"I don't date comedians."

There are hundreds of sleezy websites dedicated to drying out the vagina of millions of women.  I've never paid any mind to it until I started dating a woman who spent hours reading the garbage before she went to bed. All is fine, I do my fair share of dumpster diving on the internet, except a few weeks later she dumped me.

Her excuse:

"I don't date comedians."

I felt the need to argue this.  She had never dated a comedian before, she loved my material and she was a wholesome supporter of the craft.  So why did she decide to put the kibosh on our relationship?

This is why.

The Frisky is a website that has a very special column called Dealbreaker, wherein anonymous authors write about their bad experiences with certain types of men and decide to share it with other women whiny bitches discredit legions of men based on a few bad experiences and share it with more whiny bitches.

The woman I was dating said she didn't want our relationship to go in that direction.  I told her it wouldn't, I never showed the signs the article touched on and that she should trust me.  She took me back, then I immediately broke up with her because she was a full blown retard for taking advice from a website called The Frisky.

Dealbreaker doesn't stop at comedians.  Their purpose is to narrow the taste women have in men down to tall, white, handsome, hung, athletic and intelligent.

In other words, The Frisky is secretly a website for Neo-Nazi women.

The fact of the matter here?  The irrationality of women is so obvious because of the media now-a-days, but men rarely call them out on it.  Why?  Mainly because we don't care.  Our purpose is to find a woman for one of three reasons:

1. Sex.

2. Relationship, family stuff, kids, spiritual/intellectual connection, etc.

3. Hunger.

See, though often a curse, the stubborn personality of a man doesn't let outside nonsense conflict with how he feels about a woman.  Women constantly rely on advice columns, horoscopes and other resources to tell them what they should look for, like dogs.  Are you dogs?  If so, I'll hit you with a newspaper every time you fart around me and occasionally run up behind you while you're eating so you can bolt away in horror.  Start deciding what you like for yourselves.

Since there are no similar resources for men, I decided to make my own version of Dealbreaker called Bonerkiller:

Bonerkiller.

On a cold night about six months ago, I met a woman who wore glasses.  She was petite, cute, had a disarming personality and the most gorgeous smile ever.  I am usually shy with women but I felt like I had to pursue such a fantastic woman.  She completely dug everything about me, it was the first time I truly felt like I was going into a serious relationship.

That was until we had our month anniversary.  I told her specifically that her green dress was my favorite, but she wore her red one.  It was unsettling, really, I wanted to know if she cared about what I liked and this display clearly showed she didn't.  I didn't bring it up because I prefer to ride my relationships out and post the experience in an article for other people to read.

Literally a week later, she and I had taken some pictures together.  I told her she looked good in all of the photos, but she kept insisting that "I look sssooooo groooooss, haha."  Apparently she didn't trust my opinion and this was pretty insulting; not only was this woman numb inside, she was clammed up like a...  Clam.  A clam who doesn't trust the opinion of her serious boyfriend.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when we were going to Whitecastle together.  She said that she could "eat like a hundred burgers."  I didn't want her to go hungry, so I bought her one hundred burgers.  She ate ten and called it quits.  So wait, let me get this straight:  She has a black heart incapable of caring for the opinions of others, she doesn't trust anything I say and she's a bona fide liar.  

I had to break up with her after I woke up from my 90 burger food coma and I did.  I've been single ever since.

And that's why you shouldn't date a girl with glasses.

Craigslist Fun: The Billy Joelition

The following is an ad I posted on Craigslist (view post here) and a couple of conversations I had with interested repliers.  Names and other sensitive information have been altered.

The Ad:

Hello! My name is Andrew Moss and I'm the lead singer/pianist for a six piece Billy Joel cover band called the Billy Joelition. As a consequence of unprotected sex after a show our drummer can no longer play with us, leaving the Joelition to search for a new drummer. Although we are based primarily in New York, I'd like to clarify that this band is often traveling. We've played thirty-five states, two provinces in Canada and the entire Caribbean (but who's counting?) with plans of upstarting a tour within four months. If you wish to perform four nights a week for roughly $150-$250 a night, then please continue reading this post.

