Anastasia Beaverhausen has changed her name.
Written by Molloy
Men. I hate men. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill ‘em. It’s an old cocktail party joke, but so true on so many levels. I get now why so many of my ‘middle-aged’ girlfriends have gone lesbo. They used to be married to men – most have had children with them, but something in them finally snapped, and they decided to start playing for the other team.
And I totally get it. Guys: you get so disgusting as you get older. Maybe it’s because your mothers are now too old, or even deceased, and us women are too tired to tell you one more goddam time to pick up your shit off the floor, but you. Still. Do. It. Every day. Do you really need to be reminded every single day? Your boxers on the floor. Your stinky socks and shoes all over the house. Your sandwich makings all over the counter. Your crap. Everywhere. It’s like you are a dog marking territory. Women don’t do this. Everything gets put back away. And we smell like roses. All the time. You all seem to have forgotten that a nice clean man = horizontal play time. Oh, and putting your crap away = horizontal play time + blow jobs and possible ass play – if you’ve poured enough wine.
Women who have tossed out their men, and decided to shack up with a female partner are my inspiration. They have someone wonderful to talk to, a clean house, and don’t have to explain those weird house scents to visitors (girls, you know which ones I mean – those “man smells”). Female partners in the same house have fridges with wonderful foods, such as hummus, wine (tons of wine), cheese, fruit, and olive oil. They also have towels that smell of lavender, no hair in the tub, and no fear of anyone using their cherished tweezers on anything but their eyebrows. Trust me: you just can’t un-see that image of your man leaning over the toilet, scraping out the underside of his toenails with your BrowGal. Speaking of toilets: The coup de gras……..cohabitating carpetlickers do not have to deal with the toilet seat, piss on the floor, or unflushed toilets.
Aaaaaah……I heard choirs of angels singing when I thought of that…..no more toilet issues. I think the mid-life-crisis-sexual-preference changers might be on to something with just that issue alone. They might not be having sex with each other (pity), but at least they are in their own special spa oasis of their own design (can I get a whoop whoop for no more leather recliners, 75 inch plasma screens, and foosball tables gals?).
Seriously, men are just overgrown little boys who like to play with snakes and fart, while women are prettier versions of little girls with the skills and knowledge to color-coordinate and run the world while making a port wine reduction sauce and coaching her teen daughter on partial differential equations.
Men: Can’t live with ‘em, and who wants to anyway? I hate men.