Dear Esteemed Reader,
The Men Guide is happy to add Mr. Tony Delgrosso to our site.
While you’re obsessively refreshing our homepage looking for a new article, why don’t you check out some of our recent posts, like:
Why do guys fuck anything that moves?
Why does my boyfriend’s dick go limp when we bang?
What are our thoughts on open relationships?
Why do sitcoms follow the same “fat husband, sexy wife” paradigm?
— The Men Guide
What would you like to know?
My boyfriend and I broke up on Thursday afternoon. This morning (four days later) my ex-boyfriend came knocking on my door looking to hook up. How did he know I was newly single again? Do you men have some kind of Bat Signal or Spidey Sense?!? - Submitted by yobigmel
I’m going to clue you in on a little secret regarding a relatively unknown part of the male anatomy.
Deep within the scrotum (Baggus Gonadus) is a tiny nerve bundle known as the Canihitit cluster (Clusterus Canihititus). Although it is unknown exactly how this works, the main function of the cluster is to detect when a female who at one time had sexual relations with a man is available to resume those relations. Upon recieving whatever transmission it recieves (psychic, chemical, whatever) this nerve cluster sends signals to the brain which in turn activate the legs, mouth, and dialing fingers in hopes of achieving contact with the transmitting female. This happens unconciously, and can also often be triggered by alcohol consumption. So, simply put, your ex’s balls just knew.
If you don’t buy in to “science”, maybe we could approach this mathematically. Basically, a lot of men are simply playing a numbers game. Whether you had broken up with your boyfriend or not, chances are your ex wouldve shown up at your door looking for a slap and tickle because he figures the more times he tries to check your oil, the more likely he is to eventually succeed. It’s like the lottery: you have to play to win, and the more tickets you buy, the better your odds get, even though they may still border on impossibility. But like the brave squirrel, seemingly impossible odds are not enough to keep a man from trying to get his nut. I mean, we went to the moon for Christ’s sake. And why did we go to the moon? For science, in the spirit of exploration, for the possibility of creating human settlements? No, my friends. Two words: space pussy. Or moon trim. Either one works.
I hope this helps.
So, umm…I hear you’re single…
Question submitted by molokovellocet:
The American multi-camera situational comedy is a respected and venerated part of our culture. From The Honeymooners and I Love Lucy, to Cheers and Seinfeld, sitcoms have provided millions of viewers with - oh for fuck’s sake, I sound like a Discovery Channel commercial.
Look, what you need to understand is that all of the great sitcoms are produced by some of the most miserable fucking people who’ve ever walked the face of the earth: writers.
You spend hundreds of hours indoors parked on your fart-soaked chair hammering out a spec because you work with a girl who’s cousin is friends with a guy who tends bar at a dive where the wardrobe assistants on According To Jim hang out on Mondays after the read-through. So it’s an in, and you’ve got to work it. So you don’t bathe yourself, and you forget the dry cleaning AGAIN (sorry, honey!), and something’s burning, and your child is burning because they’re starving, and she’s taken it upon her four-year-old self to learn how to cook, but man, you are zeroing in on a KILLER Act One close for your imaginary new best-friend Jimbo Belushi, and you don’t want to forget it and STOP, DROP AND ROLL FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!
In other words, television writers are completely unfuckable human beings who spend all day mining their pathetic histories to come up with very-special-Thanksgiving gags for that second-most unfuckable group, stand-up comedians. And within this swirling cauldron of self-loathing and anxiety, everyone tries to come up with an edgy, groundbreaking scenario which inevitably winds up belly-flopping on that tried and true chestnut: fat guy with hot wife.
And why? Because, let’s face it, when you get that big break after strangling all those pigeons and crushing all those Ben & Jerry pints, and crying yourself to sleep in your cardboard monster-fort, do you want your co-star to genuinely reflect the type of woman you could MAYBE pull if their belly was full of Zima and you were slinging your best Monty Python impersonations?
No. Oh no. Fuck No. Line up the hot wife auditions, please.
