March 2015

That’s what she said.

The fantasy was me and eight or ten women. The reality was two, in black dresses, at opposite ends of a bar. My fallback position was, it turned out, pretty fucking spectacular.

Tinder’s gotten me laid, but their new pricing model is almost as offensive as my swipe-to-match ratio.

Gay magazines in the barber shop, right next to the Playboy. We’ve come a long way from Johns’.

A reader writes something that stops me in my tracks.