MALE VALUES - PART 6

The holidays are finally on! No studying for a whole month. No theories, no chit-chat from teachers and no bull shit from your posey. In fact all I have to do now is rest my mind and exercise my C-O-C-K. It’s impossible for any man not to. No matter how much you have to do, no matter how many problems you have, your mini-you will always need some feeding. Lately I’ve been giving mine the 5 gal treatment. Yes, the 5 finger treatment. Mary, Kate, Sue, Jessica and Michelle aka my right hand fingers. I named my left hand fingers as Philly 1,2,3,4 and 5. I only use them on girls, unless they’re lesbians (where I then use my right hand) or bi’s (where I alternate between both). When I wipe my ass I always use my right hand. Ain’t no guy gonna stick a finger up my tight channel!
An alternative to the 5 gals is internet dating. I don’t buy it. Just imagine if all the apparently good looking girls with instant boning photos are in fact guys? Take a moment to reflect. Just imagine if a girl you’ve been chatting to for the past year is actually called Juanito and not Juanita as you originally thought. I know that it’s only a difference between an A and an O, but physically it makes all the matter. To certify completely, book the first flight into paradise and make sure those Emerald eyes and that sexy voice are in fact belongings of a surfing babe. If you end up meeting a Jose Pablo instead of a Lolita, make sure you have an EXIT ONLY sign in both English and Spanish above your asshole. As a last resort, you can always stick a cork in it, just don’t shake your bottle too much or it might pop out. You can’t be too careful.
Dating neighbours is weird. Especially when you’re doing your best to keep it a secret from your parents. Those 10 steps from your flat to hers can be as tricky as convincing your mom that your neighbour was indeed performing CPR and not just giving you head as it may have seemed... You have to plan things with precision. That’s what makes things exciting for little Philly (the monster not the finger!). You start acting like a spy. Your mission is to bang the neighbour as best you can and as clean as possible. If you get caught you’ll get shot by her cop father but you should still take the risk. Life is made out of risks. Most of them fuck up your life and make a kid call you dad when you’re still 16. Others get a smile out of your High School Prom Queen the day after the worst drinking night of your life (which you can’t remember), yet others set you free from mind slavery. These are the risks worth taking. I’ve stopped drinking because that’s not the way to forget her. Risking on someone else is. I met a girl a couple of weeks ago. She’s the T in Terrific and the T in Taboo. She brings thoughts of the Original Sin in me. But above all she managed to do what booze couldn’t. I appreciate it, even if she is just a Wild Card.

Every single part of Male Values is inspired on some special people. Even though I don’t mention any names, they all know who they are and that I respect and care for them all. I pay homage to friendship. Friends are something gained throughout life, not something inherited like family. We can choose our friends, not our relatives. Therefore, next time you meet up with a FINE (Fuel Injection Nookie Ecstasy) girl cousin of yours, make sure you point out that you are friends, above all, and as such she will feel free to get naked, join you a bubble bath and help you with your Climax. That’s what real friendship is all about. Fuck Friends save lives. Don’t wait any longer. Give your mate a mate.

