Last week at Eyeball Circus, I talked about this stupid list of 100 reasons it’s great to be a guy written by some idiot sitting in a cloud of his own farts. I’ve already covered the first 50 items on the aforementioned list (which you can read here), and now I’d like to go through 51 through 100. As you’ll soon see, the author of this list was almost certainly fed high yield insecticide instead of baby formula when he was an infant, and this sad fact really shines through in his writing. Let’s begin:
Your poor, poor wife. Bragging that you see no value in foreplay is like wearing a sign around your neck that says you’re more than happy sticking to masturbation and that any available women out there shouldn’t waste both their time and yours by talking to you. If my boy scout leader taught me one thing, it’s the importance of being able to tie a square knot. If he taught me two, it’s that foreplay is important in any sexual relationship. Sure, the occasional quickie is fun, but remember, Shakespeare never said ‘brevity is the soul of the female orgasm’.
And Shakespeare made panties drop almost faster than I do.
Actually, he does live in your universe, because we all live in the same universe. I guess my first point with this entry would be to try not to break any fundamental scientific principles when making a dumbshit list for jerks about being a guy. Secondly, I’ve never in my life met a person, male or female, of any age, who listens to Michael Bolton. Is he even alive still? I legitimately have no idea. Where the fuck are you meeting all these female Michael Bolton fans? Stop trying to pick up depressed drunken divorcees at tupperware parties and maybe it’ll improve your luck.
This is a picture of Michael Bolton alive and well in 2015. Who the fuck knew?
If anyone, regardless of gender, can’t appreciate a good dirty joke then they’re not worth being a part of your life in the first place. For instance: what’s the difference between a crucifix dildo and a priest? A crucifix dildo is sold in adult stores, so you have to be over 18 to have one crammed inside you.
How holy are your holes?
What? Where the hell are you living where your electricity meter is IN your apartment? Unless you’re living in a dumpster in the alley next to an apartment complex, chances are you’ll never even see your meter reader. Also, is that really a stereotype about women? That they all need to clean their places before someone who doesn’t even enter their apartment comes within a 50 foot vicinity of it? The person you’re talking about is like ten different kinds of hypothetical. I’m not saying you should see a doctor, but when you’re on the internet making snarky comments about your imaginary friends, then at best you’ve got a massive concussion, and at worst your live in nurse is currently hunting you with a gun filled with tranquilizer darts.
Pictured: a typical apartment building’s meters, outside the building. Not pictured: the inside of some fantasy crazy woman’s apartment.
This is an extremely specific example. Let me see if I understand. Since this is what’s great about being a guy, this must mean that this dude’s wife is constantly taking things out of context and assuming he’s about to break up with her? Like, does he say he’s going to take a dump and then she screams ‘and then you’re going to dump me next, right?’ and runs away crying? Is she like a dog and just assumes you’ve left forever every time you go to work? I mean, I want to make fun of you, but as far as relative intelligence goes….you guys are fucking perfect for each other. Here’s hoping you’re both sterile so I don’t someday have to get stuck in line behind your idiot kid who’s trying to scratch and sniff the pictures of food at a McDonald’s drive through.
Since this is supposed to be a thing that’s great about being a man, meaning women don’t do it, I can only assume his wife spends most of her time locked in a cramped dog kennel. If you’re keeping score at home, that’s the second time I’ve been forced to accuse the author of this list of bestiality. Either that or she’s got some kind of rare birth defect that turns your feet into cinder blocks. Obviously, I’m only kidding. As a man, I can’t even begin to describe all the wonderful times I’ve had over the years jumping up and slapping stuff. The day I met the 17 foot tall woman with a spanking fetish was one of the best days of my life.
Yeah, maybe if you’re lousy at sex it doesn’t. Anyone who’s halfway decent in bed knows that the amount of random liquids spread across your genitals directly correlates to the quality of the sex. It’s why every time I’m going to get laid I swing by a Golden Corral and put my dick in all their salad dressings.
“Golden Corral: where every meal comes with one of Chris Cadaver’s pubes.”
What a poignant, heartbreaking short story. Here’s a man so emotionally numb and detached from reality that he’s forced to compartmentalize his malaise into ‘just being a guy’. Not only that, he touts this idea is being a reason it’s ‘great’ to be a guy. I’m picturing him sitting alone in his basement that he’s painstakingly decorated as a ‘man cave’, face dimly lit by the hazy glow of various neon beer signs hung on the walls, strangling a kitten to death as he chants ‘sports, sports, sports, sports….’ until he passes out of alcohol poisoning. Man, being a guy rules.
