Wednesday, March 24, 2010

opposite sexpertise.


my sweet ass is reading at the sunday night sex show THIS SUNDAY march 28th, and you sassy minxes better have your asses there. here's the deal: sexy sluts robin and allen host, there's sex trivia, hot questions about sex, and sexy bitches reading hilarious sex stories about sexy shit like sex. also...IT'S FREE. except for all the drinks you're going to buy me. 730 pm at the burlington (fullerton and kimball), a BAR, so leave your little sister at home. if you've never seen me read you're missing the fuck out. i'm totally dumb. plus hilaaaaaaaaaarious.

"swollen junk is the HOTTEST. every time i want to obliterate men from the earth, i run into a hot erection and fall in love all over again. damn." that is a direct quote, from a facebook message written by me to rachel and amanda.

i love dudes, i really do. helplessly and hopelessly. maybe one day our cruel heavenly father will see fit to give me one of my very own. until then, i will continue to invest in quality orgasmatrons and economy-sized boxes of C batteries. i only talk shit about menfriends in an effort to build them into something better. you can understand that, can't you? i'm like the army or something. i use my expansive wealth of knowledge and experience to mold them into the exceptional specimens god intended, despite whatever deficiencies in breeding or upbringing they might be otherwise saddled with. every dude i've ever hollered at is ten times the man he was before i got my hands on him, and you better believe that shit. dang, maybe i need to dabble in a little lesbianism and help these stupid bitches out, too. my vagina obviously has her work cut out for her.

anyway, thank god you bitches have laura, because she suggested we sift through piles and piles of men's magazines in order to answer some of THEIR burning questions this time. genius, right? i didn't even know dudes wrote shit to maxim and details and men's health. this nonsense is pure comedy GOLD. i almost peed when i read some of this garbage. IDIOTS.

you precious kittens are helpless! it tugged at my one heart string, reading this continuous feed of clueless male drivel. GODDAMN y'all need help. and guess who's here to give it to you? as usual, these are REAL QUESTIONS, except this time they've been culled from the likes of maxim, details, and men's fucking health. come get you some.

how do i get out of spending thanksgiving with my girlfriend's family?

i'm sure there are a lot of chicks reading this who just became INSTANTLY ENRAGED reading this question, thinking about all of the times they've had to drag some kicking and screaming dude to little jojo's third birthday party or uncle cletus's retirement celebration or gram and grampy's 700th anniversary. ladies who have screamed, cried, yelled, begged, pleaded, and otherwise humiliated and subjugated themselves to get some asshole who swears he loves the shit out of her to drive six hours to aunt becky's for turkey day, only to find that motherfucker sulking drunk on the couch with his jeans unzipped, texting some hot bitch who is less demanding.

i am not one of these women.

here is the sweet shit about being an orphan (bet you never thought you'd ever hear THAT in your whole fucking life): i really don't ever have to do anything i don't want to do, ESPECIALLY around the holidays. i like to make my own food and sit at home in my pajamas and sleep and watch football on thanksgiving, not put on clothes with buttons and zippers and shoes to sit in some stranger's living room eating food that will probably definitely land me in the emergency room. and since i will NEVER have the joy of subjecting some dude to the withering scrutiny of my mean-ass parents, i will NEVER let some dude do that to me. i can't be up all night wringing my hands about whether or not your mother will approve of my pumpkin pie recipe or turn her nose up because my skirt is an inch too short. fuck that bitch. i'm going to sit home in my own filth and root for whomever is playing against the lions.

so, gentle sir, tell your girlfriend your parents are dead. and that being in the midst of a family celebration when you don't have one of your own is unbearable for you. she should eat it right up. might even let you holler at her butthole because she feels so bad for you. and if you bitch up and find yourself sticking to a plastic-covered couch, squashed between alcoholic aunt mildred and ambiguously gay cousin ralph, i'll be at home awaiting your text.

how big an age difference is acceptable when dating?

