9622.net

That article was so spot on!

All men, you see, are retarded frat boys who spend their lives calculating how to winnow the prize of perfect beauty from the roiling cauldron of ugly in a gang of women. We concoct elaborate strategies in which complex weave maneuvers a la Hoosiers or the Harlem Globetrotters are enacted beneath the glare of the dance club lights.

Every man's life is like a bad Porky's ripoff that you see on HBO drunk one Thursday night, just as this article would have you believe.

We are like the monkeys in 2001, seeking only our monolith.

Indeed Mister Kaf, I shall take this advice and utilize it to the best of my abilities blowing wads of cash and, God-willing, spend the night sheathing my sword in a lovely silk purse.

The fact that I'll wake up confused, angry, and with a raging case of herpes is a matter for another day.

And don't forget, Ufez, that you should drink lots and lots of Smirnoff coolers. You will be an instant CHICK MAGNET!

Splendid! I just need to wiggle my ass into some low-rise Armani jeans and I'll be set.

I do apologize for the silk purse comment, lest it made anyone squirm. I just watched Rob Roy last night and the line "what? you want to turn my sow's ear into a silk purse again" has got to be one of the hottest lines in cinematic history.

What an ass.

(Not that I can really dis anothers' "strategy" given my current "strategy" of wallowing in loneliness, self-pity and despair, but -- never mind.)

Worst advice I ever got? Probably a toss-up between:

"We can plea-bargain that down"

and

"Shit, no, of COURSE that isn't infected."

I'm newly single and recently, I've been going to nightclubs with my friends but to no avail. Women simply aren't in tune to us
Well duh, opening statements(as far as I've read), love em; you'll find your answers too. One, newly single, so my as well have, not leaving until I scam or get laid tattooed his forehead when clubbing. Second, woman like a man with woma(e)n, not just men. Unless you have something more to add; like new in town; out of town just visiting, or just drop dead handsome & has it going on; better to go with your sister than your male friends. Now for me to take me advice...any sister want adopt a brotha. Or you can just adopt an attitude and go at it alone.

You know, I've always looked at going out for a drink with the guys as little more than an excuse to recreate the Allied Attack on Guadalcanal.

The whole mail order bride thing is looking better and better. (I mean being one, not buying one.)

{Left off} still trying to come up the worst advice given to me. The best: no advice is good; do it and learn so you can only blame yourself.

Oh, and Thom, I am going to try and work the word "woma(e)n" into something today. It sounds so... semi-plural, so... Continental.

I'm so bullheaded that I seldom solicit advice. I almost never listen to it even when I do. Mostly I listen to my dad. Except I recently learned that the way he instructed me to drive a stick is wrong. Apparently you're not supposed to downshift when approaching a stop sign--you're supposed to slip it into neutral.

WHAT.
THE.
FUCK.
DAD?

(OK, so it's not very interesting, but the power of christ compelled me to post something not-blue for a change.)

Boy that article brings back fond memories, glad I go for the pool scene now, better lighting and less clothes. Where was I at; bad advice:[as a child]Thom eat all the food off your plate and you'll be big and strong like your grandpapas(both are over 6'tall)...15 years later and the cleanest plate award after dinner: 5'7'. Or: don't smoke it will stunt your growth, both grandads smoked as teens, some one light me...

That article is great for smart men, because it recommends that jackasses remain together in packs, which makes them readily identifiable. This is a brilliant strategy for actual human beings, who can see this article as the clever ruse that it is: mate off idiots to each other so the intelligent people can meet the way they meet best, with a sense of individuality and two brain cells to rub together.

Bravo!

Unfortunately, I can't actually think of any bad advice I've received myself, although I'm sure this question will boil and fester (no offense, Fes) in my skull all day. That article is a humdinger though. I'm glad that I've had the chance to shoot bozos like this down in bars.

"woma(e)n"... so... Continental.
forgot a continent: wom(a)(e)n...ok I'm being a pig..oink oink..hey I have them too just smaller.

"...what's the worst advice you ever got?

Hey, there's this little site called 9622.net, you ought to come check it out...

Okay, who slipped the cocaine into TCS's coffee this morning?

cowboy_sally, stubborn? what? i thought you were a delicate flower of womanhood!

Thomcatspike, phone home.

I'm exactly the same, cowboy_sally. There's no limit to the advice I've scorned over the years, and probably half of it would have been worthwhile.

OK, I can't believe it, but I got what TCS said immediately. Prolly 'cos it has something to do with ninnies.

"Name yourself after smegma."
"Really? And should I learn basic english skills?"
"Naaah... c'mon, it's the internet."

