Posts Tagged ‘Help’

How To Somehow Get A Girl To Be Down With Your Sickness

Posted: October 16, 2011 by kaostheory in Informative
Tags: , , ,

So it finally happened.

With a lot of luck, some prayer, every bit of smoothness your anxiety-riddled body can manifest, the stars aligning, and probably a sacrifice to Baal, you’ve managed to convince a pretty girl to date you. Congrats. You’ve just completed Step One in “Becoming a Man 101”. Your midterm will be stalking and murdering a rhinoceros with only your bare hands and a small flint knife. We know. It’s a really good grading curve, don’t worry. Oh, and of course you have to be naked. That just stands to reason.

Anyways, you managed to finally get yourself a lady. But, damn it all, you don’t live in the same city. It’s completely unavoidable. Always has to be a damn barrier somewhere. No matter. She’s got a break coming up and you’ve worked out a time that you can drive down and do all the cute stuff and sexy stuff that you’ve been dreaming about. It’s really pretty disgusting. The cute stuff, I mean. It’s like you took off your spiky armor of badass and slipped on a thin little slip of content. On the other hand, ain’t nothin’ wrong with your manly designs.

The point is that the time will eventually pass. It will be agonizingly slow and feel like someone is slowly twisting your nuts inside your chest and stomach. Kind of a full-body time distortion thing. It would be actually kind of cool if it wasn’t so damn frustrating. Anyways, eventually, you will make the drive down to see her, stomach all wrapped up and panic setting in as you approach her campus. A moment passes and now you’ve texted her that you’re here. You have two days to put this shit on lockdown just in case some psychopathic pseudo-Aryan with a dog tries to steal her away in the night like a perverted Robin Hood. Or…you know…just tries to discredit you in her eyes.

So…what do you do? There are some ways to really get it going on. We’re here to help. Call this a ‘lady cheat sheet’. And yes, before you send any worried comments or emails about “Holy shit, dude, are you mental?”, this has all been cleared by the lady, proof positive why she is the best.
——
First off, bring her something cute. It’s a nice way to show that you care and is an easy way to get quick brownie points. Say, for instance, if the girl in question (we’ll call her Misspearlnecklace) has a beloved sock monkey, a smaller, similarly named sock monkey stuffed in your bag will be “so cute”. Fact. Probably not a good idea to put the toy in your pants and ask her to root around in there though. At least wait until you’ve kissed a couple times.

Also, if her momma wants to go to lunch with the two of you, for the love of God, do it. It’s a little-known fact that if you win over the parents (especially the mother), the road to a happy life with Miss Lady will be much easier. Hold her hand during serious conversation, smile and be witty, and offer to take the check. Just don’t reveal that you’ve been face-down in her daughter the previous day and…like…an hour ago. That would be very bad.

Next, don’t be scared of taking the downtown route. If she’s a good girl (or a bad girl, depending on your definition), she will pay you back by playing the man organ, but you have to be prepared. If you do your job poorly, you’ll end up with her cranky and unwilling to even Shake Weight you. So you need to be ready. Maybe do some tongue twisters on the way down. Or stretches. Stretches work too. The point is that you don’t want to cramp right as she’s about to blow her top (and then maybe your dick). If you do your job right, though, you can almost lock your jaw, make that little tie under your tongue ache, and hang a Durant on her.

(That’s her cumming 35 times, for those not in the know. Wait, how would you be in the know since I just made that term up? Also, it’s a Durant because Kevin Durant of the Oklahoma City Thunder wears number 35 but you can feel free to substitute your own sports star instead.)

Don’t forget to use your fingers either. It is almost ridiculously easy to, as you curl up on her bed exchanging body fluids through your mouths, to just…oops…slip your left hand down there to see what all the fuss is about. If you want to pull a Durant, you’re going to have to do a little divining a lot of the time because, let’s face it, even the strongest and hardiest man with the most muscular tongue in the world is going to get tired. There’s only so much you can expect that part to do before it shuts down. Thankfully, if you’re good with your hands, you can boost your stat total and make her forget her own birthday.

Since we’re on the subject, don’t just focus on the crotchal region. While that is a very fun part of the lady’s body and you want to spend a good deal of time there (and you can be damn sure she’ll want you there too – if she doesn’t, something is wrong in her brain), you don’t want to put all your energy into it. There will be a point where her special spots become too sensitive and overworked to tolerate further intrusion. When she tells you to give her a moment to breathe, do it. The last thing you want to do is make her hurt you because you took one flick too many.

Instead, spread your wealth around. There is are a couple little spots on a woman’s neck where if you attack it with kisses, they will melt. And the boobs are a great place to just spend an hour or two. You can motorboat them, regardless of size, and very well SHOULD. But every lady is different too so you are going to have to go all Magellan on her and explore. You will find new and interesting ways to make her jump, purr, and attack your face. Be proactive!

Pin her up against the wall. Attack her as she’s dressing. Kiss her in the kitchen as she’s cooking dinner. If she has it as bad for you as you do for her, you are going to be sitting pretty with all of those sexy little moves. However, you being the epitome of modern manliness- capable of skinning an antelope with a glare, able to crush boulders with one swing of your mighty testicles, chest hair in a natural Superman pattern, eyes like two cold blue marbles piercing the night sky, musk of pure dude – only goes so far. If you want to just love ’em and leave ’em, this is not the article for you. Go back to your bars and massage parlors and frat houses and…um…symphonies, I guess.

No, my friends. If you have the special lady (Misspearlnecklace is mine so HANDS THE FUCK OFF, OTHER MEN), you want to show that you aren’t just a sledgehammering son of a bitch. No, you need to give them some sweetness.

Now how do you define sweet stuff? Allow me to help you.

Cuddling is not a teddy bear or what neutered dogs do to poor, innocent stuffed animals. Cuddling is an essential element of being a passable boyfriend. Cuddling can take on many forms.

For example, lying down in bed (you can still be starkers – nobody ever said that clothes have to be involved) and just letting her settle into that spot where your arm meets your body. It’s called, at least in my lexicon, the ‘nook’ and is a highly prized position for any woman to be in. I’m not saying that just about mine. I’m saying in general. You give your lady that, you’re giving her reason to believe that you aren’t going to just tear ass out the front door in the middle of the night. Because you can’t. Because she’s got you pinned down. Which is hot. In the pants.

