Two functioning hands

I was thinking about how fortunate I am to have two functional hands. Don’t ask me why, but I realized how much it would suck to have only one hand and just a nub on the other arm. In fact, I would gladly sacrifice motion in my elbow and wrist if I must to ensure normal motion of my fingers and hand. Imagine for a moment that you were missing your non-dominant hand… Done? Well here’s a list of things that I personally would not be able to do if I had only one hand.

1) Type really fast. I can type fast. It’s not that I have an administrative job, it’s just that I have a really developed typing ability. If I had only one hand, I would type words like this: M lo you lon im. With both hands I can type ‘Me love you long time’.

2) Steady myself on the shitter. I use the handicap shitters because of the bars. They let you steady yourself after the deposit, while using the other hand to clean. You might be able to steady yourself with a nub, but they look really slippery and I am sure I’d slip and knock my sandwich off the top of the toilet paper dispenser.

3) Video games. I have tried to play video games with one hand. It totally sucks. The only type of game you could play would be those ones like Dragon’s Lair where you just press one button at a time to pick right or left, sword or block. And we all know that game sucked. It was like a choose-your-own-adventure book but without the good story. Besides, I always thought Dirk was a pretty-boy pussy.

4) Karate. Karate means ‘empty hand’. How can something be empty if you don’t have it? It’s not like you can punch effectively with your sensitive and slippery nub. And there’s no way you could effectively execute the quart-’a-blood technique on 9~10 cops with just a nub. That guy from the Bruce Lee movies is the only dude who could fight with a nub. But he had to modify it to allow screw-on attachments; and I just don’t have that kind of money.

5) Doggy style. How are you going to lean over and grab BOTH breasts with just a nub? Moreover, how could you effectively grab/spank dat ass with just one hand? You couldn’t. No girl would want you if you couldn’t grab both cheeks firmly and give the occasional spank. Nub spanks are not playful or sexy–they hurt.

6) Change channels while jerking. Ever tried to change a channel with your elbow? Nubs are bigger than elbows, so you’d have even less accuracy. While trying to flip back and forth between hotel porno channels you’d accidentally turn on Nick at Nite. And unless you see June Cleaver you would ruin your mood. Hell, you couldn’t even wash the serum off your hands after you finish unless you had a fake rubber hand attached to the bottom of your sink. And I just don’t think that YOU have the time to do that in every hotel you go to.

7) Own pets. Animals hate nubs. Your pets would attack you as soon as you close your eyes. They would snap your spine and dance on your belly. Because you are fat, they would stay on the side of your girth that is away from your working hand so you could only reach them with your nub. They would chuckle as they hump your nub. They would open a wound in the nub that spurts blood and pretend you’re bionic commando until you bleed to death. Your cat would challenge you to a game of basketball and win. They know you can only drive one side of the lane and that’s where they’d defend! Swish!

8) Take a band-aid off your elbow.

To be fair, I’ll include a couple of things you can do better with a nub.

1) Nub-job. Having a nub would turn your arm into one big, flexible penis. The ladies from the animal porn would like you (congratulations!).

2) You could pitch for the baseball team of one of the greatest universities in the world, then go on to pitch a no-hitter for the Yankees. Better hope you don’t get traded to the National League, though.

3) Kick an NFL-record 63 yard field goal. I was the kicker on my high-school football team (I wasn’t ONLY a kicker, but that was just one of my many positions). I have normal hands and feet. My career-long is 47 yards. I can kick further if I use my toe, but you lose a shitload of accuracy. If I had a nub, however, it would somehow be OK for me to cut my foot off at mid-sole and make a special flat-front shoe that would allow me to kick toe-style without losing the accuracy. I never understood why that was allowed just because the guy had a half-foot. I guarantee I could hit 55+ yards with that fuckin’ shoe.

4) Drum in a shitty band and choke your wife. Pour some sugar on me, because I have got one sweet nub to go along with my drummin’ and chokin’ hand.

5) Wear a pirate suit. Even if you don’t attach your kung-fu hook, people would still think you’re a salty sea-dog of a pirate if you had a nub. ‘Arrrgghhh!’ Impersonating a pirate would be the strongest argument FOR wanting a leg nub. I would love to have a peg-leg. My peg would be made of cedar-wood and I’d keep it in the same drawer as my sweaters. But I would only wear those sweaters on my days off from terrorizing the open seas.

