Flowers of love

Reading the BBC News website, I came across this article. Apparently, women are having surgery to try and attain the perfect vagina! (I once worked for a boss who was the quintessential c*nt, but I don’t think that’s quite the same). The procedure entails the reduction of the size of the Labia (beef curtains or piss flaps to all you Liverpool supporters out there… I am assuming too much here about them being able to read aren’t I?) so.. where was I? oh yea... they're having surgey on the old labias they don’t protrude outside the vagina; it’s called Labioplasty for those who want to look it up. Now I suspect that they didn’t actually ask men what they considered the most attractive feature of a vagina was because I can almost hear a unanimous chorus of “AVAILABILITY!!! GIASI, AVAILABILITY!!!”. However, I am asking about tangible physical aspects. Now men are not that fussy about aesthetics. I mean look at what we sometimes wear. So when it comes to the physical criteria (now that you’ve found one that’s available) I would consider odour and size as probably high on the list. I can’t imagine some bloke on eagerly removing a woman’s underwear reeling back in sheer terror at the sight of a bit of badly packed kebab. Here in Abu Dhabi, men would still chase a vagina that had teeth and was covered with thick Amazonian undergrowth complete with green mist and Howler Monkeys.

Lob

When you compare it to the odd soft dangly collection of objects that men have, I think women should consider themselves lucky. A man’s wedding tackle looks more like the last turkey in the shop,  an afterthought. As if when man was being created some angels said, “Hey God, we still have a load of elbow skin left over, what you want us to do with it?” to which God replies, “make it into little bags and find something to put in it, well sew it on somewhere later”

Art darlings, art

Many would consider me a philistine when it comes to art. Unable to detect and appreciate the finer nuances of the artist's reflection of his innermost mind and soul. To see the painting exude silent melodies and waft emotive penchants from the artist’s id. To which my response would be "Kiss my arse loser!!" followed by a backhanded slap to the side of the head.

To me, art is displaying a skill which is out of the reach of the normal human. Whether it is through painting, sculpture, music… whatever.

There are times I see paintings and the phrase “bloody hell!!” jumps into my head, and often, out of my mouth. A fine example is this is a painting by an artist named Carl Brendars. It is called "Tundra Summit-Arctic Wolves”





The detail, the composition, it is truly amazing. I love it.

Another artist I like is Ralph Goings. His work concentrates on the truly mundane. Cars, diners and condiments. I know condiments seems funny, but look at this..





I would argue that few photographs capture the feel of this painting.





Heres' a diner painting.






I could go on and on, but I only set down a few examples to set the scene. I don’t need some university dropout who makes no contribution to society except target practice (where's my dart set?). A self-serving, pretentious idiot who labels us “common philistines” and walks round art galleries with a glass of wine saying things like,

“Although I am not a painter, I think that the reductive quality of the spatial relationships contextualizes a participation in the critical dialogue of the 90s.”

“With regard to the issue of content, the metaphorical resonance of the motifs visually and conceptually activates the essentially transitional quality.”

“Umm... the aura of the figurative-narrative line-space matrix threatens to penetrate the accessibility of the work.”

All the above translate into one thing for me. Which is “Hello, I am a pretentious wanker who has no purpose in life. I talk complete shite which even I don’t understand. Please kill me with a heavy blunt instrument and feed me to dogs so I can at least have made some positive contribution to this planet"


What a load of bollocks. Does anyone even understand what these morons are actually saying? Is it just me or does anyone else feel the need to kick them so hard in the nuts that they have to piss through their noses?

Let me just post a few examples of crap that these imbeciles promote as art.
These are called Neoplasticists.

Piet Mondrian (1872-1944)


This one is called “opposition of lines red and yellow”. I did better stuff when I was a kid.






This is another of his masterpieces.






Ok lets cap it off with this one…. Brilliant eh? My gran made tablecloths better than this.







Paul Klee (1879-1940)

Ah. Paul Klee. Lets start with this one. Another one obsessed with tablecloths.


Or what about this one? Obviously one of his ex-girlfriends.