Curling up together is along those same lines. It’s just that period of lying down and being all disgustingly cute and kissy and touchy between periods of being all hot and throwing love around. The calm before the storm…or the eye of the storm, depending on how you want to define it. This the stage that is more profoundly horrifying to pissy teenage emo boy-girls than any other.

Holding hands also counts as smart cuddly stuff. It’s a little thing and doesn’t require a whole lot of physical exertion. It’s not like snuggling which requires the use of both arms and probably a leg. Holding hands requires only one hand, leaving your other hand free to masturbate or check Twitter or just point at things around the room. You can give up at least a hand, can’t you? Don’t be a selfish dick. Give her that much.

Finally, beyond all else, it really helps the cause of your heart and your dick – both of them – if you can make her laugh. I’m not talking just giggle and smile. That’s normal girl behavior, except in the case of Huge Bitch Syndrome, in which case…God help you. No, I am talking about that laugh where she has lost all ability to maintain composure and curls up into a little ball, hands over her face, shaking with laughter. THAT is what you need and we’re finishing this article with proof positive that it works wonders. The following are actual quotes from this past weekend with Misspearlnecklace and I.

While making out:
MPN – “There’s so much love in this room, I’m worried that I could actually get pregnant.”
KT- “All the chances have gone down your throat.”

MPN – “We should make you cum every time the Titans score one week.”
KT – “Oh God. No. There’s only one of two ways it could go down. Either they put up like…seven touchdowns and by the end it would be like dry-firing a compound bow. Just PFFF. A little blast of air, kind of like those machines at the eye doctor that they use. It’s either that or they get shutout and it’d be like ‘Well…now what do I do? This dick ain’t gonna suck itself. Can I get an advance on next game? You know I’m good for it.’.”

KT – “Okay, we should stop for a second or my brain is going to overload and explode. I’ll forget how to do math. I’ll forget the alphabet. A, B, C, 4, Batman signal.”

While watching the US/Ecuador game:
MPN – “Take back the power from the Ecuadorians!”
KT – “What is number 4 on the list of never-before said phrases? That’s right below ‘Oh no no. No more oral sex for me, please.’.”

While watching TV and waiting to be picked up:
KT – “‘Now onto serious business. Did you bring any heroin with you? Because this would be a lot easier to handle if I was high.'”

MPN – “Why is Rosie O’Donnell…”
KT – “Alive?”

While discussing a hobo in DC that owns a Captain America shield:
KT – “That would be hilarious. SHIELD going through Central Park and seeing Cap wearing a brown overcoat with a huge beard under his mask, chugging Mad Dog 20/20, and killing pigeons with his shield so he can bring them to the Greek restaurant down the street where they’ll cook the birds for him. ‘Cap, what happened to you?’ ”m fuckin’ done with this country.’ ‘But why?’ ‘What’s the thing with th’ cars?’ ‘NASCAR?’ ‘Thass it. Thass why.’.”

While watching the Brazil/Mexico game:
KT – “I’m sorry, but that weirds me out every time. The players holding hands with the little kids on the way out to the field? It’s wrong. Look at those kids. They don’t want to be there. ‘Please. Just kill me. Mi familia…they do not know where I am. I do not wish to be rape anymore.’ Kids all walking in the hall, players coming up and asking them to come into the storage closet for a second to play with some soccer balls.”

KT – “I bet they are all serious pedophiles. It’s like necrophilia. (insert long discussion about the particulars of THAT) If you are calling yourself the world’s foremost necrophiliac, you have made some life choices that I don’t quite approve of.”

KT- “That would be awesome. The guy that just scored walking to the camera and just flipping it off slowly and meaningfully, mouthing ‘fuck you’ to the camera.”

While discussing the WMATA suicide:
MPN – “And it says here that they also found a suspicious package near one of the other lines.”
KT – “Awesome. Totally what I want when I’m trying to find a city to live in. People suiciding by train and suspicious packages. Hmm. I’ve narrowed my list down to DC and Kabul.”

KT – “It would be worse if you waited until the train was stopped and then jumped. Like ‘Hey man. Just start it up when you’re ready’. And the train bumps and pushes you a little bit.”

KT – “I really want my epitaph to be ‘What Hath God Wrought?’ Either because of the fact that I’m dead or because of the fact that I’m going to come back as a necrowarrior.”

While discussing cereals:
KT – “Fruity Pebbles are good but there’s always that one that doesn’t get wet in milk and is like a piece of shrapnel flying around your mouth. Same with Cocoa Pebbles. And the worst is Cap’n Crunch. That shit is like chewing on ball bearings. It’s like ‘I guess I hate my dental work that much. Let’s go fuck up some molars.’ Hey, I hope you like having a cleft palate because that shit is going to cut it in half.”
——
And that is how you win a woman.

(That is basically…huh…I guess kind of accurate. – ed.)

I know, right? Love brings me legitimacy!

(God help us all. – ed.)

How To Do Easter The Dan Eats Cat Food Way

Posted: April 24, 2011 by kaostheory in Informative
Tags: , , ,

Easter. The time of year where we as human beings suspend all belief in favor of accepting that sometimes giant, mutated rabbits are able to produce multi-colored, probably infected, and voluminous amounts of chicken eggs like some sort of unholy cross taking part because of the rape of a hen by a jackrabbit. Yeah. That’s right. What you see as cheery and delightful is actually a “trigger warning” waiting to happen.

Oh wait. Should I have put “trigger warning” at the beginning?

(Feeling like a smartass today, huh? – ed.)

Comes with the territory. The day I worry about any of my writing setting off freakouts with women or whoever that may have been traumatized in the past is the day that I stop making the background for this thing flash blue and red really fast so that epileptics can’t enjoy it.

(Been meaning to talk to you about that. We edit that out every time. We’ve been over this. – ed.)

