Author: Jim Goad
Publisher: Feral House
Whenever Jim Goad appears on a podcast, the question that always comes up is whether he will ever do a fifth issue of Answer Me!. His answer is always “no”, that the zine was inspired by his life in Los Angeles during the early/mid 90s, was co-written with his deceased wife, Debbie, and without those elements, there can be no Answer Me!. HOWEVER, if Adam Parfrey just wanted to make a cynical cash grab AND if ” bringing back Answer Me!” just implied “putting a bunch of snarky articles that seem to be united by a single theme together in an 8″ X 11″ size book”, then I suppose you could consider Jim Goad’s Gigantic Book of Sex to be Answer Me! #5, the sex issue, just like you could consider Ilsa, the Wicked Warden to be part of the Ilsa series even though it was originally released as Wanda, the Wicked Warden and Greta, the Mad Butcher before the studio that put it out decided that the name “Ilsa” resonated with more people.
As I read Book of Sex, I found out that Jim Goad and I have a few things in common:
- We’re both circumcised.
- We both lost our virginity at age 18 (although technically he put his penis inside of a woman at age 12, since he had no jizz to release, nor knew exactly what the point of the action was, he says it didn’t really count).
- We’ve both been accused of having next to no standards when it comes to the women that we find attractive, which is why…
- We’re both attracted to Penny Marshal. If you think this is a superficial statement, then I’ll have you know that several months ago, before I had even read Book of Sex, David Cole and Ann Sterzinger harangued me for praising Marshal’s looks on an episode of Savage Hippie. I like girls that look like aliens; what can I say?
But I digress; Jim Goad’s Gigantic Book of Sex was released a decade ago, and I wish I had known about it and him back then, since the rather frank, ugly, and painfully real portrayal of everything involving sex – and I mean, as far as I can tell, there isn’t a single stone that goes unturned with regards to “this most private of human bodily functions” – confirms that my “sexist” and “unenlightened” caveman views were right all along. Or, at very least, someone else agrees with ’em, and this someone else had his book published by a company that liberals, hipsters, and arty people think is cool.
But before I actually talk about Jim Goad’s Gigantic Book of Sex, I’m going to tell you about two of my sexual conquests just to give you young people some perspective on how it was done before dating/sex/seduction/gettin’ girls was ruined by social media, dating sites, Tinder, and feminists who try to emasculate men with their “affirmative consent” bullshit.
My first tale of sexual success is in fact the time I lost my virginity. As stated above, I was 18 years old, and I KNEW that, if I wanted to be broken into the wonderful world of sex, I would need to act fast. Now, you might be wondering, “why the rush? Wouldn’t you be attending college in a couple of months, and won’t there be plenty of girls who are ready to have penises inserted inside them?” This is all true. HOWEVER, with high school nearing its end, with prom quickly approaching, and with an adorable red head named Helena, who resembles Macha Magal from SS Hell Camp giving me glances on a regular basis in the class we were in, I KNEW that the Gods were telling me that NOW was the time to act; that if I had said nothing, she wouldn’t have either, and instead of going to prom all dolled up in this wicked tuxedo as pictured below with Jared–
— I would have stayed home and acted superior to all the “rubes” who went out to prom and had sex, while making it painfully obvious that I really just regretted not doing anything.
Incidentally, Helena and I actually had sex the week BEFORE prom as well as on the initial night. If I had known getting her in bed would have been THAT easy, I’d have asked her out MONTHS earlier! Once I broke the ice by asking if she wanted to go to prom, I then asked her to come see my shitty punk band, the Bloodsucking Freaks, play at a local VFW hall, and then to hang out at her dinky ass, white trash house after the gig, where we fornicated for MY first and her who knows which number time… and it was FUN! Like, it wasn’t bad or weird or awkward or traumatizing or any of those things typically associated with first time sex! The lights were dimmed; her room was decorated with hippie and Wiccan knick-knacks; she had a thin, yet curvy figure, which looked great illuminated by the moonlight and her… lava lamps… We went at it for like twenty minutes to a half hour, trying out various positions while grunting and sweating; and from all of the context clues, we both got off. In fact I KNOW she did because, the one time out of three that she didn’t, she told me so. So that was that. We dated for a whopping two weeks, had sex a total of three times, hung out a couple times at the mall and maybe the arcade, saw the Dead Kennedys with Brand Cruz on vocals at Harpos, where only about twenty people showed up, and broke up because I didn’t call her for a week, which she didn’t appreciate.
