Fucking Day: Joy of the Quickie

I'm sure many of you have said, "I need a list of locations where I can have sex, I don't care who sees, and getting arrested is part of my fetish." If so, author Kate Stevens wrote the perfect book for you.

Published in 2011, The Joy of the Quickie - More Than 150 Ways to Do It NOW! was a useless endeavor. It is an untested, unlikely series of sex challenges that vary from suicidal to silly to condescending. It's a sixth grader's best guess at how dirtbags make love adapted into knock knock jokes and then translated back into sex manual.

Sex in pickup trucks, elevators… rodeos? But how!? Look, some of the things I make fun of on our illustrious hot dog website come from fields where I have no hands-on expertise. I've never performed a Christian puppet show. I've never dated a Jamaican man. And as far as I know, I've never served defrosted semen to a cocktail party. But having hurried sex in a shadowy public space is in my skill set. If you're a dear friend who invited me to your wedding, I made a mess in the venue's bathroom. If you owned a raspberry field or camper dealership near my high school, I got it pregnant. If I've ever been to your karaoke room or racquetball court or Greyhound bus or unpadlocked crawlspace, you're welcome. The point is, I speak with some authority when I say this author, who claims to be a woman named Kate Stevens, has not, can not, and will never fuck.

We're only one entry in, and this is already a disaster. Kate starts with "AA Meeting" because she laid her book out like the Yellow Pages which is a terrible, insane way to structure a sex book. "Mmm, the hottest quickie spots are AAA Best Locksmith, Aäarverg Ääritalo's garage, and Angels Ascended Child Funeral Home."

An AA meeting is a bad place to start a romantic relationship for a lot of reasons, which most sex authors would know, and it reveals a couple things. The first is that this book takes place entirely in the author's pornography-poisoned brain. The phrase "Is that hottie across the sharing circle winking at you?" will simply never enter your head if you've met a real alcoholic or sex partner. It comes from a destitute imagination– a mind rubbed smooth by masturbation. Second, we can see Kate has the sense of humor of a cat torturer. Her idea of a cute little comment is "If you get caught, use your alcoholism as an excuse!" As a joke that's hopeless, and as advice it's a tragedy. But more importantly, why is AA meeting sex a 5 out of 5 on the Risk Factor? Maybe go to the bathroom together and lock the door? Dumb fucks!? Is Kate maybe including "increased chance of recidivism" in the Risk Factor score? Because I feel like that's a subject for a different book.

Kate is such an expert on human behavior. "Excuse me, passengers, my wife is quite sick and I must help her in the bathroom; it's why we are going to go into the bathroom together and why you'll hear suspicious noises." Every word of it is adorable. From explaining how skirts work to having a story ready if anyone asks why you're inside someone– this is a person with zero knowledge writing for people with less. She tells you to plan your bathroom trip around turbulence for the, wink!, arhythmic jostling all good sex benefits from, but turbulence comes with an announcement and a staff of people specifically telling you to get back in your seat. Kate has not only never fucked in an airplane bathroom, I don't think she's taken a flight. This is like writing, "Put your pee pee in a Sprite can and paint it like a banana near the gorilla cages. Be sure to brace yourself, zoo guards use whips and gorillas are nearly as strong as a man!"

Kate's top airport sex tip is to "remember that federal agents often go undercover." That's a goddamn deranged thing to say for two people easily stepping into any family restroom and boning on the baby changing table. Maybe I'm a genius, but the first time I saw the Clyde Drexler store in Houston I cracked the case of A Private Place to Drain Your Balls in the Airport. You're telling me you can't hide a few minutes of sex behind a statue of Clyde "The Glide" Drexler? Ridiculous. And how is "Airport" a full Risk Factor point riskier than "Airplane"? You're sitting with your asshole hovering over a suction valve 30,000 feet above the ground while angry people bang on the door, and your take on it is, "Um, technically this is 20% safer than fucking under Clyde Drexler." Again: ridiculous.

Sure, "Alley." Just bang outside and kind of trust in the discretion of passing perverts. I'm still not sure what Kate's considerations are when she makes these Risk Factor ratings, but this seems higher than a 2. Like, if I can be serious, it was a bad idea for Kate to publish, "Commit a Class A misdemeanor sex crime and hope for the best!" If Kate showed this book to a lawyer before she published it, he would have said, "Ha ha okay, where's the real book? Great prank, by the way. This must have taken you all morning."

Ambulance? Is this only the fifth entry? This is the kind of whimpering death rattle of a thought you normally only see at the very end of a 150 Idiot Things book. As an idea, fucking in an ambulance is a toxic swamp of dumb. First, you can't get away with it. Second, at least one of you is having a medical emergency. Third, it is costing you $3,000. And to make things more stupid, Kate seems to be suggesting it's not sex between you and a dying loved one, but you and one of the EMTs. So they, what? Get you to the ER and say, "No need to make love to the patient, I administered 60 ccs of fuck on the way here." And speaking of zany, look at that classic Kate sense of humor at the end. "Don't worry about dumping the EMT– they're used to losing people!" That's a joke appropriate for Jay Leno talking to a freezer of women's feet and no second occasion.

