Steph Tolev: Filth Queen (2025)

[bunniefuu]

Oh my God, Bill.

I'm so nervous to

record my first special.

..

You're doing a special?

Yeah, it's your...

You set this whole thing up.

- I'm f*cking with you.

- Okay.

- You're a beast. You're gonna crush it.

- You're right.

Oh, and one more thing.

Yeah, don't f*ck this up, all right?

My name's on it.

Have fun.

Whoa!

Whoa!

My wiener.

Come on! Come on!

Oh, we got a big one! Pull!

Hi.

Whoa!

Whoa! Whoa!

What a lunatic.

Everybody on your feet!

Make some noise for the Filth Queen,

Steph Tolev!

Holy sh*t!

Boston!

My God.

All right, sit the f*ck down.

Sit down and shut up.

Thank you for coming out. Holy sh*t!

In case you're wondering,

this is a romper.

Oh yes.

I don't know why I wear these.

I have IBS. I don't know what to tell you.

Every time I run to the bathroom,

it is an emergency.

Do you know how hard it is

to get this thing off

when I have to take a wet sh*t?

'Cause none of them are hard.

Running to the bathroom,

trying to get this thing off in time.

I have to use the wheelchair stall now,

because I need the arm room to get it off.

I get halfway out of it...

I'm sweating.

Just holding all my clothes,

like, "Don't look in here."

"Leave me alone, damn it.

Yes, I sh*t everywhere."

Oh, there's some caca in these rompers.

There is some poo-poo.

I'm a hairy gal.

Any other hairy ladies here?

Yes.

It's the nipple hair for me.

That's the problem, eh, gals?

- Yep.

- Ooh.

Lifted up my tit the other day.

A couple loosey-goosies.

Couple stragglers.

I have two full sets of lashes

under both my t*ts. Just...

Looks like Janice

from The Muppets just blinking.

And I will say...

I will say I have

shockingly small n*pples.

I know I look like

a big areola kind of gal.

I give off big areola energy. I get it.

p*ssy's a mess, as*h*le's in shambles,

n*pples kinda cute.

Sorry, boys. Teeny-tiny.

Almost too small, actually.

That's a problem.

You know who loves my small nips?

Small boys. Ooh.

Oh, tiny guys. Where are my shorties at?

Where are my little boys?

Okay, that sounded bad.

Where are my of-age boys?

Small guys love me.

There could be one

still living comfortably inside me.

I'm actually not too sure.

Someone should check on him.

He's been in there for a while.

Nothing wrong with smallies.

Nothing wrong.

Don't get your little acorn nuts

in a knot.

Nothing wrong. I see ya.

- What do you do for work?

- Firefighter.

Firefighter. You, little guy? Aw.

You... You save women

from a burning building?

You couldn't carry me even if you tried.

I'd crush every bone inside your body.

I can probably take you.

How... How tall are you? 5'7"?

- 5'8".

- 5'8"?

- 5'8", yeah.

- Mm.

What I said first was correct.

Nothing wrong with the small guys.

I'm just embarrassed.

In Los Angeles, I'm a big gal.

I'm the largest woman

in Los Angeles. Google it.

I don't wanna go on a date

with a little guy. We go to get ice cream,

he's like, "I can't see the flavors."

I'm like, "Little guy, get up there."

"Get up there.

Use the leg. Give it a boost."

"It's Pralines 'n Cream."

"I don't know why you have to see this.

Just vanilla with some swirls in it,

but take a peek. There it is."

Go back to his house,

do the whole Netflix and chill thing,

I'm like, "I'm kinda cold."

"Can I borrow a sweater?"

Rip it to shreds.

I'm like, "Yeah, that's not

gonna zip up again, buddy, sorry."

"That is done.

That is... Whoa, that's loose."

"Is there a Goodwill on the way home?

We'll toss it in the bin."

We start having sex, I have to lift him up

and f*ck him against the wall.

I mean, I can do it.

Oh, I've done it before.

But my sciatica always acts up.

Gotta put you down slow, little guy.

You're small, but you're dense.

And I don't want

my hemorrhoid to pop back out.

I love my hemorrhoid.

I mean, I have to. It's...

We've been together for years.

We're common law at this point.

I named him Glen.

Glen Rhoid. Isn't that cute?

We're working on

a play together on Broadway.

Glengarry Glen Rhoid.

Just gonna be the two of us

for three and a half hours.

a*s cream for closers!

If you didn't laugh at that, you don't get

that reference and you're stupid, so...

I hate to break it to you.

Nothing wrong with small boys.

I dated a lot of them.

I went on one date with this little guy.

And we went to Ripley's Aquarium.

There was this fun thing you can do

where you can get on a scale

and weigh yourself...

and see how much

you'll be worth as a tuna?

I don't know why I thought this was

a really fun game to play on a first date,

but I did.

So like a gentleman,

I let buddy-boy hop on the scale first.

He gets on, he's, like,

$600 worth of tuna.

I'm like... "Ew."

"I'm gonna be $100 maybe."

So I saunter my huge hemorrhoid

over to the scale.

I hop on.

Two thousand dollars worth of tuna.

No one wants to f*ck $2,000 worth of tuna.

I mean, it's a good haul, sure.

Oh sure, the fishermen

are celebrating. Oh, yeah.

"I'm gonna feed a bunch of families."

Nobody wants a big wet fish,

like, "You c*m yet?"

See, my family's gross. We're very gross.

Big eaters. Bulgarians, yes.

Big Bulgarian family.

Brought back every last one of us.

We love eating. We play

a really fun game over the holidays

called "Who Can Eat the Most?"

