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Last night's Project Runway finale provided some closure to a satisfying second season: Santino Rice was in rare form, repeatedly telling anyone who'd listen how his mother was "the shit." (If she was so shit-like, we kept asking ourselves, then what kept the two apart since 2002?) As if scripted by the reality show-writing gods, Daniel Vosovic's precious "shop class" handbags went missing at the very last minute, which Tim Gunn sensitively reacted to by saying, "Sometimes things happen for a reason." And Chloe Dao even showed some spunk, likening her designing process to immaculate conception, and her collection to her "baby." It was a clever tactic that may very well have contributed to her win who in their right minds, after all, is going to deny Baby Jesus the big prize?

It seems few are immune from Runway fever, including Nerve.com, who sat down with some Runway emeritus to get their views on sex and dating. Among the shocking revelations: Dirty Diana's not a lez ("I get all these emails from women. I don't understand why."), Zulema is a lez (she's "married" to a woman), and last year's winner Jay McCarroll gets laid way more than he lets on, though he has trouble getting past the concept that that thing in his mouth doubles as a wee-wee machine:

You know what's weird to me? When you're in the middle of gobbling a cock, and you're like half an hour into it, and in your head you're like, I totally have a penis in my mouth. Otherwise, this penis is covered by pants, at a business meeting, in boxers, flaccid, sweaty, stuck between your balls, in the car, at the gym, walking down the street, in tighty-whities, out on a Saturday night, it pees and hangs down in a toilet bowl when you're taking a shit, and now it's in my mouth, and it's hard and it's going to shoot some fluid at the back of my tonsils. It's a bizarre concept. This whole penis getting hard, being in someone else's mouth, going into an orifice. It happens to me when I'm fucking or getting fucked, too. Being like, What is this? This is not a normal thing.

We'd say that McCarroll should try to get out of his head a little more during sex, but having read that repulsively clinical description, we're wondering if we are every going to partake in any sex act ever again. We're thinking a life lived in solitude, making funky knits in a converted barn somewhere in the middle of rural Pennsylvania is sounding pretty good right about now.