I recently began watching the show Big Love. I also stopped once disc 4 on Season 2 kept freezing. Even without finishing, I was still inspired. I have decided to become a polygamist. The first step to become a polygamist is to go on a couple of dates.
A date is a large raisin Indian people eat. I went on a date with an Indian girl once. We went out on a date to eat dates. I thought it would be cute. She was upset because she was really Pakistani. Her family had been murdered by Indian date farmers. We don’t talk anymore. Except those times I call her in the middle of the night from a payphone and scream swears through a kazoo. A date is also something you do with someone you want to ejaculate into/be ejaculated into by. It’s a common courtesy. A way to get to know one another. A way to see if they’re really worth those Friendly’s chicken fingers you bought her.
(The Marisa Miller I went on a date with looked nothing like this model of the same name. It was the last time I ever ordered a hamburger at a restaurant. I was praying for a heart attack)
In order to date me you must follow some rules. The first is never be spontaneous. I hate it. Don’t show up out of the blue with a smile and plans for something fun. I need to know in advance when anything is going to happen. You should want to follow this rule too. If you let me know a week in advance, I can time out my weekly facial shavings to look my best for you. I think I look best with a 1 and 3 quarters day full of scruff. Like I was hungover but have promised myself I will shave after work on the second day. When I don’t have scruff my face looks too much like a clean toilet. Who wants to kiss that? When I have too much scruff my face looks too much like a dirty toilet. Again, any takers?
Dates to me should always involve being outdoors and lots of walking. I do not like to stand still for long. You should develop a good walk-sit-walk pattern. When I walk too long my legs hurt. When I stand too long my back hurts. Do you know what I do when I’m in pain? Take it out on the weakest woman around I can find. It’ll probably be you. So plan ahead when we will walk and make sure there is a bench or homeless person around for me to rest my bones.
(I hate when people say the homeless are good for nothing. This guy would make a great coat rack)
Food is not necessary for me on a date. What am I, a diabetic? You better not be a diabetic. I don’t want one of my Sister Wives to be a diabetic. I’m too sweet a person. You’ll probably have a sugar high from kissing me. What a date should involve is insulting a lot of people. At least one group of people from the downtrodden. The downtrodden include the disabled, the ugly, certain minority groups, the unusually tall, people of average heights with midget faces, anyone from North Dakota, smelly people, and anyone willing to go on a date with me. So ladies, if you don’t find a deaf person to throw French fries at you will probably end up being made fun of pretty badly.
Certain cues can let you know whether or not I will accept you as one of my minions. Is the radio turned up high? Am I checking out other girls to kidnap? Do you have a unibrow? Things might not be looking good for you. There are things you can do to turn the tables in your favor. The first thing is kiss me. It doesn’t matter where. Lips, cheek, elbow, anywhere. I love kisses. Not dog kisses. Breath should not smell like warm pennies that have been sat on. McGwire, I’m talking about you.
(Incase you are curious, he has since eaten that plaid blanket and pooped it out. Dogs are so dumb)
The way all dates should end is with a kiss. That shouldn’t be the first kiss either of the date. Yuck! We’re not John Adams and whatever his wife’s name was. Oprah? Oprah Adams sounds correct. I never got these rules for when to kiss on a date. Fine. I don’t drop you off at the right house. Don’t have a set rule on what you will and won’t do ahead of time. Go with the flow. It’s a kiss. I do it to my arms, Princess and Her Majesty, after each workout. It doesn’t make you a whore. It makes you a sealer of a second date. As far as more than kissing goes, hey whatever we feel comfortable with. By we I mean men of course. Women’s brains aren’t nearly large enough to make their own decisions. “Paper or plastic?” the grocery store lady asked me. I don’t know bitch! You decide. You’re the one bagging up my duct tape, knives, condoms, and fat-free yogurt.
(I would like to declare to everyone I was eating Greek Yogurt before anyone else. I read about it in a wrestling magazine. I think I’m turning gay…a foreshadow to a future post…but not a foreshadow to my future post entitled Future Posts. You’ll get this by the end of the month)
Do you think you have what it takes to become one of my female slaves? Men may also apply for slavery under my power. Men will mostly be in charge of vacuuming and washing my females. You may wash but you may not touch. I find hosing a woman off or tossing a wet sponge at her a couple thousand times does the trick in cleaning them off. How did this end like some Human Centipede spinoff?
Join my army of women. I’m fun, have a great smile, and you’ll make a ton of female friends. Your needs will be neglected a good portion of the time, but aren’t they already?
(If you have ever seen Sister Wives you will appreciate the fact the dad is standing furthest away from the fat wife, the wife he only keeps around because she has provided him with sons. I know spreading love is all fine and dandy, but the guy calls his youngest “daughter” and “son.” I’m betting he doesn’t have a clue what their names are)