Ass cleaning tips

I have mastered the art of cleaning my stool hall and I want to share it with you losers who simply lather your wash cloth with some soap and do a quick reach around..THAT WILL NOT CLEAN YOUR ASS!!!! You need to spend at least 5 minutes in that area to have maximun cleanage. How would you feel if you were a girl/guy and while you were licking some guys sausage you get a nice whiff of some anal grease and dingleberries from a soft textured turd that required about 12 wipes in the public restroom? You think it’s clean but it is NOT!!! Here are some tips:

Tip 1: After dropping the fecal children off at the pool, you can either use some babywipes (my personal favorite) or you can use a technique I learned from an ex-girlfriend of mine, you wet the toilet paper and proceed to wipe front-to-back, NOT back-to-front. You risk sliding some of the grease beneath your ball sack which creates another problem. This only applies to those who do not get what is called a perfect excrement session aka..”A Clean Break” to where the ca-ca breaks off completely and all you have to do is wipe the water off your gluteus after the initial plop.

Tip 2: Shave the hair off around your rectal, nuts and butt crack. This is just common knowledge, if you dont you risk piling up a weeks worth of dingleberries and in rare occasions, creation of shit dreadlocks to where the ca-ca firmly laminates itself to the ass hair and it twists together as you walk. This is more likely to happen to those who wear boxers because of the free “airflow” and those who dont shower often because you give the poop time to dry up like cement.

Tip 3: Jump into a public pool or spa. This is just as effective as a shower or even better because you get maximum “soakage” and it requires less work such and combats lazy reach arounds in the shower. Believe it or not, that is the only useful purpose for public pools, I think of them as gigantic bathtubs that goggle up loose ass hairs, dingleberries and makes a great place to take a quick pee. If I find myself in that situation, I just jump in the pool on one end, pee then swim to the other end, do a couple quick 360′s under water then jump out the shallow side and dry off.

Tip 4: Go to the beach and be a good samaritan, jump into the ocean and “feed the fish”, fish LOVE dung, I have 2 goldfish and they are always sucking eachothers doo-doo holes. Get a nice, salty ass treatment. For those of you who gets bumps after shaving your pubes or ass, this is a great to dry those up. Just simply go out past the waves a bit, however, dont be too obvious if you are going to release some bait into the ocean. Flop around a bit, move around because if you sit still people will become suspicious and besides the poop might float up to the surface quickly. Fish will love you for it!

Tip 5: Woman love to get manicures and pedicures, I call this the “assicure” It has a meaningful name Ass I Cure, it’s self explanitory..yes, it is up to you to cure that hideous ass smell and here is how you do it in the shower. Pamper yourself, get the water luke warm and try to get the shower nozzle to propel the water quickly. Begin by turning in the opposite direction of the shower, about 180 degrees to where the nozzle in shooting directly down your ass crack. Position yourself at a 90 degree angle, butt up nice and high, reach around and spread your butt cheeks and let the water do its magic. The object is to really clean out the crevices of your brown eye, wedged up about a 1/4 inch of the butthole is some fecal matter that masks itself like a bat in a cave. This will allow the water to loosen it up for the wash cloth lathering. The next step is to lather your wash cloth with some bodywash or soap bar. Reach around and scrub it good, go ahead and wrap the towel around a finger of choice (i use my middle finger) and put that finger up your asshole and move it around in a circular motion. Go ahead and scrub nice and good up the butt crack to make sure you get all the grease. After you are done, rinse well then repeat step 1.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Putting your finger in your ass doesnt make you gay, it might burn a bit. For those guys who insist on having anal sex with their girlfriends all the time, if you think one finger hurts, go ahead and use two fingers and see how it feels. It feels like a massive shit you take in the morning after a night of drinking and eating the 4 slices of jalepeno pepper pizza.

That is all for now party people, hope this hass been insightful

Why Spongebob Squarepants is the perfect girl for me.

