America Runs on Anal: Pornhub’s New Study Proves Americans Love Watching Butt Stuff
Do you jack off to creampie porn? Do you spend your evenings busting nuts as you watch fellas slide slimy wet ones up ladies’ and/or other fellas’ backsides? Does the thought of an anal prolapse make you hard like a 13-year-old witnessing Britney Spears’s “… Baby One More Time” music video for the first time?
According to Pornhub, for many people the answer to these questions is a resounding yes.
Pornhub Insights, the smut giant’s data department, recently conducted a study about Americans’ anal porn consumption. For several weeks, the team examined Pornhub users’ searches. The research unearthed important facts, like which state’s users likes asses the most and how much American Pornhub viewers like ass in comparison with other countries (only Russians likes butts more than we do). For funsies, Pornhub also looked into how much countries that America has invaded—like Iraq and Afghanistan—use Pornhub to watch booty sex.
Afterwards, the Nate Silver of porn created these exclusive graphs for VICE to reveal the findings. (All terms in the graphs were found in users’ search results.)
Here Are More Reasons Why Girls Should Only Have Anal Sex
After my two-year-old butt sex article went viral recently for some weird, perverted reason, I decided to look it over again. Upon review, I was absolutely horrified. Not because of what I had written, but what I’d forgotten to mention. There are so many better, more obvious reasons why girls should literally only have anal sex and nothing else. I’m sorry for being so neglectful. It was truly an irresponsible disposal on my account, focusing solely on sensory delight and passivity—in reality, there are far more relevant reasons why every female ought to be prohibited from all sexual acts excluding anal intercourse.
They are as follows:
Never mind the purely selfish reasons why you wouldn’t want a human larva ruining your life—let’s look at this from a socio-environmental standpoint. The human population is expected to reach 8 billion by the year 2025. We have no way to feed all of these people, and what would we do with the sewage if we could? Even now, with 7 billion people on Earth, more than 200 million tons of human waste goes untreated every year.
Think about that before you freak out over a little poop on your boyfriend’s peener. It’s a small price to pay for not living a literally shitty existence. Overpopulation is a colossal nightmare that we, as a species, can no longer physically withstand. That is exactly why anal sex is so important.
You can’t grow a baby in your ass, but you can have an orgasm if you try a little.
If girls were to engage only in anal intercourse, there would be fewer humans on Earth, and therefore less resource depletion, and perhaps a better quality of life for the rest of civilization. Only through these swollen, pulsating lips may we still find our planet hospitable. Forget those stupid solar roadways—anal sex can single-handedly lead us toward a future of sustainability and hope.
Don’t Be Ashamed of Anal Sex
People are still having sex. Paid sex. Drugs sex. Gay sex. And they love it. It’s happening every day, week, and month, possibly on the other side of that wall right next to you. Which is pretty exciting. You may have heard that British gays went drearily mainstream this past week after winning the right to marry each other by massaging powerful Conservatives into thinking queer rights are part of the Tory ideology. Apparently, Peter Tatchell had to work on David Cameron for quite some time before he finally came through. “I had to pump Tory members of Parliament—with facts and opinion-poll results showing majority support for same-sex civil marriage,” he told me.
Wonderful progress, of course, yet despite the jacket of respectability society will now lend to monogamous gay couples, many people are clearly still ashamed about their desire for hot, gay sex—a shame that penetrates visceral depths well beyond the reach of even the largest dildos. As horny as it may be to imagine hot guys guiltily jacking off to pics of other hot guys, I want to know: Why the shame? What’s so wrong with one man putting his lips around another man’s penis? I don’t want to generalize or anything—trust me, I hang out with sluts of every sexual persuasion—BUT I KNOW PEOPLE WHO LIVE FOR THAT SHIT. Because sex is fun. And gay sex is super fun. If you’re gay. Sometimes, even if you’re not. In fact, your mom is probably doing some hot, gay sex now. It’s all cool.
It started during my sophomore year of high school, and I suspect it had something to do with my decision to start having anal sex with my then-boyfriend…
Watching Your Baseball Team Get Blown Out Is Like Anal Sex
As I watched the Cleveland Indians’ wholesale slaughter of the Houston Astros last week (the final score was 19-6), an odd feeling crept over me. It was horrible to watch a baseball team get absolutely creamed like that, but it was also oddly familiar, and not just because the Astros are terrible. The mixture of pleasure and pain that unfolded over nine innings—it started out scary, but ended up being kind of fun—was pretty much like anal sex. Actually, baseball blowouts—be they the 1897 Chicago Colts’ 36-7 record-setting victory over Louisville, the 30-3 destruction of the Baltimore Orioles by the 2007 Texas Rangers, this season’s 15-0 shellacking of the Nationals by the Reds—are exactly like anal sex. Here’s an inning-by-inning recap:
THE FIRST INNING: BACKDOOR PRESSURE
The initial runs that appear on the scoreboard serve as a quiet harbinger of what’s to come, much like the none-too-subtle pressure of a wiener knocking on your tightly clenched rosebud. This game won’t really be so bad, you tell yourself. Then another walk, wild pitch, ground-rule double, and you surreptitiously clasp your cheeks in expectation. But I never do anal!
THE SECOND INNING: PENETRATION
Much like the moment when your lover spits on your asshole, the appearance of an additional three or four runs in the second officially heralds that anal is occurring, and then—yup, that’s a dick in your asshole. Any hope of a comeback is shattered, and no amount of praying for run support will make that sweet pucker of yours any less penetrated. The flesh of your loins quivers, bases loaded, no outs.
