Story Time

The thing is, writing a novel is hard.  Like, really hard.  I’ve written 5.  Not 5 good ones,  mind you.  Good ones must be really, super hard to write.  When I finished my last one, I decided to go ahead and take a couple of creative writing classes, and now I know just how not good my last novel was.  So that feels nice.

One day, the lovely Mrs. Grumpy says to me, “You should write stuff for kids.”  So the other day, after I decided to take a break from trying to gather up the emotional strength needed to start a complete re-write of my last book, I thought I’d give it a go, this writing for kids thing.  Below is what I came up with.  Enjoy.


Squirrel Takes The Lead

Possum ran over and grabbed Squirrel’s hopscotch stone, which had just landed in the “10” square, and threw it over the hedge.

“Stop it, Possum!”  Squirrel said.

But Possum didn’t stop.  He kicked Rabbit’s stone, and Raccoon’s too.

“Possum!” they all cried.  But Possum just smiled.

So Squirrel and Rabbit and Raccoon ran off.  Possum was mean, but they were fast.

They ran to their favorite tree and stopped to rest.  Rabbit started singing her favorite song.  Raccoon and Squirrel joined in.

A few minutes later, Possum came down the path and started singing too.  But he sang a different song, and he sang it way too loudly!

“Stop it, Possum!”  Squirrel said.

But Possum sang even louder.

“Possum!” Rabbit and Raccoon cried out together.

But Possum just smiled.

So Rabbit and Raccoon and Squirrel ran off again, this time to the creek.  They dove in and laughed.  The grabbed great scoopfuls of mud and caked it on themselves, making sure they didn’t miss a spot.

Just then, Possum came out from behind a tree.  “Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

“Playing ‘Predator,'” Squirrel said.

“It’s my favorite movie!” Raccoon said.

Possum stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry.  “‘Commando’ was better,” he said.

“Possum!” screamed Rabbit and Squirrel and Raccoon.  And they ran off again.

Possum caught up to them as they waited to cross the road that divided the woods.

“Even ‘Kindergarten Cop’ was better than ‘Predator,'” he said with a smile.

Rabbit and Squirrel and Raccoon looked both ways, and when it was clear, they started across the road.  This time, Possum kept up.

“Heck,” Possum said.  “At least play ‘Terminator!'”

Squirrel turned suddenly and threw herself at Possum, grabbing him by the throat.  “Shut up, you punk-ass Possum!” she screamed.

Possum did as possums do.  He froze in his tracks and fell over in the middle of the road.

“I’m going to play,” Squirrel said to Rabbit and Raccoon.

A truck rumbled around the bend in the road.

“We can’t just leave him,” Raccoon said, pointing at the truck heading toward them.

“I’m going to play,” Squirrel said coldly.

And that is exactly what she did.

The End

Not too shabby for a first try, don’t you think?

Boyfriend Material

So Cosmo’s been really slack about providing me good stuff to make fun.  It’s really quite selfish of them.  But they’ve bounced back a bit with this article:  “25 Signs He’ll Be A Good Boyfriend.”  On the plus side, none of these signs included “having a lot of money” or “being well-endowed,” so I still have a chance at being a good boyfriend.  I just don’t think my wife would like it….


1. He asks about how your friend Becky is doing after her breakup. 

“Hey, Babe.  What happened with Becky?  They broke up?!  Oh no!  Was it cause she won’t do threesomes?  Or better yet, because she wants a threesome and he wouldn’t go for it?  Even if she’s just down for a devil’s threeway?  What?  Why are you mad?  I’m just asking about your friend….”

2. After he met Becky for the first time, he was like, “Do you think that went well?” 

“Sooooo, that Becky’s pretty cool, huh?  Yeah… like……are she and what’s his name still broken up?”

3. When you bring up that your boss is being rude to you at work, he doesn’t sigh and roll his eyes because you’re “complaining again.” If he can’t sit through a five-minute tirade about a lame work situation, he won’t be able to sit down with you when something seriously big goes wrong. 

Yeah, because listening to someone bitch for the thousandth about how fucking Roger in Accounting won’t refill the coffee pot when takes he last the cup means they won’t be there when an actual, for real problem arises.

4. He’s polite to waiters and cashiers, and doesn’t do that awful thing where you yell, “CHECK, PLEASE,” across the restaurant. 

Don’t date an asshole.  Got it.  Thanks, Cosmo.  You’re real fucking helpful.

5. He doesn’t desert you at his friends’ parties. It’s OK for him to encourage you to be friendly with his friends, but it’s not OK for him to have an exclusive conversation with Chad while you sit alone awkwardly on the couch.

Hey, maybe you should find out what Chad’s been going through before you get mad about this.  Maybe Chad just lost his job and his fiancé dumped him for her Guatemalan yoga instructor.  I mean, probably not.  Chad’s probably just talking about the time that cougar gave him a handjob in the TGI Friday’s bathroom.  Classic Chad!  But still, you don’t know.

6. He always offers to share the last slice of pizza with you and then doesn’t say anything when you “accidentally” eat way more than half of it. If the last slice is sacred enough for Drake to rap about it in a love song, (“You could have my heart or we could share it like the last slice“) then it must be a real sign of a potentially great romance. 

Okay, when did fucking Drake become the go to reference source for what love looks like.  Also, who is this Drake fellow?  Is he one of the those hippity-hop people the kids are always talking about?  And if so, is it safe to assume he fucked Kim Kardashian?  (She’s still a thing, right?)  Plus, pizza comes in even numbered slices.  Always.  So you will each have the same number of pieces.  Every time.  It’s simple fucking math, people.

7. He doesn’t manspread across your entire schedule and take over your whole world. 

Look, if you’re going to use a term that doesn’t actually mean what you are implying it means, use fucking quotes.  Like this, “He doesn’t “manspread” across…”  Because “manspread” refers to a man who spreads his legs unnecessarily wide in order to take up more room on a bus or train seat.

8. He’s genuinely interested in (or at least good at faking it) your long, rambly stories about family vacations you took as a kid. Instead of getting frustrated and impatient when you talk for 10 minutes about that one weird trip you went on in 2007, he’s excited to hear about what happened after that fight you had with your little brother in the backseat of the family van.

Ha!  All he heard was that you had a story about something crazy you did in the back seat of a van.  That look on his a face is disappointment.

9. He doesn’t get upset when you say you need some alone time. 

Well, since he uses the phrase “alone time” to mean watching porn and masturbating, he’s gonna assume you mean the same thing, so now he’s using his “alone time” to masturbate to the thought of you watching porn and masturbating.  Oh, did I just ruin something for you?

10. He never says things like, “You’re being crazy,” or, “You’re being ridiculous.” 

But what if you actually are being crazy?  “No, Beth, I can assure your cat is not Hitler reincarnated.  Your cat’s just an asshole.  You’re being crazy.”  Or what if you are being ridiculous?  “What?  You think I have a crush on Becky?  The one with the great rack, 3 gigs of lesbian porn on her laptop and an ass I’d like to wear as a hat?  You’re being ridiculous, babe!”

11. He makes you feel like a hot babe all the time. You don’t want to spend a significant amount of time with a guy who makes you feel insecure or question whether or not he’s attracted to you.

So, once again, no assholes?  Ok!  Thanks again, Cosmo!  <sprains eyeball tendon rolling eyes>

12. He has female friends who aren’t just a collection of women who’ve seen his penis before. 

Or maybe he’s just a champ at getting friendzoned!  Also, there’s no way you’ll ever get suspicious of how much he talks to Jessica.  “We’re just friends, sweetie!  (Until she lets me touch her butt.)  You’re being ridiculous!”

