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Friday, February 11, 2005


Your second divorce has finally come through and you’re looking to find a little action. It’s not like you are above paying for sex but you were thinking about trying to trick some young lady into giving it to you for free. Free: whatever that means. You thought you were getting it for free from your two ex’s and look at how much that cost you. So no, you definitely aren’t above paying for it, but you are in the prime of life and you should be able to revive that old charm. You look pretty good, too, if you do say so yourself. Then again, you aren’t going to say that paying for it is your last resort. It is more like the fifth or sixth from the last resort. You shudder in fear at what is your last resort. Please don’t let it come down to your last resort.

Just thinking about what your last sexual resort encompasses made you feel a little icky so you took a shower. That’s a good start for a night out on the town. If you aren’t going to shave your back at least shave your ears and weed-wack a little around your eyebrows—ditto with nose hair. As far as cologne goes here’s a simple rule: if it costs less that table wine don’t wear it; that stuff is only fit to deodorize your bathroom. No sneakers or tasseled loafers—this isn’t casual Friday at the office, this is about you overcoming overwhelming odds and getting laid. You’re a big boy so we’ll let you dress yourself, but remember: if you don’t have a body, don’t show it off.

In the cab ride to the new, hip, pick-up bar, try to commit a few foreign phrases to memory. This will put you way ahead of the rest of the rabble when you are dealing with beautiful eastern European women. Bulgarian, Russian, and Ukrainian are difficult languages but you should be able to memorize such useful expressions as, “I want you to want me, I need you to need me,” (worry about the Cheap Trick copyright infringement after you get some action) and “Can you unlock these handcuffs, please. I have to go pee.”

It may be too late to tell you this as you pull up in front of the chic bar you have chosen, but you should always have a wing-man when you are out on the town and trying to score. Your wing-man should be someone who is much better looking than you and infinitely more appealing to the opposite sex. This is why I always try to tag along with Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp. A division of horny marines could keep busy with the women those two guys leave in their wake. If you have one of your buddies with you try this fool proof scam. Have your wing-man approach two women at the bar. Have him be incredibly obnoxious to the women (probably not too tough an assignment for him). You pretend that you don’t know him and come to their rescue. “Why don’t you just leave these two alone, pal.” As he slinks off in shame you put yourself into position by saying to them, “Can you believe that asshole?” Is this tactic ethical? If you are really serious about getting laid this will probably be about the most truthful scenario you will manufacture during the entire evening.

If you are alone don’t make the fatal mistake of getting into a conversation with another single dude because he is probably a bigger loser than you. You are here for one reason so stay focused. Keep telling yourself that you are a devastating sexual predator; you are like a lion in a petting zoo. Even the king of the jungle needs a good cocktail but keep it simple. If Humphrey Bogart wouldn’t drink it then neither should you, and Humphrey Bogart wouldn’t drink anything that hasn’t been around for at least 100 years, so stay clear of the fad drinks. This isn’t an ice cream parlor so don’t go looking for something that tastes good.

So you are standing at the bar sipping your martini when directly to your left are two gorgeous women. Holy shit, your knees almost buckle as you get a load of the amount of cleavage on display, but here is the cruel thing about cleavage. You can’t look at cleavage, at least not until you get to know them (the women, not the cleavage you idiot). Think of looking at cleavage as the same as looking at the sun; pretend that it actually hurts your eyes to focus on the cleavage. If things go well there will be plenty of time for looking, but for now you have to act like the cleavage is no big deal even if the cleavage is a really big deal—if you know what I mean.

From this point on you are on your own. I forgot to mention that I’ve always been pretty lousy at picking up strange women. I was just trying to keep you from making an ass out of yourself. The thing is, everyone knows that being an ass never kept anybody from hooking up in a meat market bar; it’s actually an asset if you’ll pardon the pun. So forget everything I said and just go out and be yourself. I’m going to call an escort service.

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