There are plenty of these tropes—and not just in American detective stories and action movies. Productions sometimes display staggering idiocy too—but I’ve picked out five that simply make me laugh.

1. The hero is a loser who’s been fired or demoted. His wife has left him. He’s drinking himself to death. He’s a psychopath. A total piece of work. Yet, we’re shown this pathetic specimen suddenly pulling off twenty-six heroic feats in a row, taking out every single villain. It seems the screenwriters are drinking themselves to death, too.

2. The hero invariably keeps a stash of newspaper clippings in a special drawer. Close-ups of the headlines: «Horrific Murder in the Bronx,» «Mysterious Disappearance,» «God Knows What Happened, But Let’s Make the Audience Worry.» He holds onto these clippings and hauls them around his whole life; he has absolutely no other treasures.

3. The hero learns the most important information from the TV. He walks into a bar to down a whiskey with his last few bucks, and behold!—the TV announces the very news the plot hinges on. The news anchor might as well be looking right at the hero and saying, «Oh, you made it? Here’s a news item just for you!» All the other characters—the bad guys included—find everything out from the TV too, like the fact that they’re wanted by the police and need to get out of town. It’s nothing but television.

4. The hero suddenly discovers he has a long-lost child or an elderly father—someone he hasn’t spoken to in years. The dad is handy for the finale, of course: the hero gives him a hug and realizes the value of family. And the kid is a total gem, because he’s convenient for the bad guy to take hostage (having obviously learned the address from TV)—allowing the hero not only to realize the value of family but also to articulate it to the child: «I’ve wronged your mother, your grandmother, and your dog; and I’m also guilty of spouting all this crap instead of just putting a bullet in the screenwriter.»

5. A mini psychoanalysis session. It invariably features the line: «You know what your problem is?» Usually, the bad guy delivers this while the good guy is bleeding out with a gun pointed at his face. The bad guy then identifies the problem—typically some utter nonsense like «You love your job too much, John»—but the scene simply wouldn't work without that «problem.» I feel the problem should be something like: «You kept those newspaper clippings too carefully, John.» That alone should be enough for the hero to pull himself together and kill the bad guy, avenging the desecrated newspaper clippings.

What’s the first thing to do after losing your virginity? That’s right: brag to your best friend. I went over to her place and told her everything in detail—from the foreplay my boyfriend tenderly lavished on me to our attempts to inject some passion into the actual deflowering. The story got us both so worked up that we started hugging, and the whole thing turned into a six-hour marathon in bed that lasted until dawn. It’s been nearly five years since then, and my memories of losing my virginity aren't linked to the boyfriend, but to my friend. I still think back to that night and wonder if I’ll ever have sex with that level of sincerity and mutual connection again.

* * *

To each their own… I had a dream last night that a dog was fucking me. It was awful… but in the dream, it felt good—almost to the point of orgasm. I’ve only watched bestiality porn once or twice in my life; I stumbled upon it by accident on the internet ages ago. In real life, I’ve never had—and hopefully never will have—desires like that :D

* * *

I’m a girl, and I love porn. During sex, I always imagine how I look from the outside—with a cock in my mouth, in the doggy-style position, or with semen on my chest. That «director’s eye» perspective really turns me on. Plus, you can always adjust your pose to make it look more aesthetic.

* * *

There have been plenty of times when I was masturbating and got that coveted «What are you up to?» message in my private chats. Naturally, my reply contains anything *but* the truth. But it makes me damn curious: how many times have I been an unwitting accomplice to someone else’s pleasurable activity without even realizing it?

* * *

Do you know what sexual hopelessness feels like? It’s when you’re used to masturbating by stimulating your clitoris while squeezing your legs together. I don't experience vaginal orgasms; I tried using my fingers during sex but realized I couldn't replicate what I do when I'm alone—and consequently, I couldn't climax. The medical term for this situation is «sexual solitude.» It’s incredibly frustrating, and it’s impossible to unlearn the habit now. Ladies, don't do this—you end up developing a conditioned reflex.