And after that, I didn’t have sex for at least a year.
When I finally DID, I was in my second year of college, about 25 lbs. lighter, and had a killer physique, that I accomplished by starving myself, working out and running about seven miles a day for two and a half months. I was also now fully entrenched in my punk rock look, complete with cut-off t-shirts, mohawk, black denim, studded belt, studded wrist band, and either Converse sneakers or engineer boots. Without much effort, I scored a couple of one night stands, but when I saw Melissa, it seemed as though once again the Gods were telling me, “you GOTTA go after this one. It’s now or never, dude!” So, my friends and I were sitting in the cafeteria, and in walks Melissa. In an effort to show them I’m a bad ass, I got up as if I was Clint Eastwood, mustering up courage, but acting like it was no big deal, walked up to her, and came up with the best opener I could think of when talking to a girl who wears slutty, punk rock miniskirts, fishnet stockings, and Doc Martins; “uh, uh, uh… do you listen to punk rock?” She responded with something like, “I listen to lots of stuff.” And then I hemmed and hawed about gigs and my radio show and other pointless, air-filling garbage before I FINALLY said, “so do you want to go out sometime?”
When I came back to the table with slip of paper that had her phone number on it, I felt like I proved I have a brass scrotum. But, as anyone who’s courted a girl knows, that brief moment of victory is fleeting, for unless you’re a master pickup artist, you REALLY don’t know if she actually plans on answering her phone when you call her – this is RIGHT before all of this texting bullshit started – or if she even gave you the correct number.
And let me tell you, courting Melissa took a strong head and an iron will. I could probably sleep with other girls – I mean, I was totally in with one of these chicks already, and then kaboshed it myself – and at one point I even had a contingency plan in the form of another girl named Amber, who I started to set up plans with when I thought I wasn’t getting anywhere with Melissa, but at the end of the day, I REALLY wanted to sleep with Melissa if ONLY to prove that I could do it; and of course because she looked REALLY hot in the one-piece, rock ‘n’ roll nurse outfit, fishnets, and with her face all painted up.
But, hoo boy, was she frustrating; we’d set up a date, and she’d forget and make other plans. She’d invite me to hang out with her, and then her friends would show up. On top of that, she was dating this crazy, tattooed guy with bug eyes named Dave, who she visited on the weekend. Now, you’re probably saying, “well, dude, if she was dating Dave, why did you think she wanted to go out with you?” BECAUSE SHE GAVE ME HER NUMBER!!! AREN’T YOU PAYING ATTENTION??!! WHY WOULD SHE GIVE ME HER NUMBER IF SHE WASN’T INTERESTED IN DATING/FUCKING ME? Oh yeah, because she’s a girl, and girls do that… often. But anyway, it was a real test of my resolve; I’d run into her and say, “hey, so what’s the deal? Do you want to go out with me or what?” And she’d give me a half ass answer, not committing to a solid “yes” or “no.” See, this is back when we were taught to treat women as adults who think rationally; so when what we were taught clashed with reality, it kinda sucked! Was she interested? Was she just a typical attention whore, who loves leading guys on for her amusement? So FINALLY, after an interminable three weeks, after which I decided not to waste any more time with pursuing her, she called me that weekend, told me she’d broken up with Dave, and that she would be around a lot more often. I should add that I missed the first call, and she left a message. I was ABOUT to call her back, but a lady friend of mine said, “don’t call her. She’ll call you.” And right she was!
