Suck Less: Where There's a Willam, There's a Way

by Willam Belli

  Actually, you can buy the Cool Ranch ones. The only thing I can imagine more refreshing than that signature Cool Ranch flavor is a dick that shoots Slurpee. But since God and 7-Eleven haven’t debuted that kinda Big Gulp yet, here are more tips for satisfying the Cool Ranch craves.

  Now, depending on how stoned you are, you may want to try these Willam-tested recipes, which offer that perfect umani bite to satisfy every craving box on your checklist. Some of them are just to keep you busy enough so you don’t put your damn dirty finger directly into the jar of cookie butter like a pig. Just perfect little amuse-bouches combining all the flavors of home (Whole Foods, a dispensary, a Wawa, and a liquor store).

  Crush nachos.

  Load Rubirosa.

  Spread fat.

  LEVELS: BUZZED. STONED. CAN’T FIND YOUR FEET (CFYF).

  1 French Food for Poor People. Snail on a teaspoon, lighter, salt, and pepper. Best enjoyed in a closed playground for that real crackhouse atmosphere. We wanted a picture of this, but the snail kept moving. They’re transphobic, I think. CFYF.

  2 Poor People’s Margarita. Mountain Dew and Cuervo, and a funion rim. BUZZED.

  3 I call this the Babysitter Special. PB, Benadryl, bacon bits, warm Hawaiian roll. It’s a known fact that the ingredients in this sandwich are sometimes found on sets for dog food commercials to get that basket of puppies so docile. I model better on it, too. STONED.

  4 Fruity Crackpebble Treats. Just like Rice Krispies Treats but better because, well, drugs. Oh and use coconut oil to make your weed oil and it’ll probably have some kinda vitamin B or some shit. STONED.

  5 Eat all your weed candy and then fill the empty bag with cough syrup and grape soda for some Adult Capri Sun Fun. BUZZED.

  6 1 minute grilled cheese. BUZZED.

  7 Get some celery and line up each stalk like those stupid Ants on a Log snacks they tried to make you eat at Bible camp. It kinda tastes like a vegan version of hot wings. STONED.

  8 Ten-calorie Jell-O cups. ’Cause I mean even if you pig out and have four, it’s still less than most other sweets. Plus, it’s got protein (1 gram). Zero sugar. Zero carbs. And, yes, it does have chemicals, but when you die, they’re probably gonna put formaldehyde in you, which is also a chemical, so really you’re just kinda getting a head start. Better the chemicals now than having to buy a plus-size coffin later. Those are way more expensive. BUZZED.

  9 Frozen nondairy creamers. For an ice cream shortcut, grab a couple of creamers from 7-Eleven in assorted flavors and chuck them into the freezer. Pop one open and squeeze it out. It’s the perfect bite of custardy goodness for no fat and low calories. Use non-dairy ones if you’re lactose intolerant. Thanks Dad for that one. BUZZED.

  20

  How to SUCK LESS at

  SEX AND RELATIONSHIPS

  I’ve had sex with at least five hundred people. Starting a sentence that way might seem weird, because I’m going to end it saying I’ve also been in a super-committed relationship with my husband for almost fifteen years. I say “super committed” because I once tried to have him admitted on a 5150 due to fear he would harm himself or me. Love won, though. We have a crazy relationship, and it works for us. All six feet six inches of his Brooks Brothered self came into Micky’s, where I told his tall ass that if he showed me his cock, he didn’t have to pay cover. He whipped it out the way guys with giant dicks love to pull out their dicks any chance they can. I gave him a stamp and he went into the club. ’Bout thirty seconds later, he came back and said, “It’s bigger now. You wanna see it again?”

  That dick was so big I felt the need to start a new paragraph. It was the biggest dick I had ever seen on a white man. I immediately told my boss I was sick and we went to his hotel. We started dating after that and were pretty open about what we liked. He liked that I was “social.” I mean he was able to pick me up straight outta my job within minutes of meeting me. I liked that he played basketball and didn’t feel the need to have some Ozzie and Harriet monogamy fantasy. He was traditional at times. Like, technically our first date was kinda dinner and a movie (I ate his dick while he filmed me on his 2002 flip phone). It’s weird to say I’m still with my teenage boyfriend, but I am. We were engaged for literally three hours the morning we got married. I called him my Feyoncé ’cause “Crazy in Love” came on in the car on the way and that’s what fags do.

