONE ENTIRE STATE AND STILL LOVE 98% OF AMERICA jeff cut this bit out
WOULD YOUR WIFE BETRAY A STATE?
COULD YOU SAY "I'LL ASK HER" REALLY QUICKLY PLEASE, JUST FOR THE CAMERAS, IT'D REALLY HELP
HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT AMERICA
I love it.
SIR, YOU ARE EXTREMELY GOOD AT THIS.
Good at what?
ONE LAST THING, CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT YOUR FAVOURITE AMERICA IS
I love all of America!
EW THAT TECHNICALLY INCLUDES MEXICO
No wait I meant North
YOU LOVE MEXICO OH GOD POO I FEEL SICK WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING GO AND LIVE THERE YOU TURBAN-DICKED COMMUNIST
This is one of the Ricky Gervais horses I was talking about in the title. I have "photoshopped" Ricky into the picture for comparison. Notice the similarity of the mouths.
If you can measure a man's happiness and success by how wide fucking open his mouth is, Ricky Gervais is as happy and successful as he is constantly reminding us he is, ostensibly as a joke.
An alternative explanation is that his mouth has achieved independent sentience, and is in open rebellion against the things it is routinely forced to say.
Two hooting Gervais horses have seen a horse in another field, and are telling him he is jealous.
Ricky Gervais Camel with two successful American camels who not only tolerate his presence, but actively seek it out.
"Your anus is bleeding! Haha! I'm Ricky Gervais"
Next time! Pool balls with Simon Pegg's hair, or something like that. Jesus Christ
Yesterday was Mother's Day.
If you're reading this in a country that has phased out mums in favour of a municipal satchel of eggs, then this might be an alien concept to you. It is a day when everyone offers evidence-free and uniformly positive feedback regarding their mums.
WHY THIS IS WRONG
1. If she's your biological mother, you are basically complimenting 50% of your own DNA. That's pretty vain.
2. Your parents paid for your entire early life, so by offering them any form of emotional service in return, you are allowing them to make a whore of you. And if they can accept that, perhaps they're not as "cool" as you're making them out to be. #justsayin
3. There's a pretty clear conflict of interests. I write about video games for a living. If my mum was a video game, and I'd be the first to admit that she's not, people would rightly be furious if they found out I'd given her a ten out of ten, and neglected to mentioned serious technical issues with her. For example, the alarming pop-in (in 1988, when I was having a wank with my eyes closed).
I was appalled - genuinely, revolted - to read this tweet:
My mum is the best! Love you xx
To return to video games, I'm nowhere near the top of the leaderboards for Devil May Cry. And I know how do all the moves. Go on, ask me any move.
Yeah, I totally know how to do that one. In fact it makes you look ridiculous that you chose to challenge me on that particular move, because to me, that's a really obvious one.
But the thing is, I'm a busy man. I pace up and down Oxford Street wheeling my arms, loose and urgent, above my head. With so many important things to deal with, I will never be able to put in the hours required to get to the top of these leaderboards.
So when you say your mum is the best, you're pitting your mum against tens of thousands of teenage mums who've got nothing better to do with their lives than sit in their bedrooms being mums, pulling off marathon all-night mothering sessions, and calling each other's babies fags into their headsets.
Until you come at me with some double-blind test results that have been through rigorous peer review, I'm going to reply "if your mum's so cool, why can't she do THIS?" Then I will get onto a trampoline and insist that you stay and watch me while I try to do somersaults, with limited success.
On a more anecdotal level, I know for a fact that your mum's not the best, because mine is. Lovely mums! Aww. Lovely. Are you a lovely mum? Yes you are.
ACCEPTABLE WAYS TO TELL YOUR MUM YOU LOVE HER
1. Sing an adapted version of "Our House" by Crosby Stills And Nash.
My mum is a very very very nice mum,
With two cats in the yard*,
Life used to be so hard**
Now everything is easy 'cos of you***
* Feel free to mumble this line, as it doesn't really refer to mums
** It is important that you do not accidentally point at or otherwise refer to your genitals during the phrase "so hard". This includes the scenario in which you are naked and visibly aroused, even if you're not actively drawing attention to your "junk".
*** At this stage, drop a bin bag full of laundry onto the draining board, and rummage around in the fridge for something to eat.
