"Unfriending someone on Facebook or Unfollowing someone on Twitter is like walking up to a stranger at a bar and telling them you're leaving." -- Andrew Creveling
Unfortunately, the first half of the story I'd like to share with you today, is missing. Of course I can recall the events pretty clearly, but since this was an online interaction, I would much rather have screen caps to better illustrate the events in question. As I can no longer get those screen caps for reasons I will reveal shortly, we will instead have to rely upon my keen memory, sharp wit, and epic storytelling capabilities. So just sit right back and I'll tell a tale, a tale of a crazy bitch. Who started our seemingly normal, before her drastic switch.
Heh, a little Ballad of Gilligan's Island to set the mood. You're welcome.
Over the last several years, I've managed to keep in pseudo-contact with several people whom I've "know" over the internet. That is to say, I've never met them in person, but more of a pen-pal approach, seen a few pictures, that sort of thing. And one of those persons we'll call Jill. At the time I was first contacted by Jill, the date was March of 2004... low carb diets were the craze, everyone had their yellow LIVESTRONG bracelets and EHOWA and the mailing list were in full swing. I had just written my "How to get out of speeding tickets" article and Jill wrote in asking for some advice on a car accident. And before you think I'm a little off kilt, I've got every email I've ever sent or received, dating back to July of 1998. Now I really didn't have any advice to give on such matters, but for one reason or another, a mild if infrequent friendship was born. We've kept in touch over the last eight years, sometimes bouncing a few emails a week, sometimes one a year. Enter social networking giant Facebook, we become 'friends' and over the last year or so, and much like the other 900 people whom I really don't know very well, we've been able to quietly keep tabs on each others lives. In fact if you've been on my Facebook page, I have no doubt that you have read, and perhaps even commented on, some of Jill's replies.
Without airing any dirty laundry, suffice to say that following a brief stint in Law Enforcement, Jill (with bun in oven) moved up north to be with her family and pursue her passion of running a small animal rescue. Upon her return, she becomes involved with and marries a nice fellow, whom from what I could gather by the occasional post, was a childhood friend/sweetheart. Over the course of the year or so, everything Jill has written about Jack had led me to believe that this young man pretty much walks on water. He's handsomely taken on the role as father figure to her son, he's stood by her through several legal issues, and been with her during many, many, many trips to the hospital for pretty much everything under the fucking sun... couch...couch...hypochondriac...cough...cough... And let me tell you something folks, it takes a good man to dress up in renaissance faire garb and allow his picture to be taken holding a baby who is also dressed up in renaissance faire garb. Jack also diligently helps Jill out with her animal rescue duties, which as a non-profit, aint putting any bucks in his pocket. Suffice to say that to me, Jack seems like a pretty stand up guy.
So fast forward to yesterday afternoon, where Jill makes a post -- and Godammit, this is where I'm really sorry that I don't have screen caps for you -- but it went something like this. "Someone tell me if my feelings should be hurt or not. I'm sitting here in so much pain I can barely move and I asked to borrow Jack's cellphone to make a phone call and when I turned it on, the web browser was up and he had another girl's dating profile up. I showed it to him and asked, "Are you trying to replace me already? And he answered, 'Are you going to be like this all day?' So am I wrong to have my feelings hurt?"
What happened next can only be described as The Perfect Storm of estrogen, cynicism, bitterness, and pretty much every reason any guy has ever had to call a woman crazy. It's like when you're standing in line at the checkout aisle and some women's magazine had a headline that reads, "FIVE STEPS TO KEEP YOUR MAN FOREVER PAGE 178" and out of morbid curiosity you turn to page 178 only to have your eyes fall upon, "NEVER HAVE SEX. FORBID HIM FROM WATCHING SPORTS. GET FAT. FORBID HIM FROM DRINKING BEER. HAVE YOUR MOTHER OVER FOR DINNER EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT." The horror. The horror. To the best of my recollection, the responses went something like...
Looney Bitch 1: Oh My God! Of course your feelings should be hurt! I can't believe he would do such a thing, how thoughtless!