13. He gets really excited when you hit it off with his best friend Jason, just like he knew you would. 

Like, REALLY excited….

“Have you ever heard of an ‘Eiffel Tower?’  Yeah, I had to look it up too, after Jason told me about it.  You remember Jason, right babe?”

14. You don’t find a million texts and missed calls on your phone from him after spending a night out with your girlfriends. 

Gah.  Like you didn’t have your phone on you while you were out with your girlfriends.  “I was so worried, I had to sext – err, text – Becky to make sure you were okay!”

15. He doesn’t try to act hard and pretend he doesn’t have feelings when he’s around you. Mature adults shouldn’t be afraid to say things like, “I like you,” or, “I think you’re really cool.”

“I think you’re really cool.”   Mature adults don’t say that.  I mean, I say it, but I have the emotional IQ of the average 8th grader, so I’m not a good litmus test.

16. He texts after work to see how that meeting with your boss went.

“How’d the meeting go?”

“Good, thanks.  I think we’ve got a really good plan-”

<dick pic>

17. He doesn’t rush you out the door when you’re trying to make sure your lip liner is perfectly applied and not smudged. He might do a little bit of gentle ribbing about how slow you are, but he shouldn’t shame you for taking your time and trying to look good. That’s rude.

I fell asleep reading this one.  Three times.

18. When he screws up, he’s quick to apologize instead of letting you stew in your anger for a week and a half.

The general rule is to let someone stew for 2-3 days, max.  Duh….  Typically over the Call of Duty Double XP weekend.

19. And when you screw up, he doesn’t hold a grudge forever like a sullen teen named Todd. 

Fucking Todd.

But now I want to know what Todd did to this writer to make his name come up.  I bet he started rumors about her after she wouldn’t let him do any under-the-shirt-over-the-bra stuff at the Sadie Hawkin’s dance.

Fucking Todd.

20. He has interests and hobbies aside from dating you. You want to date a person, not a prepackaged boyfriend. That gets so boring so fast. 

“You wanted me to have outside hobbies, babe!  My hobby just happens to Becky!  Bendy, bendy Becky……. This is on you, really.”

Also, what the actual fuck is a “prepackaged boyfriend?”  Seriously, I’m trying to figure it out…

21. When you’re hanging out, he talks about things he wants to do with you in the future, even if it’s just the near future.  

<cough> Butt stuff <cough>

22. He doesn’t immediately start acting like your boyfriend after hanging out one time in a friend’s backyard. 

I bet it was Fucking Todd again.  Take the hint, Todd!

23. He sends a “Hey, I had a lot of fun” text after hanging out with you. 

Bonus points if he wrote “Hey, I had a lot of fun” on his dick and sent you a pic.  How romantic is that?

(Update:  According to my wife just now, not very romantic.  Sidenote, anyone know how to get Sharpie off of your….um…..person?)

24. He’s clear about his intentions early on, instead of leaving you in “Is he a hookup or a boyfriend?” limbo for forever. 

His intentions remain getting you and Becky to agree to a threeway.  Men really aren’t that hard to understand.

25. He gets excited about showing you things he likes.

You do know that getting “excited about showing you things he likes” means you’re about to watch his porn collection, right?  Some he stars in, some he just uses for “research purposes.”  Also, probably some nudes of Becky.

What Would Jesus Do

I tried you guys.  I really did.  I like to to think I make fun of everyone pretty equally.  So, in the spirit of fairness, I spent way too much time looking for sex advice from other religions.  I’ve done Christian sex advice, so naturally, I should make fun of other religions who feel the need to dabble in sex advice.

Guess what?  They don’t.  Seriously.  I Googled “Jewish sex adivce,” “Jewish sex tips,” “Hindu sex advice,” (this did come up with the Kama Sutra, but that’s allowed – don’t judge me, my blog, my rules), “Buddhist sex tips,” and even “Muslim sex advice.”  I’m sure that last one landed me on some list, somewhere.  I can just imagine some low-level NSA staffer having to include that in his daily report.  I’m supposed to take a trip in July, so we’ll see if I make it on the plane.  I can’t wait to explain to my wife that I can’t go on vacation with the family because I just had to find out what the Koran said about nipple clamps.

I think maybe the bigger question is what compels Christians, and seemingly only Christians, to try to bookend their sex lives by way of a 2000 year old religious text.  (Sidenote:  Doesn’t “Bookend” feel like it’s an “Eiffel Tower” but for Francophobes.  “Fine, Sue Ellen, me and Trevor will double-team you, but there’s no way we’re calling it an Eiffel Tower!  America!”)  Now, I don’t like to brag, but I read the Bible as much as I was required to – spoiler alert – Jesus dies – so I think I can safely say that Jesus was a tad more concerned with people not being assholes to each other than he was with what people did to each others’ assholes.  But I digress.

On one site, I found this:

I got a question topic for you …and would like you to have a topic about it…pegging…where the wife does the husband. …I like woman’s point of view of it….maybe some husbands. …I’ll give ya time to look into study what does it do for the woman maybe letting her [dominate]. The wife giving the love, the husband receiving it.

Haha.  Sounds to me like a certain hubby is fishing for approval.  For those of you who who are reading this site and don’t know what pegging is, well, you’re my mom.  Hi, Mom!  But what does Jesus say about pegging?  Let’s find out!

Unsurprisingly, the Christian writer doesn’t think JC would be into pegging.  Because, “Romans 1:27 says, “In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed shameful acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their error.” Those “shameful acts” certainly had to include anal sex with one another. Having that same kind of sex with a man-shaped object (dildo or strap-on) appears to be a substitute, even if your wife is the one doing it. And the Bible clearly is opposed.”  Wait.  Why did those “shameful acts…certainly include anal sex with each other?”  Maybe they were just binge watching Katherine Heigl movies.  Talk about shameful.

Then there’s the post “Top Ten Things I Want To Teach My Teens About Sex.”  Mostly boring, not surprisingly.  But I found this one funny.

3. Pregnancy and STDs aren’t the only consequences for premarital sex or promiscuity.

“These concerns get drilled into teens’ heads so much. Many believe the worst, or only, consequences of having sex before marriage or having multiple partners is unwanted pregnancy or contracting an STD.

Yes, kids, those things could happen, but the scars left on your heart, the disruption to your future marital happiness, the disobedience to God—these matter so much.”

“Sorry, Melanie.  We can’t have sex tonight, my previous disobedience to God and the disruption to future marital happiness are flaring up again.  Oops, my bad.  I meant herpes.  My herpes is flaring up again.”

4. Birth control is not 100% effective.

But anal is.  But guess where the Christian sex blogger lands on anal sex.  (Editor’s note:  Do NOT land anal sex, ease onto it.  (Hi-yo!))

5. Sex is more than intercourse.

Sex is the whole kit-and-caboodle. If you’re getting the least bit naked to do something with someone, welcome to the world of sex.

Well, that is great news!  Since I sleep, “au naturel,” I guess I am having tons of sex!  Yay me!

6. “How far is too far?” is the wrong question.

However, that’s the question youth workers hear again and again when the topic of sex is brought up with teens. Teens want to know where the line is—how far can they go without sinning or risking consequences. It’s basically, “What can I get away with?” Which is not the attitude God wants us to have toward Him or His gift of sexual intimacy.

Rather, we should ask, “How can I honor God when it comes to sexual intimacy?” Framing it that way, some of our nitpicking questions simply go away, and it becomes clearer what we should and shouldn’t do.

