Animal instincts among wildlife are crucial for their survival. Their ability to hunt, reproduce and protect their young are essential skills to sustain any species. Many of these abilities are innate and have been developed over long periods of time – a mother’s surge of adrenaline to defend her newborn from a predator or a male’s aggressive claim on a mate.

While human beings are advanced in many ways compared to the animal world (we can tell lies and clean up our own poop), we too have fundamental instincts. Sexual prowess and desire are animalistic urges that are usually attributed to men, however there is a rising presence of sexually expressive women that are not concerned with societies judgment of them and their appetites. These mature women usually prey on young, sexually compatible men.

These women, known as cougars, are only one group in the broader existence of salivating women. Pumas, the youngest class of sexually open women are in their late twenties and are just beginning to open up and accept their desires. Panthers are in their thirties and find no shame in going after young men in their late teens or older men into their fifties (they’re not stupid – they know they’ll get great sex or a sugar daddy, it’s a win win).

Cougars are right in the middle, so it’s easy to use this term to include all women. These forty somethings are in a do or die phase in their life. They know their youth, an invaluable trait for a woman, has escaped their grasp and they spin into a fun, pleasure seeking midlife crises. While a man would dye his hair or go buy a sports car, a woman overcomes her hesitations about decisively claiming what she wants. What better way to build up the beaten down self-esteem of a mature woman than to get the attention and satisfaction of desire from a young, option filled man? The beauty of this is that she gets what she wants and he gets to live it up with the “Stifler’s Mom” fantasy.

Leopards are the next group in their fifties. They get this name because of their ever-increasing age spots. There are always exceptions for getting it on with a woman in this class, but as a whole you’re going to have to be in an altered state to consider playing with this jungle cat. Finally the eldest group is the snow leopard. Yes, they not only have full blown age spots but the frosty white hair to top it off. These majestic creatures have a world of experience and may give you the blowey of a lifetime (especially the ones with dentures) but these encounters are usually left untold, unless you spill the beans on a night of drunken openness with your closest boys.

Why bother with these older women you ask? A woman’s youth gives her the right to play games and be obsessively choosey. Additionally, as confident and full of herself as she may seem on the outside, she’s typically equally insecure. These insecurities translate to a less experimental, tamed down sexual experience. What guy wants to do all the work in the missionary position while the girl lies there like a dead fish? An older woman cuts through the BS, is willing to try things she never would have before, and from my experience, plays to her theme song, Rick James’ Superfreak.

These claims are always countered by the exception to the rule but why bother with young difficult chicks now when you can have fun with the cougars and work your way down, as you get older? After all young chicks usually want the older man. Play it smart, you only get one shot boys.

Until the Next Kumate …

For your consideration:
Why is “No.” the abbreviation for number? There isn’t even an o in the word number.

I really like the show “Little People Big World.” If you haven’t seen it, it’s a show on TLC about a pair of dwarf parents that have three kids, two of which are normal size. I watch it every now and then, but I haven’t caught it recently since my DVR has been broken. I find myself able to relate to Zach Roloff (a twin, and the only dwarf child) the best. He’s a hit with the ladies, is lazy as shit, and allegedly is hung like a donkey. While we have other emoitonal connections, I’m not going to get into that kind of depth.

Anyway, my friends laugh at me and tell me how stupid the show is. I disagree and try to explain to them how it’s quality viewing. One of them mentioned that they don’t enjoy watching it because they feel sorry for the characters. I told him that’s ridiculous – just because they’re different than he and I doesn’t make them unhappy (I mean they probably are, but that is not what the viewer sees). I also told him the show isn’t about the Roloff’s struggles, it’s about their accomplishments. He just didn’t get it.  I decided I would go through a list of things that make being a little person tolerbale. The following is open for interpretation, but borderline fact:

They would be eligible for the student discount for everything that applies.

Midget chicks don’t have to bend down on their knees and endure the pain/risk injury while giving a blowey.

They require less food and less booze to take care of business – it’s very economical.

They can shop at the Baby Gap (children size clothes are cheaper).

Sleeping on a couch is a like a king size bed to an average sized person.

They would get walked every time at bat.

They can live in a trailer and it would be like a mansion.

Don’t need to pay much for A/C in the summer since heat rises.

They can still drive all kinds of sweet power wheels and they only cost about $200.00.

They can wear a onesie and look adorable.

Flying coach is like first class.

They can hide almost anywhere.

They wear smaller shoes so if their foot prints were tracked at the scene of a crime, the police would assume a child was responsible.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not interested in being a midget, but compile all of these pro’s and you’ll see there is no reason to feel sorry for a little person. And if anyone saw the movie Child’s Play, you’d see that Chucky had striking strength for a person of his size. The point here is, there really isn’t one. I just wanted to share my feelings about a pretty sweet show. Everybody loved Wee Man and Rudy.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Do you think when a spider walks up a wall it knows it’s upside down?

My friend Jamie called to tell me she was preggers. Instead of being happy for her, I was concerned. I’ve known her since we were four and I never pictured her actually having a baby – she just isn’t responsible enough. Some proof of this was the fact that she got knocked and she wasn’t dating anyone at the time. This was part of my source of concern.

About seven months earlier she asked me to meet her in Vegas. She was going to be there with some friends and really wanted me to come for a weekend of fun. I told her I couldn’t because I had a crazy schedule, but she begged and pleaded with me. She told me she’d make it worth my while and she’d show me the best weekend of my life. I thought to myself that I’ve had some pretty damn good weekends, what’s going to make this one so incredible I asked her? She replied, anything you’d like. Uncertain of how she was going to bring me Lou Malnati’s pizza, I decided to consider it.

Jamie and I have always been good friends but nothing like this had ever come up. She’s cute, but nothing incredible so I’d never pursued anything. However, apparently she wanted things to change. Unsure of how this would play out, I said I’d come. I mean what’s there to lose with a weekend in Vegas? And while I can’t say I was interested is messing around with her, I also can’t deny that easy ass is like finding a $20 bill on the ground – you’ll always be happy to accept it.

This past weekend was pretty good. I went to some parties at a couple of bars with a bunch of friends Saturday night. Towards the end of the night, I ended up getting separated from them and I turned up at this bar alone. I stayed until the drink special was over, and then went outside around 3AM to find a cab home. As I started walking away from the bar, I crossed the street and heard some woman yell out to me, “Hey you, come over here.” I was drunk and had nothing else going on, so I decided to investigate.

As I approached the white jeep this chick was sitting idle in, I saw her flash a smile at me. “What’s your name?” she asked me.

“Biff. What’s your name?” I replied immediately.

“Candy. Need a ride?”

As I was standing there drunk trying to follow what was going on, I was confused because I wasn’t sure why she had offered me a ride and what she was doing. However, after a brief moment of consideration, I decided that she should be the one in this situation to be afraid of someone if anyone were to be, and I did need a ride. So, fearlessly I accepted and walked around the car and got in. She asked me where I lived so I told her and gave her directions.

While we were driving, the conversation was cordial and nice. She asked me what I had done that night and if I had a good time. She asked me why I was alone and I explained how sometimes I tend to wander when I get drunk and how I had misplaced my friends. Finally, we got to my place and she pulled over on the side. She turned to me, smiled, and said, “Would you like me to come up?”

I was sitting there trying to figure this whole thing out. I couldn’t believe that it was going to be this easy. She wasn’t great looking, but decent, and certainly good enough for me at that time and condition. “Sure…” I shot back at her happy and surprised. At that moment, she leaned over and started rubbing my leg. I just sat there with my head tilted down, starring at her hand massaging me. In my head I was thinking this was ridiculous and none of this made sense, but then I remember my ridiculous sex appeal and figured this one just couldn’t resist.

