Miss(ed) Manners

October 28, 2008


Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 3:05 pm

Remember when I said that I love reboots?

Well apparently Jean Claude Van Damme is rebooting himself, just the way it ought to happen.

Do yourself a favor, go look at this:


It looks truly awesome.

October 26, 2008


Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 7:27 pm

Was sitting in the Tribecca Grill, waiting for my grandparents to arrive for our semi monthly booze and binge date and a chance eavesdrop reminded me of something:

People who refer to wine as, “vino” should be beaten to death with a log of some sort of exclusive goat cheese normally only found holding down their coffee table during one of their so-boring-it-they-cause-cancer dinner parties.

I say holding down because if the table wasnt being held down it would run out the door the first chance it got. NPR listening parties, pretending to have some higher understanding of art and the plight of the common man, these atmospheric qualities will drive a good coffee table mad.


Ugh, die in a fire.

October 23, 2008


Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 12:28 am

I’ve actually been doing research for a blog entry. I stopped buying books for college after my freshman year, never did a lick of homework, scammed my way through all my core classes and I’m doing research for a blog entry.

I just find that funny.

After having kicked around Monday’s post with some friends via the Interbutts and various other, more antiquated forms of communication, it’s been decided that a thorough accounting of the various naturally occurring forms of sluttiness is needed in this great day and age.

A Monster’s Manual of Ho’s, so to speak. Who do you think would have more HD: Samantha or Farrah Fawcett?

I slept through a final during my sophomore year and now I’m citing wikipedia sources regarding female promiscuity.

Priorities were never my strong suit.

Should have it done in a few days. 😀

October 20, 2008


Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 3:03 pm

It’s in the air.

I’m a huge fan of sluts, I believe most men are. They seem to exist only to reinforce the chauvinist world view that us knuckle dragging neanderthal men secretly have in the back of our heads, but have been unable to live out in the open ever since pesky things like “equal opportunity” and “sexual harassment awareness seminars” became accepted.

Deep down inside of every man there is a boorish pig who thinks he ought to be able to pick any girl at the bar and tell her she’s going home with him. This girl would  say yes, because he’s a man, THE man.

Of course, this isn’t the way that things are. Ever since the development of the microwave oven, men have been on a rapidly sliding downward slope of uselessness. In fact, men stopped being biologically necessary to the propagation of the human species some time ago. The only thing that’s left is the annihilation of cockroaches, spiders and extremely hard to open pickle jars and men will be shipped off to live in that prison colony with Charles S. Dutton from Aliens 3.

Then there’s the sexual disparity between men and women. I’ve gotten into tons of arguments with women about horniness levels and stuff like that. Some people like to throw around the term, “Manwhore,” or “Boyslut,” in an attempt to describe the nookie playing field as being even. It’s not, and let me explain why right now: Men are constantly seeking sex, however it is 95% of the time the woman who has to agree, in order for any sort of boots knocking to happen.

So, if men are constantly trying to have sex, and women are the gatekeepers, it follows that a man who has sex all the time isn’t a slut, he’s just more successful. Hence the lack of any negative connotation for the term, “manwhore.”

Here’s a metaphor: Men are begging golden retrievers at a dinner table. They’re constantly staring up at those around the table with those big puppy dog eyes. Their tongues hang slack out of their mouths, they pant and whine. Women are the family sitting around that table. Whatever scraps they decide to toss down, the dogs jump on happily. Even if it’s a chubby piece of Russian kielbasa that’s been partially chewed and spit out a few times already. Now, if there’s a particularly cute Lab sitting away from the table who only seems to get the choice steak scraps, he just happens to have perfected his begging techniques, it doesn’t mean he’s in any way more or less immoral than the other dogs. Why? Because they’re dogs. And that’s what dogs do. They beg.

This is the way of the world.

Now, if 95% of the time men are the ones doing the begging, what is that 5%?

That 5% is Sluts. Glorious, mattress backed, town bike riding sluts. That 5% is that time you were sitting at the bar and some waify blonde came stumbling out of the bathroom in a sundress in the dead of winter and stuck her cigarette tainted tongue down your throat and demanded you take her home.  That 5% is the promised land of easy sex and zero follow up.