Looney Bitch 2: Oh yeah girl, you better watch him! I'd start snooping through his phone history and text messages and reading shit because I'd be paranoid!
Jill: I asked him about it and he said that he still gets emails sent off to him and sometimes he just clicks on them.
Looney Bitch 3: OH THAT IS COMPLETELY UNCALLED FOR! There is no reason he should be looking at another girl's dating profile. And I don't think you can click on those unless you want to. He needs to have his profile deleted if he's with you.
Looney Bitch 4: Oh girl, I can't believe he did that to you! if he's married to to you then he needs to be lookin only at you! My feelings would be hurt too, I can't believe he's that mean.
et al, ad nauseum...
It was about this point when I felt I could hold my tongue no longer and decided to interject one short comment, "All you bitches are looney." Let's just say that it didn't take long for this bitter estrogen fest to turn their angry vaginas my way. But you know what, at least they weren't shitting on Jack anymore. That's right bro, I got your back.
So these Looney Bitches then start in on me, "Oh Ernie, I bet you get all the girls talking like that," (that one I remember specifically) and then Jill fires back something to the effect of, "Okay Ernie, tell me just why am I looney for having my feelings hurt because my husband was looking at another girl's dating profile?" And so I decided to craft a polite and insightful response only when I tried to post it, I received a Facebook error "Unable to post message." Now I've seen this happen before, it's usually when you try to post a message to a thread and a previous comment has been deleted... you essentially have to refresh (F5) to repopulate the page with the updated comments, ands then you can reply. As my finger was reaching for the F5 key my eyes danced upon an additional comment from Jill -- henceforth referred to as Crazy Jill -- that I hadn't seen before: "Well, I just removed Ernie and Lorraine from my profile, that was easy." My eyes flashed further upwards a split second before the page refreshed and my comment had one LIKE; presumably from some poor soul named Lorraine. And as the page refreshed, "Crazy Jill only shares some information publicly. If you know Crazy Jill or if you're as fucking batshit crazy as she and the rest of her shrew friends are, add her as a friend or send her a message." She had unfriended me.
So as a card carrying American Male, I felt it was my duty to let my Penis of Truth speak its wisdom to Crazy Jill -- take The Girl Paradox and replace "ANNOYING" with "CRAZY" and you're spot on -- and thus I spruced things up a bit and sent her off this message.
It wasn't long before I received a rather bitter reply, which of course required a response from me, which of course required a response from her. Oh he didn't bring me juice or toast, whaaaaaaa! Now I'd like to ask you to read the second to last last sentence again. "weather you think so or not." I just couldn't resist. I had contemplated trying to troll further by offering an incorrect spelling of "condiscending" but ultimately decided to leave well enough alone.
And so while the pearls of my wisdom will fall deaf upon her ears leaving her relationship into peril -- hope you kept the receipt for that Christmas present -- let me share a few more thoughts with you here. For starters if a man is looking to get out of an unhappy relationship, another women is the last thing he thinks about. You want to know what he thinks about? HIS MOTHERFUCKING FREEDOM, that's what. We don't want to replace one looney bitch with another looney bitch. No, we want to walk around the house in our fucking undwear and drink scotch out of the bottle, and leave beer cans rings on the coffee table, and eat an entire pizza right out of the box, and wipe our ass with those fucking decorative towels you keep in the bathroom. Open his phone and find him looking at another girl's dating profile? Whoop-de-fucking-do. When you open his phone and find him checking out a sailboat with a berth for one -- then you fucking worry. When he's called and ordering the NFL package from the cable company -- even though you expressly forbid it, because the money would be better served buying taupe window dressings -- then you start getting your fucking knickers in a bunch. But when the guy who is taking care of you and your kid, carting your crazy ass all around town, to and from the hospital when you bitch and whine about every fucking little thing, and still managed not to either strangle you in your sleep or throw himself in front of a moving fucking train, just happens to look at another girl's fucking picture? I don't care how nice your tits are, count your fucking blessings, because he's a fucking saint.