Who would have thought that the innocent looking chick that called me over and offered me a ride was a hooker. As I walked up to my place I smiled thinking about this humorous story, but immediately the smile turned to a disappointed head nod as I had to accept the fact that this time had nothing to do with my raw sex appeal.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Why do we drive on parkways and park on driveways?

The other night a friend and I decided we wanted to go cougar hunting. Often times when I tell people this plan, they simply look at me puzzled and want to know why I have such a desire to hook up with older broads. Don’t be fooled – I like young chicks as much as the next guy, but sometimes I don’t want to work for it. Sealing the deal with a younger broad is always an involved process. They either want to play hard to get until it’s simply not worth it, or they want to hook you for the commitment. But when I meet a seasoned woman, I know if I play my cards right I’m gonna get some that night.

So me and my boy Kevin decided to pursue a lead on some new spots in cougar country where the roads are lined with hot older women, recently divorced and out on the prowl with their ex-daddy warbucks’ money. The first place we hit up was called Deuces. Despite the name, we had heard it attracted thin, nice looking woman. As we got out of the car, Kevin got all excited about how good the night was going to be (I like when my wing man is hyped up because his positive attitude lifts me up too). He pointed out some honey’s chilling in the parking lot, licked his lips and made a motion for an air spank to a make believe ass. As we got closer I noticed they were young, too young. A car pulled up and they skipped over to what seemed to be one of their parents, got in and drove away. Then we passed a couple of guys walking away from the place, none of which would know how to use a razor to shave. I glanced over at Kevin thinking what the fuck is up with this place. It didn’t seem right.

We got about thirty feet from the door and I felt like I was walking up to an all night daycare center, so I stopped and consulted with Kevin about how we should proceed. Upon doing so the bouncer began to walk towards us as if he wasn’t going to let us enter. Confused because we weren’t drunk enough for them to turn us away we continued to the door. The bouncer intercepted us and said it was 19 and under tonight. Apparently this club was out of commission for the night, but the bouncer was cool and informed us that there were some good places near by with an older crowd. Before turning to leave, I enthusiastically asked him which girls were 18 and over. He just smiled and gave me a look like get the hell out of here creep. I don’t blame him, but I think he just wanted to keep them all for himself – must be studying to be a pediatric gynecologist.

We headed over to another place called The Coast. This was what we were looking for – the place was packed with all kinds of chicks, from cubs to cougars. We got a drink and made a lap around. After scanning the place, we didn’t see much promise here either. We kept getting our asses grabbed by numerous women and had to dodge several sets of cougar claws. Regardless of wanting some easy bush that night, we weren’t looking to throw it in just anything. Luckily, Kevin found his mark for the night. She was a blonde cub – he seems to have a weakness for that kind. I let him be and took this opportunity to begin looking for my own hook-up. I spotted a ringless cougar I had seen when we walked in, dancing with another cougar friend. I made my way over to say hello and they claimed me like a lion smothers its prey. I was in for sure, but as I got closer I realized I wasn’t drunk enough and these two mutts weren’t going to cut it. Disappointed, I went over to Kevin to see how his chick panned out. He introduced me to her and then said good-bye. When we got about fifteen feet away, I asked him why he said good-bye to her. He told me she had said she was Mormon and was basically looking for a husband. Though normally Kevin would pretend he was interested in the same thing, this time he knew he’d have to actually marry her before he screwed her and that wasn’t happening tonight.

Our night was looking bleak and we didn’t have any good leads. So, we did what any randy guys would do – we hit up the strip club. Even though we didn’t have any success in the bars, we ended up salvaging the night. Sometimes a visit to the local exotic dancer joint is enough to satisfy your appetite. With a chick in each of our laps, Kevin and I glanced over at each other, cheersed with our drinks, and sat back while the ho’s did all the work. Sometimes it’s nice to take a night off.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Why are dogs always so happy? Maybe studying dogs can give us better answers than pills.

If there is one thing that I have never understood it’s peoples extreme desire to arrive at an airport two hours before their flight is supposed to depart. I have never once been on a flight that has left early. On top of that, I can’t think of more than one time out of twenty or thirty flights that the plane has actually taken off on time. Yet everyone has this urgent, panicked rush to make it to the airport early enough to sit and wait for an hour and half, only extending their time spent traveling.

Additionally, the extra time wasted waiting in the airport inevitably makes you hungry or thirsty for a beer. It turns out, a simple 12 oz cup of Miller Lite in the airport costs $9.00. An average keg of Miller Lite costs about $80. A keg has roughly 200 beers at $9 a pop is $1800. So they’re making over twenty times their cost! I blew $80k on a college education and have been working 50+ hours a week for the past two years and this whole time I could have just opened up a bar in an airport and stole money.

On my most recent ticket, it read in fine print, “Make sure to arrive at airport 1hr 30min to 2 hrs prior to flight”. Of course they want you to arrive early, you waste your time, are hungry in the process, and spend a killing on a sandwich. Sounds like a fucking scam to me and I don’t buy it.

Another reason it makes no sense to get to the airport that early is because airports simply aren’t busy enough to require that kind of early commitment. Air travel is down dramatically – the ATA recently reported that domestic flights have decreased 18% in the last 9 months. That’s one reason they are charging people $15 to check their luggage each way. How fucking crazy is that? You pay for a plane ticket to take you to a destination. The plane is already going to the location planned, and has enough room to fit bags that people want to bring with them below the plane. That’s like paying to go skydiving, then having to pay extra for your parachute – they kinda go hand in hand. At $400 a ticket, I think they can take enough money out of there to pay the guys that play ring toss with my luggage without having to make me pay a 10% extra fee to bring clothes with me on my trip.

This whole system is spiraling out of control. I’m willing to bet that in a short time airlines will start charging to use the bathroom. I hope they do because the second that happens, I’ll gladly pay the price and kindly piss on every single inch of that bathroom. If this becomes a reality, I suggest if you spot me on a plane and you need to use the bathroom, you do before I get to it.

For your consideration:
When people start using flying cars, wouldn’t it make sense to keep your normal car and avoid the traffic?

I have been in need of product for some time, and could not seem to find any. So I started searching for a new dealer, but it’s very hard to trust a stranger from the start. I subtly asked around, but none of my friends knew of someone reliable with some good shit. Like the answer to everything else today, I turned to the Internet. It seems like a foolish idea, but it worked out successfully for my escorts so I figured I’d give it a shot. I didn’t expect to find anything, but after five minutes of searching I found a list of suppliers on Craigslist. Everyone was trying to find buyers on there so I read through a bunch of encrypted posts, sent replies to a few solid ads and waited. Within minutes my inbox was full and I knew soon my appetite for a fix would be too.

I emailed back and forth with this guy, we’ll call him Rondel S., or R. Smith. I asked him some pertinent questions to see if he knew his shit and I finally decided he’d be the one. We agreed to meet at a gas station half way between us for the exchange. With a C-note in my pocket, I drove there with the top down enjoying the beautiful sunny day.

When I got to the gas station, I pulled into the back and called Rondel to tell him I was there. He said he was running ten minutes late and I wondered if this was going to be legit or not. In my head I had rationalized that if he were a cop, his post, this meeting and the exchange would all be entrapment and I’d be off the hook. Even still, I didn’t want to deal with that possibility and I was anxious.

Finally I got a call back and Rondel said he had just pulled in and wanted to know where I was. I said look for the red Ferrari Maranello in the back. He pulled up next to me in his gold 1990 VW Jetta. We get out and I walked up to him, a spiked hair Russian cluberesque type with designer clothes, expensive shoes and so much bling I had to divert my eyes from the glare (maybe he does well with this after all). I pull the hundo out of my pocket and he trades me for the goods. We shake hands and part ways, both with a smile on our face – his definitely a little creepier than mine. I get in my car, watch him drive off and open the case with my score – a burned DVD loaded with three thousand dollars worth of software. Damn it feels good to be a Gangsta …

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
If I’m a motherlover, and you’re a motherlover, should we fuck each other’s mother?