2. Attack your dad
Instead of showing humiliating positive emotions, why not make her feel comparatively good about herself, by swinging for your father? It's a win-win situation.
3. Go to a Bingo night with a meat raffle
This is the one I went for, this year. And guess what? My lovely mum, 30 years a vegetarian, won first and third prizes. That's gold and bronze meat. Hey, mum! Hold up the meat you don't really want!
Thanks, mum! Love you! Can I have some of the meat please
Magazine lovers used to say that you couldn't take the internet onto the toilet with you. It was the one negative aspect of the internet: that you couldn't have it resting on your bare thighs, while you allowed a horrific brown version of a meal to slip through a temporarily loosened network of sphincters.
Since technology, people like me - who enjoyed magazines as a child and don't like changing their minds - have had to come up with new ways to justify ourselves. Personally, I use Fruity Chunks. You simply couldn't put Fruity Chunks on the internet, and I won't tolerate any argument, no matter how persuasive or self-evident, to the contrary.
Here it is: the magazine that my friend Daniel made when he was, in his own words, "12 or 13". It is nothing short of an artefact, and one of the best ten things in the world.
As you can see, Fruity Chunks has the dual privilege of being not only the world's BEST entertaining mag, but also the world's only XXX magazine. Any magazine that seeks to take on the sum total of human sexuality - alone! - bears an overwhelming responsibility to deliver the goods. It is a responsibility that Daniel meets, and effortlessly surpasses.
As such, and with all the power that being the Managing Director of the world's only XXX magazine entails, he has no time for an advert on the prized inside cover. Instead, he takes the opportunity to subvert the notion of labels.
Magritte famously noted that an image of a pipe is not actually a pipe. Magritte was also famously unimpressed by the Mona Lisa, saying "if that were a real Mona Lisa, she would exceed the boundaries of the frame. Clearly this is just some kind of painting."
But even Magritte would have to admit that this is the first page. Daniel 1 - Magritte 0.
Horny people enjoy puzzles just as much as their less frisky counterparts, but with one important difference - they don't have time to fuck around doing puzzles when there are so many dicks and tits and fannies to put into their faces and mouths and bums. To that end, the crossword has dramatically fewer clues than a regular Crossword, and the sole clue is a massive picture of an engorged vagina surrounded by wiry black pubes. And if the "Word Sleuth" proves too baffling, there's a subtle colour cipher that you can use to decode the hidden words.
Here, we discover the secret of Flap Purait, uncovering what it is that lends this perennial favourite its enduring allure. It's a visceral yet pleasantly fruity mélange: "meaty flaps, dicks, spoof, fruit, cum and banana".
Having assembled your ingredients, simply "mix it up and eat or drink it". Is Flap Purait a solid, or a liquid, or a kind of chunky soup compromise? No-one knows.
In fact, her sole input to the page appears to be the headline "SAD", which - to be fair - is a brilliant summary of the reader's story.
"My boyfriend dropped me when we were having 69 last night just because my cunt looks like this."
Sad indeed - and a tale that all too often goes untold.
If Daniel had received one single order for an Inflatable Cunt, he would be as rich as the Soros Fund Management Chairman, George Soros. Soros is described by the CommieBlasters website as the man operating the socialist puppet, Barack Obama.
"4 fucking good fux, see moi". It's like a aggressive meth-fuelled Miss Piggy is soliciting for sex in the pages of a hand-made magazine.
Lost to the exposure of the scanner bulb is perhaps the best line in the magazine: "See a circumstized cunt - ROYAL SHOW!" You can imagine the Queen getting whiff of a circumstized cunt in the area, rubbing her eyes and chuckling "this I gotta see - get my logo on that shit, this show just got ROYAL".
Art & Craft
I. M. Lezzi's lemon requires no explanation. Of course a lesbian would send in a picture of a lemon, the big lesbian.
Master B. Ation creates the region of ambiguity in which art lives. Is that a tongue licking the pubes, or a second dick sprouting into a mouth? Either way, that big dick is getting wanked.
Meanwhile, Horny Bitch has been so overcome by the urge to fuck that she's drawn a man blowing out flies? Or black spunk coming out of a dick. Or something.
