Forgive me Rosie O’Donnell, dictator of all things homosexual; but I just can’t wrap my pretty little head around this concept. Isn’t the whole point of becoming a lesbian, to be with another human being who displays extremely feminine qualities? As in girls who like other girls. Wasn’t that the whole point of investing in that dual dildo to begin with? Last time I checked, a person draped in lumberjack apparel, sporting a mullet, and hanging out in aisle 8 of The Home Depot; is usually named Earl. Not even close to resembling a female of any sort! Sporting Earl’s style for a woman makes you one stinky ball sack away from being a full fledged male as far as I’m concerned.

Therefore, I had to draw some deep conclusions as a result of my string of unanswered questions. What made two completely butch women give up the glorious cock? Well, I’ve come to the realization that you can’t possibly need to be weened off of something you were never on. I do mean that literally in this case. It seems to me, that butch lesbian couples are simply made up of two ugly chicks who could never get laid by a guy. And as a result had to scissor each other in college just to get off. Moreover, even after the college days are over, the two um ‘women’ are sort of stuck together for life. This is on account of the rest of the human population’s need of a flag pole to even consider fucking them. Eventually however, a very romantic relationship blossoms between the two Bob Villa look-a-likes. Butch and Butcher live happily ever after conjoined at the FUPA in their DIY home. And even though I still DON’T get it, I must admit that their activity of ‘caulking’ things around the house, although worlds away from my idea of the action, is quite heartwarming nonetheless.

I’d love to give you all a more detailed version of my theory but there’s only so much research I’m willing to do in this mullet infested field. Even I draw the line somewhere as far as my investigative journalism is concerned. And that of course includes venturing into prisons to observe these butch types up close. I am not up for becoming Bertha’s lovely bitch; and don’t wish to consummate our relationship with broom rape. So I’m just going to stick with the belief I previously stated; and support these questionable looking women in their decisions to join hot pockets.

I’ll even completely support their union in marriage, when it becomes legal. My only question in that area being: When they do go ahead and get hitched; how do they decide who wears the flannel pants in the relationship?

The Instant Message Moron

Guys.

We all know a guy who abuses the privilege of instant messaging like a lethargic hooker. This marks a fairly new breed of douche bags that find pleasure in annoying the shit out of women through the use of modern technology. Whether it’s AIM, or my personal favorite: Facebook; these IM morons harass women whenever they like while in the comfort of their mother’s homes. This making them yet another flavor of DOUCHE BAG!

Perhaps the most cock-sucking fact about these douche bags, is the fact that because they are not speaking to you face to face; suddenly their balls nearly triples in size. A seemingly innocent conversation evolves from something that appears to be ripped out from the pages of a cheesy romance novel; to finally something resembling an interview with Howard Stern. Often the transition happens so quickly that you’re totally caught off guard. This results in completely missing the point at which the banter transforms from the super douche simply inquiring about your day, to him blowing a load all over his Dungeons and Dragons inspired mouse pad.

Moreover, because bull shitting is a hobby of these douche bags they have yet to master in the least; lies they blurt about their own sexual capabilities are about as believable as Lindsey Lohan’s sobriety. Recently, I had a quite alarming conversation with this sort of IM moron through Facebook chat. Before I get into it, I would like to address those people who are most likely thinking at this point, “Well why didn’t you just ignore him then?” A logical question, I must admit.Well, after much thought I concluded the answer to be a lot simpler than many may think it to be… Because I am an asshole.

The conversation began with the typical boring question. “How was your day?” I begrudgingly told him that my day went “okay.” Just like it was okay yesterday, and shockingly even the day before that.

(While flooding these douches with my one word responses; I’m all the while thinking that I’d be more inclined to share the interesting low-points/high-lights of my day with the Dr. Phil wanna-be on the local radio station. At least then I’d have a chance to win tickets to the Bucks County River Country; located not too far from my house. A place I consistently feel on the same page with because their slogan is “Where we love to see you wet!” That makes the two of us Bucks County River Country! I hope you can deliver, and are not just a huge twat tease).

