bitches still give handjobs?!

Dear Irby and Ian,
I am right-handed. Yesterday I gave my first ever hand job and realized I did it left-handed. Thoughts?

sam: my first thought was "bitches still give motherfucking HANDJOBS? goddamn, gurl, you deserve the medal of freedom or some shit." BUT FIRST, let's talk about how i touched a real live human penis yesterday. sometimes i feel guilty answering questions about banging since i haven't had good sex since the clinton administration (omg RECESSION and no, i really don't, i'm noisy and opinionated), and now all that's changed since a dude with a vocabulary that makes most other people look like they read at the third grade level let me put my hand on his privates. seriously, i might need a dictionary to bang that dude for real. oh, and don't worry, i'm still going to be horrible and rude and mean. i'm not one of those fruity "sex makes me happy" people, i maintain a healthy disdain for everyone and everything no matter how many times a dude lets me put a collar and leash on him. but you bitches should be happy now that my banging advice doesn't come from 2002 or whatever.

now that we've settled that, i'm uninterested in handjobs, mostly because i'm arm lazy. i'm not mouth lazy at all, but i'm pretty goddamned vagina lazy, marginally butt lazy, and arm lazy 150%. SERIOUSLY. jacking a dude off is easily the MOST TAXING, LEAST RECIPROCAL sex act you could ever possibly engage in. put that penis anywhere else on your body and i can understand the benefit, but in your hand? why would you want it in your motherfucking HAND?!

here is why i refuse to give handjobs:
1 they're totally fucking awkward. holy shit, first of all it has to be wide enough to grip and long enough that you actually have surface over which to SLIDE YOUR CLENCHED FIST UP AND DOWN. then you, as the giver, are tasked with making sure there isn't too much friction and that you're yanking at a comfortable pace and rhythm. and on top of all that, you have to MAKE SURE THAT SHIT IS WET. while actively drying the wetness with your porous goddamned hand. your hand is basically a human windshield wiper, and you're wondering why his balls have traction burns. SON OF A FUCKING BITCH. at least during a blowjob when you reach the point where your lips are chapped and your fantasies have shifted from a house with this dude in the suburbs to a 64oz big gulp you can just push the head of his dick to the back of your throat and use that pre-vomit as lubricant. (stop acting like you don't know what i'm talking about.) what, pray tell, does one do when faced with the prospect of twenty minutes watching sparks shoot from her hand while trying to bring a corncob to screaming orgasm? spitting is fucking vile. lotion looks like semen all over your hand. lube is viscous for two seconds, then turns sticky. and it usually smells like chemicals. vaseline is too thick. pancake syrup is too gooey. olive oil smells like the kitchen at leona's. hair gel is tacky. gasoline smells rancid, and is potentially dangerous if you indulge in a post-coital cigarette.

so what does that leave us with? stopping to lick our hands every thirty seconds, resulting in the counterproductive 1 blast of wet, cold air that makes his balls seize up and his penis wilt and 2 the orgasm-ruining stopping of motion? which means it's going to take even longer than usual?! if i didn't have a job and outside interests i might be willing to lend a dude a helping hand, but i have to go to WORK IN THE MORNING. come on, son. i need to figure out whatever gets you to the mountaintop the quickest so i don't miss the second half of american horror story. seriously, my sex act prerequisite is "can you finish during the commercial break in my show?" if the answer is no, WE AREN'T DOING THAT.

2 they're goddamned boring. how come dudes won't let you keep the tv on? i'd be much more willing to crank your handle for 1/2 an hour if i knew i could clear out the old tivo while doing it. maybe it's because most of them are too dumb to multitask, but if i can drink whiskey and iron my work clothes while engrossed in back-to-back episodes of "the good wife" without burning my collars or over-starching my creases, don't you think i could masturbate a dude while catching up on my thursday night nbc comedies?! jesus, how many hands does it take? it's not like jerking a dude off is on the motherfucking SAT. as teen mom has proven, any half-retarded subhuman hobgoblin with an inadequate number of brain cells and a job at forever 21 can have sex, so why the fuck must i concentrate on this one stupid boner?

my mind starts to wander pretty easily, which is why i traded that sweatshop gig i had as a child for the nonstop thrill ride that is modern veterinary medicine. pfffft. at any given moment i have no fewer than 19 tabs open on my browser, and i click through them with the speed of a nine-year-old off his ADHD meds. so can i really be expected to sit still for twenty minutes doing the same thing over and over and OVER AGAIN? while missing sons of anarchy?! i'd rather be dead.