1. He’s low maintenance. No matter what happens to him, he never needs validation from anyone, for anything. He never asks Patrick to tell him who he is, never uses his friction with Squidward to bolster his own ego. All his energy is focused outward, albeit usually with mixed (and hilarious) results. He never complains about those results either, just trudges ahead with blind, infectious optimism.

2. He’s a good cook. In fact, he makes unquestionably the best burger in Bikini Bottom. People come from everywhere to the Crab Shack for one of his Crabby Patties. How rare is a girl who can cook, and enjoys it?

3. He lives in a pineapple. Imagine having crazy sex in a giant pineapple. All that gooey, sweet, sugary awesomeness providing both full body lubrication and a certain fun kinkiness. Sex inside almost anything else wouldn’t be anywhere as much fun. An orange would sting. A tomato would stain. While we’re on the subject, do you want variety in your lovin? He’s got HUNDREDS of holes, and he’s not shy about himself or hung up in any way. He also plays dress up. Weekly. And usually twice on Saturday mornings.

4. He’s comfortable with his job. Mr. Crab pays him shit and he cares, never bitches. Never comes home and says to his pet snail “if that dude Squidward don’t get off my ass, I’m gonna kill him!” The pineapple is a harmonious place because Spongebob checks that shit at the door.

5. He manages his emotions. We’ve all seen Spongebob flip out. We’ve all seen chicks flip out. The difference is that Spongebob Squarepants STAYS FOCUSED. He may explode. His eyes may shrivel up like raisins. He might pull off his own legs and arms and beat himself with them in total panic and frustration. He never loses sight of what he’s flipping out ABOUT, though. Every girl I’ve ever met starts out being mad about the dish I just broke, or the amount of beer I may have drunk at her family reunion (we all need help through the hard times, my Lord, my Lord) but 15 minutes later it’s why haven’t we bought a house yet, why aren’t I home more, why aren’t I home less, why aren’t I more communicative, and what about those boobs I was staring at back in May of 2002. Do ya feel me, boys?

6. He’s devoted. Patrick is an idiot, but he finds a way to relate and have fun. Mr. Crabs is a jerk, but he gets past it and has a healthy work ethic. He’s maintained a healthy platonic relationship with a displaced female squirrel. Even Squidward, despite all his efforts to the contrary, has a neighbor he can count on any time day or night. (Aside: Squidward is a douche bag for not recognizing this)

7. He knows how to have a good time. Boy does he ever. He likes eating contests, farts, TV, singing, hiking, playing with his body, sports (did you see the snail race? better than Hoosiers), and just generally acting stupid and laughing about it. I’m telling you, he’s got to be totally awesome to hang out with.

8. He’s comfortable with his body. So he’s not the ideal shape. He’s a square. But he never complains. You’ll never hear the phrase “height-weight proportional” uttered from those yellow lips (anyway his height-weight proportion is geometrically perfect, a fact which I am sure can be proven mathematically). He don’t give a shit. He just buys the right clothes (square) and looks great and that’s the end of it. No endless questioning about why the universe shaped him the way he is. No internal battles. Just a simple square man with a healthy simple outlook.

9. He’s a virgin (I’d bet). You say experience means everything? I say bullshit. Comfort and communication trump experience every time. Working at your sex life is only possible in a situation dominated by these two traits and amplified by a sense of adventure. Spongebob has always demonstrated these characteristics. Now, what do you want? A willing accomplice or the trick somebody else taught?

10. He doesn’t drink, smoke or do drugs. Actually, I do enjoy the occasional cocktail or cigarette, and as you may have guessed, I have been known to puff it down a little and watch shows like, say, Spongebob Squarepants (WTF, what did you do this morning that was so important, Mr. Smartypants?), but the thing about our man Bob is that theses things don’t rule his life, and couldn’t you just imagine that first date at a bar? Somehow the idea of kicking two shots of Makers Mark back with Spongebob Squarepants is totally mesmerizing. You think he’d sit there and bitch about his exes? No way. He’s much more a load up the jukebox and kick up his heels on the bar kind of guy. He’ll take his lumps for it (case in point, the Motorhead bar in the movie, where the fascist biker dudes kick his ass but he comes out grinning) but I bet the night would be hilarious. Imagine him pulling in a big drag and blowing it out all his orifices. Imagine him talking to that drunken barfly you always see and making that old bitch laugh. You’d get to do all this shit with him for the first time.

