One-Night-Stand Boy: I have a small request

One night stand boy,

Thank you for buying me all those fancy, lime-flavored drinks, and thank you for listening to me as I got tipsy and rambled on. Thank you for taking me home and fucking my brains out, thank you! Thanks for being a good guy and having condoms with you, and for wanting to use them, and being a responsible person. Thank you for needing to use more than one, and for having a huge dick. All in all, a wonderful one-night-stand experience.

I realize that men are not all as enthusiastic about clean up as women, and that you as an individual may not be as fastidious as I am. So thanks for dealing with the used condom. Thank you for not just throwing it on the floor next to the bed like one guy I dated, who also threw his dirty socks and underwear next to the bed and thought I would pick them up and wash them (he did not stay long). Thanks for getting up, even though you just came, and going to the bathroom to throw away the condom. Hopefully you tied it, and your potentially infectious bodily fluids will not spill. (I do think most men know by now not to throw it in the toilet, but thanks anyway for not doing that.)

I know all of this was a lot to ask in exchange for a night of hot sex. I do, however, have just one more request to make. Look at my bathroom. Look at the trashcan. It is one of those little blue bathroom accessories and it matches the other accessories. There isn’t much in the bathroom trashcan. Some cotton balls, maybe a Kleenex or two, the packaging from an eyeliner I recently bought.

A few months ago a certain hot one night stand threw his condom in the trash on top of all the q-tips, and since I was pretty much passed out in the bedroom after a fantastic orgasm (thanks!), he then got dressed and left. Several hours later, around 4 a.m. I got one of those emergency calls to go pick up my recent ex, who had been in a car crash–nothing dangerous–and was unable to drive home. He was upset, and lonely and of course I brought him to my house because I thought he needed company. I did not know at this point that there was a used condom staring up out of my bathroom trashcan. As you can imagine, my ex was less than thrilled and I did not get any sleep that night.

I also occasionally have more than one one-night-stand in a weekend. I do try to clean up after them, but sometimes with the hangover and the going out again, things are not as tidy as I would like them to be. And when I bring a guy home, a used condom in the trash is not really a sexy accessory. I know, it’s my house and I should clean it. I know, I’m a slut (but you weren’t complaining last night). So, given that the bathroom is full of handy things like toilet paper and Kleenex, would you mind terribly wrapping the condom up before you throw it away? I promise to give you a great blow job in exchange for your consideration.

Ladies, Lift the Seat!

Hoping that I will not be evicted from the female gender by writing this, I must reveal the shame that the Western woman carries with herself daily as she roams the frontier that is the public restroom. For, while prim and proper in her own private toilet, insisting that the toilet paper dispenses over the roll rather than under and castigating any poor male family member for leaving the seat in the upright position, the same said woman will indeed piss all over any public toilet seat and leave the mess for the next unfortunate visitor.

Men may now be shocked to learn that a woman would urinate all over a public toilet seat but it happens ALL THE TIME. Even when the same seat can be easily lifted out of the way, creating a larger target for the unseated urinator. Even now, in the days when old-growth trees are hewn and pulped to create filmy toilet seat covers for our convenience. Even now, in the second millennium after the existence of Christ, women insist on urinating all over the symbol of comfortable excretion of the West.

Having just returned from a trip to the East, I was at first uncomfortable with the toilets that are built directly into the floor with landings for the feet. But I soon realized that, after rolling up my pants and scooping up my scarves, I could hover in comfort and pee freely. Nothing save the foot landings was intended for any other purpose that to receive that which was given. However, I did miss the comfort of seating and occasional light reading. Flying back through Frankfurt, I was exultant to see my first Western toilet and then crushed to see the droplets of another’s urine all over the blessed seat. Sacrilege!

This phenomenon is especially repugnant given the widespread movement against men leaving the seat up. Men have been oppressed for generations for leaving the seat up when they should be proud that they are hygienic enough to actually lift the seat rather than being like a lazy woman and just peeing all over it. Men, I call on you to raise the awareness of this problem: LEAVE THE SEAT UP! Do it proudly! Post a sign on the bottom of the seat that reads, “Another clean toilet seat lives here!” Carry your shame no further.

