The State of Sexual Union, 2026
If you’re too busy or overwhelmed by life or AI to listen to my sixth annual State of the Sexual Union address (2026), delivered live 2/14/2026 on Active Radio hosted by Hartley Pleshaw on WCAP-AM 980 – now available for your aural edification – here’s my single-word 2026 prescription for our very sickened society: Therapy.
We need it. I need it, and I’m pretty sure you do too.
Last year’s State of the Sexual Union (2025) was subtitled the Year of Living Precariously. This year, we have fallen off the Cliff of Precarity into a Sea of Slop and Slime. So, 2026 is our Year of Needing Therapy.
Grief’s a Bitch
I need therapy (and yes, I’m getting some, thank you) primarily because I’m grieving for my beloved husband Max who passed away on May 13, 2025 after a terrible stroke that shattered our world.
Grief is a bitch, Brothers and Sisters, Lovers and Sinners. And no, I’m not talking about Erika Kirk. Well, not really…
I’m talking about the deep loss of my Great Love. Essentially, the State of My Sexual Union is grieving. Even when lovely things happen – a hug from a friend, flowers blooming in our Bonoboville garden, a lick from our sweet dog, a colleague composing a beautiful song for us – I still grieve, wishing Max were here to experience them with me.
If the State of Your Sexual Union is that you too are grieving, and even if you’re not, I imagine you could benefit from some therapeutic counseling… at least this crazy-making year of government-issued assault, kidnapping and very bad sex.
Trumped Up Trauma
Whether you’re an innocent victim, a vile perpetrator or *just* an observer watching (and maybe filming) your neighbors getting tackled, beaten, shot and even murdered by Trump’s ICE Ammosexual Incel Army – or perhaps you’re *just* reading about powerful people doing awful things in the Epstein Files – you have been traumatized much of this year.
It hasn’t only been a year, of course. We the Peoples of America (including the Americas that Bad Bunny so boldly and accurately listed) and most of the world have been under assault by the narcissistic and sociopathic proclivities of our so-called *leaders* for centuries. But the most recent assault by the billionaire class (usually the main assaulters) is the subject of my State of the Sexual Union (SOTSU) 2026. Though it includes politics, war, finance, art, the environment and more, it is, to a great degree, a sexual assault.
“The Noblest of Warriors”
My SOTSU 2026 went live early Valentine’s morning, since this year, sadly, I had no Valentine keeping me in bed. Hartley indulged me for a few minutes as I mourned my sweet Valentine, saying his name(s) Pr. Maximillian Rudolph Leblovic Lobkowicz di Filangieri, aka “Captain Max,” aka Mickey and more, and singing his praises as my truly amazing husband of 33 years, friend of 40, lover, co-host, producer, publisher, butler, my witness and a great, inspirational Free Speech freedom fighter whose only firearm was his powerful voice.
Hartley joined in on the eulogizing, letting his listeners know that Max was “the noblest of warriors… at the front lines of Free Speech struggles… and a lot of people who’ve never heard of him owe him a great debt of gratitude.”
That warmed my broken heart, and provided a good point to declare, as I had at our Max to the Maximus, “by the powers vested in me as Mayor of Bonoboville,” that Max’s birthday, November 8th, be celebrated in perpetuity as “Free Speech Day.” Mark your calendar – Sunday, November 8th, 2026 – to exercise your freedom to speak out about something important to you, or support somebody else’s.
As V-Day was dawning, I then told the story of Lupercalia, the original, ecosexual, communal, Pan-centered and rather kinky Valentine’s Day, as well as the more recently ordained World Bonobo Day, honoring the Love Apes on our High Holiday of Love, our kissing cousins, the bonobos (Pan paniscus), who have long inspired Max and my love for each other, for Bonoboville and for this lovely, crazy-making world of ours.
Epstein Slime & Slop
“This is what so many people have been waiting for all year,” Hartley told his rapt audience as we returned from commercials, “for Dr. Suzy to bestow upon us the State of the Sexual Union (SOTSU). It couldn’t come at a more appropriate time.”
