Plonker has a friend

Posted on June 15, 2017 by Plonker

Ello deh, you should be reading this in my Australian character’s voice.

Yeah, I’ve got characters, so?  Sure, some people find that weird, others think I need to talk to a professional, but prostitutes are just too expensive lately.  Look, it’s no secret that I’ve been a lonely, lonely….lonely, lonely man.  We all know that, right?  Right.  But recently in my house, I’ve discovered that I have a friend.  He’s tiny, and grey, and runs around on four legs eating my crumbs.  Yes…I’ve got a mouse in the house.

Now many of you probably have dealt with this in the same way that I was going to when I first discovered the little feller (and actually Hoff first discovered him when he went to clean paint brushes or some shit like that, but he took him outside), right?  You get some traps, peanut butter and…SNAP.  Well, I’m lonely so I’ve given him a backstory, a name, and now I want to catch and release (again), so I’m on the hunt.

Crikey!

So step one in my little process, I need to come up with a plan.  I’ve got tupperware, food I shouldn’t eat to use for bait, and time to brainstorm this, but nothing I come up with is good.  Today I was going to get mouse traps and just kill the bastard, but it’s the one thing I forgot at the grocery store.  Go figure, amirite?  So tonight I’m sitting at the computer, reading some stuff on the US Open (yeah they’re still playing golf…it’s not The Masters, so I don’t really care) when in my peripheral vision what do you think I see?  …the mouse.  He’s so damn cute!  I don’t want to kill him.  I feel like I’m in Green Mile now!

Seriously, I’ve been here for about an hour now tossing croutons at him and getting tupperware containers out (because the engineer in me has decided I can make a mouse house out of some plastic and croutons…what a fucking idiot) trying to chase him down.  We even had a staredown for a few minutes when I blocked his path back to the fridge.  Yes, he lives behind my fridge.  This is good and bad.  It’s good because I know where to expect him, and it’s bad because it probably means there’s more than one of them…

I’m going to need a lot of traps.

Now, look…it is INCREDIBLY stupid to try to catch a wild mouse and keep it for a pet.  They can have fleas and ticks, they can carry disease, not to mention interaction with humans stresses the shit out of them (literally), and all sorts of bad things can happen to them.  Plus, they’re wild…they’ll bite you if they get stressed or scared.  Don’t ever try to pick up a wild mouse!

So the first thing I tried to do is catch him by hand.

Yeah, I know what I just typed, who gives a shit?  He bites me, my arm falls off, I go on disability and have to learn how to do everything with my left hand.  I’ll survive, and the rest of you taxpayers will pay for me to sit around and go lefty all the time!  You know, I should really change that up anyway, my right bicep and forearm are SO MUCH stronger than my left, it’s just—…well…you see, when a man becomes excited from thinking about a girl he knows or his neighbor’s wife, he—no, I’m going to stop.  I think that’s a great idea for a future Plonker Sez; someone write that down.  Where was I?  Last I knew we were talking about me firing off some knuckle-children left handed..oh yeah, the mouse!  Am I really writing about a mouse?  God I’m lame…okay, back at it…

So yeah I tried to catch him with my hands.  You know, for as small as they are (and their bodies are made out of basically what your ears are made out of – I saw that on Bill Nye or maybe read it on the internet once, so it has to be true) they’re fast as fuck!  I bet you this little bastard could give Insane Bolt a run (no pun) for his money.  Anyway, against lardass Plonker, he didn’t even break a sweat.  In fact, as I sat down to write this he made a second appearance tonight and was taunting me this time.  He grabbed a crouton and not only ran across the floor to his home, but he did it dragging the crouton.  I mean this thing is half the size of his body!  It would be like me running around the block hauling my garbage can, and I don’t even like taking that to the road (usually it’s because I’m afraid of bears), so I’m quite impressed.

