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 his sweet, manly embrace. I imagine that it’s much the same for you. He is Details writer John Sellers, for God’s sake. The female half of the world hangs on his every byline.

Yet, in his recent piece, “The Hollywood Gross-Out Girls,” it’s clear that we have failed him greatly. It’s ostensibly about women who make fart jokes (or burp jokes, or poop jokes, etc.) and how horrible they are. (I know, right? Having a functional set of organs is totally grody. It’s even worse when women aren’t ashamed of their own bodies! Yuck.) Yet its underlying theme is far simpler: J.S. wants women – all women – to know that their purpose in life is to turn him on.

“It would be one thing if these female Shreks were cut from the same cloth as Roseanne Barr or Rosie O’Donnell,” he writes. “But the trouble is they’re all smoking hot. It’s their job to primp and preen and push stuff up to look sexy.” Read More »

It’s that time of year again.

You know, the time when we realize that our New Year’s resolution to lose the pounds is on its way. Motivation? Yes sir! Motivation with a capital M.

So to get into tip-top-Fergalicious shape, I decided to hit the gym as much as possible. I’m singing along with Gwen and then… WHAM. Someone had the audacity to let one rip while I was hard at work on the elliptical.

Let’s discuss. I understand once in a while it just slips out. We’ve all had those moments. But this mystery offender just kept letting them rip! I felt as if I was in a war zone and the missiles just kept coming, I wanted to run for shelter but I didn’t know where to turn.

I was in a predicament. Do I keep working out while holding my breath and hope I don’t pass out (either from the inhalation of the stink bomb or from holding my breath) or do I quit and save my nostrils? Plus do I really feel like making that awkward face every 5 minutes- you know the one — your nose is scrunched in a ball and the “ewww who farted?” look written all over your face just so the people next to you won’t think it was YOU?

Way too much effort for a workout. Read More »

The other night, as I slept soundly in my bed dreaming about my new MJ aviators, my phone started to ring. It was really late so I figured it was probably another drunk dial from one of my friends. But after picking up and hearing my friend screaming, I realized that she was either a) totally wasted and annoying or b) really having a crisis.

It was B.

It took quite some time to calm Maggie down enough to even understand her screams. All I understood was, “How could he do that to me!?” I feared the worst and made mental plans for how I would kill her boyfriend for whatever horrible thing he did to make her this upset.

And then I heard what she was saying:

“HE FARTED! He farted in front of me!”

Maggie went on to explain that upon letting the gassy offender go, Steve looked at the horror written all over her face and said, “What? I thought we were at that point.” Read More »