Raising A Child

Tell me...tell me you didn't do it. In the name of everything that I and the rest of the civilized, intelligent world hold dear, please tell me you didn't do it. For fuck and a shingle's sake, swear upon the nine orbs of sanity that you didn't do what I think you did.

You have.

We're all fucked. I will now accept donations so that I may fund a rocket ship off of this doomed planet to somewhere a little more safe, such as the Sun.

You went and got  yourself a kid. You see, somehow you managed to finagle your piggly wiggly flaccid and criminally unkempt pathetic excuse for a penis, that tiny little nub which in itself presents the essence of inadequacy and all that is wrong with the human genome, into a willing - I reiterate, WILLING - female of the human species, and now you'd like for me to take time out of my all-important and vastly productive business schedule to tell you how to raise the little homunculus spawn of the unwanted mongoloid mutant shit dribble that you are. 

You know, Bob - let's call you Bob - I don't even know if I should. You see, if I help you right here and now, I will have ensured that that which should not be, that which should by all rights not even be alive and breathing my air, will grow into a member of society such that will have a semblance of purpose, and frankly, I don't want you or anyone like you to further perpetuate their genetic line any further past the point where it should have ended - about three generations before your slovenly carcass ever stunned this Earth and its medical community by being alive this long. 

I wouldn't be doing my job, however, if I were to refuse you. I take my job seriously, so much so that I took a three year absence from it. So on we go onto...oh God I can't believe I'm saying this...child rearing.

Chapter One: Feeding

You may be surprised to hear this, but you are not the only bottomless gullet this world has to offer.  No, in fact, now that you have somehow produced some ungodly offspring carrying your putrid genetic line, there is one more of exactly those;  an insatiable, gluttonous, ever drooling and fetid maw is now born and ready for to take this small and barely significant planet for all the calories and saturated fats its worth. 

It is no easy task for us, the humans resembling anything in the fashion of protein-based life forms capable of self-sustainment with body temperatures anywhere between 97 and 98.2 degrees to provide nourishment for a gargantuan ready-to-implode-and-take-the-rest-of-us-with-it joke of creation such as your ever expanding personage. However, I am happy, and in fact exhilarated to report that now you – yes you, Bob – get to experience that joy and burden with the rest of us.

Yes, us. Those who toil away at the ever grueling tasks of fashioning small trinkets from wood and straw as to invigorate the economy and the farming sector thereof enough in due order to provide your slovenly and greasy gullet with the means to propel your useless soon to be corpse into the oblivion of sweet, merciful death. 

But now you alone get to do exactly that. HAH!

Fuck you and your shit!

Now then, as you will soon notice, the creature what hath burst forth from your unimaginably chafed and sweat strewn loins will be as hungry as your fuckwitted fuckslut of a sister at an all you can eat dick buffet.  The solution to this conundrum is as simple as your entire Middle America family.  You will take this small, intellectually forlorn specimen of human inadequacy, and plant it firmly upon your Wal-Martian Rascar Scootered wife’s dirigible breast-like lumps.  You will now see that it nourishes itself as happily and gainfully as your worthless self does at Clucky McFuckin’s Chicken Fuck Shack.  Phew, that was easy.
Next!

Chapter 2: Raising

I don’t know your morals, I don’t know your values, nor do I care to. You are most likely situated somewhere in the “no one gives a fuck about” portion of this planet, and whatever ancient fable you take your fuckwitted dipship moral tenets from is just as horrific and genocidal as the next one, so I am willing to let you get away with teaching those to your poor, henceforth grossly misguided lump of residual placenta and haphazardly thrown together DNA. I will, however, advise the following: do not, under any circumstance, tell it that it can be whatever it wants to be. No it can not, and damn you Ted Nugent for inspiring false hope into its small and vapid heart. At most, and I do mean at most, it will end up drawling its way through a drive-thru menu at the aforementioned Clucky McFuckin’s Chicken Fuck Shack , and that is precisely where that fuck sack of diseased monkey dick will belong.  Our society has done well these past few thousand years with little influence from those such as you have reared (despite what this great and glorious fuckknuckle nation’s elected official roster may look like), and I will not have them marring the future of my society. Keep your ill begotten ilk away from me and those like me.

