My Friends Say I'm a Real...

...ASSHOLE. That's right, ladies, ask one of my chums, Hey what do you think of your bud over there? -- and they will answer, You mean the bung-hole of all bung-holes? You see, I take insensitivity to heights greater than even Rush Limbaugh sitting on the shoulders of Sean Hannity standing on the corpse of the founder of proctology (who was really not such a bad guy -- just ask anyone with hemorrhoids). I treat anyone different than me -- i.e., not a big white numbskull -- with indifference bordering on contempt bordering on cruelty (and that is after I have my first coffee).

I am the guy who, on the first date (after I show up a half-hour late), will spend the ensuing time letting the girl gaze upon my great looking face as I pontificate on all that is great about ME, which, to be honest, is everything associated with ME. When the girl interrupts that she wants a nice guy, I interrupt to say that I am the nicest guy in the history of civilization, and that, better, I have money, an expensive watch (just look, honey), a veritable chick-magnet of a car and a luxurious condo on the water. Then, once the girl is satisfied that she is on record as saying that she desires a sensitive man, she falls head over heels in love with ME.

Thereafter, she will look for the slightest sign that I may be a caring guy under my callous and successful exterior, like maybe the fact that I once ran over a squirrel but did not follow up by backing over the fallen rodent, and then turn that event into proof that I am the male heir to Mother Theresa. Her friends will tell her to leave ME after I have sex with the same friend and another friend (for the sake of symmetry), to which she will reply -- let us all sing the chorus, ladies -- "but I love him!"

Question, ladies: How do you know when a girl seeks drama in a mate? The answer: When she says that she "wants no drama." That's right, because the important thing is to "say" that you are done with drama, and then to be with ME, who will give you a ten-week mini-series for chrissakes -- because only then can you feel important and wise and able to confide something interesting to your gal pals at your weekly Sex-and-the-City luncheons.

So here I am -- a real ASSHOLE!