For the past five years, I’ve delivered my SOTSU after the President does his State of the Union (SOTU). This year, I decided to do mine before him, feeling no need to let that lying blowhard go first. All recent U.S. Presidents could reasonably be called war criminals. But the current occupier of the now garishly gold-plated Oval Office has poisoned this past year with words and actions so cruel, dishonest, narcissistic, self-serving, racist, misogynist and simply obnoxious, it’s abusive to the spirit of our country, including our sexual spirit. If anyone in the current U.S. governmental circus of clowns, thieves, fixers, scammers, cover-up queens, close relatives and ammosexual sociopaths had a pinch of integrity, Predator Donald J. Trump wouldn’t even be delivering SOTU 2026. He would be in therapy – mandated by his warden.
And yes, “Predator Trump” suits him so much more than “President”… Indeed, the State of the Sexual Union 2026 has been grossly stained by his “best friend’s” magnum opus: the Epstein Files, and no matter how much he whines, “No one cares,” “I’m exonerated,” “the stock market is through the roof,” or “He stole my masseuse,” that damn stain, like Lady Macbeth’s damn spot (“Out damn spot!”), just won’t come out.
Honestly, My AI advisor advised me to “take the high road” and not soil myself by even mentioning Epstein in my SOTSU 2026. But that would have been rude, as right out the gate, Hartley asked me to address it as “the number one story in the world right now.”
It’s my SOTSU, but it’s Hartley’s show, so I had to respect that. Also, he’s right. Being “America’s #1 Sexologist,” as he so kindly calls me, it was incumbent upon me to address the Epstein variant of the virulent Billionaire Mind Virus (BMV), as part of the “therapy” I was prescribing for us all.
And with that, Hartley gave me “the floor,” slippery with the noxious “natural and unnatural” secretions of the Epstein Files. I pulled on my rubber Power-Booties and stepped through the mess (some of it), trying not to slip and fall on my proverbial ass, as so many have and still are doing.
And oh, what a mess it is.
For most of us, discussing, scrolling through or even just thinking about Epstein and the malevolent powers that he represents triggers grim memories of past traumas or paralyzing fears of future ones. Most of us also have deep, heart-wrenching empathy for the survivors who are coming forward to tell their stories or who were mysteriously killed before they could – or after they did. No wonder we all need therapy.
Zuck Cucked by Epstein
I did manage to refrain from (much) gossiping about the “Who’s who,” “What’s what,” or “Who did what to whom” of the Epstein Files. I can’t say I wasn’t tempted, but it is so difficult to tell facts from fantasy, or AI slop from real-life slime, and I didn’t want to step in that particular kind of mess.
Though I must confess I did snigger a bit over one name (over 300 times) and distinctive face in the Epstein Files: Mark Zuck the Cuckerberg – my thirsty nerd nemesis who unjustly deactivated my Meta accounts last year – was and still is an integral part of the Tech Bro branch of Epstein’s swamp, one of a handful of leaders of the expanding Censorship Industrial Complex, all suffering from variants of the BMV. Epstein’s snapshot of their “wild” 2015 dinner shows a clear sideview of Zuck – so thoroughly cucked, he’s seated right beside the disgraced (but still toxically potent) old bull himself.
Ammosexual Incels & Kidnapping Kink
A pro-bonobo man who loves women, Hartley expressed alarm at the expanding ranks of misogynistic, Trump-adoring incels (“involuntary celibates”). I assured him that some are harmlessly pathetic and just need a good dominatrix (a kind of therapy!). More concerning are the “ammosexual incels” channeling their much-denigrated sex drives into wielding phallic weapons of various kinds – which is often all it takes to get a good-paying job assaulting people with ICE.
Trump’s well-known taste for assault extends into many sociopathic directions, but on SOTSU 2026, I focused on his kidnapping or “grab ‘em by the pussy” fetish for capturing people for sexual or political purposes. This is on appalling display in the kidnapping of American citizens and visitors by Trump’s ammosexual ICE army, and even geopolitical actions, such as the kidnapping of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and his wife – in addition to the sordid nonconsensual kidnapping events described in the Epstein files.
Usually, Trump’s kidnapping hijinks are just for sadistic *fun* (eww!) – at the victims’ expense – or to make a political power point or entertain his more bloodthirsty fans. But sometimes it spills over into murder… Whoops, as Epstein would say.
Have I mentioned Trump should be in therapy – supervised by his prison director?
Pro-Bonobo Therapy for All
We the People also need therapy; though not in prison (there are many kinds of counseling and other treatments), and yes, the billionaires should pay for it, as the essential mental health component of Medicare for All. It’s time.
