July 31st 2013
I’ll admit it.
Girls are fucking nuts.
We’re batshit, emotional
And lose our fucking minds over simple shit like – a decent looking breakfast food:
Guys are crazy as shit too.
Except this guy…This guy does everything right:
A herd of them sent me a list of their own.
A list not so gently outlining the nonsensical logic of the modern day man.
A list that goes like this:
7 Reasons Girls Think Guys Are Out Of Their Damn Minds
1. Dick pics.
Listen to me
PENISES. AREN’T. CUTE.
…They’re actually kind of scary if you look at them in the eye for too goddamn long…
But hey, we straight womenfolk (and not so straight man folk) love, appreciate and mildly respect them for their generous, generous ways.
That DON’T MEAN we want an instagrammed version of your Niagara Balls sent to us at an ungodly hour of the day/night with a grammatically incorrect or misspelled sexual invitation like:
Let me just save you a whole bunch of time and embarrassment Right. Fucking. Now. And genuinely guarantee you that there is an absolute ZERO PERCENT CHANCE a 10-second snap chat of your frank&beans at 3:00 pm on a Tuesday is going to be dropping ANY bitch’s panties.
…”But why?,” you ask. “I’m just horny!”
Of course you are. You’re a guy! Hearing “Call Me Maybe” at the bar probably gets your Thrill Drill hot and bothered. If you are under the impression that sending a dick pic will cause us to instantaneously leap into our cars, drive to your house, and make sweet, SWEET love to you all fucking night long… BEST BELIEVE that what we are instantaneously forwarding that shit to our friend Diane.
And probably some of your friends too.
2. Drink Denial
I get it.
You have a certain “reputation” to uphold at the local pub And SOMEHOW, the bro code has unofficially inflicted upon you the necessity to order either:
1. A manly brew
2. Whiskey on the rocks
3. Shots of tequila
…as the only acceptable alcoholic beverage…otherwise you apparently run the very real risk of everyone automatically assuming you’re a raging homosexual.
Because one sip of a cranberry vodka and of course:
Sorry about that hardship.
Except that I’m fucking with you.
DON’T EVEN TRY TO PRETEND LIKE, when I give you a sip of my Marga-Daquiri-colada-pound-town- on-the-beach, that you think it’s ANYTHING OTHER than MOTHERFUCKING DELICIOUS.
What kind of soulless creature is NOT COOL WITH FRUIT PUNCH?!
The jig is motherfucking UP. Reciting shit like “UGH- it’s too damn sweet,” or “how do you even DRINK that? is just to cover up the fact that when I step away for even one HOT second just to powder my goddamn nose or lol with the locals you’re FOR SURE tonsils-deep in my martini glass and going back for round 2.
3. Living like an unkempt Neanderthal.
Riddle me the fuck this.
At one point when your toilet paper is strewn over your cereal, beer and pickles are the ONLY GODDAMN THING in your fridge, solo cups are used to treat classy guests, mac and cheese stains have made PERMANENT residence on your fucking sheets, and a potent smell SO unidentifiable (without the intention of ever being identified) is wafting from the goddamn corridors are you ever like:
Because let’s be honest.
If bitches and hoes are unknowingly running the risk of getting leprosy and/or AIDS with one casual inhale, then perhaps it’s time to:
1. Use some febreeze
2. Identify that smell
3. Divorce your underwear from your cereal.
4. Judge yourself for the to-do list that was just composed for you.
And just to recap:
4. Getting all weird when people have souls
So emotions are a little uncomfy.
I get that shit.
We bitches are OVERFLOWIN with that nonsense
But every once in a damn while when shit gets fucked up and feelings get all weird and we try to figure out WHAT THE FLYING FUCK is going on and we call you up and are like “Hey. Shits getting weird. Can we talk about it?”
We’ve offset the apocolypse and every single man in existence is like:
Leaving us on the other line like:
Don’t like to be in touch with your feelings, you say?
Don’t believe it.
I tell you that I’ve got a lot on my mind and want to talk it out like a logical human and you’re all like:
But if I tell you that the Lakers are down 6 points you’re like:
We know that shits there.
We know that shit exists.
Just own the fuck up to it.
So we don’t feel so goddamn looney every time we want to do a soul check!
5. Work Out Diaries
So we’re on a date.
And we order some pasta. And shits going well and somehow my story about turkey burgers segways into a vent session about your squats, dead lifts and burpees at the gym.
Am I mildly turned on for like 4 minutes?
Am I colossally turned off 2 hours later when you’re still sprinkling in some info on your favorite bicep exercises?
But only because.
Congrats on your push ups
DOUBLE congrats on your planks
TRIPLE high-five to your 8 mile sprint.
Now finish your fucking Rigatoni and STFU.
Every girl likes a chap who gets down with his bad self at the gym.
Has endurance like an ox. (This statement made with no statistical evidence)
And washboard abs we can use to grate some parmesan on and sprinkle on our damn rigatoni.
BUT. Keep that behind the scenes bullshit to yourself.
If you work out
We can tell.
If you have good endurance.
…We’ll find out.
If you say you hit the gym and you just fucking don’t.
Then let me eat my rigatoni in peace.
6. No Shave November
What have you done.
An inexplicable celebration of annual facial hair has kick started a fucking weird phenomena where suddenly everyone looks like a pedophile and aspires to resemble anything looking like this:
If you’re asking if your handlebar mustache has plummeted my sexual attraction to you substantially within the last 2 weeks, the answer is:
If you’re asking me if the local kiddies run in sheer fear when they see you at the neighborhood pool, the answer is:
If you’re asking me if we’re dating and my small niece just so happens to be browsing the inter web and suddenly trips over some google images and due to your recent appearance mistakes you for another and is all like “OH! OH!! IS THAT THE GUY YOU’RE DATING?” I’ll most definitely be like:
So unless you want this “no-shave” nonsense to be a dual gender battle
Then I suggest we end this shit. And we end it now. And if not? Well.
7. A passionate, passionate relationship with…vehicles
I like pretty things
You like pretty things
I like pretty things that like me
And you like pretty things that are in fact, not alive and only exist to caress, photograph and transport you to the neighborhood Chiles.
What else can provide these things?
If you find that 97% Of your profile pictures are of you doing this
Then perhaps a mild life re-evaluation…or offering me a ride at like 3pm tomorrow so I can pick up some shit #tacobell…might just be for you.
And there you have it. Edition 1 of “Why girls think guys absolute basket cases.” Brought to you by a collection of emotional females and one confessional wasian.