Horny Jail

horny jail

Put simply, Horny Jail is a holding pen for the world’s horniest inhabitants. If you identify someone who needs to go to Horny Jail, you have three choices:

1) Call the Sex Police: Just give them a call and the nation’s *finest* will ride in on the hot kind of bike and straight up arrest whoever is displaying illegal levels of horn. The Sex Police may be reached by dialling 6–9–6–9.

2) Horny Citizen’s Arrest: Sometimes there’s simply not enough time to call the Sex Police (not to be confused with The Police; Horny Jail was invented for Sting). Acting as an independent citizen, throw the offending Sex Pest to the ground screaming “YOU’RE TOO HORNY,” then sit on them and await the authorities.

3) Turning yourself on (in): If the overly horny person is you, do the right thing. Simply march your way over to Horny Jail and confess to your thirst. They will appreciate that you brought your own handcuffs.

The following people and things have outstanding warrants to report to Horny Jail:

  • Guitar guys
  • Giuliana Rancic
  • Drake
  • Most professors
  • Drake
  • The air-conditioning on the set of Friends
  • Drake
  • That James Bond villain with the thighs so powerful she uses them to kill people
  • This is the last time we’ll say it, but Drake, please report to Horny Jail
  • Night fav-ers
  • Your best friend’s brother’s friends
  • Bill Clinton’s wistful memories of the ‘90s
  • Me, when I think about Bruno Mars
  • Bruno Mars
  • Me, when my boyfriend interacts with children (he doesn’t talk down to them!!!!!!!)
  • Cucumbers
  • Eye contact
  • Buffy Summers around men in buttery leather coats
  • People who object to public breastfeeding
  • Satin bras
  • Gym teachers, honestly, what is up with gym teachers
  • The guy you went to high school with who just added you with the message “U look gr8”
  • Roman poetry
  • Subtweeters
  • Anyone who owns wine-themed novelty napkins
  • Harry Fucking Styles
  • Very full, heavy, weight-y burritos
  • The tongue, peach, eggplant, and little red-faced monster guy with the long nose emojis
  • Facebook chatting someone to say you’re “so bored”
  • Tongue piercings
  • The park in summertime
  • My Google search history
  • Popsicles, the eating of
  • Male-authored profiles of celebrity women
  • Jolly servants in Shakespeare
  • 100% of teens
  • Underwear with writing on it
  • A guy telling you the band you’re listening to is a good band, he also likes that band, it’s crazy that you’re a GIRL and you like that band and listen to other music, you seem special
  • Body oils
  • The phrase “You look like you need a massage”
  • Soft jazz
  • Adult winking
  • The whispered portion of songs
  • Styled facial hair
  • Mark Ruffalo’s fucking Instagram
  • Belly chains
  • Male earrings
  • Kimonos
  • Screenwriters preoccupied with fictional older women despite knowing none in real life
  • Workout grunts
  • This lube my friend bought called “Fuck Water”
  • Teenage cousins
  • Robin Thicke (also needs to go to Regular Jail)
  • Hip Dads
  • That men-only weights area at public gyms
  • Haley Mlotek, editor of the Hairpin dot com
  • People who flirt with baristas
  • Leather pants
  • Anyone who has ever left a comment on Rihanna’s Instagram
  • A middle-aged couple who just decided to open their relationship and isn’t quiiiite sure how
  • Me
  • You
  • Everyone we know, everybody go to jail

You have the right to remain horny. Anything you bang can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to try to explain yourself. If you cannot explain your thirst, an excuse will be appointed to you by your most sympathetic friend. Do you understand your rights as they have been read to you*? (*In a breathy voice, with Nicki Minaj playing in the background)

Many thanks to the horny people of Twitter for their helpful suggestions, and especially to Kyle Duncan Graham for cucumbers, @The_Sample_Life for drunk middle aged couples, and @Atencio for late night Instagrams. May I also add: TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE HORNDOGS YOU ARE UNDER ARREST

Monica Heisey is a writer and comedian from Toronto. Her work has appeared in The Toast, The Cut, Rookie, Gawker, VICE, Playboy, and many other web and print publications. Her first book, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Better, comes out Spring 2015. Writing about herself in the third person is a nightmare.