Women, ask yourselves why you do not lift the seat. Granted, if you think that it is so dirty that you don’t want to sit on it, you probably won’t touch it to lift it out of harm’s way. We are generally provided with tissue and toilet seat covers in the restroom and you are probably wearing a shoe that would work just fine to do the initial lifting. Just lift the damn seat. Leave it up if you have to. Teach your daughters to do the same thing. It’s called hygiene.

To close, I would like to leave with this variation on the well-known poem:

If you sprinkle when you tinkle,
Please be neat and LIFT the seat!

I hate being a woman

10 reasons why I hate being a woman:

1. I am so sick of my period! One-third of every month is negatively affected by my period. I am either sick from cramps, bloated beyond belief, on it, finishing it, too emotional, not emotional at all, or just simply not myself. The right months are worse than the left ones. Ortho, Depo and the others do nothing to help.
2. I hate make-up. I went to work today without make-up (I feel like crap already) and the first thing I hear when I sit down is a co-worker saying “I see you woke up late this morning, you should put your face on before anyone else sees you like that”… WTF, this is my face… it is a cute face… I like it just the way it is. Why do I have to put on a show for everyone around me, hell some of the guys here don’t even shave before coming to work… they wear the same tired clothes every week… so why do I need to bother?
3. I have to be a slave to fashion. Same as the make-up situation, god forbid if I wear my most comfortable pants to work, or an out of style outfit that I personally like. Why do I have to spend a couple thousand dollars a year on clothes and accessories, why do all of my friends want to shop all of the time. This is a sickness, and I am sick of it. I wish I could dress like a guy, in the same suit I bought in 1999 and the same tie that I have worn every week for the past three years. That would be nice!
4. My bra has never fit me right! Why can’t I find a bra that fits me perfectly? One that is slightly adjustable to compensate for my ever changing body? With the right cup just slightly larger than the left cup, one that provides just the right amount of support. Is this too much to ask, retailers have put significant effort into the feminine hygiene realm, perhaps they could divert some of their R&D monies away from moisture lock technologies and into making the perfect bra. If only I was a little smaller, then I could go without.
5. I hate the following terms: Pussy, Slit, Cooche, Cunt, Snatch, Cooter, Beaver, Hole, Muff, Twat, and Clam… I also hate Titties, Boobies, Funbags, Melons and any other idiotic name people come up with for my body parts. I have a vagina and breasts or tits. Easy as that. Can you say Vagina? I hope so.
6. Double standards: Men get away with murder in the business world. Women are held to a much higher degree of scrutiny and to a much higher standard than men. When men talk they are networking, when women talk we are gossiping… when men make mistakes they are risk takers, when women make mistakes we are incompetent, when men argue they are debating, when women argue we are being catty. You get the idea. I am just as smart, if not smarter than most of my coworkers, but I will always get stuck behind a guy with ‘ambition and drive’, especially when I spend a good portion of my month focusing on my insides (see #1).
7. Sex is different for women. Men take great pride in bedding women, as many and as often as possible. If a women expresses her sexuality she is a whore, tramp or slut. Rightly so sometimes… there is no female equivalent to the blow job, a blow job is a power trip for the guy… I am on my knees in front of him or with my head around his waist in some fashion, pleasuring him until he finishes, then it is up to me to clean up while he basks in the satisfaction. If he goes down on me, it is a different experience, there is no power exchange, he is still in a powerful position (legs apart is always vulnerable) and he is still happy to see my vagina. The picture alone is worth ten minutes of licking on his part. Don’t even get me started on penetration…
8. My yearly gyno appointment. enough said, I wish I could just turn my head and cough, just once!
9. The bathroom! Ok, I am not going to talk about the cleanliness of bathrooms and the hygiene habits of women, that has been covered ad nauseum on this board. I am going to say that I wish I could be a little neater when I pee, I can’t stand that first dribble that tends to go somewhere other than in the bowl if I am not sitting. The squat pee (which I have to do given the state of the restrooms in some places) is never neat for me. No need for graphic details here.
10. My mother and all other women who feel that I am breaking the social contract by not having children. I have enough issues with my girly parts already, I can’t imagine what having a child would do to me. I also don’t feel like bringing new babies into the current world, so don’t tell me that I should. Don’t say that I should ‘start looking for a husband’ because I am getting older… why don’t you tell the guys, ‘better get serious about a family, your time is ticking’…