While we're on the subject of idiots in bars! I'm cleaning out all my files on my computer in preparation for The Big Move, and I came upon this little gem that I'd written about a "conversation" with a very drunk man who was hitting on me in a bar. I use the word conversation very loosely, as he appeared to not have any interest in what was coming out of my mouth (only in what was going in, ba dum ching!). My apologies if I posted this many moons ago, I can't remember.

Guy: So, you want to do a shot? Or a drink?
Me: No thanks. I'm meeting a friend in 5 minutes.
G: C'mon, you have time to do a shot. Let's do one.
M: No thanks, I don't do shots.
G: C'mon, you should.
M: No.
G: Why don't you try something new?
M: I used to do shots, can't do them anymore.
G: C'mon (his favorite phrase, apparently), you can do a quick shot.
M: What are you having?
G: Some real nice bourbon.
M: (grimace) No thanks.
G: It's delicious!
M: Not to me.
G: You're selling out.
*what?*
M: How am I selling out by not having a shot? You don't know me, you have no idea what selling out would be for me.

*stupid ramblings from him about how I should do it*

M: You have trouble with the word "no" don't you?
G: I guess I do. C'mon, just do one shot.
M: No, I said no, and I have to go.

I walk out.

Come on, you didn't even do a shot?

I'd say you probably should have done a shot.

That guy was probably the Magical Shot Fairy and would have given you free stuff.

I mean, it was only a quick shot, after all.

Right. Kafka & Eyeballkid, I expect to have this conversation verbatim with you both when I have a drink with you in California. Please memorize your lines in a timely fashion.

Best pickup attempt yet: my friend at a bar in Calgary had a guy remove his dentures, put them in his hand as part of his little hand puppet, then tried to talk to her with the hand puppet. When she tried to ignore him, she heard the hand say "Hey baby, why are you being such a snob?!" A guy like that needs no Wingmen. Medication, sure.

I actually don't mind the whole "wing commander" system so long as I'm not the primary target, and I never have been. I just sit around, enjoy the company, dance a bit, then go home, wingmanless.

Bad advice? Oodles. I give out far more than I'm given. I can't think of anyone who knows me that actually asks for my help. They know better by now.

I never was approached in the wingman fashion. It's usually enough for a guy to say something like "You remind me of a girl that was in my Theories of Marxist Dialectic class at Berkeley in 1972," and when I notice that he has no money and a bitter ongoing struggle with alcoholism, I am swept off my feet.

Thomcatspike, phone home.
Can't; haven't had one for over a year now.

My worst pickup attempt? Would have to be inviting a girl out to "... see my new Firebird." A classic meshback maneuver, coupled with a lot of the same "c'mon, it'll be fun!" that Witchstone endured. Nothing says classy like a blue Firebird. With T Tops. And the hood decal work. Ah, youth.

Wow, Fes. I didn't have you pegged as a Firechicken man somehow.

Worst advice about women: Meet their mom, that is how she will be & look after several years of marrige Wrong; children are only like their parents if they choose to be like them; most girls get thier looks from their dads, imho.

In my defense, Kaf, I was all of 19, a young hoodlum flush with cash and without a lick of sense. And all the Connies were taken.

no bad advice from or for me, but my father once told me "never spend money on a girl until you are married--unless it is something that you can both eat."

now, THATs good advice.

The worst advice you can get is from other women because it seems authoritative but is designed to confound - and quite rightly. Advice from other men is not even worth listening to. Advice from the actual woman is generally the best, i.e. get lost.

Women can't really be seduced. All one can do is offer them the chance of being seduced - but they have to be interested in you first.

In this case, the three Ls are man's only weapon: loving, listening and lying.

I thought it was leather, lubricant, and latex.

I think Miguel should start an advice column. Who'd write into "Ask Uncle Migsy"? I know I sure would.

Nothing says classy like a blue Firebird. With T Tops. And the hood decal work.

Ohmigod...as a wee kidlet growing up in Darkest West Virginia once upon a time (I'm talking like six or seven years old here), that was THE coolest car that anyone could have. I wanted my dad to sell his Plymouth Volare and get one. (Then again, I also wanted him to weld the doors shut so we could get in and out of the car via the windows, like on "Dukes of Hazzard.")

What the hell happened to being yourself? Shouldn't you let your potential love Hottentot know what you're like from the start? The worst advice I've ever gotten was, "She likes you. You should call her." I didn't even know this girl, and she didn't know me. Once you get a little older, peer pressure stops working. Groups of friends tend to drift towards the same level of idiocy; and when there's nobody left who's smarter than you, then why take their advice?

"Be yourself"??? Yeah, right, like THAT'D work!

*nods to kamakazi kaf and wingman ufez*

Let's roll.

*stops. drops. rolls.*

Worst advice?

"Just be yourself.."