Besides, network executives are horrible, shallow people who would never let you cast that wife part with anything less attractive than the hottie they would like to be, or currently are, boning.
Damn it, I guess I took the long way around to answer your question.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to put some more burn salve on my child’s back. She’s healing nicely, thank you.
—Question answered by Brilliant Orange.
Brilliant Orange is a screenwriter living in Los Angeles.
Question from Myrm.
Sister, you got the wrong guy to be answering this question because I have turned down reasonably attractive women just for wearing bad shoes, having a Motorola Rockr or being named Geoffrey. But l’ll take a crack at your theory anyway because there is very little on television tonight apart from some show where the dog is a policeman or something. Maybe the policeman is a dog. It’s from Europe, so the dog and the policeman are probably married.
Now take a deep breath because this next sentence is a doozy.
Remember when you were at university and that chick with the ripped jeans and pink hair and the no make-up and the ‘separatism’ tee shirt said that you could tell that even the very language we speak was a tool of the patriarchal hegemony because there is no word to describe the hatred of men in the same way that ‘misogyny’ describes the hatred of women?
Well, Astrid was wrong. That word is ‘misandry’. It’s a real thing, and you have a bad case of it.
See you think that all men will fuck anything that moves, even if that thing votes Republican, has a french polish and thinks ‘literature’ is the right word to describe a hardback copy of The Secret. You seem to subscribe to the pizza theory of sex – that there’s no such thing as bad pizza – and think that all men do too.
Well guess what? The only people who think there is no such thing as bad pizza are people who have never had good pizza. After you have good pizza, you never want to fuck another greasy lump of half-cooked dough who won’t do anal ever again.
Of course, maybe a german guy might want to take a leak on a pizza like that. I had a pizza in Munich once and I’m pretty sure someone had already shat on it.
I hope this answers your question.
Moe
PS I also have a theory. Mine is that all women are whores. No, not really. I just said that for shock value. I meant to say ‘sex workers’.
Question submitted by whentheboughbreaks:
The worst thing about having terrorists ruling North America is that they would probably put me in the same bunker as my parents. Now, besides for the inevitable nudity, I know that the worst part of being in the same bunker as them would be that they’ll resort to the same parenting techniques that have made me so bitter.
“I knew this was coming. I warned you. But you didn’t listen. You never listen. You’re like a Nazi the way you act,” mom would say.
“Go to hell, ma.”
“You know your grandfather would spit on you if he saw you now,” dad would say.
“Fuck off, dad.”
But it would be far too late, the terrorists would have already heard me and would mutter something over the radio in Arabic. Three bearded men would drag my ass outside and bash my head in with a Quran.
——————————
You see, the only relationship I’ve ever had with my parents was a stressed one, and that became the baseline for any normative relationship I’ve ever had with people. Living at home for the first eighteen years of my life pretty much set that relationship standard as the one to which I’d compare all future relationships.
When I meet someone, I expect to feel guilty constantly. I expect to feel crippling shame for not taking enough care of myself or not eating enough. I expect my partner to give me a sneering grin and say “I told you so”.
I expect this because that’s what my parents did, and that’s what I thought was normal. And this is why sometimes I’m scared of being in a committed relationship.
By definition, when you’re committed you pretty much need to stick with that person for a while. And that makes my testes shrivel, because what if they start resembling my mother?
What if they start telling me that “the holocaust didn’t happen so you could go to a strip club” or “we didn’t wander 40 years in the desert so that you can have a slutty girlfriend.”
Then I’d be dating my mom and that would kill me.
——————-
Here’s the thing.
Stop being scared.
Some relationships work, and some don’t.
Don’t get too attached, but don’t close yourself off from potential relationships because you’re worried you might get hurt.
Don’t isolate yourself from another because they remind you of a shittier time.
I had an girlfriend once who liked The Flaming Lips. We listened to them all the time, and then she cheated on me and moved to Australia. Then, for about a year, every time I heard The Flaming Lips, I got pissed off.
