Posts Tagged ‘relationships’

At some point in the beginning of January Janice at Your Daily Dose said she was going to forego making New Year’s Resolution and instead making monthly resolutions. Jumping at the chance to succeed and rub this success in her face, I agreed to participate. This time, jumping too fast into choosing my resolution, I decided my monthly resolution would be to make a new friend. There was some debate in my head as to what I should make my resolution and this seemed like the best one for the entire world and the least selfish because hey, being friends with me is a gift in itself, right?

Since I couldn’t do this all on my own I enlisted the help of a friend I had not seen in over 3 years. He was a stand-up comedian friend of mine who I had kept in touch with over the years. We’d fill each other in on how our lives were going. Usually it went “Are you happy?” “No. How about you?” “No.” And then we remembered why we became friends in the first place.


(Pretty much us)

We agreed to meet up one night at the place we used to go drinking at after shows or during shows when we were supposed to be outside bugging people in Times Square to buy tickets to see a subpar comedy show. This was a place we had a lot of memories at. One time he ordered quesadillas and they never came after an hour even though the waitress kept saying they were almost ready. This was the same place where a group of 10 drunk guys asked me which waitress I would rather sleep with and in a very philosophical way I broke down how I would sleep with the bustier one but I would marry the thinner more friendly one. They seemed amazed that someone could think so logically about life.

On my way to the bar/restaurant I had hoped to maybe make a friend. I had purposefully given myself some bed head without using any gel so I looked pretty cool. There was a girl on the train with a goofy hat who I think wanted me to talk to her because she sat down near me. If not for the giant red pimple on her chin and the possibility of her being 17 I would have.

When I actually got into New York I had thought maybe I could make a friend walking through Times Square. I had never actually made a friend this way before but I have had great conversations there with strangers. I was at around 47th street when a cute girl leaned in to me.

“Can I ride your face?” she said. Well, no. That’s what I heard. I asked her to repeat it. She tried again and said, “Do you know where the H&M is?” I pondered about it. I had no clue but I’ve learned in New York City you want to pretend like you know your way around. I tried getting more information out of her like if she knew anything it was near. She had no idea. I gave her half-assed directions and she thanked me. I apologized because I hadn’t been to New York in quite some time. Neither had she. I asked where she was from. She was from Edison, New Jersey the town I lived in the first year of my life. We began to talk more and she knew the street I lived on and her dad was actually from the town I live in now. It was weird. It was magical. It was destiny.


(Could it be? Had I made a friend for life?)

“Okay well thanks then. Have a good night.” she said before we even got started on our life together. She was with an even more awkward friend. They continued on in search of their store and I didn’t look back. It wasn’t meant to be. Plus she blinked too much.

I arrived at the bar/restaurant and found my friend outside. I snuck up and smacked him in the head. He told me I 1) looked taller 2) had a less girly/teenager voice 3) seemed more mature. The first thing I did was smack him in the head. How immature did I used to be?


(How I used to be. I’m the pirate in the middle)

We went inside and hopped upstairs where things were less frantic. We sat down and immediately began to check out the room and any potential female suitors. There wasn’t much so we caught up on old times. We whined to each other about other comedians we hate and how unfunny so many of them are. I swear we’d be banned from ever telling a joke ever again if some people heard the honest things we were saying.

Our food arrived, we ate, and I tried figuring out which waitress I should try to befriend. There was the heavyset one who was taller than me. Okay, no way. She could beat me up. Then there was the blonde one who had been doing most of the work for us. She was cute and friendly but had something wrong with her face. Not on my friend’s list missy! Finally there was a small brunette who pretended I didn’t exist except for when my friend got up to use the bathroom. She approached me and said “Hey I didn’t want to do this in front of your friend but can I ride your face?” Actually that’s what I heard. What she really said was “Are you guys doing alright?” So maybe I could look into this deeper and she was offering to sit on my face. I’m not sure. I don’t understand many social cues.

