My photo
i am a megalomaniacal genius whose every attempt at world domination is foiled by the unintentional interference of the hordes of imbecilic morons i am surrounded by and forced to mingle with. i am exacting my revenge via my blog, where i shall accost, insult, expose and embarrass them by sharing their stupidity with the online world. oh, and i will give bad, misleading advice to the unfortunate souls who write in requesting my wisdom in an attempt to expedite their visit from the angel of death and thereby eliminate one more mentally bereft obstacle from my path. finally, i intend to use my blog to amass my own personal army of willing morons whom i can exploit and abuse for fun and profit. kind of like rush limbaugh, except i am brilliant, gorgeous, beloved, and not addicted to opiates or spareribs. *this is a disclaimer. the contents of this blog are for humor and entertainment only. if you are delicate or have no sense of humor... leave. and die.

Monday, December 20, 2010

LET'S TALK ABOUT FUCKING (AND THE LOSERS WHO WON'T BE DOING IT)

     Fucking.  Balling.  Banging.  Boffing.  Screwing.  Porking.  Taking the log to the beaver.  Driving One-Eyed-Willy to the optometrist.  Going heels to Jesus.  Putting Percy in the playpen.  I think you can figure out where this is going.  And it is only fitting you had to read them; my inbox is stuffed with these and just about every other term there is for the act of delivering a hot beef injection to some sloppy, overused cavernous chasm of an orifice on some skanky roadside trailer park  hooker (or as you ignoramuses call them, "the girl of my dreams").  More precisely, my blog has been inundated by myriads of messages from limp-dicked wonders who have no idea how to impress some dumb twat they met at Starbuck's enough to get her to slither out of her crusted panties and give them a crack at her crack.  And they want ME to tell them how.  Like I give a shit.  Does no one besides me know how to get laid?!  Is getting an inebriated trollop to ride the boloney pony really such an impossible task that you have to write in for advice?  Haven't you any bigger problems to worry about?  I suppose I could suggest taking matters into your own hands, grabbing the bull by the horn, and beating your meat like it owes you money until the urge passes.  Or, if you MUST feel the flesh of another actual human being undulating underneath you, I could counsel you to go buy one either at the truckstop or downtown in front of Fred's Liquors.  You'll get what you pay for guaranteed, unlike that other form of accepted American prostitution we call "dating".  You know, the one where you have to shave your back, trim your bush, and pay for some floozy's flowers, dinner, dresses, jewelry, movie tickets, shoes, wine, cocktails, cellphone, rent, tit implants, and American Express bills and then HOPE what she puts out (IF indeed she ever does) is worth you having spent your way to insolvency and creating  a debt that makes the national deficit look like a mild case of jock itch by comparison.

     Unfortunately, these two options have drawbacks.  Tugging your tallywhacker gets boring after a while, grows hair on your palms, and causes blindness.  Buying a hooker is sort of illegal in most states and might get you a wicked case of syphilis, a lengthy prison stretch, or both.  Even worse, you might find yourself drugged and slipping into a coma, only to wake up and discover you're naked and alone in an ice-filled bathtub in Singapore, bereft of your wallet, your kidney, and your left ball.  Oh, and legal says it's probably not in my best interests to advocate and advise prostitution to a cadre of horny, desperate, simpleminded imbeciles 'cuz they actually might do it and then blame me for their police records and missing organs.  So, both to circumvent a potential shitstorm and to avoid having to take the time to answer each of these hopeless duds individually, I am forgoing the usual format of my advice column this month and in its stead will offer a list of common blunders men commit which ensure their perpetual celibacy and invisibility to women.  Being guilty of any one of these will likely cock-block you; any combination of them, and you might as well stay home and whip out the K-Y and the tissues... it's gonna be another lonely night. Some of these transgressions are quite legitimate.  Most of these offenses, however, are niggardly, petty, trivial, trite, and trifling, but remember.... these ARE women we're talking about.  Don't hate the messenger, hate the bowl-legged bimbos to whom these things matter.

     A partial list, and in no particular order:

1.  Not having any "game".
For those of us with an IQ above 12, "game" translates to "bullshit".  "Having game" means the art of laying on the bullshit thick enough to convince the bitch you're someone you're not, but not so thick that she can notice the load of shit she's being fed.  This trick involves using fresh and exciting bullshit lines filled with compliments you don't mean, acting natural while wearing uncomfortable, overpriced clothes, and being seen with enough friends to look popular (but they all have to have "game" as well AND be slightly less handsome than you).  And knowing which slang, TV shows, songs, and alcoholic beverages are trendy so you can pretend to like enough of them to seem trendy too, while at the same time trying to be edgy and unique.  In other words, just be full of shit.  Failure to comply will result in you appearing to be an impotent loser who couldn't please a women even with a baker's dozen Viagras and a chocolate, diamond dildo.  Which, if you're harassing me for help, you are.

2. Facial hair and body hair.
The gradual pussification of the American male by women has resulted in this abomination.  Hair, once that manliest of traits, is now unmanly and must be eradicated on site.  That means if you don't wax your body so you look like an overgrown 8 year old, you're doomed.  Hairless men subconsciously remind women of babies and are easier to dominate, henpeck, and emasculate, therefore satisfying some  strange, sick, sado-maternal, reverse Oedipus complex  that most women seem to have.  As for no facial hair?  I can only assume most women were molested by a department store Santa Claus in their youth and therefore developed a latent phobia of beards.  