11. He demonstrates good parenting skills. Did you see the episode where Spongebob and Patrick find a lost baby scallop and decide to raise it as their own? No?!? Well, allow me to elucidate. Patrick takes on the male role and he sucks at it. He sneaks off all day and night to watch TV at home while Spongebob, as the mother figure (complete with apron and heels), holds the family together. He does all the cooking, cleaning and baby-raising, all the while carrying an admittedly strained smile on his face. Not to say I’m looking for a wife to do it all and let me watch TV (um, hmm), it’s just that he demonstrates such strength and good humor. The episode ends with a happy, well-adjusted scallop flying off (?) into the sea-sky and a presumably happy well-adjusted scallop life. It’s not that Spongebob might make a good mom. Spongebob is a good mom.

I’m sure you all are going to think I am a pedophile (why? Because I happen to be a little bit in love with a 6 year old boy cartoon character?) I’m sure you’ll all write me and tell me what a misogynistic jerk I am (just substitute the words “girl” for “boy” and “boy” for “girl” throughout and I’m sure my argument applies cross-genderally. There. Feel better, huge bull dykes with nothing better to do?) I’m in love, and people in love do and say stupid shit.

I hate all of you

I don’t care what colour you are. I don’t care where you’re from. I don’t care what you do for a living. I don’t care what class you are, how you dress, what you smoke or drink or who you know or whom you’ve fucked.

I hate you all. I hate every last living, breathing, snot and feces producing, promiscuously copulating, celebrity obsessed, opinionated one of you. From right here in Toronto right around the planet and back, coast to coast, nationwide and internationally. Every. Single. Last. One. Of. You.

Fuck love. Fuck your insipid grasping at some abstract concept of chemical imbalances and reasonless actions, fumbling around in the crowd trying to find some cinematic supposition for real human interaction. Fuck lust, too. Fuck you all, from the lowlife dirtbags that think dropping trou and waving the little soldier in a sloppy arc is a pick-up line to the sniveling of the desperate ‘nice guys’ who never get the girl due to a total lack of testosterone grown stones. Fuck you all, from the crazy, under dressed sluts that judge a persons character by the price of their shirt, right down to the fat, flabby chicks that think personality is enough.

Fuck you drivers, for thinking that a yellow light is a sign that says ‘step on the gas’. Fuck you wheelmen and women that think it’s okay to sit in a left hand turn in the middle of morning traffic, even though there is a protected left in the intersections before and after where you need to make your turn. Fuck you too cyclists – you’re not exempt from the traffic laws just because your peddling, you miserable spandex covered neon reflective fucks. Fuck you too, pedestrians. Use the fucking crosswalk if you don’t want to get hit, and use it before the little countdown clock says ’3′. You don’t have enough goddamn time to lope across four lanes of traffic.

Fuck you chick on your cellphone. Fuck you attitude packed minimum-wager that makes my coffee. Fuck you cops that spend all their time handing out speeding tickets. Fuck you douche bag doing ten over the limit in the passing lane on the highway. Fuck you lady using exact change at the counter at the grocery store. Fuck you kids having a conversation in the doorway. And fuck you also for not getting the fuck out of your designated handicapped seat when a pregnant or elderly person gets on the fucking bus.

Fuck taxes. Fuck welfare. Fuck the whole selfish, over politicized and party driven government system. I’m sick and fucking tired of policies and new laws with seven hundred bylaws that nobody but you and your cabinet reads. Fuck you councilors and your stupid ‘district improvement’ plans. Fuck you unions, for asking for so much and giving nothing more that what you already give. Fuck the whole process that allows people who are supposed to be working for us work for interests that only benefit the next campaign. Fuck your short-sightedness, your rush to the bandwagons, and your incessant arguing over fuck all. Fuck the parties, fuck the conventions, and fuck your campaigns. Do some real fucking work for a change.

