One thing that most people don’t know about me, is that every once in a while, I get sucked into watching a romantic comedy.  I generally hate the Summer’s-Eve-soaked nonsense that Hollywood puts into this genre, namely because it’s so unrealistic… and it makes me cry.  Nevertheless, somewhere about the third moon of each new year, I find myself compelled to sit through one of these penis withering crapfests.

 

Today is such a day.

 

Given the fact that NOTHING good is on television, my roomdog Ricardo Montebon has decided to watch “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days”, and I’m getting pretty fucking furious.

 

Not at him, mind you, because Ricardo is only watching it so that he can make fun of the cheesy dialogue.  But STILL, I can’t believe this is what passes for entertainment.

 

As far as I can tell, the premise is this, (taken from www.imdb.com):

 

Benjamin Barry (played by Matthew McConaughey) is an advertising executive and ladies’ man who, to win a big campaign, bets that he can make a woman fall in love with him in 10 days.  Andie Anderson (played by Kate Hudson) covers the “How To” beat for Composure magazine, and is assigned to write an article on “How to Lose a Guy in 10 days.”  They meet in a bar shortly after the respective bets are made.

 

Not a bad idea as far as plots go, since it pits the epitomes of pride driven male insecurity against the clinginess of female need.  That’s how I see it anyway, and the movie kinda rings true because both characters are forced to “put up” with the other’s flaws on account of secret but mutually exclusive agendas. 

 

That’s all well and good, but let’s put ME in the role of Matthew McConaughey and see what happens.

 

First encounter: Kate Hudson ensnares me with front row tickets to the Ultimate Fighting Championship, (instead of a New York Nicks game, as was depicted in the film), so she can establish her coolness.  I am thusly infatuated thinking she’s the baddest chick that ever lived, until- at the height of the bloody action- Kate asks me to fetch her a soda from the concession stand, thus putting me in jeopardy of missing the final seconds of Mark Coleman versus Chuck Liddell.

 

“Oh, sweetie!” I gasp, wrapping my arms around her in a very protective and affectionate way, “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

 

“Huh?” Kate replies, “Why?”

 

“’Cause unless your legs spontaneously snapped in half, you can hobble your ass up to the counter and get your own fucking soda!”

 

Kate looks hurt for a moment only, but then realizes she’s being an inconsiderate bitch, and quenches her thirst by licking the sweat from my manly bull neck. 

 

Situation solved.

 

Keep in mind, I’m writing from the premise that Kate isn’t doing this intentionally, (as was the case in the movie), but is simply being a typical girl.  Of course, a typical girl wouldn’t have front row tickets to the UFC, but, go with me on this.

 

Second encounter: While making out on the couch, Kate decides to name my penis “Princess Sofia” as some kind of kinky prelude to sex.  In the film, Matthew McConaughey goes all soft in the crotchial region, apparently rendered impotent by such an inappropriate designation, (or, hey!  It could be quite appropriate.  I’ve never seen Matt naked). 

 

Regardless… WHAT IN THE NAME OF SWEET MERCURY’S WINGED SANDALS?!?

 

I wouldn’t have given a rat’s flying ball sack.  Kate Hudson is HOT, and she could name my dick “Countess Eyepatch” for all I care… as long as I’m getting laid.  Granted, I would later make the proper introductions between her and Stanley, (you know, like the power drill?), but I sure as shit wouldn’t have aborted the operation.

 

In MY version, I’d have given her a little tit for tat, (pardon the pun).

 

“Does Princess Sofia wanna come out and play?” Kate cooes seductively, her hand rising slowly up my thigh.

 

“Well, sure she does,” I reply, “As long as I can wear Mayor Tuna Town on my face like a surgeon’s mask.”

 

Hot doggy style intercourse ensues, elevating the previous PG rating to a solid NC-17.

 

Third encounter: In a post-coital moment of unnecessary confession, Kate starts talking about her ex-boyfriends, going so far as to elaborate on how each of my predecessors had dicked her over.

 

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” she sobbingly confides, “I’m a GOOD person!”

 

“Not really,” I grunt, simultaneously rolling over, “You’re self-centered, and totally immune to anybody’s point of view but your own.  Plus, your boobs are really small.  That wonder bra didn’t fool me for a second.”

 

“Oh yeah, Mike?  Well, that wonder JOCK you were wearing didn’t fool me either!”

 

I’m already asleep, so I don’t respond… except for a gratuitous fart that I’d been holding in ever since we enjoyed a lavish dinner at Taco Bell.

 

Fourth encounter: Kate brings over a box full of pictures, stuffed animals, and pink bathmats with which to “girl up” my house.  She strategically distributes these things without asking, but- instead of tolerating her redecoration in an attempt to spare her feelings, (like McConaughey does), - I decide to reciprocate. 

 

Having already stolen her house key to make a copy in secret, (standard operating procedure in my relationships), I accentuate EVERY ROOM with a big bowl of ribbed condoms, adding the occasional tube of Astroglide into the latex salad.  I continue with some pictures of my own, but instead of it being Kate and I posing arm and arm, each crappy Polaroid is of me by myself, the still frames taken while I was on the toilet, or masturbating, or vomiting into a stranger’s bathtub, (the latter being mid-honk).  The finale is a life-sized cardboard cutout of Kiera Knightly mooning a pair of cops at Marti Gras 2002, which will thereafter guard Kate’s living room like a tight-butted sentry.

 

Fifth and final encounter: During a Friday night at my place with the guys, (Justin, Kyle, Tim, Ricardo, and Marty), Kate comes over and tries to add vagina to our evening of watching “When Assbeaters Attack” on Fox.  She brings a bunch of foofoo snacks and shit, but no liquor.

 

Yeah, uh huh.

 

Once she gets back from the liquor store, I tell her the pigs-in-a-blanket taste like Bigfoot’s dick wrapped in seaweed.

 

“What the hell’s in this?”

 

“Tofu and veggie burger,” Kate replies, “Eat it sweetie, it’s good for you.”

 

Yeah, uh huh.

 

Once she gets back from the grocery store with two big bags of Doritos and some raw Crisco to dip them in, Kate starts eyeing my friend Justin, who likes to smoke cigars now and then.

 

“Problem, love of my life?”

 

“It’s too smoky in here,” Kate whines, then looking at Justin and doing some kind of mock coughing gesture.  Justin looks right back and does some kind of mock dick sucking gesture.  I reach across the table and give him a high five.

 

Kate is not amused.

 

“WHAT?!?  YOU’RE JUST GONNA LET HIM GET AWAY WITH THAT, MIKE?!?  YOU’RE JUST GONNA LET HIM MAKE FUN OF ME?!?”

 

“No,” I grunt, leveling my eyes across the table, “Uh, Justin?  Would you be so kind as to show this bitch to the door?”

 

Justin picks her up by her uvula, (with a bowling ball grip), and tosses her out the window.

 

“I said the door, dumbass!  Not the window!  We’re three floors up!”

 

Justin shrugs, and we go back to watching TV.

 

Situation solved.

 

***

Because this is a romantic comedy, Kate survives by landing on a fire ant hill, and we eventually get back together before the final credits roll… along with some of her hot lesbian friends.

 

The End

 

Disclaimer: As I’ve said many times, I do not advocate violence against females, which is why Kate lands on a nice soft fire ant hill, (instead of the concrete).