Tuesday, August 31, 2010

the dog ate my homework.

holy shit. shouldn't you kids be on a playground? or at the mall? or fingerbanging each other in the back of your mom's volvo? rather than flooding my inbox with your pre-pubescent problems?! fuck that, i'm just kidding. I LOVE THIS SHIT. probably because i hated school and no boys ever liked me and nothing exciting ever happened to me and it's sweet vindication for my thirty year old ass to know that the popular girls who boys want to call don't know shit about kissing and have shitty, back-stabbing friends. two caveats: first, i understand that these are children. supposedly. so i will try to be sensitive. second, BECAUSE these are from children, they are nearly IMPOSSIBLE TO FUCKING READ. i haven't edited a goddamned thing, because i want to make your eyes bleed just like mine did. as much as it pained me to resist the urge to correct their broken english, i did. holy hell. WHAT THE FUCK are you kids doing during english class?! oh wait, i know, facebooking on your iphones. but seriously, would it kill you to flip through your grammar and style workbook every once in a while? sheesh.

i love back to school commercials. always have. i would get really excited about going back to school 1 because i hate summer and 2 because i really love the promise in those commercials. you know what i mean? nerds spending the summer reinventing themselves as hot dudes and all that. i mean, it never fucking happened (booger-eaters and bed-wetters were still picking their noses and peeing on themselves every september), but those commercials make you feel like it could happen. all you need is fresh unsharpened number two pencils and a new backpack and a whole new world of possibility could open up to you! i know that kind of thing only happens in movies, but just let me live in my delusion. also, i was always really hard on my crayons but was allowed only one box a year, and i LIVED FOR THE DAY i could throw my old ones out and get a new box with the built-in sharpener. really, it made me so happy. oh, shut up, cynical assholes.

k, so i'm texting this guy RIGHT NOW and we're playing 20 questions, it's my turn...what should i ask ??? please help!!

how big are your balls?

I like this guy and he likes me too. Long story for another time lol. But anyway one of his friends is really hot. (Andres) I dont like him like that I just think hes hot lol. So hes in my Economics class and he stares at me all the time!! Yeah he knows I like his friend. We both do know each other but we dont talk. We have only spoken once and it was like a year or two ago. Very casual. lol what do you think of this lol. sorry its long.

have you ever listened to two teenagers talking to one another and found yourself completely confounded by the conversation? like, you know they're speaking english but you just can't figure out what the FUCK they're talking about?! i have read this question 137 times, yet i still can't figure out what you're asking, kitten. every time i think i get it i re-read it and second guess myself. i'm not sure which guy andres is, although with a name like that i'm sure he's full of latin fire and is probably super hot. i can't make heads or tails of this, really. you like a dude, but you don't LIKE HIM like him, you just think he's hot? and you LIKE like his friend? to whom you've spoken once? two years ago? which equals "casual" rather than "nonexistent?" i might be too crotchety and old to properly decipher this but, that being said, i think this is dumb.

I've never had a boyfriend. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one. I guess the reason is because I go to a small school. But I just got asked to go to prom by my crush which I'm happy and I think he likes me too. is there anyone else who's NEVER had a boyfriend?

if you're willing to amend this to "good, kind, and consistent boyfriend," add me to your legion. i never had a boyfriend in high school, but my consolation was that i always had a really high GPA. which is really no consolation whatsoever, because i understand that a teenager's self-worth is directly linked to and determined by the number of bases she's let some young man tag. so anything i would say isn't really going to make you feel better than some acne-ridden soccer player walker you from math to gym.

it's like when i whine about not having a dude and bitches are like "but you're so FUNNY!" as if a sense of humor replaces a dick in my mouth. tangent time. could you bitches PLEASE refrain from saying that to me? it chaps my BALLS OFF. it's like if you say "goddamn, i broke my arm," and my response is "but your hair looks shiny!" YES, IT IS THE SAME. and it's RIDICULOUS. stop doing that. funny doesn't replace this hymen i've re-grown, just like a cute shirt doesn't keep your house from getting foreclosed on. jerks.
now go find me a boyfriend.

sam, what's YOUR ideal guy?

while tempted to give a smartass bullshit answer (LONG BALLS AND A CHECKING ACCOUNT), i am going to be tender and honest. because i haven't fucked a dude in almost nine months, and shit is getting desperately bleak around here. hopefully the universe is listening: smart (but not smarter than i am), reserved (a nice way of saying "doesn't talk too much"), stylish (without being moist), PROGRESSIVE, relatively agreeable (debating all the time is weak and exhausting), not gross, not cheap (the absolute WORST quality in a human being), interested (in anything), open to things and 100% non-judgmental, self-sufficient and self-reliant and self-actualizing and self-motivated and every other euphemism for NOT BROKE, humane, mature (but not elderly), amusing (but not hilarious, because i own that adjective), decent music collection, "good listener," and NOT FUCKING BORING.

handsome doesn't make the list because at this point i don't care. and i wanted to specify that i need a dude who is hot in the sack, but instead i said "good listener." because, ultimately, that's what makes you good in bed. i don't care if a motherfucker laughs at my jokes, but if he doesn't listen and pay attention to sexy things i like that i explicitly instruct him to do, then he has to go. and i'm not a ball buster, i only give gentle (yet FIRM) guidance once i've given him a shot to see if he's capable of doing it on his own and he's proven that he won't. essentially, i want a nice dude who knows when to shut up and hates arguing

oh, who am i fucking kidding? and GIANT TESTICLES.

okay theres this guy at my school who i really like. and he acts like he likes me too. and he'll be telling me how pretty he thinks i am and stuff in person and on the phone and stuff. (yeah, he even calls me) and he jiments. and them when im txting him and stuff he'll be telling me all these things and when i ask him 'wrud' he says talking to u and 'insert girl name here' WHAT IS UP WITH THAT? and he says the same stuff he tells me to them...everyone says we shud go out but idk...what shud i do???

it took me forty minutes to figure out that "wrud" means "what are you doing?" am i the only asshole on the planet who texts in complete, grammatically-correct sentences?

Ive been talking to this guy for a couple of weeks, and we've hit it off really well! the only thing is that im scared we might've run out of things to talk about...HELP! :)

get used to it, sister. dudes are fucking BORING.

okay so my boyfriend attempted to cheat on me. and we've been going out for like 2yrs. i broke up with him like a week ago and even though as im starting to realize more & more that everything hes said to me was a lie and i shouldntve let him treat me the way he did (put downs, pressure, all that stuff) anyways i still like him and we used to be like best friends and we barely talk now and its killing me that were throwing this friendship away. any suggestions? ps he doesnt know that i know what he

now YOU sound like my kind of girl! "attempted to cheat on me" makes me think you threw a monkey wrench right in the middle of his dick-wetting program, and to that i say BRAVO. and if he's putting you down, he isn't your friend. mean-ass cheaters don't DESERVE friends. introduce him to the dump. he's wack.
he was eating with his back to me. does this mean he doesn't like me? do boys typically do that?
one can only hope, my love. consider this a favor. dudes are careless fucking pigs. watching a dude eat usually guarantees that i'll never let him get that mandible anywhere near my soft, tender meat. i literally almost vomit 90% of the time a man is eating in my presence. keep this dude around forever.

so i really like this guy but i dont kno how to talk to him.. we can text all night long but once we call eachother or we get to school we just dont talk.. i have tried to bring up subjects that might spark a convo but he just shrugs it off and answers with a really quick reply ITS SO AWKWARD!!

he's bored and doesn't like you. don't waste your time. and don't feel bad, either, because this shit happened to me JUST LAST WEEK. i'm not kidding. i spent a week texting a dude who thought I WAS SOMEONE ELSE. blerg. why i have not yet swallowed a drano cocktail remains a mystery to me. what the fuck am i DOING out here?! my life is so fucking stupid and lame. sulk.

ok so im 16, and i had a crush on this 21 year old guy but i didnt mean for it to be serius.i just thought he was cute, and i dont even know him that well but we were walking in the street and all of a sudden he grabbed me and started kissing me and now i feel like a dirty w.hor.e and im groosed outt! what do i do? i mean hes legally an adult!!!

this shit is illegal, so call the police. unless you're a dateline decoy, which means they're already hiding outside in your dad's azaleas. let chris hanson do his thang thang, gurl.