Not long after we left. My buddy was nice enough to walk me 20 blocks down only to find out the station was closed. I walked to two more stations to try finding the train home before finally finding one that was open. I even tried to have a conversation with other people having the same trouble. I said “I think the one on 22nd street is open!” They didn’t say a word. Why am I social cancer?


(This bunny has more shyness than I do and I bet he even would have gotten a response)

I got into the train and on the second stop a girl sat down next to me. There were plenty more open seats (like my face for instance) but she chose to sit to my right. I gave her the creepy man’s test which is to smack my knee into her every so often to see if it scared her off. It didn’t! Had I made a friend? Or had she not really even been thinking about it because the only reason she was sitting next to me was so she could stare at the studly Australian guy sitting across the train car? I’ll never know because what could I have ever said to her, “Hey, I’m going to smack my knee into yours and see if it bothers you”?

Only two days later I no longer felt the immediate need to make a new friend. Making new friends would be nice and I’m still on the lookout, but why do I need to force it? It will happen when it happens. I have other things I’m trying to accomplish right now. Plus, who likes the hero in a story to succeed in the first act? Nobody. Time for round two.

Thanks to Art of Pouring My Art Out I have downloaded a free easy to use program where I can create and edit videos. I knew it would be free and easy because the guy who told me about it, Art, is also free and easy.

Here is the first video I made.

I also want to take this opportunity to wish you all a wonderful Christmas or whatever it is you celebrate. I celebrate Christmas so that’s the one I wish well on others first because that’s the way things work. Either way, have a nice rest of the year.

P.S. My next two posts will be a bit more informative and less scatological. In fact they may be the last two posts I ever do…until I get around to doing another one. Enjoy the holiday season.

P.P.S. I had originally had this scheduled to post on Christmas Eve. I was away from a computer and thanks to Twin Daddy I learned the crappy video did not work. Even worse, I don’t feel like going back and making this sound more timely. Christmas is over and I hope yours was grand.

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 thought about posting a pair of breasts and leaving things be, but men are much more complex than that. We also like football, beer, and fast cars. Nothing makes me feel more feminine than seeing the media’s portrayal of a man. I hate football, don’t drink beer, and every car I’ve ever owned can only go 0 to 60 in 60 minutes. Maybe I’m just more clockwork on the inside and I’m different from all those other guys out there. Yeah, I really don’t think so.

I was having an email conversation when my counterpart said “This sounds like a blog post.” She was right. Admittedly, sometimes I will get an idea in my head and work it out in a conversation before trying to write it all out for the public to see. This wasn’t exactly the case in this situation but I agreed with her, what I had to say deserved to be in a blog.

The basic conversation was her friend was insisting to her that she knew what a man wants. Keep in mind, this female who knows everything about men had her first kiss three months ago. Three months ago I made turkey burgers on the grill for the first time. Where’s my Turkey Burger restaurant? I’m an expert now, right?


(Doesn’t this turkey burger image make you want to have a real burger instead?)

Summarizing this idiot’s ideology on what a man wants the best I can, she said a man wants her. All men want this girl. It’s fine to think people “want” you and all because it boosts your confidence and whatnot. I’ll insist to myself all women want me and if I was to turn them down they’d work really hard to get a job with an office atop a skyscraper just so they could jump out the window and kill themselves because I’m not theirs. I may take it a little far, but it helps me sleep at night when the sassy black ghost who lives in my closet won’t leave me alone.


(I was actually going to try to mess around with this picture and make her more ghsot-like but I know you’re all smart enough to realize a ghost would never live in my closet. It’s way too messy)

For you, other idiot girls who think you have men figured out, I have created a list of things the average male desires in a woman. By average I mean me. I’m average enough, especially in appearance. But I do believe men want the same basic things from a woman. The problem is expressing these things to another person. I’m not perfect so I won’t tell you how to express these things. That’s your part. I can lead you to water but I can’t make you clean out your ass with it or however that Benjamin Franklin quote goes.


