Everything is wrong with me
Friday, September 17, 2004
 
speaking of emails...
It's funny. When I'm at a bar, at a coffeehouse, at a bookstore, or at the grocery store, I can't pay a woman to talk to me. Well, that's not true - I can and have paid women to talk to me. One time I gave my friend Holly $68 to stand next to me at a bar for three hours and smile. For an extra $10, she said she'd give me a high-five, but I was all out of cash.

I'm getting off the subject here, but the point is that I can't get you women to talk to me or send me pictures of you naked, but you have no problem at all voicing your opinions when I write a post or two about sports. Good god - I write two NFL Predictions posts and suddenly I'm NOW's public enemy number one.

I'll tell you what: since it's my site, I'm going to write about whatever the hell I want. I'm a guy, and guys like sports. Therefore, I may write about it sometimes, but very infrequently. If I were a woman, I'd write about women things, like boobs, menstruation, and, you know, whatever else women talk about - clothes or fashion or hair or whatever.

Furthermore, I'll have you know that several male readers liked the posts, and gave me some excellent feedback. Since it's becoming apparent that those of the feminine persuasion are not going to put out for me because of this site, maybe I should switch teams, make this site about strictly sports, and have so much man-love Freddy Mercury would blush.

(Ok. I'm not that desperate. Yet.)

Anyway, ladies, I'll keep the sports down to a minimum, if you take it easy on the hate mail, and send me some pictures of your boobs.

I don't think I'm asking for that much.

Love,
Jason



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