FRIENDS.

True friends are like butt cheeks.
Shit might separate them,
But they always come back together.

Forward this to all the little butt cheeks in YOUR life.

Tired of Britnazz.

Tired of her boobs, her crotch cleavage, her bingo-wings and ass fat. Tired of her pooping puppies like a Pez dispenser. Tired of being innundated with Brit Brand (TM) sophistication on a daily basis.

Which is exactly why I’m forcing these photos on you.

You NEED your daily serving of celebrity grotesquerie just to remind you that…well…you’re not HER. And you’re not dating her. And you’re almost certainly never gonna marry her.

(Guru, I’m hoping this realization doesn’t somehow disappoint you.)

Shwew! Glad I got THAT off my chest. I mean, they always say that admission is the first step to recovery, right?

I have a piece of advice for you: never buy a house unless you actually PLANNED to buy a house in the first place.

Don’t be like me and jump on the first housing opportunity that falls out of the sky. Because then you’ll be forced to wrap your head around a monstrous process in a matter of weeks that you previously knew NOTHING about. Which leaves room for the gaping possibility that you’ll royally screw something up before the whole shebang is over.

And now that my closing date looms large on Thursday? That’s exactly what I’m worried about.

Throughout this entire fiasco I’ve had questions. Questions for the agent, questions for the broker, questions for the processor, questions for the insurance salesman, the home warranty people, the home owners association. Hell, I’d stop fools on the STREET and query them if I could.

Here’s hoping that all those answers I got actually steered me in the right direction. By 4pm on Thursday if I don’t have a piece of documentation stating that the house is indeed mine, I’ll cry.

Wish me luck, pray for me, call your mother. Whatever it is that you do to make good things happen for good people? Do it for me!

PLEASE?!!

Oh, and speaking of questions we’ve been dying for the answers to, here’s a bit of worldly wisdom we can all benefit from:

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Q. What is the difference between a drug dealer and a hooker?
A. A hooker can wash her crack and sell it again.

Q. Why do women call it PMS?
A. Mad Cow Disease was already taken.

Q. What’s a mixed feeling?
A. When you see your mother-in-law backing off a cliff in your new
car.

Q. What’s the height of conceit?
A. Having an orgasm and calling out your own name.

Q. What’s the definition of macho?
A. Jogging home from your vasectomy.

Q. What’s the difference between a G-Spot and a golf ball?
A. A guy will actually search for a golf ball.

Q. Do you know how New Zealanders practice safe sex?
A. They spray paint X’s on theback of the sheep that kick.

Q. Why is divorce so expensive?
A. Because it’s worth it.

Q. What is a Yankee?
A. The same as a quickie, but a guy can do it alone.

Q. What do Tupperware and a walrus have in common?
A. They both like a tight seal.

Q. What do a Christmas tree and priest have in common?
A. Their balls are just for decoration.

Q. What is the difference between “ooooooh” and “aaaaaaah”?
A. About three inches.

Q. What do you call a Lesbian with fat fingers?
A. Well-Hung.

Q. Why do Gay men wear ribbed condoms?
A. For traction in the mud.

Q: What’s the difference between purple and pink?
A. The grip.

Q: How do you find a blind man in a nudist colony?
A. It’s not hard.

Q: How do you circumcise a hillbilly?
A: Kick his sister in the jaw.

Q: What’s the difference between a girlfriend and a wife?
A: 45 pounds.

Q: What’s the difference between a boyfriend and a husband?
A: 45 minutes.

Q: Why do men find it difficult to make eye contact?
A: Breasts don’t have eyes.

Q: If the dove is the bird of peace, what is the bird of true
love?
A. The swallow.

Q: What is the difference between medium and rare?
A: Six inches is medium, eight inches is rare.

Q: Why do most women pay more attention to their appearance than
improving their minds?
A. Because most men are stupid but few are blind.

Q. Why do women rub their eyes when they get up in the morning?
A. They don’t have balls to scratch

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Here is the outcome of our latest Furious Five round and I have to say that something is honestly wrong with some of you. By the way, sorry for all the moderation folder foul-ups. Hopefully things will go much smoother next time.

Anyway, here’s our story. I hope you enjoy the…

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DAY OF THE DRUNKEN DAMES

Drunken, dumbfounded dames dance deliriously down Devonshire Drive desperately dodging Willy [who] wiggled wildly when I illegally imported Iranian immigrants from France for foreign Frisbees to teach twins to tap outside on oily orange orangutans and angling arrogant aardvark attachments by bouncing boring black balls.