(“A penny saved is a penny to throw at the Jews.” – Benjamin Adolph Franklin)

-Sweetness: If you’re sweet any guy no matter how hard he might seem will fall for you. I could never even entertain the idea of associating with a female who isn’t a complete sweetheart. Have some compassion and get a little upset when I make fun of a crippled person, but not too upset.

-A Little Adventurous: Movies always have these daring women who help to break men out from their shells. They’ll break into someone’s house or something and the man will be all leery saying it’s not a good idea. Breaking and entering is a little too adventurous. A little adventurous would be something like trying new foods or inviting your friends over to watch sex happen. Show a guy something new and he’ll want to learn more.

-Good Sense of Humor: Girls always say all they want is a guy with a good sense of humor and scientists have determined from this statement that women are liars. Women don’t want a funny guy. They want a funny guy who also has more qualities they seek. A good sense of humor in a woman is a major plus for all men. Guys want you to be their biggest fan. And don’t fake laughing or tell a guy he’s funny when he isn’t. It makes truly funny people like Andy Dick look bad.

-Slight Overdependence: Men like to know you can’t make it without them. We want to know we can easily make you cry. Make sure there are enough things you share where he can do it better than you can. Why do you think toilets were invented? Shitting in a hole is so much cleaner which is why I do it.

-Unaggressive: It’s a huge turn-off for most guys when a woman is overly aggressive. That’s not to say you can’t be at times. I love a woman who can take control of any situation, but of every situation it goes from aggressiveness to bossiness. Girls who say things like “I know what I want and I make sure I get it” should die. There’s only one voice that sentence can be said in and it’s in an incredibly bitchy voice. Instead of being aggressive try using reason. Don’t push people out of the way or whine to get your way, learn something called compromise. Maybe if you figure out what it means you won’t die alone.

Single female readers, you’re welcome.

Ever since my last post you have been sitting in front of your computer wondering why I was never in a relationship while in middle school. I was not always so incredibly cunning, articulate, friendly, or other things for which I am not but could probably convince someone online that I am. I have decided to make things clear, to all of you wondering, because I know you cannot sleep because you are wondering oh so bad, what the problems I had back in this time period in my life and why even the girl with scarlet fever thought me asking taking her to the 8th grade social would have been a downgrade.

(My old classmate Helen Keller who once said I ‘felt so ugly I could be confused for a dog.’ In this picture she thought she was touching my face)

Fat: What 13 year old girl wants to date a fat kid? None. Even the world’s fattest 13 year old girl has standards and Bieber Fever. She needs to be careful though, her heart is not strong enough to survive sick too long. I was so tremendously fat in middle school that some people thought I was off-limits to make fun of. That’s when you know you’re a mess, when people won’t tease you. Plenty other bullies picked up the slack. Several of them were fat fucks too which always threw me. Of course I turned my life around since and I am the well-adjusted adult you all know and love today who holds no ill-will against anything from his past.

Facial Hair: My parents fought about a lot of things. The silliest was about how my dad never taught me how to shave. I guess he was too busy or would be too tempted to slice my throat. My mom would shave my facial hair for me up until 10th grade when I finally decided I should do it myself. Before I was shaving though I had grown in some neck hair. This hair grew so long it almost became pubic. It was certainly fun to play with and no joy to stare at. I had this gross hair hanging from my neck for a year because my parents were too busy having emotional breakdowns or affairs to take notice. Like I said, no ill-will.

(Don Imus used to refer to me as a nappy neck haired ho)

Silence: I was and still am a pretty quiet person. I won’t say something for the sake of saying it like some assholes will (women). One time a kid told me I looked like a turtle. Instead of telling him to die or pointing out that he had a mole on his face I stared at him and get a little teary-eyed. Girls like a guy who has witty comebacks. I had none. You need to be quick on your feet to impressive girl in middle school. Why do you think they all have pictures of Don Rickles in their lockers?

