My Fantasy Football teams are garbage.

My teams are great on paper but can't get it together to pull out a W. Week one was solid. Ensuing weeks have sucked engorged donkey genitalia. Watching their regression makes me want to throw up. It's as if my teams and the food I've eaten have conspired against me and established an esophageal recapture program. Despite my attempts to turn this anti-gravy train around, my teams have parlayed their suckiness with injuries. Nice job ladies.

I believe this post in many ways illustrates my proclivity for nerdism. Yee haw!!!

I am so tired.....

I can’t wait to make sweet love to my bed by way of sleeping in it.

In reference to a previous post.

A quick inequality for ya.

Chubbies ≠ chubbies.

Yeah, that was a boner joke. In that same vein , shouldn't cougars be called chubby chasers? They seem more apt to chase wood.

How can I make this work for my monetary benefit?

I need to discover a way to turn my ability to attract psychotic, stalker women into financial gain. I am so good there has to be a way to make some good money from it. If A-Rod can make $28 million a year from his gift to play baseball, I should be able to rake in at least a few mil a year from my gift. Yes, if playing baseball and ability to attract stalkers were equally paid, I would be making $28 million a year plus endorsements too. Do any of you nonexistent readers have any ideas? Me neither, but when I do I'll buy my mom something nice. Maybe I'll charge them to stalk me. Maybe somehow tap into the scrap booking market because I'm making them a killing from all the scrapbook material I provide my stalkers. They have myriads of scrapbooks detailing my every move, scratch and second of sleep.

Love life??

The other day I was asked how my love life was. I said I don't even have a like life.

Why is it called chubby chasing?

I don't believe there to be any element of chasing involved. Shouldn't it be called big game hunting instead? No, that's not it either. Hunting would mean they are able to escape or able to blend into their surroundings. It wouldn't be like finding Waldo because they'd be the only thing in your purview. I'm neither pro nor anti-heavies; I just don't understand the reference. How about "brotha bait?" Not unless you were trying to catch a brotha, which is not cool. Was that used to entice Africans to come to America as slaves? I don't know, don't be racist. Meanwhile, let's just call it what it is: hustling heavies, porking pork, entertaining elephants, boinking blimps, banging biggies, f-ing fatties, drilling dinosaurs, burrowing burrows (or beasts,) doing diesels. Whichever you select, I wish you luck "O lover of gargantuan women." Remember to bring your flour to assist you in finding that elusive wet spot. Good luck Lewis or Clark (whichever you prefer.)

Funniest thing I've ever heard.

Ha ha ha. I was told to act normal by a bona fide psychotic girl. Ha ha ha. You have to appreciate the irony.

I call B.S.

Whatever limited ability women think they have to multi-task does not translate to operating motor vehicles. Their inability to adhere to speed limits, follow at safe distances, talk on the phone, use a turn signal, turn off turn signal on the rare occasion it is used, etc. at the same time is absurd. If it weren't for men's ability to detect women drivers and avoid their crazy, mindless driving, there would be a whole lot more accidents. The only reason men get in wrecks is when they're graciously, chivalrously trying to avoid women smashing into them. Why again is insurance higher for guys?

After driving for a few days, weeks, months (whatever your learning curve is) driving becomes second nature and is performed without much brain input. As is their nature, women somehow complicate this ease and hide behind the misconception that women can multi-task. One fried told me that all muti-tasking means is that you can't concentrate on one thing. Well said. Did you hear that women? Quit thinking that means you can do many things well at the same time. It's a fallacy. Quit empowering yourselves with this false belief when all you do is consistently prove it wrong. Maybe it's the cell phone fused to your ear and face that fowls up the simple sequences of driving. Women are horrible drivers. They follow too close, brake too hard, drive unsmoothly. I feel like I need to call everybody I love and tell them I love them one last time before stepping in the car with a woman before she takes that chance away from me, or at least where a mouthpiece to avoid teeth breakage from the jostling I receive. Why don't you women pay attention to anyone else on the road? Other drivers are not your subjects and don't have to yield to you to your law breakin ass nor predict your unpredictable, idiotic driving decisions, be it cutting people off, merging into non-existent, occupied spaces , and so forth.