Chapter 3: Eighteen Years Old

Fuck ‘em, not my kid, kick them out, fucks I give. Seriously though, once the small genetic specimen of yourself grows into a fully formed member of your dilapidated cloister of a culdesacian society, put foot to ass and have them venture out into the world. Why, you may ask, considering my disdain for such immensely dull creatures entering my world at large, should I advise you to spew such waste forth into this, the great and powerful world we have built?  Why, it’s a matter of natural selection. Yes, once your paltry contribution to the gene pool has made it into the actual world, one which is devoid entirely of any corn stocks and wheat fields, it will find itself in such a position as to have itself thoroughly fucked in its corn bread fed ass by an oncoming car, which will have seen it fit to do doughnuts on its fetid carcass until such time as the septic waste from your alleged penis has transformed itself into a pink stain on the concrete pavement. Also, the car in question will be driven by me. Again, fuck you and your shit

Chapter 4: Dealing With Loss

Iunno. Like I said, fuck you and your shit. Fucks I give.

Pfft.

And there we have it, folks! Raise your children in the way I’ve just prescribed, and we’ll have a great and glorious society for us all to enjoy!  Deviate, and…well, we’ll probably just have more Clucky McFuckin’s Chicken Fuck Shack workers.

Cheers!

I'm back! Let's talk motivation.

I'm back, bitches!
No, stop the applause...okay, continue. Alright, seriously, stop. I'll have the wind of you.
I'll just go ahead and get right down to it. "Dear merciful king among peasants, our great and all powerful redeemer, sage, and white knight, why hast thou forsaken us for so long?" you may be, and in fact are, asking me right now on bended knees with your immeasurably vast hindquarters glistening in the glow of your desk lamp. Well, I have a secret. A nasty, dirty, secret.

I'm lazy.

Yes, yes. I'm a lazy fuck. Not nearly as lazy as you lot, not even in the same ballpark. Fuck, not even the same sport. But alas, I do have my moments of lack of motivation. In this case, it lasted just about 3 years.
Well, that's not entirely true. I have actually been busy doing other things - things far more important than telling your porcine, chronically unmotivated lumps of flesh and cheese what to do with your lives and how to do it. And on that subject, let us get started, shall we? Let's get motivated!
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Motivation is a funny thing. Not ha-ha funny, more like an infant in a burn ward funny.Which isn't funny at all.
See what I mean? I wasn't motivated in the slightest to make the opening line of this, my glorious return, funny. Less so because I find the thought of your jelly rolls gyrating with laughter absolutely fuckmothering repulsive, but more because I've had several glasses of bourbon and could give a single hay-penny fuck less about your, or anyone else's amusement. Fuck you.
So you find yourself there, sitting on your latest pilonidal cyst, scarfing down your seventy ninth burrito bowl of the afternoon, and asking yourself "how did it ever get this bad?". I'll tell you. You're not motivated, man!
Luckily for you, I have seen fit to bestow upon you - yes, you - my number one surefire way to get that unimaginably engorged ass up and moving. Pay attention you flea-brained fuck knuckle.
First thing you're gonna want to do is get yourself a steak. That's right, dicktits, a steak. I'm sure you're familiar with those. Them's them brown things what mama used to bring home from the tex-mex, 'cept they was all cut up into strips and inside one of them there mexican flat breads. Except this time, you're gonna wanna go to the grocery store and buy an actual one - they're red.
Now, get on your Hoveround and bring that ass to the woods. Follow me on this.
Put the steak up your ass and do what you do best - be still and wait, letting your eyes glaze over and your drool creep down your geometrically impossible cheeks like they do when you're watching the latest episode of "Shit For Brains Sings Shit" or "Shit For Brains Buys Shit" or whatever the new Fox lineup is.
Soon enough, a meat eating animal will approach you, and if you have a single iota of self preservation left in that alleged body of yours, one of those appendages towards your bottom half - commonly called "legs" - will move very slowly forward, and the other will soon follow. Hey look at that, you're running!
Do this every day for thirty years, and maybe one day you'll wake up and won't have to have a forklift lift you off of your bed! Again, fuck you.