I hate the double standards, the 1950s restrictions that still apply today, the fact that every body that sees me thinks that I am a walking baby factory, that I need to put on a show for them to attract a suitable man to take care of me so that I can bear his children. I want comfortable clothes, a man to truly understand vulnerability, especially sexual vulnerability without getting freaky about it. I want the same priveleges that men have. Is that too much to ask?

Why does this piss me off so much? GET IT RIGHT

because it’s fucking pathetic!!

lose – the opposite of win, to misplace something, ONE FUCKING O
loose – the opposite of tight, your mother/wife/sister, TWO FUCKING O’s
how can so many people get these two confused? IDIOTS

your – a possessive, similar to mine, his, her as in “your loose slut of a sister loses her mind every time she gets railroaded by your whole inbred, shitbag excuse of a family”, NO FUCKING APOSTROPHE
you’re – a contraction of “you are”, as in “you’re a dipshit”, A FUCKING APOSTROPHE

its – another possessive, similar to your, NO FUCKING APOSTROPHE
it’s – a contraction of “it is”, as in ‘it’s fucking simple’, A FUCKING APOSTROPHE

Need a trick? Fine – when using it’s or you’re, expand the contraction. If “you’re head is full of shit” becomes “you are head is full of shit” and doesn’t make any sense (maybe it will to you because you’re a fucking idiot), then you are using the wrong word. Queef.

to – a preposition, as in “turn to the right” or “it’s time to go back to school”, ONE FUCKING O
too – an adverb (know what that is?), synonymous with “also”, “as well” as in “Really? I went to college too. I actually read a FUCKING BOOK.” It can also be used to mean “to a regrettable degree” as in “It’s too late for you, moron”, TWO FUCKING O’s
two – a number, it comes after one

there – an adverb, similar to here as in “your tiny bus is over there”
their – yet another possessive, similar to your as in “it’s not their fault that you’re a fucking retard. It’s YOUR fault.”
they’re – a contraction of “they are” as in “they’re not responsible for your complete ignorance of YOUR OWN FUCKING LANGUAGE. READ A BOOK!!”

IT’S NOT FUCKING HARD, DOUCHE BAGS.

By the way, grammar is spelled with TWO FUCKING A’s. So next time you want to flame someone for bad “grammer”, at least spell it right.

Fucks.

Masturbation can be dangerous

Let’s just say, ‘hypothetically’, that I decided to flogg my dolphin last night just before retiring for the evening. And let’s just say that when I went to pee in the morning, some dried manchowder might have dried up around the opening to my prick, blocking the flow of urine. And let’s just say that that blockage, might have caused urine to back up inside my rod for a second or two, creating an unusually fierce spray of piss pressure once said blockage was busted. And let’s just say that this high-velocity piss-stream shot off at a 45-degree angle to the left because of said blockage. Let’s just imagine that this 45-degree angle cause me to hit the ear of the cat who was perched not too far away, causing said cat to ‘flip out,’ screech, and perform a 4-legged leap with a half-twist and quarter roll (diffuculty of 6.8). Let’s just say there may have been an empty glass resting on the back of the toilet, which may or may not have been tossed off the back of the toilet by said cat in the aforementioned jump. That glass, we might say, falls really close to my foot, lodging a small shard of glass into my left foot. This lodging of glass shard may have caused me to immediately grab said left foot, creating a situation of hopping on one leg (while still relieving myself, mind you) on a tile surface which is becoming increasingly wetter by the second. Let’s just say that it only takes a few hops on one foot on a slippery surface to end a physical event of such fashion. AND LET’S JUST SAY that once my foot was taken out from underneath me, that I crashed into the shower door, knocking it off its tracks and causing me to fall in the shower and somehow ending in a back down, face up position, legs elevated, with blood running down my leg, pee streaming down my body to my neck, and a new head-welt with massive headache to boot.