  Lesbians are the luckiest ever because there are so few variables. Example: I just went through my phone and found twenty-seven lesbian contacts. Out of those twenty-seven lesbians between the ages of twenty and however old my Aunt Nancy is, nineteen of them are in relationships (only four of them with each other too, so it’s not stacked couples math there either). I have more than three hundred fags in my phone, and by the time I got to the Ms, I had counted only fifty-two in relationships. It’s a stereotype, but lesbians obviously have an urge to merge. Cohabitation is more likely to occur naturally with two women too, because women in general tend to settle down earlier in life and definitely cheat less. So a relationship with two women is more likely to occur in the world than a lasting relationship with a woman and a man. Makes furburgering seem like the way to go, huh?

  A man with a man is like a fuckin’ dice game. I feel kinda bad for any hetero ladies who try to strap down a straight man, because it’s a known fact that men cheat more. I don’t need some geological Darwin chart to justify my dick gobbling. It’s physically and biologically harder for men to be monogamous. Sure, we can, but damn. It’s a bitch. Ladies, if a man cheats, it’s because he wants to. There are so many points along the way where you can avoid putting your dick into somewhere other than where you’re supposed to. Bottom line. So either do better or just accept he’s a dog. You can train a dog to act like a cat, but they’ll always be a dog.

  See—he’s not just a husbank. He’s cute, too.

  Based on that knowledge, my husband and I decided to not set ourselves up for failure by trying to pin each other down. We had fun together. We had fun apart. We were always (mostly) honest, though. And on the few occasions when we lied, we fessed up as soon as we were caught. He asked me what I did one weekend when he was gone, and before I could answer, he pointed to my elbows and knees and said, “Or should I say who?” because I had rug burn like a motherfucker from having sex on a carpet. He’s a lawyer, so he always won arguments. (I also have a background in law—by that I mean I was arrested for battery.) There may or may not have been times when one party would get wasted and completely cross over barricading the other party in the house. Now, I’m not saying who did what to whom, but keep in mind I was the kid who used to throw rocks at cars when they wouldn’t stop to buy my lemonade. Learning that violence is never the answer will save you a lot of court time. All it took was getting my ass popped once the right way to learn that, and I thank my husband for it. “Spousal abuse” sounds so dramatic when really it was just two fags fighting, y’know? It’s especially pertinent now not to smack nobody, because with gay marriage legal all over, if you hit your partner, it’s called a “domestic disturbance,” and they keep track of that shit. On the third house call to your home with DDs, somebody always gets hauled in, according to the one cop I used to pay to get rid of my parking tickets. In California, this is a result of O. J. Simpson. I consider myself lucky that I went to jail before Prop 8 got overturned because my basic battery charge gives me way more street cred. We got married 09/09/08 so our first anniversary would be 09/09/09, but then we ended up forgetting until the middle of September. Go gay marriage! We were really hit or miss. Sometimes I wanted to hit him and sometimes I missed hitting him. It’s all good now though.

  I didn’t get fucked by/fuck all five hundred guys, two girls, and three transpeople, but I’ve blown tons. I also didn’t include instances where I blew a “str8” go-go boy while he watched straight porn on his phone to chub up for his next set because my publisher said we couldn’t afford all that paper. There were also over three hundred or so three-ways, fourgies, fivesies, and strai
ght-up sex parties to which I RSVPed my asstendance. Although, before you think my asshole needs a drawstring, at least a hundred to a hundred fifty or so of those multipartner encounters were with one specific guy who my husband and I kinda dated for a while as a throuple, so I’m not a total slore. Some three-ways should really only be counted as duos because there were a couple of instances during which the one guy was super hot so I slurped my way through his ugly BF just to get to him. We all been there, right?