Well, hope the 3 year wait was worth the wait. I'm fairly sure I've inspired you to go out there and be somebody, and if I haven't then you're just not motivated enough. My suggestion? A steak up the ass.
I will now accept your praises and your money. Give me money. No, seriously, pay me. Fuck you think, I'm doing this for free? I'm over here changing your worthless life. You'd be dead without me!
Run your pockets!

Edit: I was told that this post lacks the "refinement" of the posts I made all those years ago. So here's what you're all craving, what you're all salivating at the glans for, that which you came to see in the first place.
Ahem.
You shit-nosed cum-gargling fuckdick of internationally renowned imbecility and fuck headedness, I hope your house burns down on Christmas morning with your entire hob-goblin mongoloid fuck-brained and most assuredly lard and bile encrusted family within it. May your collective burning fat fuel the pyre and send all of your neighbors within a five mile radius to hell with you, so they may jab you all with pitchforks and rape your internal organs for all eternity for having provided them the LIVING HELL of having to live in such close proximity to you, you bunch of dribbledick wastewater cocknibblers.
There. You happy now?

Getting A Job

So you've finally decided to get off your titanically proportioned ass and become a useful, functioning member of society. Good for you! Fortunately for you, I'm here to walk you through the monumental task of acquiring gainful employment so that you can afford your daily injections of nacho cheese and liquified lard. I have once again compiled a list of helpful tips that, when applied, will ensure success in the world of applying for jobs and going through interviews. Now stop scratching your swollen blue ball sack and sniffing your fingers and pay attention.

          1. Picking your field

Before you can begin doing anything, the very first step is to figure out what you are qualified to do that someone would be willing to pay you for. What are you good at? Knowing you, you're probably only good at picking out the various bacterial cultures living underneath your toe nails or slamming your head against a concrete wall until a thought forms out of the jumbled chaos in your brain or something to that effect. However, aside from being a sideshow attraction, those particular talents aren't in high demand in today's high-paced world, so we'll have to just assume that for whatever reason you know how to do something other than stare blankly at a dead possum hoping that it turns into a three-tier cheese cake and move on. Next you will have to pick up a classifieds section or find an on-line job classifieds site and apply, apply, apply. Remember, there are about 40+ people applying for every position and you have to stand out somehow. I suggest lying and mentioning that you are not a completely useless bottom feeder of a dick breathed cocksucker in your cover letter.

2. Hygiene and appearance

Having covered hygiene in several previous posts, I will forgo this part and focus mainly on appearance, assuming you don't need to be told to wash the dried cum off your hands. Appearance is everything when going in for an interview, so it is imperative that you look the part of a competent worker while at the same time exuding confidence and a sense of professionalism. In order to accomplish this, a good shirt and tie in lieu of the usual Cheeto dust covered Stones t-shirt is essential. Make sure to iron that bastard first, as it has no doubt accumulated a million wrinkles having been trapped in your closet for oh so many years. Slacks and shiny shoes are just as important, so peel off that jizz rag you call pants and try and look like a human being for once in your futile existence.

3. The Interview Itself

It is important to note that being early for an interview is generally considered a good thing – if it's scheduled for 3 pm, show up at 2:55, and so on. Be sure to bring a well-written resume as well. If you show up three hours late with nothing but your dick in your hand, the safe bet is that not only will you not get the job, you will most likely be ejected from the building when the interviewer sticks his dick up your ass, points you out a window and cum blasts you onto the sidewalk. So, you've arrived on time and presented your resume. The next thing to probably happen is the interviewer will ask you a series of questions; what your responsibilities were at your last job, how and why you left and what you have to offer their company. Ideally, your responses should be spoken clearly and with minimal mention of your World Of Warcraft character's accomplishments. End with a firm hand shake and go back to your hovel where you can shed your nice, clean clothes and continue being the slovenly pile of fuckwitted shit you've always been.

