The Marriage Manual
Twiddling up and down the AM dial on the way home yesterday, and comes a program featuring this
lovely couple who have apparently written a
book on how to survive the birth of your first child. Survive, as in:
your marriage.
Now, I'm
one who believes two things:
- There is no such thing as romantic love;
- Marriage is for retards
But, for those who frickin'
insist on taking the bloody plunge, here, then, is the "
Buff Me Tenderly"™ Marriage Manual, version 2,© 2005, baby.
Rule 1If you're the guy, you're always wrong.
Rule 2When in doubt, see rule 1.
Rule 3When your wife complains that you don't "share your feelings" or tell her "what you're thinking", remember, you sorry bastard: she has no interest in hearing either your feelings or what you're thinking. She wants to hear that you
agree with
her feelings and what
she thinks.
Rule 4You've heard the old saying: 'there is no sex in the VIP room'? So: think of your
entire sad married life as an extended trip to the VIP room. That explain it, numnuts?
Rule 5You have to always pay for everything.
Rule 6Still not sure? Consult Rule 1.
That's it, schlubbies. Follow these rules,
keep your chin up and your bowels open, and you too may become a fully-realized manly kind of man when it comes to womens and their wily ways.
Remember, I'm available for expert media commentary on this all important subject. Now that I'm an author and all. Just have your people call my people, at 1-800-GET-EFFED.
Oh, and buff my scrotum.
Leaving Las Vegas, thankfully....
Vegas is the
frites du merde of American cities.Finally, I find myself in the airport, blessedly heading away from here.
At this point, I'd consider the non-stop to Lagos, Nigeria, absent any other alternatives. Thankfully, there's no need to take things to that point. Instead, the plane will soon be pointed East and, God willing,
I get to be not in Las Vegas effective one hour fifteen minutes from now.
It NEVER ends here. Sitting in the airport waiting area,
we are forced to endure the non-stop sounds of "music" and "sound effects" emanating from the bank of slot machines behind our seating area. To wit: every 20 seconds (I timed it) we hear the audience from the syndicated game show
scream out "Wheel....Of....Fortune!". EVERY. 20. SECONDS. This from the machine themed to look and act like, well, the game show, I guess. There are others making all kinds of noises--burping, farting, screeching, etc--but this one is the most, um, prominent in terms of its piercing irritation.
Now, if I was
Pat Sajak, I'd go out of my way to avoid the Delta arrivals/departures terminal at Las Vegas McCarran airport. If he,
or Vanna White for that matter, ever showed their face, I bet that one of the poor Delta employees who staff the gates next to these slots would take a
stanchion post and beat Pat/Vanna to death with it. And, guaranteed, those passengers waiting in the boarding area would applaud. Just like the retards in the studio audience.
What else? The famed
Vegas Strip, you ask? Let me set the scene. Imagine being in a really
crowded shopping mall, dodging the oncoming tubs of lard housewives. Next, it's windy. Next, it's hot as hell. Next, to the side, rows of Mexicans in t-shirts are
offering tout cards blaring "Live Strippers To Your Room" and "Totally Nude". All the shops in this mall are cheapio T shirt places or over-priced restaurants or casinos (there's nothing else--that's it). As you pass the casinos, you hear this: "Welcome to Vegas' [insert b.s. sell line about how great the casino is]--where the
slots are loose!" Apparently loose slots are a good thing, though in my limited experience I like any slots I'm associated with to be as tight as possible. KnowwhuddImean?
And the food? There
used to be cheap-eats buffets at every turn in Vegas, but according to the History Channel documentary on continuous loop on the hotel TV system, those are now a
thing of the past. So the one positive thing about the place--low-priced eats--has gone the way of the buffalo. I experienced this first hand, as per the previous post about breakfast. But check this out, from
dinner a couple days back: room service, cheeseburger and french-onion soup, no drink, that's it: $34.50.Pfffft.
So, mercifully and after one week of frustration combined with at least the contemplation of seppuku, I'm out of here. Perhaps to return next year, same time, same frigging convention?
Buff my scrotum!
This is like going to the dentists...every day
Las. Vegas. Sucks. I. Hate. This. Damn. Place. How. Much. Longer?
Three. Days.
