Rule #13: There’s More Than One Way To Fuck A Man

Posted by The Girl's Guide to Depravity in car, cat, Facebook, Rule #13: There's More Than One Way To Fuck A Man

Although there are all kinds of ways to screw a guy in bed, the fucking I’m talking about has to do with his head.

That’s right, girls. I’m talking revenge.

Let’s say you’ve been dating this guy who is so your T (full sleeve of tatts, vintage car) for about two months. You’ve been inseperable since the night you dragged him back to your place after a bingeing on tequila at the Snakepit. It’s getting serious enough to finally have “the talk” — you know, where you agree that it’s ok to fart in front of each other. Suddenly, he stops calling, won’t return texts/tweets/e-mails. After a little investigation you find out HE’S HAD A GIRLFRIEND THE ENTIRE TIME! She just happened to be out of town when you two hooked up. And that fucker even told you he loved you! (Ok, it was after half a bottle of Jack and a hummer, but still!)

So, do you sit around crying to your girlfriends while watching the entire box set of Sex and the City on a loop? Or do you make HIM cry?

Obviously, I vote for the latter.

Fuck his car:

A D-bag loves nothing more than his car, so hit him in his figurative balls. You could go the Carrie Underwood route and mess with the outside of the car, or you could fuck up the inside. Some say it’s a myth, but a friend of mine swears (from experience) that pouring sugar in a gas tank will fuck up the engine. Powdered sugar, sand and bleach with also mess that shit up. Now I’m not condoning this, as it IS illegal, so if you go this route, make sure you’re ready for the consequences (i.e. take a sweater, jail is cold.)

Fuck his Facebook:

The Girl's Guide to Depravity
Wait until you know he’ll be out at some loud club for the night and then have a really, really great friend leave this post on his wall. Then wait for the comments from his girlfriend and other hos to roll in.

Fuck his home:

The idiot is too stupid to remember that he told you where he keeps the hide-a-key. Use it to get in and then kidnap his cat like my friend L once did (she still has that pussy) or if you’re really committed, you’ll move (or remove) one item every week until he thinks he’s going crazy.

Have you got a tale of depraved revenge? I’d love to hear it — post it in the comments below!

Rule #8: The Best Way To Get Over a Guy Is To Get Under Another One

Posted by The Girl's Guide to Depravity in Rules

I’m sure most people will tell you that “time” is the only thing that helps heal a broken heart, but fuck that.

You can Carrie Underwood his car, you can gain five pounds (all from wine) sitting around watching the entire box set of Sex and the City, you can steal his cat, you can pop Xannies like they were candy, you can eat nothing but Pinkberry for a whole month, but nothing helps you get over a guy as much as getting underneath another one does.

After one particular soul-crushing break-up, I tried all of the above — in one night. I ended up spending the wee hours of the morning puking up a pinkish spew of red wine, plain fro-yo and Xanax chunks while trying to keep his pussy from licking up my puke. (Don’t worry, I returned the cat before he even realized it was gone.)

And to make things even worse, everytime this disgusting pink and white sprinkled concotion made its way into the toilet, all I could think about were the dozen strawberry Sprinkles cupcakes he bought me for my birthday (it was the only damn thing he ever gave me), so I’m trapped in this loop of puking, sobbing and kitty-swatting on my bathroom floor.

The next night, I was all set to unhinge, binge, purge and repeat when my good friend Melissa came over and forced me into a pair of skinny jeans. Luckily, I had been on the break-up diet for about a week, so they actually fit without my flesh cupcaking over the side and she dragged my sorry ass to The Village Idiot.

That’s when I met the Irish opera singer. He was hot, sexy and best of all, he had an accent that reminded me of my favorite Colin Farrell movie … what’s it called? The one where he talks all nasty? Oh, yeah, his sex tape.

Despite the fact that I SO was not in the mood for another man’s dick, my friend suggested that we all go back to my place for another drink after the bar closed — and then she drove off the minute me and Lucky Charms got out of the car.

I guess the one good thing about hooking up with Euros is they don’t care if you’re waxed/shaved/vagazzaled/coherent. I had had just the right combination of Xanax and Vodka tonics at this point, so after a little bit of wrestling on my couch, we got down to doing the dirty. I can’t say it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life (he had this annoying habit of talking dirty in ebonics) but it did the trick.

The next day, I was no longer obsessing about my ex. Since the opera singer hadn’t returned my text in, like, 5 hours, I started obsessing about him instead. I believe in psychology this is called “transferrence.”

Sure, after another few months of stalking dating him, he pretty much pulled down his pants and took a dump right on top of my heart. But this time, instead of reaching for the baseball bat and a handful of pills, I pulled on my skinny jeans and headed out to the VI to find another peen to help me mend my broken heart.