The Weekend Review

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Weekend Review
The Sex Index

Indicators are mixed this week, as hangovers from the calculated exhibitionism of fashion week fail to offset the fact that everyone seems to be dying.

(+16) Fashion Week. Yellow is the new black, princess is the new punk,
seventeen-year-old Cambodians are the new sixteen- year-old Estonians, but vapidity is
and always will be itself.

(-25) Hurricane Isabel. They were talking this one up like it was
nobody’s business. We had thousands of rolls of duct tape and were ready to
lock ourselves in the Safe Room and shag for the next week. And what do we
get? Just another rainy fucking Sunday.

(+5) The presidential race. Sexy Wesley’s thrown himself in the mix.
He’s not actually that sexy, but they call him that because it kind of
rhymes. And what other presidential candidate has a name that kind of
rhymes with “sexy”? That’s what we thought.

(-35) File-sharing lawsuits. Look, maybe there are ethical issues involved, but we can’t make out without our bootleg Tone Loc recordings, and anyone who stands between us and them is evil.

(-20) Robert Palmer, R.I.P. (See last item.)

— Carrie Hill Wilner

Image of the Week

If there’s one thing kids like to do with toy figurines, it is simulate sex. I used to put my Star Wars figures in all sorts of odd and illegal configurations. (Leia and Luke: incest. Leia and Chewbacca: bestiality. Leia and Jabba the Hutt: gross.) You could pound their little plastic bodies together from dusk ’til dawn, but it was ultimately disappointing because they had no genitalia. Then you discovered porn, and you went back to playing with action figures in the way the manufacturer intended.

Currency symbols also lack genitalia, but that didn’t stop a Russian ad campaign from pretending they did. Posters showing the euro symbol banging the dollar sign — which were intended to foster Russian support of the collective European currency — were deemed immoral by Moscow authorities, and the ad company News Outdoor had to tear down 100 overnight. Igor Maltsev, a magazine publisher, said he didn’t realize what the posters were supposed to represent. “I thought the currencies were dancing on our poster,” he fibbed. “But I saw that, yes, maybe this is a love scene.” Maybe the Russian-to-English translation is to blame here, but it’s not supposed to be a “love scene.” If recent economic trends are any indicaton, it’s more likely that the euro was taking the dollar from behind while asking it to identify its father. — Grant Stoddard

Quotes of the Week

“Even in marriage I had a little guilty feeling about sex, as though the whole thing was tinged with evil.”

— Ronald Reagan in a long-lost letter to a friend that was published this week

“I find it hornier looking at women than men.”

— Christina Aguilera

“My mother’s always asking me, ‘When will you finally get married?’ And I always say, ‘When I find a man who has more balls than me.”

— Salma Hayek

Mother’s Day Canceled In Mesa, AZ

We throw around the term “crack whore” pretty loosely these days, basically any time we’re making an attempt at derision. Like, “Hey, crack whore, are you planning on doing your dishes?” “Hey, crack whore, this show sucks, put on Newlyweds, ” “Hey, crack whore, why won’t you take me to the zoo, I just wanna see the tapirs,” and “Hey, crack whore, how about you stop trading sex for crack?” It’s as if the term’s origins are shrouded in mystery, like so many other phrases we use daily, unaware of their dark provenance. (For example, did you know that “eeny-meeny-miny-mo” was how druids used to pick out people to be sacrificed? Or at least that’s what my cousin Jim told me, and I’ll believe anything.)

Unfortunately, crack whores are not in a league with druids, and they’re very much alive. Take the woman who was recently arrested in Mesa, Arizona, for prostituting her thirteen-year-old daughter for crack — after the girl became addicted to the drug once her mother let her try it. The mother, JoAndrea Peeler (is it Joanne? Is it Andrea? No, it’s JoAndrea!) told detectives she thought her daughter would try crack anyway, so it would be safer to try it with her. (This is the same rationale Cousin Jim once used with me and a handle of Jim Beam, and now I believe the stupid shit he says about druids, so see where that gets you.) JoAndrea also claimed, “I need the rock and so did she; it sounds worse than it is.”

