Archive | March, 2012

Hey Everybody:

15 Mar

Shut the fuck up about grammar. Especially shut the fuck up about “they’re,” “their” and “there” and “you’re” and “your.”  And especially especially shut the fuck up about textspeak.  We lost that battle.  As a society, we lost the fight; in the future, we are all going to be using “r” for “are” and “u” for “you” and generally constructing sentences as though we were building a custom license plate.

Shut the fuck up in a general sense with grammar prescriptivism, because: the people who you think need your message most are never, ever going to listen to you.  You are pushing Zionism to a guy wearing an explosive vest.  You are pitching a Palestinian homeland to a guy who can’t turn the lights on on Saturdays and won’t touch a strange woman just in case she’s menstruating. You are never going to make even one iota of headway and there is nothing more irritating on Earth than a self-appointed copy editor.

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Reader Mailbag: BF Out of My League

15 Mar

(REDACTED) asks:

I guess I want to know why an incredible good looking man would date an average looking woman…I met a hot as hell man who should be dating a supermodel and for some reason he has an interest in me, he’s not pushing sex at all, so I dont think its him thinking I’m desperate and he could easily get into my pants…he just wants to hang out and gives me amazing kisses. I dont get it. I’m an hour away, I dont drive, I dont have a job and I’m very average looking and a little chubby. I’m just not sure how to proceed with him.

Uh, who cares?  Pussy is pussy.  Or in your case, dick is dick.  Or, non-dick is non-dick, since you say he isn’t using you for sex.

Wait, why is that a good thing, that he isn’t fucking you.  That he isn’t “pushing” to fuck you.  Fucking is good.

I mean, I don’t know why he wants to date you.  But who cares.  I used to think that all the time—why on earth would this girl want to be with me, etc.  Every time.  Every time they would stop dating me. No good can ever come of thinking this. Continue reading →

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Every Heterosexual

14 Mar

guy you know would give a million dollars to stack Prussian Blue circa 2007 on top of one another and have at it.  If you don’t believe this, you don’t understand men.

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STD’s

13 Mar

I had an STD once.  It was “non-gonococcal urethritis.”  This means- something is in your dick, hurting it, and we know that it is not gonorrhea.  We don’t know what it is, but we know what it isn’t.  Thanks science.

I took a bunch of antibiotics for it.  It still did not go away.  This was terrifying of course.  I went to doctor after doctor, had my dickhole abrasively rubbed against microscope slides, had a guy milk my fucking prostate to test if some identifiable virus was lurking in the very most profound depths of my well of pre-cum— no. Nothing.  I was terrified, but every doctor was just like: “meh.”  Don’t worry about it.  Sometimes this shit happens, and eventually it just goes away.

Really?  Because I was told that if you get an STD you will carry it for life, infect everyone you ever look at, and then when the poor chick goes to have a baby 20 years from now its eyes will come out sealed shut with massive grapelike clusters of warts and the fucking thing will meekly flail its Chernobyl flippers before exploding and taking out 20 city blocks, and it will all be your fault.  I was told that if you even think about sticking your dick in someone without a condom, a dental dam, spermicidal jelly, and the pill you will instantly get AIDS and impregnate the girl with a spider’s nest full of three-headed demons.

Continue reading →

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To Noelle, on the Occasion of Her Underboob Tattoo

12 Mar

I am going to build a high school guidance counselor’s office.  Every motivational poster, every prop, everything.  I’m going to put on a cardigan and tie.

Every so often I’m going to call you in. I will be looking forward to this bright spot in my week.  You are one of our most promising students— not like the rest of these pregnant, glue-sniffing fuckups.  You’re smart and pleasant and goddamn can you put a sentence together.  Maybe you’ll be a journalist, or a lawyer or something. Or a congresswoman!

You will walk in and I will not be able to hide the gleefully expectant look on my face as I ask what you’ve been up to lately.

After you leave, I will sob quietly into my travel mug for hours.

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Write Her Number on a Post-It

11 Mar

Put it in a drawer.  Erase it from your phone.

