Now all I need is bun target to exact my revenge!

Contrary to rampant speculation, I am not a woman.

Clearly, I’m not a man, either. I guess I fall somewhere in the middle. There’s an ambiguity about me unlike, say, Mike Rowe, who literally sweats testosterone. Damn, just the act of typing his name made my testicles flex. I’d sure like to find out what would happen if my negativity field ever crossed streams with his masculinity. It would probably destroy the space-time continuum and everything in it.

Anywho…

Once upon a time there was a Congressman named Weiner. He was the hot dog of the Democratic party. You just can’t make up shit like this. And I just read a headline that said, “Weiner’s seat could go Republican.” Damn. Even his own ass is turning on him? Wow. At least his staff will remain fiercely independent. (Heh!) All three political parties represented within a single man. Impressive.

Repeat after me: Caucus. Caucus. Caucus.

That word has absolutely nothing to do with this story. But it’s still a word that needs to be said. Preferably out loud.

So, what’s the take away here? Oops. Bad choice of words. You know, this isn’t easy. It’s hard. So I’ll try to be brief.

There’s something I don’t understand about men. Once I had a mailbox and I was asked by a friend if she could use it for a personal ad in the local newspaper. The ad instructed respondents (men) to send replies to “occupant” at my mailing address. The ad was not sexual in any way, shape or form. It was cleverly and humorously written and was a sincere attempt to find someone to date.

If you’ve put two and two together regarding this post so far, you can probably guess what happened next. Yeppers! A mailbox jammed full of letters containing photographs of men’s junk.

A Safety Tip About Mail Boxes
My mailbox was with a private company, not an official USPS Post Office. And because the letters were addressed to “occupant” they went ahead and helped themselves to my mail, even though the letters were properly addressed to my box. I checked with the local postmaster who told me that since my mail was addressed to their address, they could legally open my mail and they was nothing I could do about it. Good to know. And I was paying for this privilege? Safety Tip: Never use a mail drop except those offered by the official post office. Great. Now those people thought I was some kind of pervert, like I collected pictures of penises. I was so pissed, I canceled my box.

What gives? Aside from Congressmen and NFL quarterbacks, who seriously thinks this is a workable method of approaching the opposite sex? Is it good form? Does it have a high success rate? Is this really the most important attribute that women care about, the thing they want to see most when making dating decisions?

Like I said, I’m no woman, so I can only speculate, but if I had to guess, I think it would go a little like this:

Woman: Tell me a little bit about yourself.
Man: I have a penis.
Woman: You know, I assumed as much. What else is interesting about you?
Man: I have a penis. Here. This is a picture of my penis.
Woman: Ugh. What do you do for a living?
Man: I have a penis.
Woman: Where are you from? Have you ever been married? Politics? Religion? Hobbies? Travel? Volunteering?
Man: I have a penis!
Woman: Okay. Great. This has been very informative. I’d like to say it has been a pleasure, but, you know. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.
Man: I have a penis.
Woman: I said, “Good day!!!”

I’d have to say, in my humble opinion, there’s a big problem with The Penis Gambit. What I mean is, if it actually works, is that really the sort of woman you’d be interested in? Erm, scratch that. I forgot to think like a man there for a moment. Forgive me.

It actually boggles my mind how offensive this sort of thing is. The audacity required for The Penis Gambit is literally staggering. It must require an ego the size of Greenland.