When I was a single guy, working as a clerk in a bookstore me and my freind Patrick the Sci-Fi guy went barhopping in an attempt to meet girls. We wound up in some bar where it was karaoke night. It never occurred to us that the ladies might not dig two Jagermeister addled losers who dressed like extras from Airheads so onward we caroused. We watched this girl do a rather desultory karaoke-ing of "Shadows Of The Night" and we went over and started shooting the breeze. Inevitably, she asked what we did for a living. She worked at an ad agency. I hemmed and hawed. Patrick said "We work in a bookstore! I'm the special orders guy! Any book you want, I can get ya." Somehow, she wasn't impressed.

We were on a benefit pub crawl for the Symphony when a girl came over and sat next to my friend. "What do you do and what kind of car do you drive?" she asked - no small talk, no introductions! When he told her that he was a graphic artist and drove a Toyota Corolla she just stood up and walked away.

I was embarrassed on behalf of all women everywhere that somoeone might think she was representative of us. Rude bitch.

C'mon -- you didn't work in a bookstore. You worked "in publishing" or "the book trade." Or you were a "literary consultant." (THAT'd boo-yah those stuck-up Madison Avenue bizzatches.)

Sadly, this wasn't even Madison Avenue. This was Stamford, CT. In a bar named after the manager of a pro sports team. The mid-90's were a stange time.

Splendid! I just need to wiggle my ass into some low-rise Armani jeans and I'll be set.

*drools* Dude, if more American Guys With Nice Bums would wear tigher jeans, I might never have moved to Italy.

Women can't really be seduced. All one can do is offer them the chance of being seduced - but they have to be interested in you first.

True, but...

In this case, the three Ls are man's only weapon: loving, listening and lying.

Lying? That's more like a self-inflicted weapon, no? Migsy, am rather dissapointed.

*disappointed

Am also rather bad at spelling

don't feel bad, kimmy, theres always room for more sibilants.

Hey jon, how far is Stamford from NYC??

About 45 minutes by train.

And sorry Kimmy, but our resident Castiglioni is right: lying is quite possibly the most valuable tool in the male arsenal. First, we are GOOD at it. Go with your strengths, right? Second, for better or worse, women practically BEG us to lie to them, and not just little white lies like "Your hair smells nice!" and "I don't care where we eat, whatever you want is fine" but really colossal whoppers like "Of course your butt doesn't look big in those pants, you have a tiny yet luscious butt, perfect for nibbling!" and "What? No, she's not prettier than you, are you crazy? I thought she was this homely girl from work, is why I was looking over there." and "My previous girlfriends? Sweetangel, until I met you I never really knew that a woman could be beautiful AND smart at the same time."

About 45 minutes by train.

OK, stupid followup question: does a train GO there? More importantly, does a train go from Stamford into the city?

Yeah, lotsa trains from Stamford into town. At least thirty a day, if not many more.
Why, you gonna be in town? Time for a 9622 Fes-tival?

I'm not prepared to say just yet, too many variables. But my company's NY office is located in Stamford, so if I was to come, it's easily possible they'd put me there. Just being prepared :)

I was talking about this very subject with a friend earlier, so I was surprised when I saw Jon mention it.

Yes. Just about every train on the New haven Line stops in Stamford.

*hoists preemptive drink*

Pace yourself, Vid, it'd be next quarter the earliest, more likely in the first part of next year.

Good lord, do women still really ask men "Does this make me look fat?" I have never asked that question of a straight male in my life.

The older I get, the more I realize that most of men's complaints about women and women's complaints about men are basically the same things with different window dressing.

Good lord, do women still really ask men "Does this make me look fat?"

I used to hear this question on an hourly basis when I was a retail slut. My reply?

"Clothing doesn't make you look fat. FAT makes you look fat."

If you do visit, Fes, there's a great location in me and the vidiot's 'hood.

Dear Sweet Baby Jeebus and His Pointy-Hatted Pontificate, Fes. And here I was thinking my hair did smell nice, my butt was small, and I was both beautiful and smart. What total disillusionment.

Maybe I'll see if the lesbians want me.

Seriously, what witchy said. Please shoot me if I ever start to behave in ways that encourage the easy way out of fey falsities instead of complete (yet tactful) honesty.

Easy way out? It's not like we're not interested. And it's not like we're ALWAYS lying about these things. But a couple of innocent overstatements hurt no one, and if they can let pave the way for you to light up the room with one of your smiles? Totally worth it.

I was honest about the lying, and now I get the feeling I've just been put on a New York-Rome shitlist. Time for me to stfu, I think.

*checks shit list*

Let's see. Hmmmm. Nope, don't see your name here. You could check with Customer Service. Second line to the left, you can pick up your cross there.

I think most people, whether they have penises or vaginas, would agree that there is a time for tactful honesty and a time for tactful keeping your mouth shut. And also a time for outright insults.

Fuckin' cross is heavy, dammit.. *grunt, shuffle*

Yeah, and the nails are *sharp.*

You need to get the cross with the little wheels, dude.

