Phil Torcivia's Blog, page 17

Begging the question and you must ask it.

This isyour duty. If you shirk this responsibility, you contribute to humanity's absurdity.When you see something obviously seeking attention, you must ask the sillyquestion it desires. Also, you must ask this question with a hint of sarcasm—nottoo much or you'll spoil the fun.
Forexample, I needed some drinking dollars the other day so I drove to the ATM.While I was waiting in line, a tennis pro drove up in a white convertible Lamborghini.She did three laps around the bank before parking (crooked, I might add) in aspace adjacent to my black scrap worth less than one-tenth of her beast.
I had toask, "Does your car go fast?"
Shelooked at me, semi-confused. I maintained a straight face. I watched her fancy wheelsturn as her expression changed with her thoughts:Is he retarded?Maybe he likes cars.Ew, this creepy freak is going toask me for a ride.This could be some asinineattempt to hit on me.He might be autistic.Oh, shit. He just grinned. He's totallyfucking with me.
Sheplayed along and answered, "Yes, very fast."
I wasborderline mean and borderline kind; it all depends on how she took it. I waseither suggesting she's an attention whore or delivering the compliment she sought.
When you'rewatching life's circus today, look for opportunities to use this method. Hereare some obvious ones:When you see a woman walking twoor more dogs, ask her, "Dogs are so much easier to care for than men, aren'tthey?"If someone has lost a lot ofweight and they insist on preaching about it, ask, "Is it AIDS, cancer, or areyou counting carbs?"When you approach a professionalathlete who is signing autographs, ask, "Do you work here?"After a stripper delivers awonderful lap dance, say, "I bet you have lots of sex, huh?"While attending a sporting event nextto an obnoxious fan wearing a team jersey, ask, "What position do you play?"When you're at one of those fancybrewpubs with dozens of taps behind the bar, ask the bartender if she knows of anygood bars around that serve beer.If an extra-large man in a mediumT-shirt is nearby, ask, "Do you work out?"When a mother/daughter combo isseated at the bar, ask the daughter, "Is this your sister? Wow. She shouldstart wearing sunscreen."When someone wants you to guessher age and is proud because you guessed too low, say, "Wow, where do you getyour Botox?"If a Persian dude parks in frontof the bar and repeatedly checks his Maserati, unless he's armed, ask, "I betthat car gets you loads of pussy, doesn't it?"Ask any tall dude, "Can you dunk?"When a cougar has thick, luscioushair, ask, "Does that thing strapped to the back of your head bite?"When a woman's cleavage is inappropriatefor the function, ask, "Where'd you get those?"If Susie has just made hertwentieth Facebook status post of the day, comment, "Are you bored, lonely, or startingto realize how insignificant you are?"When a man sends you a topless or(horrors!) bottomless photo, ask, "Do you mind if I share this with mytherapist?"Ask any tiny chick, "Have youever actually spun on a penis?"Ask any tiny fellow, "What do youdo to make up for your petite stature?"When you see a grocery checkoutclerk in his forties, ask, "How's that real estate license working out for you?"When a man parks in front of thebar in his Harley and revs the engine before killing it, ask, "Couldn't afforda Corvette?"If a man in a paisley button-down,wearing square tipped shoes offers to buy you a drink, ask, "Do you subscribeto Details or GQ? Where's your boyfriend?"