What we're looking for:

A drummer with ten or more years of experience.
A drummer capable of playing the entire Billy Joel catalog.
Flexible hours.
Passport.
Ability to take extended vacations.


What we provide:

Travel expenses.
Room & board.
Food.
Pearl Rhythm Traveler (extended).


If you're interested, please send an email to am.inkubate@gmail.com with a brief introduction and questions/comments/phone # request.

Thank you.

This reply came literally four minutes after I posted the ad:

Andrew,

  Saw your add on craiglist and would love to find out more. My name is Robert and I play kit and rudimental snare drum. I played in an Irish band River Flash for years and now primarily work with drum corps, Scottish pipe band drumming style at high level competitions. I will include links below if you care to check them out. Plus lots of writing, teaching, touring, recording experience, all that fun stuff. I have done the cover band gig also, equipped with Yamaha 9000 recording custom kit it's an ideal sound for your type of gig. 

Have a good one and let me know some info please.
Thanks.

Robert,

      Fantastic!  I don't know if you looked the Billy Joelition up, but I figured I'd inform you that we primarily play S&M clubs.  Are you comfortable with watching/participating in bondage?

Andrew, 

     Uhh, thats kinda weird, how does that work? Also looked you up on the net found nothing, have a web site?

Robert,

    Well, no, we receive little press considering our demographic.  We've been functioning 20+ years strong without the internet, this is actually the first time we decided to source to it.  S&M shows primarily work by dressing in leather straps, usually exposing your genitalia, and playing the gig like any other band.  The main difference is that after the shows, we join the crowd in a sort of mass orgy.  S&M is a fetish that involves a dominant party abusing, humiliating, etc. another, submissive party.

Andrew,

  How the fuck can you possibly make an ad like that and not tell people you gusy are in to that sick shit??

Robert,

    So, you're interested?

Andrew,

    lol yeah right you're a sick fuck, I hope you find a drummer who stabs you with a knife.

Robert,

    Awe, Robert, that's kinda hot!  You sure you don't want to join, I think you'd fit right in.  You have spunk, we can give you more spunk...  All over your face perhaps?  Thanks for the well-wishes, good luck.

The ad started gaining steam, I was getting 10-15 replies a day.  Around the fourth day, I received this little gem:

Andrew,

     hi, my name's Ted and I happened to stumble by your ad on craigslist describing the need for a drummer.  you won't believe this but I actually used to play percussion in a Billy Joel cover band called the Billy Joelition.  looking at your ad it looks like you guys had a lot more success than my old band.  anyway, I just lost my job as an studio engineer at SAE in New York and I have been looking to join a band now that I have a lot of free time.

Ted,

   I'm sorry to hear about your job.  It's great to see another Billy Joel enthusiast and what a strange coincidence that you were part of a less-successful Joelition.  The only thing that worries me is that you were part of a certain Joelition that my band had formerly had a run-in with.  You won't believe this but about five years ago right here in Manhattan, my Joelition got into a pretty nasty barfight with a rival Joelition.  At the time we had deep connections with the Harlem Jets while this other band had been getting cozy with another gang called the Sharks.  What had happened was, their lead singer and pianist Bernardo had a sister named Maria and our lead guitarist, Tony, had taken a fancy to her.  Long story short, our guitarist was shot in a basketball court right outside of the bar and Maria moved away.  A sad story really, I just want to clarify you weren't in that Billy Joelition.

Andrew,
     that's a pretty crazy story, I'm sorry to hear about your guitarist, too.  no, I wasn't in that band, thankfully haha.  so when it comes down to practicing, where and when will this happen?

Ted,
   Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Jumping the gun a bit, Ted.  We need to have you initiated first, how do you feel about tattoos and do you have an allergy to morphine?