6) And finally. If I had a nub, I would touch people with it all the time. I had a teacher in 7th grade who had a nub. He always touched people with it, set it on their shoulders to make them feel uncomfortable. Sometimes he would shake it around like a dolphin flipper. It was quite funny. I would use my nub as leverage in sales calls. “Hey Nissan, I’d give my OTHER hand for your business! I’ve done it once, so you know I’m serious!” Then I would expect people to call me ‘lefty’ (if I’m missing my left hand) behind my back. I would get one of those one-handed steering wheel attachments too.

What would you do with a nub?

Num Lock Key

I was just thinking about you today and, well, Num Lock Key, we go back a long ways.

In the beginning, you were an annoyance. A small one, like a young sibling who wants to tag along to a would-be teenage makeout party. Or a malnourished, vegan PETA activist at a Ted Nugent concert. A tiny distraction. A faucet leak in a distant room. A fly tapping against a window.

In time, however, you fueled my semi-obsessive-compulsive tendencies with your indicator light on my keyboard. I had to turn you off in order to get any work done. Your one green eye staring up at me. Mocking me at times. The Caps Lock indicator light made sense. It prevented me from indiscretions like accidentally shouting in an online chat room. But why a Num Lock light? Why, why, why?

In time, I grew to hate you. I can admit that now. But it was born purely of ignorance. Like the Scroll Lock, Pause/Break and ~ keys, I didn’t understand the reason for your existence. I’d turn you off and then spread rumors about you with Home, Page Up and Page Down. When you weren’t around, 7 referred to you as Num Nuts. They were cruel, childish jokes. You were an enigma to us; awkward, like Paris Hilton in John Deer coveralls or a Chinese foreign exchange student in Utah.

And then I won a job in the glorious field of Data Entry!

Everything changed between us. It was an epiphany. Suddenly I understood your significance. I learned 10-key. You enabled and disabled the number pad with ease and skill, allowing me to enter hundreds of pages of meaningless numbers day in and day out. Screw my business degree and struggling filmmaking career; it was you and me and Data Entry for LIFE. (A shout out to my DE homies! Datizzle Entrizzle for shizzle!)

But I know, even now, with the excitement and magic of my new dead-end job still hanging in the air, that eventually I will move on. Perhaps I’ll land a job similar to one held by the film crew sitting across the street from my office today, with their grip trucks, generators, trailers and craft services, each of them making more in a day than I do in two weeks, or a month. Maybe Fox will buy one of my screenplays with a lucrative backend deal. And maybe I’ll descend from the sky tomorrow and usher in a millennium of peace, happiness and goodwill.

Probably, I’ll take a slight pay cut with a job in a post production facility, while trying to support the valium addiction I’m sure to develop at my current position, staring at a monitor in a pitch black room for 8 hours a day, digitally touching up Pamela Anderson’s ass, and talking about the good old days when it was just me and my num lock key against the world. Sure, we’ll still see each other on occasion. Maybe a courtesy nod or a “sup?” when no one’s looking. But things will never be the way they are now.

So if you see me walking by. And a tear is in my eye. Look away. Baby, look away.

Why can’t I buy a gerbil

Dear Society,

I love gerbils. I had a few while I was a kid and they were the best pets in the world. I’d put them in plastic balls and let them run around the house, I’d put them on the bed and let them run through my t-shirt like a tunnel, and I’d get rid of all my cardboard tubes by letting them chew them to pieces and build little nests with them. I remember staying awake late one night watching two of them try to run opposite directions in their running wheel. They’d crawl up the sides until one got higher then flip the other one upside down. It was great entertainment!

But now that I’m 28, society won’t allow me to own gerbils. Just because Richard Gere gave them a bad name in the 80s and the fact that they’re rodents, people are so turned off by people who own gerbils. If I bought gerbils, I’d become a guy who lives alone and has a thing for gerbils. People would think that’s creepy, I know, but I have no intention of putting them in my butt. I’m not even curious about it! I just need to get rid of some old cardboard tubes and I’d love to watch them run around aimlessly in that little plastic ball. What’s wrong with that? Listen society: I’m lonely and owning gerbils may be the panacea to pass the time. Society, I think I’m going to buy some gerbils, go ahead and hate me. I don’t care anymore.

