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Archive for the ‘Relationships’ Category

How Are We Celebrating Valentine’s Day?

Posted in Relationships, tagged , on February 13, 2010 | Leave a Comment »

–*We’re not celebrating it. We’re Jehovah’s Witnesses and every day is Valentine’s Day to us.

–*We’re purchasing on an extra sexy nightie, and to make it more naughty, leaving the tag on so we can return it all soiled to Victoria’s Secret tomorrow.

–*We’re putting on our favorite sensual music. “Master of Puppets” by Metallica usually puts her in the mood.

–*We’re eating food with aphrodisiac qualities like oysters, chocolate, asparagus, honey, basil and Gas-X.

–*We’re watching Julie & Julia again and rewinding over and over the scene where Julia Child says she likes a hot cock.

–*Romantic love is a narcissistic bourgeois concept. I am much happier in the jungles of Peru with my bloodthirsty communist group The Shining Path and plan to celebrate my 30th year here by eating banana leaves and wiping my ass with tree bark.

–*I’m wining and dining the woman of my dreams at a romantic dinner, telling her how much she has meant to me and telling her how she and I are going to begin a great adventure in marriage together after I leave my third wife and sundry children.

–*I’m spending money on food, wine and Valentine’s Day chocolate, because if I don’t, the terrorists win.

–*I’m making promises I can’t keep about giving my lover all the things she wants, starting with universal health care.

–*Love is mainly an illusion. Tonight I’m indulging that illusion with Henry.

–*Tonight I’ll be laughing at all the people in relationships who are wasting all their god damned money on an expensive dinner.

–*My wife and I are therapists and tonight we’ll be engaging in projection, transference, parataxic distortion, denial and all the other things that make love great.

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Why Are We Skipping Tara Reid in ‘Playboy’?

Posted in Entertainment, Relationships, tagged , on January 28, 2010 | Leave a Comment »

The most recent issue of Playboy magazine features a pictorial with actress and notorious party girl Tara Reid naked. Why might men want to skip this most recent issue?

–*They’ve already seen Tara Reid naked in the film Body Shots.

–*They’ve already seen the pictures of Tara Reid naked on the red carpet at a notorious P. Diddy party a few years ago.

–*They’ve not only seen the pictures of her at P. Diddy’s party, but have noticed that she’s undergone several flawed plastic surgeries that make her less appealing and a little alienating.

–*They’ve seen the pictures, noticed the plastic surgery and realized that her neurotic need to be perfect–when she was already pretty enough–also makes her less appealing.

–*They’ve seen the pictures, noticed the plastic surgery, and realized that the Tara Reid they are looking at now is largely a reconstructed Terminator version of the actress and that really they are masturbating to pictures of a robot.

–*They’ve seen the pictures, noticed the surgery, realized that they’re masturbating to a robot, but also likely realized that Playboy so excessively retouches and airbrushes its women that pretty much every woman they’re masturbating to in the magazine is a robot.

–*They’ve seen the pictures, noticed they’re masturbating to airbrushed robots and realized that they are masturbating to an over-culturalized ideal of beauty in the first place and that their responses to Tara Reid are mostly conditioned by tastemakers and scum bags.

–*They’ve already seen Tara naked, noticed they’re masturbating to the Terminator and realized that the whole idea of femininity is over-culturalized.

–*They’ve seen her naked, realized they’re masturbating to R2-D2, and figured out that both men and women share masculine and feminine traits and that the cartoonish version of female sexuality that the silicone version of Tara Reid represents is degrading to both men and women alike and fails to address the fullness of a person’s sexuality and humanity.

–*They’ve seen her naked before, they’ve realized they’re jerking off to Robby the Robot, and they realize that all sexual attraction is an illusion based on a need to propagate DNA and that mostly the female object of the male gaze is an elusive and non-existent semion that represents only the male’s ideal version of himself–an unachievable goal that leads him only to frustration and a lack of enlightenment.

–*Seven bucks? Jesus, the porn on the Internet is free!

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Dupre Gets ‘New York Post’ Advice Column

Posted in Relationships, tagged , , , , on December 16, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

Ashley Dupre, the one-time call girl whose tryst with former New York governor Eliot Spitzer brought about his stunning downfall, has recently taken a position as a New York Post advice columnist, claiming that she’s in a unique position to teach people using the examples of her own mistakes in life. What are some of the insights she has to offer?