Alpha Male Training

It'slike training me to pole dance, crack eggs, or kick around a hacky sack—frustratingfor both the teacher and the student. Yet, I read and hear women want alphamales, so I persist.
In caseyou don't know what an alpha male is, here's what Wikipedia says:
In social animals, the alpha isthe individual in the community with the highest rank. The alpha animals aregiven preference to be the first to eat and the first to mate; among somespecies they are the only animals in the pack allowed to mate. Other animals inthe community are usually killed or ousted if they violate this rule. Thestatus of the alpha is often achieved by means of superior physical prowess,though it can also be determined by social efforts and building alliances.
Basically,it's a man who:Knowswhat he wants and takes it when he pleases.Isconfident.Doesn'tcare what people think.Takeschances.Demandsrespect.Isrugged and masculine.Isa dominant leader.Isdriven.Keepshimself fit.Dressesfashionably.
Men inshow business who play that role would include George Clooney, Charlie Sheen,David Dukovny, and Ashton Kutcher.
Thealpha male is not:Depressed.Afan.Overlyemotional.Passive.Avictim.Ateam player.Outto please anyone, unless it benefits his cause.Afraid.Lazy.Sadand lonely.
Likemost men, I probably fall between the two depending on my company, mood, and ifI'm on bourbon number two or three. I become further confused and annoyed whenI ask my date which type of man she prefers, and she lies saying she doesn'twant an alpha male. You all do. Admit it: He's the douche who makes you dewy.
Forexample, I'm on date number two last night with a lovely specimen who hasn'tdone anything to scare me off yet (like burp The Star-Spangled Banner). Analpha make probably would have sealed the deal by the end of that date. I didn'teven kiss her. I went in and she did a reflexive ten-degree turn, whichresulted in a corner lip kiss. I suck. I hate myself, which is very un-alpha-ish of me.
The alphamale would have been grabbing her thigh under the table, kissing her earlobewhen he hit the john, and told her how badly he wanted to rip her clothes off.
I spoke of polenta.
[Insertthat thing we all do when we need to let off steam. I walk in the house afterthe date, make sure nobody is looking in the windows, and begin punching theair while delivering creative curses, such as "Fuck, shit, piss! I'm such afucking pussy. Kiss her, numbnuts! Ugh. Fuckity fuck-knuckles." Then, my catsstare at me and begin calling animal rescue services.]
If I askedher for a kiss that probably would have been the final date. I should have gonein and kissed her. When she turned her face, the alpha male would have grabbedher head, turned it back, and kissed her hard and deep with no apologies. Then,perhaps my night would have concluded with playful fondling instead of a good-byewave.
Yes, Iknow: Take control and be the man. It's not easy when you're raised to begentle with the finer sex. I'm a delta (as in "Dummy") male right now and Ineed to snap out of it. Training continues.

Why you shouldn't send Christmas cards.

Jeez, whata waste of paper and postage! Do me a favor, friends and relatives: Instead,please PayPal me the cost of the card and postage. I figure $2.99 plus the$0.44 postage stamp should cover it. You find that Grinch-y? Tough sugar cookies.I don't have kids, I don't have a dead tree fire hazard, and my cats willdestroy my house if I try to put Santa caps on them. So, you'll not bereceiving a card from me. I'll look at your card, say, "That's nice," and tossit into the junk mail bin. In essence, you've paid $3.43 plus your timeto contribute to California's recycling program. Your card will probably come backas a coffee cup insulator, which would be a preferable alternative to the card itself.Skip me and tape the card to your next latte.
When Iwas married, my wife would slap these annoying cards on the refrigerator, doorframes,and staircases. She appreciates the cards because she is a nice person. I,however, am an asshole. I hated them. We didn't have kids and were inthe middle of pills and shots and whacking off into a cup at the hospital andsuppositories and hurry-home-my-temperature-is-right quickies, and all of them atquite a substantial sum. I didn't need to be reminded how easy it was for somepeople to plant baby seeds. Damn braggarts. I so wanted to send our holidaycard as a picture of my genetic soup puddled inside asterile cup.
See?Told you I'm a green Grinch-y asshole.
Lookhere. I just received the 2011 holiday postcard from the Whateverberg family.We have Daddy in a silly red sweater who is out of breath from sprintingback-and-forth to the camera timer, Mommy with dark circles under her eyes and tinselin her hair, two self-entitled rugrats who have fallen for a cruel myth used tomake them behave, and the family dog that was licking his red rocket during thethree previous takes. How sweet. Buh-bye, obnoxious card. To the junk pile withyou. I hope you enjoy your equally useless and wasteful company, which isadvertising vinyl siding, curb painting, and closet organizers.
I watchpeople as they stand in front of the greeting card display case. They scan,lift, open, read, return, and move on until they finally find that perfect cardand spend the next five minutes hunting for the missing envelope. Oh, how Iwant to confront this person.
"You dorealize the person you send that to probably won't read it.""Huh?""All Ido when I receive a card is look inside for cash or checks, then flip it overto see how much the sender wasted on sending me somebody else's quote.""But …""No but.Where's the thought and creative energy in that? At least if you send me afamily photo, it's original—boring as watching mold grow, but original.""Do Iknow you?""Considerme one of the ninety-nine percenters who is here to encourage you to stimulatethe economy in more logical ways. Why don't you bake me some cookies? I likechocolate and peanut butter; any combination of the two will do just fine. Oh,and don't put a card in the tin. Simply write your name with a Sharpie on theoutside. I won't need your return address. You'll get squat from me in return unlessI run into you when I'm with a relatively full bottle, in which case I'll pouryou a holiday sip of my grapeness.""Um …security …"
Itsaddens me to watch the deluded masses who can't escape the Hallmark ploy.