Fuck you bottles of water. You’re water. You’re not worth two fucking dollars.
Fuck you trendsetters, fuck you fashionistas. Fuck your little dogs and and your idiotic outfits. Fuck your high heels in the snow. Fuck your five dollar coffees and your fifteen dollar veggie burgers. Fuck your health kick, your diet or your fucking new interest in kickboxing or sushi.

Fuck your culture. Fuck your race. Fuck your sense of entitlement. Fuck your sense of uniqueness. Fuck you all for the belief that you have something unique and interesting to contribute. Fuck you for filling the internet with your useless garbage. Fuck your blogs, your wikis, your forums. Fuck your name calling. And most of all, fuck whatever you believe. It’s all wrong. Fuck it.

Fuck your complaints. Fuck your addictions. Fuck your dependencies. Fuck your pain. Fuck your tears. Fuck selling whatever it is you sell. Fuck your manipulation of others. Fuck movies. Fuck fucking. Fuck everything you own. Fuck your allergies. Fuck your stupid commons sense. Fuck your spelling and fuck your lack of education, or your ignorance, whatever is applicable.

I don’t give a fuck. Shut the fuck up and just get on with it.

Please, Men, Learn To Kiss

After making a careful survey, consisting of a number of men whose company I enjoy, I’ve come to the very sad conclusion that men just don’t know how to kiss. Kissing is important, guys, and a really key part of convincing a girl that you’re fun to be with.

What’s the key difference between those good-looking guys out there that aren’t getting any, and those rather plain guys that have several girls sighing and swooning after them? It’s pretty simple, the way I see it. It’s the kiss. It seems to me that guys either don’t know how to kiss, or just don’t care to do it right. Too many men seem to view the kiss as something on a checklist on the way to getting a girl into bed. Well, I’ve got news for you guys – the way you kiss can make all the difference between “Take me now” and “Take off, ya jerk.”

I guess I consider myself a bit of a kissing aficionado. I like kissing, and I like being well-kissed. Sadly, that doesn’t happen often. In the last two years, I’ve kissed eight men (and I won’t tell you how many before that). One was really good at kissing, and I could smooch with him for hours. Another was pretty good – I was really sad when our make-out session ended. All the other kisses were something I tolerated, even endured. One guy, I kid you not, had two steps – press open mouth to hers, stick tongue out as far as possible. Yuck! Trust me, the last thing a girl wants is somebody’s mushy wet open mouth laving drool all over her mouth and chin. Think about it – do you really want a woman to associate the words ‘soft’ and ‘mushy’ with you?

The first key to a good kiss is your attitude. The kiss is not some golden base to be raced to, but neither is it simply a minor step on the way to more. If done correctly, a kiss will send your lady’s heart racing, make her breath uneven, and have her dragging you to the bedroom. A kiss should never be rushed, and should never be just unloaded like a suitcase at the door. A good kiss will be an exercise in teasing – holding up the promise of that little bit more, until she’s practically begging for your touch.

Before your lips ever touch, take some time to build up to a good kiss. You don’t want to spring it on her like some unpleasantness to be gotten out of the way. The kiss starts with your hands, not your mouth. Touch her. Hold her hand. Rub her arm, if she likes it. Rub her shoulders, if she likes that. This gives you an excuse to be close to her, and leads her to anticipate your kiss. And don’t kiss her as soon as you think you can get away with it, or turn a quick hug into a guerrilla smooch. You’ll know when she’s ready – she’ll turn to face you, and perhaps bare her neck to you – that’s because she’s turning her head to an angle, even if she doesn’t know it. And she’ll lean toward you, trying to line it up. At least the first time, ignore it. Play with her hair or run your finger along her jawline. Move up close. If you’ll listen, her breathing will be shallow and quick, if she’s really concentrating on kissing you. Take a moment to enjoy the pleasant way she smells, or how soft the skin is on her cheek.

