Cyber PDA

I think it’s sweet that you love each other, I really do. I’m happy to see status updates, tweets, and blog posts about your courtship, engagement, a trip, a wedding. Not only can I handle it, I’m heartened by it.

But my support of your relationship does not mean I want to be slimed with your cyber makeout sessions, oversharing, and sweet nothings all goddamned day. Tweeting about how much you miss your flaxen-haired beauty—even though you’ve only been apart an hour (which I know because you tweeted that too)—or updating your Facebook status to detail what an incredible night you had with your Sweetpea or Huggy Bear makes me, in this order, 1) roll my eyes, 2) choke back my breakfast, and 3) want to share the love. Specifically, I dream of playing cupid, pulling out a crossbow, and piercing you through the heart, or at least your fingers.

Take a note from Shakespeare: Speak low if you speak love. In other words, keep it in your pants and send your true love an e-mail. We don’t want to see that sap. That’s what porn, Jane Austen novels, and Reese Witherspoon movies are for, duh.

(photo: mywedding.com)

Erotic asphyxiation

I don’t know about you, but I want to be conscious when something feels gasp-out-loud good. Like many mountain climbers, I don’t want to be oxygen-deprived during life's seminal moments. I saw Rising Sun and took it as a cautionary tale. Don’t have sex on the boardroom table during an office party (that’s what supply closets are for, natch) and don’t allow yourself to be choked during the act. (And don't ever question Sean Connery when he's sporting a beard, but that's another story.)

Even if you don’t die, you could lose consciousness and then be susceptible to death or other indignities. Do you really want to go out as Gasper the Friendly Ghost or a Darwin Award nominee? While they left behind impressive bodies of work, the late David Carradine and Michael Hutchence will always have the taint of autoerotic asphyxiation hanging over their heads.

Honestly, isn’t a cock ring or a playful slap-and-tickle enough? If you keep experimenting with ropes, shoelaces, and such, I’m going to have to punch you in the neck. I can help you lose consciousness, and it will be anything but erotic.

(photo: mortonbranding.com.au/)