Dating Tips: Part One - For Men

So you have decided to at long last to put on a pair of pants and leave you cavernous dwelling cluttered to the ceiling with empty pizza boxes and discarded cans of energy drinks. Good for you, you ill begotten son of a triple cunted Naval yard whore! Unfortunately, after spending fourteen minutes on the dating scene, you have discovered that women would much rather shove a raw top round London broil steak up their twats and walk into a den of rabid, AIDS infested wolverines that to let you for one second think that you have a snow ball's chance in hell of sliding your slimy little pig tail of a cock inside them. Well, before you resort to becoming the most prolific rapist in western history, relax and keep on reading, because I have compiled several helpful tips you can put into action in order to spread your venomous seed among the populace. I would much, much rather you didn't infect the planet with little miniature yous and ensure the decline of civilization as we know it, but I did make a commitment to help you poor sniveling shits through this blog and I, being an upstanding member of society unlike you miserable overgrown fucks, will deliver on my commitment.

The first question you must ask yourself is “Would I fuck me?” If the answer to that is yes, then stop reading and go fuck yourself, preferably with a cactus, because this blog isn't for you. Now, back to the matter of this miserably lonely and no doubt suicidal sorry excuse for a piece of fossilized dino shit. If you are still reading, then the answer to the above question was an unqualified no and you, having your ego and confidence expertly crushed by your own opinion of yourself, are now seriously considering making love to a weather worn wood chipper in the public square at noon. Once again, I beseech you to relax a moment. Your salvation is coming in the form of a handy list that you can print out and carry around with you whenever you see it fit to venture out into the sunlight, you round tub of sickly pale flesh and cadaverous odor. 

1. Confidence. Saying that confidence gets a woman's panties wet is like saying the ocean is damp. What does that mean for you? It means that no matter how much you may look up to Quasimodo in hopes of one day to look half as good as he does, if you wear that hump with style and confidence, you will be swimming in a sea of homely to moderately half-way okay looking women with most of their teeth in place in no time at all. Go on and snail trail your way down the avenue with a “haters gonna hate” attitude about you and watch the ladies swoon and fan their faces with their hands. 
   
   
2. Hygiene. This important step was covered in my last post, but I will reiterate as I am well aware of the fact that your attention span is that of a small rodent whose only life experience is exploring the inner walls of a man's lower intestinal tract. Hygiene is an important part of acquiring someone to tolerate your constant, incessant stupidity and the visage that of a gargoyle with a horrible inoperable face tumor. You will need to put soap to water and scrub every inch of your unutterably terrifying body until such time as all smell and the first two dermal layers are gone and forgotten. Moving on.
   
   
3. Social interaction. Having scrubbed yourself free of barnacles and the stench of popcorn shrimp and death, you are now ready to venture out into the world to stake your horrible, unnecessary claim. In order to do this effectively, you will have to approach other human beings (I'm using the term loosely) and interact with them on a socially acceptable level. This means no waddling over to the poor lady at the bar who is trying her very hardest to avoid meaningless cum scrapes like yourself and proudly proclaiming “I CAN MAKE PUDDING WITH MY PENIS!” and staring her in the face with a gigantic shit eating grin on your what-you-would-call a face. That way lies jail time. Instead, introduce yourself ask her how her day was, what kind of music she likes, anything but penis pudding. That comes later if you don't tard yourself out of a date. Which brings me to my next point...
   
   
4. Dating. Assuming the lady you met at the bar was somehow drunk and desperate enough to agree to see you again in the daylight, you will have procured yourself a date. Good job, you mongrel pile of donkey dicks! You are now ready to take her to a public place where people will look at the both of you and think “what in the high holy hell is that poor woman doing with that retarded man child?”. First dates are important. I recommend you take her to as expensive a restaurant as your disability claim check allows you to afford. Once there, order some food, eat WITH A KNIFE AND FORK, walk her home and spend the rest of the night crying and jerking off to magazine cutouts, because both you and I know you're not getting anywhere near that pussy, you disgusting, fetid, bloated parody of a man.
   
   
5. Acceptance. Once you have accepted the fact that no woman will ever lay eyes on you in a manner other than to say “oh my god, what IS that growing out of his head? Oh fuck, that's his face!”, you will be able to live your life as you see fit. Go ahead, continue to skip showers for months on end! Fuck it, who's gonna get close enough to smell you, right? Keep eating Crisco straight from the tub! You haven't seen your microscopically tiny cock in years and it is no doubt encrusted in dick cheese by now, why ruin a good thing? All a woman would do is try and make you into someone you're not: a human fucking being.

