**Re-published by request. Original post appeared Sept 2010.
Let's face it kids; there are some things in this world that we just don't always have the time and patience to deal with.
As a kinda young, sorta hip, reasonably sexy woman, I am often faced with things that I don’t want. Emails about hair loss or Viagra, for example. Brazilian waxes. Math. And more often than not, boners.
They seem to come out of nowhere, with the least provocation. I mean, the simple act of waking up in the morning will excite a man to the consistency of a rock. He doesn’t look expectantly at his sheets and say, “Well, are you going to finish this, or what?” Yet my opposable thumbs mean I’m eternally responsible for getting rid of Mr. Wiggly.
So what’s a girl to do? A hand job may sound like a good idea but it can quickly become a trap; I learned when I was 17 that the ol' I’m-sure-you-can-do-it-better-yourself excuse will only mean you have a different job. A job called blow. In order to escape both of these, you’ll need to be crafty. Tricky. Horrifically unattractive. Here’s a list of my favorite lines for penis-proofing your evening:
-"Your wiener is so cute!" Men HATE it when you call their junk "cute". If he’s Jewish, be sure to note that he has a kosher wiener. Or, if hooking up with a Chinaman, call it a “Wang” and tug on the corner of your eyes while hissing “You like flied lice?” And I’ve found that black men don’t particularly like it when you refer to their penis as a “G-g-g-G UNIT!”
-"Don’t you love my new veneers? They look great, but my teeth are so sharp!" Elaborate using words like “shred” and “puncture”, and make many analogies to the recent Florida shark attacks.
-"I never knew you could get herpes of the hands, but there you go!" Drive the point home with a needlessly complex story about your “Summer of the Goats” on your Uncle Tucker's farm in rural Kentucky.
-"Can you help me put in my diaphragm?" Look, I don’t even know what the hell a diaphragm is. But I think they’re roughly the size and shape of a Frisbee and have something to do with electromagnetism. Chances are, he doesn’t know either. Just pull a random object out of your purse, like an eggbeater or bottle of Nyquil, and lay it expectantly in his hand. When he hesitates, burst into a smile and say, "Oh, Nick! I knew you wanted to have a baby!" This works especially well if his name isn’t Nick.
-"Guess what I have back at my place…?" His eyes will light up eagerly, visions of whipped cream and lesbian twins dancing in his wee head. Wait a few beats to up the anticipation, and then slap your limp wrist against your chest and slur, “Durrrrrrrr”!!! Do this again and again, upping the ante each time, adding drool, a mild seizure, and maybe even a pants crapping or two for good measure.
-"Damn, I'm ITCHY AS A MOTHERFUCKER!!" That's it. Works like a charm.
As you can see, it’s no easy task successfully diffusing a boner. But with good communication and a little thing I like to call “fake cramps”, you’ll be in a cab and on your way home in no time! Done and done!
Hey fellas! I know this is supposed to be "Guys' Night", but I thought you might be willing to make an exception for little ol' me. After all, I'm totally just like one of the guys!
I can completely understand your wanting to exclude females from this gathering. They can be such a pain! They demand too much attention, they're annoying, and they're just sooo high maintenance. Not me... I'm different! I'm not all hung up on labeling a relationship. I'm down for whatever, whenever, wherever. Hi-five!
Don't you hate it when girls are all stuck on what they look like? I'm not like that at all... check it out - jeans and a tiny, tiny t-shirt. Baseball cap with a ponytail through the back. No makeup (except a little mascara and some lip gloss). If that doesn't make it clear that I'm just like one of the guys, I don't know what does.
Who's up for some buffalo wings?
Hey, huddle up - guy talk for a sec. I just wanna make one thing clear... This is definitely not a transparent ploy to gain your attention. This is in no way some sad attempt to connect with you because it's the only way I know how.
Break!
Hey, can I be in your fantasy football league? I know I have no business being in it, but I'd love to be able to loudly announce to the guys at work that I'm in a fantasy football league and constantly talk about how my players are performing even though I have no idea what's going on and don't really care, because then they'd know that I'm just one of the guys! I think I'll draft Joe Montana with my first pick. Then I'll take LeBron James, followed by Indiana Jones.
By the way, I have two brothers and we always wrestle. It's a guy thing.
Why, yes, that IS a Maxim magazine on the back of my toilet next to my scented candle and decorative seashells. I have a subscription! Maxim is the best magazine ever - it's sooo funny. "Top Ten Reasons Why Sorority Girls Are Easy"... Oh my God - sooooo true!