This guy admitted he liked me about a month ago. I was really happy and we began to flirt, hold hands under the table, and do all the other sorta stuff lovers like us did. We never were officially girlfriend and boyfriend because his parents said he couldn't date...
Then he texted me saying "hey i don't like you anymore i'm sorry" and i crashed hard.

I still stare at him in class, and been pinching myself to remind myself not to these days. It's really hard to accept the fact that he doesn't like me anymore. I think i'm "hungover" him in a way. I can't get him out of my mind and is constantly the thing i'm looking at. I need to move on. I need to forget. But how?

this happens to me, too. and most bitches won't readily admit it, but it happens to THEM, too. crushes are the most fun and amazing mental diversions, and i feel sort of gross and awful when i don't have one. aaaaaand kind of gross and awful when i do, and it is unrequited. delicious torment, this whole love game is. i don't know how you get over someone, whether your relationship is real or imagined, other than becoming completely immersed in fantasies starring (or an actual interpersonal relationship directly involving) someone else. i wish i had a better answer, like "exercise" or "fresh air" or something equally healthy-sounding. but then i'd be lying to you, and i don't do that here. but i totally understand that new crushes aren't easy to come by, and new RELATIONSHIPS are fucking impossible, so you should just read books. or eat. or stalk celebrities. really, do whatever comes to your mind first. none of it will be satisfying, but at least it's SOMETHING.

and never use the phrase "lovers like us" ever again. please. i still love you, but that grossed me OUT. ralph.

how do you kiss a guy? Like, where do your lips go?

how about on his mouth? everything else i want to say is inappropriate, even though i know that you kids are gangbanging and making bukake films in your mom's room while she's at book club. but i can't do it. sucio!

Okay, so normally I never go for guys who dont like me first like its just the way i do things. So i've never actually tried to make a guy like me...so how do you do it?!?! Like how do you keep a conversation going? Thats the problem i'm having, im so nervous about saying the wrong thing that we just have nothing to talk about! please give me ideas! thank you, sam! love you! xox

quit while you're ahead. if he doesn't like you, you won't convince him otherwise. save yourself the heartache.

doesn't being alone suck? i think back and realize that i've dated jerks. and i dont want that anymore it hurts but i dont want to be so lonely either. but i dont really know a guy thats right for me. sooo i dont know what to do? and im tired of just..waiting for him to just " show up". thats BS. ]: so it'd be nice to get some advice or for you to share your story? maybe gimme a lil hope or somethin IDK...just anything really.

man, it TOTALLY DOES. which is why i'm going to kill myself later. i should be offended by this question, but i had a shitty dude weekend so i'm not. i'd tell you to drown your sorrows in booze like i plan to, but that's illegal. so go suck down a bunch of jellybeans or sour patch kids or whatever the fuck it is that you young people eat. it doesn't get better. BLEAK.

what are the best sad and easy to cry to breakup songs?

i was going to make you a little sad pants mini mix, but then i decided FUCK THAT STUPID DUDE. don't waste your tears on him. you're young and god invented that HPV vaccine just for you. get out there and road test it.

how do you keep from getting all sweaty when your boyfriend holds your hand?!

it's adorable that you kids still hold hands. nothing prevents handsweat, so i say just pull away every now and then, wipe your hand on your ass, and blame him. but blame him in a coy, sexy way. for example: "wow, tyler, you must really be hot for me. your hand won't stop sweating!" said while giggling, of course. he'll blush and get a boner and your gross clammy man hands will be forgotten. you're welcome.

I'm not so confident with what i do when i have sex and i just wanted to know what guys like and don't like. when having sex, what can i do to make the guy go crazy?!??!!?!

i can't answer this in good conscience. first of all, i don't know. i really don't. i've let a dude put his dick in or on or around every single opening on my body and have made tunnels and caves and entrances where there previously were none. i've literally done every disgusting thing on the sex menu short of cutlery, vomit, or shit, and i still have NO IDEA what makes dudes "go crazy." i know how to make one stop calling, apparently. and how to make him lie his balls off or say something dumb and inappropriate at an inopportune time. but how to drive him wild in bed? no fucking clue.

but how hard could it POSSIBLY BE to get a teenager off? all you need is ten seconds and a brush against his groin, right? answering this makes me uncomfortable. do whatever you think is right, or whatever you've seen bitches on true blood doing, and rest assured that he's so young and inexperienced that WHATEVER you do is hot to him, even if it's not that daring or adventurous. the fact that you're even in the room makes it a million times better than jerking off with his free hand holding the bathroom door shut so his nosy little sister can't walk in on him, so just go from there. "you're not alone, so you better think this is awesome."

my bf and i have been going out for forever, and we r completely in love. but we go to different skools and theres just one problem.....hes always getting grounded! and when he gets grounded, he has no phone, no computer, and cant leave the house. i've tried to tell him to try not to get grounded so i can talk to him and we can go out. how do i get a guy who hates being told wat to do to listen to me??

well isn't THAT the 64 million dollar question?! i've been trying to figure that shit out since the first grade. the truth is that you CAN'T; and maybe the bigger, more painful truth is that he doesn't like you that much. if i was, like, completely in love with a dude at a different skool (pfft) and the phone and computer were the lifeblood of our relationship, i wouldn't do ANYTHING to fuck up my only means of communication with my one true love. seriously, kittens, i only pay my phone bill in case a hot dude wants to call me. i'll run into the rest of you hoes eventually on the street. or you can call me at work. but hot sausages love to text, so i have to keep my sprint game tight. it's obvious he doesn't really love you, otherwise he'd mind his manners and stop getting in trouble.

does he have a sister? if so, maybe they're on some "flowers in the attic" shit, so being grounded is the best thing that could ever happen to his dick. and you don't want any part of THAT. *shudder*

i went shopping with this guy today and like i think he was bored cause then he was texting people. what do you think? :(

shopping is boring, which is why i try to do most of mine on the fast-paced thrill ride that is the internet. if i do set foot into an actual storefront, i am in and out LIGHTNING QUICK. i can't be standing around listening to bitches put themselves down and lie to each other about how good they look in whatever they're trying on. YUCK. and shopping with someone else is ten times as balls, especially if she likes to linger over the racks and try everything on. omg and shopping with a broke bitch makes me homicidal, digging through mountainous piles of clearance garbage for the size that sold out three fucking weeks ago. i would rather be dead. for serious.

i don't understand shopping with a dude. i mean, even if i LOVED whiling away my hours in the tenth circle of department store hell, dudes fucking ruin everything their penises aren't the direct beneficiary of. maybe if you were in agent provocateur or g boutique his ears might perk up and that dull gleam might disappear from his eyes, but since you're a kid you're too poor for that shit. plus you don't have enough boobs to look good in a leather bustier. if i had to stand around forever 21 for more than 30 seconds watching you try on jeggings not only would i be texting bitches, i'd be texting them to come pick my ass up. next time ask him if he wants to see transformers or any other activity that might involve your handling of his tiny babypenis in the dark. torture your ladyfriends with the shopping. that's what they're for.

So ive been kinda flirting with this guy at school and have come to find out we have a lot in common. i really like him and i kinda thought he liked me. but a couple weeks a go i told my best friend i liked him and now shes all over him and hes acting like he likes her now. She claims she doesnt like him and when people brig her up with him he claims he doesnt like her.

The other day me and her were talking about this and she keeps claiming that she has heard that he likes me from his best friends. theres only one problem: sometimes she tells the truth but a lot of times she lies. i dont wanna think shes lieing to me cuz normally shes really honest with me about everything but i just dont know. shes the only straight thing in this situation cuz everything else is just wishy washy.but im not even sure i can trust her. Please message me if you think you can help or give some good advice cuz im really confused and desperate.

you already know the answer to this, and you already know exactly what i'm going to say. "sometimes she tells the truth but a lot of times she lies." THIS LITTLE BITCH IS FOUL. first thing, no real friend would sweat a dude you're into the minute you tell her you're into him, and if she did it despite claiming to have zero feelings for him she obviously fucking hates you. second, this is proof positive that boys are dumb babies easily distracted by whatever shiny toy is placed right in front of them. the obvious solution is that you have to ditch this raggedy broad, and i'd even go so far as to say the dude isn't worth a shit, either. if he can't come up to you and tell you he likes you, HE IS MOIST. and moisture is too much of a mess to clean up. get over them both.

he's younger than me, is it worth it to try to see what happens. We work together and he's only a year younger. But i'm graduating this year and i'm not completly sure what i'm doing. I'm pretty sure i'm staying home for school but all options are open. Normally a year is no biggie but with me leaving high school is it big? Especially now that there is only a few months left? I'm just confused. Answers please.

it's not worth it. considering that the maturity level of most american males is five years younger than their actual age, if he's 16 that means he's really 11. come on, babygirl. you mean to tell me your college-attending ass is going to holler at a 12 year old next year?! no, you are not. want to know why? because next year you'll be surrounded by dudes whose balls are just starting to drop; broad, strapping pieces of beef with CHESTS (mmm) and SHOULDERS (MMM) who are old enough to get you DRUNK. you're not really going to hustle backward after that, lover. dates at the ihop trying to beat his eleven o'clock curfew? or unsupervised keg parties at a sixth-year senior's apartment? i bet i know which one you pick. the same one i would. whore.

