Posts Tagged ‘dating’

The only reason you should ever not date someone is if you are not attracted to them. Attraction is incredibly complicated and I am too dumb to understand it anyway. Instead let’s focus on the ridiculous requirements some people set for who they will or will not date based on things that go beyond attraction and border shallowness.

1) Height:

Many people will set a height requirement. Girls will refuse to date a guy shorter than they are. Some of their reasoning is because they want to feel safe. You want to feel safe? Where do you live that danger is affecting your love life? How many ninjas do you have after you? I also was not aware that a 6’4 guy could stop a bullet any better than someone who was 5’7. For guys they want the opposite, a girl shorter than they are. This is also foolish because there are a ton of beautiful women that are quite tall. Plus, a tall girl can protect a guy like me from danger. I know. I’m a hypocrite.

2) Weight:

I used to say I would never date a girl who weighed more than me. This was a fair enough rule when I was over 200 pounds. Then not only did I lose weight, I also realized weight doesn’t matter when it comes to attraction. A person’s body defines way too much who they are in our society. Muscles, abs, and a tight body are great to look at. But will they nurture your needs? Will six-pack abs ever take you out for a nice dinner? No. All six-pack abs ever care about are starving themselves and popping out at nightclubs. You want a person with a six-pack? Enjoy that kale for dessert.

3) Race:

As much as I hate when people call things racist at the drop of a hat, it is racist to not even consider the possibility of dating someone of a certain race. It’s perfectly fine to have a preference. I get that. When you are unwilling to date a particular race it’s like saying they are not good enough for you. Believe it or not, this is actually a pretty common requirement people make. You should be willing to date people of any race. It may make you more cultured and it’s just the right thing to do.

4) Sports Fandom:

I have actually seen or heard people say they would not date someone who rooted for a rival team. This is one of the most ridiculous things ever. Most people root for a team because they were born in a particular place. So because your soulmate was born in Boston and roots for the Red Sox and you were born in New York and root for the Yankees you are not going to give eternal love and happiness a chance? Yeah, you deserve to die alone.

5) Location:

Long distance relationships can be tough. It also depends on how distant they are, but if you like each other I think it’s important that both parties do what they can to make it work. Technology is so amazing now that you can fall in love with someone over the Internet and have it turn out to be your younger brother upstairs in his bedroom catfishing you. Living an hour or two away from a person shouldn’t stop you from dating them if you like them. When you only date people living nearby it shows how selfish you are to your own needs and lifestyle along with how unwilling you are to explore simple things like people who live elsewhere. Meet some people who live somewhere else in a town you have never heard of. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with someone who saw you pick your nose in high school?

6) Pasts:

There are certain things from a person’s past that you should always stay away from. If they were a third world dictator, leave them be. The majority of things though should be overlooked. Life is full of obstacles and so long as the person has overcome it then you should be proud to have a person in your life that actually can solve problems, especially their own. Plus the most flawed people are usually the most interesting.

7) Religion:

I understand that religion is deeply important to some people out there. Still, refusing to date someone because they have a different religious belief seems silly to me. I thought religion was about your personal relationship with God(s)? As long as the person you are dating doesn’t make fun of you or get in the way of your belief system I don’t see the problem. Or maybe I just don’t get it. If you don’t want to date me because I am not religious then I accept that. I like sleeping in Sundays anyway.

8) Random Physical Characteristics:

Eye color, hair color, amount of facial hair, and other little things that barely make a person who they are tend to be requirements for some people. I couldn’t tell you a favorite eye or hair color that I have for a woman. Facial hair on a woman though, I like that to be limited. Beards are incredibly trendy these days for guys. I know girls who will only date guys with beards. For those girls I hope there is a guy out there for them who enjoys dating shallow women with possible daddy issues.

9) Nice Car:

Okay, I have never actually heard anyone say this, but it has to exist. There has to be at least one girl out there or even a guy who will not date someone unless they have a nice car. We all know by now a nice car usually is because the person lacks something else in their life. The closest I have ever experienced to this was a girl telling me that she was high maintenance and likes to buy expensive clothing. To her credit she finally gave me a reason to turn off my phone.

10) Anything I Forgot:

Feel free to hate me for not making a complete list. There are so many stupid reasons why one person may not date another that I am sure you know a few more. Really the point I wanted to get across here is that you should never be strict about who you date. The perfect person for you may come in a shape, color, eye color, or even a car you weren’t suspecting them to.

wouldnt bang

(I’m also not a fan of her “got my finger shut in the door” shade of nail polish)

Following my self-diagnosis of the flu, I have caught a much worse bug, the post-flu depression. I had been feeling severely depressed the last week or so and after carefully researching everything I could (typing something into Google once) I discovered that suffering from depression following  a bout with the flu is common. Not that I’m normally a Happy-Go-Lucky kind of person, but this was far different. Not only do I feel the blue, I also have no desire to do anything at all. Think about the last day you were lazy. I feel like this all the time now which is weird because normally I’m highly motivated. This sickness feels like it has totally kicked my ass and changed who I am. I don’t like it and I need to get out of this funk before I do something stupid like express my emotions.


