What Gloria Steinem did say (or at least she made it famous) was, “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.” Yeah, ok, I get it, women don’t need men. But where this oh-so-clever statement falls apart is that it isn’t physically possible for a fish to use a bicycle – whereas men have been proven to have some uses, like opening jars, or writing their names in the snow. I think a more effective saying to get the appropriate message across would be something like, “A woman without a man is like an octopus without a ninth arm.” A ninth arm would be somewhat useful, but eight is fine, thank you, and besides it would taint some of the essence of being an octopus.

Guest comic for today: Dan Kim, one of the artists featured during my guest weeks, originally sent me another comic before he sent me the one I eventually posted. I didn’t post the first one cuz I wasn’t comfortable with something that was implied about Abe. Forbidden aLp! Check it out.

Yo!

Let’s get this out of the way first… now that I’m back I’m gonna be movin to a once-a-week on Mondays update schedule, with occasional Thursdays thrown in if I’m feelin frisky on a given week. The upside is that I may be able to put more into each one, like I did with today’s. Or not. I got no idea. Turning suddenly from a non-father of zero into a father of two kinda makes a big mess outta your routine. Be sure to sign up for the mailing list if you wanna get emailed when there’s new stuff.

Just when you think you’ve found the perfect girl, there’s gotta be something wrong with her, huh? And it’s always a deal-breaker. In college that happened to me a hell of a lot, all these hot girls that on the outside seemed flawless, but on the inside, didn’t want me. I’m just glad I ended up with a girl whose only flaw is that I didn’t meet her sooner!

Woo! Okay that was corny. Oh no I’m losing my edge. To make up for it, I’m linking you to the greatest music video ever. Mr. T – Treat Your Mother Right

My couch-ridden wife has been watching just about every show on TV lately in an effort to keep herself entertained, and recently she found the bottom of the barrel – “I want to be a Hilton”. This is the reality show which is an exact clone of the Apprentice, but instead of people acting like idiots to impress Donald Trump, it’s people acting like idiots to impress Kathy Hilton (Paris’ mom). Are the makers of this show aware that, although yeah, the Hilton name has gained a lot of exposure over the last few years… it’s for a BAD REASON? I mean, Michael Jackson was thrust back into our consciousness over the last few years too, but that doesn’t mean they should come out with a show called, “I Want to be One of Michael Jackson’s Pre-Pubescent Bed Partners”.

Aside note: if you like the weird stuff I ramble on about in my posts, go check out Daily Dinosaur Comics, where this dude named Ryan has clip art dinosaurs go off on similar tangents.

For the record, I am going to raise my 2 pending children to eventually become major league baseball players. I haven’t talked to my wife about this yet, but she’s sure to say something like, “they’ll be whatever they want to be”, so I don’t even know what the point is of bringing it up. The thing I am worried about, however, is… umm… what if they, errr, you know… don’t like baseball. I mean, how do you make sure your kids like something you’ve planned out that they have to like? It’s a lot of pressure.

Tell ya this, if I succeed with one and not the other with this whole liking baseball thing, I’ll at least be able to record what I did differently with each and publish my findings (“Pre-Programming Your Offspring”) so all you future parents can learn from my experience.

I know you guys like to debate long and hard about subjects like giving the finger, urinal ice, and mom jokes, but today (and lately) what I have on my mind is how awesome my wife is. She’s 8 months pregnant with our twins, who last weighed in at 5 pounds each 3 weeks ago, her belly’s the size of Delaware, her back aches, her shoulder aches, her feet ache… one of the babies is literally kicking her in the groin, from the inside… but she marches on, and the kids get stronger every day because of it. Somehow, through all this insanity, she’s still the same girl I fell in love with. The only difference really these days is that she’s been using a lot – and I mean a lot. A LOT. Of curse words.

When I was young, I always dreamed about playing shortstop for the New York Yankees. Back then I guess I never realized the extent of the rewards.

There’s 2 classes of mom jokes: the classic Your Mom’s So Fat/Poor, which are actual jokes, and then there’s going around repeating everything you hear except you substitute “your mom” in there somewhere, which is usually only funny when that’s the only thing you ever say. I knew a guy like that. The best jokes I’ve ever heard in each category:

1. Your mama’s so fat, she’s got other fat mamas orbiting around her.

2. At a sushi restaurant: Me: “This is a great piece of yellow tail” Dean: “Your mom’s a great piece of yellow tail”

That one was so good I put it into a song I wrote.

Why don’t you women just tell us what you want? Why is the onus on us to figure out what you really mean, even (especially) when you’re saying the exact opposite of what you mean. You want us to leave the room, you don’t want us to leave the room. You want to be playfully swatted with a fly swatter, you don’t want to be playfully swatted with a fly swatter. You had an orgasm, or you were just faking it. There’s the ultimate duplicity. You won’t catch us men faking any orgasms! The only reason I can think of to try that is to give off the impression that we are capable of multiple orgasms. Which, I bet, would be a terrifying thought for women.

The Rhythm Method was the only type of contraception that the Catholic Church allowed during the first half of the 20th century (besides abstinence, of course, but that’s not birth control, that’s lunacy). The way it worked was basically: don’t have sex on the few days of the month when you think you might be ovulating. When it turned out that the rate of couples who were still “accidentally” having babies using this method was something like 250% – “Vatican Roulette” people called it – the Church came up with a new method.

They said take your temperature every morning, and don’t have sex on the few days you’re a degree or two higher. They called this revolutionary system “Natural Family Planning”. Naturally, no one’s heard of it and no one uses it. I think they made a classic marketing mistake in giving it its snoozer of a name; if you’re gonna force-feed people your archaic methods, at least give it some pizzazz. Even the Rhythm Method had that little entendre going for it. Having a family is the last thing couples are thinking about when they’re on the plan; let’s call it what it is (albeit only ostensibly): Consequence-Free Screwing. Calling it Natural Family Planning is like calling cutting down on your cholesterol “Postponing Your Son’s Inheritance.”

Um, more later…