The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Dating & Sex, by Joshua Piven, David Borgenicht, and Jennifer Worick, Chronicle Books, 175 pgs, $25

For every suave, sex-in-the-city sophisticate who successfully navigates the sea of love there are dozens of schmoes who find the rules of romantic engagement as opaque as a Japanese Tea Ceremony. The new Dating & Sex handbook from the Worst-Case Scenario juggernaut vividly demonstrates the behind-the-scenes machinations a great date requires. As for dates that turn ugly, well, it has to reflect badly upon modern social mores when the authors find themselves consulting with CIA and FBI agents.

Thus, with a droll tone, the book counsels its readers to chuck a blunt object through the window of a restaurant bathroom in order to escape a bad date: "Do not worry about any minor nicks and cuts. Run." The best moments are derived from clever juxtaposition, so that the final words of advice about dealing with an interloper are "If given the choice, choose flight over fight.... A fight generally doesn't make the evening go any better." The next subheading is "How to Treat a Black Eye" followed by "How to Treat a Broken Nose."

Finding humour where none exists is tricky, but Piven et al manage with aplomb. In the section "How to Determine if Your Date is Married" the authors suggest, "He might have legitimate reasons for not introducing you to his children early in the relationship -- for example, he may not want to present you as a possible mommy replacement until the relationship becomes more serious. However, it may also mean he is still married to their mommy."

In a society that leaves nothing to the imagination, it seems odd that the chapter on Bedroom Survival Skills pole vaults from removing difficult clothing to faking an orgasm. This is reminiscent of those vague, frustrating sex-ed books that show mommy and daddy getting naked on one page and the arrival of the stork on the next. Men will learn to unhook a bra with one hand, but not how to put on a condom without disrupting the mood. Nor is there info on How to Deal With an Unexpected Pregnancy.

The hallmark of advice books and mental hygiene films of yore is how outdated and ridiculous they now look and sound. (i.e. "To experience sexual union in a parked car, accompanied as it is by feelings of guilt and fear of discovery, is hardly the way to lay the groundwork for the pure and holy relationship of marriage.") Twenty-first century etiquette shows how far we've come, baby -- most notably, we can openly discuss "How to Have an Affair and Not Get Caught" and morning-after amnesia. "Do not panic. Evidence of your partner's name exists somewhere nearby. Your task will be to find it before she awakens, or before she starts any sort of meaningful conversation."

Despite our futurama, we're still overwhelming concerned with appearance, as evinced by info about treating shaving wounds, body odor, bad breath, pimples, or even a shirt caught in a zipper. Thankfully, the false vanity of both sexes is ridiculed, so "How To Spot Breast Implants" finds its rejoinder in toupee tips.

Curiously, for a book that makes numerous and obvious nods to being gender-inclusive, this guide is overwhelmingly heterosexual. If you're in trouble at a bathhouse or a potluck, you are on your own.

Some advice is sitcom quality (halting a wedding by faking a seizure), some is bang-on (such as instructions on airplane lavatory, elevator and/or dressing room sex), some is silly (the diagram for dealing with excessive gas has to be seen to be believed) and some is plain wrong, such as their backbreaking version of a fireman's carry.

There is nothing groundbreaking here -- like chess, the rules of dating were established long ago, but the infinite variations continue to generate headache and heartache. The overriding message is hope for the best but plan for the worst, and some might prefer to avoid having their worst fears confirmed. It isn't exactly a morale booster when the first entry in Chapter One is "How to Determine if Your Date is an Axe Murderer."