You can never know when a strap attack will come, no matter how hard you try. Oh sure, you’ll buy a fancy security system, lock your doors, and pay a bodyguard to pick up the soap when you drop it in the shower, but as soon as you feel safe enough to wear leather chaps, Kristina Rose will be knocking at your backdoor with a bouquet of roses and a fistful of lube.

It’s just like the Miss America pageant, except there are no questions, no swimsuit competition, no evening wear portion, and everyone has the same talent: finding the nearest guy and making him take a strap-on to the ass. This is a timeless tradition, an American institution dreamed up by the