TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS: TOP TEN REASONS MY GIRLFRIEND THINKS I'M GAY BECAUSE I DIDN'T WATCH THE SUPER BOWL
1. First off, I went running in the morning. I ran 18 miles. So sometimes my toenails rub against my shoe when I run for that long and need to be cut or reshaped. Well, I asked her, “Where can a guy get a good pedicure?” The look she gave me was one of disgust, sadness and then pure hatred. I guess I shouldn’t have asked her what color would look good on my big toe. Well, needless to say I didn’t get any sex that night, unless you count masturbation.
2. Now this one is just a misunderstanding. I am never invited to Super Bowl parties anymore, so I didn’t have anywhere to go. It seems that at previous Super Bowl parties, I tend to get a little too excited for everyone’s comfort level. That’s just crap. All right, sometimes at previous Super Bowl parties, I liked to show up dressed as a cheerleader of one of the teams. Now, it seems the real problem is that I choose not to wear underwear with my cheerleader skirt. My undies are too bulky and just bunch up my skirt. And I guess no one appreciates my cartwheels. So now I have nowhere to go.
3. I really meant to watch the game at home, but I started channel surfing around noon, and that’s when my destiny for the rest of the day changed for good. I found out that the Lifetime Channel was showing a Bette Midler marathon. I mean, was there really a choice after this? So I got a thing for Bette. I mean, how can any guy not get good and hard after watching her in Stella. How? She looks like she might smell like patchouli and baby powder, and these are a few of my favorite things.
4. I do not see how my girlfriend doesn’t even think this is just sweet. Instead of watching the game, I decided to go to the mall with her and go bra shopping. Well, she went to the mall and I surprised her there. What better day to do this than on this day? But was she excited to see me? No! As a matter of fact, she seemed kind of creeped out by me being there. Oh, and that I used the words “periwinkle” and “mauve” to describe a few bra colors didn’t sit well with her. She actually called me “Mr. Fancypants.” I guess because I had my Jordache’s on.
5. Now this is a common problem the world over. I still don’t see what she got so bent out of shape for. I was going to go next door to watch the game with my neighbor, and since my girlfriend hid my cheerleader outfit, I was left with the dilemma of trying to find something to wear. Well, I didn’t end up going next door because I couldn’t find the right outfit to wear, no matter what combinations I tried on. I don’t know why. Maybe because I wanted to wear my new pink fedora with the little feather number. It just didn’t look right with any of my dolphin shorts. My girlfriend also came in the room and caught me looking at my ass in the mirror and tightening the muscles. Nothing wrong with that in my eyes. Needless to say, my girlfriend didn’t have sex with me that night.
6. I had been real gassy all week for some reason. I didn’t change my diet or anything— a sloppy joe breakfast followed by a tantalizing cup of Ovaltine. Well, I was reading the local paper and I saw an ad that said “Super Bowl Flush” for $50. Well, I rushed down to Jimmy’s Discount High Colonic and Fudge Factory for a complete flushing so I could plug up this slow leak I had. After Jimmy removed the garden hose from my tender derriere, I was so excited, and full of that not so unfresh feeling, that I rushed home to tell my girlfriend how I got a colonic, and for her I got some fudge. She was a few things when I told her—saddened, pissed, and actually started dry heaving. She didn’t even eat her damn fudge. Needless to say, I didn’t get any sex that night.
7. I really couldn’t watch the game because I kind of burned my eyelids with a--- oh, what is that thing called—oh, yeah—a curling iron. My eyebrows can get quite bushy and lengthy if I don’t trim them when I trim other certain skimpy areas. Well, they were lengthy, so I thought curling them might be either cute or stupid, but either way, it would be something new. In the process of doing this, my girlfriend barged into the room without even knocking and scared the living crap out of me (not in the same way Jimmy at Discount Colonic got the living crap out of me). After I let out a high-pitched scream, the curling iron landed on my eyelids and scorched ‘em. I then dropped the curling iron. The real problem was that I was naked at the time, so the curling iron didn’t really make it straight to the floor. Let’s just say it hit a softly erect “diving board” and then bounced hard off it. I may have to agree with my girlfriend on this one about being kind of gay.
