10 Places to NOT Meet Women

Following hot on the calloused, diamond-studded, well-sandaled heels of such prime beef anchor paper houses as FHM, Maxim, Men's Weekly, etc. who have all answered the question to death about to where meet members of the opposite sex (depending on how opposite you really want to go--because there is a small street on the wrong side of Mexico City (if there is indeed a right side) that will test the limits of even Cosplay serial masturbators with necrophitic colon-fetishes) . . . I thought I'd explore the answer to the OTHER question. . . .

The one that no one asks . . .

Where NOT to meet women.

Here is my list of 10 places you are guaranteed not to meet or get lucky (or unlucky) with a woman:

1. Men's restrooms at truck stops where the nasal-whining music of Willie Nelson is piped into the parking lot near the gas pumps. Chili is cheap and plentiful; deodorant is optional. The toilet seats are literally bolted in the upright position and the women's bathrooms have been converted into makeshift foosball tables.

2. San Francisco. That is to say you may very well meet and mate with individuals who look like women, but one quick check of their genetics will prove otherwise. The police scientists (I know, seems like an oxymoron, but they do exist) were developing a test that involved a cotton swab and a small glass tube with a rock like substance at the bottom that would turn blue upon contact with a Y chromosome, but the courts deemed it "profiling, frivolous and unnecessary".

3. The audience of Oprah. There will be TONS of women there (literally, they actually have industrial sized shocks beneath the stage), but they will have no interest in you whatsoever. Due to the little studied "Black Hole Oprah Phenomena" or BHOP, you, a man, will become invisible to the naked or clothed eye (for girls who wear eye patches) of any woman within a 1 mile radius of the full figured talk show host. They will only be interested in Oprah and the prizes they may or may not win. Women love Oprah. You are a man. You do not love Oprah, nor do you see the fascination. Try Maury.

4. France. You are something other than French. I know this because no one French reads this blog. I've made sure of it by NEVER ever (not even once) mentioning the "C" word (no, not Cancer, Cunt or Calcutta, but thanks for playing). Young French women are complicated, pouty and like to play hard to get; old French women are complicated, depressed and are hard to get. No one but French men have a shot with any of them unless you storm the country with jackboots or know how to "get trapped in an invisible glass box while wearing white gloves and white makeup" or are willing to invest a tranquilizer gun that dispenses Rohypnol darts at amazingly long ranges. French women are astonishingly fast, despite their rampant cigarette usage.

5. The Moon. 'Nuff said. We checked it out. We came up dry (depending on your usage of the word "came"). The moon is definitely BYOP.

6. New York, Central Park at precisely 4:21 A.M. every 48th Thursday of the year. We're still studying this one. We have no idea why this becomes a null spot for the female species. Could be Solar flares. Could be a estrogen-vacuuming vortex of some sort. Or it might have to do with the fact that Charlie Sheen's cock once escaped on this precise day and time six years ago and made a nuisance of itself. (Sheen's cock is like a meteor slamming into the Earth; it only needs to happen once to make a lasting impression.)

7. Any conventions where the single focus is role playing that involves dice with more than 6 sides. Pretty much any convention that has dice with more than 6 sides will be devoid of women. In fact, dice that has more than 6 sides are to women what garlic soaked in Holy Water and God's urine is to Republicans, er, I mean vampires.

8. Sewage Treatment facilities. Maybe it's the smell. Maybe it's the idea. Maybe it's the fact that there are zero, count them, zero women who don't think they can do better job-wise, but running shit through pipes and pouring chemicals on them seems to be something that only interests men.

9. Alaska. I know. You've seen Northern Exposure and pictures of Sarah Palin and her many daughters whose family crest actually has a broken condom on the shield to symbolize poor judgment, but the fact that most people forget is that Sarah Palin and her family are all actually fictional. As of this writing, the U.S. Census Bureau proclaims that females make up 48% of the population in this frigid state. What they've neglected to mention is that the Census Workers are so lonely in the frozen North that they now consider most wild life as "entirely datable", and they're not talking about "data".

10. The Senate. Go figure, but it's a sausage fest. 17 women to 83 men. I honestly don't know what the Senators are thinking. I for one like the sound of pantyhose whisking whisking whisking until I'm ready to lay down another $20 at the local strip club during my three hour, eight Bourbon lunch, but who am I to judge?

Read the damn comic.

