Monday, December 29, 2008

Fake Assholes Finish Last

How long has it been since some1 has done somethin 4 your imagination?

I'm a selfish prick. A hot, well known, pampered intellectual with a big dick and a marathon tongue. I'm young enough to do it often and old enough to do it right. I don't have time for petty drama or emotional hysterics. I do what I want, when I want.

Only contact me if you have the following qualities...

-a good imagination
-intuition
-intelligence
-good instincts

I'm picky and deserve to be. There is nothing wrong with having standards. I place very little emphasis on what people think of me. I don't care. I am exactly who I want to be. I will tell you exactly what I want to tell you, when I want to say it. Contact me and tell me how you feel about rollercoasters. Paul


Ladies and gentlemen, I am a man of meager means.

Born with the ass of an elderly pilgrim woman, my buttocks continue to resonate with all the juicy sparkle and playful charisma of a post-bulimic beach clam. I have been told I possess all the vibrant personality of dried wall spackle, and my penis resembles something a weight-conscious hummingbird might classify as a whimsical yet breezy snack item.

Of mice and men, I am the mouse, frequently squeaking for a tiny scrap of female cheese. I am the guy you see getting donkey-punched by a Girl Scout in broad daylight, crying out for my mother and curling into the fetal position around my Miley Cyrus lunchpail. I am the man that leaks sixteen different fluids at the hiss of a white kitten adorned with daisies, and a man who hasn't seen pussy in so long I'd probably try to catch it with a folded newspaper and release it into the forest.

So who am I to judge personal ads you ask? I may resemble a loose amalgamation of wind-blown maypole ribbons when I skip down the street like a retarded flamingo on ecstasy, but I am indeed a wise man. A man wise enough to know I shouldn't ever try to pretend I'm someone I'm not, because I'd rather continue to be wise than begin to look stupid.

Which brings us to Paul's personal ad. How'd you feel about it after you first read it? Does it look familiar? It's supposed to hit women in the face like a frying pan, but in a good way. You've seen it before here on WWHM, and I've previously sourced it to this guy (on the left column). These fucking ads are all over the internet, all starting with a variation of "I'm a selfish prick."

It was specifically designed by world-reknowned “pick-up” artists to arouse a woman's sub-conscious and innate attraction towards a dominant man, and it's supposed to be the most successful online personal ad available. Let's break it down by sections and see how it works in theory:

How long has it been since someone has done something for your imagination?
This is designed to open your mind for the ad you're about to read.

I'm a selfish prick. A hot, well known, pampered intellectual with a big dick and a marathon tongue. I'm young enough to do it often, and old enough to do it right.
Shows dominance, leadership and sexual vitality / prowess.

I don't have time for petty drama or emotional hysterics. I do what I want, when I want.
Dominance.

Only contact me if you have the following qualities: (dominance)

A good imagination, intuition, intelligence and good instincts.
This is the same verbal trickery psychics use. Everyone thinks “Oh, that describes me!”, but it actually applies to anyone that reads it. It excludes no one. Except people smart enough to realize they're being had.

I'm picky and deserve to be. There is nothing wrong with having standards. I place very little emphasis on what people think of me. I don't care. I am exactly who I want to be. I will tell you exactly what I want to tell you, when I want to say it.
Dominance and leadership.

Contact me and tell me how you feel about rollercoasters.
In order to write about rollercoasters, you need to think about riding a rollercoaster. When you think about riding a rollercoaster, you tend to get an adrenaline rush and a feeling of exhilaration. Since you are writing to him, you will sub-consciously associate and apply those feelings to him. So in theory, you will see him as an exciting, exhilarating person. In theory.

Great job Paul! So let's rehash:

You're an unimaginative prick. You're neither hot, intellectual, nor well-known, but perhaps you might wear Pampers. Your cock resembles an apple stem, and your “marathon tongue” couldn't wheeze it's way across a fucking Topeka airport gate. But like a marathon, it's probably runny.

