The author of this story is a Jew looking to provide gentiles with a crash course on being married to a devout partner, along with some fucking to help you pay attention, because apparently Hillstrand and his wife left discussing potentially relationship-ruining religious differences until their honeymoon. Among other things, women can't have sex when they're menstruating, and men can't masturbate because it's considered a waste of their seed. If you're jerking it to reality show fan fiction, I can't say I disagree. Also, it's important that we learn how good John is at oral sex.

"When we say the woman comes first ... we mean it quite literally." She smiled, arching her eyebrow. "Every time."

The research I did by carefully viewing Menschs With Wenches and Menschs With Wenches 2: Schlong All Night Long supports this claim. Luckily, it seems Captain Hillstrand can bring a woman to orgasm faster than he can ... shuck a crab, or whatever it is crab fishermen do.

Within seconds he had her panties off and was working her into a frenzy. She dug her nails into his back; no he definitely had no problems handling his end of the deal. Minutes later she was screaming his name, barely able to breathe.

Discovery Communications
Not bad for a guy who apparently named his ship after an obscure Terry Gilliam movie.

When all's said and done, we've learned that Jews are more open about sex than we realized, and also that Captain John really likes blow jobs. So if you've ever wanted to learn more about Judaism but felt that you'd only be able to absorb the information through the form of an erotic story about a reality star fisherman, today's your improbably lucky day. The rest of us will just experience inexplicable arousal whenever we see Deadliest Catch promos.

Now that we've learned a thing or two about the Jewish faith, let's ruin that progress with Eight Nights of Delights. This Twilight fanfic stars Bella Swanstein and Edward Cullenman, because how else could we possibly know that the author made the characters Jewish?

Maybe it was the abundance of kosher wine, but like bagels and lox our lips were drawn to each other. His hands caressed the sides of my face as he leaned down and looked into my eyes. This was so wrong but so right, like turkey bacon.

I honestly can't tell if this is a comedy or the world's lamest anti-Semitic screed. There are more references to Jewish practices than there are in the Torah. It reads like one long "Have you ever noticed how gentiles celebrate the holidays like this, but God's chosen people celebrate the holidays like this?" routine.

Carlos Santa Maria/iStock/Getty Images
"And what's the deal with kosher airline food?!"

The eight days of celebrating the Jewish rebellion against the Seleucid Empire, the rededication of the Holy Temple, and hand jobs, apparently, begin when Swanstein and Cullenman play Truth or Dreidel, where we learn fun facts, like Edward's erection is bigger than mine. Each of the following nights of what could very loosely be termed "delights" begins with Jewish cliches and ends with the exchange of bodily fluids. For example, on the second night they watch that Adam Sandler movie where he's a Jewish hairdresser. That sort of pain and suffering seems more appropriate for Yom Kippur, but I'm no theologian. In fact, this next excerpt made me an atheist.

I hitched up closer to Edward, licked his bottom lip with my tongue and wrapped my fingers through his bronze locks. I wondered if Edward could be considered a fire crotch.

Yes, let's all take a moment to speculate on the color of Edward's pubic hair. You may think that's bad, but any conversation not involving genitals is so full of forced oy veys, schleps, and meshugenahs that the orgasms actually seem less awkward. And then there's this gem:

Edward, being Edward, had called ahead and negotiated a rate so low, Esme and Carlisle would have taken it just to frame the bill.

Jupiterimages/Stockbyte/Getty Images
"I'm an agnostic stock photo model from Eastern Europe who was paid to dress this way, and even I'm offended."

After six nights of eating latkes, lightning menorah candles, and having oral sex, Swanstein and Cullenman are ready for the climax of Hanukkah, pun unfortunately intended. They go all the way again on the final night but pause in the middle of coitus to light the menorah, an act that somehow seems more blasphemous than just forgetting.

He placed the menorah on the plate on top of the coffee table and lit all eight candles and the shamesh, the lead candle, before saying the blessing. "OK now I can give you your big present." He knelt down on top of me and leaned down to kiss me. I dug my nails into his ass, and pulled him back down on me, in me.

