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I’d like to introduce a line of condoms that feature the image of a birthmark. That way when you cheat on your wife and your mistress identifies you by the very telling birthmark, you can say to your wife, “She’s clearly lying, I don’t have a birthmark in the shape of Italy on my dick.”

Now, I know the condom slows you down a little bit, so be cautious about sex going too long. When you’re a teenager, especially after watching a lot of porn, you think that you need to bang away for hours at a time. But after years of listening to Dr. Drew talk to women about their sexual pain, it is pretty clear that they’re not as interested in that as you’d think. The whole “he went all night” thing is a myth. Once you’re in there count it in dog years. Each minute is seven minutes. Here’s a go-to: If you’re reaching for the lube and she’s reaching for an ice pack, that’s a bad sign.

And don’t think that you need to get too kinky, either. I know we’ve all gone Fifty Shades of Grey and that there needs to be novelty in the bedroom once in a while, but sex ain’t broken. I see a lot of movies, not porno, but regular movies, where food is incorporated into sex. That whole Kim Basinger, Mickey Rourke 9½ Weeks thing. If you’re staring at a twenty-seven-year-old naked Kim Basinger and thinking, “Ehh… I’m go

I’ll close out this letter with some thoughts on a very important part of life as a man: masturbation. The Jews say you become a man at thirteen. Well, I believe you’re a man the first time you find some porn and have at yourself. It’s something I call the bate-mitzvah.

I consider myself an expert on this topic. My best days are behind me, but I have so much to teach. Without a guiding hand, literally, you could get the hallowed act all wrong. So let me drop some wisdom about masturbation or, as I call it, jizzdom.

I was a late bloomer. Most boys discover themselves at thirteen. I didn’t start beating my meat until I was sixteen. I was at a friend’s house. I won’t mention him by name to limit the object of humiliation of this story to just me. He asked me if I had ever done that and I ashamedly admitted I hadn’t. Like the great mentors of history — John the Baptist to Jesus, Merlin to King Arthur or Mickey to Rocky — he opened me up to a whole new world. He pointed to his electric toothbrush and said, “See that? Fire it up and put it on the back of your weenus.” I said, “Huh?” He said, “It feels great. Just go sit on the toilet and do it.” (To clarify, it wasn’t the brush end. And he had a spare attachment. This wasn’t his actual toothbrush.) I did. And thus was simultaneously born my love of masturbation and my hatred of brushing my teeth.

After that first time, I thought, “I’m only good for one or two of these a month.” It was a process. Like crème brûlée, it was a once in a while treat. But very quickly, I figured out how to do this efficiently and, dare I say, artfully.

But before I get into the rules of the sacred rite — I call them Spunk Shui — let me express my wild envy of how plentiful porn is today. When I was a teen, there was none. I used to just lay in a field and wait for a cloud to take the shape of a boob. Now there’s so much Internet porn guys are spending the majority of the day in their refractory period. The question isn’t “Did you beat off today?” it’s “How many times did you beat off today?” I think all the porn access nowadays is going to make you lose your hunger for the hunt. Your generation isn’t even going to bother to date because you can go beg the old lady for a hummer, or you could instead just look at thousands of videos of other chicks giving guys hummers. You’ll lose the eye of the tiger. This ca