(Yeah you read that poetry and squeeze that invisible boob you nancy boy)

One thing that has always been a cure for me whenever I’m feeling down in the dumps is victory. Even a small victory like having someone confess their love for me or looking at the clock at 9pm and realizing I haven’t eaten much at all and have an excuse to stuff my face are fine example of the victories I look forward to every day. Sometimes though these victories are few and far between. So, in an attempt to get an even bigger victory which will surely make me happy for a more extended period of time I will need your help.

I am going to attempt to take something I wrote last summer to a real publisher. Self-publishing is all fine and dandy, but the keyword is “self” as in you have to do all the work. It’s great to have things out there and I plan to continue to do so only it’s not enough for me. It’s a small victory and the chances of me being able to go further with it are far more limited than if I had actual representation. I could probably make more money selling three books published by a real company than I have in self-publishing total. There are other things I could make more money at which I will not name because I really would like to go at least one post on this blog without using the phrase “sucking a dick.” I have to be professional now.


(I have to be more like these professional people. Except not like the redhead in the back. She looks too stiff. I thought those people were supposed to be fiery. Or am I thinking of their crotches?)

In short, what I need help with is coming up with the title for this completed manuscript. I have other things I’ve written, I’m working on, and whatever the other options are, but this one is as finished as it will ever be which is why I am choosing this one. It’s about every bad date, every horrible girlfriend I’ve had, and every time my heart was broken by a girl who didn’t think as highly of me as I did her. Okay, so it’s not every time just 95% of them which is plenty. I didn’t mention two people I dated because I genuinely care(d) for them but everyone else is fair game. The book involves everything from girls with lazy eyes not wanting to dance with me, the first date I ever went on which happened to be with a gang member, and in general how I managed to turn the entire female population against me. This is not one of those stories about conquests over women. It’s not about getting laid, being happy, or success in any way. It’s the anti-Tucker Max story. This is just about how incredibly fucking cruel life can be.

Now that you know what it’s about I need your help coming up with a title. I honestly have very few ideas on what to call it. Each chapter ends with me recounting what I learned from the girl and they’re always positive messages. Like for instance in one chapter I learn women are cruel and will take advantage of a sweet boy. In another chapter I learn I’m not as good-looking to a sober girl as I am when she’s drunk. It’s pretty fantastic and what I need from you is a title.

What should I call this bad boy so I can get started on getting rejected more frequently?

They’re always the ideal, picturesque, most perfect women we ever see; the supportive girlfriend. So many films and television shows have this woman in them. I honestly can’t think of a single example other than Sloane from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I know there are more out there though. They’re the girls who are there when their men need them. They’re the girls who are a man’s rock and remind them to never give up or else they’ll end up like their imprisoned father. Supportive girlfriends are great and we can all agree. Something we may not agree on is sometimes supportive girlfriends can go too far.

ferris buellers day off:2F2

(Is there a more perfect girl in the world? All a guy wants is for a girl to cut class with him. Everything else is extra)

I only have the male perspective on any gender issues because I was only a woman for one year of my life. It was a crazy year and involved a lot of undercover police work. It’s better I not get into it. I believe though that men are either 100% supportive of their women or 100% out there to belittle and convince them to give up on their dreams. Men really are extreme creatures. We either want to be the best or not bother trying. Second place is the first loser. Even knowing how barbarically dumb this logic is, I go by it often too. But I’m not supposed to talk about how lazy so many men are and why they all get so fat when a little effort could really improve their chances of not dying young or alone. I’m supposed to talk about girlfriends supporting their men.

I’ve found in any relationship whether dating or simply friendship that it’s important to me for whomever I keep around to be supportive. Unfortunately that’s not always the case. We don’t get to pick everyone we encounter on a daily basis. If we did I’d make my mailman Malin Akerman. I’d still probably hide from her whenever she dropped off my Super Coups. I always hide from the mailman. Anything to avoid socializing. Supporting those I care about has become the single most important thing in my life. It’s something I felt I never really got much. And there’s a big difference between someone saying “Go ahead, do whatever you want” and “Go ahead, ask me if you need anything.”