After all, our compromised leaders and their filthy rich donors’ aggrandizements, appetites, kinks, inadequacies, delusions and bottomless desires for domination have been the lethal power behind our collective trauma. Such is the State of the Sexual Union 2026.
As I write this, Epstein files keep dropping like cancer-laced stink bombs, and ICE – though seemingly routed from brave Minneapolis – is continuing its nonconsensual kidnappings around the country. Many peoples are being threatened. Not sexy!
In all the combustible confusion of fact with fantasy and criminality with authority, these don’t seem to be Democrat vs. Republican, Liberal vs. Conservative issues, not this year anyway. “It’s really not about the Red or Blue, it’s just folks like me and you,” is my SOTSU 2026 paraphrase of my wonderful Counterpunch colleague David Rovics – who recently played a fantastic private concert in Bonoboville with his band, the Ministry of Culture (including the lovely Kamala Emanuel), that we’ll release soon. I was especially touched that David composed a rather catchy new AI Tsuno song entitled “Captain Max, Dr. Suzy and the Bonobo Way.”
And yes, there’s still pro-bonobo goodness in the world, and it’s my fervent SOTSU hope that the make-love-not-war, female-empowered, male-nurturing, sharing, caregiving bonobos can guide us through all this Epstein and ICE slime and crime. The “Epstein class” has captured, censored, deactivated, demoralized and de-eroticized us, putting some eight billion humans and gazillions of other precious life forms under the greasy thumbs of a handful of neoreactionary, sociopathically thirsty rich guys (and a few gals).
Don’t Let the Creeps Kill Your Vibe
Over this Year of Needing Therapy, we’ve all been kidnapped – some of us literally, most of us mentally – by the Trump/Epstein/ICE/Zuck/Zionist/Palantir/PayPal Mafia of Creeps. That’s a extremel hyphenated adjective, but we now find ourselves in an extreme kink relationship that, for most of us here on the bottom, is inarguably nonconsensual and gross – and that’s part of what turns these creeps on.
I could have had a little fun roleplaying that scenario in less grievous times. Instead, I tried to focus SOTSU 2026 on how we can heal from the Epstein files as they pour forth, demolishing our trust in these creepy leaders and systems – which may be good – but also in each other, which is sad. Unless you too are a sociopath, the stories that emerge from these files are a major turn-off, making some of us lose our own healthy appetites for sex and even love.
As a sex therapist who firmly believes that good sex is vital to our mental and physical health, I encouraged my SOTSU audience not to let the evils of our deeply disturbed rulers destroy us “as good people and as sexual beings.” This is easier said than done, but it’s my hope that we can remember that while people – especially the powerful ones – can make a mess of just about anything, including sex, it’s been proven time and again that good sex is far more likely to heal than harm.
In its healthy form, consenting adult sex builds connection, lowers stress, boosts confidence and tends to make you nicer to be around. A little good sex puts you into a better mood and, if more of us were having it instead of scrolling through slime, slop and manufactured outrage, society might be in a better mood too. A partner is great (and I miss mine) but not necessary so, I added, “make love to someone you love today… even if that someone is you.”
Farewell Dr. Jane Goodall
Just before the sign-off, it occurred to me that we really should say goodbye to the late great Dr. Jane Goodall, and in that moment of synchronicity, Hartley did just that. RIP Dr. Jane Goodall, a giant of primatology, ecology and love, who sadly passed away shortly after Max. One of my favorite nicknames was “Jane Goodall After Dark” (thank you Tom Quinn).
Dr. Jane made her mark by studying common chimpanzees, but she was a great friend of the bonobos. When I sent her The Bonobo Way, her assistant Chris Hildreth messaged me that she “loved it.” That’s a lot more than I can say about another celebrity (whom I did not name) who had said that he feared he might be misunderstood if he endorsed such a sex-positive book, and now… he’s in the Epstein files.
That guy definitely needs therapy, but honestly, so do we all. The architects of this mess should get theirs in prison. The rest of us just need a couch and some kind of caring counselor (with or without a license, depending on our needs) who can help us untangle whatever we’re dealing with – as individuals and as a society – in this sanity-testing Year of Needing Therapy.
It’s also the Year of the Fire Horse, said to be a time of intense transformation and courage. May we all be brave as fire horses in resisting fascism and transforming tyranny into community. May we go bonobos, give what we can and get what we need.
God and Goddess bless America – all the Americas – and the world.
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