Greetings, my name is Joshua Hutcheson and I’m not a patriot.
As you may or may not know, I was a journalist in the army for over five years. In that time I went to Iraq twice, for a year each. In fact, I created Eighty-Four Glyde when I was in Iraq back in 2006.
I joined the army prior to 9/11 because I was homeless and wanted food, clothes, money, electricity and the ability to wash my smelly body. War was the last thought on my mind. Hey, we’re the last super-power in the world, who would mess with us?
I put Nostradamus to shame.
Upon my return from Iraq in the fall of 06, my time in active duty was over. I was free to become a civilian again, enjoying all the freedoms that come with that status. No more having to get up at ridiculous hours to work out. I could (and did) let my belly grow as big as Santa’s. No more having to pepper my conversations with the words sergeant, sir or ma’am. No more having to wear a dumb camouflaged outfit every day.
I was able to enjoy a little over a year of being a fat, lazy slob.
Last month, I got orders reactivating me as a soldier. I have to report to Ft. Jackson this weekend to be reintegrated into the military life. By this spring I’ll probably be back in the Middle East. Could be Afghanistan. Most likely Iraq. For my third time.
The army’s got to be pretty hard up if they need to reactivate journalists.
Anyway, I tell you that to tell you this, this is going to be the last Eighty-Four Glyde for a while. I’m not quitting completely, just putting the blog on hold until my life isn’t in such a state of flux. Plus, I’m really bummed out about the whole scene and don’t feel very funny.
This is all pretty damn depressing. I feel like an indentured servant. Or slave. I don’t get to have a life. I can’t make any plans for the future because I’m not free. That’s shitty. I want to be a normal person, but I can’t, because every time I think I’m out, they pull me back in! Imagine not being able to say for certain what you’ll be doing in a year. You can’t put down roots, you can’t make any plans because your life isn’t yours. It belongs to the government, to do with as they wish (and all they ever wish is to shit on you.)
Like I said in the first sentence, I’m not a patriot. I’m not a hero, noble or any of the other attributes you see in those dumb ass army commercials. I have no desire to go to another country and shoot people because our retarded president back in Washington thinks it would be neat. This war is a sham. It’s a joke. The war and our insipid government have cost us thousands of lives and billions of dollars, with no end in sight. I say this now because once I’m back in, I won’t be able to say these things. I will have to tow the company line and be a good little boy. So this is my last chance to say how much I hate the war.
I’m not looking for pity. I stupidly signed the contract to be a soldier when I was 20, (though it wasn’t until after I signed that they pointed out that I had just signed for five years, instead of the two years I was led to believe.) So it’s my own damn fault. But seriously, who would have guessed that they’d be calling journalists back up? It boggles the mind.
There’s a lot on my mind and a lot of things I want to say, but I don’t want to take up the space and it really won’t make a difference how much I whine and complain. I just have to suck it up and do it until I’m either dead from an IED or allowed to go free as a civilian once more (at which point I’m moving to another country, no joke.)
I instead will take this time to tell you (my one reader) that I really appreciate that you read the wacky stuff I write. Thank you. The people who read this blog really make it all worth it. I’m humbled that anybody outside of my immediate family would think highly enough of what I write to actually take the time to read it. I’m not a Myspace “Top Blogger” or even a blip on the Myspace blog radar. I like it that way. That way I get to write about the things I want, instead of trying to create a legion of sheep that’ll do anything I want. That’s lame. I don’t write drama blogs and I don’t write blogs badmouthing other people because they have opinions I don’t like, (or maybe I have, I dunno. I’ve written over 140 something entries and I don’t remember them all). People who do that are pathetic and stuck in a high school popularity mentality. I pity them.
So thanks to all of you who bother reading Eighty-Four Glyde. It makes me happy to know that people actually do care and enjoy reading my work. That’s why it’s going to be sad to have to put Eighty-Four Glyde on hiatus. I mean, what will you all do instead? Go outside? Play catch? Spend quality time with your families? That’s crazy talk!