(If Malin Akerman became my mailman I would never sent an email ever again and this blog would no longer be online. I would mail everything out to you guys and you’d have to return your comments to me. I’d make sure I had to sign for every package just to be around her a little longer. I’ve thought this out too long)

The supportive girlfriend is important for a man because let’s face it, girlfriends are nags. They’re always saying things like “I’m hungry” or “Don’t hit me.” When a girlfriend isn’t supportive she becomes an annoying wife except you have no legal attachment. The only reason you don’t leave this terrible girlfriend is because you’ve already spent so much money on her and you’d hate for it to be for nothing. Plus, she has blackmail photos of you from that year you were a woman. You don’t want those getting out if you want a future in anything other than winning a Ru Paul sponsored contest.

I think a supportive girlfriend crosses the line when she allows her boyfriend to be an idiotic waste of space. Let me explain. Love is conditional. If you love someone you should support them no matter what they do. You should also love someone if they tell you you’re not as good at something as you think you are. You can hate them for telling you that and you probably should, but more often than not they’re telling you to protect you. Notice how this made-up girlfriend said this made-up boyfriend is not as good as he thinks he is. She didn’t tell him to give up. She told him he needs to get better. He needs to put forth a larger effort.


(This stock photo says it all. Don’t humor a guy and tell him it’s great he has a high score. Tell him to use his hand eye coordination for something better like having a job)

Supporting someone has one key element that goes overlooked, honesty. Often times we don’t tell people we support or care about how crummy their idea was because we don’t want to hurt them. Here’s my proposition, tell those people their ideas suck, but add in how you think it could be improved. Say for instance you spot an ugly girl walking down the street Running up to her and saying how ugly she is can come off as extremely mean. Running up to her and telling her to lose weight, get contact lenses, get a new hairstyle, change her fashion sense, and clean the rat feces off her eyelids is much more constructive. You’re also supporting this random bitch by helping her improve. Okay this was a bad example, but you’re smart enough to get the point.

How can you be a supportive girlfriend? Don’t be a girlfriend, be a partner. The best way to ever support someone is to get involved. As much as guys pretend we like cheerleaders we really don’t. They’re annoying. Pep is fine in small doses but Christ, tone it down. The team isn’t even good. Don’t be one of those lame girlfriends who sit back and lets her guy just do whatever he wants and watch on from afar. Men are weak. Ladies, we need you to not only be our biggest fans; we need you to help us achieve the greatness you think we have.


(I’ve got a good feeling about this couple)

Of course if you’re dating a complete loser then you wasted your time reading this. As far as blog “pieces” go where my motivation was passive aggressive comments toward people I’ve never even met, this one was pretty long.

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)

Bowling, baseball, ocean measurements, they all have leagues. Bowling leagues are made up of mostly fat men who cheat on their wives and younger people who lack talent at the real sports. You know, sports where you get laid for playing. Nobody has ever scored from being a bowler. They don’t even call their points scoring. Girls don’t want to sleep with the guy with the world record for turkeys in a game. Baseball leagues are divided into the American and National Leagues. I used to think that all of the white people from America played in the American League and the National League had the non-white people. You know, the talent and all of the stolen bases. Really, when was the last time an Anglo kid from a Nebraska farm stole a base? I don’t know much about the ocean measurements known as leagues. I always thought it was stupid that we have a new system for measuring distance in water. Is it because the water is always moving and it’s hard to place a ruler down on it?

(This looks closer to dancing than it does sport. Androgynous Jones here could be ready for a leaping camel or some other dumb dance move)

The leagues that I would like to discuss more in-depth are the leagues we divide ourselves into. For dating and stuff like that. There’s that term “out of my league” which I have been told several times by girls with cerebral palsy. Were they out of my league? Maybe! They had large breasts and their faces weren’t half bad. I only asked each member of The Cerebral Seven (the nickname given to the 7 of the most popular girls in high school with cerebral palsy) to dance because I thought it would be charitable. It was their loss, right?

Often times in my life I have wondered who would be in my league. Sometimes girls who are absolutely stunning seem attainable. Other times I feel like I have to hang around a gas station bathroom hoping someone’s lonely and short a few bucks. I’ve come to a conclusion that I’m a 7 to my face. That seems to be the best I can do when asking girls what I rank on a 1-10 scale. I’ve polled girls from all over the world and that’s the best I consistently pulled. This was also 3 years ago and I’m worried I’ve lost a step. And I’m aware that a 7 to my face means I’m realistically a 5. Being a 5 isn’t that bad. It’s so completely average. Girls are always looking for an average guy, aren’t they? It has its advantages. 3’s will talk to me thinking they have a chance and 8’s may settle if they’re drunk enough.

(Not a hijackers list. This is what the average woman from each of these countries would look like if you combined all their faces. I mean really? These look like cute 17 year olds. How is that average?)

