The Ultimate Guide to Breakups

You can smell it coming. Your paramour has left an ominous message on your voicemail. S/he wants to talk. Perhaps you have been invited to meet him somewhere public. Maybe she’s cancelled a date, and is meeting you at your place instead. But you’re not an idiot and you can anticipate what’s next: your ass is about to get dumped. C’est la vie.

Here is your foolproof guide to navigating your breakup. Follow these simple directions and I can guarantee a minimum of stress and heartbreak. If you desire, this technique will ensure your probability of reconciliation is maximized. Want her back? Listen well:

On the day you get the news, listen very calmly. Say as little as possible. You will probably hear some BS like, “It’s not you – it’s me” or “I just need some space for a while” or “let’s still be friends”… blah blah blah. Do not argue. Accept everything s/he says. S/he may become emotional. Make no move to comfort him or her. When s/he has finished, do not linger. Say goodbye and leave. If you are in your own home, show him or her the door. A chaste hug is OK, but under NO circumstances should you offer or accept a goodbye kiss, a final quickie, or any of that shit. If you’re at a restaurant, do not hang around to split the tab: guys – pay the bill and leave. Ladies – just bail. There is no need to be sterile or brusque, by all means be courteous and kind. Understanding even. But wait until your (now) ex is out of earshot to cry like a bitch.

If you get the news over the phone (ouch), the same rules apply. Just hang up.

If you get a voice/email message, DO NOT respond. Chances are a relationship that ends electronically can’t be salvaged, but don’t make things worse by taking the bait.

The bad news is, this is the hard part. The good news is, this is the part of the Ultimate Guide to Breakups over which you have the most control. It is the centerpiece of the method, and your stamina during this phase will determine your success later on. Want the secret? Here is is:

DO NOTHING.

At first you will be sad. Possibly very sad. Get out of the house. Distract yourself. Hang out with your friends – preferably the ones your ex doesn’t know too well, because s/he will be checking up on you. Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you contact your ex. For anything.

Chances are after a few days s/he will contact you, “just to see how you’re doing.” Do not respond. Let it go to voicemail. Don’t call back. Delete the email. It’s that simple. It’ll be hard, but hang in there. Don’t let your curiosity get the best of you. You are under no obligation to respond to someone who has kicked you to the curb.

Maybe you’ve been together for a while and s/he has left personal items in your home. This is the only circumstance under which it’s ok to respond. Wait at least 24 hours before you reply. Tell your ex that you will FedEx his/her stuff. Pay for the fastest method you can afford. If s/he insists upon picking it up, leave it someplace safe and make sure you’re NOT there when s/he arrives. Make your interaction courteous and brief. Get off the phone as quickly as possible.

If you do not receive a call within a month, you probably won’t get a call until s/he drunk dials you many years from now. Move on.

The sooner s/he calls you after dumping you, however, the better your chances are for reconciliation. Again, do not call back. Stay tough. You are now in control of the situation.

The sooner the first post-breakup call comes, the more calls/texts/emails you will likely receive. DO NOT RESPOND to any of them… yet. In these modern times you may also be privy to his/her evocative facebook updates, blog posts, reality TV show episodes, whathaveyou. Make no contact. If you absolutely must be in the same place at the same time, try to look fit and happy and surrounded yourself with people s/he doesn’t know.

Right around this time (unless you were dumped for someone else) your ex is beginning to experience the downside of singleness. S/he may be feeling lonely and horny, and start wondering if s/he made the right choice. That is exactly what you want. Let him/her fucking stew in it. Your patience will be rewarded.

By now, your ex is curious about you. Maybe s/he’s even been seeing some new people. But the fact that you have made a clean break with such poise will be a blow to the ego. Remember, the opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of love is indifference. S/he will be thinking, “Was I really so easy to get over?” and “Gee – maybe it really WAS me.” If you’ve done this right, you will receive a call (or email) inviting you to “hang out.” Perhaps the tone will be casual, perhaps it will be desperate. Either way, congratulations for getting this far. The ball is now in your court.