Andrew,
    I have a tattoo but I don't think I want to get another.  I don't think I do, why?  Reply ASAP really excited about this.

Ted,
   Awe, that's a shame.  All of our members get the Third Reich symbol tattooed on their backs to show support for our cause, the morphine allergy is simply because we all do a shot of morphine before getting on stage, really sharpens you up.

Andrew,
    Third Reich??  like nazis?  you know what I don't think I can join this band, you guys a little too crazy for me and I don't think we share the same beliefs.

Ted,
   You some kind of Jew, Ted?  I knew it, why else would you have lost your job?

Andrew,
     what?  the hell is your problem man?  I think I have to report you to craigslist, I'm sorry.

Ted,
   Why don't you just keep your big old Jew nose out of our business?

Andrew,
    reported.

Hunting is not a sport.

After several hours of watching this monster from hundreds of feet away, Billy and Phillip finally killed it with a high tech rifle.

Hunting isn't a sport.  It could be, but it isn't.  Sports have points, teams, and rules set in place to make it fair.  There is absolutely nothing fair about killing something unarmed from a vantage point.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not an animal rights activist; in fact, I love showing my dominance over an animal. I just don't think shooting something shows dominance, it shows that you're too much of a queef to fight it on its playing field.

First of all, when you play a sport, both sides should know they're playing.  You never run up to someone on the street with a basketball and start dribbling around them, I've tried, their defense is terrible and I've made every shot.  So if you're driving around in a Ford F-150 blasting "Free Bird" looking for your opponent taking a shit in the woods, unload your equipment, set up, then kill your opponent with a shitty ass...  It's not a sport.

If you're gunna hunt, you might as well do it right.  Stand eye-to-eye with your opponent and take it on like a man.



Furs vs Skins



Secondly, all sports have some sort of balance.  When you're hunting, you know exactly where your opponent is.  Can an animal see you?

"I hope the deer don't win this round."

Yup.  Hunting is totally a sport.  You know what else is?  Rape.  But at least rape is harder because you actually have to do some work, I'm pretty sure frat dudes can back me up on that one.

Doctor Asshole M.D: Part II

A typical conversation between my boss and me.  Part I.

Doctor:  Oh!  Andrew, I need to borrow you for a second.

Me:  Yes, Doctor Asshole?

Doctor:  Could you run to the store for me and pick up a cup of coffee, a toasted banana nut muffin and a pack of spearmint gum?

Me:  Actually, Doctor Asshole, I'm the only file clerk in house today and the other doctors kinda need me at my station...

Doctor:  Oh...  Andrew, have a seat.

Me:  Really, Doctor Asshole, I need to get back to my station.

Doctor:  It'll only take a minute.

I drop into the chair with a sigh.

Doctor:  Andrew, my job requires a steady hand, a focused eye and prepared mind.  I couldn't possibly accomplish this without my breakfast.

Me:  I realize this, Doctor Asshole, but I'm a file clerk, I need to be available for the other doctors too.

Doctor:  What you fail to realize, Andrew, is that if I can't function...  The other doctors can't.

Me:  I don't follow.

Doctor:  See, I throw a hissy fit by parading around the office with a stack of papers in my hand.  I walk into the offices of the other physicians and I borrow their time to complain about you. 

Me:  Why wou --

Doctor:  They're occupied by my useless ranting and they're delayed in seeing their patients; this is all because you couldn't get me breakfast.

Me:  All right...

Doctor:  Fantastic.  While you're at it, here's my dry cleaning ticket and a stack of envelopes for you to take down into the mail room.

Me:  I thought I was just getting you breakfast so you c --

Doctor:  Andrew, Andrew, Andrew...  Remember the cancer patient from last week? 

Me:  Yeah.

Doctor:  If you had cancer, would you want a doctor with a clean lab coat?  Or a coat that's been worn for a day?

