Available on Amazon.com for $40, the test looks for Prostate Specific Antigen, a protein found in seminal fluid. It's so accurate that you can use it to detect 30-year-old semen stains, assuming you have some parachute pants that haven't made their way into the wash yet. [Inventor Spot]

Earlier: DIY Semen Detection Kit Enables Peopel To Tell The Difference Between Toothpaste And Cum Stains

There is some debate about whether this ad plays into the idea that sperm tirelessly "seek" an egg, oris a spoof on the idea that sperm are sentient, goal-oriented little soldiers (we're going with the latter). Even if the intention was to subvert this trope, the ad still has some problematic elements. As one commenter notes, the commercial does not exactly promote safe sex — not to mention the somewhat reductive gay-equals-anal equation. However, as Lisa from Sociological Images points out, there is one unquestionable positive message in the clip: "in that this commercial celebrates the infertile sex act, we’ve come a long way from the Christian ethic against wasting your seed." [Feministe]

Bondage, rape, "sluts," girl-on-girl action, and cum shots. And we're not talking about "edgy" brands like American Apparel, or specifically male-oriented products, like Axe body wash. The ads in question are from major companies: Remy Martin, Dolce & Gabbana, BMW, Nikon and L.A.M.B. We would add non-essential toplessness to the list. But for each ad, Leo explains why the trend won't die, despite "our cultural outrage and personal boredom."

The Remy Martin "bondage" ad is supposed to be "sexy" and make you want to drink liquor. Writes Leo: "These women are obviously putting on a show for an outsider, not having a passionate lesbian love affair for themselves. These types of ads gain traction in cultural periods of female advancement—capturing the fantasy of 'putting us back where we belong.'" The Dolce & Gabbana "rape" ad is "fashionable" because, Leo writes, "the world of high fashion has been the worst offender in the violence-as-art game." She adds: "Any woman that sees those shoes instead of that message deserves those shoes." Of the BMW ad, in which the reclining, baby-faced girl has a tagline, "you know you're not the first," Leo says: "This combination of the Madonna and the whore is ultimately a fantasy of degrading both body and mind. This girl is in no way a threat: she's young and won't say no, no one has to offer her anything, she is just there for your needs, just like a car." When it comes to girl-on-girl, Leo writes, "Oh my god is this played out." How true! And yet Nikon could not resist. As for the Gwen Stefani bukkake alert, well, what was she thinking? (And why are there so many semen-squirty ads?)

Out of all of these ads, the only one ever to be banned (in Spain) was the Dolce & Gabbana "gang rape." Why do mainstream brands greenlight these ads? And why do mainstream magazines publish them? Because "sex sells"? What a lame excuse. People love the Coca-Cola ad in which there's a miniature surreal world inside the vending machine, and there's no ejaculate in it. Could the real reason these sexist ads stick around be that consumers don't complain?

Five Sexist Trends the Advertising World Just Can't Shake [Huffington Post]
Earlier: Advertising Taking Cues From Porn: What Is The World Cumming To?
Bukkake Alert
Badvertising: Big Hair Is Sexy, Cigarettes Whiten Teeth, Not Having Cellulite Is Awesome
Sexist Advertising: Would Banning Or Boycotts Be More Effective?

How Can I Prevent Queefing During Sex? from Pot Psychology on Vimeo.

Although we have no reason to suspect that Paul is related to our favorite, hated conservative talking head Nancy Pfotenhauer, the picture of oysters topped with Paul Pfotenhauer's special sauce made me think of the one (and only) time I tried oysters, and he's not wrong about the complimentary tastes.

Several years ago, I was at a work dinner at a pricey D.C. seafood restaurant with the only dinner companions I've ever had so spectacularly out-drink me. They ordered up from the raw bar to start, and I attempted to decline to join in, never having had the inclination to suck down a raw mollusk. To my deep chagrin, they weren't so keen to let me forgo the supposed pleasure. The colleague to my left tenderly squirted lemon juice on one and held it up to my mouth while the rest of the table began loudly chanting for me to eat it, which I did. To me, it tasted and felt like someone had hocked a loogie into a shell, refrigerated it, put some lemon juice on it and thrust it into my mouth. As I swallowed with a grimace, the table erupted in cheers and the waiter leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Oh, honey, you should be used to that taste by now."

If that doesn't make you laugh, just go read this old post by Moe about cum mummies. Or try eating an oyster without thinking of jizz.

Nom Nom: Semen Recipes [Guanabee]
Natural Harvest — A Collection Of Semen-Based Recipes [Lulu]

Earlier: Giving Thanks: Foodie Feminists Feast On Tasty Testicles
Dear Nancy Pfotenhauer: Please Wipe That Smile Right Off Of Your Face
BF Looking For New Ways To Waste His Semen? Meet Phil "Messy" Meste....

Do Guys Ever Taste Their Own Semen? from Pot Psychology on Vimeo.

Check Make [Brick House Security]

Earlier: Jezebel Crashes The Tyra Show's Vaginas Episode

Only two men on our buddy list refused to orally probe their girlfriend's semen-tinged tongues. One of them, a man you might remember from our last focus group who has impregnated five girls, said he was "absolutely" too manly to be made to taste his supersperm, while another, the taste of whose cum we're pretty sure would be overpowered by the taste of his ball cheese, ventured a slightly less assured "I'm pretty sure that would be gay." Most guys, however, swallowed their cum (and pride) out of a sense of indebtedness. As a female friend pointed out, "You can tell everyone sort of braces a bit."

