Here’s a picture of me in my panties.

panties“Nice. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I don’t know. You like it, right?”

“Yes. Very sexy, but what’s the point?”

“That’s the point: turning you on.”

“You’re an hour away.”


“So, it’s like showing me a picture of black forest cake.”

“How so?”

“Looks delicious, but I can’t have any.”

“You can, though.”

“Yes, a fucking hour from now. Much better it would be if you texted me that picture right before you rang my doorbell … and, if you were carrying a black forest cake. Fuck, now I’m starved.”

“You don’t like being turned on?”

“Of course I do. All right. Consider this: What if looking at that picture gives me wood, and I need to go relieve myself, or I’ll suffer painful blue balls?”

“That’s kind of hot.”

“Ah, but after I eat an entire black forest cake, I’m not hungry anymore.”


“Metaphor. Look, if I go toss a batch down the shower drain right now, by the time you get here I’m going to be left with something resembling saltwater taffy in the sun.”

“Then, I’ll send you another picture.”

“Right. But, after I eat entire cake … Jesus. Never mind.”

“If it bothers you, I’ll stop sending them.”

“No, it doesn’t bother me. Please do not stop. Let’s just work on the timing a bit.”

“OK. When should I send you pictures?”

“Five minutes before I see you, and you’re up for nookie.”


“Christ. I’m a fossil. Keep forgetting. Um, I believe your generation calls it crossing a blurred line, getting lucky.”

“You could send me a picture back, you know.”

“Not happening.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m not photogenic. My phone contains pictures of food, cats, and baseball fields.”


“How about picture of a big, juicy sausage?”

“Now, I’m hungry.”

“Now you know how I feel when I see those black panties.”

“You’re hungry for panties?”

“Seems to be a slight disconnect. Let’s drop the metaphors. Here’s the plan: You send me sexy pictures as often as you like. I’ll save them and place them in my spank vault until minutes before we’re getting together. I will send you no pictures. Feel free to subscribe to The Daily Cock.”

“I don’t need to see cock pictures. That would be gross. Just send me something sexy.”

“New York Cheesecake?”


“Shoofly Pie?”



Lost time is never found again.

textabbr(quote by Benjamin Franklin)

Considering how much time people spend with their noses in their phones, there’s a need for time-saving tips. Most of the texting nowadays is done one-handed, with a thumb. I don’t know about you, but my thumb hits the right letter about fifty percent of the time. The longer the response, the greater the chance I’ll be fucked by auto-correct or annoying a line of cars behind me as I swerve. Hence, the best solution is to come up with abbreviations to save errant strokes. Heck, you wouldn’t type “laughing out loud,” would you? Nope. A simple “LOL” suffices.

Here are abbreviations I suggest women put to use immediately, before neck cramps set in:

  • YNGLTSSB – You’re not getting laid tonight so stop begging.
  • WDWCFHO – Where do wide-cocked firemen hang out?
  • NMW – Need more wine.
  • VIC – Vegas is calling.
  • WFHWYV – Wouldn’t fuck him with your vagina.
  • SAWFTPW – She’s a whore from the planet Whoretopia.
  • IDFAGL – I’m due for a good licking.
  • CBNML – Cute bartender needs my lovin’.
  • OGSIME – Ouch! Got sperm in my eye.
  • ROTFLMAO – Rapper on the floor licking my ass out.

Men also struggle to text while driving, grocery shopping, running on the treadmill, and watching the big game (which was so rudely interrupted). There’s also the case when the man is hiding his phone beneath the table, trying to respond to option B while option A sits across from him. This is doubly dangerous. Blind texting may result in much embarrassment. Men should consider using this handy list of abbreviations:

  • FFBMC – Fat friend blocking my cock.
  • ETA – Exposed thong alert.
  • HT@6 – Huge titties at six o’clock. (Feel free to use numbers one through twelve, and TTAN means teeny titties, all nipple.)
  • XSM – Ex stalking me.
  • FOWNPYI – Friend of wife needs penis. You’re in.
  • WOWHMBJG – Where or where have my blowjobs gone? (You may add, WOWCTB, for emphasis.)
  • RFDJPIH – Real fucking drunk. Just peed in hamper.
  • BIG – Beer is good.
  • SHEA – Server has epic ass.
  • ROTFLMAO – Resting on the front lawn, must avoid old-lady.

