$tay ¢old

Alright dudes: Just because it’s spring doesn’t mean you get a free pass for completely insanity. Let’s go over a quick run-down of the stupidest shit your sex has pulled on me in the last couple of weeks:

1. You gave me hell for not calling you back, then called to talk to me about your stink foot, UTI, and diarrhea. Hold on, hold on—I want to call you right…now. No no, maybe now? Hm… where’s all that unbridled enthusiasm of mine when I need it?
2. You came home with me and suddenly turned extremely annoying and chatty. That is not the way to get laid—especially when you’re rattling on about your ex-wife. But I am glad you two are still friends—you’ll need someone to call when this doesn’t work out.
3. You played the guilt card for me not being the same religion as you while I was busy trying to get drunk. Then you invited yourself home with me, where you expressed more concerns about the religion thing, when all this time I just thought we were banging—which, interestingly, we didn’t do after all this “discourse.” Two days later you “dumped” me for still being a non-practicing Roman Catholic. Or something.
4. When I saw you at the bar, you brought your thumb and pointer-finger to your lips and said “Smoke?”, then invited me to the bathroom to get high. I wouldn’t normally say no to such advances, but the last time I was alone with you, you shoved your slippery-ass, gnarly tongue so far down my throat I gagged. And if you ain’t got the lips to back up a bathroom-stall makeout session, it’s all just cheap shit to me.
5. You stopped in the middle of fucking me because the door swing “sucks.” Girls can get blue-balled too, dick.
6. At 7 in the morning after a party at your place, you and your bitchass girlfriend fought so loudly I was woken from a very drunken slumber. She stormed out; at which point you offered me a “bigger couch” than the loveseat I slept on. Here’s some insight: Couches seem extremely small when you lie down and get pounced by some drunk dude intent on cheating, right then and there, regardless of how tired (and disinterested) this new prospect may be. You didn’t even check to see if maybe I wanted to “sleep off” some of my beer buzz—you just grabbed at my tits and went in for the kiss. Poor form! You’re lucky I have careful, cat-like reflexes (I could have done so much worse than nonchalantly swat you away); and I’m lucky I’d had an hour to digest some of that booze.
7. Your approach, upon meeting me at a lounge last week, was to walk up to me with your friend and ask if I lived in Brooklyn, then to tell me you’re an “architect” from “Italy.” Then you puked all over yourself and got kicked out. Nice one.