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The Sunday Night Sex Show: Guest Post by Samantha Irby

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Interested in witnessing live sex acts performed by incredibly attractive young singles within the romantic, dimly-lit confines of a dive bar in Logan Square? Then the Sunday Night Sex Show might not be for you, because we happen to be a bunch of nerdy literary hipsters telling drunk stories of ridiculous sexual exploits often gone hilariously wrong.

I full understand the appeal of a microwave dinner. TRUST ME, I totally do. Especially when eaten while snuggled in your pajamas, bathed in the glow of reality television. And Sunday nights are the perfect night for doing your deep-cleaning acne mask and changing the cat litter, but you really should get off the couch, comb the knots out of your hair, and put on a bra to come to the Burlington and hang out at our inbred hipster soiree. Here’s why.

1. It’s sexy.

Officially, The Sunday Night Sex Show is a reading series featuring true confessions about sex and sexuality! Sort of like Penthouse Forum, but intentionally funny Sometimes sad, often cringe-worthy, and always brutally honest. Robyn Pennacchia, the Sex Show founder, and I host this jam, and we answer anonymous love and sex questions from the crowd and give them the benefit of our sage advice between readers. And there’s trivia, and also sexy prizes.

2 It’s easier than trying to convince a hot person to go out with you.

You walk into the Burlington, which might be the least assuming place in the entirety of Chicago. You buy an inexpensive drink. (Seriously, a giant Jack and Coke is, like, four bucks or something.) There are crayons and paper lying around, and while at first that might seem awfully precious, once you use them to write your burning questions about potential lesbian threesomes and oversized testicles it becomes increasingly less so. Not a fan of human Barbie dolls being drooled over by your stepfather? Great, because everyone here looks exactly like you do. The last thing I ever want to do is stand in a room full of plastic surgery being ignored because there’s spaghetti sauce on my shirt, so I like to go to places where that kind of thing won’t happen to me. You’ll laugh at some readers, maybe find out the truth about digital stimulation, and if you’re a smartypants you could win a box of penis-shaped pasta or some edible underwear for properly answering some sexy trivia. And then you go home and resume your boring life, wondering how you ever got through the days before you met us. UNTIL NEXT MONTH.

3 It’s free, and it’s only once a month.

Bad economy, blah blah blah. Save that noise. Plus, I know what you spent to go to Level and Japonais the other night. In my crotchety senior citizenship I will no longer go to places that have a bathroom attendant, so lucky me that not only is the Burlington cheap and on the Fullerton bus route, no giant angry dude posted in front of the door is going to glare down at me and strong-arm me for twenty bucks just to get in. It’s the perfect hangover cure: cheap stories about cheap sex accompanied by cheap whiskey shots. And you commitment-phobes can relax, as we only throw this art party on the last Sunday of the month, freeing up all of your other Sunday night for football games and pigs in blankets.

4 It’s hosted by smart, hilarious ladies.

I know what you’re thinking: Funny women? YEAH, RIGHT. And I hear you, but in our case it’s totally true. A show like this could easily devolve into a pretentious, self-congratulatory mess. What keeps it sane and grounded is that it’s hosted by silly broads who don’t take themselves, or the subject matter at hand, too seriously. I think we’ve all been to a poetry reading or ten during which some sanctimonious hippie has referred to her privates as a “sacred flower” and wept during her performance, and I’m not knocking that, I just know that if you think that’s what we’re up to I’ll never be able to drag your butt away from the DVR.

5 It might get you laid.

I can’t make any promises, but your chances of meeting an open-minded dude who can laugh at sex foibles has to increase exponentially at this kind of thing, right? I have absolutely no research with which to prove this, but a couple of my friends have had killer one-night stands with people they’ve taken home after our show. She won’t be wife material, but at least you’ll get a hilarious story out of it? A story that you can then read at the Sunday Night Sex Show! I believe that makes us all winners.

Samantha Irby can be found blogging at

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About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Sarah Terez-Rosenblum published on August 25, 2011 5:39 PM.

Sex, Writing and Insecurity was the previous entry in this blog.

Kate Healy Keeps Score is the next entry in this blog.

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