To: Ho with the ample cleavage
From: Phil
Date: September 06, 2006 11:15 PM
Subject: None

I saw you at the gym. You were magnificent. Tanned brunette, long wavy hair, short-short blue shorts, and a shirt cut so low your assets were practically bursting to get out.

And yes, you were also the gym’s loudest mouth, biggest flirt, and most noticeable skank and ho-bag in training.

The gym is my sanctuary. It is where I spend sixty minutes of my stressful and weary day, molding my body into the lean mean fighting machine that it is. It is where I sculpt my body to utter perfection, not by slapping on mere clay, but through hard exercises, training, and sweat.

You, on the other hand, feel the gym is your personal playground. A place where you can shout and cackle loudly to the annoyance of the poor patrons. A place where you can walk around and flirt shamelessly with every morsel of male beef you can smell within a ten meter radius.

As the gentleman of the hour, I’m compelled to remind you — Miss Slut with the Ample Cleavage — that the typical rules of etiquette continue to apply in the gym, even to those with D cups. You skank.

Sincerely Yours,
Phil

Anyways, we never liked you anyways, so nyah nyah, nyah nyah.

let’s be honest

This is a group of very horny men finding an excuse to oogle at women, grunt, scratch our balls, and finally assign to the poor girl a very special number from the depths of our heart — a number which will represent her queue in our nightly slumber.

When it comes to male testosterone and hormonal angst, nobody, and I do mean nobody, is more of an expert than my good friend Dave.

I have many peculiar qualities. One of the most bothersome (at least for others) is that I foster an unusual distaste of Asian culture, Asian appearence, and consequently, Asian women. I don’t find them as attractive North American or European lasses and have rarely — if ever — given any Asian girl a second look.

Why I have such a vile distrust and dislike of Asians is a complex question and has no place in this post devoted entirely to oogling at women. You heard me, sister.

So weeks ago, I admitted to Dave that I had, in my hopeless quest, found a single redeeming female among the Asian race.

“Omigod.” he said, “She must be really hot.”

I nodded. “What do you think of Tifa?”, I casually inquired.

“The only Asian girl you’ve ever found attractive is a computer generated fictional character from a video game?”

I don’t know what it is about her. Perhaps it’s the fact she can totally kick my ass. Perhaps it’s because she’s voiced by the very cute Rachael Leigh Cook. Or hell, maybe it’s because she’s low maintanance and doesn’t need to me to bring her flowers to woo her and shit.

I was in love.

Then recently, Dave decided to reopen the discussion under the guise of a blog post.

The rules are simple. Dave posts a picture of an Asian girl, his readers vote on a scale of 1-5, and I chime in with my careful analysis at the conclusion.

Make no mistake folks, this isn’t a research into the inner pysche of Phil. This isn’t an exploration into the subjective and personal nature of physical beauty. This isn’t even a rational, logical discussion involving racial differences.

This is a group of very horny men finding an excuse to oogle at women, grunt, scratch our balls, and finally assign to the poor girl a very special number from the depths of our heart — a number which will represent her queue in our nightly slumber.

Well, I warned you girls, didn’t I?

First up was the well known Korean popstar and model Hyori Lee.

My research: I immediately contacted my cousin, a premiere source on all things Asian.

My conclusions: Only the most outrageous of liars would say she’s unnattractive. I get the idea that she wants to be all cute and polite, then her jackass of an agent whispers into her ear, “Hyroti! You Asia Britney Spears! You show slutty. You show skanky. Hyroti! Hayaaaaah!“

Yeah, we really do talk like that when we’re alone.

Anyways, when she’s not wearing too much makeup and not striking some ridiculous pout, she does have a certain allure. Otherwise, she just looks like she’s trying too hard.

Peggy Post says:

So enjoy your Labour Day folks, and don’t let those snooty friends of yours bully you into putting away your whites.

My parents are away for the day.

As soon as they left, I got out the mixing bowl, the eggs, the chocolate icing, some other goodies and made myself some good ol’ fashioned chocolate cupcakes. With rainbow sprinkles. Yum yum.

Heavens! If only mummy and daddy knew just how naughty their boy could be.

It’s 11:00 and a typically quiet night at the Tim Hortons restaurant near home. That is, it was a typically quiet night.

Like a parade of elephants trampling through the downtown district, a group of high school punks wander in and obliterate any sign of the quiet atmosphere I was enjoying.

Elephants on crack.
Elephants with bad fashion sense.
Elephants with adolescent angst and acne.

There’s a rather fetching brunette if not for the lummox of a boyfriend who’s accompanying her. Loose raggedy t-shirt, large belt with metal studs, and jeans hanging so low, one could practically make out the colourful patterns on his boxers. What are they? Yellow smiling faces or happy sunshines?

He catches me looking and I glare. Unflinching. Yes, dude-with-inability-to-fasten-belt, I’m looking at you. Don’t fuck with me, yo.

There’s an ugly short girl. Skanky is what skanky does and boy, was this slut trying. Hair dyed as green as pesticide-written grass and black, tight jeans cut off at the ankle.

She looks like Krusty the Clown wearing black spandex.

Then there’s the tall guy with the big belly who’s wearing the oddest accessory ever: a straw hat. Something like what you might see on an old lady after having spent way, way too long in the sunny pastures. But get this: from the the neck down, he’s practically a walking and talking recruitment poster for white thugs and gangstas. White t-shirt down to the knees and jogging pants three sizes too large.

I try not to laugh as I think of Eminem gone Country.