if you have to cut up her food for her, i'm going to go out on a limb and say this bitch might be a touch too young for you. this doesn't gross me out nearly as much as you might expect, ONLY BECAUSE i was super smart when i was super young and couldn't really relate to ignoramuses my own age. even now i'll be talking to a dude my own age and halfway through the conversation i have to stop him and ask whether or not he graduated high school. i can't be talking to a dude who seems incapable of properly conjugating his verbs and can't correctly structure his sentences. grammar and syntax are important to me, okay?!

so if it's from the perspective of a smoldering hot girl genius that can't find a dude in her age bracket with whom she can carry on an intelligent discourse (burdened instead with the dumb assholes who refuse to see movies with subtitles or won't eat anything more adventurous than pasta), i'm with this shit. because i can't handle misspelled text messages and dudes who don't read. that's why hair still has my phone number, because his texts of undying love and devotion are written in fully-punctuated, grammatically-correct sentences.

but more often than not it's some grody old milkshake trying to forget he's 187 years old by roadtesting his viagra on some scarcely enlightened nineteen year old while his wife and her lawyer plot to take half his retirement. that night at the W i saw a billion couples who fit that profile to a T. bitches scantily clad in forever 21 draped with dudes wearing ill-fitting suits from joseph a. bank. icky poo. i dated a super old dude when i was young, but i was smart enough to understand that he didn't care about getting rock starred in the bathroom at slick's or the new cast of the real world or whatever the fuck i cared about back then. i just let him buy me fancy dinners and drive my ass around.

old dudes like everything i like: sleeping, laying around, eating soft foods, napping, blankets, colace, drinking chivas, yelling at the tv, cardigans, snoozing, relaxing, taking pills, going to the pharmacy, taking more pills, scooter chairs, and being inside on nice days. really though, you don't have to worry about acrobatic marathon sex with a dude who has heart problems and a bad back. pumppumpOVERsnore is about all i can handle these days.

the difference is that we never went to places where young people go, which is the mistake most of you dinosaurs make. fucking a young girl DOES NOT MAKE YOU YOUNG. you are still old and gross, and you make the rest of us want to VOMIT when you're crushed into our ribcages as we're desperately flagging down the bartender at club 720. i don't want to watch your medic alert bracelet jingling around your wrist as you pay for your kaopectate on the rocks with your AARP card. barf. i wouldn't be so irritated if you wouldn't be so public. but that's 110% of the reason old dudes holler at their bridge club's grandchildren, so that they can parade that prepubescent snatch out on rush street. and i think all THOSE dudes should die.

everyone else? you know 20 years is too fucking many. just stop it already.

i've been good friends with this one girl since middle school. i've always wanted to ask her out and decided a little while ago to give it a try. long story short, i got rejected (she asked for a rain check and i didn't hear or see her until we got the same summer job). the problem now is i can't quite get over her. i really liked her and something in my brain does not want give this up. i know it would be best to get over it and try to get back to being just friends but i don't know how. i work with her regularly so i can't just avoid her (i wouldn't want to anyway). any tips?

aww. poor puppy. this is sad, right? no one fucking liked me romantically in high school, and to all those dudes i have this pearl of infinite wisdom: go fuck yourselves. kids make you feel like fucking dogshit, all of the goddamned time. ESPECIALLY if you are fat or poor or retarded or have weird hair or ugly clothes or whatever your stupid problem is. our ten-year high school reunion never happened, and THANK GOD, because i forgot to apply for a gun license. i would have shot you bitches up and pissed in your graves. probably not, but man, fuck high school. my fucking mother was dying and my life was coming apart at the seams, and fuckbag dudes like corey chang did fuckbag shit like dump their lunch trays in my lap. you eths 97 bitches know who i'm talking about, and if you see that dude spit in his face. or push him in front of a bus.

