The following is a “story” I got from my cousin John the other day.  He recently acquired a used computer which I suspect is broken since he CAN’T TURN THE FUCKING CAPS LOCK OFF!!!  John was in my “Butt Mud Summer” story, but, to give you a visual, he’s about five nine, two fifty, with startlingly blue eyes and a shock of white blond hair.  Like his older brother Marty, John’s a B I G guy, one who played nose guard for the T.L. Weston high school football team back in our pre-pussy-gettin’ days.  No small feat given the fact that he’s white.  If memory serves, he had some kind of bench press record, not unlike Marty who could leg squat a medium-sized shopping mall.

I’m actually real anxious to get back with John through email, as he apparently witnessed another street fight I got into when we were little, and I want him to tell the story so I can remember it.  He said me and some redneck mixed it up and battled to a draw, but I have no idea what he’s talking about, so I guess we’ll see. 

When you’ve kicked as many asses as I have…  Anyway, he sent me this, and I’m going to add my perpetually witty commentary:   

JOHN'S "MACK" MISTAKES: VOLUME 1

THE DATE WAS SATURDAY, AUGUST 28TH, 2004, AROUND 3:00P.M.

(Thanks, John, ‘cause this wouldn’t make much sense if we didn’t know the exact minute it happened.)

SO ME AND MY CO-WORKER "VIC" WERE AT A 7-11 IN PLANT CITY, FLORIDA.  IT WAS A VERY STORMY MOMENT, (I.E. LIGHTING, WIND, RAIN, ET ALL). 

(Yes, “LIGHTING” is very scary.  I once got struck by “lighting”.  A chandelier fell on me.)

VIC WAS TALKING TO A CUSTOMER OF OURS AT RENTWAY, (where John works, duh), WHEN, OUT OF THE BLUE, THIS HOT CHICK STARTS SIGNALING TO US FROM HER FRIEND’S CAR.  (You’ll later gather that said friend was big and fat and ugly, so keep that in mind.)  HOT CHICK WAS USING THE “THUMB FLICK”, WHICH IS SMOKERSPEAK FOR “DO YOU HAVE A LIGHT?”  I SIGNALED BACK “YES!”, THEN ADVANCING ON THE CAR.

[MISTAKE # 1: THE APPROACH]

I WENT TO THE FAT DRIVER’S SIDE BECAUSE THE HOT CHICK’S SIDE WAS EXPOSED TO THE ELEMENTS- BUT, DAMN IT!!!  I NEEDED TO GET LAID, AND A PIMPLORD WOULDN’T HAVE LET THE ELEMENTS STOP HIM FROM GOING TO "HOT CHICK’S" SIDE, RIGHT?

(I don’t know, John.  You may have made the right decision on two counts.  One, if it was raining that bad, you would’ve looked like a dumbass getting all soaked for no apparent reason.  Maybe a little desperate too, since the driver’s side was shielded by what I can only assume is some kind of covered outcropping from the Rentway store.  Never look like you “want” it; it makes you less attractive.  Then again, ignoring the downpour may have allowed you come across as the “lumberjack” type, who cares nothing for the nesciences of nature.  Such men laugh at hurricanes, give hand jobs to Mongeese, and shoot murky brown glasses of whiskey with cigarette butts floating within.  Ya know, just because they have the scrotal girth to do shit like that.

Regardless, the second count is your hair.  Now, if you still keep it short like mine, then it wouldn’t have made a difference.  But, think about Marty, think about your brother, think about your gene pool.  Marty’s got more follicular volume than a 70’s era game show host, and a saturating assault from above could quickly turn a sculptured masterpiece of gel and hairspray into an apocalyptic afro of cataclysmic proportions.  Is that what you want, John?  Do ya wanna be the white Don King?  Do you feel the need to put bowel-loosening terror into the hearts of small children and gay stylists?  …ANSWER ME!!!)  

ANYWAY, WHEN I REACHED ACROSS THE DRIVING RHINO TO HAND THE HOT CHICK MY LIGHTER, I NOTICED IT WAS NOT FOR A CIGARETTE, BUT FOR A BLUNT.  SHE WAS "BLAZING A J"!!!

(Well, that’s a good thing, John.  I don’t smoke pot myself, but then, I’m not a chick.  It’s been my experience that girls who puff the plant have a statistically higher probability of PUFFING THE DICK!!!  If our places were reversed, and it’d been me, I would’ve whipped my crank out and said, “Oh, you like to smoke stuff?  Smoke this!”, and then grabbed the back of her head.

No, I’m totally kidding.  There’s no scientific correlation between female pot smoking and felatio.  Plus, you could’ve only pulled that off if you were on the passenger side of the car, because, well, the insertion point of your penis was too far away.)