So remember kids, when you’re getting hot and heavy in the back of your boyfriend’s Honda Pilot, ask yourself, “Would I be honoring God if I gave Tony a complimentary reach around?  Especially after he just spent the last half hour almost finding my clitoris?”  That of course, is between you and the Lord.

8. The Bible has a lot to say about sexuality.

“Blah blah blah.  So if you want to know the real deal about how we should approach sexuality, read the Bible.”

Really?  Cuz I must’ve missed those parts.  I am sure they are talking about the “Song Of Solomon” which nuns everywhere will swear is positively RIBALD!  Much in the same way the Shakespeare will have you ROFLOLing!!!  “Get it!  Juliet will fall forwards when she is older because she’ll have gigantic boobs!  Hahahahaha!  Get it!  He is so funny!”  No.  Song of Solomon is not ribald.  No, Shakespeare is not hysterical.  Shut up.

9. More sex happens in marriage than outside it.

– Okay.  Probably true.  But then they add, “I love what one newlywed man told our youth group: “I’m having lots of sex now, and I never, ever think, ‘Man, I wish I’d had sex back in high school.’”  Bullshit.  Bull.  Shit.  Did I mention, bullshit?

In the comments, I found this gem:  “Remember, unless and until you are married, whatever you are doing is possibly with someone else’s future spouse. Show them the respect you hope your own future spouse is also being shown. ”  Well, since they divorce rate is 50%, there’s a pretty good chance that whatever you’re doing with your current spouse, you are also doing with someone else’s future spouse.  So……


And this one:  “Nice angle! Thanks, Emily.”  Heehee, “Nice angle! Thanks, Emily” is what you say when Emily does reverse cowgirl.

And this:  “I also want to teach my future teens how to chart their cycles so they can use fertility charting once married and ditch the chemical contraceptives.”  True story, when I was in high school, we had a good, married Catholic couple come talk to us about this charting bullshit.  Someone asked them how many kids they had – 2.  Then someone asked how many were planned – 0. So yeah, keep using that method.

Not to mention: “Singles need to recognize their drive and feelings, but then channel their energy in other ways, saving the moment they can “enjoy the dish,” so to speak, until marriage.”  Hey, Lisa, I know you’re so horny you’re going cross-eyed, so let’s crochet!







Miscellaneous Song Crap

Today, we’ll be investigating some song lyrics, perhaps making them better (unlikely) or ruining them for you (more likely).

Let’s begin, shall we?

First up, Mr. Neil Diamond and “Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon.”  Whenever I hear this song, I picture Neil, on the verge of deflowering some girl who is obviously making poor life decisions.  He’s just finished the second encore (Neil Diamond always brings it, dammit) and now he’s back in his dressing room, hovering over this young lady, sweat beading on his forehead, a single drop clinging to the end of his nose, threatening to jump.  A stained, sequined shirt hangs over the back of the armchair in the corner, tossed in haste as soon as the door closed behind him.  The entire room swims in a fog of Ben Gay and Drakkar Noir, and just as he’s about to complete the act, he looks down at her and says, “Girl, you’ll be a woman soon.”

Benny Mardones – “Into The Night”  – Let’s just point out the opening lines:

“She’s just sixteen years old
Leave her alone, they say”

So yeah, it’s a love song about the teenager he can’t bone.  And, for the record, this is Benny Mardone:

Not okay, Benny.  Not okay.

The Lennon Sisters – “Tonight You Belong To Me”

Here they are:

See, old people are always telling us that things were simpler in their day, more innocent.  And I assum I’ll do the same myself one day, sitting in my old age home yelling at the orderly how back in my day, we had to fight, fight I tell you, for our right to party! and if you don’t like it, you can just get the hell out of my room, Marcus!  Anyway, I am here to call bullshit on this innocent thing.

“I know (I know) you belong
To somebody new
But tonight
You belong to me


My honey I know
With the dawn
That you will be gone
But tonight
You belong to me”

You know what this song is people?  It’s a fucking booty call.  She (probably drunk) texted her ex (who’s in a relationship) trying to score some D.  Plus, she knows he won’t even be around in the morning.  Innocent times, my ass.

Okay, this next one I couldn’t find the title or info on, but I swear I heard it on the radio.  I was too stunned to do anything.  I think it’s from the 50s or maybe early 60s.  It’s from the point of view of the father telling his son not to fall for this “Indian girl” and in fact to stay away from her altogether.  The song reaches its climax when the father must eventually explain why.  Well, it turns out, that some time ago, the Indian tribe in question had scalped and killed the father’s only son, and so, out of revenge, the father stole the Indian chief’s son and raised him as his own, and he’s telling the kid he can’t marry that “Indian girl” because she’s his sister.  I shit you not.  What the fuck?

It seems Sheena Easton is a lazy asshole.  Calm down and I’ll explain using the lyircs from her hit song “Morning Train.”  To start:

“My baby takes the morning train
He works from nine to five and then
He takes another home again
To find me waitin’ for him”

What?  No job, Sheena?  The song doesn’t mention kids, so she’s just lounging around all day.

“He takes me to a movie or to a restaurant
To go slow dancing, anything I want”

What about what he wants, Sheena?  What about what he wants?  Is there a song out there about some dude who busts his butt all day to support his girlfriend but he’s cool with it because she does anal and threeways without hesitation?  Cause then it’d be okay.

“When he steps off that train, amazingly full of fight
Work all day to earn his pay, so we can play all night”

You know that mother fucker just wants to go to sleep early, just once, instead of taking her ass out dancing.

“Say Has Anybody Seen My Sweet Gypsy Rose?” by Tony Friggin Orlando

“We were very happy
Well at least I thought we were
Can’t somebody tell me
What’s got into her
A house, a home, a family
And a man who loves her so
Who’d believe she’d leave us
To join a burlesque show?”

The whole damn song is about a guy looking for his wife (and presumably mother of his kids) who left them and moved to New Orleans to become a stripper.  Spectacular.  And just look at him.

The hair, that ‘stash, those teeth.  He had no choice but to become a 70s heartthrob.  It was that or magician/serial killer.  Good call, Tony.  Good call.

A Cautionary Tale…

I wish I had kept the letter I got from the Department of Philosophy and Religion when I changed majors to Philosophy (from Aerospace Engineering – I was an endless river of good decisions in my youth).  It read half like a sales letter, insuring me that companies LOVED Philosophy students because they knew HOW to think.  Try to guess if that’s true.  I may as well have been a fucking English major for all the good it did.  (Pipe down English majors, you know it’s true.)  But none of that mattered, I was going to go to law school or maybe get my PhD and teach.  Turns out, law school is expensive (who knew, right?) and grad school is very hard to get into especially if you spend your first two freshman years beating your GPA to a bloody pulp.

So plan B.  Get a job.  Ugh.  Well, step one was to keep my job washing cars at a rental car agency.  This was important because your landlord does not give a shit if you’re a college grad.  So that was fun, but I was raking in over $5.25 per hour.  No, no I wasn’t.  I was raking in exactly $5.25 an hour.

Obviously, I moved back home pretty quickly.  But I still needed a job.  And after a month of not, I finally landed something.  I was the new Lube Tech at Jiffy Lube!  It’s not as much fun as it sounds.  But at least I had to leave off my degree from the application as I had learned from previous misses that these low-end gigs aren’t gonna hire someone with a degree.  Now I was making a whopping $5 per hour.  Bit of a set back, but as my mother had set my rent at $0 a month, it worked out.

