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Thursday, April 19, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Pounds & Pence
Ok, So they’re always asking me, “Day, why you go so hard on the fat people?”…
I love fat people. Fat people who love themselves are the best people around. They have a genuine warmth about them. And not just from the extra girth, from the heart too. This isn’t about them. This is about the ones who couldn’t care less about themselves, or anyone else in their buttery paths. The ones I want to set free into the ocean in hopes that they can’t swim. But who am I kidding? They’d float on top of the water like garbage bags full of yogurt, until they reached England, where they’d roam the streets like Godzillas, looking for super sized meals and toothpaste. Neither of which exist on that island.
The Obese Shall Inherit The Earth
America is yours, but not all yours. Not yet. You’re the majority here and multiplying rapidly, so it’s only a matter of time before you engulf the continent, sinking it into the ocean. Until then, I’m still here. So can I get some room on the fucking bus, homie? I hate watching a blimpie get on an almost crowded bus and slowly make their way towards my seat. I’m pretty thin and not too menacing looking, so I know they’re coming for me. They pour into the seat like hot putty against my body, smashing me into the window. They may or may not have a smell, depends on how well they wash between the folds. Then they have the nerve to exhale the air they were holding in to fit into the seat. So now I got a lap full of jelly to accompany me during my commute. Sweet. I feel like if you’re going to do something like that, be polite. Say something like, “Hey, would you mind holding one of my stomachs until we get downtown?” At least that way I don’t feel so molested by the end of the trip.
And three seats though? The bus is packed. I’m standing there next to you while you sit comfortably in three fucking seats. What gives you the right to those two extra seats? You’re not handicapped. You weren’t born three seats big. Your fat isn’t an accident. You didn’t cross the street and get hit by fat. You didn’t serve in a war and come home with Post Traumatic Fat Syndrome. I don’t feel bad for you in the slightest bit. In fact, you could probably stand to lose some of the calories it would take to stand this whole ride. Let me and two other people have your one seat. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of one inconsiderate grease trap. You can fit like six bad ass kids and a welfare check in the space you greedily take up. How do you feel about that, Mr. and Mrs. Tubbington? Hungry? Not surprised…
Whine and Cheese
I’m sick of hearing how hard it is to lose weight. We don’t hear these complaints in third world countries, so I’m assuming it’s more of a mind over endless matter entering your face hole kinda thing. I’m not advocating weight loss. If you’re big and you’re proud, more power to you, my pleasantly plump friends. But to you lazy ass whiny types, diet and exercise are not a secret. “But Day, my metabolism”. Fuck your metabolism. Science says if you burn more calories than you intake, you lose weight. It might not happen overnight. It may take months before you see any significant change. But I assure you, it will happen. I hear people complaining about how they’ve tried for months without any results. Unless someone is stuffing whole chickens in your mouth while you’re sleeping, you’re either not trying hard enough and lying to yourself, or not trying at all and lying to everyone else. Either way, I’m left wondering what the fuck got caught between your back fat and died, as you slowly walk past me on the street. Hose that shit out.
The lengths some of you go through to lose weight or appear to lose weight are ridiculous. Man girdles, really? Just when you thought moobies had taken away all of your dignity, the mirdle shows up to find the little bit you had buried somewhere and wipe it’s ass with it. You should be ashamed of yourself, fam. Who are you trying to impress? I hope it’s not anyone you want to take home tonight. How do you explain that? Even with the lights off, she’s going to feel the extra blanket you just unleashed on her. She may even think there’s another person in the room. If you’re lucky, she’ll be into that sort of thing (you wear a mirdle, you’re not a lucky person).
What do you mean you're getting gastric bypass surgery? “Oh but Day, it’s for my health. I need it or I’ll die”. You knew this a hundred pounds ago. Fat like that doesn’t sneak up on you. People aren’t having fat attacks in their sleep. You didn’t catch fat from the dude you slept with last week, or a toilet seat at McDonald’s. You didn’t forget to get your fat vaccine this winter. No, deadly fat is a gradual process, one you ignored for years and are now looking to science to cure. Like a crack head begging for change, instead, you go to science with your cup full and ask them to empty it for you. I’m finding pity hard to come by over here. Prevention is the moral of this story.
Beef Tips
To wrap it up, here are a few quick things you should stop doing, if you’re morbidly obese, that will make you easier to get along with:
Stop wearing bright colors. I don’t know where you people are finding these circus tents to wrap yourselves in, but stop it. The real elephants need a place to perform, and we already have a bright sphere for the Earth to revolve around.
