Over the next few weeks, students (and fancy 27-year-old dudes) from all over the country will be boarding planes on their way to sexy Spring Break locations in search of their own spiritual guidance, power-animals and anonymous tug jobs in hot tubs. And while the spiritual journey and TJ's are both very exciting, the real party potential is taking place before they ever even touch down. Some people call it the "Mile-High Club." But I prefer to call it, the "Boner-High Club." (Author's note: See what I did there? Genius.)

So how do you manage to arrange for some hot sky-love on the plane? After flying to Cancun by myself traveling on my spiritual quest, I've managed to put together some can't-miss tips to help you rock it in the sexy skies. More »

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Let's get patriotic for a second, shall we?

This past weekend, some of our country's finest young men laid it all on the line, competing in an athletic event that combines speed, coordination and finesse all in one. An event that some men spend their whole lives dreaming about winning, but only a select few will accomplish. That's right; I'm talking about the Amateur Shower Contest at Saloon in downtown Minneapolis.

Held each and every Sunday, the contest features men from all over our fine city battling it out in an erotic, aquatic clash unlike any other (go ahead, tell me that description didn't just blow your mind. Thought so). As the resident Erotic Specialist of the Universe, I felt compelled this week to do some digging and find out exactly what it takes to conquer the competition and earn the title, "Amateur Shower Contest Champion." So of course I turned to Facebook.

After a little bit of stalking research, I tracked down last Sunday's winner, Oliver Sharp, who agreed to talk with me about the competition, his experience with amateur showering and tips for other competitors looking to follow in his footsteps.

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Photo: Midtown Lunch

​As you probably know, each year City Pages puts together the annual "Best Of" issue, showcasing everything awesome in the Twin Cities. While we're still a couple of months away from this year's issue, it's come to my attention that there is one particular category that has never been covered, and needs to be researched for the sake of classy gentlemen everywhere:

Best strip club lunch.

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​ ​This Sunday is Valentine's Day and that means that every magazine, website, TV station and columnist is taking the easy way out featuring a lame, obligatory "gift-giving guide."

(Author's note: Which of course means I'm also doing it. Sometimes even I'm disappointed in my laziness.)

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Twilight Foxdie

​In case you missed it, there is an ad in this week's City Pages promoting a love letter contest.

The premise is pretty simple: write a love letter, email to mischke@citypages.com and you could win a $1,000 gift certificate to RF Moeller Jewelers. The ad goes on to say that letters must be 200 words or less, and that they will be judged on originality, creativity and romanticism. Yep, the ad pretty much said it all. Except for one small detail.

The ad failed to include any fine print stating that City Pages employees are ineligible to win the contest.

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​Pop quiz: What do Pee Wee Herman, George Michael and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have in common?

Two things -- they've all been busted exposing themselves in public, and they've all filmed important public service announcements designed to reach the youth of America.

PSAs used to be the most awesome thing on television. Full of drama, suspense, and kids who learned to smoke weed by watching their parents. But these days, PSAs have lost all of their flava. Here's what I mean.

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Photo by Rob Lee

​Last month, I got an email from some dude telling me that he was disappointed that the past few Wet Spots had been "soft." He said that I stopped being the Erotic Specialist, and that all I was concerned with was talking about how awesome I was (am) and making jokes about Steven Seagal.

(Author's note: When it comes to Seagal, I never joke.)

That's why this month, I'm going back to my erotic roots, taking on real questions from Wet Spot readers, and dropping erotic knowledge all over you face (like Seagal laying down some hot USA beat downs in The Patriot).

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Flickr

​It's December 23. Of course I haven't bought anything.

For fancy gentlemen like myself, little things like "holiday shopping" sometimes get lost in the shuffle, due to the other important and sexy commitments that dominate my calendar (namely the fact that the entire season of "Steven Seagal Lawman" is available for free On Demand. The whole season. Of Seagal. For free. Dreams do come true).

Fortunately, I figured I would end up in this situation, which is why this past weekend I went to the one store in Minneapolis that has something for everyone on my holiday shopping list - The Cockpit Project on Hennepin in Uptown.

In case you aren't familiar, The Cockpit Project offers the largest selection of leather clothing and other assorted sexy gift items in the Twin Cities. Time to go shopping.

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When people think of Minnesota, they don't usually think "sex scandal." How wrong they are.

Our state has been known to get into some seriously sexy mischief over the years, and the 2000s might be our sexiest, most scandalous decade of all time. That's why this week, we celebrate our sleazy side by counting down the top 9 sexiest Minnesota scandals of the past decade.

(Author's note: I chose to do 9 instead of 10 because 9 is a much sexier number. And because I'm terribly lazy.)

​The Vikings Sex Boat
 
Did you hear? Last month Adrian Peterson got busted for SPEEDING! Yep, he was driving too fast and he even got a ticket! Now if that doesn't rock the
Vikings to their core, I don't know what will! Oh, right. Totally forgot about the sex boat thing.
 
In 2005, a group of our boys in purple decided to take a classy gentleman's cruise out on Lake Minnetonka. Since no one invited me, I can't tell you for sure what happened that day (*rails line off Dante Culpepper trading card, punches through wall*).

However, thanks to the good folks at Wikipedia, we know what ALLEGEDLY went down that afternoon:

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cliff1066 from Flickr

​ ​I didn't want it to come to this.

When I first heard about Tiger Woods getting in his accident last week, the first thing I thought to myself was, "Oh snap! Tiger's got that baby mama drama!" But I also figured that he would handle his business and the whole thing would blow over.

Clearly it did not. So I guess I need to get involved.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I condone T. Woods teeing off on other chicks all over the world (*Get it? "Teeing off!" Because he plays golf, AND because he boned a bunch of chicks. Genius*). But what I am saying is that someone needs to help him to see the error of his ways so that he doesn't get caught repeat his same mistakes ever again.

That's why this week; I'm taking a break from my normal erotic insights to write this very special open letter to golf's new #1 pussy-hound, Mr. Tiger Woods.

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