So Kate imagines you as part of a couple who would drive out to the country for a day of apple picking, yet also someone who'd lay down and take it in a bed of muddy applesauce. Because make no mistake, you're not standing up against a tree in a distant corner of the orchard. Kate is clear about it– you're ass out and horizontal, mashing rotten apples with your dick and balls in front of local families. If you have this within you, this shameless exhibitionism, I'd argue you don't need this book. Kate sells you on lewd, criminal acts like you're a Nebraska couple looking to try your first Thai restaurant.

Kate gives sex at the aquarium a Risk Factor of 5, and rightly so. It's a crowded building with transparent walls and sharks, but why is she suddenly concerned about being seen? There was nothing discreet about her other ideas. In fact, her airplane sex plan started with letting every other passenger know you're about to fuck. So how did she come to this number here? It has to be where she mentioned "plenty of children around," right? This is troubling because it means she wrote this sex book with children in mind. She could have pretended they didn't exist in this fantasy world where paramedics double penetrate you during your heart attack. But no, she never forgot about kids; they seem to make up the entirety of her risk assessment. How likely you are to expose yourself to minors is how Kate Stevens rates the naughtiness of her public sex, and fuck you for that, Kate. I'm trying to write a comedy article, not a closing statement for the jury.

This supports the theory I laid out so brilliantly after Kate's tips on aquarium fucking. She says there is no chance of you getting away with ATM vestibule sex, and she still only gave it a Risk Factor of 4. "You will certainly be caught" should bury the needle on any sane Risk Factor scale. The only reason Kate gave it a 4 is because there might not be kids. In other words, she's counting on 9-1-1 dispatchers not sending child police to deal with you and the other hobo ejaculating on the ATM. So she's finally making sense.

You may have noticed, but I haven't skipped any entries yet. We've been reading The Joy of the Quickie from the start, with no interruptions. I'd normally go through and throw out the sane and reasonable entries, but there simply aren't any here. Kate's entire book is sex crime madness. Wait, hold on. I found a normal one:

Hey, adventurous couples! Yes, you! Have you considered sex with the nude person you're bathing with!? I think I might be making an entirely new point: there will never be an audience for this book. Anyone willing to go to jail for uncomfortable sex doesn't need a list of everyday locations where they can do it, and literally no living person needs this bathtub advice. "Making love in a bath comes with the safety of a swimming buddy!" does not rise to the level of usefulness. It's something a fish would think before getting the Underwater Award for Dumbest Fucking Fish.

Kate must have really had sex in a tent once, because she has suddenly taken on a very smug tone. After she explains what a beach is, she gloats, "You virgins think you can just have beach sex under a towel? Try ♪ nuh-uuhhhh ♪. Um, the lifeguards have thought of that?" Then she explains what the beach is again. And look, maybe Kate is a real sex machine, but it seems like someone with a lot to say on the subject wouldn't spend so much of their second paragraph introducing you to the concept of sweatshirts.

Wait, Kate. Hold on. You're telling me that going into a motorcycle club, in costume, and asking if you can use their floor to pork your date only has a Risk Factor of 1? Like, to you, that's significantly safer than fucking in a locked airport bathroom? I'm not sure I agree. I think there are several ways this plan could go wrong. Each sentence of this lunacy is a new infinite universe of stupid, as if it were a maze designed to trap anyone foolish enough to consider Kate worthy of attention. Kate Stevens, you sex offender cow, how dare you for this.

Kate's wordplay is as dry and unpracticed as her miserable vulva. But if you can fight your way through it she shares her sincere thoughts on the wildest part of bowling alley sex– the lawsuits filed by the parents of the child whose birthday party you exposed yourself to! "If you're lucky you can also fuck yourself with a bowling pin (More comfy than using a trophy!)," she jokes. And out of respect for Kate's edgy sense of humor, I'll let that punchline land without comment.

Yeah, Kate! When you think about it, once you've declared a bush a fuck bush, they're the jerks for seeing you! Kate goes on to include some wise bush tips like avoiding ones with thorns, and it's really valuable advice you'd never consid– ha ha, sorry, I'm still thinking about that great joke about how a bowling pin is a more comfortable dildo than a trophy. Ha ha.

What's great about an author putting "Casket" in their sex advice book is I don't have to explain why that's crazy. Kate has lost her mind, and if this was ever a real book for daring lovers it has now become a desperate attempt to fill blank spots in a list. Mocking someone when they are this helpless feels almost cruel, even if their greatest fantasy is to be a mid-level sex criminal. But for future historians, I want to make one thing clear: Kate Stevens said a clever way to fuck in a casket is to trick a funeral home owner into letting you and a lover climb into a casket together to test it, and then fuck. It happens a lot, she insists. Marvel at her. If you let a million donkeys kick a million grade school dropouts in the head every day for a million years, you could never create a dipshit such as author Kate Stevens.