I was at a Dunkin Donuts recently. Most of the people at this particular Double-D are older slobs or women with Black Hole Sun faces. You know, faces that belong on one of The Joker’s victims in the old Jack Nicholson Batman movie. They’re mostly rich yuppies. But one girl walked in and caught my attention. I didn’t look at her at first because I could tell she was tall. I’m afraid to look at tall people because I fear they will see my dandruff and smack their chins downward into it for some reason. Probably jealousy that I never have to duck. I caught a glimpse of her out of curiosity. Wow! She was stunning. Yellow skirt, white top, and nerd glasses. Nerd-fucking-glasses! Everyone loves nerd glasses. I don’t care who you are. We all secretly have a crush on all Tina Fey imposters.

(A Black Hole Sun face. Too many yuppies look like this to me)

As I walked out with my Wake-Up Wraps I wondered what kind of guy this woman would date. She was clearly doing well in life. She was probably on her lunch break to get some coffee. She’s so busy and loves her job so much that she needs some sort of afternoon spark to help her through the rest of the day. She was fit and cute. She did notice my existence though which is always good. Not by talking to me or asking what I was ordering like I fantasized about later on. “What would you recommend I get?” she’d ask me. Then without a word we’d kiss on top of a donut. Not a Krispy Kreme donut either. They don’t have those at Dunkin. Despite what that one woman who came in once thought, Krispy Kreme is its own company. Really, what a dick. Who goes into a Dunkin and order a Krispy Kreme? Next she’ll into a White Castle and order a mattress.

It’s girls like this one that I know I have no chance with. I like to think that any person can get with anybody. It’s a little princess fantasy of mine. Like how people are inherently good and not just out for themselves. Bullshit like that. But I need to ask myself, do I really want to be with such an intimidating presence like her? I’d always be nervous that I might say the wrong thing. I might fart too loudly or not loud enough, depending upon which one she’s more into. That’s why leagues exist. We find a place where we feel comfortable in the relationship. And isn‘t that what dating is all about? Feeling comfortable naked around someone else even when you‘re fat and dry.

Have you ever had someone in your life who you seemed to develop your own language with? No? Well then you’re a lonely person who will die alone. Yes? Well then you’ll probably die alone anyway, but you will be able to relate more to today’s hilarity. Today I will teach you how to speak the language that my girlfriend and I have created. It has no name to it, but what’s in a name? Shakespeare said that and we all know how amazing a writer Shakespeare was.

(“Shakespeare is an asshole” – Sir Francis Bacon, creator of most of what Shakespeare wrote)

The first and most important words you should learn are “mah” and “meh.” Those words translate from the English “my” and “me” respectively. These will be used in such phrases as “doin’ mah hair” or “hand meh mah needle.” My girlfriend is a heroin addict so she’s always asking for me to hand over her needle. She’s really clumsy and always dropping it. Butterfingers! The origin behind these words comes from me making fun of how she said those words by their correct pronunciations. You see, I notice things like that and like to make sure I don’t let you forget your flaws. I think that’s her favorite thing about me. My ability to notice every little blemish.

The word mean is something we always say. If you have nothing to say, use the word mean. The problem with this is that sometimes we do say really mean things to each other and it’s tough to tell when the other one is joking. We probably are pretty mean to each other. I say mean things and she does the mean things. Actions speak louder than words so she’s a louder version of mean. I’m not sure when or why we started using this. Actually I might and if it’s true I won’t say it because it’s too private. I don’t need the world knowing our safety word.

(My girlfriend and I deciding if we should use pears or an apple)

Oof! If you want to speak our language, say that every time you get punched in the stomach. Believe it or not, we get punched in the stomach a lot. One time I was punching her in the stomach on the corner of a busy street. A taxi driver honked his horn at me. I like that he not only thought I was abusive, but thought honking his horn would get me to stop. Of course I wasn’t really trying to hurt her, just wanted to leave a little bruising. Chastity belts are expensive and the smell of urine doesn’t last very long. Have to mark my territory somehow. You can also say “oof” when walking up stairs or any time you suffer any sort of pain. For some reason walking up stairs hurt our feet a lot. That’s why we like handicap people so much. They allow us to use their ramps.

Some of the things we say aren’t necessarily words as much as they are the way we say them. The best way to describe it is the way a white person like me would imagine a black person like you talking to a baby. We say things like “thonk ya” instead of thank you. Again, this comes from me making fun of the way she talks. She insists I say bagel weird, which I don’t. I don’t say “bag-ull” like people in New York. I think my girlfriend is just deaf or stupid. We tend to drop the g’s in verbs endin’ in “ing.” This adds to the ghetto baby talk dictionary we’re putting together. No offense to any ghetto babies or anything. I would hate if you were well-read and apologize if I’m completely out of line righ’her.

