It sounds like the Sarlacc gagging on a gigantic Dorito which it somehow swallowed sideways.

Now, some reviews of the Grapefruit technique suggest that it's awesome, and that the dudes involved in this fruit stand erotica loved it, so what the hell do I know? Well, I know that hogs and balls are what you'd consider sensitive areas. And I also know that grapefruits are the opposite of "not acidic at all." How many of those liquids do you want in your urethra or anywhere near your recently shorn scrotum?

Imagine someone literally pumping your dong full of acid to the soundtrack of the Tasmanian Devil choking on Jell-O while your bed gets soaked with juice, spit, and the fear sweat pooling in your ass crack. Just make sure that your safe word is "Stop, for I am in a literal swamp of awful."

Sex Dice were invented by an awkward, horny Yahtzee fanatic who was trying to dupe a lady friend into juggling his nutsack. And if you go look at sex dice, you're probably going to see "Juggle" and "Nutsack" on at least one pair. If you're not familiar, here's how this silly s**t works: You and your partner can't figure out how to f**k, or you suck at f*****g, or you have fucktastrophes and your internet is down so you can't hit up Fuckipedia. You need help, and god forbid you seek it in any place other than the back two aisles of a Spencer's Gifts. You buy these f****n' dice and use them to make your f**k not stupid. One die will have a fun, sexy action on it, like "lick" or "jam" or "f****n' yank on," and the other die will have a sexytime body part like "nipple" or "uvula" or "f**k pocket." That's great, right?

The problem with sex dice -- beyond the glaring, all-encompassing existential sadness of them -- is that they don't work. And I blame that on the phrase "blow ass."

"Blow ass" is a perfectly possible sex dice roll. Both words appear on any number of sex dice. All of them? Probably not, but enough. So with two six-sided dice, one in every 36 rolls is likely to say "blow ass." You'll also potentially get "tease hands" or "pat thigh," but if you're James Bond enough, you can work with that. But "blow ass" is a standout, because you never blow ass. I don't even give a s**t how much you like ass -- and I hope you do, because ass is a wonderful thing. But whatever your feelings on ass, one does not simply drop a liplock on the back door and expel breath with enough force to call it blowing. Nor does anyone assume that position to engage in that counterintuitive form of blowing which actually involves sucking. On the ass. Because what the f**k are you sucking or blowing from or into the ass in any way that's actually improving your love life?

Blowing ass is just shy of Saw-level punishment. How much air can your ass take, anyway? I bet your insides have a point of no return when it comes to dank air being forced inside -- a point where the curious enjoyment of feeling some pressure back there turns a corner and becomes panic as you realize you're becoming a meat balloon that's going to sputter humid human-breath and s**t-spackle when it deflates.

So sure, try some food to transform your noodle into a mighty kielbasa of virile thrustability. But maybe consider chocolate or tequila as your thing, instead of the stuff that rockets through your insides like a greased eel in a wetsuit.

There's nothing coy or subtle. They straight up want you to f**k on your mom's dime. They want your mom to pay more based on how badly she wants you to f**k. Because, as they point out, it's weird if mom is there in the room, but not weird if she's some kind of vacation pimp or orgasm supervisor. The video gives you plenty of reasons for why and how a vacation is ideal for getting the juices flowing, while also avoiding the most glaring issue: Your mom's face both when you leave and when you return. Yeesh. I bet it's like a cat watching you open a can of tuna.

Sexgineers will suggest that after years in a relationship, you may not feel that same flare any more. However, those passion-less years will have created a level of trust which allows you to open up and share some fantasy best explored through role play. Maybe you always wanted to plook your French teacher, or a man in uniform. Maybe you just really want to Slim Jim a unicorn, and your partner is willing to put on a horn and a horse-tail buttplug. What could go wrong?

Every single awkward sexual experience you've ever had is immediately so much worse if role playing is included. If someone ever walked in on you or saw you through a window, imagine that, but with one of you dressed as a milkmaid and the other in a Scott Bakula mask. Maybe you wanted a threesome and you ended up getting jealous of the other two spending too much time together. Now imagine having that same memory burned into your head, except you're all dressed like Powerpuff Girls.

You could always eschew the costumes in favor of just playacting, but I was watching Transformers: The Last Knight as I typed this -- a movie with a budget north of $200 million and featuring Anthony Hopkins in a prominent role -- and I can assure you that acting is clearly not easy. If you role-played at the level of a $200 million Michael Bay ode to s**t smashing into other s**t, your sex drive would retreat so fast that dogs would start barking at the supersonic whistling it created.

Playacting isn't everyone's forte. It's not even most people's. And the odds of both of you being able to pull it off flawlessly every time the blood rushes to your lust thickets are pretty dismal. You may manage a few great rounds of Foghorn Leghorn and the Naive Librarian, but there's just as high a likelihood that you're going to stumble over telling your fantasy Ferengi that her lobes are the bounciest you've ever seen and ruin the moment for both of you. And that's because role-playing requires improvising a scene. Chances are you're not an actor, and neither is your partner. The second you try to make a movie out of your f**k session, you've turned your intimate time into a late-night 1980s Cinemax C flick.

Compounding the acting issue is the potential for just not being into it. It's awesome if you both can work with the same fantasy, but there's probably a good reason that when you think of role play, you think of the same five or ten scenarios. Things like cop/suspect, teacher/student, Nintendo Switch owner / Nintendo Switch are easy as hell. They're safe power dynamics that people feel comfortable working with. You're not embarrassed to suggest those, because they're out there. They're in the collective consciousness of the world's most hardcore orgasm enthusiasts.

It's when you really cut loose and propose "post-apocalyptic triple-dick monkey man and an octo-boobed mermaid from the Bronx" that you run a greater and greater risk of getting that look from your partner that says "Have you always been a sexually depraved gibbon of a human?" You don't want that. Probably.

Spice up your Twitter by following Ian, who's always up for tragic role play or some butter chicken.

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