Why you shouldn't send Christmas cards.

Jeez, what
a waste of paper and postage! Do me a favor, friends and relatives: Instead,
please PayPal me the cost of the card and postage. I figure $2.99 plus the
$0.44 postage stamp should cover it. You find that Grinch-y? Tough sugar cookies.
I don't have kids, I don't have a dead tree fire hazard, and my cats will
destroy my house if I try to put Santa caps on them. So, you'll not be
receiving a card from me. I'll look at your card, say, "That's nice," and toss
it into the junk mail bin. In essence, you've paid $3.43 plus your time
to contribute to California's recycling program. Your card will probably come back
as a coffee cup insulator, which would be a preferable alternative to the card itself.
Skip me and tape the card to your next latte.




When I
was married, my wife would slap these annoying cards on the refrigerator, doorframes,
and staircases. She appreciates the cards because she is a nice person. I,
however, am an asshole. I hated them. We didn't have kids and were in
the middle of pills and shots and whacking off into a cup at the hospital and
suppositories and hurry-home-my-temperature-is-right quickies, and all of them at
quite a substantial sum. I didn't need to be reminded how easy it was for some
people to plant baby seeds. Damn braggarts. I so wanted to send our holiday
card as a picture of my genetic soup puddled inside a
sterile cup.




See?
Told you I'm a green Grinch-y asshole.




Look
here. I just received the 2011 holiday postcard from the Whateverberg family.
We have Daddy in a silly red sweater who is out of breath from sprinting
back-and-forth to the camera timer, Mommy with dark circles under her eyes and tinsel
in her hair, two self-entitled rugrats who have fallen for a cruel myth used to
make them behave, and the family dog that was licking his red rocket during the
three previous takes. How sweet. Buh-bye, obnoxious card. To the junk pile with
you. I hope you enjoy your equally useless and wasteful company, which is
advertising vinyl siding, curb painting, and closet organizers.




I watch
people as they stand in front of the greeting card display case. They scan,
lift, open, read, return, and move on until they finally find that perfect card
and spend the next five minutes hunting for the missing envelope. Oh, how I
want to confront this person.




"You do
realize the person you send that to probably won't read it."

"Huh?"

"All I
do when I receive a card is look inside for cash or checks, then flip it over
to see how much the sender wasted on sending me somebody else's quote."

"But …"

"No but.
Where's the thought and creative energy in that? At least if you send me a
family photo, it's original—boring as watching mold grow, but original."

"Do I
know you?"

"Consider
me one of the ninety-nine percenters who is here to encourage you to stimulate
the economy in more logical ways. Why don't you bake me some cookies? I like
chocolate and peanut butter; any combination of the two will do just fine. Oh,
and don't put a card in the tin. Simply write your name with a Sharpie on the
outside. I won't need your return address. You'll get squat from me in return unless
I run into you when I'm with a relatively full bottle, in which case I'll pour
you a holiday sip of my grapeness."