This wouldn’t be a complete post if I didn’t at least make mention of the legendary McGwire the Dog. I guess he’s not so much a legend as he is sitting near me. I’m sure there are plenty of legends jealous of his current position in the universe in relation to myself. McGwire can actually talk. He doesn’t say much but our favorite thing that he says is “bahroo.” I determined that this means “hurry up stupid” because he only ever says it before a morning or evening poop. Lady Moose also had a teacher named Mr. Bahroo which is pretty freaky to think McGwire could possibly know this. The proper time to say bahroo is whenever you damn well please. It’s fun to say and it could help you become the next Dr. Doolittle. And by that I don’t mean your career will completely tank like the last guy to play him.

(Strange, he has done very little ever since playing a character of that name)

Probably the strangest or most normal thing we do is call each other by our last names. When we use our first names we know we’re mad at each other or have slipped up. I’m starting to even forget what her first name is. Like I sort of know, but I’m not sure how it ends. If it wasn’t for emailing each other or hacking into her Facebook account for spying purposes, I probably would have forgotten her name by now. I’m sure we’re not the only couple who call each other by our last names. It makes us seem like buddies more than a couple. We’re like Mulder and Scully except I don’t have a long face with tiny eyes and she’s worked in this decade.

(Aww that’s not fair for Gillian Anderson. She works hard at the pen factory testing the caps)

Since my girlfriend has made it pretty obvious that she hates me, I decided that this year for Valentine’s Day I should do something romantic. I decided that for each day leading up to the biggest V-Day on the calendar (Victory Day isn’t nearly as important) that I would do something to make her smile and feel loved. She’s never seen The Simpsons and has no idea that Apu did something similar for his wife. Sometimes it pays to have a girlfriend who doesn’t know anything about pop-culture pre-2004.

(This is where I turn for love advice, a cartoon Indian convenience store owner)

I’ll try to leave the insults to a minimum here since this is one of my romantic gestures. You might be thinking that this isn’t very romantic. I agree. The thing though is that I had hoped to do as many of these gestures without spending any money. It’s about being cost efficient yet still making her feel like the wonderful woman she is. It lets me get more creative in trying to make her smile. And that’s what this is all about, trying to make someone I care about move her facial muscles upward.

What is it that I love about my girlfriend? Sorry, I threw up a little bit after typing that. The word love is such a strong word. I’ve had people say it to me so carefree. A girl told me she loved me because I let her borrow a pen. That must have been some pen. Or she must have really been abused badly at home where my handing her a pen was like delivering her child in a dangerous situation without complaining. But it’s different with this girl. When we say “I love you” I knew that we mean it. It’s actually real and mutual. Not like that girl with the big mole on her face who told me she loved me after one date. Really? All you’ve done is insult me then write about how you don’t want to see me on your Xanga page. I really hope you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.

(Please find her body here. Please find her body here)

A few of my favorite things about my girlfriend are as follows: she has a great sense of humor. That’s always important to me. I can’t be around someone who cringes at mentions of certain words even when in joke form. She’s pretty funny too. Not funny like me. I’m clever funny. I’m so funny that the funniness spreads to the way I look. She’s funny in the way that she’s always willing to take a splash onto the ground for a laugh. I’d compare her to Chevy Chase in funniness but I’m not sure she even knows who that is. He was famous 10 years before she existed.

Something else I adore about her is how goofy she is. I guess that’s the same thing. Christ, when I think about it maybe there’s not much I like about her. I’m just kidding of course! I’ll talk about the way she looks. She’s got great style. She always dresses nice even when she doesn’t realize it and knows how to put makeup on her face well. Even better, I don’t realize when she’s not wearing makeup. I still like the way she looks. That’s a pretty good compliment. Most women look like a crusty fist without makeup on. Not my special lady. She looks as beautiful as something beautiful. I’d say a sunset but we live in New Jersey. When we see a sunset it doesn’t take place over the ocean. It takes place over Pennsylvania. Not exactly the Mecca of beauty.

She’s got great taste too. I may have influenced her on a few things, but even before I corrupted her with fandom of Oz she was pretty well-to-do. Yeah, I had to explain to her who Ray Davies was and True Blood is her favorite TV show despite not viewing after season one. And I also am pretty sure she’s a closeted Avril Lavigne fan all these years later. It’s okay, your secret is safe with me and everyone reading this.

(She looks pretty hot here especially for having a face of a 12-year-old)

The most wonderful thing that I like about her is what a talented writer she is. I know, if I ever get her pregnant she’ll give birth to a regular Mark Twain. Or if we’re really lucky a Clark Kent. He not only was a talented newspaper writer but also a man of steel. My girlfriend has never called me a man of steel. Probably because I’m not. I can’t deflect bullets nor do I have allergic reactions to Kryptonite. I’m allergic to lots of things, but not that. Superman is a pussy. I’ve tried to get her to start a blog lots of times, but I guess she’s too busy getting paid to write. Bitch. The most fun thing I’ve ever gotten paid to do was taste test gum. And she did it with me so she’s still winning. Ugh I hate her.

