This Blog In Song

You should have listened to what mama said
And walked away with someone else instead
You should have listened to what grandma said
And married someone more like Fred

You should have listened to your inner voice
While you had time and still a choice
You should have reached for the emergency brake
Before it was too late

[Chorus]
You see the clever girl looks for a clever boy
To another extent than the clever boy
Will ever look for a mate
Who goes to round-table debates
And runs a little bit late
When she does work for the state

You see the clever girls look for the clever boys
And then the clever boys seem to have a different choice
They want a good-looking chick
That likes to blow them away
Someone who laughs at all the
Funny little things they say

I have a friend who’s in this MENSA club
He has no trouble to admit
He wants a woman with ambitions
That go as far as raising kids

Read Full Post »

Toothbrush Game

There’s always a tense moment in the bright light of the morning after a stumbling late night hookup when the girl needs to use the bathroom and you feel a rush of anxiety as you wonder what personal items you have prominently displayed on your sink.  Eyebrow tweezers?  Check.  Five different facial scrubs and masks?  Check.  An old piece of used floss with bits of debris still on it that missed the garbage can?  Check.  And the state of cleanliness of your throne.  Did you leave the seat up providing her with a glorious panoramic view of your urine and pube encrusted toilet rim?

If you intend to fully embrace the role of skirt-chaser then keeping your bathroom in order and sparkling clean with potentially embarrassing personal effects hidden from sight will have to be a daily ritual.  Having a fresh spare toothbrush is one of those priorities.  A girl will receive your appendages into her womanhood but will balk at using your toothbrush.

Me:  There’s a toothbrush on the sink for you.
Her:  Why do you have a second toothbrush?
Me:  Umm… in case I drop mine in the toilet bowl.
Her:  Do you always stand over the toilet bowl when you’re brushing your teeth?
Me:  Yes, I pee and brush at the same time.  I like to multitask.
Her:  It’s frayed.
Me:  What?
Her:  The bristles are frayed.  Who else used this?
Me:  I probably did in the middle of the night.  It’s hard to tell which is which.
Her:  I can’t brush with this.
Me:  Look, if it bothers you that much use your finger.

There’s no way around the toothbrush conundrum except to have a new brush still in its original packaging ready to go for each girl.  I don’t want to run a dentist’s office or waste a toothbrush on the mouth of a one night stand, so they get a frayed brush now.  If they protest too much at least I know I’m dealing with an anal retentive freak.

Instead of pressing the matter she gamely ignored it.  That’s all girls really need — a ridiculous excuse so they can continue loving you.

Read Full Post »

Best Costume Ever

Related: Worst Costume Ever.

Read Full Post »

How to Own a Room

Unreconstructed barbarian Zeets called to give me a recap on his date with a girl he took to a popular local lounge.

Zeets:  It was all going well until I felt an explosion of gases in my intestines.  A deep rumbling.  I couldn’t do anything while she was there next to me.
Me:  Why not go to the bathroom?
Zeets:  Cream puffs excuse themselves to the bathroom to pass gas.  Real men wait for a clearing in the room and let it rip.  BRRRAAAPPP!  Anyhow, we were sitting down.  I don’t like to be rousted from a comfortable position.
Me:  Then you dropped a patented Zeets cluster bomb.  I remember those unfondly.
Zeets:  Oh yes!  Not right away.  I held it in for as long as I could, the pressure building, until we were ready to leave.  I hustled her ahead of me and stayed a few steps behind.
Me:  So she was out of smell shot.  How chivalrous.
Zeets:  There was a group of young luscious chicks on the dance floor… oh man, one of them was wearing black skintight leather pants… [pause to make inhaling through teeth sound… “oh yeeeeeeahhh”]… laughing and having a good time, probably students new to the city… exploring their world and their womanhood.  I got up and blasted them, one of my best yet.  Right in the middle of their tea time.
Me:  No fear.
Zeets:  Nope!  The music was loud so they didn’t hear it.
Me:  It wasn’t a smelly one?
Zeets:  Oh no, my friend, it was a smelly one.  As I walked out the door I heard the girls shrieking and yelling “PEW!”.  ha!  Perfect!  I left with a smile on my face.
Me:  And no one suspected anything.
Zeets:  Not a thing.  I bet they spent the rest of the night looking at each other and pointing fingers.
Me:  Besides the bodily functions the lounge worked its magic on your date?
Zeets:  Like an aphrodisiac.  It’s never let me down.
Me:  You like this chick?
Zeets:  Yeah, she’s fun.  Pretty.  We had a good, solid makeout.  With tongue.
Me:   That’s good.  What does she do for a living?
Zeets:  I don’t remember… some non-profit, save Darfur crap or something like that.

