The 10 ways a guy can go wrong on a first date:
1. Be attentive, but do not overdo it. You can hold a door, but if you pull out her chair you will only look gay.
2. Do not refer to women as broads, dames or subspecies. Everyone knows they prefer to be referred to as tramps and whores.
3. Do not mention athletic accomplishments. Unless in my case they really are accomplishments, because I am an extremely gifted athlete.
4. Try not to fart in the car before she gets in. It might be more potent than you originally believed.
5. Try not fart in the car until after gets out and is 30 feet away from you. It might be louder than you expected.
6. Stay away from Jedi mind tricks.
7. Do not laugh if the waiter asks if you'd like your steak with a hot pink center. Even I am still working on this.
8. Do not go dutch on the bill, unless you do not want to see her again or are too big of a pus to tell her she sucks.
9. Do not get bombed and make her drive home. Everybody knows women are horrible drivers and do not belong behind a wheel.
10. Do not wear cotton pants. You don't want to have to hide a boner. It's always safer to blame it on the jeans.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
What not to do on a first date:
After re-reading yesterday's post, I felt as if I slighted everyone and wanted to redeem myself.
The Top 10 ways a girl can mess up a first date and NOT get called for a second:
1. Food Etiquette: If before a date a woman lists restaurants she won't eat at, she is already on thin ice for being difficult. Dinner manners are vital. Don't eat with your hands or lick your fingers clean. Men want to date a lady. Don't order a man's meal. Stay away from ordering steak!
2. Truck drivers mouth: If a girl says, "the weather is shitty," that is acceptable. If she sees someone she knows and says, "I fucking hate that bitch," that is probably a little too excessive for a first date.
3. Do not speak negatively about others! He will think you speak that way of him when he is not around. However, if it is a funny story continue.
4. Do not story tell about your wild college days when you puked in cabs or were arrested. Who would want to date that a second time?
5. Do not mention past relationships: No guy wants to hear about who you used to fuck.
6. Do not text: If something that much better is going on, don't waste his time.
7. Do not correct your date: Fight the urge if you think you might like him. No one wants to be challenged or corrected all evening. No one likes a know it all!
8. Stay away from sports talk: Some men may find this to be a turn on, but the majority do not. This can be dangerous territory. If men wanted to talk about sports they would go out with their guy friends.
9. Do not tell him how great you are. If you were so great you wouldn't be single!
10. Do not sleep with him: If you fuck a guy on the first date he is not going to call you again. Why should he work for it if you are going to give it to him anyway? If you sleep with him, he will assume you sleep with every guy you go out with. There's no challenge in that and suddenly you don't seem like such a prize.
Men's list coming soon.....
The Top 10 ways a girl can mess up a first date and NOT get called for a second:
1. Food Etiquette: If before a date a woman lists restaurants she won't eat at, she is already on thin ice for being difficult. Dinner manners are vital. Don't eat with your hands or lick your fingers clean. Men want to date a lady. Don't order a man's meal. Stay away from ordering steak!
2. Truck drivers mouth: If a girl says, "the weather is shitty," that is acceptable. If she sees someone she knows and says, "I fucking hate that bitch," that is probably a little too excessive for a first date.
3. Do not speak negatively about others! He will think you speak that way of him when he is not around. However, if it is a funny story continue.
4. Do not story tell about your wild college days when you puked in cabs or were arrested. Who would want to date that a second time?
5. Do not mention past relationships: No guy wants to hear about who you used to fuck.
6. Do not text: If something that much better is going on, don't waste his time.
7. Do not correct your date: Fight the urge if you think you might like him. No one wants to be challenged or corrected all evening. No one likes a know it all!
8. Stay away from sports talk: Some men may find this to be a turn on, but the majority do not. This can be dangerous territory. If men wanted to talk about sports they would go out with their guy friends.
9. Do not tell him how great you are. If you were so great you wouldn't be single!
10. Do not sleep with him: If you fuck a guy on the first date he is not going to call you again. Why should he work for it if you are going to give it to him anyway? If you sleep with him, he will assume you sleep with every guy you go out with. There's no challenge in that and suddenly you don't seem like such a prize.
Men's list coming soon.....
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Five Step Process
My first year in college my wise disturbing friend explained to me how to get laid every night. A rule I do not follow, but one with such impressive efficiency that I cannot deny the truth of its power.
The lesson goes: when attending a party, attack the absolutely least attractive dragon in sight and slay her. The revolting female at the party does not always have the opportunity to get laid or slayed. When an opportunity arises she will almost ALWAYS take advantage of her rare and fortunate situation. This method may lead (depending on your level of sobriety) to going to bed with beautiful twins, but waking up mistakenly with Shrek.
While on a cruise a few years ago with my friend Leppy (short for Leprechaun), we went to the bar to prowl on women. My relentless Leppy approached every female on the boat, although he was shamelessly denied by every girl earlier in the week. This impressively did not effect his resilience. Leppy continued onward with reckless abandon, until eventually succeeding the final night. This leprachaun fucker gave in to the rule of how to get laid on any given night; she dropped her standards fast!
The next day Leppy woke up and looked at his trophy. He lingered and gloated at the thrill of his awkward victory. Being a gentlemen, he waited until his lady awoke before he would leave. She rolled over, looked at him and said, "OH NO!"
Leppy in truly uncomfortable fashion said, "one for the road?" She was running late to brunch and rushed him out immediately, already regretting her evening. The truth is she will most likely never count him in her list of men she has slept with or mythological creatures she has ever encountered.
Everybody has woken up with a dragon and thought, why did this happen to me? Because of course it's not their fault they slept with the nastiest person alive. Here you will discover the five step, textbook way to accepting the consequences of bellying up with the beast; which by coincidence is the same as the "Five Steps to Accepting Death."
STEP ONE, DENIAL:
Denial is "when a person is faced with a fact that is too uncomfortable to accept and rejects it instead, insisting that it is not true despite what may be overwhelming evidence" (Freud). So although you might like to believe it did not happen, it definitely did. Look for evidence. Check for a condom wrapper, take a leak and see what direction you shoot, or if there is itching in your genital regions. If any of the above pertain to you, it happened and you have come to terms with it.
Step Two, Anger:
Oh yes! When you look at the beast by your side you will be raging with smoke from your ears. You want to kill the beast, but you don't hit women. However you are not even sure if this is a woman! Could you hit it and get away with it, maybe? No! It's wrong to kill just because it is a demonic creature.
So don't chop of your penis or zip up your snatch! It is not your penis or vagina's fault that you are an idiot. Booze's fault it may be, but regardless, these things happen. Sometimes we are the slayers of the dragon and sometimes we are the slayed. Recognize what you did and embrace it, because it most definitely happened and cannot be taken back.
Step Three, Bargaining:
If you are still in bed with the person and think if you close your eyes and pretend they won't be there when you open them, you are sadly mistaken. You don't kinda get pregnant, you don't kinda shit your pants. If you think you pulled out, you probably didn't. If you think this number doesn't count because the sex wasn't good, because he came too fast, or because he wasn't up to your standards, then you are also mistaken. This person very much counts. It doesn't have to be a bad thing, it's ok to admit if you had a little fun. I'm sure at some point during the evening you did.
Step Four, Depression:
During the fourth stage, the person begins to understand the certainty of the tragic event that took place. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect themself from things of love and affection. It is not recommended to attempt to cheer an individual up that is in this stage. It is an important time for grieving that must be processed.
The person may say, "I'm so sad, why bother living?" or "I'm going to die," or most commonly, "why me?"
Realize you have done a mitzvah (good deed) and no good deed goes unpunished. Don't resort to pills or swear off drinking. Acknowledge the facts and pass step 4!
Step Five, Acceptance:
This is the toughest stage of them all, but shit happens! Once you realize you can go through the stages, go to the bathroom, turn on the lights, look at yourself in the mirror, stare and repeat, "I fucked a fat chick and I'm probably going to do it again!"
