Breaking the Streak: 3 in 1 Month

I’ve been accused of only writing one Associated Content article per month. That has been true for a while, but something about Spring, the daffodils on the lawn, or just trying to delay doing my income taxes has prompted me to produce 3 whole articles this month.

At the end of 2006, I wrote Relationships: What Women Want and in addition to standing the test of time, it has one of the funniest lines I’ve ever written. Now I’ve taken those precepts and turned them on their ear with my latest lack-luster masterpiece, Why Your Woman Left You…

This report is the culmination of 25 years of research by The Barefoot Human Behavior and Scatological Research Group, LLC. I just wanted to make it clear that this is a scientific paper and not just some ass hat barking farts on the web. You can read the full report here.

From the Dept of Buzzawha?

Gun and Tackle Store.   Buzzawha?

What the hell are you fishing with?  If you need a shotgun to go fishing, you’re doing it all wrong.  Rifle fishing with a night scope?  Now that could be a sport.  I’ve even see bow-fishing on the TV.

You have to wonder what things should not be combined.  Dynamite and fishing is one except in that extreme future where 90% of the world’s population has died and you, as one of the few survivors, stumble across the abandoned dynamite factory while you’re hungry.

“Here Bubba, take this 12-gauge and snag you a marlin” is just a little foreign to me.  When I went fishing it wasn’t about catching anything.  It was about getting out, talking, drinking, and connecting.  I did that once or twice.  I’m better for it.

Why did someone think “Gun and Tackle” was a good idea?  Just because you get outdoors with the two is no reason to create a store that combines them.  Yet, they work.  The next time a someone shoots a hook in your mouth, stop, drop and roll and think, “Was this a good idea?”

My minivan is a chick magnet

You can keep your candy-apple, red Mustang and your fancy foreign cars. Ferrari’s go fast, but it’s called a Testarossa. We all know you’re compensating for your own hormonal deficiency. I wouldn’t trade titles with your used-to-be-a-Subaru-now-it’s-a-formula- one-but-it’s-still-a-Subaru with all its Redneck go-fasters for nothing. I got my minivan.

Chicks dig my minivan. You know? Chicks. Women between 36 and 44. MILFs Bubba, MILFs. They see me in my sleek, black stretch and think, “My God! That could hold 5 kids and their soccer gear.” They don’t even know it has a towing package. If they did, they’d leap from the curb into my auto-sliding door.

When I drive down the boulevard in my glossy, midnight cruiser, you can hear their biological clocks ticking. When I pull up to the Pizza Hut and order 5 large pizzas to go, sweat breaks out on their perfectly-arched eyebrows. All the ladies want to get with this. They knows I gots the 6-cylinders of joy.

This ain’t your daddy’s station wagon. His wagon was the minivan of his day. It’s the reason your mom gave him the time of day, a kiss and hand-job at the lake.

It ain’t a crappy tall wagon neither. No women is getting jiggy with your emo-ass-looking-surfer-wannabe-mamma’s- basement-living-refrigerator-box-driving -plastic-seat-havin’ sorry ass. You need a minivan, son.

The ladies want my two hundred and seventy horses of desire. I can see it in their eyes. I read it in their body language. I can tell by the crease in their jeans. I hear them ovulate as I roll by. Eggs popping like scramblers sizzling on a Sunday morning. I don’t need cologne. I have my minivan.

Get you one or come get you some…minivan. Slide up in my leather captain’s chair and swivel an arm rest down. “May I take your drink, m’lady?” I got cup holders. Big cup holders. Big enough for those big cups at the drive thru. Just slide on down and fasten that seat belt. That? It’s a tri-stable-anchor-point for a child’s car seat. Yeah, I got two of those. “Flip down that DVD screen and put on Pretty Woman would ya baby?”

Oh, yeah. I’m pulling this minivan over right now.

100,000

I have 100,000 TV, cable, radio, and internet stations broadcasting into my brain. Every second of every minute of every hour of every freakin’ day they say…

I only beg for that one, clear, small voice that will tell me how her day was. I just want a conversation; a clear true conversation. Inane, microscopic dissection of how the weather was bad, the dog made a mess, and how we can relax now that the sun went down.

Stories and conversations aren’t too much to ask for, are they? We can make eye contact and be our real selves for just a minute. Take a few seconds out of every day to make contact and make a difference

As Promised. A Guide to What Women Want in a Man.

Relationships: What Women Want I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to figure out what women want. After 25 years of wedded bliss, I’ve finally discovered what women want. It’s pretty simple, but not pretty. read the rest. it’s the best »

Universal truth: the real difference between men and women

A friend was complimenting me on one of my recent articles. She told me that it had her giggling throughout, but the last line made her laugh out loud. Nothing is more satisfying to a humorist than knowing that their readers actually laughed. Nothing is better than sharing that news with one’s spouse. In relaying that news to my wife, I expressed some embarrassment in the fact that the final line of the article, the line that made my female friend laugh so hard, was basically a fart joke. . . >>read the rest>>

Spell be dispelled

So I found a few minutes this weekend to write a short advertisement for my new business. As Halloween approaches, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to hire myself out as the Anti-Psychic. See what normality can do for you.

Hire the Anti-Psychic today!