Wednesday, August 29, 2012

RNC and the Five Stages of Grief

As many of you know, we're elbow deep into the Republican National Convention. Obviously my prayers for Hurricane Isaac to blow through Tampa like Marcus Bachmann during fleet week went unanswered.

Oh well, you can't win 'em all.

If anything positive has come from the old, rich, white guy Olympics, better known as the RNC, it's that we finally have a confirmed Republican presidential nominee.

Yep, Mittens McMagic Underpants will try to convince enough people that he is likable. And Paul Ryan will continue to spit on rape victims while polishing his dead eyes.

It really is an exciting time for everyone.

Except me.

I've tried, guys, really I have, but my pain threshold just isn't what it used to be. Every time I try to watch coverage, I end up going through the five stages of grief.

DENIAL: This cannot be happening to me.

ANGER: Yes, Ann, he's totally a self-made man, you fucking twat-waffle!!

BARGAINING: Herman Cain wasn't that bad. Can we get him back? I swear to turn in my frequent aborter card. 

DEPRESSION: I give up. I don't need equality. I just need to lie in bed for awhile and eat this pint of Ben and Jerry's.

ACCEPTANCE: I can accept this! I can accept this! Trickle-down economics? Are you fucking kidding me?!

And then the cycle starts all over.

Hopefully, you guys are enjoying the RNC coverage more than me. Let me know if there's any good drinking games helping you get through this trying time.

I'm going to go watch Pretty Woman now and try to remember a simpler time when venture capitalists looked like Richard Gere and romanced hookers, instead of attempting to hold office.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Help! My Wife Sucks. But Not Literally.

 Dear Allie,

While most of your readers are probably 20-somethings, I'm a bit older but just as clueless.

My wife and I have been together for 10 years, and while she had more than a few partners before we met (including one marriage), she was my first. She is also 10 years older than me and we're reaching *middle age*. Sex has gone from twice a week to maybe once a quarter; when she's done, she is DONE and I have to fend for myself; she won't try anything different to help me; she won't help orally or handily because "my jaw hurts" or "my hand hurts".

I do love her, I won't leave her or cheat on her, and talking things out fully clothed has not helped. Am I just stuck fending for myself?

Tired of Fending

Ahh shit. This is going to be serious, isn't it?

I don't know if I mentioned this lately, but I have absolutely zero qualifications in the advice-giving field. I make lattes with my college degree, so obviously there's a lapse in judgement there somewhere.

So Fending, take this as a disclaimer: I make coffee for a living, so I cannot in good conscience tell you TO LEAVE YOUR WIFE. But if I had like a certificate from the University of Phoenix or that online school Shannon Doherty is always running her mouth about, I'd probably tell you TO LEAVE YOUR WIFE. But I don't. So I can't.

Fending, I get it. I've been with my significant other for nearly 10 years and sometimes it literally takes everything I have to not punch him in the throat when he starts wagging his dick at me. Sometimes living a life with someone is a sexual buzz kill. It's like, "Why would I want to get naked and start the revolution with you, when I'm still trying to forget about the pubic hair forest I had to clean off the toilet seat?" Long-Term relationships aren't always sexy.

But, as I've said before and will repeat again, SEX IS IMPORTANT. And denying your spouse access to sex, when sex was previously on the table, leads to hurt feelings, resentment, and writing to strangers on the Internet.

You said you've already talked to her. You said you won't cheat on her. You said you won't leave her.

Well, dollface, sounds like you don't have a whole lot of options. I don't know the situation, maybe you guys have children, maybe she's heir to an oil fortune. But I do know that if something doesn't change, you'll put $50 in the hands of a Craigslist hooker without a jawbone.

Maybe you need to tell the wife that. And then try to hammer out some terms that will get laid more frequently, either by her or someone else.

But then again, I'm in no way qualified to give this advice.

P.S. If after reading this you think, "I'd like to have sex with a hooker without a jawbone." Then write to me at You will remain anonymous!

Monday, August 20, 2012

Todd Akin Gives Us a Biology Lesson.

Oh, Todd Akin.

I take one week off of blogging and basic biology gets a total overhaul. Let's bone up, shall we?

If you have been living under a rock, Rep. Todd Akin (R-Mo.) was asked in an interview Sunday if he supported abortion in cases of rape.

It appears the GOP Senate nominee somehow confused female reproduction with the self-destructing message from the Mission Impossible movies.

"If it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways
 to try to shut that whole thing down."

This fertilized egg will detonate in 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1.

I had absolutely no idea that this kind of technology was lying dormant in my lady parts. Looks like I need to go put on my best "come rape me outfit" and try this puppy out.

Good looking out, Rep. Akin. I'm going to make the assumption that since women come standard with this feature, abortion is absolutely off of the table, right? But let me play feminazi's advocate, what if there's a defect and a "legitimately raped" woman became pregnant, could she obtain an abortion then?

"Let's assume maybe that didn't work or something. 
I think there should be some punishment, 
but the punishment ought to be on the rapist."

Oh. So we can punish the rapist. But the victim still has to go through with the pregnancy, because the cluster of cells spawned from what would likely be the most traumatic experience of any woman's life, is more important than a her free will.

That's seems completely legitimate.

Speaking of legitimate, Rep. Akin, what exactly defines a "legitimate rape"? Is it a rape that requires two forms of identification and a notary present? 

Or is "legitimate rape" just one of those anti-abortion buzzwords that excludes things like date rape and spousal rape? But you wouldn't want to actually say something like that, you'd sound like a misogynistic asshole.

Well thanks for the biology lesson, Todd. I feel bad for all those faulty woman who became pregnant after being raped. 

But not nearly as bad as I feel for your wife. Because if you honestly think this bullshit is true, then it's safe to assume that you have no clue what a clitoris is, you fucking moron.

Good luck on your botched Senate campaign and subsequent Crystal Meth addiction.

Monday, August 6, 2012

[Not So] Poor Little Tink Tink

I love the Olympics.

Not because I'm athletic. Or patriotic. Or enjoy watching people live out their dreams.

No, I mainly watch because male swimmers have a Viagra-like effect on me. I would literally let Michael Phelps R. Kelly on me while Ryan Lochte did some Rex Ryan shit with a camera. (For anyone unfamiliar with those two events, R. Kelly famously urinated on a girl and Rex Ryan shot foot fetish clips featuring his wife. Moving on.)

Well, that was my old reasoning.

Has anyone seen Oscar Pistorius? The first double-amputee to compete in the Olympic games. Yeah, the mother-fucker with no legs who runs like a beautiful gazelle with boomarang feet.

I watched Pistorius run the 400 meter last night and it was easily the most inspiring event I've ever witnessed. I immediately started questioning my own abilities, looking down at my fully-functioning legs, and realizing that I can never bitch about anything again. Ever.

I'm running my first race in September and have been struggling with the frequency of my runs-- dragging myself out of bed, lacing up my sneakers, and eagerly awaiting the end of each session.

"I'd rather be dead," I think, pounding away on the treadmill. "I would rather vote a straight Republican ticket than run for one more minute."

But then I watched Pistorius, and something changed. Running hasn't quite become fun, but I am thankful that I can do it.

Damn you, Olympics. Your inspirational framing of athletes got to me. But that doesn't mean I'll stop wanting to sleep with Ryan Lochte and Michael Phelps, it just means I'll want to throw Oscar Pistorius in the mix, as well.

Side Note: Comedian Katt Williams has a hysterical bit about Pistorius. If you've never watched "Poor Little Tink Tink" stop what you're doing and hit play.