3 they're tiring. imma have to do some biceps curls, because i start getting that dull, lactic acid ache thirty seconds into the shit. does that ever happen to you? you know what i mean, that fucking treadmill pain, except it's concentrated in the part of your arm that wouldn't jiggle if you didn't eat so much pizza? GOD, I HATE THAT PAIN. this wretched bowel disease causes some pretty horrific peripheral arthritis, and my hands look like your goddamned grandmother's right after i start this dumb shit. ten full minutes and i need two aleve, a celebrex, and a motherfucking cortisone injection. and for what? some dude to monica lewinsky my new dress?! a trip to both the emergency room AND the dry cleaner? yeah fucking right.

4 you have to have small boobs. this one's easy: i was born with a fucking C cup, and the least flattering (and most painful) thing you could ever do is make a shitload of jerky motions while not wearing a motherfucking bra. i'd rather circuit train nude than do this, because at least i'd get my heart rate up and burn some fucking calories while blackening both eyes. so, until my insurance recognizes "i want a bra with fewer than four hooks" as a viable reason to pay for a breast reduction, my tits and i will not be jacking any dudes off. unless we get to keep a bra, shirt, sweater, and coat on. i mean, one can never be too careful.

5 DUDES STILL WANT TO PUT IT IN YOUR BUTT AFTERWARD. i'll wait here while one of you runs to find me a woman who performed a handjob to completion and then got up and turned her soaps on and went to finish the dishes. every time a dude acts like he wants to do some teenage makeout shit (which is the very best kind of shit, BELIEVE ME), it is merely an excuse to get you in his bed so that he might then convince you to do something else. LIKE FUCK HIM. you girls have been there: you finish a nice first date with a hot dude, you want to keep hanging with him but don't want to go to another bar. you don't want to go back to your place, because you aren't sure whether or not this motherfucker is CRAY and can be trusted with your address. he offers drinks at his place, and since you have your taser you give it some thought. EXCEPT. you don't want to fuck. it's too early, and you don't want to look like a slut. as if reading your mind he offers, "it's okay. i just want to kiss you." this fucking liar. but you buy that shit anyway, and you go to his place, memorizing landmarks as you pass them in the cab. once in his apartment you have a beer (keeping it conservative, of course) and flip through his dvds, pretending to be interested in david fincher. shoes come off, making out begins, and since you're feeling a little sexy and dirty you reach into his pants. HANDJOBS AREN'T SLUTTY, RIGHT? right, gurl. keep that not-slutty handbanging up. and although he's assured you that he's comfortable with "not taking things too far," after half an hour of thinking about baseball while you chafe the skin off your goddamned hand he announces that he "can't really finish this way" in a tone that's not really supposed to make you feel guilty but TOTALLY DOES. so you're left with either the option of looking like a big ol' whore OR blueballing this fucking dude you like thus never being able to convince him to come to your sister's wedding next month so you can prove to your stepmother that you aren't the abominable wildebeest she thinks you are. and both of those options kind of make you look like an asshole. so you let him put it in your butt, and he still doesn't call you afterward. your stepmother clucks knowingly as you skulk into the ceremony on the arm of your gay best friend who isn't helping the matter any in his teal dress suit. FUCK YOUR LIFE.

seriously, though, if you kiss a dude you better be ready to fuck him. not a single one of them is conscientious enough to let you do a little tugboat action and get back to whatever you had planned other than taking your goddamned panythose off. which is why i just start there. i mean, who the fuck are we kidding?

so i'm proud of you, dollface. good for you for enduring the least enjoyable sex act in the history of man. homeboy doesn't come, you dislocate your motherfucking shoulder, and in the end everyone wishes he'd just asked for doggystyle and a blowie as god intended. my jimmy hat is off to you, sister. we all need to stand up (or lie down?) and give this bitch a goddamned hand.