And I don't want to brag,

but I win every year.

Last year, six plates.

Who's counting? Me. 'Cause I'm a winner.

And we're playing Cards Against Humanity

with my cool Mormon cousins.

I'm playing the queef card.

They don't get it,

but it's fun for me, right?

There's a gingerbread house sitting

on the table, so I'm picking at it.

I'm grazin'.

I'm making my way down

the right half of the roof.

I'm on the way to the back door.

And Virginia pipes up

and goes, "Stephanie?

"Are you eating that?"

I'm like, "Well, Virginia, I polished off

half the estate. Yes, I am."

She goes, "Yeah, that's four years old...

...and just a decoration."

I was eating adhesive for 45 minutes?

And didn't notice?

I'm like, "The icing was pretty hard,"

massaging it down my throat.

I'm like, "I taste copper."

"Oh, that's blood.

That's what that is. Cool."

Peels it out of my hand. She's like,

"Let me take this out to the ravine."

"A lot of wildlife back there.

They'll take care of it."

Texts me a photo of it 24 hours later.

Untouched.

Not even the animals took to it.

Like, a sickly raccoon mother

and her cubs went by, and she said, "No!"

"Don't touch that. That's trash."

"That's vile. That's garbage."

"We'll eat our sh*t one more night.

We're not going down like this."

I'm gonna ruin something for you guys,

and it's... it's haunted me forever.

Next time you're eating,

pay attention to your other hand

that's not doing the forking.

It's... This is gonna ruin your life,

I swear to God.

I... I didn't realize

that my hand sits like a claw

in my... It's terrifying.

Like a Halloween hand

you find under a porch.

I think, like, subconsciously my hand knew

my mouth was gonna drop stuff,

and was like, "Don't lose anything."

"Capture the scrap."

"We can't waste a crumb."

I love eating.

The only time I don't eat

is when I go on, like, a Tinder date.

That's the only time I wouldn't eat.

I don't wanna watch

some disgusting pig man

slop back a bunch of hot wings

and then all night I'm wondering,

"Did he wash his hands enough

before he fingers me?"

I can't have that thought.

I've had the old hot sauce

in the puss before. Spicy!

Spicy, spicy.

It's hard to get milk in there

to cool it down. It is.

I hate the apps. The apps are f*cking bad.

Hinge is the worst one.

Is anybody here on Hinge?

Woo!

One sad woman in the balcony.

You could tell that was a loud "woo,"

but there was sadness behind it.

Hinge is bad. You know, it...

What pisses me off the most

about Hinge is the voice prompts.

Ooh, you guys gotta stop doing those.

Every guy thinks

they're so funny on Hinge.

If you don't know what they are,

you can leave voice memos on the app.

I mean, women can too, but we don't

because we're not psychopaths.

It's always a guy who thinks

they're so funny too.

I saw this guy on there named Dan,

and he used the voice prompt

"How to pronounce my name properly?"

It was... He's so excited. He's like...

Like, laughing

to himself when he started. He's like...

And I know he looked like this.

He's like...

"How to pronounce Dan?"

"Duh...

aah...

nuh!"

Die in a well, Dan. Die in a well.

I hope no one finds

your wet body for four to six years,

you stupid piece of sh*t.

Dan.

This is the last conversation

I had on Hinge,

and this is why I had to get off.

This is... This is real. This is verbatim.

I need to show you so you... you believe me.

I'm not making any of this up.

Verbatim I'm gonna read this, okay?

This is honestly real.

I matched with a guy named Joel.

Big receding hairline.

Lip ring. I'm like, "Buddy, chill, okay?"

We all liked Blink-182

back in the day. Let's relax.

Joel has a picture of him and his dog.

I have a dog, so I get excited.

"Maybe I'll finally find a dog dad."

So I open it,

and I go, "Aw, your dog's so cute."

Put in three heart-eye emojis.

Isn't that sweet? Look at that.

- Isn't that nice?

- Yeah.

He has no idea who he's talking to.

So far, I seem like a nice normal lady.

He has no idea. I'm like,

"Your dog's so cute."

He has no idea.

I fool them all!

Joel replies, "I know. Super sad."

"She recently passed away...

...and it was my fault."

I... I'm so, like, "Tha... tha...

That's your opening line, Joel?"

No "Hello!" No wavy emoji.

So I obviously reply, "What?!"

"What do you mean, Joel?"

He takes 24 hours to reply.

Joel needs a long hard think.

What's he gonna say?

"What's old Joely-boy gonna concoct?"

He's got time.

Maybe a haiku? Something fun.

Joel replies at 7:10 p.m. on a Saturday.

"I took her on a hike and she overheated."

Aw.

"I pushed her too hard

and didn't give her water

until it was too late."

- Oh my God.

- That's true?

"I had to carry her

three miles back down the trail."

"She died on the way."

I'm sorry, Joel. Carry on.

My p*ssy's soaking wet.

What is happening, Joel?

Are you crazy?

This is who

we're supposed to f*ck, ladies.

This is what we're supposed

to have sex with. Dog murderers.

This is what's left out there. Slop.

Actual pig slop.

It gets worse.

I don't know how.

I don't know how, but...

I accidentally hearted it.

And you can't un-heart on Hinge!

Now Joel thinks I like this.

He's like... "Finally!

I knew if I told the truth, eh!"

Suck my a*s, Joel. You pig.

I do stupid sh*t.

I was swiping right on guys

wearing sunglasses in every photo.

What's that?

You know what that means.

Very bad eyes.

Very small...

very dry...

very close eyes.

So I meet this guy at a bar,

sunglasses off,

I'm like, "Oh! Cyclops is here.

