A Coat Hanger Too Far

Every man has been there.  That moment when some two-bit dishrag you've been lobbing your load into tells you she's late. Nothing, short of staring down certain death, can make time stand on a dime like the prospects of inadvertently procreating with a six you've purposefully refrained from introducing to your friends and family. A gazillion things go through your head; The incessant crying baby. The steep drop-off of poon options. Trailer parks. Bank Robbery. Murder --> suicide.

Thankfully, a great deal of these alarms prove out be false...just colossal tests of a man's mettle. The best response to these often fallacious claims is a poker face that'd make Phil Ivey's dick turtle, a comforting hug, and a calm/measured inquiry as to whether the prospective DNA turd is in fact yours. Never, EVER overreact...as there's plenty of time to formulate ways in which to slip the tramp some RU-486 and/or have a friend side-kick her in the midsection, trust me.

Sadly, for a few unfortunate souls, reality is one gigantic shit sandwich and they're gonna have to take a bite.

That's why it's important to consider your birth control options before and after coital moon landings. I present short list of alternatives not to consider.

A Coat Hanger Too Far: Ill Conceived Birth Control Methods

Four Flights and a Shove

Chaperoning some bitch around town waiting for her to decide to "take the steps instead" (rarer than a Big Foot sighting if dealing with a fat American sow) is time consuming. Plus, you've got to make sure the staircase is fairly unpopulated and steep as fuck...and there's only one set I know that fits the bill:

But if you're set on the idea and have an opportunity, kick that dunce into the next dimension...like this guy did:

The Spray & Pray

Typically practiced by mindless white trash and NBA power forwards, the spray & pray is akin to Russian Roulette...with your cawk. Sure, you might get lucky and catch an empty chamber, but with such a monolithic downside and absolutely no upside, why risk it? Besides, if you're from either demographic, the likelihood your piss-pump is probing an unmolested cave is almost zero. So wrap it up...because the only thing worse than hearing, "I'm late" is hearing, "I have vaginal warts..."*

*third worst: "I have cats." (weigh in, please)

The Carruth

Hiring a pipe toting nurgah to light up the incubator of your seed seems like a legit play in the peanut sized brain of a NFL wide receiver, but it's comparable to throwing the long-ball into triple coverage. Today's CSI technology pretty much guarantees there'll be traceable evidence and once the shake-down is on, Sir Thug-A-Lot is gonna squeal louder than Ned Beatty being man handled (see: anally raped) by some hillbilly with a thing for chubs.

Look, if you happen to be a professional athlete in a high profile sport, and have been wise enough to slough off the hanger-ons from the old hood, you've got change to spare. Get a good lawyer and negotiate the lowest payment plan possible. You'll never have to see/talk to the little fucker as long as the checks don't bounce. Then get a vasectomy, move on with your life, and button-hook tramps up and down the eastern seaboard.

If you're not and desperate, have the bitch get into a rumble with Ray Lewis outside of some nightclub Super Bowl weekend. She'll/it'll be dead and he'll skate. Win-win.

A Holocaust (or Garden Variety Genocide)

Everyone hates somebody. For Hitler, it was the Jews. Loud, pushy, controlling, frugal, shitty at sports, you name it. Just an awful people. But lets face it, exterminating an entire race entails TONS of fucking admin (just ask Stalin, Amin, Bush, Paul Shirley). The train schedules. The building/running/maintaining of all those camps. The discarded clothes. Not to mention the water/electric/gas bill...

Sadly, Hitler would learn this lesson the hard way. I can only presume his "final solution" came to him whilst he delighted in some chick pissing in his face, so one can understand his lack of "vision" (wocka, wocka). In a better frame of mind, he'd have just expeled the assholes, negotiated for a plot of land where the wayward tribe could marinate in their own Hebetasticness...one smack dab in the middle of their sworn enemies. Then he could've sat back and enjoyed years and years of border skirmishes, car bombs, and assassinations...like the rest of us have. I trust he'd have marvel at their sticktoitiveness and maybe even gained a new found respect, even if never overcoming the fact the they're all extremely annoying...

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Shit Sandwich likes long walks on the beach, dogs, and sitting in front of the fire with a good book in one hand and his cock the other.