The lesson goes: when attending a party, attack the absolutely least attractive dragon in sight and slay her. The revolting female at the party does not always have the opportunity to get laid or slayed. When an opportunity arises she will almost ALWAYS take advantage of her rare and fortunate situation. This method may lead (depending on your level of sobriety) to going to bed with beautiful twins, but waking up mistakenly with Shrek.
While on a cruise a few years ago with my friend Leppy (short for Leprechaun), we went to the bar to prowl on women. My relentless Leppy approached every female on the boat, although he was shamelessly denied by every girl earlier in the week. This impressively did not effect his resilience. Leppy continued onward with reckless abandon, until eventually succeeding the final night. This leprachaun fucker gave in to the rule of how to get laid on any given night; she dropped her standards fast!
The next day Leppy woke up and looked at his trophy. He lingered and gloated at the thrill of his awkward victory. Being a gentlemen, he waited until his lady awoke before he would leave. She rolled over, looked at him and said, "OH NO!"
Leppy in truly uncomfortable fashion said, "one for the road?" She was running late to brunch and rushed him out immediately, already regretting her evening. The truth is she will most likely never count him in her list of men she has slept with or mythological creatures she has ever encountered.
Everybody has woken up with a dragon and thought, why did this happen to me? Because of course it's not their fault they slept with the nastiest person alive. Here you will discover the five step, textbook way to accepting the consequences of bellying up with the beast; which by coincidence is the same as the "Five Steps to Accepting Death."
STEP ONE, DENIAL:
Denial is "when a person is faced with a fact that is too uncomfortable to accept and rejects it instead, insisting that it is not true despite what may be overwhelming evidence" (Freud). So although you might like to believe it did not happen, it definitely did. Look for evidence. Check for a condom wrapper, take a leak and see what direction you shoot, or if there is itching in your genital regions. If any of the above pertain to you, it happened and you have come to terms with it.
Step Two, Anger:
Oh yes! When you look at the beast by your side you will be raging with smoke from your ears. You want to kill the beast, but you don't hit women. However you are not even sure if this is a woman! Could you hit it and get away with it, maybe? No! It's wrong to kill just because it is a demonic creature.
So don't chop of your penis or zip up your snatch! It is not your penis or vagina's fault that you are an idiot. Booze's fault it may be, but regardless, these things happen. Sometimes we are the slayers of the dragon and sometimes we are the slayed. Recognize what you did and embrace it, because it most definitely happened and cannot be taken back.
Step Three, Bargaining:
If you are still in bed with the person and think if you close your eyes and pretend they won't be there when you open them, you are sadly mistaken. You don't kinda get pregnant, you don't kinda shit your pants. If you think you pulled out, you probably didn't. If you think this number doesn't count because the sex wasn't good, because he came too fast, or because he wasn't up to your standards, then you are also mistaken. This person very much counts. It doesn't have to be a bad thing, it's ok to admit if you had a little fun. I'm sure at some point during the evening you did.
Step Four, Depression:
During the fourth stage, the person begins to understand the certainty of the tragic event that took place. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect themself from things of love and affection. It is not recommended to attempt to cheer an individual up that is in this stage. It is an important time for grieving that must be processed.
The person may say, "I'm so sad, why bother living?" or "I'm going to die," or most commonly, "why me?"
Realize you have done a mitzvah (good deed) and no good deed goes unpunished. Don't resort to pills or swear off drinking. Acknowledge the facts and pass step 4!
Step Five, Acceptance:
This is the toughest stage of them all, but shit happens! Once you realize you can go through the stages, go to the bathroom, turn on the lights, look at yourself in the mirror, stare and repeat, "I fucked a fat chick and I'm probably going to do it again!"
Monday, June 15, 2009
Thank you devoted fans!
As many of you may have noticed I have one extremely dedicated reader. The person comments on how I’m a gimp, disgusting, vile, and that no one would ever want to marry me. This anonymous person poetically writes through eloquent verbalization, calling me a “balding moron” in several posts.
What we do know is this mystery woman is a coward. She writes anonymously and resorts to childish name calling. We also know she is madly in love with me. She is obsessed with my blog and is constantly writing comments! I appreciate her obsessive devotion. I would like to thank you! You have raised my appeal and fan base. If no one else reads my blog, it has been an honor to write to my audience of one! Thank you for your support!
It is also clear you may have weight issues. To this I apologize if I have offended you, but if my blog has upset you to this great degree, maybe you have some misplaced esteem issues and should seek counseling.
You mentioned that I am not the type of person someone looks to marry. I am 24, why would I want to get married?
I noticed that you write at 8:50 am on weekend mornings. Now you may think, where is Benjamin going with this. Well you foolish, uneducated infant. The readers I have are mostly people I know. They read it and enjoy my stories and my humor and they are also out drinking frequently, especially on the weekends! They are not awake at 8:50 AM on a Sunday to tell me, (wait now I don’t want to quote you incorrectly), I'm a “balding moron.”
So thank you for flattering me. More people have been tuning in every day to see what my heavy set, disgusted, unhappy, and lonely comment leaver has to say about my joyful life experiences. You even stooped low enough to ridicule my disability; I'm disgusting? I would say you only have half a brain, but I cannot compliment you by acknowledging you have one at all.
You are only as good as those you surround yourself with. May that be a lesson to all of you and especially to you anonymous fearful commenter. I hope you are one day comfortable enough in your own skin that you do not have to hide in the shadows afraid to be seen. Instead of falling in contempt to my brilliance, maybe you can learn to do something you enjoy, rather than being morbid, bitter, and obsessing over others such as myself. It is possible to find happiness through all ventures of life without being jealous of others. I wish you all the best and look forward to hearing more from you!
- The Balding Moron
What we do know is this mystery woman is a coward. She writes anonymously and resorts to childish name calling. We also know she is madly in love with me. She is obsessed with my blog and is constantly writing comments! I appreciate her obsessive devotion. I would like to thank you! You have raised my appeal and fan base. If no one else reads my blog, it has been an honor to write to my audience of one! Thank you for your support!
It is also clear you may have weight issues. To this I apologize if I have offended you, but if my blog has upset you to this great degree, maybe you have some misplaced esteem issues and should seek counseling.
You mentioned that I am not the type of person someone looks to marry. I am 24, why would I want to get married?
I noticed that you write at 8:50 am on weekend mornings. Now you may think, where is Benjamin going with this. Well you foolish, uneducated infant. The readers I have are mostly people I know. They read it and enjoy my stories and my humor and they are also out drinking frequently, especially on the weekends! They are not awake at 8:50 AM on a Sunday to tell me, (wait now I don’t want to quote you incorrectly), I'm a “balding moron.”
So thank you for flattering me. More people have been tuning in every day to see what my heavy set, disgusted, unhappy, and lonely comment leaver has to say about my joyful life experiences. You even stooped low enough to ridicule my disability; I'm disgusting? I would say you only have half a brain, but I cannot compliment you by acknowledging you have one at all.
You are only as good as those you surround yourself with. May that be a lesson to all of you and especially to you anonymous fearful commenter. I hope you are one day comfortable enough in your own skin that you do not have to hide in the shadows afraid to be seen. Instead of falling in contempt to my brilliance, maybe you can learn to do something you enjoy, rather than being morbid, bitter, and obsessing over others such as myself. It is possible to find happiness through all ventures of life without being jealous of others. I wish you all the best and look forward to hearing more from you!
- The Balding Moron
Friday, June 12, 2009
Don't Trust Women!
I absolutely do not trust women. After being re-released into the wild last year I needed to remember how to get back in the game. I decided it was simple. Go to a bar, have a few drinks, meet a woman, lie to her, have plenty of emotionless sex and go home the following morning. While this seems like a suitable temporary replacement for the need to get your rocks off, it tends to not be that easy, which results in my distaste and unfortunate dislike of the female sex.
One of the beauties of being a man, is we know we have many years left of being appealing to women. After a certain age women will begin to plummet, while our stock will continue to rise. Women call men disgusting for sleeping with much younger females rather than woman around our own age. This is because no younger men want to sleep with older aging women who are living on borrowed time!