Attention to detail.  We have it ladies.  It’s just selective.

Read Full Post »

Unmanliness

If you sit at a sidewalk cafe in DC and people watch you’ll eventually see hints of civilizational decline.

mommy took our allowance

There I was enjoying a manly tap water when something so magnificently wrong assaulted my visual field.  A father carrying a baby in a papoose that he wore across his front.

The front.

It would be bad enough if he were usurping the natural maternal role by hauling around his kid in the traditional style with papoose in back.  But the front?  He may as well have swished his womanly hips while he walked.

Seriously, grow a set and get some self-respect, man.  If you can’t find it in you to do it for yourself, at least think of society.  With the child dearth and populations contracting throughout most of the first world it might help if you weren’t a big flashing negative ad to young men to avoid marriage and fatherhood.  Put that papoose on the mother where God intended it to be.  If you have more than one kid, throw the other one on the dog.  There are big dogs you can fit with a saddle.

Which got me thinking.  Is unmanliness a harbinger of the fall of great powers?  I think it is.  Look around and it’s easy to notice plenty of ominous unmanly trends.

I’m beginning to hear men use trendy truncated miniwords like fab, deet, obvi, fave, vom.  This makes me vom.  My ears can only take so much foppery.  If you are a straight man who doesn’t tuck his junk in between his legs posing in front of the mirror then using these cutesy-isms is very homosex.  I expect women to annoy charm me with baby talk, not grown men.

Men (and I use the term loosely) with trendy truncated minidogs.  I’ve gone on about this before.  If your dog’s legs are missing a joint and it is shorter from snout to tail than the length of your forearm and lighter than your 10-rep maximum dumbbell weight, then you’ve got creampuff issues.  Trade it in for a pet that’s supposed to be that size, like a gerbil.

Gym “classes”.  No man worth his yarbles should take a spinning, pilates, step or, heaven forfend, stroller class.  Butch up and hit the weight room.  Try not to pee yourself when you see the squat rack.  Yoga is acceptable as long as you understand why you are there and situate yourself in the back row for greatest viewing pleasure.

Lovers’ quarrels.  It’s not unmanly to get into a fight with your girlfriend at 5AM banging on her apartment door piss drunk.  It IS unmanly to do all the above while sobbing “BUT I LOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUU!!!” over and over.  What happened to the good old days when drunk guys got into fistfights, not confessionals?

If you order your martini from a color-coded menu you may as well butter up your ass, funboy.  Men’s hard liquor drinks come in two colors — brown and clear.  And don’t drink from the straw.

When you canoodle your girl in public, do not bury your face in her lap and raise your hindquarters in the air like a cat getting stroked.  I actually saw this once.  This is about as unmanly as a man post-coitally resting his head on the chest of his woman.  You should be fitting yourself for a bra.

If you are a man bleating on about how great feminism is please do us all a favor and strangle yourself with your bloomers.  You are not sophisticated, evolved, or intellectual.  You are a sackless tool.

So there you have it.  I’m sure examples of unmanliness abound.  Is it a coincidence that as American women are becoming manlier American men are becoming softer, immature, and vaguely androgynous?  No, it is not.

Update:
Probably the biggest sign of the growing trend of unmanliness is the celebrity blog.  No man should write, read, or even tangentially discuss celebrity gossip, unless it’s to make a point to some hardened feminist how fame and power encourages men turn in their aging wives for young pussy.  Celebrities and the deets of their lives are black holes of irrelevance and idiocy.  It’s enough for one gender to get sucked into eight-balling celebrity sludge right into their limbic systems.  Men have a duty to shun it.  Gay men run the risk of flaming out into a red giant from this wasteful activity.

Read Full Post »

Bald Man’s Lament

A friend, who is a good person despite his penchant for finding humor in the suffering of others, trawled one of those sad-sack internet support groups and forwarded me this plaintive wail from a man(?) who is losing his hair and blaming it for his collapsing marriage.  My friend, for purposes of this blog I shall call him Zeets, thinks this tormented ululating from an anonymous balding man is slap-the-knee funny.