Four weeks into my position there, I was promoted to Assistant Manager!  You can’t stop the success train!  So with my 50 cent an hour raise in hand, I set out to take the rapid lube world by storm.  Of course, my alarm failed to go off the next morning and I was late too work.  No big, the manager was cool so I wasn’t worried.  Except that I got there, and it turns out he had quit the night before.  And some big wig was there with a truckload of management trainees so they could learn how to open a store.  From me.  Who was late.  And had never opened a store before.

Anyway, the best part of the job was that it was right next door to a liquor store, so every night, after everyone had gone and I was left to do lube-related paperwork, I would go next door, get 2 airplane bottles of bourbon and have a sit-down.  This was also the job that taught me customer service was not my bag.  After suffering the slings and arrows of an unjustifiably angry suburbanite, I snapped.  I looked her straight in the eye and said, “Ma’am, I need you to get the fuck out of my store.”  I left the rapid lube biz shortly thereafter.

What I left for was the fast-paced world of automobile recycling.  Which is to say, I took cars apart in a junk yard.  But, I was up to $7 per hour!  Cha-ching, bitches!  You start to rethink some choices when you are laying under a 1987 Ford Taurus in 35 degree rain and hoping that they guy operating the forklift doesn’t forget that you’re under there.  You start to rethink more when you get home, spend 30 minutes washing transmission fluid out of you hair, and then write your student loan check.

Nine months later, I got a call from a company I had sent my resume to the year before.  An interview for a management training program!  Which is code for warehouse labor.  But it was raise.  And indoors.  So off I went.  I languished in the warehouse for a couple of years, partly because I refuse to go work at the sales counter.  (Remember the suburbanite from Jiffy Lube?  If you think they’re bad, try a pissed off plumber who’s been standing in a septic tank all day.  They’re real good at cussing.)  Eventually I weaseled my way into a job in the purchasing department.  Truth be told, if it weren’t for my boss, a milque-toast of a wanker, it would have been a good job.  I bought shit for a living.  Sales people called me and kissed my ass and took me out to lunch.  All in all, pretty good.  Except for my boss, who didn’t like the fact that I would leave my desk to find out why the computer showed we had 1000 of something, but no one could find them.  He told me to stay at my desk.  Period.  Despite the fact that I could my job in about 3 hours a day.  He didn’t care, which led to me falling asleep at my desk several times a week.  He somehow managed to ruin a job where people had to kiss my ass all day.  Think about that.

My next job was back in a warehouse at a company called Frischkorn, I suppose because I lacked the aplomb necessary for a white collar position.  No surprise there, really.  Somehow though, I kept getting dragged into meetings with the president of the company, where my honesty was not seen as “refeshing.”  In fact, I do believe he had precious little appreciation for a warehouse guy who kept telling him his plans wouldn’t work.  (In my defense, I was right.  Which I think made it worse.)

Obviously, my career at that company was not going to go anywhere, so I interviewed with a company to do software training.  Hey!  Now I’m getting somewhere!  I get to use my brain!  And they offered me a pay cut of over $10,000 a year.  I actually laughed at the guy.  Out loud.  Pretty hard, too.  I was the picture of tact.  So back to the warehouse.

That was where I was when my son was born and I transitioned flawlessly into stay-at-home daddy-dom.  But more importantly, in one of my final acts at the job, I managed to convince the rest of the guys in the warehouse to pose for a “Boys of Frishckorn” calendar that I then distributed around the company.  It even made it’s way to corporate headquarters where someone hung it in the copy room for all to enjoy.  It may be my greatest job-related accomplishment.  I have included it below.  You’re welcome.



When the hell did I get old?

Now that I’ve been in my forties for a few years, I’ve come to some realizations, I’ve noticed a few realities and common threads.  So if you’re not there yet, this is what you have to look forward to, if you’re already there, then you can nod your head knowingly as you read, but not too vigorously, you’ll hurt yourself.

– I have the house to myself for 30 minutes – XBox or masturbate?

– Sex or sleep?  I mean, sex is great, but seriously, how is it 10:30 already?

– OK, I don’t really have to pee right now, and I’m all nice and warm, but if I go now, I might just make it all night without having to get up.

– I really like the hot wings here, but I’d also like to be able to be more than ten feet from the toilet tomorrow morning.

– How the fuck did I hurt my neck sleeping?

– Stairs?  Again?  “Honey! We have to move!”

– Another beer’d be great, but I don’t have time to spend an extra 30 minutes on the treadmill tomorrow.

– You were born in what year?!

– At this point, I’m tired of the “compliment.”  You and I both know I am over 21, just bring me my fucking bourbon.

– When do I start feeling like an adult?

– When I drop something on the floor, there’s a 35% chance it will stay there until the sun explodes.  Who the fuck put the floor all the way down there?

“Doesn’t he need a parent in the car with him?”
“He’s 23.”
“You go to Hell.”

– OH MY GOD.  There is such a thing as too loud!  Not cool.

– I have a urologist.

– You watch your kids hit puberty and think, “Man, fuck that.”

– A teenage girl is talking to you (for some unknown reason), and for the first time in your life you think, “Please stop,” and look around to see if someone is giving you the perv eye.

– Now that I can afford to go out, drink all night, and take a cab home, the whole thing just sounds like a pain in the ass.  Then what?  I gotta get up and go back to my car.  Ugh.  I’ll just have one drink and turn in early.

– Hangovers last 3 days, and big ones never quite go away completely.

– I don’t know, socks with sandals are pretty comfortable.

– Why the fuck have I been wearing underwear for the last 4 decades?  Freedom, bitches!

– Cataracts?  No, you must reading my grandfather’s file.

– No, I couldn’t possibly eat another bite, I just took my supplements.

– I understand loafers now.

– Hell yeah!  I slept til 8 today!  Oh shit, I can’t stand up straight.

– Reading glasses?  Goddammit.

– “I just read a really interesting article…”

– Wait, when did that start hurting?

– Hallelugah!  An erection!  “Hey!  Hey!  Wake up!”

– Spending hours a week in the gym and deciding it’d be a helluva lot easier just to convince her she likes fat dudes.

– I have an opinion on pillows.  A strong one.





Love is in…your browser history

Estately recently tracked the most popular Valentine’s Day Google searches for each state in the union, and I thought, hey you know what’s fun?  Judging large groups of people by their aggregate browser history.

ALABAMA:  Lord Byron (poetry) – Come on Alabama, who the fuck do you think you’re kidding?  Lord Byron?  This has to be the greatest, large-scale prank ever played.  In which case, well-played, literate third of Alabama.  Well-played.

ALASKA: flower delivery – Alaskans spend so much of their time bare-knuckle boxing polar bears and spit-roasting penguins, they don’t have time for your nonsense, St. Valentine.  “Here’s a flower, babe, it should really dress up the igloo.”*

* I didn’t spend much time researching Alaska.

ARIZONA:  cubic zirconia rings, Jacquie Lawson cards – That’s mighty specific card research, Arizona.  “Last year, I got her a ShoeBox Greetings card, and slept on the couch for a week.  Not making that mistake again!”  and “Here’s a ring, baby.  A nice ring…(mumbling)not a REAL nice ring, though.”

ARKANSAS:  romance novels, Zale’s jewelry – Romance novels? So Arkansas has a lot of lonely women, eh?  Seems like information all the men searching for jewelery could use.  “We don’t have to try real hard, Zeke.  There’s singles e’erwhere!”