Proceed carefully from here. Eagerness could lead to a booty call, but little more. Ask yourself: what do I want? If you want to resume a relationship, wait 48-72 hours before responding. Say you’re unavailable at the time your ex suggests, but recommend another meeting time at least a week in the future. You name the place. From here on out, everything is on your terms.

Let nature take its course. If your ex is ready to give it another shot, s/he will be dressed like it’s a first date. If the sexual tension is palpable, you may choose to knock boots and sort out the details in the sticky afterglow. If you can contain yourself, feign trepidation and ask him/her to meet you again – also in a place you select. Build anticipation. Make him/her work for it. If executed correctly, your ex will be so grateful to have you back s/he will be on his/her very best behavior, possibly for years to come.

Repeat as necessary.

I want a boyfriend

christ, i want a boyfriend. and when i say “christ”, i mean for fuck’s sake. this isn’t a letter to my god’s son, you know, the savior and all that, cause i’m sure he has better things to do than read a rant from a potty mouth like me. and when i say “for fuck’s sake”, i don’t mean just for fuck’s sake cause i’d like to do other things with my boyfriend: like laugh at tired, bloated pregnant women who aren’t offered a seat on the bus and argue over the fact that he asked me out to dinner but i was the one who paid (that cheap, but oh so adorable, bastard). we could walk around boston and bitch about how the dnc has screwed everything up, but then we’d make each other feel better by pointing out serious fashion faux pas such as flip flops, ugg boots in 85 degree weather, low-riders on women who should be wearing them higher and socks with sandals.

i want a boyfriend. i’d wax for him so he’d never have to complain about how licking me is like sweeping a barber’s shop floor with his tongue. we could get drunk and sing “the gambler” so loud that my neighbors come on here with the posting title “noisy neighbors: stop singing kenny rogers you stupid asshats”.

i want a boyfriend. i’d keep up with my gym habits so that i’d never turn into the dreaded seacow. but i’d bake him cookies and i’d eat a few myself so as to keep me soft in all the right places. i’d study the dictionary and memorize the correct spelling of every word so as not to upset his delicate constitution. i might even pick up a copy of “the elements of style” or at least read the online version.

if he got mad at me for being on the computer so much and said “go outside”, well at first i might think of the hypocrites that sometimes post that on cl…but then i would smile at him and say “wouldn’t you rather stay inside and get some head?”

i really want a boyfriend.

Sleeping with roommates

So, the first five rules of shared housing go:

1. Pay your goddamn bills.
2. Pull your weight, slacker.
3. Be polite to your roommates, assface.
4. Don’t be a “hole.” Don’t even move in if you aren’t going to be any more fun than an empty hole.
5. And don’t sleep with your roommates.

Your roommates might seem like legitimate prospects, but that is incorrect. They are taboo. Most people know this instinctively, as it’s not so long since we were all village-dwelling spear-shaking savages. But if the modern mind requires logical arguments, then, for example: if it goes bad, one of you is going to have to move. Duh. Relationship-development-wise, it means going from 0 to living together instantly. Not smart. And most likely you’re just doing it because it’s convenient, which indicates you have no life, no friends to fix you up, no social skills to meet someone in the real life you don’t have, you can’t even get a date online, and you are a pathetic loser.

Bearing all that in mind, I am here today to say that Sleeping With Your Roommate ROCKS!!!

It is oooohhhh sooooooo convenient. Oh my is it convenient. Your roommate/fuckbuddy comes home, wanders into your room like the average friendly roommate, and then you’re fucking! Then when you’re done, you’re already home! Rm/fby can go off to their own space, in their own home, and realign their coiff or whatever they need to do. Meanwhile you’re back in your own room peacefully enjoying the afterglow/getting back to your Web surfing/whatever.

The quality of the afterglow is superb. Your warm fuzzy is not messed up by having to pull your pants on and go out into the cold hard world, nor by having to cuddle with your partner when you’d rather contemplate alone, nor by feeling abandoned when your cuddle-partner gets up and leaves. They’re still right there in the house, so with only a very little mental discipline you can feel exactly as alone as you want.