I couldn’t come because of your dog

Its not that you’re bad at giving head. You have the basics down, no teeth, etc. I couldn’t come because of your dog.

I understand it, I have a dog too. The intensity with which he watches us eat dinner is a little unnerving. Im sure by now dogs must instinctively understand that the masters’ food is better, thus more desirable. Sometimes we would ponder: “what would he do if we sat around and ate dog food at the table while giving him steaks, would he still beg for scraps?”

Also, although I consider myself a dog lover, I hate small dogs. They have napoleon complexes, and never stop barking that bitchy high pitched bark they bark. Guys in general hate them, they are just not manly.

Anyways, back to my cock. I wasnt too bothered when your dog followed us as we moved from the sofa to your bedroom to continue our first session of making out. That probably has more to do with the fact that I was pretty sure I was about to get some despite your stern warning of “I’m not gonna sleep with you tonight.” It was a little weird that he was on the bed with us, but understandable. Small dogs are needy. But it really got weird when you started blowing me and he just focused very intently on my cock as it went in and out of your mouth. I couldn’t get into any of the sicko (too weird to admit even behind the perfect anonymity of CL) fantasies I require to orgasm because I knew that little fucker was just sitting there, licking his lips (I swear I saw him do it) watching you blow me and wondering god knows what.

When we tried to kick him out his barking was even more irritating.

So, its not that you’re bad at giving head. (Did you believe my line: I have never come from a BJ, just not my thing? I’m proud of that one, came up with it on the spot and instantly knew I would use it in the future.)

Top 10 most annoying late night Denny’s customers

Yes, you all know me. you may not specifically remember my face because you and your friends were shit faced drunk. I am your Denny’s Waitress. The one you hit on at 3am after the bars closed. I normally work 10pm-6am, friday-tuesday. There are certain types of people I see in my work. If you are one of them, please, go to Jack in the Box. So here we go.

10. THE HOOKER- Yes dear, I know you are a hooker, You work a hard job, So do I. Yes I am polite to you, mostly out of fear of a crackheaded rage. But when i have 9 tables, of possibly tipping customers, I do not want to drop everything to make you a strawberry shake to get that cum taste out of your mouth. Please, just wait, like everyone else.

9. THE FRAT BOYS- Yes I know I look good. Thanks. But please, I don’t like being hit on by a group of drunk guys in a bar, I do not like being hit on by a group of drunk guys at my work. I WILL NOT give you my phone number. If you are really that interested, leave a big tip, and your number, perhaps I will call you. More then likely, I will not.

8. NO HABLA INGLES- Ok please, learn the basic skills needed to order your food. I don’t speak spanish very well, and i hate having to grab the bus boy to translate. Anyone who has ever been to california, knows these people. When asked what they would like to order, they point to the picture. “Ok and how would you like your eggs?” to this i get a puzzled look, much conversing in a foreign tongue, then more pointing to the picture. This same response to the questions as to how you would like your toast, steak, etc… Please, learn to speak english, or bring someone who does. And lastly, don’t act like I’m the idiot for not speaking spanish.

7. THE HOLIER-THAN-THOU GROUP – Ok, so technically I am a server. read SERVER, not servant. Where the hell do you get off talking down to me you drunk prick? Yes I will be nice to you, I will get your food in a timely manner, and keep your coffee full. But please, do not talk down to me as if i am human excrement.
I work don’t I? And please understand that all things in the universe are not in my control. ok you ordered your steak medium rare.(why are you eating a dennys steak) I do not cook the steaks. I can not bite into each one to check it’s exact condition inside. If it is not exactly right, please tell me, politely. do not scream ” You stupid insolate whore, i said Medium rare, can’t you remeber that, or are you too stupid.” This will not get a kindly reaction from myself, and you will wait 30 minutes for a new steak, which will be extremely well done. You don’t know me, I don’t know you, You might be better then me, probably not. You are an asshole.

6. THE LOUD DRUNK GIRLS- Yes you ladies, I know you had a great time in the bar, as i can hear every word you say. Glad to hear the fake id’s worked, but you do not look older with 3 pounds of makeup and one ounce of clothing. I don’t mind that you all give me evil looks, I’m hot. Sorry i can’t help it I was born this way. I see the looks as you guzzle down your french vanilla cappuccino, and all share one salad. But ladies ahem..girls. I am one of you, why treat me with such hostility, fortunately at least one of you is a waitress, and you usually leave a decent tip.