–*”Remember, a man and a woman have to establish trust early in a relationship. Make sure he puts the money on the dresser before he gets into bed.”

–*”A girl always has to use good judgment and not engage in unsafe activity. So whenever a man wants to have sex without a condom, make sure beforehand he’s a powerful public figure.”

–*”Sometimes girls have to act out, especially if they had a very repressed childhood. If you have repressive parents and live in New Jersey, you might consider disposing of them.”

–*”Remember, when a guy promises you the world, he probably just wants to get into your pants. Don’t fall for this trick unless he’s from England or Italy.”

–*”Nothing should come between you and your dreams, especially not the Mann Act.”

–*”Young women in their teens often haven’t developed an identity yet. If you don’t know who you are, keep changing your name until you find out. You or the cops.”

–*”Even if you’re with a guy who’s taken on giant industries like mutual funds, insurance and banking, you can’t be intimidated by him. Just remind yourself—you’re the one with the vagina. Without it, Mr. “I successfully sued AIG” doesn’t even rate a 2. Not to a vagina-having girl like yourself.”

–*”Even if you don’t always feel like the prettiest girl in the class, just remember that every girl is pretty when she’s naked in a Girls Gone Wild video.”

–*”A lot of girls dream of making it big in the music industry, but don’t know how to create an audience. I recommend being at the center of a major political sex scandal.”

–*A guy has to respect you first if he’s going to put you in a blindfold and order you to pick up the money.

–*”Sometimes a girl gets in way over her head with booze, drugs, sex, gambling, porn, prostitution, masturbation, gas huffing, day trading … I don’t remember where I was going with this.”

–*”Lead paint remediation is no laughing matter.”

–*”Moms can be very protective. If your mom thinks you’re dressing too provocatively, try telling her to back the fuck off.”

–*”Christmas is a time for giving. Why not get him a whore?”

–*”The road to riches and fortune is not easy. It’s paved with a lot of cock.”



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My Wife Talks In Her Sleep

Posted in Relationships, tagged , , , , , , , , on September 22, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

Last night, I rolled over in bed and gave my wife a playful squeeze.

“Take control,” she said.

“Oooo!” I whispered. “Take control of what?”

“Take control of proposals and awards.”

Yes, my wife talks in her sleep. She’s always done it. I’ve often rolled over thinking she was trying to have a meaningful conversation with me, only to find out that she’s talking to the phantoms of the office.

“It’s not fair,” she said once. When I asked what was not fair, she said: “No incomplete forms.” Another time she whispered, “Research takes a long time. It’s the program.”

Now, I see the lascivious light coming on in your head, dear reader, like a candle in a pumpkin: that these late night mumbles might allow me to prey on my wife’s deepest secrets. That her somniloquies could take me deep into her psyche where no husband should go. That I’m playing a dangerous game by delving into her parasomnic world.

What if I found out something that drove me mad with jealousy? What if I were to poke and prod in a desperate search to find out what she really thinks of my love handles? What if I find out that she thinks some other guy is hot? Not just Jon Hamm, but some actor she’s worked with in an off-off-Broadway version of Chekhov’s “The Bear,” an actor who might still be on our subway line.

Isn’t it right and proper that everybody, even my wife, have the right to a private internal life where she can imagine scenarios, ponder, reflect and work out the troubles of the world by herself in peace without my second-guessing their meaning?

After all, if I did find out something suspicious, wouldn’t my perception of it be completely disproportionate to the actual reality, which is usually pretty silly?

Indeed, wouldn’t a guy’s obsession with his wife’s internal life lead him to jealous ruin? Didn’t Orpheus lose Eurydice forever when he looked back at her and she was still in the land of dreams? I ask you, weren’t the Ancient Greeks and the rock band the Romantics onto something?

And yet the truth is much stranger than any anticipated by these questions. Because, in fact, my wife Stephanie only ever seems to talk about her work day. That’s it. That’s all she’s got. I’ve seen the deep internal workings of the soul, and it looks a lot like a memo from human resources.

Now I know my wife’s not a dull person. She has a great sense of humor and great observational skills and likes to tell stories and laugh. I’m really dumbfounded as to why, when she’s sleep-talking, she never recites lines from Shakespeare or even Neil LaBute for that matter. God knows she reads their monologues enough when she’s awake. And yet the things that make her fear, the things that stir her soul, the things that tickle her dreams are all straight out of the Staples catalogue.