I think it’s time for me to break down and just get the traps.  I’m probably going to need half a dozen or so, because I am willing to bet there’s at least two adults and four or so young in a “nest” somewhere behind that fridge.  This one is most likely an adult which means there’s probably one back there tending to the young, or the young and the other adult come out at other times.  Taking food back leads me to think that the young are VERY young.  Did you know they can breed practically all year?  And a female can pop out up to about 11 little cheese munchers at a time!  With a typical gestation period of around 21 days, it won’t take long before I’m just overrun by the little sons of bitches, so unfortunately, Steve (that’s what I named him) has to die.  Then, all of his offspring have to die, as does his mate.  Sorry, Steve…you fucked with an Alpha Male at the top of the food chain.  Seriously, he’s seen my gut, he knows I’m at the top of the food chain.

I’m telling you all of this, not because I think it’s interesting (it’s not and you know it) or that you’re even reading it (Hoff, can you check the analytics?  I bet we don’t get 15 hits to this, and I’ll probably read it three times right after I post it), but I tell you this so I can tell you a story.  I promise this story will be the end of the post, so you’ll have to wait until next time to hear my heroic tale about how I caught Steve and his family/friends.

Picture in your mind, to help you understand…

It’s the year 2001, Christmas Eve.  I’m in my apartment with my first wife (not Sai, this one is actually reasonably normal – I say that understanding that no woman is in any way “normal” but she’s closer to the “normal” side of the scale) and having worked retail, I’m finally done with “the season”.  As I pour into the apartment we look around and happen to notice…doody.  Yes, mouse poo.  How does that Christmas story go?

When all over the kitchen, we saw mouse poo.

We ran out to WalMart, I knew just what to do!

Mouse traps and peanut butter, and cleaning supplies,

By morning I knew I’d have killed these guys…

So there we are on Christmas Eve, 10pm, 11pm, who knows?  Might as well have been 4 in the morning.  I can’t even remember how many mouse traps we set out, but I know it was a SHITLOAD.  We scrubbed and scoured every surface in that kitchen, vacuumed and mopped, wiped and repeated.  The next morning, we woke up and the traps under the sink, along the backsplash, on the floor…they all had dead mice in them.  A mouse trap, if you’re going to kill them, is pretty humane from where I sit.  It snaps their spine and kills them pretty quick.  I’d say “instantly” but how quick is “instantly”?  Did you know a human head can go on “living” for a bit after it’s separated from the body?  A few months ago I got really into The Scarlet Pimpernel on Youtube and there’s quite a bit of Guillotine use in that flick (French revolution piece – not bad, but very 80s) so I looked that up.  I’m getting side tracked again, aren’t I?  Anyway, so I just hesitate to use the word “instantly” but it has to be pretty quick.  It’s not like little Mickey sits there, his lungs being crushed by the spring loaded steel trap, gasping for every last breath.  “Minnie…tell Goofy to host the Dundies…”  It’s not like that at all.  They come out, touch the PB, the rod dislodges releasing the spring, and before they know it…snap.  If you don’t believe me, try it yourself.  Touch the PB with your finger after you set the trap.  Go ahead, I’ll wait.

…it hurt like a motherfucker, didn’t it?  Dumbass.

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Sure, it’s funny now…

Posted on May 13, 2017 by Plonker

So there I was…

In this Plonker Sez, I’m going to tell you of three stories that are sure to have you saying, “what in the actual blue fuck, mate?”.  Let’s begin.

NUMBER ONE

These events happened in a lovely little town where I was on a work trip.  A friend of mine lived there and he said we should go out and have some drinks.  I think it was his way of trying to help me unwind from a nasty divorce with Sai.  And if there’s anything I like, it’s fruity drinks, so yeah let’s go!  We meet and head to some little bar somewhere in this town.  If you’re wondering where the town is, I’ll give you a hint, it’s not New York, it’s kind of a Queen and it’s Charlotte…  So we head out and I have one of the best “wet burritos” I’ve ever had.  A little disclaimer, we started drinking pretty much the moment we walked in the door, so the burrito may not have been that great.

Anyway as the night progressed, we ended up doing a few drinks with a lady who worked for a United Parcel shipping company.  It was then that the night got interesting.  I can remember up to that point, and a few things thereafter.  My friend had his wallet or phone stolen (by her), and as for me?  He tried to fireman carry me, but I was beating the shit out of him so he tossed me on the ground.  Cool friend, eh?  So after that I was walking around town flagging down cars.  You see, in my stupor I needed a ride “south” (whatever that means) to get away from “them” (if you’ve seen I Am Legend, I thought those things were chasing me…) and nobody would help.

