First you need to get a new cell phone number; a number your significant other, or the boy you’re stalking, doesn’t know. Throughout the day, send him romantic and flirty messages like, “you can’t hide from me, mother f***er!”, “we will be together or die together”, and my personal favorite, “i will cut a whole in you like the hole you put in my heart”.
Wait until after midnight, resist the temptation to see him earlier, then show up at his house. Your first instinct may be to throw a brick through his window, but you’d be wrong. Creep your way across his lawn to his bedroom window. Blow on the glass to give it a good misting. Then draw a heart with your initials and his and the words “til Death”. Tap on the glass loudly a few times and run for cover behind the bushes. It’s okay to giggle maniacally at him as he stares frantically out the window with a look of fear on his face.
Let him relax slowly and drift back into sleep. Remove the lock picking kit from your purse and enter via the back or front door, it’s your choice.
Once inside, break a few dishes and let out a high pitch screech to wake him from his slumber.
Sit down at his kitchen table and remove the butcher knife from your purse. Be sure it’s still adequately covered in (you choose one or more of the following) chicken blood, your own blood, or the blood of his beloved dog, Frankie-J.
Begin your ritualized pagan chanting, interspersed with a few good cackles, and wait for him to come running into the kitchen.
I don’t think I have to tell you what comes next, but it’s something like “…and they lived happily ever after.”
Happy Valentine’s Day!
I recently started dating this woman. She’s 73. She’s good looking and thin. I’m not gonna lie to you. If she were ugly or a fatty, I’d tell you.
However, she has a son who is about 25 years older than me. He’s been giving me a lot of attitude lately. Frankly, I’m out of ideas. How am I supposed to be a father to this kid? He won’t call me “Sir” or “Mr. Powers” and I am sick and tired of the disrespect.
Occurred October-November 2009; Written January 2010. Part 2 of 2.
If you read my previous post, you’re aware that my father has an uncanny ability at medical diagnosis. He informed me I was afflicted with TSB; Toxic Sperm Buildup. It occurs when a male has no girlfriend, no dates, and no prospects. It results in no sex; hence the sperm buildup. The disease’s side effects include, but are not limited to, a general sense of unease, self-loathing, and a trash can filled with violated fruit.
A week or two later, I was able to look back and chuckle at my dad’s email. Perhaps he had a valid point. If I’m ever going to get out of this funk, I have to make things happen for myself. I can’t sit at home masturbating to internet porn and call it companionship.
I need to dust myself off and get back in the game. It had been 2 years since I asked a girl on a date now was the time to change. I went out for drinks with the guys that night, but was always thinking about my TSB and how to cure it. After 13 or 14 beers and arriving home, I decided NOW was the moment to do something about it. I wasn’t going to ask friends to introduce me to their single lady friends. No, I needed something now. I was motivated (and alcohol handicapped) and needed to act. Like so many other desperate men my age, I sent out some emails to a few lucky ladies on MySpace.
The ladies were chosen for very good reasons, things you can really build a relationship on. In other words, all of their profile pictures were them sitting around in their bras, bikinis, or low cut shirts.
I felt great as I tucked myself in and gave a little snuggle time to my favorite friend. I imagined waking up in the morning with a full Inbox and dates lined up for every night of the week. Cindy, the beautiful girl from Arizona and living in Seoul, seemed the most likely candidate for marriage and carrying my offspring. I slept soundly and I’m pretty sure with a smile on my face.
16 hours later, I awoke. My pain could only be compared to childbirth. Continue reading
Filed under Dating, Humour
Occurred October-November 2009; Written January 2010. Part 1 of 2.
This true-life story of a hero is at sometimes crass, chauvinistic, and filled with sexual content. If you find it disturbing to imagine me naked and copulating in a field of wheat while shooting off fireworks, you should stop reading this immediately.
I have not always been so caring and empathetic towards women. There were times that I may have lied for sex: I’m rich. Look at my hands; they’re HUGE (as I hold up my hand stuffed inside a giant prosthetic hand)! I really like you, there’s a future here. You’re nothing like your mother. No, the smell doesn’t bother me.
In college, I was a bit of a social scientist specializing in male-female sexual behavior. As someone who wasn’t getting any on a regular basis, I felt qualified to postulate on the behavior of all men when put in a sexual situation.
On one particular evening, while hanging out with friends, I took a massive bong hit and was overcome by a coughing fit and the sudden realization that: 1) I should learn to play the guitar because I’m an artist at heart, and 2) the Theory of Non-Resistance.
Occurred November 2009, Written February 2010.
I currently live in Seoul, South Korea. I will let that sink in for a moment. Breathe it in. Oh yeah, pretty awesome.
Many months ago, I broke up with my non-Korean and very Jewish Canadian girlfriend. She was beautiful and insane. We suffered each others existence for a year and a half. Recently I made the decision to start dating again.
I was ready to put my emotions on the line; to take a risk for love. If you’re not lovin’, you’re not livin’ (You can put that on a fortune cookie, I won’t sue).
Or was it because Mr. Dangles demanded it? Anyways, Mr. Dangles or not, I was going to give it another go.
As someone very experienced in the dating world, I can say with 100% certainty that the best place to meet women is the internet. It’s a gold mine of insecurities, lack of self-respect, and women who take pictures of themselves in their underwear and then ask, “Why don’t men respect me?” This was where I was going to find the future Mrs. Powers.
Long story short, I met a young lady named Choeun. Choeun is a brilliant artist and a very attractive woman. We exchanged emails and decided to meet in person. Choeun lived 3 hours south of me. I imagined that we would have to meet halfway in the middle and I would spend over $100 on a train ticket to see a woman I had never met before. Luckily, Choeun hates herself and is desperate for male approval, so she hopped on a train and met me in Seoul.