Weekly Fiction: "The Fat Bi"
I sat on the deck chair while he took off his shirt. Lust ran through me. I leaned to the front of the chair and my fat legs poured over. His penis flopped, then upwards like a proud fighter standing to attention. My flabby tits flopped over his head as he thrust in purple warrior in my fruity parlour. His naked hairy body rubbed against me. I was still fully clothed, only my fly undone. Lice jumped from his hairy cock to my hairy chest. My lover suffocated lated that night when he was sucking on my droopy nipples.
Make Your Own Mask
Wear this mask, and you can see the world as it is experienced by a woman's vagina. The hungry men licking their lips and baring their teeth. The ceaseless barrage of dicks bouncing across your face.
Once you have walked a mile with a woman's vaj strapped on your face, you can truly call yourself an ally of women.
We're back to Ceci n'est pas un pipe, here. What a massive fucking 12-year-old Magritte actually was.
"Today we'll learn how to draw vajs."
The most important thing, when drawing a vaj, is the crucial fifth stage. This is when you add the oversized moles, and crusty black flakes of dry blood. If you see a picture of a vaj that doesn't include these, then the picture isn't finished.
And that's it for Fruity Chunks, the one-shot phenomenon that took one house in Perth by storm, in the early 90s. It seems impossible to imagine, but "The Fat Bi" was written in a world without Suede.
Thank you, Daniel. Thank you for bringing Fruity Chunks to the UK.
Roger Helmer MEP looked out of the hotel window. "It's raining," he laughed. His finger was hooked through one of his belt loops. It was scratching at an area close enough to the outline of his toadstool bell-end to drag my gaze towards it. "That's one in the eye for those global warming buffoons. Warm rain? Whatever next? Hot clouds? It just doesn't add up."
He licked his lips with his short tongue. The dampness did nothing to alleviate the light chapping he'd received earlier that day, when his face became briefly stuck in a Dyson Airblade. But the licking was instinctive, and difficult to resist. "It rained once on a Gay Pride march," he remembers fondly. "That was a satisfying day. It disproved global warming, as every raincloud does, and it also let homosexuals know what God thought of their so-called human rights"
He rested his forehead against the window, and his top lip retreated across his teeth and towards his nose. He champed thoughtfully on his bottom lip, with a common-sense attitude lacking in so many elected public representatives. Helmer's natural ease is bewitching, especially when hauling the svelte bulk of his torso into a new position contracts his windpipe, producing an elegant, involuntary hoot.
He licked his lips more aggressively, frustrated. It had been an ugly and entirely unnecessary scene in the Baker Street gents. It began when his $30,000 Breuget watch slipped off his wrist and into the Airblade device, and he had reacted on a compellingly feral level by chasing it in with his face. "My hands were wet, you see," he explained, raising his palms, without taking his forehead from the window or turning to face me. "What was I supposed to do?" He planted his hands on the window, as though to show the world that his well-meaning intentions were irrelevent.
It is important, before we go on, that you understand that there is no way a human head could fit inside a Dyson Airblade. That Roger Helmer MEP managed it, and remained there for some minutes, speaks to his beguiling stubbornness, and the way he modestly declines to use reality to guide his actions.
Sadly, the stresses of the day had taken their toll on Helmer's trousers and underwear, which fell to the floor. Clearly happy with the position of his hands and forehead, he tried to shimmy them back up with his hips. The motion, however, caused his penis to swing around in a wild helicoptering motion. It split the air tunefully, like a clarinet reed, creating a mournful minor third with the melodic hooting from his neck.
I have heard it said that all that is necessary for the triumph of evil, is that good men do nothing. Eager not to simply stand by, I approached Helmer, and my attempts to lift his trousers quickly developed into a conversational back and forth with his relentlessly circulating buttocks.
There is a discipline in Wing Chun Kung Fu called Sticky Hands, in which sparring partners fight with their upper body at close quarters, never breaking contact. Helmer's rear end is a natural and formidable opponent. In fact, the effortlessness with which they predicted and parried my attempts to lift his trousers makes me certain that Roger Helmer MEP's buttocks are more than passingly familiar with Sticky Hands. Certainly, the thick, appealing mucus that coated my hands and face after two minutes convinced me that Helmer was at least aware of the double entendre.