I can’t really fathom how “prostituting your adolescent daughter for crack” could possibly sound worse than it is, especially when you use the phrase “the rock.” But again, I’m the girl who believes druid stories, so I obviously have a tiny, whiskey-soaked mind. — CHW

Stone Cold Crazy Sexy Cool

Say you’re at a rave. Your friend keels over from a GHB overdose. What do you do? If you said, “bend them over and insert a fistful of ice into their asshole,” apparently you’re not alone. This week, amid evidence that ravers have embraced the ice-cube-enema technique to revive their unconscious brethren, doctors issued a warning: inserting ice into the rectums of unconscious people has no physiological benefit. In fact, it can lead to seizures and stroke. In the gay-community newspaper The Sydney Star Observer, GHB expert David Caldicott said that inserting an unexpected object into the rectum could cause a “vagal” reaction, which is as bad as it sounds: apparently, the vagus nerve runs through the rectum, and if it’s surprised, it can slow your heartbeat and prevent blood flow to the brain. “Some of the people doing this should know better and should not pretend to be trained medical professionals,” said Caldicott. Reality check: Only being out of your gourd on GHB would cause you to think that emptying your Slurpee into a friend’s ass is the work of a medical professional. — Grant Stoddard

Celebrity Sexposé

“It was like, say you’re going to a nightclub one night with your friends and you’re in line, and the next thing you know, there are guys with helicopters and there’s machine-gun fire and you don’t know what happened.”

— Billy Bob Thornton on his Dadaist breakup with Angelina Jolie

Productive and Essential Uses of Time and Energy

The Guinness Book of World Records is the user’s manual for misdirected ambition. Some of the records are kind of cool – like, who wouldn’t want the world’s biggest pie? Yeah, the records having to do with big food are okay. Some of them are just really gross, like the guys with the long, curly fingernails. Then there’s the whole section about the people who eat lots of inedible things. Great. I could have used that bike, you know? You shouldn’t just go around eating stuff without checking if anyone needs it first. But there’s really not too much impressive skill or achievement documented in this weighty directory of vanity and human frailty. Until now. One very dexterous man has earned his place in the GBWR for unhooking seventeen bras with one hand in under a minute. That’s just under a bra every three seconds. That’s better than being Zeus. Jokes about male incompetence with bra closures are plentiful enough that I don’t need to make them here. — Carrie Hill Wilner

Dismemberment Plan

If a scrum of googly-eyed E-tards trying to ram ice up your keister isn’t enough to make you think twice about your own narcotic use, perhaps this is. In the latest bit of evidence supporting The Richard Ashcroft Theorum (i.e. the drugs don’t work), a German student recently dismembered himself after drinking an infusion of the latest drugs craze to sweep Germany. Bizarrely, it’s tea. The eighteen year old, identified only as Andreas W. from Halle, drank a brew made with hallucinogenic Angels’ Trumpet plants. His mother said: “Andreas was behaving normally the whole day until he left the house and disappeared into the garden for a couple of minutes.” When he returned, he was bleeding heavily from his mouth and groin. The emergency doctor who arrived a few minutes later said the student had cut off his penis and tongue with garden shears and that it was impossible to reattach the organs. Said Dr. Andreas Marneros from the local psychiatric hospital which admitted the student: “Andreas will have to receive psychological help for years. Tea from Angels’ Trumpets is extremely dangerous as the drug cannot be dosed.” The hallucinogenic plants — known for their fragrant, trumpet-shaped flowers — have increasingly become popular as an alternative drug in Germany. — Grant Stoddard


Robert Palmer, 1949-2003

We don’t know if we’re going to be able to work today now that Robert Palmer’s dead. Although he was neither the first nor the last white soul singer to draw astute parallels between the pangs of love and the pangs of barbituate withdrawal,* he was the only one to do it in suspenders. Rest in peace, Rob.


Your mind is not your own/

Your heart sweats, your body shakes

You can’t sleep, you can’t eat/

There’s no doubt, you’re in deep/

Your throat is tight, you can’t breathe/

You see the signs, but you can’t read/

You’re runnin’ at a different speed/

Your heart beats in double time

You can’t be saved/

Oblivion is all you crave/

If there’s some left for you/

You don’t mind if you do

Your will is not your own/

You’re heart sweats and teeth grind

— From “Addicted to Love”


— Carrie Hill Wilner

About TWR

The Weekend Review is Nerve’s roundup of sex, relationships and culture news, and whatever else we find interesting.

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