1. Call your husband every half hour to make sure he’s not with a woman.
2. Only wear sweatsuits, blouses, and the most unsexual clothing you can find so that your husband knows you’ve only got eyes for him. If you can, try to get chunky so that other gentlemen don’t hit on you and threaten your marriage. (*Don’t get too fat. Then your hubby won’t even want to touch you)
3. Join a book club. If you’re reading a good book, your mind will be off cock and away from affair territory. Plus you can talk to your husband about the characters and evoke conversation.
4. Have a date-night once a week. Go out for dinner and a movie, and get one of your leggy 15 year old babysitters to watch the kids. Let your husband choose the babysitter. And the movie.
5. Fake orgasm with your husband as much as you can. If he feels he’s satisfying you, it’s less likely he’ll feel the need to satisfy another human being.
6. Give birth to a baby. It bonds you forever and often saves marriages when nothing else works.
7. On birthdays or special occasions, give your husband some vouchers for a hooker or the massage parlor down the street. Prostitute sex is not an affair. if you’re uncomfortable giving him this, then just turn a blind eye. He’ll think you’re really cool if you do it though. Again, prostitute sex is not an affair.
8. Divorce your husband. Not being married is the best way to affair-proof your marriage.
Would that I could pen a lofty news bit
With the style and the verve of some others
Alas that I have not the time, the wit
Nor the journalese flair of my brothers.
Now the sonnet is not known as funny
But it might if it starred wrinkled hookers
In bed with men dressed as evil bunnies
With my bros in the crowd of onlookers.
If you think that there’s no fun in watching
And would rather jump in for some kinky
Then consider a rapid degotching
And enter the chum bucket inky.
Yes please write for this site fresh and funky
Protect web two point 0 from bored monkeys.
I’ve thought about death a lot in my lifetime, and I’ve always thought if I HAD to die some way it would be either in my sleep or during sex. In your sleep would be peaceful and during sex would be probably fantastic. Lately I’ve been into quantum physics and time travel and all that and I’ve heard quite a bit that sex can bring you to all kinds of other dimensions, but you’ve got to have it right obviously, and not a lot of people do that. Anyways, to cut a long story short now I’m worried I might die during sex because maybe these “other universes” I’m hearing about is actually death. Maybe all the people who have died during sex actually got to a state in tantric or meditative sex that was so great they died. Now I’m kinda worried. I mean I guess it’s something that I can control because it’s not like a car crash or anything, but I also don’t wanna wait till I’m 45 to try this. Everybody’s got to die some way. Should I risk it? Cause I’m only having time travel sex from now on. Forget these one night stands and shit. Only thing they’re good for is another notch on the post, don’t let any broad tell you otherwise.
I’d just like to formally welcome you back to the spotlight, which you’ve managed with your usual aplomb, although you’re looking a little more weathered. You’ve aged G-Bus (if I may revive a nickname from your days in the early hip-hop scene, which reminds me that you rhyme less than you used to) and I wonder if you’re getting your vitamin D.
Public opinion appears to be fairly firmly resolved on your time in office, and with so much attention on Slicky and DJ Hil duking it out for the helm of the Democratic Party, there hasn’t been much space for you on A1, has there? My friends and I have been kind of wondering what you’ve been up to, whether you’ve seen “Ironman,” and whether you think it holds any lessons that might guide foreign policy or simply shape one’s individual sense of justice.
So, back at it, with a visit to the Holy Land and a speech that has provided a lot of fodder for political hermeneuticians. You said that “some seem to believe that we should negotiate with terrorists and radicals.” Everyone seems to think this means Obama. Is it true? Are your accusations in personal life always so poorly veiled? At a family dinner: “some appear to think that I should wash my feet before coming to bed and stop the terrible chew habit…” You mentioned that we have heard this “foolish delusion” before, citing the 1939 crossing into Poland of Nazi tanks. Bravo! You pronounced all the unfamiliar words there correctly, and didn’t say the year like a telephone number.
“Terpsy baby! How’s it goin’?”
“Sorry, sorry - Terpsichore, of course. Why bad?”
“Whaddya mean, fire me? What’s goin’ on?”
“What?! Those lyin’ bastards - they can’t offer you anything I can’t!”
“Step Up? Stomp the Yard? What the hell are those?”
“I know you wanna become more relevant, Terpsy, and you wanna work - I’m on it, baby! You don’t have to sign on with someone else! Didn’t I just get you in on Save the Last Dance? Pretty big show, that one…”
“URBAN CRED?! What the hell is URBAN CRED?! Is that what those boys at Sid Meyer are offering you?! Listen, bitch: when I found you, you were barely scraping by on Arthur Murray dance lessons. The time of Fred and Ginger was long past.”
“Exactly! Who introduced you to John Travolta? I know you were out of your head on blow for most of the time, but disco was BIG, baby! I don’t need to tell a Greek muse that, hey?”
“Oh, c’mon now - Fame paid the bills. What about Dirty Dancing, huh? At least you had nothing to do with that break dancing crap…”
“All right, all right - I can’t keep you if you wanna go. It’s not like you’re as big as Calliope, and even Erato is getting some good exposure. Heh heh - a little joke there.”
“OK, Terpsy. I just have this one more project I was savin’ for ya - you owe me one, for all we’ve been through and because it’s in the contract. It’s just a little film for the Disney Channel hacks. Do this project, sign over the residuals to me so I can barely recoup my losses on you, and go to this other agency. I tell ya - when you’re on a VH1 “Where Are They Now?”, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Oh, I dunno - something called High School Musical. I’m sure it’s a dud, but I have to eat, right? Just sign the contract, inspire the project, and we’re square. Good?”
