My Epidemic

First things first, I have to apologize for erasing my earlier post about Jane Goodall. I really had no choice. Stupid MySpace wouldn't let me edit the thing so I opted to erase it completely. There were far too many words misspelled for my peace of mind.
The basic gist of the post was to celebrate my new love for "Rob & Big" on MTV. Big Black is a god. Instead of going into some long diatribe (That will just distract from the even longer diatribe below) I'll sum up how incredibly cool he is with a quote from the last episode I caught in which he said,
"I'm just a big silver-back gorilla looking for his Jane Goodall."
Epic.
But back to the point of this post, I've made it pretty well known that I hate prissy men. Give me a manly man fixing my sink over a Metrosexual calling a plumber, anyday. I'll admit, those Queer Eye For A Straight Guy dudes are by the far the funniest gay men on television but they better not ever come near my boyfriend or male relatives. I'd cut them into little itty pieces which I would mix with catfood and donate to the local animal shelter. The only thing left would be their expansive multicolored scarves...which I would steal and regift. Happy Holidays!
So here's a guide for all you poor guys who fell into the Metrosexual wave and now don't know how to resurface into the realistic world of hardcore manly men. Take it from me, I was raised by rednecks and police officers, I know a real man when I see one.

Being A Man: For Dummies

1. Crying is for pussies. I don't care how many times you've seen the Notebook. If you cry (I'm taking into account that there are extenuating circumstances) you're gay.
2. Men don't go to the bathroom in packs. That's strictly a chick thing. We laid claim on it centuries ago. Let it go.
3. While in the bathroom, you must follow a strict Male protocol. No talking. No looking around. Absolutely no touching. If you're spoken to, grunt in response. If you look down, you're gay.
4. Tight pants are for cowboys. Unless you're wearing chaps over those Levi's you're probably wearing them so other men can check out how much time you spent in the gym over summer break.
5. Men don't coordinate their outfits. This must be a completely coincidental thing or the look-a-likes in question will be seen as lovers.
6. Firm handshake. Always.
7. Unless you've been dating for awhile, always offer to drive your girl.
8. Size does matter. If you've got a small penis. Shave. It makes it look bigger.
9. Speaking of tools. Learn to use them. A useful man that can take care of the house, and your girl's friends' houses, are always appreciated and shown off on a regular basis.
10. Don't be a pansy. Learn to open your beer bottles without an opener. Use the side of a table. A tool. You're TEETH.
11. Chicks don't have to drink beer. Men, unless they're James Bond, should almost always drink beer. It's cheap and gets the job done. That should be every man's mantra, "It gets the job done." Think about it.
12. It's okay to shave your balls (Trim regularly atleast! Seriously!), trim your eyebrows and nose hairs, but don't wax your chest. That's just weird. (Unless you've got that whole Teen Wolf thing going on...then trim. Please.)
13. Metrosexuals are fun when you're young and want to show off how pretty your man is, but in the end every girl wants a sexy, rough, handyman she can ride into the sunset.
14. Work out. Seriously. It's not necessary to become some big, bulky muscle man (They usually have small penises anyway) but having a little extra muscle always comes in handy in bed. Always.
15. Don't. Fake. Bake. EVER.
16. You don't necessarily have to like sports, cars or NASCAR (No, it's not a sport. Get over it.) but you should have some hobbies and interests outside of shopping and drinking. Seriously, you don't have a vagina. Yeah. Yeah. Poor you.
17. Don't always wear matching socks. Girls like it when they can do something small like organize your undies and socks for you.
18. Stay away from Man Thongs. Unless you are a male stripper it is never, NEVER appropriate for you to wear these. This goes for speedos also. NEVER.
19. Dancing is actually okay. Do it. Boogey. Shake that toned ass. Men who can shake their hips are usually great in bed.
20. It's a small thing but when you're walking with a girl on the sidewalk, put yourself on the side closest to the street. It's a basic protective gesture.
21. Fancy clothes are great. But you're at home uniform should consist of Hanes and jeans.
22. If you're addicted to nicotine go all out. That chew bullshit is just gross.
23. Don't leave the room to adjust yourself. Just do it. You get to. It's a bonus of having a penis.
24. Don't ever ask your friends what they think of your new haircut. They don't care...unless ofcourse they haven't read this list and converted back to manhood.
25. You really don't need that manpurse. Give it to Goodwill and shove your shit in your wallet like everyone else.
26. A real man gives himself a manicure with the nearest pointy object. You really don't need to have a little asian chick clean your nails. (I'll kill you before I do it for you so don't even ask.)