And whatever you do, don’t yet open your mouth. A proper kiss starts with lips closed, pursed even. There’s no reason it should start lip to lip, either. Remember appreciating the soft skin of her cheek? It’s soft because it’s meant to be kissed. The corner of her mouth is soft, too – kiss there. You’ve chased her to get to this point – let her chase you a little. Kiss anywhere except where she expects you to, at least three touches, maybe more. Then kiss lip to lip – and still with your mouth closed. There’s no hurry – eventually let your tongue steal out and just barely brush her lips. If she’s ready for a more open kiss, she’ll open and respond in kind. Let her invite you inside – don’t go barging in, guys – it’s not your house. And invite her to follow you back home, so to speak. There’s no bonus points for counting each others’ back teeth. Finesse is what it’s all about.

Now there’s some variation here that you have to consider. Some people prefer soft kisses, almost mushy. Warm and moist and soft, like pillows. Others lean toward tighter lips and firmer kisses, or somewhere between the two extremes. If you sense her lips getting really tight, you’re too mushy. And if she goes really soft, you’re probably so firm you’re hurting her. Adjust until you’re both on the same level. Everyone will have a difference place where they feel comfortable – every couple will be different.

Another thing to thing about ahead of time is taste. Everyone knows to avoid the onions before kissing. But don’t just avoid a bad taste – go for the good taste! Try some chocolate, or some minty gum. One of the best kisses I ever experienced was with a man who was drinking red wine. I was drinking something else, and when I tasted him… mmm…. Go for a pleasant taste that contrasts nicely.

If you start your kiss with some anticipation, and build it slowly, paying attention to cues from her – short shallow breaths, trembling limbs, whatever – you’ll have her attention. Take the time to tease a little – hold back what she really wants for just a moment longer, kiss around her mouth, make her take the aggressive stance. If you’re having trouble being patient, make a competition of it – can you make her break it off first? If you can, she’ll be breaking it off to move on to more athletic activities.

Survival Of The Fittest

Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the “loser,” and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3×5 card reading, “Please use this M&M for breeding purposes.”

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this “grant money.” I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one.

Massages and happy endings

It begins before you even get to my office. You call me, I answer, and you start asking me things like, “Is it a FULL BODY massage?” Then, you tell me I sound sexy. You ask if I’M going to do your massage. Before I became a massage therapist, I always thought that happy endings were good things. You know, like you read about in fairy tales. “They lived happily ever after. The End.”

People think it’s easy to become a massage therapist. I blame the commercials. They always say “In less than a year, I got on the road to a health care career!” They never mention that in LESS THAN A YEAR, we know the names, locations, and functions of every body part. Not just 206 bones, but even the myelin sheath that surrounds the axons of your neurons. We’ve studied diseases and skin conditions. We learn about Eastern medicine, too. This involves energy, points, channels, colors, seasons, emotions… We packed all of that, and much more, into our brains. I think that deserves a hint of respect.

You guys come to my office without even taking a shower first. Sir, you’re going to be naked on my table, and I’m only going to be an arm’s length away. It’s June, and we’re in Florida. The room stinks before you’ve even finished undressing. Oh, and you haven’t even passed gas yet… which half of you do.

Most of you start face down. In a way, that’s nice for me. You’re can’t be too aggressive with your sexual harassment yet. That’s what I think, eh? As soon as I move that towel, you spread your thighs and lift your ass. I wasn’t going to touch your musky hole in the first place… but I’m having a hard time convincing myself to do your thighs with all of the funk in the air.

After waving it around for a minute, you realize I’m not going to be entering your back door. So you sigh unhappily, reach down to adjust, and lay back on the table. I finish your feet, and it’s time to turn over.