And clearly it’s not sinking in, so NOW who’s the “unreliable asset”, huh? Anywho, while we’re here, we may as well offer up some advice for the kiddles and bits to take to heart on this most glorious of days. Let’s get this crackalackin’.
——
First off, you really should get dressed up and attend the Easter service at your church of choice. If you’re a Christian, today is one of the – if not THE – most important days in the entire faith, since it is the day that Jesus Christ was resurrected from the grave after dying for our sins. SO SHOW SOME DAMN RESPECT, Y’ALL. If you aren’t Christian, that’s cool too. Just…chill out and enjoy the stuff you’re getting. I guess.

Now we get to the other stuff. More specifically, dyeing and finding Easter eggs. Now some smart-asses would say to dye the eggs green or camo and hide them around the yard so that the little kids get frustrated by not being able to find them so they start crying and their holiday is ruined. That’s just being a dick and we don’t cotton to that around here. Make the eggs in all the colors of the rainbow. Even better, make them in every color ever. Picture it now. Puce eggs. Mauve eggs. EGGSHELL WHITE EGGS. Make the dyeing process swiftly turn into a grueling arts-and-crafts concentration camp. And then the stickers! Permutations galore! Why frustrate the children when you can make them dead inside? You’re thinking small, compadre.

Alternatively, if you don’t want to go to straight cruelty, make the Easter egg hunt ‘street rules’. Allow for any and every kind of tactic available to their little brains in order to win the hunt. Encourage fashioning weapons out of hats and sharp sticks. Help them form a rudimentary society with social status based on the amount of eggs and no penalty for theft, assault or mugging. See what happens when children – already stretching the bounds of human decency – lose any motivation or reason to be ‘good’.

Next up we have the crack cocaine of the under-13 crowd: chocolate. If you’re wise, you’ll create artificial scarcity. Make the situation seem as if there is not nearly enough chocolate to go around – say, one M&M per three kids. While adults and even some teenagers understand basic economics, especially the ‘I can actually just get in my car, drive and buy this stuff’ concept, little children do not. Little children are also flush with disposable income from generous grandparents, excitement from all the busyness going on around them and, if you’re lucky, hot sisters or cousins back for the holiday from college with tappable asses, low standards and negotiable alcohol tolerance. What I’m suggesting is that you force little kids to pimp out their family for chocolate.

Cadbury Cream Eggs. You don’t let those little fuckers anywhere NEAR these. These are EARNED by going through the fires of Smarties and jellybeans and those crappy gold coins that come in those nets. Lie and say these don’t exist. Trick the kids into giving them to you by faking puking at the taste of them. Change their gaze and swipe them. These are yours. Make sure they stay that way.

How about that shitty fake grass? What’s with that stuff? Don’t eat it though. It stays in your digestive tract for YEARS. It’s like chewing gum except worse. Like…fake tapeworms almost.

And Peeps? What about them? Personally, we’re okay with them. They’re just crappy marshmallow with an assload of sugar shaped like whimsical little chicks or bunnies or…sometimes fucking snowmen and yes, they do exist. But it’s understandable that some people don’t like them. At times, it is almost like trying to chew and swallow a small, sugary throw pillow. They do swell and burst in the microwave SO well though. Kind of like that fat dude on Monty Python that ate that after-dinner mint and blew up…except less gross.

Sundresses? Oh holy shit, yes.

And of course, the Easter Bunny must be there. Ah yes, the Easter Bunny. A creature on platypus-level curiousness. An animal with the physical appearance of a rabbit but the reproductive system of a chicken. Even the Spore(TM) Creature Creator would say “What the fuck?” about this thing. But every year, kids are delighted when he comes by, hiding the eggs and bringing them joy in…what is your DEAL, man?

I’m waiting for the damn koala line. What are you talking about?

Every time we do this, the koala comes back and commits wholesale murder, trying to get to me. I’m just waiting for you to spring it on me so I can run. Seriously, man. You are getting way too paranoid.

You’ll forgive me if I’m wary since, you know, MY FRIENDS WERE SLAUGHTERED AT HALLOWEEN because of you. I had nothing to do with that. Koala.

YOU DICK!

Sssssssssssssssssssrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

You might want to run.

FUCK YOU! Not even if you paid me, muchacho.
——
(Tell me the truth. You’re a sadist, aren’t you? – ed.)

What? No. This stuff doesn’t get me off. And you are way in the wrong to assume otherwise. The only things that get me off are tribbing, spanking, schoolgirls, cowgirl, girls cumming and maybe sometimes getting choked with a garden hose. That is ALL, dude.

(…the hell? – ed.)

Okay, fine! And MAYBE amputee MILF Thai women but that’s only on special occasions.

(I didn’t ask! – ed.)

But people must know! Deuces and Easters!

How To Deal With Being Sick

Posted: April 29, 2010 by kaostheory in Advice
Tags: , ,

But I don’t wannnnnnnnna.

(I don’t care. That’s two articles in a row that are late. Not acceptable. Write the damn thing and write it now. – ed.)

But I’m siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick.

(But I don’t caaaaaaaaaare. Do it or you’re fired. – ed.)

Meanie.

(Slacker. – ed.)

FINE. God. So because my editor is a heartless bastard, I have to write an article today even though I’m practically on my deathbed. Even though my head feels like it’s packed full of railroad spikes. Even though my stomach feels all hungover even though I haven’t been slammed drunk since like Sunday. Even though I’m sleeping 20 out of 24 hours a day. Even though…

(Enough – ed.)

FINE. God. Because I don’t feel like writing anything deep and thought-provoking due to me BEING SICK (KAOS! – ed.), I’ll just inform you people as to the proper methods of dealing with BEING SICK. (I swear to God, KT… – ed.)
——–
Cry like a baby: You’ve earned the right to, honestly. If everything hurts and you are in agony, you’re allowed to let a few tears leak out. Hell, if there’s anything you need to cry about anyways (no job, no girlfriend, death, taxes, etc.), you’re able to use “being sicker than an S&M pedophilic bloodplay enthusiast” to purge those little bastards without fear of looking wussy or as if a woman.

Be babied: This one really works if you have your mom in somewhat close proximity (shut your damn judging mouth). Note: this also only works if your mom is awesome like mine (and Pred3000s) (OH! – ed.) and not a total bitchwad like some moms are wont to be. It’s a nice feeling to just be able to sit and moan and have cocoa (laced with Bailey’s to keep your cryhole quiet) brought to you. Again, shut your damn judging mouth.