Well, that’s all I’ve got, so thanks for reading and I’ll catch up with you later. Peace.
-Joshua
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Glyde and Eighty-Four
Happy 2nd Birthaversary Eighty-Four Glyde!
Way back in ye olden days of 2006, I decided to write a blog to impress a chick, (cause I was under the mistaken impression that I can be funny from time to time. Go figure!) Two years and 140-something entries later, we arrive at the second anniversary of Eighty-Four Glyde's birth. Last year I decided to explain just what the hell Eighty-Four Glyde means and the origins of my blog. This year, I decided to do one better and and actually take myself and all of you (all one of you) to the figurative birthplace of Eighty-Four Glyde. So, I grabbed a couple of friends, a few brews, a few video cameras and a whole mess of wackiness, jumped in a car and made the four-hour journey to those hidden towns in rural Pennsylvania.
These are the results of that journey. Enjoy!
Part 1: The journey begins. Glyde.
Part 2: Eighty-Four and an explosive ending
I hope you enjoyed that. I'd like to thank my boys John, Tres and Pat for coming out with me and getting on my last damn nerve, and John for doing a damn fine job for filming and editing. I'd also like to thank my readers for taking the time to read the weirdness that spews from my head. Without you guys (and gals) I'd just write directions translated from Chinese and Japanese.
Way back in ye olden days of 2006, I decided to write a blog to impress a chick, (cause I was under the mistaken impression that I can be funny from time to time. Go figure!) Two years and 140-something entries later, we arrive at the second anniversary of Eighty-Four Glyde's birth. Last year I decided to explain just what the hell Eighty-Four Glyde means and the origins of my blog. This year, I decided to do one better and and actually take myself and all of you (all one of you) to the figurative birthplace of Eighty-Four Glyde. So, I grabbed a couple of friends, a few brews, a few video cameras and a whole mess of wackiness, jumped in a car and made the four-hour journey to those hidden towns in rural Pennsylvania.
These are the results of that journey. Enjoy!
Part 1: The journey begins. Glyde.
Part 2: Eighty-Four and an explosive ending
I hope you enjoyed that. I'd like to thank my boys John, Tres and Pat for coming out with me and getting on my last damn nerve, and John for doing a damn fine job for filming and editing. I'd also like to thank my readers for taking the time to read the weirdness that spews from my head. Without you guys (and gals) I'd just write directions translated from Chinese and Japanese.
Random musings from a deranged mind
* Was John Candy really that funny, or was he just a fat guy that people liked to laugh at?
* Is global warming such a bad thing? I don't mind a few warmer days in the year. Cold weather sucks.
* On the other hand, a white Christmas every once in a while would be nice.
* Why are doors the size they are? People are constantly moving in and out of places and they have to get degrees in physics just to figure out how to get the couch through the door. Who decided to make doors the size they are?
* I've been balding since I was 16. I don't mind it, but I've always wanted a set of fabulous bangs.
* I've decided to be a water conservationist. From now on, instead of washing my clothes, I'm just going to buy new ones. And instead of taking showers every day, I'm just going to go through the car wash with my windows down.
* The 80s were pretty weird, weren't they?
* What's this decade called? The naughts? For that matter, what will the next decade be called? I just can't live in a non-labeled time period.
* I wouldn't bang Amy Winehouse if you gave me a million dollars.
* Living a good life isn't the best revenge, stabbing somebody in the spinal cord and paralyzing their ass is.
* I've never watched a complete episode of American Idol in my life. And you know what? I don't feel that I'm missing a thing. Same goes for every other reality show out there.
* After saying that I was an analog guy who eschews technology in a previous entry, I got an iPod for Christmas. Life's a funny old thing.
* The Joker is one of the coolest villains out there, (Lex Luthor is the other one) his insanity brings a certain amount of freedom to life that I'm jealous of. I'd love to turn around to that guy in the movie theater who's talking on his phone and just squirt some horribly disfiguring acid on his face.
* Religion causes more problems than it solves, doesn't it? I think I've said that before. I wish Jesus would just show up and roundhouse kick Bush out of office.