I’ve continued the massage, you’re flipped over. We can pretend all of that ugliness never happened. Why, oh why, didn’t you brush your teeth? Or chew some gum? I’m massaging your face, pressing on your sinus points, and you smell like something took a crap in your mouth, and then died. No, this is NOT a good time for you to reach up and caress my hand. I didn’t want you to do it in the first place, and now I REALLY don’t want you to.

I try to move on as quickly as possible… but then I remember that I’m getting closer to that other area. You’re going to ask me, aren’t you? I cringe the whole time that I massage your stomach. I move the towel so I can get to your thigh. PHEW! You didn’t ask! I’m so relieved, I forgive the crap from earlier. I’m working on your feet when I see movement from the corner of my eye.

No, don’t! NO! You’ve moved the towel a little, thinking you’re subtle… and I can smell your nasty sweaty balls. I ignore you totally. Even if I was that kind of girl, I wouldn’t do that for you.

I only have your other leg left, so I hurry. I tell you that the session is done…and then you ask. “Does this massage have a happy ending?” I say you should take your time getting dressed and head for the door. I’m daydreaming of a bath in bleach. Undiluted. You ask again, because you apparently think I’m deaf. Why not? I can’t smell you, right?

You leave, without leaving me a tip. That’s fine, because you’re GONE. That’s MY happy ending.

Make traffic better

Yeah, you could ride transit or carpool or bike, but that’s not gonna happen, so here are easy things you can actually do.

All of these fit a theme. Which is: It’s not all about YOU out there. You are part of a collective. If everyone did these unselfish things, traffic would be much better:

Don’t tailgate. When you tailgate, you have to tap your brakes at the slightest speed change. You tap for a second, the guy behind you taps for two, the guy behind him for four, and so forth. Ripple effect that equals slowdown.

Use onramps correctly. ACCELERATE! Get up to a speed that matches overall traffic, then merge seamlessly. Too many people here merge into 60 mph traffic at 40 mph. People hit their brakes, and again you get a ripple effect.

Honor the left lane. Move over when not overtaking cars. Yes, we’ve talked this one to death. Just do it.

Pick a lane and try to stick with it. Incessant lane changes for little real gain can cause slowdowns for much the same reason as the onramp example above. Think ahead: Will the lane you’re in peter out soon, or turn into an exit-only lane? Get yourself in one that will see you through to your destination.

At stoplights, pay attention. If you’re first in line waiting at a light, be sure you’re pulled up far enough, as someone here already noted. Then PAY ATTENTION! Watch the light. When it changes, go! Driving is war, and you’ve got the point — so stay alert! That goes for everyone in the back of the line too, but we have way too many people at the front who use stoplight time to apply makeup, read the paper, change the radio station or eat french fries off their car’s floor.

Step on it. If traffic’s going 60 in your lane, why aren’t you keeping up with the guy ahead of you? Why do you feel the need to go 57? Again, you’re part of a collective out there. Join in, please.

Don’t go so fast you get pulled over. Because every time someone gets pulled over, it gums up traffic for the rest of us. People rubberneck and irrationally brake (like the trooper’s gonna drop you to go after them), and the aforementioned ripple effect ensues. So drive briskly, but don’t risk a ticket. If you’re going over 70 in a 60 mph zone, you’re risking it.

Look way down the road. I get on I-5 northbound everyday from Fairview at Mercer. Two lanes from Fairview are onramp only. Invariably someone is sitting in the middle, onramp-only lane who wants to go straight. And he just sits there, and people are stuck behind him. It happens at every signal, because the mope didn’t READ THE SIGNS. Look ahead. Look far ahead. Look way past that big hurkin’ SUV you’re behind, if you can. The sooner you see signs and the sooner you see trouble, the sooner you can avoid messing up in a way that affects the rest of us.

Live the golden rule. Let people in. Wave when someone lets you in. I wish I had a buck for every time I’ve signaled to enter a gap in a lane, and the car that’s far back in that lane guns it to try to keep me from moving over. No wait, I don’t wish I had a buck, I wish I had his head on a pike. But you’ve gotta check that impulse too. Do unto others … you know.