I guess I've always been a tomboy at heart. When all the other little girls in my neighborhood were playing with dolls, I was playing baseball with the boys. I was horrible at it, and never had any real interest in the sport, but I got to wear pigtails and a cute jersey!
Wanna hear me burp the alphabet?
What's that? No, I don't mind if you ask my friend out. But just between us guys, she's a total slut and you probably wouldn't want anything to do with her. She doesn't even know when the Superbowl is. I mean, come on. Hey, just lookin' out, bro.
Who's down for some tackle football?
Every time I hear some tool screaming out offensive wolf calls to random, unsuspecting women, I can't help but wonder what they could possibly be thinking. Do they really believe, in their tiny little minds, that a declaration of "Hey girl, nice ass!" will receive a favorable reaction? Are the women they're accosting expected to reply, "Oh my God, THANK YOU!! Here, why don't you take my number and give me a call? I like your style, sir!" or something like that?
This morning, when one of the above mentioned asshats went out of his way to tell me that my ass is "phat with a p, shawty", I really began thinking about what must be happening in his brain. Who IS this guy? What does his thought process look like from his perspective? And here's what I've decided the inner dialogue of a douchebag must be...
Let me know if you agree.
"Hey, baby! I know where you want it, and I can put it there for you! No? WhatEVER, bitch!"
Yeah, I'm yelling at women from my fifteen year old sports car. I'm gonna peel out afterward, crank the volume on my stereo, and hi-five my friend in the passenger seat. And I'm gonna do it because the noise drowns out the sobbing in my head.
If I were to meet you face-to-face at a club, I'd avoid eye contact and look into my Long Island Iced Tea... but look who's avoiding eye contact now! HA HA HA - YEAH BABY.
I haven't been with a woman since I was 17 years old - she was 42. I met her after I yelled "Papa like-y!" and then rode my 10 speed into a ditch... she picked me up out of the ditch and... wait - hold that thought.
"Hey, you red-hot piece of scrumptious! I see what you're selling, and I wanna buy everything you've got in stock! No? Your loss, slut!"
A partial list of things I've made love to:
- A teddy bear
- A sock
- Twelve different types of pillows
- A blow up doll
- A poster of Farrah Fawcett I found in my dad's closet
- A raw steak
- A banana peel
- A chicken breast (cooked, because Salmonella kills)
- A warm twinkie
- A 42 year old who picked me up out of a ditch when I crashed my 10-speed
In high school, I had only three friends; Tony, Marco, and Cody. Now I only have two friends; Tony and Cody. Marco ended up being gay, and when he told us, I punched him in the face and called him a faggot. What I really wanted to do was praise him for the courage to reveal such an emotional elephant to us, but I didn't because of the paralyzing fear in my gut that I find men attractive, too. Woah, look at this... TWO chicks at 2 o'clock! Hang on a second.
"What's up, bitches?? Wanna go for a ride? All the seats in this Chevy are occupied, but I could make some room for you.... ON MY FACE! No takers? Suit yourselves, cunts!"
Things I've Yelled At Women From My Car That Have Proven To Be Ineffective:
- I'm overcome by your attractiveness!
- Those jogging shoes are extremely fashionable!
- It's supposed to rain later today!
- You resemble my mother from behind!
- Papa like-y!
Anyway, yeah... I yell things at women from my car. I yell "Nice ass!" and "Sweet tits!" and I scream "Stuck-up bitch!" or "Whore!" if they ignore me. I have no idea what I'd do if any of them actually answered me favorably. I doubt I perform well in bed, and would probably cry on the pillow next to them. But since that's never happened, I'll just keep on keepin' on.
After 2 straight months of diligently working on my game, I've decided to try something new, and invest in myself. I'll be playing the upcoming WSOPc series at Caesars, Atlantic City.
I'll be taking a stab at it in the following tournaments - if you happen to be in the area on these dates, feel free to stop by and wish me luck or slip me your room key.
Monday, March 4th - Event #4 - No-Limit Hold 'Em - $365 - Ring Event
Wednesday, March 6th - Event #6 - No-Limit Hold 'Em Six Max - $365 - Ring Event
Friday, March 8th - Event #9 - No-Limit Hold 'Em Turbo - $365 - Ring Event
Saturday, March 9th - Ladies No-Limit Hold 'Em - $250 - Non-Ring Event
Sunday, March 10th - Event #11 - No-Limit Hold 'Em - $365 - Ring Event
In the event that I should accidentally do something very right and FT one of those, I plan to play the Main Event as well, which is on Saturday, March 9th ($1675).