Stop procreating if you’re too big to take care of your kids. That means running after them if they’re about to run into the street, disciplining them with something other than a back scratcher when they’re in reach, feeding them foods that don’t come in bags with arches on them, going to parent teacher conferences w/o folding the non folding chairs, and playing catch. You don’t have to run around or even throw it back. Just be able to fit out of your doorway, and comfortably in a backyard or pasture.
Cover yourself. Make sure your rolls are all tucked in everywhere. If you have to, stuff some in your shoes. This doesn’t mean buy a mirdle! Just wear clothes that fit. If they don’t make clothes that fit, take a sewing class.
Stop drinking diet coke and wearing shape ups in public. Nobody believes you.
Finally, love yourself. You’re not alone. As I stated earlier, you’re the majority. Stop trying to fit in with what the media tells you is sexy and be yourself. It’s ok to be big and beautiful. It’s not ok to be lazy and inconsiderate. Surround yourself with people who love you, and fuck the rest. It’s amazing how a little self respect can change a person’s behavior and make them more… jolly…
That’s it for now, kiddos. Catch me next week for my thoughts on you frail type, stick figured folk. I got a few bones to pick with you too. I’ll give them back after I’m done though, since I know you need them…
"Anyone wanna come over & fondle my junk? Forgot to put the trash out this morning & I'm looking for someone w/a garbage fetish to come get it..."
I love fat people. Fat people who love themselves are the best people around. They have a genuine warmth about them. And not just from the extra girth, from the heart too. This isn’t about them. This is about the ones who couldn’t care less about themselves, or anyone else in their buttery paths. The ones I want to set free into the ocean in hopes that they can’t swim. But who am I kidding? They’d float on top of the water like garbage bags full of yogurt, until they reached England, where they’d roam the streets like Godzillas, looking for super sized meals and toothpaste. Neither of which exist on that island.
The Obese Shall Inherit The Earth
America is yours, but not all yours. Not yet. You’re the majority here and multiplying rapidly, so it’s only a matter of time before you engulf the continent, sinking it into the ocean. Until then, I’m still here. So can I get some room on the fucking bus, homie? I hate watching a blimpie get on an almost crowded bus and slowly make their way towards my seat. I’m pretty thin and not too menacing looking, so I know they’re coming for me. They pour into the seat like hot putty against my body, smashing me into the window. They may or may not have a smell, depends on how well they wash between the folds. Then they have the nerve to exhale the air they were holding in to fit into the seat. So now I got a lap full of jelly to accompany me during my commute. Sweet. I feel like if you’re going to do something like that, be polite. Say something like, “Hey, would you mind holding one of my stomachs until we get downtown?” At least that way I don’t feel so molested by the end of the trip.
And three seats though? The bus is packed. I’m standing there next to you while you sit comfortably in three fucking seats. What gives you the right to those two extra seats? You’re not handicapped. You weren’t born three seats big. Your fat isn’t an accident. You didn’t cross the street and get hit by fat. You didn’t serve in a war and come home with Post Traumatic Fat Syndrome. I don’t feel bad for you in the slightest bit. In fact, you could probably stand to lose some of the calories it would take to stand this whole ride. Let me and two other people have your one seat. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of one inconsiderate grease trap. You can fit like six bad ass kids and a welfare check in the space you greedily take up. How do you feel about that, Mr. and Mrs. Tubbington? Hungry? Not surprised…
Whine and Cheese
I’m sick of hearing how hard it is to lose weight. We don’t hear these complaints in third world countries, so I’m assuming it’s more of a mind over endless matter entering your face hole kinda thing. I’m not advocating weight loss. If you’re big and you’re proud, more power to you, my pleasantly plump friends. But to you lazy ass whiny types, diet and exercise are not a secret. “But Day, my metabolism”. Fuck your metabolism. Science says if you burn more calories than you intake, you lose weight. It might not happen overnight. It may take months before you see any significant change. But I assure you, it will happen. I hear people complaining about how they’ve tried for months without any results. Unless someone is stuffing whole chickens in your mouth while you’re sleeping, you’re either not trying hard enough and lying to yourself, or not trying at all and lying to everyone else. Either way, I’m left wondering what the fuck got caught between your back fat and died, as you slowly walk past me on the street. Hose that shit out.