So I pontificated profoundly by breaking the post rules set and punching proudly per prerequisite polishiosity over offbeat overgrown ornamental olives.

That?s the third time that hungry hippos had Herman horrified and yes, yes, yes, Yolanda yelped as she sat sideways sipping soda [while] reading Nicolemart in the nude.

Blisters bubbled, blistering bulbous boobies, allowing all anarchists anemic alliances [to] quietly quench queasy Queensland quahogs galloping gracefully ?ginst grain then turning toward the tempestuous [turntablist. But bodacious baboons bleat] better.

Betty?s butler began begging for fun, frocklicking, fascinating fantasies as alliterative aliens advanced accordingly.

Vickie?s varnished vanity verily vanished while Whosit?s whatsit wanked wantonly [while] vividly vivacious volley of Vogue-ish voluptuous vixens vex Victor vapidly, sending soft silent shivers surreptitiously.

Restless, rolling rivers roam rapturously and aggressively across agricultural acreage [while] frenzied frolic foams furiously forth, forming freakishly flowing fruitcake formations frequently found fermenting furious fumes intoxicating its islanders into inertia leaving Lilliputian-like lavender leprechauns gaily gathering gorgeous gastronomic garnishes to throw toward Thumper the zapping zombie.

Zeus? zesty zucchini [victimized] virginal vegetables vibrating very vigorously like lungfish look-a-likes laboriously leaping?

Oh, oh! Out of oxygen!

Gore gurgled grotesque gibberish, Global disaster didn?t do Democrats diddly [while] making Massachusetts moonbats mostly mystified [and] stupefied Socialists saunter surprisingly slowly as angry aardvarks advocate anarchy [and] slowly spinning stories so somebody?s uncle underestimates unruly ugliness unfolding after agonizing about aardvarks arranging anarchic alliances.

Aunt Alice asks when weebles wobble why won?t ambulatory activists activate anti-wobbling alarms since dastardly devils dive down drainspouts [while] grinding generous globs [of] gelatinous goo.

Beautiful, bubbly blonds bring bodacious treasures that tempt the taxman who winkingly withdrew warrantless warrants that touted tauntingly the terms recklessly require really raunchy restitution and absinthe addicts [who] already acknowledge the terrible trembling that traumatizes anyone attempting an alliteration activity.

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Eric and I were sitting in a sports bar last night when an ad for the new show Master of Champions appeared on one of the ginormous view screens. It was all knives and explosions and bouncing cars which meant Eric was totally into it.

Cuz really, that’s all dudes* need to be entertained, right?

Well, not quite. We’ve forgotten a couple of other important Man Stew ingredients: beer and vagina. And, believe it or not, there’s actually a HIERARCHY that exists between the two, as outlined below…

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1. Beer is always wet. Vagina needs a little work.
B=1, V=0

2. Warm beer tastes awful.
B=1, V=1

3. However, a really cold beer is quite satisfying.
B=2, V=1

4. If you find a hair between your teeth after taking a swig of beer, you may vomit.
B=2, V=2

5. If you come home reeking of beer, your wife will hate you. If you come home reeking of vagina, your wife will divorce you (which might not be so bad, depending on your circumstances) — too close to call.
B=2, V=2

6. Ten beers in one night and you can’t drive home. Ten vaginas in one night and you don’t want to drive ANYWHERE.
B=2, V=3

7. If you drink excessive amounts of beer in public you’ll look like a drunk. If you eat any amount vagina in public you’ll look like a pimp.
B=2, V=4

8. If a cop stops you and you smell of beer you may get arrested. If a cop stops you and you smell of vagina he may BUY you a beer.
B=2, V=5

9. Beer never gets old.
B=3, V=5

10. Too much beer and you’ll think you see flying saucers. Too much vagina and you’ll think you’ve seen God.
B=3, V=6

11. Most countries charge a tax on beer.
B=3, V=7

13. If you drink another beer, the first one never gets pissed off.
B=4, V=7

14. You always know whether you’re the first one to tap a beer.
B=5, V=7

15. You always know up front how much beer is going to cost.
B=6, V=7

18. Beer doesn’t have a mother.
B=7, V=7

19. Beer doesn’t want to cuddle for half an hour after you drink it
B=8, V=7

20. Buying beer: fun. Buying vagina: felony.
B=9, V=7

FINAL SCORE:
BEER = 9, VAGINA = 7

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Which makes me wonder what advice guys* would give to a woman who, despite all her best attempts, just can’t seem to land herself a man. Why am I thinking the suggestions would lie somewhere along the following lines?

* Excluding all male nicoleMART subscribers.