I’ve recently struggled to get a decent nights rest. I rarely have trouble falling asleep, but it’s staying out for the count that has been the issue. I’m constantly tired as shit, so I don’t understand why my body refuses to allow itself to recharge like it should. I figured I could probably find a solution to this problem on my own if I put a little time and thought into it, but I said fuck it and decided I would go see a doctor. Why try solving problems with a little introspection when you can see what new miracle drug these wonderful pharmaceutical companies have come up with now to aid in sleeping? As I looked into this problem, I discovered that I suffer from a disorder that is actually more common than most people think (so the doctor told me). I have RBA and you may too.

RBA is a newly discovered medical disorder that has been publicized by the University of Chicago Medical Research Program. RBA stands for Random Boner Attack. It seems amusing, but this is not something to laugh at. It’s main cause is a lack of sexual activity, which tends to be a certainty with long term relationships. So if you’re married, I recommend you get tested immediately.

What happens is mid-night, these RBA’s come into full aggressiveness. The research shows that the blood rush to your johnson is not what causes you to wake up in your sleep. However, the issue arises (indeed) when you move in your sleep. When I have a full rager there is no give. As I roll from my back to my stomach, my body is actually lifted off the bed. It’s at this moment I believe that while I am technically asleep, my body is conscious of this height elevation and I am abruptly woken. It sounds humorous, but I assure you an indiscriminate hard on in the middle of the night most certainly is not.

Most people are probably reading this right now and thinking this must be some kind of joke or some sort of himmelfarb. Well, it’s not. RBA’s are not only responsible for causing more than three million sleep deprivation cases a year (there is no reason not to believe these statistics), but they are also responsible for roughly six lost eyes annually as well. While an RBA might be a mild inconvenience to you, your partner or bed mate can suffer serious damage. Imagine being soundly asleep to be woken up by your own scream when a rock hard boner impales your body.

If these statistics have not caused you to consider going to your doctor and seeking out the next greatest prescription medication to solve this problem, then you’re a fool and putting loved ones at risk. Or, you can stop being a stupid consumer spending money on the next best drug and simply love yourself a little bit before you go to sleep. It’s your call, but act fast because you don’t know when someone you know will be the victim of an RBA.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Do you think the long term benefit of using prescription drugs for things that are not pertinent outweighs the potential detriment?

Remember when you were just a kid, dreaming about being an astronaut, becoming the president of the United States, or holding hands with Jessica Sweeny under the desk? Me too. I remember an assignment in class where we had to draw what we wanted to be when we grew up. Some made drawings as a professional basketball player dunking over Michael Jordan, while others depicted themselves as doctors or the classy Jean Claude Van Damme. It was all so magical at such a distant age – we could point to an occupation and pretend it was real because we had a seemingly infinite amount of time. The conflict surfaces when that pretend becomes reality, when real decisions have to be made.

But the real issue goes deeper than just deciding which drawing you want to step out of. It’s anchored by the timing of your actions and accomplishments. A nine year old with a solid pitching arm may be impressive, but if in high school he still throws the same speed, he’s not so impressive. Similarly, a forty year old that makes his first million through investments is notable, but a twenty year old that makes their first million due to a clever invention or innovative business idea is remarkable and inspiring. We all hope to work towards the accomplishment of that forty year old, but I’ve always wanted to be more impressive than that. The problem is as time goes by, the potential window for these early accomplishments dwindles. What’s considered a remarkable accomplishment at one point simply becomes a normal expectation later on.

I’ve always enjoyed being the youngest in a group for this reason. The older you are, the more others expect of you. Additionally, if you can exceed the expectations of an older participant, then you can be considered extraordinary. This can be applied in a basketball game when you school the bigger, older players or by learning to go to the bathroom in a toilet by the age of four, instead of in your pants like one of my friends – who tends to only do that on the weekends for some reason.

In the end, we have less control over these decisions than we realize. I was forced to take piano lessons as a kid and I hated every minute of it, but I now wish I had continued to play. I would like to speak another language, or two, and could have learned so much more easily at a younger age, but I didn’t embrace the opportunity the way I would today. That’s the ironic part, when you’re young and life is easier (relative to now) there is so much potential, but when you realize what you would have liked to do, it’s almost too late because life is so much more complicated with everyday obligations. I suppose it’s not really until you have accumulated enough experiences though that you really start to know what it is you want. Time goes by fast, but it’s there for you to use as you choose.

It is not too late though. You need to embrace the simple mindset of a child to accomplish these unnecessary, yet desirable accomplishments as an adult. If you want to learn to play the guitar, learn to play one step at a time. It’s so easy to say I want to do something and then forget about it (like that STD test I’ve been meaning to get), but if you really want it, make it simple. So figure out what you need to do and do it, little by little if necessary. I have to go make an appointment now, what do you have to do?

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
If what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, then how does everyone know that being in Vegas is such a good time?

Recently I have been drinking more. Not necessarily more often, but more quantity of consumption in a night. A couple of my friends have asked me if there is something wrong or if I was drinking more because I was unhappy. I appreciated their concerns, but brushed it off considering the fact that they were hammered when they approached me and one of them was double fisting during the “intervention”. The fact is, I am very happy and satisfied with everything in my life and I just like to get drunk.

About two weeks ago we had a real shit show. My kind and concerned alcoholic friends and I decided to go to this great German beer bar. One of my good friends bar tends there and he literally gives the bar away. They serve you 48 ounce steins of high quality German beer and he was serving them by the half dozen. After a brief pre-game, five or so or those jugs of beer, and several rounds of shots, I blacked out. The interesting thing about blacking out is that the night goes on, but you’re mind is not present. People can tell you stories of things you did and you’re in disbelief because you have no recollection. Anyway, this story was relayed to me second hand by the friends of mine who had less than twenty drinks that night.

We ended up leaving to go meet up with some girls at another bar. The name or location of the bar, I have no fucking clue. Apparently when we got there, my friend Biff (who was an acclaimed Eagle Scout) introduced the girl he dragged us all there to meet. Turns out it was questionable if she was a man or a woman, so we decided to leave them be and continue drinking. It was at this point that I felt like I needed another drink and acted on it.

As I was walking towards the bar, I guess I was too lazy or unconscious to maneuver through people so I didn’t even bother. There was a girl in front of me that I was told I could have avoided running into if I simply moved six inches to my left, but that would have involved too much work. So, apparently I pushed her out of the way. It was described to me as the scene from the movie “Old School,” where Will Ferrel’s character has a fucking dart in his neck. As the tranquilizer takes its course, Frank the Tank gets groggier and makes his way towards the kids by the pool. He carelessly throws a little kid out of the way in a drunken manner which was the comparison made of the way I pushed this poor girl out of the way by the bar.

Naturally, if someone pushes you out of their way you acknowledge that their an asshole and tell them so. So this girl turns to me and says, “Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

My response? I stare at her for a second, pick my nose, look at the booger, and then wipe it on her shirt, “thash whos’d ihim.” I got slapped in the face right? Wrong. I remember when I was a kid and my mother told me charisma would get me far in life. I guess the way I picked my nose and used this girls shirt as a Kleenex was done with charisma because Lisa Bar (that’s what she went in my phone as) and I supposedly talked for an hour after the incident.

I didn’t believe any of my friends the next day when they told me this happened. They were adamant about it and laughing, and I just wrote it off. That is, until Lisa Bar texted me later that day to ask me if I remembered her – I guess she did exist. I lied and told her of course I did and how great of a time I had with her. She said she felt the same way and wanted to hang out with me soon.