Which illustrates the really key core excellence of Sleeping With Your Roommate: ambiguity. You can, to a remarkable extent, see exactly what you want in this inkblot. Roommate with benefits? Non-platonic friend? Fuckbuddy? Girlfriend/boyfriend? Live-in partner? It’s all there.

Even better, you don’t even have to be consistent. One day it can be throw-down porn-star sex (for you), next it can be “I think I want to have kids with this person” (in your mind). And you don’t have to specify, because you do the exact same thing either way.

Believe me, it’s fantastic.

The goldfish on my desk

I’ve got a goldfish which lives in a bowl on my desk. It sits about two feet away from me. I feed it flakes everyday.

Just now, the damned thing took a shit, turned around, and ate it. I know I read somewhere that goldfish have a memory span of 3 seconds, but for real, you can’t remember taking a crap a millesecond before turning around and registering it as food?

Oh, god. He just did it again. He belongs in a toilet.

Fucking BUGS in my FUCKING apartment

Okay. WHERE. in the FUCK. are all these bugs coming from?!!!!

Jesus Christ! It’s like it got warm out and every bug in the city has taken refuge from the heat in my apartment!

The fucking flies in my shower: I demand an explanation. I fucking kill all four of you every morning, only to wake up and find that you have reanimated yourselves. What kind of fucked up voodoo shit are you four up to in there while I’m asleep?

And the gnats that keep landing on my computer screen? Who ARE you?!! Fuck OFF!!

To the spiders: spiders as big as you can only have one function, and it has to be something utterly terrible like eating children or paralyzing dogs or something. So what the fuck are you doing in my apartment all the time? And for the love of all that is good and holy, when I come at you with a wad of toilet paper, PLEASE stop that fucking JUMPING bullshit!!! My God! Do you not HEAR me shriek like a little girl every time? Are you TRYING to humiliate me? Do you get a KICK out of making a grown man screech like a schoolgirl?! Just fucking let me grab you in the toilet paper wad and fucking take it like a man!

And the silverfish? I’m sorry. You are by far the most disgusting creatures on earth and you are the most cogent evidence of the existence of Satan that I can think of. What in the hell do you need all those fucking legs for? You are utterly gross.

And finally, to the junebugs: HOW IN THE EVER-LOVING HELL ARE YOU GETTING IN HERE??!!! You’re all ENORMOUS!!!! Where the hell are you COMING from? You’re fucking disgusting!!! STAY THE HELL OUTSIDE!!!!

Rice Burners

The color. I’m sorry, but if I drove a honda civic, I wouldn’t be drawing attention to myself. Not that there’s anything wrong with a civic… it’s a very economical, fuel effecient car. It’s sure better than walking. It’s just not a car that I find particularily impressing. If you had a bright orange Maserati, I can understand. But a civic?

The stickers. I bet you got an extra 10 horsepower just by sticking on that “NOS” sticker. (And btw.. it was painfully obvious you don’t have a nitrous system, so stop fooling yourself). Oh, and an irish kid from southie shouldn’t have asian characters on his car.

The spoiler on the back. That huge spoiler must produce a ton of down-force. That would make for some awesome traction except for the fact that YOUR CAR IS FRONT WHEEL DRIVE. Why are you puttind down force YOUR REAR WHEELS if YOUR CAR IS FRONT WHEEL DRIVE?
Has anybody here ever stood on their rear bumper? What’s that do? It pushes the back of the car down, and the front of the car UP. So by putting all of that downforce behind your rear axle, you’re adding lift to the front, thereby reducing your traction. Moron.

The exhaust pipe. It’s great that you have a high-flow exhaust and all, but let’s remind ourselves what you’re driving: A 1999 honda civic. Cute little 4-banger. Everyone screams about power-to-weight ratio! power-to-weight ratio! Well, when your engine is so small it weighs almost nothing, you get almost no power. Your 1.6L engine is rated at 127 horse-power and just over 100 lb-ft of torque at redline. For those of you who don’t know cars, those aren’t very impressive numbers. My 99 cent bottle of Coke has better displacement than your engine.

