Tag Archives: marriage

Oh sure, take HER Side

The internet is definitely the greatest invention known to man.

Thanks to the internet, we no longer need phones–we have email.

Thanks to the internet, we no longer need television–we have Hulu.

Thanks to the internet, we no longer need companionship–we have online porn.sidetaker

And now, thanks to the internet, should we find ourselves in one of those messy, human-like arrangements that our parents (sorta) enjoyed we have Sidetaker.

Thanks again, Al Gore.

The website Sidetake just might be the most addictive thing since Youtube. On the site, people send in issues/problems/questions that they’re having in their relationships and airing them out for anyone to give feedback, advice or “take sides” on.

Not really surprising when I consider the insane amounts of Smurf that people post on their Facebook accounts.

But this is insane; it’s almost like Twittering your relationship.

The topics on Sidetaker range from the mundane to the INSANE.

Can you imagine getting into an argument with your better half and handling things via Sidetaker?


"la la la la...Ican'thearyouunlessyou'reonSidetaker....Ican'thearyouunlessyou'reonSidetaker..."

(Wife): “I can’t believe that you’re taking your mother’s side again? It’s like you don’t even listen!”

(Husband): “…look, I keep telling you, you’ve got to understand, she was raised by lions so sometimes her social cues are–”

(Wife): (shakes head): “….see, this is exactly what texasmorningwood78 said you’d say. This is over, this is so Smurf-ing over.”

(Husband): “Why don’t you give us another chance, baby? Come on we can wor–”

(Wife): “Why don’t you just move in with your feral mother, Simba? I’m out.”

(Husband roars, runs out.)

And those are just the ones that ended amicably.

For fun, I submitted one to Sidetaker:

Topic: What to do with my partying wife?

Subject: So my wife really likes to go dancing, but I really don’t. It’s just not my thing as I prefer to stay at home and have us dress-up as anime characters. Anyway,  for her birthday I took her to this club that she wanted to go to for a long time. Let me just preface this by saying that on this particular night, my wife decided to wear her Apple-Bottom jeans and her boots with the fur. Naturally when we got there, the whole club was looking at her. So the music comes on, and she hits the floor and the next thing I know, she got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low. And now I have syphillis. Anyway, should we have kids? –submitted by F. Rida

Naturally, the response was strong with people’s comments being all over the place:

  • “ur gurl sounds like she is my kinda gurl let’s party. u bring the snacks i’ll bring the rum..and coke” b.brownluvswhit
  • you don’t have to stay with her you can always dump her”–thebachelorc-zons1-8
  • why don’t you guys come over our place and watch ‘swingers’ with us. we’ll help work things out as couples. i’ll show you hancock
    "See? According to 'goldenshow-her' we're not weird, just really, repressed. I'll get the sex swing."

    "See? According to 'goldenshow-her' we're not weird, just really, repressed. I'll get the sex swing."


  • wuz’s so bad abot that? i dont even wear pants when i go to the club, just dance!”-gagalady
  • “i’d kill my wife if she did somethin like that” orangejuicesimpson
  • Trouble pleasing her in bed? Try some Xiartura. Increase your size, increase her pleasure. Apply directly to the head.”

So I’m curious as to how this all plays out. Maybe we’ll get to the day that we’re not getting our advice from the over-important and out-of-touch (hello, Oprah), the clinically-insane (hello, Tyra) or the wildly drunk and belligerent (hello, Rachel Ray) and instead get some suspect, illogical advice from 3xNJdivorcee.

You never know; it’s probably someone you know anyway.

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Ring around the rosie, pocket full of p***y

Man, there’s nothing like when you’ve fugged it up with your significant other.

You know, you’ve gotten into another one of those, “Look, I told you if I knew it was your sister I’d have used a rubber–and a different bed” or “Your-money-is-my-money-and-my-money-is-gone-so-just-CALL-YOUR-MOM” fights that ends up with one of you on the couch, hate-f*cking your throw pillows. Stoopid Christmas memories.

Anyway, one of the sure-fire ways that gets guys out of the doghouse everytime, besides failed paternity tests and deleted Facebook pics, is flowers, right?

You know, you go to the building’s potted plants florist and you say, “Hey florist, I really messed-up last night with my girlfriend/student/wife/dominatrix. I need flowers. Preferably live, cheap ones. Do you sell any of those ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ ones?”.


Don't be a dick, Seymour: give'er what she wants.

And then you come home with the posies and say, “Hey dude, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean it when I said ‘either the dog needs to be house-trained or your mom’s visiting’. Here’s some posies, and some Fanta soda. I have strong feelings for you.” And then she goes to smell the flowers and–WHAMMO!–the flowers fall away and your dong boinks her in the face. You guys laugh and then have giggly make-up sex.


Well, someone out there is looking out for both the guy and the girl nowadays.

Introducing the coolest florist in the Northeast.

Who knew that someone could combine the win-win into one place of business? I mean, they claim they only sell flowers there, but I mean, really? The name says it all.

Guys are now going to be looking for a fight now. And it’s going to be Valentine’s Day everyday for the ladies.


"If he doesn't come home with a dozen pussies, IT'S OVER"

Imagine being banished to your couch after a night of fighting. You’re tossing and turning, mad and all “worked-up”. Finally, you sit up bolt-upright….and then you sit up…and you yell towards the bedroom, “Ah! F*ck this fighting–I’m going to get some (flowers) at Pussy Ranch! Ah!”. And off you go.