5. THE HOMELESS GUY- Yes I let you sit in here. you aren’t dirty and don’t smell…too much. I will give you free coffee, and do my best to sneak you some food. But I am busy. I do not want to sit and listen to you droll on about how in 1972 you had a house and a wife and you lost it all. You’ve told me, I’m sorry, I’m doing my best to help you out a little, why don’t you get your ass a job, and complain to them.

4. THE RICH ROMANIAN GUYS- Yes you are all very good looking, and polite. But please, stop telling me how much money you have. Also, this is not burger king, we don’t make it your way. The options we give you are listed, want seasoned fries, great, can’t eat tomatos, alright. But when you order your decaf coffe with a shot of vanilla, water, with lemon. Club sandwich with no tomato, no mayo, extra mustard, add swiss cheese, ham instead of turkey, on rye bread, no fries but a side of sliced banana’s, this is a little much guys. Come on, make it at home. After all this, which i finish with a smile on my face, you leave me $3.00 hop in your beemers and escalades and drive away. THANKS PRICKS!

3. THE CREEPY OLD GUYS- Yeah you two. You’re pushing 60, do not act like you are 20. I am not on the menu, please stop asking, when I ask youif there is anything else i can get you don’t say ” I’d like you on a plate” After 60 years i’d think you guys could come up with something better. I am a waitress, not a Hooker. I will not let you smell my pussy for $20 dollars, I will not let your friend fuck me for $200. I do not care that you are “special forces” The giant gut really must help for all the covert ops. If you want a hooker, one will be here soon, buy her a strawberry shake, and she’s yours.

2. THE OLD MEXICAN LADIES- so when did you ladies buy those outfits? when you were 20? guess what THEY DON’T FIT. They are too small and you are too large. The bright red shiny tight skirt does not make your ass look good, nothing could make your ass look good, a trash bag perhaps. The bottle of cheap perfume you put on this morning does not make you sexy, it makes you smell, bad. No one wants to see your boobs, no matter how many push up-bras, bottles of glue, and rolls of duct-tape it took to get them above your belly button. You all are loud and drunk, and obviously you do not like coffee by the massive amount of creamer and sugar you put in. I mean really ladies, 9 creamers and 12 packets of sugar for one fucking cup of coffee?!? The sooner you realize that you are not 24, get your fat ass in a moomoo, and get the hell out of my restaurant, the sooner the world will be a better place.

1. THE LARGE CHEAP PARTY- Yes you earn number one. You come sauntering in at 2:45am and announce that you have a party of 14, maybe more. ok, we do not have a table for 14, we will have to spread you in part of the restaurant. you will all be together, just not at the same table. You bitch and moan, but hey we only have booths, they don’t move. so ten of you sit. I get your drinks, but then there is 1 more, i get this drink, and so on. then When it is time to order, are you polite enough to go in the order in which you are sitting? Hell no. Will your party quiet down so i can actually hear you? Fuck no. after everyone orders will 3 of you change your mind? But of course. Ok. 14 different meals…got it. Time to carry them out, as you may know 14 meals will not fit on one tray, so yes i have people carrying more, but Alas, that is still not enough. So while i am setting down your plates you all continue to cry ” Where is my Toast, where are my nachos, I need ketchup, etc” Hold the Fuck on, i got 5 trays, and 2 hands. so “Is there anything i an get for you?” a glass of water replies one customer, “Ok, anything else for the rest of you?” no answer, so i scurry off, and get the water. “Anything else?” I ask upon my return. More napkins, once again i run to get napkins. this process goes on and on. Ask for it all at once dammit! ok time to pay. You all want seperate checks… can you not figure out he approximate price of your meal on your own? Are you all that stupid? of course you are. After all of my efforts,there $200 dollar check divided, and many thanks for the great service, what do I receive for my efforts?!? $8 dollars. $8 Fucking dollars. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! THATS LIKE 3% YOU ASSHOLES

All of these people are actually customers that i deal with on a regular basis, they are not fictional, although i wish many of them were.

