Let Me Off at the Top!: My Classy Life and Other Musings Page 12

  I don’t have the facts in front of me but I’m pretty sure the ratio of women to men in this country is approximately one and one-quarter women to every eight males. It’s a problem and we should really import more women into this country—not from England, Jesus Christ, NOT FROM ENGLAND. Some countries, like France I believe, have thirty women for every man, which accounts for why Frenchmen always have beautiful girlfriends and wives. If you put a Frenchman in a country where he had to fight it out with real men for the love of a woman, he would fail miserably and be left with only the dogs.

  With such a low ratio of women in this country it makes it hard to meet and then court them. Hanging out at the ball game or the Elks Lodge is not going to do it. You could go where they go—the hair parlor, for instance, but you end up looking pretty stupid in a hair parlor. I’ve sat in women’s hair parlors before. It’s only a matter of time before you are asked to leave. The best places to meet women are places where both sexes mingle—churches, parks, department stores and supermarkets. There’s a strategy for each location.

  For instance, let’s talk about supermarkets. Women like a man who is confident, and nothing says confidence more than beef. When I’m in a supermarket, whether it be to pick up a gallon of milk or to get some coffee, I take my cart straight for the meat department and pile it full of steaks. Make sure the cart is overflowing with steaks. Don’t worry, you don’t have to buy them. It’s only for show—you can ditch the cart later in the bread aisle, but while you’re in the supermarket, for two to three hours, you need to push around a cart weighted down with cuts of red meat … and NO CHICKEN. Maybe some pork, but make sure you have lots of sirloin and ribs. Women go nuts! They see all that beef and it triggers within them something from the cavemen days. They just start thinking of procreating. I promise you if you push around a shopping cart with two hundred pounds of meat cuts in a supermarket you will get respect from women. I like to throw in a few cans of beans and twenty or so packages of bacon to add some variety. A box of condoms is too suggestive and shows a real lack of class. No, the best course is to simply walk around the supermarket, humming along with the piped-in music, pushing your cart of meat in front of you like you don’t have a care in the world. You can sometimes “accidentally” bump into a woman and then say something like “Sorry, it looks like my meat got away from me!” If the woman smiles, then follow her—by all means follow her. Some won’t smile. The crabby ones will look at you like you’re some kind of homeless man and recoil. They are not worth the effort. They’re not real women anyway. They might even be lesbians. More than likely women who do not fall for the ole meat cart routine are lesbians.

  In a department store you can’t walk around with a cart full of meat. It’s stupid, and frankly you look crazy because most department stores don’t sell meat. The thing to do in a department store is to carry around eight or nine suits. Go straight to the suit department and get eight or nine suits and then start walking around the whole store. Purchasing power alone is a real turn-on for all women, but when they see suits they react like they’ve seen a shopping cart full of meat. You have the money to buy eight suits. You have the class to wear a suit. You are desirable. It’s simple. Some guys will head over to the women’s wear section, maybe grab a bra to hold, and start crying and talking about the “breakup.” It’s a good ruse. There are women who fall for it but ultimately you need to look secure, and bawling on the floor with underwear in your hand is not very secure looking. If you need to shout out, “I’m buying eight suits today,” that’s okay. Imagine being a woman (not putting on the clothes and walking around in front of a mirror; I mean just imagine it with your brain); now imagine you’re in a store and you see some handsome man with a new toaster in his hand and you are intrigued, but then out of nowhere you hear a loud voice proclaim, “I’m buying eight suits!” And around a corner comes a man holding eight suits. I rest my case.

  PTA meetings are real winners. It doesn’t matter if you have a kid in the school. Walk in, sit down and wait. When people start popping up and talking, stand up and talk, maybe cry, but whatever you do make it passionate. I usually try something like “We need to address the issue of safe zones. I know it’s controversial but I am for it!” I blabber on for a bit about keeping children safe and then I might wrap up my speech with something like “… and one more thing: I drive a Chrysler LeBaron.” Women love that you care about children but it’s even better when they hear you drive something like a LeBaron or a Stratus; they get wet down below. It also helps to have a step stool. You really want to tower over everyone else in the room. If some nosey body gets in your face and asks you what grade your child is in at the school, you need to run away. No harm no foul, just keep running until you are safely out of the neighborhood. If you’re jumping fences, look out for the bigger dogs.

