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-- No Sex Tonight!
No Sex Tonight!
Taken from: http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sfo/60286784.html
I never quite figured out why the sexual urge of men and women differ so
much. And I never have figured out the whole Venus and Mars thing. I have
never figured out why men think with their head and women with their heart.
FOR EXAMPLE: One evening last week, my girlfriend and I were getting into
bed.
Well, the passion starts to heat up, and she eventually says "I don't feel
like it, I just want you to hold me."
I said "WHAT??!! What was that?!"
So she says the words that every boyfriend on the planet dreads to hear...
"You're just not in touch with my emotional needs as a woman enough for me
to satisfy your physical needs as a man." She responded to my puzzled look
by saying, "Can't you just love me for who I am and not what I do for you in
the bedroom?"
Realizing that nothing was going to happen that night, I went to sleep.
The very next day I opted to take the day off of work to spend time with
her. We went out to a nice lunch and then went shopping at a big, big
unnamed department store. I walked around with her while she tried on
several different very expensive outfits. She couldn't decide which one to
take so I told her we'd just buy them all. She wanted new shoes to
compliment her new clothes, so I said lets get a pair for each outfit. We
went onto the jewelry department where she picked out a pair of diamond
earrings. Let me tell you...she was so excited. She must have thought I was
one wave short of a shipwreck. I started to think she was testing me because
she asked for a tennis bracelet when she doesn't even know how to play
tennis. I think I threw her for a loop when I said, "That's fine, honey."
She was almost nearing sexual satisfaction from all of the excitement.
Smiling with excited anticipation she finally said, "I think this is all
dear, let's go to the cashier."
I could hardly contain myself when I blurted out, "No honey, I don't feel
like it."
Her face just went completely blank as her jaw dropped with a baffled
WHAT?"
I then said "honey! I just want you to HOLD this stuff for a while. You're
just not in touch with my financial needs as a man enough for me to satisfy
your shopping needs as a woman." And just when she had this look like she
was going to kill me, I added, "Why can't you just love me for who I am and
not for the things I buy you?"
Apparently I'm not having sex tonight either.
Every repost is a repost is a repost 
Re....
Edit: Bah - You beat me Lira
I feel like I've heard this from somewhere before...
Ya..everywhere.
| quote: |
| Originally posted by Sushipunk Re.... |
| quote: |
| Originally posted by LeopoldStotch wind? |
that was fast...
I just saw this on digg and thought it was hilarious. Sorry if its too old.
unappetizing copypasta
| quote: |
| Originally posted by inconspicuous unappetizing copypasta |
dude sif be slack to your gf 
Haven't seen this before. Nice lol!
Hmm this has just been posted on Digg too, welcome to 2005 everybody.
| quote: |
| Originally posted by smallSHEEP Hmm this has just been posted on Digg too, welcome to 2005 everybody. |
| quote: |
| Originally posted by Lira Every repost is a repost is a repost |
interesting....
I'd do her
| quote: |
| Originally posted by Ian I'd do her |
Hey, ballmouse, aren't you an acter from One On One?
This one is better:
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/nyc/333345372.html
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathroom. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience:
0.Occupied
1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
2.Poo on seat.
3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder in one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
-
Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with the suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Next door I could hear fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth.... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
-
Alas, it is evidently difficulty to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by a string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced to the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has manged to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
Bwahahahahahaha - dood, that is such an old story. The thing is, yes, it's true, but if you are in a relationship where you both understand each other, you will soon learn, that woman have those needs too, but the more a woman holds it back from you, when she really wants to have a go at you - it will be earth moving.
| quote: |
| a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently. |
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