That Sunday night – hey, it’s college; every night’s a weekend night – after visiting my former friend Tiffany at the porno/sex toy shop that she worked at, Melissa and I went back to my place, watched a movie, and had sex; while I was on my back, Melissa finished me off with a handy, and I jizzed in my own face. Shortly after that, we started dating, and during our ten month relationship, we had sex roughly 250 – 300 times. We also watched the Devo DVD with all their music videos on it on nearly a nightly basis, watched The Filth and the Fury not quite as many times, got drunk a whole lot, and went to a Gwar gig, where she fucked lead singer Dave “Oderus Urungus” Brockie backstage. While typically we were a fun, cute couple, occasionally I would do shit like punish her by denying her sex when she’d mention the guys she had sex with before me or angrily yell at her from time to time for what seemed like no reason at all or some other melodramatic crap you do when you’re 19 and inexperienced and later realize is absolutely ridiculous. She at one point attempted to sleep with another guy named Dave – this one happened to be a buddy of mine – but thankfully his Catholic guilt prevented him from reciprocating her advances; either that or he wasn’t attracted to her. Then we had an acrimonious breakup, which was influenced by her fucking the Gwar guy. But what’s really cool is that a year later, I went out with her “best friend” Becky – female friendships re-align OFTEN, and women have next to no loyalty to each other – who was definitely cuter though less curvy. And in spite her hipster look and love for shitty indie bands like Rilo Kiley, she was quite the “don’t cum in me, but cum on me” slut, the kind that I love so much. Then she dated this guy who played drums in a punk rock band and is an SJW fag before turning lesbian and marrying a woman. Who’s to say she won’t come to her senses and eventually return to dick?
But ANYWAY; you’re ostensibly reading this post to find out if you should read and/or buy Jim Goad’s Gigantic Book of Sex, not to hear about my sex stories, even though they’re marginally related.
Book of Sex is a collection of articles that Goad wrote for the Portland based Exotic magazine, a free rag (no pun intended), that was given away at porno shops and strip clubs,. It also contains articles he wrote for other publications, such as Hustler, Screw, San Francisco Bay-Guardian, Vice, New York Press, The Probe, High Society, and the website Setgo.com. Book of Sex is divided into four sections; “fake”, “real”, “personal” and “opinion.” In the intro, Goad humorously points out that some of these sections could overlap and that the choice of category that some of the articles were placed in was pretty arbitrary.
As the “fake” section implies, the articles are all fake, or rather they are satirical in nature, often coming off (no pun intended) like X-rated Mad or Onion articles. Some of these, such as “The Sad, Strange World of Adult Films Made by Children” or “Ex-Slave Sues Dominatrix for Reparations”, conceptually seem too silly and ridiculous to pull off, but actually gave me a chuckle, while the opening article, “Home Breast-Implant Kits”, was as nauseating as a title like that implies (hint: don’t by the cheap knockoff 10 Minute Rack Attack if you don’t want to disfigure your a-cups). The “fake” section also includes an amusing article about made up STDs – my favorite being “ass moss” – another nauseating peace about “genital cosmetic surgery”, guides to cunnilingus and fellatio, an article about the penis sizes of various religious leaders, a “scare piece” about a date rape drug that is smoked rather than ingested, another gross article about “pug porn”, and a pair of phony strip club ads; one advertising Stinky’s, where you pay old women to put their clothes on, and one advertising Sharky’s, where the strippers are victims of shark bites. In general, the “fake” part is my least favorite, even though it had some amusing moments. Going forward, the book only gets better!
In the “real” section, Goad goes into investigative reporter mode, doing exposes on a wide range of topics including necrophilia, men who stick foreign objects up their anuses, gerbling – I’m not going to say what that is; if you’re curious, look it up! – sexual deformities, the male nipple, tips on getting a tighter vagina, queefing, the over-feeding fetish, various fetish groups found online, sexual dysfunctions, strange laws governing sex, homosexuality in the animal kingdom, chemical induced erectile dysfunction, motorized sexual devices, various types of animal penises, paraphilias, nudist colonies, and nuns who sexually abuse children. And yes, dick breaking is one of the sexual dysfunctions that Goad discusses. Just the thought that this could happen still freaks me out. As a result of this neurosis, I NEVER want to have a girl do me cowgirl style. Oh, I’ve done it before, but know that, as much fun as you ladies might be having bopping up and down on top of me, and as much as I do enjoy it in general, since I enjoy sex, I’m literally suffering from anxiety that my dick will fall out, and that you’ll crash land on top of it and break it; so let’s stick with the dog style or missionary, k?
