My response to the well-compiled Tomato Nation 25 and Over list:
Remember to write thank-you notes. The written word is a lost art and most youngsters under age 25 think texting ‘THX PLAYA’ does the trick. Taking the time to send off a stamped, hand-written note (especially after a job interview) shows that you are considerate and not a serial killer.
Do not invite yourself to stay with friends when you travel anymore. Being as I have a deep aversion to inconvenience (both for myself and those around me), this has never been a problem for me. I would much rather crash at a hotel even if family/friends are close by.
Do not expect friends to help you move anymore. I only expect my friends to help me move things if they stayed at my house due to a bout of excessive drinking the night before. Asking someone to help you move a roll-top desk with a crippling hangover should not be an issue if said someone yaked in your sink twelve hours earlier.
Develop a physical awareness of your surroundings. I pride myself on assessing my surroundings and acting accordingly. Alcohol often kills this one for me.
Be on time. I generally show up on time to most events. If I am late to anything longer than thirty minutes, I will blame my infant child who cannot speak.
Have enough money. Nothing pisses me off more than somebody who never brings money out in card or cash from. You did not leave your wallet at home. You are just a cheap bastard.
Know how to calculate the tip. It is not difficult to multiply the bill by two to get the 20% tip equivalent. If you do not have the mental capacity to calculate a tip without the aid of a calculator or cell phone, eating out is probably the least of your worries.
Do not share the crazy dream you had last night with anyone but your mental wellness professional. Depends on what the dream is about and what your intentions are by sharing said dream. A sex dream with the intention of getting yourself laid? Absolutely. Murdering all you co-workers with a machine gun during a casual Friday with the intention of getting a raise? Probably not.
Learn to walk in heels. Only applies to me if I patronize an East German sex club.
Have at least one good dress-up outfit. Before the wife cleaned me up, taught me how to dress and expanded my wardrobe, I owned only one suit at the behest of my mother. It was my all-purpose suit that saw many weddings, funerals and job interviews. I could sometimes tell the last time I wore it by reaching in the inner-coat pocket and finding an old event program.
Do as invitations ask you. I am usually not formally invited to anything and if I am the wife handles all the RSVP-ing and gifting. It is better this way.
Know how. Sadly I think most people 25 and under grew up with every convenience afforded to them and would perish in the wilderness after being given a knife and a water source. Problem solving is lost on a generation that did not have to solve any problems because their parents were afraid if they failed it would crush there delicate sensibilities. I like to think I know enough about enough to be dangerous.
Don’t use your friends. This should be on an age 5 and over list. You should never use your friends unless they have an awesome surround-sound system.
Have something to talk about besides college or your job. As the many people in my life can attest, I have plenty to talk about besides college and my job.
Give and receive favors graciously. As my Dad said while scolding me after an excessive sports celebration in my youth, “Act like you have been there before.”
Drinking until you throw up is no longer properly a point of pride. It depends on how good the scotch is.
Have a real trash receptacle, real Kleenex, and, if you smoke, a real ashtray. Toilet paper serves multiple purposes (in my opinion); nose blowing and ass-wiping. If you smoke? You will be dead before me. That and you should properly dispose of your butts. My yard is not that place.
Universal quiet hours do in fact apply to you. Working from home I keep weird hours and I keep the volume down during the quiet hours without even realizing it.
Take care of yourself. Workout a few times. Take a shower every other day. Do not eat Taco Bell three times a week. Repeat.
Rudeness is not a signifier of your importance. It is when you are from California.
Me: Go suck a bag of dicks. One by one. In order of smallest to largest. Candee: So as I get tired of sucking dicks, the dicks keep getting bigger and bigger making it even more gay and more painful? Is the last one in that bag a real choker? Like Mike Tyson’s dick? Me: Well, if it were Mike Tyson’s dick it would rape you and then beat your head in before you sucked it. I was thinking more along the lines of John Holmes‘s dick. It is enormous and then gives you AIDS when it is all over. Because that’s what you get for sucking a bag of dicks. Candee: Nice.
Winning the lottery is sometimes the worst thing to happen to people. Take Kiddie Touchin’ McGee, for example. Despite claims he will donate a portion of his winnings to assorted sexual abuse charities, people are still beating him down with lead pipes and cola bottles. That is what I call some sound mob justice. Rotten has an excellent page on people whose lives were destroyed by the lottery and provides a guide on what to do if one were to win. The first rule about winning the lottery is you do not talk about winning the lottery.
About a month and half ago, the wife decided to get off birth control to, “See what happens?” Three weeks later, the wife excitedly woke me up by waving a positive pregnancy test in my face. My immediate response was, “Did you just pee on that?” I spent the rest of the day like I think most men do upon finding out their woman is with child; praising my sperm and a youth spent rubbering up and then planning all the chores my child will perform once it is potty-trained. For the past few weeks I have been running the gamut of emotions; happiness, excitement and the crippling fear that I will soon be responsible for another human life. Later today we have our first doctor’s appointment where a man twice my age will familiarize himself with my wife’s lady parts while I watch helplessly. Operation Baby Thunder and nine months of a personal designated driver has officially begun!
