​Last week, New York Magazine did a slideshow of eight scenes that the Parents Television Council deemed some of the most offensive instances of small-screen smut. While I was gratified to see that the "Mad Men" slap heard 'round the world made the cut, I'd never even heard of some of these shows (what's a "Neighbors from Hell?") and hadn't bothered to watch most of the rest. So I decided to make a list of small-screen, smutty couplings that I would've liked to have seen.

​In the case of Zsa Zsa Gabor and her shady husband, Frédéric Prinz von Anhalt, even death won't be able to tear these two apart, because though his beloved wife isn't even dead yet--and is reportedly in stable condition as of this morning--Prince Freddie has big plans for her corpse. According to the New York Post, he plans on having her body preserved in plastic by the controversial creator of the Bodies exhibition.

​Earlier this week we learned that the downturn in the economy means fewer people are choosing to unleash their hellspawn into the world. Now comes news from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, that the divorce rate is at its lowest rate since the 1970s. Can we just pause for a minute and ponder why the CDC is studying divorce? As far as I know, it's not contagious . . . oh, wait--yes it is!

​This really doesn't seem fair, but according to a story reported in the Times of India this week, most men spend only three hours out of their entire lives in the grips of an orgasm. Considering we spend one-third of our lives sleeping and an average of 45 hours a week working, a mere 180 minutes over an entire life?

​For those of us sick of dodging strollers during our morning commute and being tortured by shrieking, "rambunctious" toddlers at neighboring tables during a dinner out, the news that the 2009 birth rate was the lowest in the past 100 years is not unwelcome.

​When a non-believer joins a 12-step group, there's generally one big obstacle on their road to recovery: That's the whole "higher power" concept. God comes up constantly in meetings, and while the more tolerant true believers advise that you think abstractly--"think of your higher power as a tree or nature"--that doesn't really work when everyone's throwing around the G-Word. But a church in the aptly named town of Lövestad, in southern Sweden, has come up with an answer I think even the most devout atheist could be down with. Their god is the Big O. Le Petit Mort. The Busting of One's Nut.

​You probably thought I would say Dategirl, didn't you? Nope. Although I'm awesome, my favorite advice column is "Dear Sugar." Found on The Rumpus, an online literary magazine, started by Stephen Elliott (who wrote the fantastic Adderall Diaries), "Dear Sugar" is more like reading a novel than just another boring agony aunt. I caught up with Sugar via email and she graciously agreed to answer a few questions.

​I love the British. They've got those cute little accents and their porn is so odd. But their most endearing trait is their reserve/stiff upper lip combo. And what better example of that uptightness would be bemoaning the return of man-cleavage? Today the UK paper of choice, the Guardian, ran a piece by Jess Cartner-Morley doing just that. "Put it away, boys," she scolds, in a rant against the renewed popularity of visible manmaries.

​Who hasn't drunkenly tumbled into bed with Brad Pitt and woken up to Gilbert Gottfried? Or gotten busy with Megan Fox only to find she's been replaced during the night with a Real Housewife? Straight, gay, man or woman, these bait-and-switch sessions usually have one thing in common: booze.

And lots of it.

​ I was born via immaculate conception. As were my four brothers and sister. My parents sprang, fully formed and married, from a cabbage patch and--speaking of my four brothers and sisters--none of them have ever had sex either. At least that's the way I prefer to think of things. Alas, not everyone is as comfortable in their denial. Certainly not this young lady who wrote to sexpert Betty Dodson this week, worried because she actually, ahem, enjoyed herself listening in on her parents' pork party. . . .