4. Getting the Job

Congratulations! Thanks to my sagely advice, you have accomplished the task of becoming employed. Your first day of work looms before you and you have never been more excited. With this job, your life starts anew; new opportunities to be had, new friends to be made and new experiences to be experienced. My final word of advice would be to show up to your first day dressed to the nines and smelling of rose water, just to keep up the illusion you presented at the interview. After about three weeks, you can start showing up wearing your regular clothes and smelling of your usual ungodly stench of ass and caramel waffles as your employer will have noticed how much of a fuck up you truly are and will have already began regretting his decision to hire you, so why bother, as you will be getting fired imminently. Now go out there and flip the best god-damn burger you can!

Well, that's it. I've imparted all the wisdom I have on the subject and if you take it to heart, you will have found a job in no time at all, unless of course I've over estimated my readership and instead of useless piles of putrid maggot shit, you are all actually just common piles of amoeba shit – far less prestigious.

If you're planning on getting up my ass about my recent lack of updates, kindly fuck off. I've been suffering from the flu and have been too busy blowing my nose and not giving a fuck. I'm also thinking about scrapping the daily-updated format an going for every 3 days as I find myself blowing my creative load too early dealing with you mountains of fuck.

Tune in next time when I do something so out of this world that you'll piss out your eyes and shit out you dick!

Some inspiring thoughts

You know what? I was going to give you scum piles some advice on avoiding and overcoming sickness, but fuck that, you know why? Because I would much rather get back to the roots of this blog and why I started it in the first place – because all of you are an infection upon this world and need to be told so. So today, instead of an advice update, I will do one discussing the reasons why you're a piece of shit. You may be reading this thinking “lol he's gonna talk about some scumbags who aren't me and I'm gonna get a laugh” to which I say THAT MEANS YOU AS WELL, you ungodly mountain of ass. To quote the good Dr. Cox “yes you, forever you, a thousand times you.”

            The fact that you continue to live and breathe is an insult to the very fabric of existence. I have not the slightest idea why your two idiot parents decided to conceive you, but it is a decision that they and the rest of the world have regretted ever since the fateful day you slithered out of your mother's snatch, much to the astonishment of the delivery room doctor, who has never before in his medical career seen a baby born with such disfigurements as you and live. Your life is worth less than a broke dick dog's post-coitus cock drippings, you gushing geyser of diarrhea and fail.

            If you for one second even begin to believe that there is a chance in the deepest shit encrusted bowels of hell that you will ever, EVER, be allowed to look at a member of the opposite sex and so much as wink at them without the townsfolk stoning you to death with rocks wrapped in dismembered foreskin for said offense, then let me burst that fucking bubble for you real quick. The chances of you passing on your genes to a willing partner are so astronomical that there is a better chance of Martin Lawrence ever making a good movie that he wrote, directed and starred in. You might as well castrate yourself now and spare the world the horror of your offspring on the off chance that you jerk off in a napkin and somewhere down the line a homeless woman takes it out of the garbage and uses is as a tampon, because that is the only way you will ever propagate.

             There is no conceivable reason for your continued existence other than boosting the ratings of mediocre, repetitive television programming which serves only to show the worst in humankind and dumb you imbeciles down even further. Without you we might actually have something educational on network TV, but there is no reason for them to change the programming format because you monkey fucks keep watching to see which generic church singer is going to get a shitty recording contract this year. You see people dancing and singing in front of judges as entertainment, you consider 3 And A Half Men so hilarious that the drug addled mentally challenged dipshit known as Charlie Sheen makes two million per episode, and you view Fox News as a reliable news source. Rid the world of yourself and improve it vastly, you piss brained dick fuckers.

              There are over 6 billion people in this world and the vast majority of them are starving while you ignorant cunts stuff your ape-like faces with only the greasiest meat bi-products known to meat bi-product manufacturers. Imagine a shit mountain representing the world. Now imagine the topmost coiled dog turd; that's you. You are the topmost turd, but hey, at least you're on top, right? I hope every day that a disgruntled postman walks straight into your house at 4 in the afternoon, ties you to a radiator and proceeds to pillage your mother's asshole with a rusty pipe as you watch on with that ubiquitous spoon of lard sticking out of your mouth, you completely unwarranted insult to humanity.