Also women, cars are not men. They are not to be abused, uncared for, beat to hell, and uncleaned. Think of them as a baby. They need to be nurtured, loved, washed and fed with gas, oil, windshield wiper fluid, antifreeze, etc. Take any woman's car and you will see a true testament of man's ability to build something durable and able to withstand the most excruciating punishment imaginable, next to marriage. You're welcome ungrateful women. When we give you a car it is not similar to how you treat our hearts. Please respect them, car and hearts equally. Love them. Value them. No more wiping your dirty ass with them.

Mothers!

Your children are now safe again. The mustachioed man shaved his upper lip. I am now sans stache. Much like Sampson, any power I had ever attained disappeared with a clipping sound similar to a hungry wood chipper with a big redwood being crammed in its mouth. I should have worn protective eyewear because the hair clippings were like hot shards of glass striking my retinas and face. I miss it and I know it misses me.

Make no mistake ladies, mustache rides are still available.* No need to sign up, just mount up.** Anytime. Anyplace.

*Ask about our frequent rider miles
**Please consult weight restrictions before.

Weight Restrictions
No fat chicks. No exceptions. If you're wondering if you are fat, you're fat and needn't attempt.

What is that magical feeling I'm feeling right now?

Oh that's just my mustache being all mustachey.....and awesome.

Want to see the best mustache video clip ever? Click below.

http://www.brightcove.tv/title.jsp?title=1232221362&channel=1214627974

You're welcome in advance.

Nice!

I apologize for the numerous postings lately. I impute these wonderful/horrible (you pick) ideas to recently endowing myself with a powerful mustache. Tom Selleck’s got nothing on me. His stache can only dream dreams of being as awesome and glorious as mine. Burn Tom Selleck. Tom, perhaps when your balls drop you'll be able to grow a real mustache.

Farewell Brother!

My friend J is moving to Seattle to go to graduate school. Very rarely does one encounter an individual as cool as this guy and have the prestigious honor of calling him a friend. Easing the loss is the knowledge that he's gonna be more than fine. Do you ever meet people that are so amazing that you just look at them and know the world is their pearl laden oyster? There is a dearth of people like this and I’m grateful for the chance I’ve had to get to know one. Well wishes holmes. Enjoy running through those Seattle hoochies. Hopefully there's not a high concentration of unshaven hippy chicks that would dissuade you from this worthy goal. Giddy up!

How boring.

My ring finger remains naked thusly preventing my body from being naked.

Bummer

I’m not prone to depression. When I feel a certain way, my analytical mind explores the cavernous depths of things and oft times spelunks way too far. You probably already knew that from my overactive imagination evident in my stories. Realize that I’m simply venting and exploring these feelings and not trying to clandestinely conceal some undisclosed depression.

I guess I’m not mad at women. I’m mad at the lame repetitive interaction I have with each of them. Each interaction can be described using the same word. Awkward. If one were to examine my uninspiring dating history over the last 5 years, one would put their arms around me, pat my back and try their damndest to console me. No swaying while hugging though. I hate how some girls do that. We’re not dancing. You’re not a buoy in an unruly ocean getting arbitrarily tossed about by the ocean’s whim. When you hug, imagine yourself firmly rooted to the ground and straighten your back as if lifting something. Don’t swivel your spine like a snake does to locomote itself. You’re not a stiff board though so don’t be a douche. Get in close and take care of business. Gentle bear hugs are best. Don’t lift them up like some Greco Roman wrestler though, creep.

Anyway, no matter the dating reactants (women), the same product ensues. Each and every product results in an ever expanding disdain. Recently these culminated into an insatiable black hole of frustration. It’s like frustration anthropomorphically coalesced itself into human form and displaced the usual me. Looking back it seems like a common theme doesn’t it? Inward and outward. Wait, was that a sex joke? I believe it was. Amazing, he took “onward and upward” and transformed it into a sex joke. I’m awestruck and somehow unexpectedly turned on. What the hell just happened?