"Um …
security …"




It
saddens me to watch the deluded masses who can't escape the Hallmark ploy.

Incompatibility - Why do good girls like bad boys?

Manythings don't go together well. If you've just brushed your teeth and you'recraving orange juice, don't do it or you're about to prove my point. So, whymust we force together things that are best left apart? Toddlers learn quicklythat square pegs don't fit in round holes, but adults keep forcing it insteadof finding a fit.
Take thecase of the good girl and the bad boy. They don't fit except for the twentyminutes or so it takes them to pound pelvises. They say a man wants his womanto be a princess in the street and a 'ho in the bedroom. Well, it seems a womanwants her man to be a personal assistant in the street and a lizard-tongued,tatted-up scruffball with a huge, numb penis in the bedroom.
Do Isound bitter?
If Ihear one more woman tell me how nice I am, I'm shaving my head and buying aHarley. Her statement is a death knell. I realize the woman complimenting mehas slotted me securely in the friend-I'll-never-fuck column and that sucks forme. Meanwhile, she'll answer dickhead's text (with silly abbreviations,misspellings, and grammatical errors), she'll rendezvous with his drunk ass,and believe him when he promises to pull out. Tomorrow, her friend (moi), will get the call begging me tojoin her for breakfast because she's having a meltdown along with her eggs andmorning after pill.
"What'sshakin', sugarbacon?""I sleptwith Tony again last night.""What? Ithought you said you were over him.""I amnow. I'll never do it again.""Yousaid that too.""But,this time I mean it.""Heardthat before as well.""He hasthis uncanny ability to sense when I'm vulnerable and that's when he strikes. I can't fightit.""Is hismanhood so marvelous?""Well …it's not just that.""Dotell.""He'sdifferent. He takes control and ravages me. I can tell he's really into it whenwe're together and, sure, he's a skilled lover. He's emotional and savage.""But,once the sex towel comes out I bet he loses his charm.""He hasno charm. You have charm.""… and,unfortunately, no nookiepuss to go with my manners.""Aw, you'llfind a nice girl.""No, Iwon't. You know why?""Why?""Becauseyou nice girls want bad boys. I'll hold your door, pull out your chair, order afine bottle of wine, and eventually find text messages you're sending him aboutwanting to have sex with him for the last time again.""I wouldnever …""Youjust did!""But, it'sdifferent. I don't have a serious boyfriend.""I betif I ask the guy you're dating, he'll disagree.""I know.Damn it! It was foolish. You're right. [Insert friend hug.] See? This is why Ilove you so much. You're such a good friend who listens and knows how to talksense into me. What would I do without you?"*sigh*

Incompatibility - Why do good girls like bad boys?

Many
things don't go together well. If you've just brushed your teeth and you're
craving orange juice, don't do it or you're about to prove my point. So, why
must we force together things that are best left apart? Toddlers learn quickly
that square pegs don't fit in round holes, but adults keep forcing it instead
of finding a fit.




Take the
case of the good girl and the bad boy. They don't fit except for the twenty
minutes or so it takes them to pound pelvises. They say a man wants his woman
to be a princess in the street and a 'ho in the bedroom. Well, it seems a woman
wants her man to be a personal assistant in the street and a lizard-tongued,
tatted-up scruffball with a huge, numb penis in the bedroom.




Do I
sound bitter?




If I
hear one more woman tell me how nice I am, I'm shaving my head and buying a
Harley. Her statement is a death knell. I realize the woman complimenting me
has slotted me securely in the friend-I'll-never-fuck column and that sucks for
me. Meanwhile, she'll answer dickhead's text (with silly abbreviations,
misspellings, and grammatical errors), she'll rendezvous with his drunk ass,
and believe him when he promises to pull out. Tomorrow, her friend (moi), will get the call begging me to
join her for breakfast because she's having a meltdown along with her eggs and
morning after pill.