A response to the five things I supposedly do not know about my dick:
My dick does not make chicks fat. While I make no argument that nature gave women the raw deal with the subsequent carrying and birthing of children (and “fucking with their metabolism“) I am certain that my dick was not the catalyst for your weight gain. Perhaps its the fact that your children (the ones you probably nagged your husband for because your biological clock was in overdrive) keep you too busy to work out for five hours in a week. Or maybe its because you have not adjusted your diet and are eating like you are still pregnant. Or maybe its because when women get older their metabolism naturally slows down. Or maybe you are just lazy and in need of an excuse for looking like a whale.
It does smells bad when it is not clean. Going down on a guy after he played in a pick-up basketball game and his cash and prizes were a tad gamey, eh? I am really sorry about that. I am guessing it is akin to going down on a woman two days after she is off her period. I mean, you could have stopped sucking it, right? Maybe asked him to take a shower? But no, you just kept going at it. Thanks for confirming that you are, indeed, a dirty cocksucker.
It does want to go in your butt without permission. First and foremost, my penis is not a gentleman. He is a scandalous, immoral, evil piece of shit that is usually the root of my problems. While I do not always agree with those decisions (read: my ex-girlfriend), we tend to compromise and present a unified front. I am with him on this one. We are not going to ask for sodomy approval because the answer is invariably going to be no (unless you drank enough wine). Most women outside of pornography do not ask for anal sex, so it is always better for me (and my penis) to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.
It does not mind a helping hand. Within reason. As an owner of a penis for over thirty years, I can assure you I have learned how to handle my junk. I also learned to steer clear of greedy bitches like you who cannot go one minute in or out of the bedroom without wanting to be pleased. While rubbing your moose knuckle is a good move (and one which I am glad to perform), it is also only doable from a few positions (none of which I am guessing you are into). So instead of complaining about it, maybe you should acknowledge the fact that you are clitoral rather than vaginal with your orgasms and ask for stimulation before or (gasp!) after I release the hounds.
It does stay hard with a condom on, but it sucks. I will wear a viking hat and a wet suit if it means I am getting in there, but condoms kill all sensation (try making out with someone while wearing a trash bag over your head to get an idea). Still, I have common sense. I would definitely not de-rubber with a self-proclaimed dick professional such as yourself.
P.S. Peen? Really? Are you writing in your girlfriend’s junior high yearbook or something?
A stripper’s secret for success is dropping eggs. I know it turns me on when a single mother with no other skills other than her amazing rack is supporting herself and children is ovulating. I can totally sense it, too. When Destiny is most fertile I am prepared to rip off additional ones from my wad of twenty to illustrate this point. On the flip side, a stripper who is menstruating makes an average of $40 less per night. I can sense that in a dancing lady, as well. My powers of scent are that honed. I can pick up a stripper’s crotch musk while she is riding the crimson wave in a room full of cigarette and cigar smoke, bourbon and Drakkar Noir. Or maybe I just caught the string of an errant feminine product hanging out the side of her panties.
Jake: Amber marries Amber Doll. Me: That doll looks a million times better than she does. Jake: Ha! Me: I would probably take a run at that doll but be creeped out the entire time while doing so. Then again, that describes sex with my ex-girlfriend so I might be able to handle it. Jake: I have a feeling I would get in the middle of it and be like, “This is weird.” It would be like jerking off in the shower and realizing halfway through that it is not going anywhere. Sure you keep at it for a while, but eventually your arm just wears out. Me: No way. Once I am in that doll, I am committed. It is a lot like sex with the dead or bestiality; once you crossed the the penetration threshold, all bets are off. You do not just pull out and acknowledge weirdness in the middle of it. You have to finish and than punch the doll in the throat for judging you afterwards.
Wikipedia for the Battle of the Trebia, the first major battle of the Second Punic War.
A teacher who worked in the public school system for two decades after she was caught kissing and groping a 13 year-old student at an middle school dance, became pregnant by a sophomore in high school who she married upon his graduation in 1985 and invited her teenage son’s 15 year-old friend to move in with her and then seduced him.
Me: Then there are these fucking guys. Jake: I like how you lead into that. Me: (bows). Jake: Dude thought the obituary picture was cute? Never mind that she died in a motorcycle crash. Me: Yeah. She’s dead, fellas. How about you try to tap the living, first? Jake: Well, I would rather they try this than rape Tommy’s little sister. Me: I would rather them not rape anybody, dead or alive. I do like how they bought condoms. That was thoughtful. Jake: Yes. You don’t want to catch maggots. Me: Or get the corpse pregnant. What were the other dudes going to do while their boy got his Ted Bundy on? Jake: See if he liked it and then take a poke if it was any good? Me: Yeesh. There are sloppy seconds and than there are sloppy seconds with a dead body. That is the lowest rung on the sexual deviance ladder. While we’re on the topic, I’m thinking they should have bought some lube with those condoms, too. Jake: Totally. Me: You know, a guy I play hockey with kind of looks like one of those dudes. His name is Dave. He probably has sex with the dead, too. Jake: Nice.
A superb article about Transgendered prison bitches. Quoth one bitch:
I should not have to prostitute myself to remain safe.
I have luckily never been locked up before, but it seems to me that you are either predator or prey in the clink. So if you are a Transgendered, kiddy-touching she-male, you best serve your ass up to the baddest motherfucker in that place if you harbor any notions of self-preservation.