  Fortunately for me meeting women has never been a real issue. I am a very big deal. I have been for some time. When you are the number one News Anchor in San Diego you are basically a rock star. When you make it to the network you are a god. Women just want what I have. They want to be close to it. They want to be a part of the magic. Brian Fantana, who does a lot of reporting from the street, literally has to fight the women off with a stick. He once confided in me he’s never masturbated—not once—because it has always been easier for him to just go ahead and have sex with a woman. In fact he sometimes fantasizes about masturbation while having sex with women. That’s what being in the news game is like. Just ask Brian Williams. That guy uses Velcro to keep his pants shut. He doesn’t have time to keep buttoning and unbuttoning them with all the classy tail he gets. Being a News Anchor is so close to being a god on so many levels that you start to think like one. You start to believe it’s your right to descend on women and impregnate them with demigod babies. Those were simpler times, of course, when gods could just come down and have sex with any mortal they wanted. I would give my right nut to live in those days with the gods, but no such luck; I got stuck in this age of horseshit. Anyway, I digress. Once you’ve got the woman interested it’s time to think about stage two: How am I going to get this woman in the sack?

  Here again it helps to be a number one News Anchor. Women just want to jump in bed with me. I can’t help it; it’s just something I live with. Every once in a while a woman comes along who does not want to sleep with me. It’s weird but it happens. My first reaction is always the same: Do I look like the man who killed her dog? If it’s not that, then I know she’s just a psychologically damaged frigid woman who needs a little Burgundy thaw. I start by asking her out on a date. Now is not the time to be cheap. Take her to an Olive Garden or a Red Lobster. If you have a skill, like playing the flute, or you can juggle, now is the time to spring it on her. The mystery you have inside you unfolds. She’s probably thinking, if you can juggle, what else can you do? She’s going to be intrigued. I sometimes will hit a woman with my amazing knowledge of dinosaurs. I might tell her that birds are considered a subgroup of dinosaurs by many paleontologists or that the word dinosaur means “terrible lizard.” Women can’t believe what they are hearing. They see how smart you are and then you tell them it’s just the tip of the iceberg! This is also a great time to blow hot air her way. Women respond well to humid, pungent hot air (see chapter on effective breath).

  Get them talking. Women love to talk. You don’t have to listen, as mentioned before, but you do have to let them talk, and believe me, they will yammer on like howler monkeys. Pretend you are interested if you can. It’s not a deal breaker if you can’t, mind you, but it helps. Most women understand that you are not interested. Scientists have proven that by the time a woman is in her late teens she knows that men will not pay any attention to the noises coming out of her mouth. That’s not to say women have nothing to say. Please, don’t misinterpret me. The last thing I need is a bunch of angry feminists picketing my house and throwing pies at me. I know what that feels like and I don’t like it. You would think I would like it! Pies are delicious, bu
t pies can also be hurtful. There have been some great women talkers over the years. I could list so many! Smart women have made their mark on history and I know the names of many if not all of them. (NOTE: Find list of smart women for later draft.) Anyway women love to talk and if you can manage some fake interest it’s a great way to get them comfortable.

  Once she is comfortable it’s time to be direct. Nothing works quite like leaving a lady in a room for a few minutes and then returning wearing only your best Nordstrom or Crabtree and Evelyn bathrobe. Talk about a winning strategy! Women will react in different ways but believe me, you will always get a reaction! Leave the bathrobe open for a hint of what awaits within. A glimpse or suggestion of chest hair, maybe a little belly, can send a girl to the moon, wild with anticipation—not all women, mind you, but a select few. Keep in mind these time-tested strategies are all from before I married my best friend and sexually adventurous wife, Veronica. The bathrobe ploy, as I called it, was used many times to great success in the home or outside just walking around. I sometimes wore the open bathrobe through the supermarket or at work. I think now there are laws that prohibit open bathrobe wearing in places of business. I don’t know, it’s hard to keep up with all the laws people make. Sometimes I think people who can’t build stuff or report the news or do anything useful spend their time making up laws. The world would be a better place if men and women could walk around in open bathrobes.

