Bisexual burritos
Sex and meat metaphors. For whatever reason, all of my columns seem to involve these two subjects. They are the essential elements of my writing: the sandwich and juice box of each journalistic sack lunch. Looking back, it's astounding how many times I've referred to male phalluses as "hickory-smoked bacon," women's hindquarters as "yum-yum tenderloins" and the act of sexual intercourse itself as "crunching the dirty tacos of desire." Some say I'm sexually frustrated. However, considering my recent sexual proclivity, I sincerely doubt it. A recent study conducted by The New York Times, in fact, concluded that there's a 68.7 percent chance that I'm a dirty whore. And if you round up, the number speaks for itself. (WARNING -- Grandma, the aforementioned joke might have caused irregular heart murmurs. Take your blood pressure medication, and call that number I wrote on the fridge.) Actually, the truth is: I'm all talk. The last person to enter my bed, in fact, was a man by the name of "stats homework" and trust me ... he wasn't very good.

