How can I stop touching myself?!?!?

We received this troubling email from Luke last week. Fortunately, the subject is one with which we’re intimately familiar…

Hey there!

For the past 2 years I’ve been single and I can’t stop touching myself inappropriately, I was wondering if you have any devices that will stop me from doing so? Or any idea what I can do?

For devices, Luke, few things rival that age-old prohibitor of joy, the chastity belt. A bit of history: contrary to popular belief, the chastity belt was invented by a Parisian constable during that ignominious period in France’s past when genital theft had grown rampant. Yes, *genital theft.* Initially, therefore, what we today know as a chastity belt was called, after its function, a “sanctity belt.” As criminals trended from genital theft toward less messy conspiracies, the sanctity belt was repurposed by overbearing parents worldwide who hoped to safeguard their daughters’ virginity until marriage. As we now know, this simply caused a genetic preference in our species for men with snaky, flexible penises that can turn corners before penetrating — nothing could be more obvious or expected to the modern eye, but in those dark early years it was as miraculous and sought-after an appendage as ever mutated its way into existence.

Of course, chastity belts remain wonderful impediments to self-stimulation, and you should by all means employ one if your wardrobe will allow it. A more subtle addition to one’s “look,” in case you’re picky about that sort of thing, is a good tight pair of sandpaper gloves. They are equally restrictive for the would-be onanist, come in a range of earthy hues, and alter one’s silhouette barely at all.

Perhaps, though, you are a professional gymnast or stage actor, or a work at a chain restaurant, and are not in a position to influence your own clothing. In that case, it’s your behavior that must change. Fortunately, with just a few strategic nips and tucks, your proclivity for prick paddling can be stemmed:

Don’t watch pornographic video, look at pornographic pictures, or dwell on lascivious thoughts. Do not watch the final act (roughly the last third) of films or plays — this portion often proves too fulfilling, in a way that can push the mind to thoughts of sex. For obvious reasons, do not cradle warm, bunless hotdogs in your naked hand.

Do not drink ice-cold beverages, particularly on hot days — the satisfaction gained can easily turn erotic. Don’t play basketball, as the experience of a “swish” — shooting a rimless basket — can set to flickering that unwanted flame. Avoid looking into the eyes or at the chest or arms or legs of anyone you find attractive; focus instead on one of her shoulders. An obvious exception should be made if her shoulders are bare, in which case eyes can be aimed at a street curb.

Abandon *immediately* any conversation in which one of the following topics arises: rocketry, fur, hot springs, weaving, rowing, poetry, length, or irrigation. Never apply lotions of any kind, even to inanimate objects. When using coins, which is inevitable, cast from your mind the fact that they have “tails,” and never pay by placing them into slots. Avoid furnishings with leather or upholstered surfaces; the furniture in your home should be made exclusively from plastic.

Don’t caress porcelain. Don’t think about tigers or deer. Look away from precipices and curvatures; use horizons only as reference points.

Do not stand so close to another person that you can feel their breath. If you find yourself in a crowded bar and feeling the breath of others, pull your coat over your head and stumble to the exit. Do not go to bars.

Do not use sensual fonts, like those with serifs. Read only text written in “cartoon” fonts. If you must read something written in a sensual font, such as the news or a book, have it retyped first in a cartoon font.

Do not listen to the music of Katy Perry. Do not watch the films of Anne Hathaway, Natalie Portman, Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, or one that features a European actress. Never walk around in New York, London, Los Angeles, Paris, Rome, Madrid, Berlin, St. Petersburg, Stockholm, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Sydney, Tokyo, or Latin America.

Only pet dead animals. Avoid desserts; an exception can be made for desserts speckled with bits of hard candy. Do not sit in, discuss, or for that matter think about hot tubs.

Finally — it’s a small thing, but can make a world of difference — refuse under any circumstances to get into a bed, alone or, needless to say, with company. Sleep sitting in a chair or lying on the floor. Use a blanket only when strictly necessary for survival.

And there you have it, Luke. Scrupulous adherence to the above precepts will liberate your flesh and mind from the yoke of sexual ardor. The burden cast off, your energies may be redirected toward whichever cause you deem worthy. Good luck! And remember: all things in moderation! It is still fine to jack off once or twice a day.

Season’s Greetings from us, the We Are Scientists band

Should I take a year in Australia?

dear we are scientists

i decided to take a year off before i start college next fall and i was wondering whether or not if going to australia was a good way to put a year in. there are some problems though, 1) all my money will probably be all gone after this year, 2) my mom thinks i’m going to die, 3) a guy told me he loves me just as i want to go away. however there are clearly some benefits ie. it will be a pretty banterful year and i can’t get a job here at the moment which means being a bum right now. i don’t know what i should do for the year so i’d appreciate if you could help me since you probably know what australia is like and what not.

many thanks, gemma

You’re goddamn right we know what Australia is like, and it’s pretty damn good! It’s the land of milk and honey! Yes, many people hate it there, but nine times out of ten, if you pry a little, you’ll find that during his trip to Australia the dissenter was either mugged (could happen anywhere), beaten in a tennis match (increased likelihood in Australia), or killed by a saltwater crocodile (can also happen near the Nile). Who are you going to listen to, We Are Scientists or a dead person? If you’re like most thinking individuals, you couldn’t care less what a man-size pile of crocodile crap thinks about your life.