After the initial question, just as unexpectedly as sleeping with a premature ejaculator the first (and always only) time; the conversation took the aforementioned down-turn. Super Douche decided to woo me:

Super Douche: ” So you know baby I can last for hours in bed. At LEAST four ;)”

Me: ” Oh yeah? You sure you’re doing it right?”

Super Douche: “Lol if you climaxing 4 times is doing it right, then yes I think I am. You’d love four hours of sex.”

Me: “Well, I beg to differ on account of me not possessing an iron vag”

Super Douche: ” I’ve never had any complaints. My last girlfriend loved it. I once lasted 8 hours with her.”

Me: ” Wow, I’ll give it to you, sounds like a fucking problem. The hotline says to call 911 for erections lasting more than 4 hours…”

Super Douche: ” Haha very funny! Are you kidding me?! 8 hours of sex straight you’d fall in love with me!”

Me: ” Doubtful. I’m pretty sure I reserve the right to put a call in to The Special Victims Unit after hour 3. Let alone 8.”

Super Douche: “lmao! Don’t’ worry you’ll like it baby. I’ll tell you what else I’m going to do to you…”

Me: (after an alarming gag reflex to his previous statement) “Unfortunately that’s a no-can-do seeing as I am saving myself for my soul mate: Rick Ross.”

(I’ve mentioned in an earlier posting that Rick Ross is go-to guy to put an end to any conversation that must immediately conclude for the sake of my sanity).

It is in this nature that I try to grapple with the Super Douche. Some are extremely receptive to my ways; while others are about as sharp as plastic spoon, and never catch on to the final message. But regardless the battle must be fought everyday by women all over the world. One can only hope that the fine day will come when the mother’s of the super douches come along and take away their internet privileges. Forcing them to pleasure themselves to the Sears catalog they have stashed under their mattresses.

Ladies.

I always insist on turning the tables on the opposite gender as well. We are all well aware of the fact that if women said sexually explicit things to men over the internet without warning, in order to get laid; straight guys would kick off their very own parade. But unfortunately, this is not the case. Does this make women unsusceptible to the IM moron virus? No my friends, it does not.

The condition just appears to have completely different symptoms when it surfaces in the female race. You’ll see this often result in a characteristic I have spent a lifetime warning people about: CLINGYNESS! Yes, I am talking about the clingy bitches on the internet! The chicks that just don’t seem to get a clue that you have more interest in holding a conversation with your great-grandmother about adult diaper brands, over even the shortest exchange with them.

When clingy bitches assault other women via the internet; there’s really very little we can do. Like it or not we’re stuck being bombarded with comments (or email after email) of a detailed description of her boyfriends sleeping habits and her puppies diarrhea. (or vice versa). Try as we may, as women, we are stuck. So unless you want to tell this asshole-itch of a human being to fuck off; the situation is helpless. (Note: in most cases telling them to fuck off is ineffective because it will only result in them spending another three hours describing to you how you hurt their feelings. While you anxiously attempt to text a suicide hotline while they ramble).

Men, these clingers are your worst nightmare. Especially the ones you either have porked, or considered porking. They take every chance they get to say something when you appear online, or post something new on Facebook. And not only are these comments incessant; they are also completely MORONIC. Usually sprinkled with a half a dozen ‘lol’s and a barrage of smiley/winky faces.

Although you pride yourself by practicing safe sex most of the time; you somehow feel like you just acquired a hefty case of herpes which will never go away. And what do all men do? They make the initial amateur mistake of pulling away. Men react by becoming colder and more abrupt with these grade A clingers. The reaction that follows is overwhelming because the already clingy bitch goes into PANIC MODE! She accelerates the comments and IMs, until a guy can’t go a whole 10 seconds without his BlackBerry vibrating harder than my special ‘Rabbit’ friend.

