"It's a penny for your thoughts but you have to put your two cents in. Somebody's makin' a profit."
-----Steven Wright
Welcome. This is where I put in my two cents and you give me a penny for your thoughts. I'm Magic Marker, one of those scented ones that your teachers told you to stop smelling because the fumes can affect you. This is my blog where I spew my dimestore wisdom and sophomoric observations as a way to bridge the gap between writing for others and writing for myself. That should be a big heads-up because, in this arena, I'm going to write for me. If you decide you'd like to ride along, I'll be flattered. If you decide you'd like to comment, please do but it's not required.
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Mad Men moment:
Paul: What happened between us, Joan?
Joan: You have a big mouth.
Paul: I have a big mouth? I have a big mouth. I hate my big mouth.
Ever ask yourself how that nerd ended up with such a smokin’-hot chick? It’s a common question. I have a theory: hot guys are cocky douche bags who trash a woman’s reputation like spittin’ chew juice in a Styrofoam cup. To top it off, most of them aren't even nice. If I wanted to be treated like shit, I'd go back to living with my mom.
The guy who’s in really good shape probably used to be an athlete. Former athletes cannot seem to keep their mouths shut. Even when they have a good thing going, they have to fuck it up by blabbing to their ex-locker room buddies. In-between all of that towel-snapping camaraderie, they’ll even whip out pictures and direct viewers to YouTube to watch that thing she did with her tongue. Most women don’t want to be known as “that filthy whore/god I want her” chick unless her self-esteem is in the toilet and she’s begging to be passed around the team like an hors d’oeuvre.
The office cassanova probably has a $4,000 mountain bike and wears mandals when he’s not in his spandex bike-racing outfit and matching helmet. He’s a competitive motherfucker. Sexual harassment threats be damned, he’s going to talk about what he did and with whom he did it. In graphic detail. His audience lives vicariously through him because they’re not making it with that woman from the seventh floor, but they know someone who is. He is. Regularly. And according to his story, she’s letting him do all sorts of weird shit.
No woman from the office will put up with this shit for very long and so she’ll take great pleasure in her revenge by spreading horrible gossip: He had erectile dysfunction, cried after sex and then prematurely ejaculated like a 17-year-old virgin. I faked my orgasms because I was afraid he’d cry some more. I’ve never been with such an inept lover. If I wanted that kind of sex, I would’ve combed the high schools.
No man wants to be marked as a premature-ejaculating, crying, limp-dicked, inept, fake-orgasm-inducing blabbermouth. It basically poisons the pool and guys like the office cassanova will have to farm for their sexual partners outside of the firm.
Musicians love to brag about their “band aids” but also want a serious relationship, too. For some idiotic reason, women want to fuck guys in bands. And guys being guys can’t say no to freely offered pussy. Musicians cannot stop talking about how many women they fucked. And “band aids” cannot stop talking about how many musicians they fucked. Girlfriends are not amused. Go figure.
Do you want guys like that? No, what you really want is discretion. Who you want is a nerd.
Nerds will keep their sexual conquest’s identity a secret because they know how to use Photoshop and all of those nifty electronic devices that change the sound of a woman’s voice. And they’re smart. They understand that as soon as a woman is outed to their friends and she finds out, the gig is up and she’s going to kick his ass first and then stop having sex with him. Plus, it might be years before another such windfall occurs and he gets to have non-virtual sex again.
Nerds aren’t usually the guys who give you heart palpitations. They’re not the pool boys or firemen or cowboys. They’re not going to sport that rugged outdoor masculine look that can be equated with douche bag egoists. Instead, they’re the IT guys, programmers, economists and engineers. They’re nice, eager to learn and usually have enough money to pay their own way. Some of them exhibit enough chivalry to open doors or pick up the check once in a while, although many of them are not experienced with dating and therefore, not well socialized.
That’s okay. You don’t necessarily want to date the nerd. You just want to have sex with him.
Sex with nerds isn’t stellar right away, but they’re willing to accelerate the learning curve with extra practices if you are. It’s sort of like a twisted version of The Graduate. That lets you be Mrs. Robinson. You can seduce them and try all of that freaky shit you’ve been fantasizing about. They’ll LOVE it, even if you have to ease them into it. They’ll thank you for it later.
This was a service announcement endorsing the use of nerds for your next sexual conquest. I'm a nerd and I approve this message.
5 comments:
I concur.
Now I got me a nerd...do I have permission to use him and abuse him with my tongue? Yum!!!!!
To Mandy: I love when people concur. It sounds better than agree, even.
To Freddy: You get to bathe him with your tongue. You have my permission.
It's got consonance. Or is that alliteration? I always get the two confused and I'm too lazy to google.
Nerds have natural abilities that no one has 'tapped' yet. Watching the eager nerd blossom into full-fledged fuckstar is a wonderous experience that should not be wasted on lesser women.
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