Except one day I had a revelation. I realized that my ex was a dirty whore, and that The Flaming Lips had nothing to do with her.
So I downloaded their CD and rocked out to Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, and it was awesome.
Lots of things will remind you of a worse time, but that is no reason to be scared of them.
As if you need any more convincing not to be scared, let me give you some more reasons why committed relationships are worthwhile:
You don’t need any more reasons.
Good luck.
— Moe
Submitted by smartasshat
An interesting question, my friend.
First of all, I’ll tell you where I do NOT get off.
The shower. I don’t know who came up with that idea, but it is probably the worst possible place to release your kiddies. Male ejaculate + water = glue. The stuff does not wash down the drain, does not come off of your skin, gets everywhere, it’s terrible. I like to take long showers, but I’ll tell you this, I am NEVER taming my dragon. I just stand there, actually. For like a half hour at least.
Here are some places I have gotten off:
Laundromats, library parking lots, Target bathrooms, in the backseat of a car while my friends were driving, Best Buy bathrooms, The Apple Store bathroom, In the backseat of the car when my parents were driving (at like 16), The Apple Store, parks, in my car driving just about everywhere, truck stops, kitchens, VFW halls, standing in line at a Switchfoot show, Wal-Mart parking lots, Victoria’s Secret dressing rooms, gas stations (while getting gas), Big and Tall dressing rooms, Big Lots, both under the bar and in the stairwell of Bar 46, dollar store dressing rooms, and last but not least Swarovski.
But never in the shower. Ew.
Question submitted by eoporto
This afternoon I received an email with a detailed list of all the available horny teens in my neighborhood which I deleted without even reading. Curious, I opened an email titled “Having a hard time at university?” and was presented with a pretty young Asian with a footlong dildo thrust in her ass.
I rolled my eyes, and read an email from my uncle.
Autocomplete in my browser finishes the URL for me so that when I type the letter ‘Y’ the first suggestion is youporn.com. On other sites, a medieval-looking chick with ample boobage tells me that I can “play with her discretely”.
I roll my eyes, and type in The Huffington Post.
I walk through the corridors of my university and see women with sweatpants with the word “Juicy” stamped on their asses. I turn on the radio and hear Howard Stern asking pornstars how deep they can shove a hotdog down their mouth.
I roll my eyes, and switch to the local news.
I remember when I was in university in Jerusalem, I drove down to Egypt for two weeks and encountered the most religious Muslims I’ve ever met.
Needless to say, they were dressed pretty conservatively.
I remember what a thrill it was to catch a glimpse of a bra strap from a poorly fitted burqa. I remember the half-on I got from seeing an underwear outline on a girl that’s only visible body part is her eyes.
Things were different there.
I yearned to see a bare thigh.
I yearned to see a thong.
I’m getting hard just thinking about it.
Then, when I left Egypt and entered Israel, I saw signs pointing to a nude beach. I went there, and didn’t sport a woody the whole time. I wasn’t attracted to all the skin. It was too readily accessible.
There was no mystery.
The trick to getting a man is making him think he can’t get you, and the best way to do that is by dressing seductively conservatively.
While women might think that the low-cut top that draws attention to their heaving swingers is a real stud-magnet, they actually don’t want to be attracting the douchenozzles that are only in it for the nip.
They don’t know that the good guys are willing to work a little bit to get inside those jammies.
Now, don’t go putting on grandma’s floral print robe and a cardigan and go to a bar thinking “The Men Guide told me if I dress more conservatively I’ll be able to bag some smoking hot man-sausage.”
All I’m saying is that the mystique of a girl that respects her body outshines the sparkly-skinned stripper every time.
— Moe
Question by ohtheplaceswego.
He’s ill-mannered. If you fuck him, you’re rewarding that kind of behaviour.
It’s really that simple. Don’t try to read deeper meaning into it, because even if there is a deeper reason (say his mum never hugged him enough, or he recently read The Game and is attempting to display social capital, or he wants to have an open relationship) it doesn’t matter. Rude is rude.
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