John DeVore's editor orders him to write piece on pegging—"[a] term... coined in a contest by pioneering sex advice columnist Dan Savage"—evoking a lot of dookie-related puns. But DeVore gets one thing right:

I’ll be bluntly honest and admit that “pegging” really brings out the awkward bro in me and lights up my masculine fear center like a slot machine. Every gender-normative synapses in my brain fires and I want to make jokes about how my pooper is an “exit only” orifice. Seriously, it turns me into such a homophobic frat boy that I suddenly want to watch UFC....

Another pair of women wondered if a man who wants to be “pegged” is, in fact, a latent homosexual. Which is vaguely offensive to gays, I think. There isn’t a “gay button” buried deep in the colon that, if pushed, unleashes the fabulous. The gay men I have met, the ones who love and dream of marrying their partner or a partner in the future, love with their hearts, not their asses.


Very nicely put, John.

And while John doesn't wind up getting pegged for his piece—John either wasn't truly committed to this assignment and/or he doesn't fully appreciate the power dynamics inherent to the editor/writer relationship—he ends the piece by describing just how the planets would have to align for him to even begin to contemplate consenting to being pegged. To summarize: if things don't work out with Sean Penn, Scarlett Johansson has options.