By the way, if you're wondering where Edward being a vampire comes into play, it doesn't. So, yes, this writer just tricked you into reading fan fiction between two non-superpowered humans having weird sex.

So a year after House unwrapped the Christmas gift of sexual assault, Stacy Warner gets permission to take him home on Christmas Eve. In the show, Stacy was an ex-girlfriend; in Six Days of Christmas, she's bought a "tag" for him, which as near as I can decipher makes him either her property or her boy toy. Either way, they've got a complicated relationship.

Universal Television
"Not for me!"

House seemed to have got relaxed enough about acting normal at home, not asking her permission to do things: and Stacy had relaxed enough that she could just ask him normally to get stuff done, help with the dishes, clean up a spill, change a light bulb, without feeling that she was ordering him about.

After a Christmas Eve more uncomfortable than the one where I was caught opening presents and only slightly less uncomfortable than the one where I was caught opening presents and then ejaculating on them, Stacy's brother and sister-in-law drop by. An unexpected visit from the family? Oh no! Classic sitcom/slave drama twist!

It goes well at first, but the truth comes out and the relatives get all "judgmental." Isn't that typical? It seems no family gathering can go without someone judging a relative for their politics, or their religion, or taking advantage of a systemically abused member of society.

Mark Bowden/iStock/Getty Images
"We still love you. We just don't approve of your lifestyle. Your lifestyle of endorsing slavery."

If you were expecting 12 Years a Fan Fiction Slave to have a happy ending, I'm sorry to disappoint you. We cut to next Christmas Eve -- House is getting in shit for misbehaving, Stacy's left both him and the hospital, and then this happens:

He screamed, muffled by the gag: when they took it out he screamed again and again, and couldn't shut up even when they cuffed the back of his head and shouted at him. It hurt too much. Something was wrong.

House gets stripped naked and locked in a tiny cage by angry guards, and the story ends with him in excruciating pain. So I guess the moral is that joy and comfort are at best a fleeting distraction from life's constant misery. Merry Christmas!

It's not unusual for a Star Trek fanfic to feature McCoy and Spock as tender lovers, despite that being about as in-character as Fred Flintstone becoming a serial arsonist. The fact that Scotty doesn't burst into the room to "activate their warp drives" actually makes this pretty tame. No, what's strange is that the romance is there at all. In the grand tradition of Star Trek's ham-handedness, the story tries to teach us A Very Important Lesson ...

"Hey Jim," Bones called out from his seat, "what's that famous Jewish prayer? The one that's thankful that we all made it to this moment alive?"

Spock cocked his head at him. "I believe that is the gist of the Shehecheyanu."

... but it's worried that we won't pay attention if it doesn't hint at some interspecies ramrodding.

I'll say amen to that," Bones said.

"As will I," Spock added, looking fondly at his lover despite his Vulcan austerity.

To be fair, I did learn a couple of things. It's just that I'll never be able to think about Hanukkah again without picturing McCoy teaching Spock the real reason his nickname is Bones.

Paramount Television
"It's because it's what I do. I bones. I bones my boner into you." -Bones

That's some impressive technobabble, but the author is forgetting that money no longer exists in Star Trek. How can I expect them to write a decent lesbian romance if they can't even get that basic fact right? Excuse me while I snort in derision and push my glasses up my nose.

Elena Elisseeva/iStock/Getty Images
If there are two things I'm an expert on, it's Star Trek and having sex with girls.

Janeway's obsession with her work is destroying their relationship, but the ghost of Janeway's dad arrives to save her. He tells her that three "non-corporal beings" are going to visit her. Spoooooooky.

"D-Daddy?" How ... what the hell? "I ... I ... Daddy, what's going on here?"

"I can't tell you that, Kathryn. Let's just say I begged for a really big favor, and it was granted in the spirit of Christmas. Any more than that is classified far above your pay grade, I'm afraid."