  Once you are in the sack there’s very little I need to tell you that you can’t find out on your own. I was lucky to have Jenny Haggleworth, sixeen years my senior, for my first go-round. She knew what she was doing all right! For most young men learning to make love I recommend cruising retirement villages to see if they can scrounge up some old tail. Women in their seventies and eighties make great guides through the complicated world of the sensual arts. A young man of twenty can really benefit from a few days in the sack with an old prune or a French whore. Of course, where are you going to find a French whore in times of peace, huh? Anyway after a night d’amour you can usually sneak away unharmed. Unless you have fallen in love. If that’s the case you might have to start thinking about marriage.

  The Holy Bible teaches us that marriage was invented by Helen of Troy to keep men from ruling over Canaan. It’s in Deuteronomy somewhere, I believe. The exact quote is, “So sayeth Helen of Troy that unto her Joseph shall be husband to the woman soeth he hath not manly poweres hence forth and the woman shall have dominion over the domain.” Something like that. I’m paraphrasing I think, or I made it up. It doesn’t matter. Most historians believe the King James Bible was written by Shakespeare anyway, and we all know what kind of ladies’ man he was. The real point I’m making here is you need to go into marriage lightly, my friend. The two sexes were never meant to live together and that’s just a fact. I don’t have the numbers in front of me but I believe that all marriages in this country end in divorce. I can’t for the life of me think of a marriage that hasn’t ended in divorce. There must be one. It would be interesting to find that couple and ask them what went wrong. Why did they stay together when they obviously needed to get away from each other? Are they lying? Are they secretly divorced but they just wanted to be on the news? How could they look each other in the face for so long? This is all hypothetical of course. We don’t even know if such a couple exists. Go ahead, get married, I don’t care. Get married over and over again. It’s very American and for that reason I am for it.

  MY NEIGHBOR: THE PLOT THICKENS

  My neighbor, the one who borrowed my leaf blower and didn’t return it, is dating an old broad that I slept with thirty years ago. Cynthia Spaller is her name and honestly she’s still got it. I want to shake the hands of the plastic surgeon who kept those two boulders up in the air. Frankly she’s too good for him. Anyway he’s throwing a block party and he didn’t invite me. How do you not invite Ron Burgundy? I’m a living legend. Okay, Wellspar, let’s see where this goes.

  MY HISTORY OF MEXICO

  I decided to do it. I’m going to write a history of Mexico. Someone’s gotta do it! I figure it’s my gift to the Mexican peoples. I’m passionate about history and I’m not sure we want to leave it up to Mexicans. I brought it up in an earlier chapter and I just couldn’t let the idea go. This is just the first chapter and the book is in no way designed like I would like it. As I said before it will definitely be bound in rich Corinthian leather, about two feet by three feet in size and about eight inches thick. It will have many fine illustrations and smell like a new pair of cowboy boots. So without further ado … here is the first chapter of my long-awaited history of Mexico.

