Ali Wisch is a cute girl. Right? I mean, I've never met the bitch in person but look at that picture: cute as a button on a bug's rug. Now, I know what you're thinking and this is not some weird e-verbal gangbang for Ali's self-image. You should've been able to tell from the onset that this isn't me kissing her ass—or at least from the usage of the word, "bitch." (Which I use generally, in any case, when talking about a woman I'll never meet)—this is the truth.

Court Sullivan, the editor around these here parts, is a shrewd businessman. And, like any other shrewd businessman out there, he knows that sex sells. I mean, c'mon. The man went to EMORY. That's the Harvard of the South. Dude took a class on how to rake in the dough with pleasant pictures of hotties. (Obviously he barely passed, allowing Paul Frank's ugly fucking mug to be on the Internet.)

Well, that's why Ali's here. Because she's cute. Sure, it doesn't hurt that she can put a sentence together (by which I mean on the most basic level), and that she can't shut the fuck up about relationships. Which, for some reason, has still got you readers sweating at the mouth. After seeing Ali's column, I took some time to figure out what it was that causes this drooling. Then I had it. The same reason you buy Axe Shower Gel and drink Miller Light. It's because you, Mr. Dude Internet Dweeb, think by using the methods you see attached to her picture, you might like to bang a girl like Ali. And, because of this, because you take her word to heart, Dweeb, I'm worried that you might believe the shit she comes up with. That's why I've written you a letter below.

As for you Self-Righteous people who say I-Only-Read-Stuff-That-Reasserts-My-Own-Beliefs, you might have to do me a favor and hold Alt+f4. You'll see a really awesome picture of a pink unicorn flying over a meadow!!!!! Into a prairie!!!!! Littered with hundreds of the little golden orbs of newly-blossomed dandelions!!!! With parakeets landing on Maya Angelou's shoulders!!!!! And she's singing Celine Dion!!!!! And watching Titanic!!!!! And Susan B. Anthony is there too!!!! Oh my god she's riding the unicorn!!!!! Seriously, hit ALT and F4 at the same time or you're going to miss it!!!!!

Okay, now that that's accomplished:

Dear Fellow Dude,

Ali Wisch, writer of the column "A Guy's Guide to Not Being a Creep (By a Girl)," would have you believe, that you possess a vagina. Go on, read. And then come back and tell me what you think it says:

Seriously, you gotta read it to get the next line…which is a sorta okay joke.

*Catches ball* That's right, it says, "You possess a vagina." Now unless, of course, you're the literal type and think men who "possess vaginas" are actually dudes like you, who are wearing two women's muffs as mittens, you might be inclined to disagree with me. In that case, her article makes no mention of winter outerwear and you're right. Also, rock on literal dude. That's a hell of a way to live your life. Literally. (Yuck yuck)

Now, for you figurative folks out there who know what I mean, I've got a few important things to say about Ali Wisch's article.

Firstly, Don't trust her. Ali Wisch shot Satan in the back of the head cold-blooded. She was the reason 9/11 happened. Though, not really (*cough* *cough* George Bush Sr. *cough*). Ali just doesn't know what she's talking about. It's a bunch of fucking hoon-nanny.

Example A: Some women love to be ogled over. For my first piece of evidence, your honor, I present to the court a solid fact within this plastic bag: boobs. If women don't want them to be fondled, why are they so soft? See? Look. They're squishy.

Okay, but really, we aren't getting anywhere by objectifying women…other than perhaps, THEIR HOT SWOLLEN VAGINAS.

Seriously?

Seriously.

Let me summarize Ali's article in a few bullet points:

1. Her whole argument forgets the golden rule of manhood: Persistence. If I would have taken one of those "one-word answers"—like "nope"—for an answer, I would have never fucked Ali's mother. In fact, I wouldn't have fucked her several times and got her pregnant with Ali! (You should be ashamed of yourself, Ali, denying your heritage like that)

2. It's not "Don't Be a Creeper," it's "Don't Be a Girl." Think of all the crazy bitches out there you've wanted to tell the following advice to: If you call me and I don't pick up, don't call back. Case closed.

Now, as for the prose in the article:

I'm with stupid t-shirts aren't funny anymore. It's not even funny when referring to how dumb us White Dudes are (See ANY APPLEBEES COMMERCIAL). Seriously though, I'm with stupid t-shirts are post-dated October 10th, 1994, and by the smell of it, I can tell that the jokes about them died in the mail shortly thereafter. A fucking Nancy Kerrigan joke would have worked better.

History lesson: You see, Ali, with the onset of the Internet—this great big World Wide Web—people became much more witty, much more demanding for their humor needs. It's why I don't try to structure my articles anymore.

History lesson #2: Clever t-shirt companies spread out over the digital landscape like wild buffalo, providing the American consumer with thousands of pounds of heavy, bovine-flavored meats. But, like that pussy character in the Oregon Trail, the American consumer would only carry back 100 pounds of flesh, though still having killed enough buffalo to feed his family at least until Seneca Rocks.

History lesson #3: Text became the most powerful force in the world, as technology leveled all human interactionsto text and yellow circles with lines drawn in them.

History lesson #4: It no longer became fashionable to say, "Der! I'm with stupid! But see! I'm Stupid too cuz Imma wearin this here shirt! Gulloph!"

So, c'mon Ali, be real with it. It's like being in a bar with a bunch of people and saying, "Hey I saw this really neat thing on a Coach rerun the other day and…." You get the point.

Oh and speaking of topical references. She's just not that into you. Well guess what Ali? I'm not that fucking into that joke! (Did you see it coming? Of course you did)

But seriously, let's talk about relationships.

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