Thursday, July 31, 2014

“What Men Want”

A while back I wrote a piece entitled, “What Women Want” and had the aid of three lovely and very talented ladies to help me figure out just what that was.

Now however, I figured it was the men’s turn to share their thoughts and spill their guts, hence this piece.

There were three totally radical dudes (listed below) who actually answered my questions, can you believe it, I’m as happy as I was the day I discovered masturbation.

(Color coded so you know who answered what)

Rich Rumple
Google+: +RichardRumple

Gary Sidley
Bubblews: &gsidley
Latest post: The Circle of Life

Phil Holtberg
Twitter: @RegularGuyNYC

1. Which do you prefer, a woman who can hang with the boys, or a total priss who is out getting her nails done while you’re a home watching the game?

Richard: Okay, by hanging out do you mean screwing around with them, literally, or simply a great looking female that everyone wishes they could have?  I’ve never been one to entertain the pass around pack concept (too many chances of catching something you can’t get rid of).  I do have to say I like one that can hold her own in a conversation and not be afraid to try new things. 

Prissy bitches drive me crazy, although the thought of solo time does appeal to me.  The only problem with the “Priss” being absent is that there’s no one to go to the fridge for me.  Being the lazy bastard I am, that is something that is almost too horrible to even imagine.  Remember, in the South, a primary phrase of all men is, “Go git me ‘nother beer, bitch!”  (Don’t tell my wife I said that.  She’d kill me!)

Gary: Woman who can hang with the boys for me – that is, as long as she’s not seeking to get laid by all of them, at least not all at the same time! My lady enthuses about football (soccer) as much as I do, and can swill down pints of cold lager at a rate that would match that of many male boozers.

Phil: Hang with the boys! As long as she is also not banging them or participating in a circle jerk with them.  No one likes a priss anyway.

2. The three Bs, belching, beer and boobs, put them in order of importance?

Richard: Boobs, Boobs, Boobs, belching, and beer and more boobs.  I really don’t drink.

Gary: My order of preference would be: 1st boobs, 2nd beer, and 3rd belching. The typical, real-life sequence, however, tends to be different: Beer drinking (makes us randy), so passion and boob-kneading follows, and then (at the height of passion) I release a stale, hoppy belch into her ear. My wife’s a very lucky lady!  

Phil: Boobs, beer, belching. Boobs rule above all.

3. The age old question, Ginger or Mary Ann?

Richard: No question … Mary Ann!  I can’t see Ginger ever getting up to get anyone a beer from the fridge.  Mary Ann had so much energy she’d find a way to fit the fridge in the living room next to my recliner, and still make wild and passionate love for hours before ever getting up to fix a fantastic dinner while I took a nap.  I sometimes wonder if those two weren’t lesbians, though.  They were always hanging out together and never really got it on with any of the male castaways.  Then again, would you screw Gilligan?

Gary: Mary Ann for me. Not keen on ginger-haired girls (although did go through a phase in my late teens when I had an unwholesome desire to get acquainted with ginger pubic hair – come to think of it, that could be a topic for my next blog post). Also, I tend to prefer the more homely ladies than the flamboyant types.

Phil: Mary Ann. She always looked like a closet freak who dressed like a slutty country schoolgirl. Though, with Ginger I would like to know if the carpet matched the drapes.

4. Forget the chicken, what came (huh huh) first, the penis or the egg?

Richard: Definitely the penis.  There would never have been an egg without foreplay.  Sex is no good unless both parties work each other into a foreplay frenzy. (You know, when grandpa’s ashes get knocked off the table and you don’t even realize you’re rolling around in them!)  So, imagine two eggs attempting foreplay.  Even hard boiled, they simply couldn’t achieve any type of satisfaction.  Yolks simply don’t stimulate, and egg whites stick more than slide.  Yep, definitely the penis!

Gary: This question is far too philosophical for my simple mind. If pushed, my diplomatic response would be that they came at the same time – which is, of course, always the best way!

