Dear Dr. Dave: Volume 5

Greetings, losers. Can you believe it has been NINE long, hard years since you’ve last heard from me?

And I do mean long, and I do mean hard, if you know what I mean. You guys don’t even want to KNOW how many women I’ve shagged in those nine glorious years, and I wouldn’t dare tell you because it’s bad enough you already live such pathetic sexual lives compared to mine. It just wouldn’t be fair to rub it in, especially as you’re all rubbing one out to the women half as exquisite as the ones fortunate enough to grace my bedsheets.

Anyways, you can relax now, because Dr. Dave is back and ready to dispense my invaluable advice that, judging from this latest batch of mail, you desperately need. Remember to send your questions to The Armpit and they may be posted here.

Dear Batista,

When The Armpit came back this month, I was so excited! Too excited, in fact. Upon hearing the news, I ejaculated prematurely. Don’t laugh; this is the problem I’m writing you about. I don’t have a problem meeting women, I have a problem with “finishing” way too soon. Any advice?

Coming Soon
Omaha, NE

Hahahahahahahaha!! Sorry man, I just can’t hold it in. Hahahahahaha!!!

And rest assured, I’m not laughing WITH you, I’m laughing AT you.

When you have sex as often as I do (morning, afternoon, and night, with frequent romps in between and very little time for anything else), this isn’t a problem. But for someone like you who only gets laid whenever HHH does a job on live television, well, I can certainly see how you’d spontaneously combust at the mere thought of someone unzipping your size 45 pants.

Hey, look, we all bust a nut prematurely sometimes. Even I have been known to drip a little pre-jizz on days I’m especially hornier than usual. But dude, to cream your boxers over the return of a WEBSITE?? That’s a whole new level of loser I’m not sure I’m equipped to help with. I mean, if a friggin’ blog on pro wrestling makes you blow your disgusting wad, I can only imagine what a female (even the fugly bowsers you date) would trigger. All she’d have to do is breathe and you’d explode. How attractive…

What you’ve got is a serious problem, one that can only be solved by doing all of the following:

1) Pump out buckets of jizz to the point your little member down there is so numb to the idea of ejaculation that even the morbidly obese women you date won’t elicit a drop from you. Beat off every minute of every day. Really eek out all that junk to the point there’s nothing left. By the time you end up in bed with one of your aforementioned hogs, you won’t be able to finish early because there will be nothing there.

2) Should you then be so (un)lucky enough to bed one of those she-dogs, be sure to pile on a minimum of five condoms to really kill the sensation as much as possible (personally I’m not sure how you can get ANY sensation porking those blobs, but this is you were talking about).

3) If you’re not circumcised already, do it now. Ask your doctor to lop off all that foreskin, and then some. While you’re at it, might as well chop off the entire organ since your life is so pathetic anyway. Nothing kills sexual sensation like a good ol’ circumcision, or in your case, castration.

4) Visualize something ugly to suppress any sexual feelings. Wait, never mind. The “women” you bag are so hideous anyway, there’s no need to visualize.

There, that should do it. And if you ever see me, don’t come within 100 yards. Heaven forbid I make eye contact with you for one millisecond before your volcano erupts.

You’re gross. And sad. Next!

Dear Dr. Dave,

Unlike many of the virgins who write you, I actually do okay with the ladies. Not as well as you, of course, but still okay. My problem is that I have some, um, weird fetishes that turn some women off. How can I get them to participate in things like golden showers, diapers, pacifiers, bondage, torture, and erotic asphyxiation without running them off?

Oddly Kinky
San Francisco, CA

You’re from San Fransissy?? You don’t say! Look, you sick freak, I’m going to be a little harsh with you, so bend over like a San Franciscan and take it.

You’re what we call a ‘weirdo.’ There’s no way to mince words about this. While the perverted crap you speak of might be normal in that liberal cesspool of a city you live in, it makes you a first class freak to the rest of the civilized world.

Hey, I’m not a fetish hater. I myself give foot massages with my tongue, and when a woman steps into MY bedroom, all three inputs are in play as far as I’m concerned. And I loves me a good squirter. But the thought of women peeing on me, even the goddesses I sleep with, or them tying me up and whipping me, is just flat out disgusting and lame. Seriously, what the f*ck is wrong with you.

