“Amanda complains that we don’t have sex often enough, but she has to understand that I have a very high-pressure job,” Yetter said. “And then there’s church, which we’re very involved with.”
Because of Yetter’s strong Catholic faith, the couple abstained from sex until after their June 1995 wedding, an event that was originally scheduled for May 1993 but was delayed numerous times due to “extenuating circumstances.”
Amanda said that, overall, she is satisfied with her sex life.
The nightie.
“I have to admit, it isn’t exactly everything I’ve ever wanted, but it’s normal for a couple’s love life to fall off a bit as time goes by,” she said. “Still, I just can’t help but wish it was more like it was when we first got married. We were pretty crazy that first day or two!”
In addition to the infrequency of their coupling, Amanda expressed disappointment over her husband’s habit of having a few drinks to “loosen up” to the point of inebriation before intercourse, as well as his tendency to face away from her during the act itself.
“ ‘I just can’t help but wish it was more like it was when we first got married. We were pretty crazy that first day or two!’ ”
“It’d be nice if he enjoyed it more, but you know how men are,” Amanda said. “When you finally talk them into it, they just want to get in there, shut their eyes tight, and get it over with as quickly as possible.”
Added Amanda: “I’m hoping, though, that if I can be more creative in the romance department, I can spice things up a bit. Maybe then, Eric won’t spend so much time in his study with the door locked.”
With Friday’s coital duties behind him, Yetter is now focusing on the couple’s June 11 anniversary.
“I hope Amanda doesn’t expect us to go someplace romantic for the weekend,” Yetter said. “A dinner out would be okay, but some secluded little bed-and-breakfast by the sea would be way too much. Amanda should know that sort of thing doesn’t interest me.”
TIPS
Relationship Tips
Many couples find their relationships stuck in a rut after they’ve been together for a while. Here are some ways to rekindle the fires of love:
Remember: Fragrant roses, moonlit walks, and candlelight dinners are all wonderful ways to avoid addressing the real problems in your marriage.
Communication is key to any relationship. Put down those binoculars, march right over there, and introduce yourself.
Try buying your husband that watch he’s always wanted, and then throwing it in the ocean to show that your love is more important than material things.
Important: Homemade love coupons are not only fun, but they’ll also save you hundreds of dollars when fucking your wife.
Fresh fruit, fine wine and seafood are all known to arouse the passions. Cover the bed with them one night.
Spice up your morning routine by shouting “Good morning, wife!” right into your sleeping spouse’s face.
Please, for the love of God, just stop doing that weird chewing thing with your mouth.
Vary your lovemaking techniques by having make-up sex, break-up sex, and chased-around-the-front-yard-with-a-meat-cleaver sex.
If you and your partner are having problems communicating, try and switch things up. Have your boyfriend call you an “impotent sack of balding failure,” while you call him a “shrill, delusional hag of a woman.”
Why not make a little game out of who has the higher income, with the loser having to clean the bathroom for a year?
Take your wife back to the place you had your first date, that magical spot in the Colorado Desert where you sipped wine beneath the stars, ran across the sand, and laughed with the ease of children, holding each other tight and—oh wait, that wasn’t you. That was Clark and Emily Gundersen of Erie, NY.
NEWS IN BRIEF
Area Couple Not Sure If Sex Was Tantric
SCARSDALE, NY—Following two hours of stilted, uncomfortable intercourse in which the couple started and stopped at various times, Jeff and Kara DiMarco speculated Saturday as to whether they had just engaged in tantric sex. “I’m pretty sure it was tantric,” said Jeff DiMarco, adding that he and his wife skimmed an Esquire article about tantra last month, and that what they did Saturday was “like that, sort of.” “We were definitely breathing together, and I know I didn’t climax, even though I came close a few times. And I think we transmitted energy. Honey, we transmitted energy, right?” Wife Kara later told reporters that she was pretty sure her chakra had been stimulated at some point Saturday, but she couldn’t say for sure.