(anyone who knows me for real knows good and well that i'd be crying into my waffles on a saturday night watching some sexually-immature toddler pick hash browns out of his braces, hating my life and wishing i had the courage to walk up to the cool kids on the quad and try to make friends with them, butter and syrup dripping into my cleavage as all the kids i went to high school with last year stroll in and snicker at me. because i'm not the exotic older woman, i'm the loser they had spanish with last year who still drives ALL THE WAY HOME every weekend to spend her textbook money on mini golf and mall pretzels. then i would drop him off at home, let him stick his hands in my pants and finger me for five minutes, then drive nine hours back to college. where i would then pretend i had been on a fabulous city date with a handsome older man who loved taking me to five star restaurants and showing me off to his seethingly jealous friends. i would fabricate this fantasy, of course, with telltale blueberry syrup congealing on my bosom, giving my deception away to a roommate who could care less anyway. then i would go to sleep with a pillow over my head to drown out the excruciatingly loud actual sex she was having with the dude from down the hall. sad face.)

Over the course of about 2 years me and this guy had become really good friends. I liked him even before I really knew him. Then he moved to his dads across the state. I still really like him but he hardly talks to anyone from back home. I want to tell him but I dont know what to do.

let it go. trust me, whatever effort you expend trying to make your own personal interstate love song, the end result is going to hardly be worth it. even if i met the dude from question four RIGHT NOW at one of the most desperate for human male physical contact periods in my rapidly spoiling youth, if he moved even out of the range of the nearest el train i'd have to wash my hands of him. because long distance is hard and makes me sad, despite the fact that i continue to engage in it. but here's the thing: i'm old and gross and no one ever says shit about anything i do. but i'm totally sure you have tattletale BFFs and snitching ass frenemies who will put your shit on blast as soon as you try to get your local creep on (because take it from me, the ONLY WAY out of town action works is if you have someone IN TOWN helping you with your physics and anatomy homework, ahem), and you don't need all the facebook myspace twitter drama that will ensue once they send a covertly snapped blurry cell phone picture of you snuggling your math tutor at the movie theater to your little manfriend. isn't high school hard enough without adding this extra shit? i mean, do you even have a license? how are you planning to see him? what, are you assholes having skype relationships nowadays? you kids know how i feel about webcams. LET THIS GO.

where do you put your tongue when you make out? please, i need to know!!!

i don't think it matters where you put it as long as it's in his MOUTH. the kiss of death comes typically in the form of either an immobile tongue that just lies dead in your mouth, or dead in HIS mouth, or one that is all pointy and pokey. i used to date a dude who licked my teeth, literally scraping the plaque off, and that was probably the grossest thing anyone could ever do with his tongue. so just don't do that. ew.

what is the cutest thing a guy has ever told you?
"order whatever you want, dinner is on me."

love you.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

my vagina works.

holy shitface, kittens, your girl had a little below the belt activity this weekend. and i have the soiled underpants to prove it. hallelujah! glory be! don't all rush the pulpit at once, but i'm glad whatever dieties you've been asking to scrounge up some new trade for me to talk shit about have been listening. thank fucking horus. now don't worry, this little bite of treats isn't going to change my typical sardonic assholiness. i'm not one of THOSE. i would consult goddamned helen prior to making a major life decision before i'd let my stupid vagina get in on the vote. so no need to fear a bunch of swoony rhapsodizing over some dirtbag with a quick wit who's got me fooled for the moment. i am still, and will always be, your most favorite venerable piece of shit. now let's get into it.

how did anyone find people to fuck on before the internets existed? i'd never go on another date ever again if i had to rely on the number of times i've been approached in a bar or on the street. and not that the internet isn't full of raggedy shitholes who lie about everything from their height to their hair color to their favorite recreational activites. (i'm looking at you, mister i-like-to-climb-mountains.) and i understand that your dating profile persona is supposed to be all of the awesome things about yourself amplified just enough to get some hot slab of beef to want to stick his t-bone in you, but COME ON, dudes! you do realize that if you ever make a date with lustybustybrowneyes69 (not my interweb alias, although it totally should be), she is going to find out, don't you?! stupid asshole. 5'6" isn't 6'0", you pieces of garbage! and i'm gonna know! because this bitch is 5'9", and that's absolutely what her shit says.

internet sam is the same as real life sam, at least as far as my dating profiles are concerned. i used to take my time answering the questions and coming up with a playful yet witty with a sprinkle of charming essay. i should have been the superstar of fuckinghotdudes.com! freals, i should be peeling dudes off my vagina like leeches. but that shit got me NOWHERE. no one reads your carefully thought-out introductory paragraph; they scan your pictures, make note of how many kids you have and which income box you checked, then a fine young gentleman screen name bigblkdong sends you shit like, "hey sexy. my names bryan. we shold get togetherr for drinks sometimes. i look forward 2 getting to know u. holla back at me soon. my subcription expires in 2 days. bye, gogeous." smiley face.

that shit just melted your panties right off. QUIT PLAYING. it's a wonder that bryan and i aren't happily married parents of two right now, especially since a click on his profile revealed that he is the father of multiple children who "do not live in the home," hates any sort of animal except ones he can cook and eat, and is posing either with a woman or a handful of money in every single one of his pictures. now how the fuck is HE still single?! what a catch! i also love dudes who take shirtless camera phone pictures, especially when their chests aren't anything worth writing home about. what the fuck about the internet breeds such delusion? because listen, i have a glorious stomach roll that i could photograph and upload to desperatefor sausage.com, but that's something i need to try to disguise beneath a spanx until you're smitten enough with me to pretend not to notice it as i demand to have sex for the first time in pitch blackness.

dudes are so dumb and gross. put your tits away, at least until you've bought me a few steaks. and i promise to hide my giant red birthmark until after the first couple handjobs. dealsies? seriously. I JUST DON'T GET IT. all of my pictures are of 1 my gorgeous face 2 my amazing rack. why no pictures of my hairy legs or my dirty hippie feet, you ask? oh, that's easy: BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE SOMEONE TO BUY ME DINNER, AND NO ONE WILL DO THAT IF HE FIRST SEES MY GROSS FEET. the point, men, is that if you want a girl to fuck you, maybe you should gild the lily a little bit. and i know, facebook fucked my shit all the way up, too, with bitches tagging unflattering pictures of your ass left and right, always at two in the goddamned morning when you aren't going to see that shit for another seven hours and proving your total ugliness to any- and everyone who bothers to click on your shit or scroll through their feed. TRUST ME, i know. happens to me all the time. but here's the thing about your dating picture: it can be any one of your choosing. isn't that so special and nice?! so why is it, my future loves, that you picked THAT one? you know, the one where your teeth look weird and your face is half-shadowed. or the other one, with you and that bitch wearing lingerie. or the one next to that boat that doesn't belong to you. also, maybe you could put the beer down. or put on clean pants. take the sunglasses off. AND PUT ON A MOTHERFUCKING SHIRT.

so i used to do the sites that you pay a million dollars for, because I LOVE LEGALIZED PROSTITUTION, duh, but now i fucking DON'T. a few idiots have said to me "only serious people pay," and about that i call BULLSHIT. horseshit and dogshit, too. you know who i met on dating sites that i paid for? THE SAME ONES I'M MEETING NOW. like it takes a master's degree and an interesting personality to put $34.95 on a mastercard! man, fuck that shit. it would be one thing if eharmony required a black amex, because then you'd know what a motherfucker is working with. EXCEPT your ass could never sign up for that shit, because you're broke! i know baseheads that can come up with forty bucks. pssssshaw. and now with those russell simmons debit cards (shut up! i watch channel 26!) any old raggedy piece of shit can ball out with his prepaid secured direct deposit wannabe credit card, EVEN ME.