Now I’m supposed to meet this broad out next week sometime, but it’s proving to be quite the predicament considering the fact that I don’t remember what she looks like (despite all your judgmental hesitations and concern for the lack of class this girl must have to continue talking to me considering the fact that I rubbed my boogey on her, I was informed that she was indeed good-looking and that’s all that really matters). So now I have to figure out how to recognize her when we meet up. I was considering going with a sign that reads, “LISA” that I would hold up like the limo drivers do at the airport. That could backfire, but maybe I can leave that night with a new name in my phone – Lisa Sign.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Why is it humane to euthanize a dog, but not a human?

This was a story sent to us by one of our readers. Again, we at WTFWJCVDD appreciate our subscribers input. We cannot be certain that this is true or not embellished, but it’s still a great story. Read with pleasure…

This story is totally unfabricated, and happened to me a while back during winter break of my Jr. year of college. Let’s just say I was a bit more arrogant and bold back then and it definitely had its affect. I’m still carrying around a balloon to this day:

I’m driving down the street pretty fast because I’m trying to get home to take a whiz like nobody’s biz. With my luck, I see police sirens in my rear view mirror. I think to myself great, just great. I pull over and a police officer comes up to my window. As I roll it down I notice it’s a female cop, Officer Valentino, and I smile …

A while back some friends and I were playing poker. We decided to play for something more interesting than just money. A couple of my friend’s moms are MILFs and we all agreed that the winner that evening would have the right to nail one of the other guys’ mom if the opportunity arose. This is a big deal considering we all know how harsh it would be to have a friend mack your mom, just ask Stiffler.

I usually play poorly and get bluffed by my friends until I’m left with no chips, but this night I was channeling Doyle Brunson and I couldn’t be stopped. I have always wanted to get on my friend Josh’s mom and while I never had the chance to, getting his approval – willingly or otherwise – certainly got me a step closer. Somehow that night I pulled off the win and Josh gave me a look like “you’ve got to be kidding me” because he knew his mom now had a bulls eye on her ass. Oh by the way his last name is Valentino, and his mom is a cop.

Back to smiling at Officer Valentino …

She told me I had been going 17 mph over the speed limit and anything over 10 mph she was required to give a ticket. I told her how I was good friends with her son Josh, but she didn’t remember me. I decided I was a decent looking cat and since girls get away with murder using their looks, I’d try to use my gifts to get out of this one too. I asked her if there was any way around this inconvenient guideline and she paused, looked me up and down, smiled and said, “No.”

“Come on Ms. V, I don’t believe that,” I said snidely.

“I’m on duty, it’s Officer Valentino son.”

“I apologize, Officer Valentino,” as I shoot her a grin. “Certainly there are exceptions to the rule.”

“You want special treatment, huh? Are you wasted kid? How about you get out of the car and spread ‘em.” That was easy. I knew she come around. As I got out of the car, she gently turned me around and pressed me up against the doorway and began frisking me.

“I think what you’re looking for is a little lower,” I suggested. She ignored my comment. I liked this domination nonsense. Girls usually do whatever I asked so it was fun to earn it and judging by her demeanor, it was working.

She turned me around and asked what this was all about. I didn’t hesitate. “I think you’re a very attractive woman and I think you share the same feelings about me.”

“This is completely inappropriate behavior and you’ve been warned.”

“Ooooo I’ve been warned (man was I an idiot back then). Well in that case, let me warn you too about what you’re getting yourself into.” At that moment, I made a monumental decision that has still had a grave impact on my life to this day. I straight up pulled out my junk and let it lay across my pants. As I raised my head to look up at Ms. V I saw her send a grin my way. That was it for me. I was so turned on that she liked what she saw that it created a surge of excitement and it all went right to my dong. As I admired my stick straight manhood, something happened so fast that I am still haunted by it today. Officer Valentino (no longer Ms. V), unlatched her baton and swung it with a mighty force as it struck the tip of my mushroom. The sound was like a wiffle ball bat striking a bouncy ball, a thud and slap at the same time.

I have only cried twice in my life (Once when Stephanie Meyers kicked me in the junk when I was in 8th grade and second time was the first time I saw the movie Bloodsport), but I am not ashamed to say I whaaaed like a wailing baby. The pressure of the impact felt like a steam roller had parked right on my knob. Piercing pain overwhelmed my body as I collapsed to the ground with my unit lying in the snow and I honestly blacked out from there.

I got taken into the station and they were going to charge me with indecent exposure and an attempt to bribe a police officer, but Officer Valentino and the chief believed I had suffered enough when they saw the damage. I ended up with a $125 speeding ticket and a serious slap to the cock. The force of the strike to was so powerful it burst every blood vessel in my dick and my tip was swollen to the size of a tennis ball. Most people would think that was awesome, but I assure you getting that thing drained is not. Also, about a month after it occurred, some of the swelling had subsided (though it was still huge) so it looked more natural, but it kind of looked impressive too. I decided to try to use it and that was the second biggest mistake of my life.The pressure felt like a dog’s choke collar was tightened around the head of my dick and the second wave of pain felt like it had tried to run away and someone yanked the chain. I have now cried four times in my life.

A couple of months later, I ran into Officer Valentino at the store. She pulled me aside and said that the truth was, she was attracted to me, but she takes her job seriously and could not allow me to demean her integrity. Seeing her face constantly in my nightmares, I apologized repeatedly and expressed my understanding. She asked if everything had healed, and I lied and said yes. The truth is, my tip is still blown up and still feels pain when pressure is applied. If I weren’t such a cocky kid and had some respect for the law, I wouldn’t have to be concerned about carrying around this curse – a monster mushroom tip that cannot be used.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Why do prostitutes brag about how much money they made that night and then ask for cab fare? (so I hear)

There is no doubt that in the present day culture, social awareness is becoming more prevalent. The fact that America is the most obese nation in the world, health is one major issue. Belonging to a gym, carrying around a nalgene with water, and becoming a vegetarian are all socially rewarding things to do.

A little while ago I had an appointment with my doctor. She (yes, she – I’ll get to that) told me I need to start paying closer attention to my diet. I told her that I eat fine and am active so my body uses everything I consume as fuel anyway. She suggested I start taking protein shakes and increasing my vegetable intake. I was skeptical because I consider female doctors to be a level above elementary school nurses. So why do I go to one? I like the fact that she stands me up, gets on her knees and at eye-level, drops my boxers to check my nuts – it’s a big selling point. At this age of my life I’ve rubbed one out to just about everything, and any extra ammo I can use on a night when my Internet goes down is worth it. In contempt of my cynical view, I agree to try out this new diet.

Despite supposedly eating better, this new regiment really messed with my stomach. I constantly felt bloated and started crapping four or five times a day – I felt like a chick without the benefits of seeing myself naked or having the ability to see how hard I could squeeze my tits before they popped. This posed an issue because I work all day and the sand paperesque toilet paper in public bathrooms gives me baboon ass after the first couple of deuces dropped.

About a week or two after visiting the doc, I had some brutal gas. I was sitting at my desk and I let out the most unholy rip I have ever unleashed. Since it was a busy day, I was unable to get up to walk away or even get the opportunity to shake out my pants to help the insidious odor dissipate. I had no choice but to inhale my rancid mildew stench which made my next breath not containing O2, but pure shit in gaseous form. I ended up getting light headed – from the combination of little oxygen mixed with poo particles – and passed out for a half second. Turns out, that brief moment was long enough to cause my head to slam into my desk. This resulted in me being taken to the hospital and was completed with five stitches to my brow. Please, let us recap: I changed my diet to be healthier which led to me becoming gasy which in turn led to my inhalation of airborne doodie which then made me pass out and bust my head open. Was it really healthier for me to eat better if this was the result? Not to mention a nice little $450 ER bill for my two hour wait and brief stint being treated.

