They Call Me The Gangster of Love
I have a romanticised version of myself in my head. Whenever I think of myself, which is quite often, the image I conjure up is like a recruitment poster for pilots during the Great War: tall and dashing and having rows of white, white, white teeth that grins in victory. There is an unseen wind that makes my scarf billow in a random direction. Pure libido. Charisma the size of an overly huge pumpkin that wins prizes at country fairs.
I'd like to think that I'm the kind of guy who would travel across town at a moments notice to kill spiders for girlfriends. Since to women spiders are impossibly large and sinister. They are poisonous. They are eight-legged and know karate and can jump across tall buildings. And I will burst into a room and squash these evil things and not ask for thanks. If I am feeling particularly merciful I would grab the spider and throw it out of the window and spare its life. Because I can be a forgiving God when the mood strikes.
Unfortunately this is not me. I'm not the guy who would travel 30 minutes to murder insects. If there is a vaguely interesting show on the TV I may not even walk across the room to get rid of these arachnids. I would turn up the volume and ignore the cries for help from any women in the room, no matter how hot they were.
Perhaps if this was my only crime I'd still be a hit with the ladies. Alas I do not listen to them. At all.
(Walking down the aisle in a supermarket with Kittie the other day. She is in a rush to be somewhere and is already angry at me for making her late.)
Me: (picking up a jar of olives) Yum. Olives (another mildly annoying trait. I point out the obvious)
Kittie: Ugh. You're buying olives?
Me: You don't like olives?
Kittie: You know I don't.
Me: (Did I?)...
Kittie: Remember the other day (about three weeks ago) when we ordered pizza and I specifically asked for no olives?
Me: (I didn't) Uh-huh.
There needs to be a drastic change in attitude and maybe hairstyles in the next few weeks. Valentine's Day (a.k.a. Sucks to be Single Day) is fast approaching and I think I owe it to myself to do something more constructive than to bitch about couples this year.
I have a firm handshake,
Fatman
I'd like to think that I'm the kind of guy who would travel across town at a moments notice to kill spiders for girlfriends. Since to women spiders are impossibly large and sinister. They are poisonous. They are eight-legged and know karate and can jump across tall buildings. And I will burst into a room and squash these evil things and not ask for thanks. If I am feeling particularly merciful I would grab the spider and throw it out of the window and spare its life. Because I can be a forgiving God when the mood strikes.
Unfortunately this is not me. I'm not the guy who would travel 30 minutes to murder insects. If there is a vaguely interesting show on the TV I may not even walk across the room to get rid of these arachnids. I would turn up the volume and ignore the cries for help from any women in the room, no matter how hot they were.
Perhaps if this was my only crime I'd still be a hit with the ladies. Alas I do not listen to them. At all.
(Walking down the aisle in a supermarket with Kittie the other day. She is in a rush to be somewhere and is already angry at me for making her late.)
Me: (picking up a jar of olives) Yum. Olives (another mildly annoying trait. I point out the obvious)
Kittie: Ugh. You're buying olives?
Me: You don't like olives?
Kittie: You know I don't.
Me: (Did I?)...
Kittie: Remember the other day (about three weeks ago) when we ordered pizza and I specifically asked for no olives?
Me: (I didn't) Uh-huh.
There needs to be a drastic change in attitude and maybe hairstyles in the next few weeks. Valentine's Day (a.k.a. Sucks to be Single Day) is fast approaching and I think I owe it to myself to do something more constructive than to bitch about couples this year.
I have a firm handshake,
Fatman
posted by Fatman | 10:59 pm
15 Comments:
Females respond well to being fed. Grow a pomegranate tree in your garden and let her know you really love that tree. When it bears fruit, cut the pod open in front of her and put a dozen seeds in her mouth. Wipe her red lips with a tissue. Nothing more needs to be said. You are the provider, the master, the alpha and the omega, the father of her kids.
Oh, and tell her that olives are an acquired taste.
You can not go far wrong listening to the Big Banana on the subject of the proper care and feeding of females, Mister Fatman.
I believe he's talking about starting at her alpha and working your way down to her omega. (I almost mistyped "staring" for starting there. I'm glad I caught it and didn't send you off on a course of advice likely to get you a handbag in the chops. Staring at another person's alpha is never polite; lingering glances perhaps, but never staring)
He even knows about the pomegranate thing and not many human males know that.
Hey Fatty, I got you a new reader! I'll wager my hairy toes that Sam got here via my blog. She's a young married mother from the Outer Hebrides, living in California, in case you're wondering.
A frying pan in the lemon-squeezer is worth two in the Romulan.
That came off the surreal generator or whatever it's called.
Blast this Red Alert CD! Somewhere between 1999 and 2003 it got scratched and now I can't do the soviet missions.