How to survive your child's school crap

Okay, so they're not exactly my kids, but they're awfully damn close. They are the fruit of loins that come from the same fruit of loins that I came from. Yep, my nephews.

Several weeks ago, my brother-in-law (do we really have to bring the "law" into this?) decided to take a day off from work and begged his wife, my sister, to play hooky as well. Being the stick in the mud that she is (i.e. responsible), she said no. He got pissed off, hopped on his bike, a Kawasaki Concurs (i.e. big mother fucking bike), revved the engine up nice and tight, drag raced himself down the driveway and promptly lost control of the behemoth roaring between his legs. He laid it down, or rather, it laid itself down on top of him, and after what I'm sure was a few panicked hours later, he woke up in the hospital. For a week or so there, it was touch and go (like so many of my dates). There were tubes going into and out of him, and that's never a good thing. But he did finally awake, with less sedation, and started being the nice, if slightly incoherent, guy he should've been all along.

Through it all, of course, being the callous bastard that I am, all I could think was, "Dude . . . you fucked up!"

Bec ause it only takes a fraction of a second, doesn't it? To make that decision that costs you your life or your leg or you penis (God forbid!) or anything else for that matter.

To make a long story short(er), he's going to be okay, but it's going to take awhile. In the meantime, I've been corralled into staying for a week or so at a time to drive the nephews to school while my lovely sis visits her idiot, scratch that, banged up husband in the hospital.

Surprise, surprise, this involved me attending the "Recycle Faire" at the youngest's school. I've never attended a "Recycle Faire" before, but I had an idea what Elementary School was like when I attended some four decades ago, and I had little reason to believe it had improved.

My boy, the youngest nephew, diagnosed with Asberger's Syndrome (which always calls the phrase "Ass Burger" to my head when I think of it), which is a mild form of autism, had created a PowerPoint presentation and had somehow reformed two radial tires into "Recycled" sandals, which had mysteriously been lost by the teacher, but which would also just as mysteriously show up the day after the "Recycle Faire".

Repeat after me: recycle stuff.

There. Now you know all you need to know. What took the Elementary school numerous presentations, skits, music, painted posters, etc. ad fucking nauseum etc. I just managed to do in two words. The entire evening consisted of one media event after another of the word "recycle" being used enough times that I seriously considered recycling my own vomit.

But, since I was just an uncle and not a parent, and since no one at the school had the foggiest idea who the hell I was, I had prepared myself well ahead of time.

That's right: shortly before the beginning of the festivities, your hero, asshole incarnate, or is that asshole in carnal, anyway, I dropped acid. Flying Eyeball, to be exact. Three dots of some extraordinarily expensive LSD. I timed it almost perfectly.

By the time the fruit of my father's daughter's loins PowerPoint presentation hit the screen, I was not only well lubricated, I was folded, ironed and slightly scorched. Never was there a more interesting, compelling and amusing presentation.

When Roby the Robot came on to tell us in his mechanical voice about how Recycling was important . . . I was riveted. Wow, recycling . . . is like cycling . . . again. Wow, watching the beams of light flowing to and from a projector screen is like watching lint imitate popcorn, and if you ever cared to know, a projection screen is, in fact, not salty at all, but rather bland, and tastes slightly like rice.

By the time the two little girls were finishing their skit which repeated the phrase "Recycling is Good" no less than 52 times (the same number of cards in a deck; coincidence? I think not, or way too much and way too fast actually), I was sitting on the floor, laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes. My hand shot up first for every question. Steel cans are the most recycled material in the nation, and yes, you can even recycle circuit boards, transforming (magically) phone circuitry into personal computers, EKG circuitry to Fallout 3, a game I've discovered also during my one week stay at my sister's house is grossly inappropriate for children under the age of 34. Okay, so a few of my answers might have been a little off base. Screaming "Bloated Clown Balloons!!!!" twenty-two times in a row does tend to get the attention of the attending teacher.

Anyway, the real point here is that if you have children you almost certainly have to attend one or more of their events. Politics aside, accurate data aside, you have to sit and look interested, which is why I recommend drugs. LSD, marijuana, mushrooms (one of my personal faves), is a sure way to make the evening fun and lively for all involved.

On the plus side, while I am allowed to drop my nephews off at school, I'm now and until further notice forbidden from attending any extra-curricular school events. Who could ask for more?!?

Why are we fighting a war on drugs again?

Just curious.

Aaron Diaz Hoal