You went to the club and expected nothing to come of it. Until – in a drunken haze and a mild case of the horniness – you saw her nursing a cocktail in the shadows. So you talked to her. You forge some sort of half-hearted connection, traded numbers, and went back home to pass out.
The very next day you wake up around noon, pop a few Aspirin, drink your coffee, and take a watery shit. Breakfast is cereal and beer. There’s a football game on TV that you SORELY want to see. Hell, if Chicago covers the point spread, you’ll have rent-money for the next two months.
Settled in with feet kicked up, tortilla chips and more beer in hand, life couldn’t get ANY better.
Phone rings. You check the caller ID. “Who the fuck is this?” you wonder.
“Hello?” you say, chips in mouth and beer in hand.
“Hey, remember me from the club? It’s ME! Blah blah blah blah blah blah! Wow, I had a super-wonderful time last night! It’s so HARD meeting new people! My last boyfriend was SUCH a dick. But you seem SO cool! I already told my friends all about you. By the way, what are you doing later?”
“Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick,” you think, “the fucking GAME is starting!”
What to do? You hardly remember this girl from the night before. Maybe she’s crazy – or even worse: completely fuckin’ normal! You could wake up with a bunny rabbit in the boiling pot. She might drug your ass and Bobbitt your schlong. Yeah, the sex might be tremendous… but it wouldn’t be worth it. It’s almost never worth it.
“Uh, I am kinda busy,” you say (with nacho cheese sauce dripping into your new cell phone), “Can I call you back?”
Silence. Then: “Um, Ok, that sounds—”
Click.
You pick up your cell phone, click on the address book, find her number and erase it. Got a bad feeling from this one.
What was it? Lack of confidence? Yes, but even worse: Desperation. In this fucked-up world, NOTHING scares a single man more than a desperate woman. Someone who says things like: “I’m looking to get married. I want kids. I want a stable man to provide for me.”
The single man screams: “LIKE I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, ALREADY!”
Ladies, please let me tell you something about the single man: He UNDERSTANDS what you want. He has read about it in books, seen it on TV, maybe even been married before and has kids. But DON’T throw yourself out there in a desperate attempt to escape loneliness.
So let’s come back to the initial call back – our single woman’s first mistake. It is best to wait AT LEAST two days before dialing those digits. Give the single dude some time to breathe. Let him wonder and wait. If he doesn’t call you after the first week, THEN give it a try.
Call between 7:30 p.m. and 9:30 p.m. on a weekday. People are usually home then and winding down from work. A phone call would be a welcomed distraction at this stage.
Make the phone call brief, five minutes tops. Touch base, try to make the other person laugh. Remind the dude of a topic you discussed over body shots (if you were lucky enough to do those). Be clever. Don’t set up a date unless he does. If he doesn’t suggest a date, THEN call back before the weekend and ask.
It is ok to be a little aggressive; just don’t be psycho, crazy and desperate.
The first call is the most important step next to a first impression. If you want to seal the deal you have to know who you are signing up with. Do you research ladies, and things will be alright.
And if you STILL can’t meet anybody, just hangout near the condom aisle at the supermarket. SOMEONE will talk to you, eventually. I promise you that.
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Monday, January 12, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Why I Hate Fucking Models
A few years ago I pulled into a Denny’s parking lot late one night with a semi-famous model riding shotgun in the front seat of the Nova-wagon. I needed a few cups of coffee to sober up after a bout with a bottle of Jim Beam, and I figured the dimly lit parking lot might be a nice venue for some impromptu backseat ass-grinding. But the moment I put my beloved wagon in park, the model hopped outside, lit up a cigarette and IMMEDIATELY started yapping about her weight:
“Mr. Nova, does my butt look big? I have to do a photo shoot tomorrow and I SIMPLY MUST fit into a size two! I feel SOOOO fat. Maybe I should go barf up my dinner? That always seems to do the trick. You wanna snort some coke? Shucks, my ass is bulging out like an old tomato! I was SO naughty during lunch – I ate THREE croutons! And it wasn’t even my birthday! What do you think? Is my butt too big?”
My little model looked at me with her sweet, pretty doe-eyes. She was about 5’11” and 95 pounds soaking wet (which she was). She needed to eat something (preferably full of protein – hehehe) soon or I feared she would fade away, not unlike a fart on a windy beach. I couldn’t help but give her an honest answer:
“Too BIG?! Your butt is not big ENOUGH! I try to feed ya, but you are always complaining about your stupid diet! And I swear, if you throw up one of those sandwiches again I am going to dump your ass and fuck your sister!”
