Hey, guess what, peeps? You wanna know what I do when I watch some YouTube videos, or movies, or read preferences, or look at pictures, or whatever? I masturbate. Cue the squeals of disgust and nervous laughter. But you know what? I don't give a shit. We (as in humans in the Western half of the world), need to stop being so scared of talking about stuff. We need to stop saying TMI. Because information is good for your brain. You should want all the information. And not just sexual stuff. I'm not just talking about masturbation. I talking about piss, shit, vomit, farts, sex, B.O., weight, perverts, and murder. I like true crime novels, even though they go into detail about all the nasty ass things Jeffrey Dahmer did. You know why? Because that all really went down. It was gross, depraved and terrible, but it happened. And you know what else? The first half of the things I said aren't even that bad. Not everybody is a psychotic killer (thank God). Guess what, ladies? Channing Tatum, all past and current members of One Direction, all the dudes in the Maze Runner, pretty much all the hot guys you can think do that shit (pun intended). Ditto the ladies. Oh hell yeah. Beyoncé has to pee probably once or twice a day just like the rest of us. Ditto pooping. Because everybody poops. If you don't poop, you've been dead for a while (because even newly dead people poop a little). But back to my sex life (I.e. Me and my sexy ass hand) and another taboo topic: periods. I just finished my period today, maybe (everyone with a period knows about the menstrual psych trick). The one of the worst parts of my period for me is that I can't masturbate. Why, you naïve readers might ask? Because I can be pretty gross, but getting period blood on my hands on purpose is too far. Even for me. So when I saw Christopher Mintz-Plasse, my bæ who doesn't know he's my bæ yet (guess what? He shits too), in that Innuendo Bingo video with his shirt off, the most I could do is rub gently over my crotch through two layers of clothing. And you know? That's not too much info. Too much info would be going into detail about all eighty-five different ways I want Joe Sugg to fuck me. Because there's information, and then there's details. Like, I've mentioned shit. But I have yet to go into shape, size, color, and smell because you know what? That's fucking gross. But someday, all of you will probably have a close encounter of the foreign scatological kind. Cause you know what? Most of you girls wanna get married, or at least live with your "soulmate." And you know what? Shit happens.

Scenario:  Bridgette and Sharona

Bridgette and Sharona have been dating since high school, and now, their junior year of college, they're sharing an apartment. One night, they got some sketch Indian food, and you know what happened? Sharona needed to take a shit. So she went, did her business, and sprayed some Febreze. When Bridgette had to go, she smelled something, but you know what? She wasn't any less attracted to Sharona, and they still hooked up that night. They didn't talk about it or anything, but they accepted that shit happens because they're grown ass women.

Cause guess what? You don't even have to talk about it with your loved one. You can be as polite and discreet as you want. But someday, in the future, you will both have accept that the other one shits. Cause that's just life.

As for masturbating? Everybody does it, or should do it. It's the safest sex there is. Plus, for us ladies, we don't have to deal with some asshole who doesn't know what he's doing thrusting and flailing around on top of us. DIY sex is the best sex. Everyone reading this in their bed? Go ahead and do it. If you're in school/place of work/public, calm down and wait till you get home. Or go to a bathroom. As natural as it is, feeling yourself in public will alienate you from others and probably get you arrested. That is not fun.

If you're offended, fine. But if you're not, good. The world we live in is fucking disgusting. The least we can do is acknowledge it.