I feel sorry for girls. I feel sorry for them because they have to sleep with guys and it's very difficult for them to make an informed choice on whom to sleep with. Let me explain.
We guys have it easy when it comes to choosing a potential mate. We know what we're getting into. That is, we know how thin, shapely and endowed the girl is long before we score. We've already added it all up and have decided we want to hit it. And once we do, rarely do we encounter any surprises. It's not like a Demi Moore look-alike is going to pop into a Rosanne Barr once she takes her blouse off. With women, what you see is what you get.
But women don't know what the dude's packing until the pants are off, at which time it's too late. Of course, you always have the option of laughing and bolting for the door. But this is a major breach of dating etiquette. How many women have acutally told a dude, "I was into this, but your pecker is way too small for this to work for me. I had a wonderful time. Good-night."
It's a gamble going to bed with a guy. Women just don't know until it's too late. He can have a great smile, a cute butt and a wonderful sense of humor, but he can have a unit the size of a sweet gherkin. Conversely, he can look like the middle man on the evolutionary chart -- and have the manners and body odor to match -- yet have a magnificent member. Some lucky lady has throw herself to chance to find out. I've never thought of it before, but dating for women must be like that game show, Deal or No Deal. You just don't know until they open the package.
Nobody likes driving in traffic, but I think the guy most frustrated with it must be bulldozer operator. Imagine what driving home in a traffic jam must be like for him. He just spent 10 hours bulldozing through anything that got in the way, without consequence. In fact, the more stuff he plowed, the better. “Say, Hank. You mowed a lot of shit out of the way today. Good work.”
Imagine how difficult the transition must be from a bulldozer to a Ford Taurus. It's rush hour and you're stuck on a clogged highway. The traffic light has turned green, but you and the 59 cars in front of you remain motionless, locked in a grid of hybrid rice burners, SUVs and Winnebagos. Your patience wears. Your temper ignites and you decide to drop the scoop and plow through these dumb-asses. You put it in gear and... Damn! This isn't your bulldozer. It's a 4-door sedan. The problem is, you've already rear-ended the guy in front of you.
I feel sorry for the other guys at the construction site, too. Do you think the jack hammer guy is in the mood to masturbate when he finally gets home? It's fun and all, but if my hands vibrated back and forth for the last 8 hours, I might pass.
How about the guy who works the crane? I'll bet he gets really pissed when he sits down on the couch only to realize the remote control is on top of the TV, and he has to get back up and walk all the way over there. To hell with that. Might as well leave it on Lifetime for Women.
And all those poor construction workers have to use the outhouse. When they actually use their own crapper at night, they must feel like royalty.