It's Tough Out There for a Gentleman

So I'm walking out of the mens' room yesterday at the office, and just ahead of me, walking out of the womens' room, is one of the premier office hotties. Let's call her L.

Naturally, my eyes descend to her hindquarters -- which are quite remarkable, I might add -- where I see, to my horror, that she's trailing about a foot and a half of toilet paper from the back of her skirt.

And suddenly I'm faced with a dilemma:

If I call her on it, I'm the perv who's checking out a fellow worker below the waist (which, any good HR person will tell you, simply isn't allowed. It's best to think of your coworkers as disembodied heads that you only need make eye contact with to ask about the McClasky file or Sheila in Purchasing's birthday).

If I don't... well, I guess I'm a sort of tool for letting her walk onto the floor, amongst all her catty female colleagues, with a paper tail.

So I cleared my throat and called her on it. And she swiped it away, embarrassed but thankful.

As I saw it, I'm already the office perv. I sure as fuck don't want to be a tool as well.

Never Underestimate the Power of the Finger Smoothie

So I'm out last night after work and I run into the Kenette v2002. She, recognizing me for the hobo that I am, offered up some of her pizza and beer. And within a half hour we were on the Last Train to Sloshedville and reminiscing about "back in the day."

That's all well and good. It's nice to sit down with your former paramours and have a civil conversation that doesn't involve knifeplay. But at one point, I noticed she had a fine string of cheese hanging from her mouth down her chin. Ever the gentleman, I moved to whisk it away, and as my hand approached, she took one of my fingers into her mouth, instantly applying a four second "finger smoothie." She then giggled and got back to munching her pizza. I sat with a flustered look on my face and my cock slowly snaking its way up my trousers.

Ladies, what I need to tell you is that the "finger smoothie" must only be used on those occasions in which you actually plan to give the actual owner of said finger an actual blowjob. When done purely for the amusement of it, as was the case with Kenette v2002, it's just a tease. A damn good one, might I add. But still a tease. A painful, man-I've-got-to-get-home-and-wank-myself-into-oblivion kinda tease.

The "finger smoothie," at least in my book, is and should always tantamount to the real McCoy. Am I right?

Ladies, Your Dream Men Are Here

It's pretty much an established fact that women can get laid whenever they damn well please. As Jerry Seinfeld so eloquently put it, "Women are in charge of sex. If men were in charge of sex, women would never see the insides of restaurants."

Lately, though, I'm seeing a bit of a power-shift. Guys who look like they'd be uncomfortable fingering anything but a Texas Instruments calculator are walking around with fine-ass ladies. Women flood dating sites looking for "Seth Rogen and Zack Galifianakis types." Bill in accounting is banging a former stripper.

Apparently, this is an international phenomenon. Because a recent poll of 2,500 women in the UK revealed that their two biggest turn-ons were unkempt guys with facial hair and geeks. Also among the most desired were guys who cry at sappy films (holla!) and guys who are "soft and cuddly instead of toned and muscly."

I don't see "pale, tattooed, sardonic Irishmen" on that list, but I won't let it bring me down. I'm just gonna up my Hostess Fruit Pie intake, throw away the Gillette Sensor and wait for the pussy to find me.

I'll be right here. Just so you know.

Easier Money. Or Is It?

I spend a lot of time, perhaps too much time, trying to think of ways to line my pockets. And by that I mean get paid for doing next to nothing.

Because that's everyone's dream, is it not?

I recently had to come up with a grand. I won't get into details but let's just say I enjoy having both my legs and needed the money to keep them intact. While I probably should have went to the casino, my first instinct was, "Hey, sperm bank."

See, this is what makes this country so amazing. Here, they are willing to pay me for something I do roughly six times a day anyway for free. Unfortunately, unlike the fantasy that's played out in my mind a million times, there's no hot nurse looking to "assist" in obtaining my sample. No closed-circuit cameras fixed on exotic Asian "gentleman clubs." Just a fifty-something dude in a shirt and Dockers who hands me some vials. I expect to have that thousand bucks by tomorrow.

Oh, and if I don't return calls, I died of carpal tunnel.

The Type of Party I Never Seem to Get Invited To

No idea what the ladies in this photo are doing. But, honestly, so long as they'd be willing to let me watch, I could care less.