Please folks when dining out remember, we are not servants, nor are we hookers, we will not date you,tipping is 15-20%, we do not make your food, but if you are rude we will not hesitate to spit in it.

I need a hot roomate

I’m looking for an incredibly beautiful girl to share my apartment. Why does my next roommate have to be a gorgeous girl with fantastic funbags? Because I hate my job, that’s why.

I spend everyday dealing with complete cockbites, only to come home and deal with one more cockbite fucktard, and I’m tired of it. For once, I want something to look forward to, and it’s certaintly not going to be my job.

So if someone has suggested that you should be on America’s Top Model, or could be (better yet, have been) in Playboy, than you may just have what it takes to be my next roommate.

In all fairness though, it will take more than just being a scorching hottie to be my roommate, it will also take $700 every month. You will also have to put up with the following:

• My friends will always be over to check you out
• I will always be trying to check you out
• I will move all of your food to the bottom drawer of the refridgerator, just so I can watch you bend over and get it (Oh, yeah! Get those apples from the crisper, you dirty girl!)
• I will make every attempt possible to “accidently” bump into you as you are on your way out of the shower.
• I will constantly try to get you drunk so that I can advantage of you. Sadly, in attempting this, I will get myself much more drunk than you could ever be, and promplty get myself taken advantage by someone much less desirable.
• I will make you play 20 questions with me, and every time I will be thinking of my cock.
• I will never make eye contact with you, because I will be staring at your sweater puppets.
• I will hound you to be part of my amateur photography collection.
• I will eat all of your food (I’m lazy and cheap as well).

If this sounds reasonable to you, write a 5000 word essay on why you would be a good roommate for me. Then, throw that out and send me a hot picture of you instead. As long as you are hot, I really don’t care what you do. You could be a herion addicted, neo nazi, puppy-killer, but as long as you look like one of the girls from a David Kelley series, I don’t care.

And please be a non-smoker, I’ll need my deposit back when I move out.

Hating hatred

The rich hate the poor for being “low” and bothersome. The poor hate the rich for being stuck-up. Blue collar hates white collar for having to work for them. White collar hates blue collar for not kissing their ass.

Women hate men. Men hate women who hate men. Women hate men who hate women who hate men. Women hate men for wanting their bodies. Men hate women for wanting their wallets. Boyfriends and husbands hate their girlfriends and wives for taking their freedom. Girfriends and wives hate their boyfriends and husbands for not being perfect.

Fat chicks hate skinny chicks. Skinny chicks hate fat chicks. Fat chicks hate skinny chicks for getting all the guys. Skinny chicks hate fat chicks for hating them for it. Skinny chicks hate guys for looking at them as sex objects, and fat chicks hate guys for not looking at them at all.

Kids hate their parents for being parents. Parents hate their children for making them be parents.

Non-Christians hate Christians. Christians hate non-Christians for hating them. Non-Christians hate Christians for hating them back. Christians hate other Christians for not being the right “kind” of Christians. And everybody hates the Mormons.

Republicans hate Democrats. Democrats hate Republicans. Republicans hate Democrats for not loving their country enough. Democrats hate Republicans for hating the rest of the world. Independents hate both parties for having more money and influence than them. And Ralph Nader hates all of them.

And don’t even get me started about race and gays.

My God, when does it stop? It makes me so sad that me, a normally tough and stoic guy wants to cry his eyes out for people everywhere. Everybody hates everybody else, and feels completely justified in that hate. Just ask them, and they’ll tell you all about the righteousness of their hatred for whoever they hate. But ask someone who they love, and they’re strugging to find any answer beyond a significant other and a few family and friends… Are our capacities to hate so global, but our capacity to love so local and small?

I can’t take it anymore… But I guess, I’m no better. I hate everyone for hating everyone else.

Peace, seriously.

You probably aren’t Ms. Right but …

You Probably aren’t Ms. Right but:

I date women of no particular eye color or hair color or body type. I can say with 90% confidence that my next partner will be between 4’5″ and 6’1″. Based on past choices, there is 100% probability that she will be white, and a 75% chance that she will be a former Catholic. A little about me: I am a Jew, a practicing Jew at that. One of my deepest desires is that the future women will also be Jewish. Baruch HaShem Unfortunately the forecast is bad, only that remaining 25%. The only good news there is that with such a small population (four long term relationships), the margin of error is pretty high +- 50%. The 50% is pretty troubling though. That would make her negatively Jewish. Is that anti-Semitic? If so at least it is only 25% anti-Semitic. I would hate to put myself in a bad situation.