* I'm thinking about letting just the hair on my neck grow out. It'll be a new fashion statement: neck-beards.
* Samuel L. Jackson is a complete bad ass, isn't he?
* I think I could take the Pope in a fight.
* I've decided to retire from work. I really don't like working.
* There sure are a lot of ugly people out there. Nudist colonies are full of them.
* I heard that American accents just make European ladies moist. I'm not sure I believe it.
* I wish I had prehensile toes and legs that bend the other way, then I could climb trees all day and enjoy the views.
* Racism is still as strong as ever people, don't think for a moment that it's gone away or even abated since the 60s. Unconscious racial profiling and stereotypes permeate our school history books. American children are taught to be bigots and they don't even realize it.
* Blogging doesn't pay like it should. It hasn't gotten me laid yet.
* Garbage men don't get enough respect. They spend their lives dealing with peoples' refuse and nobody ever thanks them. Of course, they get a lot of free shit, so I guess it evens out.
* I think that being a crime-scene photographer has got to be one of the grossest jobs around. I don't care how many dead naked chicks I get to take pictures of.
* Who invented money? That person was a jerk.
* Since I was 17 I haven't lived in the same place for longer than a year. After 10 years of moving I'm a wee bit tired of it. I need a Fortress of Solitude.
* If I could have one super power, it'd be the ability to teleport myself anywhere instantaneously. No bank or women's changing room would be safe!
* There sure are a lot of fetishes out there. I don't judge. In Japan there's a fetish for women who are underwater without goggles. Guys get off on seeing women trying to blink the chlorine out of their eyes, I guess.
* I would love to have the A-Team van.
* I'm thinking of converting to being a carnivore. Gotta battle this vegetarianism fad somehow. As Maddox once said: "For every one animal you don't eat, I'll eat three!"
* I annoy a lot of people. It's not intentional, I just have a gift.
* Is global warming such a bad thing? I don't mind a few warmer days in the year. Cold weather sucks.
* On the other hand, a white Christmas every once in a while would be nice.
* Why are doors the size they are? People are constantly moving in and out of places and they have to get degrees in physics just to figure out how to get the couch through the door. Who decided to make doors the size they are?
* I've been balding since I was 16. I don't mind it, but I've always wanted a set of fabulous bangs.
* I've decided to be a water conservationist. From now on, instead of washing my clothes, I'm just going to buy new ones. And instead of taking showers every day, I'm just going to go through the car wash with my windows down.
* The 80s were pretty weird, weren't they?
* What's this decade called? The naughts? For that matter, what will the next decade be called? I just can't live in a non-labeled time period.
* I wouldn't bang Amy Winehouse if you gave me a million dollars.
* Living a good life isn't the best revenge, stabbing somebody in the spinal cord and paralyzing their ass is.
* I've never watched a complete episode of American Idol in my life. And you know what? I don't feel that I'm missing a thing. Same goes for every other reality show out there.
* After saying that I was an analog guy who eschews technology in a previous entry, I got an iPod for Christmas. Life's a funny old thing.
* The Joker is one of the coolest villains out there, (Lex Luthor is the other one) his insanity brings a certain amount of freedom to life that I'm jealous of. I'd love to turn around to that guy in the movie theater who's talking on his phone and just squirt some horribly disfiguring acid on his face.
* Religion causes more problems than it solves, doesn't it? I think I've said that before. I wish Jesus would just show up and roundhouse kick Bush out of office.
* I'm thinking about letting just the hair on my neck grow out. It'll be a new fashion statement: neck-beards.
* Samuel L. Jackson is a complete bad ass, isn't he?
* I think I could take the Pope in a fight.
* I've decided to retire from work. I really don't like working.
* There sure are a lot of ugly people out there. Nudist colonies are full of them.
* I heard that American accents just make European ladies moist. I'm not sure I believe it.
* I wish I had prehensile toes and legs that bend the other way, then I could climb trees all day and enjoy the views.