Sure, we fight sometimes. No relationship is perfect. But the things we fight over are who silly like who is better looking or which of us has the better chance at one day becoming president. I say her, she says me. There’s nothing I can’t tell her. I know that sounds like bullshit, but it’s true. It goes both ways too. There’s no fear with her. There’s no hiding a thing. It’s a great feeling to know that I never have to be afraid of anything with her. She won’t judge me and I don’t judge her. Like nerds, we have pretty much developed our own language. Most of it contains random sounds and inner-city slang. Still, it’s ours. Only we know how to speak it. I can’t see myself ever wanting to be with anyone else–in a non-sexual situation. She knows that though. We’re not going to lie that we’re attracted to other people in the most filthiest of ways. But we do know that we love each other. We’re best friends who have plenty more life to share with one another.

(From the Superior vena cava to the left ventricle, my heart belongs to you)

I love you “Drunk Moose Stuck in a Tree”

Pregnant women, those with sensitive hearts, and general cowards, this post may frighten you. I have come to a realization. My blog is cursed. You have nothing fear. That is, unless I write about you.

My first realization that there was a curse came when the day after posting about the Duggar Family, the mother of that cult underwent a miscarriage. About a week later I made mention of Kim Jong-Il and his possible death. He died less than a week later. I know this is getting strange, isn’t it? But wait, it gets worse. In another post I talked about how I would want to be Russell Brand only because he doesn’t have any talent and gets to have sex with Katy Perry. Did you know that they broke up only a few days later? Holy fucking shit my heart is skipping a beat thinking about this. Anybody I write about has something bad happen to them. Enemies of me, prepare to have your biography posted in the upcoming days.

This might be a coincidence. I mean, women with 19 kids are bound to lose one. Even Tom Brady fumbles the football sometimes. Fat little dictators are always passing away. He was almost 70. He only died at the age of 69 so every pervert like me would look at the article and think of him the next time we 69. Then there’s the worst of all. A relationship ending. But hey, Hollywood relationships are always coming and going. It’s a miracle they lasted that long together. Katy Perry never struck me as someone without taste in men.

Unfortunately this curse has happened on my own life. Only days after posting something about how my girlfriend was afraid that I would kill myself if we ever broke up, we broke up. I know, what the fuck? How stupid can a girl be? Actually I won’t say anything bad about her. We’re still really good friends. In fact, we’re pretty much still dating except that I don’t have to buy her food, listen to her stories, or comfort her when she’s sad. I don’t have to do any of that anymore! And I’m supposed to get all of the rest of the perks of dating. Have I died and gone to heaven?

Not to get too into our relationship, but mentioning it slightly, and writing way too long of a run-on of an introduction to this paragraph, we had been having problems. The biggest problem was that we liked each other way too damn much. If we hated each other then this would be easy. I’d smother her while she slept then sit outside and wait for the police to arrive. She’s lucky I’m a nice guy. I’m always up for a good smothering session. We had tried something European called an “open relationship.” This went on for a little over a month. All it meant was that I went out two more times than I normally would have and flirted with an equal amount of girls that I usually do, none. Call me crazy, but slutting around isn’t fun when you actually have someone you love in your life.

My plan to get my life back on track is to today write about something that could possibly reverse the curse. I want to tell you about the time I inherited 500 million dollars from an unknown relative, had sex with every popular girl from my high school, and was signed to a lifetime contract with every film and television studio in existence. Yeah, it was a really crazy day that day was. I woke up and had a phone call from an unknown area code. They said come to the door and I did. A big wad of cash was sitting for me. 500 million dollars worth! And nobody tried to steal it. Instead everybody was really nice and said “Spend it on yourself Tim, you deserve it. You’ve earned it by being related to a rich dead person that you never knew existed!” But before it became public knowledge every hot girl from my high school showed up. They had been trying to get in touch with me for years! They always had crushes on me. They were just too shy to tell me. I guess my masculinity is intimidating to some. I’m having sex with all of them when it turns out when is like in charge of Hollywood and stuff. She says that everything I’ve ever written is amazing and that she’s calling up everyone to buy my shit. And get this, they’re even getting Alan Tudyk to play Mr. Jewell! (Trust me, one other person would mark out if this happened. One other person also knows what “marking out” means) Yeah, that was an awesome day.

I’ll let you know when the curse has been lifted. In reality, I probably wouldn’t let you know. I’d have so much fuck you money that I wouldn’t bother with this lame as cursed blog anymore. Who am I kidding? Even if all of my dreams come true I could never forget where I came from. I love you guys!