Me:  I'd just want to not have cancer anymore...

Doctor:  Fantastic.  See you when you get back, here's my files for scanning by the way.

My Real Resume

Imagine if our resumes told our employers what we really do and what our skills really are.

ANDREW MOUSOURIS

125-05 Bullshit Lane

10394 Somewhere, New York

1(555) 909 – 6128

am.inkubate@gmail.com

Objective

To acquire a position that allows me to use my social and interpersonal skills to the fullest within the framework of a challenging and competitive company, while occasionally taking breaks in the bathroom to replenish fatigue from a long night of binge-drinking the night before. 

Experience:

1. A1 Accounting & Business Center.

(555) 264– 9157: Receptionist

• Answered phone calls and retrieved messages for staff.
• Downloaded music illegally to iPod and shredded consequential warnings from service provider.
• Maintained Outlook Calendar for staff and signed them up to pyramid schemes for a free PS3.
• Handled problems with clients and acted as an intermediary between staff and clientele by hanging up.

1. Papa’s Greek Grill – Tampa, F.L.

(555) 284 – 4646: Counterman/Cashier

• Served (spit in their food) customers during very busy and stressful lunch/dinners.
• Prepared lunch/dinner orders and organized take-out calls and deliveries while double-charging some items.
• Stared blankly as customers gave me specific orders, prepared them as I saw fit.
• Worked as a cashier while ignoring phone orders and delivery items.

1. Kidz4luv Day Care – Stroudsburg, P.A.

(555) 874 – 8985

• Arranged and executed various games and play sessions for children between the ages of 3-8.
• Cleaned shitty asses and maintained a constant flu-like cold because kids are unsanitary.
• Hid suicide notes in lunchboxes.
• Tracked outstanding invoices and billed ruined families for outstanding past-dues.

Education:

1. Graduated Ridgewood High School, Port Richey, F.L.

3.0 2.55 G.P.A.

Skills:

• Computers; Googling useless facts, MS Paint, Wikipedia plagiarism, FACEBOOK<33
• Fluent in Slept through six semesters of German.
• Competed and excelled in oral competitions bullshitting.
• Gave numerous, personally prepared, speeches to kids describing drug addiction and its consequences. Shouted at kids from my buddy's car while smoking several blunts.

References:

Furnished upon request. (There aren't any.)

Doctor Asshole M.D: Part I.

A typical conversation between my boss (a doctor) and me.

Doctor:  Hey Andrew, could you do me a favor?  When you stack the papers on my desk, can you make it dog and then tail?  It just makes it easier to grab when I'm reviewing the scans, thanks.

Me:  Uh, sure.  Dog is vertical and tail is horizontal, right?

Doctor:  You've never heard that expression? 

Me:  Oh, no you'll have to excuse me, Doctor Asshole, I haven't worked in offices too long.

Doctor:  Andrew, have a seat.

Me:  Huh? 


I hesitantly sit.

Doctor:  You see, Andrew.  We're a team here.  My job is to save lives, make lives better.  Your job is to make sure I have my files in check...

Me:  If your job is to make lives better, why --

Doctor:  All I'm asking is that you give me my files dog and tail.  Not tail and dog.  Is that too much to ask for?

Me:  Actually...

Doctor:  Look.  I don't want to split hairs but I work a job that rakes in quadruple the money you make and then another double added to it, so that gives me dominion over you.  All I want you to do, is everything that I ask no matter how much it hurts your pride.  I'm a doctor, I save lives.

Me:  At the cost of ruining my life.

Doctor:  I'm glad we're on the same page.  Now, can you clear my schedule?  I have tee time.

Me:  It's 8:30, you have fourteen patients left, one of which is a cancer patient.

Doctor:  Do you have an degree, Andrew?

Me:  No, Doctor Asshole. 

Doctor:  Let me educate you, free of charge.  Cancer is a slow killer, reschedule her for next week.

Me:  All right.