3. Bad breath/ hygiene
This one I understand.  If your breath stinks so badly people don't know whether to hand you a tic tac or a roll of Charmin, maybe you'd be wise to consider a daily mouthwash regimen.  If your armpits smell like a catfish's cunt and can wilt houseplants on contact, or if the fumes emanating from your ass are strong enough to make maggots barf, the only date you should be attempting is one with a bar of soap and a running shower.

4. Unflattering hairstyles
"Fauxhawks" are for queers (and 99% of them can't even pull it off) and so are those retarded "emo boi" cuts that have a dude's bangs hanging over half of his face. Also taboo are mullets, skullets ( a mullet worn by a man who has gone bald on top) shaved heads (unless you're black), dreadlocks (even if you're black), anything frosted (tips, bangs, or pubes), long hair past the shoulders (women are vain harpies and can't stand a man to have longer, nicer hair than she has), overly gelled hair, ungelled hair, and of course, the dreaded comb-over (just admit age and baldness has claimed your hair and let it go ; you're fooling nobody, you insecure, panty-waisted little schoolgirl).

5. Cell phones clipped to your waist
Apparently, nothing says "pretentious, low-level management, empty suit, corporate cocksucker who still pisses himself at night"  quite like a phone dangling from your belt.  And once again, the ho's have it right on cue.

6.  "dad" jeans
Jeans with an overly high waistband which give the illusion of an overly elongated, frumpy ass.  They also tend to be pleated up front and gives the appearance of middle-aged spread while simultaneously causing your bulge to look smaller.  Even Barack Obama wasn't able to look good in them.  Then again, who really gives a shit what they look like anyway?!  The only thing about a man's pants that one should be concerned with is how quickly can they be torn off so one can get at all the good stuff.

7.  Fannypacks
Who the hell actually still wears these things?!  Convenient as they may be, donning one of these hideous monstrosities will instantly transform you into the sole type of person they are intended for:  doddering senior citizens with liver spots, gout, and BIG fat asses on their way to either Denny's or Las Vegas.

8.  Visors
Leave it to those greasy, gerry-curled, rubber-lipped, ashy-skinned rappers to bring back this senseless and repulsive fad.  Why are you paying good scratch to look that stupid?!  Again, only blubbery, bloated baby boomers on vacation in Palm Beach (or fast food cashiers) are meant to wear these grotesque and mindlessly moronic pieces of headgear.

9.  Sports jerseys
No. no, no, no, no.  Sorry to tell you this, Sport-O, but you aren't on the team.  "We" didn't pull it off on 4th and goal.  "We" aren't going to the playoffs.  "We" didn't win crap, "we" didn't do crap, and in fact your favorite team would think you ARE crap,  hate your guts, bang your sister, and beat your lunch money out of you if they ever met you. You will NEVER be on the team.  You will never get to slap Peyton Manning's ass and say "good game, bro!" or place your hands beneath Tom Brady's ballbag. You aren't good enough to be the team's official jockstrap washer. You aren't even good enough to play powderpuff football in the Special Olympics. You're fat, you're slow, you're clumsy, you suck, and you are sooo stupid you make the monosyllabic meanderings and grunts of the hulking gorillas you cheer for sound like works of Shakespeare.  Neanderthalic as they may be, though, they are also rich, famous, celebrated, envied,  and get hotter, better-looking ass than you will ever even get to sniff in your wettest dreams. You, however, are an idiot who yells at  televisions, jacks off to John Madden, plays FANTASY football, and pays money to wear shirts with another man's name printed on it.  You are a fag.

10.  Talking
Listen, moron.  Women don't WANT to listen to you... they want to TALK.  They want to talk about themselves, unceasingly and in every boring, tedious detail.  And if you you don't pretend their every word is scintillating, enlightening and thrilling,  those panties are never coming off.  But I understand this one as well.  The only thing more mind numbing than listening to a woman talk is listening to a man talk.  "Open those meat curtains, baby... it's showtime!"  "You da man!"  "True dat!" "Booyah!!"  "Yo I got beef wif 'dem."  "Fo' shizzle, I'm gonna hang tight and chillax wif my homies... they my BOYZ!  They my DAWGS!"  Fuck you and everybody who looks like you.  I have personally heard this oratorical diarrhea come out of mens' mouths.  White mens' mouths, to make it worse.  White men wearing SUITS, to really make you puke your guts dry.  If I were a chick and heard any of this drivel, I would cement my pussy shut and put a lock on it.  No one that brainless deserves to enjoy sexual pleasure.  Instead, these mindless pussies deserve to be locked into port-a-potties with their mothers, set on fire, and sent rolling into the path of a runaway big rig carrying nuclear waste, crude oil, and  flammable animal byproducts.

     Well there you have it.  Ten ways to prevent yourself from ever getting your salami spit-shined.  I originally thought I would wind this up by stating how shallow and superficial women are and by asking men if it really was worth all this trouble just to check some broad's temperature with their meat thermometer.  After reviewing this list however, I am compelled to issue a rare apology to women... men truly do suck ass!  When you peel away all the layers that make a man, it seems almost every time you are left with a whining, farting, beer-guzzling, sports obsessed infant with bad hygiene, and (not-so) latent homosexual tendencies towards professional athletes.  And yet they can con their way into your vaginas with a slick pickup line, a Tequila Sunrise, and a shiny object or a pair of shoes.  Dumb bitches.

     You're welcome for the apology.

     See you cretins next week.  Till then I bid you adieu and remind you: yellow side front, brown side back.




No comments:

Post a Comment