CALIFORNIA:  gold, cubic zirconia jewelry, couples pajamas, heart-shaped sunglasses, bondage kit – California started out strong, faded down the stretch and then hit a buzzer-beater there at the end.  Heart-shaped sunglasses?  I thought you were better than that, California.

COLORADO:  platinum rings, fondue, dance lessons, couples yoga, aphrodisiac foods – Platinum?  Well, look who’s got money!  It is Colorado, so I’m a little surprised “romantic bong” didn’t make the list.

CONNECTICUT:  Edible Arrangements, smoking jacket – I don’t know what to do with this information, Connecticut.  I mean, Edible Arragnements is pretty standard territory, but then you go off the rails with smoking jacket.  Are smoking jackets big in Connecticut?  If anyone lives up there, let me know.

DELAWARE:  gift card – “Delaware: We Quit Trying Decades Ago.”  Why do you need to Google “gift card?”  Do you not know what they are?  I mean, never mind the fact that you’re being real lazy here, I really want to know what facts you were looking for.

FLORIDA:  Pandora jewelry, Barry White songs – Any wonder Florida’s searches skew a little more on the…mature side?  “Martha, I got you a Pandora bracelet about the grandkids!  Yeah, I thought that’d get you worked up!  I’m gonna put “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe” on repeat and we’re gonna go at it!” <pops little blue pill> “In thirty to forty-five minutes.  Also, my sciatica is acting up, so no doggy style today.”

GEORGIA:  satin pajamas, couples outfits – Satin?  Sexy, but reasonable.  That is so Georgia.  Also, couples outfits?  Not pajamas.  Implying that you intend to go out in public looking like creepy twins from the 1950’s?  Now that is Georgia.

HAWAII:  flower, platinum, pearls, pearl jewelry, Tahitian pearls, romantic comedy (movie genre), couples massage, tandem kayak – So, think about pearls much, Hawaii?  “She said I could give her a pearl necklace this year!”  “That’s not what she meant, Hu’uu’mu’a.”

IDAHO:  Adam & Eve (the online store, not the Adam & Eve from the Bible) – I don’t know if “(the online store, not the Adam & Eve from the Bible)” was added by the editor at Estately, but I like to think that the people of Idaho feel it necessary to be that specific in the Google searches.  “pearl necklace (not the Hawaiian kind, the one where you ejaculate on her neck)”  or “handcuffs (the fuzzy, sexy kind, not the kind Paw was hauled of to jail in last week).”

ILLINOIS:  chocolate fondue – “Illinois: Where Romance Meets….eh, Fuck It.”

INDIANA:  romantic gifts, romantic getaway, couples vacation, mood music,  “Indiana: Get Us The Fuck Out Of Here”

IOWA:  tandem bicycle – What the actual fuck, Iowa?  I mean, I know your shit is flat as Hell, but you gotta try harder than that.

KANSAS:  Helzberg Diamonds, Valentine’s recipes – “Kansas: We Got One Jewlery Store and A Crockpot!”

KENTUCKY:  couples tattoos, 50 Shades of Grey (novel), 50 Shades of Grey (film), songs to ____ to, roses, porn for couples,  – This may be the best list on here, assuming the “blank” is because a real estate blog is afraid to use the word “fuck.”  Not an issue I myself have.  Of course, it could be “songs to get the Hell out of Kentucky to.”

LOUISIANA:  jewelry, men’s jewelry (tie w/ Oklahoma), pearl earrings, adult sex toys, oysters, silk sheets, cheesecake – “Louisiana: We’re Tied With Oklahoma In Desire For Men’s Jewelery – Suck It, Utah!”  And what is going on in Louisiana that they feel the need to add the word “adult” when searching for sex toys.

MAINE:   lobster, lobster recipe, Maidenform, Robert Burns (poetry) – Why is Maine Googling lobster recipes?  Isn’t lobster the State bird?  Maidenform?  “Happy Valentines, Sweetie!  Here’s some sensible undergarments for you!”

MARYLAND:  ProFlowers (company), couples activities, Valentine’s Day dinner, Sade (band), Sears portraits – Just leave, Maryland.  Seriously.  “Hey baby, I printed out the lyrics to “Smooth Operator” and framed ’em for you.  Figured you could hang them in the breakroom at CVS.  Now hurry up, our sitting time at the Sears is in half an hour.  You think they still got that background with the lasers on it?”

MASSACHUSETTS:  couples cooking class – “Massachusetts:There’s Fuck-All To Do Up Here.  Seriously, Can We Just Leave Already?”

MICHIGAN:  ballroom dancing lessons – There’s a lot of pissed off wives in Michigan if so many husbands are will to try ballroom dancing.

MINNESOTA:  silk boxers – You guys are above the Arctic circle, shouldn’t you be getting thermal underwear?  And there’s nothing women love more than for her Valentine’s Day gift to be underwear for you.  “Look what I got you!”  “Wow…and they’re Minnesota Vikings underwear!”  “Fuck yeah they are!  Go Vikes!”

MISSISSIPPI:  pearl necklace, cheap jewelry, cheap lingerie, men’s cologne, mixtape – Don’t you ever change, Mississippi.  Don’t you ever fucking change.  Cheap jewelry, cheap lingerie AND a mixtape?!  Somebody’s getting butt stuff tonight.

MISSOURI:  Hallmark cards, couples resort, vejazzling – Well, “vajazzling” is the act of decorating your lady bits.  I assume “vejazzling” is simply putting self-adhesive crystals on vegetables.  “You really dolled up the broccoli tonight, Ida-May!  What’s the big occasion?  Oh crap…”

MONTANA:  silver, lobster tails – “Montana: Tryin’ Is Hard.”

NEBRASKA: Helzberg jewelry – “Nebraska: We’re Kansas, Without That High-Falutin’ Crockpot”

NEVADA:  Frederick’s of Hollywood, corset, Boyz II Men, adult onesie, sexy costume – You had me ’til “Boyz II Men,” Nevada.  That’s a great sentence you made me write, though.

NEW HAMPSHIRE:  stuffed animal – “New Hampshire: Look At Those Lucky Bastards in Massachusetts.”

NEW JERSEY:  long-stem roses, box of chocolate, chocolate gift, romantic movies, gift basket, wine gift basket – Stop playing, New Jersey.  Nobody is buying this bullshit.  We all know the real list – Axe body spray, hair gel, define sexual harrasment, go fuck yourself Google, how do i spell “je-bro-knee”

NEW MEXICO:  hickey, Indiana jewelry, silver jewelry – I tried, New Mexico, I really did.  I Googled “Indiana jewelry” thinking it was some geographically specific designer.  Nope.  All I got was a list of jewelry stores in Indiana.  I don’t get it.  But then again, you also Googled “hickey” so who the fuck knows what’s going on over there?

NEW YORK:  1-800-FLOWERS, earrings, chocolate baskets, Harlequin books, wine delivery, couples spa package, Victoria’s Secret, champagne, silk pajamas, candygram, romantic motel, perfume, romantic restaurants, mink coat – Goddammit, New York, the web address for  1-800-FLOWERS is  It’s in the fucking jingle.

NORTH CAROLINA:  sterling silver jewelry – Hey darlin’, here’s some reasonably priced jewelry that I know you won’t get much for when you inevitably pawn it after we breakup.  So, suck it.  And hey, speaking of suck it…

NORTH DAKOTA:  gifts for him, couples retreat, flower bouquet – “Gifts for him.”  You know what, thanks North Dakota.  It’s bad enough he has to live in fucking North Dakota, so it’s nice of you to get him a new air freshener for the tractor.  I assume.