now i'm all mad. FUCK THIS BITCH. she's obviously a loser who can't recognize how awesome you are. and get fucking used to it. the universe is full of people who will NEVER appreciate your sweetness and goodness, and if you wear yourself out over them you'll drive yourself crazy. NO ONE is good enough for you. i wish someone had dropped that truth on me at seventeen. learning things the hard way is totally overrated.

so here's my advice, kiddo: start taking whatever you can get from whomever you can get it from. emotionally, financially, physically, spiritually, whatever. and try to do so while giving up as little of your real self (and your soul) as you can get away with. .00000001% of the earth's population is worthy of you and how fucking fantastic you are, so stop wasting all that awesome on all these fucking peasants. LEARN SOME SHIT and MAKE SOME GODDAMNED MONEY. earthlings are vengeful and stupid and useless and totally fucking damaged, and they will USE YOU UP and DESTROY YOU if you let them. i spent more than half of my 20s letting manipulative sacks of shit (friends and lovers both) pillage my life and annihilate my fucking self-esteem, and i don't do that shit anymore because it made me fucked up and horrible. seriously, i let bitches eat my dinner every single day because i was trying to be "nice," and all it got me was "nothing." please.

and this probably isn't that funny, but it's totally true. and you little dudes (and grownups, too) should learn to protect yourselves a little better. these jerks out here will rape your life before pissing in its face and setting it on fire on their way out the door, and FUCK THAT. you're better than these asswipes. so, like i said, to hell with this idiot. work hard, show up on time, SHOW UP EVERY DAY, and become her fucking supervisor by the end of the summer. there will be others, and maybe they'll deserve you.

but probably not. bitches ain't shit.

i'm a 23-year-old virgin. is that a turnoff?

YES. god hates ugly dudes with no game. didn't you know?

hey, here's my question...i have a slightly "strange" fetish where i get turned on by the thought, sight, and even smell of girls farting. i have even gotten excited by watching girls poop on video or on websites. (you'd be surprised how many there are.) anyway, how can i bring this up to a girl without her thinking i'm a weirdo? thanks in advance for any advice.

number 1: i love that this asshole put "strange" in "quotes." like that shit is ALLEGEDLY weird. naw, dude, it's all-caps hide my children cross the street when i see you coming STRANGE. pervert.

number 2 (ahahahahahahahapun!): nothing on the internet surprises me.

number 3: there is no way to bring it up without looking like a weirdo, because this shit is FUCKING WEIRD. that said, don't assume she wouldn't do it. i told you hoes i think fetishes are hysterical, and you should know resolutely that i would do this, eh, shit. well, i would try at least. it took me, like, seven times to work up to peeing, and even then it was still a while to get into the flow. (i'm full of them today!)

amanda's kinky ass recently told me she watched a porn where a girl farted on a cake and that, um, blew me away. every time i think i've seen or heard it stinky ass would be right up the alley of a dude like this. i could skip all my pills for a week, have a slice of cheesecake and some chinese takeout, and SET IT OFF. he should hang around dr. gorgeous for ten minutes; he'd meet more poop girls than he could fit into an outhouse in thirty seconds. i'd make this dude's day. half a bowl of fiber corn cereal and almond milk? i'd run out the tape on his video camera!

i wouldn't tell any normal person about this business. unless she talks about her many colonoscopies on your first date or whatever. like i do. then you should feel free to let 'er rip.

i have a fantasy of shaving my girlfriend's bikini area. all of it. think she'd go for it?

have you ever eaten dinner with or hung out around a grown man who couldn't help but spill food down his shirt or walked around with sloppy clothes and broken-down gym shoes? have you ever been in a car with a dude who had to move mcdonalds bags, miscellaneous pieces of paper, and animal carcasses off the passenger seat so that you could sit down? what about a dude who walks around with dirty fingernails and skid marks in his panties? chapped lips, nappy beards, unkempt eyebrows, hairy noses, fuzzy teeth, ungroomed hairlines, ashy knees, cracked heels, stubbled cheeks, adult acne, crazy pubes, long, raggedy nails, visible baby powder, wrinkled clothes, dusty slave afro, taco meat chest hair?