She then got this sad look and turned her skeletal-back away from me. “Why do you have to be so mean to me, Nova? First you make me dress up like a nurse to play ‘What Are You Hiding from Your Doctor?’ and now you tell me I have to eat those stupid sandwiches. I just don’t understand…”
“First of all, NEVER insult one of my sandwiches EVER again. My sandwiches RULE. Second of all, maybe if you were eating properly I’d be a lot nicer. I would call you sugar-ass and bang you out real good – but who wants to fuck a goalpost? You’re so damn skinny, your tits have vanished! From your bellybutton to your neck, you look like my little brother!”
She started to cry and I felt bad. I tried to cheer her up: “C’mon, baby, I was just venting. My PlayStation broke and I’m in a bad mood. ‘Sides, I can at LEAST call you doe-eyes and treat you to the dinner special at Denny’s. You just need to get some back cuz’ you know how much Daddy Nova loves a nice ass to smack!”
With that I spanked her on her left butt-cheek. It was so bony that there was no bouncy cushion for me to protect myself. I reeled back in horror as my hand throbbed from the impact. And the girl was such a waif that she flew 20 feet forward. A pie-eating, porkchop-looking cop inside of Denny’s saw the whole thing and arrested me for assault. You talk about a bad day – a wasted sandwich, a wounded hand, AND a night in the slammer. (Seriously – who THE FUCK is SHE to criticize one of MY sandwiches?)
All this happened because I wanted to date a model.
Why do I do it to myself, my Novanites? Why do I punish myself during my constant quest for sexual gratification? If I start fucking a model I always end up bored and desperate for a plate of Buffalo Wings with a cold, frothy beer to wash them down! There’s just something about seeing an anorexic person naked that makes a guy desperate to eat.
It is my own fault, really. I meet a model and think that it might be fun to fuck her for awhile. Maybe it is the mystique of banging out supposed premium, highly-sought-after snatch. It might even be that it is a challenge to fuck what most guys think that they can’t have (oh, if you have drugs, fellas, you can get them). More often than not, however, it is because I am trapped in a vicious cycle where I go after extremely boring but halfway-attractive women. I have hope that these vacant mental parking lots in high heels will one day surprise me with a spark of life in their glazed-over but inviting eyes.
Until then I have compiled a list of grievances with the models that have left my Nova-jang feeling cold:
1. Models are too concerned with their looks.
Alright, this is an obvious observation, but if you want to look at these whores objectively, sometimes you have to state the facts – plain and simple. Models rely too heavily on their appearance, thereby reducing their capacity to be great fucks. By only concentrating on THEMSELVES they lose the potential to satisfy another (especially when you try to have a threesome with a model and another girl).
2. Models have bony poon.
You ever try to bang out one of these model bitches? It is like trying to fuck a skeleton. No meat on the bones! No cushion for the pushin’! Nova needs his bitch to have a phat ass! How the hell am I supposed to bounce off of some chic after I use the old jang-a-bang with my wang hanging out technique?
Eat some fucking food you dirty sluts! Which leads us to…
3. Models don’t like food, which in turn means they make horrible sandwiches.
4. Models give terrible blowjobs.
If a photo shoot is happening the next day, forget about even getting a half-assed hummer, let alone a full-out suck-fest. A model will worry about lines around her mouth and possible blood vessel breaks on her tongue.
Don’t even bother, fellas. The only thing going in a model’s mouth is cigarettes, speed, and laxatives.
5. Models don’t give a shit about you when you go with them to parties.
These bitches will ditch you right away at a social event. They want to be the center of attention and won’t even feel obligated to introduce you to anyone. It is best to get drunk off your ass before you go and then hit on her friends. At least then you can get her attention… along with her scorn…
So my Students of Novanometry, let’s review:
1. Models suck… although not very well.
2. Your beloved Novanator is better off finding bitches that will worship the ground he walks on, fix some nice sandwiches and bring him beer from the fridge without complaining.
3. No matter how hot a chic looks, it is better to have a bitch with a nice ass than a pretty face. I mean, how often are you looking at a girl’s FACE anyway?
4. Giving into a model’s demands for time, money, and attention will make you less of a man.
I hope this helps you out. Next time you meet a model, beware of her intentions and always make sure you hide your wallet away.
Remember, these bitches are PAID to smile.
“Mr. Nova, does my butt look big? I have to do a photo shoot tomorrow and I SIMPLY MUST fit into a size two! I feel SOOOO fat. Maybe I should go barf up my dinner? That always seems to do the trick. You wanna snort some coke? Shucks, my ass is bulging out like an old tomato! I was SO naughty during lunch – I ate THREE croutons! And it wasn’t even my birthday! What do you think? Is my butt too big?”