Labels: Penis

The other night THE BOSS commented on my MySpace blog (Yes. I have MySpace. No. I can't be your friend. I am no Myspace whore.): "Are you sure you don't have a penis 'cause that's all you ever talk about it."
To which I replied: "No. But I've been thinking of buying one on the black market for the sake of telling bar-rats that I have a penis when they're staring at my boobs."
Then I started looking through this blog and realized, why yes! I do rant of the penis often.
So here's a little collection for all those in search of random penis talk. It's therapeutic sometimes to speak of such things when YOU'RE NOT GETTING ASS ON A REGULAR BASIS! (Damn you Boyfriend and your police schedual!)
Enjoy...
Why I Stick With The Penis
Pass On The Pussy
My Xmas List
Hey Untuck Your Penis

Less Penis Related But Still Good (And slightly phallic...)
Conversations Interrupted
A Tale of Sunshine
Beer Vs. The Vagina
If You Were A Lesbian...
Things I've Learned Working Downtown

Labels: Penis

I like my men to act like men.
If I feel like his vagina is larger than mine then sorry, Pussy, but you need to move along. I'm sick of metrosexuals. I'm sick of little men that make me want to slap them and say, "Hey! Untuck your penis!" Maybe this is the...4 hours of sleep I've gotten in two days talking but I don't really give a shit. If you don't have ovaries then I believe you should be required to act like a man. Unless you're fucking men. Because if you're that brave to come out to a culture that still believes homosexuality is on the level of biblical sodomy, then you deserve to be able to act like anyone you want. Dress like Cher, baby. I'll be cheering you on.
But as for the rest of you. BUCK UP! Show me some penis and stop acting like a pair of fucking ovaries! No! Don't shave your chest! No, you pansey! Don't you dare go fake baking! Goddam! Where's the testicles in this place! I miss testicles! Where did that whole testosterone thing go! All I see is estrogen!

I also think tight pants are for chicks. If they belong on anyone, let's face it they definately belong on the fairer sex. And cowboy boots too. Stop it. We all know you just want to wear assless chaps so stop projecting on those poor boots.

Labels: Penis

I've been without blogging inspiration as of late so instead of posting little pictures of kissing puppies or kilts blowing in the wind, I've decided to post one of my good friend's blogs. It made me laugh till I thought milk would come out my nose (even though I had no idea what he was talking about most the time) so I figure some of you may enjoy it also. Lift your milk glasses, friends and say cheers to Coke on your testicles.

"Chrono Trigger is the best game in the history of ever. Not only do you travel through time and kick the asses of monsters that are massively much bigger than you, but the characters are varied and lovingly memorable. You have a robot, a frog man and a buxom prehistoric blonde bombshell. It may only be 16-bit, but she's fuckin' hot. Swords, guns, aliens, monsters and saving the world. All on the Super Nintendo system. They could have stopped at the SNES, if you ask me. In the long run, Nintendo peaked a little early. Of course, there's something to be said about modern fighting games where the female characters' boobs actually move. Not the most important part of the game, but it's nice to know that those programmers really take their jobs seriously. Y'know, taking pride in their work and all that jazz. It's little touches like these that make me wonder how people were ever happy with Pong. Oh, right, the seventies. Not exactly our nation's proudest years. You know the stuff on nicotine patches? No, not nicotine, the stuff the put on the patch that allows the nicotine to enter your bloodstream through your skin. Well, in the seventies, everybody (see also, the tight asses) was afraid that somebody would mix that same chemical with a batch of LSD and start painting doorknobs with it, effectively tweaking everybody within a 6 block area out of their freakin' skulls. To my knowledge, it never happened. Why would anyone want to waste that much LSD on people who would never appreciate it? Which reminds me, did you know that the original drummer from Jefferson Airplane abused drugs so much that he still has daily conversations with Jesus, God and Ghandi? He has that many holes in his brain. Which is why I try to stay away from Coca Cola. I know it's a big jump from LSD to caffeine, but Coke can eat through a fuckin' metal bolt in just over a week. I'm not taking any chances. So remember: Chrono Trigger good; LSD on your doorknob and Coke on your testacles bad."

Labels: Guest Appearances, Penis

Hopefully mine will go something like this...Yes!

Labels: Penis

I've decided tornadoes are like boys...

