It says something about my personal character that I don’t get offended by guys accidentally coming on my sheets anymore. I understand it’s natural and somewhat hard to control, and that you’re so totally caught up in the moment that you don’t have the common courtesy (or cognitive ability, arguably) to at least aim away from my side of the bed. I can sympathize with that, in a weird way.

What I cannot sympathize with is a guy who, after calling me and then coming over specifically for sex with another person, passes out drunk on my couch after rubbing one out to the sex scene in The Serpent and the Rainbow while I happen to be in shower. You know, while I was washing up for all the sex I wasn’t going to have. Goddamn it. GODDAMN IT.

What do you call a straight male who acts like a pussy, but whom you don’t want to compare to pussies for fear of insulting them?

A bitch? 

Everyone’s perennial favorite, “faggot”?

I can’t decide, but whatever it is, it’s what Adam is. Another thing he is is leaving very shortly. I just hope the poor cab driver has a strong back. When I shoved the dead-weight asshole off my sofa, his impact actually moved my coffee table from four feet away. He’s a pretty big boy.

Well, he’s tall, anyway. Not big in any sense that could possibly matter to me. Like I really want to sleep with someone who will almost certainly yank the covers off my shoulders to cover up his big-ass Yeti feet and who is actually endowed smaller than the shortest man I’ve ever slept with.

Adam, if you’re reading this, thanks for being such a dickhead. Thanks for the new recliner you bought me, too. 

Oh. Well, you should be getting credit card bill soon, anyway. Hope the missus doesn’t find out!