Let this be a lesson to you, next time you feel like rubbing your pole.

Help for the Ladies; One Guy’s Advice

Recently I have been noticing some of the women I know complaining that they can’t attract the type of man they want. This always bothers me because, to me, the answer is so simple. To help the ladies out, I have devised my own 4 step plan to achieving you male pursuing goals. Mind you, this is not to say that MEN couldn’t improve themselves, and don’t need multiple lists of their own, but such a discussion should be, I would think, written by a female instead.

So, feel free to chime in on, or disagree with, any point in your comments, but please make your critique more intelligent than “fuck you, male pig” or the like, especially if you haven’t read the whole thing.

The Four Things Women Can Do To Get Guys:

1. Exercise.
Run, bike, swim, go to the gym, something. Far too many women today try radical diets, some involving “all protein” eating habits, that are, realistically, not working. The first law of thermodynamics states (paraphrased): energy in must equal energy out. This means that if you eat 1800 calories a day, you MUST burn off 1800 calories a day as well; otherwise you WILL store the excess. And jogging on a treadmill until you are a bit uncomfortable is NOT exercising. Exercising should be uncomfortable and sweaty—possibly nauseating at times. If you are wearing makeup, you aren’t working hard enough.

Furthermore, by exercising you: raise your metabolism and propensity for burning calories faster; get in better cardiovascular shape which is healthier for your body and leads to better stamina; improve your self-image–causing you to feel good about yourself, your accomplishment of working out consistently, and give you more self confidence. This last piece is probably the most important aspect. EVERYONE feels better about themselves when they look good and feel good, and this will cause your overall attitude to improve, know it or not. This is a very attractive trait for any male.

The persona of a person who exercises is also more attractive because it speaks to a certain level of dedication, energy, and aggressiveness. Being a hippopotamus isn’t attractive, granted, but worse is she who is completely lazy.

2. Don’t smoke.
We get it. You were 15, pissed at the world, and a cooler than the average bear in grammar school. While there are likely some guys that still see smoking as rebellious and kinky, there is a HUGE portion who finds it tacky and gross. You don’t have to agree with me, but if you decide to smoke, you are automatically excluded all of those men from your potential pool who do. The rub of it is, the men who dislike smoking are going to be, generally, in better shape, healthier, and more active and athletic people—three things women claim to want in a man, typically.

The smell of smoke also attaches to your clothing, so if you want to use the “I’ll just chew gum so my breath won’t stink” defense, think again. It won’t work. Smoke attaches to your hair and apartment furnishings too, two things you can’t mask with gum either. Think I am wrong? Poll 10 male friends who don’t smoke and ask them if they would rather date a woman who smells like burning diapers, or chocolate chip cookies. No contest.

3. Eat.
Men are creatures driven by very simple urges. Sex is the number two most powerful urge; hunger is the first. To properly prime for number two, you must first resolve the primary urge. That being said, men like a woman who appreciates food as much as they do. If you are out to dinner and you are ordering nothing but a pair of saltine crackers, there is something wrong, in the man’s eyes, because how could you not want to satisfy such a basic need? Woman who don’t eat, or who are exceedingly picky about food are not only troubling, they are annoying and are never looked at favorable for it. This does not mean that you have to gorge yourself, but you should have an appreciation for a dinner if it is ordered or cooked for you as the man you have your eye on undoubtedly does.