Some choice details/thoughts after reading the website:

  • According to the website, the Ranch sells, “curly willows….French pussy willows….clitsanthemums….snatchdragons”. Ok, I made the last two up.
  • Placing orders. Can’t you imagine some dude going out there and being like, “I’ll take 3 French pussies, a curly one and three daisies” and then looking around the room before leaning over and asking, “….say, do you guys sell Asian ones, too?”.
  • the address is “321 Peters Alley”. Amazing for too many reasons to list. And if you’re not sure how many different ways this is funny, ask your sex ed teacher.
  • this backfires when your wife/GF/mistress/significant other gets flagged by HR when they start receiving packages at work from “Rosemary’s Pussy Ranch”? (Only appropriate response: “that ain’t mine.”)

The only thing the Ranch needs now is a proper commercial. I’m thinking they go 1 or 2 ways:

  • Group of girlfriends are out at a trendy restaurant bar having dinner drinks, waiting to be knocked-up. They’re chatting and gossiping about Girlfriend X who’s been hurt once again by Dick Boyfriend Y. “Why does she stay with him?” asks one. “He’s so bad to her” remarks another. “Who needs men when I’ve got my gurrrls” pleads another girl, who is ugly.  Suddenly, first girl’s cell buzzes with a text message. She reads it, smiles excitedly and holds it up to the rest of the girls. Text reads: HE GOT ME P***Y. Girls squeal with delight and proceed to celebrate with Red Bull, Vodka and Yaz.


    Your jealous girlfriends want to be snatched-up too!

  • Woman at home in a robe, looking distraught, pissed and Bobbit-like. One leg is draped over the other and pumping wildly. Half-naked baby crawls around on the table next to her, picking up cigarettes and baby-smoking them. Sound of keys, door opening. Husband trudges into the kitchen looking sweaty, but relaxed and a little nervous as he takes in the scene. Wife walks over, spits in his face. “Where have you been???? You get off at 5:00pm!” Husband, camera looks at wall clock. It’s 5:05pm. She sniffs at him, once, twice. “….and why do you smell like p***y??”. Suddenly he produces bouquet of flowers from behind his back. “I remember you said you liked these for awhile in college. Happy Anniversary.” She collapses in tears, hugs him crying. He silently waves naked mistress out of kitchen closet. Baby starts smoking.

I’m willing to give these to Rosemary’s Ranch in exchange for a lifetime of free goods/services. After all, I think the Pussy Ranch could use a good jingle, don’t you?


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He Said/She Said

Like a lot of you, I get emails from friends everyday. And typically, these emails/correspondences can be grouped into two distinct categories, sublime in their simplicity: Male. Female.

FACT: Girl emails (for the purpose of this post, we’ll call these “femails” ) are richer in content and feeling. Here’s an example of a femail:

Why must life be so hard sometimes? Thank god for friends...!

SUBJECT: Hello friend!

Message/Text:“Hey there stranger, just thought of you yesterday at the bookstore. Have you read the unearthed Tolstoy novel? It’s grand. Hope you’re doing well. How’s work going? I’m so proud you’re working as an educator. Let’s talk soon!

Thee lines of warmth, friendship, culture and well-wishes.

Fact: Guy emails (we’ll call these he-mails) are ridiculously short in content, devoid of any feeling besides belligerence and are usually inappropriate for work. They’re like Bukowski poems: tough, terse economic use of lines and language. String a few of these he-mails together and you’ll feel like you’re working on the latest Norton Anthology of Poetry.

Sometimes you have to read he-mails several times to get their meaning. For example, the average he-mail consists of “dude”, “f*cking” and “bang”–the three most pliable words in the English language!

Here’s an example of a he-mail:

How turn this on?


Message/Text: DUDE, I can’t f-cking stand these idiots at work. I want to beat everyone of them. F-cking job. Write me back, bitch. Pats 17-10.

See the difference? In two lines you’ve got anger, misanthropy (is that a word? I think so), and the likelihood that your computer will be comfiscated for police investigation.

"Just let me type, honey. Ok? You just keep touching yourself."

Let’s quickly apply these definitions to real-life situations and topics.

Example #1

Femail: *sigh* I so want this to be a positive thing for women, but I honestly can’t stand the transparent manipulation by the GOP to trot her out now. And can you believe that her and McCain only met once? I can’t even work today.*

*femails always have some slightly over-dramatic statement

He-mail: “dude, did you see whoMcain pikced for VP? and they only met once. you know means–mccain must’ve f-cking hit that.”*

*It should be noted that he-mails are often sent in such a flurry of emotion that captialization, spelling, etc are routinely disregarded.

Example #2

Femail: Hey there, guy. I’m totally stressed this week! I’ve had so much work to do, it’s not even funny. How are things with you? Here’s a link to a Washington Post article that reminded me of your school.  Did you see Britney Spears on the VMAs last night??? She looks totally sane now! Write me back!”

He-mail: dude-eagles suk. i’m dropping mcnabb from my (fantasy) team. did you see spears on mtv? DAMN i can’t stop thinking about her and palin now. did you see palin last night on cnn? where were those girls when we were at (insert shared educational institution)??? me and cindy divorced. check this shit out–bear beating-off into a bowl of cheerios (link). if you open it at work, turn the sound down. 7hrs til happy hhour, bitch.

This one’s got it all: anger, sports, lust, heartbreak and bear masturbation. It’s like that unearthed Tolstoy novel. Note the random dropping of a really important life detail.

See how non-sensical the he-mails are? And those are just the ones I get to my work email. I play “employment Rouletter” every time I get one of these he-mails. That’s just how guys roll. It’s crazy, right?

I love emails.

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