I had a psychology professor in college who you might call the anti-Freud. He not only dismissed the idea that dreams held important symbols but stressed to us all the time that dreams were usually just the prosaic trifles of everyday life–washing dishes, talking on the phone–organized only haphazardly into scenes so that the brain could make sense of them. I’d never heard the mystical world of psychology put in such crass, unmagical, horrifically boring terms. But I liked the contrary approach and after a while espoused it myself for the sake of perverse iconoclasm. Now, when people are asking me what their dreams mean, I really love to kill the wave and say, “I doubt seriously your dreams are important.”

Still, when Stephanie talks in her sleep now, I have started playing a really strange game. I actually try to engage her in the terms of the discussion. Not because of what I think I’ll find out, but because I want to be with her where she is. I want to understand. I want to be privy to the secrets of her night world.

“It’s the program,” she says sleepily out of nowhere.

“What program?” I reply.

“The program.” She starts to look confused at this point, as if I don’t understand, yet I keep mercilessly asking because I feel like maybe I’ll learn something about the subconscious–or at least how to remain compliant with NIH grant application rules.

She starts to mumble. She can’t get her point across.

“The fasafafafafafa…….”

And that’s it. She’s gone.

What have I learned? Was Dr. Buss, my psychology professor, right? Is there nothing to learn here? Will I one day unlock a sort of Jungian-Enigma dream code within my wife? A Rosetta stone for getting to the bottom of her ineffable world? Or am I doomed to talk about bureaucratic protocol like they do in Office Space?

Perhaps it will always be just a little bit lonely–wherever it is my wife is going off to. Maybe I’ll just have to let her navigate Ultima Thule by herself for a while, knowing that it’s her journey alone, but happily anticipating that she’ll eventually come back to me.

On the other hand, maybe she’ll wake up and we’ll have sex. You never know.

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What Were We Thinking About While Making Love?

Posted in Relationships, tagged , , , , on August 22, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

–*Finishing the roof

–*Waxing the car

–*Getting a bikini wax

–*This really great pop song written for our favorite Ukrainian restaurant in Greenwich Village, Veselka.

–*How we just can’t enjoy this sexual act when the United States is going to socialist hell.

–*How for a minute there during foreplay we thought we had almost grasped Kurt Godel’s incompleteness theorem of formal mathematics.

–*Wittgenstein’s concept of language games

–*Your mother-in-law’s concept of language games

–*Chang and Eng and how weird their sex must have been

–*Why does our cat get upset when we do oral?

–*The perfect ending to our 1,000 page novel.

–*Shit! I forgot to get a baby shower present!

–*Shit! I forgot to brush my teeth!

–*Shit! I forgot to scrub with Purell.

–*Angelina Jolie

–*Brad Pitt

–*Obama Girl

–*Obama

–*”I wonder if Sigmund and the Sea Monsters is on DVD?”

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Why Did We Choose Violence?

Posted in Life, Politics, Relationships on August 12, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

–*I was mad

–*I was out of control

–*It just felt better

–*Didn’t have any snappy comebacks

–*It was a demonstrable crime of passion, and after all, I was in Turkey.

–*Don’t have a lot of book-learnin’

–*I saw her first

–*Man is a violent animal. It is in our genes to be territorial and combative. It is how we survive in a world full of natural enemies and … just kidding, I was bused to the town hall by a Republican political action group

–*I was just doing what Kevin told me

–*I was just doing what Rush told me

–*The tools of skillful diplomacy had no longer worked to my satisfaction as an undersecretary of the Defense Department and I decided to press for invasion

–*The pitiful man insulted Dear Leader

–*I wanted his gold, therefore I took it

–*I wanted his iPod, therefore I took it

–*I wanted his degree from Harvard, therefore I knew no other solution than to beat him over the head

–*If a woman wouldn’t tear out the hair of another woman to hold onto the man she loved, well then that ain’t no kind of woman at all.

–*I’m a meerkat and nothing gets done in my colony unless I eat the young of my competitors

–*Seemed easier than actually reading the entire 1,000 page health care bill.

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Sex Slang

Posted in Relationships on August 6, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

What professional terms are we turning into sexual slang at Urban Dictionary.com?