Yeah, no shit. That’s a horrible example of a male celebrity for the dumb point you’re trying to make. Clint Eastwood’s appeal doesn’t have a lot to do with his looks, which is fantastic news for him because his face looks like a dusty catcher’s mitt. Clint Eastwood is a bad wig away from being cast as the lead role in a fucking Crypt Keeper biopic.
“Hey guys, did anyone lose a scarecrow made out of an old leather couch?”
Yes, it’s hilarious that women have to use a greater amount of caution than men because the world is horrible and depressing. Let us high five each other and celebrate this fact. “Haha, stupid women have to be careful to not get murdered and raped, which is why, as a man, I am superior.” Hey dickhead, if your wife is constantly afraid to go to all the gas stations in your neighborhood than maybe spend a little more money on an apartment that’s not in fucking Somalia. Also, I will now make it my life’s work to make ominous sexual advances at you in a gas station. Both of our lives are at a tipping point buddy, and shit’s about to get weird. Good luck on your end.
Who the hell needs 20 ways to open a beer bottle? You shouldn’t need more than three: use a bottle opener, bang it against the edge of a table, or clench the cap in your butthole and pull.
As the proud owner of a working set of male genitals (ladies) I have to say I’m a bit disturbed by the imagery in this one. What exactly constitutes an ’emergency’ crotch adjustment? Did a dog wander into the front door of your apartment and try to bite your dick off? Maybe you’re in a heated argument with a particularly amorous hot tub jet. The point is, if this happens regularly then your genitals are so undesirable that the universe is trying to kill them, and frankly you’re a monster for trying to stop it.
According to Google image search, this picture of two fat cops arresting a half naked woman in front of a pizza place qualifies as ‘undesirable genitals’. I have no grounds to dispute this.
If anyone, male or female, is spending $2000 on a dress, they’re an asshole. You can find cheap dresses the same way you can find cheap tuxes. Just because you personally know some dickhead woman dropping 2 G’s a on a dress she’ll wear once because she thinks owning things is a substitute for having a personality doesn’t make that a reason why it’s great to be a guy. As we speak, some dude somewhere in the world is dropping 10x that amount on a tux, because like this hypothetical girl you’re talking about, he is also an asshole.
This man’s outfit costs more than my car, which is why I refuse to die before punching him in his horse-like face.
Wow, someone needs a basic biology lesson. First of all, that 400 million figure is a little generous, as some studies put the number closer to 60 million. Regardless, that doesn’t mean she gets pregnant with 60 million babies, you unbelievable dipshit. And what do you mean by 15 ‘tries’? Are you saying you’d jack off 15 times and then scientists would somehow isolate each individual sperm and implant them one by one into different women? Look buddy, I don’t begrudge anyone for having a fantasy they jerk off to, but at least try to base it some feasible version of reality. This is some shit a wannabe dictator thinks up, not your average, small town, mom n’ pop style jerk off vision. At least my jerk off fantasy of Beyonce and the redheaded cashier at the grocery store near my house beating me with tennis rackets is actually feasible. At least it would be if Beyonce would start responding to my letters.
Fun fact: this picture would be way hotter if she was holding a tennis racket.
Hey Jungle Jack Moron with the canteen, men retain water too you dipshit neanderthal. Unless you’re trying to say ‘it’s great to be a guy because I don’t have to understand basic nutrition’, then good fucking job, because for once I think you’ve hit the nail right on the head.
CONGRATULATIONS IDIOT! YOU DID IT!
I suppose this is true if you’re some sad sack who sits alone every night, just aching for the companionship of another human being. As someone who actually enjoys the company of women that aren’t painted onto body pillows, occasionally surrendering the remote is an accepted part of the deal. Some might call this quaint idea basic human decency. But fuck all that garbage about being within a 50 foot radius of a woman; if you don’t cry yourself to sleep in front of this football game than the terrorists win.
Speak for yourself, buddy. My rippling pecs are constantly doing interpretive dances that tell a tale of Rambo pleasuring 500 sexy assassins on a solid gold jet ski. My pecs actually took a part time job signalling airplanes flown by lady pilots, and every single one of them landed with a pants-ruining orgasm. Maybe hit the gym, is my point.
