The Captain - Fucking History - 52 Lessons You Should Have Learned in School

People say eyes are the window to the soul, but that’s some bullshit. Eyes are more like the doorway to your dreams. Seriously, if you have a sweet set of peepers — and you know how to use them — you can pretty much write your ticket in life. You can brainwash people with your baby blues and get yourself into all sorts of fun and/or trouble. You can even bounce from bedroom to bedroom if you’re into that sort of thing, because everybody wants to have sex with a pretty-eyed stranger.

Speaking of sexy eyes, the Ancient Romans believed eyes — in particular, the eyelashes — were directly related to how much sex a person was having. Long eyelashes? She’s a good, wholesome gal saving herself for marriage. Short, thin, ragged eyelashes? You better believe that girl is homie hopping. In fact, Pliny the Elder once said, "Eyelashes fall out from excessive sex, and so it is especially important for women to keep their eyelashes long to prove their chastity.” Ha, now that’s some bullshit. However, it was this belief that contributed to the invention of fake eyelashes and eye makeup… yeah, fake limbs for your eyelids have been around since Ancient Rome.

Well, there you have it, now you know why your friend Ashley refuses to leave the house without her fake eyelashes — she’s just trying to look like Roman marriage material. “Lookin’ good, Ash.”

Let’s be honest, condoms suck. Nobody likes them. Not your mom, not your dad, not even the lady in your building living in 6E. (Yes, even Carol hates getting it with the use of a dick mitten.) But, sadly enough, condoms work. They keep your junk from burning, your crotch from itching, and most importantly, your life from falling apart. Because unless you’re absolutely ready for it, pregnancy is a soul-crushing experience.

Accordingly, people have been finding ways to avoid the destructive nature of children long before the invention of the weenie glove. Even as far back as 1850 B.C., a time when the Ancient Egyptians got rather creative and resourceful with crocodiles. Yes, crocodiles. Toothy, reptilian, ferocious creatures — you know, like your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend. And with anywhere from 60-72 teeth and a 4,000-lb bite force, I would imagine putting your dick in a crocodile’s mouth is pretty fucking awful… again, probably similar to the blowjobs given by the girlfriend before you. (God, you are just so much better than her, right?)

Anyway, the Ancient Egyptians made good use of the plentiful Nile crocs when it came to keeping a baby out of your lady box. So, how exactly did the Egyptians use the crocodiles? Well, it’s actually quite simple. (Fucking gross, but simple.) They mixed crocodile dung, mud, and honey together to create an all-natural, highly effective spermicide. The pH level of crocodile dung will pretty much kill any little swimmer trying to find a home. First, I don’t even want to know how the fuck the Egyptians figured that out. Second, the first lady to volunteer to cover her vagina in crocodile shit, mud, and honey must have been into some seriously kinky stuff.

Now, remember, pregnancy is never a good game plan to lockdown a guy. In fact, you shouldn’t let any guy wearing cargo shorts even near your lady parts. (That’s probably the easiest way to avoid getting pregnant because it automatically eliminates 99% of all men.) But, the 1% of men without cargo shorts, might be worth risking it. Because they’re most likely doctors or have some other career that requires them to respect themselves.

Weddings, birthdays, graduations, holidays — these milestone moments bring together family. A chance to gather, eat, and dodge the inevitable “So, why aren’t you married yet…” question you’ll be asked by relatives you forgot even existed. As if you weren’t already self-conscious enough about your dating life, now you have people who are complete fucking strangers 364 days of the year questioning your “dateability.” Who the fuck does Aunt Linda think she is anyway? She’s been divorced four fucking times; she’s the last person who should be questioning you. Regardless, she’s doing it — so how do you answer? Well, it should begin by expressing the fact that you’re just waiting for the “right guy.” You know, one of those timeless, romantic moments that can only happen in a city like Paris, France.

The year is 1719, and dozens of so-called “undateable” women are about to meet the man of their dreams, get married, and be sent on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon to America. Because this is the year the French government offered male prisoners release if they agreed to do one simple thing as a condition of their liberation: Marry a prostitute and move to Louisiana. Yeah, even the French knew marriage is a punishment worse than prison. Pretty fucking romantic though, right? I mean, you had all these working girls, who had likely given up on finding a guy, suddenly married to a prison-sculpted, hard bod — some real “Pretty Woman” kind of shit. (No wonder Paris is known as “The City of Love.”)

Now, it wasn’t just criminals and call girls being sent to Louisiana (chained together, by the way — a literal “ball and chain” type of marriage); the government also sent the homeless, some families even sent their troubled teens. Essentially, deportation to Louisiana was done in an attempt to clean up the city. All in all, hundreds of Parisians became southern state castaways during the early 1700s… but, hey, at least some ladies got a husband out of it.

So, the next time they ask, let your relatives know you’re just waiting for a French felon to come sweep you off your feet. Then, with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, share this story with them. There’s still hope for you.

Everybody enjoys a good hat. The convenience of leaving your home without feeling the need to fuck with your hair beforehand is just awesome. But back in 19th-century Victorian Britain, the men didn’t just wear hats to cover their hair — they wore hats to show off their lover’s hair. Yeah, you read that right. Doesn’t seem to make sense, does it?

Let’s try it this way, there was actually a time when giving someone a chunk of your crotch wig was considered a sign of affection. A sign of affection men proudly displayed, pinning their lover’s pubic hair to their hat like a trophy. (Perfectly reasonable. If you go to third base, you want to bring back a souvenir.) The best part about this was you’d never have to wonder if the carpet matched the drapes; you’d know for sure what everyone had going on — hat hair tells no lies. Plus, for girls, it would be super easy to catch your dude cheating on you. It would happen like this, "Karl! Whose fucking clam hair is this pinned to your hat!? These aren’t my curls, you two-timing son of a bitch!” And, just like that, your marriage is over. (Karl, you fucking jerk.)

Anyway, chances are you have trouble even getting your boyfriend to wear that shirt you bought him last Valentine’s Day. Now, imagine trying to get him to wear a tuft of pubes on his head. Now THAT would be a true measure of his love. You should probably ask him to do it. And I’m talking real pubes — not that shitty attempt at a beard he already has on his face.