  n the beginning there was only the land. A great land that stretched on and on as far as the eye could see. Savage dinosaurs roamed the earth unaware they were even in Mexico, for it did not exist as a country then. Thunderous fights occurred between mighty sauropods and crafty spinosaurs. It was a wild land full of passion and brute lust. Two hunters, Kah and Miko, cautiously walked through the forest in search of sustenance for their families. They were dressed only in small loincloths. Miko was nervous, for he had seen a herd of hadrosaurs not far from where they made camp the night before. Neither hunter, although they were skilled in hand-to-hand combat, was a match for a hadrosaur. The two hunters were tired. It had been a long day and they had come up empty. Soon the rainy season would be upon them and it would be time for the great migration. Kah was the stronger of the two. He reached out his arm and rested it on Miko’s shoulder. It was a reassuring touch for Miko. He had been worried that they would find no food. Kah wanted Miko to not worry. He suggested they make camp and went about finding kindling for a fire. The two men did their tasks with well-rehearsed precision and soon they had a suitable camp. They had hunted in these pre-Mexican woods often. As the blazing hot sun sank into the blue mountains outside of current-day Mexico City, Kah once again put his hand out to reassure Miko that everything would be all right. He rested it on Miko’s bare shoulder. Miko could feel the big man’s hand on his shoulder and felt comforted by it. Kah then slid his hand along Miko’s muscular back, stopping right before his firm buns. Miko instinctively stepped away but Kah held him and pulled him in. Within seconds the stronger man was pressing his hungry lips onto his friend. Miko struggled to get free but Kah was strong. He held Miko in a tight hug and now both his hands firmly held the smaller man’s round buttocks. Miko was terrified and strangely aroused at the same time. He had often stayed awake dreaming about what the big man would feel like and now it was actually happening! As Kah pulled Miko into his broad muscular chest Miko could feel his willpower draining. He would give over to his desire once and for all—but suddenly there was a great crashing in the forest. A Tyrannosaurus rex burst through the trees and wrapped his mighty and awesome jaws around Kah and snapped his body in half. These were dangerous times. They were the best of times if you could avoid the dinosaurs but the worst of times if you could not. Miko never could erase the image of his friend mercilessly slung back and forth like a rag doll in the mouth of that Tyrannosaurus. He hiked back to his village and became known as Mikothelan, lord emperor of the Incas.

  The Incas were the first inhabitants of Mexico. Where they originally came from remains a mystery. Many historians believe aliens brought the Incas here from a planet outside of our solar system, so if you were thinking Mars or even Pluto, think again; you’re way off. I’m not buying it! Aliens did not bring the Incas to this planet. The Incas were just too dumb. More than likely, as more and more research demonstrates, the Incas probably just grew up in Mexico naturally and built some cities and lived good lives, occasionally eaten by dinosaurs. There really isn’t much we can learn from these people. They weren’t cavemen but they weren’t rocket scientists either. They enjoyed about a million years of peace and tranquility and then the Mayans came, and that’s when the shit hit the fan.

  The Mayans probably were brought here by aliens. They were too smart to be born in Mexico. They invented a calendar. A calendar? Really
? That’s not something you invent every day if you’re born in Mexico. They “built” pyramids. Right! Earthlings living in mud huts built pyramids. Sorry, not buying it. The Mayans were definitely aliens. They were much more civilized than the Incas. They wore suits and went to work and made up games like football played in giant stadiums. I once had the opportunity to visit one of their stadiums. Not really that great but considering it was built by people whose average height was two and a half feet, you can’t help but tip your hat to the Mayan people. They slaughtered the Incas in no time flat. They took them from their houses and whacked their heads off and used the whacked-off heads in their football games. (Don’t worry, they get what’s coming to them later. What goes around comes around.) They built great cities and established trade routes. They grew as a race and were said to be numbered in the millions. Their king, Esteban, was considered to be a god. Scholars now believe that he had contact with the aliens and so he had more knowledge than everyone else, but this is only reasonable speculation. What we do know is that he was a boastful and proud man who ruled with an iron fist. He had been a great footballer in his day and a star athlete in the school system. If my reading of the Florentine Codex is correct, then he studied law and went on to marry a woman with great wealth. (Not too bad on the eyes either!) With her wealth and his natural good looks and grace they quickly climbed the ladder of success in the backstabbing, drama-filled world of the Mayan court. They were natural-born politicians, so when election time came rolling around they had run such a smooth campaign that they easily had the votes to be declared the new king and queen. They would stay atop the throne for many a year until a politician so smooth and fun to be around, the kind of guy you would drink a beer with, entered the city and won the hearts of everybody.