How to do the wrong thing right
What is the correct closing-time etiquette in bars whenever an average-looking Joe, too plain for Grindr, still hasn’t gotten lucky yet, is powerfully horny, but only the dregs are left; specifically, could you provide for me a few surefire/failsafe pickup lines to use? — Joe
Upon hornily approaching “the dicking hour”(as comedienne Margaret Cho so sententiously nails that desperate, cock-throbbing 60-minute countdown on weekend nights before gay clubs’ doors get bolted), the best pickup line of them all screams the most obvious: “Wanna blow this hellhole and fuck?”
I do not advise you try attempting any pithy/comical route: “Hey there, handsome, my dick just died; can I bury it in your ass?” Or, “Did you know the average person has 206 bones inside his body—would you like an extra one?” Da-dum-dum.
Humor, always, is subjective enough, and “The Dicking Hour” has rung way too late for taking any libido risk that men still possessing of a sense of humor remain available. A straightforward, unfussy “Wanna fuck?” is best.
My hubby fancies having a threesome with our hunky new neighbor across the hall (our hunky straight neighbor!) whom we’ve nicknamed Bruno. Hubby played for the other team once, also siring two thankless, entitled brats — same as Bruno.
I say hubby’s living in a fool’s fantasy if he thinks a straight hottie like Bruno will ever get lonely enough to consider “befriending” a pair of hospitable neighbors like us, regardless of how invitingly my hubby’s tan six-pack may glisten poolside … or all our sympathetic smiles offered up to Bruno’s balcony when he paces (shirtless) while arguing on the phone with his ex-wife.
Hubby insists Bruno’s post-marital spats are a perfect invitation to knock at his door one Saturday, ice cold Coors in tow, and sympathetically inquire as to whether he could use a pick-me-up b.j. He assumes Bruno will agree. My own position is that — quite the opposite — such neighborliness only grants us the opportunity to test out the limits of our Obamacare benefits when we’re rushed to the emergency room with black eyes, broken jaws and busted teeth.
It is tempting, though. You cannot imagine what a dreamy beefcake stud-muffin Bruno is: I’m talking total masturbatory candyland material here — rippling, spray-tan-free biceps, a furry “happy trail” snaking down below his “outie,” arcs of grease still glistening under his fingernails from changing his own oil … oh, daddy!
Should we neighborly toss caution to the wind and proceed with “comforting” this poor sex-starved, masculinity specimen, or not risk it? I mean, does Bruno even know that we exist? — Dayton
Unless you failed mentioning to Dear Howard that Bruno reads by Braille, he knows you both exist, trust me. Whether you should pursue him? Well, tossing a penny into the air and letting Honest Abe determine what to do will work as well as I can in advising whether you’ve any chance of scoring a ménage-a-trois with hetero self-oil-changer. Before pouncing, though, I advise you’d to be damned certain that it’s not
Mr. Studly Straight’s negotiated weekend to look after those children he spawned.
But, Dayton, if you truly want Howard’s honest opinion: Steer far clear of your neighbor lest those tenant meetings get unbearably awkward.
This hot rich kid I met online has invited me to join him at his parents’ lake house over Halloween weekend. “The folks don’t go there after Labor Day,” he said. “It’ll just be me and my twin brother home from Ole Miss, so dress appropriately.” Howard, what even does he mean by, “Dress appropriately”? — Tom
It means you show up appropriately “dressed” wearing a cock ring with a jack-o-lantern smile.
— Howard Lewis Russell
Do you have a question for Howard about etiquette, love, life or anything? Email your concern to AskHoward@dallasvoice.com and he may answer.
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition October 9, 2015.