Do women really treat their friends like they’re mafia bosses or some shit? I don’t think I’ve ever been out at a bar and saw a group of women sitting at a table overflowing with tasteful gift baskets they all brought for one another. I mean, sure, any woman coming to see me needs to bring a tithing of 8 to 10 gift baskets, a book of sex coupons, and pictures of all their hot friends wearing bathing suits, but I’m admittedly not the average. Maybe if you interacted with a woman that wasn’t screaming from a pit in your basement for once you’d have some more reliable data to go on when typing out dipshit lists for jerks.
Everybody imagines me naked, regardless of what I’m buying. I’ve been a centerfold in hundreds of magazines, from Playgirl and Men’s Fitness to Black Family Digest and Highlights For Children. Don’t worry though dude, I’m sure someone occasionally imagines you naked. Maybe you’ve been in line with someone from a special effects company looking to design a new monster for a low budget horror flick, or a more realistic fat suit for Eddie Murphy to wear in his latest box office disaster.
Eddie Murphy has been inside more fat people than Papa John’s pizza and diabetes combined.
That’s precisely why your number of STDs is rivaled only by your number of child support payments.
So are you a seven year old or is that just when your brain stopped developing? I can only imagine the deep, personal bond two people share over the one time where they wore the same outfit. I can’t wait to hear the novelization of your life’s story titled ‘Brothers: The Tale of the Half Priced Shirts at Target‘.
I can’t be the only one who thinks men who dress alike are planning on going home and blowing each other, can I?
Interesting choice of words. Her death was ‘almost’ just another obituary. I was alive when Princess Di died, and I remember it being a big deal for everyone in spite of the fact that nobody who was all upset had ever met her, she lived a life of luxury, and thousands of other people were killed that day that nobody gave a fuck about. But regardless, the word almost sticks out to me. It’s okay buddy. I understand being a little upset, if only for the fact that the imaginary life as a princess you had for yourself suddenly got a whole lot more grim. Just stare at your Lisa Frank folders for a while and the tears will stop dropping, I promise.
Hey, while we’re on the topic, could you tell your mom to stop texting me? It’s not that I’m not in the mood, which we would both agree is obvious, it’s that I don’t want her to find out where I live. Besides, banging your mom smells like a meat lover’s pizza cooked over a trash can fire in a men’s locker room. I hope she’ll understand.
On the upside I think this guy will someday make a lovely addition to our country’s prison system. Always happy to see another graduate of the Michael Vick School Of Veterinary Science making something of himself.
Yeah, sounds great, idiot. Let’s all smear ourselves in shit and hunt with spears while we’re at it. Everyone knows being a man is equal parts being stupid and being proud of being stupid. How about we hold a fucking book burning and use it cook bacon wrapped bacon smothered in more bacon and high five each other about how fucking cool we all are that we eat shit food and think books are for pussies. We can all wear our hilarious novelty t-shirts about how we fix everything with duct tape and then choke to death on our own vomit after our 17th Bud Light.
Are you living in a world without Facebook all of a sudden? Nobody has to remember anything, because all human knowledge is stored in a magical rectangle in our back packets 24 hours a day. I haven’t had to remember a birthday in like a decade. That said, you might want to remember your own anniversaries. Or not, I guess. They probably give you a lollipop after you leave the hospital when your enraged wife cuts your dick off for forgetting your wedding anniversary the sixth year in a row. So, you know, weigh that watermelon-flavored goodness against having your genitals violently removed by a person you trust.
Yeah, man! I know when I want to unwind I watch a show that was cancelled nearly 15 years ago. Of course that means I have to stream it on my computer over the internet. It’s a shame that choppy reruns of Baywatch are the only place I can go on the internet if I need jerk off material. Since we’re talking, make sure you’re careful when you’re getting in and out of the tub. Also, when was the last time you got your prostate checked? Maybe if you’re lucky some dorks from the local middle school will come tap dance for you next to your motorized bed while you struggle to stave off death yet another day. But be careful: at your age eating too much dairy will give you night terrors.
I’d bet everything I own that the last six girlfriends this guy had were cardboard cutouts of scantily clad women advertising cheap beer he stole from the liquor store. Do everyone a favor and fuck completely off.