Eventually, thank God, a driver phoned the po-po and they showed up.  They were nice, and kind of surprised.  They kept asking me questions and I had the answer to every single one.  I knew my name, why I was there, even the address of the hotel and room number!  They couldn’t figure out what was going on so they called an ambalamps.  My BP was something like 230/140 and they highly suggested I go to the hospital.  Next morning I wake up with IVs stuck in my arm, grab an Uber to the hotel and started putting the night back together.  I made a few drunk dials, including to some coworkers.  That was fun to explain, but everyone was cool.  All in all, we chocked it up to “Plonker needed to cut loose”.  As for my friend?  He hasn’t partied with me since.  Pussy…

At the time I probably should’ve died just from the blood pressure, so it was a little scary, but like I said…it’s funny now.

NUMBER TWO

This one was more scary than stupid.  I was working in the toilet of america (NEW FUCKING JERSEY) and heading out for a work trip one morning at the ass crack of dawn.  Hoff likes this story and seems to laugh more than he should…more than anyone should!  So there I am, dressed, packed, ready to go!  I figure since it was just a trip for the day I’d go grab my mail and make sure I had something to do while I waited for people.

No sooner does my key enter the lock on the mailbox than I feel something press into my back.  I hear a voice tell me to give him everything in my wallet, so I did.  I did ask for my work credentials so I could actually do my job, but told him he could have the credit cards, money, and everything else.  It was then that he discovered my open garage door and said we were going inside.

If you’re wondering what was going through my mind at that point, a gun in my back, going inside my condo, it was “whelp…ima die”.  I was actually in the middle of my first divorce at the time and had some thoughts that maybe her family had put out a hit on me, but after police investigation it seems like he was just there for drug money.  So where was I?  Oh yeah, we were going inside!

So we go inside and he tells me to give him the money I have, and he ends up with about $600 in cash.  Then he grabbed my iPhone and iPad.  I figured that was it, I’d be late for work waiting on police, but whatever…I hated that job anyway…but no this morning wasn’t over yet.  At this time, and this is Hoff’s favorite part, he saw the fridge (it’s kind of an open floor plan…I did like that condo) and at gun point directed me to open it.  Now, if you’ve ever been to Plonker’s house, then you know to wash up after you leave and not to turn on any black lights.  But you also probably know that I rarely keep a full stocked fridge.  In this case, I had some ham and cheese left over and that’s what this guy saw.  You’re probably already thinking it, and you’d be right.  Yes, to add insult to injury, the guy who held me up at gunpoint demanded that I make him a sandwich.  Hoff laughs here.  I think that was the worst, most humiliating, disturbing part of the whole event.  But like I said before…it’s funny now.

NUMBER TREE

So this one happened recently, and I have to admit, I never thought it would happen to me.  I mean, I’m a guy, and while I’m not hideous, I’m not Channing Tatum (can someone photoshop Plonker’s face on his body…or his face on Plonker’s body?  Either way, it would be an improvement for Plonker) so I don’t quite understand what happened here.

I had a new sidekick on the job, just for the summer, and we headed out for our first trip together.  Yeah, it was his first time working with me.  Luckily he seems like a pretty cool guy so I figured we’d discuss work a little bit over meals and then moving forward we’d just kind of have some fun and relax on the road.  Well…it didn’t exactly happen that way.

We get in and head for dinner, it was pretty tasty BBQ, and we head back to the hotel.  It was a nice hotel, downtown, in a city that seems to be popular for live bands.  We made plans for the next day to go see some sights and retired to our rooms.  A few hours later, I get a text that he found a cool place a few blocks over and wanted to know if I wanted to grab drinks.  Well…okay.  I mean, twist my arm, right?  So we head out and go to the top of this three floor bar.  Live music, open windows with a nice breeze blowing through, cute bartender, it was a perfect setup.

Everything was going fine, I mean JUST FINE, until Plonker uttered those famous words.  If you’ve not read the rest of these posts, you need to.  Those words?