You “don't care what people think of you”, yet you're too much of a coward to admit who you really are, and you're “exactly who you want to be,” which apparently is someone else other than yourself. Next time women need a morning-after pill, I'm going to send them your personal ad. You make female ovaries seal up like a submarine hatch.

Now get over here and install my garage door opener. You're two hours late, you pampered intellectual.

WWHM readers, if you come across any more of these cheesy ads, respond to them stating you know it's a "form personal" and then send me the ad and the response.

Enjoy this entry while it's posted, because I'm aware that the author (to whom I applied the fake name "Paul") knows about WWHM and will probably find his ad. If he instructs me to take it down I have to per WWHM rules. But I will post his email requesting I take it down.

Happy New Years WWHM'ers and welcome back!

(Ed note: Though I despise the now-patheticly overdone "pick-up artist" community and their increasingly worn-out, market-saturated methodologies, I strongly recommend Neil Strauss' book "The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists." Yes, he's a leader of the PUA community, but he's also an incredible writer, and the book provides a fascinating look at how men try to beat women at their own game. And how they succeed without you ever knowing what hit you. You'll learn something about yourself, male or female.)

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Reader Mailbag!

Reader SC recently wrote to WWHM to share something odd that occurred while trying her hand at the online dating world.

You see, SC is an exceptionally brilliant and driven woman. So much so that she has earned her PhD, and, like most people would, she briefly mentioned in her personal ad that she had earned a PhD.

Who wouldn't? Hell, if I had passed the third grade or had the ability to change my own pants, I'd probably include that in my own personal ad. Anyway, SC didn't require respondents to have their own PhD, didn't mention what line of work they should be in, she simply mentioned it in passing.

Now surely most men would be secure enough with themselves to view SC's accomplishment with high regard, wouldn't they? Let's look at the response she received from a gentleman:

You should not state that you have a PhD on your profile. This could intimidate men. And if you choose to keep it on your profile, you may otherwise attract pretentious, egomaniacs who can quote you every line from Shakespeare.

Admitting that you have a PhD is not wise when searching for love. In fact, you shouldn't even mention it unless they ask. Such admission can steer good men away from you; believing that they may never be able to relate to you intellectually. When searching for love, one needs to be open minded. Be completely receptive.


Let's look at that last line again, shall we? Just for shits and fucking giggles.

When searching for love, one needs to be open minded. Be completely receptive.

I guess we don't need to ask him if he has a PhD, do we? Unless of course he has a PhD in the formulation of contradictory statements. Now, not to let a snivelling little insecure pansy-boy get a free slap at her, SC wrote back an appropriate response:

I don't want to date someone who barely made it out of high school, and I definitely wouldn't want someone in my life who didn't support or encourage me in my career.

Also, something for you to consider, you should probably not tell women what to do with their profiles. This pisses women off. Women do not like men who tell them what to do. The idea that a woman has to lie about who she is to attract a man is incredibly insulting, and the only kind of woman who would go for that would be a doormat, and I am not that kind of woman.


Touche! Next serve? Back to the idiot:

I though emotional love was primary to you--second to intellectual love. I'm sorry. I wasn't telling you what to do with your profile. (Ed note: Um, yeah that's exactly you did.) I simply gave my suggestion. I thought this was something you would understand since you're a professor; with a PhD that is. After all, a PhD means, Doctor of Philosophy.

If my constructive criticism comes off as "insulting" or "pisses you off", then I fear you may have to sit down a bit and find out why you've acquired this degree. Is your PhD degree a display or do you really know its meanings and purposes? Is it something you went to school for because you believe it would impress people or do you truly wish to put it into practice?

The number of academic degrees one possesses is irrelevant when it comes to finding a mate. You're a young professor so keep your mind open. You may become wise. I can tell by your response that your mind is not fully opened as need to be as a professor. It will happen.

Wow, he serves a heaping of condescension with his small, atrophied penis. Final serve back to SC:

You have no idea what you're talking about.

Well said SC, well said.