"What's
shakin', sugarbacon?"

"I slept
with Tony again last night."

"What? I
thought you said you were over him."

"I am
now. I'll never do it again."

"You
said that too."

"But,
this time I mean it."

"Heard
that before as well."

"He has
this uncanny ability to sense when I'm vulnerable and that's when he strikes. I can't fight
it."

"Is his
manhood so marvelous?"

"Well …
it's not just that."

"Do
tell."

"He's
different. He takes control and ravages me. I can tell he's really into it when
we're together and, sure, he's a skilled lover. He's emotional and savage."

"But,
once the sex towel comes out I bet he loses his charm."

"He has
no charm. You have charm."

"… and,
unfortunately, no nookiepuss to go with my manners."

"Aw, you'll
find a nice girl."

"No, I
won't. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because
you nice girls want bad boys. I'll hold your door, pull out your chair, order a
fine bottle of wine, and eventually find text messages you're sending him about
wanting to have sex with him for the last time again."

"I would
never …"

"You
just did!"

"But, it's
different. I don't have a serious boyfriend."

"I bet
if I ask the guy you're dating, he'll disagree."

"I know.
Damn it! It was foolish. You're right. [Insert friend hug.] See? This is why I
love you so much. You're such a good friend who listens and knows how to talk
sense into me. What would I do without you?"

*sigh*

Gifts men prefer to man-gagement rings.

This isa disturbing trend that needs to stop now. Your man does NOT want to receive aman-gagement ring this Christmas. Nope. No how. All right, I'll give you oneteeny exception: If it's a Green Bay Packers World Champions ring, he mayextend his left ring finger.
You don'tneed to mark your territory, cookiepuss. Men have all mastered the holsteringof the vagina repellant. I know of a man who is talented enough to remove his weddingring without using his right hand. (It's like that cute trick you do with the cherrystem.) He dunks his left hand into his pants pocket and thumb-flicks thatcircle of strife away to join the lint. Suddenly, the vaginas aren't so timid.
What theheck would a man-gagement ring look like anyway? It's stupid. Wait. If you canfind one that doubles as a beer bottle opener, I'll consider it. On secondthought, I'll suffer through twist-offs or use my car door's latch. Rings onmen often signal that the hiney is open for business; mine isn't.
Alt+Tabover to Amazon and check out the top gifts for men. Do you see any fuckingrings there? No, you don't. How about a watch, pooh-bear? Men love watches. Youcan consider it a man-gagement watch,if it makes you feel better. Have something mushy engraved under the face. He'llbe touched, fer reals.
Here aresome other gifts, which no man wants:PajamasTiesTools(We must select our own or they are useless.)Cufflinks(Who wears cufflinks? You're not dating James Freaking Bond.)MembershipsUnderwearTicketsto a play, opera, or show other than a rock concert, which he can attend with abuddy instead of a disgusted woman who will text the entire time and complain aboutthe noise levelsAVolvoBooksabout the female orgasm (useful, no doubt, but insensitive)Salsalessons
No ring,damn you! How about a cute little rope bracelet? Undershirts are useful. Ah,here we go: Have you considered a scarf? Go ahead, buy me a fucking scarf. Itcan even be pink or lavender. I don't care. I could use a belt. No, not a ropebelt. NO RING. Actually, there are numerous items men will appreciate and proudlyuse instead of hiding:UniversalremoteSexScotch(18-year, please)Starbucksgift cards (*swoon*)WirelessmouseBaconPokerchipsHeadphones(Noise-cancelling ones, and don't take it personally. Shush!)Sex(Repetition breeds success.)AnyBlu-ray DVD movie that features lots of shit blowing up and cars going fast.
If youdrop to a knee in front of me, pull a jewelry box from your pocket, and ask meto marry you, here's what will happen: I'll say "That depends," and unzip mypants.

Gifts men prefer to man-gagement rings.