Weird: I have faced facts; I will always be a little odd. This is a good thing sometimes. In middle school it’s a death sentence to loneliness. I can’t think of anything particularly weird I did in middle school that completely turned girls off. I had crust on the side of my nose a lot and I always did my homework. Seriously, I never once didn’t do my homework in 6th grade. I was such a goody-two-shoes you’d think I would have some positive goal in my life like curing racism. Instead my only positive goal is not leaving this world with a bomb strapped to my chest. Again, ill-will.

(Jesse Eisenberg about to blow the bomb strapped to his chest. He’s angry about all the pressure he has on him and the lack of talent he has to meet this pressure)

Fashion: When it comes to fashion I am not as lost as some other guys. I don’t shop at designer stores or anything but I think I dress myself well enough where personality comes through and I don’t look totally ridiculous. Can you really go wrong with jeans and a black t-shirt? Back in middle school my clothing choice consisted of overly baggy jeans to compensate for my very large waist, t-shirts of obscure minor league baseball teams that when told to people what they were only ever got an “oh” response, and worst of all was my gym clothes selection, cut-off sweat pants. My mom said wearing normal sweat pants for gym would get me too hot. She took an old pair of sweats and cut them off at the knee. Did she not realize a boy should never show his knees in public? I blame this attire for always being last picked. Although when I think about it being fat, weird, quiet, and having disgusting facial hair probably didn’t help my case either.

How disgustingly strange were you when you were younger? Do you think you ever had a teacher who wanted to kill you for being such a loser?

I think we all had a few relationships in middle school. I dated a girl who lived in Niagara Falls. We met at a summer camp nobody had ever heard the name of. She hated being photographed which is why whenever friends would ask me to prove to them that I had a girlfriend I had no way of doing so. She was definitely real though. Her name was Scarlett Johansson and I took her virginity. I’m not really sure whatever happened to her.

(And to think I broke up with her because she didn’t have a cool eraser on her pencils)

A middle school relationship is what I call any relationship built on false hopes and ideas. Not all relationships from 11-14 are like this. I’d say close to 100% are. It’s fine for a young kid to be in a dumb relationship with little meaning. Part of growing up is wasting your time on people you’ll never talk to again after your balls drop. It’s important we go through these bad relationships so that one day we can be aware enough to know we’re in a terrible marriage.

There are a few usual details a “middle school relationship” will have. The first is constant fighting. I don’t get being with someone when all you do is fight. If Pakistan or India could up and move themselves I’m sure they would. They can’t so they kill each other whenever they can. Many adults enter relationships with constant fighting and arguing. I’m not talking about cute bickering either. I’m talking about screaming at the top of your lungs, making all your friends feel uncomfortable fighting. Some people never grow out of this. Of course though, it’s never their fault. They just always fall for the wrong guy.

(“I know Lenny murdered those children but he’d never hurt me…again. And besides, doesn’t he look radiant in orange and behind glass?” – woman justifying being into bad boys)

Another thing I have noticed about middle school relationships is their longevity or lack thereof. Okay that last sentence was worded poorly. I’m not actually out there paying attention to who 12 year olds are kissing. I’m simply saying people who are constantly in short-term relationships still have their minds back in 7th grade. For the benefit of the doubt, sometimes a relationship needs to end quickly and with a guillotine’s force. It’s the constantly getting into the same situation when you need to wonder what you’re doing wrong. What are you probably doing wrong? Being yourself.

A true middle school relationship centers around one thing, the other person. You drop everything you’ve got going on to focus on that other living human being that will one day be dead and never remember a single nice thing you did for them. To steal a Jessica Alba line from a Dane Cook movie “I want to be in your life, I just don’t want to be your life” or something like that. I’m not sure. I was too busy wondering why I was watching a Dane Cook movie listening to Jessica Alba for advice. So many times someone will get into a new relationship and suddenly all they ever do or talk about is their new beau. It’s almost as if their lives did not begin until they met this person. But as Papa Roach says, “Our scars remind us, that the past is real.”