Pray for death: I mean, really, you can’t get a whole lot more melodramatic than this. Still, when light actually hurts your skin, moving out of the fetal position to do ANYTHING is an effort worthy of the highest tier of Olympic athletes, your body temperature is hotter than Julia Allison making out with Jessica Biel, your eyes feel like papayas roasting on an open fire, your stomach is all twisty and gross and your BMs could count as a superpower driving you to become a hero named “Skunkman”, you have probably at least a little legitimate cause to go ahead and do this. Not ACTUALLY die, mind you. Just give a little thought to hoping you do.

Curl up in comfy clothes: Jeans? Shirts? TIES? God no. If you’re sick, you are given the ability to only wear three things if you so choose: sleep pants (mine have South Park characters on them!), a robe or nothin’. We do recommend having a robe on OVER the starkers if only for modesty’s sake but hey, you’re sick. What do you care if someone sees your wang-dang-doodle? You’re SICK.

(KT, is this why you haven’t Skyped into the office while being sick? Because you’ve got…ugh…The Awesome unsheathed? – ed.)

Maaaaaaaaybe. On with the article, ED. You’re making me do this, so I’m doing it.

(Ugh. Sorry, I guess. – ed.)

Ignore any duties or responsibilities: Again, what do you care if someone gets mad because you forgot to post an article or file a few papers or inform the Nuclear Regulatory Commission that you are complying with all their demands on time? You’re more concerned with staying on the couch, drinking your hot Bailey’s with a little bit of cocoa in it (at this point) and watching Spongebob on your TV. And Spongebob doesn’t give two shits about widescale corruption in your workplace. Spongebob only gives two shits about Gary, Patrick, Sandy, Squidward, the Krusty Krab and YOU. Yes he does. Yes he does.

Fuck your diet: So you’re trying to be good, trying to be healthy, trying to slim down because you’re a fatty-fat fat fat. We understand. However, you’re sick. The stuff you’re trying to restrict yourself to isn’t appetizing at all and you have to eat. So as you are sick, you’re allowed to cheat. Comfort foods exist for a reason! Have toast with peanut butter on it. Have mac and cheese. Have the Double Down. Have two! (Please, for the love of God, don’t have two. – ed.) Have cocoa and booze with it. Have booze. Speaking of…

Drink: What? Like you’re going to get MORE sick? Get drunk. It might help.

Take drugs: While we don’t advocate any drug use (seriously, even pot makes you a loser – users are losers, users are losers!), we understand that in order to get healthy, you sometimes need the aid of alternatives. Not alternative medicine, you hippies. Swallowing, I don’t know, a loofah made of wheatgrass isn’t going to get rid of a sore throat. It’s just going to clog you up worse than…some…kind of drain…shut up, I’m sick. We’re talking pills to make you sleep, to keep you awake, to decongest you, to make you not queasy, to stop you from throwing up and all sorts of fun things in between. Oh, and morphine. That shit’ll make you forget you’re sick at ALL.

Sleep: Rest is certainly key when it comes to making yourself better. Your body demands that you sleep on a level less of that of a human and more on terms of that of a cat. As long as you sleep, your body can shut down higher functions in order to repair the blast zone that is your immune system. And hell, once you hit adult levels, the more sleep you can get, the better. Call it embracing a second childhood in a sense. However, there is a downside to all the sleep. This is…

Insane dreams: These can either be really fun or really really bad. Some sickness dreams can lead to you riding a mechanical taco through the middle of Berlin, wearing a tri-corn hat and waving a saber, laughing maniacally as the populace trembles under your might. Others lead to you being surrounded by college frat boys throwing eggs at your house as you’re pinned down, glasses knocked off so you can only see blurs IN YOUR DREAM, their rationale being that this is how they keep the peace and enforce order. THERE IS NO MIDDLE GROUND. It is literally (You mean figuratively – ed.) rolling the dice, even is evil, odd is just…well, odd.

(Oh that is a horrific pun, you bastard. – ed.)
——–
Have fun interrupting my article this time, Ed?

(I just…you needed correcting. – ed.)

You sound like a Drew Frazier.

(YOU FUCKING TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW! – ed.)

Sorry. Sorry. That was out of line. You didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that.

(You’re damn right. Goodbye everyone. We’ll try to get back to a normal schedule soon. – ed.)

Non-Kama Sutra Approved “Sexniques”

Posted: March 16, 2010 by kaostheory in Advice, Informative
Tags: , , , ,

We here at Dan Eats Cat Food, when not oppressing the lower classes while propping up the increasingly power-mad bourgeoisie of multiple second-world countries (Yugoslavia for one and yes, we are aware that it no longer exists…for now), are dedicated to making the lives of you, our gentle readers, that much easier, be it through tax evasion, manipulating the school systems or simply improving the act of love. Luckily for you, our Man on the Street KaosTheory, while on a factfinding mission to Nepal (I found out some facts about myself. Dark facts. – KT) unearthed some rare, unused pages from what appears to be the first draft of the legendary Kama Sutra. We aren’t quite sure why they remained unused but with a little bit of good old-fashioned to-do and some elbow grease (Sweet, sweet 100 proof elbow grease – KT), we were able to decipher most of what was written there and provide it as a thank-you service to you. Please enjoy and don’t feel afraid to try these novel, brand-new yet centuries old techniques.

(For the love of all that is good in the world, do not attempt these. People will die. I wish I was kidding – ed.)
———
The Crocodile: We’ll start off with one of the more difficult to achieve, simply because it requires absolute and total trust. A further note, it must take place on top of the covers, lest the sheets be torn asunder. Take your lovely lady and embrace her, gently, around the arms and waist. This signifies that you are her big strong man and will protect her. It is to ease her spirit and let her aquiesce to your manly will. Whisper soft words into her ear, enticing her to further acts of love with your poetry. Lull her into a sleepy haze of lust and love. Still with your arms around her, lay her on the bed, continuing your talking. Then, just as she is about to drift into a happy sleep, grab your left wrist with your right hand, lock your arms and go into a mighty death roll. Your ultimate goal is to get a good three revolutions in before she understands what’s happening.

(I am horrified to say that this actually made me smile quickly. Don’t for one damn second think that means I approve of this. – ed.)

