…in the 1930′s.
Don’t stick your finger in his ear, ladies. That’s for the 3rd date.
Yeah, fuck your interests, bitch.
So that’s where all my dates went wrong!
Looks like a pretty successful night to me.
Courtesy of Sad and Useless.
Are you tired of having awesome first dates? Sick of being told you’re going to have to go on a second date? Fear not -I have the answer for you with The Ultimate Guide To Being A Terrible First Date!
Note – Guide is gender neutral. Customize it to your talents and skills!
Step 1: The Asking
Firstly, you must ask someone on a date. Make sure you are super enthusiastic, charming, and all-around awesome. This will generate hopes and dreams that you can later crush.
Step 2: The Crushing
The day of the date, ignore all texts and calls from your date. When they call an hour after the date has started asking why you aren’t there, casually say you forgot. After they hang up on you, text them sweet nothings that will ultimately woo them into another date.
Step 3: Go to Chili’s
One might argue that McDonald’s or a basement is the worst place for a date, but no, it is Chili’s. Chili’s is to restaurants as RoseArt brand is to crayons. It’s pretty shitty, everyone knows it, yet our mom always takes you there/buys you them anyway. No one in the history of time has ever left a Chili’s feeling good about themselves and their life choices. Fact.
Step 4: Do anything from Neil Strauss’ “The Game”
If you haven’t read “The Game“, it is basically Creepin 101. Insult your date (in hopes they will be so driven to prove themselves to you they’ll rip off their clothes). Bite the inside of their elbows. Wear an eyepatch. Wear a large hat with a feather. Wear a parrot on your shoulder. Just go the whole nine yards and dress like a pirate okay?
Step 5: Get really drunk and make them take you home
No easier way to get someone to come home with you than through moral obligation to keep you from drunk driving! Thanks MADD.
Step 6: Offer for them to come inside and drink whiskey on the balcony with you and your mom.
Also, the whiskey was stolen from a drug dealer’s apartment. True story.
Step 7: Run into your date weeks later and embarrass them.
This can be done easily by saying, “Want to ride the roller coaster again baby?” and gyrating your hips. Works for both genders. Use liberally.
Based on a trueish story. Like Balto.
I am tired of the artsy “you go girl!” motivational posters. “love life! eat cupcakes!”, “PUT GLITTER ON EVERYTHING” and “Be kind ~~~ <3″… How boring. This doesn’t motivate me. I don’t even like cupcakes!
I’ve collected a few actually motivating posters from around the web (most are from Pinterest and Wordboner. If you can attribute the other’s sources, please let me know in the comments). Why? Because goddamnit, if I have to look at a piece of paper on my wall to be motivated in life, I want it to be an awesome piece of paper.
My favourite. Keeping calm never got any one any where, right?
I will drink caffeine at 9pm if I want! #RageAgainstTheMachine
I may sometimes respond to this poster with, "SHUT UP. I WILL BITCH TILL MY HEART IS CONTENT" but in the end I know it's true.
Oh, alright motivational poster, you got me.
Why yes, the last two do fit well together.
Follow me on Twitter & Facebook for more words/posters of wisdom.
Brought to you by Tegan and The Hating Expert.
For centuries, mankind has wondered, “Where do gay people come from? How do they get so gay? And why?”
Most importantly, how are they turning so many other people gay?
How do you explain gay doctors turning children gay?
Or Lady Gaga turning the world gay?
Or how Glee turns kids gay with all their gayness?
And even why soy makes people gay?
I mean, the idea that gay people just exist is ridiculous. Something must be turning them gay, and it’s our job as totally straight people to find out what, and stop them (because their gayness is affecting us, somehow)!
Well I’ve found out their dirty little gay secret.
Gay people are wizards.
We're on to you, Elton.
Think about it: There’s literally no other explanation to why normal, straight, proud-to-be-an-American parents would produce a heathen gay child unless a gay wizard did it. It just makes sense, you know?
Gay wizards use their magical gay powers to blend in with the rest of society and take on roles such as doctors, liberals, and hair dressers, and then when you blink – zaaaap! – they tap your kid with the homowand and poof, there goes your grandchildren.
I know this may be shocking to some of you, but us ‘homophobes’ (or wizardphobes) have known something was up for years. Why else would we keep bringing up scary gay things that could cause your kid to be gay?
Now, if only I could figure out where gay wizards come from.
Dear Cosmo,
I understand the print journalism industry is slowly dieing, and you’re unable to get any relevant celebrities to do your covers so you’ve resorted to people like Megan Fox and Kim Kardashian. I understand you cater to a crowd of barely-18 year old girls who desperately want to enjoy giving blow jobs to their new fraternity boyfriends. And I also understand that your staff probably consists of 12 middle-aged women who still think wearing leopard print is sexy. However despite all this, I have come to the decision that I have to stop reading you.
Dearest Cosmo, our relationship began when I was a mere 16 years old. Terrible haircuts and no knowledge of make-up carried me to you, and within months I had some basic knowledge of how to not look gross. But as the years went on, I discovered your terrible secret: every single issue of Cosmo is stupid.
At first I appreciated the wacky oh-so-embarrassing stories from readers and the real-life tips to be safe at bars and clubs. But slowly, the good parts began shrinking. Instead of a full length feature on why tanning in a booth is like swallowing gasoline, I got 12 extra pages on how to please my man. Instead of inspirational stories from strong women, I got a picture of a skinny model using underwear to tie her hair back as she goes down for a blow job. Really Cosmo? Really?
The last issue I bought, November 2009, was 236 pages. About 50 of those were ads for perfume. Another 50 were dedicated to copy-and-paste ‘articles’ ranging from clothes that are too expensive for any middle-class girl to buy, to lists of the hottest cops on TV shows. The rest of the pages were mostly pictures of men without shirts and models that look 14 years old.
Where are my self-improvement, self-empowerment pages? Where are the real life fashion and style tips? Where are the sex tips that don’t consist of ‘rub his penis till he leaves you alone and lets you sleep‘? Oh Cosmo…
It’s not me, it’s you. It’s you and your fake journalism. You and your 5 entire pages of boots that cost more than my paycheck. You and your habit of recycling articles by rearranging the words in the title. Take a hike, Cosmo.
Sincerely,
Tegan