I decided then and there that life is not about quantity. Fuck living to ninety when your family decides your such a burden that they hate you and you actually have a reason to wear adult diapers and say, “thanks oops I crapped my pants.” To me it’s all about quality. I want to live my life now. I want to eat a steak that is almost raw five days a week because I feel like it. I want to include Red Bull in my glass of vodka. What is the point of eating healthier? I can go shopping at Whole Foods and buy all healthy and natural organic foods just in time for me to walk out of the store and get hit by a bus. My goal is to eat and drink whatever I so chose, say what I feel, and shit where I please. If I live a year past 50, I didn’t live life right. Life is not about dragging it out as long as possible. It’s about living it to the fullest and appreciating everything. If I make it to fifty-one, I’ll simply order a hooker (which should be legal by that time considering how morally flexible today’s politicians are) and suffocate myself between a set of brand new fake Nerf tits (I think those will exist then too).

Until the next Kumate …

For your consideration:
Why does paper beat rock? Rock should beat everything.
View This Poll

When I get it on with a girl, I like to go back to her place. There are various reasons for this but the main one is that I want her to have as little access to me as possible. I don’t like surprises and my ex-girlfriend found that out the hard way. One night she popped in while I was in the middle of entertaining another girl and I threw a can of beans at her head, thinking she was an intruder of course. Whether it’s a one-night stand or a continuous friends with benefits situation, I want to be able to severe our ties with one another when the shit hits the fan (because no one likes the site of doodie hitting moving wooden blades) because it will – it always does.

By going to her place, I maintain the control and therefore keep the interaction rational and emotionless. I can leave when I want and I don’t have to deal with getting rid of her when she out stays her welcome, which tends to be roughly 10 – 15 seconds after I blow my load. Additionally I don’t have to worry about surprise visits, and replacing my stash of canned beans. If she only has my phone number, the worst she can do is call me, and every girl gets tired of making unanswered calls – eventually.

There are disadvantages to playing as the visiting team though …

A regular in my rotation is this forty-year-old cougar. She’s recently separated from her husband and in the process of a divorce, so she’s very needy – hence the much needed distance and ambiguity I like to establish. The sex is great and she greets me in lingerie with an open, cold beer. People have told me there is no way that a woman does that. I simply say if you can train a dog to shit outside, you can train a female to bring you a cold beer.

Last Tuesday I went over and we started going at it. She likes the lights off, like every insecure woman does, but luckily we’ve had an ongoing thing for a while so I felt comfortable with the terrain and the environment. I worked my way down to give her oral and upon arriving south of the border I quickly became aware that she hadn’t shaved, (maybe ever). She had an untamed bush and it smelled like hot moldy Gouda. While trying to muscle through it I was surprised by a purr and paused to figure out what was going on. This hairy thing that was between the cougar’s box and I began to move and claw at me.

I quickly jumped up and turned on the lights to find her lying naked in the bed with a kitten curled up between her legs. I immediately realized that I didn’t have pubs stuck to my tongue, but actual cat hair so I rushed to the bathroom to rinse and gargle. She said I wasn’t coming over enough so she bought a cat because she was lonely. Apparently she wasn’t the only one in need of more attention. Annoyed and nauseous I got dressed and went home to take care of my blue balls the only way I know how to recover from a night like that – with my left hand, aka the stranger.

Maybe I need to reassess my perspective about playing on the road, or at least stay away from cats for a while …

Until the next Kumate …

For your consideration:
If size doesn’t matter, then explain the origin of the Rambo dildo.

People say to me sometimes, look, I think you need to take it easy on the female criticism. I simply say, read the following:

The other day I was at my friend Jeff’s house. His sister is a couple of years older than me and I have interacted with her friends since I have been young. One of her friends, Jenny, has been someone that I have been in love with since 4th grade. Now, technically I have not been in love with her since I believe I am incapable of that particular emotion, but from the perspective of a 10 year old, it was serious. Jenny was a smoking hot broad who flashed a grin at you that made you understand the desire to want something. It also gave you a faint hope of possibility. That possibility single handedly propelled you to continue on your journey of love for her.

Enough background. It turns out that the weekend I was visiting Jeff, his sister Steph was also in town visiting. Naturally, when we get together, the conversation of my past love for Jenny is always brought up. Steph told me that she was going to dinner with some of her friends since she was in town, and one of them was Jenny. I said that she should put in the good word for me to which she replied, “Why would I? I know how much of a scumbag you are.” Normally that would hurt, but I can’t deny what I am. Still, I pressed that she drop some niceties about me giving me a slight edge and told her that while I am a scumbag, deep down there is potential (whatever I had to say to get what I wanted).

Anyway, later that evening I was out to dinner with Jeff and some other friends. In the middle of dinner Jeff gets a text from his sister Steph who invited us to meet up with them for some drinks. So he asked me, “Would you like to go?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?” I responded.

“Indeed.”

We headed over to the bar after dinner to meet up with the broads. When I got there I saw Jenny who appeared excited to see me as she came up to me and gave me a big hug. She went to the bathroom, at which time Steph pulled me aside to talk to me. The following content of conversation is not embellished:

Steph: “I talked to Jenny for you tonight. Told her that you’re a good guy.”

Me: “Really?”

Steph: “Yeah. I told her how cute you look with your grown out facial hair and how funny you are, and I also told her that you always say you have a small dick.”

Me: “ex-fucking-cuse-me?”

Crazypsycho: “What? You always do say that.”

Me: “It’s a joke! It’s funny when I say it because I’m present and people know I’m kidding. Throwing that shit out there second hand is reckless and ridiculous.”

Crazypsycho: “It doesn’t matter. Oh, and I told her that you told me that you said you could never date her because you cannot respect women.”

So at this point I’m fuming because I cannot believe a human being believes that this is something that would be considered putting the “good word” in for someone. And trust me, she was not trying to fuck me over. She really thought she was being nice.

Me: “Are you a moron? Why would you say that shit? I can’t believe you think that is even slightly reasonable. I have a retarded friend that would understand that this is outrageous and you think you made me look good? If you were into a dude would it be appropriate for me to go up to him and while pointing at you, tell him that that girl over there is interested in him, but oh by the way, she just had serious bowl squirts from her excessive diarrhea so she needs a couple of minutes to let her asshole cool down before she can get up and approach you?”

Crazypsychoidiot: “Why would that make me look good?”

Good lord, she just didn’t get it. I finished my drink and then we got the hell out of there. I wasn’t even pissed about the way that Jenny perceived what Steph had said to her because I have to assume if Jenny is even somewhat competent she’ll realized that Steph is a bloody tampon spewing filth from her crusted hole. What truly bothered me was the fact that a person I have known for all these years and confided in believed that her idiotic comments were somehow beneficial to me and then when explained why they were not, she was incapable of grasping it.

So back to my initial reaction to the comments I have received. Lay off the criticism? Blow me.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Soap always seems to remain clean. Would you knowingly use a bar of soap to wash your face after I used it to wash my crack?

The concept of marriage has transformed in the last few decades. Previously it was a contract that bound two people that loved each other “til death do you part” but with the increase in divorce rates, the odds of remaining married are about as good as beating Tyler Durden in the cellar of your local fight club.

Last week I was out of town for work and I stayed with a friend that is in the process of getting divorced. The strange part was the fact that he and his wife were still living together in the same house, sharing the same bed. They were surprisingly civil with one another and if a visitor didn’t know any better, their relationship would seem perfectly healthy. The problem was that within two minutes of meeting my friend’s soon to be ex – wife, she expressed to me that they were getting divorced. It was very abrupt, like the last case of diarrhea I had. Since that was not a positive correlation, you could imagine my discomfort.

Being that I was there for two days, and it was just the three of us, I had a lot of time to directly assess the psychological process of divorce in a best-case scenario. It made me realize how lucky I am not to be tied down in a relationship, let alone married – good lord.