The Splaying Mantis: This one is for the ladies. Answer me this, ladies. Are you tired of your man always cumming too fast and rolling over to go to sleep without you getting a chance to scale Magic Mountain? Well, this technique will help solve that one right quick. The next time he sends off U.S.S. Ball-Load and rolls over, chomp into the back of his head. This should make him scream and wake up, probably very pissed off. As calmly as you can make it, inform him that in the animal kingdom, women praying mantises bite the heads off the males if the males cum too soon. Also inform him that the next time he does so, you will take on that animal trait again…but that time won’t be gnawing on the back of his thinking head. Then turn your back to him and go to sleep. We promise he won’t make that mistake twice.

(No. No. No. Do not do this. That is spousal abuse. It is a FELONY. – ed.)

The Twilight: This particular one requires a little pre-planning. More specifically, it requires knowledge of circuitry (especially alarm systems), breaking and entering and total silence during movement. It will probably take a good five to seven years in Berlin’s seedy underground to pick up these skills but after intensive training and a couple of mandatory assassinations (probably of guys named Vanya or Holger), you’ll be ready. Just think of the delight on your woman’s face when she wakes up to find you – who, incidentally, informed her you were dead off the coast of Spain those seven years ago – standing over her, grinning like a maniac, covered head to toe with body glitter and fake blood. You’ll be just like Edward Cullen! How special!

(How…you know, I don’t even want to know how you know about the Berlin thing. – ed.)

The Staying Power: Alright fellas. Stay with me here. We all know that when we get all up in a lady’s parts that we like to ride it as fast and hard as we can, making ourselves go all roller-coaster in the ballsack. But sometimes those ladies don’t appreciate that wham-bam-thank you ma’am style of fuckin’. Sometimes they like it to go a long time. But when you’re feeling that surge right in the huevos, how are you to stem the tide? Simple. If you think you’re going to go all Jackson Pollack on her face, pull out quickly and slam your dick as hard as you can in the bedstand drawer. The blast of pain and shrieking like a little girl should buy you enough time to go twenty, even thirty minutes more. Trade secret, kid.

(MotherFUCKER! That made me wince just reading it. Broken urethras are nothing to laugh at. – ed.)

The Drunken Sailor: This one is not so much complex as it is letting yourself settle into a frame of mind. In the olden days, sailors were hardy men, dedicated to hard living, hard loving and hard drinking. Not like those puss-ass Navy boys today. Bunch of flouncing doilies. (We do not agree with this. We respect all members of the American Armed Forces here at DECF. Well, and SAS and Mossad. They scare the shit out of us. – ed.) But old sailors? Man, when they made port, there wasn’t a scullery house, brothel, tavern or nunnery bereft of the stink and raw animal power of the sailor’s thrust. In the spirit of the time, for this what you must do is get blind, stinking drunk on the cheapest-ass rum you can find. If it’s just rum in a bottle with no name, you win. Kill the thing, shift your bleary eyes to the sleeping form of your awaiting mistress and begin to plow her like the first Iowan fields in spring.

(*ahem* Rape. Rape. This is legally qualified as rape. Before you do this, please get consent first. We don’t want to be responsible for jail time. Well. Any more jail time than we already are, anyways. – ed.)

The Guitar Hero: Here we have one that you can your partner can do together, not requiring the base taking of another. (Finally. – ed.) It is also one of the more difficult because it requires not only incredible hand-eye coordination but that in conjuction with your penis. Kind of a three-way coordination thing. You first need to start with latex paint…

(Oh God no. No. We aren’t running this one. I don’t care what you say. This one is wholly wrong. – ed.)

(Don’t get your tits in a twist. It’s just painting all the fingers on one hand AND your dick the five guitar key colors and have her scream out what to use. You know, like red and yellow chord would be the middle and ring fingers. Or orange and green would be the kielbasa and one in the pooper. – KT)

(That’s enough. Moving on. – ed.)

(You’re just scared of expressing your own sexuality and kinks. I bet Rita would be into it. – KT)

(YOU SHUT YOUR GODDAMNED MOUTH ABOUT RITA! – ed.)

The Jimmy Fallon: Fairly simple here. Giggle at your premature ejaculating. Giggle at your woman’s frustration at said premature ejaculating. Giggle at the very act of making love. Tape your encounter in poor, grainy 80s style. Hammer nails through your dick to force those who watch the tape to feel bad for you. Let a ginger, man with a boat for a head, guy formerly dating a Jewish woman, and a Scotsman fuck your woman to much greater success than you will ever achieve. But hey, you at least get to laugh at a DJ. Of course you will. Of course you will.

(And another thing, who the hell made you King of Dicking? I don’t recall you getting all nas-tay with anyone recently! – ed.)

(Ed, this isn’t the time. Make fun of Jimmy Fallon already. – KT)

(That hack? It’d be like kicking a drowning blind puppy…that had AIDS…and had its balls cut off…and was…I don’t know. I need a beer. – ed.)

The Conquistador: Are you Spanish? Do you want to be? You’re in luck! For this one, all you need is a Spanish flag, a suit of armor and a South American chick, preferably Mexican. Now what you do is…

(I don’t care. It’ll offend our readers. Next one. – ed.)

(Are you fucking kidding me? You’re going to censor my shit now? Stop being such a baby. – KT)

(YOU’RE the baby. – ed.)

(I don’t believe this. – KT)

The Diorama: Okay. Last one. Simple instructions. Build a…

(Sorry. No can do. Over the word count limit. Have to do that in a different article. – ed.)

(That is BULLSHIT. You don’t have the authority to… – KT)

(To what? Edit your work? Set guidelines? I absolutely do, you unprofessional wankrag. – ed.)

(I’M unprofessional? It’s ME who is unprofessional? Look at YOU, you pretentious, repressed son of… – KT)

/feed interrupted
/insert peppy music with a sheepish looking cartoon me shrugging
/static


Super Bowl Sunday. A real MAN’S holiday, not like that wimp-ass Valentine’s Day designed to rip the testes off of any man unlucky enough to have access to a bank account and a pussy that demands recompense for the privilege of using it. The only days that compare are St. Patrick’s Day – a day to celebrate the act of getting drunk – and Halloween – a day to celebrate getting drunk while watching girls in slutty costumes get drunk. Truly, Super Bowl Sunday is in the Pantheon of Manly.