Last year I met a very sexy 29 year old (this one was ACTUALLY 29) at an upper scale bar in Philadelphia. She took me back to her place where things escalated quickly, when she asked me, "do you have a condom?" No, I most certainly did not! Earlier in the evening I learned she was an attorney, and after seeing her place I was quite impressed. She definitely seemed like the type of girl who would go pick up her morning after pill or get an abortion. So did I really need to be bothered with her question?
She told me to go into her drawer where there was an unopened box. Simple enough; until I opened the box and read MAGNUM! "What the fuck do you expect me to do with this?!" I laughed. She said, "those were my ex-boyfriends. Just use them, hurry up!" Well, here goes nothing and she was right. We went alll night as I proved to her I had much to offer her.
Aside from stamina, I offered her a feeling of worth. A feeling that maybe she still had a few good years left and she can still hold onto her youth a tad longer and oh right of course, multiple orgasms ( I joke!)? Aside from that I was another name, another number. And to me she was another name, another number, and another story.
7:30 AM the clock read and the sun was piercing through the window of her bedroom. I was officially awake and there was only one thing to do. Get out of bed, get dressed fast and make as little noise as possible. Caught in the act! She woke up, walked me out, and we kissed goodbye and not another word was spoken. Not a see you soon, no exchange of information.
By 7:40 AM I was outside on the streets of Philadelphia. During that early morning I took a proud stroll to 8th and Market. I smelled the cool morning air, took my black pin-stripped blazer and tossed it over my shoulder, walked down the stairs of the Gallery to catch the R5 to Manyunk. I stopped by a trashcan on the corner before entering the Gallery; I stuck my fingers in my throat and projectile vomited to rid myself of the poison I consumed only a few hours earlier. As I have experienced many times before, it is far better to do this in a trashcan, than on a train or in a cab on the way home. I walked up to a guard in the Gallery and asked him, “Sir, when is the next train leaving for Manyunk?”
“Not until 9:45 AM,” he told me.
What the fuck am I going to do sitting hung-over, hating life, in a train station for the next two hours? It was a simple decision. I walked back up the stairs dragging one foot after the other. If I had been at home my head would be inside a toilet. I jumped in the first taxi to drive by and he drove $45 to my car. Last night had now cost me $40 for drinks, $45 for parking, and who knows what in hospital bills when I get tested the following day. What will it cost her? Who knows, probably an abortion.
This had me thinking, what kind of woman goes to a bar on a Saturday night and has wildly promiscuous, unprotected (at times) sex with a complete stranger. How many women do this? Are all women whores and this only calls into question the most debated issue of our time. Why is there a double-standard? Why can I have this wild sex and be praised and a woman does it and I think ill of her? I think of her as absolutely vile and this is exactly why I will never be able to fall in love or trust a woman again!
How do I know my future wife was not once a woman like this? And if she were how I could ever look past it as if it did not matter to me what she did before we met.
I know I am supposed to love a woman for who she is and how she makes me feel, but in realty, I will look at her and think of everything I did to women and resent her. I will think of every time I treated a woman like a “whore” and I know that one day, last nights girl will be someone’s wife, but last night, she was my whore! Please never let me have a daughter! (I will definitely have 3)
There are only three solutions I can think of to fix this problem and cure myself of my hatred of women.
1: Date a virgin. A virgin has never been anyone’s whore, but there is one major flaw with dating a virgin. She has NO previous experience. Sure you can teach her and she will one day be everything you ever wanted, but in the end what if she gets that curious itch to see what sleeping with another fellow is like? This brings me back to why I cannot trust women and therefore nixes solution one.
2: I have considered a scenario when I reach my mid to upper 20’s where I will date a few women. Nothing too serious and they can NEVER refer to themselves as my girlfriend. Titles are trouble. This way I can sleep with as many women as I want and when the time comes that I could get the unlikely itch to get married, I won’t have to worry if they had been cheating because they were never my girlfriends. This will allow me to skip to the wife stage and everyone knows that you cannot trust a girlfriend, but a wife on the other hand I think I could trust.
3: DON’T EVER GET MARRIED! WOMEN CANNOT BE TRUSTED!
One of the beauties of being a man, is we know we have many years left of being appealing to women. After a certain age women will begin to plummet, while our stock will continue to rise. Women call men disgusting for sleeping with much younger females rather than woman around our own age. This is because no younger men want to sleep with older aging women who are living on borrowed time!
Last year I met a very sexy 29 year old (this one was ACTUALLY 29) at an upper scale bar in Philadelphia. She took me back to her place where things escalated quickly, when she asked me, "do you have a condom?" No, I most certainly did not! Earlier in the evening I learned she was an attorney, and after seeing her place I was quite impressed. She definitely seemed like the type of girl who would go pick up her morning after pill or get an abortion. So did I really need to be bothered with her question?
She told me to go into her drawer where there was an unopened box. Simple enough; until I opened the box and read MAGNUM! "What the fuck do you expect me to do with this?!" I laughed. She said, "those were my ex-boyfriends. Just use them, hurry up!" Well, here goes nothing and she was right. We went alll night as I proved to her I had much to offer her.
Aside from stamina, I offered her a feeling of worth. A feeling that maybe she still had a few good years left and she can still hold onto her youth a tad longer and oh right of course, multiple orgasms ( I joke!)? Aside from that I was another name, another number. And to me she was another name, another number, and another story.
7:30 AM the clock read and the sun was piercing through the window of her bedroom. I was officially awake and there was only one thing to do. Get out of bed, get dressed fast and make as little noise as possible. Caught in the act! She woke up, walked me out, and we kissed goodbye and not another word was spoken. Not a see you soon, no exchange of information.
By 7:40 AM I was outside on the streets of Philadelphia. During that early morning I took a proud stroll to 8th and Market. I smelled the cool morning air, took my black pin-stripped blazer and tossed it over my shoulder, walked down the stairs of the Gallery to catch the R5 to Manyunk. I stopped by a trashcan on the corner before entering the Gallery; I stuck my fingers in my throat and projectile vomited to rid myself of the poison I consumed only a few hours earlier. As I have experienced many times before, it is far better to do this in a trashcan, than on a train or in a cab on the way home. I walked up to a guard in the Gallery and asked him, “Sir, when is the next train leaving for Manyunk?”
“Not until 9:45 AM,” he told me.
What the fuck am I going to do sitting hung-over, hating life, in a train station for the next two hours? It was a simple decision. I walked back up the stairs dragging one foot after the other. If I had been at home my head would be inside a toilet. I jumped in the first taxi to drive by and he drove $45 to my car. Last night had now cost me $40 for drinks, $45 for parking, and who knows what in hospital bills when I get tested the following day. What will it cost her? Who knows, probably an abortion.
This had me thinking, what kind of woman goes to a bar on a Saturday night and has wildly promiscuous, unprotected (at times) sex with a complete stranger. How many women do this? Are all women whores and this only calls into question the most debated issue of our time. Why is there a double-standard? Why can I have this wild sex and be praised and a woman does it and I think ill of her? I think of her as absolutely vile and this is exactly why I will never be able to fall in love or trust a woman again!
How do I know my future wife was not once a woman like this? And if she were how I could ever look past it as if it did not matter to me what she did before we met.
I know I am supposed to love a woman for who she is and how she makes me feel, but in realty, I will look at her and think of everything I did to women and resent her. I will think of every time I treated a woman like a “whore” and I know that one day, last nights girl will be someone’s wife, but last night, she was my whore! Please never let me have a daughter! (I will definitely have 3)
There are only three solutions I can think of to fix this problem and cure myself of my hatred of women.
1: Date a virgin. A virgin has never been anyone’s whore, but there is one major flaw with dating a virgin. She has NO previous experience. Sure you can teach her and she will one day be everything you ever wanted, but in the end what if she gets that curious itch to see what sleeping with another fellow is like? This brings me back to why I cannot trust women and therefore nixes solution one.