Anyway, back to the exhaust. It’s great that you can get an extra 10 horsepower by bolting on a sewer pipe in leiu of a muffler. But guess what? 127 horsepower + 10 horsepower = still a shitty engine. And now your car sounds like a chainsaw on acid.

The bass. I refuse to say “your music was so loud…” because what you were listening to was not music. What you were listening to was percussion accompanying a man shouting obscenities in ebonics into a microphone. And why do you need to play it so loud that early in the morning? There’s children trying to sleep. Maybe you were trying to drown out that annoying lawnmower note coming from your exhaust?

How low can you go. Don’t even get me started on your body kit and your suspension drop. Although, it did make me smile when I saw that the front of your “bumper” was all cracked and scraped from every time you have to cross the T tracks on Comm. Ave.

In conclusion – It doesn’t matter what color paint, how big your exhaust pipe is, or how much plastic you bolt/glue to the sides of your car, you’re still driving a honda civic. You can’t hide from this fact. So peel the little plastic things off of your windshield wipers, and just drive your car for what it is…

Drunk as Balls Dojo

Are you a casual drunk to full blown alcoholic? Is your mouth often writing checks your fists can’t cash? Drunk as Balls Dojo is the answer to all of your problems. At Drunk as Balls Dojo you will learn the fine art of bar fighting from one of the nation’s premiere trouble drunks- Ryan O’Reilly. Master O’Reilly has been banned nationally from such established chains as Friday’s, Buffalo Wild Wings, and every Border’s Book Store containing a Starbucks. He is an expert in the “What are you looking at” and “You got a problem” fighting styles, but is very skilled in a variety of other styles such as “She was talking to me.”

Master O’reilly will take you from the pansy-ass lush you are now to becoming a true liability in only 5 weeks. Intensive training covering such varied areas of self-offense as:

• Using wing sauce as a weapon
• Breaking a beer bottle without slicing and dicing your hands
• Accurate projectile vomiting
• Flicking a lit cigarette into someones face
• “Getting the fuck outta there”

Classes will be held every Monday, Weds, and Friday- with Fridays being reserved for critiquing failed technique in the classic and award winning movie Roadhouse. You’ll come to class, get wasted drunk, and mix it up with other like-minded individuals. Master Ryan will show you the path to true ‘trouble maker.’ Only when you reach that point will you be able to tell that douche-bag how ridiculous his shirt/hat/girlfriend is with the confidence that only comes from being trained as a drunk fighter. If you aspire to bar-flydom, this class is a must have!

Classes start at $50 a week + a 12 pack per class.

Why Your Car Isn’t Selling

It’s pretty obvious which car owners wear rose-colored sunglasses and frolic with unicorns all day. The prices you’re asking for your cars are ridiculous.

Since you haven’t felt the invisible hand of the market, allow me to deliver the pimp slap of common sense.

Look at Kelley Blue Book. Start there and get an idea of what to expect for your car. If you’re asking over $10,000 for a car that tops out at $8,500 value, you are a retard. The only people who would pay that price are fellow retards, and guess what? Most of them can’t use the internet. You’re one of the lucky few. Quit while you’re ahead.

List some basic information about the car. How many miles does the car have? Manual or auto? What year is it? What options does it have? Clean title or salvage? Do you have all the records? This is important, relevant information. “Prelude for sale” is not self-explanatory, dumbfuck.

Put up pictures. A picture is worth a thousand words. Put up a photo and give a little taste of what the car looks like. There’s nothing I enjoy more than driving 40 miles to see the “immaculate” car with cigarette burns all over the interior. Be upfront. In fact, that’s a good one too.