I particularly like the use of breasts instead of eyes and a scrotum for a chin on this one.




Mark Rothko (1903-1970)

Rothko isnt a Neospasticist, hes an abstract impressionist. ("Really? Thats interesting Giasi." I can hear you ask enthusiastically) However, his stuff is still utter shit aswell.

Lets start with this one aptly called “Red Orange Tan and Purple”. What can I say?





Then we have “Blue Orange Red”



And finally, to give it an air of mysticism, “untitled”





But my all time favourite wanky artist is a genius known as Kasimir Malevich (1878-1935).

Geniuses like this only come around every so often.

Here are some of his masterpieces.




Black square red square




Rectangle and circle




Can you guess what this one is called?


How about this one art lovers...?



Well done readers, yes, we have Black Circle and Black Square.


I hope I have enlightened some of you. So next time you have a dodgy curry and your arse explodes into the toilet bowl the next day, take a photograph of it. Or better still, just crap into a box and send it to your local art dealer. You may be the goose that laid the golden egg.

Save our children from this filth

I picked these up from the net the other day. They are childrens book covers which I think are weird at the very least. These are actual covers.




Now call me immature if you want, but superboy being spanked by the headmaster while his friends look on is a little to close to the knuckle (or bottom) for me. The expression on the headmasters face is orgasmic

The other boys' extreme delight at watching this worries me to an extent that the hairs on the back of my neck are stiff.









This title suggest that some astronaut falls for an alien girl, and I assume they have some romantic episode going on. So whats the monkey thing? Do alien females look like this?

Again, facial expressions say it all. The seriously worried look on the monkeys face begs the question of where's the astronauts other hand? The last time I saw an expession like the astronauts it was on a man being led away in handcuffs.










A society that can print this image of a muscular virile young man looking lovingly into a monkey's eyes, is a very sick one indeed.

The fact that the monkey has an invitingly open mouth and is rubbing his neck suggest that he may have swallowed a banana too quickly.













I don't care how innocently you look at this one. It's disgusting.
The thing that intrigues me though is how the story unfolds after the guy has been hit on the head and is lying face down on the floor. Makes you shudder doesn't it?
Once agin, the expression on blondies face is sinister at the very least.











We all know that it is every man's secret fantasy to be so well endowed that he employs a young boy to help him carry "it" around.

For godssake, this picture couldnt have been made any more suggestive.

YOU BASTARD!!!!

Sometimes I wonder why some guys choose a homosexual lifestyle. Now I think I may understand somewhat. Before you women start fretting and contemplating suicide, stop right there. No. I have not ventured into the fellowship of the ring. What I mean is, I know why men could be attracted to the lifestyle, and live quite happily without the fairer sex. I use the fairer sex term so loosely that if it was a pair of trousers, it would be round my ankles (you can stop right there you b@stards ... I can do without the innuendo).

I mean, all those sexual preferences that don't involve women. Like other men, animals, honeydew melons and the like. I mean they can't replace the female for sheer mechanical sexual enjoyment. So why consider an alternative? I'll tell you why. Sometimes, the price is simply too bloody high.

Let me demonstrate.


Her: Lets go out for dinner tonight.

Me: OK. So. what do you fancy eating?

Her: Why don't you choose.

Me: No. I'm easy. We'll go where you want.

Her: Why do I always have to choose?

Me: OK.OK. What about pizza?

Her: Don't fancy pizza.

Me: Indian?

Her: All the Indian restaurants here are crap.

Me: What about Italian?

Her: Will they have anything spicy?

Me: No dear. Its Italian. You know... pasta and all that stuff.

Her: In that case, no.

Me: What about Arabic.

Her: You know I don't like Arabic food.

Me: What about fast food? Macs? Burger King? Kentucky?

You. I want proper food.

Me: WHY DON'T YOU JUST PICK THEN?

Her: Why do I always have to choose?

Me: Maybe because a bleedin Koala Bear is less pickier than you. How about some bloody Eucalyptus leaves?

Her: Oh, I don't care anymore. I've lost my appetite. Go on your own if you want.