NOW i don't pay for SHIT. and it's yielding the same damn results. 99.8% worthless pieces of garbage trying to stick their dicks in my ass. but now it stings less, because i haven't wasted any money on it. in the past, when eharmony was ass-raping me to the tune of $60 a month, it chapped my fucking BALLS OFF when they couldn't hand pick and deliver the man of my dreams into my gmail. you know how many tacos sixty bucks can buy you? a lot! and i was willing to pay that exorbitant fee in exchange for a crack at someone matched with me on 1,326, 724 compatibility levels. it took me SIX WEEKS (not really) to answer their goddamned questionnaire, but i DID IT. i did it because i didn't think i had a snowball's chance in hell of finding someone who wouldn't mind if i brought an entire box of cereal to bed on a sunday morning and poured little bits of soymilk into the bag while eating it with a spoon. from the bag. in bed.

isn't that what all that hullabaloo is about? finding someone who would love the nastiest, crustiest, dirtiest parts of me without question or explanation? i'm tired of telling dudes what sucks about me and waiting to see if they can deal with it. i thought eharmony was going to tell them about my snoring and misanthropy, or at least screen them for tolerance. but OH NO. all that old dude did was fill my email with a shit ton of dudes who had no interest in me WHATSOEVER. the suckiest thing about eharmony? they don't tell you what someone is working with physically. and let's be serious here. bitches have types. and (strategically selected) pictures LIE. i need to be around a dude with a little height and some meat on his bones, lest he risk disappearing into my thigh cheese in the middle of the night while i haplessly toss and turn. for cereal, i might just ENVELOP some dude one day. how am i expected to deal with that?! and i sometimes can't tell proportions from a fucking picture. i close up of your pockmarked face does not, in fact, tell me whether or not you could comfortably hide behind me. and nothing feels less sexy than a dude with tiny, delicate hands trying to undo a bra clasp with four hooks. FUCK.

i know you assholes are all worried about the fat chick who checked the "average" box, and rest assured that while i never falsely advertise in that way, "pockets of unevenly distributed fat" DOES NOT equal "muscular." lying ass bastards. because, like i said, I AM GOING TO MEET YOU. maybe. and I WILL SEE WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE. the more honest a dude is, the better. because even if i hate your guts, i appreciate that you are suffering from alopecia in real life AND in your pictures. i might even rub your bald spot after dinner. but if the headshot you posted from when you wanted to be an actor ten years ago is sporting a full head of hair, i will wish death on you and your entire family. all my old pictures look like shit. so do my new ones. because i don't give a fuck.

which you will quickly learn after a glimpse at my current profiles. i don't even advertise myself anymore. "i'm funny, i'm smart, i don't give a fuck about dudes, and my taste in music DOMINATES yours. wanna fuck?" and, surprisingly, they do. but most of them also want to TALK, and many of them seem to have the communication skills of your average orangutan. i am so tired of talking to idiots. and believe you me i have searched for idontwantadumbasstoputhispenisinme.com and nomoresuckingilliteratedicks.org. alas, they do not exist. i need to learn how to make websites, because i'd be giving out IQ tests all fucking day. and a feature that helps me discern africans from african american.

NICE TRY, NIGERIANS. thinking i wouldn't figure it out, eh? sneaky SOBs. but i've got my african translation system DOWN PAT. here is how african-americans contact me: hey girl! how you doin? you have a pretty smile. can i talk to you, sweetheart? peace and blessings, sista. michael. AFRICANS: hello miss. you are having the most wonderful profile. i am humble man, looking for the most loving relationship with woman such as yourself. how are you doing today? i am believing you and i are meant to know one another. might you permit me to telephone you sometime? anthony. ahahahahahahahafrican, please. i can tell when rosetta stone wrote some shit on your behalf. i am a seasoned pro, and while my national geographic tits might scream otherwise, i will NOT be carrying a basket on my head or a baby strapped to my back anytime soon. EVEN THOUGH YOUR NAME IS ANTHONY.

you can always tell when some asshole used the internet to translate a bunch of consonants and clicks into something resembling a letter in english, and i'm not falling for that shit. and even if the letter doesn't give it away, the PICTURES always fucking do. purple lips, woven sandals, and linen goddamned shorts? YEAH FUCKING RIGHT.

i don't typically like to go out with a dude after work because these bitches chip away at my fucking soul for twelve hours a day and i need the time afterward to try to recoup some of my goddamned sanity, but friday worked best for him, and what the fuck am i if not totally amenable? first dates make me nervous, because pictures and emails and hilarious texts don't really tell a dude that you're going to spend the entire evening with steak sauce dribbled down your shirt, and i'm not good under pressure. plus, this dude is NICE. like, REALLY NICE. i mean, SUPER DUPER NICE. so nice, in fact, that if any of you whores tell him about this blog i will gut you like a trout.

he's smart, too, and he didn't bore me half to fucking death. and he said "i like your hips," which is right up there with "here is a thousand dollars, tax free" in my book of things that make my panties moist when uttered by a man. so i'm not going to talk shit about him, especially since i don't have anything nasty to say. he was funny. and SMART. did i already say that? well, i'm goddamned sorry. but INTELLIGENT trumps everything except LARGE BALLS, and i'll probably be able to tell you within the next couple of weeks if that applies, too. holy fucking shit.

i don't even want to give him a nickname, as my pseudonyms are usually pulled out of the stinky part of my ass, and this dude doesn't deserve a mean one. so he picked me up at my house, and even though i showered i was sweaty and gross because i walked in the door twenty minutes before he was supposed to get there and unfortunately i am one of those people who needs to get dressed in front of the air conditioner when it's balls humid, and i didn't have any fucking TIME. this lack of precious time also led me to make an unfortunate clothing choice, and the shirt i wore refuses to stay buttoned and let's just say i left very little to the imagination. which might be awkward for someone less sexy (pfffft), but i managed to make re-buttoning my blouse 900 times look smooth and effortless. no, i did not. i looked like an asshole. hopefully he's a boob man.

we had a nice dinner and a hilarious conversation, a huge chunk of which took place parked at clark and oak while we watched drunk ass douchebags and bitches with shitty dye jobs teetering and tottering all over while i tried to keep my bra from showing. then i let him get to second base. i think. there was a little dispute between my friends and i about what constitutes the various bases, but i let that dude touch my boobs. wait a second, that might be shortstop. i'd been worried that my vagina wouldn't work due to inactivity, riding the bench for EIGHT FUCKING MONTHS, but she swelled right up and put her uniform on just like the old days. anyway, here's hoping he has a big metal bat.

who's on first?

Friday, August 13, 2010


i think a dead baby just fell out of my goddamned ass. my insides work when they want to and QUIT WHEN THEY DON'T, and i've written before about how my uterus likes to play "hide the menses," sometimes for months at a time. i'm back on the birth control, not so much to regulate my period as it is to regulate the porcupine needles sprouting wantonly from my goddamned chin. so i haven't needed a tampon since may. and here's the hilarious thing about having as many maladies as i do: not a single one of my doctors gives a shit. NOT ONE. even the gyne. no period? NO PROBLEM. everybody's all "let's cross that bridge if you ever want to destroy your life by thinking about hatching an alien," then they write me scripts for all the shit i take that would immediately abort a fetus from my womb the minute it hit my bloodstream to try to get my immune system turned all the way up or shut all the way down. whatever the solution (pfffft) is this week. the tricky thing about the crohn's is that i am always in some discomfort, and that's not a problem until symptoms get all similar and shit. i always miss the warning signs of a flare because i can't tell menstrual back pain from HOLY SHIT I'M GOING TO DIE back pain until it's too late and i end up in the emergency room. it's probably terrible to witness, the "is this pms or is this imminent death?" internal debate. i typically stand around a lot trying to tune my brain to the source of the pain while also trying to work (it's always when i'm working, this fucking job, DAMN) and trying to stay calm.

anyway, yesterday my back was KILLING ME. i threw a bunch steroids at it and briefly considered calling my hot doctor. but he never really says anything, just asks me a bunch of questions that i'd need a fucking medical degree and a cat scan to adequately answer. and i was too tired for that shit. so i just went to karen's and laid around with dorothy and nan and tried not to think about it while they filled my old ass in on pretty little liars (who?) and what the kids are listening to these days (trey songz and nicki minaj, evidently). and i lived. so that worked.

same back pain today, less severe, and the seventh time i went to pee before noon (freals, these diuretics come from SATAN) i turned to look in the bowl after i wiped and what appeared to be a half-incubated fetus was settling at the bottom of the water. it looked like a little pink napkin someone had accidentally dropped in a bowl of soup, clumpy and feathery and beginning to fray at the edges. i started to reach in and get it out so i could bury it or something, or at the very least ask it to sign my power of attorney paperwork (ungrateful brat, I'M NOT GOING TO BE AROUND FOREVER), but i've already told you that i possess zero maternal instinct for any creature that isn't tiny and feline, so i just tossed some toilet paper on it and flushed it to heaven after staring at it for a small eternity. then i had to dig around inside my vagina for a few seconds to make sure it hadn't been twins.