OHIO:  Pandora bracelet, romantic getaways – “Ohio: As Usual, We’re Just Gonna See What Everyone Else Is Doing And Steal The Least Interesting Ideas.”

OKLAHOMA:  Teleflora, men’s jewelry (tie w/ Louisiana), relationship counseling, marriage counseling, boudoir photography, boudoir photos, – Things a bit dodgy in Oklahoma?  “Hey Pumpkin, I couldn’t decide between a gift certificate for counseling or boudoir photos, so here’s a six-pack and a selfie of me on the shitter.”

OREGON:  poetry, romance novel, romance movies – I fell asleep reading that list, Oregon.  You’re already Oregon.  Maybe try a little harder or you’re gonna end up the Massachusetts of the Northwest.  Is that what you want, Oregon?

PENNSYLVANIA:  edible underwear, Hershey’s Kisses – 12 points for edible underwear, Pennsylvania.  Sadly, minus 1500 for Hershey’s Kisses.  Hershey is IN your fucking state.  It’s like you saw that Maine was Googling lobsters and thought, “Fuck them!  We can be lazier than that!”

RHODE ISLAND:  Pandora charms, charm bracelet, bracelet, couples dancing lessons, romantic hotel – Look, Rhode Island, you seem like a decent state, but at the end of the day, you’re Rhode Island.  I know we all make fun of the guy with the little penis who drives the Ferrari, but you could at least try to compensate.  Don’t be tiny and boring.

SOUTH CAROLINA:  matching outfits, how to be romantic – I can only hope that the search was in that order, and Google responded to “how to be romantic” with “not matching outfits, you fuckwit.”

SOUTH DAKOTA:  gold jewelry, Romeo and Juliet, JCPenney portraits – “Okay, because I love you, we’ll read one more scene, but then we have to get to the Penney!”  JC Penney?  Hey Maryland, you just got beat by South Dakota!  That’s gotta sting.

TENNESSEE:  cheap sex toys – I love you so hard, Tennessee.  “I really want Merlene to have an orgasm, and I’m willing to spend up to seven dollars to make that happen.  Including shipping.”

TEXAS:  Valentines for him, edible panties, discount sex toys, plus-size lingerie –  This is the most Texas fucking list I’ve ever seen.

UTAH:  cute valentines, men’s rings, cubic zirconia, Sweethearts candy, Conversation Hearts, lingerie, couples games – Oh, Utah.  I don’t even know….so uninspired….something about Mormons…..fuck it…..

VERMONT:  chocolate, romantic movies – “Vermont: What?  Like you’re Gonna Move To New Hampshire?  Shut Up And Look At The Foliage.”

VIRGINIA:  romance (TV show genre), Kama Sutra, romantic music, sexy songs – “All right, one more episode of “Murphy Brown” but then we put on Kenny G and try ‘The Lotus Blossom.'”

WASHINGTON:  bear skin rug, platinum ring, red wine, sparkling wine, aphrodisiacs – Um, Washington, a bear skin rug IS an aphrodisiac, duh!

WEST VIRGINIA:  Valentine’s Day ideas, cheap gifts, eCards, handcuffs, video games – “Hey Darryl, here’s half a Snickers and a used copy of Fallout 4.”  “Thanks, sweetie!  What’s the handcuffs for?” “You know I just got the job at mall security!  Dammit, Darryl, you never listen to anything I say!”

WISCONSIN:  teddy bear, fur coat – “Wisconsin: As Cold As Fuck, As Romantic As A Seventh-Grader.  Go Packers!”

WYOMING:  flowers, sex toys, adult toys, vibrator, bra, mail-order bride – I’m gonna go open a store in Wyoming that sells sex toys and flowers, and if they ever get any women to move there, I will make an absolute fortune.  Of course, I’ll be stuck in Wyoming….

Holy F#*k!

I was scouring the internet looking for stuff to make fun of, and I asked myself, “Where do I find judgmental, I-know-more-than-you assholes who like to tell people what to do?”

And then it hit me…


A few Google searches later, I stumbled on a Christian sex advice blog.  Could this be what I was looking for?  You’re damn right.  As you read this entry, keep in mind that all of this sex advice is aimed at married adults, because, you know, no sex until marriage is kind of their thing.

On the front page of the blog is an entry (tee-hee, entry) on what to get your husband for Christmas for your “marriage bed.”  Ideas included here are: a canopy, wall art (hers is a scripture quote, because nothing says “ride me, cowboy” like the Paul’s letter to the Phoenicians), socks (wtf?), lingerie (ok), and games.  Games?  Now we’re onto something.  Her example is a Spin The Bottle game, where each space on the wheel is a different act.  Maybe I was wrong about these Christian sex fiends, maybe they’ve got it going on.  Let’s see what’s written on these spaces, shall we?  Hmm…”butt squeeze.”  Okay, bit of a slow start.  How about, “Kiss on the cheek?”  What?  Maybe the next spin you’ll score with “Hold hands.”  Hold hands?  Why, Marjorie, you little strumpet!!  But don’t forget “Words of affirmation.”  Words.  Of.  Affirmation.  Look, ladies, the only “words of affirmation” your man wants to hear in the bedroom are, “I’m cool with butt stuff” or “I believe you remember Lexie, from yoga class?”

Let’s move on.

Here’s one called Oral Sex: How To.  Let’s dive into this.  (pun intended)

She writes here that some people (satanists, no doubt) have gotten oral sex tips from watching porn.  Not her, though.  “Here’s the truth: I have never seen a porn film. I put it in the ranks of heroin. I don’t need to try it to know I don’t need to try it.”

Porn = heroin.

I suppose then that the sports bra-clad mannequin at Dick’s Sporting Goods is marijuana.  Which makes yoga pants mushrooms.  Bikini watching at the pool would be….Valium?  Strip clubs are clearly cocaine, and the entire country of Thailand is crystal meth.

She goes out on a limb with her next sentence, “The point is, some husbands would like their wives to “go down” on them.”  Yeah, maybe one or two.

Then we get into the meat (I am killing it today with the entendres!) of the article, the “How-To.”

Do you really blow?”  This is an article for married women.  Married, meaning, presumably, not 13.

How much of his penis do I put in my mouth?”   “You can put your mouth only around the head of the penis, move your mouth over the shaft, or even deep-throat your husband’s penis (see below).”  Hahahaha – “see below.”

What do I do with my mouth?”  “We’ve established that you don’t blow, but you do kiss, lick, and suck with your lips and tongue. The tongue, in fact, can be very important in stimulation.”  Can be?

Should I spit or swallow?”  I suppose I should really resist the urge to make a “What would Jesus do?” joke here.  But she goes on to say, “If you don’t want to swallow, be polite about spitting.”  Yeah, I mean, a little decorum wouldn’t kill you, ladies.

“”What if I give my husband a blow job, and I don’t like it? Will I have to do it again?”  “There is NO rule that you must have oral sex as part of an intimate relationship. Plenty of sexually satisfied couples do not engage in it.”  I repeat, “Plenty of sexually satisfied couples do not engage in it.”  Umm, I’m gonna need you to cite your sources on this one.  Later she suggests, “Perhaps you don’t want to perform fellatio, but you are willing to do strip-tease for him or introduce an appropriate sex toy or give him a hand job.”  Appropriate sex toy.  Appropriate.  How did that go?

