Dear Mr. Steele
No question today my friend. Commentary time. After reading your latest Truth "The truth about dating someone who's read your web page" I feel that I must on behalf of all married men pop a cap in yo' butt. While I am fully aware that you are currently floating high above the state of New Jersey on the wings of love and all that garbage It is my duty to shoot you down like a S.C.U.D. over Israel.
It seems that this young lady whom currently occupies your happy place is obviously one of the "Woman Against Unmarried Men"'s best operatives. She's got you enthralled with the "hair flip" hasn't she? Go on admit it we veterans of the paper aisle have been there. Let me ask this of you. How's the oral sex? Uh-huh just as I thought. Bountiful. You poor misguided soul.
It's not too late. You can come out of this. Others have. . .I hear. Okay so maybe none of us can pull free of the WAUM's super-tight (as in Super Saturated) grip. Afterall they're holding onto something kind of sensitive and the moment that ring slips over your finger they squeeze. It starts innocently enough. "Clothes don't really count as part of the budget do they?" or "I wanna take you're car because it's safer than mine <insert doe eyes>." Then a year or so passes and the door to the bathroom flings open while you're shaving and she helps herself to the toilet pausing only to complain about the seat being up. Yeah boy when she is comfortable enough to tinkle in your presence that's when ya know that the honeymoon is over.
Yup that's why I'm writing. To save you from yourself. Now mind you this letter never has worked but hey we are a group of men. We have to stop brainstorming when the beer commercials come on. Ooh hey those frogs!
*The opinions made by the left side of my brain are not necassarily those of the right side which thinks that all woman are the greatest creations in existance worthy of praise adoration and the remote control.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS AMIGO!
Some of you may know him as 'Van Grymm' . . . but it's the same guy. And it's been too friggen long since he's written to this page, and for that he should be severely flogged. In fact, I'm placing a call to his doe-eyed wife right now . . .
Okay. The call is placed and the punishment will be harsh. Suck it up you poor bastard. That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger. At least, that's what I keep telling my liver.
Sit tight while I fetch another beer.
Ah . . . that's better. I feel so much smarter, now. My liver is griping at me -- but hey, that's what headphones are for. And livers are known-crybabies. If my heart can take the salt and my lungs can take the smoke and my arteries can take the cholesterol, then my liver can carry its weight, too.
But I guess I should talk about this girl a little bit.
The Truth about the girl is that we're no longer seeing each other. I'm hesitant to use the words 'She dumped me for the umpteeth time,' even though that's pretty much what it boils down to. She had a few things she needed to work out before we could have anything remotely approaching an actual relationship. And maybe someday, I'll be permitted to speak of these things with absolute candor -- but they aren't really my things.
Anyone wants to know anything about me -- that's fine. I'll tell you all about myself. But her Truths are hers. You can ask her all about them once she's published her own Webpage.
So in effect I have been saved -- spared once more the ravages of Toilet Seat Discussions and Budget Debates. I am Indiana Jones -- even when things are at their most hopeless, I'll find an escape.
Now, off to kill more Nazis.
Will someone please tell me what WAUM means?