Jesus Christ. Oh my God.

How do you see out of that thing? My word.

Annoyed. I'm grossed out by him.

I'm like, "You know what? It's last call."

"I'm going... I can't... I can't look

at your eyeball. I have to leave."

He was like, "No, come back

to my house and we'll smoke a joint."

I'm like, "Huh?

Magic word joint."

"I'm easy."

Back to his house...

right to the back door...

into the basement.

I go, "Oh, we're not gonna go upstairs?"

"No upstairs access."

"Oh. Oopsies. Oh, oh no."

Dewy cement steps,

long corridor, swinging lights.

I've watched a lot of Forensic Files.

I know what happens next.

Get to his door. Padlock on the outside.

Tell you what, he was having

a hard time getting it open.

Not a turn on to watch a guy

struggle with his own padlock.

I wasn't like, "Oh yeah,

daddy, keep it going."

That's apparently how I masturbate.

Like I'm washing clothes

down by the river.

Hang them on the rocks to dry.

So we get into the room. Disgusting.

Mattress dragged

in the middle of the floor.

Every corner of the fitted sheet

rolled up, balled up in the middle.

Pink wafer cookies strewn about...

...revealing a blue mattress.

- No!

- Yeah.

That's when I got pissed off.

I'm like, "Blue mattress?"

When the heck's the last time

anyone's seen a blue mattress?

1912, that's the year.

It's not vintage. It's not antique.

It's trash. That's garbage.

So we smoked a joint

and started making out. Uh...

I'm sick!

Three minutes into the make out,

fully clothed,

I'm standing at the edge of the "bed,"

I'm not going near that.

Making out, three minutes in,

and he... ...chokes me.

Yes, that's the appropriate response.

That's insane. Excuse me?

Usually you discuss a choke.

Maybe he nibbles a breast. Something.

Nothing's happening right now.

Fully clothed in this scary a*s basement,

so I panicked, stoned too,

so I went... ...choked him back.

Yes. Yes.

Turns out I really like choking.

I had no idea.

What a thrill.

So he's choking me and I'm choking him,

like, "This has actually

turned into a pretty good night."

"I'm simply having a blast."

But where do you go from here?

Two people, fully clothed, locking eyes,

just choking the sh*t out of each other?

This is an end of the night situation.

I'm like, "I don't know

where to go from here."

So I'm like, "You know what?

Another 15, 20,

call a car, get the hell out of here."

All in all fun night.

So he takes one hand down

and starts rooting around down there.

I'm like, "Oh no, it's not..."

"It's not d*ck time."

"Oh no, no, no. It's still choke o'clock.

I hate to break it to you, buddy."

And I don't see the d*ck, but I smell it.

I smell it. Yeah.

It smelled like the Boston harbor.

Oh, I gave it a whiff.

You know when you open

a garbage can in the summer?

When you close it, it takes a minute,

you're like, "Oh, f*ck."

And then I got mad. So mad.

Oh, this sent me into a full rage.

I'm like, "Are you crazy?"

"You bring me into this death basement

with this dying c*ck?"

"Are you insane right now?"

I'm like, "I'm gonna k*ll him.

I don't give a sh*t."

"I will k*ll this man right now."

No one's gonna come looking for him.

He said he was a professional longboarder.

Hello? Nobody loves or respects him.

So I chokeslammed him on the bed.

I backed up.

I'm like, "He's gotta hurting."

I go to leave, trying to sneak out,

and I notice that he has

an Etch-A-Sketch by his front door.

And in my stoned head, I'm like,

"When's the last time

I played with one of these?"

So I'm like... Mrs. Funny Pants, I'm like,

"I'm gonna spell 'Bye-bye stinky d*ck'..."

"...leave it propped up, and just go away

thinking that's so funny."

It is so gosh darn hard to make

a 'B' or an 'S' on one of those things.

So now I'm like...

And he's like, not even hard anymore.

He's... Now he's mad at me,

and he's like, "I think you should go."

And I'm like, "You can't rush art."

I'm like, "Also, I think you should go

to the morgue. Your p*nis is falling off."

"What the hell is your problem, sir?"

"How dare you. A man stink like this?"

Are you washing your d*ck, sir?

Are you guys that lazy?

I feel like it's easy to clean a d*ck.

Get a little Wet Nap. Just the tip.

I want to invent something.

You know when people

put their dentures in a cup

at the end of the night

with that fizzy tab?

I wanna do a d*ck fizz.

Cup of water... Dunk the horn

in there, in and out.

We're taking this to Shark Tank.

Who's with me? Any entrepreneurs?

Oh yeah.

The apps are hard to meet people.

I... I used to try to meet people in public.

I used to go clubbing.

- Yeah!

- Oh, yeah.

Baby dance, baby grind, yeah.

Oh, that's... that was my move.

I'd find a guy,

hold him up against the wall,

give him, like, a little bit of a chub,

and go, "bye."

"Not tonight."

There was one night, I was really...

I felt it just right between my a*s,

and I go, "I got him.

I got him where I want him."

and then I look down and notice

that he was wearing brown Velcro sandals.

Can you imagine taking

a man home and just hearing...

I'm like, "That's not

the sound of Velcro."

"That's the sound

of my p*ssy closing up. It's...

never been drier in its entire life."

I meet people in public. You know where

I really started hitting on guys?

At the free STD clinic.

'Ey, yo!

I just look around the room and be like,

"Who's the least disgusting guy here?"

I'm shoving a bunch

of free condoms in my bag,

I'm like, "I'm gonna use these,

I swear."

"That's why I'm here."

Eighteen blue condoms?