Good luck, me.
It is Sunday, October 28, 2012 5:33pm... At 5:29 pm, Dave Inselberg asked me to do a quick write entitled "Ten Ways To Use KY During A Hurricane."
I aim to please, so here you go, Dave...
Ten Ways To Use KY During A Hurricane
10.Smear it on your skin to serve as a rain barrier.
9. For ass fucking.
8. For ass fucking.
7. For ass fucking.
6. For ass fucking.
5. For ass fucking.
4. For ass fucking.
3. For ass fucking
2. For ass fucking.
1. For serious ass fucking.
Sometimes in life, the order in which certain events play out make you think that things really do happen for a reason...
Yesterday, or maybe the day before... actually, could have been 3 days ago - who knows? When you spend your life in poker rooms at 12 - 30 hours at a clip, the days all blend together. Anyway, SOMETIME earlier this week, I was doing my Twittah thang, and saw a tweet from @PetsAlive, a group dedicated to saving animals from euthanasia, about a dog named Max desperately needing a home. Something about this dog just got to me... I mean, look at him!!! I decided, on the spot, that I would rescue this dog from shelter life, and in return, he'd rescue me from a life of conditional love.
So... I #SnapCalled and replied to the tweet, saying, "Max can come live with me... How do we do this?". The shelter is in New York, I live in Delaware, but I even added, "I'll drive there and pick him up if I have to." I expected an immediate response, but didn't get one. I had a few errands to run, and figured that by the time I was done, I'd definitely have a reply waiting, so I headed out to do what I needed to do, and even picked up a new doggie toy as a "welcome to your new home" gift for Max.
When I got home, I immediately checked Twitter, thinking that after a few hours, someone would DEFINITELY have responded. Nope. Nothing. And I was angry. I mean, did this place want their dogs adopted, or not?? I would think that, given the time sensitive nature of a shelter dog's situation, they would go out of their way to answer a person showing obvious interest, ESPECIALLY one willing to drive across FOUR states to pick the dog up!!
I was bitching about it to a friend of mine (a cat person - ugh! *rolls eyes) who said "Who cares? Let the fucking dog die!" Nice. Leave it to a cat person to say something stupid.
But, that phrase... "Let the dog die"... it rang a bell. Loudly. I knew I'd heard that phrase somewhere before, just couldn't put my finger on where. Something told me it was poker related. Hmmm... Where the HELL did I hear that?? Think, Kim, think... it'll come to you. After 5 minutes of attempted recollection, I gave up.
I again checked Twitter, and THIS time, there WAS a response from @PetsAlive, telling me to go to their website and fill out an application (which I did, so wish me and Max luck!!) but there was also a message from my pal Doyle Brunson, aka @TexDolly. Sadly, poker legend Amarillo Slim passed away on April 29; he and Doyle were very close friends. Because people are, in general, human stains, there have been vicious rumors circulating about Amarillo Slim in the wake of his death - the things being said about him are so malicious in nature that I won't even dignify the bottomfeeders who are spreading these stories by going into specifics, but I'll tell you that the gist of Doyle's message to me was "He had his faults, but don't believe the shit people are saying about Slim". Not to worry, sir, I don't.
BUT WAIT A SECOND!!! OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD... Doyle!!! THAT'S where I've heard the phrase "Just let the fucking dog die"!! YES!!! I knew it'd come to me somehow! There's a story in Doyle's book "Poker Wisdom Of A Champion" about that phrase!! Now... what the hell was that story about, again? If only my short term memory didn't fuck me in the ass on a regular basis, I'd be able to remember... Hmmm... Here we go again. Think, Kim, think. Oh, fuck this...
I retrieved the book from it's spot on the shelf and proceeded to look for the story, and found it... right here on page 177.
Weird how things come together, right? Right. Because on page 176, directly opposite of "Letting The Dog Die" is this picture, of Doyle & Amarillo Slim. The way Slim is posed, it's as if he's saying "Listen to THIS guy... He knows what he's talking about when it comes to what people are saying about me!"
The lesson here? Life is a bitch sometimes... but she does have her reasons. Pay attention when she speaks to you.
Rest in peace, Amarillo Slim.
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