Except if they had, like, mentally blocked the notion of drinking their own jizz. "File this under TMI," she continued. (Just this once!) "But the other day after sex matt is wiping himself off a bit with a towel and then uses the towel to wipe his sweaty face and then exclaims — like did he just realize what he was doing? — 'Ew! i hope i don't get cum in my mouth!' And I said to him, what do you think I get in my mouth every time I blow you ? You can tell he had seriously never really thought about this!" Wow, is he brain dead? Moving on, we approached a young stud we know. "Girls suck my cock all the time so i've had a lot of practice thinking about this." Good to know! And his verdict? "Depends if she swallows." You're allowed to not swallow? "Because if she's swallowed, well she fucking just drank my cum. I think i can deal with kissing her." That's gratitude!

A certain Midwestern friend of ours said he frenched jizz-tongue not out of gratitude, but because he'd consumed an ejaculation's worth of semen himself and knew it was the only manly thing to do. Um, a whole load? Then he set the scene: "Fooling around with a new girlfriend, didn't have a condom, did everything but... ends with a post-BJ hand job." Wow, it's getting warm in here! "So I'm enjoying life, mouth agape. Pop - shots land in my mouth. I think - holy shit, there's a load in my mouth. Then I think, 'only a pussy would spit,' so.. chug-a-lug pooh-bear!" Um!

"And it was sooo not horrible," he recalled. "I've definitely had worse lugies."

Women were not so much in agreement. When a dudefriend of ours casually mentioned his ladyfriend is "usually rinsed out by that point," we had to ask said ladyfriend whether her sink was, like, next to the bed or something. "I always have a champagne or wine 'chaser' next to the bed," she explained. "Like I won't even do it without my chaser. And usually I'll do some little flair when I take a sip, like, 'Magnifique!' or something.

"I take," she concluded, "great pride in my work." And so do we. Gentlemen, drink your cum. We practically got strep getting it out of you.

Oh, and by the way commenters: you know how they tell you in Sex Ed to use a condom during a blowjob? THAT'S FOR PROSTITUTES.

The saga of me and David Seaman started in April, when I hired David, a young Hunter College student and the compiler of a book on the, ahem, "meaning of life," as a Jezebel intern. I sensed in him a slightly uncomfortable amount of ambition, and wrote him at one point explaining in idiotically earnest detail that there was more to "this business" than self-promotion. Unbeknownst to me, however, David had a few side gigs, namely, the authorship of whole book on self-promotion, along with the liberation of Paris Hilton and more to the point, that brand of pointless, vacuous fame the internet people exist to self-loathingly perpetuate. Angry at the idea that I had been somehow used or punked, I posted a pre-emptive strike on this blog. And maybe went a leeeed-le bit too far...

"I get it," he said when we arrived. "I mean, I can't work for a media organization." I had never really thought of Jezebel as "media organization" before, but okay. David's eyes were dark and bright and earnest; eyes that could make you feel as though everyone was on the same page when, in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. But I wanted to trust him again. I drank until I trusted him again.

"I mean, I don't think there's anything wrong with asking for a plug when you have something you're trying to promote," he continued. To which I pointed out that we were not in the business so much of trying to build hype at Gawker Media, more in the business of trying to build hype couched deeply in the context of "puncturing" hype, which was more confusing and anyway I couldn't have him planning fake Paris Hilton protests and writing books about how to be a self-promotional whore while his name and bank account were attached to Jezebel. He understood.

"I guess," he said, "It just felt abrupt."

"I'm sorry about that," I said. "I'm not exactly the best with the bedside manner in this job."

We discussed his book. As it turned out, quite a few publishers who'd passed on his proposal had requested to take a second look after I wrote my little missive. "Glad to be of help," I said.

"What is that you're drinking?" he asked.

"Jim Beam and soda," I said. Did I offer him a sip? I was feeling avuncular again. "It was only three bucks. That's crazy. You picked a really good choice of venue. I realize it's happy hour and everything, but.." Was I proud of him? Anyway.

"And I'm sorry, it must have really startled you. I just got this overwhelming feeling of panic when I saw you'd been writing this book. But I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't thought you'd benefit from the notoriety despite me. I'm not malevolent."

Young Seaman had aged ever so slightly since I'd seen him last. Shopping around a book proposal had taken its toll. "My book proposal is, like 50 pages," he said. "With my first book, I didn't have any of this. No agent. No proposal. I thought a proposal would be, like, six pages."

"No one reports the civilian casualties in Iraq," he mused. "Why don't they do that? Why is it always about how many Americans who got killed?" Civilian casualties, he explained: that was the type of issue he wanted to use his self-promotional instincts to spotlight. "Like one of my chapters is on Cindy Sheehan. She's the type of self-promotional whore who really came from nowhere, she was nobody special, but she became this powerful person." Free Paris, he explained, wasn't an endgame; it was more like an experiment. His next stunt would be more sophisticated, and multilayered, and he gave me the date on the condition I didn't reveal it. I suggested he read Bill Wasik's Harper's story about how he invented the flash mob, and why. "It's right up your alley," I said. "I don't really remember his reasoning, but it's very well-written."

"Pretty much every one of my girl friends sent me a text that day, just like, 'OMG,'" David said, briefly returning to the topic that had brought us here to begin with. "It went around fast. You're doing a good job I guess. I mean, I know I said in that email that I'd be sticking to TMZ and Jossip from now on, but who really reads Jossip? I just needed to say some other website."

Earlier:
Self-Promotion Guru David Seaman Totally Got Our Memo; Shat All Over It