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You Should Message Me If

10 Mar

You have to live in Echo Park.  Or at least not fucking Venice, I mean come on.  You can’t be an actress.  You can’t not smoke.  At least, you can’t be one of those girls who won’t even take a drag after three glasses of wine.  Because if you’re one of them, I know you’ll never fuck me.  You have to be better looking than me.  You have to be downright good looking, even though I am not that good looking.  I am in crazy shape though.  I don’t give a shit if you’re out of shape.  I’m not going to ask you to lift anything.

I don’t give a shit about your money, job or car.  But you may give a shit about my money, job and car.  I have no money, a shitty job, and my car is worth $800.  It’s primer colored, and the seat belt, windows, sunroof and A/C are all broken.  Or rather, the A/C works but only when it’s not hot.  And someone jacked my stereo.   And the car is older than you.  You have to be younger than my car.

I don’t care what you think of my cat but you can’t be allergic to cats.  I care about your relationship with your dog, meaning—shut the fuck up about your dog.  I like dogs but I don’t like you if you have too many pictures of your dog.  Believe me, the fucking thing is sick of being your boyfriend.  Stop putting up pictures of him. I will not be dating your dog. Unless I’m sure you’re good and passed out.

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Friends of Nikol

9 Mar

For people who see all these health updates and are worried, I mean- yes, it is bad, obviously.

But you should know that Nikol is still Nikol. When you are around her, she still acts like the Nikol you know. Even with the 104 fever and softball sized subcutaneous lumps of pure blood poison and needle marks and hair and eyebrow loss and etc., when you are talking to her, it’s still, you know– she is still the same funny and vulgar person. You don’t get the impression that you are dealing with some sort of late night infomercial shit like this is Pedro and he can’t afford shoes so he can’t walk to school because worms will go into the soles of his feet and into his brain and even if he had shoes there is no school to go to anyway and if there were it would be a catch 22 because the brain you were hoping to educate would have been eaten by the worms, but all this could change for the price of a cup of coffee. Nikol is not doing a half assed job of swiping flies away from her eyeballs and stroking a gas-bloated stomach while a lone vulture looks on. She feels bad a lot but is still Nikol and can complain about the whole thing humorously.

Or maybe that’s just for me and the rest of you get some Debra Winger shit, who knows. But I find it reassuring and I thought you should know that she is still fun to spend time with. People get sick and you get scared that when you visit them you’re walking into a Meredith Baxter Birney Lifetime movie, but it’s not gonna be like that. You’re gonna be drinking beers and talking about dicks just like old times. Or whatever you normally discuss. Needlepoint maybe.

So go visit Nikol. Or don’t, if she wants to be left alone. I should have asked her before I wrote this.

For people who don’t know Nikol, she’s my friend who has cancer and is possibly  gonna bite it.

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Who Cares If He Calls You

9 Mar

Who cares if he’s into you.  There is nothing special about this dude.  There are  dudes around every corner.  We live in a universe of cock.  If you want to meet another dude, simply go to any place, any time, ever, and there will be a shitload of lonely dudes there.

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Hollywood

8 Mar

I might lose my job. As a weenie Hollywood “development executive.” Which, fine, I fucking hate my job. Work work work all goddamn day and then come home and read scripts, garbage scripts that will never amount to anything, but I need to read them to preserve relationships. Relationships that will never amount to anything. My job completely eats my life, leaves me a wrecked, miserable shell of a man each day, destroys any chance of my spending time with women and friends, and it doesn’t even fucking pay anything, so fuck my job.

The problem is, after 7 years of doing this– answering phones, learning names, mastering the bizarre mandarin etiquette and arcane structure of Hollywood– I am now only equipped to do this one thing that I hate. I have no choice but to pursue another, similar job. Which, there are two reasons you would want this: to make movies, and to impress girls. Making movies is impossible, and if you have one of these gigs you’re not even around girls enough to impress them. That’s why guys like (REDACTED) have to stock their reception pool with hot young USC pieces of ass– it’s the only exposure they will have to a woman. Most of their life is spent hobnobbing in rooms full of jowelly old William Morris agents. Continue reading →

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