* * *

Before giving my first blowjob, I thought it was disgusting, gross—just totally yuck. But now, I can’t even imagine a morning or evening without giving one. The feeling of him trusting you with such an important part of himself makes you fall even more in love. And that moment when he holds my hand or places his hands on my head… mmm, it just blows my mind. There’s no feeling more arousing than that!

* * *

My ex was a sick bastard… He’d ask me not to wash up before oral sex, and he wouldn't wash his own cock either—it turned him on. He wanted me to pee on him and into his mouth. After he came inside me, he liked to gather it all up with his mouth and transfer it to me so I’d swallow it. He even asked me to take a shit during sex once (though I never actually worked up the nerve for that). He came up with all sorts of other stuff, too… Anyway, I loved him madly, so I did it all… Then he left me—even though we had a child together—and now he’s on his own. I wonder if he’ll ever find someone else willing to do the same things just out of love for him.

* * *

I used to love doggy style in all its variations, but then I started seeing an older man. He doesn't like that position; he thinks it’s «con-style» (like something you’d do in prison). At first, I thought, «Well, shit, that’s a bummer.» But it turned out to be a good thing—I climax like crazy in the missionary position because he moves just right; it feels amazing inside *and* puts pressure on my clitoris. Every time, I’m on the verge of tears because the sensation is so good. Plus, he doesn't just spin me around the bed on his dick—pardon the expression.

* * *

I have a wild craving for sex with a woodcarver. I just imagine: if he can create such masterpieces out of wood, what could he do to me with those hands?

Been working out, you know, not fanatically, whenever I have time or not too lazy. One thing really showed results is kettlebell. Not results in a bodybuilding senses. Results do show and are more noticeable than if I would use dumbbells. And my lower back does not hurt as much. Doing swings I guess. So yea, picked up this 35lb and just got moving.

I don't understand how this is possible. I watched Michael Jackson die, Maradona die, Pele die, Queen Elizabeth die. I watched three popes pass away. I lived through a pandemic, I saw the internet begin. I watched CDs give way to Spotify, DVDs give way to Netflix, landlines give way to iPhones. And I'm witnessing the rise of AI. And I'm only 30 years old.

I started seeing an interesting man. Things eventually led to sex. After some intense foreplay, I was lying naked beneath him. He kissed my lips and started moving lower. I thought I was about to get some amazing cunnilingus. He kisses my neck, chest, and stomach, and then—skipping the «right» spot—starts kissing my knees, moves even lower, and begins frantically sucking on my toes. After three minutes of sex, he has an explosive orgasm, and that’s it… That was the last evening we spent together.

A friend of mine has a neighbor in the village who needed to saw some firewood. He borrowed a circular saw, but while he was working, he lost consciousness. He fell stomach-first right onto the saw—there was blood everywhere, screaming relatives and neighbors, the whole chaotic scene. By some miracle, the guy was patched up and saved; he’s still alive today, though he has a huge scar on his stomach.

Being a bold young woman, I decided to study a field that wasn't exactly «feminine.» One of our subjects was «Metals and Alloys.» The professor was a lecherous old geezer. During one class, we were learning to weld. I was standing there in full welding gear: a black mask with a small dark visor on my face and an electrode holder in my hand. Who would have thought that my appearance would turn him on so much? He came up from behind and started groping my ass with one hand while trying to slip the other under my protective clothing to get to my skin. I tossed aside the welding gear, kicked him hard in the balls, and smashed my mask right into his brazen mug! He couldn't straighten up for ten minutes. There was a confrontation. The rector got involved. They started drawing up expulsion papers. After all, who would they believe—me or him? Him, of course. But at the very last moment, a classmate burst into my dorm room: «I've got something for you!» He showed me a video where… That old geezer’s harassment was clearly caught on camera. He’d wanted to film me screwing up and failing to handle the welding machine just for a laugh, but in the end, he actually saved me. The instructor got fired, and I’ve become something of a legend.

Back in September, I met a really beautiful, sexy woman in an online game. We started messaging on Instagram, and a week later—once she found out the size of my «little rascal»—she suggested we see how I performed in the bedroom. I drove to her city for five days, and things got pretty hot every single night. Now, she flies in to see me once a month for a day, and we spend the whole time doing that wonderful thing… I’m 28 and she’s 34; I’ve never had a woman this hot in my life!