Wife:  “How about adding a toy to our marriage bed?”
Husbands runs off and returns a moment later with a toy.
Wife:  “That’s Buzz Lightyear.”
Husband runs off again.
Wife:  “That’s a vegetable steamer.”
Runs off once more.
Wife:  “That’s my Nana’s trophy for taking third place in the Tri-County Ping Pong Tournament, 1957.”
Husband:  “I read this thing on the internet that said anything’s a dildo if you’re brave enough.”
Wife:  “When were you on the internet?!”
Husband:  “I…”
Wife:  “Go burn the laptop.”
Husband:  “We could just do system restore, that would get rid of any-“
Wife:  “BURN IT!”

And, scene.

In the comments section, there are WAY too many comments from men married 10 or more years, hoping that his article will convince their wives to at least try oral sex.  Look, if you want to save yourself for marriage, knock yourself out, but at least be smart enough to discuss this stuff ahead of time.  Number of kids?  Where should we live?   Are you a vegetarian?  And on a similar note, where do we stand on this whole genital licking thing?  Seriously, ask.  Because, it’s going to come up (on fire, I tell you!).  Your husband knows about blow jobs.  He’s heard people talking about them.  Or even seen one.  And if you’re husband says he has never seen porn, he’s a damn liar.  If nothing else, some ne’er do in his neighborhood (probably that Travis from down the street), showed him something. And even if he did leave right away, there is no way he will ever forget the very nice things that buxom college girl was doing to her professor’s penis.

In the article, “How Kinky Can You Get?” appears the sentence, “I cannot find a Bible verse that says, “Thou Shalt Not . . .” to anal penetration.”  Awesome.  I don’t think I’m going to get very far with that argument.  I mean, yes, of course, I’m gonna give it a shot.  It won’t hurt.  (I’ve also tried that argument, fyi.)

Last but not least, let’s see if we can “Freshen Up Your Foreplay.”

Try such fancy things as:

“Give each other body massages or a sensual massage of your private areas.”
  Wait, isn’t the exact definition of foreplay pretty much “a sensual massage of your private areas?”  What the hell are these people doing for foreplay?

“Introduce food into your sexual play.”  
I mean, yeah, this sounds like fun, but every time I try to bring bacon-wrapped filets to bed, it’s all  “Oww!  Oww!  That burns!  Dammit!  Get it off me!”

“Grab some props. Gather a few items with texture or temperature — like a feather, heat packs, sensory massage balls, a silk scarf, an ice cube or chilled hard-boiled egg.”  
All right, all right, all right.  This is some good shit here…wait…a hard-boiled egg?

“Grab a Nerf gun. It’s a good motto for life really: If all else fails, grab a Nerf gun and see how that can improve your mood. Actually. load that baby up with water and squirt away at each other.”  
Everything else aside, you can’t load a Nerf gun with water.  Come on, lady!  Get your head out of your ass here!

“Get Spiritual
. Have you ever brought God into the bedroom in a big way?”  Look, lady, I’ve been asking for a threeway for nineteen fucking years.  It’s just not that easy.  Side note, if you bring God into the bedroom, is it still considered a “devil’s threesome?”

For The Love Of….A Good Man?

In my never ending search for horrible dating and sex advice, I stumbled across  This site, purveyor of the “Girl Gets Ring System,” is obviously a bastion of feminism and 21st century thinking, promising to show you ladies the quickest, surest route to getting your man to pop the question, I assume so you can get your ass back in the kitchen.  (I keed, I keed.)

The only, and I do mean only, thing about this website that makes any sense is that it’s written by two men.  Hear me out.  You should all know by now that I have long mocked the “What A Man Wants In Bed” Cosmo articles that are all written by women.  So at least in this case, men are writing about how to get men to propose.  So…..that’s……something.


The problems start immediately.  The authors are Jonathan Green whose bio includes, “As an expert at starting relationships, he has approached and spoken with over 35,000 women around the world in bars, clubs and even on the streets.”  I can only assume he has one of the clickers on his belt that he uses to keep count of these over 35,000 women, most of whom probably live in the Niagara Falls area, so you wouldn’t know them.  The other is TW “T DUB” Jackson.  His bio says, “T Dub, Author of The Magic Of Making Up, has directly and indirectly helped over 100,000 couples in over 77 countries fix badly broken relationships.”  Wow.  He has indirectly helped 100,000 couples.  Impressive.  Also, “T Dub?”  I shall now list the subjects for which you may take advice from someone named T-Dub: car stereos, car rims, the location of a “bangin’ night club,” miscellaneous other car accessories, hair gel, where to find the nearest Gold’s gym, umm…….that’s really it.  Did you notice if relationships were on that list?

The website has a video you can watch, narrated by T-Dub himself.  Above the video is warning that, “This video could be taken down without notice so we urge you to WATCH TO THE VERY END.”  Very intense.  The video is about the 3 things you mustn’t do if you want that ring.

Let’s watch, shall we?

(Author’s note: T-Dub sounds like an uninspired, mid-level corporate accountant.  Just sayin’.) Side note: the “video” is just MC (I assume) T-Dub’s voice over the text he’s reading, so video is a strong word here.  He’s betting I will be shocked by the secrets about men he reveals today.  I’m betting he’s wrong.

Oh shit, first he’s gotta tell me a story, one that is hard for him to tell because he gets choked up.  I bet it’s about a puppy who dies.

Dammit.  It’s not about a puppy, but if he uses one more shitty metaphor, I may want a puppy to die just so it doesn’t have to listen to him anymore. Goddammit, I will punch this guy’s English teacher if I ever met him or her.

It’s a story (clearly made up) of him breaking up with a girlfriend.  So far, he’s not the least bit choked up.  Even if this guy’s relationship advice is 7 million times better than his storytelling ability, it’s still gonna be shit.  Okay, so no puppy, but the girl does have a kitty, she’s not dead, but does seem saddened by the breakup.

Well, that was a shitty story.  He dumped a girl, then felt like an ass, then vowed to find out why he couldn’t commit.  Whoop-dee-fuck.

So, apparently, all men have mental road blocks that keep them from committing.  Stop laughing, you guys, he’s helped hundreds of thousands of people.  Fortunately, women can easily remove them once they know what they are.  Unfortunately, most women, will never figure them out.

Ugh…he just referred to himself in the third person as “T-Dub.”

Okay, I just suffered through 15 minutes of “men are emotional morons” (a point I’m not arguing) but I think we are finally onto the tip portion.  (Heehee, just the tip, please.  See, emotional moron.)

The most important tip is his “Masculine Hero Avatar Principle.”  (Horrible movie, btw.)

Jesus, how fucking long is this thing?

He just said “like it ain’t no thang.”

Haha.  “Such a big change from one small tip.”

Still nothing on the Avatar Principle thing.

Last tip was some shit about letting him know you’re in to the real him.  Whatever.

There is no slider on this video, so it’s possible there’s another 400 minutes left, meaning I’m about halfway done.

Tip #2 (or is it 3?):  Ask these questions that allow him to reveal himself.  Ugh.  What he actual fuck?

heehee “Here comes the really big, massive tip.”  If I had a nickel….

Uh oh, if we fail to understand this tip, we will forever be unable to understand men.  FOREVER!  Shit just got real people.

Ok.  It’s that Avatar thing.  It just says that men (read: people) have an image of how they see themselves and an image or how they think others see them.  Here’s where T-Dub pauses and asks, “Are yo with me so far?”  Uh, yeah, T-Dub.  I think we got it.  It’s not quantum physics.

Umm…now he’s talking about knights and castles for some damn reason.

Wait, why is he pointing out that super heroes don’t have wives?

And now some shit about how men feel destined to greatness but they don’t know it but you women (if you want a husband, and, of course you do) have to understand their destiny better than they do even though they don’t even know it themselves.  Or some such shit.  I don’t know.  I may have nodded off.

