JUST DANDY: Blood on the Ice

Not a "professional" anything, really.

Not a “professional” anything, really. (Art by Jen Overstreet)

Taking a break from committing suicide with food, Mike Pfeiffer will absolutely answer your questions on anything you put in the digital mailbag of justdandy@deadshirt.net. Regardless of whether or not you think Mike is a mature adult, this column is probably best for Mature Adults. As a Mature Adult, you accept responsibility for any actions you take after reading this column. Just Dandy is intended for entertainment purposes only, and we’re sort of required to warn you not to try any of this at home.

Dear Just Dandy,
Obviously I love sharing intimate times with men, but what do I do when I’m
on my period? Do I tell them before the date so they can cancel? Do I wait
until he’s about to reach down my pants? And what if he still wants to bang
me, do I do it?
Clueless and menstruating,
Thanksfully not pregnant

Thank you, Thanksfully (secretly the street artist “Thanksy”). This is a thoughtful question about the needs of your partner and a possibly embarrassing bodily function, and you have made the mistake of asking a guy who is gross on a professional level but doesn’t even get paid for it. This does cut to the core of a very important philosophy for life and dating:

Everything is gross or nothing is.

Your body is an insane Rube Goldberg machine. Here, put this song on.

It’s lunchtime and you want to eat something roughly the size of a human infant, so after you’ve chosen between the two different fast food chains that let you do this, you end up at Chipotle. Your digestive tract is a winding doughnut hole through your body that acts like a chop-shop. The burrito gets stripped of anything your body considers useful like protein and water and vitamins and then whatever can’t be used gets crushed into a cube and falls out your ass in a form that police can’t identify. Some of that burrito is your skin now. Some of the crew inside your body was like “Oh, it would be cool if a baby grew on this” and wallpapers your insides with it. The Boss sends down word there’s no baby this month, tear it all out, and you keep the Tampax company in business. There’s nothing intrinsically gross about your cycle that’s any grosser than, I don’t know, the fact that you’ve breathed in an epidermal layer of dead dick skin in every room you’ve ever been in. It’s just facts, baby. To me something is only gross if it’s possibly unhealthy, which is why I find the marinating bacteria bath of sneezed-on food at a buffet way more offensive than having to put down a dark-colored towel to have sex. Thinking periods are gross doesn’t make sense to me.

If you happen to be with a man who doesn’t think it’s cool that the inside of you does stuff that is usually kicked off by Bugs Bunny in drag then that’s kind of a bummer, but if you let him know what’s up and he’s game and you still feel sexy (you should, probably) then play ball. Also, while a bare and bloody member is sure to make you both feel like god damn vikings you should know that you’re more susceptible to blood-borne STD’s like hepatitis and HIV during your period so wrapping it up is a good plan.

But ah, the nuances of letting a lover know that you’re reupholstering your baby lounge. Regardless of whether or not you find periods gross it’s still gauche to stain your sheets or futon or pile of clothing that you’re not cleaning up for anyone by not warning your partner. Let me pull on this paper bag full of spraypaint fumes I’ve labeled “DATE SIMULATOR” and see if I can figure out the best way to handle that reveal.


Thanksy and her suitor (Jeff?) are making out way hard as spoons are thrown over them. It’s the middle of a very successful first date. She didn’t tell him that she’s on her period because it would be like if he texted her before the date like “Oh, I don’t have any condoms.” It’s sort of a presumptuous and personal fact to tell someone when there’s no certainty about sex happening, you know? She puts up a hand to stop as he puts his on her thigh.

Hold up a second, cowboy.

Damn, my bad. Too soon?

No, it’s just that my body is in the middle of a remake of The Shining and I figured you would want to know before you fingered me and then stuffed your bloody hand into the popcorn.

Oh, good call. I don’t mind though, plus your clitoris doesn’t bleed and touching you there is a way more convenient way to manually stimulate someone in a crowded theater without cramping.

Thanksy motions toward her bag on the ground.

I actually grabbed a roll of paper towels from the concession stand as retribution for eight dollar Buncha Crunches, so we’re covered just in case.

That’s crazy. You rule. Let’s go rob a bank.

They kiss and get way nasty.

That’s a best-case scenario, of course. Sometimes everyone at The Room is way too rowdy for it to be romantic. Maybe you’d prefer to leave the works of Stanley Kubrick out of it (“Hey listen, before you throw your bone in the air and jump forward a million years…”) but I’d say the only hard and fast rule is to let the person know before they’re touching your junk, and for neither of you to have sex in a way that makes you uncomfortable. Life’s too short to fuck lame people.

That’s all for Just Dandy this week! Pfeiff will return next Wednesday to answer your questions about sex, pizza and rock n’ roll, or literally any topic you can think of. Shoot him an email at justdandy@deadshirt.net or tweet @ModDelusion using the hashtag #JustDandyDS.

Post By Mike Pfeiffer (31 Posts)

Deadshirt staff writer. The last guy in the pews of the church of rock and roll, strains the seeds from Dylan's mind grapes, listens to AC/DC while cooking.


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