But I learned something out of this encounter. Well, okay two things. First, looney bitches don't like to be called looney bitches. Second, when a person has endless, endless, endless drama in their life, there's usually a pretty good reason for it. You can pull the "it's not my fault" card as much as you want, but if drama gravitates to and orbits around your life, look no further than yourself to find the center of things. I'd seen her post about unfriending people who were "spewing harted towards her" before, and never really gave it much thought although now I guess I know why. if you've got a problem with your partner, talk to your partner. Don't post about it on Facebook so you and all of your crazy girlfriends can sit there and rub your pussies together and tell you how evil and heartless men are.
In closing I would like to share with you, two simple rules for living a happy life. One rule for the ladies, one rule for the gents. Nothing complicated, very simple, very easy to understand and adopt into our lives. First, the ladies: never take relationship advice from girlfriends who use a photo of their cat for a profile picture. Not kidding: this was one of the looney bitches in question. It's sad, it's pathetic, it's lonely, and taking their advice will turn you into the same. Second, to my fellow penis wielders: never stick your dick in crazy. Boom, that's it. Life in a nutshell. I'm out.
Ernie, When I clicked on one of your NSFW posts on December 7th, I couldn't help but recognize the girl, Kalee Carroll. She's famous for shaking her ass on Youtube back in the day, and now runs her own website where she posts and sells videos of her just shaking her ass. Hell if I had an ass like that, I'd wanna get paid just to shake it too. Unfortunately has a strict no nudity policy. Super lame. Not sure if my email got through since I never received anything from the spam checker. Love the site, visit everyday, you're the man. Adam
Heya big E, Far as I know, unless something has changed, Mythbusters hasn't been put on hold. They were back to filming a couple days after the cannonball accident, just not on that myth. Now for the something else, not sure if you have any Apple products but I just got a hold of a game earlier today. Army of Darkness Defense! Even has some of your favorite Ash quotes done by the man himself. I know you like the guy so thought I'd give a heads up on it. Brian
Everyone knows who Maria Sharapova is. They also have heard of Danica Patrick, Natalie Gulbis, Gina Carano, Ana Ivanovic and Alex Morgan. Those women play sports we can watch on ESPN. But not all sports are played on ESPN. Some sports, those we have only heard about or seen during an Olympic year, feature some of the hottest women in the world. The selection of women from those less than known sports is longer than the line at the Apple store. This list is all about those women. The ones who get less love because they play sports no one cares much about, until now. Enjoy 25 of the hottest female athletes from those random sports from around the globe. Hint: start to watch curling, you'll thank me later.
The female orgasm not only has an extensive history, but before the rise of Freudianism was even more celebrated than it is now. We've talked before about shady Victorian doctors who used their magic hands to cure uptight women, but the mystical properties of the female orgasm go back far earlier than this. In medieval times, it was believed that the female reproductive system was the same as a man's but inside-out, and they thought that babies were only made upon both partners achieving climax. And even if you weren't aiming at baby formation, a lack of orgasm in either sex could still lead to a harmful buildup of "seminal humor." Thanks a lot for ridding us of that piece of ignorance, Modern Science. As for contraception, every form of it save for the Pill has a long history, and we mean very long. Diaphragms and other barrier devices, made of everything from wrapped sea sponges to crocodile dung and often containing materials that melted inside the body and sealed off the cervix, have been in use since ancient Egypt, and popped up among the ancient Greeks and Jews. Women in the Roman Empire even had a morning-after pill called silphium, modern-day fennel. And if you're thinking, "So what? They probably also believed that eating blessed leeches cured stomach cancer," consider this: Modern tests in which scientists gave rats closely related versions of the herb found that it was effective almost 100 percent of the time. Oh, and the reason the scientists couldn't use the exact strain the Romans used was because the Romans relied on it so much that they drove it to fucking extinction.
twenty-five great sports moments in simpsons history
the great war in color (that's world war i, for you young whipersnappers)
lindsay lohan's lips on a windy day. no, no, not those