2: I have considered a scenario when I reach my mid to upper 20’s where I will date a few women. Nothing too serious and they can NEVER refer to themselves as my girlfriend. Titles are trouble. This way I can sleep with as many women as I want and when the time comes that I could get the unlikely itch to get married, I won’t have to worry if they had been cheating because they were never my girlfriends. This will allow me to skip to the wife stage and everyone knows that you cannot trust a girlfriend, but a wife on the other hand I think I could trust.
3: DON’T EVER GET MARRIED! WOMEN CANNOT BE TRUSTED!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The Reason the Titanic Sunk: A MUST READ STORY!
This story is rather long. I wrote it two years ago and have been waiting for a chance like this to share it. It is DEFINITELY worth the read!
The worst part about high school is the bathroom facilities. I hate them and because I live only five minutes from school, I usually decide to hold it in, but this day was different. Lunch passed and my stomach knew it needed a bathroom. I decided to hold it in and wait for school to end at 2:20, but the pain was intense, so I continued throughout the day letting a few farts slide out. As I’m sitting in Mrs. Hammer’s English class, I knew that if my next fart was not an S.B.D. (silent but deadly) I could always blame it on Brian McFarty. Brian was the kid who sat in front of me and sweated profusely because he just came from phys. ed.. Brian apparently thought he could win a gold medal if he played hard enough in gym. Unfortunately for me that meant I had to smell his awful body odor twice a week. I also figured if I couldn’t blame my farts on him because they were too loud, I could always go with the squeak of the desk by moving it a little bit.
The day progressed, my farts rolled along and finally the 2:20 bell rang. I ran home from school, the longest mile I had ever taken part in. I was squeezing my ass cheeks together doing the penguin walk, as I ran like a constipated cripple thinking his time had come to release. This was going to be a close call.
I arrived at home and struggled with the garage code, as my stomach somehow knew my ass was closer to a bathroom, even though I tried to confuse it by thinking I had more time than I actually did. Finally it opens. I burst through the garage door, barely make it up the winding staircase in my foyer, my pants are at my ankles by the time I get to the toilet and “wahhhhhhboooooooom!” This is the only word that can come to mind as my eyes tear with pain and joy. I have given birth to a brown baby boy, but this is no boy. This is a full fledged grown man. I look down in between my legs and realize this beast is not even half out. As it continues to rip through my ass I want it to stop. I do not want this monster to continue its forward progress. The pain is too great, but as I look down I realize this is now or never.
I finish doing the absolute nastiest thing I have ever taken part of in my life, as my ass is in pain like I have never felt before. I don’t even want to begin the wiping process. With little choice however, I begin. I look at the paper horrified and see it is soaked in blood.
“Dad?” with a painful and odd squeak in my voice.
“Yes, Benjamin. How was your day?” he asked me as usual. “Let me guess. You are calling from the shitter again? I swear, if cell phones were never invented you would be extremely bored on the toilet.”
“Well, you see I just finished rocking this monster deuce, anddd I went to wipe my ass and I’m bleeding. Do you think I have cancer? Am I going to need a colonoscopy?” I asked him.
“No you don’t have cancer you bonehead. It is probably hemorrhoids. Do you even know how a colonoscopy works? The doctors will take a tube and put it inside of you and look around. I’ll talk to you when I get home. Must you call me every time you take your afternooner?” He finishes.
“Dad have you ever had this done?” I asked him.
“Of course. Men are supposed to by a certain age.” He told me.
“Well then, how do you know they don’t stick anything else in there when you are sleeping?” That was my last comment until he hung up. Being only 16 I did not know what a colonoscopy was, but I knew this procedure would not be necessary.
The next day I ran home from school again and this time I was more shocked than ever. There is no way this ice berg was going to flush. As a child my brother and I gave names to the different variety of deuces, as we liked to call them, we have rocked. An ice-berg was known as a turd that points out of the water with the vast majority remaining under. This ice-berg once again led to my bleeding asshole, but this time I knew something had to be done. I ran downstairs and placed each piece of bloody toilet paper on the kitchen counter for my parents to see when they arrived home from work. I was upstairs doing homework in my room when my father screamed down, “Jonathan, get down hereeeee now!” I ran down and said, “Dad, can you believe my ass was bleeding that much?” His simple response was, “PROCTOLOGIST!”
Now, I did not know much about proctologists, but I knew this was not going to be fun. Tuesday came and my mother picked me up from school and to my surprise took me home. The pain had stopped in my stomach and my stools were no longer as large, and I believed I was cured of my self diagnosed illness. Confused why I was home, I asked my mother and she told me I needed to take an enema. This word was foreign to me, but I knew I did not like the sound of it. She explained to me I would have to take what looked like a squeezable ketchup bottle with a pointed tip. I had to fill the enema with water, get on my knees and elbows and push the water into my ass. NO WAY was I going through with this. I told my parents I was fine and that I was not sticking anything in my ass, to which my mother far too eagerly offered to give me the enema. I can only imagine this was my mother’s way of repaying me for all the pain and hard times children cause their parents.
I so-called “manned up,” went into the bathroom and tried to shit everything out instead of placing this dreadful object into my asshole. The enema itself was no larger than my hand, but its presence drew the power of a fully loaded gun in a single man game of Russian roulette. I weighed myself and the scale read 150 LBS. I then placed a towel on the cold tile floor, took my clothing off and put my knees down first, then my left elbow and positioned the enema into my outhole, as I called it. I squeezed the bottle and once again, wahbooooooom! I ran to the toilet and my ass was pissing shit like the Super Soaker 5,000. Pouring out of me, I felt violated and after a few minutes I weighed myself again to see that I had now proudly lost five pounds. What a diet I thought! I showered because of the grotesque feeling which encompassed me and my mother and I then drove to the doctor’s office.
Sitting in a proctologist office is an awkward feeling because everyone there knows that something is wrong with your asshole and that the same doctor’s hand will go from asshole to asshole, so to speak. This nerve wrecking feeling consumed my body as I waited patiently for the receptionist to finally call Benjamin Wolf to the dreadful examination room. I walked in and the beautiful nurse asked me to undress. Why does she have to be beautiful? As if going to the doctors for a bleeding asshole is not already bad enough. I tell her no! She cares little and said to me, “do you think you are the first person to tell me this? Take off your clothes or there is no point of you coming in the first place.” Her rationality strikes me and so I agree to get down to my underwear and then take it off once under the bed sheet on the examination bed. As I sit and wait for the doctor to walk in I cannot take my mind off the gorgeous brunette with the incredibly curvy body and busty chest. UH OH! It’s getting bigger. Oh shit, I sit and panic and think what is this doctor going to think? I am sitting with a full fledged hard on and I am here to have my ass examined. This must happen all the time I hope, but I know it doesn’t. As luck would have it, the doctor walks in and tells me he knows my Uncle Arnold and my recently deceased grandfather. He asks me how I am and makes small talk, as I sit and pray this day will end. I have now gone from fantasies about the gorgeous nurse to thoughts of the doctor telling my Uncle Arnold about my bleeding ass and erect man piece. Once again I think, as if this day was not already embarrassing enough.
All of a sudden out of nowhere my mom here’s a scream in the waiting room. She knows it is me. Her embarrassing, over-exaggerating son, with any chance to take as much attention as he can get when the opportunity arises. This was different, however. When I least expected it, the proctologist in the midst of conversation asked if I had taken my enema. He explained if I hadn’t that my bowels would push out as he entered. This scream was due to his “entering.” He had lubed up I suppose when I wasn’t paying attention, and slid his arm right in. Not just a finger or two, but his arm! He began to squeeze and push things inside that I did not even know the proper name for. He clearly enjoyed his work far too much because he did not want to just feel around, but he wanted a fist full of asshole. All I knew was that were two glands and I did not want either to be touched. The prostate which would turn me on and the other which would make me feel like I had to diarrhea right then and there. He explained if I had not taken my enema I would have shat on him as he pushed down on that “other” gland.