(Now I’m quoting Papa Roach? My vagina better start growing in soon or else I’m seeing a doctor)

Human behavior always interests me, especially when emotions are strong. People with middle school relationship syndrome will be certain this person they’re in a relationship with is the greatest human being ever. They say things like “Nobody understands me like she does”, “When I’m with him it’s like he’s not even there”, or “We can talk for hours up until the early morning hours and never get bored.” I could talk to fucking Santa Claus all night long and never get bored. Does that mean he’s someone special? No. All it means when you can talk to someone for hours is you have good chemistry. This does not mean you are soul mates. It means you should do a Podcast together and annoy as many radio stations as you can with your demo tape. Stop trying to seem divine and special. We both know if you’re up all night every night talking to someone your life is pretty empty because you yourself are empty.

I completely forget what the point I wanted to make in this post was. I simply had “Middle School Relationships” typed up in my Word Document. I spent the day eating almonds and occasionally stretching my legs. In that time somewhere I forgot the main course. Whether or not I said exactly what it was I wanted to say, I made myself clear enough. Many people never grow up when it comes to how they behave in a relationship. I guess that’s why Shakespeare once said “love is a mongoloid emotion, it makes you do dumb things only a complete retard might do.” He of course said it more poetically and in iambic pentameter. In the end there is no valuable lesson to be learned. My apologies if you came here looking for answers.

Why do men leave the house? To pick up as many chicks as they can. We’re very simple creatures. I fancy myself an expert at picking up chicks. One time a Mermaid fell so deeply in love with me she began to crawl along the beach just to touch my face. She ended up drying up and dying only a few feet away. In a way I charmed a fish out of the fish bowl. I love that phrase. You’re so charming that an animal without many emotions will kill itself to be near you. I wish I could one day be so charming people kill themselves over it.

The problem with picking up chicks is a lot of guys do it so unnaturally. They come up with corny pickup lines like “Are you an astronaut? Because you look like Neil Armstrong” or “Did it hurt?” which elicits the response “Did what hurt?” and then the guy follows up with twisting her nipples and tells her he’s a psychic who saw it coming. Girls like guys who can see into the future. Nostradamus was a major pimp. What Nostradamus did correctly though was he got an actual job where he could be himself and the chicks would follow. That’s what today’s post is about. Jobs for guys to take in order to meet the girl they’ve been waiting for their entire lives/evenings.

(Seriously, tell me this guy couldn’t be a pimp. All he needs is a feather in his cap)

1) Bartender

This one is very obvious. Drunk girls will sleep with anyone. I saw a drunk girl the other night having sex with a tree. I guess the tree was tall, dark, and handsome. Some of the bark on its base looked like George Clooney’s face. I think at every point in his life every guy has thought about becoming a bartender. Women have to talk to you in order to forget what shitty adults they have become. Without you they cannot get their booze. The only thing stopping me from becoming a bartender is all the drinks I would have to memorize and I cannot smile at ugly people. Have you been to a bar lately? It’s an ugly person’s lair.

2) Animal Shelter

Chicks love animals. Would you believe some girls love animals so much they never eat them? I know, bonkers. Even if you have a penis and you don’t eat animals I consider you a chick. Tofu should be the name of an African dictator, not something we eat. I know if I ever get desperate enough where I would need to meet women I can always volunteer at an animal shelter. It’s perfect. Animals love me, girls will see how good I am with the animals, and then we do something filthy near a malnourished cat on its death-bed.

(Sorry little kitty, I’ll get you your medicine as soon as this chick finishes taking hers, if you know what I’m sayin’)

3) Musician

Anyone who knows how to play the guitar and doesn’t get laid 60 times a day is an idiot. Girls love any guy who can play the guitar. Do you know why? Because she doesn’t have to interact with him. She can sit there, nod, and smile pretending she enjoys his dark poetic pain. For me, someone without any musical talent, I tell girls I’m the lead singer in the band. They tell me to belt out some lyrics and I remind them I have to save my voice for the big show. They nod and smile because girls who obsess over musicians are idiots too.

