Somewhere, last night, a young man stood in his apartment wearing nothing but a condom. He stretched his arms out, closed his eyes, and whispered “if I wear it, they will come. THEN COME AND COME AGAIN.”
The condom was one of dozens he keeps strategically hidden throughout his apartment. He keeps a pile in his nightstand drawer, another pile in the bathroom, another 20 or so are tucked in between couch cushions, books on the bookshelf, and in the cupboard, hidden behind jars of peanut butter.
He considered, briefly, wearing a long string of connected condoms like a bandolier. Keep reading »
My New Years resolution is to be less stupid. I don’t usually make New Years resolutions, or as I call them, Last Year’s regrets. Usually, I just think they’re for suckers.
The only people who benefit from New Year’s resolutions are the therapists who profit from disappointment maintenance. But this year is going to be different. I’m making one “big picture” resolution instead of committing to a dozen specific self-improvement chores that I will end up failing to complete. Instead of trying to hit a bullseye with an arrow, I’m going to score a slam dunk by setting up a ladder right next to the net. Okay, well, here’s a specific resolution I will honor: I will not make any more sports metaphors.
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The current historic economic nosedive has two unintended consequences. One of them is that hobos just aren’t really cute anymore. Maybe they never were. All these years I thought they were adorable dirty clowns, carrying little bundles tied to the ends of sticks. I never realized those bundles were full of cans of beans and broken dreams. Keep reading »
There are plenty of things men don’t understand about women. Like why you insist on leaving the toilet seat down. Or buy candles that smell like food. Or give pointers on pooping etiquette. Or analyze the gender politics of bowel movements. Would somebody please explain the allure of gloomy teenage vampires dry humping? To be fair, there are plenty of things women don’t understand about men. Like why we find flatulence so amusing. In the interest of gender relations, I will explain this. Keep reading »
I would not be blogging about the various and amusing differences between dudes and chicks for fun and profit if it were not for a boss who dressed like she was ready to hit a late-’90s girl power soft rock music festival at a moment’s notice.
When I moved to New York 15 years ago, I was lucky to find any work. I had no connections, no money, and no marketable skills. I had a degree in playwriting which qualified me to brood. I was too sweaty to wait tables, too goofy to work in sales, and when the temp agency put me in front of a computer, I looked like a monkey with a Rubik’s cube. I tied my only tie with all of the grace of a hangman. That tie was baboon ass red. Keep reading »
Women are always complaining that the men in their lives suffer from “Peter Pan Syndrome.” It’s a standard, catchall criticism that chicks levy willy-nilly on dudes for any number of relationship misdemeanors or faux pas. It refers to the title character in J.M. Barrie’s classic, turn-of-last-century play and novel about a precocious young boy who refuses to grow up. And modern ladies love to slap this armchair diagnosis on any male behavior that is inconvenient to their self-interest. Keep reading »