Well listen up gentlemen! I’m here to unleash the secret. There is only one thing that will make the clingiest of bitches never speak to you again. And I don’t mean performing the ‘Angry Pirate’ or ‘Dirty Sanchez’ on her. God only knows what someone like tha is into.

The key is, instead of becoming more distant (which fails like a dumb slut in Honors Calculus), do a 180 and become a huge menopausal woman! Take the moodiest female you have ever met in your life and mimic her as if your trying to win a fucking Golden Globe. Alternate from being overly-emotional and possessive, to completely bitchy and pouty. If you can master the transition to take place at least a few times a day; the clingy bitch herself will want nothing more to do with you by the end of week one. Guaranteed. In fact, she will most likely deem you the clinger in the end, and convince herself that it was her idea to cool things off between the two of you.

This skill is intricate and takes many years to master. However, if you do, you officially reach sensei status of clingy bitches. A title I’ve held a black belt (equipped with a taser attachment) in, for days now.

Or you can always just sleep with her sister. Either one should do the trick.

Inter-Community Banging:

“Old pussy.” Okay, I know the initial statement is enough to turn even the fattest fuck into an involuntary bulimic. But stick with me for a minute because I am not referring to a pet name I devoted to Joan Rivers. Rather, this is a term a guy friend of mine used when expressing his dismay in his mission to get laid as of late. Although, he is consistently exposed to a variety of drunk bitches… they seem to be the same ones every single night. They’re essentially completely over-used goods; and chances are even if you’ve never slept with them you’ve most likely seen them naked at one point or another regardless.Hence, the God awful yet appropriate term of ‘old pussy.’ This occurs for him because his line of work forces him to stay in a very specific community of people. Therefore he is hardly ever exposed to females that possess all the qualities listed below:

1) A girl he hasn’t already fucked
2) A girl who does not have a big mouth and is not friends with someone he’s already fucked
3) One who is not currently fucking one of his ‘boys’
4) One he’d gladly fuck without the assistance of a 10 foot poll. And finally,
5) A girl who’s STD test results are cleaner than the Jonas brother’s urine samples.

This conversation got me thinking about how complicated inter-community fucking can potentially get. It’s like a whole communal gang bang phenomenon.

Those who live in or around the city of Philadelphia are especially aware of the ’small-community’ dilemma. For it seems that every time you go out; you meet people who are most likely friends with others you already know. Before the formal introduction occurs, you have already heard enough about them that the handshake itself becomes a simple and at times offensive formality.

You of course say: “Hi ____ . It’s nice to meet you” All the while you’re thinking:

“Hi____.So I hear you’re the cum dumpster who collects more facials than the local day spa.”

Or when meeting a guy:” Hey____. So you’re the guy with the dwarfed dick which curves slightly to the left, and experiences the occasional failure to launch,”

You know everything about everyone before actually meeting the person. It’s not always a bad thing. Sometimes you have the distinct honor of meeting the sole reason behind ten of your closest friend’s prescriptions for Valtrex.I guess, better known to some, as “Patient Zero” or as I like to call it “Ho-Monkey Zero” Twisted, but truly inevitable when you participate in the block party orgy.

It’s one big incestual circle, and it poses quite the problem when you are in need of a good, clean porking. How am I supposed to fuck a random guy no strings attached if I know his dick was previously in the mouth of the chick standing across from me at the bar? A chick that is by no means a complete stranger. For I know of her, her reputation, and pretty much everything else about her short of her social security number. Based on this prior knowledge, I’m fairly certain that I would think twice before sharing a straw with her let alone a cock. And although you never truly know who’s been in who’s mouth…sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Therefore, fucking outside of your general circle of friends and community is the key to avoiding a slew of awkward moments and drama. Perhaps the last thing I want is someone’s psycho ex-girlfriend going bat-shit crazy on me for sleeping with her ‘man.’ She claims him as her territory because she once loved him despite the fact that he was a huge dick to her. And, well, I just want to ‘love’ him solely for the fact that he has a huge dick. Yet, when I try and explain this nuance to her it seems to only enrage her further, often causing her to foam at the mouth.