Doctor:  Good...  And cancel my tee time too, I'm gunna get a massage.

5 Movies and the things they ruined for me.

If you truly have a passion for something, you'll dive right into the deep end with it.  That being said, I watch a lot of movies because down the road I'm hoping to be in at least one.  Sometimes, however, your passions backfire on you; like when an artist sees cubism for the first time, they're probably thinking, "How the fuck can anyone get away with this?  I guess we're just going to toss conventional learning out the window and call it something funny."  That's how Russian Expressionism was created, out of spite.

 

Hey, Picasso.  In Mother Russia, shit paints you!

Movies have backfired on me in a slightly different way.  Because I become so immersed in the experience, my impressionable young mind often has a hard time detaching from the fiction and takes irrational fears and ideas away from the cinema.  Here's a list of five things movies have ruined for me.




5.  Ferris Bueller - Parking Garages


There are few movies that define the 80's as well Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  Yeah, it's a classic, but remember that scene where the garage workers take the Ferrari out for a spin?  How can you possibly trust a Mexican convict with your car ever again?

I wouldn't care so much if it wasn't an inconvenience, but now I have to park fourteen blocks away and walk to my office rather than use the garage around the corner.  The last thing I need is Spike from the Super Mario Bros. movie to take my 1999 shit green Metro for a spin and take it from 126 and half-way between 3 and 4 tenths miles to 437.7 miles.

What do you get when two minorities are in the possession of a white man's car?

Chk-chikachikah.

4. It - Sewers

I remember watching It as a child and literally shitting my pants.  Clearly It wasn't made for children.  It was three hours long, struck terrifyingly close to home and, let's face it, no child should watch a Tim Curry movie until they've developed a skin thick enough to handle his frightening smile.

For most people, It the clown stirred up a very real fear, coulrophobia.  For me, It ruined one thing...  Sewers.

I like your raincoat, bitch!

Just look at that picture.  See?  I can handle crocodiles in my sewers, they can't squirt me with the little gag flower on their polka-dotted pajamas or balance on unicycles.  Yeah, it's an irrational fear, but whenever I pass by the sewers I tense up in anticipation of a whipped cream pie to be thrown right at my dome.


3.  Passion of the Christ / S&M

I managed to avoid watching Passion of the Christ up until a few nights ago and it's already ruined something in my life.  When I watch movies, I put aside all moral fabric or "truth" and try to appreciate the performance, writing and cinematography.  The Passion of the Christ is a terrible movie but indeed a memorable one considering all the controversy surrounding it and the fact it's the only Jesus movie since Jesus Christ:  Superstar (which is better).

Now that I've seen the movie, every time me and the wifey suit up in our leathers and start whipping each other, I have the image of a naked, bearded Edmond Dantes (good luck with that reference) getting his skin flayed by some Jew folk.  Not to mention, the safe word has always been "Judas" and that's a real bonerkiller.

Awe, yeah...  Humiliate me, baby.  I wanna die for this sin.

2. Forrest Gump - Sympathy for the Handicap

Tom Hanks is such a good actor that he's managed to ruin something I felt could never be ruined, but when I saw Forrest Gump overcome his handicaps and ultimately have the greatest upswing of his life...  I kinda lost all my sympathy for the handicap.

I'm not expecting you to run across the United States or start a multi-million dollar shrimping business, Gump already did that and that wouldn't be impressive.  I am, however, asking the handicap to step it up a little and start impressing us able-bodied Americans.  You folks are a rare breed and you don't even capitalize on your uniquity.  If one half-a-tard can fight in a war, become a ping-pong champ, moon the president and harbor his seed in a slizz long enough to get Haley Joel Osment, you folks can at least stop drooling everywhere.

He also started a charity.  "Ice Cream for the Paraplegics." 

1. Breakfast at Tiffany's - Asian Jokes

I can't make fun of them anymore.

...And Yul Brynner as Mr. Blackguy!