Phil: The penis I guess. Then the egg which I would fry up with some bacon afterwards. Post orgasm hunger.

5. A woman who farts, funny and sexy, or nasty and a complete turnoff?

Richard: It all depends on where my face is when it happens.  Remember, for every action there is a reaction … bitch!

Gary: It might surprise a few people to hear that I do not like to hear women fart. Surely such wonderful creations shouldn’t emit noxious gas, nor shit for that matter – for many years I was in denial and would not accept that women expelled putrid faeces; I, instead, believed that waste materials evaporated from the top of their heads and smelt like hairspray!

The lady (and I use the term loosely), who has been my partner for the last 33 years, farts like a hairy biker whose lifetime diet has consisted solely of gulping down a combination of boiled cabbage,  baked beans, Brussels sprouts and lamb vindaloo. In contrast, I never fart in front of her. You see, contrary to popular opinion, I am a gentleman!  

Phil: If in a new relationship, a turnoff. If in a long established relationship sometimes funny. Sexy? No.

6. In the sheets, do you like to be the one who gets the party started, or do you prefer the woman do be the aggressor?

Richard: Depends on the woman.  If it’s someone I really would prefer ignoring, I want to start the party, which will probably be delayed forever.  In other words, “Don’t force me to do something I really don’t want to do.” (My wife and I live by that … usually concerning each other.)  However, if I’m looking at her as a potential “Hell yes, take me to my wildest desire” type, I love for her to attack.  It really helps the camera operator from having to give so many vocal directions.

Gary: A bit of both is best, and keeps the rumpy-pumpy fresh and interesting.

Phil: Depends on the mood. If she jumps on the bed with the ball gag and handcuffs she can be as aggressive as she wants with me!

7. Is it the size of the woman’s breasts that attract you to her, or the size of her mind…now be honest?

Richard: I’m not a big breast guy, even with chicken.  For both, I prefer perfect legs.  However, if I can’t click mentally with a person, I really don’t get into sex.  Okay, so we’re not discussing the state of America’s current political structure while sweating our asses off going at it.  But, if I’m going to give effort, I would prefer it be with someone I can communicate with.  Otherwise, I might as well get out to old inflatable doll and go at it, or someone from Alabama … say, my wife perhaps.  Nawwwww … let’s go with the doll.

Gary: The initial attraction has got to be boob size and other physical attributes – I’m actually drawn more to a fine arse than boobs, although it is a close-run thing. But I couldn’t spend any time with a woman who was dim and incapable of generating an independent thought; that would be a complete turn-off.

Phil: Sorry, what was the question again? I was preoccupied staring at her boobs.

8. Have you ever stuck “it” in the wrong hole?

Richard: Are you familiar with full motion waterbeds?  They give you one hell of a valid excuse to do just that, especially if doggy style is on the agenda.  If the partner complains, just blame it on the bed and use the motion of the ocean to sail away.

Gary: Yes, late August 1977, while holidaying in southern Spain; I spent most of that autumn with my meat and two veg in a bowl of Dettol disinfectant! But perhaps I’m misinterpreting the question? Is there a wrong hole?

Phil: I can not confirm or deny this.

9. Are you one of those guys who make women think all men are pigs, or a guy who makes them realize that chivalry isn’t dead?

Richard: I personally hate the way most men act.  (Tells you I’m not gay, doesn’t it?)  Seriously, when meeting a woman for the first time, I take her hand and do a half bow as I raise it up some, about a foot short of where you’d complete the old, classic act of kissing it.  I open all doors for the female, and do my best to treat her with the highest respect.  I even force my eyes to look into hers instead of allowing the eye magnets to be drawn to the attracting boobs.  It has always helped me show them that all men aren’t uneducated boner boys slobbering with thoughts of unrestricted lust.  (Yeah, I lied to get a laugh in the earlier questions.)  Even during lovemaking, I believe that you’ve got to take care of the partner first, before ever allowing yourself to climax.  You don’t know how many games of hitless inning baseball has gone through my mind achieving that standard.