Despite my best efforts, she stays by her ownership as if she was a dog peeing around him to mark her territory. Which is absurd, because had he ever expressed his interest in ‘golden showers’ I would have flung myself out of his bedroom window and ran for the hills before my bladder was forced to participate in foreplay. So now, not only does the whole community know every single detail of your personal life and sexual preferences which may or may not include gagging; you now also have a rabid ex ‘inconspicuously’ circling your neighborhood who you would love to gag. This reigns true for both males and females. Fucking around in a tight knit group of friends or community is hardly worth the drama in the end. Unless of course it is all resolved in a civil and mature manner: Springer.

Guys,on many occasions it just saves everyone a lot of time if you go and get your dick sucked elsewhere. Don’t feel overwhelemed heading into uncharted territory. There’s no need to leave the tri-state area, or turn to Craig’s List for your search. It is possible to find a brand spanking new hook-up; because luckily for you, the world is sprinkled with a plethora of drunk and generous whores. Chances are if you haven’t been laid in a while, you can spot one from a mile away. Just follow the scent of cheap booze and Doritos. They’ll most likely be the ones bent over a bar stool while attempting to slurp their spilled alcohol out of their cleavage; just waiting to substitute the next shot of Jack Daniels with a shot to the face. At this point your job is simple: A) Make sure she’s not 16. B) Swiftly step in at this opportune moment as the stand-in ‘bartender.’ And finally C) Haul ass home before she sobers up and the pang of disappointment, resulting from your 1.5 minute performance time, sets in.

(An all too familiar pang all women have experienced at one point in their lives. Sadly, myself included a long, long time ago.

“Ohh, yesss, oooo, harder!… uhhhh what? Are you fuckin kidding me?!”

After months of therapy following my assault by Speedy Semen Gonzales I was even able to pin point the emotion that stands in between the initial shock and then the consequential deep disappointment. You just look up at him and you feel completely: left out.Someone just had a party in your very own ‘fortune cookie,’ yet your invitation was apparently lost in the mail).

On to the ladies. If you’re having a problem venturing out of the community and finding an appealing stranger to engage in the genital handshake with you;it may be time to re-evaluate some things. I say this because many men’s list of standards start with a pussy and top off with tits. With no points in between. If you truly can’t find a single male that will bang you; I suggest perhaps trying to look less beastly upon going out in public. A small suggestion that tends to go a long way. It also spares both parties an awful trip to the Super Market where the question of “paper or plastic”is instantly resolved with a resounding: “PAPER PLEASE!”.

I will finish this with one very significant point. If by chance, you find a person in the community of people you are in that is just as cool and down to fuck as you… AND keeps all dramatics to a bare minimum: For God’s sake don’t fuck it up. Few are blessed with this lucky and convenient set up. So please (unless we are speaking literally): don’t blow it, because in the future your decision will be a hard one to swallow.

Teaching:

It’s quite obvious that I have very little business shaping young minds; mostly because I’m still shaping my own. The goal being that by 30 it resembles a penis shape of sorts

The fact remains, however, that I did work with kids several years back as a martial arts instructor. I call these two blissful years: natural birth control.

My experience teaching them wasn’t all that bad. Truth be told, when I was not horribly hungover, I found some of them mildly amusing. Eventually, however, I realized that although kids can be cute sometimes; generally, I don’t really like most of them. Most, not all. I am, however, saying that almost all can be real assholes. Furthermore, if I’m being completely honest, I’d have to say the blame goes directly on the parents. Hear me out on this one…

Its not your God awful parenting itself that turned your child into the bain of everyone’s existence; its the fact that the ‘annoying prick’ gene is apparently dominant. All of it is actually quite simple if you take a moment to think of all the adults you know that are complete jackasses. Right away I can think of 30 just off the top of my head. Now consider this, with all those jackasses mating at an unnecessarily rapid rate…whoever thought their spawn would result in a tolerable human being? That’s right, its nearly impossible. Just wait and see what John and Kate’s 8 turn into. A gang of douche bags equipped with retarded hairstyles and Ed Hardy t-shirts. Makes me nauseous just thinking about it.

