Get the season’s cutest new gear to help you break into Bryan’s house (again)



Ever since that last time you pulled a Pollyanna and climbed up Winona, that adorable willow tree next to Bryan’s window, jumped and feigned a paralysis in your lower body so he would be forced to carry you inside while waiting for the ambulance, Bryan has been rather mum. The only texts you’ve received have been all “stop contacting me”, and “I’m calling ADT to reactivate my alarm system.” But this week, your heart was revived and raced with the force of twenty underfed, drugged up Irish greyhounds at a racetrack just outside of Dublin in 1926, because Bryan sent you a letter. A LOVE letter. Even though it was signed by The Superior Court of the State of California, you know it was from him. And even though it read something like ‘you, the adverse party, are hereby notified that any intentional violation of this order is a criminal violation. . . [blah blah blah]. . . protection against stalking or harassment. . . [blah blah blah],” you know he loves Jonathan Swift, and therefore it is satire. What a jokester he is, that Bryan!

Since Valentine’s Day is so soon (only 123 days away!!), you should do something nice for Bryan. Wait for him in his bed afterwork, perched atop newly purchased red satin sheets. But first, don’t forget to leave your “scent” on his toothbrush for later- you know where to put it. And hey, while you’re in the bathroom, clean out his hairbrush for him. It was so nice when your mom used to do that for you, and the forgotten follicles will make the perfect stuffing for that little doll you’re making in his image!

Alas, the conundrum: you don’t want to ruin the surprise by letting him know you’ll be there, and he doused that sneaky little key holding ceramic frog that used to be in the bushes by the front door in lighter fluid last year before burning it. Wonder why he did that? Maybe it turned out to be a dart frog- those things are poisonous! Anyways, we here at PPOP know exactly how to get you into Bryan’s house on the down low. We’ve compiled this short list of products to aid you in doing so. Be sure to wear your ‘sneakers’! Hehe!

Vipertek Micro Stun Gun (in pink!)

Bryan’s cleaning lady comes on Wednesdays, and she has a key to the house now because the frog is gone. Tase her from behind and lock her in her minivan. Crack a window if you’re feeling generous!

Household Tool Kit (in pink!)

This one is all sorts of fun! First, you can unscrew the screens on the windows using the cordless screwdriver, and then you can use the hammer to break a window. Later, play some sort of sex game with the level to show Bryan you’re on the same. . . level! If Leila, the cleaning lady, gets unruly, tase her again and use the electrical tape to soften her cries for help and bind her arms and legs.

Leather Secret Mission Gloves (in pink!)

Everyone in movies always does their sneaking in gloves, so why shouldn’t you? And, on the off chance that Bryan gets spooked and calls the cops, there won’t be any fingerprints. It might even be funny to keep them on during sex and call them your ‘love gloves’, cuz god knows you’re not using a condom!

Acepromazine 25 mg (in pink!)

Geraldo Rivera, Bryan’s newly rescued blue-eyed pitbull, seems to have taken a liking to you. In recent weeks, he starts barking excitedly and pawing madly at the front door every time you glance in the sitting room window during your midnight walk. While he sure looks sweet, you don’t want his yammering to put Bryan on alert. And even though he’s done teething, he’s nipped at you a few times when you’ve been squatting in the backyard. It was really your fault though, don’t think less of him- you had the bloody drippings of the nearly raw steak you eat for dinner every night dried on your forearms. Anyways, two or three of these dog tranquilizers should put him out for the night.

*Bonus!* Valentine’s day wouldn’t be complete without a present!! Bryan loves to cook, and you just love everything about that show Hannibal, so why not get him the cookbook written by the show’s resident food stylist? Feeding Hannibal by Janice Poon is available here.




Leggings Aren’t Pants: The Musical! [AD]



Well, precious readers, its happened. Our first sponsored post. Fear not dull content, for our price is as high as we are on a Tuesday night cocktail of Ambien, weed, and just a dash of that new elephant tranquilizer they’re putting into heroin. Ketamine is for pussies!