Then there is the issue of sex and sexuality. There is a 75% likelihood that Ms. Right will not do sex and I seem to only date confused bisexuals. That is not to say that bisexuals are confused. I have had many friends who are not confused about their bisexuality. And may it be that they continue to flourish in their love endeavors. That being said, there is a 50% chance that she will actually be bisexual, but temporarily and under the bizarre influence of my sexual prowess think that she is a lesbian. If you fall into this category, I am afraid that the chances are 100% that you will leave the relationship and enter into a healthy long-term relationship with a man older than your father. What is more, the uncertainty around this is 0. It will happen. You can avoid this wretched fate by moving on to the next ad.

Back to the sex problems, there is a 75% chance that the woman of my dreams will not want to have sex. I have a pie chart of reasons. Unfortunately, several attempts to attach the image failed. Please email for graphic version. None the less, here is the content of the chart.

Recovering from Sexual Abuse 35%
Repressing Sexual Abuse 45%
Gets off More on Control than Sex 25%
Really asexual 5%

Content of the chart makes clear that whether or not you like sex it is likely that you were sexually abused. Sorry you had to go through that. I did too. The biggest hang up I still have is in choosing good people and situations in my life. I am really good at the sex thing, completely recovered. Which unfortunately has led to a 100% forecast for sexual frustration on my part.

A little about our future: We will be together for 3.3 plus or minus 1.5 years. I WILL change your life open your horizons. In the end there is a 100% chance that you will become a huge slacker, incapable of holding down a 40 hour a week job ever again. Reasons vary. You may start your own unsuccessful business or you might just hang around on disability until you decide to become a permanent student. I understand. Not all of us are made for work. There is a 75% chance that you are a selfish narcissist. In the end, I will be the one to leave, and it will hurt me more than it hurts you.

Interested? Is this you?

Why I hate Whole Foods

I don’t know how Whole Foods has managed to corner the market on all the good vegetables from the produce suppliers and all the other grocery stores in the area are left with such shitty produce, but that’s the way it is. I go to the smaller mom & pop produce stands when I can and get what’s in season, but sometimes I want other produce, and since no one wants shitty fresh veggies, I put aside my hatred for you, Whole Foods on 64th, and I go there. You also have the best meat in town, and I sure do like good meat when I want meat.

I hate the stupid assholes that can’t pay attention to what they’re doing when they’re parking because they’re too busy looking all conscious and hip in their biodiesel German car and shopping at Whole Foods and checking out all the counterculture wisdom on bumperstickers. It is NOT cool to just come to a complete stop in the middle of the street and ponder your life before you turn into the parking lot as though you’ve never been there before. I see you getting out of your car with your fabric Whole Foods shopping bag. Wake up and pay attention! What crackhead decided to put that surface lot next to that underground parking with an entrance on 64th street when 65th street & Roosevelt is already congested enough? It is even worse when you have to walk across the street and these blissed-out dopey shitheads almost run you down in the street because they didn’t see you in that crosswalk as they were too busy turning up NPR.

Then there’s the scene inside that crackhead maze of a store. There’s just no way to get in and out of there when you only need a couple of items. After it takes an inordinate amount of time to park and if you manage to not get hit crossing the street, it is impossible to move quickly thru the store. There are so many “aware” consumers carefully reading labels and making proclaimations about the product in their hands–to the air–if they’re alone. They won’t get out of your way if you just need that one carton of chicken stock behind them, they just stand there all doped up on anti-depressants and Valerian and wrapped in fleece and natural fibers and stare at you like you requested a kidney if you ask them to please step aside. Then if they KNOW you’re in a hurry, they will block you and sometimes even comment you’re in too much of a hurry and you can only enjoy life if you take the time for pleasure. Shit, white woman with dreadlocks, I will take time for pleasure as soon as I can get out of this hippy-dippy overpriced shithole and enjoy this fine cheese.