The proctologist left the room and returned shortly after, as I once again felt more violated as each event took place that sad, sad day. He explained to me what had happened. I must admit his results had never left me feeling more proud of myself in my life than I had that day. He told me that after school that glorious and painful day, I had taken such a larger bowel movement that my asshole could not fit it out and it was forced to expand resulting in me tearing my O-ring. This caused my asshole to increase and for the largest bowel in the world to come out, which resulted in my bleeding. I was also informed that as long as I drank plenty of liquids my bowels would release much easier and I should not have pain or bleeding anymore.
I left his office that day feeling desecrated and proud. The beauty of having a brother is that however gross he is, you always have the chance to match his grossness. To this day any deuce he rocks will never be comparable to the beast which I refer to as the reason the Titanic sunk. For this iceberg had caused more pain to me than I had known to be humanly possible.
The worst part about high school is the bathroom facilities. I hate them and because I live only five minutes from school, I usually decide to hold it in, but this day was different. Lunch passed and my stomach knew it needed a bathroom. I decided to hold it in and wait for school to end at 2:20, but the pain was intense, so I continued throughout the day letting a few farts slide out. As I’m sitting in Mrs. Hammer’s English class, I knew that if my next fart was not an S.B.D. (silent but deadly) I could always blame it on Brian McFarty. Brian was the kid who sat in front of me and sweated profusely because he just came from phys. ed.. Brian apparently thought he could win a gold medal if he played hard enough in gym. Unfortunately for me that meant I had to smell his awful body odor twice a week. I also figured if I couldn’t blame my farts on him because they were too loud, I could always go with the squeak of the desk by moving it a little bit.
The day progressed, my farts rolled along and finally the 2:20 bell rang. I ran home from school, the longest mile I had ever taken part in. I was squeezing my ass cheeks together doing the penguin walk, as I ran like a constipated cripple thinking his time had come to release. This was going to be a close call.
I arrived at home and struggled with the garage code, as my stomach somehow knew my ass was closer to a bathroom, even though I tried to confuse it by thinking I had more time than I actually did. Finally it opens. I burst through the garage door, barely make it up the winding staircase in my foyer, my pants are at my ankles by the time I get to the toilet and “wahhhhhhboooooooom!” This is the only word that can come to mind as my eyes tear with pain and joy. I have given birth to a brown baby boy, but this is no boy. This is a full fledged grown man. I look down in between my legs and realize this beast is not even half out. As it continues to rip through my ass I want it to stop. I do not want this monster to continue its forward progress. The pain is too great, but as I look down I realize this is now or never.
I finish doing the absolute nastiest thing I have ever taken part of in my life, as my ass is in pain like I have never felt before. I don’t even want to begin the wiping process. With little choice however, I begin. I look at the paper horrified and see it is soaked in blood.
“Dad?” with a painful and odd squeak in my voice.
“Yes, Benjamin. How was your day?” he asked me as usual. “Let me guess. You are calling from the shitter again? I swear, if cell phones were never invented you would be extremely bored on the toilet.”
“Well, you see I just finished rocking this monster deuce, anddd I went to wipe my ass and I’m bleeding. Do you think I have cancer? Am I going to need a colonoscopy?” I asked him.
“No you don’t have cancer you bonehead. It is probably hemorrhoids. Do you even know how a colonoscopy works? The doctors will take a tube and put it inside of you and look around. I’ll talk to you when I get home. Must you call me every time you take your afternooner?” He finishes.
“Dad have you ever had this done?” I asked him.
“Of course. Men are supposed to by a certain age.” He told me.
“Well then, how do you know they don’t stick anything else in there when you are sleeping?” That was my last comment until he hung up. Being only 16 I did not know what a colonoscopy was, but I knew this procedure would not be necessary.
The next day I ran home from school again and this time I was more shocked than ever. There is no way this ice berg was going to flush. As a child my brother and I gave names to the different variety of deuces, as we liked to call them, we have rocked. An ice-berg was known as a turd that points out of the water with the vast majority remaining under. This ice-berg once again led to my bleeding asshole, but this time I knew something had to be done. I ran downstairs and placed each piece of bloody toilet paper on the kitchen counter for my parents to see when they arrived home from work. I was upstairs doing homework in my room when my father screamed down, “Jonathan, get down hereeeee now!” I ran down and said, “Dad, can you believe my ass was bleeding that much?” His simple response was, “PROCTOLOGIST!”
Now, I did not know much about proctologists, but I knew this was not going to be fun. Tuesday came and my mother picked me up from school and to my surprise took me home. The pain had stopped in my stomach and my stools were no longer as large, and I believed I was cured of my self diagnosed illness. Confused why I was home, I asked my mother and she told me I needed to take an enema. This word was foreign to me, but I knew I did not like the sound of it. She explained to me I would have to take what looked like a squeezable ketchup bottle with a pointed tip. I had to fill the enema with water, get on my knees and elbows and push the water into my ass. NO WAY was I going through with this. I told my parents I was fine and that I was not sticking anything in my ass, to which my mother far too eagerly offered to give me the enema. I can only imagine this was my mother’s way of repaying me for all the pain and hard times children cause their parents.
I so-called “manned up,” went into the bathroom and tried to shit everything out instead of placing this dreadful object into my asshole. The enema itself was no larger than my hand, but its presence drew the power of a fully loaded gun in a single man game of Russian roulette. I weighed myself and the scale read 150 LBS. I then placed a towel on the cold tile floor, took my clothing off and put my knees down first, then my left elbow and positioned the enema into my outhole, as I called it. I squeezed the bottle and once again, wahbooooooom! I ran to the toilet and my ass was pissing shit like the Super Soaker 5,000. Pouring out of me, I felt violated and after a few minutes I weighed myself again to see that I had now proudly lost five pounds. What a diet I thought! I showered because of the grotesque feeling which encompassed me and my mother and I then drove to the doctor’s office.
Sitting in a proctologist office is an awkward feeling because everyone there knows that something is wrong with your asshole and that the same doctor’s hand will go from asshole to asshole, so to speak. This nerve wrecking feeling consumed my body as I waited patiently for the receptionist to finally call Benjamin Wolf to the dreadful examination room. I walked in and the beautiful nurse asked me to undress. Why does she have to be beautiful? As if going to the doctors for a bleeding asshole is not already bad enough. I tell her no! She cares little and said to me, “do you think you are the first person to tell me this? Take off your clothes or there is no point of you coming in the first place.” Her rationality strikes me and so I agree to get down to my underwear and then take it off once under the bed sheet on the examination bed. As I sit and wait for the doctor to walk in I cannot take my mind off the gorgeous brunette with the incredibly curvy body and busty chest. UH OH! It’s getting bigger. Oh shit, I sit and panic and think what is this doctor going to think? I am sitting with a full fledged hard on and I am here to have my ass examined. This must happen all the time I hope, but I know it doesn’t. As luck would have it, the doctor walks in and tells me he knows my Uncle Arnold and my recently deceased grandfather. He asks me how I am and makes small talk, as I sit and pray this day will end. I have now gone from fantasies about the gorgeous nurse to thoughts of the doctor telling my Uncle Arnold about my bleeding ass and erect man piece. Once again I think, as if this day was not already embarrassing enough.
All of a sudden out of nowhere my mom here’s a scream in the waiting room. She knows it is me. Her embarrassing, over-exaggerating son, with any chance to take as much attention as he can get when the opportunity arises. This was different, however. When I least expected it, the proctologist in the midst of conversation asked if I had taken my enema. He explained if I hadn’t that my bowels would push out as he entered. This scream was due to his “entering.” He had lubed up I suppose when I wasn’t paying attention, and slid his arm right in. Not just a finger or two, but his arm! He began to squeeze and push things inside that I did not even know the proper name for. He clearly enjoyed his work far too much because he did not want to just feel around, but he wanted a fist full of asshole. All I knew was that were two glands and I did not want either to be touched. The prostate which would turn me on and the other which would make me feel like I had to diarrhea right then and there. He explained if I had not taken my enema I would have shat on him as he pushed down on that “other” gland.
