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In case you're late to the party, the mental anguish of writing this blog has slowed production. For those who can not handle life without me, I have begun to tweet. Open wide and enjoy!

I'm moving back to the city March 2nd.

Me: keep it sexy

Me: but like toni braxton sexy

Me: its classier that way

Butang: yeah much more so than trina da baddest bitch

Butang: no class

Me: exactly

Me: a lady in the street and a freak in the bed, thats what I always say

Butang: haha

Me: i hope i quote rap lyrics to my grandchildren

Me: "You know grandson you have to wear a condom, because if you don't you'll wind up like Kanye's cousin who "caught something on the Usher tour he had to let it burn""

Butang: its weird knowing that we'll know all the words to forgot about dre when we're 80

Me: You think they ll play baby i like it raw when we're going to senior mixers?

Butang: hahhahaa

Knowing is Half The Battle

Most guys really hate when their girl PMSes, I am not one of those guys. It’s not that I particularly enjoy “that time of the month”; I just think fertility is damn sexy. That river of blood that runs between your thighs eventually stems and leaves behind a valley as fertile as the Nile’s. That’s hot and I don’t give a shit that my mom might read this. I think the most important part of your PMS going smoothly has to do with what is perhaps your greatest propensity for deception: Telling me your PMSing.

            If you cramp and bloat you take Midol, if you have a headache you take Advil, but what happens when you get all cranky, moody, and emotional? There’s only one pill for that honey, and that’s communication. But women don’t want you to know when they’re PMSing because they give up tremendous power.

            Consider the following: Your girlfriend starts crying during a romantic movie. You don’t think much of it and dry her tears being the saint you are. You cuddle with her and let her know everything is fine between the two of you. She is confused because she didn’t think the movie had anything to do with your relationship. She becomes more emotional and starts picking a fight with you. All of a sudden you are defending your manhood and your love for her. You do this with intense vigor confessing your undying love for her to avoid a fight. Game, set, match, all of a sudden she is happy as a clam. Her mood comes and goes with eerie quickness. HOWEVER, if you knew she was PMSing the situation would’ve played out differently. She would’ve started to cry at the movie and you would’ve laughed and said “hahahah get over it babe, you’re just PMSing”.

            Girls need continuing emotional support and PMS allows them to obtain it without justifying seemingly overly emotional behavior. Girls think if they tell you, your rationality will wipe out any good will and emotional support. Well ladies it seems we’ve come to a sperm and egg dilemma once again. If you tell me you are PMSing I will be better equipped to handle it and I promise I will support you emotionally. So there! Now it’s time to keep up your end of the bargain.

            I was recently introduced to this site: pmsbuddy. It seems like a good idea for both parties. Now I know when to make you feel extra loved and when to avoid Hugh Grant films like the plague. Guys I think its worth giving it a shot, and girls its time to be open to new ideas. At least this way, your monthly fertility reminder doesn’t have to be a real life game of minesweeper. I’m Theodore Jones and this is The Gumption.

P.S. That's Bob Cobb.

Create Your Own Caption

Video of the Week

FAIL!

More Fabric Please!

            A very happy birthday to Butang today! It just so happens that a funny thing happened on the way to his birthday brunch on Saturday. On the first truly warm day of the year, the cab driver that was my chauffer snidely remarked: “It was better when it was winter.” I did a double take. “Are you kidding me man? This winter was brutal.” He turned around at the red light and pointed to a rather hefty female crossing the street. “I didn’t need to see that.” I almost pissed my pants.

            I don’t know why four hundred pound women of ghetto descent shop at Baby Gap, but it seems to be a fact of life in this fair city. Cottage cheese arms and seemingly limitless cleavage from sagging 48EEE breasts are almost as plentiful as taxi cabs themselves. These people must believe they still weigh the same as they did at thirteen. Or perhaps they just haven’t been shopping since then, either way something has got to give.

            Put on some fucking clothing, please I beg of you. It is one thing to “accentuate your curves”, it is quite another to be imitating “Stay Puft” (pictured) on a regular basis. Older men are not immune to this either. If when you look down you can’t see your dick, tank tops are out of the question. Come to think of it, if you can’t see your vagina, tank tops are out of the question. Unless of course you are pregnant, hell hath no fury like a pregnant woman. I digress.

            This summer, food is going to be very expensive, so here’s an idea: EAT LESS OF IT! Then you’d be able to fit into that halter-top you got when Method Man first rocked a solo album. Until then, invest in a bra that functions as a harness and for god sakes buy some beefy t shirts. Thanks. I’m Teddy Jones and this is The Gumption.