MALE VALUES - PART 5

If I’m publishing this then I must have had some good reviews on Part 4 or sunshine probably apologized for being such a bitch. Either way, I’m back for another chapter. Most of my friends have been saying that I’ve been lacking in dirty talk for the last few weeks. I know I’ll be writing my death sentence (Sunshine and Co.) but lets get things back to male talk, shall we?
99% of women (note: the other 1% is under age 4), hate using toilet paper. To them the concept of wiping ones ass is as unknown as celibacy to men. How do they expel those nasty rocks you ask me? Well, by wearing thongs. Have you ever had a good look at those? They are nasty buggers that seem to fit into a woman’s asshole tighter than a nutcracker on balls (but that’s another story altogether…). What women do next is grab their weekly thongs in a bundle and throw them all into the washing machine. Kind of makes you wonder why some jeans have brown smudges on them.
I just got back from court. Don’t worry, it’s still safe for you to have chickens at home. I just got back from my law appeal. The one I suggested back in Part 1. According to the judge, the only reason women use skirts is to provoke a man. Not because they want him. He stated that one lovely green eyed girl from the Dominican Republic said, and I’ll quote: “We love the drooling look on guys’ faces when we move around in mini-skirts. We have the laugh of our lives…” Honey, your green eyes have me drooling already, never mind the rest of you (Love You Sylvie ;-)) Music is a woman’s way of blowing a guys mind. I’m not mentioning dancing (again), I’m referring to a simple, plain, “harmless” song. We all have a song that reminds us of a girl. Hell, I can name 100 songs and each one will be linked to at least 1 girl. We just can’t let it get to us. A friend of mine used to love hearing She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5, it was his “Moment of Glory”, now she dumped him, literally, and I’ll have to buy a fucking new Hi-Fi for playing that song every time he “accidentally” walked into the room.
This crazy thing happened to me a few months ago. I added Mario’s Let Me Love You video clip to my blog under the title: Mario – Let Me Love You. My mom got so perplexed when she saw it blogged onto my blog that she thought I was gay. (Damn, ok Richard, laugh it off, you too Braza) I got so pissed that I said: “What?!! You think I’m gay?!! After all the proof I’ve shown you?!!” She just said: “Well, college does thing to people” I will say no more. University does things to people. Some go gay, I didn’t. Some girls go bitchy, the ones I know didn’t. That’s what pisses me off. The Jews Promised Land was Egypt. Mine was Coimbra. I heard so many stories. I was rating it as XXX city of Portugal! I even had T-Shirts done: “Life Sucks. So Will You!” I get here and nothing. Not even a note on my flute. Not even icing on my cake. Not even coming with a little loving. No one told me you have to work for these girls too. I thought that getting a bone was enough to make her worship your god. Obviously religion isn’t the best approach, unless she’s an atheist wanting to kick the fucking hell out of you! A prick I still call my friend says I’m mean for writing Male Values. I guess that Varsity definitely got him from the BACK.
Drinking has to be the most efficient Lie Detector around. A few sips of Ethanol are enough to get the truth out of anyone. You can tell if a girl loves you or hates you. You can tell if she likes your blog or if she’s about to be a whore and add a screwed up comment on it. You can even tell if she’s biting her lips because she wants you or if it’s just an allergic reaction to Pre-Semen exposure. Just don’t ever try that on men. It’ll get nasty. This one bloke told another bloke he was hot. Come on! I’m supposed to be in the city of Hetero-Love, not in the middle of a daily Gay Pride Parade!!
That’s all for this week. I know it’s been depressing but so is Elvis Costello. He sucks. No, Diana Krall sucks. She’s married to Elvis Costello. Diana sucks Elvis. Damn. I wish I were depressing.

MALE VALUES - PART 4

I really don’t fancy love. I used to, but I kind of gave the whole caring thing a break. The reason I dislike it so much is because it’s the only feeling that alcohol doesn’t make us temporarily forget. I’ve had beer, whiskey, shots, even methanol by accident, in fact I’m drunk right now and still I can’t forget her. She’s not the Dancing Queen I’ve mentioned in my last 3 posts, nor one of those foxes. She’s not even the tiger. Unfortunately she’s the gal with the boyfriend. Everyone I know says she doesn’t deserve me. She’s either too dumb, too clumsy or too weird. She’s never either too beautiful, too charismatic or too smart. I’m starting to think people are just trying to comfort me!
Every time I get rejected I think about 3 of my friends. They have everything a girl may want and even so they’ve been dry for some time now. I’m referring to the Stormer, the Junkie who’s into Nitro and the guy who says he’s “hot”. Love is so lame that no matter how beautiful any other girl is and how hard she’s hitting on you, you’ll never give her any credit, all because you’re stuck on someone else. Freaking Hell! Since I’ve been in Coimbra, I could have been with at least 5 fascinating women and I’ve neglected them, all because of her. An impossible creature with a supposedly jackass boyfriend. I guess the only remedy for this madness is meeting another South African. Members from the same species usually get along. I met one the other day. She seems nice, but her boyfriend is almost as tall as the Sears Tower which leaves little room for my one storey tin house.
Everyone loves the movies. I don’t know if it’s the hot actresses, the groovy special effects or the cinematic approach, but we all try to be what we see on screen. I remember when boys wanted to be Karate Kids and girls wanted to be hookers like Julia Roberts, those were the days. All the money our moms gave us for tuck went into playing hide and go seek with our neighbours and riding the pony with our cousins. A friend of mine still remembers the day he presumably had intercourse. For the record he was 5 and she was 4. Today at age 18 he still brags about it. Bru, that doesn’t count! Not even in Michael Jackson standards! My life achievement would be to win an Oscar. Not the guy Oscar, the Academy Award. What about that? Me winning an Academy Award. Half the guys who win one don’t deserve it so what’s wrong with giving another nutbag a statue? I can’t act, my writing is worse than crap, I’d probably suck at producing and directing and above all I’d be too naturally ugly to play Frankenstein and too white to play Nelson Mandela. The guys who admitted me at UCLA must have been drunker than me when they decided to call me in. Either way I must have been the drunkest not to accept. I apologize for part 4. I know it’s not close to being as good as the others and that it’s too sentimental. I’ll leave it to you, the reader, to decide if I should publish further or call it a day. It’s been a pleasure.