So when I was pondering a career in teaching a few years ago, I came to the stark realization that I’d just be the biggest bitch. Way worse than any menopausal whore they show you on daytime television. I’d be especially abrasive on days that I come in irritated, or sick, or high; and they are giving me all their bullshit.

And you know there’s always one kid in every elementary school classroom named Jonah, who feels it is his duity in life to test the teacher’s moral character. By that I mean see if the teacher can resist the urge of chasing him around the room with a baseball bat.

The type of kid that would be a great hit on ‘Kids Say the Darndest Things’ but is simply not cute enough to pull of half the shit he spews. Inevitably he would ask questions like…

“Miss Elina! Miss Elina! Why aren’t you married?”

And although I’d always like to shoot back with a ‘Why don’t you mind your own fucking business Jonah. You don’t see me asking you personal questions about that castle you’ve been constructing out of your own boogers since October!!!’ I don’t. No, I try and exhibit some form of self control and squeeze out an answer resembling…

“Well Jonah, not everyone wants to get married.”

Just after a feeling of deep satisfaction sets in, for not going off on the little bastard, he always has to have a follow-up. Fucking little Connie Chung in training.

“No, because um my mom said that only ugly girls don’t get married.” Or something as equally offensive as that. At this point in time is when I would see myself losing all desire to maintain my teaching license. My anger toward the little daemon child’s mother would become misplaced, and I’d very calmly answer him.

“Well Jonah, actually, that’s because your mother is a whore.”

“She is not a whore!”

“She is to Jonah! She is to! Just ask Mr. Bryant the gym teacher!”

“What? Mr. Bryant” (Tears start forming when they see that you have won).

“Sorry Jonah, I really hate to break this to you on your 7th birthday like this, but we all have to find out sometime.”

Then once I showed the obnoxious leader of the pack who’s boss, I’d make sure every last one of the rest of the fuckers know not to mess with me on Fridays. After all, its right after Thirsty Thursdays, that’s just blatantly disrespectful.

“If anyone else has anymore stupid questions, we’re having one long conversation about Santa following recess. Right after we read the results confirming the identity Jonah’s daddy.”

This scenario is precisely why I don’t see myself in a Grade school setting if I were to become a teacher. Stuffing Jonah into a locker would quickly lose its appeal and I would become incredibly bored.(On a related note: Don’t judge me, I would only rough him up a little, never even dream of taking his lunch money. His mother sucked entirely too much cock for that cash).

If I had to teach, I’d most likely teach at the high school level. I am completely aware of the fact that by this age all of the kids are already drinking and getting high; so I’m thinking right off the bat we’d have something in common. And although that’s all well and good, especially if one of my regular suppliers is away on business; I’d still take every single chance I get to fuck with them. Because, well ultimately. I don’t see myself taking a liking to this pimply-ass group of kids either.

I especially despise those compulsive honors kids. The over-achievers that are so concerned about getting into college, that they will go to any lengths for an A. Inevitably, asking stupid questions along the way like,”So what’s going to be on the test on Thursday?” Forcing me to look this girl Tracy in the eye, while squinting to avoid the glare coming off of her braces, and think of a way to answer her without making her cry…again. The point being that even if I knew what was on the fucking test I certainly wouldn’t tell her. Not to mention, I’d just have the teacher across the hall make them all up for me. Amazing what a faculty dining room blow job can get you.

But this Tracy type does not let up. She’s constantly running circles around you to see what she can do to get extra credit. Eventually, I’d see myself taking her up on her offer. Since she is very smart and more responsible than I; I’d put her in charge of making sure I take my birth control pills daily. That way she can do something that will benefit us both. Everybody wins. I would gladly pitch the idea, but her breed of high schoolers is so uptight that she would never agree to it. Forcing my frustration with her to mount until it reaches boiling point. Then I’d have to sit her down.