The way I see it, you have two choices.

First, find some woman who shares your ridiculous fetishes, and marry her. She won’t be attractive, but then, you probably date pigs anyway. Good luck finding such a female pervert.

Second, forget about having any kind of relationship (why on Earth would you want one of those anyway). Instead, find one of the dozens of freak-show dominatrix houses in your town (in SF, figure every other house on your street has at least one sick freak who’s into that weird-ass sh*t) and indulge yourself. The oddballs there will piss on you, sh*t on you, spit on you, brush their teeth on you, ovulate on you, trample on you, or whatever other twisted request you can conjure up. It’ll cost you, but then, a girlfriend costs you more anyway, so you’ll still come out ahead and at least get some satisfaction out of it.

Don’t ever write me again, you lunatic. Your level of kink sickens me, and I hope one of your doms erotically asphyxiates you so much that your brain loses enough oxygen to where it actually functions normally. Freak…

The Animal! So glad you’re back, dude! Tell me, now that you’re older, has it been harder for you to score with the babes? I turn 40 this year and am worried I may not be able to date younger women anymore.

Over the Hill
Lansing, MI

How dare you come here on my sex advice column and insult me with such blasphemy. Older? Dude, like fine wine, I only get BETTER with age. Leave the Viagra and Cialis for limp-d*ck fogies like you. If anything, I bed even MORE hotties now. How dare you even think about believing anything less?

I don’t know if they have electricity in the rock you live under, but if you owned a television set or had a movie theater within 100 miles you’d know what a huge movie star I’ve become in the years since I last wrote a column here. “Guardians of the Galaxy” baby… ever hear of it?? “Heist?” And more to come, assh*le.

I got laid like a rock star BEFORE I was famous. Then when I went on WWE television, it got kicked up a notch, big-time. And now Hollywood too?? Bro, your gerbil brain is too miniscule to even FATHOM the kind of trim I pull on a daily… no, HOURLY basis. The only times I take breaks from f*cking and sucking are to eat (actually I can do that while having sex), sleep (ditto), shower (ditto), train (ditto), act in my blockbuster movies (during which I’m constantly shaking the trailer with Hollywood starlets in between takes), and write this stupid column.

So you see, it’s actually this column that takes up most of my non-sexual time. And frankly, that pisses me off. So I’m done for now, as this fine-ass redhead has been waiting very impatiently for me to wrap this up. She’s so bored she’s starting to play with herself now, and that’s a no-no because I guarantee I’ll do a better job of getting her off than she will.

Whether I’m 40, 50, 60, or 120 years old, I’ll always have an endless line of beautiful creatures impatiently waiting for their turn to climb Mount Batista.

As for you, your sex life sucked then, and it will always suck even if you aged in reverse. Face it, schmuck, you’re like every other geezer who is unlucky enough to not be me. You’ll go bald, you’ll get fat, you’ll go gray, you’ll go limp, you’ll grow manboobs, you’ll sprout ear hair and nose hair like weeds, and you’ll lose your ever-increasing yellow teeth as your skin sags like inflated balloons. Oh how it sucks to be you. And that goes for all of you reading this.

At some point, I should stop berating you all and instead feel sorry for you. The quality of my life compared to yours simply isn’t fair. To look like me, to have my vast wealth, fame, and fortune, and on top of that, I sleep with the hottest women in the world. It really is the greatest life ever, and I should sympathize with those of you who don’t get to live it.

But that sympathy is years down the road (if ever). For now, I will continue to derive pleasure from celebrating the difference between your pitiful lives and mine. After all, SOMETHING has to keep me entertained in the 30 minutes I voluntarily abstain from sex in order to write this bombastic column.

Until next time, keep wishing you were me, and keep sending me your depressing letters. Really, as good as I feel naturally all the time, your letters and wretched lives really DO make me feel even better. So thank you, really. You all make me realize that as good as I have it, it’s really even better than you or I think. Remember that as you beat off to the Bella twins tonight. Bye for now!

Disclaimer: Dave Batista didn’t really write this. The Armpit did. But we know it’s what Dave would say.