Devote yourself to the task. This is covered in many of the points above, but driving is not simply something you do to pass the time while listening to the radio. Driving is the all-consuming task at hand.

So DO it — briskly, efficiently and competently. So that we can all get out of each other’s way.

Why nice guys SUCK

This is a long rant, so bear with me or hit your back button. I’m frustrated and in no mood for your shit either, so if you don’t want to read it, well…

So I’m dating a nice guy now and it SUCKS. No other way to explain it, it just SUCKS. He’s no challenge. He agrees with everything I say. He’s got it all though – a decent job, a nice house, no kids, no psycho ex-wives, and he’s tall and cute. Anyone ever seen that Friends episode when Alec Baldwin played Phoebe’s boyfriend?? YEAH, my boyfriend is THAT nice. He’s just too fucking nice. Nice is boring. I’ve never heard him raise his voice. He’s never aggressive. He has noedge. He won’t even drive over the speed limit and that fucking annoys the shit out of me, yet I sit in the passenger seat and keep my mouth shut… watching everyone whiz by us.

And don’t get me started on the sex. Oh, excuse me… making love. After he cums (note I didn’t mention anything about ME cumming), he rolls over and says “Oh, that was nice” with a little sigh. I KID YOU NOT, he says it EVERY TIME and then he sighs like he has just woken from a refreshing nap. I finally got so tired of missionary and him looking lovingly into my eyes and smiling as he came, that I threw him down on the couch one night and mounted him. At first he was terrified – yes, TERRIFIED. He thought something had possessed me. And it HAD — it was sheer MADNESS. I fucked the shit out of him that night. And then he sighed and said “Oh, that was nice”.

Now that we had the cowgirl position conquered (always with that sigh afterwards), it was time to move on to doggie. His ex-girlfriend never did doggie (hmmm… maybe there’s a “nice” ex-girlfriend to blame for his timid niceness?? That bitch…). Anyway, I digress. I tell him I want him to fuck me from behind. Yes, I used the word “fuck” and I didn’t care what he thought about it. He gets behind me and enters me, and damned if he didn’t say “OH, THIS IS NICE” !!! Are there any 35 y/o men out there that haven’t smacked a woman’s ass when doing her doggie?? YES, and he’s my boyfriend!

Tonight during sex, I think I’m gonna tell him to stick his finger in my ass when I’m riding him. THAT should be interesting.

So for the nice guys out there, my advice is this: It’s great that you’re nice (to an extent), but have some backbone. Don’t be a spine donor all your life. When your girl is out of line, say something. Don’t let her walk all over you. Occasionally, be a “bad” boy (being bad doesn’t translate to abusive or criminal). Say “No” to her sometimes. Raise your voice and be heard. Say something dirty/sexy to her occasionally. Drink a few too many beers and piss out in public. Smack her ass. Don’t ever use the word NICE to describe things, especially sex (okay, that may be a personal pet peeve). Have an interest in at LEAST one sport (or pretend to). Drive 5-10 miles over the speed limit once in awhile. Run an old lady off the road just for kicks (yeah, I’m kidding about this one… just ride her bumper for a few miles). Be aggressive during sex. Take off those damn white socks and Jesus sandals. Grow a goatee for a few weeks. Shave your balls. Stray from your routine and shake things up.

BE A MAN FOR GOD’S SAKE… and the women will fall at your feet.

Top Ten Signs You’re a Fundamentalist Christian

10 – You vigorously deny the existence of thousands of gods claimed by other religions, but feel outraged when someone denies the existence of yours.

9 – You feel insulted and “dehumanized” when scientists say that people evolved from other life forms, but you have no problem with the Biblical claim that we were created from dirt.

8 – You laugh at polytheists, but you have no problem believing in a Triune God.

7 – Your face turns purple when you hear of the “atrocities” attributed to Allah, but you don’t even flinch when hearing about how God/Jehovah slaughtered all the babies of Egypt in “Exodus” and ordered the elimination of entire ethnic groups in “Joshua” including women, children, and trees!