The proctologist left the room and returned shortly after, as I once again felt more violated as each event took place that sad, sad day. He explained to me what had happened. I must admit his results had never left me feeling more proud of myself in my life than I had that day. He told me that after school that glorious and painful day, I had taken such a larger bowel movement that my asshole could not fit it out and it was forced to expand resulting in me tearing my O-ring. This caused my asshole to increase and for the largest bowel in the world to come out, which resulted in my bleeding. I was also informed that as long as I drank plenty of liquids my bowels would release much easier and I should not have pain or bleeding anymore.
I left his office that day feeling desecrated and proud. The beauty of having a brother is that however gross he is, you always have the chance to match his grossness. To this day any deuce he rocks will never be comparable to the beast which I refer to as the reason the Titanic sunk. For this iceberg had caused more pain to me than I had known to be humanly possible.
Friday, June 5, 2009
When does a predator become a cougar?
I am an EXCELLENT liar and can read other liars with ease. I have no soul and lie because it is my talent and my craft. If you want the truth you will get the brutal truth, but don't you DARE play me for a fool. I live on a rule that if you lie, you better be smart because you WILL get caught. You must be smart, because you must remember all of the lies you tell! REMEMBER THAT!
A few months back my friend Laura set me up with a co-worker of hers. Laura knows my taste very well and that I date a specific type of girl, so I agreed.
I met Co-worker for drinks and we hit it off immediately. She was stunning with incredibly sexy curves, succulent breasts and enough ass to make any man's mouth water. She had a long dirty blonde mane, soft hands with a french-manicure and showed enough cleavage to to get a rise out of every man at the bar without screaming desperation. Co-Worker was from Prague and told me she was 31, but looked every bit of 25 (a minor fact Laura chose to omit). At the end of our evening, I walked Co-Worker home and took her to paradise with my lips. I had hoped she would invite me in, but it was out first date and realistically I would never have called her back if she had.
The 31 year old co-Worker and I met up a few more times and I began to wonder if she were old enough to be a classified cougar. I concluded she was too young and dawned her "The Predator".
We continued to see each other and one night The Predator called to meet her at the Ritz Carlton for drinks. She had previously mentioned she had some "deep shit" to talk to me about, but never wanted to ruin the mood of the evening. Tonight was the night and I feared it was because she believed we were getting serious. The Predator revealed she was once married at 22 and divorced at 29; and had now been single for the past 2 years. Well that wasn't all that bad. I was definitely expecting worse.
We talked for hours, endless conversation, but I noticed far too often she was checking her phone and texting. She did not appear to be bored, but something seemed off. I didn't exactly know what to expect, but my brain was working over-time. We walked home and continued to talk when she mentioned her office had become obsessed with facebook. A comment I learned she would later regret.
The following day I friended her on stalker central. After she accepted I had the privilege of viewing her pictures. I noticed a young girl appeared repeatedly. Probably somewhere between 5-7 years old, when the light bulb finally went off! Predator had a daughter with her ex-husband! That's who she was texting!
I found myself in unfamiliar territory. I was dating a divorcee with a daughter! I called Laura and said, "I think Predator has a daughter! What do you know!" Laura said she was not aware and that it never came up in conversation before.
I considered my options. I can tell The Predator I know she has a daughter or I can wait and let her eventually tell me? I didn't want her to think I was scared away, because I was not. I knew we weren't actually dating. It was a fun fling, so the news wasn't a deal breaker, but I was not prepared for what came next.
I tried to play it cool and I sent The Predator a text message, "What are you up to this wknd? We should grab drinks." Just enough to get her attention, but nothing out of the ordinary.
And within no time The Predator realized what had happened. I had discovered the pictures! However, her response was not exactly what I was expecting. Her reply taken exactly word for word from my cell phone:
"Spending the weekend with my bro, his wife and my daughter in Vermont : -) yes I said my daughter...she's 7, lives with her dad this year in Australia (real location omitted). Her dad is a doc and was diagnosed with cancer...this is the "freak the shit out" stuff I mentioned to u awhile back. Heavy shit we haven't had a chance to talk about."
HOLY MARY AND JOSEPH!! How does one even respond to that? I mean sure I knew divorced, had a hunch there was a kid, but now the dad has cancer too? I thought we covered the freak me out shit! I didn't know what to do. I responded, "I saw pics of u and ur daughter on fb. She is adorable. Have a gr8 time and let me know when ur back!"
What else could I do? It wasn't time to run and hide......yet. And dealing with the situation maturely had to be better if I wanted to continue shafting the divorced predator. I had a few questions. Such as: why does your daughter not live with you? Are you an unfit parent? Now that I know you had one child, should I be worried the clock is ticking and you want another? And is your vagina deformed from birth? Had I not noticed?
A few weeks had passed and we talked casually. We couldn't get together for whatever reasons, when one day I received a text saying "come out tonight! It's my 30th birthday!" Wait 30th?! When we met she told me she was 31? Now she has a daughter, isn't 31 and is divorced!
I was unable to attend her birthday celebration and we eventually met up a few days later for what she did not know would be our last engagement. During our conversation she told me after her divorce there was a man she saw for a few years and another guy for two years as well and that neither worked out. Now this is where the first paragraph returns!
Follow along and let us do some math.
The Predator was 22 when she had child.
The Predator tells me child is 7.
The Predator is now 29!
The Predator was single for 2 years after the divorce.
The Predator is now 31!
BUT The Predator dated someone for a few years after divorce.
The Predator is now 34!
The Predator dated another guy for a two years.
The Predator is now at least 36 or older!!!
Do your math and don't get caught because it doesn't add up! Like I said, if you lie, BE SMART! This is how a 31 year old Predator becomes a cougar!
A few months back my friend Laura set me up with a co-worker of hers. Laura knows my taste very well and that I date a specific type of girl, so I agreed.
I met Co-worker for drinks and we hit it off immediately. She was stunning with incredibly sexy curves, succulent breasts and enough ass to make any man's mouth water. She had a long dirty blonde mane, soft hands with a french-manicure and showed enough cleavage to to get a rise out of every man at the bar without screaming desperation. Co-Worker was from Prague and told me she was 31, but looked every bit of 25 (a minor fact Laura chose to omit). At the end of our evening, I walked Co-Worker home and took her to paradise with my lips. I had hoped she would invite me in, but it was out first date and realistically I would never have called her back if she had.
The 31 year old co-Worker and I met up a few more times and I began to wonder if she were old enough to be a classified cougar. I concluded she was too young and dawned her "The Predator".
We continued to see each other and one night The Predator called to meet her at the Ritz Carlton for drinks. She had previously mentioned she had some "deep shit" to talk to me about, but never wanted to ruin the mood of the evening. Tonight was the night and I feared it was because she believed we were getting serious. The Predator revealed she was once married at 22 and divorced at 29; and had now been single for the past 2 years. Well that wasn't all that bad. I was definitely expecting worse.
We talked for hours, endless conversation, but I noticed far too often she was checking her phone and texting. She did not appear to be bored, but something seemed off. I didn't exactly know what to expect, but my brain was working over-time. We walked home and continued to talk when she mentioned her office had become obsessed with facebook. A comment I learned she would later regret.
The following day I friended her on stalker central. After she accepted I had the privilege of viewing her pictures. I noticed a young girl appeared repeatedly. Probably somewhere between 5-7 years old, when the light bulb finally went off! Predator had a daughter with her ex-husband! That's who she was texting!
I found myself in unfamiliar territory. I was dating a divorcee with a daughter! I called Laura and said, "I think Predator has a daughter! What do you know!" Laura said she was not aware and that it never came up in conversation before.
I considered my options. I can tell The Predator I know she has a daughter or I can wait and let her eventually tell me? I didn't want her to think I was scared away, because I was not. I knew we weren't actually dating. It was a fun fling, so the news wasn't a deal breaker, but I was not prepared for what came next.
I tried to play it cool and I sent The Predator a text message, "What are you up to this wknd? We should grab drinks." Just enough to get her attention, but nothing out of the ordinary.