Let’s

Do

Shots

Yep, this was the big mistake.  We started doing shots and, well…at some point things must have gotten out of hand.  I mean, I can remember ordering some club soda because I said “I need to slow down a bit”.  I remember topping it off because I wanted to stay hydrated.  I can even remember singing AC/DC!

…I awoke the next morning in the emergency room.

As I looked around I mumbled, “fuck…”.  So I sat up and waved to the nurses in the hallway, quietly saying, “excuuuuse me.”  A nurse came in and talked to me briefly.  She was followed shortly thereafter by one of Mashport’s finest.  I thought I was being arrested, but no.  He had come to talk to me because…when they ran toxicology on me, they found Rohypnol.  Yes, the date rape drug.  I got fucking roofied.  My head was all foggy, and I had gaps in the timeline in my memory, but no alcohol symptoms (hangover).  None whatsoever!  Okay, so my BAC was a little high (*cough* point two nine *cough*) but I didn’t have the headache or anything!

So after talking with him for a few minutes, they checked my BP and such and told me my kidneys were recovering.  “Recovering?”, said a surprised Plonker.  “Yes, sir.  You had acute renal failure when you got here.”

Excuse me…renal failure?  As in, my kidneys stopped working?

Between the alcohol, dehydration (yeah, there were three tubes stuck in my right arm, apparently two were drugs and one was just for hydration…) and the Rohypnol, my kidneys couldn’t keep up.  Apparently they’re like the rest of me, when they get overwhelmed they just say “fuck it” and take a nap.

Anyway, a boot in the ass, an uber ride later, and I’m back at the hotel in bed.  I tried to drink a few glasses of water but couldn’t keep it down.  Back to the Emergency Room I go.  I told them “Hey…uh…I can’t keep water down.” and they stuck me with another IV.  I can’t wait to get this hospital bill.  More on money later…

After the second IV I head back to the hotel, get some sleep, wake up later feeling still foggy but not really feeling the effects of alcohol.  I know what it feels like to be hung over and I just didn’t have it.  This felt more like when I had Oxycontin after a medical procedure a while back.  I.  Don’t.  Like.  It.

Anyway, so I start texting with the sidekick and he recommends dinner.  That’s a great idea, so I get up and get ready.  A nice shower, a change of clothes, brush the teeth a few times, and I’m ready to go.  Before this we discuss the receipt he found from the bar the previous night.  He said it was a $600 tab.  Unfortunately I put it on the company card and not personal card, so I knew I’d have to find a way to pay it back.  Not a big deal, my employer is an understanding person and I don’t think they’d care, but still…$600?  Shit!

The rest of the evening goes normally and I’m in bed around 9pm.  I wake up the next morning for breakfast with a friend in town and check the company CC statement online to see what happened and….  $917.  Nine.  Hundred.  Seventeen.  Dollars.  Okay, Plonker shake it off.  I head downstairs to the valet to get the car for breakfast.  As I’m waiting for my car, the valet mentions that the car was parked on the corner.  Now I had JUST seen four women load up in the car on the corner and drive off.  As I tell him this, he calmly said, “I think your car was just stolen”.  It was so nonchalantly stated just like it was a normal occurrence.  Talk about the cherry on top, right?  Well luckily the two valet gentlemen didn’t communicate and the car was just moved around the corner.

As the rest of the day went off quite normally, except one minor SNAFU with paperwork that I have to correct, I have to say it was a successful trip.  I know some of you are reading this wondering how I can call it a success.  Well…let’s think about it.

I didn’t go to jail.

I didn’t die.

They didn’t find semen on me in the hospital.

So while at first it was frightening with the kidney thing, and it was expensive as fuck, and I got roofied…say it with me…. it’s funny now.

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Still single, ladies…

Posted on May 9, 2017 by Plonker

So I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m still single.  Yes, lonely, desperate, horny Plonker.  Imagine a fat and naked man, alone at his computer, elbow deep in chicken wings and porn.  That is the essence of Plonker.

Yes, that’s right.  The dude who makes you drool, the man who makes you moist, the Plonk who…I don’t know.  Something something pussy.  Yes, I’m still without woman.  I went through the steps, I’ve returned to the “get fat again” step like four times now, and I want to be clear about this.