HERE IS THE THING, THOUGH. everybody and their grandmother knows that if i had a child based on the last time i got laid that motherfucker would be old enough to drive by now, so if this indeed WAS a little babyfriend, I JUST FLUSHED THE NEXT MESSIAH DOWN THE GODDAMNED TOILET. holy fucking shitballs, congregation. can you even believe that shit?! what was i THINKING?! the most immaculate child ever conceptioned just slid out of the crack of my hairy ass, and i callously rolled the stone away from the tank-fill valve so he could rise again in the sewer. what kind of monster deprives the entire world of the second coming of its savior?! mexiricans are busy wearing their knees out praying to virgin mary images in grilled cheese sandwiches and the condensation sweating off an elote cart, and meanwhile the virgin samantha is over here poking at tiny black jesus with a number two pencil. (why do we have those in the goddamned bathroom? also, i smelled the pencil to make sure He wasn't doody. just to complete the visual. He wasn't.) what does the bible say about this?! nothing happened to the jews who killed JESUS I other than unfortunate noses and total control of hollywood and the mainstream news media, so what is the worst god is going to do to ME?! boundless intelligence and incredible wit?! BRING IT, heavenly host.

i don't know enough theologians that i take seriously enough to ask something like this, but if any of you do FEEL FREE. then call a bitch up and tell me what the odds that i've just induced the apocalypse are. it also might be worth noting when you consult the priest or whomever that more material is continuing to ooze out (fingers and toes and entrails, most likely) and i am now saving His Holiness on an always pantiliner that kind of won't stay firmly attached to my underwear. but i'll do what i can to keep Him safe. also, if you wouldn't mind asking, does this mean that i somehow had sex with god? and if i did, could the priest ask Him how i was? who cares about my performance with regular dudes, but i really want to know if He had a good time. okay okay okay, FINE. just find out if i was at AT LEAST better than MARY. i mean, that bitch was a virgin. and i slept with an exotic dancer once who taught me what CBT means. there should really be no comparison.

between the wretched heat and this dastardly crohn's i'm going to be dead by tuesday, so maybe JESUS II was trying to break free before ending up cremated alongside me and my collection of leather pigs. please come to my funeral and try not to talk too much shit in front of my family. god, NO ONE is cute in this weather. that's right, not even you. because most women need a little base or at least a dab or two of blot powder on their faces to look put together (EVEN ME, and my skin is PERFECT), and in this fucking balls hot worst summer ever that is totally impossible. i haven't used face cream, body lotion, or makeup since april. every shower i take is cold, and even then i am sweating at the hairline the minute i step outside. which isn't helped by this hair that is already SO LONG and curling all down the back of my sweaty neck. OMG. that is totally the reason why my hair is growing so fast! all of that blood of the lamb running through my heathen veins!

i wish i had known i was walking around with a little genie in my fucking lamp, because i would've rubbed my belly a long time ago to try to force him out and start having my goddamned wishes granted. this summertime bullshit would be OVER, and a lot of you bitches who've crossed me could consider yourselves SMITED. especially since this heat makes me too lazy to do any dirty work myself. helen is accustomed to this sweltering nightmare because of the time she spent gestating in hell, and even she is dragging ass lately. she only eats when the air conditioner is blowing directly on her (fucking diva) and the other night i retrieved her cat dancer and drinking straws from where i hide them so she won't wake me up in the middle of the night chasing that bullshit around my goddamned hardwood floors and she looked at me with the dirtiest "BITCH, PLEASE" face i have ever seen. i wither beneath her gaze.

could you imagine if i brought JESUS II home to helen? she'd have His little swaddling clothes ripped to shit in a matter of minutes. i keep telling her that she's adopted and not really my child, and i'm sure the presence of the fruit of my womb (and the son of Our Father, no less) would send her over the edge. i'm sure she'd make me get a bible (where do they sell those?) out and prove it to her. um. "...his arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and his voice like the sound of a multitude.” a creamy sunkissed complexion and big-ass mouth? DEFINITELY MY OFFSPRING. take that, helen. the bridegroom cometh and He shalt destroyeth your little evil behindeth if you don't get the hell away from His crib.

oh man. i've managed to raise the nastiest piece of shit cat on the face of the earth. think about what i'd do entrusted with the lamb of god. don't even think i wouldn't be harnessing that power to my advantage. there is nothing on the planet i'd be without. first order of business, disciples. and by "disciples" i mean MANSERVANTS. young, scantily-clad, mute, and dripping with manna from heaven. little j and i would just be kicking it HARD. no more job (sorry animals, but you can join us on the ark if you really miss me that much), no more bullshit, and no more bitches gotta eat. you hoes will just have to find another monkey to make you laugh, because i'll be too busy directing myself, denzel washington, and twelve other hot apostles in a production of the last sexer. does anyone have a sturdy dining room table i can borrow? PLEASE?! i'm just saying, i'll be too busy participating in celebrity gangbags to write this raggedy bitch. but you can come over and babysit jj while his stunt dads and i handle our business if you like. don't even worry, He changes his own diapers and heats His own bottles and stuff so you won't have to think about getting messy. He'll even put Himself to bed! (don't worry if He doesn't get up for a few days. just sit outside His room and when He does arise we'll throw a big party with dyed eggs and marshmallow peeps and baskets full of chocolate. you'll love it!) you can just watch cable and eat whatever's in the refrigerator as long as you don't keep up too much noise with all your speaking in tongues and singing songs of jubilation. that little dude is
 just like MAGIC.

i need to go get a plunger and try to ressurect that little cluster of eternal life, because my enemy list is growing by the minute and i am too sick and tired to go about getting blood in the center of my palms the conventional way. splinters are for suckers. and i need a cure for this damned crohn's. i wish i had known a month ago that the "deep abdominal cramps" i was feeling was really the horn of salvation trying to take root and feed off of my insides. instead of racking up a hundred thousand dollar medical bill i would have just checked into a convent. FOR FREE. what? why are you looking at me like that? bitch, i saw sister act! i could totally pull that shit off. besides, i look really good in all black. and i know SO MANY showtunes.

the real dilemma, obviously, is that i loathe almost the entirety of the human population, and news that a little baby jesus is riding around in a snugli strapped to my back is sure to spread. then all you lepers and whores will be dragging yourselves up to my doorstep trying to get Him to lay a tiny healing hand on your miserable asses and, as much as mommy would love to have her feet washed by some prostitute's matted hair, she does not have the patience for that shit. really, i'd be kicking worshippers in the face twenty minutes after their incessant knocking and pleading roused me from my slumber. i'd stomp down the staircase of our palatial floating mansion with the king of the jews slung on my hip with a baseball bat in my free hand playing home run derby with the heads of His followers. better still i'd probably just drop Him out of the window (He'll land on His feet, just like a kitten), so He can bless and cure them without getting on my damn nerves.

i should stop fantasizing. too little too effing late. the lion of the tribe of judah has already returned to elohim, and all i've got to show for it is a backache and a soggy always. not even one lousy child support payment. happy weekend, kittens. GO TO CHURCH. and tell my babydaddy i said "hey, boo!"