Relationships and marriage have a lot of benefits, but they drain you of your individuality, the essence of who you are. It’s like taking two pieces of clay and molding them to fit together. While there are some gains, there are certainly losses as well. And when the house of cards comes falling down, you can lose it all, especially being the breadwinner with alimony and child support. Just the thought of all that aggravation and regression is an insult to one’s ambition and hard work.

The path less traveled has become the path to travel when times get tough. It makes me wonder if all those couples that remained married before the divorce rate sky rocketed were truly happy or maybe they were just scared by the taboo of divorce and stayed in unhealthy, unpleasant marriages because they were supposed to. Maybe the boredom of sex with one person became too challenging once couples acknowledged their sexuality and bought a king sized bed after the days of “I Love Lucy” when Ricky and Lucy slept in separate twin beds. Or could it be that the desire for instant gratification with younger generations is deepening the wedge between couples, eliminating their willingness to work through their problems.

Whatever the answer may be, I’m glad that I am as aware of the direction my life may take if I got married. If someday a woman cloaked in pleasantries and providing all the kinky sex I could want convinced me to marry her, I’d certainly make her sign a prenup. That way when things go south (or stop going south), I can make a clean break. If I ever do get divorced though, I would not get remarried. I’ll just be that suave, classy older guy picking up the youngest legal chicks I can. Some may find that creepy – like that whore of an ex-wife of mine, but I know I’ll be left smiling in the end.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Why is it called a blowjob?

Recently I have been having trouble sleeping  because my neck has been killing me. I had a basketball game about two weeks ago. Nothing unusual happened during the game, but afterward my back was hurting. It was then that I assumed my neck was an effect of something actually wrong with my back. I went out to the bar that sponsors my team afterward and was complaining to my friends about my back hurting. I acknowledged that something was wrong and I was going to have to see a doctor. My friend Sam cut me off and said, “Don’t be an idiot. Your back probably hurts because of stress and tension. Go get a massage. If your back still hurts, then call the doc.” I agreed, but added that I have never had a massage before so I wasn’t sure where to even go. Sam told me he goes to this great place and he wrote down the name and address.

Later that week my back was killing me and I decided just to go to get the massage then. So after work I got into a cab and gave him the address. After 10 min or so he stopped and told me we had arrived. I got out of the cab and looked around. I was in the middle of China town in Chicago, what the fuck was I doing here?

So I walked in the entrance and saw what appeared to be a run down barber shop. “Ok Sam, good joke,” I said to myself. “You got me.” Even though the place didn’t look legit, I decided since I was already there I might as well inquire. I walk up to the old Asian guy at the front desk and tell him that I don’t have an appointment, but really need a massage and would appreciate being squeezed in. He tells me no problem and I ask him what packages they have. “$40 dolla fo 30 minute massage, $60 dolla fo hour massage, and $75 dolla for table showa.”

Table shower?” I say to Miyagi’s brother, “What the hell is a table shower?”

“Table showa is where girl wash you and clean you.”

“Am I submerged under water?” I shot back at him.

“No, no, it’s nice.”

I thought about it briefly and responded. “Ok, for an extra $15.00 you bought my curiosity. I’ll do a table shower.”

He tells me to take my shoes off and go through this door he points to and up the stairs.

“There’s an upstairs?” I question the massage master.

“Yes. Everyting upstairs,” he replied.

So I walk through a doorway, take my shoes off and start to climb the stairs. I’m greeted at the top of the stairs by an attractive looking Asian woman that looked to be in her late twenties. As I look around the upstairs, I see that it was nothing like the first floor. There was nice wood floors and a 50 inch plasma mounted on the wall. To the right was a massive leather couch with four or five Asian woman sitting on it watching some Asian soap opera.

The woman directed me to a room and told me to change into a towel. I do and she knocks on the door and says, “Ready?” I nod and she says, “Ok, follow me.” I walk behind her down this hallway and she opens up a door and says, “Sit in steam shower until ready.” I walk into this tiny stall barely big enough for one person and sit down. As I’m sitting down in my towel as the steam rises in the confined little box I ask myself what the fuck I’m doing here. After a minute or two I decide that I have had enough and open the door. The woman was waiting for me and asks me if I’m done. I reply yes and she says, “Ok, follow me.”

She walks me down the hall and into a room I shit you not belonged in the movie Hostel. There was dark tile flooring and the lights were dimmed. In the middle of the room was an alter raised up with an oval shaped table on top where they were probably going to sacrifice my body. On top of the platform was what appeared to be a Styrofoam pool raft. She tells me to get on the table so I head over. “No, no,” she says. “No towel.”

“No towel?” I questioned back to her. She responds with another no and I say to myself, ok lady, whatever you want. I notice hangers mounted on the wall so I walk over to them, take my towel off, and hang it up. The masseuse was about three feet away from me, just starring at me. All I could think about was how everything has progressively gotten more awkward since I walked into the joint.

So I go and hop up on the table and lie down on my stomach. The lady walks over to me and grabs a shower head from the wall and turns it on and starts spraying my back with it. My first reaction was, this is kind of nice. She continues to spray me with warm water as she starts to wash my back with soap. She moves down to my legs and then she brings her hand up my inner thigh and her fingers hit my balls and go up my crack. Good lord I think to myself, what the fuck am I doing here? She washes my back for a couple of minutes and then she says, “Ok, turn over.”

“Turn over?” I responded back.

“Yes, turn over.”

Ok lady, you asked for it. I turn over on my back and am lying on the table completely naked. The Asian broad continues to wash my front side. She starts washing my chest and then my legs. Then she gently and quickly moves her hand from the base of my dick to the tip. Immediately after she does that I get a full on raging boner. I start laughing because I was embarrassed and felt terrible. If the woman was unsure of which direction was north, she knew now. She giggles and continued to wash the rest of my body.

After a couple of minutes washing my front side, she tells me to get up and dry off. I grab my towel and start drying off. Again, the lady is standing three feet away from me just watching me dry myself – weird. I wonder if she thinks this is normal?

When I’m done, she asks me if I’m finished and I reply, “Yes.”

“Ok, follow me,” she says again. I follow her down the hall and back to the room I was first in. She tells me to get on the massage table and I start to climb on as she stops me. “No, no towel.”

“No towel?” I ask again. She replies no so I take my towel off. I get on the table and lie down on my stomach. She starts to massage my back and asks me if I like hard massage or soft massage. I tell her I don’t know and that I have never had a massage before. She repeats, “Never in life?” and I reply, “No, this is my first time.” Something about that comment stirred up laughter in her because she started giggling. I didn’t know why until after the massage, but I can see now why she thought it was funny.

So she starts massaging my back and says, “Here, hard massage.” Then she moves her hands to my legs and says, “Here, medium massage.” Then she gently rubs my butt and says, “Here, soft massage.” I think to myself, that sounds about right and I relax as she works on my back.

After about 25 minutes I was feeling great and was happy that I had decided to get the massage. Just then I I hear her say, “Ok, turn over.”

“Turn over?” I repeat back to her.

“Yes, turn over.”

“Ok,” I say and I flip over. She starts massaging my chest and then she says to me, “You pay $75 dolla fo table showa?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I paid downstairs when I first got here.”

She looks at me and says, “In here, you can have whatever you want, but you must pay.”

I look at her innocently and say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She points to my dick and says, “You want this, $60 dolla. Then she points to her clothes. “You want this, $100 dolla.” You want this, ” as she points to her mouth, “$140 dolla.”

I look right at her and say, “Uh…what?” I had no idea what to do. Was this lady really offering to finish me off? I always heard people joke about happy endings, but I thought it was a myth like squirters and honest women.