To revisit the dinner table metaphor, that 5% would be like someone at the table chasing one of the dogs and trying to force a ham hock down its throat. A slutty, slutty ham hock. But clearly someone who chases a dog around her own house has a few screws loose, am I right?

Hence the negative connotation that female sluts enjoy from other women. If women are the gatekeepers and some of them are running around with their legs unlocked, then that just makes the jobs of all the other gatekeepers that much harder.

Every time a man finds himself in the middle of 5% Town, population skank, he gets reminded of how he wishes the world ought to be. He wants sex to be that easy, he wants 95% City to more like 5% Town.

Of course, no one ever wants to live in 5% Town. Not even the Golden Labs from underneath the table. The food in 5% Town is terrible. The school districts suck, the residents dress ridiculously, the property taxes are through the roof and there’s always the chance the drinking water might be tainted if youknowwhatImeanandIthinkyoudo.

Doesn’t mean we hound dogs won’t want to visit from time to time, but it’s always just that: a visit.

Every Halloween I raise a glass to all those normal 95% Gatekeeper ladies who fill the streets dressed up in their favorite slutty outfit. They’re doing their part to create 5% Town right here in the real world, and make all of us begging puppies happy for at least a night.

So grab your fishnet stockings, tiny nurse’s outfit, your fake handcuffs and your glitter eye shadow. We men appreciate it more than you think.

Happy Early Halloween Everybody!

October 15, 2008

Define Perfection

Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 7:40 pm

Sitting on the couch with my laptop. Glass of wine right next to me. TV screen set to the PS3’s bizarrely calming set of space picture audio visualizations. A burning cigarette that floats bits of ash into my keyboard adding flecks of attitude like a twenty year old percolator.

And R. Kelly’s Chocolate Factory.

Not kidding. Give it a try.

October 14, 2008

Snoot Suit

Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 12:02 am

One of our events this weekend took place on 14th Street in and around one of those super fancy meatpacking boutique stores. It was a little something like that SNL sketch about Jeffery’s.

Actually it was exactly like that. The entire time I was in this store I felt like I was sullying it with my Pumas. The manager, a bitter thirty something harpy who’d no doubt idled away her better years being a fag hag gradually building up an undeserved sense of entitlement brought on by gay pity embodied in disingenuous compliments, was a complete and utter bitch. We had to move a few mannequins to run some extension cords and it was like pulling teeth.

I took a few looks around the store. Men’s and women’s clothing. Some shirts, I’m sure they were all very nice. There was a wall of scarves. The one that I looked at was priced at five hundred and fifty fucking dollars.

I don’t care if that scarf was hand woven by a textile mill in a secret cave in the Alps by a thousand year old clan of virgins, there is no way a fucking SCARF should ever cost that much money. Who buys this shit? Why would anyone anywhere spend five hundred dollars on a piece of fabric? That’s what a scarf is. It’s a piece of fabric.

I wondered if I ever had the money would I ever buy anything like that? Could I ever become so rich that money would cease to have value and then could I make a purchase like that? Would I feel good or bad knowing that I was wearing something equivalent to the yearly food budget of a third world family?

My roommate has a subscription to CITY magazine. He calls it inspiration for design. There are a lot of beautiful photo spreads. I guess I take a different type of inspiration from its pages. Shirt by Marc Jacobs, $1,500. Pants by Some Snooty French Motherfucker, $4,000.

How do people divorce themselves so far from reality and actual worth that they allow themselves such excess?

As I rumbled around the store setting up, being inadequately financed, I asked some of my A/V guys if they thought the current economic would drive places like this out of business. They didn’t have to answer. The Friday afternoon street was filled with the wandering, idle rich. In their ridiculous outfits, boots that cost more than my student loans and five hundred dollar scarves.

There will always be people who can willingly afford idiocy in cloth form, just as there will always be those who aspire to be so idiotic. For my part, seeing these people as they are makes me only more determined to seek out truth worth and its meaning and they’ve given me the perfect place to start: It’s not a scarf.

October 12, 2008

Working for/during the Weekend

Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 11:49 pm

Jeebus I am tired.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Work work work work.

