How I Support Women by Also Not Cumming

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As an ally to women, it is very important to me that women know that I am that to them. I do everything I can including liking their facebook statuses, sharing their facebook statuses with the caption, “THIS,” and I’m pretty sure I even do other stuff as well. Recently, I have decided to take my supportive behavior offline and make the ultimate display of male feminist solidarity; I have vowed that I am never going to cum during sex ever again.

To many boorish and unrefined men, the sort of neanderthals who would own multiple hats, female pleasure is a taboo. These barbarians simply want to get their rocks off and get out of my Buick Lesabre as quickly as they were able to toss my polyamorous life partner Debra across the backseat. Not me! I respect the female orgasm so passionately that to the untrained eye my reverence could be construed as fear. Women deserve to climax just as much as men, and as long as I am incapable of providing that to them, it is my just and divine duty to similarly deprive myself. Watch out, “fuccbois.” I am about to smash the patriarchy with my flaccid penis.

I have faced varied and consistent criticism for my pledge. Some, like my father, ask why I do not simply learn to effectively pleasure women, rather than live a life free from sexual release. To that, I say, it is very hard. Have you ever seen a vagina? At best, they look grumpy. Their near endless folds are intimidating. Is the clitoris at the top or the bottom? Who can remember! Not only this, but by succumbing to the pressure to “make women cum” put on me by our hetero-normative rape culture, I am contributing to the objectification of women and reinforcement of traditional gender roles. By refusing to give in to society’s expectations of male sexuality, I am engaging in an act of civil disobedience on par with the deeds of Gandhi or Martin Luther King.

Others, like Debra, claim that I am not taking a political stance at all, but merely rationalizing my impotence after the fact. It is true that I suffer from erectile dysfunction. I have been unable to maintain even a modest erection since we decided to open up our relationship (I am sure these matters are unrelated). To suggest that I am abstaining from sex because I am unable to perform is gravely offensive. Would you tell a man who walked away from a fight with his life partner’s new boyfriend that he is a coward and unable to fight, or would you respect him for having the bravery to stick to his pacifist ideals in a violent world? We all know that man is a hero, like an army troop or a cowboy. These same principles apply to my adamant refusal to have sex or cum during it, regardless of whether my body will allow me to even attempt.

I do not expect this to be easy. The high road never is. Undoubtedly, women will learn of my sacrifice and attempt to repay me for my symbolic gesture by having sex with me. Oh, how I will laugh! I will look down at them as they roll my useless tube in their hands like a play-doh snake, and I will feel nothing but pity. When they run their tongue alongside my shrivelled, unresponsive organ, I’ll of course be flattered, but more than that I’ll be heartbroken they have missed the point I am making just like Debra has. When I go soft halfway through sex and curl up into a sad ball next to her, I think the message I’m sending is loud and clear: we are equals in this relationship.

Join me, brothers, and throw off the shackles of sexual pressure! Explain to your partner that your confusing and incompetent performance is a gift to her, a grand display of justice, and she will thank you. I have made things equal in my bedroom, and one day, God (who is a woman) willing, things will be equal between men and women in all areas of society throughout the entire world. The future is female, and I have left my dick where it belongs: in the past.

Tastemaker: “1” by The Beatles

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We sent Brendan Krick deep underground to find out what’s about to blow up in the world of music. This month, he’s uncovered the oft-overlooked greatest hits album, 1,  by virtually unknown band The Beatles.

What can I say about The Beatles? The dictionary defines music as, “vocal or instrumental sounds (or both) combined in such a way as to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion.” I think we can all agree that The Beatles is a band that plays music, but is it any good? I dug up what I assume is their debut album and listened to the 30 second previews of the songs on iTunes to find out.

The album starts off with “Love Me Do,” a British Invasion throwback reminiscent of bands like The Monkees. Despite being derivative, it is the kind of tight and catchy number that makes you want to smile naturally and tap your foot, like a music fan. If someone walked into your office and saw you standing in the middle of the room with headphones on, staring vacantly, they would never guess you were listening to this song, because it’s just that good. When they say “do” in the lyrics, does that mean sex? That is for the listener to decide.

Next up, “From Me to You,” which is the album’s shortest song at 1:55. You should listen to this one first in case you don’t like The Beatles, then you haven’t wasted much time. I should mention that this and the other first couple songs are in mono, so you might want to skip right past them or spin the pan knob in your car back and forth while you listen so you don’t get bored.

“All You Need is Love” is another stand-out track, which I found incredibly offensive for implying that love is not only possible for everyone, but necessary. As a former incel and current volcel, I found this to be an ableist message that stigmatizes those of us who are unable or unwilling to have sex. Hey, The Beatles, how about I don’t pick up a guitar and you guys stay out of politics!

The most impressive part of this album is that in the span of only 27 songs, The Beatle Boys cover a breadth of sound most artists would take an entire career to achieve. They start with raw garage rock songs, and finish with glossy, polished ballads. The way they accomplished this is astounding. The band spent over eight years making the album, working with many producers and utilizing dozens of recording spaces. In the end, they were left with 275 songs, most of which they just threw away.


What we are left with on the record is 27 tracks of unadulterated music. We may never know what the rest of the songs sound like, because they were all destroyed forever, but based on what they decided to release, I for one cannot wait for The Beatles’ sophomore release, 2!