A Chat with Lucifer.

Devil:  Bwahaha!  So God cast you into my domain, hm?  Prepare to feel the inferno!

Me:  Whoa, whoa, whoa!  Wait!  I just got here!  Do you want me to get right to cooking?  I mean look at all this space hell has, you barely utilize it.  Not to mention, at a glance it seems your methods of torture aren't at all imaginative.

Devil:  Bw - Wha?  You really think my INFERNO is weak?

Me:  I wouldn't say weak...  It just needs some updating.  You have all this hell to use and you just keep throwing people into the fiery depths.

Devil:  Whu - Well...  I mean...  It's kinda my thing.

Me:  What about skewering people with your trident and cooking them like weinies?  I'd figured you'd do that, at least!

Devil:  Listen, I just never really gave it much thought.

Me:  An eternity in hell and you haven't given it much thought?  I've been here all of forty seconds and I already seem more qualified to run this place.

Devil:  Fah!  Please!  You couldn't run hell!  Do you have any idea how hard it is?

Me:  No.  I just got here but from what I've gathered, all I need to do is sit around on a throne laughing at this waterfall of people falling into flames.

Devil:  ...

Me:  Uh-huh.

Devil:  Well, if you think you're so good, why don't you spend a -

God:  whoa!  lucifer...  reverse psychology really?

Me:  Ah, Christ...

God:  no lol hes in new mexico right now, but i got osmething better

Me:  Huh?

God:  since your being all stupid like this, im just gunna send you to purgatory

Me:  Ah, well at least I'll have you.

God:  im not going with you lol

Me:  Isn't God everywhere?

God:  yeah but purgatory is no where

Me: But if God also exists inside of all of us, too...  Wouldn't you be coming with me?

God:  yeah...  but...  you know...  i...  you inside purgatory with my nothing...

God hangs his head in shame.


Devil:  This guy is amazing, I want him here full time.

Me:  Ehyeahright!  Listen, the entire reason I'm here is because God found my jokes offensive.  In all honesty, I think that as long as I lead a good life and brighten the lives of others with my jokes, does it matter how offensive they are?

God:  i guess your right

Me:  You're.

A Chat With God.

God:  hey man, we gotta talk

Me:  OMFG.

God:  yeah, thats me. so listen, youve been writing some pretty interesting things in your blog but like i think its getting a little out of hnad

God:  hand*

Me:  You truly are omnipotent, you caught that spelling error before I pointed it out.

God: lol yeah, but seriously your jokes are really kinda screwed up

Me:  You think?  I've always done my material with good intentions, you know.

God:  i dont think saying women get orgasms over making less money than guys is neccessarily good natured

Me: Necessarily.

 
God:  wat?

Me:  You're God, shouldn't you type properly?

God:  dude, im fuckin god i made everything.  i think i can type however i want

Me:  Yeah, but still...  You've got an image to keep up - nevermind. 

God:  listen man, your gunna go to hell if you dont stop writing such ridiculous shit

Me:  You're.

God:  or i can just send you now.

Me:  All right, all right.  You win, so I gotta stop writing material like that, huh?

God:  well yeah, you write too many dick jokes anyway.  your material all together is pretty weak, why dont
you try forging a new style or something?

Me:  Bro, I'm 19, there isn't much I can wrap my head around.  I have a lot of ideas but I'm not nearly 

experienced enough to flesh them out into intellectual jokes.

God:  are you condescending to me when you type like that?

Me:  What?  No.  It's just a habit, I'm sorry. 

God:  it honestly sounds like everything you say has a hint of sarcasm or malice to it, no wonder every1 hates you

Me:  You just...

God:  what?

Me:  Nothing.

God:  im god and i told you everyone hates you, doesnt that surprise you?

Me:  Not at all.  I don't even care, anyway, knowing I'm a better typist than God is pretty much inflating my ego.