And within no time The Predator realized what had happened. I had discovered the pictures! However, her response was not exactly what I was expecting. Her reply taken exactly word for word from my cell phone:
"Spending the weekend with my bro, his wife and my daughter in Vermont : -) yes I said my daughter...she's 7, lives with her dad this year in Australia (real location omitted). Her dad is a doc and was diagnosed with cancer...this is the "freak the shit out" stuff I mentioned to u awhile back. Heavy shit we haven't had a chance to talk about."
HOLY MARY AND JOSEPH!! How does one even respond to that? I mean sure I knew divorced, had a hunch there was a kid, but now the dad has cancer too? I thought we covered the freak me out shit! I didn't know what to do. I responded, "I saw pics of u and ur daughter on fb. She is adorable. Have a gr8 time and let me know when ur back!"
What else could I do? It wasn't time to run and hide......yet. And dealing with the situation maturely had to be better if I wanted to continue shafting the divorced predator. I had a few questions. Such as: why does your daughter not live with you? Are you an unfit parent? Now that I know you had one child, should I be worried the clock is ticking and you want another? And is your vagina deformed from birth? Had I not noticed?
A few weeks had passed and we talked casually. We couldn't get together for whatever reasons, when one day I received a text saying "come out tonight! It's my 30th birthday!" Wait 30th?! When we met she told me she was 31? Now she has a daughter, isn't 31 and is divorced!
I was unable to attend her birthday celebration and we eventually met up a few days later for what she did not know would be our last engagement. During our conversation she told me after her divorce there was a man she saw for a few years and another guy for two years as well and that neither worked out. Now this is where the first paragraph returns!
Follow along and let us do some math.
The Predator was 22 when she had child.
The Predator tells me child is 7.
The Predator is now 29!
The Predator was single for 2 years after the divorce.
The Predator is now 31!
BUT The Predator dated someone for a few years after divorce.
The Predator is now 34!
The Predator dated another guy for a two years.
The Predator is now at least 36 or older!!!
Do your math and don't get caught because it doesn't add up! Like I said, if you lie, BE SMART! This is how a 31 year old Predator becomes a cougar!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
What not to do in law school
For the past few months there has been a female in my class that I do not see eye to eye with. Cut-Throat Bitch, as I call her, may not know of my displeasure with her, but regardless of the fact I proclaim that I reserve the right to be mad at CTB for her uncouth behavior.
Every day class begins precisely at 9:30 AM. I have two class rules:
Rule 1: If you are late you walk around the classroom so you do not disturb everyone else.
Rule 2: I don't believe anyone needs to use the bathroom when class is only an hour and 15 minutes. If they can't hold it, it's pretty pathetic unless you either have to vomit or have diarrhea.
Far too often Cut-Throat Bitch walks in class late, directly in front of the professor's podium as he is lecturing. CTB has her coffee and a breakfast treat in hand and there is only one word to categorize behavior like this: inconsiderate.
It illustrates that a student cannot make it on time to class, BUT they had plenty of time to stop for coffee and a donut.
Then once arriving in class, CTB has to settle in her seat, take out her laptop, and open her book. All of which are distractions. Sure I might look at porn in class, but I'm there on time, and no one has to look at my screen if they don't want as I go from 6 to midnight.
One day between two of our classes I ran across the street to Dunkin Donuts. Before leaving I asked if anyone would like anything and received no reply. Upon returning with food, CTB told me I should have asked her if she wanted anything and how it was rude of me to leave without doing so. Finally, an opportunity to open my mouth!
I paused knowing I was about to regret my next few comments, but continued on anyway. "I did ask if you wanted anything, but you were too busy talking on your phone, IN CLASS when I asked. I apologize though. Sometimes I forget to listen when women speak because I'm not used to them having voice in this country." Ugh-oh that's where a filter between my brain and my mouth would be useful!
As you might imagine she looked at me stunned. It was as if I just broke the news to her that people get AIDS from banging apes. She didn't think I was too funny poking at her gender and I suppose in a law school environment I should be more prudent. Being the man I am, it only made sense that I would continue you on with the sexist slurs after she called me a rude pig, among other words.
I said to Cut Throat Bitch, "I'm sorry. I bet next thing you are going to do is tell me women can vote? Or better yet that they can drive? Anyway, I'm sorry, next time I will get you a donut even if you don't want one." CTB sarcastically responded, "thank you, I appreciate it. I really like the ones with the cream filling."
"I bet that's not all you like with cream in your mouth," fuck once again a filter would come in handy, but did she have to say "with the cream filling?" "I'm sorry?! I didn't really mean for that one to come out," as I continued with the slaughtering.
"Wow you really can't control how big of an asshole you are, can you? Can you say anything without offending a woman?"
"Of course I can," I told her. "Would you like to hear a nice clean joke?"
CTB, "I'd love to."
"WOMEN'S RIGHTS," as I once again ignored the filter from my brain to my mouth.
Every day class begins precisely at 9:30 AM. I have two class rules:
Rule 1: If you are late you walk around the classroom so you do not disturb everyone else.
Rule 2: I don't believe anyone needs to use the bathroom when class is only an hour and 15 minutes. If they can't hold it, it's pretty pathetic unless you either have to vomit or have diarrhea.
Far too often Cut-Throat Bitch walks in class late, directly in front of the professor's podium as he is lecturing. CTB has her coffee and a breakfast treat in hand and there is only one word to categorize behavior like this: inconsiderate.
It illustrates that a student cannot make it on time to class, BUT they had plenty of time to stop for coffee and a donut.
Then once arriving in class, CTB has to settle in her seat, take out her laptop, and open her book. All of which are distractions. Sure I might look at porn in class, but I'm there on time, and no one has to look at my screen if they don't want as I go from 6 to midnight.
One day between two of our classes I ran across the street to Dunkin Donuts. Before leaving I asked if anyone would like anything and received no reply. Upon returning with food, CTB told me I should have asked her if she wanted anything and how it was rude of me to leave without doing so. Finally, an opportunity to open my mouth!
I paused knowing I was about to regret my next few comments, but continued on anyway. "I did ask if you wanted anything, but you were too busy talking on your phone, IN CLASS when I asked. I apologize though. Sometimes I forget to listen when women speak because I'm not used to them having voice in this country." Ugh-oh that's where a filter between my brain and my mouth would be useful!
As you might imagine she looked at me stunned. It was as if I just broke the news to her that people get AIDS from banging apes. She didn't think I was too funny poking at her gender and I suppose in a law school environment I should be more prudent. Being the man I am, it only made sense that I would continue you on with the sexist slurs after she called me a rude pig, among other words.
I said to Cut Throat Bitch, "I'm sorry. I bet next thing you are going to do is tell me women can vote? Or better yet that they can drive? Anyway, I'm sorry, next time I will get you a donut even if you don't want one." CTB sarcastically responded, "thank you, I appreciate it. I really like the ones with the cream filling."
"I bet that's not all you like with cream in your mouth," fuck once again a filter would come in handy, but did she have to say "with the cream filling?" "I'm sorry?! I didn't really mean for that one to come out," as I continued with the slaughtering.
"Wow you really can't control how big of an asshole you are, can you? Can you say anything without offending a woman?"
"Of course I can," I told her. "Would you like to hear a nice clean joke?"
CTB, "I'd love to."
"WOMEN'S RIGHTS," as I once again ignored the filter from my brain to my mouth.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
"I regret sleeping with you"
A few weeks ago I was having a conversation with a young lady I dated awhile back, when I finally said to her that I felt after we slept together last summer she became distant. We never had a fight or any bad blood that I know of, but I can tend to be rather oblivious to her having feelings or really women having feelings in general. She always seemed uneasy around me. She doesn't say much and does the awkward/uncomfortable smile, so you don't know if she is having a good time or not. It was important to me that I clear the air before this summer began so I can attempt to pick back up where we left off.
Anonymous Call Girl(ACG) would come over to hang out, but I never knew if ACG actually wanted to be there with me, which was fine because I suppose both of our needs were fulfilled. Now that its almost summer our talking has picked up. I didn't see any real reason to talk to her during the school year when I'm not around. After all, it's not like I'm looking to make a best friend.
