Okay, so I know this is going to be a real disappointment for y'all, but the number one place to meet chicks is:
Special Interest Events
or whatever you want to call them. I haven't come up with a good name, but it's basically anyplace you go to enjoy the things that really matter to you. If you're a long-distance runner, it's a marathon. If you love music, it's a concert. If you love motorcycles, it's a ride or Sturgis or something. I can't really tell you where the best place to meet chicks is, but I bet you already know. You might put it hypothetically, "Wouldn't it be awesome if I could meet a chick at . . . X!" And you know what, you can.
But, Dr. C, you might be saying, What if what I really love is Y, and hardly any women like Y. True, but the way I see it is that numbers don't matter, and ratios don't matter, there really only has to be one woman there--the one for you. And besides, the less women, the better. If you want to meet a run-of-the-mill, everyday woman, you can look on the bus or at the bar or the grocery store, but if you want to meet a special woman, you've got to look someplace where the selection isn't just Jane Schmoes off the street.
Situations like this, though, require a little more than bar-banter or grocery-store pickup lines. You've got to shine, you've got to be impressive, and you might not think you're up to it. But remember, you're in your element. Draw strength from your surroundings and let your best self out to play. Who knows what could happen . . .
American association of cancer researchers
3 years ago
5 comments:
Now we can all get laid!
Let us proceed...
What?
Special Interest Events?!?
Where in the Jolly Green Fuck are these places?!?
I'm smelling a good old-fashioned coverup here! Dr. C is not ponying up on the best places for young, eligible (meaning breathing) sumbitches can drop their kickstand and lay tail.
Promises were made, Dr. C! You'd best disclose the location of the bait shop or there's gonna be a heapin load on swagger come down upon you with righteous (and horny) fury!!
Not by me, of course... But I know Doc Noggle has a throbbing purple boner inlaid with a cheeseburger on top... and I have heard disturbing musings that Kip has been mollycoddling his furious length of pole (well maybe a couple inches of yard)... peeling off the hours of the wait reciting "I Like Ike" era axioms awaiting knowledge of where he might finally touch the ass of plenty.
Promise were made, goodsir, and you will please make with the location of the orgy vats... or there will be burdens! Oh yes, goodsir -- a gentle burdening!
--You have been served.
I never promised orgies . . . Truth be told, I've never quite figured out how to manage that, myself, possibly for lack of trying. I've generally been pretty happy with one at a time, not to say that I wouldn't buy that for a dollar. . . The last one of these places I was at was an SF convention, where there were lots of likely prospects, were I an unattached bachelor.
But perhaps practical advice is not my strong suit. I'll return to a theoretical turn of mind.
Dr. S. has fine material squirrelled away in various comment sections!
(we await--and fear-- the emergence of his own blog!)
All I need is a muse.
Dr. C has taken on the property of the female form (Magnificent shit that he is).
You possess mighty Kipton (Fountain of mockery that he is).
Beth has squirreled up all things inane and otherwise (...I wasn't really feeling that anyhow.)
Etc.
I need a topic. Otherwise, everything goes rather scattershot. The nice thing about being a blog respondent is that I am in dialogue with the thoughts of an other and can focus my generally assish ways (As Dr. C *again* has claimed tits as his property... DOES HE EVER SHOW US TITS? --NOT WITH ENOUGH FREQUENCY-- ...does he ever show us women eating things from each other's tits? Nooooooo! Let's go, Boobman!).
--All I need's a title. (and the Ass of Plenty)
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