I'm never gonna use those.

Last time I was there, the guy was looking

for my veins for my syphilis test,

and he was having

a hard time finding them.

He's mucking around,

he was like, "Oh my God, sorry."

"Your veins are so small."

I was like... "What?"

"They are?"

"Oh, okay, wow. Sorry."

"No one's ever said that before.

Okay, wow. Um, phew."

"That's good, because it'll help

offset my huge urethra."

"Here's my giant cup of piss."

"Yeah, I filled it

right to the brim. Yeah."

Right to the tippity-top of pee-pee, yes.

"I know there's a line on there.

You wanted a little bit of piss."

"I like to show off."

"I have a very strong urethra."

He's like, "Where's the lid?"

I'm like, "Didn't fit."

"It's very murky."

"That's why I'm here. Something's wrong."

You guys have a state fair coming up?

I wanna go to one of those.

You know that game

where you sh**t the water at the horse?

Like, "I don't need the g*n.

Don't worry about it. I brought my own."

"I'll win you the big toy.

Don't you worry."

I was getting desperate on the apps.

This is how bad I was getting.

I don't know if a lot of people

knew this, but, um,

you can swipe

up to 99 years old on Tinder.

Oh, nobody else drank

a bottle of ros on a Tuesday?

And was like,

"How far does this toggle go?"

"Oh, the end of time?"

I matched with

a 65-year-old man one night named Earl,

so you know I'm not lying.

And I f*cked him. I did.

I f*cked the sh*t out of Earl.

For the bit!

For the bit.

No, I was sad. I was in a dark place.

No, I f*cked Earl because he wore

the first bifocals ever made.

Very thick bottle caps.

Very giant. So I knew

when Earl took those off.

Ooh, he couldn't see.

I've never felt better about my body

in my entire life. Are you kidding me?

f*cking with the lights on?

Have you guys tried this?

I've been in the dark for years.

I come in every room like Helen Keller.

I'm like, "Where's the bed?

Where is he? Where is he?"

Can't make fun of Helen Keller

in Boston. Really?

Is she from here?

Did I miss a sign on the way in?

Was there a braille memorial

of Helen Keller

on the way over the bridge?

I don't know if I...

- She was from here.

- What?

- From Amherst.

- She's from Amherst?

Well, Helen Keller's f*cking

number one fan right here. Who knew?

Jesus Christ.

Your whole back just says,

"I heart Helen." God damn it.

She couldn't hear or see this joke.

f*cking relax.

Sensitive f*ck.

No, I love... Oh man, I would f*ck Earl

right after a three-course meal

right at 5:00 p.m.

Aw, yeah, f*ck, mm.

Watch me digest, Earl.

Mm, f*ck me so bad...

So confident with Earl too, man.

It's the first time I ever

took my Spanx off in front of a guy.

Oh yeah. Standing at the end of his bed,

I'm like, "Watch me become somebody else."

Fat's just slowly seeping over the top.

I just look like a tube of Go-GURT.

I'm like, "Lick me up, Earl."

"Your soft teeth will love this."

Loved f*cking Earl. I'm telling you,

if you're self-conscious,

f*ck an old man. My word.

Oh, God. Normally after sex,

I would be embarrassed.

I would be like, "Oh!"

"Oh, sorry. Ah! Sorry."

"Sucking in. Excuse me, I have to go pee."

Not with Earl.

Oh, I'm doing

full laps around his f*cking house.

Picking sh*t up.

I'm like, "You need this?"

"No? Okay, cool. Whatever."

"Where's your Tiger Balm?"

"My hemorrhoid's k*lling me."

Ooh, he's throbbing. Glen's pissed.

I farted on him one night, and uh...

...he didn't react.

I was like, "Oh, f*ck.

He can't hear either?"

Just a tub of goo and an old bag of bones.

Liberating, ladies. Try it.

Any farters out here? What do we got?

We got farty gals? Oh, yeah, yeah.

You got a gap in your teeth.

You're farting. You're doing nasty sh*t.

You're not farting?

There's always one.

No farts.

How long have you been with this man?

- Thirteen years.

- Thirteen years.

I have to ask. You have a butthole?

Oh, thank God. Phew.

Awkward.

Thirteen years,

but does she fart in her sleep?

Oh, yeah.

Oh, he's putting it in a Mason jar

and he's saving it.

Don't check the shed in the back.

Yeah, it's his little fart shed.

Thirteen, so every time you have to fart,

what do you do? You go to the bathroom?

You do? What are you doing?

Turning... you're turning on the tap?

Where are you hiding it?

In a throw pillow? What are you doing?

Festive hand towels in the bathroom?

He's had pink eye for 13 years,

like, "What the heck?"

"I got another sty. What's that from?"

Her a*s. That's what it is.

I met a couple in Florida worse than you.

Thirty-five years of marriage.

No farts.

Oh yeah.

And the husband chimes up. He's like...

"I don't let her."

I was like, "Ooh. Uh-oh. Oopsies.

Ooh-ooh. Uh, yucky. Florida's scary."

But she piped in.

She goes, "No, it's okay."

"I have a special room downstairs."

I'm sorry.

He built you a little fart cubby

because he's so disgusted by you?

I'm like, "How does this work?"

I assume she pardons herself.

"Excuse me." Sprints to the basement.

I'm picturing, like, under a... a staircase,

like, a slanted staircase,

just one little drawer that slides across,

and her butt fits in perfectly,

then she traps it,

and then runs back upstairs

and then apologizes.

"I'm so sorry. I'll never do it again."

That's crazy. That's insane.

I'm farting minimum two weeks

in a relationship. I don't give a sh*t.