Helmer looked back at me. His dignified, lipless smile puckered like a highwayman's pouch, and his eyes darted in opposing directions as he spattered the room with a brilliant, effervescent foam. "I'm leaving the Conservative Party to join the UK Independence Party," he mouthed, and what followed was nine hours of what I can only describe as room service. I won't go into detail, but I will tell you this: Roger Helmer MEP is a man who orders dessert at the same time as starters and mains. By which I mean he came in my arse, face and belly button.
If you want to know more about Roger Helmer MEP, please visit his website.
The human orgasm is a member of the following groups:
1) The twelve mucky miracles
2) 239 ways to get rock hard abs and make her scream in bed
3) The seven senses
When The Shamen sang that "Love, sex, and intelligence" were "coming on like a seventh sense", the seventh sense they were referring to was the human orgasm, a force so primal that it can make a man's trousers work their own way off, and walk unassisted to the laundry basket. Listen closely to this clipping from their other single, LSI, and hidden sexual sounds might become apparent.
Other songs with hidden sexual messages include:
- Frankie Goes To Hollywood's "Relax", in which Holly Johnson whispers "give us a kiss" in the chorus. In the final chorus, Johnson pulls a shocking bait and switch, by adding "on my bum!"
- Lieutenant Pigeon's "Mouldy Old Dough", which details the loaf-like appearance of a sexy Renaissance buttock.
- The Pet Shop Boys' "So Hard", where Chris Lowe uses musical notes to spell out "A FAG, A BAD DEED, A BEAD ADDED" two minutes after the song has ended. Chris Lowe cannot talk, but it is widely accepted that the "bead" he was referring to was a bead of male ejaculate, or "willy whites", and it was "added" to a gay man's tummy.
When humans have orgasms, they shout "I love you" and walk around in circles until someone passes them a towel. And as unique and beautiful as any snowflake is the "sex face". No two humans pull the same sex face - if you think you've seen two the same, one of them was faking it, because you are frigid.
Here are three notable sex faces from history:
You Know You Quantum
Looking at this man, you could be forgiven for thinking he wasn't having an orgasm at all. In fact, he's having two! Unfortunately, they are out of phase, and the waves of ecstasy that are coursing through his body have simply cancelled each other out. The human orgasm has the properties of both a wave and a particle, in that it makes you wobble a bit - like a wave - and spunk flies out of your dick, like a particle. Also it's a bit stringy, isn't it? Makes you think.Theoretical physics degrees are basically massive games of soggy biscuit.
The Itchycoo Park
When an orgasm is just too beautiful, it is common for both parties to start crying. One might say "sorry did I stub your fanny", and the other will say "no it's not that I just glimpsed the infinite and my place in it, and I saw that my suffering was as nothing. Then I thought, well, the suffering of all those Chinese children must be as nothing, too, so fuck it, I WILL get an iPad 3." Here, we can see Sandra is using her built-in microphone, which she is using to bellow encouraging sexual phrases such as "Fucking Nora" and "Oooooffff".
The Gentleman's How Do You Do
This incredibly well-mannered young might seem too close, but it is all part of his unique sex face ritual. In the moments leading up to climax, he says "How do you do!" Then, realising that this isn't a terribly sexy thing to say, he urgently adds "what you do to me, I wish I knew, if I knew how you do it me, I would do it to you". When saying the final "you", he dabs a little dollop of semen onto the tip of his partner's nose, believing that this will do to her what she is doing to him.
The strongest ever orgasm was the big bang, which happened nine months before all life in the universe began.
Lightning is the third most terrifying natural phenomenon. Immediately above it, and up two places from last week, the second most terrifying thing is a bald man dragging a finger across his neck and pointing at you. Riding high at number one for the ninth week running is when you find that your phone has taken a picture of your pubes through a hole in your pocket and emailed it to the Pentagon.
Lightning goes by many names. In Spanish it is called "relámpago", which translates literally to "Did you see that? What was it? Let's call it lightning from now on." In Croatian it is called "munja", which isn't even a word.
Because lightning is made out of electricity, it can carry information; just like a computer. Lightning carries this information at such incredible speeds that during a single strike, you can transmit the entire telephone book into the clouds. However, because lightning is one-way, it will simply have to stay there until it rains.