What, though, is a man or woman to do if they do not care about/understand football and are viewing the game with/dating someone who is more rabid than Cujo about it? Well, we’re going to offer you a little bit of help on this most holy of football days. You know, to take the edge off.
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The first – and most important – piece of advice is at least pretend that you give a shit about the game. Too many Super Bowl parties are ruined by “outsiders” pissing and moaning about how it’s boring and why are we watching this and how about we turn it to the History Channel instead because there’s an utterly fascinating program on the mating cycle of the African I Don’t Fucking Care Bird. Relationships have ended with less reason than that. Fun fact: it is legally accepted that if someone is bitching about having to watch the game, spectators are allowed to A) headbutt them in the face (if they are male) or B) take them into a different room and rape them (if they are female). Do yourself – and your face or vagina or ass – a favor and at least act like you care. Well, that or don’t come. Don’t watch. Stay at home and let fans have their fun.

Secondly, it is advised to learn the basics about the game and teams before the game. While the complainer is one of the most annoying of guests, the questioner is right up there. The enthusiasm and desire to care about the sport is welcomed for sure, but nothing saps the energy out of a room faster than having a critical play missed due to asking “Why did they call timeout there?” or “So the guys in the striped shirts don’t get the ball?” or, God forbid, “Why doesn’t that team in the red just walk up and take the ball from the guy holding it?” Please. For the sanity of those around you, either attempt to understand the basics beforehand or just suffer in silence and ask during the commercials.

Speaking of which, for the love of all that is holy, don’t ignore the game by doing other stuff but run into the room and shush everyone because the commercials are on. Yes, we understand that for whatever reason the commercials during the Super Bowl aren’t hated and muted like all others but are held up as exciting and fresh. Yes, we understand that you may not care about the game and the commercials are the only reason you’re watching. Yes, we understand that you want to feel involved with what’s happening. But come on. If you don’t give enough of a shit to pay attention to the game, don’t act like you have the fucking right to quiet everyone – probably pissed or excited about something that happened – just because a fucking eTrade commercial has a damn monkey.

Next – and this one does depend on the audience you’re seeing the game with – know when to cheer and when to boo. If you’re watching a game with all – let’s say – Saints fans, don’t cheer for Peyton Manning of the Colts unless you are goddamn sure you are rooting for the Colts. An innocent mistake by someone who doesn’t quite understand what’s happening is fine and glossed over. Mistakes happen. But if you are cheering against the team with the overwhelming support in the room, you are treading on dangerous ground. Devil’s Advocate is fine in some situations. Political discussions for example. But actively cheering against the supported team because you think it’s funny to make them angry is a bad, bad way to go about things. Since parties usually include a lot of alcohol being poured and consumed around the house/room/bar, if you don’t get your face bashed in by a drunken biker you pissed off because you wanted to, you got lucky. You fucking cunt.

Along with that, please, please know why you are cheering for the team you are doing so for. It is acceptable to cheer for a team because A) you have always supported them, B) you live in the general area and they are the team that is the closest by, C) they are a great success story and a win would cap off a remarkable year, D) the opposing team is so hated, so reviled that unless you live in that area, you have no right to like them, or E) the opposing team is a direct rival of your favorite team. You are allowed to “adopt” a team in the case of E. However, it is NOT acceptable to cheer for a team because A) you like their uniforms, B) everyone else is cheering for the other one, C) the other team’s colors are ugly, or D) because you think players on the team are attractive. That last one applies mostly to girls. Jesus Christ. Having “cute players” is absolutely fucking unacceptable fandom rationalization. We men don’t support a WNBA team because their players are “hot”. If “their player is hot” is the best reason you have to back a team, you are not a fucking football fan and don’t have any right to call yourself one. Other fans of that team should be ashamed to have you as a fan. It’s the truth.

Finally, don’t act like you’re above it. This is a development off of Point 1. We understand that you may not want to be there or are there to support someone. That’s fine. Pissing and moaning will bring bad things upon you but there is worse that you can do. You can act like everyone else is silly for caring about the game. “It’s just a game” should never fucking leave your mouth. We understand that. We don’t care. For the length of time we are watching it, nothing else matters to us. “This is so stupid” is another one that should stay at home. If you think verbalizing that is a helpful thing, YOU should stay at home. You are there so just enjoy yourself. Seriously. It’s an excuse to get drunk, cheer and lose yourself in a moment. If you can’t enjoy that, take the stick out of your orifices and let yourself be human.

Follow these and your Super Bowl experience will be a happy, healthy, fun one!
———-
Alternatively, you can get hammered as balls drinking. We’re going to offer a bonus with this article and give you some basic drinking game ideas!

Field goal (your team) – Cheer and drink

Field goal (other team) – Curse and drink

Touchdown (your team) – Stand up, cheer and drink

Touchdown (their team) – Throw drink, curse, make another drink and drink

Turnover (either team) – Finish your drink and refill

Missed field goal (either team) – Pour out half your drink

Shot of owner (either team) – Give the finger and drink

Shot of players’ wives (either team) – Groan, complain about how you don’t care and drink

Beer commercial – Kill your beer

Financial commercial -Call your financial planner

Repeat commercial – Drink until the commercial is over

Controversial commercial – Drink until you can see both sides of the issue

Win (your team) – Celebrate and drink until you black out due to happiness

Loss (your team) – Swear repeatedly, maybe cry and drink until you forget that the fucking game even happened

There we have it! Please don’t die, readers!

Tips For a Happy, Healthy Christmas

Posted: December 23, 2009 by kaostheory in Informative
Tags: , , , ,

Are…are you serious? We’re still doing this? We’re still trying to make this blog limp along like a raccoon with its leg caught in a beartrap? Let it die already, you idiot. Clearly you have issues with deadlines so…

Oh, hello. Sorry about that. You…um…weren’t supposed to hear that. I just was talking to my producers who have informed me that Dan Eats Cat Food is NOT, in fact, deader than Brittany Murphy after a three-day coke binge. [Oh, topical humor…and within a week, too. That’s not going to piss people off at all. -ed.]