They're unreliable. Whenever you think you have them mapped out they switch directions.

They get you worked up with all the noise and tension in the air of a huge show...only to leave you sitting in your basement eating cold pasta.

They barge in, trash your home and then leave.

Many of them take forever to build themselves up to adequate size.

There are only five kinds: 1-sissyboy, 2-sexually ambiguous boy, 3-mildly entertaining and only good for a few minutes of moisture, 4-a blow hard, 5-a real killa.



And these were my thoughts as I sat in the unfinished basement of the police department tonight during a tornadoe warning, eating my cold pasta and listening to high-strung divorcees analyze the change in air pressure outside their windows.

Labels: Penis, Workin' Hard or Hardly Workin'?

This man is way too pretty for his own good...








He should be spanked...

Labels: Penis

Somebody needs to get me these for Christmas.
I'm adding them to my list.

Labels: Penis

Labels: Penis

I've already established that lesbianism is not for me. (See Why I Stick With The Penis) There are many reasons why, but the biggest is that it's just not how I roll. Sorry. All you lesbians out there lusting after me, I'm just not into pussy.
But for some reason the topic keeps popping up.
Chris and I (who has returned from her exile) spent our entire Saturday causing trouble. We visited a Renaissance Fair --Yes, I know it's a very lesbian thing to do but we go to make fun of the chubby goths in leather and to lust after guys in kilts -- when we stumble upon a beer garden. Hooray! Beer! Instantly the entire event was vastly more entertaining.
I nursed an Ultra while underage Chris had to settle with a Dragon's Blood smoothie, and watched a bunch of guys in kilts beat on drums and dance traditional...jigs or whatever they're called.
The young, mildly handsome lead of the entire production was making eyes at us the moment we wandered in. If you've ever been to one of these things and seen the vast array of chubby teenagers and old ladies in Xena outfits, you would know that the KiltGuy's attention was not only expected but understandable.
Chris and I, being hot and in our street clothes tended to draw a number of eyes. Ofcourse we were also probably two of ten girls at the Fair under 150lbs.
Anyway, throughout the performance Kilt-Guy blew kisses in our directions and managed to flash us a few times. Unfortunetly, he wasn't actually Scottish and wore a pair of boxers under his kilt. Sigh.
When the show was over we said hi and got a few pictures taken with him. Everything was peachy. Guys in kilts rock my world.
But later, as we resumed our wandering, we kept getting hit on by creepy boys dressed as everything from pirates to trolls to bondage experiments gone wrong. One guy even asked if we wanted to ride his camel. His camel.
That line just seems lame compared to the ones we received at the biker bar in Vegas. "Hey Baby, ever had a 200mileperhour vibrator between your legs?" Now that's classic. The camel is just lame.
Soon enough we decided there was only one thing to do. We pretended we were lesbians. I'm not proud of it, but a girls got to do what a girls got to do.
The reason I told this story was not only because of my obvious love for kilts but to point out that it was really easy for Chris and I to pass ourselves off as lesbians. Not because we're butch. (We're not.) Not because we were all over eachother. (I've got personal space issues.) But because guys want us to be lesbians.
They want two cute college girls to start necking in the middle of a Renaissance Fair. Hell, it's probably the closest to any play most of those guys have gotten in a long time. Which just makes me sad.
Case in point:
Chris has been shamelessly throwing herself at this guy from her new workplace. He appears to be interested but has thusfar resisted meeting up with her outside of work. They spend all their time at work together. But he just hasn't mustered the balls to ask her out. She, the big-fat-pussy that she is, refuses to step up also. So they're at an impasse...and I've had to hear about it every fucking day for weeks.
Last night Chris called, giggling like a crazed cheerleader on speed about how WorkBuddy confessed that he thought she was a lesbian...with me.
Ofcourse!
Two chicks are close friends. Known eachother forever. Hangout all the time. Lesbians!
Well ofcourse we are. How can we not be? Why didn't we figure it out sooner?!
It took a guy I've never met, who's known Chris for about three weeks to enlighten me on my sexual tendencies. Great.
I officially hate this guy. Never met him. Hate him.
So here I am again defending my right to NOT be a lesbian. Hooray for lesbians. More power to the pussy-lovers. That's just not how I roll.
Got that? All you assholes out there who are just praying for some girl-on-girl action, NOT A LESBIAN.
I am completely Pro-Penis!