–*Walking the camel

–*Holding back your slurry walls

–*Putting on the kiln spurs

–*Caulking the ginger jar

–*Firing up the muffle

–*Abusing a cloture motion

–*Stirring the hummus

–*Cinching the throbbing mitral valve

–*Cheating out the face shot

–*Doping out the entrance bridge

–*Parsing the vulgar romance tongue

–*Fingering the choke

–*Mounting the accommodation ladder

–*Marlinspiking the tuna net

–*Double dipping on chest scans and butt shots

–*P-doping the conducting tube

–*Dead cat bouncing

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Semi-Retarded Boyfriend Jealous Of Your Phone Spam

Posted in Life, Relationships, Technology, tagged , , , , on April 12, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

(Originally posted Friday, February 06, 2009)

Gaithersburg, Kentucky (API) — Your semi-retarded boyfriend, Kyle Robillard believes you are having an affair after reading your cell phone spam, it was reported today.

Robillard, a semi-employed glass cutter who drives a 1972 Honda, earlier today read your cell phone messages, one of which said “Call me for free penis creme” and instantly assumed that it might be some ex-boyfriend you never talk about. Highly suspicious, Robillard then followed you to work in his Honda down Interstate 75 North toward Lexington, sat in line behind you at the drive-through bank, and stood outside while you went to check your post office box.

“Where the f*** are you going,” screamed Robillard, suddenly ambushing you near the Krispy Kreme. “Get in my car, bitch.”

Angry at this type of behavior, but also secretly flattered, you yelled “Screw you, I’m just going for latte. Screw you.”

“You’re a fuckin’ whore,” said Robillard. “Some guy’s writin’ you about his penis. You’re a fuckin’ liar.”

“Look how stupid you’re acting,” you said.

Robillard proceeded to kick the driver’s side door of his own car until the chrome body strips peeled off.

“We’re done,” Robillard said, to which you replied, “What a big baby.”

He then got in his car and drove off but came back and said he had all the proof he needed you were having an affair based on the long and intimate-sounding penis-creme spam you received.

“I got the proof you’re a whore,” Robillard said. “I got it right here in my hand.”

“Take me to court,” you screamed as you got in your own car. “You’re not the boss of me. Give me my cell phone back. You’re a spy and a crazy person.”

He then got back in his car and was about to drive it at you just to scare you when a police officer showed up and asked you if there was a problem.

“Fuckin’ whore is cheating,” said Robillard, who has several times flunked his high school diploma equivalency exam.

The officer, Dale Patchoughe of the Gaithersburg Police Department, asked if he could see the phone in question. After looking at it for a few moments, he quickly surmised that the cell phone message, which addressed you by name and which indeed seemed intimate, was actually “one of these spamming messages you get through the computer” and there was a very good chance you were not cheating on Robillard at all.

Robillard began to cry and say he was sorry, and Officer Patchoughe let him off with a warning. You then went up to Robillard, touched that he cared so much about you to follow you around.

Later that night, you and Robillard shared a romantic dinner at the same Krispy Kreme and had a big laugh.

“You big dodo,” you said to Robillard. “I love you.”

Robillard answered incoherently with half of a chocolate custard doughnut stuffed in his mouth.

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Everyone In Commune Wants To Sleep With Blonde Girl

Posted in Relationships, Society, tagged , , , , , , on April 12, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

(Originally posted Monday, February 02, 2009)

Adelaide, Vermont (API) — Everybody at Hutter Farms, a free-love hippie commune in upstate Vermont, wants to sleep with the new blonde 23-year-old arrival Bethany Woodruff, the commune’s leaders reported today. Though all comers are welcome to the community, which its elders describe as a village of peace, labor and brotherhood, the elder members are a bit nonplussed by the presence of the almost-six-foot-tall blonde, whose milk-white skin and highly erotic facial structure, they worry, could upset the order of the community.

“This is just a nightmare,” said Marion “Mother Hen” Dubrowski. “The other night at the tribal meeting we asked who’d like to work with Bethany on the grist mill and about 95% of the tribe raised their hands. I mean, how could we get anything done if all we ever did was separate chaff? Am I going crazy?”

Hutter Farms, a “back-to-the-land” commune built in 1975 to espouse the values of labor, eco-friendly energy and anarcho-primitivism, has also had a free-love belief system since inception. This has led its members to tear up old social conventions, and so members ask each other for sex in weekly group meetings in which everyone is involved. As part of the mating dance, everyone weighs in with their feelings, and if the sex is to be consummated, the whole group chimes in with a mating dance with horns and songs and goat’s urine.