God reaches through Andrew's screen and casts him into the fiery pits of hell.

The Mousouris Gene.

Being the child of two immigrants has its perks.  I get a by on a lot of white people hatred and I also seem more exotic to women.  I'm Greek and Brazilian; on paper this looks quite cool, but the reality is quite different.

If you just take a moment to look at a picture of me, I don't seem neither Greek nor Brazilian.  Why?  Because two dominant ethnicities cancel out and give birth to a Jewish-looking fat guy.

The most annoying code in my DNA comes from the Greek side.  Hairiness?  No.  Stoutness?  Not a chance, I fully enjoy being 5'9'' and overweight.  What I hate is a certain combination of codes that have decidedly given me a small penis and a gargantuan set of balls.

I have a distinct memory from my childhood wherein my father was driving me to junior high school one morning.  He was easing into the whole, "I'm your dad and I need to see where you're at in puberty" talk.

"You into girls?"
"Yup."
"Get intimate with any yet?"
"Dad..."
"I know, I know.  I don't care, I just want to know!  When I was your age I was trying to squeeze some boobies all the time."
"Well, yeah.  I've hung out with a few girls."
"Good, good.  Andrew, you know what the Mousouris men are known for, right?"
"Uh, being hairy?"
He chuckles, "No.  We have very large testicles."

At the time I thought he was joking, I credit my dad with the potty humor I use today, but as I started growing so did my balls.  He was extremely right.  Extremely.  My penis couldn't keep up with this incredible growth rate and it maxed out at a just below average length.  Here's the kicker:  My balls make my already small penis look even smaller.

As a result of this terrible illusion nature bestowed upon me, I panicked.  Every time I'd hook up with a girl, I'd try different things like (but not limited to) pulling my balls back, banging through the peehole of my underwear, etc.  Nothing was ever quite doing me right.

Just around the time I turned 18, I had gotten into marijuana and I started connecting with a different part of myself.  Instead of hating this curse, I had to embrace it like a vampire embraces his own thirst for blood.  I remember the distinct moment where I came to terms with my package.

February 13th, 2010; I was living in Florida at the time and the heat was making my sexuality rage.  I sat down naked on my bed around  4 in the afternoon and had a discussion with Hairy, Mo and Larry.

"Listen guys.  We need to stop working against each other.  Balls, I'm gunna start shaving you and you're gunna like it, honestly, you will.  Dick?  I know we've had a love/hate relationship, but the time has come for us to put aside out petty grudges and work as a team.  I know you can work despite your size, you're small but you're strong and you can get it on.  Together, we need to get confident and pursue the pussy as a united army, rather than a divided gang."

From then on, the game plan has always been simple:  Give fair warning to a girl about the package-deal.  If she bites?  Then reward her with the best sex she'll ever get from a misproportioned set of genitals, ever.

I'm an honorary sister.

I can't contain my excitement!  I just got myself a job in an office full of wonderful black women and I've never been more pleased.  I've spent my entire life trying to find the kinds of people I can connect with, here they were all along.  Being a young Caucasian male in this kind of setting was scary at first, I wasn't sure if I'd be turned into some sort of pet in an act of reverse sexism and racism.  It turned out to be quite the opposite.

I was accepted wholesomely into their busty ebony bosoms and became dubbed an honorary "sistuh."

Their shared love for keepin' it real and sassy attitude meshed well with my own and I really hit it off with them.  I keep on the same weavelength as these fine Nubian females all day, shooting witty banter back and forth and hating on the white woman.

Needless to say, I've found my calling.  I just hope my racist parents aren't surprised...  They're against me dating these luscious women, but they haven't said anything about becoming one.

Ladies, I know you love Pig Charm.

I'm pretty savvy with females, I won't lie.  I grew up in a hair salon my mother owned, surrounded by hot, slutty 90's hairdressers complaining all day about men.  Everything they ever said I soaked up like a sponge, learning from the mistakes of men who clearly knew what they were doing when they were nailing them.