4) Gay Rights Supporter

You’ll probably need a real job like doctor or guy who steps in front of traffic in order to pull this one off. Hanging out around gay people will surely help you meet some single ladies. Any girl who is obsessive with gay rights is either a lesbian herself or is trying to make up for the fact how much men find them repulsive. This gives you a great opportunity to sweep in and steal these feminists off their do-gooding feet. Not only will these girls think you’re tolerant to others, you’ll also have very little competition. A straight guy hanging out in a gay is a lock to go home with a girl or at least have a chubby one nag him all night about American equality.

5) Anything Famous

Become famous and girls will bend themselves into whatever position you demand them to get into. I understand it. I would love to bang someone famous. I could see Yahoo articles about them and think about how we shared those amazing 40 seconds pressed against the sink together until I let out my fart ruining the mood. Athletes, movie stars, and even high-profile murderers have women flocking to them at all hours of the day. I’m almost tempted to go on a killing spree just to see how many women propose to me. I can barely throw a spiral and my acting leaves much to be desired. If I ever want to become famous it will have to involve bloodshed. Or I could do something really good for a lot of people. Sounds hard.

(Mark David Chapman, John Lennon’s killer. Ringo’s still alive isn’t he? Hmm I think I have an idea to get some chicks)

Let me know if you know of anything else. As for girls on picking up guys, sit outside for five minutes in a place with high foot traffic. If nobody even looks your way start searching for a child murderer to marry. It’s the best you may ever get.

In other words, these are not jobs appearing here.

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)

Hay, water, and convicts. The word bail means a lot to them. Bails of hay are gigantic and make me sneeze. You can stack these bails then hide things like needles or Natalee Holloway inside and they will never be found again. When bailing water, you have problems. The act of scooping water out of your boat and back into the larger amount of water surrounding you is known as bailing. You will probably only ever be in this situation if you are in a rowboat with a hole in it. Why does one need to be in a rowboat? We have bridges and iPads now. It’s stupid to go anywhere near water. Finally convicts. They can pay money to get out of jail for a few weeks until their trial. I’m not exactly sure how this all works as movies about lawyers bore me. Unless you consider The Mighty Ducks a movie about lawyers. The back of the DVD case does start with “Hotshot Lawyer Gordon Bombay…” so I’ll put it right up there with To Kill A Mockingbird.

(The photographer told Emilio to strike a “get a load of these kids” pose. Good job Emilio. You struck it perfect)

The worst kind of bails are the ones people do to us. This is known as bailing on someone. I’m sure it’s happened to you. If not you’re probably the bailer. It’s like that old joke about how most people look like birds. If you look around the room and don’t see someone who looks like a bird then you’re the parakeet faced buffoon. I want to discuss this awful friends today. The ones who always seem to be bailing. They’re unapologetic, forgetful, and almost always overweight. I’ll start with that right away.

Why do overweight people bail a lot on plans? Okay, I am an expert into the psychology of overweight people. Spending a good portion of my life being a member of the club, I have a deep understanding of why they do a lot of the things they do. Fat people bail simply because they’re shy and have really bad social anxieties. You can almost excuse it. There’s something deeper than them being a bad friend that needs fixing. The only reason it should not be excused is sometimes this can screw you over. I had a friend who swore he would help me with a project for school. I checked in with him every day. He even agreed to get his brother and his brother’s friends to help out too. The day came when I needed the help. Guess who didn’t answer his phone for an entire day? It’s not that all overweight folk do this or do it for this reason, but I have a deep feeling this is the case. Realize most people have social anxieties. That should not be something to hold you back from helping out a friend.

