Given the touchy-feely aesthetic one associates with Adam & Eve, I wish I had a romantic story to illustrate the utility of their brand of rubbers. Sadly, I don't.

Spring break, 1999. Our little friend was 18 and oh-so-alluring. We met at a drunken gathering in Long Beach. I loved the way she kept saying, "I don't know what it is about you. Ordinarily I wouldn't look twice at you." She kept describing herself as "an intellectual," to which I would answer, "Yes, and I think you're a very interesting person. A real conversationalist and a true intellectual. We should really get you out of those clothes."

Condoms are a must for all sexual dalliances in these dark days, but most especially when bending over (or bending over for) someone whom you never want to see again. Adam & Eve condoms, like all latex life savers, work especially well in this regard —each and every foil-wrapped package contains a rubberized protective barrier, a free pass to filthy, filthy fun, with far fewer potential pitfall and Eros-induced disasters.