yeah, so have i. which is why the minute a single one of them starts trying to make "improvements" on me they get the old "BITCH, PLEASE." i'm disgusting, but i smell like lush soaps and jo malone. and my feet don't look like fucking claws. the nerve of some asshole who needs to tighten up his grooming game to suggest MY sweet ass needs some work. for cereal.

also, can you imagine the raging ingrowns and road rash and indian burns some dude who can't pluck his ear hair might leave in his shaven wake? most dudes fuck so bad that i can't even fathom what other ways in which they'd abuse and ruin our vaginas. dudes who can't make spaghetti all of a sudden think they should be allowed around our nether regions with sharp objects? yeah right. i'm guessing the thrill you seek comes from the act of shaving itself, not solely the baldness of the vag, and to YOU i suggest starting with your back. or that patch of scruff you call a "goatee." or those ten pounds you put on since she first started dating your dumb ass. idiot.

my roommate uses the “hey, let’s go back to my house and play wii bowling” closing line at bars...and it works. should i try this?

no, because that's weak. what kind of lame-o junior high ass is that line getting this dude? baby bitches who wear sweatpants with "cutie" printed across the bum and listen to justin bieber? FOR SHAME. now don't get me wrong, i read twilight, too, but if a dude was like "wanna go to my house and play wii?" drunk-ass sam would probably say something sexy about where he could put his controller. or ask to see his wii-ner. you know, some filthy ho shit.

for serious, playa, leave toys to the children for whom they are intended and take a page out of my dapper arizona mancrush's big boy handbook: be a gentleman, use your deepest, bedroomiest voice at all times, and drench every word you say in honey. every time i see that dude's number on the caller ID i take my underwear off. for realsies, it's pavlovian. he is handsome and hilarious and smooth as margarine. i have the crushiest crush that ever crushed, which is especially surprising considering that he's light-skinned.

i don't know what it is, but aside from a few notable exceptions, i cannot get enough of special dark hershey bars these days, if you know what i mean. I NEED SOME AMISTAD IN MY LIFE. serrrrriously. i'm looking for a dude who looks like he just got his freedom papers; a motherfucker or two who could run a train through my underground railroad. i'd run my fingers along those whip scars across his back and sing "swing low, sweet chariot" while cooking him grits and pig feet and flaming hot cheetos, or whatever it is you negroes like to eat. then i'd make him do my laundry. because let's not get it twisted, back in the day my ass would have been in the HOUSE. eff you militants, house > field. i would have had fourteen biracial babies.

and SHOES. bitch, please.

i went over to a coworker's house to talk. we start drinking wine and i asked her if i could do something that i have wanted to do for a long time. she told me, "okay," so i leaned in and kissed her and told her i loved her. we kissed some more. then we started to slow dance and things started going a bit further, but i made the decision to leave her house. i had to be back at work at 8 am and it was 2 am. now, she gives me the cold shoulder and just does not even say hi to me anymore. before all of this happened, everyone in the office thought we were dating. now i can't stand to see her or talk to her. why did she play me like that? i did not play any games with her. i told her how i felt about her. why is she playing these games with me?

because you fucking SLOW DANCED with her. this is totally creepy and grosses me out in the worst way. first of all, let's talk about how uncomfortable i get watching people slow dance. now i have readily admitted that i have a number of emotional deficits, and this is one of them. watching people slow dance makes my skin crawl. ew. i can't handle it. and maybe that's because i'm immature. i can't stand the feeling of fabric rubbing together (really, if you want me to start crying rub your sweatered arm against my clothing and i will flip out), and i don't like to think about boners poking your jibs out on the dance floor. barf.

