I Am Sexist And Proud Of It

If you are uncomfortable about my habit of capitalizing every word in my blog titles here's a solution, grow the fuck up. 

Oh, Hobey-Ho.

I was watching television with Stacy when she began to talk shit about her feelings and all. Being her hubby, I was forced to listen and then she brought up an interesting question.

''Are you against sexism?''

A few things clicked in my mind. I could lie and have sexual intercourse or I could tell the truth and have much more satisfying sexual intercourse. You better believe that I chose the latter. Stacy was pretty surprised. She said that I was always so respectable towards her and other women on dates. I preceded to tell her that I was sexist only towards feminists, working women and any woman in France. She then told me that she was a working woman. I knew this of course, but I always had a solution for this, Stacy works in a cubicle and gets paid less than me. As long as she got paid less, I was fine. Stacy was outraged and she left me on the couch that she stained a few weeks ago. I found her in our bed shaking her head in disbelief. I told her that I was just kidding. She didn't believe me and she had a right to. I decided to stop lying and just tell her straight up. I told her that our relationship would be fine if she refused any promotion past executive and if she decided to stay in the kitchen where she belonged. She refused to talk to me for a day and left to her sisters house. 

A day later we had the best makeup sex ever.

I Like People Who Like Me

The title says it all. I don't like people who don't like me. Why the hell wouldn't I? Am I supposed to praise someone who has complete and utter disdain for me? I think not. I'll give you an example. It was a bright sunny day. Stacy and I were taking a much needed walk in Central Park. Suddenly, some dude comes out of nowhere and starts to tell me hello and whatnot. If I was an average Joe, I would have been surprised yet pleased that this guy was nice enough to care about me. I'm not your average Joe and I'm sure as hell that I wouldn't be pleased if some complete stranger was talking to me. I had two options. I could walk way and leave that pathetic excuse of a life form in the middle of the walkway and ignore the awkwardness that radiated off of him which was bound to follow, OR, I could talk to this guy and be his new best friend. You better believe that I chose the latter. If he liked me, why shouldn't I like him? If a complete stranger invited my nephew into his house for him tea and crumb cakes, I would shove him into the strangers home and tell him to be home by midnight. Remember kids, always trust strangers that offer you food.
Hobey-Ho.

Hobey-Ho!

Hobey-Ho to you, stranger. Welcome to my blog. Now to all of you who don't know what Hobey-Ho means, it's a bloodly greeting. I stole it from D.J. MacHales series, Pendragon. Also, if you're wondering, ''Why did he misspell bloody wrong? He's such a nub.'' I made up the word bloodly. It is a combination between bloody and lovely. In fact why am I explaining this to you at all? Oh yeah, because you don't care. I'd be surprised if anyone reads this at all since the chances of someone actually coming to this blog are pretty low. But until then, I'm going to keep posting and expecting. This was basically an introductory to my new blog. If you made it this far, good job because I'm sure as hell that I wouldn't have.