The lengths some of you go through to lose weight or appear to lose weight are ridiculous. Man girdles, really? Just when you thought moobies had taken away all of your dignity, the mirdle shows up to find the little bit you had buried somewhere and wipe it’s ass with it. You should be ashamed of yourself, fam. Who are you trying to impress? I hope it’s not anyone you want to take home tonight. How do you explain that? Even with the lights off, she’s going to feel the extra blanket you just unleashed on her. She may even think there’s another person in the room. If you’re lucky, she’ll be into that sort of thing (you wear a mirdle, you’re not a lucky person).
What do you mean you're getting gastric bypass surgery? “Oh but Day, it’s for my health. I need it or I’ll die”. You knew this a hundred pounds ago. Fat like that doesn’t sneak up on you. People aren’t having fat attacks in their sleep. You didn’t catch fat from the dude you slept with last week, or a toilet seat at McDonald’s. You didn’t forget to get your fat vaccine this winter. No, deadly fat is a gradual process, one you ignored for years and are now looking to science to cure. Like a crack head begging for change, instead, you go to science with your cup full and ask them to empty it for you. I’m finding pity hard to come by over here. Prevention is the moral of this story.
Beef Tips
To wrap it up, here are a few quick things you should stop doing, if you’re morbidly obese, that will make you easier to get along with:
Stop wearing bright colors. I don’t know where you people are finding these circus tents to wrap yourselves in, but stop it. The real elephants need a place to perform, and we already have a bright sphere for the Earth to revolve around.
Stop procreating if you’re too big to take care of your kids. That means running after them if they’re about to run into the street, disciplining them with something other than a back scratcher when they’re in reach, feeding them foods that don’t come in bags with arches on them, going to parent teacher conferences w/o folding the non folding chairs, and playing catch. You don’t have to run around or even throw it back. Just be able to fit out of your doorway, and comfortably in a backyard or pasture.
Cover yourself. Make sure your rolls are all tucked in everywhere. If you have to, stuff some in your shoes. This doesn’t mean buy a mirdle! Just wear clothes that fit. If they don’t make clothes that fit, take a sewing class.
Stop drinking diet coke and wearing shape ups in public. Nobody believes you.
Finally, love yourself. You’re not alone. As I stated earlier, you’re the majority. Stop trying to fit in with what the media tells you is sexy and be yourself. It’s ok to be big and beautiful. It’s not ok to be lazy and inconsiderate. Surround yourself with people who love you, and fuck the rest. It’s amazing how a little self respect can change a person’s behavior and make them more… jolly…
That’s it for now, kiddos. Catch me next week for my thoughts on you frail type, stick figured folk. I got a few bones to pick with you too. I’ll give them back after I’m done though, since I know you need them…
"Anyone wanna come over & fondle my junk? Forgot to put the trash out this morning & I'm looking for someone w/a garbage fetish to come get it..."
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Backseat Babies
The Port Authority of Allegheny County will soon be reduced to Pittsburgh PAT only. The suggested cuts are devastating, 35%. Most routes that extend beyond the city limits will be phased out. Let me explain why this should concern you. I'm not just speaking to the people of Pittsburgh, I'm speaking to the world, because your city may be next.
Backseat Babies
You see, not only will the poor be affected by this, but so will EVERYONE. Get this. Fewer busses mean more cars on the road. More cars on the road, more traffic. More traffic, longer trips to the hospital. Longer trips to the hospital, more babies born in the backseat of cars. 20 years from now, your city will be crawling with backseat babies. You don't want that, do you? You ever see one of these kids? They’re an odd leathery bunch. They tend to be loaners. You can usually spot one in the corner of any classroom, chewing crayons and making spit art on the walls. City full of those and the graffiti around town will get very interesting.
CO2
Ok. Whether you know it or not, you’re always inhaling farts while walking around the city. I mean, when do you feel most free to blow ass? Outside, right? Cause no one’s going to really smell it, and even if they do, you’re already walking away from it. J. Bond farts. Sometimes when I’m walking downtown, I like to imagine I’m being chased by undercover agents, and I release a silent but deadly gas from my tailpipe to get them off my back. Anyway, without a transit system, or enough money for a car, the masses will flood the city center to live and work. You thought the air was thick before? Concentrated people equals concentrated funk. You’re gonna get hit with Agent Brown every other block. You’ll walk into work every day with invisible spider web face, smelling like a fresh shit shower. People are gonna think your home life sucks.