Last Thursday (on our Thursday night cocktail of some liquid Valium we put into an emptied container of one of those Vick’s Vapor Inhalers-tutorial to follow- and a small sassafras suppository) Helen and I had the great pleasure of previewing what we consider to be the Off-Broadway, 5-Year-Old-Pair-of-Victoria’- Secret-Period-Panties, Bleach, Blood Stains, And All, version of the ever delightful hit, Hamilton.Premiering in the auditorium of Denver’s Thomas Jefferson High School, this is no philistine piece of work. We were ushered to our seats by members of the school’s Young Feminists Club, but we can’t be certain the school actually knew about the performance, since to enter the campus we had to scale a large fence. Nevertheless, it was a magical night of symphonious satire and casual drug consumption.

A delightful feminist diatribe, the play is ripe with euphonious exposition on the microaggressions faced by females in modernity. It is the story of twenty-something writer and everygirl Liz Nightingale and her first year in New York City: a lyrical bildungsroman about friendships, love, and careers. The eponymous opening number, “Leggings Aren’t Pants!”, discourses on the factions of society who continuously criticize women’s quotidian, zealous wearing of Zellas with blouses that don’t shroud our bottoms and their intent. The motivation behind this denunciation, says writer and director Nancy Seymour-Filmore-Longmore, is the wrath of the ever pesky green eyed monster. She posits: “Clearly, the refusal to accept leggings as pants is an extension of the patriarchy’s grappling for control over women; did you know that in some courtrooms, right now, lady lawyers are disallowed from wearing pants? For me, it all leads back to vulva envy-from the scheme of the Vestal Virgins in Rome to suffrage-men have always been a wee bit jealous that we don’t have to deal with those pesky “wees”! But before I get all feminazi (excuse my French), I will say: its jealousy. Their love muscles just don’t look as good in Lululemons.”

While the play starts out playfully lighthearted, in the thick of it, Seymour-Filmore-Longmore does not shy away from riffing on tampon luxury taxes, the delay of processing rape kits, or the gender pay gap. In our favorite number, the sexual harassment sensation “Don’t Pinch My Elbows And Give Me Back My Bra”, the lights dim and the spotlight is commanded by lead actress and powerhouse vocalist Jenny Frey, who sings alone on stage: “why must you pinch my elbows, when I’m sitting in my cubicle/I don’t find it farcical/how did my bra end up in your desk drawer/this is outrageous, I’m reporting you to HR.

From the plainsong parody “I Should’ve Been A STEM Major” to the funk-fueled dance spectacular “Get It Out, Get It Out (The Clearblue Digital Boogie)”, Leggings Aren’t Pants: The Musical! is the antiestablishment comedy fantasyland we didn’t know we were waiting for. Tickets start at $44.99, and can be purchased on Denver’s EventBrite page. For a chance to win a pair of tickets for next Wednesday’s midnight matinee, tweet the name of your favorite brand of leggings to @nancymourmoremore.


Update: Happy news. It has come to our attention that 20th Century Fox has purchased the movie rights from Nancy, and is in talks with Emma Watson to take on the role of Liz.


how to get more girls to like you

Screen Shot 2016-07-22 at 4.39.42 PM


It’s common knowledge that every gal loves a good ol’ fashioned pussy lickin’ once in awhile. And when we say “once in awhile”, we’re drastically under-exaggerating. Keep these thoughts in mind, and you’ll have girls crawling all over you like a swarm of gnats & rats on Hot China Town Garbage in no time!

  1. It ain’t gonna lick itself.
  2. It ain’t gonna lick itself.
  3. It ain’t gonna lick itself.
  4. It ain’t gonna lick itself.
  5. It ain’t gonna lick itself.
  6. It ain’t gonna lick itself.
  7. It ain’t gonna lick itself.
  8. It ain’t gonna lick itself.
  9. It ain’t gonna lick itself.
  10. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself. It ain’t gonna lick itself.

Got it?

This post unofficially sponsored by feminist porn and this pair of panties.

Red Talk #1: How to Repurpose Your Shed Uterine Lining





Welcome to Pen Pals on Pills’ newest venture: the Red Talk. Its much like a Ted Talk, but more about your bloody pussy. Congrats, you’re a woman!