“I’m all about free love, but I just threw down the clipboard when I saw Bethany coming,” said tribal elder Peter “Gray Wulf” Jones. “Every once in a while this happens. Some little hottie comes along and shreds the revolutionary social fabric. I’m really depressed.”

Woodruff, a B.A. graduate in botany from Syracuse University, is five feet 11 inches with fluent limbs, a good chest, and a smattering of freckles. She came to the colony with her husband Jim Woodruff so that they could “get away from the depredations of modern industrial culture,” they said.

“Honestly, though, it was really Jimmy’s idea,” said Bethany. “Now I’m in this pit every night and each time I get here some old hippie wants to have a go at me. I’m a little frightened.”

The nightly gatherings were arranged in 1976 as a way for members to be able to ask for sex in ways that were not socially awkward.

“The old system of marriage is just so backward,” said Milton “Antler Warrior” Schonstein. “Here, it’s just laid back. You’ve got the whole camp behind you helping you tell the girl you’re attracted to that you’d love to share sex with her. It’s a beautiful thing. It’s just so much better than regular society.”

“I’m not going anywhere near that guy,” said Bethany Woodruff when asked if she would like to sleep with Schonstein. “He’s got shit in his hair.”

Hutter Farms was formed as many urbanites fled the Vietnam War and decided to recreate American society in a new pastoral idiom that eschewed war, meat, unsustainable energy and, most important, sexual inhibition.

“If we were all having sex more, there would be no more war,” said 90-year-old “Pa Hutter” who founded the society after leaving a job at Dow Chemical in 1968 over a stock options argument. “Everyone rise tonight and say who it is you’d like to express your love to!”

“Bethany!” yelled everybody.

Among the other values embodied by the community are radical self-expression, respect for mother nature, respect of spirituality in all forms that are not patriarchal or demeaning, and the enlightenment that comes with cleansing the doorways of perception.

“Bethany is a great soul,” said Schonstein. “She’s come here because she’s curious and looking for answers and the deteriorating industrial ideal just held nothing for her anymore. She’s like Eve in the Garden of Eden. Naked. So naked. I really get her.”

“They want me to go to the tribal meeting tonight and talk me into having sex with somebody who’s got crab lice,” Bethany said. “Wait! Did you hear that? They’re talking about me. Somebody’s in the bushes!”

According to the tribal log, those who have expressed a desire to have sex with Woodruff are 21-year-old Denny “God Breeze” McClaine; 25-year-old Johnny “Banjo” Gansevoort; 53-year-old Michael “Dizzy Hawk” Hochstein; 28-year-old Richie “Eglantine” Prichard; 22-year-old Lyle “Rabbit Foot” Babbit; 52-year-old Sheila “Moonchild” Daniels; 62-year-old Marion “Mother Hen” Dubrowski; 72-year-old Mavis “Ghost Dog” Searling; 19-year-old Dennis “Hiawatha” Ostin; 90-year-old Lenny “Pa” Hutter; 13-year-old Starshine Mathers; 7-year-old Jake “Doolittle” Smalls; 14-year-old Charlotte “Moonbeam” Pasternak; and 42-year-old Dolores “Squeaky” Procnow.

A notable exception was Woodruff’s husband Jim.

“I’m just so over attachments and strings,” said Jim Woodruff. “I was really an unevolved person before, and I think it was holding Bethany back. It just wasn’t fair for me to be so possessive. Now she’s free and I think our love is stronger for that.”

“They’re out there!” Woodruff whispered in horror. “All of them are outside my tent waiting for me. I’m doomed. I’m a hunted animal. I think I’m losing my mind.”

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What’s Keeping Our Marriages Together?

Posted in Relationships, tagged , , on March 25, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

(Originally posted Saturday, January 03, 2009)

–*The mortgage

–*The cat

–*We know each other’s worst secrets

–*We share a mutual narcissism that is part of an evolutionary need to seek out like phenotypes.

–*Divorce is too costly

–*The wedding cost so much and it was really only a year ago. Besides, we’re too afraid of death to be alone.

–*Duh, the INS is still watching!

–*Child No. 4 might be a keeper.

–*If you weren’t enabling me in my drinking habit, what else could your life possibly mean?

–*It’s good to have somebody to touch base with every once in a while at the swinger’s clubs.

–*It’s good to have somebody to touch base with in this large horrible vacuum of empty space called life.

–*All those shits back home said we’d never make it. We’ll show them.

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