“All right, good - listen, I gotta go. Eros is here with another script. Yeah, yeah - I’ll tell him you say hi. Bye, babe.”
Daniel Day-Lewis has admitted that he used method acting to immerse himself in the character of Daniel Day-Lewis for an interview on the Oprah Winfrey show which is due to be broadcast later today.
Day-Lewis commented “I really felt that I wanted to draw upon my own experiences and observations of the world and build a believable character, make this Daniel Day-Lewis somebody people could actually relate to.”
In order to prepare for the role he is reported to have spent weeks wearing his own clothes, living in his own home and having an affair with his own neighbour’s wife. At one point he even considered retiring to northern Italy or spending months in a wheelchair pretending to be disabled, but abandoned the idea. “The concept of me playing me playing somebody else was certainly an interesting one, but I became worried that I might suddenly vanish into a recursive probability vortex.”
The episode is due to air at 5.30PM MST tonight.
The Canadian government has declared a state of emergency this week as Vancouver has been buried in over three millimeters of an unidentified frozen white substance, shutting down the entire city and killing nearly ten thousand people.
“What the hell is going on?!” shouts a small Asian man, blindly roundhouse kicking at everything that moved. “What is this stuff? Are we under attack? HELP!”
Attempts to flee the city have been disastrous, as every car that manages to start winds up smashing into the house across the street, then into the car on the other side of the street, and eventually sliding into the ocean.
“We’ve got to stick together!” exclaims Steve Togalson, who was swatting at every flake that managed to get near him with a tennis racket. “If we panic, then the flakes have already won!”
Steve continued swatting at the flakes in a mad frenzy, eventually falling down and sliding into the ocean.
Local authorities were baffled by the appearance of the frozen white flakes, and believe they may be gang related.
“We’ve drawn up composites of these flakes and have noticed a pattern,” says Cpl. Anderson, obviously proud of the moustache he was growing. He pointed at the distinctly slanted eyes of the white flakes, and gave us a look that seemed to say ‘here we go again’.
“It’s most definitely gang related.”
The entire city is at a standstill as people valiantly attempt to regain their footing and make it back inside their homes. Many have taken to the streets with hairdryers and extension cords, attempting to drive away the cold white invaders.
“How do you like me NOW?” shouts David Wellwaw while practicing his Battle Face in front of the mirror, his hairdryer by his side in a makeshift holster. “How do you FUCKING like me NOW?”
Dave put his hat on, gave a “let’s do this!” nod to the mirror, and headed outside where he quickly found himself on the ground, sliding into the ocean.
Experts are expecting the crisis to have far reaching effects as over a million of the city’s remaining artists are guaranteed to release excruciatingly bad one-man shows about the incident. Although they could not be reached for comment, the living are expected to envy the dead.
When I meet people on the street, they often axe me for money, and sometimes where to score some meth. Just once, I wish one of these strangers would inquire about that heart-wrenching ballad that I had lovingly crafted one lunch break. You know, the duet based on titles of movies by Steven Seagal and Jean Claude Van Damme.
*Soft piano music and a mournful saxophone start to play*
(Steven)
Woke up this mornin’ and I saw the Black Dawn
Then, I looked at my watch, it was Half Past Dead
Had to make an Executive Decision
To Get my ass out of bed.
You left my heart Van Dammaged,
Still got my Exit Wounds.
Right now, I stand On Deadly Ground
By the hedges that we pruned.
(Jean-Claude)
C’mon, baby when we got together,
You knew they’d be Maximum Risk
You were always a Hard Target
But you made me seafood Bisque.
But you were always giving The Orders
Like I was your Second in Command
You had left me with Nowhere to Run
- A Sudden Death that you had planned
(Chorus -Both)
Were those feelings just a Knock Off?
Was our love another Replicant?
I’d be your Universial Soldier
It wouldn’t matter where we went
My heart was Under Siege to you,
Our love was Marked for Death
Your soul will still be Out of Reach
Until your final breath.
(Steven)
I thought we were Above the Law,
That our love was Hard to Kill.
After dinner, I thought we’d go Out for Justice,
Now I know we never will.
(Jean-Claude)
Our love was an Inferno
Until it got Derailed
just like when we Double Teamed that Cyborg
We tried hard now, but we failed.
I went on a Quest to save our lives
We had one shot, we couldn’t miss.
Our lives were like a Bloodsport
Signed my Death Warrant with your kiss
(Steven)
When I looked into your eyes,
I felt a Fire Down Below.
I’m not sure if you felt it then,
If you did, it didn’t show.
(Jean-Claude)
Now, my Lionheart is Breakin’
I miss the Double Impact of your touch
The hardest i’ve done is leave you
I left my house keys on the hutch.
(Chorus - Both)
Were those feelings just a Knock Off?
Was our love another Replicant?
I’d be your Universial Soldier
It wouldn’t matter where we went
My heart was Under Siege to you,
Our love was Marked for Death
Your soul will still be Out of Reach
Until your final breath.
Me: twice married, once loved, thrice taken by wild ponies; pro-Tibet, anti-Basque, undecided on Quebec; more rummoli than Texas Hold’em, more thousand island than vinaigrette, more Australia’s Biggest Loser than the Hills; can’t stand liars, fence-sitters, and overly aggressive magazine page-turning; employed renter with blue eyes, both legs and killer lats; turn-ons include lying down, sitting up and lycra.
You: 40+ agnostic virgin, social smoker, avid collector of special memories; over 5 feet tall, C or D cup, all original teeth; more light saber than nordic poles, more Pil than Malbec, more Jo than Blair; no unicorn bullshit, no scrapbooking, no Leafs jerseys; must like quiet nights at home but not afraid to have mind blown by this new experience; big smile, bigger heart, even bigger love of just livin it oh yeah; no head games.
