I attended a number of parties and bars this weekend and I found the number of women who wantonly threw themselves at me in a drunken stupor to be appalling — among other things. Women can handle their liquor about as well as a paper towel, and the second they consume it, they default to ranting, stumbling, harlots with a two second fuse for erupting into hysterics.

Of course, the only difference between this drunken women and a sober one is that this one will actually put out. It’s just a matter of when. Before or after she passes out. [Read more]

Women only have one skill. The ability to have children. And it’s not so much a skill as much as it is a defense mechanism againt doing work. Like how an octopus shoots ink all over the place when a shark is trying to bite it or stab it with something. That’s how women use their natural defense of cranking out children whenever a job is about to bite ahold of them.

It’s also like how Yakov Smirnoff would say shit about Russia about everything, even when it didn’t apply at all. Women are exactly like Yakov Smirnoff except their broken crutch is their ovaries.

Take promiscuous sex for example. Women will explain away their debauchery with some kind of mythical “biological, reproductive clock” that apparently starts dinging up like a slot machine when they hit twenty-six and spits Spanish Fly into the air like a crop duster. Where I come from we have a term for that. Horseshit.

Women also use the act of bearing a child (even the poseurs who haven’t actually gone through with it yet) to prove that they can take more pain than men — and that women have a higher pain tolerance than we do. Where I come from we have a term for that too. Super horseshit. Here’s the horse to prove it. [Read more]

Zoos have been around for as long as animals. That is a long fucking time. And in this time, men have enjoyed zoos to the fullest. We have taken leisurely strolls around them. Some of us have been fortunate enough to drink several beers in them while in London, because that’s the kind of thing you can do in London. London is a very manly place as it turns out.

The theme of the week is leisure activities. It is relaxing the mind and the body, which is something that men can do without blowing a half week of their love partner’s salary at some hoighty toighty fucking day spa run by a bunch of women who hate the fuck out of their clients.

That’s a great way to run a business by the way. Hate the fuck out of your clients. Nice one ladies. [Read more]

TV was invented by a man: one Philo T. Farnsworth. It was also proliferated by men. Businessmen — who reinvented paradigms and thought so far outside the box that my man senses quake at the mention of it.

Unlike women, men are good at both inventing things and proliferating them, but that’s not what I’m talking about today.

Television, with a history rich in the juices of man, is a total success for half of Earth’s population. The other half — women — know what to do with a television set about as much as horse-toothed monkeys know how to fold road maps. [Read more]

You know, I’m seriously sick of all this Marie Curie nonsense.

Men, let me tell you one thing that I know as 100% fact. Marie Curie was not some fucking super scientist that saved all women from the brink of total historical irrelevance. Women can’t be scientists; plain and simple. It’s not in their blood.

What she actually was — just like every other successful woman in history — was an opinionated, bray-hard, nag ninny with a penchant for stealing the work of her diligent husband.

Marie Curie was the Courtney Love of the 1920’s. [Read more]

You know what I think is hilarious: that the only successful woman pimp ever — Heidi Fleiss — was so inept that she went to prison and nearly sullied the reputation of one of the greatest thespians of the 20th century. One Charlie “The Green Machine” Sheen.

By the way, when I say “successful”, I mean successful in the way that a woman can be successful, by sleeping her way to the top and dodging the karma tornado of ineptitude for as long as possible.

Ultimately, success for a woman is having the new high score for Most Years Without Fucking Up. I think the record is like two. Princess Di probably holds it too. I don’t really know. I don’t give a shit. [Read more]

Recently a series of unfortunate events has led me to a phenoMANol new invention. But before I discuss it in detail, I want to describe the misfortunes that befell me and led to its discovery. As all you men can clearly tell, what I am about to do is not ‘bitching about my bad day’ — a common woman practice that involves a monotonous screed of easily predictable follies and failures that plague a woman’s life.

What I’m doing is sharing the experiences that led to this great new invention: The Man Bag. [Read more]

All men know that women are terrible at the communication. We see it every day in the form of women dressing like blatant prostitutes when they claim to be the exact opposite — not prostitutes.

That’s bad communicating.

We also see it when we see women screaming like frantic savages in the workplace or in the home after they screw something up. While they’re tearing their hair out and trying to stretch their nostrils as wide as their eyes and their eyes as wide as their mouths and their mouths as wide as a toilet, what they’re actually trying to say is this:

“I’m sorry. You’re actually totally right. How could I have possibly fucked up this badly again?”

The answer is simple elementary, my dear. You’re a woman. [Read more]