I. May. Kill. Myself. Before. Then.
If. I. Do. Please. Use. My. Body. For. A. Science. Project.
Perfect. For. The. "Before". Pictures. In. Most. Studies. Of. Morbid. Obesity.
It is to weep...
$21.50 for breakfast, at this "trumped up" hotel I'm staying in.
Gaack.
Is this not one of the signs of the apocalypse? Wait, let me check the Book of Revelation, and I'll get right back to you on that.
Vuck Vegas
Jeez, do
I hate Las Vegas. One week here! Accck.
I
don't gamble, I can't stand golf, I hate effing floor shows, and I don't screw hookers. What's left, you ask?
Not a blessed thing.
Save getting to people watch some of the most disgusting, decrepit, grotesque excuses for human beings--all God's children, mind you, but still--as they waddle around the 25 cent slot machines hoping to be able to, once home in Helena or Houston or Hellhole, brag on how they strode up to that one armed bandit and dammit, they
beat the house!Assholes.
As a rule, people suck, but especially here, in the Devil's playground. There's likely not a
more horrifying collection of wasted protoplasm walking the earth than those I saw just moments ago out in the hot sun on the strip taking up the entire sidewalk whilst debating thus: "Should we go across the street to the Mirage? Or should we go up the street to the Frontier?". Back and forth, when
it's all the bloody same! Everything is identical, except for the stupid fake "themes" the hotels perpetrate on visitors.
Every place has roulette and blackjack and fat overflowing over the shorts slagheap twats from Omaha wandering around just, um, unsure about whether or not they can REALLY AFFORD to waste $5 on on the nickel slots. Help me make a choice, Vanna, I don't know
what to do!!!!So you've got a bunch of.....farmers....hanging around this city-cum-amusement park for autistic douchebags. As if that's not enough, these Nevadans then just gotta pile it on. A truth: Wisconsin has NOTHING on Vegas when it comes to cheese. All varieties, stinking it up right here on Las Vegas Boulevard. Example: there's a hotel designed to look like...New York! Complete with the Statue of Liberty! There are even scheduled muggings nightly at 10 in their recreation of Central Park! But that's not all--no, not by a long shot.
Seems that many of the people who stay in this hotel are.....wait for it.....New Yorkers! That's right. They
fly 5 hours to pay $250 a night to stay in a place that's EXACTLY LIKE HOME. I kid you not.
Want more? Ok: extra proof the world is coming to an end: I can choose to go see Celine Dion tonight....or, maybe I'll take in a rousing new Broadway comedy set to the music of Freddy Mercury. Celine Dion is, well, Canadian, and I hated Queen
before ol' Freddy kicked over from too much spam in the can (look it up and then you'll figure it out). Why in the world I'd pay $50 or more to see a sorry imitation of what I didn't like in the first place is a mystery only Vegas-ites can solve for me. We will rock you indeed.
So maybe I'll just stay in my hotel room, rocking back and forth.
More ruminations later. But the headline says it all: Vuck Vegas. Oh, lest I forget: buff my scrotum.
Da-dum-da-da....da dum da dah....
Here come de bride, and warning signs abound.A colleague is taking the plunge. Marrying. And already he's making little noises that should be major, major alarm bell ringers...says that she's "really moody"...according to him, the poor thing has terrible A.D.D. and can't concentrate on anything...she resolves problems by passive aggressively not speaking to people for days on end.
All this is
before the "I do's"! Jeez. Can't wait till the honeymoon's over. Poor schlub. Sounds like a perfect recipe for turning over half your paycheck for the rest of your working life.
Oh, yes,
the photo. What I wouldn't give to be the groom on the wedding night! Oh joy, bliss, supreme satisfaction. To be able to
give oneself completely, a shiver and a sigh.
She don't half give me the f***ing horn.
Which reminds me: despite my obvious concern, there's one good thing he's got to look forward to:
all that great married SEX! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaoh, ah, sorry, had to catch my breath, couldn't stop laughing.
Anyhow, in keeping with my regular attempts to find reasons to be cheerful (and to end on a positive note): something proactive my co-worker can always consider is the
option of murder-suicide.
Sure beats divorce lawyer bills, which I've paid before, but only after using the invoice for, um, dirt road clean up. Buff my scrotum if you can't figured it out.