Any other off-site dating exchanges you'd like to share, feel free to send them in to WWHM for public mockery! And thanks SC!

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Radiogasm

I Know How To Make You Cum. Even If You Haven't Before.

And I know how to do it too. I got some pointers listening to some woman on a talk radio show. Listeners called in. They asked questions and she gave good advice. I listened and took good notes. Now I know how to make women squirt. I can get you there even if you've never been able to experience your "Big-O" in the past. I'm available to host or travel. David XXX-XXX-XXXX

In his 1967 groundbreaking scientific thesis The Naked Ape, evolutionary biologist Desmond Morris theorized that the relative difficulty women have achieving orgasm is based upon modern Darwinian constructs, in that the “orgasm reward” is granted more frequently to females who select and tightly bond with males who exhibit qualities such as patience, understanding, imagination and intelligence. In other words, guys who give enough of a rat's ass about her to learn exactly how to make her head pop off like a fucking steam kettle.

Then we have guys like David who waste their time absorbing the empty ministrations of radio snake oil salesmen, who guarantee universal orgasms the same way they guarantee miracle-cure hair tonics and complicated stain removers. “Buy it and you'll see!” they promise, carefully placing one foot out the door in the general direction of an idling getaway vehicle.

“I got some good pointers listening to some woman on a radio talk show,” David states, as if he had been seeking advice on milling his own flour or barbequeing a free-range turkey, “and now I know how to make a woman squirt!” If it were only that easy David. I know women that have slept with over 100 men and never once reached climax, but have earth-shattering orgasms every time they ride a rusty bicycle down a brick sidewalk. But what does David say when he can't make you cum? "Oh, I guess your vagina must be broken."

Where a penis is simple math, the vagina is advanced theoretical calculus. If a woman boasted to her friends that she finally figured out a way to make her boyfriend cum, they'd look at her like she'd spent the previous three hours drinking concentrated house paint. Because while making a man cum is easier than mastering an introductory toast recipe, making a woman cum can involve a number of variables, each of which you need to master to get her off according to her own sexual needs.

So men, stop making your fucking worthless blanket statements about your ability to get women off like you're some kind of seasoned conductor for the Universal Vaginal Orchestra. Your forecasts fall flatter than fucking blizzard warnings in Honolulu, and you only perpetuate the human need for the yawning mechanism. Women know two things: If you say you're hung like a horse, that means your cock resembles the soggy tongue of a teenage bay clam. And if you promise her an orgasm, she knows she needs to start stretching out her wrists for a long night of finger exercises.

If a woman orders a pizza, she wants the delivery boy to show up with a pizza. You're like a delivery boy that shows up with nothing but good-natured conversation and excuses for why you don't have a pizza.

Monday, December 8, 2008

American Gigolo II

BARELY LEGAL 18 YEAR OLD(INCALL/OUTCALL)

TIRED OF OLD MEN NOT PLEASING YOU ENOUGH? WANT A YOUNG, BARELY LEGAL 18 YR OLD TO SHOW YOU A GREAT TIME? THEN THIS IS THE PLACE TO BE ;) ITS A LITTLE UNDER 8 INCHES LONG, VERY PLEASURABLE ;)I WILL DO ANYTHING YOUR MIND DESIRES, ONLY 75 HH, 100 PER HR, DIRT CHEAPPP! I DO INCALLS AT MY PLACE, FROM 6 AM TO 230 PM MONDAY THRU FRIDAY, I CAN DO OUTCALLS AT MOSTLY ANYTIME BUT YOU HAVE TO PICK ME UP EMAIL TIM AT xxxxxxx @ xxxxx.xxx

Women's fantasies have always perplexed me.

My ex-girlfriend recently introduced me to her favorite porn site titled “Erotic Stories for Women.” A typical male, I immediately scanned the titles for the nastiest sounding material, hoping to find something like “An Insatiable Throat” or “Whore Picnic at Anal Mountain” to tickle my male fancy. And perhaps my taint.