This is
a disturbing trend that needs to stop now. Your man does NOT want to receive a
man-gagement ring this Christmas. Nope. No how. All right, I'll give you one
teeny exception: If it's a Green Bay Packers World Champions ring, he may
extend his left ring finger.




You don't
need to mark your territory, cookiepuss. Men have all mastered the holstering
of the vagina repellant. I know of a man who is talented enough to remove his wedding
ring without using his right hand. (It's like that cute trick you do with the cherry
stem.) He dunks his left hand into his pants pocket and thumb-flicks that
circle of strife away to join the lint. Suddenly, the vaginas aren't so timid.




What the
heck would a man-gagement ring look like anyway? It's stupid. Wait. If you can
find one that doubles as a beer bottle opener, I'll consider it. On second
thought, I'll suffer through twist-offs or use my car door's latch. Rings on
men often signal that the hiney is open for business; mine isn't.




Alt+Tab
over to Amazon and check out the top gifts for men. Do you see any fucking
rings there? No, you don't. How about a watch, pooh-bear? Men love watches. You
can consider it a man-gagement watch,
if it makes you feel better. Have something mushy engraved under the face. He'll
be touched, fer reals.




Here are
some other gifts, which no man wants:

Pajamas
Ties
Tools
(We must select our own or they are useless.)
Cufflinks
(Who wears cufflinks? You're not dating James Freaking Bond.)
Memberships
Underwear
Tickets
to a play, opera, or show other than a rock concert, which he can attend with a
buddy instead of a disgusted woman who will text the entire time and complain about
the noise levels
A
Volvo
Books
about the female orgasm (useful, no doubt, but insensitive)
Salsa
lessons





No ring,
damn you! How about a cute little rope bracelet? Undershirts are useful. Ah,
here we go: Have you considered a scarf? Go ahead, buy me a fucking scarf. It
can even be pink or lavender. I don't care. I could use a belt. No, not a rope
belt. NO RING. Actually, there are numerous items men will appreciate and proudly
use instead of hiding:

Universal
remote
Sex
Scotch
(18-year, please)
Starbucks
gift cards (*swoon*)
Wireless
mouse
Bacon
Poker
chips
Headphones
(Noise-cancelling ones, and don't take it personally. Shush!)
Sex
(Repetition breeds success.)
Any
Blu-ray DVD movie that features lots of shit blowing up and cars going fast.





If you
drop to a knee in front of me, pull a jewelry box from your pocket, and ask me
to marry you, here's what will happen: I'll say "That depends," and unzip my
pants.

Your Post-Breakup Guide

Aw, babycakes,I'm sorry. Wipe that mascara, blow your nose, and prepare yourself to find yournext ex. I can't have you sitting on the bench feeling miserable. That's awaste of some fine booty right there. You're denying mankind access to one ofNature's finest gifts.