In the “personal” section, Jim Goad surprisingly talks about his personal experiences with sex; one night stands, how his reputation of being a “bad boy” on account of serving a prison sentence got him way more pussy than he ever got before his prison stint, his proclivity to cheating on his girlfriends and carrying on multiple relationships at the same time, lack of sex drive while on meth, questioning whether what comes out of a woman is sexual fluid or urine, his erogenous zones, his proclivity to fucking other men’s girlfriends or “bird doggin'”, his experience trying out Viagra, his experience trying out cheap aphrodisiacs you buy at gas stations, his search for his own prostate a.k.a. the “male g-spot”, his teenage celebrity crushes – including the aforementioned Penny Marshal – his praising of older women’s sexual experience, his fetish for women with missing teeth (?!), his love for completely unshaven bush (?!), ejaculating blood (ugh!!), taking pictures of his dick and sending them to women, how shy he is the first time he’s with a woman (now, THAT seems odd for a guy like him, doesn’t it?), his virginity loss story, and the challenge of masturbating while in prison. There’s really not a lot to say about this section other than it’s fun to read. Though, there were a couple of article that seemed like duds, like how he gets horny when the weather is warm (I mean, who DOESN’T?), but otherwise the book moves smoothly into the final section…
… call “opinion.” Goad tells you what he thinks about prostitution, vaginal stink, The Vagina Monologues, the lesbian trend – like my ex Becky (See? My stories DO relate!) – obscene phone calls, hand jobs, tits (I DON’T get why he thinks tits are for little boys. I LOVE big, fat tits with the round areola and perky nipple. I prefer ass, but big, fat, yet not saggy DD’s still cause my dick to fill with blood), the Catholic schoolgirl fetish (something I DO NOT share with Goad, not because I think of it as off-putting, but because I just don’t see what all the hullabaloo is about), cat fights (they’re kinda hot, I guess), Muslim girl fetish, phony hillbilly porn sites made by Silicon Valley dweebs, sluts, the attractiveness of various Republican women, and the Mary Kay Letourneau case (a.k.a. the “hot for teacher” case). The section ends with a bunch of reviews for porno videos. Some of the articles in the “opinion” section seem more suited to be in the “real” section, such as the article about bestiality; while the article about spanking, which is in the “personal” section, seems like it should be in the “opinion” section.
The “opinion” section also includes all thirteen installations of the monthly column that Goad wrote for Exotic magazine, where he makes it VERY clear that, in spite working for a sex rag, he is not a consumer of the so called “sex industry.” He also voices his disdain for the hypocrisy and dishonesty that surrounds the Portland sex industry. In fact, I was surprised to learn that The People’s Republic of Portland, OR even HAS such a thriving sex industry. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?! Wouldn’t feminists find strip clubs and jack shacks to be inherently sexist? Apparently not if you put a “sex positive” spin on it, acting as though strippers and sex workers aren’t drugged out waste cases, but are positive and uplifting role models for society.
Goad concludes his book with an article called “Biting the Whore That Fed Me: My Self-Imposed Exile from Pornland”, whose title should be self-explanatory. And I think it’s interesting to note how, in a couple years, Goad would get a job at Takimag and become one of its most beloved writers, where hilarious passages such as this one from “Muslim Girls TURN ME ON!”…
However the winds blow, the war on terrorism will be a good thing for the American male. If we win the war, we get their women. If we lose the war, we get to treat our women like they treat their women. Who’s to complain?
…aren’t wasted on overweight men who compulsively jerk off, but are read by profound and intellectual political thinkers such as myself!
Stylistically, Book of Sex is very colorful and filled with illustrations – many of them of course are dirty and X-rated per the book’s central theme, and I wouldn’t suggest leaving this one lying around in case the kids might find it – on nearly every page, and there are many fine passages that will make you laugh out loud, keep you entertained, and probably make you cringe. There are also a couple of dud articles, some whose topics I just didn’t find particularly interesting, but those are far and few in between. Although one article made me ponder of how kooky a jokester this God character must really be if he constructed human beings in such a way where the clitoris is at the TOP of the vagina, rather than at the bottom, making it so the penis has little chance of rubbing against it during intercourse; this is why, at times, women actually masturbate WHILE you’re sticking it in them. Ever notice that? That’s why they do it. I’m sure you all feel a lot more enlightened now.