Gary: Definitely the latter (I refer you to my farting etiquette, described above).

Phil: I would hope that I am a knight in shining armor. Brandishing a well endowed sword.

10. Your first time, how bad was it?

Richard: Terrible.  You gotta remember, pubic shaving wasn’t the thing back in the early 70’s.  Having no idea as to what to expect in the “feeling” arena, I went full blast to hurry things up before her parents got up and came to the back porch to see why we were out there so long.  After it was over, she told me I’d missed her completely.  The next time, I was able to tell the difference between what pubic hair and the real thing felt like.  Much better, I must say.

Gary: “I want you.”
“I want you too.”
“I need you inside of me.”
“I’m aching for you; give it to me now.”
“OK, here goes. Do you like that?”
“No, you’re not in.”
“Well where am I then; I’m rubbing against something?”
“You’re too high up; you’re hitting the bone.”
“OK, I’ll try a bit lower then.”
“Sorry, is it hurting?” (thinking, wow I must have a big one)
“No, you’re pushing at the wrong hole.”
“Oh sorry; shall we try again later?”
“Why later?”
“I think I’ve gone a bit … floppy.”

Phil: We were drunk and broke into a model home. Was kind of funny when we woke up the next day and the real estate agent was showing off the house!

11. Gay guys, do you run from them as if they were walkers and you were in The Walking Dead, or perfectly cool with hanging out with them and being their wingman while they pick up dudes?

Richard: I don’t run, but I don’t hang out while they do their shopping either.  I had a friend, when I was working with venomous reptiles, that was gay.  We’d go out hunting rattlesnakes, cottonmouths, coral snakes and copperheads outside of Atlanta in some really swampy territory.  I even wrote the Preface of his book for him.  He became one of my best friends.  However, we never really talked about sexual preferences.  I figured it was his business and his right to be the way he wanted.  As with any person, if you’ll simply treat them with the respect you’d expect them to treat you with, you’ll find there’s a lot of great people in the world.  Small minded people never find that out.

Gary: I usually enjoy the company of gay men. Often they are extremely witty and good company. 

Phil: Totally cool with all my gay friends. I have a bunch and they are a blast to hang with.

12. Boxers or briefs…or commando?

Richard: Briefs.  I could never get the damn thing to stay inside of boxers.

Gary: Briefs for me, as I require a firmer hold than boxers are able to provide – in simple terms, I can’t stand my bollocks stumbling out of one of the sides. In my rare impulsive moments I might go commando. 

Phil: Bikini. Sometimes a banana hammock if I'm feeling frisky.

13. When you’re sick, is it I am man hear me roar, or nurse please come quick I feel icky?

Richard: Leave my ass alone.  Let me suffer, sleep, and get well at my own pace.  You’ll know when I’m feeling better as I’ll ask you to go to the fridge and get me a Diet Coke!  Actually, when I awoke from having my heart attack, I saw my wife, daughter and son-in-law all grimly looking down at me.  Trying to make them smile, my first words were, “What?  Are y’all unhappy because I didn’t die?”   That joke bombed, but at least I tried to make them smile.

Gary: I regress when I’m sick and hanker after a mummy substitute to tuck me up in bed, stroke my fevered brow and tell me I’m a brave little boy.

Phil: I never get sick. I refuse.

14. Masturbation, an everyday event or a rare occurrence?  

Richard: Only if I’m too tired for sex.  You gotta keep your woman happy, right?  Why should she sit there unhappy just because you’re tired. You just have to put your finger on the marriage obligation and gradually work to please, no matter how long it takes.  Just don’t shut off the TV or I might go to sleep before she reaches her “Oh, Damn, Damn, Damn” moment.  
Gary: I’ve never really been into self-abuse. It has never appealed to me. I fail to see what the attraction … wait a moment, what’s happening to me … the page has gone all blurred and I’m struggling to read the question … and my right wrist has seized up with what feels like a repetitive strain injury … and my wife is referring to me as Akihito.