Each month, the average woman loses 2-3 tablespoons of blood. Most of this blood is thoughtlessly wasted and violently flushed down the toilet. You may be thinking green by using a Diva Cup, but we need to start thinking red too. The repurposing of our shed uterine linings can do much good for the globe, researchers, bakeries, doctors, our families and friends. Here’s our brainstorm.



Assert your progenerative powers and nourish the earth with your sacred scarlet gift. Let your garden grow!! For further reference: see here.


If you’re bleeding on the earth, you might as well grow something worthwhile. Become a ganja gangsta in the fast evolving marijuana industry by creating super strains with high cbd for helping out with period pain, but also high thc so you’re laughing at Rick & Morty instead of crying from PMS; market to women, create a subscription for monthly deliveries (you should probably make edibles too; chocolate, duh) like the ladies over at Le Parcel, become instagram famous in a way that’s like if #girlboss and a dude from Workaholics had a baby, and then become a millionaire.


Georgia O’Keeffe is a legend, but not all of us have the dexterity or artful ability to get on that level; instead, you can pick up some brushes and 2-for-1 canvases at Michael’s and go to town painting roses and rhododendrons. Make them for yourself, your future kids, or a modern art museum in Albuquerque. Start an etsy, and embrace becoming the next Art Baby. Whatever.


Rig a Pinterest tutorial and substitute your blood for pigment. Hemoglobin-chic! So Nars. Very Stila. Much Mac!


You can send glitter bombs, but a small vat of your vital fluid sent with no return address to the home of your ex-boyfriend’s parents is even better.


Will Ferrell- are you reading this? It’ll be just like Spoils of Babylon, but instead of parodying Ayn Rand, its Zoe Saldana!


Put a towel down, call a pal, take advantage of nature’s KY Intense™, and refer to this.


“Ooooh yeaa! I’m like the best bartender everrr!!” -every girl ever. So show us. And don’t drink as much as you normally do- I know you just took 800 mg of ibuprofen.


Actually, don’t do that last one.


Xanaxes & Os,


How to Overcompensate with Alcohol and Make New Friends


It’s hard to make friends in a new city. Here’s how.

  1. Avoid the first few events you’re invited to—not because you’re too cool, but because you’re crippling social anxiety keeps reminding you that you’re a creep, you’re a weirdo (what the hell are you doing here? you don’t belong here.)
  2. Eventually accept invitation to party, holiday or otherwise.
  3. If the party is on Friday or Saturday, make sure you start stressing early—let the stress distract you from Monday or Tuesday onwards.
  4. The morning of the get-together, buy two bottles of wine. One for you, one for the party.
  5. Before the party, drink 3 glasses of wine by yourself while curling your hair and dancing to The Weeknd in your underwear, so you’ll be ready to dazzle your new friends with your witty quips and intellectual remarks.
  6. Walk into the club (or apartment) like “what up? I’ve got a big cock.”
  7. Depending on climate, perhaps murmur Mackelmore lyrics in your head for confidence, and just say “hello”
  8. Distribute the wine you’ve contributed to the party and pour some for yourself. Also have some beer. And some whiskey. And some Irish moonshine, if the moment permits.
  9. Realize you had nothing to worry about in the first place, people are chill and so are you
  10. At this point, you should stop drinking, but you’re feeling overconfident in your newfound social abilities, so actually just continue overcompensating until you’re on the verge of a blackout (relocation at this point from party to pub is viable)
  11. Now you’re the drunkest person at the party. What do you mean that’s not a compliment??
  12. Go outside to smoke a cigarette with your new friends, and get into a verbal altercation with the bouncer of the pub, who remembers you from a small incident two months ago and has an insane personal vendetta against you
  13. When you are disallowed from re-entering the bar, loudly regale your new friends with the anecdote about why he hates you in the first place with a drunken bravado; repeat unnecessarily, because you are smashed
  14. Chat some more outside the pub, call yourself an Uber.
  15. Go home and make a 2 am pesto-cheddar quesadilla and watch an episode of Brooklyn 99.
  16. Spend the next day in bed until 4 pm, and bask in an equal amount of shame and glory: you may have embarrassed yourself, but you told some good jokes. Two birds, one stone.