Sharks
So you’re walking down the street when, out the corner of your eye, you see a man raping a dog while children scream in horror. You’ve just witnessed the third side effect of a poor transit system, crime. That dog belonged to a family on the skids. After daddy couldn’t get to work any longer on the bus, he enlisted the aid of Loan the Shark to get him a new car. With all the increased traffic, Daddy spent many hours on the road getting to and from the city. This was not only expensive but tiring. So when daddy got fired for sleeping at his desk, he had no savings to pay Shark back. Shark knew that if he killed daddy, he’d never get paid. So to show him he means business, he kidnapped the kids and dog, and put on a show for the children they wouldn’t soon forget. Shark clearly has issues… bus issues.
Mo People Mo Problems
Lastly, I want to talk about insurance rates and vehicle maintenance costs. As we know, with more cars on the roads, there will be more potholes. That much is obvious. What you fail to realize is that there’ll also be more tardos getting hit by these cars; old people, cell phone junkies, rappers, furries. Not your concern, right? That is, until they cause front end damage to your sweet, minimally insured Daewoo. There goes your insurance rate. It went up with the puff of ash you just knocked off that crackhead, whose now screaming lawsuit. And you’re looking at his pipe like it might not be a bad idea. Next thing you know, you’re on the wrong side of civil court with a new addiction. Say no to drugs and say yes to mass transit, brotha.
These are just a few of the concerns one should have about losing the transit system within their community. It’ll be harder to transport goods and services in and out of the city. Pollution and crime rates will rise. The cost of living will increase sharply, while the quality of living decreases just as fast. And fat kids. I don’t know how they fit into this, but they do… snuggly. So support your local transit system, world. Or find yourself in a 4 hour rush, contemplating the taste of bullets.
“ Mr. Owl, how many wipes does it take to get to the bottom of my asshole?”
“Let’s find out. One, two-hoo, three… more than three.”
Backseat Babies
You see, not only will the poor be affected by this, but so will EVERYONE. Get this. Fewer busses mean more cars on the road. More cars on the road, more traffic. More traffic, longer trips to the hospital. Longer trips to the hospital, more babies born in the backseat of cars. 20 years from now, your city will be crawling with backseat babies. You don't want that, do you? You ever see one of these kids? They’re an odd leathery bunch. They tend to be loaners. You can usually spot one in the corner of any classroom, chewing crayons and making spit art on the walls. City full of those and the graffiti around town will get very interesting.
CO2
Ok. Whether you know it or not, you’re always inhaling farts while walking around the city. I mean, when do you feel most free to blow ass? Outside, right? Cause no one’s going to really smell it, and even if they do, you’re already walking away from it. J. Bond farts. Sometimes when I’m walking downtown, I like to imagine I’m being chased by undercover agents, and I release a silent but deadly gas from my tailpipe to get them off my back. Anyway, without a transit system, or enough money for a car, the masses will flood the city center to live and work. You thought the air was thick before? Concentrated people equals concentrated funk. You’re gonna get hit with Agent Brown every other block. You’ll walk into work every day with invisible spider web face, smelling like a fresh shit shower. People are gonna think your home life sucks.
Sharks
So you’re walking down the street when, out the corner of your eye, you see a man raping a dog while children scream in horror. You’ve just witnessed the third side effect of a poor transit system, crime. That dog belonged to a family on the skids. After daddy couldn’t get to work any longer on the bus, he enlisted the aid of Loan the Shark to get him a new car. With all the increased traffic, Daddy spent many hours on the road getting to and from the city. This was not only expensive but tiring. So when daddy got fired for sleeping at his desk, he had no savings to pay Shark back. Shark knew that if he killed daddy, he’d never get paid. So to show him he means business, he kidnapped the kids and dog, and put on a show for the children they wouldn’t soon forget. Shark clearly has issues… bus issues.
Mo People Mo Problems
Lastly, I want to talk about insurance rates and vehicle maintenance costs. As we know, with more cars on the roads, there will be more potholes. That much is obvious. What you fail to realize is that there’ll also be more tardos getting hit by these cars; old people, cell phone junkies, rappers, furries. Not your concern, right? That is, until they cause front end damage to your sweet, minimally insured Daewoo. There goes your insurance rate. It went up with the puff of ash you just knocked off that crackhead, whose now screaming lawsuit. And you’re looking at his pipe like it might not be a bad idea. Next thing you know, you’re on the wrong side of civil court with a new addiction. Say no to drugs and say yes to mass transit, brotha.
These are just a few of the concerns one should have about losing the transit system within their community. It’ll be harder to transport goods and services in and out of the city. Pollution and crime rates will rise. The cost of living will increase sharply, while the quality of living decreases just as fast. And fat kids. I don’t know how they fit into this, but they do… snuggly. So support your local transit system, world. Or find yourself in a 4 hour rush, contemplating the taste of bullets.