Phil: Well, I am typing this with my left hand. The right one is busy at the moment.

15. Looking at other women when your wife/girlfriend is around, okay to look but no long stares and please for God sakes don’t get caught, or look all you want and discuss with your wife/girlfriend about how hot the chick was?

Richard: Okay, you can talk, but you have to do it with class.  The typical guy might say, “Hey, look at that steamy, hot, succulant, drippy, gooey, type of a hole walking by in those shorts so tight you could count her pubes if she didn’t shave.”  I might say to my wife, “Now there goes a woman that is definitely looking for the right person to notice her.  By the way, how are things in camoflauge land these days.”

Gary: I do have a wandering eye, but stop short of long stares which would be disrespectful to both the lady in my eye-line and to my wife; I would not wish to render either one uncomfortable. (Another consideration would be that, if I gawped at another woman, my wife would pummel me when we got home!)

Phil: I look all I want and discuss with my gal about how hot the chick was. She does the same with guys. We have our healthy fantasies!

16. Chick flicks, take on for the team and go see them, or no way in hell you’ll be caught there?

Richard: I refuse to go to the theater these days.  Too much of a rip off for what you get.  However, I will record chick flicks off of the pay networks for my wife.  I find that if I can keep her attention elsewhere, the times I have to mutter “Yes, dear” are minimal, and I can pretty much do as I want while they’re on.  Plus, I can pause the damn thing while she goes and gets me a Diet Coke from the fridge!

Gary: I rather like chick flicks. I enjoyed Freaky Friday (but that might be because I have a thing for Jamie Lee Curtis) and I wept watching The Notebook. You see, I do have a feminine side.

Phil: Usually no way in hell. They are boring. Plus, my gal loves action, raunchy comedy, and adventure flicks. I win!

17. Would you hold a woman’s purse while out in public if she asked you to, or is it no thank you drive through?

Richard: Hell yes!  Especially if the wife is trying on clothes.  It gives me a chance to check out the cash in her wallet and see if she’s holding out on me.  I’m still waiting on the day I’ll find hundreds of dollars there.  Hooking is grounds for divorce that allow a guy to keep most of his stuff.  I’ve been looking and hoping for 34 years and the bitch is still not working the streets.  And people wonder why I’m always depressed.

Gary: I’ve been known to hold my wife’s purse and handbag in public (even when I’m not taking money out of either). Also, I have bought her sanitary products in a supermarket. This must mean I’m either a modern man or the hen-pecked variety – come to think of it it’s probably the latter.

Phil: Sure, and I have. Plus, I look in to snag some cash when I need it.

18. Is there anything worse than being hit in the balls?

Richard: Being hit in the balls twice!

Gary: No, but do we expect you women to understand? Of course not. They go on and on about childbirth, but how can a natural bodily function like labor compare to a totally unnatural process like being walloped in the nuts? Kneeling on a Lego brick might come close, but a whack in the bollocks takes first prize in the excruciating pain competition.

Phil: Hitting yourself in the balls. Belt buckles suck!

19. Are you ever too old to fart in the tub?

Richard: I am an old fart in a tub.  However, if one must, they can sit there enjoying the way the bubble bath filters the acid smell out of the gas and makes the fart smell like coconuts!

Gary: No, but only when there are no women in the house (see response to question 5). Also, with advancing years, you have to guard against follow-through, otherwise the bath water might resemble a melt down in Willy Wonka’s factory.

Phil: Never. It offers a good laugh.

20. Manscaping, you’re comfortable trimming up the hedges and making thing neat and clean, or no freaking way let that shit grow wild and free?

Richard: Fuck working in the yard.  Sweating during leisure time is not my thing.  If I can’t hire someone to do the work let the shit grow until the neighbors file a complaint with the city.  Then, I’ll complain to the landlord and get them to clean the stuff up.  Besides, I’m too damn busy answering well thought out questions like you provide.