“Used to have a little, now I have a lot. I’m still–I’m still Jenny from the block.” – some famous Spanish person trying to convince us that she hasn’t sold out


Posted: December 18, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Preface: I’m posting this ahead of time and scheduling it for a future date. I will not have a chance to post anything Sunday or Monday so hopefully this will hold you over. I hope the “scheduling” feature works for this. Also, if you are one of the creeps who frequently looks at my blog and does not comment, leave a comment. I like to know who reads this so I can cater to you interests/make sure I don’t say bad things about you/make sure I do say bad things about you if I don’t like you. I’m curious to know who these people who Google “mooselicker” are. Yes, I can see that you do that. Stop being a creep and show yourself.

(Until I know better, this is you. A gay clown in the bushes spying on my every move. He’s gay because gay clowns only red the tips of their nose, not the nostrils)

Onto the article:

This is a thought that has putted around in my head for a while now. It came to me when looking at Facebook profiles of old high school classmates. I might be going out on a limb here, but Jesus Christ, I am the only person who looks better now than they did 6 years ago. I’m not in amazing shape or anything. One thing I do have is that I am completely unrecognizable. I’ve talked to people from my old high school and they have no idea who I am. Maybe they never noticed me and I didn’t get more handsome. Crap. I was excited and pooped my pants for nothing.

I recently saw a picture of an ex-girlfriend on the Internets. Before you get mad at any insults I might say about this girl, let it be known that 2 days before we broke up I texted her “I miss you” and she responded with “That’s nice.” What–the–fuck? You said you loved me! It took us dating 2 days and you were in love with me! Now only about 2 weeks later, it was nice when I missed you. You son of a bitch. I regret not saying your face looked feline.

I’m sitting on Facebook trying to find some Spanish girl whose name I recently learned. Yes, I’m stalking. Big deal. Do you know what the worst thing about Spanish girls is? They’re impossible to stalk. All of their last names are the same. I hope I never need to seriously stalk a Maria Lopez. There has to be 5 million of them.*

(Sofia Vergara has never had a successful stalker. Believe me, I’ve tried)

*This is a recycled joke that I posted on Facebook. Sorry if you’re my Facebook friend and had to read this again. I thought it was clever. Only one person commented on it which is one more than I usually get. I felt it was also very fitting for this post so I used it again. I really was trying to stalk a Spanish girl so it’s not so much a joke as it is a harsh reality. It’s fine to recycle harsh realities.

I am getting so off-track here! I apologize. What I wanted to say was that I saw my ex-girlfriend had some new photographs up. To say she packed on a few L.B.’s would be an insult to the letters L & B. Do letters get insulted? I can’t remember if it’s letters or numbers that have emotions.

(Numbers and Letters getting along for once despite religious affiliation)

I won’t go on a tirade of fat jokes or anything. I’m above doing that to anyone I actually know. I also can’t think of anything clever or hurtful enough. My question though has to do with exes. There are a lot of people who go from “geek to chic” as Jenny Jones would put it. Or in other cases they go from “chic to big fat mess.” I know there’s nothing wrong with change, that’s how Obama got elected.

The question here for you is, what’s the most important and what is the worst of the below choices? Yeah, I’m having trouble wording this. Fuck letters. I hope they are the ones with emotions and feel sad now. Just select which one of the below is more true for you.

A) I would rather date someone attractive who used to be unattractive


B) I would rather date someone who has always been attractive who ends up becoming unattractive after we break up

There are tons of variables to this. I know I would rather date someone who used to be unattractive merely for the fact that they’ll probably lack confidence and be easy pickings. Having dated someone who turned out worse feels a little embarrassing. I don’t know why that is. Maybe because I relate more to people who get better looking as opposed to others who take a nose dive into a bucket of ice cream.

I guess though what really matters is what the person looks like when you actually do date them. Why else should any of us care? Because we’re gossips who want those who hurt us to live miserable lives! That’s why.

To be less shallow, what really matters is personality. I can’t fall in love with someone unless I have some sense of a personality. That’s probably why I don’t like porn. Those girls don’t have a personality other than being a slut. I need to be able to know that the girl has a sense of humor or is real into animals. If more pornographic films had girls wearing clown noses or holding kittens I might get into it and fall in love.

(I am in love)

Yes, sometimes I’m a real pig and will find something very small to turn myself off from another person. What you might call being an animal, I call being observant. I’m not picky at all with girls I’d date. All I ask is that you let your beautiful personality shine through, always let me remind you how amazing you are, and don’t have a big nose. Everybody needs a line. Big noses are mine.

P.S. I also wrote something else. It’s about wrestling! Enjoy by clicking on this link.

This is a topic that I can simply write “I don’t get it” and leave it at that. People’s love for flowers and other types of plants. Ficus, cacti, daisies, roses, marijuana leaves, grape vines, poinsettia, none of them make sense to me. Maybe I’m too manly to get it.