Pause for angry hatred. 3…2…1…okay, we’re good. [I hate you so much. I hate you with a burning fire. – ed.]

As I was saying, apparently the braindead asstards who run this site still believe there is something of literary value to be gained from keeping this bastion of poor writing alive in whatever unwashed, pee-stained corner of the Wendy’s bathroom that is the Internet it exists in this week. And speaking of this week, we’re on the fasttrack to the most controversial holiday of year, save Black History Month and Rape an Electrician Thursday: Christmas. It seems as if every year, we as a human race are bombarded more and more not with joys and tinsel and happy little reindeer dressed in Santa hats with their jingle bells painted a festive red and green but with shitheads on both uber-Christian and atheist sidelines throwing vitriol on everything they disagree with that comes from the other side, customers throwing others through Walmart front windows and an inexplicable sense of dread about the entire holiday. It’s enough to make one wish [redacted – You’re an asshole, not a heretic – ed.]. That being said, we here at Dan Eats Cat Food are nothing if not benevolent and love-bringers [Are you DRUNK? -ed.], so in the spirit of the season, we’re going to give you tips on how to make your Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Eid/Tet/Festival of Lights [Enough – ed.] the most special-ist season of them all and maybe we’ll even find ourselves having a little fun along the way!

[Editor’s Note – People. Let me take a second to talk to you. You apparently still read this which concerns me in ways I can’t explicate but as a readership base, you are important to us. So for that reason alone, I cannot make it any clearer than this: do not under ANY circumstances follow any of the advice this man is about to give you in this article. Not one piece. The writer of this piece – and really anyone who writes on this site but this man in particular – is borderline criminally insane. We only allow him to write here because he has photographic evidence of some very important people doing some very illegal things with very underage persons. I repeat: do NOT listen to this man. This statement is a warning and absolves us of any damage – property, civil or human – that may occur henceforth. Good luck.]

————————
Create gifts from the heart (or other body parts): Store-bought gifts are just so impersonal. Sure, an iPod might be a really neat thing for the music lover in your life, but wouldn’t a song written just for them mean more? Or how about a hand-carved bird feeder for the yard? And what about that special someone that requires the best gift of all? A to-scale plaster replica of your dick says “I cherish you” more than a necklace or a diamond ring. [Sonofabitch. – ed.]

Replace those boring old Christmas lights with something that has a little more pizazz to it: Gasoline in your rain gutters with a long fuse can help light up the house for everyone to see! Plus, it’ll help you meet some new people. Specifically, new, pissed-off people wearing funny red hats and cursing the ground you walk on. Invite them in for a cup of hot cocoa when it’s all over!

Spice up that eggnog with something special: Tailor the drink to fit the mood of the party. 2:1 girl to guy ratio – Use Captain Morgan to kickstart those panties. 1:2 girl to guy ratio – Use Everclear to blast away the fact that spitroasting is not only an option, but probable. 1:1 girl to guy ratio – Use brandy to get people the hookup. Work Christmas party – Strychnine.

Christmas caroling can be annoying. Why not use different songs?: For example, “Fuck Tha Police” by N.W.A. is a rollicking piece that will certainly get the neighbors talking. As are “Bitches Ain’t Shit”, “99 Problems” and “The Dreidel Song”. All Christmas favorites the family is sure to enjoy!

Volunteer to be a Mall Santa: That way you can have all that sweet, sweet five [redacted – COME ON, MAN! – ed.]

Avoid mistletoe at all costs: It’s not only poisonous to animals and humans alike but it can lead to accidents. A kiss session under the mistletoe can lead to a makeout session in the Miata can lead to a sex session in the apartment can lead to an abortion session in the three months. See how easy it is to fall from a holiday tradition to destroying a life? Chilling in its simplicity, really.

Don’t accept those shitty-ass sweaters anymore: Seriously, man. It’s not funny anymore. If your wacky aunt or grandma is sending you this sort of thing, look into a nice home with lots of orderlies to make sure she’s nice and taken care of. If she still insists on sending you those sweaters, at least demand that they be sewn from the hair of a grizzly bear. One way or another, someone’s getting mauled and isn’t that what Christmas is about?

Spruce up those dry Christmas cards that you send each year: Does your girlfriend/wife/sister/daughter have nice tits? Well, don’t bogart them, brother! Share them with the world! I can promise you that old Uncle Reggie will praise you endlessly for striping HIS candy cane. [That doesn’t even make sense – ed.]

Speaking of candy canes…: Just keep this one fact in the back of your head as you suck on a candy cane. Be you male or female or some gross transitional period in between…you look like you are giving fellatio. Sorry, but it’s true. You suck the red off of one, you look like you blew someone so hard there’s blood. I say don’t touch ’em now.

Christmas stockings are so passe now.: Why not try a Christmas bra? Or Christmas briefs? How about Christmas tube sock dangling precariously from the semi-erect penis of a alt-rock/funk bassist? I know some people can get behind that one! Or have that one get behind them at very least. That was an ass sex joke if you didn’t get it. [We got it, thanks. -ed.]

If you’re going with a Christmas tree, avoid spruce or pine or fir: I know, I know, these are the “popular” ones. But everyone gets them. Everyone. Do you want to be part of the herd? I didn’t think so. If you want to be really fancy, go with a elm tree or a cactus. Hell, if you want to be really original, avoid the whole tree thing altogether and make your Christmas display revolve around a chained-up, pissed-off Bengal tiger. I promise you that nobody would have that one, for sure.

As for Rudolph…: Let’s get one thing straight here. This is a reindeer – a wild animal without its shots – that is landing on your roof with a glowing red nose. I wouldn’t call this “cute” or “charming”. I’d say it’s more along the lines of being a catastrophically rabid creature with a cruel owner who has access to a forklift. Don’t feed that thing carrots. Be its Angel of Mercy and use a 20-06 to end its eternal torment on Earth.

Finally, the Fat Man himself.: Now, if I know Santa like I know Santa – and I KNOW Santa…carnally, in fact [Goddamnit! – ed. ] – he’s not going to want “milk and cookies” sitting out for him. What is he? Fucking seven? No. You really want to get on the Big Guy’s good side, you set out a fifth of Jack and a skin mag. That’s the sort of offering that gets you a PS3. Or so I’m told.