Gary: Being hairy never bothered me until my mid-40s when I underwent a transformation. Now I’m always trimming my intimate hedges, which can be a precarious business when using the Power Comb of a Braun Series 5! – my nooks and crevices can appear like the aftermath of the Battle of Rorke's Drift. If I was brave enough I’d consider waxing, the full monty: back, crack and sac – but I’m a coward.

Phil: I always kept my chassis neat and clean. Body hairiness in the nether regions is not really sexy. No one likes to dig through a forest down there with their teeth.

**Extra Credit**

21. If boobs were cars, would you like to drive a smart car, a mid-size car or a monster truck?

Richard: If you do it right during your lifetime, the same person supplies all three.  Generally, to attract the male beast, many young females diet ridiculously, which usually gives you a minimal taste.  As age comes around, the dieting leaves and children arrive.  Boobs tend to get bigger here.  Finally, in older age, years of gravity pulling at them cause the boobs to droop like hell, stretching them to the max.  Those are the monster truck years. 
I’m still trying to figure out why it works exactly opposite on a guy’s super snake.  God’s got to be lying back laughing his ass off at that trick!   “Kind and loving God … bah, humbug!”

Gary: Somewhere between mid-size and monster would be my ideal, but with less than perfect suspension and handling (excuse the pun). A woman’s boobs should bounce and wobble. A female chassis should not be rigid and unrelenting; the veneer-like, plastic boobs of many porn stars (so I’m told) are a total turn-off.  

Phil: Monster truck. AMURRICA BABY!

Well there you have it peeps, what men really want out of chicks and what they think about certain “male-specific” topics, so if you’re ever hoping to get some loving from a dude that doesn’t require a credit card, I would highly recommend you pay attention and deliver the goods.

Also, if you happen to run into any of these dudes wife/girlfriend don’t go dropping dimes on them for what they shared here, because that’s not cool.

Make sure you visit all my fabulous guests (links below their pics) to show them just how much you appreciate them opening up and being honest with you.


Tuesday, July 29, 2014

“Holy Shit”

I have seen the Holy Grail, and I must say it was both magnificent and beautiful, a wonderful sight to behold for sure. 

Let me explain, I have been having some issues in the poop department. I’ve been going but nothing worth calling the folks over at Guinness about, if you understand where I’m coming from. I was hoping for boulders and was left with nothing more than pebbles.

I figured my pipes must be clogged, that something was preventing me from truly delivering the goods. And by no means was I going out like Elvis, dead in the bathroom, so I knew something had to be done.

As a result of this I decided to try a colon cleanser, something top of the line, and the highest possible strength I could legally buy. However, I was broke so I had to settle for what I could find at the Dollar Store and thankfully it did the trick.

Now don’t be fooled, by no means was this a walk in the park, this trial came with many tribulations, but in the end (huh huh) it was well worth it. For example, I would be minding my own business, not a care in the world, then all of the sudden it would hit me.

It felt like someone ran up and suckered punched me right in the gut, and no matter where I was or what I was doing it all came to a complete halt, because I had to make a mad dash to the crapper without haste, and yes that means even using the dreaded public restroom.

If I didn’t I would be sporting the sag, but not due to the lack of a belt and/or ridiculously oversized pants, but rather due to the extra pound or two of crap that has suddenly found its way into my tighty whities. God forbid if I was wearing shorts, oh the horror.

The effects were kicking in, the colon was being cleaned, and my anus was taking a beating. From all the wiping, and constant heave-hoing, my poor balloon knot was feeling like it just got butt banged by a lit candle. The poor guy was hanging out like an elephant’s trunk.

Then it finally happen, the shit of all shits, one so massive that it made my toilet bowl look like an over filled chocolate pudding cup. One of such a magnitude that it almost lifted me off the seat itself; if it got any higher it would be going back up in me…not a nice thought at all.

Its nasty stench filled my nostrils, something straight from the bowels of the devil. The creepy crap kept looking at me with those corn kernel eyes as if to let me know that it was not about to go gentle into that good night.