“You know what Tracy McBracy (my clever nickname inspired by the beastly metal in her mouth), you should really look into getting laid more often. I sincerely think it will make us all dislike you less.”

Truth be told, I really do feel like the slutty girls in high school are easier to get a long with. They don’t ask what’s on the test because they don’t care about the fucking test. The sluts use their text books to shove between the headboard and the wall. This way their fathers can’t hear how ‘daddy’s little girl’ is turning into ‘daddy’s little whore’ with the assistance of the entire football team.

Girls like Tracy don’t see the beauty in this. They are most likely saving their virginity for that ’special someone.’ Ugh. Nice sentiment I guess, we all held onto our virginity at one point or another in our lives. Some people still do; just saving up for the next clean looking hooker that crosses their path. But what I’d really like to tell girls like Tracy is that the first time is hardly ever worth waiting for. It’s not special in the least! Unless you consider wrestling Ira Goldman’s little penis inside of you special. I don’t. Sounds rather horrifying to me. Better lose it to someone who knows what he’s doing. And if that person just so happens to be the new gym teacher, well then so be it. I hear he’s getting sick and tired of Jonah’s mother anyhow.

So after pondering these various teaching scenarios, I’ve realized that not only should I never become a teacher; but perhaps staying within 500 feet of any school would be for the best. They sell shitty weed there anyways.

The Overly-Confident Guy

Better known to everyone else observing him as the Token DOUCHE. While attempting to look up some sort of all encompassing definition for ‘token douche’ one is quite likely to come across a plethora of Guido pictures.

This is because there is a simple formula: All Guidos= douche bags, however not All douche bags=Guidos. Stay with me, it’s all very complex and mathematical in nature.

When it comes to this breed of humans: no one is safe. The douche bag will approach every single person they come across as if it would be a personal honor to all of us to be in his presence; and subsequently the presence of his tiny, tiny penis. He walks around a bar with his arms lifted 5 inches away from his sides at all times. This is of course to show us all his expensive steroid investment. A particularly obnoxious quality when your trying to walk around him and end up getting shoved up against the wall. (If I am getting shoved anywhere by a guy, and it’s not followed up by some rather impressive penetration and hair pulling; I will be forced to taser him). Furthermore those kind of muscles do not fool me for one minute. These buldges, no matter how massive, will never be able to compensate for the lack-there-of down south.

After making his way to the bar, the guy will then find any reflective surface in the whole establishment to make sure he is looking up to par. (Worst case scenario the reflective surface may be the aviators his equally douchey friend is sporting in the dark.) He gives himself a once over to make sure he is: A) Tan enough B) His hair is still in fact gelled to perfection. Every single strand must be standing straight up at attention; the way his cock never seems to be able to C) His eyebrows are waxed and shaped to Brooke Shields like perfection. And finally D) The layer of coconut chap stick he stole off his 12 year old sister is still perfectly coating his lips.

After all points have been checked, the token douche will order a drink with his buddies a.k.a the gang of douche bags which might as well be sextuplets as far as the rest of us are concerned. This is because they all look more alike to us than the staff at the local Chinese take-out place.

And after all is settled, comes the point which everyone dreads. They do the most horrific thing one could possibly imagine them doing…they speak. However, as I have observed they do not hit on you nor do they speak to you. No, they hit at you and speak at you. Such as:

“You and I are gonna take a shot right now.”

Or if you manage to come to your senses and run they’ll throw something at you like: “Yo where you going? Sit here and talk to me. What are you going to find all the way over there? You ain’t findin nobody better than me I can tell you that!”

Charming. If that suave line won’t have my ankles tucked behind my ears in sheer moments, I don’t know what will.

A while back I was approached by an overly confident douche. I was sitting at a favorite local bar. Relaxing and having a few drinks with friends. Rookie mistake. Never show them your vulnerable. So as I was accosted by the token douche of the bar this particular evening; I had to combat it the only way I knew how. Take the fact that their dumb as balls and exploit it to your advantage. The conversation went as follows…

“Hey why are you sitting here?! You should be out there dancing with me!” He screamed over the music and into my face while pointing toward the dance floor. There stood his butt fucking best friends who were expressing themselves through what seemed to be interpretative dance… you know but somehow more gay.

