I'm too good for goodness sake

I don't know how to follow a post like the last post I posted. Which I guess is why I am stuck, and why for the last 5 days you have had nothing better to do than read through my incomparable archives.

Of course I have the same problem after every post I write.  Each post is always awesome, and serves a powerful purpose.

For instance I blogged:

We need the parking lot of my grocery store littered with the heads of CEO's from fortune 500 companies.

The is nothing left to say after I say it.

You might think to yourself, "That's all good and dandy, but you've got time to think about what you are saying here so that's why you seem so fresh, witty, and smart."

You'd be fucking wrong.

My shit gets lost in translation.

You should spend 5 minutes with me in person. Like the new girl at work does. My verbal acuity could then assault your sensibility.

I turn "break time" into a extemporaneous 15 minute lecture on Deuteronomy that will butter your vagina.


I know you want me.

If you are like the the pharm tech girl at my work you will sneak up behind me and rub on me when I am in line at Jack in the Box and ask me about buying REALLY BIG CHEESEBURGERS.

We go on to have one of those conversations that only happens in movies from the 1940's where the man and the woman banter* only we have dialogue that would shock Michael Savage.

see *The EXPLAINER*

The teabagger Pharmacy tech girl is colored and should know better than to listen to racists like Michael Savage, but she doesn't, so it shouldn't surprise you to learn that it doesn't even bother her when I use the term "retard baby" even though she claims a crippled son at home (I smoothed things over by making a joke about teabagging the 70 year old pharmacist.)

Glen Beck hates it when I make fun of the handicapped.

Women just need to be told.

You want me to put you in your place. You want to be muscled to the ground without the cops looking into it.

That's why I verbally place you in one of those WWF/WWE smack downs that primes your evolutionary pump for subservience.

The only time my verbosity needs to be traded for a more laconic repose is when one of the retards at work overhears my lectures on Jesus, Interrupted and gets all worked up like retards do (fuck retards are always in heat) and agrees with me when I say that the bible forbids a woman from denying a husband his marital "rights."

"That's the reason so many men CHEAT."

I did not say that.

That response was from the retard. Actually that was retard #2. Retard # 2 is just a regular person with no known mental defects (unless you count slightly below average intelligence to be a defect.) Which you shouldn't since you are probably of average intelligence and should not be making fun of people who think 6x8=44 when you think it is 46. You're closer. But you are still a fucking retard.

All I know is I got women all over my business.

I got chicks text messaging me. I got them wanting to hang out as soon as they "dump their kids." That won't happen "for like three weeks," but when it does I will slice through her vagina like a chainsaw. I promise you that.

I work on woman in ways they can't fathom.

I promise I will not bang the newbie at work. I won't bang her because she has a boyfriend. I discovered the newbie goes to school for audio/visual so I mentioned my podcast to her. Then she began touching herself under her apron. I saw it. Her eyes got all glassy. Now she can't shut up around me.

It's always been like that for me.

I have a knack for knowing when I turn a woman on. So if you think I am sexy and you get with in 3 feet of me you might as well wear a t-shirt that say's, "I'd fuck ROm." Because that little bumper sticker on your forehead is all I can see when we talk.

All that school girl shit you feel around me comes rushing back at you like the overflow from a twice used maxipad of love. I'm talking you squeak a little from your thighs rubbing against one another when you walk away.

I promise I won't make you feel bad.

I give you enough attention to let you know that I know without making it "known" that I know that you know that I know. If you know what I mean.

I'm all about giving my bitches in-heat some dignity.

*The EXPLAINER explains.*

You might think to yourself, " How does he have a 1940's type conversation with a woman from nowadays?"

The truth is I don't. And that may seem like a lie, or some kind of misogynistic line. But it's not. You are jumping to conclusions and making a logical fallacy. If you got "angry" that's because unconsciously you have simply asserted "women are intelligent and can have witty banter" without providing any proof your rebuttal is true.

Now ask yourself, "How many intelligent woman do you know?"

The average response to this question FROM WOMEN is 2.3. Which makes the odds of me actually having a conversation like the one above small indeed.

What actually happened in my conversation at Jack in the Box is just like what happened in the 1940's. A man writes the dialogue, and the woman just reads what it is written for her. If indeed the person I was talking to really was a woman.

(The more likely explanation being the "woman" is portrayed by a man just like back in the day when ol' Shakespeare was around.)