This week, as Sting and his backup band The Police, were making their way to perform at Madison Square Garden (which, by the way, is not on Madison, not a square r even a garden), he was asked when he would lose the beard.
They weren't referring to his wife, Trudie, but the fuzzy crap festering on his puckered face. He scoffed, saying that the ladies love it. And Trudie agreed, claiming the beard is great for sex.
Oh, Trudie and Sting, what isn't great for sex? It seems a week doesn't go by that we don't hear some coy, sexual pronouncement coming from these randy dandies — all in a ploy to remind us that they still get it on regularly — often tantric — with themselves, other people, maybe even postmen, possibly cattle.
And this raises some truths about people who talk sex constantly: They are either bad at it or not having it. It goes back to the mistaken belief that people who are modest in daily behavior are crap in the bedroom.
It's actually the opposite. The most God-fearing people tend to be terrors in the sack. And for good reason: "Repression" — like a twisted garden hose — usually results in explosive relief somewhere else. Hence, the Handi Wipes.
As for all the free love swingers who pushed the soothing power of recreational sex, I can safely say that sex with them is nothing more than an ugly event punctuated by foul odors and embarrassment.
Me? I'll take the shy over the swinger any day — unless of course, they're hairy.
And if you disagree with me, then you sir are worse than Hefner.