The Nicest Guy and His Lonely Penis HTML version
Now, wouldn’t that be easier? Look at the time it would save. If there are certain
instructions I can’t follow, I’ll kindly return the manual and dive back into the estrogen pool.
My manual is simple. Just keep your fingers out of my belly button. No, you’re not allowed
to ask why. I am not a freak. Maybe a weird uncle violated me. Find something else to diddle.
Oh, and keep your damn tongue out of my ear. Who likes that anyway? I’m getting heebie-
jeebies just typing this.
Some of the embarrassment an instruction manual would save includes:
“Oh my God, he totally tried to... ”
“She has hairy nipples: hairier than mine. How does that happen?”
“He sleeps with his dog. In fact, he spoons with his dog. God help me.”
“I was brushing my teeth, and she came in and sat on the pot right next to me ... mid-
“He has more porn than novels, and I found a Costco-sized tube of Astroglide in his
“She licked the roof of my mouth and at one point I think our molars touched. How is
“I caught him shaving his taint ... with my razor.”
Consider all the alcohol and cell minutes saved by knowing which buttons to push. Start
assembling your manual today. I suggest a spiral binding and lamination. I have my highlighter
and tool ready.
Trying on Shoes
That’s my dating life. I apologize in advance. This essay is filled with self-deprecation and
is not an indictment of anyone I have dated (or will soon date) who happens to have done the
precarious thing of buying this book. There are numerous comfortable, classy, and attractive
shoes that I’ll never own. Similarly, there are many women that don’t fit. So, this shouldn't be
offensive. Oh, how I hate feigning political correctness. Go ahead, laugh, or be offended. I’m
just here to get a reaction anyway.
So, how is my dating life like trying on shoes? Well, I seem to have no problem finding
awesome shoes and I’m fortunate enough to afford most of them. I can’t seem to find any that fit.
I know, I know ... I should wear them for a while and break them in. Well, what if I invest all
that time and end up with bunions? It’s best to try on a variety of shoes, take home ones that fit,
and give them away when they cause discomfort.
Here are some interesting parallels between my shoes and my women:
I admire them even when I can’t have them.
I’m overconfident that they’d look better on me.
Some are best at certain events only.
My friends love to criticize mine, but they’re just jealous and have awful taste.
I don’t let my mother pick them out for me.
Sometimes older ones are softer, more comfortable, and easier to slip in and out of.
Flashy, loud ones are usually more expensive and wear out more quickly.
Ones I find online rarely arrive as advertised.
Athletic ones seem to get dirty more quickly.