I was supposed to write the mailbag last night, but then I got drunk on bacon-infused bourbon Old Fashioneds, watched “Top Chef,” and went to bed a little before midnight. Then I woke up at 3:30 a.m. and couldn’t fall asleep, so I decided to answer your questions in the quiet hours before dawn. Now that it’s well into the afternoon, I’m a goddamn zombie and that’s why you’re not getting any kind of sensible introduction here.

Featured below: a follow-up message from the gentleman whose girlfriend has the regrettable tattoo she’s ashamed of, the wonders of Ray Rice and Donald Driver, shtupping roommates and local barmaids, suicide pools, ex-lesbians, bald college poon, and the absolute worst drunken college experience possible. Enjoy.

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I enjoy an ice-cold bottle after every 40-pound box of rape.