Then she looks at me and says, “Since your first time, I give you this,” and she points to my dick, ” for no charge. But this,” as she points to her clothes, “$100 dolla, and this,” as she points to her mouth, “$140 dolla.”

I barely get out an, “Uh…” as I tried to evaluate the situation. I hesitate, and then I point to my dick. “I’ll do that I guess.” It felt wrong to go along with it, but my parents always stressed to me as a kid that it was impolite not to accept gifts from people. Since she offered to do “that” for no charge since it was my first time, I declared it a gift.

The lady says ok and walks over to a table. She gets oil and walks back over to me. She starts rubbing the oil all over my balls and my dick. Holy shit I think to myself. Is this really happening? Then the lady takes both her hands and does a motion that looks like someone trying to start a fire. As I was lying there I couldn’t help but reflect that I believe this was my very first hand job and it was fantastic. If ever before a chick tried to jerk me off, I would tell her to either put it in her mouth, or leave me alone. It was clearly something I could do without assistance, but this time was different. There was something very hot about an Asian masseuse rubbing one out for me and doing it for no charge in honor of my first time.

So as this lady is making hand love to my penis, I look at her and say, “Uh… should I tell you before I finish?”

“NO.” she shoots back immediately.

“No,” I say, “Should I tell you before I finish?” I repeated.

“NO.” She fires back. “I no whore.” I guess she mistook what I said for, “Should I touch you before I finish.” I realized she didn’t understand, but didn’t want to make the situation any more awkward so I just shut my mouth and hoped she had woman’s intuition. She starts fucking two-hand salt shaker twisting my knob and I’m about the explode. She was on the left side of the table and so my dick was turned slightly left where she had the best grip. Just then I shot a load and I turn in time to see it strike her right in the face. Holy shit I think to myself! Her head flew backwards like Kramer in that Seinfeld episode where he re-enacts the spitting scene from Keith Hernandez. I wait for a moment in fear not knowing how she would react. She slaps my chest and says, “Bad a boy!” Then she starts laughing. I laugh too out of relief and because it was fucking hilarious. I tried to tell her, but she didn’t speak English. Welcome to America Mai Ling.

The second and third shot were never recovered. I think they were on the ceiling somewhere. She tells me to go take a shower and she cleans up the mess. I come back and explain to her what I was trying to communicate to her before. She understands this time and laughs. “You no have no girlfriend?” she asks me.

“Haha, no,” I reply, not that if I did I would have been drained anymore.

She leaves the room and I get dressed. I walk out and go to give her a $20 tip. I didn’t know if I should give her a pound, shake her hand, or give her a hug. I mean the lady did see me naked and jerked me off. I proceed to give her the most awkward hug ever distributed to a person and walk out of the massage parlor with a massive grin on my face. I text my friend and tell him I was genuinely looking for a massage, but got much, much more.

The whole experience was extremely awkward, but also excellent. I would definitely go back again and can now chalk this one up as more than just a myth. I guess the lessons to be learned are that learning to communicate well might not just help things go along smoother, but can also provide protection when you least expect it. Also, who says there’s no such thing as a happy ending…

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Who thought of recessed lighting? You walk into a room that’s lit, but you see no lights.

Darwin’s life work was based around the famous evolutionary concept of natural selection, which is summed up as “survival of the fittest”. While most people translate “the fittest” to mean the healthiest, strongest, or most successful, that’s not really accurate. “The fittest” includes the members of a species that can successfully pass their genes to the next generation. If a wealthy businessman that works out regularly, eats well and lives comfortably never has a child, he is deemed less fit, according to Darwin, than the fifteen year old illegal Mexican kid (we don’t know that he’s illegal, but feel it’s fair to assume) that impregnates a girl between classes on a Wednesday – they don’t call it hump day for nothing in his neighborhood. This pivotal concept has been the cornerstone of evolutionary knowledge for the last 170 years and simply existed for 4 billion years before that without our understanding.

As most of you know by now Nadya Suleman, a 33 year-old single mother from Whittier, California had octuplets on January 26th. While the media fights for photo opportunities and interviews, I’m disgusted and disillusioned by the audacity of this woman. This loveless, pathetic woman has taken the infamous stereotypical belief that a woman needs to get knocked up to feel a sense of worth, to the upper most echelon. Apparently her existing six children, that she couldn’t afford or care for, weren’t enough love for her.

While her children will suffer a great deal from the wrath of their irrational inconsiderate mother, taxpayers will join in the concert of victims because of her selfishness. Hospital costs for her eight burdens are believed to be over a million dollars. The hospital has stated it will seek assistance from the state (taxpayers), already with an overwhelming budget gap of $42 billion, to foot the bill. This is just the beginning of long road of government assistance with food stamps, welfare and disability income she will receive for her most likely disabled children. Why should hard working individuals have to pay for this woman’s inconceivable stupidity?

Along with sterilizing her immediately, the state should revoke the license of the fertility doctor, Michael Kamrava, MD, who not only allowed this woman to go through with this, but is also a repeat offender. In 2006 this awkwardly inconsistent Dr. Dildo performed 61 procedures, resulting in 5 pregnancies and only two births. Ironically one of the two successes was the twins of Suleman. This match made in madness is not only an unnecessary drain on taxpayers, but also sets a horrible example for other psychologically unstable women (much of the population) to follow.

While medical advancements, including IVF, are crucial for progress and saving lives, this story proves that in the wrong hands, progress gets ugly. Additionally, this progress is a double-edged sword. While on a personal level the inoculation of diseases, the creation of life from an incapable circumstance and the increase in life span are all desired, from a global perspective these innovations become a strain. Although there is an infamy associated with war, famine and natural disasters, they all serve a biological necessity, population control. Similarly beneficial medical advancements impede the maintenance of appropriate population levels. While we acknowledge that the earth is very large and there are many undeveloped areas, our population has grown at an unimaginable rate. Maybe not this very moment, but at some point, this will be a very serious issue.

This one woman’s action multiplied by even a fraction of the population would be disastrous. Not only would it cause population density to increase, essential resources to diminish and increase the necessity for multilevel driving ranges, it would also knock the world off it’s axis of rotation causing all 6 billion of us to be incredibly inefficient in our daily lives. Immediate regulations need to be implemented to screen desired participants with IVF. It should be a process similar to adoption, and being a single mother with no job, no savings, no common sense and six existing helpless children should be an immediate three strikes against the process from proceeding. Additionally any male doctor that breaks protocol should be forcefully impregnated, having to shit out their newborn, while female doctors should be forced to go mountain biking without a seat.

Darwin would be ashamed and if he existed right now, he’d probably take his own life to prevent witnessing the recoculous moronic actions of this woman. Not only is the reversal of evolutionary tendencies being exploited, the world is being repopulated with defective seeds. I believe he would be in favor of sterilization of the “fittest” or more appropriately labeled “irrational, impoverished and irresponsible sexually active individuals” that give birth to babies that have no form of the essential financial support. If love and support paid the bills, then the divorce rate wouldn’t have the same odds as winning in blackjack.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Is a turtle without a shell homeless or naked?

Not too long ago I went out to a bar with some friends. As the night went on, we all slowly went our separate way. By 1 am or so, it was just my friend Mitch and I. We had half a pitcher left, and were just hanging out appreciating the remainder of the night.

The interesting thing about this bar was that there seemed to be a lot of cougars running free. Like in the wild, they all traveled in packs and there always seemed to be one male amongst a clan of three or four women. It appeared that one of the women at the bar was with a man and her friends were tagging along. As far as I was concerned, this was the divorced, somewhat successful guy that didn’t mind these women exploiting him for free drinks. He was the work horse that ran the first three laps with the baton in a relay race and handed it off to me on the last lap to jog it in.

