Monthly Archives: April 2011

National Geographic is Being Too Graphic

First came the uni-brow, then the club. Kings of bashers we were, then the weird cousin discovered flame, scared the shit out of us, then discovered the shit we bashed the shit out of was delicioso under weirdo cousin’s fire. Open Bashin’ Shit restaurant, and traded for goodies. Got babytooth necklace back once, my baby tooth from uncle Argh. Uncle Argh sad but glad with neanderthal chorizo. Things we live is easy. Take woman, Make tiny-me’s.

After millions of fun-filled years, the hunter-gatherer men spawned us men; brighter, well-dressed and killed with axes and swords, (I’d prefer an axe because that’s just awesome to slay anything with, even Tres Leche cake,) but we still kept our women to ourselves. Like our treasures we find in the sand at the beach only to keep it hidden and protected in a Reebok shoebox in the back of the closet at mom’s place, slowly being disregarded until forgotten and to your surprise, grows feet and disappears. *gasp*

Here’s the thing; women aren’t property or prizes, in fact, it was because of them that we’ve advanced this far. Neanderthals killed to feed their women in order to keep them, (I’m sure there was competition, not because neanderhipstergirl was hot, but when one man wants something, they all want it. The animals do it too, except they killed and killed damn good, gang fights and MMA and/or Mortal Kombat started here,) and if they didn’t, another would. That’s the way it’s always been. Now that the Civil Movement has happened, 19th amendment, and everyone can vote now, women have been on the brink of discovering their superiority. Female praying mantis’ already know it, (killin’ the dude after the best one-night-stand ever,) some spiders break off the male penis to plug up her own fun-holes, to reproduce only once. Human women can take half your shit now, your vintage record collection you just started, the books you didn’t write your name in when you moved in together… and even the dog, the one you brought with you because you needed a best friend to listen to your shit without judging you. Does that sound completely unfair? Or does it sound like karma? Are we as men so desensitized that we act surprised if a girl flexes? They can, you know. Equal rights means they can kick as much ass as us men do, except they’re much smarter than we are.

The next time you immerse yourself into an argument with your girlfriend or wife or top bed share-holder, it’s not because she doesn’t love you. I know this one to be a fact; to us guys, these random fights are random and you think she’s crazy, but these random fights actually happen because they’ve changed in some way, and grew. Men don’t change, we just get older. She probably thinks you’re a pussy. In this reasoning, women have at least million years of growing to catch up on. They’re just smarter and faster, and still us men will find a reason to call it an unfair match.

We, men, only have each other to cheer, but do you think we’ll get anything accomplished with all-male cheerleaders? The answer is a very obvious no, even I would be too distracted. (That’s why I only get my advice from women I believe are the equivalent of generals, maybe captains too, because I know that if I can’t beat them, I’m better off joining them. And also, I have nothing against male cheerleaders, you guys are great, better dancers sometimes too. It’s better just to say you’re on the other team, I think.)

Just find solace in knowing you will never understand a woman, even the one you’ve been with the last four years or two and a half weeks. No record in history was there ever a [straight] man who understood them… and lived. Maybe Chuck Norris or the Dos Equis guy, I think his name is Maxwell. Maxwell and Chuck Norris can do it, but can we ever be like them? Fuck no, so don’t try to understand women but have a flavor-infused Dos Equis beer, which is on sale at your local CVS for $5.49 a six-pack. What a deal!! Two exclamation points! Anyway, admire the gem of a woman you do have like a perfectly cooked steak. Rare, but seared just right on both sides and know that not everyone will see the steak like that, but they’ll eat it if they get a chance. Some want theirs medium, or well-done, but the whole dilio is not guaranteed to appease your taste buds, so don’t expect it to. Move with it or move it. After all, they keep us going, despite the preconceived transgression. Us men seem to grow only after our hearts have been hurt and are left a-bleedin’, but that also means that you were too late. Walk it off.

she loved him till death, because he never tried to understand her.

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April Salty Showers

Oh sweet, sweet April. Month of the resurrection. Symbolizing that succulent eternal life, with your neon green grass and birds singing sweet jazz, you are really something. Oh April, you’ve probably got a guy who does your taxes! But why are you going around breaking everyone’s hearts? You’re sick! You’re like a little girl with anti-gravitational locks licking lollipops and lighting fires in a valentine’s day card factory. Let the people see the real red of fluffy hearts with scalpel precision performed randomly in the back alley of the dive bar your step-uncle Pete, with the lazy eye and Beefeater Gin tattoo as a trampstamp he got on a very bad night involving counterfeit and/or well tequila, is that your philosophy?!!? No? Oh… well… what’s the deal?

Everywhere I go, everyone’s hearts are breaking and cellphone minutes are used in 8 minute intervals and voicemail inboxes get filled with wet messages; it tears me up inside. I’m not one for the sensitive side of things, but when my friends are out there on the field getting shot and wounded because April got bored, you bet your sweet ass I’m going to be fired up like a pro baseball player on “performance enhancers.” So here I am in the ER working triple overtime, eating vending machine dinners, healing the sick, wounded, and the heartbroken, only to finally ask myself, “wat is yo damn problem, April? Girl, you best drive in a schoolzone speed befo I kick yo dang teef in. You eva digest a toof befo!?”

This has been a very sad month for my loved ones, but some are finding solstice in the bottom of a pint-glass, shishkebabs, and Tekken 6, which was released on 10/27 and critics say is, “the best way to watch a 70 year old man kill a panda by kicking him in the d*ck, and not on YouTube.” No that wasn’t a plug, more like a, “hang in there guys, if you can still laugh and/or chuckle, you can still live. And if you can still live, you can still unnecessarily smuggle jello shots into inappropriate settings… like a Bed Bath and Beyond, or a 24-hour Kinko’s with a vengeful and exposing picture you want to make 600 copies of and a list of all the local community colleges tucked in your back pocket. What am I talking about? I’m talking about you putting on a nice pair of shoes, and throwing down with April.

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Slaughterhouse Six

I hope I’m not crazy for being the only one who thinks love has become endangered, borderline extinct. Well, I can’t speak for other cities or states besides LA and California. There was a time when one was lucky to fall in love, a time when we didn’t think one unlucky for being in love. You’ve seen it, and we all know you’ve secretly thought to yourself, “poor bastard.” When they say history repeats itself, it’s precisely this that proves the futility of this hopeful though indignant/indulgent plight. If you kill a man, make sure he doesn’t have any connections. Via heartache or on a literal basis. When they killed Jesus, they didn’t think about who his Dad was did they?

On the subject of history repeating itself, it, inadvertently resembles time-travel, a volition of statistics, and an accurate hypothesis of what happens next etc. What I mean is if you can time-travel, then you can already expect the worst to happen, which means you know a piece of the future and can do something to avoid it, right? However, humans are silly, and we all secretly think we’re the one person in history that can rebuke our fate. If there’s one thing time-traveling can teach you, it’s that your intellect can, at the least, make your love-life bearable. Settle for less, or settle for reaching for the dream. Yes it sounds terrible, but which part of modern love can you think of that isn’t adjective of terrible? (Besides the beginning, because we all know that’s the best part. Ironically it gets you so high, that you can only roll down the hill afterwards.)

(This post brought to you through countless counseling sessions hosted by yours truly. The end result, you can only become a better version of you in order to combat the reality, [which is the current you.])

“Hang in there! You know things are gonna get better before you can do this all over again!”

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