Read by four out of five drunken monkeys, written by the fifth.

Archive for the tag “bad date”

First Impressions

pigpen peanuts charlie brown

You’re ready for that big date.

Have you ever been preparing to go on a first date and had someone give you the following advice: just be yourself?

Did that piece of advice give you the confidence you needed?

Well it shouldn’t–you’re a dreadful person.

That advice is the type of pabulum you’d get from a cheap greeting card written by a half-wit and given to you by someone who pretends to care about you, but who secretly plots your demise. (Grandma is quite devious.)

The facts:

  • You make a bad first impression.
  • You make a bad second impression.
  • You make a third impression that is shockingly worse than the first two.
  • You make a fourth impression that is better than the first three, but still lacking.
  • The fifth time people meet you they attack you with a claw hammer.
  • You smell like beets and goat urine.
  • Unsurprisingly, much of your wardrobe is stained with beet juice, goat urine, and a green goo you’ve yet to identify.
  • You pepper your speech with the phrase, “that’s what she said.”
  • You attempt to impress your date with your mastery of the Klingon language. (Even Klingon women find this unimpressive.)
  • Your ability to belch the theme to Gilligan’s Island is less of an aphrodisiac than you perceive it to be.
  • When you pee it whistles. (This probably won’t be an issue on a first date, but you should seriously have that looked into.)
  • Peppermint schnapps is not a satisfactory alternative to good oral hygiene.
  • Constantly griping about how handicapped people get all the good parking spots isn’t a good look.
  • Nobody cares about your collection of toenail clippings and they certainly don’t need to see pictures of it.
  • You spend far too much time bragging about how many times you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire.
  • Quite frankly–you’re just a dick.

So my advice to you (apart from adopting celibacy) is to be as far from yourself as you can possibly be.

If radical plastic surgery and hypnosis aides you in being as far from yourself as possible: I’m all in on that.

Good luck on that first date…hopefully you won’t get pepper-sprayed.

man pepper spray

Yeah, that’s how I thought it would go.

That’s Why

idiotprufs hugh grant julia roberts

Be careful Hugh, it’s a trap.

You’re sitting there casually watching the chick flick of her choice. It’s not a bad movie, you’re enjoying its whimsical humor. About two-thirds through the movie, just as you’ve actually become emotionally invested in the characters, she suddenly turns to you and pops this landmine under your feet: do you think Julia Roberts is pretty than me?

The following conversation results:

Her: Do you think Julia Roberts is prettier than me?

(You hear the landmine click, you’re afraid to move.)

You: Um…I don’t know.

Her: It’s a simple question. Do you think she’s prettier than me or not?

You: Of course not, you’re much prettier.

(You think you may have defused the landmine, but you’re still afraid to take a step.)

Her: Why are you being a liar?


Her: If you think she’s pretty you can say so.

You: Okay. I think Julia Roberts is attractive.

Her: Which is it? Is she pretty or is she attractive?’

You: What’s the difference?

Her: If you don’t know the difference between the two words, how can properly use either one?

You: I guess I would say she’s very attractive.

Her: Oh, so now she’s very attractive. Is she gorgeous?

You: I guess to some guys.

Her: What kind of guys?

You: Guys who…have the ability of sight.

(Several moments of uncomfortable silence.)

Her: I guess you wish I looked like Julia Roberts.

You: No. I don’t need a girl who’s gorgeous, you’re fine.

(The sheer stupidity of the statement hits you immediately before she does.)

Her: Do you want to know what I wish?

You: I sincerely doubt it.

Her: I wish you looked like Hugh Grant.

You: I wish I looked like Hugh Grant.

Her: You do?

You: Sure. Then I could find a girlfriend that looks like Julia Roberts.

(Deafening silence. You can’t stand on the landmine much longer before your legs give out.)

Her: Maybe I should just make an appointment with a plastic surgeon tomorrow, and get all my horrible flaws fixed.

You: Don’t bother, the plastic surgeon can’t fix bitchy.

(Boom! Body parts are everywhere.)

And that’s why you’re still single.

Note: How did the movie end? I’ll bet Hugh got the girl didn’t he?

cupid fat idiotprufs

Bend over, buddy, I need a big target.

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