Then there’s the bulk foods area; a place where bargains abound if you know what you’re doing AND you can muster the patience to wait for the stringy-haired ponytailed man to decide just how much sage powder he really needs and step aside for the other customers, and there happens to be a pen available so you can write down the product number to avoid being lectured by the smelly cashiers when you try and explain you couldn’t write the number down because there was no pen and you don’t have one on you.

Some of the cashiers are really nice, don’t get me wrong, but some of them like to give you mean looks when you buy a lot of red meat. You can see the vegan superiority in their eyes when they can’t help but comment on all the ribs you’re buying. I didn’t realize Judgement was involved with my grocery purchases; that must be why I pay so much extra.

Oh yeah, and could all you people that shop and work there maybe occasionally take a fucking shower? If that spews too much water loss, a bath really will do. Thanks.

Men’s vs Women’s Personal Ads

Mens posting:

• Lets fuck !

Womens posting:

You MUST meet the following requirements.

• Be over 6’2″
• Be in great shape.
• Be great looking.
• Be educated. I have a masters degree AND a law degree. That means I am really smart. Did I mention I have a masters degree AND a law degree? Even though deep down I know I am not that bright I can hide behind these degrees and pretend I am – phewww!:)
• Have a great job and make lots of money. If you aren’t a doctor or lawyer you aren’t good enough cuz they are really, really smart but more importantly they will make my best girlfriends jealous (bitches!).
• Be able to impress my friends and make them envious and jealous. Oops I think I mentioned that above. Just want to make sure you know what your main purpose is.
• Not be too domineering but you aren’t a momma’s boy either. Meaning whatever mood I am in I will tell you how to act.
• Like wine. I like Shiraz cuz it’s Australian and I am really worldly and only know Merlot and Shiraz and Shiraz sounds more sophisticated.
• Be well traveled. The bus tour in London was great and staying at the Paris Hilton just screams culture. It means you are smart, attractive and cultured if you travel, cuz getting on a plane and staying at the Hilton takes lots of brains and skill.
• Like jewelry. Tiffany is my very favorite – it is just wonderful. I love wearing a dog tag around my neck that reads someone elses name. Besides only 20 million other women have it. I feel so special wearing the same thing everyone else does.
• Like Starbucks. Even though their coffee really sucks and is way overpriced I must have it. What would someone think if they saw me walking with a plain styrofoam cup ???
• Like fine cars. As with jewelry, I have very unique taste in cars as well – BMW or Mercedes.
• Love Sex and the City because like the girls on the show I have whored around a ton (I will never admit that to you though) but seeing it done on TV makes it OK. Because they aren’t just whores, they are rich women looking for love! They represent sophisticated, educated, tasteful, classy girls like me. If you are a yuppie and spread your legs for lots of guys you aren’t a whore, you are just looking for the right guy. Those uneducated blue collar girls that fuck lots of guys are whores ! But I have a masters degree and a law degree, so just because I have had more men than the urinals at Fenway Park does not make me a whore!
• Be spiritual. Like myself, my mate must have a deeply spiritual side. I have no idea what this means and the deepest thought I have had in six months is what color shoes to wear on New Years Eve but it sounds good.
• Not ever, ever, ever be worse looking than any of my friends boyfriends cuz if you are I will try to fuck him behind your back and my girlfriends back (that bitch!)
• Not ever, ever, ever, mother fucker be less successful than any of my friends boyfriends. If you are I will try to fuck him behind your back and my girlfriends back (I hate her!)
• Never bore me. Yes, you guessed it, if you do see above, cuz I am getting sick of telling your sorry ass how many ways and why I will cheat on you (sigh!)
• Give me the attention I need but not be too clingy. Again, this all depends on my mood of the moment. Good luck figuring that out. Oh and if you aren’t attentive enough or too attentive, see above.
• Have a huge dick. Again, see above, you know by now what will happen if you don’t.
• Constantly be amazing in bed and live up to every fantasy I have ever had about a man. If you don’t I’ll be coming home late from work several times a week.
• Be a Prince or the son of a Prince. I am too stupid to know that the son of a Prince is still a Prince – all I know is I deserve to be married to one. If not a billionaire, millionaire, singer, actor, athlete, doctor or lawyer (in that order) is acceptable.
• Phewwww, I’m tired. Time to call one my girlfriends and talk about my other girlfriends behind their back!

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