The wife was having sex with the new man while I cried to other people that I wanted my wife back. She was having fun and laughing and having sex with her new man and stuff like that while I was crying and confused and being very very depressed. I had no idea why my wife left me and why she was with another man and I was just wanting the nightmare to end. When someone told me it was my hair I actually got a little angry with him and looked at him like he was nuts. I kind of growled at him so he stopped talking to me. I didn’t want to believe that it was my hair. I didn’t get it even though I had lost a bunch of hair but the new guy had a full head of hair. I simply refused to see the light. I cried and told everyone around me that I was imagining my wife having sex with the new man and I said it was killing me. And I was right, she was having sex with the new man. She would lay under the new man and thrust her pelvis into the pelvis of the new man so she could get the new man’s penis as deep into her vagina as she could make it go. She wanted the new man’s penis as deep inside of her as she could get it to go so she would force it deeper by thrusting her pelvis into his pelvis while she was laying under him. She would do this with her new man in the very bed that I helped to pay for. And while she was doing this I was crying and complaining to everyone that I loved her and wanted her back and saying how I didn’t understand. Then I would go to my studio apartment and lay down in bed and masturbate before going to sleep while my wife was in the bed bought by me, her husband, giving sex to a new man who had a full head of hair. And the worse part of this story is that she will take me to the cleaners and leave me no money to pay for hair replacement surgery.

OK, I admit I laughed.  Well done, Zeets, you have shown once again how to lift one’s spirit at the expense of a tortured soul.  What have we learned from this?

The internet is a rain catch for every flavor of tear shed by man.  If you have a malady or a despair, no matter how peculiar, you will find someone else in the ASCII ether who shares your special brand of misery with whom to bond.  This is good for wallowing, bad for personal growth.

Laughing at the misfortunes of others comes disturbingly easy.

This benighted bald man needs an IV injection of Game, starting with deep deep deeeeeep inner game work.  Visualizing in technicolor brilliance your wife/girlfriend/mom boffing another man is the mental equivalent of plucking out your scrotum pubes one by one… slowly.  He should drown himself in tequila or punch brick walls if that’s what it takes to stop hearing the siren call of self-flagellation.

Make your penis go as far into the vagina as it will go, because it is good.

PS: Congratulations to anon for leaving my 1,000th comment.
anon, if you are a woman, i blow you a kiss.  please… keep your window open so that it may find its way to your lips.
if you are a man, i blow you a manly hug with three (and no more!) pats to the back.  please… keep your window open so that my macho hug may find its way to your open arms.

Read Full Post »

Big Fat Phony Smile

If the eyes are the window to the soul, the smile is the neon vacancy sign outside the motel.

I don’t *feel* high maintenance.

Girls love to smile, whether it’s justified or not.  A broad smile illuminates the face and makes the world notice her.  There is probably some Freudian oral delights aspect to it as well.  The next time you are walking outside, try counting the number of people you see smiling or who smile at you as you pass.  It’s usually no one.  For a girl during her peak beauty years, every waking minute is a good reason to smile and advertise her exalted place within humanity.

There can be too much of a good thing.  The smile’s impact wanes when it becomes a fixture on the face, like the nose.  It loses any meaning and begins to suggest mental vacuity.  So many American girls (European girls seem to be immune to this affliction) have such inflated self-esteems that they flash insincere smiles constantly lest anyone forget to be entranced by them.  The impossibly wide phony smile is the tool in trade of the attention whore.  Now when I see a girl like the one in the photo above smiling like a prom queen I conclude she is a vapid girl with a non-existent inner world who will need to be gamed high-energy style.  The problem with dating girls who smile obsessively is that if you ever give them a reason to drop the smile they will hate you for life.

True sexiness is a lost art.  A woman is incredibly sexy when she balances her time smiling with the detached expression of a relaxed mouth.  She lets her eyes pick up the slack left by the smile.  When I’m talking to a girl whose eyes do most of the subcommunication I get the sense the hamster has not fallen off the wheel in her head.

You won’t see guys smiling as much because the pursuit of women is serious business.  Or maybe they think a straight face looks tough, cool, and emotionally self-contained.  In the dating field, guys who smile just a bit too much are approval-seekers rather than approval-givers.  They want the girls to notice how good-natured and fun-loving they are.  In other aspects of life, men who smile too much are looked upon with suspicion.  In fact, there is a word for perpetually smiling guys — used car salesmen.

One thing the naturals do well is the friendly smile when approaching women.  This automatically sets them apart from most men.  But they drop the smile before it gets stale.  The smile alternates with the serious face and is punctuated with the occasional cocky smirk — it all plays into the girl’s desire for an unpredictable man.  If she’s smiling because of some deliberate action on my part, all is good.  If she’s smiling like a retarded billboard ad, I tell her she has a piece of food stuck in her teeth.

Read Full Post »