This also goes hand in hand with the exercising point earlier. A woman who exercises NEEDS food; You are supplying a working body with the fuel it requires. And again, a woman who is not eating is likely doing it for a lack of confidence about her own self image, a characteristic which is fatal in the eyes of a male.

Eating is a social activity, too. It’s one of the ways guys can show affection for each other without is being “unmanly.” Why the hell do you think bar-b-ques are so great for a group of guys? Men can bond over the smoldering remains of meat and fire. If a woman is not eating, she is not being social–to a guy’s way of thinking, and that is no fun.

4. Laugh.
More accurately it should say: have a sense of humor. You might be the hottest girl this side of the Mississippi, but if you are no fun to talk to or hang out with, you aren’t going to get the man you want. This doesn’t mean that you have to laugh falsely at everything a guy says, or even take an interest, but being overly sensitive to political correctness, never acknowledging a risqué comment in jest, or never having a witty remark of your own is social death. It’s no fun to be around someone like that.

You know the reason that your shorter, less attractive, hugely sarcastic friend has no trouble talking to and getting the interest of men? It’s the sarcasm part. A funny, sarcastic, average girl is vastly more attractive than a hot, boring, snooty one. Period. Why? Humor shows intellect, and believe it or not, men don’t mind a woman is bright enough to entertain him. Humor shows edge, character, and gets boring far less quickly.

So there. Not very complicated, but extremely results oriented. I hope I have helped some eager woman, because after all, by helping the women, I am helping the men too.

To the people at my gym

To Hollywood Lifter: As you lift, you fill the gym with your grunts, groans and sounds that defy description. You like the attention. Yes, you have some big muscles. But you also have a pony tail and goatee and that makes you ridiculous. You think it makes you look like a badass. You’re half right.

To Shower Honker: What you do in your own shower is your own business. But when you share the shower room with other people, most of us would appreciate you NOT covering the floor with your snot rockets. I simply don’t have faith that your nasal cannons can aim well enough to hit the drain with any sort of consistency.

To Bearded Guy with Two Hot Girls: You kick ass and I want to know your story. Who are those girls? Are you their trainer? Are they your girlfriends? Is it your girlfriend and her friend? Her sister? Her roommate? Can I have one? You, sir, are an inspiration.

To Gay Asian Guy: You’ve dropped some weight and toned up quite a bit since you started at the gym and you are to be congratulated for that. Congratulations. Now stop wearing those shirts that say “bitch” and “twink.” I have no problem with gay people. God bless you and yours. But about the last thing I want to see whilst weakly attempting to incline chest press is one of your less-than-clever shirts declaring your sexuality as you squat in front of me.

To Elijah Wood: You look just like him. Now change your nasty shirt, Frodo. But I do like your little tattoo and the band it represents. Seriously, a band tattoo? To each his own, I guess.

To Intense Blonde Girl: You really don’t fuck around. You lift crazy weights considering how thin you are. Now I’m just throwing out ideas here, but maybe we could go out for coffee sometime and get married. Just a thought.

To Skinny Old Guy: You’re pretty cool. I like you. That’s why I’m going to recommend that you try pushing less weight. You’re strong for your size, but I’m surprised you’re still alive and functioning with the way you overload the machines and struggle mightily with the weights. Slow and steady wins the race. Plus, I don’t want to have to pick your torn-off limbs up off the floor for you.

To Braces Guy: I know what you do with the weights before you leave a machine. Who are you trying to impress? Maybe I shouldn’t care so much about this, but I hate to see you waste your effort trying to convince the rest of us of how strong you are. God loves all his children equally…Except liars, Braces Guy. Except liars.

To Hardcore Trainer: I don’t care if you WERE a Navy Seal; I swear to god, if you yell out “You da man!” to a client one more time, I’m going to fill out a comment card with SO many negative comments regarding your abilities, it’ll make your head spin. And if you weren’t roughly 76 times my size, I’d cockpunch you. Every time I hear you yell out that catch-phrase from the 90s, I want to walk up to you and say, “No, sir…YOU da man!”

