My Dream Man

Mary: I want a guy who can play 36 holes and still have enough energy to take me and Warren, to a ball game and eat hot dogs. I'm talking sausage hot dogs beer not light beer, but beer. That's my add print it up.
Mary's friend: Umm fatty who likes beer and golf. Jeez Mary, where you gonna find a gem like that?

--There's Something About Mary

Forget Brad Pitt, George Clooney, even Christian Slater. My dream man bears more of a resemblance to Ice Cube, the hussy proclaimed sexiest man alive.

Even though he's fat, and bald, and lazy, and stupid, and he did poorly in school, and his personal hygiene has been described as... Homer Simpson may be as close to perfection as one cartoon man can come. He'll never remember your birthday or your anniversary, and he'll spend more on temporary tattoos than on gifts for you, but when it comes to slutty country singers coming on to him, all he'll be able to think of is you saying, "I'll love you for the rest of my life."

I often wonder why Marge stays with Homer. He's seemingly always fucking up their life, from a first kiss based on lies to knocking her up with Bart. Marge is obviously the brains of the marriage, and she's significantly better looking than Homer. Like so many times in real life, I find myself wondering, "What does she see in him?" My guess is she knows no one else sees what she does. Mismatched though they may be, Homer never cheated on Marge, never left her, and always made time to snuggle. More importantly, she knows they are sustained through the good and the bad by love alone. What else could a woman want in a totally unrealistic relationship?

Homer Simpson will always be my dream man, and Ice Cube will always be the sexiest man alive to me. Call me crazy, but I guess I see something other people miss. But just in case I'm wrong, I'd better put my Teen Beat picture of Christian Slater from 1989 back up on the wall.

Discussion on Boobs: Value, Purpose and Stimulation

I hate girls who get into relationships and then neglect all their friends and social outlets outside of their boyfriend. It's almost as though in the B.B. (Before-Boyfriend) era, they had no life and spent all of their time searching for someone to date. Lame.

Yeah, I'm lame. I think I spent more time looking for people to sleep with and updating this piece of junk than looking for someone to date, but I somehow still found someone.

In the A.B. (After-Boyfriend) era, I'm not any busier than I was B.B. Sadly, functional relationships aren't all about laying on a couch all day, getting oral sex and chocolate from a shirtless man like I thought. Still, I'm enjoying it (notice I said not all about that). It's surprisingly pleasant to have breakfast brought to you in bed, particularly when you never thought it would happen to you. And, in a sense, that sums up how I've felt these last few months.

I promise to write more soon, including an eventual discussion on boobs, including their value, purpose and stimulation. And I'm sorry if I tricked you into thinking that it would be included in this installment. I further promise to stop tricking you into thinking about boobs, and perhaps as penance for my transgression, will post an avatar that is actually me for once.