STATSHOT
COMMENTARY
Honey, I’m Not Going To Stand Here And Debate The Merits Of The First Two B-52’s LPs In Front Of The Whole Supermarket
by William T. Mayhew
Honey. Please. Just drop it. I’m serious, I’m not doing this with you now. We’re in the bread aisle of the Food Lion, for God’s sake. I’m not going to get sucked in to another one of these stupid arguments again. Not now, okay? Not here. No, I’m telling you, I don’t want to hear anything about the gimmickry of retro ’60s hairdos or guy-girl fractured-pop ensembles, certainly not from someone who worships the Cramps, understand? So just stop.
People are staring. Could you please lower your voice? Honey, if you think I’m going to stand here in the middle of this supermarket and debate you on the validity of the first two B-52’s LPs, then you are sorely mistaken.
“Why not?” I’ll tell you why not: Because everybody with even half a sense of the post-punk/new-wave aesthetic can tell you that there is NO debating this subject, that’s why. Hello? “Rock Lobster”? “Planet Claire has pink air”? Any of this ringing a bell, Mrs. Self-Declared Expert-On-All-Things-From-The-Late-’70s/Early-’80s-Athens, GA-Underground-Scene? I suppose they were playing CBGB’s in 1978 because they WEREN’T cool? Unbelievable. Where’s the goddamn coupon for the applesauce? Well, you had it last …
What? Do not bring Ricky Wilson into this. His alternate guitar tunings were more than just a way to cover for the group’s lack of a bassist; they were absolutely integral to the driving, rhythmic sound of the band, and you know it. Derivative of Robert Fripp, my ass. The guy played session dates for Tom Verlaine, for crying out loud. Look, I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work. So drop it. What’s the next thing on the list? Cheerios. Just help me find the Cheerios so we can—
“Do not bring Ricky Wilson into this. His alternate guitar tunings were more than just a way to cover for the group’s lack of a bassist; they were absolutely integral to the driving, rhythmic sound of the band, and you know it.”
What do you mean, “Fuck the Cheerios?” Honey, listen to me, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner you’ll stop embarrassing yourself in front of a store full of strangers with your inappropriate behavior and ill-informed opinions on novelty-rock revivalism. Okay? So go find the Cheerios.
“LOVE Shack”? Why would you even bring UP “Love Shack”? That was an MTV hit in, like, 1989. That is completely outside the range of this discussion, honey. Unless we’re talking about a recording where the name Chris Blackwell or Rhett Davies is listed after the word “producer,” then it’s totally irrelevant. And that includes 1982’s David Byrne–produced Mesopotamia EP. Why can’t you get that through your head? Maybe if you weren’t so goddamn stubborn all the time—
“Okay then. No, no, go ahead. I’ll just stand here next to the English muffins and listen to you do all the B-52’s talking, then. You always do anyway, so go ahead. I’m listening.”
Oh, I’m the stubborn one? Great. I’m the stubborn one. Ha, that’s a laugh. Uh, excuse me, hypocrite-check in aisle four? Who was the one who kept insisting last Thanksgiving that that stupid “You’re not the only flame” song—which was a duet with DARYL HALL for chrissakes—was a legit Elvis Costello single? Huh? Who was that again? You ruined Thanksgiving for everyone.
For the last time, we are dropping this NOW. That security guard is looking at
us. No, sir, we’re fine. No need to call the manager. My wife here is just a little stressed out. And doesn’t know anything about call-and-response-based American underground bands. Thank you. Carry on.
Okay, honey, we need milk.
WHAT? What did you just say? You’re actually claiming Fred Schneider can’t carry a tune? Oh, now you’ve just lost it. I hope they sell antipsychotics in this store, because you have gone right out of your mind. Could DARBY CRASH carry a tune? Could Mark E. fucking SMITH? So the man’s a shouter. What does that have to do with legitimacy as a rock and roll vocalist? Yes, the B-52’s are a rock band, dear—yes, it’s “dance” music, but I would hardly—
I KNOW they combined surf-rock retro with early pop kitsch! I KNOW that! Why would you even feel the need to tell me that? That was the whole idea, you—
Can I finish my sentence? Are you gonna let me FINISH my fucking SENTENCE? Are you gonna—oh. Okay then. No, no, go ahead. I’ll just stand here next to the English muffins and listen to you do all the B-52’s talking, then. You always do anyway, so go ahead. I’m listening.