with that out of the way, let's get into how crazy THIS dude is! she PLAYED you?! yeah fucking right! unless i'm reading this shit wrong, YOU went to her house to TALK, laid some heavy and uncomfortably awkward shit on HER, kissed HER, FORCED HER TO SLOW DANCE (shudder), and then YOU decided to LEAVE. stop me when i get to the part about how she took a shit on your face or whatever.

sensitive dudes like this make me want to die. because he took a situation in which HE was totally gross and creepy and yucky and turned it around on HER. and so what? bitches aren't allowed to have a little buyer's remorse? it's shitty that she won't talk to you, homie, but that's what happens when you fuck around with bitches you work with. those are the breaks. in a perfect world she would sit you down in the conference room with the HR person supervising and tell you exactly why she doesn't want to pal around with your wine-drinking, slow-dancing ass. but this is EARTH, where everything SUCKS. deal with it. and let your nuts hang, sister.

what do i do when she cries for no reason?

punch her in her fucking mouth. NOW she has a reason.

where is the sexiest place for a man to have a tattoo?

NOT: the small of his back, his wrist, his ankle, around his bicep (laura thinks that is SO GROSS), on his thigh (fucking YUCK), around his navel, on his butt cheek, the nape of his neck, his moob, his face, or any other part of his skull for that matter, his obliques (or any other part of his midriff and/or torso), his fingers, his pecker, his balls, his knees, on his neck below his ear, the top OR bottom of his feet, his toes, his ankle, his wrist, his ankle, his wrist, his ankle, his ankle, his ankle.

and if that's not clear, he should use any of the fabulous dudes from any season of tool academy as a point of reference for what NOT to fucking do. that is all.

for years i dated a girl who i thought was the one. an opportunity to study abroad made us try the always difficult long distance relationship and three months ago we broke up to ease the tensions of being far away from each other. well, i found out she is dating a jerk. i called her and even though she said loud and clear that i am the one for her and that she is in love with me, she doesn't want to break up with him to continue our long distance relation. why is she doing that? should i go back and fight for her? is she bluffing? any advice?

finding out someone you love long distance and would kill to be with is staying with some raggedy bitch is the worst shit in the fucking universe. i can't even fake like i don't know about this wackness intimately. it's awful. here's what sucks: when you love someone who can't uproot his or her entire life to be with your hot ass and you keep in touch and still talk to each other and still love each other but understand that because you can't be together physically you have to be able to get physical with other people, the reality of that is a bitter pill to swallow.

because you want her in your life, but you also want to be in china or wherever. and that's lame.

if you went back and fought for her i would cry my own tears, because that would be TOTALLY RAD. but since you have a penis and therefore a brain the size of a walnut, i will not hold my breath. sigh.

so my girlfriend has laid down the law—games or her. how can i decide? i love them both!

you nerds are killing me. and so are you bitches, for that matter. do your games have a hole into which you can insert your limp noodle? oh, no? well THAT is how you fucking decide. dummy.

(is anyone else wondering how this dude got a girlfriend in the first place?! yikes.)

do you think women have less sexual urges then men or are they just hiding it because of society? is it more about having a double standard (women with many partners = slutty, man with many partners = king) or is it biological? do women think of sex as much as men do?

for me, man with many partners = AIDS, but i'm old-fashioned like that. i've banged a lot fewer dudes than you all think i have, but when a woman is open and honest about her sexuality, "slut" is one of those risks you just have to take. labels don't bother me, man. and here's a fun fact: they don't bother most dudes. sure, there are some judgmental assbags who won't fuck a free spirit, but i'm going to bet dollars to donuts (i love you with all my heart if you understand why that analogy is REALLY funny) that they're the kind of dudes you wouldn't want to holler at anyway.