Kate and I disagree on a lot of things. For instance, I don't think you should put a funeral director in a position where they have to tell you their customer semen stain policies. Also, if I was listing sex tips, "fuck like a Frankenstein in an abandoned cavern" would not crack my top 150. But Kate and I do agree on one thing– incoherent thoughts of Madeline Kahn are a great way to start sex.

You may not have considered this, but some furniture around your own home can be used for sex. "Um, um, helpless gasping," added the pitiful thoughts of author Kate Stevens, fucking dumbshit.

It doesn't say anything in the Bible about screwing in a church, and even if you do get caught, I believe a Mr. Andrew Jackson may have something to say about keeping it between us? Are we understanding each other, pastor?

So you get it. Kate hasn't had sex, can't imagine what sex would look like, and her idea of clever is changing "the three R's" to "the four O's" as in "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!". If Kate Stevens's body is ever discovered at the bottom of a pond, investigators will find this "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" passage and say, "Well, now we know why someone would want her dead. Our lead suspects are the 14 assholes who bought her book."

In a remarkable display of horny idiocy, Kate explores the idea of taking a date to the DMV, then abandons it after one sentence to fantasize about going alone and asking every employee for sex. This is a card a mysterious man would hand you before saying, "Here's a sample. To see the rest, you have to watch me masturbate on this bus. The good news is you already are. Hi, I'm Masturbation Todd. But my nom de plume is Kate Stevens."

Okay, Kate. I'll drive out to the dump for the wet sex and table setting savings. That's got to be it, right? You don't have any ideas worse than "Dump", right? Am I doing a bit? I hope I'm not setting up some reveal where Kate suggests asking everyone at your own family reunion for sex. That'd be unthinkable, right? Right, Kate?

Oh damn it, it was a bit. And it … it only has a Risk Factor of 1!?

So Kate, you disease-brained thing, you think going up and asking every member of your family, including their spouses, to fuck carries the exact same risk as sharing a chaise lounge? Crawl back into the swamp from which you came. Tell the other swarms of asexual centipedes your mission failed– the humans did not accept you.

We've seen how Kate isn't always serious. There's a touch of whimsy when she talks about incest or an EMT watching a patient die, so some of this awful advice can hide behind "just kidding." Maybe the whole book is a joke. That's certainly what her lawyer will claim if someone ever tries Kate's biker bar advice. But if this is all a silly gag, why is her only advice for gun range sex a somber list of firearm safety tips? As impossible as this sounds, I think Kate may be sincerely trying. She's dedicating the full force of her intellect to this. She thinks missionary sex at the dump was an idea.

Okay, so maybe you got arrested because some rude intruder found you in your sex bush, but the joke's on you, Justice, because there are still buttholes in jail. Kate doesn't have a ton of insight about how to make a physical relationship work behind bars, but she is almost sure it's jail policy to break up couples and the guards hate it when prisoners bone. Which brings me back to my main point: Kate Stevens is a dumb I didn't think was possible, and I'm American. I emailed her elementary school to see what happened, and they said, "That chimpanzee isn't welcome here anymore, not after what it did in our bushes."

Let's say you're only being booked for public indecency and haven't been put in a cell yet. This is the perfect chance to sort of just hope the police get distracted or forget about you so you can sneak off into an evidence locker or wherever for sex. I didn't think it was possible to know this little about this many subjects. If a scientist studied The Joy of the Quickie, they would say, "I wouldn't call this a book, it's nothing close to that, but it's pretty amazing an electric current through a jar of piss managed to produce it."

This one isn't so crazy, but I wanted to include it because a Risk Factor of 0 means it's 17% safer to fuck on a pool table than a chaise lounge. I don't have a joke about; I just found it interesting.

Okay, we're back to crazy. What is Kate talking about? She's warning us about frequent state police rest stop car sex dragnets? This seemed like random nonsense until I found her author bio:

Kate claims to have done this one! And you can tell it's real because it was in a car, and her back was to the windshield– you can't make up details like that. For twenty seconds she and her untamed passions outsmarted the highway patrol's hunt for wild women. And let's not forget to honor the unnamed lover penis for pulling out before any police arrived! That hero! That exploding pioneer of Cape Cod's squarest vagina! So yeah, "Rest Stop" has a Risk Factor of 5, and Kate has the amazing, near-arrest story to prove it.

Kate wrote a book about spontaneous quickies and 75% of the suggestions here are to rebuild your entire life around the idea of having scheduled, coercive intercourse with a sex worker. Which means we've seen enough. This is maximum derangement. Let's skip ahead to "Toilet" and wrap this article up.

Wonderful. Okay, that should do it! Barring any truly insane ones late in the alphabet we can call this an arti–

Oh my fucking god. K-Kate? Did you spend a page detailing the process of sucking off a toll booth operator? For, by your own math, one dollar!? I hate to admit it, Kate Stevens, but after 149 tries, you finally came up with an idea I can use. Thanks!

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