1. Thursday, December 6, 2001

    I get a lot of mail. 

    Strangely, when I wrote yesterday’s Blog entry I didnt think that I would get the sort of mail that I got. But thank God for tiny suprises.

    Men like you make it impossible to believe in a good world for our future. I hope your girlfriend wakes up and realizes what a chump she has gotten herself involved with.” – sarah****@pacbell.net

    All you have to do is scroll down a little and you can see the entry that they’re all writing about, a simple tale of a young man confused with the good fortune that has come his way. Stuck at a crossroads between dating and commitment, mixed feelings, curiosity and realized dreams that wind up, sadly, unspectacular.

    “I have read your work a few times, my husband loves you, I think you’re a creep. Perhaps if you stopped dating school girls and sluts you’d find time to learn how to write. I have an idea for you why dont you just shut up and read a book, maybe some women authors, maybe the dictionary, your spelling is atrocious.” – green*****@hotmail.com

    Whenever I get an email from a woman, I know I’m in trouble. 9 outta 10 emails that I get from women are negative. 9 out of 10 emails I get from men are super-positive. I wish things were totally reversed, but the best thing that a writer could hope for is to get read. And at least that’s happening.

    “After reading Ken Lane and Matt Welch, I decided to give you a chance since they both have talked about you, God, what a mistake. Did you pay them off or something? You’re nothing like them. You’re nothing that I would ever want to associate with. Why do you hate women so much?” – rhope****@uu.net

    What fascinates me is I bet these very same women watch HBO’s “Sex and the City” and laugh right along as the women on the screen bad-mouth men and portray us in the most negative light possible. I have suffered though a few shows, and they dog a guy for being short, or for not being able to perform correctly in the sack, or for being too nice. They’ve reduced Kyle MacLachlan into a snivveling twit who, of course, has sexual issues so dramatic that he can’t even consumate his marriage to his new bride.

    Not even “The View” is as man-hating as “Sex and the City,” yet all the women love it, and it gets awards and praise and the women are perfect, and guess what: it’s as realistic and believable as an NBA cheerleader coming over to my house for chili!

    “Pig!” – Terri***@yahoo.com

    Terri, and the other women, quit lying. You know you love this page and my site, and me. Nobody “showed” you this page, you read it every damn day, and you can’t get enough. You’re just upset that not every man can be seduced by looks and sexy outfits and makeup and bullshit.

    If you came here from my friends Matt or Ken or Ben or Amy or whoever, go back there: those are educated people who know how to write, and write down interesting things about news and politics and stuff. They’re professional journalists! They’ll be nice to you unless youre a hack journalist. MeanwhiIe I am hoping that if you wrote me a nasty email, you’ll get bit by a dog.

    Last night I had a great time with one of the more spectacular women in all of Hollywood and not only did she make me a sweet vegitarian supper, but afterwards we drank wine and brainstormed how to commit the perfect murder.

    Juanita had been watching “Forensic Detectives” on A&E, and she said that you can’t use your own car, you can’t talk to anyone, you can’t do it near your home, and you must wear gloves. Despite what my critics say, I am a loving man who adores all humanity, including women, but crime has always been of keen interest to me, which is why I loved my time at the Bureau. And murder, the perfect murder, is more of a puzzle to complete, than anything evil – at least in theory, which is, of course, where all sins against mankind should remain.

    I suggested to her that you put your victim in winter coat, bind them with duct tape, but no tape can touch skin, rip open the front of the coat and then stab them with a collection of well-sharpened and solid icicles. Juanita scoffed at the idea, saying that you’d only get two or three good stabs at the body before the ice would melt and then break.

    But i disagreed quietly, arguing that with the correct arsenal this method could prove fatal. And even OJ knows that without the murder weapon, a jury has a very hard time convicting even the most deserving suspects.

    Afterwards, you put the body in a bag full of rocks, rent a sail boat, and dump the bag overboard far offshore to be eaten by the ever-helpful sharks.

    Juanita had her long hair tied up in an almost African-looking way – sorta like that chick from the Fugees. She sipped some wine and sat Indian-style on her comfortable futon couch, body glitter sparkling on her neck. She traced the edge of her wine glass and said so sweetly, “you’ve gotta bash their teeth out before you put them in the bag. The forensic detectives can identify anyone with dental records. Then grind the teeth down to dust.”

    I nearly kissed her.

    So sweet dream, ladies. But please remember, nothing in here is true.

    And although I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you nay-sayers, I do hope you each slip on some ice.

    home | I am really only worth a buck | email | buy me a Snoop Deville, for Christmas