I

Love

It

Yes.  I love it.  Why?  Because I’m an independent woman and I don’t need no man.  Because I’m a complete person without a woman.  I’ve gained so much weight lately I’m practically two complete people!  I know how to do laundry, clean my house, even make a sandwich!  In fact, I have been known to make half a dozen sandwiches if necessary.  If I would put down the sandwiches and do a sit up now and then maybe I could do the other thing that women do for men by myself.  Until that happens, I guess I’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way.

The past couple years without any serious companionship (granted, I’ve had a few dates here and there, a few flings, it’s been fun….I guess Hoff counts for “companionship”…no homo) have been really educational.  First, I’ve learned just how much I enjoy not having to coordinate with someone when I want to do something, ask for permission in some cases, eat what I want when I want, come and go as I please, and most importantly, pick up and go away for an overnight with the offspring on a whim if I choose to.

Of course, it certainly has its downsides.  I mean, my sex life is boring.  I know every freckle and hair on the palms of both hands…  Then there’s the solo home upkeep and let me tell you that is a bitch.  My house goes through cycles.  It’ll be immaculate for a little bit, then it’ll be just downright filthy, then I’ll slowly get it back to reasonably acceptable, and by that time I’ve usually scrounged enough nickels together to pay Molly Maid to come out for a cleaning…and they earn it.  The yard is a never ending battle.  I mow, I pick up sticks, I trim bushes, I clean out landscaping and it just never fucking ends.  Seriously I want to hit the lotto not so I can retire and live a lavish life, I just want either synlawn or a full yard rock garden.  Anyway, I’m getting a little off track and that’s…wait…I’m fucking Plonker, that’s what I do!  Here’s a picture of Bugs Bunny farting.

That was fun, but back to being single.  I guess this is also kind of fun.  As an example, today for breakfast, I ate a huge bowl of cinnamon toast crunch, naked, at my desk, while sending out emails for work!  Not many guys with a significant other can do that.  You know, you have to be proper and all of that.  Nag, nag, nag…  Later today after some training at work, I get to come home and mow the grass (or I can procrastinate and do it tomorrow morning, so that’s what I’ll be doing), and then work on remodeling my man cave.  Yes, I have a man cave.

Typically a man cave is supposed to be a room in the basement or garage where the man can go to get away from the woman, because as men we fucking need that!  Unfortunately, most men don’t do it right.  They forget the 3′ of dirt, 18″ of lead shielding, and blast door.  Hoff has made a few suggestions (of course, he makes them about 2 days from completion after telling me for months to “think it through”…that rat bastard!) and they’re actually going to be freaking awesome.  For those that don’t know, and you don’t if I haven’t texted you, I’m putting in a 15′ (that’s one mark there…for feet…fifteen feet) screen for the projection screen.  Additionally, we’ll have a new putting green, new paint, and a wet bar.  Who doesn’t like a wet bar?

So, guys…  Come on down!  Let’s play some simulator golf, put on Netflix or an iTunes movie, toss back a few drinks (something fruity for Hoff), and have a good time.  But NO GIRLS ALLOWED…because I’m single, and I kind of like it.

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I get all the normal ones… /sarcasm

Posted on January 25, 2017 by Plonker

To quote Bruce Willis, “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. And, I don’t like it. Where’d I go wrong?”

I’m a reasonably good looking guy.  Yeah, I could lose a pound or 90, but who can’t these days?  And sure, I’ve been losing my hair since I started dating the first wife when I was 16, but a bald head is just a solar panel for a sex machine, right?  That’s what I tell myself when I’m fighting back tears (and losing) while abusing my fleshlite.  But I’m not hideous by any stretch.

I’m also reasonably successful.  Sure, I make piss poor decision after piss poor decision, but I’ve somehow managed to overcome all of that in life.  I’ve got a nice career at a place where they seem to appreciate me, and while I live paycheck to paycheck that’s more a result of Sai Ko sucking all of my money like some parasitic lamprey than me just blowing money (though Josh and I both do our fair share of that).  Even the paycheck to paycheck lifestyle isn’t terribly bad, I mean I handle my business, I can cook, I sometimes clean my house, and I always make time for a bedtime story and song for the offspring.