But no, this was women's porn, and most titles offered the same levels of depravity one might find at a suburban Memphis cat show. “A Midshipman's Summer” or “The Covenant of Nicole” promised little in the way of cum-drenched shenanigans, and “The Gentle Pillow” spent the first three pages detailing the playful gyrations of a forest logger's buttocks as he contemplated sparing a nest of abandoned eaglets. If this was dirty porn, the editor was a maid.

So when eighteen year-old Tim recently placed a personal ad offering his fantasy services to women for $100 an hour, I was admittedly a little perplexed. Air, water, and hard 18 year-old dicks are the most plentiful resources on our planet, and even our ever-resourceful gas stations have yet to figure out a way to charge a convenience fee for steely hard teenage cock.

I tapped a recent Askmen.com / iVillage.com survey of the top 3 women's fantasies to find out if maybe Chris was on to something. Women listed the following as their Top 3 fantasies:

#3 Abducted by a stranger for a night of hot, passionate, anonymous sex.

Tim's physique suggests he'd have a hard time abducting a de-clawed housecat from a freshly waxed marble floor. Slight of build and tattoo-free, Tim hardly resembles the hard-scrabble ex-cons many women favor for this fantasy. And most women conceded that being abducted by a greeting card store cashier on a 3-speed Schwinn bicycle and riding in the delivery basket to his parents house was just a wee bit of a stretch.

#2 Owning a man as a sex slave

It's hard to enslave a man who ejaculates when you take off your bra. And an 18 year-old man couldn't find his way around a vagina with GoogleMaps and a plastic Dallas Cowboys compass extracted from a box of Lucky Charms, so it's often difficult to instruct a man who has no idea what he's doing. Ask him to warm up your vulva, and he runs out to the garage to start your car. Tell him to moisten the hood, and he spits on his Michigan State sweatshirt.

#1 Mrs. Robinson / Shy, young virgin fantasy

Jackpot. All you insatiable, horny cougars just want an innocent young man to wear an undercooked bacon suit to your little wolverine party. To sip the nectar of youth from the shy, whimpering prisoner of his own innocence. You women disgust me, you're like .......... men with tits.

OK, I see your point, Tim. But charging $100 for your sexual services seems a little ridiculous when all a woman has to do is open her door and throw a rock to find an 18 year-old willing to fuck the eggs out of her. Do cocks grow on trees? They may as well.

A woman can hire a comedian in your area for $100, and you provide twice the laughs. Do the math.

For a list of the Top 10 female fantasies, click here. I read up on you guys for this, and your fantasies are dirty and extraordinarily whorish. I commend you with all my heart. But you should all go wash your hands right now and memorize Bible verses.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Fear!

how do i turn a woman on?
hey im 23 years old. i lost my virginity a couple year ago but i paid for it so i don't know how well i can get a woman turned on now because i don't have much experience. im obsesive compulsive so id rather just do the sex part because i dont know fourplay and im not very big but just a little under average. so i am scared sometime hard to perform. im not very experienced but I know part a goes into part b but I know woman like fourplay so what do I do? brett

Over the course of my many years genitally tangling with the female species, I've learned there are two things women never want men to bring into the bedroom; sexual insecurities or Scottish bagpipes.

Brett has sexual insecurities in spades, and he carries them around in a suitcase shaped like an eternally flaccid penis. The only way for truly inexperienced men like Brett to overcome these primary fears is to stop treating a vagina like it's just something you read about in a museum flier. Rather, a vagina is something you must pursue and embrace with open arms and open mouth. When a woman takes off her pants, she's offering you something special, not releasing an angry raccoon.

"But why fear our pussies?" women might ask, laughing uncontrollably as they hold their vaginas high above our outstretched hands, causing us to jump repeatedly until our bones break and we crumple to the ground in a sobbing, heaving mass of sperm cells with unrealized goals and dreams.

