Everyone Is Entitled To My Opinion

OK, Mr. Fink or Ms. Hooker, you’ve lived your whole life with mean people mocking your silly name. Really – what could you do? If Mom and Dad were too proud or too dumb to change it before you were born, you went through grade after grade with kids laughing their asses off whenever your name was called – which probably was every day during ‘attendance.’

So you finally got out from under their cloud and started dating. If you were at least semi-intelligent and sober, wouldn’t you RUN from any potential mate who could make your goofy name sound even funnier than it did at roll call? And, despite all of this, some of you stubbornly insisted on HYPHENATING your names even though you must have known you would be rolling laugh riots to everyone you met.

Here are some engagement announcements. If these people even THINK about a hyphenated last name, you’ll know their combined IQ score could be beaten by any can of peas.

Human test trials for the male birth control pill are now going on in England.  The research money spent on this stupid project was wasted.

WOMEN – here’s a hypothetical test: say you meet a really hot guy at a cool party. There aren’t any telltale tan lines of a wedding ring on his finger. He looks like he works out almost as much as you do. He’s clean and kind of good-looking. He’s actually asked you three questions about your life and only spent about three quarters of the time talking about himself.

A bouncing boobed bimbo shakes on by and he never takes his eyes off you. Bingo! You’re slightly drunk – so you invite him back to your apartment “to talk.” When he actually pays for the cab ride and gives the driver a good tip, you think – “should we rush a June wedding….or wait another month?”

As soon as you enter your apartment, passion melts the wallpaper! Clothes fly everywhere and at one point in the melee, you kiss your own forearm! After tumbling into bed, you open the drawer in your night stand, take out a condom and hurriedly hand it to your new lover.

He smiles and says, “I really don’t need that, Baby – I’m on the male birth control pill.”

WOMEN, Do you say …….

A. “Wow! You really DO have a great sense of humor!” or

B. “You HAVE to – I don’t want to get HIV again!” or

C. “Geez – I thought only prison inmates said that!” or

D. “Right. How selfish of me to put an unwanted pregnancy before your minute and a half of pleasure!”

Male birth control pills will become viable only when women trust men enough to put down the toilet seat every night.

About two or three times a year, I see a thong or panties casually lying on a sidewalk or in a parking lot.  My mind spins.  I imagine a beautiful woman, in the heat of a passionate moment, tearing them from her body, tossing them out the open car window, and immediately resuming whatever hot activity in which she was engaged with whomever or by herself.

My lovers told me I have one hell of an imagination and “dream on”.  But at least I didn’t pick up the lingerie or anything.  You might not be so lucky.

Recently MSNBC did an investigative “undercover” story about women returning USED underwear to the store from which they were purchased.  Say what?  USED, flimsy intimate garments back on those padded hangers?  You’ve got it, Skippy – USED underwear!  In ongoing tests, the news group put various chemicals and stains on the delicates and tried to exchange them or get their money back.  In many cases they were successful.

Not all women were totally grossed out.  The reason?  Many ladies said they wash new undies BEFORE they put them on – right out of the package.  Some said it was because of chemicals or dyes – but many said they were just “making sure.”

Making sure of what?  Perverted garment makers wearing the damn things before slipping them into the packaging machine?  Intimate product tampering?  Package fondling by over sexed women or their under sexed lovers?

Maybe the US Consumer Product Safety Commission could put a warning label on thongs and panties: “WARNING: Be Careful Before Putting This Garment On.”  Of course  a more appropriate message would be: “WARNING: Be Careful After  Taking This Garment Off.”

Riding the bus is still a trip! One year after my car died,  the bus continues to be an adventure.  I’ve seen people up close and personal that I previously saw only on television. Of course then you can turn them off.  And you can’t smell them either.

Many of the younger riders look like wannabe gangstas and rappers.  Sometimes I think I should just call ‘America’s Most Wanted’ and say,”Yup, John – I’ve found ‘em ALL! Every last one of the damn suckers is now on Bus #7 rolling down Monroe Avenue in Rochester, New York.”

If you ever go-by-bus, here are some travel tips I’ve learned:

- the bus ONLY stops at designated stops. If you’re walking between stops and you see the bus, do NOT step into the street and wave your arms. Everyone laughs at you – ESPECIALLY the driver. Some jerks even wave.

- do not sit near high school students. The bus should just drop them all off at the county jail – it’ll save time – cut out the middlemen. It’s painful – PAINFUL – to hear them speak, YO! They crowd you, spit, honk, snort, belch, blow, and fart! And the guys are even worse – WORD UP, YO!

- feel fat? Ride the bus. Sometimes when a ‘2-seater’ comes huffing slowly down the aisle, I feel positively anorexic! Stare at them! If you politely pretend to look out the window, they’ll slam their huge jello butts into the seat and a half next to you. Tip: take a long piece of dental floss, stick it between your two front teeth, hang it out of your half-open mouth, then stare at the ceiling before they get on. Chances are good the brats and fats won’t sit with you.

- yakers – people who talk CONSTANTLY to you – are the worst! On planes I used to pretend I was deaf in the ear on their side. Polite business people would usually shut up. But this is the friggin’ bus – they don’t take the hint! You must pretend you are completely deaf and wave some made-up sign language at them. If they continue, broadly grin and continually shake your head “no!” They’ll stop.

- DO NOT accept the rule “the older you are, the more bags you must carry.” The general guideline seems to be “1 extra bag for every three years past 55″.

Finally, if you ask some goof about getting off at a certain spot and he says, “get off the stop before me,” don’t make a thing of it. Of course he’s just a stupid nitwit riding the bus – but, of course, so are you. And he’s BETTER than you. He knows where to get off.

“Sex is a dirty, shameful thing. Make sure you
save it for someone you love. Any questions?”

GOAT.