Be upfront. I’m about to hand you several thousands of dollars. Do you really think I won’t be thorough and check out/test drive the car? Yes, I’m going to notice that the engine shudders, or it pulls to the left, or it has a peculiar smell. Be honest about it. Don’t be a jerk.

Learn to read the market. This is a recession. Your car has been up at the same price for 3 months. LOWER THE PRICE!

Don’t use so many keywords. I’ve searched for “BMW M3″ and gotten a Geo Storm result by some guy that doesn’t know how to use keywords properly. Those cars do not cater to the same type of person! Let it go.

Learn what “OBO” means. “OBO” literally means “or best offer.” If you aren’t taking the best offer, don’t use the phrase. Simple as that.

I don’t see what’s so hard about this. You have a car and you want cash. I have cash and I want a car. Let’s make this work.

Open Letter From Your Local Adult Store Clerk

Dear Adult Store Shoppers,

Maybe you want to buy some pornography or maybe you’d like to purchase some condoms, lube, lingerie, toys, games or whatever other merchandise we carry. That’s great, and I hope you find what you want in the store, but please, avoid these pitfalls and be a good customer.

If you are a needy as hell customer who asks me to check movies before you rent or buy them to make sure you will like them, I will secretly hate you. All of our movies have people fucking in them. Usually 2 or more people! This much you should know. Now do the following: Look at the box cover. Is it appealing to you? No? Stop, put the movie away and pick up another and try again. Yes? Good! Now, turn over the box. Do you see those other pictures? If none of those appeal to you, don’t rent the movie. If they appeal to you, rent it, take it home, wank to it, be happy. If it’s not to your liking, shut the fuck up and rent another movie. I really don’t care if it wasn’t appropriate wanking material up to your fine and high pornography standards. This isn’t a restaurant where you can send something back if you don’t like it – it’s a porn store.

If you return movies that you rented with unidentified substances on them, you are a nasty motherfucker who should get hit by a bus. I get paid $9.00/hour, which is not enough to clean up your spunk. Wash your hands before you take the DVD out of the player, you nasty ass son of a bitch. After you return that nasty jizz covered movie, I will curse you loudly, put on 2 pairs of latex gloves, use copious amounts of cleaning supplies and then put a nasty note in your account about how you are a nasty asshole who can’t return a movie the way we gave it to you – clean and DNA free. Then, everyone who works in the store knows what a nasty person you are. So for the love of Christ, wash your nasty hands and have some respect for the people who work here.

If you and your partner come into my store and you want to buy some lingerie, that is great. It’s even nice if your husband/boyfriend/John/whatever wants to help you into the lingerie as some of the stuff we sell is hard to get on by yourself. But seriously, don’t fuck in my dressing room. That is nasty and gross. Take your lingerie, try it on, buy it if you like it, take it home and fuck there. I wouldn’t come into your place of work and fuck on your desk, so don’t have sex here in my store. Don’t try to be sneaky about it either. If I notice you’ve been in the dressing room for more than a few minutes, I’m going to come by and knock on the door to see if everything is okay. And if I hear moaning and grunting, I’m going to call the police.

Please treat our merchandise with some respect. In any other store would you open up boxes, rip off labels, or throw things around? I doubt it. Also, my store is not a club or a party. I know we are open late, so maybe you really do think this is a club, but I swear it’s not. It’s a store. We’re here to sell things and make money. The things we sell are fun and great, sure, but this is not a place for you and all of your friends to come in and laugh and scream and point (and destroy merchandise, as mentioned above) for 2 hours and then leave without purchasing anything.

Don’t hit on me or any of my coworkers. That is desperate and gross. Also, you’re standing at my counter with 2 tranny movies, some desensitizing spray and a pair of panties. Do you really think this situation lends itself to me agreeing to go out with you? Nope, didn’t think so. Also, don’t stare at me or my coworkers like we’re pieces of meat. Don’t ask us inappropriate questions either. No, I won’t demonstrate how the toys are used. I also won’t tell you what it is I like in bed. And seriously, if you ask me to model lingerie one more time, I’m going to kick you out.