So how the fuck is it I always wind up getting the attention of the crazy ones?  There have been a very few that seem normal, and some have come and gone while others are there but we haven’t made anything happen yet (and it’s all due to my lack of trust, which we’ll get back to more as we discuss the crazy ones), but for the most part these bitches are insane!

If they’re not only interested in me for money, it’s favors, or they want to get pregnant (which I assume is money related), or food, or money, or they like attention, or they want money.  Why can’t a nice guy seem to find a girl who just wants a nice guy?  Everyone keeps saying that “it’ll happen when you least expect it” and let me tell you…I haven’t expected it any less than I have over the last year or so.  It’s to the point where I’ve considered switching sides!  I mean, it worked out for that Jenner dude(tte)…I think.  I remember from band camp initiation walking around marching in a bra and heels and doing just fine, maybe it’s something I should try again?  No, I really couldn’t.  Women have something I just adore.

As for men?  No offense guys, but I don’t even like my penis let alone yours.  No, I’m stuck on the straight side of the fence.  My apologize to straight women and gay men everywhere.  A side note, I recently was at a B-Dubs in the city that is home to the Mousiest Place on Earth and was getting hit on by some guy who was cruising pretty much the entire bar.  The married guy next to me ended up leaving after a while and suspiciously the hitter (is that what you call them?  the person who’s hitting on the other person?  Usually it’s me…I don’t know what to call it!) left about 5 minutes later.

Anyway back to the crazies.  I’ve started to accept it as a fact that women are just insane.  Sure, maybe they’re that way because of men or maybe they’re just born this way (all respect to Lady Gaga – I love that guy) and can’t help it?  I don’t know.  And you know what?  I just don’t care.  If you read my previous post on dating for men with no confidence, I jumped down the fire pole to Stage 1 again.  If you haven’t read it, scroll up…or down…or…  I don’t know.  Just look through all of my incoherent rants and you’ll see it.  Long story short is I’m back to not giving a fuck because, hey…I’m single…and single rocks!  I mean, look at the money I’m saving by not having to buy Valentine’s Day presents, and St. Patrick’s Day, and God only knows what else the card companies have come up with between now and Christmas.  Anyway, fuck it.  Now is my time to be the dirty old man (at the ripe old age of thirty-leven).

What am I going to do?  I’ll tell you what I’m going to do!  I’m going to hit on everyone (hot) that I come into contact with (and probably some not so hot ones – because I’m Plonker…and I must Plonk…) expecting nothing more than a slap or a face full of pepper spray.  I’m going to eat my pizza straight from the oven, still bubbling on the pan, standing up at the sink, stark naked, hurrying so I can get back to playing my video games!  Oh yeah…I had to sell my Wii-U to finance The Wizard of Laws because of Sai….well shit.  Okay then I’ll hurry so I can get back to South Park style Porn!

And with all the money I save by switching to “I don’t give a fuck” maybe I’ll just go out and have some fun with people!  Maybe women, maybe bros, maybe both!  Maybe some chicks I’m into, maybe some that are even into me!  That would be the shit!  But one thing I can guarantee you, because based on life experience it’s almost a damn certainty.

None of them will be normal.

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Guys, don’t get fat. Just….just don’t.

Posted on January 21, 2017 by Plonker

So where do I start?  Well, let’s start here…holy shit I’m out of shape.  So Josh and I decided today, since it’s 60º in January (which clearly puts to bed those rumors of that made-up “Climate Change” stuff) that we’d start training for our next long bike ride, which is probably going to be Cedar Point again.  Anyway, so we decide on a noon start but I got hung up at work, dicking around with a telephone.  …you wouldn’t think that’s so complex but it really is!  So yeah I got hung up at work, then Josh did the same and our “noon-ish” start ended up being 3:00.  That’s pretty much par for the course for us here at Fujupz, so that’s not the point of this story.