"oh pretty please have sex with me, sexually repressed, uptight toolbox! pleeeeease?! i've always wanted to have missionary sex with the lights off! please don't deny me!" bwahaha FUCK that dude. that's why i give out my blog link as much, if not more, than i give out my goddamned phone number. and ONE DUDE to date never called me again after having read it, but he was ALSO a dude who gave me a fake fucking name and said he didn't want to have sex until he got married. which equals teeny weeny peeny. and i'd marry a small dick, if for no other reason than that dude probably picks up his socks and does all the grocery shopping, AND if he ever started getting loud and popping off at the mouth i could be all, "i know YOU ain't talking shit with that tiny dick?!" and he'd shut his ass right on up.

i don't know about you girls, but i hide my sexual urges because i don't need the hassle of dudes who fuck wrong constantly calling my phone all hours of the day trying to see "what i'm up on later." gross. and NOT YOU.

my lady friend has hinted to me what she wants for xmas: jewelry. my question is: what piece of jewelry is appropriate for a four-month relationship which won't send the wrong commitment message?

"lady friend?" "wrong commitment message?" ewwies. get her a platinum noose from tiffany, then push her off a bridge as she tries it on. she doesn't deserve to live, because her boyfriend is totes a giant DOUCHEBAG.

i'm a somewhat successful new professional who is looking for someone to spend time with. the problem is, i'm kind of a loner and don't really enjoy the usual mindless, getting-to-know-you banter. what i'm looking for is a woman who will just let me be alone at times and not try to butt into everything. do you have any advice for a lone wolf?

call MY bitch ass.

i LOVE dudes who need time alone! i'm lazy and entertaining is hard. plus, i have a lot of stuff i like to do without some nosy-ass dude watching me, like wear my leopard snuggie (love you, aum!) backward like a queen in her robe and surround myself in bed on a throne of books and easter candy. seriously. that's what i did monday morning after i went to the gym. i came home and had a GIANT soy latte then read "the wild things" by dave eggers. you can't do that with some stupid asshole hanging around, poking you in the side trying to get you to take your comfortable inside pants off. amy (my favorite) and i ran some stupid errands and i had an ill-advised cheeseburger, followed by hot diarrhea and a lukewarm shower. my little helen is sick, and i laid in bed with her and watched 500 days of summer. twice. and i don't even love it that much, because i fell like summer screwed tom and it doesn't end happily ever after enough for my taste. again, no dude is going to go for that. we culminated the evening with a ke$ha-themed dance party and the replay of monday's episode of kell on earth. and that's JUST ONE DAY. a day chock full of single person activities. at no point could a pair of testicles been easily inserted into the plans, which is why i have to have my own space.

so i get this. but most chicks DON'T. and i don't even mean that in an "i'm so cool" kind of way. i mean that in an "i let the cat sleep in the bed and shit all the time and forget to throw out old food and never bring in the mail and am lazy about scooping the litterbox and only eat lean cuisines and use kleenex when i run out of toilet paper and drink beer in the morning and burn smelly candles and pile clothes on the radiators and still like to text my old boyfriends and sometimes eat pasta sauce straight from the jar" kind of way. i simply cannot not do all those things you're supposed to hide from a hot dude. i can keep my nasty habits at bay for a week, max, but then i'll start to crack and wear dirty jeans for more than four days and skip flossing and shit.

i was engaged once. do i have to tell my new girlfriend?

i guess it depends on the kind of bitch your girlfriend is. because if she's a girly girl dead set on being someone's blushing bride who's had a wedding scrapbook since the third grade, you might want to keep that bit of information to yourself. because the second she finds out that you were "not afraid of commitment" once, she's NEVER going to let your punk ass off the hook. you can't act all terrified, because you've DONE THIS BEFORE. we've all slept with those homeboys, the ones who act like being called someone's boyfriend is an incurable disease. boo to that.

i've bought that line, too. "aw come on, sam! you know i luh yew, gurl! why we gotta be boyfriend-girlfriend to prove we love each other? it's just a title, it don't mean nothing!" blah blah blah blah asshole. but little suzy homemaker can't go for that (no can do). while little sammy whoremonger would simply climb back up on the baloney pony and think about all the other dudes she was going to call as soon as she could get this moron to bust a nut and get the FUCK OUT, suzy would dredge up that old engagement and pick a fight until you propose. suzy wants a diamond ring, sammy wants a nuvaring.