I’ll start with flowers because I always do things alphabetically. Just like how I always microwave things for either 1 minute and 20 seconds or for 3 minutes and 52 seconds. I don’t know where these numbers came from. I just have a number phobia.

I’ve only ever gotten flowers for a girl once. She was happy and it was a complete surprise on her birthday. What an amazing boyfriend I am. I drove an hour to her work and showed up with flowers. I deserve an award or something for being so spectacular. I should at least be allowed to sleep around more. I didn’t feel however that the flowers really were all that much appreciated. My girl (I refuse to call her my girlfriend, friends don’t wake up friends with text messages at 5 in the morning to tell them about things that do not involve cool dreams) went on vacation a week later. The flowers went mostly unnoticed. But it was the thought that counted, right? I’ve always thought about getting her flowers. I’m thinking about it right now. I’ve thought about getting YOU flowers too. Yes, you reading this. Here is your thought of flowers. You are welcome. Now reciprocate how you see fit. I have a few suggestions. Most do not involve pants.

(This movie completely turned off from pants and traveling)

The only time I know that flowers are a must is when you are fighting with someone. I think that’s a bit of a cop-out and hack. I’m also very original with ideas so I never do that. Fights are never my fault either. With anybody. Yeah sure, I was checking out your girlfriend. Maybe she shouldn’t have said “excuse me” in such a seductive way after she farted. She was leading me on, bro. How could I not? I don’t know why flowers make up for a fight. If anything that should just remind the girl of what a fuck up you really are. I don’t need some glorified pieces of grass to remind a girl that I screwed up. I’m going to screw up again and soon. That’ll remind her.

Flowers can be pretty. That might be the gayest thing I’ve ever admitted. Have I ever admitted that I think a younger Kiefer Sutherland is very handsome? No? Okay now at least that’s the gayest thing I have ever stated publicly. Flowers being pretty is just our way of saying that colorful things are attractive. A box of crayons should be able to do the same trick when you think about it. They have 64 different colors. Flowers have like what, 12 tops? This Valentine’s Day, I’m getting my Valentine a box of Crayolas.

(If I were gay I’d be wishing that cigarette was something else)

I would like to now move onto plants. I rarely remember ever having house plants in my home as a younger boy. There were flowers a lot because my dad was always fucking up. His mistake was probably never buying house plants for us. I’ve down my fair share of house sitting and the most annoying part of it is watering the house plants. I can handle cleaning out a stinky litter box or cleaning shit off a dog’s back. Watering a creepy green plant is different. It can’t even talk back to me or give me a hug. Except for the Venus Fly Trap from the Little Shop of Horrors, plants are pretty lame. They need to make wise cracks to entertain me.

Not only do plants draw in angry from within my soul, they also attract bugs. Plants grow on the outside for a reason. Bringing them inside goes against everything nature has taught us. Whenever I’m in a home with a potted plant I always feel the need to shove it down. I like breaking things and it being a plant’s home makes it even better.

While I’m at it, I’m not really that into trees or bushes. I like them a lot more though. Trees provide me with oxygen and bushes provide me with a wall from the cops whenever I need to urinate outside. I learned the hard way in 4th grade that you should always pee on a bush when peeing outside. You never know when a giant gust of wind will come along and make your piss look like the string to a kite. Trees and bushes are larger plants to me. I should probably hate them more, but nobody outside of Paul Bunyan has ever given his wife a tree to say he’s sorry.

What is it with this flower fad? That’s what I keep hoping it is. Just a fad. You give them to people for sympathy after someone dies. Then the flowers die and now you have two dead things in your life. It seems like a vicious cycle. Mark this down as another thing I do not understand about females. Their love of flowers isn’t nearly as strange as a few other things they’re into. Why can’t girls all like the same type of guy? I hear so much more from them that someone is too tall, too short, too fat, too skinny, too dirty, too clean, too serious, too funny, too attractive, too muscular, too tough, too much of a pussy, too into himself, too low in his self-opinion, too talented, too wealthy, too much like their last boyfriend, too different from their last boyfriend, etc. Be more like us guys ladies. I’m attracted to 75% of the females age 18-35 that I see. Make it 18-40 and it only drops to 74%. I blame all of this on flowers and plants. My inability to know what a woman wants. How I should change myself to be liked like you. I can’t be “just be myself.” That’s too mean and cruel. This world isn’t ready for the next Ted Bundy. I need to hide those demons and become the sweet flower giving man who I pretend to be.

They also killed everyone in the movie “The Happening.” I know I didn’t spoil it for you. M. Night did that well enough.

(“I got it, the bad guys are leaves!” – Some one trick pony)