Men Suck.

Men suck.

All I Want Is For One Guy To Prove To Me That They’re Not All The Same
Men suck.
Guys are assholes.

Here’s a thought – maybe it’s not men who suck.
Maybe it’s your taste in men that sucks.
Maybe the problem is you keep dating men you don’t really like, so you’re constantly trying to fix them,
which turns them into an asshole
and you into a nag.

You become obsessed with changing them –
instead of waiting for a real man, you settled for a real hobby.

But then you don’t want to leave them because you have so much work invested in fixing them up –
nobody wants to find out they just put new tires on a rental car.

So you stay.
And get bitter.
And resentful.
And become convinced that all men are assholes.

And you start forwarding e-mail jokes to your friends:
Why do women always have to be on top during sex?
Because all men know how to do is fuck up.

No.
The reason you’re on top during sex
is because you always fuck men who are beneath you.

And why do you keep settling?
Maybe because you don’t know how to be alone.
Some people can only handle themselves as a plural –
Me is terrifying.
Us brings security.
Us brings shared responsibility.
Us brings shared blame.
If we is miserable, there’s someone else to blame.
If me is miserable, me has not one to blame but herself.
Me has to make herself happy.
Much easier to expect we to magically do it.

You Raging Alcoholic

You don't drink too much.

Sure, you enjoy a little wine with dinner, and an evening cocktail, the occasional early mimosa or bloody mary. Maybe a beer or three with your movie. But you don't think you drink too much.





Then it comes time to carry out your recycling.




Holy Sweet Mother of Dussledorf, that's a lot of bottles.




There's a walk of shame that puts your drinking into perspective - the long trek to the curb with your recycle bin. And regardless of how gently you walk the bottles clang like a prayer-bell calling all to come offer up their sorrowful laments for your sad addiction.




After a good weekend there's too much for the orange bin (after all, it only holds about 15 gallons) so you have to line the overflow of empty bottles up on the sidewalk like a funeral procession for your liver.

The one redeeming factor is that you do entertain a lot - in our numbers we are mighty, and our guilt is dispersed among us all.


Thank god condoms aren't recyclable. The disparity between the fullness of my alcohol-bottle recycle bin and the emptiness of my condom recycle bin (like new - still has the wrapper on it!) would paint a very heartbreaking picture of my world.

Your Flip Flops Make Baby Jesus Cry

Among males, flip flops should be the purview exclusively of Young Gay Men.

First, the term ‘flip flop’ is faggotty. Straight men don’t wear intransitive verbs. Sure, there are ‘hiking boots’, ‘running shoes’, ‘welding masks’, but those are all actions we do to shit, not things they do on their own. Flip flops tend to both flip and flop of their own volition, heedless of our desires. Straight men, tending to be insecure, are not comfortable with autonomous footwear. Sadly, many straight men are still adjusting to the concept of women being able to vote and drive trucks, much less sandals whack-smacking their soles. (on a sidenote, “faggotty” is not a homophobic word – it refers exclusively to those things that even a man dressed as a pink Care bear on a Pride Parade float would find to be a little over the top.)

Second, the pedicure – or lack thereof. I know metro men get pedicures, but we’re not talking about those line-blurrers here, we’re talking about traditional Budlovers who rank pedicures somewhere on the gay scale between melon ballers and karaoke-ing Stevie Nicks songs. Thus their toes look like they’ve been busy rebuilding engines or wrestling small, hairy dogs. Those are not display toes.

Third, straight men wear flip flops because they’re quick and easy to put on. Young Gay Men wear flip flops because they’re quick and easy to take off-- and they have a much better chance of needing to get undressed in a hurry. Always have their eyes on the goal posts, these boys.

Accept it, my fellow breeders – gay men can pull off casual much better than we can. Tank tops, flip flops, half-shirts, sleeveless shirts, no shirt… the reason they can make it work is because we all know that if they want to (and are willing to ignore any standards) they’re going to get laid tonight, and you can’t argue with success.