Suck it out of my wet, hairy, rhoided a*s.

Sorry.

My problem is

I still find farts and sh*t funny.

I saw one episode of the show

Bachelor in Paradise.

You guys seen the show?

I saw one episode

where this girl had to leave the island

because she couldn't sh*t for ten days.

What?

I thought reality TV

was just women in bikinis crying.

This is what it is?

b*tches who can't sh*t?

That's good TV.

I wish so badly I was on that show,

'cause it'd be the exact opposite.

They'd be like, "You gotta stop sh1tting!"

"How is there more inside of you?"

"We've asked you repeatedly

just to turn the mic back off."

"It's a simple switch."

"Just turn it off."

Like, "I don't know.

It's the water out here in Mexico."

Like, "We're in Jamaica.

Stop using that excuse, damn it."

My problem is

I am farting a lot during sex,

and I probably should stop.

I'm not trying to.

It's the second I move.

That's the problem.

The second I have... Hoo!

One little knee comes up, uh-oh.

Ever see those TikTok videos where

a mom's trying to get a baby to fart,

and they push the knees in? That's me.

The second I'm down...

The second it's up, we're screwed.

I had a one-night stand.

And it was a one-night stand

because I farted.

But this was my fault.

This is the only time I'll take the blame.

I had a bunch of chickpea curry

before going to this guy's house.

Did I need four helpings? Probably not.

Very peckish that day. Very hungry.

On the drive to his house,

I feel the rumble.

You know when the rumble's up high

and it drops quick? You're like, "Oh!"

"Oh no."

"That's not a fart. That's a sh*t."

I'm like, "I can't go to this booty call's

house and be like, 'Excuse me.'

'I have to freshen up.'"

And then go clog his toilet?

I'm like, "That's not gonna happen."

So on the drive,

I'm, like, really feeling the rumbles,

I'm like, "Let me just see

what I'm working with today."

"Let's see what's on the menu this eve."

So I gave a little...

little tester fart in the car.

A little Costco sample, if you will.

It was nice. You know farts

that come out, they surprise you?

They're like... You're like...

"Was that my as*h*le,

or is there a dying man in the back seat?"

"What is happening?"

"Earl, is that you? What the hell?"

And it was scentless, for once.

So I was like, "Oh, okay."

"If need be,

I can let one slip out."

"Just a little guy."

So I get to his house, and I'm on top,

giving him the business.

That's exactly how I f*ck.

Like I'm in a '90s R&B video.

So I feel the rumble.

Oh, it comes on strong.

And it's bad. I'm like, "You know what?"

"Just gonna let

just a little tiny whisper out."

It's very hard

to control the an*s like that.

I blew a*s, bad.

Full...

His ba*ls were flapping around.

He pushed me off.

He's like, "What the heck was that?"

I was like, "What?"

"What was what?"

"What?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just,

like, really wet right now."

But he believed it!

This stupid idiot.

No, I had to keep farting

to make it seem real.

Like, "Oh, I'm soaked."

"Best sex I've ever had."

"Oh, I'm gonna c*m."

I sharted for sure.

There's no way. There's no way!

I was dating this one guy.

Forty-five-year-old divorced farmer.

Lived on his parents' farm on a boat.

Um, no water. Did I fail to mention that?

Zero water. Boat on land.

Corn field. Dry crop.

They lost a lot of money that year.

One of his date ideas, he's like, "Let's

go to my ex-wife's cabin in the woods."

I was like, "Yeah."

"Safe and nice and fun. Let's do that."

We get up there. He's like,

"I have a present for you."

And I was like,

"Okay, what have we got here?"

He's like, "It's a sex swing."

I'm like, "That's not..."

"I didn't ask for that."

Has anybody been

in a sex swing here before?

- Woo!

- Yeah. Whoa, the furthest...

The furthest... Is that a man?

Get your f*cking a*s back over here.

You have? Aw.

Sex swings are built

for small people, okay?

They're not built for a girl

who could throw a perfect spiral.

It was also in the box.

I'm like, "Are we assembling

an IKEA desk together?"

"What the hell is this?"

I thought in my head... I honestly

thought a sex swing was just, like,

one hook, and you

boop-boop-boop, that was it.

No. Apparatus.

We open it up.

There's four huge metal rods.

We're putting it up, got the Allen key.

We're doing a full episode

of Home Improvement.

That's what's happening.

I'm obviously Al.

We get it all set up,

and the straps are all hanging down.

There's, like, 16 straps. I'm like,

"I'm not an octopus.

Where are my limbs going right now?"

I'm trying to get in. He's a little guy,

so he has to bring the ottoman over.

"Give me a boost."

I'm dangling,

I'm like, "I don't feel comfortable."

Turn around, turn, turn, turn.

So I finally get on my back,

and I'm in this...

And here's the problem.

Straps are snug, okay?

So it's like, strap, strap... each strap,

my f*cking fat is seeping through.

I just look like a glazed honey ham.

Just hanging in a deli store window.

I was so hot and bothered, I was like,

"Get me a drink! I can't get out."

So he just leaves. Now I'm alone.

Just dangling.

And I just slowly start to spin.

And I just see my reflection.

I'm like, "Oh my God."

"Oh, I'm gonna die like this.

This is it for me."

"He's gonna come up

and shave me into a f*cking pita."

"I gotta... gotta get out of here."

"This is insane."

I can't be dangling.

I need to be... I need to be

grounded when I have sex.

This is crazy.

I had a boyfriend for a while.

My longest relationship was seven years.

- Wow.

- Yeah, and it was getting...

It was like, we were young,

and it was getting...

The sex was already getting pretty bad.

