Adam Carolla - Daddy, Stop Talking! - And Other Things My Kids Want but Won't Be Getting

Sacred Rule #4 : Don’t get married to the sound. Either you will have the volume up so loud you won’t hear the front door opening or worse, when the old lady’s asleep you’ll resort to plugging headphones into your computer and you’ll end up like Sara Connor’s roommate from the first Terminator . Whether it’s the Blu-ray edition of Taboo II or staring at some high-def vids on a 24-inch Mac monitor, if you can’t jack in silence it’s time to turn in your gui.

Sacred Rule #5 : Don’t get married to the position. You never know when, or where, your next spank-ortunity will be. Even if you’ve followed all the other rules of Spunk Shui there are going to be times when you’re traveling. It’s like teams that play well in domes but suck in cold weather stadiums. You need to be flexible. Literally. And God forbid you have a near death experience. You need to be able to snap one off at thirty-thousand feet in a plane doing a nose-dive or while being chased by a Kodiak bear. You don’t want the last thought on your deathbed to be “I wish I had jerked off more.” That’s bad karma.

Sacred Rule #6 : Be into what your wife or girlfriend looks like. This one is more for when you do get caught if you don’t adhere to the principles above. Assuming you will eventually get caught, it’s best to be watching a chick who looks enough like your wife or girlfriend that she won’t be completely offended, but enough like someone new that you can still get wood. I have a friend who’s into the MILF thing so it’s cool with his forty-year-old wife that he’s looking at forty-five-year-old women. But she wouldn’t be as cool if he were into busty Latinas in their twenties. So find a site with the same types as your lady, or as I call them, fuck-similes.

Sacred Rule #7 : Settle. One way to get caught is to spend too long looking for the perfect thing. You can waste hours upon hours looking at Internet porn. It’s like walking down an endless aisle in a virtual porn store the size of Antarctica. But the truth is, you can find something to facilitate the sacred act in a few minutes if you keep your mind as open as your pants.

I have two inventions to nip this in the bud. The first is an app to connect your laptop, that is, your mobile porn device, to a treadmill or elliptical machine. You’ll have to run for the amount of time you want to watch porn. Not while you’re actually watching porn. That could lead to a lot of slip-and-fall lawsuits. I mean you have to earn that beat-off time with some exercise. Imagine how fit we’d all be. Well, all men. Though if you’re anything like me this would just mean a trip to the Home Depot parking lot to hire some day laborers to hit the treadmill and raise the total time.

My other idea is a little more practical. It’s simply a software fix. Single guys should have a lock-out timer for the porn-jack session. You set the time you think you need to complete the task. It then locks you out for four times that period if you go past your limit. If you give yourself thirty minutes and go thirty-one minutes you’ll be locked out for two hours. Imagine how productive our society would be with this app. We’d be off foreign oil, there’d be no cancer and we’d all probably be living on Mars. I’ve even got a tag line for the ads, “Your cock is on the clock.”

I hope that answers all your questions about puberty, Sonny. With the wuss that your grandfather was it’s important to me that I teach you about all aspects of becoming a man. It’s a confusing and scary process that you’re not entirely in control of. Just do your best, and know that you’ll be laughing at yourself and how awkward it was for you later in life.

And sorry if it was a little too focused on masturbating, but it’s clearly a topic I’m passionate about and upon which I have a lot of wisdom to impart. You’re my boy, my heir, and you have some big shoes to fill. I don’t want to say I’ve taken masturbating to the next level but before I started doing it they called it amateur-bating.

I CANNOT BEGINto express the envy that I feel when I see what the entertainment world has to offer my kids in contrast to what I had. Whether it’s television, movies, toys or even commercials, what my kids get to enjoy far exceeds the entertainment I got when I was a lad. It’s not that we didn’t have a television, it’s just that growing up my television was deeper than it was wide. It was a thirteen-inch black-and-white Zenith and got three channels. Let me be more specific. It got all three channels. That’s all we had.

Now my kids have a 70-inch plasma television with so many channels they could watch one a day and not run out for three years. And that’s not to mention the Netflix, Hulu, Amazon streaming possibilities.

My kids watch a television that is bigger than they are. If you lay my kids diagonally across the screen, their toes and scalp wouldn’t make it to the corners. And if you took the television off the wall and set it on the floor it’s bigger than the service porch I called a room growing up.

Yet this ginormous television goes, like all things in their life, wildly unappreciated. They, like all kids now, are completely obsessed with their mobile devices.

I woke up one summer morning last year (I know it was summer because the kids were out of school) and walked by Natalia on the way to make some coffee. She was perched on the sectional sofa in front of Jerry Jones’s Jumbotron with whatever iCarly or Dog with a Blog bullshit Disney Channel was pushing out at the time. But as I passed, I had to do a double take and a double back, because I noticed that she wasn’t watching the gigantic show in front of her. She had her nose buried in her iPhone. There was a wall-sized show ten feet from her but she was watching the wallet-sized screen ten inches from her face.

Somehow the kids of today got so spoiled on big that the pendulum swung in the opposite direction and now small is cool. (If only this were true for penises.) I had a tiny television when I was growing up because that was the technology at the time but believe me I would have gladly stepped up to the nineteen inches and basked in the glory of a Barney Miller episode. It would have blown my mind to see eight inches of Abe Vigoda.

I think this change is a bad sign for the future. How’s it going to pan out? When Natalia’s thirteen will she be at an IMAX theater with one eye closed to look at the postage stamp — sized contact lens implant television called iLid?

I’m not joking when I say that Natalia and Sonny are totally obsessed with their mobile devices. One afternoon, we were leaving for some event and I walked into Natalia’s room and saw her bedroom window was open. So I told her to shut her screen. She said, “I did.” I replied, “I’m looking right at it, and it’s wide open. I don’t want flies to get in.” She then held up her iPad and angrily said, “I did. Look, I shut the screen.”

We almost had a very 2014 version of “Who’s on First?” going on. No wonder old people are confused by technology. We don’t give anything new names. Think about it: window, screen, tweet, bookmark, cookie and spam are all words that used to mean something else. Hell, tablet is simultaneously the oldest and newest means of communication on the planet. We have the same word for the thing Moses carved the Ten Commandments into and what my daughter is Instagramming and selfie-ing from.