What did Yahoo readers have to say? Find out after the jump.

Thank you, Yahoo!

My tongue ruminated on memories of peanut sauce and bean sprouts, quickly tasting each dish with which it was presented and re-shelving the phantom platter for a later craving. When my eyes came to rest on the Spicy Green Curry, I knew my mouth had found what it wanted.

Something in me was telling me that this was the dish I should order, despite the warning label under the menu description advertising this as a “very spicy dish.” Or maybe precisely because of that label.

As I barreled my way through that burning sensation that was my breakfast, I wondered why on Earth I was doing this to myself. There was so much spice that I could barely taste anything else. There were hints of coconut milk here, and eggplant there, but mostly my mouth was a wasteland of curry on fire.

That got me thinking about my whole relationship with spicy food. I can’t say that I really like how it tastes. So why do I love eating it?

As a child, if I thought I saw even one speck of pepper in a dish, I wouldn’t eat it. I hated hot food. It burned. It hurt. I had good common sense. Except there was always this nagging part of me that said, “You are Jamaican. You are supposed to like spicy food.”

Nowadays, telling me that an item is superspicy is like dangling catnip in front of a cat. I have gulped chunks of wasabi, gobbled whole jalapeno peppers, and guzzled teaspoons of hot sauce on request. I make a great show of being unaffected by the fact that my head is imploding.

I think it goes along with some unrequited need for a rite of passage. I put it right up there with my extra piercings, substance experimentation, and tattoos. There is something about spicy food that says, “I am no longer a child,” even if it doesn’t quite say, “I am an adult.” I am subjecting myself to the pain simply to prove that I can do it.

Don’t we all have our little tests of self-mutilation? Like stalking around on stilettos for the entire day, or going through cramps with no Midol, or running the entire five miles even though the last six months have been spent lazily on the couch?

However much I have to suffer, it doesn’t look like I’m going to stop eating spicy foods anytime soon. The other day I ate half a block of cheese full of jabanero peppers. Yum.

If you’re feeling adventurous (or slightly masochistic), here’s a recipe for some Jerk Chicken that will scorch your tastebuds.

[photo from img.timeinc.net]

Everyone knows condoms aren’t the easiest things to convince people to use. Whether they’re British and embarrassed, or just dumb and stupid, a lot of guys claim strapping on the latex glove makes everything less…intense.

In case you’ve got one these bitchy complainers on your hands (and really, why anyone would stick with an ass who whines about keeping himself from accidentally becoming a father?), British condom maker Futura Medical Plc may have finally made the condom that shuts him up for good.

According to a study the company released on Thursday, their new condoms help men “have firmer and bigger erections, as well as a longer-lasting sexual experience.”

How does this happen? Well, those practical thinkers at Futura Medical put “a small amount of gel” in the peak of the condom that “dilates the arteries and increases blood flow to the penis.”

You know, I had a lipstick that did the same thing once. It was supposed to plump my lips, but instead, it just tingled until it burned.

Here’s hoping Futura Medical isn’t using the same formula.