The Girl's Guide to Depravity

Meet Elisabeth, January's Depraved Girl of the Month. (It's a new feature I'm trying out to exploit -- um, I mean highlight my fellow dirty girls. Ya like?)

AGE: 26

AREA OF SLUTSPERTISE: Cyber-Slut

"I agree with what Rihanna said..."If you aren't sending your boyfriend naked pictures I feel bad for him..." or something to that effect.  We are part of the digital revolution, so sending XXX texts, dirty pictures and video chatting naked are all part of flirting these days.  As long as you're smart about cropping your face out or covering up certain parts, there's absolutely nothing wrong with it.  Sure, it's a little embarrassing if it gets out, but just make sure you look hot and don't do anything TOO pornoriffic, and there's no shame in that."

WHEN IS THE LAST TIME YOU GOT LAID?

"On my birthday, which was nearly two months ago.  It wasn't a love making session, and I wasn't obsessed with him, but when he left later that evening, there was a Magnum wrapper in my bathroom trash can and a glow on my face that you can't get from the makeup counter."

WHAT'S THE MOST DEPRAVED THING YOU'VE EVER DONE TO GET A GUY?

"When I was in college, there was this hottie who I always saw at the gym.  6'4", a Mark Wahlberg-y face with baby blues and eyelashes almost as long as mine, and he had a sick body.  I had heard rumors that he was a well endowed man whore (definitely my type), so naturally I was very intrigued.  He was friends with some of my friends' friends, but this was pre-Facebook and I knew getting his phone number and screen name was a bit of a stretch, so I left him a series of naughty notes on his truck, each dropping a hint that would get me closer to getting in his pants.  After three notes, an AIM conversation, a couple of rum and cokes and our first meeting at a house party, I ended up in his bed.  It was great while it lasted...about 4 months."

WHAT'S THE MOST DEPRAVED THING YOU'VE EVER DONE TO GET REVENGE ON A GUY?

"So this is an ex-boyfriend, who at one point I was madly in love with.  I'm a big fan of recycling, so two years later when we were both single, we started hooking up again.  We were cyber sexing...uh, I mean video chatting and I took some screen grabs of him jerking it, just for kicks.  Okay, that's a lie...I actually did it because at that point in time he was jerking ME around, telling me he was thinking of getting back together with his ex and he didn't know what he wanted.  I told him that if he did, I would e-mail her the pics along with all the dirty e-mails he'd sent me over the past few months.  That shut him up for a while, but then we had some really bad drunken sex, and I haven't heard from him since then.  I guess when you blurt out, 'Can you come already?' and 'I'm as dry as sandpaper' it's a bit of a game killer.  Oopsie."

You can read more of Elisabeth's depraved thoughts on her blog, Millons of Pretty People.

I've had some big dick in my day. But guys, I'm going to let you in on the dirty little secret women don't want you to know: bigger is NOT better.

Women like the idea of a sizable schlong because mounting a 10-incher is like a badge of honor, something to brag about to their friends.

But just because I can climb Mt. Everest, doesn't mean it feels good summitting.

In fact, that shit can straight up hurt. There's been times with a big boy when I felt it was going to poke a hole in my stomach and my liquid lunch of vodka tonics was gonna come spilling out of my cooch.

Much like Goldicocks, I prefer a prick that's not too big and not too small but juuuuuust right.

But I'm sure there's plenty of ladies (and gentlemen) who will disagree. So size queens, weigh in: Do you like fucking a Moby Dick or is it just so you can tell a whale of a tale?

via Nightmare Brunette

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.

Where have I been that I never heard about such an amazing fruit called a "Magic Berry" that turn anything sour into sweet? So when a friend first told me about magic berries a week ago, obviously, my first thought was how could I use this for evil instead of good? My second thought was: Dick.

You're supposed to take a bite (or in this case, pop a pill because I'm all about the dolls) and suck on a lemon, just to see how sweet it turns the tart fruit, but of course I want to pop one and suck on a dick.