except not really, because the thought of 21 days of plastic wedged up my birth canal curdles my stomach. how do you hoes deal with that? is the pill REALLY that hard?! lazy bitches. anyway, a girl like me would loooooove to hear about that failed engagement. because that lets me know you're not going to try to lock me down. my favorite classification of dude (after "hot," "interesting," "not dumb," "smart," "handsome," "intelligent," and "not a goddamned idiot") is RECENTLY DIVORCED.

man, there's nothing better than a dude who HATES the last bitch he fucked! here's why:
#1: I'M NOT THAT BITCH. so, by default, everything i do is AWESOME.
#2: he doesn't want to immediately jump into anything serious.
#3: some other bitch has already taught him how to dress.
#4: and stepped up his shoe game for him.
#5: AND taught him how to make at least two meals.
#6: have i already mentioned that I'M NOT THAT BITCH?! dudes who've recently escaped the clutches of some hate-filled, resentful, micro-managing shrew are so grateful that i'm there and not bossing them around that they treat me like a princess. a princess with a vagina made out of NFL playoff games, saturday nights with the boys, and italian beefs with hot giardinara. and every other fucking thing mean mommy won't them have in peace.

this is precisely why i let that married dude take me out a billion years ago, because he was so happy i wasn't snatching at him about the dry cleaning or carpooling or the recycling or the kids or the dog or the gutters or the neighbors or the phone bill or the burned out floodlight or the grocery list or whatever it is you married people spend all day yapping at each other about. also, his thirsty ass bought my old car a new transmission, and i'm pretty sure it was only because i let him stick his hand in my panties.

so figure out whether you've got a suzy or a sam, and proceed accordingly.

i have met a woman that i may be interested in. however, i heard through the grapevine that she has been dating someone for a couple of months or so. should i let her know my sentiments or will i end up having her avoid me?

"heard through the grapevine" is such a fruity thing to say. and is that a veiled way of saying you think she might be a slut? (it's quite possible that i am a touch too sensitive in this regard.) i don't know, just tell her. if she balks, just chalk it up to the fact that she's probably dating some hot, mysterious rich dude with a gigantic rod, not the fact that you're a pansy who uses words like "sentiments" whom she should TOTALLY BE AVOIDING.

my fiancee asked me if i think about her when i masturbate. what is she hoping i'll say?

her sister. no, her brother. even better, the upstairs neighbor's seven year old daughter. jesus christ you dudes are stupid.

i NEVER ask a dude about his fantasies. or ask about his celebrity crushes. or look at his porn. you know why? because the second you do and he honestly tells you who his dream ass belongs to, your tiny little monkey brain will OBSESS OVER IT constantly until you are forced to break up with him. because unless his answer is "nell carter," i probably can't compete. so then my regular-looking ass is all bent out of shape, walking around giving the stank eye to all the halle berry lookalikes on the train and showing up during his lunch break to make sure all the pretty girls in his office know that his ladyfriend knows her way around a machete. and i don't need that bullshit. i'm fucking TIRED. and i like my self-esteem right where it is: somewhere between the sidewalk and the sewer grate.

if you're smart, which you probably aren't, you'll feebly say "you" and hopefully sound believable. maybe she won't see your eyes rolling.

do women expect men to be exclusive right off the bat?

i don't know about WOMEN, but I don't. first of all, that's naive. and second, i like to be able to shop around. can't buy the first car you test drive. (i figured i would use an analogy a scrotum could understand.) how else will you know if the engine runs smoothly? or if it overheats? or if it brakes on a dime? or what kind of gas mileage it gets? or if it will cheat on you, break your heart, fuck your sister, steal your jackie brown dvd, lie to your face, talk behind your back, and take twenty dollars out of your wallet when it thinks you're asleep?