Men fear pussies because they control us. Our entire existence is solely dedicated to acquiring as much of them as possible. If we were squirrels, tree stumps would splinter violently at the sheer volume of stored vagina. Every thought we make, every action and reaction we choose to partake in, and every dollar we spend can be traced back to our desire to get into your pants. News flash: I didn't spend 5 months writing WWHM for the firm handshakes.

Most men tackle fallopaphobia at an early age; her name is always Susie, her dad is always unemployed, and there is always malnourished livestock feeding on Meisterbrau cans in her backyard. This oft-inbred strumpet invites us to a secluded area, lifts her skirt, and tells us to pet her like we might comfort an odd-looking goat at the touch-me zoo. Once we're fascinated with the vagina, all we want to do is roll around in the goddamn things like fucking catnip. Fear quashed. And don't name your daughter Susie.

But some guys like Brett don't get these opportunities, and we end up with sexually stunted men who describe sex as inserting "part A into part b, " as if IKEA sold cut-rate vaginas at your local outlet mall. Obsessive compulsive, he cannot maintain an erection during intercourse because every five minutes a little voice tells him the oven is on. And socially stunted, he writes personal ads detailing his dalliances with prostitutes whilst simultaneously asking for someone to provide him a free sample of something he usually pays for.

Because he has fear.

Fear!

WWHM Presents: The Most Unintentionally Hilarious Commercial In TV History

This is an actual commercial for an actual product produced back in the 80's.

Turn the sound down and enjoy the wonderful reactions of the kids as they ooze each other.

Hmmmm, those facial expressions look eerily familiar.


Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Metaphorically Speaking

Whose dick is this?!!?!? ; } Oh its my D-I-C-K.

I'm on the right blowing the bubble. My thick cucumber is dripping with bumpy anticipation for your response. I can pump my man-juice multiple times in a variety of your holes simultaneously. If you are going to e-mail me make sure to send a picture. Mark easyxxxx @ xxxxx.com (XXX-XXX-XXXX)

One of the most painful and ineffective schticks men employ in personal ads is the poorly resourced genital metaphor. A sales pitch gone horribly awry, men think disguising the penis under the auspices of some randomly generated cylindrical object may somehow automatically increase it's lackluster appeal. Penis? No thanks. Trouser snake? Color me horny! You'd think women of the world ran around masturbating with soup cans, skin flutes and one-eyed unicorns.

Genital metaphors falter because women process text visually. Today's idiot Mark tenderly describes his genitals as “a thick, bumpy and dripping cucumber that can pump man-juice multiple times.” While Mark utilizes these metaphors to portray himself as a horny, well-endowed and fertile male, women tend to visualize a piece of rotting squash getting run over by a bus, or perhaps a gaggle of crows quarreling over a greasy hotdog under a van. Not exactly a literary juicer for the ladies Mark. You'd find more lubrication jerking-off with a handful of corn chips.

For men to truly understand the tragedy of using genital metaphors in a personal ad, they need to ask themselves how they'd respond to the following female ad utilizing the same strategy:

35 year-old beautiful and professional woman seeks tall, educated male for sailing adventures, dining in the park, and concerts in the fall. I enjoy coffee, classical music, and roasting the cocks penetrating the elastic snaphole of my sweaty breadbox.

Metaphorically or not, asking a strange woman to get excited about your penis in a personal ad is like asking a woman to get excited about an old turkey neck stuffed with acorns. A mutant and desperate gland appearing to forever yearn to sip from some unknown pool of water beneath it, women generally abhor the sight and thought of a penis unless they're specifically ready to take one on. It's no coincidence that vibrators and sparkly blue dildos sell like hotcakes, while giant rubber penises collect dust in the porn store bargain bin like a forgotten cart of shark bait.

Mark, if your cucumber keeps dripping in anticipation of a response, I suggest you take your ass down to Wal-Mart and buy yourself a spot mop.

You have a long wait.

We've done this for vaginas (God I hate that word), but any other names or metaphors you ladies use for your husbands or boyfriends dicks you can put in the comments. And if anyone puts "thingy", you're banished from WWHM forever.

This list oughtta be fucking cringeworthy for guys.