It's not as if my boyfriend's got the funkiest tasting spunk, but no matter how many pineapples he eats, he just isn't gonna jizz honey.

Well, at least not until now. The other night I dissolved one of these babies on the tip of my tongue, letting it tingle my buds before I got on my knees and got to work.

Now, lemme explain that he had in fact eaten a half a pineapple before we began our little experiment, because it apparently only supresses your savory and bitter taste buds, leaving your sweet buds to work in overtime. It doesn't work if there isn't even a tiny bit of sugar.

So I sucked away and the minute he blew his load, I rolled it around in my mouth as if it were a fine wine. And Oh. My. God. if it didn't taste the slightest bit sweet. Not like I was eating creme brulee or anything, but certainly not as sour and salty as usual.

Now, I'm a slut with sugar issues (aka I can't have it) so any hint of sweet gets me off. Therefore, I predict a lot of bjs in my bf's future thanks to the magic fruit.

But it wasn't allllllll about the dong, I also licked a lemon which turned into sugary lemonade, bit into an orange that tasted like orange sherbet, but what was by far my favorite transformation of the evening was the cucumber (are you surprised?). It had such a delicate sweetness I could have munched on it all night!

Well, that and my boyfriend's schlong!

It's really hard for me to think about Jennifer Love Hewitt, star of wholesome shows such as Party of Five and The Ghost Whisperer talk about her vagina, but here she is, flapping her lips about her other lips.

“It’s called vajazzling," she told George Lopez last night. "After a break-up, a friend of mine Swarovski-crystalled my precious lady and it shined like a disco ball… Women should ‘vajazzle’ their vajay-jays, I am currently vajazzled… It’s cute.”

Not sure if it's more disturbing that she called her vag "my precious lady" or that Jamie Kennedy is the one who will be bedazzled by her vajazzler.

Not only is he looking very Al Bundy these days, but I was scarred for life the one time I saw him dildo shopping at the Pleasure Chest in LA. The one he picked out was big ... and black. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) Maybe he anazzles his ass, too?

But vajazzling is hardly anything new. (Maybe just new to her.) Check out Toy With Me's suggestions of various vag 'dos here.

You're exhausted after a three-day bender when your stalkee just tweets that he's going to be at The Burgundy Room in an hour. So what do you do?

Take a Ritalin.

When you get there, he orders you a White Russian. You can't refuse a free drinks (or his attention) so, you happily down it even though you're lactose intolerant.

Take an Immodium.

He's so high on coke that by the time you get him back to your bed, he can't get it up.

Dose him with a Viagra.

The condom breaks during sex.

Take the day after pill.

You've got "the pit" in your stomach waiting for him to call you.

Take a Xanax.

Forget diamonds, dolls are a Depraved Girl's best friend. So pay a visit to your pharmacist (aka your dealer) and make sure you're well stocked for stalking!

The only thing I love eating more than bread (which I can't have due to a gluten intolerance) is dick.

Luckily for my boyfriend, his meat is not made out of wheat.

Via: Don't Press Send

Now, I'm the last person to tell you not to do something if it makes you feel good, but sometimes when you've worn out your speed dial trying to get in touch with your latest lust and he's two hang-ups away from calling the cops, it's good to have a Plan B.

When you absolutely cannot help but reach for your phone, try calling your back-up guy instead. And if you're really drunk enough, when he comes over to fuck you, if you close your eyes, you can pretend you're fucking someone else too!

Dear 2009,

You really fucked me in the ass without any lube.

But last night I got wasted and had marathon sex with your younger brother, 2010. And I didn't even have to dress up like a Catholic priest to get him off.

Sure, he might turn out to be an even bigger douche than you, but at least this time I'll be ready. Because 2010 is all about getting fucked without getting screwed.

So long, assclown! Oh, and by the way, if your cell is blowing up with calls from the Scientology Center, I signed you up for Dianetics classes.

Kisses!

Heather