“Dirty Rush” Is The Only Book You Need On Your Bookshelf If You Enjoy Boobs, Drunk Frat Parties, And A Whole Lotta Sex

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Dirty Rush

Why, hello there, TFM. It’s me, Rebecca Martinson. You remember me, right? The coiner of “cunt punt”? The deranged sorority girl? The girl whose email inspired lovely comments such as:

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As hilariously obscene as you guys can be, only one of the two questions I got after my email leaked was really up to par with your comedic standards:

1. Do you take it up the butt?
2. What the fuck is Dirty Rush?

I’m going to leave that first question up to your imagination because life is more fun that way, but as for the second? Dirty Rush is the book of the century and you better go fucking buy it. I don’t mean to set unrealistically high standards here, but I’m going to set unrealistically high standards here because the novel damn well meets them. Ever seen that flippy dipshit sorority movie The House Bunny? The only redeeming quality of that movie was that it featured Anna Faris running around in skimpy clothes for a solid ninety-eight minutes.

There was no sex and there was very little drinking. Instead, we just watched Anna Faris hang out with a bunch of sorority losers who couldn’t shotgun a fucking Natty Light if they tried. Who wants to watch a movie about the Rosie O’Donnell of sororities? Not me, and I certainly don’t want to read about them, either.

Luckily for you, this book is not that.

Dirty Rush not only features a boob flopping out of a bikini top within the first fifteen pages, but there’s a whole lot of sex. Not boring sex, either, like how you and your girlfriend get drunk and she lies there like a dead fish while you pound away at her flounder until your whiskey dick pops off. It’s good sex, like when she actually still gives a shit about your satisfaction and puts effort into being on top. If you don’t buy this book, you’re literally telling the world that you intend to die a virgin and that you hate blow jobs. Is that the message you want to send to people? Huh?

I don’t fucking think so.

This is a lot for one book to live up to, I know, but I’m not lying. Would I lie? Yes, of course I would, but the fact that I just admitted that goes to show that I’m pretty honest about how big of a liar I am, so you should definitely trust me. For fuck’s sake, I wrote the foreword to the book, so I probably know what I’m talking about. Considering I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about 99 percent of the time, that’s saying a lot.

I could keep going and tell you about the beautiful portion of the book that focuses on a girl losing anal beads up her asshole, or about the part where the sorority girls essentially have a vomit-orgy while trying to get DDed home in a convertible, or even that at least 50 percent of the book’s dialogue is dedicated to talking about how awesome Taylor Bell’s (she wrote the book, by the way — learn your shit, gentlemen) boobs are. But I won’t. You know why? Because I know most of you have attention spans of about 1.5 pages, and I’m cutting it pretty close here. Let me wrap it up for you nice and quick:

Boobs. Sex. Anal beads. Orgies. More boobs. Dirty Rush.