              Fuck you, fuck your family, fuck anyone who looks like you, fuck anybody who likes you, fuck your dog, fuck your couch, fuck your hair, fuck that stupid little thing you do (you know the one), fuck your job, fuck your friends, fuck your shoes, fuck your preferred mode of transportation, fuck your dumb ass dentist, fuck your favorite musician, fuck your door mat, and finally and most of all, fuck your fucking face you fat fucking fucktarded fuckhole. You are the sole reason why this world should be destroyed by a million angry ferrets hell-bent on reclaiming that which was once theirs.

That was nice. I think I'll do it again sometime. Check back tomorrow, when I write a buncha stuff about a buncha other stuff!

Some ways you could die

Hey fuckbrains and welcome once again to the blog where all of your questions to life's mysteries get as firm and decisive an answer as the cock lodged up your mother's gaping asshole. Today we will discuss death and the ways in which you assorted bunch of maggot witted fuck tools are likely to meet it. Death is serious business, so I will approach the subject in my usual manner – irreverent and withholding any and all fucks. That having been said, let me further add that I don't expect you to seriously reflect on your own mortality after reading this, as you are all nothing more than barely sentient bushels of monkey dicks hung out to dry on a humid summer's day. Moving on.

The first way in which you will likely meet your inevitable demise that comes to mind is one that I hope actually happens every single last one of you bloated cum sponges: having your dick hole fucked by a ravenous, syphilitic razorback gorilla until it grows bored and rips your face off with its teeth and takes an acidic diarrhea shit on the exposed flesh as you cry and piss yourself in agony. You will eventually die of syphilis.

Another rather likely scenario is you tripping and falling into a wood chipper on your way to a Gaga concert and having it jam when you're only halfway through. Oh how you'll shriek and beg for the sweet release of death when you see the bottom half of that stubby little thing you call a body come shooting out of the other side of the machine, shredded beyond any and all recognition. After a short time of torturous pain and regretful reminiscence you will bleed out and slump over the edge of the receiver, at which point the contraption will burp, start up once more and pass the rest of you through onto the nearest lawn. I think I covered this scenario in the first post.

I don't think anyone has ever died of sheer stupidity, but my bet stands firm that you'll be the first. You will, at some point, actually become to god damned brain dead that every cell in your body will audibly say “fuck this” and shut down out of the extraordinary shame that must come from housing and supporting your brain, you extremely late term abortion. How you don't drown in your own saliva is beyond my comprehension.

Dying on the toilet is perhaps the closest you will ever come to a dignified death. I can see it now: you sitting there, passing what could probably be seen by Guinness as the world's least attractive shit, when suddenly your heart seizes up and you fall forward, spraying your rancid fecal matter comprised of onion rings and cheese all over your bathroom, and as the final wet squeak evacuates your dying body your entire family rushes into the room and laughs their asses off at you. This is the best you can hope for.

Car crashes, county fair ride accidents, fire works related deaths – all likely for the majority of you imbeciles. Infact, the next time you see something that might look like fun, you know like showing a lit candle up your ass, do the world a favor and do it. Your very existence on this planet is an insult to sentient being everywhere. I hope to never have to meet or interact with you in any imaginable way. Fuck you and anybody who likes you.

Yes I know I haven't posted in two days, and there is good reason for that, the reason being that I simply do not give a fuck. You should feel privileged that I've decided to share my words with you at all instead of keeping it all to myself and having you live your life like the miserable piece of fetid shit that you are and are destined to forever be.

Tune in tomorrow when I tell you how to overcome sickness!

Who I Am And Why You Should Care

Good afternoon you motherless brain dead fuckwits, and welcome to another edition of Loki Cares, the blog where you go for your daily affirmation of your own worthlessness to humanity and of your unending, record shattering stupidity the extent of which can only be described as inspirational. I have decided to take a short break from pounding the fact that you'll amount to just about fuck all into your allegedly functioning brain and instead talk about myself for a while. As you are no doubt wondering as the latest drool trail dribbles down your chin why I've seen fit to do this, I will answer in the simplest manner your Lilliputian mind will comprehend: I'm an ego driven narcissist bent only on extending my already enormous mental penis to lengths which would make Lance Armstrong give up a quarter of the way into riding the trail that it extends along the side of. If you see any grammatical errors in that last sentence, fuck you and fuck your extended and immediate family you inbred mongrel of a cum stain on the coffee table of your lineage that is your mother's ass. I don't have to make sense, I'm perfect.