So as I was scanning the field observing, I caught eyes with a wild cougar. She smiled and I shot back a grin that let her know I had a thing for women that reminded me of my mother. I read an article once that said if you ever encounter a wild animal in the wilderness you don’t play games, you either make yourself appear to be as big as possible or you slowly back away. I felt like this was very applicable information given the circumstances. I decided not to play games and just went for it. I grabbed the pitcher of beer and Mitch and I walked right over to the table of predators with the intentions of making them my prey. We started talking to two pretty good-looking women that were both in their early 40′s.

The great thing about older women is that they don’t like to play games like the 17 year olds I’m used to. They have fucked around their whole lives and being single they’re not sure where their next feeding will come from. Also, a couple of twenty something year old dudes not only gives them a sense of nostalgia, but fulfills a fantasy that they all seem to have.

The conversation turned very sexual and very direct. I tried to convince one of the ladies that it would be a great bonding experience to have a foursome (I obviously wasn’t interested in Mitch, but wanted a piece of his lady friend as well). I told them that they got divorced because they were unhappy and while they might ultimately be looking to remarry, right now they should be focused on having fun. After all, opportunities might be everywhere, but if you don’t recognize them and go for it, you’ll miss out.

They were feeding off my words. Mitch wasn’t really doing much other than sitting there and smiling, which was fine because sometimes two salesmen can cause a problem. So finally, one of the women, Beth, mentions that she lives pretty close to the bar. I took the opportunity as it presented itself and suggested that we all go back to her place just to talk in a less noisy environment (I wasn’t interested in talking, but neither was she). She agrees, and Mitch and I follow behind them in my car.

We get there and I look around admiring the place. I think about the poor bastard that worked 80 hours a week to buy it. I turned to Beth to tell her she has a nice house and she grabs me and we start making out – she didn’t want to waste anytime. Mitch follows my lead and we were both making out with these two chicks on the couch. I pull back and suggest that we all head to the bedroom. Both women hesitate and I throw out the old, “come on, you have to be open-minded” line. They look at each other, grin, and say ok. Man was this easy. I am smooth.

We make our way to the bedroom. As we walk in, both women go in the bathroom while Mitch and I wait. The joy of Christmas morning kind of dissipates as you get older, but I realized then that it transforms into other moments – the excitement of this being an example. We were both pretty psyched for the events to come and there was something sweet about sharing two women like when you order a bunch of entrees at a restaurant and everyone gets to try some of everything.

Just then, Beth comes out of the bathroom wearing something difficult to describe, but slammin’ nonetheless. I tell her she looks hot, but we can save time and she can just get naked now. She tells me to be patient and then it happens. The other woman (I think her name was Casey) walks out of the bathroom and I shit you not, in her hand she was holding a double-sided dildo. For a moment, I think I saw a halo above it. My eyes lit up, like the bulbs on the carnival game High Striker, as I realize that I’ve hit the jackpot.

We watch as they gently rub lube all over it just building up the anticipation. Finally, Beth stands up and says, “Ok, go ahead.” I pause for a moment, and then walk over to her and get ready to help them get started with it. Beth hands the dildo to me and I felt like I was holding Excalibur’s sword. It was much heavier than it looked. I instruct them both to get on the bed. Beth smiles at me and says, “You first.”

“What do you mean me first?” I questioned. She replied, “You and Mitch use it first, then Casey and I will.”

Fear overwhelmed my body like a person locked inside of a confined room. My dick immediately retreated into an innie and I just then felt a common understanding with a turtles desire to protect itself. “No fucking way lady,” I said with conviction. “Keep that fucking thing away from me.”

Beth looks at me and says, “I thought you were gonna be open minded,” with a shit eating grin on her face. To which I replied, “I thought you weren’t gonna bring any weapons!” I throw my shirt on and shake Mitch out of his frozen paralysis and we get the funky shezite out of there.

On the drive home we didn’t say much. All I kept thinking was holy fuck! We were both in shock because we thought we were the ones in control of the situation. As it turned out, we had been played. I dropped Mitch off and said goodbye without looking him in the eye. I finally made it home, got into bed, and curled up in the fetal position. While trying to cry myself to sleep, I wondered who these sexual deviants were that thought I would be willing to consider doing something like that? I realized that while you can be direct with cougars and you don’t need to wine and dine them, they’ve pretty much done it all before and there is no innocence left. I made a promise from that moment on that if I went beaver hunting again for more mature women, I’d do a little more investigation then a 20 minute conversation at the bar. Either way, I still make noises when I fart from the friction so I consider this a successful lesson.

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Is therapy on a time frame crazy? A person delves into some of their deepest concerns just in time to be cut off ‘until next session’.

I’ve been dating this chick for the last few months. We met in a park. She left her coat on a bench and when she came back looking for it, she found me wearing it. I wasn’t gonna steal it, but I was curious, so I tried it on. When she saw me in the coat she laughed, and I just stared at her blankly. Something about the awkwardness that I produced struck up interest in her. Anyways, back to the present.

The other day she came over and we planned on watching a movie. I had Rocky IV in mind – if you want to learn about a single man putting an end to the Cold War, watch America’s Ambassador of Pain, Rocky Balboa.  She wanted to watch some dumb shit movie called My Best Friend’s Wedding. Unfortunately, things got a little frisky before we watched anything and ultimately I left the brain that controlled the majority of white blood cells at that time to make the decision. My Stupid Best Friend’s Dumb Shit Wedding it was. The whole movie I sat there wondering what my buddies were doing while she was using the tissues (the few that remained after my fun of course) to wipe the tears from her eyes.

After the movie ended, we got into a fight. Well, I wasn’t fighting per say, more like I was listening to her bitch at me. She said that I don’t appreciate her. I didn’t bring her flowers, surprise her at work for lunch or take her out to dinner enough. In my head mockingly I added frolic through a field filled with wild flowers, sing her a song I wrote for her outside her window or show up in a tuxedo for a candlelit dinner I had prepared, what an unrealistic typical woman! Was her perception of real life really this skewed? I tried to explain to her that every time we fool around, my load is a sign of my appreciation. I thought she would join in with my laughter, but it played out differently.

I told her that she plain and simple has watched too many chick flicks. Hollywood is filled with imaginative writers, big budget studio movies and actors that are covered in makeup and told what to say – a far cry from reality. I love MacGyver, but I don’t really think anyone short of Jack Bauer or Jean Claude Van Damme can actually escape from a North Korean high security war prison with nothing but a coat hanger, shoelace and the spare change in their pocket. The SNL joke MacGruber is more like real life.

There is no doubt that these ever growing romantic comedies feed women bogus images of what their love life can be. My girlfriend once told me that Robert Downey Jr. was hot. When I asked her why, she said because of the character he played in the movie, Only You. I told her how sweet I thought that was and that just for informative purposes she should know that in real life Robert Downey Jr. is a drunk that beats women. Naturally that just made me a jealous asshole as far as she was concerned.

Why is it that women believe that men really act and think the way they do in the movies? Every girl from a young age fantasizes about her future husband and dream wedding. Everything is a fairy tale and anything short is unreasonable. I’ve decided women who expect reality to mirror the glamour of the big screen are to be avoided like a phalanx of bumps surrounding a chick’s mouth. When women begin to obligate men to these fairy tale standards, it’s time to get one last blowey and high tail it out of there. It’s fine to try to train women, I put the time in for my dogs too, but we need to be able to recognize when the opportunity cost just isn’t there and take our losses on the spot.

If a woman can appreciate that I have a strange desire to try on ladies coats, that’s great, but when she expects me to shovel out an outrageous amount of money on some delusional wedding, I draw the line. My love for a woman cannot be quantified even though I have set a minimum amount of times we must have sex a week. Some things are just more important than others…

Until the next Kumate…

For your consideration:
Do you think Santa is so jolly around the holidays because he knows where all the bad girls live?