dudes aren't worth the oxygen it takes to keep one alive, and i'm not sure i want to be saddled with one for longer than i feel like. man, they're SO boring and they're SUCH liars that while i'd like to get married to have an excuse to get all my hot and pretty friends all glammed up and in one place so we can rage and get drunk and dance together, i feel like the second the party's over the countdown to the divorce begins. it's only a matter of time before he slips and falls into his secretary's vagina or i kidnap the nineteen year old bagging my groceries and chain him to the bed in the guest room until hubby comes home from his business trip.

i'm not that interesting (AND NEITHER ARE ANY OF YOU), and i feel like after a while the conversation dries up and you've heard all this motherfucker's hilarious stories and nothing new happens in his day and you've eaten at every restaurant and done it in every position and boring boring boring DEATH. which i'm cool with. look at long-term friendships. sarah and i have been friends for fifteen goddamned years. i have already heard EVERYTHING THAT BITCH IS EVER GOING TO HAVE TO SAY. we went to indie cafe for dinner the other night, and you know what exciting shit we talked about? NOT A GODDAMNED THING. she has been staring at my face for more than half of her life; we even lived together. what else is there to know? i don't get MORE interesting. i went over my hot dude updates (which took all of 1 second) and we had an in-depth discussion about some gossip i shouldn't have been sharing, then we ate and left immediately because like i've been saying, this crohn's is wearing your girl OUT. put me out of my misery already.

blame it on cosmo, but dudes are under the impression that things have to be spicy (am i right, vampire?), and as soon as you get to the comfy, sandwich-eating stage of your relationship, they start sniffing around for a fresh piece who still regularly trims her toenails and pretends she doesn't ever fart. which brings us back to my policy of keeping as many horses in the stable as will comfortably fit without getting manure all over my barn. because if WE'RE NOT EXCLUSIVE, then I'M NOT THAT BORING.


how do you know whether persistence will win a woman over or be just a waste of time?

now this stalker is speaking my language! because "persistence" is another word for "i'm sitting outside her house right now."

the problem with persistence is that it's always the dudes you have NO DESIRE TO GET WITH who won't stop fucking calling and texting and IMing your sweet ass. i'm usually not ambivalent about a dude. if i'm interested, there is no such thing as calling or texting too much. i may never have my ringer on, but i do enjoy unearthing my phone from whatever pile of garbage or dirty clothes it's hiding under, throwing it on the charger (it is alwaysalwaysalways DEAD), and seeing that some hot piece tried to call me thirty-seven times. makes me all tingly and warm.

but more likely than not, it's some pervy creepatroid with food in his beard clogging up my inbox with some bullshit i'm not trying to hear about rpg's and the daily show. motherfuckers who wear pajamas all day, live-blogging cspan and listening to police scanners. you've met them before, dudes who stand in the front row at coheed shows (i love me some coheed, but UGH) and/or wear eyeliner and have afi lyrics scrawled on their converse. alternately, they can be those weirdo backpacker hiphop types who try to explain why aceyalone is dope (he's not) and are forever challenging your "realness." EXHAUSTING.

for instance, i dated this little hiphop dude who commended me for having that madlib blue note album, but took away a handful of cool points because it wasn't actually on vinyl. are you serious?! what other bitches do you know that have that fucking record?! he also got all mad because i was listening to YNQ and he'd never heard of it. fuck, man. that kind of competition is EXHAUSTING. needless to say, that little jerk followed my around for three weeks after i cut him loose. leaving mixtapes in my mailbox and shit. mixtapes, i might add, that were titled shit like "music you never heard of," etc. GROSS.

so homie, if you are a pompous asshole, or a whiny, annoying little girl, or an obsessive gamer, or an incomprehensible nerd, quit peeking in that girl's windows and go make some fucking friends. but if you happen to be a sizzling hot chunk of 80% lean meat who's looking for a hot broad to choke and dress up like rerun, inbox me and i'll send you my address.
i've got some bushes you can hide in. zing.