A Snot Across The Bow
I’ve always had the ability to sniff out Danger. Let me tell you, it does not smell good. Why do things always have to end up like this?
My mission today is to discuss Weiner and address the elephant man in the room.
I’m going to be straight with you. I’m a dude, albeit a feminized one. So I asked myself, what’s the hubbub about this man all about? Something isn’t kosher!
When I look at the face of Anthony Weiner blood rushes away from my naughty bits and leaves me with a bit of a headache. His face actually causes shrinkage.
Am I missing something? Not to put too fine of a point on it, but the Weiner is completely unattractive. I ask myself, if I woke up in the morning and found him laying on my body, what would I do? I’m forced to admit I would chew off my own arm just to get away. Trust me on this, not many humans meet that standard.
“Weiner” and “wiener” are two different things. Never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never mix them up.
–Tom B. Taker
We call it “fugly.”
Unattractive. Unbeautiful. Man Medusa. Unseemly. Repelling. Unsightly.
So what is it? What’s the attraction? Does he have the heart of poet? A horny poet? Does he understand women to such a degree that it turns them on? Does he hot chat better than the author of 50 Shades of Grey?
Or is it merely the money? Power? Celebrity? Is it all about the unquenchable lust for 15 minutes of shame? Is this what we have come to? That life is the ultimate substitute for reality TV like the game of Survivor?
I don’t get it. Luckily I keep an airsickness bag handy for times like these.
When only the full Weiner will do
As a public service I am bringing you the full transcript of tweets from the sordid Weiner Affair.
Warning: Do not read pass the jump if you are easily offended by the twitterings of the horny.
If you do make the jump, enjoy the time-honored art of seduction in all of its glory.
Caucus: The Congressional Reach-Around
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.
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.