“Yeah, um, yeah I’m sorry I would it’s just that I have a bad leg” I responded with a shrug and gentle tap to my right leg.

“Oh you do?!” He quipped not convinced, or maybe not caring that I had this ailment. At this point of the evening his desperation would have probably led him to steer some chick around in her wheel chair after him had he been able to get his hands on her.

“I really do,” I responded keeping my composure. (A talent I have when I speak to the mentally handicapped. What can I say? I was blessed at birth.)

“So how’d you hurt it then?” He continued to pry starring at it suspiciously; as if it was supposed to have an ‘out of order sign’ on it to justify what I just told him.

Without letting a moment go by, I shot back,” ‘Nam ” Then proceeded to turn around and join my friends, who were trying to contain their laughter, for another round of drinks.

“Like, like… ‘Nam, as in Vietnam?!” I heard him mumble to the back of my head right before shuffling back to the dance floor while scratching his head; joining his friends who were now mastering river dance.

Victory was mine.

One small step for me, but a huge leap for all Vietnam veterans around the world.

The Overly- Confident Girl

On the other hand, to be fair, I must mention the overly-confident woman. This segment is a hell of a lot shorter because it really just leads down to several factors.

A) The woman is good looking: She approaches a guy at the bar, hits on him, and eventually spreads her legs faster than the popular girl in high school with the slew of daddy issues. In this case, good for you. I congratulate you on your luck. A good and easy lay is hard enough to come across when you are trying; let alone when it just falls in to your lap/onto your dick reverse cowgirl style.

B) The girl who holds a striking resemblance to Shrek: This is pretty fucking elementary as well. For all men know that if a woman forcefully throws herself on a guy, who makes tittie fucking Barbera Bush look more appealing in comparison; there is only one thing left to do. Sheer self preservation. Time to guard yourself against the ogre and tell her that you’d most likely rather shove your dick into a toaster on this lovely evening. End of story there, because the villagers holding the torches and pitch forks would have surely caught up to her by now anyways.

C) Now this is the only tricky part. The girl who is anywhere from moderately-extremely attractive BUT completely shit faced. I’m talking Paula Abdul out of it. It’s a wonder how she’s managing to put one foot in front of the other at this point, let alone dance. But she’s attempting to pull it together. And even though her eyes are about half closed at this point; many guys do not give a flying fuck. They are set on taking HO Bags home with them as a souvenir.

I was again umm lucky? enough to observe something exactly like this on my recent trip to Las Vegas.The story unfolded right before my eyes…

While dancing at this club called BANK; I felt someone elbow me in the back. Pissed off, I look to see who the idiot was who decided to go over their self defense classes rather than dance tonight. However, my gaze caught a cute girl dancing with this guy. He, was obviously less intoxicated than she. I concluded this because he looked at me apologetically motioning to her and mouthed ‘I’m sorry.’ And she stood there flailing her arms, eyes half closed,her ass shoved in his crotch, and her dress rolled up to somewhere below her belly button but above her g-string.

Just minutes later she swings her body around and starts making out with him, all the while completely disrobing him of his shirt. The naive little man looked like a kid on Christmas morning. Clearly excited at his fortune, he was smiling ear to ear. Fairly confident that his dick is definitely making a guest appearance in one of her orphases in some way shape or form by the end of the night.

I left, knowing how it will all end. I was sad for him, because I knew exactly what was coming.

As I turned around briefly one more time before exiting the club, I see her projectile vomit all over the dance floor. Yep, that was inevitable. She probably even wiped herself with his shirt that she took off just moments before. Poor guy. But lesson learned: Pursue the far-gone HO Bags with extreme caution, because the chances of her simply blowing you are much lower than those of her blowing her dinner all over you.