I got a funny email forward entitled, “why boys need mothers” and there are all these pictures of little boys doing stupid dangerous things like scale the refrigerator with a rope, light a firecracker from their butt hole and put a dirty toad in their mouth.

A few days later, I got another funny email forward entitled, “why women live longer than men” with a bunch of pictures of GROWN MEN doing stupid dangerous things like work under a car that had a ghetto-rigged “jack” made from crates, someone drunkenly asleep at a bus stop…upside down…

and oh, a guy lighting a firecracker from his butt hole (never gets old!)

This is all fine and good when the guys put themselves in stupid danger.

It’s quite another thing when guys put the girls they are dating in stupid danger by association.

This happened to my friend Katie when she dated idiot Rob. They were in a long-distance relationship and she was visiting him one weekend.

They had been, uh, rolling around in bed and later, as she was dozing off to sleep, she readjusted her position which required her to put her hand under her pillow, and she felt something cold and metal.

“What the?—” she lifted the pillow and saw a gun. A GUN! Chillin right there under her head!
She was shocked, and horrified.

“WHAT THE?—“ she pushed Rob, who woke up with a start. “Why is there a GUN under the pillow?” Katie demanded.

“Oh, there were sketchy new tenants at the shopping center I supervise, and they had to come drop off rent here the other day, so I wanted to be prepared,” Rob said.

“I guess I forgot to put it away, haha.”

Katie wasn’t amused.

“Is it loaded?”
“Hell yea it’s loaded!”

“Ok, that’s GREAT, Rob, we’ve just been messing around and rolling on pillows, what if it had GONE OFF and put a BULLET through my head?”

“Oh, no, it wouldn’t have done that,” he said.

“Why not?? Is there a safety on it??”

“No,” he said. “But guns just don’t go off like that. It’s not how they work. Now let’s go to bed.”

(Rob, meet Plaxico Burress)

And how about Tom? Tom, who thought Lisa was lying when she told him she was allergic to dairy products.

Lisa had an odd form of lactose intolerance where she could have some food like cheese and ice cream, but not others like milk and cream cheese icing.

But, it doesn’t really matter what her dietary restrictions are. Tom shouldn’t have tested her intestinal limits.

Tom, in a most non-Toolbag move, had cooked Lisa a very large and extravagant lobster dinner for her at his house. There was corn on the cob, there were perfectly crisp chopped potatoes and there was cake.

“With vanilla icing,” he said.

Lisa said the dinner and dessert were glorious and (ok, sometimes girls look at reciepts) expensive and they had just settled into watching a movie when Lisa’s stomach started…jumping.

She didn’t have time to explain what was going on before running toward the bathroom and RAPLHING up all the expensive dinner, sweaty and panicked.

Tom, in another non-Toolbag move, went to go check on her and get her a cold washcloth or whatever you do with people when they throw up (I don’t know, I’m a non-puker, normally).

Lisa profusely apologized for the grossness. “I’m so sorry I ruined our dinner, I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, embarrassed and scared.

Tom then hesitated and said, “I know what’s going on. The cake had cream cheese icing, I didn’t think it was a big deal. I’m so sorry.”

“WHAT???” Lisa said from the porcelain throne.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were serious about being allergic to cream cheese,” Tom said. “I thought you just didn’t like it.”

Lisa yelled and screamed and told him that he was an EFFING A-HOLE and asked him how HE would feel if she knowingly poisoned him.

The worst part was that Lisa was so sick, she couldn’t even leave his house, and had to spend the night, most of it in the bathroom.

Puking: made possible by boys.

I bet she wished for a loaded gun under his pillow. ha


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