Additionally, just because I work at an adult store does not make me uneducated, a freak, a stripper, a prostitute or desperate. I am college educated (and currently in graduate school), well read and a pretty normal person with friends, family, a dog, hobbies, etc. I took this job for a variety of reasons, none of which I have to explain to you.

If I ask for your ID, don’t give me grief. Take it as a compliment – I’m saying that you look youthful and fresh. I can get in trouble and lose my job for letting someone under 18 into the store. Don’t bitch about how you don’t have your ID (I have to ask you to leave, sorry) or how you have to go out to your car and walk the terrible 30 feet to get it or ask me how old I think you are. You look like you could be under 18. Show me your ID and I’ll leave you alone. If all of your friends show me their ID but you “don’t have yours,” I’m going to have to ask you to go outside. Just because all of your friends are 18+ does not mean you are. I know it’s a bummer, but it’s the rule.

And finally, if you are someone who brings your child into the store, you fail at parenting and at life.

Thanks, and have a great day.

Your Friendly Adult Store Clerk

Fine, Don’t Fucking Hire Me

What the fuck people! I need a motherfuckin job, and I have a resume that says I am fucking fit to be your goddamn front desk/administrative assistant. I have applied to a ton of jobs and not one of them responded. WHAT THE FUCK?!

Cover Letter? Here’s my fucking cover letter!

Now, I’m really low on money, and I’ll suck a dick if I have to…that’s right!
Got a bear in your backyard that keeps eating your garbage? I’ll fight that motherfucker and I’ll win! Can any other prospective employee say that?! FUCK NO! What’d you say? You lost your keys? FUCK IT! I’ll shoot the goddamn lock off your door with my laser eyes! That’s how bad I need a motherfuckin job! Your brother is gay and you’re not cool with that? I’ll de-gay him with reverse buttsex. Don’t believe me?! Then hire me and I’ll fucking show you!

OBJECTIVE
I need a motherfuckin job.

SHIT I HAVE DONE

• I invented the moon.
• Atlantis was around til 1981, but sunk when I shot out of my mom’s vagina like a silver bullet into a wolverine.
• I am also a wolverine.
• Had sex with the Spice Girls.
• The blowjob machine was originally my idea until that bastard Clint Eastwood stole it.
• I have prophetic visions of the apocolypse.
• Watched the movie “Juwanna Mann” at least 18 times.
• Created a new genre of dance in which people get so into it that radiation waves pulsate off of them. I like to call this the microrave.
• I reverse engineered a door. I now know how it works.
• When I was 8, a frisbee flew into my backyard and I blew it up with my mind.
• My brother is the Eiffel Tower.
• I am a direct descendant of Beowulf.
• Can make weapons out of anything; very useful in a hostile work environment.
• Beat my pornography addiction when I was 19.
• Proficient in Microsoft Office and Photoshop.

RELEVANT WORK EXPERIENCE
GlomGlom Corporation of Evil Doing
POSITION: Front Desk/Administrative Assistant
DUTIES: Setting up sex scandals in which to blackmail wealthy politicians, forwarding email, burning down the houses of the poor, loan sharking, answering phones, greeting clients in a manner that would frighten most people.

GreenHate Enterprises
POSITION: Once Again, I was a fucking Front Desk/Administrative Assistant
DUTIES: Organizing the dumping of bio-waste into the ocean, peeing in lakes, digging holes to fill with garbage, making garbage out of perfectly good and useful items, filling said wholes with said garbage, creating fake facts about Greenpeace and publishing them on the internet(I am internet savvy), good at filing…documents of hate.

REFERENCES
Glomgor Evil
GlomGlom Corporation of Evil Doings
gorlock@peanutbutternipples.com

Sloblor the Muck Monster
GreenHate Enterprises
sloblor@greenhate.com

So, now that you know the real me, are you gonna hire me or not? I would like to remind you that I can make weapons out of anything.

Sincerely,

Steve Madonna
stevemadonnayeah@gmail.com

remember…..anything.

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