My friends always added in

their two cents, always chiming in.

They're like, "Why don't you try bringing

food in the bedroom?"

I'm like, "Food?

What do you mean? Like ribs?"

Like, "No, you fat idiot. Like dessert."

I'm like, "Like a cheesecake?"

They're like, "Get off the solids, man."

"It's a problem."

So all we had at the time was this...

Did you guys ever make those

ready pudding packages?

Pretty big batch, if you ask me.

You put it in a big salad bowl.

We're whisking it up.

And I'm just kind of lying there.

I'm like, "All right."

"Slop it on my t*ts."

He was like, "Say something else."

I'm like, "Ladle it

on my cans?"

He was like, "No, shut up.

Shut the f*ck up. Shut up."

He kind of dumps the pudding

all over my breasts,

and then he starts,

like, slowly eating it off.

And I was like, "That actually looks

pretty good. Can I try it?"

"Get the hell off me! I'm starving."

Ate an entire thing of pudding

off my own t*ts.

Really ruins the moment,

in case you were wondering.

Real sticky t*tties.

Had to wash them off. Filled up a tub.

Dipped them in. Waste of water, really.

That never gets a laugh, but in my head...

...filling a tub to the brim,

waiting for it,

and then just dipping

two t*ts in, is hilarious.

We tried doing a lot of crazy stuff.

This is a... We... We tried everything.

We were trying, like, having sex

in different places in the house.

We had two rooms, so it was quite hard.

We're in the living room one night,

and we're getting into it, and um...

Was I the man right there?

What was...

I was holding his face,

I'm like, "Just f*cking take it."

So we're making love.

And the cat scampers in.

I'm like, "Okay, whatever."

"Keep going. The cat's not gonna watch."

The cat sits and just starts staring.

I'm like, "Okay, pervert cat."

"You're not blinking. Eyes look very dry.

It's bizarre. That's fine, okay."

But then the cat started to puke.

Now, I don't know

if you've ever heard a cat puke before,

but whatever's in there doesn't wanna

come out for a really long time.

So we're going, and the cat's like...

Okay, okay. Focus up, get through this.

Eye contact. We can do this.

But then the cat's puking and our thrust

chimed in at the same time.

It's like...

We all came together.

It was actually quite nice.

Oh, yeah.

Took the Bounty, one big sweep up. Huh?

It's a good paper towel.

Bounty sponsored this special.

They didn't. They did not.

I don't have to have sex

with these gross men anymore,

'cause I have a hot boyfriend.

Man, that saying is true.

Men really will f*ck anything.

I trapped one.

You're never getting away, Jefferson.

He's fine, he's fine.

He's attached to the radiator at home.

He'll be fine.

No, and he clearly has a thing

for Penguin from The Batman,

so lucky me.

Oh, laugh it up.

You all know I look like

Danny DeVito. Shut up.

In this suit too? Come on.

That's our foreplay. He feeds me raw fish.

We look like lesbians, the two of us.

We both have mullets.

His is blonde.

We look like Hall and Oates.

We look crazy.

If I don't tweeze my mustache,

I am Hall, he is Oates. That's it.

We are lesbos though.

He moved in in three months.

That's quick.

That's U-Haul sh*t. Oh, yeah.

Moved in, brought one mirror.

I'm like, "Bizarre choice.

Someone likes himself."

I wanna make him feel at home,

so I'm trying to put it somewhere

so he can enjoy it,

so I was like,

"Let's put it beside the bed...

so we can watch what we do."

Whatever you think you look like

when you're f*cking...

it isn't that.

Keep whatever memory you have in your head

locked in there for years.

'Cause once you see reality, ooh...

you can't go back.

I, honest to God, thought this was me.

I thought I was on top,

straight up, sucked in. Mm, mm, mm.

I look like a pig running to a trough.

I swear to God.

I'm all on fours, like, "Ah."

I'm scuttling forward.

Out of breath.

Lurking over top of him.

This part of my stomach... I didn't know

I had something called "top gut"?

What the heck is that?

Down swaying side to side,

as if all of my organs fell out.

I thought I had a rib cage.

Something medically isn't adding up here.

We do gross stuff.

He... He works on cruise ships.

Those are the grossest places alive.

My God.

Day three, we're on a ship.

We're hammered. We walk by the sauna.

We walk in, and no one's in there.

I'm drunk and I'm trying

to be cute. I'm like...

"I wanna suck your d*ck in the sauna."

In case you're wondering,

absolute worse place to suck on a c*ck.

Very warm in there. Very dry.

Last thing you want

in your mouth is a d*ck.

You need a glass of water.

You are parched.

But I'm a man of my word,

so I'm on my knees.

I'm like,

"All right. Put her in."

"Put your d*ck in my mouth."

So dry.

Hair soaking wet.

In case you're wondering,

mullets do not look good when they're wet.

Stuck to my head.

Black eye makeup

just streaming down my face.

He looked down, and it just looked like

Alice Cooper was sucking him off.

'Cause I'm 18...

He's like, "You look 96. Get the f*ck off.

What are you doing? Get off me."

"Disgusting."

I try to be cute.

It's very hard to try to be sexy

after Jefferson sees me up here like this.

It's very hard go...

"Hi."

"What's up?"

It's very hard. I try to be cute.

We went up to his parents' cabin

this year in the Finger Lakes.

I got fingered in the Finger Lakes.

Yes.

We get a very rustic cute cabin.

There's rat sh*t everywhere.

I'm like, "Can we get rid of this?"

So he gets a towel

and just scoops it all into the corner.

He's like, "There, it's gone."

I'm like, "Okay, fine."