Oh yeah, and olives and spiders...they make a lot of women have to take showers for extended periods of time. So I heard. From a friend. Who knows a thing or two about women...
i get dozens and dozens of emails from chicks around the world cooing, 'oooh, you've met fatman. what's he really like?'
in order to save time and streamline my inbox, i created a standard response to send to these young wannabe groupies. there's no mention of arachnids, but debonair, fearless and even jaunty are some of the adjectives i pulled from thesaurus to state your case.
Sucks to be Single Day sucks even more in japan. it's the girl's job to ask a boy out on a date. um, i don't know any boys here. i contemplated a group email around the office to see if there were any takers, but couldn't bear the idea of mass rejection. i guess i'll just spend the evening looking at porn.
i recommend a list with two columns titled: 'likes' 'dislikes'
take the advice of a singleton and you can't go wrong.
My fondest Valentine's Day memory has to be the time a boyfriend (the sentimental git) prepared a candlelit dinner for me and we groggily awoke the next morning to discover that we were covered in black soot. A stray spark had fallen on my portable cd player (old skool, ok), burnt through the wire and remote, and smouldered (but not actually burst into flames) right through the cover of a compacted-cardboard trunk filled with books, before - thankfully - dying out. Another inch and we could have been toast. *Sigh.* Good times.
That's more or less set the tone for every S.T.B.S Day ever since: light pyromania followed by a near-death experience and a lot of remorse and scrubbing the next morning.
You are so romantic Fatman! You are turning me on with all the talk of ignoring the ladies.
I can only imagine that Valentines Day with you will be a yuck a minute. Is Kittie the lucky lady?
You are so romantic Fatman! You are turning me on with all the talk of ignoring the ladies.
I can only imagine that Valentines Day with you will be a yuck a minute. Is Kittie the lucky lady?
You are so romantic Fatman! You are turning me on with all the talk of ignoring the ladies.
I can only imagine that Valentines Day with you will be a yuck a minute. Is Kittie the lucky lady?
You are so romantic Fatman! You are turning me on with all the talk of ignoring the ladies.
I can only imagine that Valentines Day with you will be a yuck a minute. Is Kittie the lucky lady?
You are so romantic Fatman! You are turning me on with all the talk of ignoring the ladies.
I can only imagine that Valentines Day with you will be a yuck a minute. Is Kittie the lucky lady?
You are so romantic Fatman! You are turning me on with all the talk of ignoring the ladies.
I can only imagine that Valentines Day with you will be a yuck a minute. Is Kittie the lucky lady?
Sorry about the million comments--deja vu hell...blogger played mean tricks on me and made me think that nothing was posting...I think it is just an evil plot to screw up the comments on your blog today. Feel free to erase all of them.
You are so romantic Fatman! You are turning me on with all the talk of ignoring the ladies.
I can only imagine that Valentines Day with you will be a yuck a minute. Is Kittie the lucky lady?
Howdy folks! Finally sitting down in front of the computer long enough to respond.
GB- Well, I've been trying all kinds of different foods to try impressing the ladies: pizza, Beef Chow Mein, deep-fried nutria (Myocastor coypus), squirrel brains, scrapple, boiled bat heads. But never pomegranate. This may be the reason why my alpha and omega remain untouched for 6 months of the year.
Sam, Problem-Child-Bride- Half of the time I do not understand what Mr.Bananas is saying to me because ,heck, he's a lot smarter and articulate than me or my beer-guzzling mates (I thought 'Alpha' was an American sitcom from the 80's where a sock puppet tries to eat a family cat and that 'Omega' was a Russian mutant). But I listen to him. He's now a celebrated author you know.
GB- I had seen her comment on your site for some time and decided to have a peek and maybe post a dumb comment on hers. However, now is probably not the time.
Yawn- Red Alert! What a cool game. Go the Soviet Tesla Coil Towers!
Gaijin Girl- Tell 'em that Fatman is "slobbishly good-looking. Dangerous when drunk, clumsy when sober and vice versa. A whale of a man."
I'd forgotten about S.T.B.S.Day in Japan where the girls were supposed to ask a guy out and give them chocolate. This....never happened to me. I saw other guys receive chocolates so I assume this was what happened. Me? I was too busy gnawing on boiled bat heads.
Broadzilla- As a man who is the cause of almost 30% of all explosions in my country(all accidentally) I can only nod in understanding. A romantic gesture almost always ends in the loss of eyebrows and blowing up of petrol stations. The re-igniting of passions, so to speak.
Sassyassy- With every reading of your comment I read it with a different inflection. Like: You are so romantic Fatman! You are turning me on with all the talk of ignoring the ladies.
or; You are so romantic Fatman! You are turning me on with all the talk of ignoring the ladies.
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