If you become skilled at using these abbreviations, you could join the big leagues, such as the NFL (notes formerly long) or NBA (nothing but abbreviations). If you’re feeling edgy, you could join the UFC (ultimate finger conversation) league and practice MMA (many more abbreviations).

You say, “TY” (thick yolk), and I say, “YW” (yellow wildflower).

HAND (have a nice drug),

PHT (Phil’s hairy testicles)

P.S. (post silliness) GBTW (get back to work). TTYL (tongue tickling your labia).

The way to get things done is not to mind who gets the credit for doing them.

getscredit(quote by Benjamin Jowett)

I can’t stress this enough: Do not give a man like me the chance to hide behind the identity of another, and expect anything good to come of it. Remember, ladies, men of the jungle are competing for the same prey (you). You can use this to your advantage. Be careful, though. Any indirect path you offer a man may wind up in a strange destination. In other words, if you’re interested in a certain gentleman, tell him face-to-face. Do not tell his friend to tell him.

Last night, a pride of lions teased and flirted with prey. I played coy, as usual. One of the lions was called away for work, then one of the women did an incredibly silly thing: She asked me about him.

Now, if I were interested in having her, I would have trashed him. She was cute, but not my type. Worse yet, she wasn’t his type, and I knew it. Hence, this was a prime opportunity for my alter ego, Tom Foolery, to arrive.

“He was telling me how crazy he was about you. He got your number, right?”

“No, he didn’t ask for it.”

“What? Well, he got called away so suddenly. I’m sure he intended to.”


“Absolutely. Hey, why don’t you give me a card to pass on to him? He’ll be delighted.”

“Oh, OK.”

She gave me her card on her way out. (I bet you know where this is heading.) I sat with an accomplice and plotted. She didn’t have his number, nor mine. Bingo! I began texting her, as my buddy, Laine.

“Hi, Cheryl, this is Laine. Phil gave me your number. I’m flattered.”

“Hi there. You know, if you were interested you should have asked me for it.”

“Yes. I apologize. Work emergency. Equipment issues.”

“Ah. You never said what you do?”

“I run a small movie studio called Twunk Studios. They’re just finishing up recording a feature.”


“So, why don’t we get together for a nightcap tonight?”


“Sure, I’ll send you my address. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Maybe we should have a proper date first.”

“OK. We can meet at a pub down the street and get fucking blotto first. ;)”

“It’s pretty late.”

“Don’t be a wuss. Hey, you know what would be fun? I want you to show up in a jacket, shoes and nothing else.”

“It’s cold.”

“Hold on. This damn actor just had an injury. Bleeding from you-know-where. Ugh. BRB … OK, I’m back. Messy. Anyway, forget the cold; you’re hot.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s have a little foreplay. Unbutton your jeans and put your hand down there.”


“Come on. I want you to bury yourself two-knuckles deep and then lick your pussy nectar and describe it to me.”

“You’re creepy. Lose my number.”

“What? Don’t be like that. Wait, hold on. Another accident. One of the guys needs a fluffer. Jesus. BRB … So, have you ever had your ass fisted?”


“I’ll take that as a yes. Tonight I want you to fist me. I just had a coffee enema, so don’t worry … my colon is decaf.”


“Come on, you can’t type and masturbate at the same time? It’s easy. I’m doing it. Hold on, I need a place to spray this. BRB”


“Ah, I needed that. These actors get me wound up. Had to toss off that nuisance batch so I can last with you. I can tell you’re going to need some persistent deep-dicking to get to O-town.”




“You fell asleep and now you’re dreaming of me and my gargantuan fuck puppet, aren’t you? Fine. I can wait.”

What am I supposed to do with your number?

When you distribute your phone number to a potential bedwarmer, what are your expectations? Wouldn’t it be logical to provide instructions along with the number? Why begin the relationship with ambiguity? Why test the man before the first date?

After exchanging a few witty (brushing my nails on my shirt right now) emails, I received a reply that contained a phone number. This baffled me. I was flattered to receive the number, but I didn’t know what exactly to do with it. Yes, I realized the intention was for me to use it to call her. My confusion concerned how and when. I put on my smart cap and decided the safest thing to do was send a text message asking what was best time for me to call. Gosh, sometimes I wonder how I fit all those brains in my skull.

