Frankly, a lot of gals complain about the discomfort of tickling a man's pickle. Let's make something clear right off the bat – if the task at hand doesn't require some very strenuous dilation of the larynx, you're either a veteran bulimic, a truck stop harlot or married to Senator Santorum. But while Mary Poppins may have recommended a spoonful of sugar to help you go down, I gravitate to solutions less OTC. I find that once a pair of wonderful blue Xanaxes burrows into the tattered lining of my stomach, sending soothing waves of "I couldn't possibly give a crap" swirling around in the gooey red tequila White House doctors have taken to calling my "bloodstream," I suddenly find I have the gag control of a colored crackwhore. And you will, too! Trust me.