Great. Your old standby about how I like Warren Zevon. We’re back to his self-titled second LP again, are we? Yes, dear, I realize the Eagles did the backing vocals on “The French Inhaler.” That doesn’t mean it’s not a classic record! JESUS! NO, you are not roping me into DEFENDING the Eagles, okay? You’ve pulled that one too many times, sweetie—TOO many TIMES!
Look, final word, and then I’m pushing this cart over to the produce section, with or without you. The first two B-52’s LPs—yes, BOTH of them—are CLASSIC FUCKING RECORDS and EVERYBODY who has ANY taste in music AT ALL knows that and this is NOT something I am going to fucking DEBATE with you or anyone else in this store. END of discussion. END OF DISCUSSION, Helen! Helen? HELEN—
FINE! YOU do the goddamn shopping, then! I’m going to the car. And YES, I will be CRANKING “Quiche Lorraine” on the stereo when you get there and I’d better not hear ONE WORD from you about it or I swear to God you are never borrowing any of my remastered Robert Wyatt reissues EVER again! GODDAMMIT! EVERY FUCKING TIME WITH YOU, woman! Congratulations, Helen! YOU WIN! Are you happy now? YOU WIN AGAIN!
STATSHOT
NEWS
Butterfly Fuck-Swing Filled With Junk Mail
ELMHURST, IL—An adjustable butterfly fuck-swing once used by Nathan Moscone and Sofia Klein-Moscone to have wild and uninhibited sex in myriad aerial positions has been slowly filling up with junk mail over the past several months, the couple reported Monday.
At one time, the young couple considered the butterfly fuck-swing to be their most precious possession. In recent years, however, it has been eclipsed in esteem by Nathan’s leather briefcase and Sofia’s emerald earrings.
The dozens of credit card offers, coupon flyers, and unsolicited catalogs were first stacked in the butterfly fuck-swing in order to clear off the dining table for visiting relatives, but more mail gradually began to accumulate on the soft vinyl seat designed to cushion the rapid, percussive strokes of lovemaking.
“The wife and I sure had some crazy times on that thing before we had the baby,” said Nathan Moscone, 37, motioning towards the adult toy, upon which he had just hung his suit jacket. “But it seems like forever since I turned her upside down in that thing and dripped hot wax onto her vulva. Maybe we can give it another go after we finish the deck. That’s taking up all my spare time at the moment.”
The butterfly fuck-swing features nylon straps, padded stirrups, a swiveling hook, a crossbar Klein-Moscone used to grasp in the throes of ecstasy, and, more recently, several unread issues of O, The Oprah Magazine.
Moved from the couple’s bondage room, now a nursery, to the den late last year, the fuck-swing ended up in an ideal location to deposit mail deemed too unimportant for the already full rolltop desk in the corner. Other items, such as a box of edible lubricants and an 18-inch steel-studded leather paddle, were relocated to the attic to keep them out of the reach of the Moscones’ active and inquisitive 11-month-old daughter, Abby.
Klein-Moscone, 33, said that she had considered simply throwing out the junk mail, but balked after the last time, when she accidently discarded an important medical bill that had been placed in the butterfly fuck-swing.
“ ‘I was just thinking yesterday, Boy, I can’t remember the last time I had my fist up my wife’s asshole. It happens to every marriage, I guess.’ ”
“I swear I’ll get to sorting out that mail soon,” said Klein-Moscone, who less than two years ago would strap herself into the butterfly fuck-swing at her husband’s slightest suggestion, but now only interacts with the sex apparatus when rummaging through it for a Home Depot receipt.
In addition to raising a baby, Moscone said that working long hours, volunteering at their church, and doing yard work leaves him and his wife very little time to read their mail and enjoy exhilarating sadomasochistic fucking through unconventional methods.
“I was just thinking yesterday, Boy, I can’t remember the last time I had my fist up my wife’s asshole,” Moscone said. “It happens to every marriage, I guess.”
Also noticeably absent from the couple’s sexual repertoire is the bright purple silicone butt plug that, for the past several weeks, has been the favorite chew toy of their Pomeranian, Champ.