People who bail often enough end up making excuses. Most are pretty unbelievable. Nobody gets that many flat tires. Nobody has a job that schedules them last second this frequently. Nobody has a grandmother who dies every month then miraculously resurrects in order to die a month later. I find that the best excuse is to not make one. Be straight up. If you don’t want to hang out with someone don’t tell them why. Just say you cannot do it. If they ask you can say because they’re boring and you feel boys are less likely to approach you when she’s around due to her sweating problem. Or you can take the less scenic route and say you’re not in the mood. Really, the best thing to do is not make plans you do not 100% fully intend on making. If someone tells me they want to hangout with me (ha, I know right? Let’s be hypothetical for a second) I will decide within the first few seconds if I want to hang with them or not. When I don’t feel like it then I will not really pursue much further. What I’m really trying to say through the bags under my eyes I have right now is that if you make plans with a friend, barring death, you better damn well keep them.

(Sorry I can’t hangout, my grandma came back as a zombie and is killing Vietnamese nurses)

As with most social faux pas, girls bail much more than guys. Other than my one fat friend, who I was used to bailing on me by that point, I haven’t had too many people do it to me. This can be because upon meeting most women I mime squeezing their breasts and we never become friends. I always am hearing about girls bailing on each other. This all comes back to the whole thing about women being dishonest. Girls care so much about their perception. I had planned on writing something about the media, but I have nothing more to say than this. The media is not to blame for the way people are perceived. That’s our own fault. The media gives us what we want. If enough of us hated Kardashians they would be executed on live TV. Well, a 7 second delay, but I think I can wait. Not a second longer though. Yelling about how the media wants you to look a certain way is garbage. Would you really want to watch a movie with a bunch of ugly people in it? Rent a Julia Roberts movie so badly if that’s what you’re into. All I’m saying is that the media doesn’t want you to be a blonde bombshell. I do. You do. Everyone both of us knows does. Attractive people make them money. So what was it that I started to say here? Oh yes, girls kid themselves too much. Don’t buy magazines or watch TV if it bothers you so much. When enough people agree with you then things will change. Pinky swear.

Keep your promises. Bailing on a friend’s plans is breaking a promise. Do you like when people break promises to you? No. Of course not. You hate President Obama and his ability to say one thing then turn around months later saying “Well, I wanted it to be the other way–” I didn’t realize the economic bailout meant saying you’d fix everything then bailing out on doing it. Why am I so angry at Mr. President today? He gives greet speeches and has a nice smile. He also gives me hope! I’m not sure what about, but he gives it to me hard.

(You’re kidding yourself if you think this is the way heroes smile. Clearly the Lord of the Flies right here)

Do people bail on you often? How do you handle it? Have you also noticed I use the words “that” and contractions way too much in anything I write?

P.S. I will be unavailable to contact until Friday. I’m not Natalee Holloway’ing on you, I’m Adam Walsh’s head’ing. That is to say, I will return via mail in horrendous fashion.

Today’s musings does not come from me. Instead it comes from a good friend of mine. He came to me asking if he could write something about being a hardworking single guy trying to make it in the fast-paced business world. I reminded him that he had no job and he stared at me blankly, probably not understanding a thing I said. He’s convinced I can reach a larger audience with this blog than he can on anything he could ever create. So today I present to you the ramblings of my dog, McGwire. It’s mostly him trying to pick up chicks. He’s definitely the Uncle Jesse in our Full House life we have.

(I don’t remember for sure, but I am almost definite I had to distract him with food here)

“Good Boys Finish Last”

By McGwire

I have been single for my entire life. 13 years and not a single lady has ever given me more than one date. A dog date is different than that of you humans. Dog dates consist of ass sniffing followed up with a little bit of oblivious humping of the female. Have you ever seen a female dog’s face while she receives a good roggering? She looks as if she’s done it a thousand times before. And yes, dogs say roggering. We’re all originally from England.