As I sat around bright-eyed and open-eared I gathered a lot of useful advice that I take into special consideration even today.  The most valuable lesson I learned from these young 90's sluts was that all women hate liars...  Let me rephrase that:

All women hate men who are bad liars.

Women are the best liars, considering everything they do is a lie.  Between the "it's not you, it's me" spiel, to the notorious "fake orgasm," women have become craftsmen with the lie.  When men try to lie to women, they become insulted not because we were lying, but because we tried to lie to them in such an amateur way they get angry.

When I lie to women, they get wet.  Instantly.  My lies are so good, they convince themselves to believe it just because it was so finely fabricated.  I can lie my way into the heart of any woman simply because I want to and that's the kind of liar's confidence women are attracted to.  This leads me to my second point:

Confidence.

Women love a man so confident he can insult her and make her nipples hard at the same time.  The more you trash a woman, the more she'll love you, why?  Because you aren't spoonfeeding her the usual lines other regular men try.  Women are so turned on by being belittled they gladly accept making 75 cents to our dollar because it gives them a little orgasm every time they get their paycheck.

I once heard that nice guys finish last.  It's been used as a phrase of inspiration for decades, urging the nice guys to keep steady for the prize at the end of the road.  Spoiler alert:  Fat chicks and terrible cooks.  That's what's at the end of the road.  Don't take your chances, boys, berate and belittle, lie and cheat your way to happiness.  It's the only way.

My Cousin.

I'll be the first to admit that I have made some less-than-intelligent decisions with my life.  But I like to credit myself with being one badass mother fucker for doing what some people give up on once they apply for college; I'm following my gut and pursuing my dream in entertainment.

I have a cousin named Anthony and he's a dick.  He does karate, reads books, he only plays "old school" video games, he skateboards and most of all, he condescends to me like I'm some family Hershey stain.  Every time I'll get him on the phone (which is never intentional), he starts bragging about how many books he's read and how he's working on his "wicked sweet" kickflip or how gnarly his spinning heel kick is now.

And as he rants and raves to me about all his newest endeavors, he'll try to show interest in what I'm doing.

"Oh, hey Andrew.  Guess what?  (I don't answer) I just grinded my skateboard down a sixteen foot rail!  Can you skateboard?  Oh?  You can't even ride a bike?  That's alright, I guess."

The entire time he belittles me in this conversation I can only think of one thing:

"Dude, you're fucking seven years old.  You don't know."

I've had sex, bro.  Have you?  No?  Well you have nothing in common with me then.  You don't even have a hair on your ballsack to call your own.  This makes any skill you possess obsolete.

Some people call me jealous of my cousin, some people say that I can't stand the attention he gets from the rest of the family for being "just so great."

You're god damned right I am.  I live in New York.  I'm holding a steady job, making guap, having sex with girls and I'm also breaking my way into the comedy scene.  Where's my pat on the back?  

All I get are lectures from my family because I just so happen talk about washing dicks on stage.  Way to see it black and white, family.

I'd say those karate lessons are pretty worthless because the only person he needs to defend himself against is me and I know I can beat the fuck out of this kid.  He's seven, of course I can.

Oh?  Spinning back kick?  How about a muddy boot right to your dome, buddy?  I'm pretty sure your frail little arms can't defend against a size 12 (12 wide, might I add) pumping furiously into your noggin.

First performance in New York City.

This video dates back quite a while ago, just want to give you guys a taste of how I was when I started last year.

New performance video coming soon.

Introduction.

Yo, folks.  My name is Andrew Mousouris, I'm a working amateur sketch comedy actor and comedian living in New York.

I'm 19 years old, not going to college and I'm investing my life in a pretty terrible dream with little pay and a lot of bullshit; I'm havin' a shitton of fun while doin' it though.

To read dated material I wrote while I was in high school, follow this link:

inkubateblog.blogspot.com