The opposite of lightning is rubber, so if you find yourself getting struck by lightning, try to surround yourself with rubber objects. Tyres, condoms - even a small scented eraser balanced on top of your head might be enough to persuade the lightning to strike the person next to you. Watch out for televisions; lightning can live in them for up to a month, and will often change the channels if a programme comes on about how to get lightning out of your telly.
In Wes Craven’s documentary Shocker, a man who was made out of electric went into a telly and appeared in a Western with John Wayne. Most people now agree that this wouldn’t be possible, because John Wayne wouldn't have stood for it.
There are three kinds of lightning. The most famous is Forky Lightning, pictured above. Then there is Hairy Lightning, which has a luxurious cashmere “feel appeal”, and Sunken Lightning, which happens underwater and is eaten and immediately shit out again by eels.
Lightning is extremely proud, so if you suspect there is some hiding in your house, the best way to flush it out it to walk around with a spider in your palm, saying "what, are you scared of spiders? Big bit of lightning like you? Scared of a spider?". Lightning will come out and say "what do you mean, there wasn't even a spider around when I started hiding, so that doesn't even make sense".
Tame lightning can be used as a ladder, in lieu of a Beanstalk.
Hurray for IGN, who bravely let a genuinely gay member of staff write an article which questioned the sexuality of a cartoon dinosaur. It was received with considerable negativity, so I'm writing this out of a sense of massive gay solidarity.
In the abscence of openly gay gaming characters, video game culture is playing catch-up with wider society. So, until 10% of all video game plots include a scene where gay characters triumph over a homophobic mini-boss before going on to murder everyone who bullied them, we’re basically stuck in the 80s. And what did we gay people do in the 80s to push sexual diversity forward to the point where Suede could exist? We outed people!
Think of me as your gay mechanic on this voyage of gaming sexuality. And for those of you frail bendy woofters who have no idea what a mechanic is or does because it doesn’t involve cupping a pair of balls, remember: Kylie Minogue played one, in Neighbours! They basically get oily and carry tyres and babies around. Or, to put it in terms that gay people can really understand, it’s like anal sex - but with cars.
Think of me as a fat hairdresser, letting my dick and nuts press against your arm while I talk about the weather. I'm gaying you up, and you love it. Don't complain - that's just showing how repressed you are. The more you complain, the more you love it. In fact the only way to not come out of this looking really gay is to prove you're comfortable enough in your heterosexuality to let me ejaculate onto your shins.
Please let me ejaculate onto your shins
CASE 1. JIM RAYNOR
Woo! I wouldn't say no to this greasy slab of hunkpapa! I'd certainly be pro-tossing HIM off, if you know what I mean (I mean I'd like to masturbate him). I'd definitely let him "terran" new one for me, by which I think I mean I'd let him have sex with a wound. But lets consider the evidence:
He is frequently seen smoking a cigar and wearing a helmet. Could he be any more blatant? All you have to do is replace cigar with DICK, and draw spunk marks on the helmet visor, and you've got a pretty compelling case for the prosecution.
Calm down Jim! Whew! That guy is SPUNK-CRAZY
What other evidence do we have?
1. Raynor rhymes with Gaynor
2. His girlfriend got turned into a monster, maybe because she saw him bumming in the showers
3. I really want him to be gay because I fancy him so much and it makes wanking more exciting if you could realistically imagine him saying "yeah let's do it - but I must warn you I'm extremely into you in a way I've never felt before" with his big hands all over you
VERDICT: DEFINITELY GAY PLEASE
CASE TWO: DUKE NUKEM
Yeah I mean he's probably gay, something about hypermasculinity and denial, something something. Oof. I can't actually do this. What's next? Something about how Tingle is a bit fruity? How can anyone write this fatuous shit without jamming pencils into their tear ducts?
No, seriously. How do you do it? It seems like a valuable skill
The Fast & The Furious
An undercover cop infiltrates an underworld subculture of Los Angeles street racers looking to bust a hijacking ring, and soon begins to question his loyalties when his new street racing friends become the prime suspects.
2 Fast 2 Furious
Former cop, Brian O'Conner is finally arrested after letting his leader escape the law. To avoid the consequences, he must now work with an old college friend and help the police arrest a local drug exporter.