[MISTAKE #2: THE RECONNAISSANCE] 

I JUST GAVE HER MY LIGHTER AND JOKED ABOUT THE BLUNT.  BUT...

(But, what?!?  What joke did you make?  Was it funny?  Did you say, “Mine’s bigger than that?”  Storytelling 101, Captain Mysterio!)

1.  I DIDN'T ASK FOR HER NAME, [SHE HAD PERKY TITS, I MIGHT ADD].

(Perky tits, huh?  And?!?  FUCK tits!!!  …I mean that literally, of course, but tits rarely make a hot chick “hot”.  The real litmus test is the ass.  If she’s got a nice ass, chances are, the rest of her is in proportion.  Follow the backside, my wayward cousin.  Follow it to the Mountain of Doom, and then cast it into the cleansing fires from which it sprang.  This task was appointed to you, Frodo, and if you cannot find a way… no one will.

What the hell was I talking about?)    

2. I DIDN'T ASK IF SHE WAS SEEING ANYONE…  THE, “IN OR OUT” QUESTION.

(Good, ‘cause you don’t give a winged rat’s ass, UNDERSTAND?!?  And what’s the “in or out” question?  Look, cuz, you don’t need to know jack shit about an anonymous girl’s significant other.  That comes later, perhaps after lunch at a strip club’s noon buffet- or something equally high class.  No, in the initial parlay, you need to avoid any discussion of the present and/or ex lover/boyfriend/husband.  If a female is truly on a cock hunt, then the LAST thing she wants to be reminded of is her current provider of penetrative sausage.

The “probe for info on a boyfriend, and then use it to degrade said boyfriend” strategy, is that of a douche bag, and far beneath you, John.  From your exploits at Mississippi State, you don’t need to stoop to such tactics- which you didn’t, and don’t, and never have, in my experience.  Spit your own game, and let the woman figure it out for herself.  Granted, what I’m responding to is not what John meant, but there’s a lot of hard-on’s that read this website who can benefit from my wisdom, and that’s why I’m giving it.) 

3. I DIDN’T ASK WHAT SHE, (NOT FAT ASS), WAS DOING TONIGHT OR FOR HER NUMBER, (AGAIN, NOT FAT ASS'S NUMBER).

(Yeah, I think it’s pretty clear that you weren’t trying to hook up with las turbo grande gordo, (that’s Spanish for “impotence causing wildebeest”.  No need to point it out.  HOWEVER, not asking for hot chick’s plans or phone number is unforgivable, and I’m afraid I can’t be your cousin anymore.  Without one or both of these vital pieces of vaginal recon, no further pursuit is possible.  What- did you think the Stygian Witches from Clash of the Titans were gonna lend you their all seeing eye?  Did you think Royce Gracie was gonna come down from Mount Arrat and give you this woman’s agenda and contact info on stone tablets written in Aramaic?  Are hot chicks falling from the sky?!?

* SLAM!!! * “Yes, El Guapo…”

I spoke to the pimp council, and your license to mack has been revoked.  You’re a reckless cop, Murphy, and I’m tired of defending your screwball antics to the commissioner.  Put your badge and gun on the desk, and GET THE HELL OUTTA MY OFFICE!!!)  

4. I DIDN'T TELL HER MY NAME.

(Well, this isn’t so very bad.  You definitely should’ve given her SOME name, but it didn’t have to be yours.  In a case like this, you might’ve employed an alias- ya know, something the paternity lawyers can’t trace.  I always use the name Benjamin Rasfeld.  He was a patient of mine, you see, until his sexual tastes turned to- shall we say, the exotic?  I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti…  FFFT!  FFFT!  FFFT!  FFFT!!!)

5. I DIDN'T COMPLIMENT HER, (I.E. “YOU'RE SEXY,” OR, “YOU'RE PRETTY,” OR, “WILL YOU FUCK ME 'CAUSE YOU’RE A FINE BITCH?”, OR ANY CONVERSATION THAT WOULD’VE HELPED ME GET LAID.), SO NOW I 'M WRITING THIS AS A "MONDAY MORNING QUARTERBACK", AND WILL NOW GO VIEW PORN ON THE INTERNET.

(Hey, Hey, HEY!!!  There’s nothing wrong with internet porn… as long as you know its purpose.  Most people utilize it for masturbatory kindling, but I say “nay!”, because a descent imagination is all you really need.  There’s shit I’ve played out in my head that could NEVER be put onto celluloid or glossy magazine pages- mostly due to gravitational restrictions and bestiality laws.  Plus, nobody’s gonna walk in and catch you flipping through an Olsen Twins visual.