  And if you break it down math-wise, I’m barely even a slore at all. I figure each month for the past twenty years I’ve had one to five new sex partners. Some months more, some months none, but just to be safe, let’s say two and a half partners. Two and a half partners per month times twelve months a year is thirty. If I’m thirty-four now and have been having sex since I was thirteen, that’s five hundred lucky people. I’ve always practiced safe sex, to the point that I know I’ve only had five unprotected sex partners in my life. I had gonorrhea in my throat at thirteen, got crabs once when I was seventeen, and that’s it for STDs. Safe sex works. I’ve had more loads dropped in me than a blind man at a laundromat, but I’m HIV neg, and that’s because they’ve all worn rubbers. I wish I could give out free abortion coupons with the purchase of this book because I know the types of people who are my fans and I respect the struggle. I see you and I am you. Learn to swallow, honey. There are two kinds of ATMs in this world—one spits money and the other just spits, because nice girls don’t swallow after going ass to mouth.

  While I got arrested for battery, I saw so many friends devoting their batteries to apps and dickstracted as fuck. I found a guy who is, like, 95 percent fitting into what I want. If there is a 100 percent match for me, that’s nice, but I’m definitely cool with my guy. I’m not gonna try to spin the Price Is Right wheel to get one dollar even. I’m good with ninety-five cents. I’ve thought about chucking it all, but there’s something to be said for not tossing in the towel. We’ve had our issues, but marriage is about making it work blah, blah, blah. I mean I actually like my job, so the idea that work can be both fun and rewarding isn’t that foreign to me. Work can suck more balls than a Nerf gun though, too. If you’re over it, try separating for a minute. Not necessarily to date new people but to try redating your person without all the rigors and stresses of why there are dishes in the sink when it was just as easy to put them in the fuckin’ dishwasher. You might again find the reason you fell in love. You might find someone new. Going to bed mad won’t kill a relationship, but waking up unhappy will. Each new day should yield so many possibilities, and feeling like you’re stuck somewhere you don’t wanna be is the pits.

  SIDEBAR: ENTREPEWHORIAL ENDEAVORS

  S ome will read this section and say, “OMG Willam used to be a hooker at Dave & Busters.” You’re probably expecting a “but,” so here you go. But.

  In 2000, I was an androgynous seventeen-year-old working at a “gay gym” (read: bathhouse) each night from 7pm-3am after being fired from a dinner theater. After seeing all those dicks swinging for an 8 hour shift, I would usually try to get some action on the way home by making aggressive corndog-in-cheek motions at other drivers. After last call, I looked just enough like a girl for most men to not ask questions they didn’t really want answered. This particular night, after getting the attention of a car with two men, we pulled up beside each other in an empty D&B parking lot. I ended up in the backseat with the driver while the other leaned on the hood and smoked/played lookout. Driverman busted in minutes and then handed me $50 telling me his friend was on deck. I was happy because John #2 was hot and I was hoping to blow him anyway. But now it was two birds, one big gay stone. Dollars AND dicks? Stop me if you see a drawback other than not knowing if my outcall rate was always gonna be buy-one-get-one for $50.

  Being offered cash for sexual services was unexpected but did wonders for a former fat kid’s self-esteem. I never thought anyone would think I was an actual Pretty Woman. Years later, a man (while literally inside me) looked me dead in the eyes and asked, “This is free, right?” and once again, I felt that surge inside me and then, again, a surge inside me.

  Now here’s the lesson: Receiving money for having sex doesn’t make you a prostitute. ADVERTISING that you accept money for sex makes you a prostitute. Ho Long and Prosper.

  MY FAVORITE ANSWERS TO INTRUSIVE RELATIONSHIP QUESTIONS

  Q: Do you have an open relationship?

  A: No just a capacity mandate from the Fire Marshall

  Q: Don’t you get jealous?

  A: No but you would be if you saw my camera roll.

  Q: How do you decide who does what?

  A: I’m a human Chinese finger trap.

  Q: Is this a permanent situation?

  A: Not permanent. Just spermanent.

