Fantz in Your Pants: Make your plans for National Masturbation Day

The bible says masturbators are heathens, but if you’re a woman who talks in church, samesies

Lube up the fleshlight. Dust off the anal beads. Shine up the vibrator. Give Blow-Up Betty a wipe down. Bust out those cucumbers. Ice picks, barstool legs, bubble wands, bananas, fly swatters, two-by-fours, tailpipes, pool noodles, vacuum hoses, canes, glory holes, what have thee.


May is masturbation month. And May 28 is National Masturbation Day, or as our British and Aussie pals call it, Wanker’s Day. Maybe Boulder will turn it into an old-school 4/20 on Norlan Quad where all walks of life gather and collectively squirt at 5:28 p.m. The air will fill with ahhs. Stress will float to the heavens (only to be smacked straight to the confessional). Then everybody will zip up and scamper, leaving behind a large, wet mess.

But as we all know — just like talking to wizards, getting tattoos, getting remarried after a divorce, gossiping, being gay, working on Saturday — masturbation is a sin. Just like women talking in church.

Wait. What? Corinthians, the Pauline epistle boasts: “Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience as also saith the law.”
“Saith” the law, bitches. You shut your mouths when that one old dude Paul is talking to you.

I never recalled that part of the Bible. Probably because I was dreaming of never reading the Bible again when I was reading the Bible. But what in the chauvinistic hell? I can’t believe people still utilize that rag as an absolute authority in guiding morality and beliefs.

Hold please, my phone is ringing. “Hello?”

“Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body,” The First Epistle to the Corinthians said on the other end of the call. (Jesus must have told his squad we’re talking about self-stimulation.)

“Not even a hi, dude? I guess since I’m a broad, I’m free from that particular sin. You said ‘his’ body.”
“Well, I meant. You know what I meant. Hold on, Timothy wants to talk to you,” Corinthians said.

“Wait, why are you guys …?”

“Likewise, I want women to adorn themselves with proper clothing, modestly and discreetly, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly garments,” First Timothy said, rudely interrupting me.

“Oh Christ. You have a shitload of women to apprise. Including almost every school girl who ever existed.”
“Fantz, Leviticus here. Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you: I am the LORD.”

“Heyyyy, Levi. Chill out with the caps. I have tattoos. I’m also a glutton and a drunkard. While you go fetch your stones, I’ll be paddling my pink canoe. Then I’ll roll a fatty J in Bible paper (it comes free with most motel stays). Holler when you’re ready to cast those rocks, and I’ll put my pants back on. Cheerio, wanker.”

(Editor’s note: Bible ink is carcinogenic; please consider a less hazardous rolling paper.)

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