Thursday, August 12, 2010

friends with benefits.

i am always pleasantly surprised when someone invites my raggedy ass to a fancy soiree. it's not like i don't know how to get dressed and clean it up, i have expensive dresses and tailored suits and shit, but there's no guarantee i won't spend half the party walking around with mayonnaise or taco dip smeared across the seat of my pants or a trail of cookie crumbs leading to my cleavage. and it's almost 100% certain that i'll have complimentary wine spilled down my light-colored shirt or have to excuse myself twelve times because i have diarrhea. i'm just not a good party person. even the thought of a party, as opposed to the more inconspicuous bar or club environs, stresses me out. i like to go to places that are DARK where the music is LOUD. you know, someplace i don't have to worry about sucking my stomach in or making conversation with strangers. i'm the master of clubland shout-talking, that personal impersonal thing you have to do when standing in a crowded room surrounded by thunderous beats and 10,000 people screaming at each other and bartenders and bumping into you trying to get a signal on their cell phones. the lean in super close one hand holding your free ear closed other hand on the back or arm of the person to whom you are speaking mouth pressed to the side of his face so you can holler into his ear lean back so you can watch him nod that he understood what you said lean in again this time with his mouth on your face slide out of the way so some rail with bad extensions can order a vodka soda at the bar lean back so you can smile and nod at what he said set your empty bottle on the bar so you can get your phone out of your purse while he programs your number into his phone and calls you immediately while you both anxiously wait for your phone to light up (chicago bars always have the SHITTIEST reception) and when it finally does he smiles and makes a motion with his hands that means "that's me, save my number" before you depart to return to your respective groups of friends thing.

THAT i kill at. the awkward standing around in a brightly-lit room holding a sweating drink making small talk while sweating and shifting from foot to foot thing? not so much. and i don't think it's me, because i'm charming as fuck. everyone likes me immediately, and i like everyone until they say something dumb. but trying to get someone to TALK to you is hard, which is why going to parties (especially alone) is kind of the worst. i hate to go to shit when the only person i know is 1 the bitch who invited me and 2 the goddamned host, because that basically ensures that i am going to either be standing in a corner all night (bad) or glued to the side of the one person in the room everyone else wants to talk to, too (worse). and i used to hover near the food and/or the booze, but you don't want to be the bitch that ate all of the do-it-yourself fajitas or whatever stupid shit people think is good party food these days. and even if you finish the bottle you brought, you're still the bitch who DRANK AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF CHOPIN at the party. or you become the default involuntary bartender and food service director. "oh my goodness, guys, you should totally try the bruschetta. it is SO GOOD. let me make a plate for you. oh don't worry about it, i'm just standing here." don't act like it's just me. i've also been the bitch who winds up alone in the designated coat room watching tv on the floor next to an unmade bed piled high with smelly-ass pilling boiled wool (stop buying cheap coats) or in whatever room the dog or cat has been banished to, trying to coax an absolutely terrified small animal out from the dresser it's chosen to lodge itself under and convince it to keep me company in exchange for some petting from a trained professional.

and that mixing drinks bruschetta service is ostensibly supposed to make people talk to me, right? because guilt, at the very least, should make your selfish ass ask what the bitch who just shook you the perfect dry martini free of charge does for a living, shouldn't it? or how she knows the whore whose apartment you are currently trashing?! NEVER. they just take their drinks and a handful of the most easily portable party snack and go back to the nine bitches that came with them. jerks.

ooh, and sometimes i wind up being the DJ. that's not so bad, because most other people on earth have shitty taste in music and never know what the fuck to put on at a party. you can always tell when someone (always a dude) went to great lengths to pull out the seemingly coolest, most obscure, LEAST LISTENABLE shit in his collection to "impress" the people coming to his house. fucking hipsters. people, i might add, who only care about drinking his liquor and eating his food. it's an asshole like me you have to really watch out for, a bitch who went to a fabulous dinner before she got to your place and turns her nose up at the cans of point in your refrigerator. because the second i get bored, most times the second after i've found the host and said hello, i'm standing next to the record player (ALWAYS A RECORD PLAYER!) flipping through all the shit you ran out to dusty groove to buy that morning and laughing at how retarded you are. these days everyone has some sort of ipod hookup, and i have a couple of those teenie ipods that hold a handful of jams and by the time that cibo matto record starts skipping for the third time i swap my shit for yours and make you look like you know a thing or two about eardrums.

i will also look at all of your stuff and silently judge your intelligence while also trying to determine your worth based solely on how much shit you have that looks like it was procured from the salvation army or brown elephant. i don't snoop through drawers and shit because that's boring and i hate knowing people's secrets. i only want to know public shit. knowing thisisprivatepleasedonottellanybody shit is SO BORING and come on people i write a BLOG. only tell me shit i can put on the INTERNET. unless it's juicy enough to occupy space in my brain which, i'm telling you now, most "secrets" don't. bitches always want to tell you dumb shit, like hearsay gossip about someone else that no one can corroborate. psssssh. what am i supposed to fucking do with that?! PLEASE tell me about your illicit affairs, raging drug addictions, grand larcenies, botched plastic surgeries, third-trimester abortions, plots to murder your ex-wives, and any time you run into one of my old boyfriends looking MISERABLE AS SHIT. only. i can't hear about any regular shit anymore, and i'm not interested in your good news. it feeds my petty jealousies. and i really don't like for good things to happen for anyone other than myself. unless something amazing is also happening for ME.

so i get this email from one of my internet ladyfriends a few weeks ago asking if i might consider accompanying her to an upscale gala-type benefit event and working my considerable wingman magic on her behalf. i am a kind, benevolent person buried beneath all this garbage and hate, so i immediately said YES. which should confirm what you've been thinking to yourselves all along about my needy opportunism. so i should probably say now that this lovely woman and i had never met in real life. which is the CRAZY thing about this internet world we live in. right now i have a shit ton of friends, i mean people with whom i communicate on an almost daily basis, whom i have never actually met. and some of them have never even talked to me on the phone, yet consider me part of their inner circles. and that, coincidentally, is why i love the interwebs the most. because it creates cheap, fleeting relationships that feel really meaningful while you're in them, yet they may or may not yield any long-term reward. and they're so funny and feel so good yet never take away from your real life. unless you get into weirdo internet beefs with people, but that shit is for lames.

speaking of which, some retarded piece of shit bitch sent me an email about my preference for seemingly superficial relationships with men, i could only hope, and to her i say this: i will both acknowledge and accept your criticism if you can somehow prove to me that you have zero internet presence whatsoever and are totally living your life IN THE MOMENT and with bitches you actually KNOW. for serious, i need proof that you have 19 facebook friends and that you know all of them personally, otherwise i'm taking the shit you said and flushing it down my mental toilet. if you're trading comments and messages with bitches you don't know in real life guess what? YOU have superficial relationships, TOO. and it's okay! it's what life in the new millenium is all about, man. feeling thisclose to motherfuckers thousands of miles away from your ass. i'll be thrilled when we can do away with human contact altogether and only communicate via text and smoke signals. or when your robot talks to my robot.

so i agree to go yank on a spanx and go to this shindig. then i spent a week in the hospital blah blah you know the rest blah. so i still wanted to go to the party, even though i knew that i was going to be riddled with abdominal pain and leaking out the back end. because THAT is the kind of fucking friend i am. the benefit was the same day as that HORRIFIC date with herbal tea, and even though i wanted to hurl myself off the nearest building i instead wrote a hate blog, got in the shower, and got my ass on back on the train in support of my girl's vagina. the dry cleaner ruined my party dress (of course) which i didn't find out until i opened the bag (of course) which i didn't do until ten minutes before i was supposed to leave (OF FUCKING COURSE). thankfully i had nice pants and a shirt i wouldn't noticeably sweat through hanging in the closet relatively wrinkle-free.

women really are just better at everything, and even though this was the equivalent of a blind date i was not nervous AT ALL. because bitches don't ruin shit. my hot date was dressed nice, on time (not me...), and wearing skyscraper heels she had to tiptoe around in. just my fucking type. we had immediate chemistry (or was that just me...?) and fell into conversation so smoothly i wondered whether or not i might be dreaming. that's an exaggeration, because i'm not fruity and don't really think things like that, but it was INCREDIBLY REFRESHING to talk to a person with a brain rolling around her head and some goddamned sensitivity.