To Walking Pharmacy: I’ve never seen someone carry that many juices, powders and pills around with them. You’re like a walking GNC. Apparently they work because you’re built like Stallone (circa 1985), but your face looks just like Matt Stone, glasses and all. I’m really tempted to come up to you and ask you to do the Kyle Broslofski voice, but I’m afraid you’d eat my head for protein.

Anyway, you guys are actually great and you make each and every evening at the gym much more interesting and entertaining. Our quirks make us who we are and I wouldn’t change any of you. Except for you, Mr. Shower Honker. That’s just gross.

Dear Cat

Dear cat,

The girlfriend is away for three weeks, and though I am a person of strong will, three weeks is simply too long to bear without working one out. I don’t expect you to understand this need as you no longer have your ovaries, but trust me when I say, I NEED to.

If you ever took the CAT SATs, you might have seen this example analogy:

Getting off : me :: licking your ass : you.

Having established that, I request of you: Please do not disturb the fucking blinds when I’m watching porn!

You’re a cat, not a dog, so don’t give me that puppy-eyed look. You know what you’re doing. As soon as I settle back in my chair with some hot chick doing all the things that my girlfriend won’t, full-screen, you awaken from a dead sleep and run through the floor-to-ceiling blinds. I often shriek and my hard phallus, brilliantly backlit by the glow of the monitor, falls limp like a rhubarb stalk at the bottom of a Safeway bin. This wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have an entire row of apartments whose living room windows directly face me. For the love of my erection and reputation, or my love of my erection and reputation, keep on sleeping when I’m a’ jerkin.

I should have gotten a ferret.

Hugs and purrs,

Your owner.

P.S. And don’t stare at my balls. You give the same look to a string before you’re about to pounce on it. That frightens me.

Dear Honda owners

Dear Honda owners,

I don’t want to race you.

That’s right, I’m un-interested in trying to challenge you and your faux supercar in a drag race between stoplights downtown. I don’t know why you all feel the need to glare at me while the light is red. You don’t have to change your grip on the steering wheel like its a pair of motorcycle handlebars, either. You especially don’t need to rev your four-cylinder with its loud exhaust system because you might tempt me to want to race you.

I don’t.

What really gets me, though, is with the abundance of similarly craptastic hondas out there, why do you want to race me? The way I figure it, you want to race everything in sight. My Jeep has less than 200 horsepower and the aerodynamics of a barn. However, I suppose the near-verticle air dam which is my windshield isn’t neccesarily discouraging to someone who puts a god-damn wing on the back of a front wheel drive car. More downforce for the rear wheels then, eh? That way you can accelerate faster, right? Great work, dipshit.

But seriously. I don’t get it. I don’t ask you to go drive trails with me. I don’t wave and say ‘lets go haul ass through a mud pit’. Sure, I spend about as much time off pavement as you do on the track, but at least I can tell the difference between a race car and a 4×4. Does my Jeep look like a challenge or something? Do you and your honda friends get together and say ‘Dood! I just beat that Jeep with the big tires and low gears! I’m so fast!’

The way I figure it, your car sucks so much, you can’t beat any of the other Hondas, and sure as hell don’t want to admit defeat. Instead of buying a genuinely fast car, you choose to get your rocks off racing easy vehicles in your piece of shit. Way to go, badass! I’m proud of you! Why don’t we get together and beat up some kids later. I’ll let you sucker punch a baby. It will be hard core.

Seriously, though. Please, please, the next time you see me, or any other non-challenging vehicle at a light, don’t antagonize them and encourage them to ‘race.’ Instead, pull your head our of your ass, and realize that your hatchback is probably faster than a minivan, delivery truck, recreational vehicle, bicycle, u-haul, and other similar underpowered non/aerodynamic vehicles. Oh, and don’t forget, you’re probably faster than me, too.

Go play some more Gran Turismo, and quit being a jackass.

Thank you.

“nice guys” of the world

This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.

This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.

This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.

The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.” Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, insane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.

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