“ Mr. Owl, how many wipes does it take to get to the bottom of my asshole?”
“Let’s find out. One, two-hoo, three… more than three.”
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
The To Don't List
So I have a lot of female friends I actually listen to, from time to time. They tell me lots of stories about guys they’re dating & it never ceases to amaze me, just how bat shit crazy some of these guys are. This isn’t about them. We’ll save them for another Day. This is about the borderline tendencies, the ones that seem to come up more often than others. Those instances in which the alcohol or emotions take advantage, & you end up as subject material for another Day Bracey post…
1. “I Love You.”
Ok. So traditionally, the third date is the sweet spot. It’s the date that a chick can take her clothes off without feeling like a dick towel (from the roll you keep by your bed). Question: On which date is it ok to tell a girl you love her? 1st? 5th? 10th? The answer: NEVER! It’s a trick question! If you’re still “dating”, like, having to make dates and agree upon them, on a semi regular basis, then your "love" just got you a step closer to being maced or tased (“Don’t tase me, bro!”). If you’re not talking on a near daily basis, or have a label, love is a scary thing for a woman. Not in the sense that she doesn’t want to get her feelings hurt, but in a sense that she doesn’t want to become your new leather dress (“It puts the lotion on its skin…”). Some women are flattered by it, and eager to hop into a relationship after hearing this. These women also enjoy waving sharp objects at genitals. Most normal women, after being told they’re loved by a guy whose last name they barely remember, are frantically searching for either a police officer, or a phone… to tweet this hilarious shit. Either way, it’s a bad look.
Not only that, but the minute she hears it, she’s thinking, ‘I knew I shouldn’t have let him…’ And that means you’re not only fucking up your sitch, but now you’ve made it that much harder for the next man to get her to do the same thing. You just raised the price of her milkshake. Thanks, Sensitive Sam. As men, we need to keep pussy inflation rates to a minimum. You just made her feel like her gush should be on display at the Louvre. Don’t do this. For the sake of all parties involved, remember, no label no love. This means girlfriends, wives, mistresses, and hookers (since you’re paying for it anyway).
2. Booty Calls
For one to three night-stands, there is a statute of limitation for the period of time you can call up a chick post coitus. Five years is well beyond that period. I mean, I can see you going the Facebook, Twitter route, kinda easing your way back into things. But 3am booty calls? Years after you’ve forgotten what the broad even looks like? Not only do you come off as some hungry ex con with a weak butthole and strong forearms, but now her girlfriend (a lot changes in 5yrs) is gonna punch her in the eye for it. And ain’t nothing sexy about two butch chicks fist fighting… titties and flannels flying everywhere. Not to mention pussy inflation. You just added three zeros and a comma to it.
This doesn’t include exes. You know… real exes? Like, both parties admitted to it? Just because she ate ya asshole a couple of times, doesn’t mean you’re official, my friend. Some girls just had weird uncles. If you’re an ex and you call years later, it may be a little weird… lotta weird… and you definitely come off as desperate. But if your stroke game was proper back then…? You never know. They say ginas have the memory of an elephant. And by ‘they’, I mean me. I say that. And so should you.
3. The Status
Lastly, let her decide when it’s time to change the relationship status on Facebook. Honestly, this is something that shouldn’t even concern you. Facebook statuses are like wedding rings. Women care if you wear them, because they know other women will notice and act accordingly. Men don’t give a fuck about rings because they know other men don’t give a fuck about rings. “Oh, you’re married? That’s nice. Would you like to see a picture of my cock?” To a man, a ring on a married woman means we don't have to worry about a commitment. It's a ‘for rent’ sign. My point is, changing her status really isn’t going to mean shit to anyone but you. So there’s no use in bringing it up. But if you must, please don’t do so after the 1st date! No matter how nice of a time she may have had on that date, waking up the next morning to a GD relationship request on Facebook is only going to land you in the friend zone if you’re lucky, the blocked call list if not. Again, there are some women who would be flattered by this, and eager to rush into a relationship with you. They’re also eager to rush into your house and bank account, with their five kids and ex felon brother. Hope you got a big couch. They’ll all be sleeping on it.
Oh, and did I mention the inflation rate on that? ESPECIALLY if she didn’t even let you SMELL it that night? You might as well have hooked that coochie up to a helium tank. She ain’t ever coming down.