This was no mere two flusher, or even a three flusher at that, this monster wasn’t going down without a fight. I had to beat it down with the plunger and the toilet brush just to get it to flush.

By no means was it easy, but it was a battle totally worth fitting, because if not the next person to enter the bathroom after me would have gotten shit blasted right in the face. And how could I live with myself, or show my face around town, if that did indeed happen.

Finally the bastard was gone, I was able to relax and catch my breath. I was all washed up and ready to exit the lavatory, but before going I felt the need to give a nod to the part of me I was leaving behind. I didn’t have any liquor to poor out for my dead homie, so instead I just took a wiz in the bowl as a sign of respect.

There was no lighting a match for this one, the smell was too overpowering, the only thing that would help in this situation was a blowtorch or a Molotov cocktail, and since I didn’t have either I just throw up the deuces and exited the bathroom.

Even though the overall experience was a frightening one, and as a result left my anus in rough shape, I’m glad I did it. I feel lighter, and now things move through me quicker than a Chinese sweat shop.


Thursday, July 24, 2014

"How [Not] to Write Like a Blogger"

Ladies and gentleman, guess who stopped by for a visit to the Insane Asylum...the mutha fracking rockstar badass herself Terrye Toombs!

When Terrye isn't annoying fellow bloggers or practicing her pole dancing routine, she can be found ranting her behind off at She also has serious delusions of becoming a published science fiction author and is documenting that little misadventure at And if you really want to impress her, try following her on Twitter:

"How [Not] to Write Like a Blogger"

Blogging is the redheaded stepchild to real writing. Or so a lot of people think.  And that begs the question, “Why do so many people consider bloggers to be less than real writers?” Could it be the endless supply of blogs featuring crappy writing that ignores the basic rules like spelling, grammar and punctuation? Or the overabundance of ‘mommy’ bloggers flooding the market with their constant talk of poopy mishaps and boring suburbia? What about just plain old greed – people thinking that throwing any old crap up on a blog to sell something is going to make them over night millionaires?

I’ve met a lot (ok, a lot might be a slight exaggeration) of talented bloggers that, if they weren’t blogging, could be confused for ‘real’ writers. Unfortunately, they get lost in the tidal wave of substandard and downright yucky blogs. But, what if you want to be a blogger and not fall into the category of ‘just another blogger?’ How can you stand out from the crowd and garner the attention you so well crave and deserve?

1. Write in your own voice. None of this mealy mouthed, pansy cow manure stuff where you mimic another blogger’s voice! Readers will see through that like a nightie on a porn star. What? You don’t have a unique voice? I bet your momma could pick you out in a crowd of screaming toddlers in the wave pool when you were a kid. Everyone has their own voice, you just need to rediscover it and hone that bad boy, yo!

Question for the Hostest with the Mostest: MJM, how did you finally realize you found your own voice in your writing? Was it when they started threatening to burn you at the stake or when beautiful women started tossing their undergarments at you while you walked down the street?

MJM: Actually I found many voices in my writing, of course they were all in my head, and constantly bickering with each other over what to say or not say, but for the most part they all get along pretty well.

Really though, I never had to find my voice; I just stayed true to who I was and didn’t worry about what the haters and/or lollipops (people with sticks up their ass) thought about my work.

I just wrote what was on my mind, with no regard for good taste or concern for being politically correct, which I’m sure you can plainly see from the inane ramblings you will find plastered all over my blogs.

2. Use all that crap you hated in English 101. I guess you shouldn’t have skipped class to go hide out in the arcade and smoke those stolen cigarettes, huh? Your parents told you that was going to bite you in the ass, and here we are. Consider your ass bitten. But what can you do about it? Short of going back and begging Mrs. Correct English to instruct you all over again, check out some easy to follow online English sites. A short little google search and you’ll have all the answers you’ll ever need.

Question for Big Daddy B(logger): What has been the hardest thing you had to learn as a blogger?

