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Understanding Men: A Guide for Women

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Ladies... we are not that complicated. Really we aren't. Much like the Happy Hobbyist thread, I hope we can dispel some of the unknown mysteries of manhood... stuff that you may or may not have difficulty in grasping....

 

So here goes.

 

1. Answering Questions

 

Men, as stated before, are not complicated. In fact, we are rather simple. Painfully so. Rather like rocks. Rocks that get excited by the sight of naked women.

 

Frankly, when you ask us questions, we go into panic mode. Panic. Sheer terror. Don't get me wrong, it's not that we don't know the answer to things you ask, we just don't know that answer that can't be interpreted by you to cause tears or anger. Simple questions. Really simple questions.

 

"What do you want for breakfast?" Ummmmm... if I say bacon, I am being insensitive to the needs of slaughterhouse pigs, her need to maintain a fat free diet, her Jewish friend Sarah that may drop over today, and to the mess that bacon causes in the kitchen. But I like bacon. I say, "bacon."... and she's okay with that. Whew. and then I say, "... and eggs." And that's when the tears come. I have no idea why eggs cause tears but they do.

 

Now I figure that bacon and eggs are a natural combination. When I say "eggs" she believes that there is an ulterior motive. Like an affair. With an egg merchant's daughter. A younger, prettier egg merchant's daughter. That I have NEVER met. But because I have said "eggs", I won't have sex with my SO for a month. I am just glad that I didn't ask for orange juice.

 

Men, well we say things because ummmm... it's what pops into our heads. There's no deeper meaning. Remember the "simple" part. That's us. It comes with a penis and testicles. Standard equipment. We selfishly answer simple questions with simple answers.

 

2. The Toilet Seat

 

Men have the option of either sitting or standing to pee. It's one of the glories of being a man. We can step back a few paces and let a glorious golden arc escape us and giggle with manly glee that we hit a porcelain bowl dead in the centre with the acumen of ancient archers.

 

We have been educated for years by our matriarchs that peeing on the seat is inappropriate. So we walk over and carefully LIFT the SEAT. We CHECK TO SEE WHETHER the SEAT IS UP. We use our man hands and manipulate the seat to a position that will accommodate our urinary delight. The seat is often callously left in the seated position by those who have tread before us. Undaunted, and in consideration of others we do not pee while the seat is in the down position. No. We check the seat position and lift it. See the theme?

 

Ladies. You have eyes. You have lady hands. Manipulate that seat to the down position when you have to go pee. I know you can do it. You don't need to plunge your lady bits into an abyss of icy cold aquatic hell... check the seat position... like we do ... EVERY TIME WE PEE.

 

 

more to come...

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My OD! Thank you for enlighten our day with your knowledge yay! I ve always wonder about the mysteries of this masculine being LOL Well i know some! Hahaha But there is always more to learn! Xoxo looking forward to learning more n more... Specially if u r my master ;-) Bacon flavour kiss to u!

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3. The Man Cold

 

The Man Cold is devastating. Millions of men suffer the intolerable cruelty of the Man Cold every year and yet, no research money is ever devoted to fight this dreadful pox upon my people. We tried to have a marathon to raise money, but sadly, an outbreak of Man Cold emerged and nearly killed all of the runners.

 

Historic fact: By August 1945, the USA had developed two weapons to drop on Japan in an effort to end the Second World War - the Atom Bomb and the Man Cold Bomb. President Truman decided that the Atom Bomb was the solution, he said, and I quote, "If we drop the Man Cold bomb on the Japanese, we will end one war and begin another. No other nation would ever trust us again. The Man Cold bomb must NEVER be used. The Atom bomb will kill thousand of Japanese civilians; the Man Cold bomb will make them suffer abject misery forever."

 

Do you understand??? People chose atomic weapons OVER the Man Cold because they were being good hearted. It's just that bad. So please, when you see us suffering the indignity of the Man Cold, treat us gently. Bring us single malt scotch, bacon sandwiches and occasionally grant us the relief of oral sex every 4-6 hours. It's not much to ask to ease our suffering.