Finally, after actually taking the time to think about our situation it occurred to me that there could be a few reasons ACG was uneasy around me. And the number one reason is probably that she slept with me one of the first nights we hung out. Granted, I actually don't think she is a slut or easy, I think it was truly one of those situations where a girl says "I never do things like this" and might actually be being honest. Yes of course, this is the most over-used comment in the female language.
During our recent conversation ACG finally voiced her opinion, which is rare for her. She is usually a "hey whats up, how are you" girl and not much conversation after that, when out of nowhere she finally said, "I regret that we had sex last summer." Not exactly staying within the lines of the hey how are you, but I like awkward/uncomfortable situations and its not everyday I get great exciting news like a girl telling me how she regrets that I'm on her list. How do you even respond to that? Thanks, it was great for me too? But, I was impressed she stepped up and said how she felt.
After spilling the beans and feeling foolish and probably uncomfortable (because who would regret sleeping with me?) she said, "well I don't regret that we did it, I just regret how it happened. I don't want you to think I do things like this all of the time," which brings me to the point of the day.
Every single girl tells a guy she doesn't do things like this. Maybe ACG doesn't, but she did on this occasion. How do so many girls lay in bed with a guy and say I never act like that or this is my only one night stand? When a girl says to a guy they don't usually behave that way, does it actually make them actually believe its true?
It beats me. Do they think it makes us feel better to know they haven't done this a lot? Do they think we care? We don't bang out a girl and say ohh I've never done this before. We know what we are getting into and if we wanted to have a conversation about it we would. We juice a girl and ask the only relevant question that matters, "are you on the pill?"
Anonymous Call Girl(ACG) would come over to hang out, but I never knew if ACG actually wanted to be there with me, which was fine because I suppose both of our needs were fulfilled. Now that its almost summer our talking has picked up. I didn't see any real reason to talk to her during the school year when I'm not around. After all, it's not like I'm looking to make a best friend.
Finally, after actually taking the time to think about our situation it occurred to me that there could be a few reasons ACG was uneasy around me. And the number one reason is probably that she slept with me one of the first nights we hung out. Granted, I actually don't think she is a slut or easy, I think it was truly one of those situations where a girl says "I never do things like this" and might actually be being honest. Yes of course, this is the most over-used comment in the female language.
During our recent conversation ACG finally voiced her opinion, which is rare for her. She is usually a "hey whats up, how are you" girl and not much conversation after that, when out of nowhere she finally said, "I regret that we had sex last summer." Not exactly staying within the lines of the hey how are you, but I like awkward/uncomfortable situations and its not everyday I get great exciting news like a girl telling me how she regrets that I'm on her list. How do you even respond to that? Thanks, it was great for me too? But, I was impressed she stepped up and said how she felt.
After spilling the beans and feeling foolish and probably uncomfortable (because who would regret sleeping with me?) she said, "well I don't regret that we did it, I just regret how it happened. I don't want you to think I do things like this all of the time," which brings me to the point of the day.
Every single girl tells a guy she doesn't do things like this. Maybe ACG doesn't, but she did on this occasion. How do so many girls lay in bed with a guy and say I never act like that or this is my only one night stand? When a girl says to a guy they don't usually behave that way, does it actually make them actually believe its true?
It beats me. Do they think it makes us feel better to know they haven't done this a lot? Do they think we care? We don't bang out a girl and say ohh I've never done this before. We know what we are getting into and if we wanted to have a conversation about it we would. We juice a girl and ask the only relevant question that matters, "are you on the pill?"
Monday, June 1, 2009
Response to angry reader!
Well I am only 5 posts in and I already have my first angry response under comments in my Fat People post!
Anonymous said...
"you sound angry and seem like you need to take your anger out somewhere, why don't you try and write something positive"
To you Anonymous person, let me say:
I am angry and all of you should be angry too! I'm angry about about the fat person who sits next to me on the train or the plane and takes up half my seat!
I'm angry about the fat person who has diabetes and it causes my health insurance to go up!
I'm angry at the fat people who block the sun when I'm on the beach trying to get a tan!
I'm angry when I'm at a buffet and there is a fat person in front of me and no food left!
I'm angry at the patient who was in my uncle's dentist chair and broke the chair putting him out of business for a week!
I'm angry fat people can't fit in compact cars and have to buy vans and that get worse gas mileage!
I'm angry when health insurance rates go up because they are carrying all that excess weight around and need a knee replacement and then they go on social security disability because of that knee replacement and thus become another burden on the government!
YES I'M ANGRY AND YOU SHOULD BE TOO! Sometimes being fat is a choice in life, you don't have to be fat. You choose to eat, you choose to be a glutton, NOT ME!
Anonymous said...
"you sound angry and seem like you need to take your anger out somewhere, why don't you try and write something positive"
To you Anonymous person, let me say:
I am angry and all of you should be angry too! I'm angry about about the fat person who sits next to me on the train or the plane and takes up half my seat!
I'm angry about the fat person who has diabetes and it causes my health insurance to go up!
I'm angry at the fat people who block the sun when I'm on the beach trying to get a tan!
I'm angry when I'm at a buffet and there is a fat person in front of me and no food left!
I'm angry at the patient who was in my uncle's dentist chair and broke the chair putting him out of business for a week!
I'm angry fat people can't fit in compact cars and have to buy vans and that get worse gas mileage!
I'm angry when health insurance rates go up because they are carrying all that excess weight around and need a knee replacement and then they go on social security disability because of that knee replacement and thus become another burden on the government!
YES I'M ANGRY AND YOU SHOULD BE TOO! Sometimes being fat is a choice in life, you don't have to be fat. You choose to eat, you choose to be a glutton, NOT ME!
Fat People
My blog is new and you probably haven't noticed yet that I have an issue with fat people. Fat generally means lazy, lazy means stupid and I don't like fat, lazy, or stupid people. Yes this is where most of you reading, probably female, are thinking I'm a huge asshole. I will not disagree with you or try to defend myself. Someone can't really write they have an issue with fat, lazy, stupid people and not expect criticism. Yes I know some of you are reading and say well some heavy set people can't help it. Well, frankly my dear, "I don't give a damn."
Smart people are smart because they know not to be fat! How do they expect to get a job? Who wants to hire a fat person? Fat people are usually sloppy. I don't like sloppy, sloppy is unorganized and who hires unorganized people?
I read recently fat is the last remaining prejudice we are allowed to have. We can't make fun of any ethnic groups without being called racist. But anyone can be fat, so I'm pretty sure we can still make fun of them.
This brings me to my new favorite topic, my hatred for WHOLE FOODS!
These slobs go and buy all of this expensive organic food because they think for whatever dumb reason by putting organic food in their body will somehow make them lose weight. Yet they still eat the same amount! They must think if you eat organic you wont get fat?! That's like saying I'm going to buy clothes on sale because then I'm not spending money. Or instead of buying one item that's $200, I will buy 4 items that are $50 that I don't want as much. So fat people, Whole Foods won't make you any thinner, it will just hurt your pocket and continue to make you corpulent, so here is an idea for you.........diet and exercise, I know it is a foreign concept, but you make me sick!
Back with more later.....
Smart people are smart because they know not to be fat! How do they expect to get a job? Who wants to hire a fat person? Fat people are usually sloppy. I don't like sloppy, sloppy is unorganized and who hires unorganized people?
I read recently fat is the last remaining prejudice we are allowed to have. We can't make fun of any ethnic groups without being called racist. But anyone can be fat, so I'm pretty sure we can still make fun of them.
This brings me to my new favorite topic, my hatred for WHOLE FOODS!
These slobs go and buy all of this expensive organic food because they think for whatever dumb reason by putting organic food in their body will somehow make them lose weight. Yet they still eat the same amount! They must think if you eat organic you wont get fat?! That's like saying I'm going to buy clothes on sale because then I'm not spending money. Or instead of buying one item that's $200, I will buy 4 items that are $50 that I don't want as much. So fat people, Whole Foods won't make you any thinner, it will just hurt your pocket and continue to make you corpulent, so here is an idea for you.........diet and exercise, I know it is a foreign concept, but you make me sick!
Back with more later.....
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