I hope these tips have helped some. The key to successful dating is to keep in mind WWDD, What would Day do? I assure you, he’s definitely not approaching random women on dating sites, asking them to mail their dirty socks and q tips to his P.O. box. Neither should you be. And if you’re still not sure, hit that twitter follow button. We’ll set you straight in no time. Till next time...
"Seriously, has anyone seen my kid anywhere??"
1. “I Love You.”
Ok. So traditionally, the third date is the sweet spot. It’s the date that a chick can take her clothes off without feeling like a dick towel (from the roll you keep by your bed). Question: On which date is it ok to tell a girl you love her? 1st? 5th? 10th? The answer: NEVER! It’s a trick question! If you’re still “dating”, like, having to make dates and agree upon them, on a semi regular basis, then your "love" just got you a step closer to being maced or tased (“Don’t tase me, bro!”). If you’re not talking on a near daily basis, or have a label, love is a scary thing for a woman. Not in the sense that she doesn’t want to get her feelings hurt, but in a sense that she doesn’t want to become your new leather dress (“It puts the lotion on its skin…”). Some women are flattered by it, and eager to hop into a relationship after hearing this. These women also enjoy waving sharp objects at genitals. Most normal women, after being told they’re loved by a guy whose last name they barely remember, are frantically searching for either a police officer, or a phone… to tweet this hilarious shit. Either way, it’s a bad look.
Not only that, but the minute she hears it, she’s thinking, ‘I knew I shouldn’t have let him…’ And that means you’re not only fucking up your sitch, but now you’ve made it that much harder for the next man to get her to do the same thing. You just raised the price of her milkshake. Thanks, Sensitive Sam. As men, we need to keep pussy inflation rates to a minimum. You just made her feel like her gush should be on display at the Louvre. Don’t do this. For the sake of all parties involved, remember, no label no love. This means girlfriends, wives, mistresses, and hookers (since you’re paying for it anyway).
2. Booty Calls
For one to three night-stands, there is a statute of limitation for the period of time you can call up a chick post coitus. Five years is well beyond that period. I mean, I can see you going the Facebook, Twitter route, kinda easing your way back into things. But 3am booty calls? Years after you’ve forgotten what the broad even looks like? Not only do you come off as some hungry ex con with a weak butthole and strong forearms, but now her girlfriend (a lot changes in 5yrs) is gonna punch her in the eye for it. And ain’t nothing sexy about two butch chicks fist fighting… titties and flannels flying everywhere. Not to mention pussy inflation. You just added three zeros and a comma to it.
This doesn’t include exes. You know… real exes? Like, both parties admitted to it? Just because she ate ya asshole a couple of times, doesn’t mean you’re official, my friend. Some girls just had weird uncles. If you’re an ex and you call years later, it may be a little weird… lotta weird… and you definitely come off as desperate. But if your stroke game was proper back then…? You never know. They say ginas have the memory of an elephant. And by ‘they’, I mean me. I say that. And so should you.
3. The Status
Lastly, let her decide when it’s time to change the relationship status on Facebook. Honestly, this is something that shouldn’t even concern you. Facebook statuses are like wedding rings. Women care if you wear them, because they know other women will notice and act accordingly. Men don’t give a fuck about rings because they know other men don’t give a fuck about rings. “Oh, you’re married? That’s nice. Would you like to see a picture of my cock?” To a man, a ring on a married woman means we don't have to worry about a commitment. It's a ‘for rent’ sign. My point is, changing her status really isn’t going to mean shit to anyone but you. So there’s no use in bringing it up. But if you must, please don’t do so after the 1st date! No matter how nice of a time she may have had on that date, waking up the next morning to a GD relationship request on Facebook is only going to land you in the friend zone if you’re lucky, the blocked call list if not. Again, there are some women who would be flattered by this, and eager to rush into a relationship with you. They’re also eager to rush into your house and bank account, with their five kids and ex felon brother. Hope you got a big couch. They’ll all be sleeping on it.
Oh, and did I mention the inflation rate on that? ESPECIALLY if she didn’t even let you SMELL it that night? You might as well have hooked that coochie up to a helium tank. She ain’t ever coming down.
I hope these tips have helped some. The key to successful dating is to keep in mind WWDD, What would Day do? I assure you, he’s definitely not approaching random women on dating sites, asking them to mail their dirty socks and q tips to his P.O. box. Neither should you be. And if you’re still not sure, hit that twitter follow button. We’ll set you straight in no time. Till next time...
"Seriously, has anyone seen my kid anywhere??"
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