My little model looked at me with her sweet, pretty doe-eyes. She was about 5’11” and 95 pounds soaking wet (which she was). She needed to eat something (preferably full of protein – hehehe) soon or I feared she would fade away, not unlike a fart on a windy beach. I couldn’t help but give her an honest answer:
“Too BIG?! Your butt is not big ENOUGH! I try to feed ya, but you are always complaining about your stupid diet! And I swear, if you throw up one of those sandwiches again I am going to dump your ass and fuck your sister!”
She then got this sad look and turned her skeletal-back away from me. “Why do you have to be so mean to me, Nova? First you make me dress up like a nurse to play ‘What Are You Hiding from Your Doctor?’ and now you tell me I have to eat those stupid sandwiches. I just don’t understand…”
“First of all, NEVER insult one of my sandwiches EVER again. My sandwiches RULE. Second of all, maybe if you were eating properly I’d be a lot nicer. I would call you sugar-ass and bang you out real good – but who wants to fuck a goalpost? You’re so damn skinny, your tits have vanished! From your bellybutton to your neck, you look like my little brother!”
She started to cry and I felt bad. I tried to cheer her up: “C’mon, baby, I was just venting. My PlayStation broke and I’m in a bad mood. ‘Sides, I can at LEAST call you doe-eyes and treat you to the dinner special at Denny’s. You just need to get some back cuz’ you know how much Daddy Nova loves a nice ass to smack!”
With that I spanked her on her left butt-cheek. It was so bony that there was no bouncy cushion for me to protect myself. I reeled back in horror as my hand throbbed from the impact. And the girl was such a waif that she flew 20 feet forward. A pie-eating, porkchop-looking cop inside of Denny’s saw the whole thing and arrested me for assault. You talk about a bad day – a wasted sandwich, a wounded hand, AND a night in the slammer. (Seriously – who THE FUCK is SHE to criticize one of MY sandwiches?)
All this happened because I wanted to date a model.
Why do I do it to myself, my Novanites? Why do I punish myself during my constant quest for sexual gratification? If I start fucking a model I always end up bored and desperate for a plate of Buffalo Wings with a cold, frothy beer to wash them down! There’s just something about seeing an anorexic person naked that makes a guy desperate to eat.
It is my own fault, really. I meet a model and think that it might be fun to fuck her for awhile. Maybe it is the mystique of banging out supposed premium, highly-sought-after snatch. It might even be that it is a challenge to fuck what most guys think that they can’t have (oh, if you have drugs, fellas, you can get them). More often than not, however, it is because I am trapped in a vicious cycle where I go after extremely boring but halfway-attractive women. I have hope that these vacant mental parking lots in high heels will one day surprise me with a spark of life in their glazed-over but inviting eyes.
Until then I have compiled a list of grievances with the models that have left my Nova-jang feeling cold:
1. Models are too concerned with their looks.
Alright, this is an obvious observation, but if you want to look at these whores objectively, sometimes you have to state the facts – plain and simple. Models rely too heavily on their appearance, thereby reducing their capacity to be great fucks. By only concentrating on THEMSELVES they lose the potential to satisfy another (especially when you try to have a threesome with a model and another girl).
2. Models have bony poon.
You ever try to bang out one of these model bitches? It is like trying to fuck a skeleton. No meat on the bones! No cushion for the pushin’! Nova needs his bitch to have a phat ass! How the hell am I supposed to bounce off of some chic after I use the old jang-a-bang with my wang hanging out technique?
Eat some fucking food you dirty sluts! Which leads us to…
3. Models don’t like food, which in turn means they make horrible sandwiches.
4. Models give terrible blowjobs.
If a photo shoot is happening the next day, forget about even getting a half-assed hummer, let alone a full-out suck-fest. A model will worry about lines around her mouth and possible blood vessel breaks on her tongue.
Don’t even bother, fellas. The only thing going in a model’s mouth is cigarettes, speed, and laxatives.
5. Models don’t give a shit about you when you go with them to parties.
These bitches will ditch you right away at a social event. They want to be the center of attention and won’t even feel obligated to introduce you to anyone. It is best to get drunk off your ass before you go and then hit on her friends. At least then you can get her attention… along with her scorn…
So my Students of Novanometry, let’s review:
1. Models suck… although not very well.
2. Your beloved Novanator is better off finding bitches that will worship the ground he walks on, fix some nice sandwiches and bring him beer from the fridge without complaining.
3. No matter how hot a chic looks, it is better to have a bitch with a nice ass than a pretty face. I mean, how often are you looking at a girl’s FACE anyway?
4. Giving into a model’s demands for time, money, and attention will make you less of a man.
I hope this helps you out. Next time you meet a model, beware of her intentions and always make sure you hide your wallet away.
Remember, these bitches are PAID to smile.
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