Ah, love. It sweeps through you with undeniable force, filling you alternately with euphoria and dread, making it impossible to concentrate, hold a conversation, or think of anything other than your glorious union with that dude you’ve been boning for the last week and a half. Basically, love is Alzheimer’s.

It provides all the benefits of early-onset dementia (mood swings! personality changes! lack of judgment!) while simultaneously allowing you to spend time with someone you may not recognize a …

Much has happened since John McCain selected Sarah Palin to be his Vice President, having chosen her after an extensive vetting process composed of… oh, I don’t know, picking her name out of a hat, perhaps, or a lively session of “Spin the Bottle” with all available candidates. Back in those days – the halcyon, innocent days of August 29 through 30 – I was merely insulted that John McCain had chosen to exploit the feminist optimism born of Hillary …

Say, have you heard of Camille Paglia? If not, good news: it turns out that you are not old. You’ve also, apparently, managed to avoid the massive headaches that she’s been inflicting on thinking people for the better part of the last two decades. Now, for the bad news: she’s back, and she’s aiming to annoy the world once more.

Here’s the deal: Camille Paglia was the Ann Coulter of the ‘90s. She wrote a book, Sexual Personae, which dealt …

Ladies, gentlemen: I am a slut.

No two ways around it: I like sex. I like sex with lots of different people. I like sex in lots of different ways. I like talking about sex. I like writing about sex. So I go out, and I hook up, and I do not always stick around to cuddle. This doesn’t mean that I’m all messed up inside, or that I need men’s approval (if you look at my “to do” …

Fact: exercise is boring. I know, I know: it clears your mind, gives you an endorphin high, keeps you from dying young, and so on. Still, at the end of the day, you’ve wasted valuable whiskey money on a gym membership so that you can run for hours on a treadmill that takes you, by my latest calculations, nowhere.

This is why I like bicycles. They actually take you places – useful! – while providing you with the toned leg …

In my time, I’ve made fun of Maxim. I got a kick out of the chicken-greased girls on the covers, the silly headlines, the boobs-and-beer aesthetic of it all. My understanding was that Maxim addressed its readers as if they were lecherous frat boys with grades that didn’t pass muster, incapable of understanding any statement more complex than “me want see chest bouncy-bounce on dance girls.” I found this hilarious.

Yet, deep inside, I felt that I was being unfair …

So, have you ever broken up with someone, and sworn to stay friends with him or her? Have you ever fallen out of touch with that someone, and decided to catch up on his or her life by looking at Flickr? When you found that person’s Flickr, did you happen to see several drugged-up hipster burlesque girls licking each others’ necks?

No? That’s what makes my exes special.

When I saw that my former beau was posting pictures of sexually …

Ladies of the world: stop your farting. Also, stop burping, spitting, sweating, and digesting food. Details writer John Sellers has spoken, and it’s bad news: we are not getting him off.

I know! I know! Everything that I do is intended to give John Sellers – and, by extension, all men – raging boners. I think of him all day long, from selecting my outfit in the morning until the moment that I slip between the covers to dream of …

In my most recent article, I discussed the fact that my boyfriend does not read what I post here. As I am a delicate, ladylike and discreet young woman, I did not publish his name – or, for that matter, any details that could have identified him to the reading public.

I have good news for you. He read my article. We talked it over. And we’re ready to go public.

Here he is.

It’s been a whirlwind romance. When …

So, have you heard about Josh Stein and Emily Gould?

Don’t worry. You will. And soon.

The New York Times Magazine is running a cover piece by Gould this Sunday. It’s ostensibly about “the dangers of oversharing on the Internet,” and is actually the culmination of a breakup sadder and less significant than anyone could possibly imagine. The story goes like this:

Josh blogged. Emily blogged. They blogged together on Gawker. They screwed. She blogged about them screwing. He …