Me: What the hell? I'm not the one who wanted to go out anyway.

Her: I'm not good enough to take out anyway.

Me: What? Where did that come from?

You: You're tired of me aren't you? You want to see someone else don't you?

Me: What? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU ON ABOUT?

Her: DON'T SCREAM AT ME. I ONLY WANTED A QUITE DINNER! YOU ALWAYS TURN THIS INTO AN ARGUMENT! YOU BASTARD!



Me: AARRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!


or...



Her: I'm just popping out with Jackie to the shops.

Me: That’s nice. Looking for anything in particular?

Her: What's that supposed to mean?

Me: Nothing. Just curious.

Her: You know damn well it's my Aunt Freda's birthday next week. Don’t tell me you forgot?

Me: Aunt who?

Her: Freda! Freda! Remember the old lady we met at my Uncle Henry's funeral? The loud one who's hearing aid was playing up?

Me: I remember. The one who's incontinence pants were also playing up if my olfactory memory serves me right.

Her: Well, it's her birthday next week.

Me: And I'm supposed to know that why, exactly? I met the old b.. b… biddy once!!

Her: Because she told you, that’s why. You were talking to her for a long while.

Me: Listen love. It was a struggle. I mean between the incessant bellowing and the rancid odour of fermented urine, I was hovering between unconsciousness from the fumes and agony from bleeding ear drums. Forgive me if I overlooked penciling her into my diary.

Her: (Sobbing) My family never mean anything to you. I'm never important in your life.

Me: Look, don’t cry. Here. Here's 100 pounds. Buy her a gift from us.

Her: I'm not spending all this on that cow!

Me: Well. Spend what you think is OK. Use any money left over on yourself. Buy some make-up. Maybe Jackie can help you pick some stuff out.

Her: What? Why Jackie? You like the way she does her make up do you?

Me: No. It's just that she's going with you to the shops. That’s what you girls do. Shop. Together.
Her: You fancy her don’t you?

Me: For God's sake woman. No I don’t. God help me!!!

Her: Why you so interested in the way she looks then? Heh? Answer that then. You preoccupied with her big breasts? You want to sleep with her right?

Me: ARE YOU MAD? WHAT THE HELL INSANELY CIRCUITOUS ROUTE DID YOU TAKE TO GET HERE???? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TURN LEFT TO LOGIC AVENUE AT THE END OF COMMON SENSE ROAD NOT TAKE A RIGHT INTO THE BLIND ALLEY CALLED IDIOTIC BASELESS ACCUSATION.

Her: (sobbing…again) I only wanted you to buy a present for my old Auntie and you end up screaming at me and starting an argument. You bastard.

Me: AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH








At that point, I remember there's a honeydew melon in the kitchen.



All this and she wasn't even menstruating. That's why Muslim women don't have to fast during Ramadhan. Can you imagine low blood sugar AND PMS? Lord protect us, it doesn't even bear thinking about. We would be knee deep in blood and no sanitary pad will be upto the job of soaking that up.

Cheeeeeeeeeeeese!!!!

This is the country for photographs. I have never had so many photographs in all my life. I carry photos in my wallet, they’re in my car, everywhere I go.

You can’t take a shit here without someone needing a photocopy of your passport and 45 passport sized photographs.

So I had one photograph done and made 3 million copies, just in case I needed to join a beach club, buy a burger or get a haircut.

Quite an unassuming studio is near my house, so I walk in and the guy ushers me upstairs to his bordello. A veritable Aladdin’s cave of props.

Baby Powder to take the shine off your brow
a Dishdasha and associated accessories (National dress worn by UAE men)
a phone (the old type with dial)
sunglasses (circa 1970)
a baseball cap (very greasy inside)
a leather-look jacket
boots
a wig
a bowl of plastic fruitover
something that looked like a vibrator, but I was too afraid to touch it.lb

I politely declined to use any of the props he offered me though I did consider the boots for a second.