8. I have an activity that brings me such joy I love doing it whenever the urge arises. I also love to sing while doing it because it makes the action feel that much better. I love jumping rope. Oh, you should see me get going. I can go for hours. First, I like to lather up with a lot of hand cream. It just makes everything smoother for grabbing a firm hold onto that huge rope. Then I just get that rope going and going, and once I got a good rhythm, and get my heavy panting under control, I start singing. My usual song of choice here is “Hopelessly Devoted To You” from Grease. It just seems like an appropriate song for the occasion. And usually, I let that rope swing and swing until I get full satisfaction from it. Sometimes I get interrupted and then for some reason, my session is ruined. I also receive a pain for a while if I don’t finish jumping rope correctly. Well, I did this instead of watching part of the game. Now, how could this be gay? It’s not like everyone doesn’t jump rope. They do. They just don’t admit it.
9. I did end up going to a party on Super Bowl Sunday actually. It was super fun, only it wasn’t a party to watch the game. It was a fondue party. I simply love a good fondue party. Sure, there were other guys there. In fact, come to think of it, there were only guys there. Whatever. I even called my girlfriend from the party and asked her if she wanted me to bring her home some fondue. She just said, “What the fuck?” and hung up on me. She didn’t know what she was missing. And the absolute best part—the smell of fondue. It smells like old sweaty socks, bad chili and Bette Midler. Ooh, I just love it, love it, love it!
10. The last reason I didn’t watch the game was because of their damn halftime show. I mean, how can you have a halftime show without the freakin’ Village People? How, Lord, how? I mean that construction worker is tuff, baby. And I had me a craving for the Indian. Don’t ask me why. Well, I complained about this to my girlfriend and I told her I was boycotting watching the game because of the Village Peoples’ absence. She just left the room, came back with a tampon and handed it to me. I just don’t understand women. Needless to say, I didn’t get any sex that night, but I did jump a lot of rope.
2. Now this one is just a misunderstanding. I am never invited to Super Bowl parties anymore, so I didn’t have anywhere to go. It seems that at previous Super Bowl parties, I tend to get a little too excited for everyone’s comfort level. That’s just crap. All right, sometimes at previous Super Bowl parties, I liked to show up dressed as a cheerleader of one of the teams. Now, it seems the real problem is that I choose not to wear underwear with my cheerleader skirt. My undies are too bulky and just bunch up my skirt. And I guess no one appreciates my cartwheels. So now I have nowhere to go.
3. I really meant to watch the game at home, but I started channel surfing around noon, and that’s when my destiny for the rest of the day changed for good. I found out that the Lifetime Channel was showing a Bette Midler marathon. I mean, was there really a choice after this? So I got a thing for Bette. I mean, how can any guy not get good and hard after watching her in Stella. How? She looks like she might smell like patchouli and baby powder, and these are a few of my favorite things.
4. I do not see how my girlfriend doesn’t even think this is just sweet. Instead of watching the game, I decided to go to the mall with her and go bra shopping. Well, she went to the mall and I surprised her there. What better day to do this than on this day? But was she excited to see me? No! As a matter of fact, she seemed kind of creeped out by me being there. Oh, and that I used the words “periwinkle” and “mauve” to describe a few bra colors didn’t sit well with her. She actually called me “Mr. Fancypants.” I guess because I had my Jordache’s on.
5. Now this is a common problem the world over. I still don’t see what she got so bent out of shape for. I was going to go next door to watch the game with my neighbor, and since my girlfriend hid my cheerleader outfit, I was left with the dilemma of trying to find something to wear. Well, I didn’t end up going next door because I couldn’t find the right outfit to wear, no matter what combinations I tried on. I don’t know why. Maybe because I wanted to wear my new pink fedora with the little feather number. It just didn’t look right with any of my dolphin shorts. My girlfriend also came in the room and caught me looking at my ass in the mirror and tightening the muscles. Nothing wrong with that in my eyes. Needless to say, my girlfriend didn’t have sex with me that night.