It all started when I was born on a bright August morning to the sound of birds heralding my delivery into this cultural sinkhole of a world bursting at the seams with socially inept fucktards and their mentally challenged offspring, littering the planet with each passing generation with progressively worse children. Upon my arrival into the nursery, I noticed that I was absolutely surrounded by drooling and constantly defecating morons who didn't even have the wherewithal to give me a light. I got up and walked out, having decided to never interact with such unpleasantness again, not knowing at the time that for the rest of my life I would never quite escape that nursery, you bunch of barely functioning and seldom coherent piles of monkey dicks.

By the time I was five, I had mastered seventeen languages (two of them not of this Earth) and nineteen forms of martial arts including the deadly art of Kung-Pung-Fuck-You while my so-called peers continued to shit their pants as if it were a hobby. By the time I was nine, I had beaten several professional fighters to a pulp in back-alley cage fights held by unscrupulous Singaporeans and lost my virginity to fourteen Swedish super models at once, so...yay me! My best friend at the time was the only being that I could at all relate to, an extraterrestrial entity composed entirely of knowledge and energy whom I called Ted. Oh the fun we had debating the finer points of quantum mechanics as pertaining to solar gravity fields! Then it turned out Ted was a pedophile and I had to launch him into the Phantom Zone via a single well-placed punch. Y'know, kind of like Superman only cooler, because this was me doing it.

Since the age of ten, my family and I have always celebrated my birthday with a 100 – 1 odds game of three way speed chess between Gary Kasparov, Deep Blue and myself. If you don't know what I'm talking about, please do the world a favor and choke yourself with razor wire until that useless protrusion you call a head pops off of your disgusting, bulbous body. We always had fun, but neither Gary nor Blue take defeat very well and it always ended in a knife fight. Which reminds me; sorry about those stitches back in '01, Gary! We don't get together all that much any more but that's alright, I was never that fond of such meager intellectual masturbation as chess. I much prefer waging intergalactic wars in the far-off reaches of space with the influence of my mind upon extraterrestrial men of power alone.

It's been kind of uneventful since I turned twenty aside from the standard free-for-all female volleyball team fuck fest and the occasional globe circumnavigation. I've been busying myself with a few pet projects, such as sustaining a remote Amazonian tribe through unseen influence. They were discovered by NatGeo in '08, the curious bastards ( http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2008/05/080530-uncontacted-tribes-photo.html ) and now its only a matter of time before they engineer war and Playstation and all my effort will have been for naught. If you're wondering, I make money by having foreign relations ministers from all around the world send me parcels of good will containing solid bricks of gold which I melt down and make into jaunty hats, and diamonds which I fence and live off the income.

I have climbed the highest mountain, swam the deepest depths, groped the biggest boobie. All these things have I done and more and yet...I suffer. For you see, despite my many learned proficiencies and inherent abilities, I am stuck to this world like flies to an Ethiopian, as it is home after all. I had a small window of opportunity at one time to leave this wretched hive of mental deficiency and insufficient aesthetic quality via alien mothership, but decided that instead of leaving this planet and its “civilization” to rot I would be better served in teaching it to be more like myself and perfect a utopia in which I would rule with a benevolent fist. So I started this blog. The end.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it, you incredibly unnecessary combination of evolutionary mistakes and regretful nights in the back of a '72 Dodge. Through this blog I hope to make the world a better, happier place inhabited by humans of adequate intellect and acceptable body fat percentage. I know this effort may be all in vain, as man is a species that is both frightened and threatened by any change to their daily routine of sleep-cheese-sleep, but I am benevolent enough of a being that I'm willing to sacrifice my precious time and resources if it means having just one of you sewage treatment plants born to fuck with my life raise their IQ by two or more points.