MJM: The hardest thing I had to learn as a blogger was that we, much like Rodney Dangerfield, got absolutely no respect.

No matter how well our grammar is, or how well the piece was written, it would most likely be overlooked and not giving the credit it deserves because we are nothing more than the crappy bottom feeders of the writing world (aka bloggers).

3. Be real. Seriously. If you try to copy someone else’s style, not only will the originator hate you for life, but nothing you ever post will be taken seriously by your readers. They’ll always wonder who you ripped it off from. Don’t be that blogger. There are too many of them already. And if your face is turning red right about now, you’re probably one of them. Cut it out. Give us an original reason to like or dislike you. As for telling tall tales, everyone has done it a time or two, but don’t try to sell it as gospel. You don’t need to lie to your readers to get them to like you.

Question for The Power Strokin’ Sex Machine: What is your biggest pet peeve about fake bloggers?

MJM: My biggest pet peeve about fake bloggers is that these bitches and bastards actually think their shit doesn’t stink, that they are something special and God’s gift to the world of writing.

This blows my mind considering that they don’t have an original bone in their body or an interesting thing to share, but I guess what they lack in skill they make for in attitude.

4. Ego. Some bloggers are so in your face that you just want to email yourself to their home of residency and have a few offline words with them. And then there are the ones that just don’t realize how incredibly great they are, no matter how much their fans sing their praises.

Question for the Warden of the Asylum: If you had one tiny bit of advice to give a blogger that was suffering from low blogger ego, what would it be?

MJM: My one tiny bit of advice to a blogger that was suffering from low blogger ego would be that if you’re staying true to yourself, and putting everything you got into your work, then you should be proud of the outcome and embrace your work with a smile and the satisfaction of knowing you did your best (it may sound cliché, but it’s true).

I would also caution them to not take themselves too seriously, and to always be open to listen to constructive criticism, because if your head gets too big you may find yourself toppling of that pedestal you so undeservingly put yourself on, and trust me the fall is going to hurt.

5. Why Do You Have To Be So Mean? Some bloggers resort to insulting other bloggers. I don’t know whether it’s because they are insecure in their own blogging abilities, or they just weren’t liked as a kid. Regardless of the reason, it’s not an excuse to insult other bloggers. It’s plain and simple bullying. And we know how most of the world feels about bullies.

Question for our Main Man Michael: If you could tell all the blogger bullies a little sumthin’ sumthin’, let ‘er rip!

MJM: The one thing I would tell those bitch ass blogger bullies would be to step off before you get punched in the throat.

Just because you parents didn’t hug you enough when you were a kid, and you’re writing sucks ass, doesn’t give you the right to trash talk someone else and belittle their work.

Regardless of why you’re doing it, it’s not cool and completely uncalled for…so stop taking out all your insecurities on us you big meanies.

I may not have all the answers, but I know from multiple failures, what doesn’t work. Being original and unique, no matter how vanilla or white bread you are, can really help you to stand out in a crowd. Even without dying your hair purple. So, embrace your voice, find that distinctive personality buried within you, and use your words. But above all else, don’t be afraid. No one has ever died in a horrible blogging accident.

Thursday, July 10, 2014


I knew I loved you before I met you…

I received an email from a person I never met before, who just happened to be a hot chick that seemed to only get her photos taken at Glamour Shots.

S/he first posted a very flattering compliment on my profile pic, I believe it was the word “NICE” followed by two (count them 1-2) exclamation points…what a smooth operator.

Then s/he requested we get to know each other better, so email addresses we exchanged and things quickly got hot and heavy, like a baby’s diaper after eating a nice big meal.

S/he told me she lived overseas, just broke up with her boyfriend and was ready to find a new man, totally sounded legit to me.

S/he was asking for more pictures of me, wanted to know where I lived and of course wanted to know what I did for a living, we were moving along faster than a speeding bullet…and there was no doubt in my mind that I was about to get me some cybersex baby.