now the one thing i DO like about parties is watching girls in tiny clothes and super tall shoes tottering around balanced on their tippy toes trying to appear to be having a good time. other than that? TOTAL BALLS. dudes at these things always talk too fucking loud and the women are always drenched in perfume and spackled with makeup. it's gross. and 99.7% of the crowd was middle-aged and white, and that makes me uncomfortable. not because they're scary, but i am terrified of boring conversations about things that aren't exciting. what happens to you white people as you get old? it makes me so SAD. black people always keep some goddamned shit going; that's why our old skin looks so good, because it's full of chicken grease and drama. it's like watching a live-action episode of friends. SNOOZERS. all i heard was kid talk (yawn) and appliance talk (yawn) and mortgage talk (yawn) and the price of groceries talk (yawn) and the cleaning lady might be stealing from me talk (PROMISING). i also fel bad for you because you have to be so politically correct and laugh at terrible shit that isn't funny and listen to such bad music while driving around in your subarus pretending to like it.

you don't want a play by play of the evening, so instead i'll tell you how the gentleman whose dick i was supposed to guide into my girl's waiting hangar never even showed up. we were at the bar, then upstairs, then downstairs, then seated near the stage, then shoveling free cookies (me) and fruit (her) into our faces near the bar, upstairs downstairs upstairs stomachache time to leave. it was a shitload of fun, but i hate to bear witness to anyone's dickfail. and sad that i couldn't use any of the zingers i'd come up with. secretly i'm convinced that my own dick karma will change the more i help other penises and vaginas connect, but all my friends are pieces of shit and i can't set any of them up with one another without risking a bitch kicking me out of her life, so i was really looking forward to the opportunity to perform this good dick deed. le sigh.

the nigerian (ALWAYS) cabbie decided that "i could tell the minute that i saw you that you would talk like a white person" was his best option for a suitable pickup line (seriously?!) the minute we dropped off my paramour, this proving even further why the universe needs to drop a smart phone in my lap. or a hot man in my bed, so that "sorry, dude, i have a boyfriend" doesn't sound like SUCH A FUCKING LIE every time i say it. the other night i was trying to switch trains when this too old to be hollering at me cta worker, and OBVIOUS AFRICAN, grabbed my hand and motioned for me to remove my headphones so he could say "gimme that music" to me. with my hand on my switchblade i said, "are you really trying to rob me on the train platform?" and he said, "i want take you on date maybe sometime." BARF. now that dude should either be killing himself or taking a naturalization class, not almost making me miss my motherfucking train. sorry sir, but i don't like jollof rice that much.

now i'm all mad and shit. moral of the story: women are great and i still am not going to have sex with any africans. OH. and if this doesn't chap your ass off, i got an email from my new ladylove that the dude we'd been up down in and out searching for was TOTALLY FUCKING THERE. probably talking to some asshole about the stock market index or the new consumer reports study on kids' backpacks. fml.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

ask and ye shall receive.

you kittens love this dude, apparently. i got 4,987,532 emails after that last dear bitch. man, fuck y'all. you don't love me anymore, jerks? where are MY "you're so smart and hilarious" emails?! that hurts my goddamned feelings. well, you better be glad i love you so much, because i sent that jackass some more questions to answer then rode his ass for three days to get him to respond. and then he asked if he could ride my ass and i almost died. see what i go through for you? BARF.

The guy I'm into is great! He's funny and always lets me know what he thinks about me. Problem? He has no drivers license and no job. He's 20 years old! Should this be a deal breaker? I'm thinking it is.

Wow he's 20 years old and doesn't have his shit together??? OMG! Were you one of those women that had to take care of the household at 13? Let me tell you something, at 20 years old men are still trying to figure out if there are any extra orifices into which we can insert our dicks in during sex. Don't expect much.

i love how women preface some shit they HATE about a dude with "he's so great!" so which is it, liar, you like that he's funny and honest or you can't deal with his jobless bus-ridingness? make up your mind, whore. that said, that no job shit is a PROBLEM. unless he's in school, and even then he needs to be on a work study and have at least a 3.2 gpa.

this just SCREAMS mama's boy. doesn't work and needs to be driven around? what independent, motivated young man would go for that shit? losers are everywhere and are easy to spot, especially when they get started early. i'm reasonably certain in the assertion that this dude is never going to be shit. move it along.

and here's some extra advice you didn't ask for: stop dicking around with young dudes. they are 100% broke, 100% weak, and will 100% choose a new xbox game over you. i was sucking old dicks and eating stone crab at shaw's and porterhouses at ruth's chris when i was twenty. what are you doing, drinking slurpees and watching R-rated movies on a saturday night? fuck all that. use that young vagina to your advantage.

My boyfriend watches granny porn. Should I be concerned?

Yeah, if your grandma is hot!

i try not to judge a dude's porn preferences too harshly lest he ever take a microscope to mine, but this shit is GROSS. although on the scale of truly repugnant shit he could be jerking off to, this is at the tame end of the spectrum. dudes are into all kinds of silly shit: feet, balloons, FOOD, gangbangs, large insertions, pee pee, farts, shit, vomit, bukake. you can't help what you're into, i guess. last week this lesbian i know sent me some REAL lesbian porn, not that fake-ass two girls with giant titty balls rubbing all over each other pretending to have an orgasm shit. this was full of chicks who look like dudes fucking each other with strap-ons and fisting each other and shit. and now i'm 90% sure i'm not gay, because that didn't get me excited AT ALL. it just looked like a bunch of teenage boys pinning each other down after doing their math homework or something. yawn. anyway, you should probably just let it go. i'll only kick a hot dude out of bed if he watches shit with children, animals, or double penetrations. and i know that last one is legal, but COME ON, chief. that's just greedy.

What do you do when you still have feelings for your ex? Not good ones, either. Murderous ones, actually.

Well, you usually want to line your trunk with tarp so the blood doesn't drip while you're driving, that's a red flag for police. Also, you shouldn't let people know that you want to kill your ex. I usually just give a crackhead a hundred bucks and let them take care of that. You can get your car fixed too if you throw an extra 20 in there.

i've got a bitch who will "dispatch" people, too. never do your own dirty work. it's tiresome and it'll mess up your nails. but you need to save murder for bitches who truly deserve it. i should probably tell you to join a gym or go hiking to work out that negative energy, but it's bullshit to give out advice i wouldn't take. so do what i do. eat something delicious and get drunk. then troll the interwebs for someone else.

I just discovered that my boyfriend has been mutually masturbating with people or just having them encourage him on chatroulette, do you consider this cheating?

WTF is chatroulette? And hell yeah it's cheating, he's cheating himself out of some real pussy. Why would you beat off with somebody? That sounds like some gay, OZ-type shit.

mutual masturbation is creepy. especially over the internet. i mean, shit, it's SORTA creepy even if you're in the same bed. it works on the phone, but even then only if the guy is HOT and the girl is ME. my personal definition of cheating is loose (and by that i mean if you don't know about it, i didn't cheat), but generally i think you should decide what you're comfy with and make it a rule. and you obviously don't like this, so tell him to STOP.

fap fap fap fap fap!

Why do men look at other women when they are with you?

We don't compare every woman with you so relax. Plus if we're with you it's probably because we know that you're in our class and given up hope to find a beautiful, sane woman. Just be comfortable in your averageness.

i never notice, because i'm too busy scanning the crowd for someone richer and more handsome who talks a lot less. start doing that.

I can't climax with penetration only. During sex, when my boyfriend is 'done', we're done. He won't pleasure me because, as he put it, "women are too complicated and it's too hard to get them to climax." What's the deal and how do I get him to want to do that?

You need to find some better dick.

is that even possible? regular dudes usually fuck wrong. and penetration alone doesn't work for me, either. do yourself a favor and get a bunch of butt plugs and nipple clamps and vibrators. after a while you won't even need the dude.

Casual sex relationship for 10 months. Found out about a fling with another woman so I said if it's over between us just tell me and he never said yes or no but he made plans to see me that night and continues to. Does this action mean he's really into me?

That action was basically from the Mel Gibson catalog of SHUT THE FUCK UP AND BLOOOOOOW ME!!!

why do you care if it's casual? god, i fucking HATE bitches sometimes. if you say it's "casual," you have to deal with what "casual" means. so instead of answering this ridiculous question, i'm going to say this instead: BE CLEAR ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT FROM A DUDE. if you want a boyfriend, don't agree to being casual. if you want a fuck buddy, don't tell him you want a boyfriend. dudes are stupid and you are best served by being honest and direct. this whole fucking thing is worded wrong. it's impossible for a man to have a fling when he doesn't have a girlfriend; fling implies that he's cheating, but you can't cheat if it's CASUAL. let's just stop lying to ourselves, ladies. save yourselves from a lot of dumb grief. and my inbox from a lot of ridiculous questions. jesus.