So we start fooling around,

and stuff's coming out, good stuff.

And I'm like, "We need a towel. We need

something to... to get... to wipe this up.

And he gets up,

and I go, "Oh my God. No, no, no."

But I don't wanna ruin the moment,

because we were really into it,

so I go...

"Not the rat towel."

But then he's staying with me,

on point, he goes...

"No, a different towel."

I'm like, "What are we doing?"

"We both don't ever act like this."

"Just say it normally, damn it."

I try so hard to be sexy with him.

This literally happened last night.

I'm ready to get in the shower,

and I'm feeling good, I'm feeling svelte.

I'm leaning there naked,

I'm like, "Wanna get in the shower

with me?"

And he goes, "What the heck is that?"

I look down.

Giant piece of toilet paper

right in my p*ssy.

Full.

You know what? Shut the f*ck up.

Use it to wipe your mouth

when you're done, dammit.

A little mm, mm, ah.

We do long distance a lot,

so he's always asking for,

like, cute nudies and stuff.

He always asks for a puss pic.

Really hard to get a good angle

on the thing, huh, gals?

Yeah.

Hard to capture her in a good light, eh?

I'm having a hard time.

Who is good at taking a puss pic?

I need help.

Um, it's, like, kind of weird.

but you prop up your phone on the toilet

with the lid down,

and then you hover over--

Wow, there's

an act out. Excuse me.

Do you do CrossFit?

You went like this. You hover over.

You're hovering this way?

Forward, staring at your toilet bowl? Mm.

- No, away from it.

- Oh, away from it.

- Your as*h*le's in it.

- Yes.

Shut up. You have no hemorrhoids, b*tch.

I can't relate to that sh*t.

Who else? Anybody else? What do you got?

You get a good puss pic

as you're touching yourself.

As you're touching yourself?

Just mucking around down there?

Rooting for change?

What are you... What... What is that?

Just flat hand?

I need two hands

if I'm opening my p*ssy up.

The Jaws of Life down there to see inside.

I f*cked up.

I did leg up.

Phone directly under.

Ooh. Uh-oh.

Oopsie doopsie.

Little bit of a dingle dangle.

Little bit of a Zoidberg from Futurama.

A lot of stuff going on down there.

I tried it, like, in the bed,

like, pillow behind, propped up.

Pillow in front.

Phone facing forward. Ten-second timer.

Three seconds isn't enough.

I need some time

to move some stuff around.

She ain't ready to go as-is, huh, folks?

We don't got a floor model here.

We need to build her from the ground up.

I'm tucking, I'm weaving.

I'm folding. I am folding.

I'm doing full origami down there.

It needs to look like something else

just for a minute, you know?

Remember that game

in middle school with a piece of paper?

You're like,

"Blue, green, yellow, orange."

You're like, "Pick a color, any color."

The problem was the lighting.

I'm blaming the lighting. It wasn't me.

It was the lighting. Backlit.

Smokey stuff.

Shadowy.

Cave-like.

Almost as if a fog was gonna

roll through at any moment,

and a weary traveler's gonna come by.

"Excuse me?"

"Which way to the harbor?"

"I found some ladies

down there."

Try bringing the ring light out.

Oh! Too much lighting.

Looked like my p*ssy was trying

to escape a prison on a back wall.

Just like, "Ah! Me?

She's all startled.

I think the problem is my vag*na.

I gotta stop blaming

the angles and the lighting.

It's my puss.

I've overused my vibrator.

That's the problem.

Oh my God. Any other ladies not realize

your batteries are dying,

and then you change them

and blow your cl*t directly off your body?

Just humming along

for months, and you're like...

"Oh, sh*t!"

Just blew your cl*t to smithereens.

Looks like it was fighting MMA.

There's a full cauliflower here

when you're done.

You're like, "Jesus Christ."

"You better have won the fight. My God."

The only thing

I think I can feel right now

is if someone took a power washer

directly to my clitoris. That's it.

You know what gets me off? That's my porn.

Those TikTok videos of people

cleaning the inside of a dirty pool.

I just wanna slip in and be like,

"I got a bit of grout here."

"Got a bit of grout. Right here.

Grouty, grouty, grouty."

"Right there. Yeah, get it out."

One of my friends kept saying,

she was like, "Oh,

I think if you just shaved it,

you'd make it look younger."

Uh-oh. Opposite.

Weathered old gal, huh?

Haggard old thing.

Looks like something you find

in a maritime museum, you know?

Like an old piece of a ship

that just washed up on shore one day.

You're like,

"What part of the boat is that?"

"It's covered in barnacles.

We'll never know."

I think my problem is the labia.

Mind of her own, huh?

What is she up to?

My labia reminds me

of one of those foster dogs, you know?

They're not doing well.

Hit by a couple of trucks.

Jaw's all out of whack.

And they have that tongue

that's just hanging outside the mouth.

Never goes back in.

It's dry, but it's kinda wet,

so you can't tell how sick it is.

Are we eating puss in here, boys?

More of you should cheer. That was...

That was eight men out of a whole

f*cking room. Are you kidding me?

I have a way to tell

if a guy likes going down on a girl.

This is... This is my solution.

You gotta check their fridge.

Oh, yeah.

You open that fridge door up,

not a lot going on in there.

Maybe a French's mustard, crusted tip.

A couple soy sauce packs

stuck to the bottom.

Withered piece of lettuce loitering about.

That guy's not gonna eat your p*ssy.

But if you open that door

and it's got a heavy swing to it,

Three rows of clattering condiments

six to eight hot sauces,

a dijonnaise maybe?

