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"Are you fucking crazy?"

I ruminated on the challenge regarding my sanity. I sipped my beer, thought about it, and replied, calmly and a little drunk, "nope."

"You're not gonna FUCK? Dude, you're a fuckin' virgin, for chrissakes!"

"That's right. I'm sick of sex."

My roommates, drunker than I was, gaped in awe and shock. "Why?" One of them finally slurred. "Are you fuckin' gay?"

"Nah. I'm just sick of sex. All day, all night, all I hear is sex. Sex on TV, sex in the movies, sex shouted out loud in the supermarket magazines and books. You think of sex when you talk or see a cute girl, and the single motivation to date or interact with anyone outside your friends is to have sex. It's become our obsession, and I'm not gonna fall for it."

They kept gaping at me, drunk and glassy-eyed. "Are you saying you're becoming a priest? Fuck, dude..."

"Exactly! You've just said the word "fuck" about once a sentence. See, it's interjected into our conversations, even when we're not talking ...

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