* Racism is still as strong as ever people, don't think for a moment that it's gone away or even abated since the 60s. Unconscious racial profiling and stereotypes permeate our school history books. American children are taught to be bigots and they don't even realize it.
* Blogging doesn't pay like it should. It hasn't gotten me laid yet.
* Garbage men don't get enough respect. They spend their lives dealing with peoples' refuse and nobody ever thanks them. Of course, they get a lot of free shit, so I guess it evens out.
* I think that being a crime-scene photographer has got to be one of the grossest jobs around. I don't care how many dead naked chicks I get to take pictures of.
* Who invented money? That person was a jerk.
* Since I was 17 I haven't lived in the same place for longer than a year. After 10 years of moving I'm a wee bit tired of it. I need a Fortress of Solitude.
* If I could have one super power, it'd be the ability to teleport myself anywhere instantaneously. No bank or women's changing room would be safe!
* There sure are a lot of fetishes out there. I don't judge. In Japan there's a fetish for women who are underwater without goggles. Guys get off on seeing women trying to blink the chlorine out of their eyes, I guess.
* I would love to have the A-Team van.
* I'm thinking of converting to being a carnivore. Gotta battle this vegetarianism fad somehow. As Maddox once said: "For every one animal you don't eat, I'll eat three!"
* I annoy a lot of people. It's not intentional, I just have a gift.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Death to technology!
I don’t own an iPod. I don’t even know what an MP3 is.
I don’t own a hi-def, flat screen, liquid plasma, 5,800-inch television with picture-in-picture, cup-holders and magic fingers option.
I don’t have a satellite dish system that allows me access to thousands of really important channels like the Home Shopping Network for People Who Really Like Cheese (HSNPWRLC for short) or ESPN 8 (the Ocho), or cool packages like the Sports Freak package (watch 10 different football games simultaneously until your eyes bleed!) or the Movie Buff package (your chance to enjoy every single movie that came out this year, including classics like Codename: The Cleaner, Norbit, Premonition and Are We Done Yet?).
I don’t own a satellite radio in my car and I’m sure I’m missing all types of fine programming, such as Howard Stern asking a stripper if she ever got Chlamydia from her dance pole, and Anthony and Opie listening to people making whoopee in church.
I don’t have a digital radio set up. Which means that I can’t hear all of those secret, hidden stations in between the regular stations I listen to. This saddens me to no end because I can’t help but wonder how many other radio stations there are out in the void of the air waves, all playing 15 minutes worth of commercials, all at the same time! (Has anybody else noticed that at any given time, four of your five car radio presets are commercials?)
I don’t have an iPhone, so I can’t scroll through youporn.com whenever I want, or balance my bank account or do whatever it is people bought iPhones to do, (I assume that iPhones have some kind of super sweet option or ability that no other phone has, which is why people were stepping over each other to buy the damn things.)
I don’t have the latest video game console. I don’t have the hottest and newest game that looks so lifelike that I actually can feel the gun buck in my hands as I spray the streets of Los Angeles with lead. I don’t have large parties where I invite people over to play games where we have to simulate the act of bowling or fishing.
I have a c.d. player. I own hundreds of c.d.s. True lugging around a big ass c.d. case is unwieldy and heavy, but at least I don’t have to worry about dropping it, losing it or anybody stealing it.
I have a 20-something inch television. It isn’t super hi-def or whatever, but I can watch shows and movies on it regardless, so I guess it’s working. Works well enough for me, anyway.
I have cable. My cable gives me access to hundreds of channels, and you know what? Most of them are pretty pointless anyway. I basically just stick to the Food Network, Cartoon Network and a few other random odds and ends. Of the 300 channels available to me, I watch less than a dozen.
I’ve got a regular radio in my car. Nothing fancy, (though it does allow 12 presets on the FM dial. Classy!) but it gets the job done. I hit a button and I listen to a station. If there’s naught but commercials, I press another button and I get to listen to one of those c.d.s that I mentioned earlier. It’s a good system.