Damnit am I glad that our country takes a day off to celebrate the fact that a man sailed across the Atlantic and found something that had been found by many other people many other times at various points during history.

There should be a national holiday today because I looked down and discovered my balls. It would be celebrated by sitting at home on the couch and scratching them, all day.

Which is exactly what I’m going to do.

October 8, 2008


Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 11:43 pm

My little sister turned 21 today. Jesus, that is weird even typing it.

When she was born our parents gave my brothers and I a few model rockets to assemble in the hopes that we’d be so involved we wouldn’t notice that we hadn’t been fed or washed. Or maybe the mini explosives were there to distract us from the fact that males were about to be a little less of a majority around the house.

Kathryn Anne. She was the only sibling of mine not to get family name stuck in the middle. Sutherland, Cole, Brewster and Anne. Things were definitely changing. There were two women to contend with now and the old way of doing things was about to fly out the window.

Not that my mother isn’t formidable alone, far from it. I’ve seen her stare down entire plot lines on disagreeable television shows. No, the new female in our lives was going to bring a softness we’d been missing. Whereas before we were the rough and tumble wrestlers on the threadbare carpet under the dining room table, with Kathryn Anne we would be the stuffed doll tea party next to my parents’ bed.

In the years before my little sister showed up I spent my time going from one mess to another, always seeming to find a way to make myself dirty and unkempt. It was this state of constant scuffing and smearing that prompted my mother to nickname me, “Smudge.” There would be no more of that now, there was a lady present, I had to look respectable.

The Transformers and GI Joe VHS tapes my brothers and I memorized would fade into the back of the television cabinet. Their bootlegged labels fading and peeling off as they were transferred from incorrect sleeve to incorrect sleeve. There would be no room at the front with all the new Disney movies. The Little Mermaid doesn’t want to sit next to Roadblock or Grid Iron, she’s a Mermaid, you idiot.

The boys club that had started tens years ago with my brother at the house on Cemetery Road was closing its charter. There were two women to contend with now. And this new one was too cute to disobey, she seemed to telepathically command you to both adore and protect her. We were to stop being selfish little boys and start being men of honor, at least when they were around.

Maybe it was because of the recognition that our chauvinist lifestyle was about to change that after having taken one glance at her in the stained oak rocker on the living room floor that I gave her the only name I’ve ever called her… “Toots.”

Happy Birthday, Toots.

October 7, 2008

That One

Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 11:11 pm


Way to go not shaking his hand either, that certainly won’t come back to bite you in the ass.


October 6, 2008


Filed under: Humor — missedmanners @ 11:51 pm

Tonight my friends, I am a hunter. I sit here perched in my blind, hunched over like Quasimodo, stalking my prey. I am awaiting the time when I will act out my long dormant nomadic survival genes and place my foot squarely on the rung of the evolutionary ladder immediately above that of my quarry.

The light is dim and I am patient. My foe is no normal herd beast of the forest. No wild bison of the plains. No, I await the arrival of the most dreaded of all urban animals. The Mus musculus, or more simply, the House Mouse.

For almost six years my home territory had been free of the gray scourge. Not even a roach in sight. Which is suprising, considering that my roommate and I keep our house about as clean as a cookie factory/Tiajuana whore house, where no one is kicked out of bed for eating any of the product.

What an adrenaline rush.

After one or two sightings I ran to the Sporting Goods Store (Family Dollar) to get my hunting equipment (mouse traps and mini Snickers bars). I then mapped out the apartment and located the most obvious mouse routes.

Speaking as someone who has seen The Exorcist and tried to win an argument with a woman about menstruation and its effects on mood, I still say setting a mouse trap is the most frightening thing I have ever done. That trap has a fucking hair trigger and it KILLS shit. I don’t want the tip of my finger getting killed.

But I perservered and my apartment is now fully mined with mini mouse claymores. All I have to do now is turn off the lights and await that snap in the middle of the night.

Not sure if I’m going to eat the mouse’s heart to gain its strength. Would that be economical, what with mice having so little strength. Or is it proportional, the whole strength gain through heart eating thing?

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