 

Josh was excited to try his new clipless pedals and me?  Well, I was just excited to…no, “excited” isn’t the right word.  I just wanted to burn…no, “wanted” isn’t right either.  I was being guilted into riding, so out to the garage I go.  One of the problems last year was my leg hurt me like a motherfucker on the ride back.  After talking to some “experts” at a bike shop, and googling (thus, ourselves becoming experts), we decided I should check my seat position.  Height was fine, but the seat is just too far forward.  It also turns out I’m on a 17.5″ fucking bike…when I should be on something in the 22″-24″ range (again, after measuring with a string tied to a washer).  Holy fuck!  So now I’ve got to go buy a new bike frame…and brakes.  I really need brakes.  But even that isn’t the point of this incoherent rant.

 

The point of this bitch-session is don’t get fat.  And I mean it.  Don’t.  Put down the cheetos, pick up a glass of water and get your fat ass on the treadmill!  Why?  Well let’s discuss…

 

First, if you’re like me at all, you like younger women.

No, Chris.  Not…not that young.  I mean like 8 years younger than me.  Down to 18 though under 21 means no cruises for a while.  I know 16 is legal around here but fuck that’s creepy.  Yeah, I said it…that’s creepy.  That’s coming from ME!  Yeah, it’s creepy.  If you’re in your 30s dating a 16 year old “because it’s legal” (shit, if you’re not in your “teens” dating a 16 year old…), I only have two things to say to you.

A) “ew”, and

2) “High five, man!”

Anyway, so I like younger women.  Again, they should be out of preschool, you know something in the age range that won’t find me some drug dealer’s wife for 8 to 10…  You know what younger women want?  Fit guys.  Doesn’t matter if they’re fit themselves, or chubby, or “full figured” (I think the term “bbw” goes here, but I don’t know… I usually just say “bigger” but I guess sometimes that’s offensive), they all like a guy who’s in shape.  Look at that Gosling dude.  Do you think he has a problem pulling younger bitches?  Nah.  He’s ripped!  You know who else likes guys in good shape?  Older women!  So even if you don’t hang out at the middle school playground to talk to your girlfriend, you should be in shape.  Women love that.  Especially those “v” things that point to your crotch.  Of course there’s a limit.  If you’re dating Mrs. Skeletor or your girlfriend looks more like the Cryptkeeper  than an actual woman, it probably matters more what you’re packing than what you look like.  At the end of the day, she’s not putting you in the will for your six pack, she’s got you there for your hard eight…  But for the 80% of the women out there that aren’t in diapers because they’re too old or too young, they like a fit dude.

Do you know what women don’t like?  They don’t like the way Josh and Plonker struggled to make it through LESS THAN THREE MILES on bicycles today.  Imagine, if you will, two fat dudes.  They’re wheezing and huffing and puffing their way up a moderate incline.  Now imagine that the fatter of the dudes is on a bicycle that’s too small for him.  They literally made a family guy episode about Josh and I where Peter played the part of Plonker.  See below:

That’s exactly how I picture my fat ass on this bicycle.

Now you might be saying, “but Plonker, riding a bicycle will help you lose weight” and you’d be right.  It did before, it will again.  It’s a matter of time and effort.  One I have, the other I don’t give, so…

But also consider that hauling your fat ass up a hill on a bicycle is hard work!  I mean, if you want to see what I mean try this.  Go out to your car and pick it up.  Now I want you to walk up a flight of stairs.  That’s what I endure every day.  It’s like I’m carrying a car around my gut.  I think I’m getting to the point of collapsing in on myself like one of those supermassive black hole things. (heheheheh “black hole” hehehehe)

You might be thinking, “okay so don’t get fat because of women” but no.  That’s not my point here, either.  I mean, yeah women are great.  They’re soft, they smell good, and you can have sex with them and they usually know how to make sandwiches.  All good things!  But really, it’s not the point to my ramblings.  There is, however, one reason in particular that you shouldn’t let yourself get fat.  I almost feel like I should have Sarah McLachlan make a commercial about this, it’s so important.  Okay, I’ve kept you in suspense bored for long enough.  The real reason you shouldn’t let yourself get fat is…

 

…

Wait for it.

 

…

 

God, fucking wait for it!

 

…

 

Your dick is 1″ smaller with ever 30# you gain.

…I’m on a quest to lose 720#.

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