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I have a confession to make: I, too, slept with Tiger Woods. What are we up to now, 13 mistresses? Is anyone counting anymore?
Step one: Initiate distant, longing stares. Steps two-four: engage in legally gray-area activities designed to win her over semi-forcefully.
I worked a different 9 to 5, PM to AM. I was the night maintenance guy at the Yogurt Palace, and I had the whole Palace to myself. For those 9 hours, I was king.
Where I come from back in the Northeast there is a chain of amazing little sub shops called Wawa. Explaining what it is can be a difficult conversation.
Some call it the yellow fruit. Some call it the holy friend of ham. Most call it cheese; and all love it, apart from Nazis and terrorists.
I bet Billy Mays could do a lot more than sell useless crap to dumb people. Can you imagine having him as your wingman at the bar? I can.
Let me congratulate you on this new chapter in your life, one filled with glitter, embroidery, and fucking girls who like shiny objects (that's you).
If you think dining hall grub smells bad freshly cooked, imagine a girl, in a mini-skirt, in the middle of class, in the middle of the row, who just shit herself.
People do things on the internet that they normally wouldn't do in reality. Some of these things are illegal. But we get away with it, so whateva.
As excited as guys get about blowjobs, they somehow forget that girls like oral too. So, guys, please stay tuned for this very important PSA.
Who could ruin all the fun for you and your fellow partygoers, you ask, on this, the most sacred of days? The Compulsive Gambler and the Girlfriend for starters.
Our love was real. Our love was true. Our love was like a cat that had ample milk to drink in a bowl of purity. Or some weird simile like that, you know?