Well, that’s all the advice we here at Dan Eats Cat Food can offer you this holiday season! Take them to heart and have a very Merry Christmas!

[I’m going to drink until I vomit and pass out on my living room floor. Maybe I won’t wake up and I’ll finally be happy. – ed]


Ladies and gentlemen…

Penis.

The very word arouses laughter and causes embarrassed ejaculations of…okay, enough puns. There are going to be PLENTY later on.

Anyways, as men, many of you realize the definite importance of naming your wedding tackle appropriately. You can’t do something like “Fuzzles”. That’s fucking weak-sounding. As does ANYTHING that is just a first name. John. Mark. Paul. And so forth. These are weak and impotent names that make you sound…well…weak and impotent. You need manly names. Proud names. Names that will make you stand erect and say “I am man! See my cock!”

Yet, this can be difficult. Much effort goes into the decision-making process, as it should. However, we here at DECF are here to help by giving you a comprehensive guide to naming your penis. This entry is United States Presidents. Come and join me as we get started.

If you enjoy having sex with virgins, name it George Washington. Think back to what he cut down in urban legend. You’ll get it.

If you have a sexual fetish for extraterrestrials, name it John Adams. Sedition Act, what?

If you have ‘jungle fever’, name it Thomas Jefferson. This also works especially well if you’re into BDSM.

If you have a special affinity for women in New Orleans, name it James Madison. Hookers are even better.

If you like making women feel good, name it James Monroe. Yes, this is obscure. Fuck you.

If you feel inadequate when compared to your father and want to make up for it, name it John Quincy Adams. You know HE did.

If you like referring to it as ‘Old Hickory’, name it Andrew Jackson. This also works if you like raping Native American women and making them cry.

If you like people asking what’s so special about it, name it Martin Van Buren. Seriously, does ANYONE know what he did?

If you are a premature ejaculator with weak erections, name it William Henry Harrison. This might be one to…you know, keep to yourself.

If you like taking Texan girls against their will, name it John Tyler. Also, if you fill in where WHH up there fails sexually.

If you have had it referred to by They Might Be Giants, name it James K. Polk. /end obscure music reference

If you like it rough and are always ready, name it Zachary Taylor. Good gravy, nicknames are helpful for this.

If you are quite well endowed, name it Millard Fillmore. Get it? Because you can “fill more” pussy…never mind.

If you have a Prince Albert, name it Franklin Pierce. Yet another one I’m not proud of.

If you are so lame that people can’t even make fun of you, name it James Buchanan. Pain in my ass…

If you refer to ejaculation as ‘freeing the slaves’ and/or go au naturale with the ‘forest’, name it Abraham Lincoln. Probably a log cabin joke there too.

If you have been thrown out of bed for being terrible, name it Andrew Johnson. This one already fits with the genital puns anyways.

If you have had ‘crotch rot’, name it Ulysses S. Grant. See, because you had ‘corruption’ and HE had corruption.

If you have ‘yellow fever’, name it Rutherford B. Hayes. Holy BALLS is this one obscure.

If you hate Mondays, name it James A. Garfield. Wait…fuck.

If you have managed to convince people to sleep with you even though they hated you, name it Chester A. Arthur. The history! It burns!

If you can come twice in fairly rapid succession, name it Grover Cleveland. And if you can’t come at all…you shouldn’t be with a woman.

If you…you know what, I can’t even fucking FIND one for this. If you name your dick Benjamin Harrison…well, good luck.

If you have had your prowess referred to as the ‘gold standard’, name it William McKinley. This also works if your ex who hates you is Polish.

If you have been called a ‘bull moose’ in terms of fuckin’, name it Theodore Roosevelt. Also appropriate for if you like her riding you rough.

If you have one that’s fat but ineffectual, name it William Howard Taft. You should totally ask her if she wants to take a bath, as well.

If you are willing to go with a cheap joke instead of doing actual witty research, name it Woodrow Wilson. Oh come on. Like I wouldn’t go with a “woody reference”.

If you enjoy getting ‘dome’, name it Warren G. Harding. Just make sure you sing “I’m A Little Teapot” which getting it.

If you stay silent during sex, name it Calvin Coolidge. Yeah…you lose. I guess.

If you suck at what you do, name it Herbert Hoover. I…I am so sorry.

If you have ever had sex so good you couldn’t walk after, name it Franklin Delano Roosevelt. I was not going to go for the cheap incest crack, thank you very much.

If you come with the force of an atom bomb, name it Harry S. Truman. Also if you come during doggy-style (aka ‘behind’)…yeah, I know.

If you have named it affectionately ‘Ike’, name it Dwight D. Eisenhower. Longer name implies longer penis. True story.

If you absolutely love getting head, name it John F. Kennedy. Oh thank God…finally an easy one.

If you have gotten yourself into a situation with no good way out of it, name it Lyndon B. Johnson. Um. Yeah. Moving on.

If you like having sex with squirters, name it Richard Nixon. Because the vagina is the gate to the female soul. Get it?

If you have ever been a substitute because a boy couldn’t quite make it, name it Gerald Ford. And you, of course, can’t stay too long.

If you like exploiting the homeless for your own selfish needs, name it Jimmy Carter. Or you could, you know, be doing good with it too, I guess.

If you like girls snowballing each other with your seed, name it Ronald Reagan. Gahhhhh…okay this one is gross.

If you enjoy going down on a girl, name it George H.W. Bush. See, because you’re “reading their lips”…

If you have an unnatural fascination with cigars and apparently Freud, name it Bill Clinton. This one actually had too many jokes to make with it.

If you have fucked a girl and she’s said ‘Your dad’s better’, name it George W. Bush. Again, way, way too many to make with this.

and finally,

If you have gotten a date with the hottest girl you know and have been hyped way the fuck up but just can’t quite deliver the goods, name it Barack Obama. Also if you’re a black guy.

Guh. Two months later, this damn one’s finished. I gotta tell you, ladies and gents. We have had some shitty, shitty Presidents in our country’s history. But surely we won’t ever make that mistake again…right? Right?

Enjoy this thing.

Oh, and tits.