He just said, “Whew!  That was a lot to cover!”  Was it T-Dub?  Was it?

hahahaha  (I am going back and editing, and I have no idea why I wrote this here.  I didn’t leave myself any notes on this.  Probably just T-Dub being T-Dub.)

Now you have 2 choices: Take this info and go it alone, and you may have some success if you “took some really careful notes.”  Or, there’s “The Savvy Choice.”  (Sidenote, I think I’m gonna start referring to blow jobs as “The Savvy Choice.”  I don’t know why.)  Shockingly, the “Savvy Choice” involves giving T-Dub money.

Egad, the system includes how to inoculate your man from “whores, trollops, and skanks.”  That’s good, I know I am not up to date on my whore booster, and the last trollop vaccine I got was for last year’s strain and isn’t doing me any good.   As for me, my crippling fear of STDs is the only skank inoculation I need.

It’s only $97!  But wait, there’s more!

A book on the mistakes women make when online dating (a $37 value!).

A book on how to correct relationship mistakes (a $27 value!)

And a 90-minute cd on long distance relationships (a $47 value!).

I think there’s a deal coming for having sat through this shit-show of a video, but first, I have to hear about how he set his inspiring goal of helping a million women find the relationship they DESERVE!

The cause is called the MILLION MARRIAGE MISSION!  I think T-Dub may be a marketing genius.

He’s lowering the cost because he doesn’t want “finances” to stop anyone.  I don’t think T-Dub understands how quotes work.

So today, it’s not $217, not even half of that, not even $67…Holy Shit!  Just $47 dollars!  For hours worth of vague, yet utterly useless, dating advice.  That’s a fucking deal.

WHAT?!  A 60-day money back guarantee?  I’d be a fool not to buy this!

OH.  MY.  GOD.  T-Dub is throwing in another item if I purchase before the video ends.  It’s like he doesn’t even want to make money.

Umm…if I buy it I am just minutes away from their Support Staff who can answer any questions I have.  Here’s how that has to go:

Lonely lady: “Um, yeah, T-Tub?”

T-Dub: “Dat’s right.”

Lonely lady: “Yeah, listen, I’m dating this great guy and I’ve used your system and everything’s awesome, but he says we can’t get married until we try anal.  What should I do?”

T-Dub: “Ya gotta be down for butt stuff, baby.”

T-Dub is always down for butt stuff.

The website also has a few “articles” on it, all of which are about useful as the video.  I highly recommend you don’t bother.

On the off chance you came here for actual advice, well, then, I think we’ve already established why you’re painfully single, but if you must know, the secret “tips” in the video boil down to:

Be yourself.

Be supportive.

Be at least a little into spanking.

It’s possible I made one of those up.

More Like “Te-Kill-Ya,” Am I Right?

I used to drink.

I mean, I still drink.  But I used to DRINK.  For instance, when I went to see a student doctor and filled the questionnaire as to the number of drinks per week I consumed, she erased the number saying, “I cannot go to the review board and tell them that.”  She cut it down by a third.  The following week, after she had presented my “revised” info to the review board she said they were still shocked by the number.  Maybe I shouldn’t be proud of that, but I kinda am.

But this isn’t about regular drinking.  This is about tequila, and my apparent inability to realize it is not my friend.  My freshman year of college was when I first really started in on tequila.  Now mind you, I had spent a year living in Europe before I started college, so I had a leg up on drinking.  One night, my dorm hall decided it was time for a celebration, I can’t remember why, but if I had to guess, it was probably to celebrate the end of day that ended with “y.”  (We weren’t real particular when it came to finding reasons to drink.)  A pal and myself discovered a tequila called “Dos Gusanos” which was Spanish for “Two Worms.”  This was spectacular, we thought, there’s two worms, there’s two of us!  What escaped us, was that between us and the two worms lay a fifth of cheap, cheap tequila.  But we weren’t so easily deterred, and we powered through it.  At some point that night, I tried a flying tackle on someone, I have no idea whom.  I missed.  Well, I missed the person I was trying to tackle.  I made contact with the iron radiator behind him and split my head wide open.  Wide open.  I remember almost none of this.  I was told the next day that I fought off and threatened anyone who had the audacity to suggest a trip to the hospital.  I awoke the next day with dozens of paper towels taped to my head, so I let someone do “first aid” at least.

A couple of years later, the tequila monster struck again.  I have no recollection of why.  I remember, well, remember is a strong word, but I am pretty sure that I split a half gallon with 2 other guys.  Let me do the math for you, that’s a shit-ton of tequila, particularly as I weighed about 150 pounds at the time.  After downing the entire bottle – in shot form, mind you – it was decided that heading out to a party was the best course of action.  It wasn’t.  No sooner did we get there than the 2 guys I was drinking with got into a knock-down drag-out fight, with each other.  I wandered off by myself and headed for the party.  The fact that I didn’t know where it was exactly, or even whose it was, mattered not.  What did matter, though, was my big, fat, tequila soaked mouth and what it said to the two guys I passed along the way.  While I technically have no idea what that might have been, I don’t think it was particularly nice.  I know this because they spent some time beating my ass.  (Apparently, the, uh, vitriolic nature of tequila doesn’t not jibe well with my personality. Go figure.)  The next thing I remember was being prodded awake by a woman I didn’t know, asking me if I was okay.  Naturally, I responded “yes” and we made our way to the party.

Now, because I am not a complete moron, I decided the following day that tequila shots were not my best option.

But surely margaritas would be fine, right?

She was the assistant manager at the night club I worked at, and she easily makes my Top Ten list for all time, drinkingest sons-a-bitches I’ve ever met.  It was quite common for us to go to her apartment after work (usually 2 or 3 in the morning) and do some quality drinking.  This night, she started in with the margaritas.  Which was fine, right?  ‘Cause it wasn’t tequila shots.  So what could possibly go wrong?

We got bored after a bit, and God only knows how many margaritas – a lot, that much will be clear in a moment.  “Let’s go for a walk,” she said.  Several blocks from her apartment stood a water tower, guarded only by a low chain link fence.  It was one of the older style water towers, and as such it looked simply like a giant golf ball sitting atop a tee.  The ladder to the top started at the base of that center column.  That wasn’t so bad.  Now picture what must happen to the ladder when it reaches the bottom of the water tower basin.  That’s right, it bends backwards.  So now, my drunk ass is hanging from a ladder some 60 feet in the air with my assistant manager ahead of me, spurring me on.  (I guess she was an effective leader?)  The ladder only went halfway up the bulb of the tower and stopped.  If you wanted to get to the top of the tower (and hey, you’ve already come this far, dumbass), you had to make your way to the other ladder on the complete opposite side.  My “friend” was already well on her way.  To get to this other ladder, I stepped off the first ladder onto a metal rail that ran around the circumference of the bulb.  There was no upper rail to hold onto, no hand holds on the side of the tower.  Nothing.  The only option was put my back against the tower, pressing as hard as I dared, and shuffle-step my way all the way around.  But at least it was dark and I was drunk.  I made it, eventually.  I climbed the remaining ladder to the very top, where my boss awaited.  I had never been so happy to be a 120 feet up on a sloping steel bulb.

It was here that, for better or worse, I began to sober up.  I have no idea how long we were up there, but when it was time to make the descent, it was still dark and I was disappointingly sober.  Sobriety brought a fear I didn’t need.  Somehow, some very time consuming how, I made it to the ground safely.

And finally, fucking finally, I learned that tequila is a spirit best left to others.