The Fast & The Furious: Tokyo Drift
In order to avoid a jail sentence, Sean Boswell heads to Tokyo to live with his military father. In a low-rent section of the city, Sean gets caught up in the underground world of drift racing.
Fast & Furious
Brian O'Conner, now working for the FBI in LA, teams up with Dominic Toretto to bring down a heroin importer by infiltrating his operation.
Fast & Furious 5: Rio Hiest (aka 5ast 5ive)
Dominic and his crew find themselves on the wrong side of the law once again as they try to switch lanes between a ruthless drug lord and a relentless federal agent.
The Fast & Furiou6: Transylvanian Plunderstorm
When a heroin importer gets into Brian O’Conner’s car and refuses to get out, he drives as fast as he can in a misguided effort to teach him the error of his ways. But the faster Brian drives, the more ruthless the drug lord becomes, forcing O’Conner into an unprecedented loop-the-loop.
Fas7 And Fu7iou7: 777
Under the terms of the mayor's Last Will & Testament, Sean Boswell must drive up the Matahorn, using the summit as a ramp to land on a passenger jet carrying 200 drug lords to an illegal conference, and do do-nuts on the wing until the FBI arrive.
Furious & Fast: Swans Alive
Low budget series reboot set entirely on the plastic swan ride at Alton Towers. Will Brian O’Conner be stranded overnight, or will he manage the short wade to shore?
9ast & 9urious: Hair Trigger Trip Switch
Pan-ballistic deboot. Brian O’Conner and Jeff Patarken (Rupert Everett) must do one last heist to pay off their debts to a ruthless drug lord. Unfortunately Patarken has acute gastroenteritis, leading to some memorable Dutch Ovens.
Fast Ten: Your Seatbelts
Addressing concerns that the series glamorises dangerous driving, Brian O’Conner embarks on a high-octane road-safety course, where he meets a woman whose breasts inflate when travelling at or just below the legal speed limit.
The Fast & The Furious, Part 11: Dopplerdocus
Brian O’Conner gives a drug lord a cow in exchange for an enchanted muffler, only to discover that it has poor aerodynamics. He joins forces with Dominic to perform one last heist in a parallel dimension where velocity is used as currency, only to accumulate immense debts by driving in the wrong direction.
Sean Boswell is shrunk to the size of a pint of milk. Stowing away conspicuously in Jordana Brewsters hair, he offers constant and increasingly pessimistic appraisals of his own mental health.
Furiast 12, Part II: The Fast & The Furious 13
The attempt to bring Sean Boswell back to full man size backfires, when only his testicles are restored to their original stature. Boswell quickly learns that a full compliment of semen being emptied through a urethra no wider than a human hair causes unimaginable pain, and velocities that are internally injurious to his lovers. Boswell is inconsolable until he notices that the laser-like ejaculations can shear through glass, and he decides to carry out one last heist.
The Fast & The Fur14us: Hawaiian Hairpins
Dominic Toretto is forced into a flatshare with a furious lance corporal and a shapeshifting robot, neither of which seem keen on helping him perform one last heist. That is, until a ruthless drug lord begins drinking the milk they’ve left out in the back garden, and shows his gratitude by laying a gigantic egg containing a Lamborghini Countach.
Fast and Fifteenius: The Final He15t
They saved the most audacious heist for last! Brian O'Conner, The FBI, Sean Boswell, and six thousand druglords (each more ruthless than the last) travel to the rings of Saturn, where they encounter a rare microbe that reacts to pure-grade heroin by travelling at 230 miles per hour. Building a car out of the foul-smelling bacteria and stealing enough heroin to fuel it from the drug lords in a series of tiny last heists, Sean Boswell returns to Earth. In a state of irrational euphoria induced by a lack of oxygen and an abundance of heroin, Boswell places second in the bloodiest Tour De France on record - then, in the first musical finale, Brian O'Conner sings "I Like Bread And Butter" to the drug lords and learns the spirit of true self-sacrifice when he leads them all, in a goose-stepping drug baron conga, through a smoky door and into the sandworm desert from Beetlejuice. As the door slams shut, the credits roll, and the audience are invited to look inside their hearts by an out-of-character Vin Diesel, who confides that he and the entire cast have been dead for nine years, but their pact with Satan means that they cannot be at rest or stop making these movies until people stop coming to fucking see them for Christ's sake.