 

4. Directions

 

There is an instinctive aversion to ask for directions based again on sound historical footing. Moses. Remember Moses? Old guy in a toga with a long curly beard, kinda looked like Charlton Heston??? That guy.

 

Moses had freed the Israelites. They were headed to the promised land. He had a good idea where he was headed. Then Mrs Moses and her sister in law, Mrs Joshua went up to Moses and said, "Why don't you ask the nice Egyptian man over there if he knows the way?" Moses, was a people pleaser. So he asked. And you know what? The Egyptian guy was an asshole. He sent them the wrong way. The wandered in the wilderness for 40 frickin' years, because Moses the people pleaser, Moses the listener, asked for directions.

 

Then there was Napoleon... little guy always scratching his tummy.

 

Napoleon wanted to take his guys on vacation. He stopped and asked another Egyptian which was the way to the beach. The Egyptian guy gave him directions. Napoleon ended up in Russia. In winter. Facing angry Russians. With bellies full of vodka and sticks up their butts. All of Napoleons guys died except for the few pissed off guys that came back to France with him. Napoleon asked for directions.

 

Amelia Earhart asked for directions. The natives, counselled by an Egyptian, sent her to someplace that didn't have gas for airplanes, attacked her and ate her.

 

Bad things happen when you ask for directions. BAD. THINGS. That's why we have natural pathfinding skills. We are instinctive. We have a secret GPS. And we never trust Egyptians.

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I certainly like how you formatted and never used the word "lost" in # 4 Directions. I am definitely a believer that a man is usually never lost but may from time-to-time be temporarily uncertain as to his exact postion....

 

Aviators as I am are vain when it comes to those things and admitting they may need glases (I finally did after 5 years of needing them).

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Wow... OD, you're outdoing yourself, here. I'm breathless, quivering with anticipation as I imagine the timeless questions women have that could be answered at long last.

 

Like... for awhile, I dated a nuclear physicist, gifted beyond belief when it came to that kind of Math that doesn't use any numbers, just a lot of brackets and Greek symbols. You know, that one. The man is a certified genius. Good in bed, too. But could he remember when my birthday is? No! Sadly, he's not the first man I've known who couldn't keep track of something simple like that. Maybe it would be better if I dated accountants and actuaries, but, well, then I'd be dating accountants and actuaries and, really, dear friend, can you imagine me with one of them? Of course not. So, back to my original question: What is the problem with remembering birthdays?

 

And what is it about hockey games? I mean, really. I've been looking forward to a pleasant rendez-vous with a very nice fellow in the late afternoon today. This morning, he called to say he thinks he's coming down with something. He wanted to postpone the meeting. Okay. I hang up the phone and turn the page of the newspaper to discover that some hockey team called the Senators is playing against the Penguins, today. Apparently this is the highly challenging Game 4. And the Senators only saved their asses-on-skates Sunday night by means of divine intervention or something, winning over the flightless waterfowl in the final heartbeats of the game. Is there a connection between the cancelled date and the game? That's not even debatable. Now, if I do say so myself, I'm a heck of a lot prettier than any of the Senators and I swear I have no Penguin-type fish-breath, and there's never a question about whether my guest will feel like a winner by the end of the encounter. So, what gives?

 

Sign me Perplexed.

Edited by SamanthaEvans
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Maybe it would be better if I dated accountants and actuaries, but, well, then I'd be dating accountants and actuaries and, really, dear friend, can you imagine me with one of them? Of course not.

 

Not to hijack BUT,

 

Oh Miss Evans, even in jest, please don't be knocking the accountants and actuaries. As we are all aware, none of us should be painted with the broad stroke of a brush based on profession. Some of us "accountants" are actually, genuine, brilliant, handsome, sexy, fun loving, rich men who are fantastic in the bed and cook and do housework too. :) Plus I also give a killer foot rub, "no strings attached".

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Not to hijack BUT,

 

Oh Miss Evans, even in jest, please don't be knocking the accountants and actuaries. As we are all aware, none of us should be painted with the broad stroke of a brush based on profession. Some of us "accountants" are actually, genuine, brilliant, handsome, sexy, fun loving, rich men who are fantastic in the bed and cook and do housework too. :) Plus I also give a killer foot rub, "no strings attached".