Any former adeptness I had ever attained regarding women has sadly eroded away over the past 5 years much like a majestic mountain after many billions or trillions of years have elapsed. It sucks because my main hobby used to be women. It used to be so casual and carefree but now seems to have evolved into a cyclic frustrating mechanism. I don’t know how to escape. I feel like I’m a hybrid of diametrically opposed ideologies; the old me and the me that I don’t want to become but feel myself drifting toward like some vagrant comet being gravitationally pulled toward a star. I miss aspects of the old me. I feel my demeanor toward dating and women has strayed from playing it by ear to a long term outlook. Gradually, imperceptibly I have errantly conformed to the LDS way of dating; much to my chagrin. I have always tried to be the comfortable outlier to the LDS dating collective but when you are immersed in something for 5 years how can one hope to not become partially assimilated? I don’t like it. I want to go back to the way I was but find myself unable. It’s been so long that it’s not comfortable anymore. I feel like an unqualified douche when it comes to dating narcolepsy inducing LDS women or normal, non-LDS women. I don’t know what to do anymore. Never has a more sad realization ever distilled upon a person's mind.

A simple useless, factual formula.

I want you to be a smarter person. The only plausible way I could think to aid you is to provide you with this:

A = 1/B

A = Any hope for meeting a cool girl.
B = The number of attractive girls I meet.

From this simple formula, we extrapolate that A and B are inversely related. As A increases, B gets smaller. As B increases, A gets smaller. Using substitution we create two disappointing sentences. As any hope for meeting a cool girl increases, the number of attractive girls I meet decreases. As the number of attractive girls I meet increases, any hope for meeting a cool girl decreases.

Sadly fact cannot be disproven. Does anyone have any spare anti-depressants? I'm vacillating between crying and laughing at my sad, undesired reality.

Warning to all women and mothers!!

Me + Molest-ache* = Not attractive

*Molest-ache is a hella creepy mustache that can't be referred to a moustache because of its creepy nature.

It may be a hideous caterpillar looking thing now but it will soon be a beautiful butterfly of moustachedness.

Oh and by the way women......

You can't sing! At all. So shut the hell up!!

Girls must think I am a music producer disguised as a good looking guy who travels incognito looking for the next big singing talent. Sitting next to me does not equate to a singing audition. It is, however, the best way to get your larynx kicked in repeatedly. I know 99% of women can't sing. Please stop increasing that percentage by singing next to me, in my vicinity, within earshot, or eyeshot for that matter. I don't want to see you singing and have my brain mistakenly fill in the horrible notes I know someone within earshot of you is suffering from. When music is on in the background, car, restaurant, elevator, anywhere, that is NOT a cue for you to begin singing. Please let me enjoy or not enjoy the song as sung by its original singer. Your voice makes a magical song unbearable. No amount of singing makes you any better. In fact, it makes you worse. Each time I suffer mercilessly from another tone deaf cow, I mentally add another reason to destroy them.

Please women!! A simple request from a simple man. Do not sing, hum, tap your finger/foot to the beat when you're around me. Just listen. I'm not going to spontaneously rip off my good looking guy disguise and furnish you with some lucrative recording contract. The only document I can think of to supply you with would be a restraining order if you don't cease and desist with the auditory assault.

Chalk me up for another retirement.

I've always considered myself a hopeless romantic. No recent event has made me redact the statement, just a painful realization.......that I am indeed one, well, half of one......the hopeless half.

F@*# women. You all suck. (The non-fellatio variety unfortunately.) Pardon the discrimination. Allow me to correct my faux paux. F@*# everyone.

Retirement is the wrong word. I give up. Caring is too hard. The fact that this confession forever prevents me from being a Care Bear only augments the pain.