And that's it. That's my dating advice to you, you shit stain on the dick of humanity. If after reading those helpful hints you have still not procured a stable and loving relationship, all I can tell you is that you will die miserable and alone in a pool of your own burning, bubbling...I'm repeating myself. Well, that's what will happen if you don't screw your dick on straight, and I stand by it. Now quit being the human equivalent of a mountain of parrot shit and be back here tomorrow, when I discuss dating tips for women.

“Oh my holy hell, I am so god damn fat that my clothes have exploded off of my unsightly blob of a body and I am now reduced to wearing tarps reserved for painting dance halls on my trips to Wal-Mart. What do I do?”

Congratulations! You are reading this post and thereby have taken the first step to bettering your life. Now if you can keep your sinkhole-like maw from yapping for more than a microsecond, I'll tell you what can be done about your self image issues. It's really easy and can be done by just about anyone with a pulse and three and a half brain cells (that's not entirely true, the dead do it ALL THE TIME). You ready? Here it is.

Put down the fork, you globular mass of gelatinous pig excrement! I bet you're the kind of dickless nut juggler to walk into a Burger King and put the franchise holder's offspring through four years of college for the next three generations in one visit you shambling hulk of skin, sweat and nacho cheese. If you can't keep yourself from wolfing down anything wrapped in paper with a corporate logo on it, then I have not the foggiest as to how you keep yourself from breaking your own tire-like neck on a daily basis while engaged in the simple act of waking up. The amount of brain chemistry it takes to look at a piece of bread with a patty consisting of %35 meat, some genetically engineered cheese and dripping with a sauce so secret that the FDA doesn't even want know what it is and saying “I'd rather not put that pile of toxic material into my body” is far less than the amount required to keep one's eyes open until the next involuntary blink, and if you are unfamiliar with that sort of self control then the only option left for you is to eat yourself into a coma and leave some food for the rest of us, as you are now beyond all hope of redemption.

Now I know what you're thinking, “But Loki, its hard to simply put the fork down without any sort of mental preparation”. I hear ya, lard ass. That's why I have decided to put together a list of things you can do to help prepare you mentally for the oh-so-difficult task of not eating twice your body weight in Pringles every three hours. These helpful tips will first and foremost help you to have a clear look at your own gastronomical depravity and force you to either stop eating like a hog on display at a Milwaukee county fair or staple your own mouth shut. Which ever works best.

1. Wash yourself. This is the first and by far the most important step and I will walk you through it. Go on and jam your oozing pus sack of a body into your tub, turn on the water and with your massive bovine rolls hanging over the sides of the porcelain, grab the nearest toilet brush and attempt with all your huffing and puffing might to scrape the dried Cheeto dust from under your tits. Next, with whatever muscle tissue you've acquired in your arms by repeatedly lifting those heavy cans of sugar water to your insatiable mouth, lift your left wrist ABOVE your cake frosting stained lips and with the brush scrub away at your never seen and long forgotten arm pits (that's where, among other places, that horrible stench was coming from in case you were wondering, you disgusting fucking waste of breath). Repeat on the other side. A half hour from entering the tub, your tits and your pits should now be as clean as a dew laden blade of grass on an Irish spring morning. This is as clean as you will get until you lose weight equivalent to that of a medium sized Somali village. The next and final step is to pull your cell phone from your pants (of course you left your pants on you ignorant bitch) and call the fire department to come and pry you from the tub. It isn't customary to tip your firemen, but these men will have put in several hours of work trying to accomplish the nigh impossible, so give them a little something.
   
   
2. Now that you have cleaned yourself, I bet you're feeling far better and lighter than before without the 70 pounds of candy wrappers and taco shell crumbs stuck in between your rolls, but we are far from done yet. The next step is to dress yourself. This will heighten your self esteem, I promise. Put on your tarp and get thee to a Big & Tall store. After you get kicked out for scaring all the other Big & Tall people, head to your nearest fabric factory, where I'm sure that for a price, they will fashion for you a shirt and pants that will fit your planetoid-like self. Be prepared to spend. Once you get home, undress and look at yourself in the mirror. Its normal if you go blind – so does every one else when they see you rolling down the beach. Notice the unsightly piece of shit standing before you, barely qualifying to be called human. Notice how its feet are sticking out from underneath a skirt of stomach fat, legs being long since lost underneath said skirt. Imagine how many Rwandans your putrid corpse could feed! Look upon this and shudder in disgust if you have any self worth left in you after all those Olympic sized swimming pools of mayonnaise you've ingested over the last three weeks. The next step will require the help of several competitor strongmen as you will now need to cover up that retch inducing glob of pale jelly with the clothes you just bought. See? Doesn't that look and feel better? Sure, the buttons look like they're about to fly off at a velocity required to travel through time, and your leg fat is actually seeping through the pant seams, but at least you look like something almost resembling a human being! Good job!
   
