It's Monday, duh

John Boy and Billy on the radio

After a year and a half of listening to the radio stations here in Pigeon Hole, Alabama, I still can't stand this very popular radio show out of North Carolina. John Boy and Billy, the good ole' boys with their crew of goofballs and giggling girls never make me laugh. I think I know why, though. I've always known why. It's because John Boy's southern accent is phonier than a speech by President Obama.

OK Spiky, that was the only thing I'm going to say about Obama, OK? Don't get upset. You know I love you.

John Boy may very well actually be from the South, but he's a trained radio announcer. They trained that southern drawl right out of him. Then they asked him to bring it back and exaggerate it for the radio. Well, faking and exaggerating a southern accent in the South is like taking a French car, putting a Japanese label on it, and trying to sell it to the Japanese. They won't take long to figure out that this shit ain't right.

Mondays suck

So, it's Monday again. I don't know if my workout jacked up my testosterone and somehow resulted in my becoming extra irritable, or my lack of sleep and fatigue from traveling last night finally caught up with me right in the middle of the afternoon and turned all my T in estrogen, but I nearly killed some people today. And they were old, relatively defenseless people, too. Well, defenseless except for the big fucking truck they were driving very badly. And yes, I mean 'they' were driving because Mrs. Shithead was doing her best to drive from the passenger seat while Mr. Shithead looked everywhere other than at the road. Man, if you don't want to be driving just now, that thing has 4-wheel-drive, get it off the road and hit the weeds, you cuntbag!

They were doing 25 mph. I shit you not. 25 mph. And the old bitch in the lane next to them, apparently mistaking this for a passive/aggressive attack on us "youngsters", decided to copy them and do 25, too, while sticking right next to them and not letting anyone escape.

This used to be a popular game here in Rocketown, you see. My mother and her passive/aggressive feminazi cuntbag friends would all do this every time they got behind the wheel of some of America's largest luxury vehicles ever constructed, back in "the day." These days, most women drive faster than the men, and won't hesitate to throw heavy shit at you in traffic if they think you're driving too slowly. But back in "the day", when my mom and her generation were ruling the roads, driving slow and preventing everyone else from reaching their destination was a huge feminist trend. It was a way of saying, "we're here, we're bitches, get used to it."

These days my mom is once again driving one of the largest American luxury liners currently available, but she's gotten to be such a bad driver in her old age that its all she can do to keep the ship on the road, let alone worry about what everyone else is doing. Plus, I think she heard about my niece kicking another female driver in the vagina and it scared her.

I'm joking. My niece never told my mom about kicking the shit out of that woman. We kept it a secret. Either way, she's clearly noticed the change in female attitudes in traffic. No longer are The Girls her sisters in arms. It's every woman for herself. Today they are cell-phone talking, estrogen-injecting, gotta-get-to-work, kick-your-bitch-ass, Defense Department, blow-your-country-to-hell engineer types, and they most certainly would kick Mom's ass for the shit she and her friends used to do in traffic on a regular basis. It's ironic, really, how no men ever reacted this way, despite the anti-male stereotypes she helped promote, yet it's the women now that Mom is scared of. Karma's a bitch, and she'll kick you in the cooter, too.

I have a female friend, she's got a serious problem. No, it has nothing to do with women kicking old ladies in the cooter. It's about her boyfriend. You see, he won't shut up. I mean, when she wants him to talk, he's got nothing to say. But when they're in the middle of drilling for oil in her Happy Place with his skin flute, that's when he suddenly feels the urge to talk his damn fool head off.

"Ooh, this is so good. Hey, how about I switch over and go from behind? Hey, why are you closing your eyes? Is this good for you? I'm going to stroke your thighs now. Can you feel me swelling up bigger? I'm not gonna come. I've got it under control. Why are you sticking your fingers in your ears and singing "LA LA LA LA" like that? Are you mad about something? Did you see any football games yesterday? Man, Alabama sure kicked LSU's ass. It was great. What's wrong? I think I've gotta pee. But I can wait. What do you think about when we're doing it? Why are you frowning? blah blah blah ..."

Can you imagine dealing with this? Dude, shut the hell up! Your woman is trying as hard as she can to imagine she's with someone far hotter than you and you just keep screwing the whole thing up for her.

I actually suggested that, in addition to condoms, she might need to bring duct tape when she goes over to his place next time. She has been too embarrassed to try this so far. I don't think her embarrassment is going to last much longer, though. He's really pissing her off. If there's one thing you don't want to piss of a woman about, it's sex. There's a lot of things they'll let slide for a very long time - toilet seats, pee on the floor in front of the toilet, socks in the aquarium - but not screwing up their orgasms. Oh no, buddy, that's when a woman gets murderously violent. Someone needs to warn this chattering jackrabbit to shut his piehole and just get on with it before she puts a bullet in his head. Problem is, I don't know the guy. I just know her. And I know she's about to explode if he doesn't shut up.

Women always say they only ever think about Their Man when they're doing it. They always claim they never think about some celebrity or some hot guy from the gym. I don't believe that. If that were true, Justin Timberlake's career would have ended long ago. I know half the women in America are thinking about him. And in the rest of the West, I suppose it's probably Mr. Beckham. They just won't admit it. Probably out of fear that they'll so hurt Their Man's feelings that he won't be able to get it up next time, or he'll start talking all through sex to distract them so they can't imagine they're doing their Dream Man and get off. Either one is pretty annoying to a woman. But only one is likely to get a man shot.

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