A woman lived in a one-room apartment in our building's entryway. She’d inherited the place from her elderly parents long ago, but after their funerals, she suffered deeply and—without even realizing it—sank into alcoholism. She didn't work; instead, she’d hang out with the local drunks, swilling moonshine. Unlike them, she didn't beg, but she absolutely loved animals. She’d take in every stray cat she found and keep them in her apartment. No one knew where she got the money, but the smell of boiled meat often wafted from her window, and she clearly fed the cats something. A neighbor got fed up with the constant stench of cat filth and went over to confront the woman. She walked in and found her devouring a boiled cat; there was a pile of bones and rotting pelts in the corner, and about twenty cats were yowling around her, begging for food.

Back in school, during our safety class, they taught us how to stop bleeding, but I didn't pay attention and just did my own thing. Then, one day while walking down the street, I witnessed an accident where one of the victims suffered arterial bleeding. Blood was spurting out like a fountain; I just stood there watching, unable to do anything but call an ambulance. But they didn't make it in time. I later found out the man who died had a wife and a four-year-old daughter. I still can't forgive myself for it.

There’s a colleague at the office who walks without lifting her feet—she shuffles loudly enough for the whole place to hear. You can hear her coming from a mile away. On top of that, she sighs heavily, acting as if she’s being forced to haul heavy sacks. She stomps and shuffles back and forth in her slippers like a lumbering elephant, annoying absolutely everyone. I politely asked her not to do it—it’s loud and infuriating. She ignored me. I gave her a car jack for her birthday. She had gotten on everyone’s nerves so much that the whole office chipped in and sent money to my card with comments like «Thanks,» «Hilarious,» and «Finally!»

My brother took out a loan to impress a girl he’s liked for a long time; he took her to restaurants, bought her gifts, and even took her on a seaside vacation. But once the money ran out, she stopped answering his calls. She never promised him anything—they weren't even dating—she just accepted his courtship. Now he’s asking for help with the loan; he’s barely scraping by, and Mom is in tears. Look, I’d happily lend the money, but I refuse to pay off such a shameful loan—he needs to learn a life lesson. Now Mom hates me; it’s both funny and sad.

I love sex. In any form, and in large quantities. I’m 27, single, not ugly, and can hold a conversation. But lately, I keep running into men who *don't* want sex!!! Even the married ones prefer going to the movies with me rather than giving me a good pounding at my place—anytime! What the hell??? My girlfriends have the exact opposite problem: they want relationships, but men only offer them sex!

I’ve noticed a pattern regarding men's bodies. A man’s penis is shaped just like his fingers. For instance, if the fingers are thick at the base and taper toward the tips, the penis is the same way—with a small, narrow head. Conversely, if the fingers widen towards the tips (say, with spade-shaped nails), then the penis is narrow at the base while the head is wider—or even larger. And naturally, if the fingers are thick, it’s thick; if they’re slender, it’s slender. The resemblance is especially striking with the thumb ;) I haven’t seen that many penises, mind you!

After sex, I went to the bathroom to freshen up my pussy. Since there was no hot water, I grabbed the electric kettle, thinking, «Ooh, nice and warm.» I sat down, spread my legs, and poured the water—only to scream in agony right down there! It felt like red-hot iron! Then it hit me: an hour earlier, I’d put descaler in the kettle! I called my boyfriend over and asked him to check if my pussy was still there or if it had dissolved. It turned out fine—it did a great job removing the limescale, and I didn't even get burned.

I came home pretty drunk after a work party; my wife was in the kitchen with some girlfriends, chatting about life. I walked in, said hello, and told them I was heading to bed; I stripped naked, turned off the lights, and got into bed. Half-asleep, I heard the door open as my wife tiptoed in with three girlfriends, all of them giggling softly. My wife whispered, «He's passed out—we can do it now!» She pulled the covers off me and started caressing my cock, while her friends gasped and marveled at it. It really stroked my ego. I adore her.

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