Then my phone rang.

I allowed it to go to voice mail because I was on the treadmill and wasn’t in the mood for a face-plant, plus I didn’t want all my panting to scare her away.

“Hi, this is Missy from Match. I thought it would be nice to talk on the phone before we meet. So, give me a call when you get a chance and we can chat.”

When I called Missy, she lectured me. This made me and my curiosity shrivel.

“I’m new to this online dating thing. Tell me: Is it normal that guys get a number and instead of calling send more emails and then a text message.”

“Um, normal?”

“Just trying to figure men out.”

“Well, let me ask you this: If I called you seconds after I received your number, what would have been your impression?”

“I don’t know. I guess I would have been flattered and seen it as a sign of high interest on your part, much like providing my number showed high interest on my part.”

“I see. Perhaps you could have left your number with an asterisk and a note specifying a best time to call and the fact that you expect a voice call.”

“Really? I need to be that specific?”

“Or, you can be vague and disappointed, which will result in an awkward conversation with a man you’ve only met in two dimensions.”

“I didn’t mean for this to be awkward. I’m only asking.”

“In the past day, how many text messages have you sent and how many voice calls have you made?”

“Yes, I text my friends more often than I call them.”

“Hence, my decision to send a text fell in line with your tendencies.”

“It’s just so impersonal, especially when first meeting.”

“I understand and had I known your expectations I would have met or exceeded them. Now, let’s put this behind us, cupcake. Would you like to meet?”

“Um, sure, I guess so.”

Please don’t analyze me. I’m old and tired. I won’t chase you unless you’re coated in honey and powdered sugar. Point me to your pleasure buttons and I will comply.


The top complaint I hear about men is we don’t respond to voicemails, text messages, and emails in a timely fashion. It’s all about setting expectations, ladies. If within your message you left an RSVP, your man would disappoint you less often.

“I can’t figure him out. We were on the phone and the connection dropped. I called back and it went straight to voicemail so I apologized if it was my cell service and asked him to call me back.”
“I’m guessing he hasn’t called you back.”
“How long has it been?”
“A couple hours.”
“Did he respond via text?”
“Should I send him a text?”
“Why don’t you just wait a bit more?”
“I don’t know. This makes me think he’s not into me.”
“Does this happen often?”
“No. We usually talk two or three times a day.”
“All right, then he’ll probably call you later.”
“What if he doesn’t? Should I call him?”
“I guess it depends.”
“I don’t want to sound desperate and nag him.”
“Something probably came up.”
“I wonder if he’s out with another woman.”
“I thought you said you were exclusive.”
“I am. He didn’t specifically say it.”
“You’re probably reading too much into this. Why torture yourself?”

Men are not all the same, but we all have egos. Our egos want us to figure things out without directions. It makes them proud. That’s why we try to assemble items without reading the instructions. Sure, oftentimes it ends up in frustration, but if we get it right occasionally, let the chest pounding begin. We impress ourselves too easily.

  • If I can assemble a bike without instructions, I am highly dexterous.
  • If I can fix the car without taking it in for service, I am mechanically inclined.
  • If I can cook a fine meal without consulting a recipe, I am a chef.
  • If I can select a fine bottle of wine without asking the manager, call me Mr. Sommelier.
  • If, without any steering by you, I can bring you to orgasm with my fingers, mouth, or big (?) unit, I’m the best lover you’ve ever had and you’ll never leave me for another.

“OK, let’s role play. You make believe you’re my boyfriend.”
“All right.”
“I’ll send you the following text: ‘I thought you were going to call me back.'”
“Sorry. I was caught up in something and lost track of the time.”
“So, why didn’t you take a minute and send me a text?”
“I know. Sorry. Are you having a good night?”
“It makes me feel like I’m not a priority to you.”
“Aw, that’s not true. I didn’t realize it was so important I call you right back.”
“It’s not that it was important. I just wanted to hear from you so I knew you were OK.”
“I’m fine, honey. I’m sorry. Look, next time I’ll call you right back. Promise. Do you forgive me?”
“I guess.”
“Great! Can we have sex now?”
“He wouldn’t have said that.”
“Really? Then, you’re right; He’s not that into you.”