Are bilingual women sexy?

Yes, if they have ass and big bewbs. (Samantha said don't say "titties.")

por supuesto! si sabes una otra idioma, estas muy inteligente. como yo.

Do you have to be dumb to get a guy?

Do you have a choice?

OBVIOUSLY, because i got a 33 on my ACT and i can't find shit. i only bring it up because i told asshole that once and TO THIS DAY he cannot get over the fact that i did better than he did and am smarter than he is. most dudes are intimidated by a sharp wit; they don't want you to outshine their asses at parties and other social engagements. and smart people tend to talk a lot, and we already know that men don't really want to listen to a whole lot of shit. i refuse to dumb myself down, so i've given up on trying to find someone smarter and more interesting than i am. so i focus instead on telling myself it's okay to be the most brilliant diamond in the mine. the silver lining? dumb dudes don't usually have much to say and are easily tricked. and that shit comes in HANDY.

OK, is he just not into me or is this just bullshit? I met a guy who cannot ejaculate with a condom. Can only come without one lying down...yep, even a blow job. Is it performance anxiety? Do I simply move on?

Why do you give a shit about a guy who can't ejaculate? Use his penis so you can orgasm, when done go watch Grey's Anatomy or whatever ridiculous shit y'all watch these days.

i'm with asshole. just substitute "fingers" and "mouth" for penis and "anything else on television" for grey's anatomy and we're all set.

I've been with my boyfriend for almost 5 years and he has not wanted to have sex for over a year. we talk about it, and he says he just doesn't want it and assures me everything else is fine. We are affectionate, and have a great time otherwise. How can I get him to want sex again?

Try putting on a strap and fucking him in the ass. Cause either he's gay or he's contracted some wild ass disease he doesn't want to give you. You should try the first one, just grease it up and sneak it in there while he's asleep.

now this sounds like some gay, OZ-type shit.

How come if I bring up the word marriage just in casual conversation my boyfriend freaks out a bit and gives me a look, but he will bring it up and say things like "When we get married...?"

In the words of Sam, He's a moron. Don't marry him, he obviously still has hopes and dreams for life. The best man to marry has failed at doing anything interesting and has settled into a boring, secure, high paying job. Don't marry an exciting dude, just have affairs with them.

AGREED. just make sure YOU are boring and worn out, too. that shit rubs off.

My ex recently lost his job and I want to help him out by anonymously sending him a small amount of $ for at least his gas tank. I'm just not sure if I should or not.

Fuck that, make him fuck for it.

you should NOT. if he needs cash, he should start by selling his car. thus negating the need for that gas money. and if you made him fuck for it, guarantee he'd end up paying you. holy shit, these dudes CANNOT bang.

My friend's boyfriend checks her phone logs, wants to know where she is every moment (with camera phone proof), and a bunch of other ridiculous stuff. She insists I "just don't know what he's been through." What should I say to her, if anything?

Women don't listen to other women, they just use each other to complain and get hugs. Don't waste your breath.

ahahahahahahahaha. any dude that checks my phone calls is going to get his feelings hurt. and unless he's doing so to make a payment on the bill, he's going to get his face hurt, too.

I have always been taught that men love sex more than anything else. Therefore, I don't really believe a man is capable of loving a woman. I just believe he loves having sex with her. Am I completely wrong?

Yes, we don't love having sex, we NEED to have sex. Sometimes I'll find myself in the middle of sex wondering how I got there and how much I would LOVE to be playing PS3.

Note to women: For men, Sex and Love are completely separate concepts.

men love in this order, from most to least: penis, muscles, clothing + shoes, fancy television and high tech gadgets, car, video game apparatuses, hair and/or grooming maintenance and routine, friends, pets, televised sports, fantasy sports, food, beer and liquor, mother, father, siblings, women they don't fuck, women they do fuck, bartender at the local hangout, dog walker, mailman, megan fox, the hot barista at starbucks, job, bill belichick, GIRLFRIEND.

sam's: beer, tacos, helen, pentasa, prednisone, blog, female friends, job, television, dudes. yours should look more like mine. without all the drugs.

How does a 40-something woman go about getting a fuck buddy? If you're just interested in sex, not a relationship, how do you find someone willing?

Ask Sam for my number. I love old hoes.

adultfriendfinder.com, bitch. go get you some.

and i totally will give you this dirtbag's number. maybe then he'll stop pestering ME. i was sick last night because, i don't know if you've heard this before, i'm rotting from the inside out and my organs are conspiring against me, and he called and threatened to "come over and make me feel better" (barf) before asking if my breasts looked better in our out of a bra. (in, DUH. i've got national geographic boobs. plus, i buy FANTASTIC bras.) then it devolved into a debate about whose shit smells worse. seriously, if you girls could take him off my hands i'd love you forever.

Do you think that long-distance relationships are a good thing?

They are not real relationships. You can be whoever you want to be over the phone. Just like I know I seem to be the coolest man on the planet here, but I'm actually a very shy man.

uh, he's actually an arrogant piece of garbage. long-distance relationships are the BEST thing, because you can do whatever the fuck you want and, unless you keep a lot of messy tricks around, no one is the wiser. and real relationships are overrated, teeming with misery and insecurity. i think if you are realistic about things (ie, you don't expect that he is going to be completely faithful to a bitch hundreds of miles away), you can have a good time with it. they allow you a freedom and flexibility that an ordinary, in-town relationship doesn't. AND you get to sample the dude buffet without looking like too much of a whore. dudes are BORING and INCONSEQUENTIAL. why you would limit yourself to just one baffles me.

i met a dude a couple weeks ago in town from florida (and by "met" i mean "he bought me a drink") and we had a nice conversation blah blah blah. he left town the next day. (or so he said, but who gives a fuck?) he's smart (sort of) and funny (not really), but the IMPORTANT thing is that he calls every couple of days to amuse me and say nice things about my ass. and he made plans for a return visit (or he lied and said he did, either way i could care less), which means there's a fancy hotel weekend in my near future. i get to be whoever i want on the phone (vivacious and amazing, of course) and my ego gets stroked to high heaven in the meantime. it wins every time.

so play the noncommittal long distance game and, if you need to, grab you someone local to fuck on. and isn't southwest practically giving away airline tickets these days? shit, you can fly for fucking food stamps. unless your boy is going to war or something. in which case you should BREAK THAT SHIT OFF. i love america and everything, but PTSD is real.

My boyfriend expects lots of blow jobs. What's the average amount a guy should get a week?

Hmm, 300 is a good round number. Why do you think women naturally talk so much? That's nature's jaw exercise.

i don't mind giving a hummer, AT ALL, and i'm good at it. but if a dude "expected" it i'd have my fucking jaw wired shut. entitled piece of shit. new boyfriend time.

and WAIT A GODDAMNED MINUTE. is he eating you out?! i hate it because 99.9% of dudes fail in the worst way and chew your goddamned tender meat up and drown in it and SPEND SO MUCH TIME LICKING YOUR PEE HOLE (stop that!) and barf, but i would lie there and pretend i needed him to do it if a fella expected to be serviced by me in return. any sort of sex pressure or stipulation is totally weak and decidedly unsexy. get rid of him.

Do guys like it when girls text or call "for no reason?" I hate to call or text unless I have a reason, but my friends say if I don't call a guy he will think I'm not into him. Really, I just like to wait for them to call me.

Guys really don't think about you as much as you think we do. You're like the pickles to our thought sandwich.

why would you ever listen to your ridiculous friends? especially when you've already got it right?! no calling or texting unless you're on fire and he's got the only fire extinguisher in town. and while i didn't mean that as a euphemism for sex, let's go with it. seriously. stop calling dudes. i'll give you my number and anytime you feel like calling a penis dial my shit instead. which will be just fine since i never answer my phone, either. you won't even know the difference.

and lmao at "pickles."

I'm so embarrassed. I'm dating 3 guys and I like all 3 but I want to narrow it down to 1 guy. How do I choose? Help! Help! I feel like 3 guys are smothering me and I'm ready to settle.

Make them knife fight like in the "Beat It" video.

why do you girls insist upon fucking up the most miraculous thing on earth? if you must, a knife fight sounds good. or a dance-off. love.