Waiting for my pictures to be developed, I couldn’t help noticing the pictures hanging on his wall. These were supposed to be his portfolio of experience; more like the chamber of horrors. Why people would allow themselves to be humiliated like this is beyond me. Anyway, what follows are a few examples that would more likely make you run away than contemplate walking in.

These are obviously all photos that these victims had done to send to the folks back home to show what an exciting new life they were now leading. They say a lot already, but I thought that each one should have been accompanied by a small letter. I have attempted to enter the minds of these victims and written letters on their behalf.

I apologise to my Asian brethren. These are the only photos I have and it is mere coincidence that they are all Asian.


I once went to Madame Tussauds wax museum in London and was photographed next to statues of the Queen, Gary Gltter and Jimmy Saville. At no point did I even contemplate that I could fool anyone into thinking that I had really met these people even though these lifesize statues were incredibly lifelike.

You know the old saying “a cardboard cutout is the next best thing”, well here it is. I mean, you would have to be blind to be fooled by this one. Poor guy looks like he actually believes he is being photographed with a famous film star. He is holding her so tight (maybe it was draughty in there and he was scared she would blow away). The Alpine backdrop of swiss chalets nestling in a valley really adds to the realism doesn’t it?

I think with a few strategically placed holes, this cardboard cutout could really be his girlfriend.





Dear mamma,

I send you this photo of me and padmi. As you can see she is a girl. Please tell everyone that I am very happy and that I will marry soon and have a multitude of offspring which I will also photograph and send to you. I will send you photographs of all my friends and my new house and car also. The kind photographer has arranged it and I will be sending them to you soon

Hope to see you soon

Your son pradeep






This next one is beyond me. Why two elegantly dressed ladies would want to be pictured atop a dilapidated motorbike caked in mud makes the mind boggle.


Greetings

I hope that this letter finds you in good health. My job is very nice and I have many friends. I have recently taken up motorcycling with my friend (also in the picture). It is very nice indeed with the wind rushing through our flip flops, saris dancing in the air. We travel like this all the time.

With love
Geeta




What in the hell is going on here? Ok two guys leaning on a TV set while their friend is sitting down as he uses the phone. You better be calling the mental hospital to bring a van and straight-jackets. Again, this all takes place outdoors, in the bloody swiss alps.



Dear friends,

Please find enclosed a photograph of myself and my two cousins Abdullatif and Abdulkarim. We are photographed with two items we have recently purchased called a telephone and television. As you can see, I am demonstrating how the telephone is used. We have yet to discover how to operate the television. Needless to say, we will be sending you a photograph when we do.
Next week we hope to send you a photograph of me wearing a leather jacket, Abdullatif wearing some nice sunglasses and Abdulkarim with a hard rubber thing that has batteries inside it but we still don’t know what its intended use is.

Regards
Abdulaleem




This is my favourite. Surrealism meets mind altering drugs.

Dear mummy and daddy,

I still remember people saying that a couple of cojoined twins would never make anything of their lives, how wrong they were.

I am working in a very nice office and till now, noone has noticed that I have a sister attached to my head as I cover her with a large hat. This is becoming much more difficult as anita (bless her) has discovered the joys of “all you can eat for 20 Dirhams” at KFC.

Please don’t worry about us. It may not look like it in the picture, but we are very happy

Best wishes
Rajesh

Ramadhan (a.k.a Ramzan, Ramdam and Rummydown)

This is a repost of something I wrote last Ramadan.  I have moved it up here just to show how contemporary I am, it being Ramadan right now and everything.

Aaanywaay.... Ramadan. The wonderful month of gluttony, inactivity and pure sloth.



What is it about this month that brings about certain phenomena peculiar to this time of year. In this post, I will try to unveil these mysteries to the uninitiated. For those of you that know of them already, please go sit at that corner table and talk quietly amongst yourselves.

Ramma what?

A bit of background. Ramadan is a month, much like July, August, September etc. but its part of the Islamic lunar calendar (incidentally, it’s the 9th month). This month has highly significant religious importance to Muslims as their holy book (the Quran) was sent down during this month.

Ramadan… PARTY!!!!!

