I had a really nice time performing at the WYSIWYG Talent Show on Valentine's Day, and was generally really impressed by the other people on the lineup. (I was also amazed by the audience, both for their size and their patience; it was a long, packed show and the audience's enthusiasm never once seemed to dip.)

For my contribution, I presented a series of dramatic re-enactments of mortifying or painful moments from my sexual history. (At the end of one scene, I rigged a tremendous chandelier to drop from the ceiling. It was quite a spectacle!) I can't really post what I did at the show, since it was contained a lot of audience interaction and would look a bit funny flat on the screen. But here's what I read, as a preamble to those dramatic re-enactments:

I spent a great deal of time planning how to spend Valentine's Day with my girlfriend this year. I wondered, should we have a romantic dinner, filled with exotic fruits and sensuous cuts of free range meat? Or retreat to some quiet corner of a bar with a bottle of Alizé Bleu? Should we luxuriate in the delicately perfumed tides of my King Sized, open-faced waterbed-slash-hi-fi stereo? Or swing by Central Park and check out one of those free sex-toilets. Then she put a finger to my lips to silence me, and said, "Python" — she calls me Python — "I've got a better idea. Why don't you get onstage in front of a couple hundred strangers, and speak frankly and in great detail about all the sex you've had with other women, while I sit in the audience, alone, squirming uncomfortably in my seat, wishing I were very drunk and possibly single. THAT would be hot."

As you wish.

But before I commence destroying the love I've worked very hard to build, I need to address something that occurred at last year's Worst-Sex-Ever show, that is still bothering me to this very day. I was not in attendance that night, but I was told by a very reliable source that one of the performers presented, as his "worst sex ever" story, a tale about a threesome he had with two women, where he didn't feel like he was receiving an acceptable level of sexual attention.

I have some assistance for him, which will hopefully take the sting out of what must surely have been a devastating sexual experience. There is an objective way to measure whether you are receiving an acceptable level of sexual attention in a threesome, and here's how. Were you invited to the threesome? Yes? At any point were there two naked or semi-naked women somewhere in the room with you? Uh huh? Well, congratulations, because you are receiving an acceptable level of sexual attention.

I have never had a threesome. Once I had an unsuccessful twosome followed almost immediately by a one-some. But even without firsthand knowledge, I think I can safely say that, obvious awkwardness and unfulfilled expectations aside, if you're part of a threesome—even if you're just there to watch or operate the boom mic—you are having better sex than most people ever will, and you surely know this. And if that was truly your worst sexual experience, I would love to know about your best one. Was it when your sexual partner's ecstatic moans produced a high-frequency sound wave that cured a beggar's leprosy? Or perhaps the time you ejaculated gold coins and cake frosting? My point is, I have nothing personally against this individual but it's important to remember the theme of the show is Worst. Sex. Ever. It's not Most.Thinly.Veiled.Sexual.Brag.Ever.

I've really been thinking a lot about the theme for this show, wracking my brain for good stories, and here's what I realized: Of the terrible sex I've had in my life, nearly all of it has been my fault. Certainly, I've also performed very well. But I'd say for every partner I could complain about on this stage tonight, there is another woman somewhere who could just as easily accuse me of being a selfish lover, or inattentive, or of only average penis length and girth. In the almost 20 years I've been sexually active, I'm sure I have made a few vaginas frown.

But why focus on my mistakes? This show is for bloggers and as someone who has maintained a personal web site for almost 8 years now, I am well aware that blogging is a medium predicated upon the three pillars of Exhibitionism, Revenge and Total Denial Of Culpability. The only protection offered to those individuals we feel have "wronged" us is that, when we write about all their faults with painstaking specificity online, there is a small chance their true identity will be disguised and, in the blog entry, rather than being referred to as "Kevin," or whatever their real names are, they'll be permitted to exist under a clever nickname, like "Mr. Smelly Balls." In my experience, Blogging is a fantastic confessional medium, for confessing the sings of others. So, time to confess some other people's sins...

[now try to imagine some of the most professional and realistic-looking stagecraft you have ever witnessed! YOUR BREATH WILL BE TAKEN AWAY.]