“I’d love to give those ankle and wrist restraints another go, but for the life of me I can’t remember where they are,” said Moscone about a set of chained leather cuffs that are currently being used to padlock a composting bin in the couple’s backyard. “And I haven’t seen hide nor hair of our cock rings since we were up in Lake Geneva. We’ll have to get some new ones, I guess.”
“Well, as soon as the family budget allows for it,” he added.
Despite being forced to retire the nipple clamps after the baby started nursing, the pair said they would still consider having exciting and adventurous sex if Klein-Moscone ever returned home from her advanced Pilates class with any remaining energy.
“Last Thursday, Nathan and I wanted to take his penis prison out of the shed to have a little bit of fun before Dateline,” said Klein-Moscone, referring to a rubber locking male-chastity device. “But, my God, was that shed a mess—we ended up just sorting junk. At least I found our favorite ball gag, which I’m going to hang in the garage so I know how far to pull the minivan in.”
Both Moscones hope to get their once-hot sex life back into gear in the spring, pledging to make good use of a leather hood and spreader bar when they try for another baby.
NEWS IN BRIEF
Marketing Guru Also A Getting-Divorced Guru
NEW YORK—Marketing guru Bob Lippman, 43, is also a getting-divorced guru, colleagues noted Tuesday. “Bob has an incredible knack for identifying branding strategies to connect with a demographic,” coworker Ann Lamp said. “He’s almost as good at establishing a product’s core consumer message as he is at ending loveless, doomed marriages.” In the past 10 years, Lamp has won four Mobius Awards and been married three times.
MAGAZINE
COMMENTARY
Maybe This Appearance On Jenny Jones Is Just What My Marriage Needs
by Ann-Marie Krebs
My husband Cal and I have been going through some pretty tough times in our marriage lately. For the past three months, Cal’s been cheating on me with Rhonda, this 18-year-old stripper who used to baby-sit for us. And just yesterday, after beating me with a tire iron, he told me Rhonda’s pregnant and wants us to raise the child.
As you can probably guess, I’m furious at Cal. But I’m not perfect, either: I did, after all, have sex with his father. All sorts of confused thoughts run through my head, and I just don’t know what to do. My mother thinks I should dump “that piece-of-shit asshole fuck,” as she’s fond of calling Cal. My best friend Adrienne thinks we should get counseling. I’m thinking an appearance on The Jenny Jones Show is just the thing to save our marriage.
I watch Jenny every day, and I really think she could give us the a
dvice and guidance we sorely need. Her show tackles relationship problems like mine all the time, and Jenny’s incredible at dealing with them.
First of all, she’s full of the plain, common-sense wisdom that all the great daytime talk-show hosts, from Sally Jessy Raphäel to Mother Love, share. I remember one episode where this middle-aged woman was cheating on her husband with her teenage stepson. She said the boy wasn’t technically related to her, so what was the problem? I must admit, the woman’s argument seemed pretty sound to me.
But Jenny really put things in perspective. First, she asked this lady, “What if your husband was cheating on you? Wouldn’t you be hurt?” Then Jenny added, “You’re this boy’s stepmom! Stepmoms aren’t supposed to do things like that!” I remember sitting at home in awe. I never thought of it quite that way!
“Maybe if I come on the show wearing my favorite green dress, someone will refer to me as ‘yo, the lady in green.’ And maybe someone will point out that I gots to check myself before I wreck myself. Because I do. Sometimes, it takes a stranger in a TV audience to hammer home a point like that.”
As great as Jenny is, the studio audience deserves a lot of credit for counseling people, too. They provide just the kind of support system people need when discussing their embarrassing problems on national TV. I particularly remember one audience member’s input. The show, titled “I Can’t Control My Sexy Teen!”, featured a panel of overweight teenage girls who dress like sluts. About halfway through, a male audience member stood up and said to these girls, “Can all y’all ladies say ‘choo-choo,’ ’cause alls I sees a ho train! Ho! … Ho! … Ho!” Talk about helpful! These remarks let the girls see that their mode of dress was causing them to be treated with less respect than they deserved.
The Onion Presents Page 13