  So mix it up. Monopolies in business are never healthy, and it’s kinda the same with a relationship. Having absolute power will eventually make one party feel shafted. The split can be 90/10, but that bit keeps each person in the gig happy with a stake in the success of it. If someone’s 10 percent basically consists of looking good, being nice to their friends, and putting out, then there you go. Whatever works and keeps the seesaw swinging.

  As you can now tell, I’m obviously qualified to help you with any relationshit problems. So keep reading, because you never know what kinda roadblock you might encounter in life. Whether a literal one or one near a campsite that you definitely didn’t hear was cruisey in the Casual Encounters section.

  SUCK LESS AT SOUNDS

  SEX SOUNDS EDITION

  Silent sex is no way to go. I’d definitely rather fuck a guy with an OK body and good musical taste than a gym bunny who tries to throw pipe to EDM. Put away the teddy bears and put on some Teddy and Backstreet and proceed to panty dropper land. Always have some good basics on the list, like Jodeci or Sade. Here’s to not hearing anyone queef.

  “All Day Sucker” Stevie Wonder

  “West Coast (Lana Del Rey Remix)” Travis Garland

  “Marvin’s Room” Drake (or the JoJo cover if you’re a girl)

  “Pussycat” Missy Elliott

  “Gorilla” Bruno Mars

  “If” Janet Jackson

  “Fire Meet Gasoline” Sia

  “Freak-a-Leek” Petey Pablo

  “Body Parts” Courtney Act

  “Love Yourself” Justin Bieber

  “Life in the Fast Lane” Eagles

  “Pink” Aerosmith

  “Free” Graffiti6

  “How to Love” Lil Wayne

  “Rock the Boat” Aaliyah (Great for blow jobs! Bounce the bed to make them move a bit.)

  “5 O’Clock” T-Pain featuring Wiz Khalifa and Lily Allen

  “Black and Gold”—Sam Sparro

  “One Word” Kelly Osbourne

  “Superpower” Beyoncé featuring Frank Ocean (The beat throbs and so should you.)

  “I Don’t Mind” Usher

  “Demonstrate” JoJo

  VIRGINS

  Hey, virgins. If you’re reading this with a V card, that’s cool. Take your time. When you find the right person, make sure all signals are go before you try to get frisky. See if she’s maybe a little wet or if he’s hard. Don’t be scared of taking off your clothes. If they’re in bed with you, they probably like the way you look, so at least be confident that you’re doing good so far. You’re probably gonna get laid. Nobody’s body is exactly how they want it. Y’know when you see a burger and the bun don’t fit it? You still wanna eat it, right? Hell yeah. If you know you ain’t got the dick of death swinging down there, make sure you satisfy them some other way. If you’re at a point when you’re in your drawers and no one is running away yet, cool. You can fuck me with a fiver, but you better be doing it like you got eight and a half inches. Chances are if you do it right, I’ll ask what your real name is to save it in my phone. And hey, if it ends with you just disasturbating and crying, that’s weird but OK, too. If stuff doesn’t look like it’s gonna work within five minu
tes or so, best to call a rain delay on the game. ’Cause, I mean, if you can’t be good, the least you can do is be quick.

  If for any reason you aren’t into it, just stop as opposed to sucking through the abyss of it all. Acting like a lazy, kinda-into-it, kinda-not Eeyore in bed will get you donkey punched or really make your partner call into question his skills. Sex shouldn’t be silent. Talk. Make jokes. Tell each other what you want and what you like. Act like the people on the sites that you can’t access on public Wi-Fi. A good blow job should be noisy. It should sound like a Dyson underwater eating an octopus. Make sure you have some background noise, too. One of my favorite amateur videos kinda sucks because I can hear South Park in the background. There’s one twerking video I used to watch of this big-assed dude that I always had to mute because Kelly Rowland is screeching over it. That’s why I recommend the “Sex Sounds Edition” playlist if you’re gonna fuck around champagne-room style.

  LAP DANCE TIP

  Pick a mid-tempo song from whenever the lap dancee was going through puberty.* I always imagined what a lap dance to “Bye Bye Bye” by NSYNC would be like, ’cause I just think of all the bouncing and package grabbing. If you’re slick and you got the moves, anything can fly.