Dir: Joanna Angel
I started taking steroids yesterday as an act of thanks and joyous celebration. I felt it was my duty as a native of New Jersey because the pieces of shit on the most atrocious public-relations disaster in the history of the Garden State, Jersey Shore, are not returning for another season. Hopefully by the time you read this my balls will have shrunk to a microscopic size (like those of the cast of the show), and I’ll be starting senseless bar fights because I have no other way to channel my latent homosexuality.
Sadly, the steroids I’ve been prescribed are not the kind that will turn me into the Incredible Hulk. I asked the doctor how long before I’d be able to lift cars above my head. She laughed and said, “You’re thinking of anabolic steroids. These steroids are to get rid of that hacking cough you’ve had for three months. The only real side effect is that you’ll have very vivid dreams.”
I was hoping for wet dreams, but instead got an entirely different brand of delight. Last night I dreamed I was on a road trip, heading to the Grand Canyon with five other fellows. We stopped at a greasy spoon on some desert highway in some nowhere town.
“What kind of beer do you have?” I asked the red-haired, middle-aged waitress. “We got both kinds: Bud and Bud Light,” she replied, accented with a look of disgust, as she walked past me. My eyes and head followed her to the end of the counter, but my torso didn’t move. I caught a reflection of myself in the mirror and was nearly knocked off my barstool.
I leaned back to get a good look at my fellow travelers. We were all dressed as famous female musicians. And we looked pretty damn good if I do say so myself. I was Dolly Parton, and as my dream camera panned down the bar like in Goodfellas there was Aretha Franklin, Lady Gaga, bald Sinead O’Connor, Cher, and Madonna. After we finished eating, things took a real Beverly Hills Cop twist, and Aretha Franklin got killed. (Yes, even in dreams the black guy is always the first to die.) Next thing, we had guns and were hunting down the killer. I remember saying the classic Eddie Murphy line, “I ain’t fallin’ for no banana in my tailpipe,” and one of the other ladies saying, “Ooh! Ooh! I will! I will!”
I woke up at 4 AM, before we solved the murder, because I had to take a dump. Seems that these steroids have another side effect: shitting like you’ve been on a weekend-long ex-lax-snorting bender.
Did I ever tell you about the time I was on tour in Utah and my buddy met this girl from Turkey or Syria or somewhere and went back to her place after drinking shitty, cheap 3.2 percent beer for 13 hours, and she fed him the darkest Turkish coffee known to man and as they’re making out he started farting and shitting himself? Long story short, he ran out without saying good-bye and barely made it outside before having to rip his pants down and spray poop all over her front door. It’s times like this that I’m thankful I’m not single and always have a toilet nearby.
Previously - Anal Lessons
Are there scouts in the porn business like in baseball who travel the minor-league circuit looking for the next big star? If so, I think that’s what I’d like to do when I grow up. I feel that I have an eye for who is and isn’t slutty, and this goes far beyond my default fantasy of “Well, she’s got a mouth, she’s got to be slutty.” Like a batter, there are a lot of telltale signs. Instead of hip movement or bat swing, first check the eyes. Are they slowly scanning the room, seeking something? If so, most likely you have a good case of daddy issues on your hands and she’s probably a nice prospect.
As I’ve said in the past, tattoos are the quickest indication that a gal likes anal. Is she covered in ink? Chances are she loves it in the ass and prefers it there first. Freud tied the whole yearning-for-pain thing back to the loss of virginity in his book about porn; I forget what it was called.
The young lady above is named Christy Mack, and I wish I were the scout who found her in Indianapolis. Aside from the necessary three holes, she’s got all the attributes needed to play in the big leagues: attitude, a unique look, and big tits. I don’t know who the (not dead) George Steinbrenner of porn is, but I can imagine calling him from my cell phone in the parking lot of the Brass Flamingo or whatever club I found Ms. Mack patronizing, and saying, “I just found your next Derek Jeter (of butt sex).”
I always wanted to own my own Brass Flamingo. From the moment I walked into my first strip club—smelling the coconut lotion and pressing my head to a stripper’s vagina in the champagne room and hearing the ocean—I knew it was the tropical locale where I wanted to live out my days in retirement. At the time we were at war with someone in the Middle East, and I remember thinking that the Gaza Strip would be a great name for a strip club, but as I traveled more I realized it was important to come up with the basest name possible to attract the sort of clientele who frequent such places: Tit World, Ass Palace, and Place to Look at Pussy (PtLaP) were quickly added to the list of possible names.
Then I moved to Cincinnati for nine long months and ballooned from 135 to 215 pounds. While living there I went to Sudsy Malone’s, a local rock venue/laundromat, and that’s when it hit me: Open a titty bar in a college town where you can pay the girls to do your laundry and give you a lap dance. I’d call it the Muff ’n’ Fold. Every year I’d get a new crop of girls who honestly and truly were just trying to put themselves through college. If they were unsure of what occupation to pursue, and if they had the right stuff, perhaps I could suggest to them a fun and exciting life in the not-at-all seedy world of pornography. I envisioned it as a wholesale family business with my sons recruiting the prospects for training camp, me scouting for the bigs, and my wife making sure the girls knew how to do laundry because I have no idea how that works. I tried once and flooded the entire basement with suds. Then again, they love those foam parties in Ibiza. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Previously - Panty Pops