I have a cell phone. A Katana, actually. Guess what it does? It allows me to talk to other people when I want to. Isn’t that amazing? No need for extra bells and whistles. I don’t need to check my email on my phone, I don’t need to listen to the latest uber-digitized mega hit by Timbaland (I don’t think he even has real people singing in his songs anymore, he just uses Stephen Hawking’s computer voice thing. He wants to be this generation’s Roger Troutman, from Zapp.) And I don’t care about taking really grainy pictures that just end up looking like something Helen Keller took with her eyes closed (wait, would that even make a difference?)
I have a Nintendo 64. It came out in the late 90s. I’ve got a good half dozen games, but I play just one: Mariocart.
I am an analog man in a digital world. I don’t try to match my outfit or my mood to the color of the device playing my music. I’m not that shallow. I don’t want to turn my oven on with my phone from 300 miles away. I don’t need a feature that uses dots to represent where my friends are located on some map.
My laptop doesn’t work half the time and I don’t really mind. My digital camera has only 4 megapixels (for those of you that don’t know, megapixels are tiny little creatures that live in cameras and paint the pictures that you take. The more megapixels you have, the better the pictures) and is from Hewlett-Packard (which isn’t known for its cameras). It broke over the summer, but I don’t really mind.
I like it this way. I don’t feel the need to be a slave to technology. I prefer incorporating technology to fit my life, instead of trying to rearrange my life to accept new technology. I honestly don’t need a bunch of different little doodads to make my life any easier or more efficient than it already is.
So, when the day comes that some kind of technology-based disease or sickness arrives on the scene (oh, it’s coming, you’d better believe it!) I’ll be sitting pretty, laughing from my analog kingdom.
I think I’ll go punch Bill Gates in the face now.
I don’t own a hi-def, flat screen, liquid plasma, 5,800-inch television with picture-in-picture, cup-holders and magic fingers option.
I don’t have a satellite dish system that allows me access to thousands of really important channels like the Home Shopping Network for People Who Really Like Cheese (HSNPWRLC for short) or ESPN 8 (the Ocho), or cool packages like the Sports Freak package (watch 10 different football games simultaneously until your eyes bleed!) or the Movie Buff package (your chance to enjoy every single movie that came out this year, including classics like Codename: The Cleaner, Norbit, Premonition and Are We Done Yet?).
I don’t own a satellite radio in my car and I’m sure I’m missing all types of fine programming, such as Howard Stern asking a stripper if she ever got Chlamydia from her dance pole, and Anthony and Opie listening to people making whoopee in church.
I don’t have a digital radio set up. Which means that I can’t hear all of those secret, hidden stations in between the regular stations I listen to. This saddens me to no end because I can’t help but wonder how many other radio stations there are out in the void of the air waves, all playing 15 minutes worth of commercials, all at the same time! (Has anybody else noticed that at any given time, four of your five car radio presets are commercials?)
I don’t have an iPhone, so I can’t scroll through youporn.com whenever I want, or balance my bank account or do whatever it is people bought iPhones to do, (I assume that iPhones have some kind of super sweet option or ability that no other phone has, which is why people were stepping over each other to buy the damn things.)
I don’t have the latest video game console. I don’t have the hottest and newest game that looks so lifelike that I actually can feel the gun buck in my hands as I spray the streets of Los Angeles with lead. I don’t have large parties where I invite people over to play games where we have to simulate the act of bowling or fishing.
I have a c.d. player. I own hundreds of c.d.s. True lugging around a big ass c.d. case is unwieldy and heavy, but at least I don’t have to worry about dropping it, losing it or anybody stealing it.
I have a 20-something inch television. It isn’t super hi-def or whatever, but I can watch shows and movies on it regardless, so I guess it’s working. Works well enough for me, anyway.
I have cable. My cable gives me access to hundreds of channels, and you know what? Most of them are pretty pointless anyway. I basically just stick to the Food Network, Cartoon Network and a few other random odds and ends. Of the 300 channels available to me, I watch less than a dozen.