No, the true value of porn has to do with the accumulation of knowledge and skill.  Learn from porn, watch the masters at work, and then swallow their gooey educational loads with the exuberance of a toothless crack whore.  When you start to ask yourself, “Hmmm, could I do it better?”, then you’ve graduated to the next level, you’ve attained enlightenment, you’ve become… a Jediphile.

As far as compliments go, well, that’s tricky.  Once you’re in a relationship, compliments are fine, but, during a random pick up, compliments usually backfire.  Women, especially hot women, have heard it all before, which is why telling ‘em they’re sexy or pretty or fuckable won’t work.  If they’re on a crusade for the holy penis, they don’t care.  Seriously.  They don’t.  And besides, self-depreciating humor is always better. 

For example, walking up to a good looking girl and saying, “Wow, you have beautiful eyes!”, is totally lame.  While she may indeed have beautiful eyes, (if your attention lingers there long enough to notice), she’s well aware of not only that, but your intentions, and that puts you on par with every other hard leg in the bar or grocery store or kindergarten.  No, compliment her in a roundabout way, simultaneously making fun of yourself so as to seem confident yet humble at the same time.

Like, walk up and say, “Hey!  Before I start, how long will ya let me stand here and hit on you before telling me to fuck off?”, or, “Wow!  This is so great!  From the way you look, I figured you’d have too much self-respect to make eye contact with a guy like me.”  By the way, I’ve actually used both of these.  Granted, I’m usually hammered, but chicks seem to like “Drunk Mike” 3 times out of 10.

In your situation- with a fat girl and a hot girl, both getting high- I probably would’ve waited until the latter blazed up, and then said something like, “You know, Florida legislation requires that I tax you for the use of my lighter.  How’s a three way grab ya?”

She would’ve laughed, believe me.  You’ve got the gift, John.  I’ve seen it.  You could’ve pulled that off.

One more thing, though, (more for my other readers), the ugly girl/hot girl “going out” combination is a common theme in our society, and usually indicates a degree of insecurity on the part of the latter.  A lot of times, an attractive female will hang out with a not-so-attractive female in an attempt to make herself feel better.  When you’re the one all the guys hit on, (instead of your chubby friend), it gives you a perpetually reinforced sense of worth.

A lot of guys don’t realize this, and that’s why they open themselves up for certain rejection by automatically ignoring the unattractive member of the herd, whether it be two females or ten.  Mistake.  If you’re gonna be nice and witty and charming, be nice and witty and charming to EVERYONE!  Flirt and joke across the board, because evolutionary biology dictates that the approval of the social group is often just as important- if not more- than the approval of the desired sexual target.

A “good” guy is only a “good” guy if such is cemented by the general consensus… in the beginning, anyway.

Wow!  This really makes me come of as a shallow asshole, so, since girls I know read this site, let’s get back to John’s email.)

OKAY, SO INSTEAD OF BANGING THE SHIT OUT OF THIS HOT "HIGH" CHICK- ONE THAT I WOULD’VE BOUGHT BEER FOR TO GET EVEN HIGHER…  AND THEN VIEWED PORN WITH...   AND, HEY!  WHO KNOWS?  POSSIBLY EVEN MADE MY SECOND WIFE- I LET HER AND BRONTASAURES ASS DRIVE AWAY. 

SIDE NOTE: SINCE I’VE BEEN MARRIED FOR THE LAST FEW YEARS, I'M NEW TO THE MODERN GENERATION OF FLIRTING, AND YOU CAN GO TO WWW.JOHNSRAPSUCKS.COM TO SEE WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.

(Obviously, John was kidding about the website, so, if you actually clicked on the above link, please email me your home address so that I can come over and practice armbars from the mount until you shit your pants and are made to eat your own feces, shit again, and then make a Rye Bread sandwich to serve your “handsy” Aunt Bob who always wants you to sit on his lap at family reunions.)

BUT, I WILL GET BETTER!  I WILL LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES!   IF ONLY I HAVE ASSISTANCE…  HELP ME, OBI MIKE, YOU’RE MY ONLY HOPE…

(No, you’re only hope is to shrug off the chains of post-marital hesitation and OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!!!  John’s rap does not suck, it’s just you’ve been out of the game for a while.  You were the main female draw at the Phi Tau house, willing maiden after willing maiden knocking on the front door to unerringly request the services of “Boomer”.  You remember “Boomer”, don’t you?  The nickname you were bequeathed because of your uncanny resemblance to 80’s Bengal Quarterback Boomer Esiason?  That’s the cousin John I know.  Remember who you are, and your prowess as a frequent depositor in the great sperm reservoir will return...)