Well my little seekers of wisdom (that’s not true because you wouldn’t be here otherwise, just proves how boring your lives really are… I digress sorry… where was I?).

What many (not all of course because I am generalising for comedic effect here people) Muslims do and what they’re supposed to do are two completely different things. Let’s list the fasting person's obligations for our special needs readers.

How people should behave.

* Fast as a symbol of their strength of belief over their physical needs (yes that includes shagging and no touching yourself either).
* Endeavour to repent for the past year's transgressions by seeking a closer bond with god.
* Life moves more slowly because people are pre-occupied with prayer.
* Frugality rules with less food consumed and more food given to the poor and needy.
* Good deeds are multiplied so people are unusually helpful and kind (without ulterior motives)



What really happens.

* People have no idea why they fast, they just do.
* Empty the shelves in Carrefour as if war has just been declared.
* Life virtually stops because people are too listless to do anything or are asleep.
* Eat until stretch marks appear. The sweeter or greasier a food is the better. Better still, lets fry sugar.

* People are so irritable that it’s not a good idea to argue with anyone unless you are armed with a heavy blunt instrument.

* Sleep all day and stay up all night making the measly 5 hours work in an air-conditioned office a chore.
* Spend more than you can afford buying gifts for Eid.

Is it today, tomorrow? When is it dammit??

The Islamic calendar (like the Jewish one) is a lunar calendar which means that when a month starts or ends is wholly dependent on the life cycle of the moon's visibility.
“Ok… what’s that mean Giasi?” I hear the slower ones at the back shout out. I’ll try and explain. Without getting all astronomical on your ass, simply put, a lunar month starts with a new moon (a thin sliver of the moon), then proceeds as more of the moon is seen until we reach a full moon (middle of the month) and then it slowly disappears and reverts back to a sliver (on the opposite side) and that’s the end of the month. Then it starts all over again.

Now, the cosmos being the cosmos, it has a weird and wonderful way of going about things. A lunar cycle is about 29.5 days so the months of the calendar will sometimes be 29 and sometimes 30 days. Nonetheless, the lunar calendar is 11 days shorter than your usual common or garden calendar. That’s why Ramadan is 11 days earlier than it was last year.

When a month begins depends on when you see that thin sliver of new moon. Traditionally people used to look out for this and when someone saw it they would rush into the village screaming “I’VE SEEN IT I’VE SEEN IT!!!!” or words to that effect, to which the villagers would reply “REALLY… OH MY GOD!! DON'T TELL US YOU’VE SEEN THE LOCH NESS MONSTER!!” to which he would reply “ NO… THE NEW MOON YOU FOOLS” to which everyone else would say “OH! IS THAT ALL?”. Anyway, you get the picture

Now moon watching is not as easy as you think. It may be a new moon, but seeing it is another matter. When it sets, its location in the sky, weather conditions, the eyesight and mental state of the viewer etc etc all play an important role. So what’s visible in one place may not be visible elsewhere. So, that’s why the different starting dates for Ramadan.

I am sure all you non-Muslims are sitting on the edge of your seats in eager anticipation; hungry (quite apt don't you think?) for knowledge. Next, I will try and answer some of your questions, such as “How do I, as a non-Muslim, behave around my Muslim colleagues?” “Will I get put in prison for eating in public?” “Why does my colleague’s breath smell like a bottom?” “Are those little fried sweet dumplings supposed to be that shape?”.

 Supermarket sweep.
 There was a television show in England called Supermarket Sweep. This cringingly awful excuse for entertainment involved getting some hapless twit to run around a supermarket with a shopping trolley. They had 60 seconds to fill it with as many different items as they could. Everything they managed to get, they could keep. This was excruciatingly painful to watch. Maybe I'm just anal, but there it is.