I’ve got a regular radio in my car. Nothing fancy, (though it does allow 12 presets on the FM dial. Classy!) but it gets the job done. I hit a button and I listen to a station. If there’s naught but commercials, I press another button and I get to listen to one of those c.d.s that I mentioned earlier. It’s a good system.
I have a cell phone. A Katana, actually. Guess what it does? It allows me to talk to other people when I want to. Isn’t that amazing? No need for extra bells and whistles. I don’t need to check my email on my phone, I don’t need to listen to the latest uber-digitized mega hit by Timbaland (I don’t think he even has real people singing in his songs anymore, he just uses Stephen Hawking’s computer voice thing. He wants to be this generation’s Roger Troutman, from Zapp.) And I don’t care about taking really grainy pictures that just end up looking like something Helen Keller took with her eyes closed (wait, would that even make a difference?)
I have a Nintendo 64. It came out in the late 90s. I’ve got a good half dozen games, but I play just one: Mariocart.
I am an analog man in a digital world. I don’t try to match my outfit or my mood to the color of the device playing my music. I’m not that shallow. I don’t want to turn my oven on with my phone from 300 miles away. I don’t need a feature that uses dots to represent where my friends are located on some map.
My laptop doesn’t work half the time and I don’t really mind. My digital camera has only 4 megapixels (for those of you that don’t know, megapixels are tiny little creatures that live in cameras and paint the pictures that you take. The more megapixels you have, the better the pictures) and is from Hewlett-Packard (which isn’t known for its cameras). It broke over the summer, but I don’t really mind.
I like it this way. I don’t feel the need to be a slave to technology. I prefer incorporating technology to fit my life, instead of trying to rearrange my life to accept new technology. I honestly don’t need a bunch of different little doodads to make my life any easier or more efficient than it already is.
So, when the day comes that some kind of technology-based disease or sickness arrives on the scene (oh, it’s coming, you’d better believe it!) I’ll be sitting pretty, laughing from my analog kingdom.
I think I’ll go punch Bill Gates in the face now.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Breeders’ Summit: The 2007 Accord
Ladies and gentlemen, a great thing has occurred. Never before have men and women come together for such a just and noble cause. You are about to bare witness to the birth of a new, more harmonious world wherein men and women are able to work and live together. Check it.
Back in the early months of this year, a cry went up into the heavens. Men and women everywhere were confused and angered by current events (like Britney going from a sex goddess adored by 98% of the human population to a diseased whorebag that not even Charlie Sheen would touch, Kobe Bryant humping random chicks in Colorado and giving out big ass diamond rings and gorgeous blond teachers banging their young and totally undeserving students) and decided to do something about it.
What they did was this: both sexes nominated 10 of their most lauded and respected members (you might remember all of those stupid banner ads on Myspace asking who was hotter based on their chin or whatever) and sent those 10 people to Djibouti, Africa to take place in the first ever Breeders’ Summit (sorry Friends of Dorothy, you’ll have to have your own summit).
These 20 people represent you, they represent your friends, your lovers and all other people who get down with heterosexual sex. It’s no use trying to argue or fight with the results of the summit. And there’s no reason you should. The 2007 Accord marks a break-through that all breeders can embrace. I was given a press release by the P.R. department involved in the Breeders’ Summit, to share with you. The following is a sample of the rules that have been agreed upon by men and women that you will follow for the rest of your life. The Accord has been divided into three parts, one for men, one for women and one for both. Included are a few of the most important rules. Don’t bother arguing with me about the rules. I didn’t come up with any of ‘em. I’m just the messenger.
For Men and Women:
· Whenever a date has been scheduled, the inviter either pays for everything or gets to choose the venue.
· “I love you,” doesn’t always have to be returned. There is no obligation to say it back.
· If both parties are drunk when any sexual activity goes down, then it is considered consensual for both. Even in the morning when you wake up next to Medusa’s uglier sister. No backsies!
· There will be no more dressing to match as a couple. Such uber-sweet activities have led to an increase of diabetes.
· Sex three times a week. Rain or shine.
For Men:
· You have to give up control of the remote 35% of the time.