's cool. once you get it up the hill and they nail you to it, you'll get to walk on water.

Hey. That's right. Witchy's moving out here.

and don't you forget it!

I'm going to refer to myself as "bicoastal" now. Just to annoy folks.

That's right! We'll get the pandas bathed for you.

As if pandas ever get dirty!

its the minds. pandas have dirty minds. hedonistic buggers.

Actually, they're always trying to get those frigid pandas to mate, without much luck. I'm guessing no-one grows up wanting to be a Panda Fluffer.

I'd consider it.

Hey, a corporate whore or a panda whore - it's a coin toss.

But wouldn't you get arrested for panda-ing?

*ducks and covers*

It's more complicated than that, Jon.

This is not a black and white issue.

And you know what, kaf? You can't just hire the first panda-fluffer who walks in off the street. Last time they did that, they got bamboo-zled.

Actually, they have a specialist who can talk to the pandas.

He's a Ling-Linguist.

*shoots self in head*

And thus panda-monium broke out

*garrotes self*

Stop it! I can't bear all of these bad puns!

This thread is getting pretty grizzly.

*buzzer*

Sorry, pandas are relatives of raccoons. NOT bears. Here's a copy of the Home Version of our game.

:)

And we forgot to phrase our answers in the form of a question, dammit.

But grizzlies are related to the noble manta ray, and you don't call them fish, now do you?

Hmmm, giantpandabear.com and bearden.org seem to have no trouble calling the Giant Panda Bear a bear.

Hee hee. I love 9622, where opinions and eternal truths are mangled together and served as frothy fun.

Technically, humans are related to the amoeba, but I'm not called a brainless blob of slime....

never mind.

Aha, perhaps you're thinking of the red panda. From this site (scroll down to Molecular Studies):

The results of these four studies showed that the giant panda was closer related to the bear line than to the raccoon or red panda.

DANCE THE MANTA RAY!
DANCE THE MANTA RAY!

sorry. it's a tic.

When my kids were little, I took them to the Cincinnati Zoo at least once a week (ok, I was bored.) We had a membership so we wouldn't hang out too long, just go see a couple things and split.

Andy always chose the walrus, Joe always chose the Giant Hissing Cockroach, and I always chose the red panda.

Why that is interesting to anyone but me is unimaginable.

Those are some mean streets out there when you're a wiener dog in a sweater

Not to be pedantic here, but I seem to remember the actual phrasing being "Them's some mean streets when you're a weiner dog in a cardigan."

Well, maybe a little pedantic.

And lo! The pedantry portended a vast and deadly silence that settled over 9622 like the hush blanket of twilight.

I think Miguel should start an advice column. Who'd write into "Ask Uncle Migsy"?

Not me. He's way too fatalistic on the subject.

Okay, fatalistic in a different way.

Bad advice? "Give people who screwed you over once another chance—they can change."

Drat. I leave so I can drive to Richmond and back, and I miss a 9622 punfest. Y'all let me know next time, 'kay?

9622, where opinions and eternal truths are mangled together and served as frothy fun.

Tagline!

Apropos of nothing, and because I thought it was funny (and pardon the self-link):

Monks shopping for digital cameras at Best Buy.

Monks?

* looks up interested, sees guys in robes, goes back to picking nits out of fur *

whoa. you can actually walk up to women you don't know and start talking to them?

i assumed they'd burst into flames, or start clawing my eyes out or something.

so much to learn.

of course, i did get some good advice from my favorite italian-american lothario-type friend today. he said i should do my laundry. and take girls to the zoo.

then he gave me a rough rider.

four hours later he asked for it back. some kind of booty call was afoot.

the end.

"then he gave me a rough rider."

Is that anything like a wet willy?

I think it's what the kids these days are calling a textured Durex.

I know that because I lead an exciting life and meet movie stars and shit:

Here's me in my new hat with George Clooney and my friend Vicky.

Here's more about our day with George.

::::rushmc::::

Hiya!

So you reckon I'll get the job if I tell the guy during my interview today that it's my birthday†?

†egregiously unsubtly suck-up for some birthday shoutouts.

(I just realized that it's still August 2nd in most of the world, so I can maybe dry my tears of loneliness and just get to the Hard Drinking.)

Looks like I missed it by three hours. Happy Birthday anyway, Stav. When are you going to drag your ass back west for a visit?

Happy Birthday, Stav!

*hoists glass in celebration, not that he really needs an excuse*

Oh, and hey, way to meet the Clooninator, tizzie. I could have told you that boy was up to no good.

(What was that all about, anyway?)

Here's me in my new hat with George Clooney and my friend Vicky.
Thanks for sharing the article Tiz, nice hat too !!!/

Anyone can learn from pain.

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