 

Be still, my pounding heart! I would never have doubted your fantasticness in bed, but you cook? And do housework, too? There is a God in Heaven! And he or she has prodded you to nudge me to avoid stereotypes--mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. (Sorry about the foot rubs, though. I don't like my feet to be handled!)

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I certainly like how you formatted and never used the word "lost" in # 4 Directions. I am definitely a believer that a man is usually never lost but may from time-to-time be temporarily uncertain as to his exact postion....

 

One of the golden rules of navigation: if you don't care where you are, you ain't lost :)

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... And what is it about hockey games? I mean, really. I've been looking forward to a pleasant rendez-vous with a very nice fellow in the late afternoon today. This morning, he called to say he thinks he's coming down with something. He wanted to postpone the meeting. Okay. I hang up the phone and turn the page of the newspaper to discover that some hockey team called the Senators is playing against the Penguins, today...

 

Incredible... A hockey game taking precedence over Samantha? .. That's Unfathomable. Indeed, It's Impossible!! His "Man cold" or other male afflictions, must have knocked out his GPS. [General Penis Support] system. So many things can throw it off. Take some over-the-counter cough syrup, and the dang thing just won't start. And you can't find the kitten, nevermind play, without a fully functional GPS. It's a fact, some of this embedded technology can blow with the wind. On the other hand when the GPS is up and running and we are not distracted by the magnetic influences of sports games, it is wonderful.

 

That's it! Maybe hockey pucks are in reality giant magnets. Designed by sports syndicates to pull our GPS systems off-track. The conspiracy is a theory no more.

 

Upon reflection though, we were probably just led out of Africa by the hand. "Oh, those wonderful hands!".. I've lost track of what I was talking about. Never was much of a hockey fan anyway. I'll stick to the human sports where ice and padding are not needed.

 

PatrickGC

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5. Lady parts

 

Okay. I'll admit it. You have a lot going on down there. A. LOT. Labia #1, Labia # 2, Urethra Franklin, you have a Fabio, a Clitoris, a Vagina, some tubing, a dozen eggs, a cup holder, key rings, there's a vestibule, a patio, a back porch, a taint, a mons, a possum, a fossa, a few dozen glands, a G spot, a pee spot, loofahs, and Morgan Freeman and your bum. And that's just the stuff that has been documented. Top it off by the fact that when most of us discovered them, they were covered by dense foliage. Trim back the shrubs and wow. It's still a mystery.

 

For half of the stuff mentioned, we have no idea whether it feels good or not. You see, we have penisesisiesies. Simple operating instructions. Rub it vigorously and it gets happy. Like fireworks, only wet. Give it a while and voila. Happy fireworks again.

 

That's why men like boobs. Boobs are simple. The other lady parts... ummmm... we'll give it a college try. Don't get us wrong, we like them. A LOT. Just don't ever believe a guy that says he understands them. He's lying. He fumbles around down there like the rest of us hoping that he hits the right spot or spots or areas or regions. Sooooo... that's what we know. Ummmm. Hmmmm. Ohhhhh. It would be good if we got hints. Like, ummmm... grab our heads and pull it in the right direction. Or make a little sound indicating we are in the neighbourhood. Or get your Morgan Freeman to narrate. That'd work. Just sayin'.

 

6. Shoes.

 

We own 4 pair. Black and brown for work, social or dress pants. A pair of running shoes and sandals. That's about all we'll ever need.

 

7. Movies.

 

We like stuff that explodes. If Sandra Bullock, Julia Roberts, Kate Hudson, Cate Blanchett, Jennifer Aniston or Reese Witherspoon drove exploding cars, or shot people in a ghastly way, we'd enjoy chick flicks more. Oh. They could show boobs a lot more. Boobs make chick flicks more tolerable. Oh yeah. Hugh Grant needs to explode more too.

 

8. Your sister.

 

We'd hit that. But not in a duo, cuz that would be weird for all of us. Duos with your sister and her best friend or you and your best friend are okay. See, we are sensitive.

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