· When cooking for women, be sure to have more than one item of food. Include a salad, or appetizer. Some sort of chocolate-laden desert is a must.
· When watching a long sporting event, (anything over two hours) an equal amount of time must be given to such channels as DIY, Home & Garden, Oxygen or Lifetime.
· You must watch at least one show that your woman watches, so that you can keep abreast of what interests her.
· Foreplay must take place at least once a week.
· Complement her in a way to make her feel special and unique, at least once a week. (Complements can be recycled.)
For Women:
· Only call your man with an agenda or purpose. Not just to talk.
· Feelings don’t always need to be shared.
· If your man has done something to upset you, you must tell him. Men are unable to read minds.
· From now on, you must check to see if the toilet seat is up or down. Having the seat down is your responsibility.
· You must lose an argument every other week. The previously established rule that women are never wrong has been repealed.
· You must watch one show that your man watches. So that you can keep abreast of what interests him.
· All fashion, talent or beauty-related reality shows must be watched on your own time.
Like I said, these are just a few of the more than 75 rules that we decided upon. If you were a part of the Breeders’ Summit, what rules would you make up?
Back in the early months of this year, a cry went up into the heavens. Men and women everywhere were confused and angered by current events (like Britney going from a sex goddess adored by 98% of the human population to a diseased whorebag that not even Charlie Sheen would touch, Kobe Bryant humping random chicks in Colorado and giving out big ass diamond rings and gorgeous blond teachers banging their young and totally undeserving students) and decided to do something about it.
What they did was this: both sexes nominated 10 of their most lauded and respected members (you might remember all of those stupid banner ads on Myspace asking who was hotter based on their chin or whatever) and sent those 10 people to Djibouti, Africa to take place in the first ever Breeders’ Summit (sorry Friends of Dorothy, you’ll have to have your own summit).
These 20 people represent you, they represent your friends, your lovers and all other people who get down with heterosexual sex. It’s no use trying to argue or fight with the results of the summit. And there’s no reason you should. The 2007 Accord marks a break-through that all breeders can embrace. I was given a press release by the P.R. department involved in the Breeders’ Summit, to share with you. The following is a sample of the rules that have been agreed upon by men and women that you will follow for the rest of your life. The Accord has been divided into three parts, one for men, one for women and one for both. Included are a few of the most important rules. Don’t bother arguing with me about the rules. I didn’t come up with any of ‘em. I’m just the messenger.
For Men and Women:
· Whenever a date has been scheduled, the inviter either pays for everything or gets to choose the venue.
· “I love you,” doesn’t always have to be returned. There is no obligation to say it back.
· If both parties are drunk when any sexual activity goes down, then it is considered consensual for both. Even in the morning when you wake up next to Medusa’s uglier sister. No backsies!
· There will be no more dressing to match as a couple. Such uber-sweet activities have led to an increase of diabetes.
· Sex three times a week. Rain or shine.
For Men:
· You have to give up control of the remote 35% of the time.
· When cooking for women, be sure to have more than one item of food. Include a salad, or appetizer. Some sort of chocolate-laden desert is a must.
· When watching a long sporting event, (anything over two hours) an equal amount of time must be given to such channels as DIY, Home & Garden, Oxygen or Lifetime.
· You must watch at least one show that your woman watches, so that you can keep abreast of what interests her.
· Foreplay must take place at least once a week.
· Complement her in a way to make her feel special and unique, at least once a week. (Complements can be recycled.)
For Women:
· Only call your man with an agenda or purpose. Not just to talk.
· Feelings don’t always need to be shared.
· If your man has done something to upset you, you must tell him. Men are unable to read minds.
· From now on, you must check to see if the toilet seat is up or down. Having the seat down is your responsibility.
· You must lose an argument every other week. The previously established rule that women are never wrong has been repealed.
· You must watch one show that your man watches. So that you can keep abreast of what interests him.
· All fashion, talent or beauty-related reality shows must be watched on your own time.
Like I said, these are just a few of the more than 75 rules that we decided upon. If you were a part of the Breeders’ Summit, what rules would you make up?
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