Firstthings first: You need to write a nasty letter to that heartless prick. He'llnever see it, but writing it will make you feel much better. Open your emailprogram, put your own address in the "To:" field, enter a subject ("Letter tothe Fucktard" works), and begin typing. Let it all out, sweetness. Here aresome excellent ideas for phrases to use: PencildickDon'tdeserveAsshatNeverreally liked you anywayWashyour sheets, for Christ's sakeMusthave been drunkIwas faking it … yes, every timeSlobManscapingI'llmiss your dog more than youYou'renot getting it back—it was a giftWasteof timeMyfriends warned meYoumight be gayItis so not sexyChildrenplay video gamesYourcar is also gayBrut,really?Ihope your acorn penis grows fungus and falls offYourbreath is fouler than raw sewageGetover yourselfIdon't even careI'mgoing to the cock parade
You feelmuch better already, don't you? Go get your nails, face, and hair did. Toss ina spray tan. I think it's time for a new outfit. Yes. Do it. I'm thinkingsomething black and strappy. Go make room in your closet immediately.
What'sthat? You just found one of his shirts? Oh, my. Well, please allow me tosuggest you use it for the following: Collectyour Labrador's lawn loafsCleanthe toilet rims he spottedKindlingWriteon it in bright red lipstick, "This belongs to a dick waffle who should neversee another vagina as long as he lives," and leave it on his windshieldDucttape it to your driveway and make sure two wheels hit it every time you pull inor outWearit while Mr. Next pounds the pussy snot out of youGiveit to an ultra-smelly homeless dudeDustyour house with itEnterit in your company's white elephant exchangeTakeit to the shooting range and make lots of holes
I cansee that smile returning, champ. You're almost ready to reenter the game. Now,think: Does he have any almost-as-cute-as-he-isfriends? There must be at least one. Perfect. You need to blow him. I know,I know. Look, sometimes you need to take one (in the throat) for the team. Makesure it's a legendary, toe-curling, back-spasming blowjob, the likes of whichhas only been experienced by immortals and movie stars. Oh, one more thing: Don'tlet anyone see you do it, but make sure you forward the text message this luckyfellow will send you to the ex. It will probably read something like, "OMG, Ithink I love you. I have such a happy penis right now. What was [insert asshole'sname] thinking letting you go?"
Now, you'reready. Go get 'em, tigress!

Your Post-Breakup Guide

Aw, babycakes,
I'm sorry. Wipe that mascara, blow your nose, and prepare yourself to find your
next ex. I can't have you sitting on the bench feeling miserable. That's a
waste of some fine booty right there. You're denying mankind access to one of
Nature's finest gifts.







First
things first: You need to write a nasty letter to that heartless prick. He'll
never see it, but writing it will make you feel much better. Open your email
program, put your own address in the "To:" field, enter a subject ("Letter to
the Fucktard" works), and begin typing. Let it all out, sweetness. Here are
some excellent ideas for phrases to use:

Pencil
dick
Don't
deserve
Asshat
Never
really liked you anyway
Wash
your sheets, for Christ's sake
Must
have been drunk
I
was faking it … yes, every time
Slob
Manscaping
I'll
miss your dog more than you
You're
not getting it back—it was a gift
Waste
of time
My
friends warned me
You
might be gay
It
is so not sexy
Children
play video games
Your
car is also gay
Brut,
really?
I
hope your acorn penis grows fungus and falls off
Your
breath is fouler than raw sewage
Get
over yourself
I
don't even care
I'm
going to the cock parade







You feel
much better already, don't you? Go get your nails, face, and hair did. Toss in
a spray tan. I think it's time for a new outfit. Yes. Do it. I'm thinking
something black and strappy. Go make room in your closet immediately.




What's
that? You just found one of his shirts? Oh, my. Well, please allow me to
suggest you use it for the following:

Collect
your Labrador's lawn loafs
Clean
the toilet rims he spotted
Kindling
Write
on it in bright red lipstick, "This belongs to a dick waffle who should never
see another vagina as long as he lives," and leave it on his windshield
Duct
tape it to your driveway and make sure two wheels hit it every time you pull in
or out
Wear
it while Mr. Next pounds the pussy snot out of you
Give
it to an ultra-smelly homeless dude
Dust
your house with it
Enter
it in your company's white elephant exchange
Take
it to the shooting range and make lots of holes







I can
see that smile returning, champ. You're almost ready to reenter the game. Now,
think: Does he have any almost-as-cute-as-he-is
friends? There must be at least one. Perfect. You need to blow him. I know,
I know. Look, sometimes you need to take one (in the throat) for the team. Make
sure it's a legendary, toe-curling, back-spasming blowjob, the likes of which
has only been experienced by immortals and movie stars. Oh, one more thing: Don't
let anyone see you do it, but make sure you forward the text message this lucky
fellow will send you to the ex. It will probably read something like, "OMG, I
think I love you. I have such a happy penis right now. What was [insert asshole's
name] thinking letting you go?"




Now, you're
ready. Go get 'em, tigress!