Xanaxes & O’s


December Drankz



We here at PPOP love nothing more than getting catatonically high and watching Food Network for shamefully long periods of time. So, last night while I lay aimlessly on the couch for five hours mildly hallucinating and watching Giada De Laurentiis and her terrifyingly perfect teeth, I transcribed a few drink recipes. Bottoms up!

The Snow Plow

1/8 g cocaine

1 mg Xanax

as much gin as you like

some tonic

lime juice in lime shaped bottle from back of fridge

½ plastic straw


The Snow Plow is a snowy, seasonal sensation! To really knock your fuzzy Polar Bear socks off, first take a look in your cabinet to confirm that there are no clean dishes, and then choose the cleanest looking glass from the sink, rinsing it with only scalding hot water and no soap for quickest, but not cleanliest results. We’re not trying for godliness here; just rinse out most of the red wine from last night’s shame fest. Sprinkle some of the coke and Xanax on the counter, rimming said glass with the mixture and concocting a G&T like you normally would. Now, here’s the fun part! Rack a giant line in front of the cup on the kitchen counter, and pretend that the only way to get to your drink is by clearing up all this pesky snow. Think to yourself “I’m a snow plow!!” and suck it up your nose with one satisfying snort through the straw. Insert straw into cup, remove yourself back to the couch, and text all of your friends about how totally chill you feel and that you love not being able to feel your mouth!


Christmas With The Family

Plastic gas station whiskey

An evening with the ones you love most

Racist grandma

Redbull (optional)

This one is sure to really take the edge off! Two hours into your meal at Aunt Becky’s house, a “dry household” because her second husband Uncle Terry used to be an alcoholic and can’t be “near the stuff” anymore, slyly reach into your mom’s purse and pilfer her car keys. Text your favorite cousin and tell them to meet you out front in five minutes. Scarf down the remaining Oreo cheesecake on your plate (classy), and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Quietly opening the front door, make a run for it and jump into the car. Drive to the nearest gas station and purchase a plastic fifth of the cheapest off brand whiskey they sell, and a redbull if you need a chaser/have become reliant upon the addition of stimulants when drinking. Here’s the crucial part: stage a race between you, your cousin, and the bottle inside of the car in the parking lot, trying to finish it as quickly as possible. Finish the bottle; realize you can no longer legally drive back to Aunt Becky’s; leave the car, walk to local watering hole, conveniently located next to the gas station because this is a hellhole of a town; continue drinking inside with your cousin, ignore forthcoming phone calls from family members and enjoy the best Christmas of your life.



Nature’s Eggnog

Guy from dive bar

Handle of Captain

Pinch of nutmeg

Misplaced dignity

Another glassless and classless recipe, this dandy drink is basically organic! For this one to work, you’re going to want to have a horrible day at work that prompts your going to a dive bar alone and taking some random dude home immediately. You’ve been drinking since you got off at five, so you’re already on the verge of a blackout. When you get to the part where he tries to pull your head up so he can get inside of you, instead finish off, swallow, and swirl around a small amount of nutmeg and a big gulp of Captain in your mouth, and then ask him to leave. Then fall asleep with the lights on partially clothed, and phone a friend to cry in the morning.


Happy December!!

I’ve Got an Itch to Scratch



Sometimes it’s a yeast infection. Sometimes it’s that third day after you shave all of the pubic hair off your vulva, as we’ve been conditioned to think is sexy; you know, that third day when the hairs are sharp but short and one hair from one side is poking the other side and it hurts? Right. Sometimes, it’s a simple sensory experience that needs some alleviation. Sometimes, it’s an excuse to slip into the other room and masturbate. And sometimes, you should probably just go to the doctor.

Continue reading “I’ve Got an Itch to Scratch”

Snapchat Screenplay #1

Topographical Study




A 20-something auburn haired girl’s face; her arm outreached, she is sitting on her bed, holding the camera (an iphone, front “selfie” camera) before her. Drake plays in the background. She begins to record herself, the shot zooms in and out wildly on her cheek, a zit at the center. A thin grey bar appears, she types: “How’d U get this address??” She draws squiggly red question marks around the screen, scattering them precariously. She selects the arrow at the bottom right; “Send To. . . ” appears on screen, she taps the usernames of two recipients.


Xanaxes & O’s