6 – You laugh at Hindu beliefs that deify humans, and Greek claims about gods sleeping with women, but you have no problem believing that the Holy Spirit impregnated Mary, who then gave birth to a man-god who got killed, came back to life and then ascended into the sky.

5 – You are willing to spend your life looking for little loopholes in the scientifically established age of Earth (few billion years), but you find nothing wrong with believing dates recorded by Bronze Age tribesmen sitting in their tents and guessing that Earth is a few generations old.

4 – You believe that the entire population of this planet with the exception of those who share your beliefs — though excluding those in all rival sects – will spend Eternity in an infinite Hell of Suffering. And yet consider your religion the most “tolerant” and “loving.”

3 – While modern science, history, geology, biology, and physics have failed to convince you otherwise, some idiot rolling around on the floor speaking in “tongues” may be all the evidence you need to “prove” Christianity.

2 – You define 0.01% as a “high success rate” when it comes to answered prayers. You consider that to be evidence that prayer works. And you think that the remaining 99.99% FAILURE was simply the will of God.

1 – You actually know a lot less than many atheists and agnostics do about the Bible, Christianity, and church history – but still call yourself a Christian.

Why I’m not sleeping with the Nice Guy On the Second Date

I’m a fairly average New York girl — by which I mean slightly above average in many ways, but not so much so that I’m all that unusual in New York. Like a lot of women here, I’m reasonably smart, pretty, and thoughtful. I have a decent job, good friends, my own interests. There are a lot of women like me in New York, so while I MIGHT be the only woman in New York who holds these views about casual sex, dating, and nice guys, I doubt it.

And since I’m basically average, my behavior conforms to fairly average standards. Which means that like most social phenomena, my behavior is affected by my perception of my incentives and disincentives to act, and the laws of supply and demand.

So, guys. The fact that you’re a nice guy is not what’s keeping me from sleeping with you on the second date. In fact, since I’m fairly emotionally healthy, if you weren’t a nice guy I wouldn’t sleep with you at all.

No, instead, it’s just that it’s not worth it after the second date — nice guy or not. Why not?

1. Because I’m pretty damn sure that sleeping with you — after the second date — will not be as sexually satisfying as masturbation. Frankly, I’m not going to be that attracted to you after the second date. Waiting until the fifth date just means that I was attracted enough to you on the second date to keep dating you in hopes that I might be attracted enough to you on the fifth date to get some sexual satisfaction out of sleeping with you. (All date time lines are approximate, of course. Fifth could mean third or seventh, depending on you and me and our chemistry). Believe me, I wish I were as attracted to you on the second date as the fifth. But I’m not. And I wish that that the physiology of sex were such that any stick in any hole would do the job for me. But it won’t. So if we make it to five dates, it’s because there’s some actual chemistry there that builds enough for me to overcome all the other disincentives to sleep with you. What are these other disincentives?
2. The chance that you’re a psycho.
3. The chance that you have an STD.
4. The chance that I’ll get pregnant.
5. The inevitable awkwardness after sleeping with someone you don’t really know that well.
6. The absence of the ego-gratification incentive. It’s something of an accomplishment — albeit a minor one — for a guy to get laid. Not so for women.

So, Mr. Nice-But-Not-Really guy. The next time you don’t get laid on the second date, you should not assume that I want to have a relationship with you, and that I imagine that not sleeping with you is the way to get it. Or that I really WANT to sleep with you, but am stifled by “society’s norms.” Or — sillier still — that I’d be willing to spend three long hours of my life with someone I don’t find all that interesting in exchange for a free dinner.

Realize instead that my body is not like your body, and my incentives and disincentives for sex are not like yours. And that if we have so little in common and so little chemistry that there’s “no incentive” for you to see me after a second date because I didn’t sleep with you — trust me. It’s no loss for either of us. Because realizing this may make you less hostile and bitter, which may in turn make you more attractive and get you laid more often!

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