Anyway, your mother’s assertion that Australia will be fatal looks like a knee-jerk reaction to all the anecdotal stories, pictures, videos, and news coverage devoted to killer croc gangs, which yes, *are* a thing, but not as big a thing as your mom thinks. (It is absolutely not accurate to say that 100% of people who visit Australia stumble into a croc’s jaws — the real number is closer to 35%.) But there are a couple of other things giving you pause, aren’t there? One is that all of your money will “probably be gone after this year.” Well, welcome to the club. Everybody’s money supply is always on the wane, it seems! That’s how it feels, anyway. “Where’s the heck does all my money go? Where, O mighty God, where??” But the fact is, everybody’s money supply is *actually increasing.* This is a statistical fact, Gemma. So not only will your money not be disappearing anytime soon, but more of it will be appearing. Not bad, eh?

And there’s also a young man in the picture — isn’t that right? A fella who has gone so far as to tell you he “loves” you! Well, love is no small thing. It might actually be *the* thing, so doesn’t that mean you should stay put? That you shouldn’t budge from the Arctic research station you’ve called “home” these last 21 years? That you should spend a 22nd winter within the (470 square foot) confines of DS-214A with your parents and Roger, the brilliant 46-year-old climatologist who lately has been looking at you a little differently, and who, when you announced plans finally to set foot out into the wider world, shrieked and sobbed and described in excruciating detail both his love for you and a series of intense, repeating dreams he’s been having about a “mirror outpost” that exists on the northern pole of a planet in a neighboring galaxy?

Well, yes, that is what it means: you should stay. Crocodiles can be damned, and money has a way of taking care of itself, but if you give up what you’ve got with this Roger person — or, specifically, what he has with you — you may never forgive yourself. More importantly, what if Roger ends up being able to communicate with the inhabitants of that mirror station in the other galaxy, maybe through his dreams? Imagine all the fucked up shit he’ll tell them about you, how you broke his heart and stuff! Being the reviled by an entire alien race, just so you can go have a banterful year down under? Not worth it. Simply not worth it.

Keith watched the 12-12-12 Concert

Hey.  Hey!  Did you guys all watch the big 12-12-12 concert last night?  Wasn’t it great?  Wasn’t it just terrifically heartening to watch people from all over the world but mostly from England for some reason come together in one tremendous act of philanthropy?  And wasn’t it also just really difficult to tell whether the person you were watching perform up there on the stage at Madison Square Garden was an aging male rock star or a female member of the US government?  It was, right?  Oh, you thought it was easy? You think I’m crazy? Okay, then I suppose you’ll be getting a perfect score when we play:


Let’s start with an easy one.   No problem, here:

It’s Dave Grohl, obviously.  Male rock star.  Classic.  If you got that one wrong, you need to quit this game right now.  Leave our website and go register yourself on, because you are a certified dummy.  Dave Grohl.  Easy.

Maybe one more easy one before we really dive into the meat of this game?  Okay.  How about this gimme?



No problem.  Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.  Easy, easy, easy.  You’ve mastered this game, right?  Wrong.


Here’s where it gets tough.  What’s this?  A male rock star or a female American politician?

I know, right?  This game is hard.  That’s what makes it both amusing and infuriating, hopefully not in equal measure.  Hopefully it’s a little more fun than it is difficult.  But that’s a man.  His name is Paul McCartney.  He is an extremely successful musician, and is a man.  You’re just going to have to trust me on this.

Next up:

What the?  What in the?  You’re not sure, right?  Could be a woman? A woman who represents maybe Vermont in the U.S. House of Representatives?  That’s what I thought, too.  I was so convinced that it was a woman who represents maybe Vermont in the U.S. House of Representatives that I double-checked my sources when I learned that it was Roger Daltrey from The Who.  I re-booted my laptop and re-installed Safari and re-ran the diagnostics and still my research concludes that this is a man named Roger Daltrey and not a woman who represents maybe Vermont in the U.S. House of Representatives.

Okay, let’s keep going.   You’re rattled, I can tell.  Ready?  What the fuck is this person?


Should we just stop?  Just move on to something else?  Something more fun?  This has kind of stopped being fun for me.  Because, guess what?  That attractive-if-perhaps-a-bit-strong-chinned MILF is actually a guy named Jon Bon Jovi.  Your guess is as good as mine, folks.


Okay.  I’m gonna give you a little cheat, now.  I’m going to go ahead and show you a photo of a group of female, American politicians, just so you’ll have a fresh perspective.  Cleanse your addled palate.  Here, now, is a quartet of U.S. Senators, all women.



You’re probably wondering why those Senators are delivering their Congressional referendum or whatever with musical instruments in tow.  Well – and, I hope you’re sitting down for this – those aren’t Senators.  They’re not even civilian women.  They’re the Rolling Stones, I’m told?


Just to keep this post from ending on a note of sour defeat, let’s play one more game.  One more really fun game.  It’s called:




W.A.S. Ad Solutions Networks

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The results speak for themselves. And they speak volumes. Isn’t it time you gave your product the edge it needs to drive consumers down the purchase funnel toward longterm loyalty? Do you want customers, or brand ambassadors? The answers are — or should be — obvious. Or what, are you a turncoat piece of shit working covertly for a competitor?