The Non-Corporal Being of Christmas Past takes Janeway back to her childhood, where her dad leaves on Christmas morning to go help prevent intergalactic wars. That makes his family sad, because I'm sure they'd be much happier if he took the day off and they all died in a nuclear apocalypse a month later. The ghost also takes Janeway back to when she and Seven fucked under Janeway's mom's Christmas tree, because hey, ghosts get horny.

Admiral Janeway's heart did a flip-flop. How can she make a tritanium alloy implant so damn sexy?

Paramount Television
Is that a disturbing reminder of your horrific cybernetic enslavement on your face, or are you just happy to see me?

Christmas Future shows Seven at a party celebrating her latest professional accomplishment, where she meets and then sleeps with a new beau in scene after scene that filthy Japanese pornography would consider excessive. Wait, so Janeway gets shit for working hard, but when Seven does it, she's rewarded with tantric lesbian lovemaking?

"So if I were to do this, you would respond?" Seven leaned down and took the head of the device in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip as she did so.

"HOLY FUCK."

To be fair, Tiny Tim has the same scene in the original Dickens. Anyway, Janeway sees the error of having a career, resigns as admiral, and rushes home to propose to Seven. She apologizes for being an idiot, because only a total bitch of a woman would want to advance in her profession and prevent war from erupting throughout the civilized universe. And thus Janeway's dad is finally able to depart, after noting that the couple "had been making love all night." Apparently the only thing that kept his spirit tied to the mortal coil was his daughter's sex life.

Oleg Zhukov/iStock/Getty Images
"Happy raging, incestuous ghost boner. Happy raging, incestuous ghost boner, everyone."

God, why are you doing this to yourself?

Because he deserved it. If nothing else proved it, the fact that he was alone on Christmas did. Who else besides assholes spent fucking Christmas by themselves drinking in their living rooms? And if that wasn't bad enough he was pitying himself at the same time. Feeling sorry for the sack of shit he had allowed himself to become instead of making any real effort to do anything about it.

So far it looks like this is only going to be erotic to people who got off to Requiem for a Dream. But then Walter White comes over, and the scene gets ... better? No, wait, it's worse. Much, much worse.

He could still feel the blood and he could still smell the vomit, but all he could see was Walt. "What are you doing here?" he asked, completely ignoring the obvious shock and worry on the deep lines of Walt's face, and the way his eyes widened behind his glasses. "Is that a present?"

Sony Pictures Television
"That's right. Come get it, big guy."

Walt helps Jesse recover from his bender, they have a petty argument, and then Jesse moves in for a kiss, because nothing gets a 20-something borderline methhead's engine running like a splitting headache, a spat with an out-of-shape middle-aged man who dresses like he's practicing for the retirement home, and existential despair. And, well, you know how things tend to go from there.

He could hear Walt unscrewing the lid to something that was probably Vaseline and then the man was between his legs, on top of him, and he smothered him with another harsh kiss before he pushed in and that was good for when Jesse screamed against his lips because holy sweet jesus fucking christ it was in.

Sony Pictures Television
So really, Walt should have been behind Jesse in all those promo images.

Jesse is still wasted, by the way, so add rape to all the things wrong with this. Walt stays the night to cuddle, and in the morning we switch to his point of view as he analyzes his actions with more depth than he gave to anything he did in the show. His conclusion is that they should have sex again, and so the pair begin a flirt-fight-fuck cycle that's as unyielding as the circle of life.

"Jesse?"

"Mm."

"Merry Christmas."

"Shut the fuck up, Mr. White."

Aside from all the boning, the author does a surprisingly good job of keeping Walt and Jesse in character, but that just makes it even more uncomfortable. They know the scenario is awkward and absurd and yet they plow ahead anyway, because dammit, nothing is going to stop Jesse Pinkman from getting some sloppy bear action.

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As 2013 draws to a close, be sure to check out Cracked's year in review because, well, we know you don't remember it half as well as you think.