I asked her if she wanted pictures of me, or my extra big bank account (oh behave)…I knew s/he wanted my digits, but when I say digits I don’t mean my telephone number, s/he wanted my bank account numbers.

We were wasting time with these pleasantries, and I also knew she was just waiting for me “da man” to make the first move, so that is exactly what I did.

I straight up asked her how she felt about sex, and if she had any nekkid photos of herself (boi oi oing) she could share, just like any good studly dude would do with a hot profile pic.

S/he acted all offended and said, “Now’s not the time to talk about sex”…well I called shenanigans and reminded her what those great poets Salt 'N' Pepa said, “Let's talk about sex, baby…Let's talk about you and me…Let's talk about all the good things…And the bad things that may be”.

Her response back to me was that I wasn’t serious, and that she couldn’t waste time with someone like me, the next thing I knew she was gone, offline like a drunk driver taking a sobriety test on the side of the road.

Now I know we only knew each other for a few hours or so, but I really felt like we connected, as if she was my cyber soul mate.

I now sadly sit at my computer eagerly awaiting the notification ding of a new email, all with the hopes that it is from her, and not some more stupid spam crap trying to sell me on penis enlargement pills.

It’s the end of the world as I know it...

In all seriousness, if any of you men are planning on entertaining this person (or the many others like h(im)er, my advice to you would be "to get a room"...and not one at a motel, but rather one with padded walls.

Come on men; think with the right head for a change and stop doing such stupid things like falling for this kind of crap, you’re making all us intelligent men (yes ladies we do exist, believe it or not) look bad.


Tuesday, July 1, 2014

“The Plus Side to Subtracting One”

Breakups suck, there’s always one person left hurting and wondering why, while the other, is jumping for joy like a person in one of those old Toyota commercials from the 80s.

Sure you lose that certain someone, which may be good or bad depending on what side of the emotional gut punch you were on, but all in all it’s not entirely that bad, especially from a man’s perspective.

There are things that you get back, things that were once labeled as immature and gross, things that were frowned upon and not appreciated in the company of a woman, things that only other dudes would understand and respect.

Here, for your reading pleasure, are some of those things I’m talking about.

We can now pick any hole in your body, including our anus, without receiving condemning stares and/or having to endure a barrage of insults.

We can now play our video games, and with ourselves if we so felt the need, without any interference or someone wanting to talk about feelings and emotions.

We can now adjust our junk freely, no matter where in the house we are, and if we’re having one of those bad junk days, we can walk around in our birthday suit letting it all hang out.

We can now leave skid marks in our undies without worrying about the repercussions, with no more disgusted looks and/or females dry heaving while doing the laundry.

We can now dispel gas from any orifice we like, and as loud as we want, without anyone giving us a hard time or looking at us as if we were an orangutan at the zoo.

We can now eat all foods we couldn’t before, and watch all the movies/televisions shows that were once off limits, for example we could now eat a big bucket of fried chicken while watching wrestling if we so choose to, all without any female interruption.

We can now check out at all the females we want, no more pretending that we were looking at the squirrel in the distance behind the hot blonde in the tight dress with the ass like pow, and the boobs like plow.

We can now freely watch cartoons anytime we want, while not having to pretend we were doing so to spend “quality time” with the children.

We can now take a dump in peace, no more worries about leaving debris in the bowl and/or courtesy flushing mid- movement because people are complaining about our aroma, and we can spend as much time as we want on the throne without someone banging on the door telling us to hurry up.

We can now laugh at all the nasty things we hear, and all the things that aren’t dirty but sound dirty, like when announcer for the football game talks about a player’s ball handling skills. Huh huh

We can now listen to whatever music we want to in the car, no more fighting over the radio station or listening to a chick sing a Michael Bolton song off-key and butcher it (if that’s even possible), all the while telling her she sounds good because we looooooove her.  

Well there you have it fellas, the plus side to subtracting one from your relationship.

I know it’s hard, but take it in stride and get back to being a real man (insert manly grunt here).