Now in Ramadan, imagine this on a mammoth scale as hordes of crazed red-eyed people descend on every supermarket in the city on the first evening of this month. Blood will be spilt along with orange juice. Women armed with knives and Chinese nunchucks scramble to get to that last crème caramel and the whole place is just a symphony of cash registers pinging away like some monster pinball machine. I have had the misfortune of witnessing this carnage myself. I was caught up in the melee this Ramadan as I attempted to buy a loaf of bread. Loaf in hand, I jostled through the heaving crowd to pay, carefully holding my bounty close to my chest like a nursing infant. I could feel it deforming under my white knuckle death grip. It was mine. I pushed an old man to the ground and jumped over a child's pram. I could see the checkout... beads of sweat dotted my brow, I was nearly home and free. I didn't see the old lady, covered in black, nor did I see her ninja kick as it made contact with my soft dangly bits. Stunned and doubled up in pain, I fell to the floor, losing my grip on my humble medium sliced. I heard her cackle as she ran away. Needless to say, when I regained consciousness, my bread was gone. Another casualty of war. The place was deserted by then, just empty shelves, the odd pool of blood and a pile of shoes, left in the stampede that I had gladly missed due to unconsciousness. Only a few footprints on my back bearing witness to the horrors that had taken place.

The driving game.

There are two times of the day one should not attempt to drive during Ramadan. The first is about lunchtime. At this point in the day, people's blood sugar levels are beginning to bottom out. I have seen people chew through steel at this time. For the sake of everything holy, do not get into an altercation with anyone at this time. Unless you enjoy watching someone eat their way through your ribcage so they can chew on your liver (obviously that would break their fast and they would have to make this day up after Ramadan). I now know why menstruating women are excused from fasting. Can you imagine PMS and this? The world would come to an end. Rivers of blood will flow (and no tampon on earth will be able to soak it up).

The second time to avoid is the minutes preceding iftar (the breaking of the fast at sunset). I'm not sure but I think it says somewhere that if you don't get home before that time some hideously awful fate awaits you. So, throwing caution to the wind and endangering yourself and everyone around you, you do whatever it takes to get home. This includes, but is not limited to, driving right up to the car in front and flashing your lights, driving at 200kph, driving on the pavement, driving on the pavement at 200kph, ignoring traffic signals etc. I think if the end of the world was near and you had only moments to say goodbye to your nearest and dearest, you still wouldn't drive like that.

Eye-watering, plant wilting breath.

Can you imagine morning breath that lasts all day. Good. The absence of any food or fluid going down your gullet all day is not conducive to minty freshness. Knowing this, one should make every attempt to maintain good oral hygiene and to avoid the consumption of "kill me instead" foods like garlic, onions, dead rabbits, toe nails, children's diapers and things of similar ilk.

Some odour is unavoidable, but can be kept to a barely noticeable level. There is no excuse for breath that curdles milk at ten yards, steams up your car windows or makes cockroaches pack their little Luis Vuitton cases and move out.

Inshallah

The wonderful " inshallah". What a wonderfully endearing term that is. Used in its proper context it means " if god wills". More specifically, it means, I will do my best to make whatever it is that’s supposed to happen and the rest is upto God " if he so wills". Normally people use it to mean "I'll get it done soon, I don't know when exactly, but soonish."

In Ramadan, it takes on a special significance where its meaning changes to " What? you are fucking kidding right? do you know it's Ramadan? come back when I'm alive asshole". So if you're hoping to renew a residence permit, get a driving license, get emergency medical treatment and you are faced with this response, I wouldn't hold your morning breath.

Ramadan is the most unproductive month of the year. If you hope to get something done you first have to a)find someone who actually turned up for work, b)they are awake and c)they can hear you and respond (it is useful sometimes to shine a bright light in their eyes, if their pupils don't dilate, find someone else).

Ready, steady, GOOOOO!!!!

If you are privileged enough to be invited to an "iftar" dinner, you have to know what to expect.

You should turn up no earlier than 15 minutes before (having wet yourself because of driving there and managing to avoid being flattened by a four wheel drive, you may want to freshen up). After pleasantries, people will take up their positions. Many will be seen limbering up with warm up exercises like mouth stretching. A few may be loosening their belts. Professionals amongst you would have had the foresight to wear elasticated pants. Maternity pants are best and a few seasoned pros will sport these.