   
3. With your self image restored, you are now ready to leave your dilapidated house one inspection visit away from being condemned as unlivable and go out into the world with a new sense of pride, self worth and drive to try and actually burn a calorie. Exit the house and then go back in again. You have burned one calorie. Now go back to stuffing your fat fucking face with cheese and sugar because you have gotten past the point of no return. You are a blob, you understand me? A blob. No amount of diet or activity will ever help you because you lack the self control and for god's sake the self respect to do anything about your ever expanding ass. You will continue to stuff your body full of garbage until they day you die miserable and alone in a pool of your own burning, bubbling shit. Your only option now is to commit suicide quickly as the way you're doing it now is far too slow and consumes far too many resources, you useless waste of life. Why are you even alive? Why SHOULD you be alive? The only step left now is to choke yourself with a turd you have dug up out of the back of your mu-mu as that is the only way this world will get any justice for your existence.
   
   
   After going through these three simple steps, you should now be well on your way to making a world a better place! If that sort of mental prep didn't help, I don't know what to tell you other than I hope that you suffer a fatal brain aneurism before your next outing to Taco Bell. If after all that you are still not ready to put down that fork and maybe god forbid run your biblically proportioned ass around the block a couple of times, then it seems to me that you were destined from birth to be a walking bag of gravy that has not seen its genitalia since that one time you played doctor with the neighbor kid when you were five and I want you to drown in your own vomit after eating a bad slab of ribs with a side of fuck you. 
   
   
   Stay tuned for tomorrow's post in which I will unfuck your miserable, nonexistent love life!
   
   
   
   

Why you are a piece of shit and how I can help.

Let's face it – you're reading this blog for a reason, that reason most likely being that you saw the title and thought to yourself “Hey, I AM a piece of bubbling, rancid shit in society's punch bowl who couldn't be liked by anyone other than my socially inept pet who doesn't know any better if there was an eclair and a Coors Light at the conclusion of the effort! I wonder what wisdom this man, who is clearly far superior to me in every way humanly possible has to offer me regarding this affliction I seem to have been suffering from ever since the day I crawled out of my poor mother's cavernous snatch.”

Well, its your lucky day you worthless Ziplock bag of rat semen, for I have seen it fit to waste my valuable time writing this piece of shit for mongoloids like yourself who just can't seem to find the energy to propel their massive beast-like asses off the now permanently indented couch and do something for their own benefit and for the benefit of society at large.

Why, you may be asking yourself, has this god among men decided to bless us filthy, unwashed masses with his jewels of insight? The reason for that is simple: I have grown immeasurably weary of seeing you sloth-like dull witted masses of alleged humanity slither your ways through this one life we get, thinking only of where your next immensely proportioned meal is coming from and where to acquire the most money with the least effort to afford the calories provided by said meal which, and I have no idea how, still fail to give you biological trash disposals the energy necessary to do anything besides being immobile for prolonged periods of time previously thought only hypothetical by quantum physicists.

No, this is not a blog about working out, nor am I trying to motivate you to get in shape or think positively or whatever other bullshit the bullshit peddlers have been peddling. I am simply trying to make you realize that you are a worthless scumfuck with little to no ultimate potential in life who can either take my advice and stop being a worthless scumfuck or build yourself a space shuttle made entirely out of dicks and fly the good ship SS Cocksucker directly into Dick Planet where you can spend the rest of your life sucking every dick that Dick Planet is composed of and be as content, if not more so, as you would have been on planet Earth doing much the same thing when your welfare ran out.

I would like to dedicate this blog to absolutely no one. It was an effort made entirely by me and anyone who says any different is a lying pile of trailer park grade NASCAR party vomit who should be beaten to death with dismembered elephant cocks, liquefied in a giant blender and force fed to their own mothers until they burst in a confetti of flesh, shit and blood. Then set fire to the whole mess and forget it ever happened. I would like to thank my inflated sense of self worth for giving me the wherewithal to look upon the meat sacs that infect this planet with their perpetual case of stupid and get so tired of sneering that I actually had to write a blog. And finally, I would like to make it known that as you read this, it is entirely possible that at this very moment I am fantasizing about slapping you clear across the face with a sun dried square of thick leather until something clicks in your brain, you come to an epiphany of some sort and quit being a vapid cunt fit for only for shredding and being used as mulch for my front yard or until your eyes come out of their sockets. Whichever comes first. I'm betting on the latter.

Now quit being a bitch and wait for the next post.