If there's a baba ghanoush

on that top shelf,

Oh, daddy's sucking that a*s dry.

Daddy likes the taste. Daddy likes garlic.

You guys are f*cking up

your d*ck pics so bad.

I don't know what's wrong with you.

d*ck pics are so easy,

but you're screwing them up.

Who thinks they're good

at taking a good one?

Um, yeah.

Okay.

Don't be a hipster right now.

"Yeah."

What's your angle? What are you doing?

Oh wow, we got a full stand up. Okay.

- Back squat...

- Flip the back and then catch.

"Flip the back and then catch"?

Oh my God.

Are you videoing the old flip back catch?

So it's all mashed up?

Looks like a Muppet's face

and eyes back there? That's crazy.

Gonzo peeking out behind your a*s?

That's bizarre sh*t. That's not good.

I hate that one. That one's gross.

Mustache, you've taken...

I can... Trust me. With that mustache,

it's ill*gal if you haven't.

What have you done? What's your angle?

Just straight down.

- Oh, straight down.

- Top.

- Top down.

- Yeah.

Toes in? Toes out? What are you doing?

- You... Out.

- Yeah.

Yeah, 'cause guys panic

and they curl them in last minute.

No. Get the toes out of here.

What about you?

Single man alone.

You've clearly taken a d*ck pic.

What are you doing?

I go, like, under.

Underneath?

ba*ls in?

Ew!

We don't want ba*ls in. Do we, ladies?

No!

ba*ls out.

ba*ls surgically removed, if possible.

What, are you peaking over the top,

like, "That's me."

"That's my d*ck and ba*ls."

God, you guys are screwing them up.

I wish I had a d*ck so bad.

I would be doing fun stuff with it.

I'd put it in a hot dog bun

every single day.

Perfect swirl of mustard.

Have fun with it.

Change it up. Sauerkraut Thursdays. Uh-oh.

Taco Tuesdays. Ah, fun stuff.

I'd get carried away though.

That's my problem.

I'd get so carried away.

I'd wanna do, like, a full

Sears Portrait Studio in my house.

Remember those old Anne Geddes calendars?

With the babies

and all the stuff around it?

Okay, no babies. I'm not sick.

Babies out, dicks in.

Go to a Hobby Lobby,

get a bunch of accouterments,

spend, like, $200.

Maybe start with

a little open casket. Uh-oh.

Nice silk interior. Plop it in there.

Have a little pillow,

so it's propped up, so it can see out.

Propped up enough... You know

Grandpa Joe from Willy Wonka,

how he's sitting in the bed?

That's the kind of prop I want.

A couple of rose petals.

Tiny little wreath.

Take a classic "top down," toes out.

Top down, just send it off

and say, "R.I.P. Rest In p*nis."

You guys are so stupid.

That's so easy.

You guys don't realize too,

we're zooming in.

Oh, we're zooming in.

You have a crusted towel in the corner?

Uh-oh. We're gonna see it.

You got a skin tag

on the head of your p*nis?

Uh-oh, I'm coming in close!

I'm a doctor! I'm coming in!

You guys are so gross.

You love your jizz too.

God damn, do you love your jizz.

I was sexting this guy,

and he kept sending me this message going,

"I'm saving up a load for you."

Excusez-moi?

Saving up? We don't want more!

Not one woman in here once

has been like, "Please, sir, some more."

"I'm famished! Please!"

Less is more.

You know what I think of

when I picture that?

A guy filling a condom right to the brim.

Thick. Goes to tip it out,

and it doesn't come out,

like a Blizzard, you know? Eh.

I guess it's more like a Jizz-ard. Ah.

I had a guy jizz on me once,

and it, like, landed on my chest.

And it was so hot, I was like, "Ooh."

"How long has

that been in there for, man?"

I feel like you left it in the Crock-Pot

on high for six hours too long.

"That's gonna be hard to clean."

"Just sit in a tub overnight

with some suds to really get that off."

We all do gross stuff though.

I think, as a society,

we all do nasty stuff.

I think one of the grossest things we do

is titty-f*cking. What the hell is that?

Here's the issue with it.

I just want the guys to know

how stupid you look up there.

Oh yeah. This joke's not for the boys.

You get on top of us.

You put your full weight.

You're not checking in on us...

down there gasping for air.

I don't care how fit you are too.

Every single one of you has

a full double-chin looking down on us.

Sunken in ghoul eyes.

While we're on the bottom trying to get

both our n*pples to face the same way.

We're like, "Hold on!"

"Give me a minute!"

"I'm going north and south here! Hold on!"

While you're literally just smearing

your an*s on our chest.

That's all you're doing.

Oh, the guys are getting quiet?

Oh, no.

You didn't know

this is exactly what you look like?

You're shaking.

It stinks. It's disgusting.

And you don't think we're looking

at your pee-hole, but we are.

We're staring at it.

There's simply nothing else to look at.

And you guys

don't realize how silly it is.

'Cause it starts so tiny and closed,

but then every time it comes up,

it opens up like a little mouth.

And boy is he chatty, huh?

Long day at the office,

sweetie?

Do us a favor and buy

some googly eyes. Stick them on there.

Make it fun for us.

Thank you, Boston, so much.

Oh my God!

Thank you! I love you all so much!

I'm Steph Tolev.

I f*cking love Boston! Thank you, guys!

Oh you should see her now

We still love her now

She is going steady

But we're not ready

We're not ready, oh

To see her fall, to see her fall

To see her fall in love...

I know you're getting older

I will never make you suffer

I will never hurt you, mother

Oh my God.

Great job, baby.

Oh, they loved you. They really did.

Thank you. You were phenomenal.