As soon as the signal goes (the call to prayer), its every man for himself. It is advisable to keep fingers moving as any immobile object is liable to be eaten. At this point conversation is fruitless as nothing can be heard above the sound of chomping, slurping and stretch-marks creaking into formation. After a while, the most religious and pious will rise to perform prayers and others reluctantly follow. After this short interlude, the real eating begins. Do not be surprised to be faced by a mountain of rice capped by a whole sheep. Gallons of Vimto and every conceivable fried food on the planet.

Slowly, jaw muscles will tire and stomachs creak to fullness and people will start to drop like flies. Heavy eyelids and moans being the order of the day. You may be served fruit (or the dreaded crème caramel) followed by tea and then you are expected to leave. Affluent households may have a special team of servants to carry guests to their cars.

Master! Master! Shall I close the coffin?

Like Count Dracula, most people will be averse to sunlight. Preferring to sleep during the day and coming alive to feed at night. Consequently, life turns arse over tit. Places that used to close now open and those that opened are now closed. Roads are clear when there was once traffic and jam packed at the most unusual hours.



I hope that the above has given you, at least, an insight into the wonderful time of Ramadan and equipped you to deal more adeptly with the trials that you may face.

Ramadan Kareem.

Hey buddy!

Yesterday, I looked at our relationships with the fairer sex. Our princesses that make this whole life so sweet, until you marry one of them. But thats another story.

Today, I thought I would post rules for men interacting with other men. There are etiqettes to these relationships and the following should help you form understanding, fruitful and totally manly interactions with your buddies.

Again, no credit for me here. I just added pictures for our dyslexic readers.



Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.








It is OK for a man to cry ONLY under the following circumstances:
(a) When a heroic dog dies to save its master.
(b) The moment Angelina Jolie starts unbuttoning her blouse.
(c) After wrecking your boss's car.
(d) One hour, 12 minutes, 37 seconds into "The Crying Game".
(e) When she is using her teeth.








Any Man who brings a camera to a bachelor party may be legally killed and eaten by his buddies.







Unless he murdered someone in your family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.








If you've known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever unless you actually marry her.






Moaning about the brand of free beer in a buddy's fridge is forbidden. However complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.





No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. In fact, even remembering your buddy's birthday is strictly optional. At that point, you must celebrate at a strip bar of the birthday boy's choice.










On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest.







When stumbling upon other guys watching a sporting event, you may ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who's playing.







You may fart in front of a woman only after you have brought her to climax. If you trap her head under the covers for the purpose of flatulent entertainment, she's officially your girlfriend.





It is permissible to drink a fruity alcohol drink only when you're sunning on a tropical beach... and it's delivered by a topless model and only when it's free.








Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another guy in the nuts.






Unless you're in prison, never fight naked.








Friends don't let friends wear Speedos. Ever. Issue closed.












If a man's fly is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything.








Women who claim they "love to watch sports" must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game and the ability to drink as much as the other sports watchers.







A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight.









Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both, that's just greedy.








If you compliment a guy on his six-pack, you'd better be talking about his choice of beer.








Never join your girlfriend or wife in discussing a friend of yours, except if she's withholding sex pending your response.









Phrases that may NOT be uttered to another man while lifting weights:
(a) Yeah, Baby, Push it!
(b) C'mon, give me one more! Harder!
(c) Another set and we can hit the showers!







Never talk to a man in a bathroom unless you are on equal footing: i.e., both urinating, both waiting in line, etc. For all other situations, an almost imperceptible nod is all the conversation you need.






Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary.




The morning after you and a girl who was formerly "just a friend" have carnal, drunken monkey sex, the fact that you're feeling weird and guilty is no reason for you not to nail each other again before the discussion occurs about what a big mistake it was.







It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours.








Thou shalt not buy a car in the colors of brown, pink, lime green,
orange or sky blue.







The girl who replies to the question "What do you want for Christmas?" with "If you loved me, you'd know what I want!" gets an Xbox. End of story.








There is no reason for guys to watch Men's Ice Skating or Men's Gymnastics. Ever.