Labels: All things Vagina, Penis

In light of recent horrible events (See The Return of The Asshole & Alas, No Ball Snipping) I've decided to cheer myself up by giving something back to the world...a nice ass. (It always cheers me up.) Enjoy.

Labels: Penis

It seems like whenever I get drunk, I inevitably end up debating the benefits and disadvantages of being a heterosexual female in today’s society versus a lesbian. As my friends can vouch for me, whenever I have problems with the Boyfriend or men in general I tend to rant about how being a lesbian would be so much easier but have not actually tried exploring that avenue of thought any further. So today my topic is: "Why I stick with the penis."
The fact is that the inevitable questions that run through my straight-girl mind when it comes to changing teams are almost too complicated to even be worth the crossover. For example, if I did become a lesbian what kind of lesbian would I be? Would I be butch? Girly? A candy bisexual? Would I still dress like a girl or would I try and pass myself off as a guy with small hands? Are lesbians allowed to own vibrators? Do we have to have a rainbow bumpersticker? Will I constantly be hounded by drunk guys to make out with my friend? Do lesbian couples make better parents? Are gay bars actually better than straight bars? If I slip up and go home with a really hot, Eric Bana looking guy can I still be a lesbian?
Even if all my questions were answered by some sort of lesbian Yoda, there are even greater reasons why I could never actually turn my Down-With-The-Penis rants into anything more than eloquent bitching, the biggest of course being that I don’t actually find women sexually appealing.
I mean, let’s face it, women are generally more attractive than men but you don’t usually find yourself wanting to rip a girlfriend’s clothes off just to get to her washboard abs. And dear God, can you imagine if you and your girlfriend were on the same menstrual cycle? It’d be a bloodbath…no pun intended. Not to mention the fact that women are naturally more catty than men, by this I mean we’re all fucking crazy.
We tend to see things that aren’t there and blame it on women’s intuition like, "I saw her give me a look in the meeting. I mean she was all smiles and jokes the rest of the time but that one little look negates it all! It’s probably because my ass looks so much better than hers in these jeans. That’s probably it…She better not get in my face about this or I’ll fuck her up! Anorexic bitch! I know she was eyeballing me. I know it! See if I’m her Maid of Honor ever again!"
But while women are fucking crazy, men are dogs. Literally, if they’re not sniffing at your ass they’re sure as hell sticking their nose in someone else’s. The list of reasons not to become a lesbian is extensive, but while the list of negatives for staying heterosexual is short, it’s thorough: Men are douchebags. That’s it. That’s all she wrote…literally. I’m not adding anymore to that list because it covers all the basics. Heterosexual men are generally pigheaded, egocentric gluttons, who are either hungry or horny. Not to mention that most men are hugely homophobic except in the case where they spy two "friendly" women sitting close together at a bar. Then…"Lesbians are so awesome!" Let’s face it, the only males you can trust for anything more than the occasional use of their penis are our Daddies and our dogs. So, to sum up, Men are douchebags.
Usually this is where I’d end this tirade but it’s come to my attention that a new breed of men have emerged. They are known only as, "Metrosexuals." These men seem to be a cross between male and female. They have the bodies of men, but the grooming habits and personalities of women. Personally, I think they should even get their own little blue silhouette sign for bathrooms. But while you’d think this would be a nice compromise for women in my situation, who can’t stand men or women but are inevitably drawn toward the penis, it really isn’t.
Why the hell would I want to date a guy who dresses better than me? Why would I want a guy who has just as many cosmetic products sitting on his side of the sink as I do? Why in GOD’S HOLY NAME would I want to be the one to kill the spiders? The one to check on the creepy noises in the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning? The one that argues with the mechanic about some "necessary" $300 part for the motor in my automatic windows?
Why would I want a man that doesn’t fulfill his manly purposes? It’s like having a really shiny sporty coup with everything automatic and a stereo that is nearly painful on your eardrums it’s so loud, but it doesn’t actually drive. It just looks pretty sitting in your driveway. You can sit in it, wave at your neighbors and glory in their jealous glares…all from your driveway. But not anywhere else. What’s the point in that?
Inevitably, what all this ranting boils down to is this: When all is said and done, would you prefer A) a lesbian who understands way too well your psychotic feminine episodes, B) a pretty man who dresses well but is not in anyway fulfilling the macho duties God handed to Adam, or C) a walking, talking penis who sits on the couch and watches tv all day but fucks your brains out at night…
(Insert pitiful sigh) I choose option C.

Labels: Penis