6. I had been real gassy all week for some reason. I didn’t change my diet or anything— a sloppy joe breakfast followed by a tantalizing cup of Ovaltine. Well, I was reading the local paper and I saw an ad that said “Super Bowl Flush” for $50. Well, I rushed down to Jimmy’s Discount High Colonic and Fudge Factory for a complete flushing so I could plug up this slow leak I had. After Jimmy removed the garden hose from my tender derriere, I was so excited, and full of that not so unfresh feeling, that I rushed home to tell my girlfriend how I got a colonic, and for her I got some fudge. She was a few things when I told her—saddened, pissed, and actually started dry heaving. She didn’t even eat her damn fudge. Needless to say, I didn’t get any sex that night.
7. I really couldn’t watch the game because I kind of burned my eyelids with a--- oh, what is that thing called—oh, yeah—a curling iron. My eyebrows can get quite bushy and lengthy if I don’t trim them when I trim other certain skimpy areas. Well, they were lengthy, so I thought curling them might be either cute or stupid, but either way, it would be something new. In the process of doing this, my girlfriend barged into the room without even knocking and scared the living crap out of me (not in the same way Jimmy at Discount Colonic got the living crap out of me). After I let out a high-pitched scream, the curling iron landed on my eyelids and scorched ‘em. I then dropped the curling iron. The real problem was that I was naked at the time, so the curling iron didn’t really make it straight to the floor. Let’s just say it hit a softly erect “diving board” and then bounced hard off it. I may have to agree with my girlfriend on this one about being kind of gay.
8. I have an activity that brings me such joy I love doing it whenever the urge arises. I also love to sing while doing it because it makes the action feel that much better. I love jumping rope. Oh, you should see me get going. I can go for hours. First, I like to lather up with a lot of hand cream. It just makes everything smoother for grabbing a firm hold onto that huge rope. Then I just get that rope going and going, and once I got a good rhythm, and get my heavy panting under control, I start singing. My usual song of choice here is “Hopelessly Devoted To You” from Grease. It just seems like an appropriate song for the occasion. And usually, I let that rope swing and swing until I get full satisfaction from it. Sometimes I get interrupted and then for some reason, my session is ruined. I also receive a pain for a while if I don’t finish jumping rope correctly. Well, I did this instead of watching part of the game. Now, how could this be gay? It’s not like everyone doesn’t jump rope. They do. They just don’t admit it.
9. I did end up going to a party on Super Bowl Sunday actually. It was super fun, only it wasn’t a party to watch the game. It was a fondue party. I simply love a good fondue party. Sure, there were other guys there. In fact, come to think of it, there were only guys there. Whatever. I even called my girlfriend from the party and asked her if she wanted me to bring her home some fondue. She just said, “What the fuck?” and hung up on me. She didn’t know what she was missing. And the absolute best part—the smell of fondue. It smells like old sweaty socks, bad chili and Bette Midler. Ooh, I just love it, love it, love it!
10. The last reason I didn’t watch the game was because of their damn halftime show. I mean, how can you have a halftime show without the freakin’ Village People? How, Lord, how? I mean that construction worker is tuff, baby. And I had me a craving for the Indian. Don’t ask me why. Well, I complained about this to my girlfriend and I told her I was boycotting watching the game because of the Village Peoples’ absence. She just left the room, came back with a tampon and handed it to me. I just don’t understand women. Needless to say, I didn’t get any sex that night, but I did jump a lot of rope.
posted by Cruzbomb at 10:45 PM
3 Comments:
Disturbing or not, welcome to revolution pollution. The Web site where absurdity rules, and common decency is thrown out the window. You're only disturbed because every part of this is true, and unfortunately you know it. Now, how about some fondue, Tootie?
Schaaf would've welcomed you with open legs had you come as the undie-less cheerleader.
Well the sisters here all watched the Super Bowl, a few shouting obscenties no less. Wonder what that makes them... that is, if women do watch it then they're automatically in the Patty Bouvier category. Especially women in habits.
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