Check back tomorrow, when I tell you how you're going to die! Ooh what fun we shall have!

Dating Tips: Part Two - For Women

If for possess a vagina and for some unfathomable reason can't seem to find somebody to buy you undeserved drinks and dinner to stuff your cellulite laden ass, I honestly can't help you. If there is female genitalia between your legs and not one single male has yet approached you for at the very least a casual encounter, then there is something wrong with you, not him, you shambling mass of year old yeast infection. What I can do for you, however, is tell you whats wrong with you, and if any of those reasons apply to you then you need to seriously re-evaluate your choices in life.

I realize that being female you aren't exactly used to anyone pointing out your flaws and treating you as anything less than a fairy tale fuck princess that shoots joy and universal happiness out her asshole, but I think its time someone told you exactly why you can't get a date and who better to do it than a superior being such as myself. The following being for your own good, I suggest that instead of closing the browser in a fit of indignation as you are about to do, you keep reading and maybe god forbid learn enough to have someone want to accost your stalagmite encrusted, cavern-like twat without the aide of several gallons of 180 proof alcohol. Let's get started, shall we?

First and foremost, you have to have consistency in what kind of man you want. For example, you can't have a man who is funny, adventurous, happy and stable. That man does not exist. Happy people are almost %100 of the time not funny and adventurous people, by definition, aren't stable. You would know that if your brain mass hadn't been replaced with re-runs of the Tyra Banks Show and Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Pick a compatible combination of two traits you want in a man and stick with it. For example: Funny and miserable, stable and boring, or adventurous and prone to life threatening situations. Despite what miss Tyra says, you can't have it all and you're just going to have to accept it.

With the opening issue out of the way, let us now focus on you. When you uncross your legs, do you immediately hear children crying, pigs being slaughtered and men gnashing their teeth? Then its time for vaginal hygiene, you sorry excuse for a biological being. How is it that you can't smell your own rancid, smoking cum receptacle when any time you go swimming at the beach you cause an environmental disaster? Luckily for you, there are products invented just for you. Before going outside, be sure to first put on perfume, deodorant, and having squeezed three tubes of Vagisil inside your corpulent, corrupted cunt, enjoy your night out on the town, you poor, delusional creature.

Do you consistently look like you've just woken up from a three year hibernation and its making every man in your immediate vicinity run in the opposite direction while clawing at their eyes, desperately trying to rip out the impression your horrible visage has left permanently engraved on their poor retinas? Then quit wondering why your mother constantly calls you telling you that you'll never be married, because I've come up with a solution that should please both you and whatever poor, ignorant sap you will have found to keep on a leash and make to stuff your ass with cakes and pudding.

The first thing you'll need to do is visit your local party supply store and buy up as much clown makeup as you can. Next, paint yourself up as a funny (or sad) clown and go hunting for men with a clown fetish, because that is the only conceivable way that you can ever ensure that you won't die alone, you pile of wet, reeking garbage.

So we got vaginal care and makeup covered. What else, what else, what else..ah! Okay. Intellect. Look, if all your conversations begin and end with what shade of shoe you had bought for you by your previous idiot who couldn't differentiate between a girlfriend and a vapid money hole, then you desperately need to visit your local library and read up on ANYTHING. No man likes to sit across a table and listen to this painted up, clown looking, lotion smelling gargoyle blather on about her insatiable craving for anything but cock. Study up on current events and (preferably) sports, and I can guarantee a second date with whatever man child you've picked up at a bar who upon first approaching you looked like he was about to say something about penis pudding.

That's all I can think of at the moment, you precious, delicate flower of feminine radiance and crusty pubic regions, and even that was too much. If a woman can't simply come up to a random man on the street, say “fuck me” and get her way then she was destined to never see a dick outside of a Chippendales show. Yes, it is that easy. That is my last bit of advice for you. I know you think I'm kidding, but I'm really not. Go outside, right now, find a man you find attractive, and offer him some vag. Chances are that unless he's gay, he'll take you up on your offer, you whore.

Check back tomorrow, when I do something completely different!