I hate those guys who shake your hand as hard as they can. Trying to be a man's man. I'm not talking about a good, firm handshake. I mean those jag-offs who squeeze with all their might, trying to send a non-verbal message that says, "I'm the bigger man." Fuck these guys. You know what I like to say to a guy who does that to me? "Take it easy, Vice Grip. It isn't your boyfriend's penis and this isn't the men's room."
My commute to work forces me to spend a couple hours per week on the highway. Every once in a while I pass a motor home. And sometimes, just every once in a while, I see a motor home towing a U-Haul cart behind it. Maybe it's just the boredom of the road, but I have to wonder what this person is hauling in the trailer. What the fuck can't you fit in a 40-foot Winnefuckinbago? I think most of the time it's a dead body the family killed while at the Grand Canyon.
Let me share what I feel is the most romantic experience in the world. Perhaps you'll agree. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. You hear a song on the radio, a song that was popular a long time ago, when you were falling in love with a special girl, and life was exciting and perfect. Now, the years have passed, and a disk jockey resurrects the song from the archive of aging Top-10 hits -- that special song you and your love shared -- and the sound of it evokes the memories of you and your love making out in the car, overlooking a sunkissed view of the city. And just like you did all those years ago, you prematurely ejaculate in your pants. Ah, romance.