I think of myself as a good boy. A very good boy. Oh yes I am. Yes I am. I’ve heard it said that “nice guys finish last” which I guess is true. My owner, the one you call Mooselicker, is a very nice guy. Even though he poops with the door open and acts as if that make him better than me, he’s still pretty nice. He never forgets to give me a cookie after a walk. When I wake him up in the morning, on the fifth attempt he always gets up. He puts up with a lot about me. When he gets off the couch I always steal his spot. Not because I like wear he sits. I’m hoping he gives me a black eye and I can report him and enter a new home with someone who doesn’t walk around without his pants so much.

(Sometimes I wish I had three legs. I could get on album covers and have an excuse as to why I am so incredibly lazy)

I digress. As a good boy I feel like I too finish last. There are a lot of great things about me that most women and children find endearing. Yet the female dogs find me repulsive just because I’m a little chubby and have a disgusting skin tag hanging off the bottom of my snout. What happened to inner beauty? Well, not my innards. That’s mostly tumors and heartworms at this point. I eat cat poop the other day and even I find my insides vomit inducing. And if I was to vomit I would eat it up before anyone noticed because I am a good boy like that.

I am aware that many females read this blog. I have seen some of their photographs. It makes my lipstick (my red penis) poke out. Many of you would have a great time out on a date with me. I assure you of that. I don’t even have to wear my leash. The other day I escaped from my leash and instead of running away to freedom I ran back to the door where I knew I would survive. The world is a scary place. Next to the bed or on the couch is my comfort zone. Sometimes I even try to crawl behind the toilet. But that’s only when I hear fireworks. Those scare me tremendously.

(So loud and so bright! I think I’m going to go dog deaf then have a dog seizure)

Food is a big part of my life. Dog food, cat food, human food, frozen, heated up, in the garbage, dropped on the ground, out of my own butt I love food. Ideally I would like to take a woman out to eat somewhere we could both enjoy. I highly suggest eating plaid shirts or blankets. They are delectable! The best thing, your poop turns plaid. It’s very grunge, an era I know nothing about because I am a dog and my version of music is licking knees that come out of the shower.

The best part about me, and you slutty girls out there will really appreciate this, is I have no testicles. I lost them in a hazardous mishap. I was told that I was going to go for a car ride (one of my favorite things to do) then was taken to the doctors. They gave me a shot to my butt (which I didn’t mind, I love my butt rubbed, scratched, and spanked) and when I woke up my nuggets were gone. I still have the sack to prove it. A class action lawsuit is in the works as soon as I evolve into having thumbs. I’d cross my fingers in hopes that it happens soon but I don’t have those either.

A few other things you should know about me: I love to be baby talked to. If you blow in my face, I will try to kiss you. Don’t pick me up. I’ll groan then kick my fat legs. I swear like a sailor. I smoke pot so if you got a problem with that you can f*ck off. I am strongly opposed to gay marriage. Like really? Next thing you know a man will be trying to marry me. And sorry but I don’t swing that way. There’s a time and a place for everything. It’s called obedience school.

(How is this fun? They are all dressed similarly and things are entirely too dark. Not to mention I see little food present. Where are the blankets to lie down on? I will never understand Liberal Arts majors)

I’m open to doing a lot of new things with lots of new people. I even like fatties because I can use their bodies as a pillow for my heavy face. If I at all seem interesting to you then please let me know. I will be replying to your comments on this post. I hope to hear from you soon you whores.


Thanks to McGwire for writing up some material for me. Also thank you for not mentioning the time I sat on you naked. I know, it seemed like a good idea to us both at the time but things have been weird between us ever since. Sorry buddy!

(He must like me again if he’s willing to show me his disgusting stomach. Awww)

P.S. Special thanks to  The Hobbler for having nothing better to do than to stalk my blog yesterday. You managed to put my over the edge to make this yet another record breaking month as far as hits go! Also thank you to the random person who became my 200th follower. I’d link you but I’m pretty sure you will never comment. I will just say you look like you’re kissing actor John Hawkes on the header of your page. You can figure out who you are.