A Hairy Situation

Every morning, it is the same damn war. After packing lunches and preparing breakfast, it comes down to mom vs. daughter’s hair. My daughter has very long hair and hates having it brushed. I finally agreed that she was old enough to accomplish the task herself and even bought a detangling spray to help her out a little. Problem is, she isn’t using it nor is she brushing her hair.

I’ve threatened to chop her hair off, but she saw right through that lie. I needed to come up with something more believable and it was the other night, while feeding my dogs, that I had a revelation.

I began telling my daughter if she didn’t take care of her hair that it would begin to fall out. I told her that it already started to look weak. I then clipped some of my golden retriever’s hair (an almost exact color match) and begin leaving it on her pillow, in the hood of her coat, and anywhere else she may notice it.

It was yesterday after dinner that she finally approached me. With a wad of hair in her hands, she asked if she started taking care of her hair, would it grow back or was it too late. I told her that the only surefire way to prevent more from falling out was to brush twice a day for at least a week and then at least once a day every day thereafter.

Needless to say, she is using the detangling spray and combing her hair as she should. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to figure out how to get my son to put his clothes in the hamper and not on the floor.

Doing It The Old Way

I've always wondered about those women who marry men much, much older than themselves. I wondered what they could possibly get in return from a relationship that odd. I decided to find out for myself.

I posted an ad on Craigslist looking for a man at least double my age (for those of you nosy enough, that would be a sixty year old gent). After sorting through two-thirds of the shit responses, I finally found him. We talked on the phone a few times and finally set up a date. I had no idea what to expect.

The old fart took me out to dinner. He talked constantly about the state of the world today and how shitty the economy was. There were references to taxes and healthcare and I think I dozed off shortly thereafter. At the end of the evening, he took me back home, kissed my cheek, and bid farewell.

Now, this is what I learned: These women are obviously not in it for the sex as this man had absolutely no intention of attempting to get in my pants. These women are not in it for the conversation and companionship as this man could ramble on and on to a point that made you want to slice your wrists.

My thoughts were confirmed -- these women are in it for the money. The old guy bought me the most expensive meal I've ever eaten out, I drank wine I couldn't even pronounce that also came with its own separate bill, and I rode in a car that would be fit for Obama himself.

If it wasn't for the fact that sex is a necessity with me, I would seriously entertain the thought of keeping Mr. Old Guy around, but alas, I'll leave him at the assisted living facility that I found him.

Where's The Woody?

I almost feel guilty about this week's Golden Cock Award (almost). If you've been watching the news or Sports Center, you've heard all about the Tiger Woods debacle. How, at first, he shrugged it off as if nothing serious had happened and now, he is apologizing for his "transgressions and sins."

What an ass! He can't even admit what he did? Well, let me tell you:

*This motherfucker got him a piece of ass and got caught. His wife then beat his ass, smashed his vehicles windows, and told him to get the fuck out. Now, he's worried about his image and endorsements and doesn't want to come out and say, "Yes, I couldn't keep my wood in my pants" so he's giving half-assed apologies and no explanation. (Yes, he has the right to keep his personal matters private, but that doesn't mean I have to accept it).

So five golden cocks for Mr. Woody...I mean Woods. Not only for cheating on your wife, but for being the biggest pussy on planet Earth for not admitting your faults. No one is perfect, but you Woods, you are worse than the dogshit I stepped in this morning (and this whole situation reeks just as bad). So take these cocks, hang them on your wall, and remember: The whole world is watching.

*This is purely speculation on my part, so don't sue me. I have no money anyway.